#//had the idea on the bus ride to the store and drew this as quickly as i could as soon as i got home

[mechahero]

redesign of this outfit i did last year! i think this one is way cuter than the old one

#//had the idea on the bus ride to the store and drew this as quickly as i could as soon as i got home #//i thought it was a neat outfit idea #//he’s even showing his shoulders in this one! that’s an improvement of sorts right? #//also yeah this outfit is more gen 1 mh inspired rather than gen 3 though i might redraw that one too #//maybe idk #mocha’s art

[theonlygamergost]

A tattoo for a lost bet - Fd!au (1/3)

This fanfiction is based on the Family Dynamic au made by @antarctic-bay if you would like to know more, go check them out!!!

Also please bear in mind that the things written in this might not be canon!

This fic was corrected by the lovely @im-default

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Techno and Skeppy bet on stupid things, and sometimes their bets can have very severe consequence if lost.

If you want to, look at what Minetra’s desing of Techno tattoo

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tw! Betting, swearing. Btw, this is very long

Next part --->

Enjoy~

Childhood friends usually have that one thing they used to do or say when they were young, maybe even a habit they caught together and never got rid of. Techno and Skeppy used to bet on the stupidest things when they were young… Well, they still do bet on the stupidest things, but there is a difference from when they were young: they have some money now.

It was very normal for them to bet a couple of dollars on the stupidest things.

“My bus is going to arrive earlier than yours” Bet

“I’ll finish my homework before you” Bet

“I’m betting that you can’t finish your burger before I do” You’re on.

And these are just some examples, they really betted on everything, and Techno won half of them.

That’s why Skeppy stopped betting too much money when playing with him, literally half of Techno’s income was his won bets against him.

That’s why Techno barely stepped down from a bet coming from Skeppy, he was so confident that he also would bet the stupidest things to gain some dollars.

They didn’t bet only money though, they bet other things like objects or small things they had to do if they lost.

And honestly, Techno was so confident he could win a 1v1 in Minecraft against Skeppy, even though if he lost, he had to get a tattoo.

He hadn’t played in a few days due to all-nighters for last-minute tests, but Skeppy was worse than him anyway, it would have been fine… Right?

“You should get something edgy... like a skull!”

“I hate you”

Skeppy laughed as they stood in the waiting room of a tattoo place in town, Techno had lost the bet, and now, he had to get a tattoo.

“Look, you’re lucky I didn’t specify what tattoo you had to get” Techno took off his glasses and allowed his head to fall into his hands, “I know, if it was for you I’d have a dick tattooed on my forehead” Skeppy laughed again, Techno just exhaled in exasperation, out of all of the times he had to lose a bet, why this one?

The customer before them got up and entered what they guessed was the studio, Techno tensed up a little bit

“Do you already have an idea of what you’re getting? I’m pretty good at suggestions” He announced proudly placing his hands on his hips, gaining a death stare from Techno. “You are the last person I’d ask for a suggestion” Skeppy whispered “Ouch” before both of them smiled.

“To answer your question, yes, I do have something in mind”

I mean… after passing an entire night up, looking at tattoo ideas, he had an idea of what he could get, he just couldn’t find a photo or a drawing of what he wanted.

“By the way… “ Skeppy slipped his phone out of his hoodie, “... did you tell Phil about this?”

He froze

Skeppy noticed

“Don’t tell me… “ The boy with the light blue hoodie didn’t finish the question, scared of the answer.

Techno sighed…

and nodded.

“OH MY GOD TECHNO!!!” Skeppy bounced out of his seat, “ I THOUGHT YOU TOLD PHIL ABOUT THIS!!!” Techno gestured at him to be quiet, Skeppy sat back down.

“Phil would have never agreed to this! I had to do this without telling anyone” The customer and the Tattooist came out of the studio, “Plus, I’m doing this somewhere I can hide it pretty easily” he reassured, but mostly himself.

“Dude, you sound like you’re getting it on your butt” Techno pushed him lightly in response.

As the customer left, the tattoo artist came up to them and asked who of the two were here to get tattooed, Techno took a deep breath and got up.

No turning back now

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I applied a layer of petroleum jelly and put on a bandage, you’ll have to keep it for about twenty-four hours” Techno carefully listened to the tattooist after stepping out of the studio, “To avoid getting an infection, wash it with an antimicrobial soap and water, you can find it in any store, I recommend patting it dry instead of scratching it, put vaseline on it and keep it moisturized,” Skeppy was comfortably sitting on the couch, half-listening to what they were saying.

“For how long do I have to do this? Techno gently placed a hand on his left shoulder, “It’s a pretty big tattoo so...about four weeks” Skeppy’s eyes widened, p-pretty big? Four weeks? What in the hell did Techno get?

“Remember to do the whole process two times a day and don’t expose it to the sun, if you ever have any questions or insecurities, come see me kid, no worries.” Techno politely thanked him and gestured at Skeppy to follow him out, oh boy did Skeppy have questions for him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“THERE WAS NO NEED TO GET IT THAT BIG!!!” Skeppy freaked out when Techno had told him the tattoo went from his left shoulder all the way to his elbow, he could have just gotten a letter or a dot and it would have been fine for him.

“To be honest, I was thinking of getting it smaller, but then the tattooer showed me a design he drew and… “ Rubbing the back of his head, he explained to Skeppy what happened in the studio while he was deciding what to get tattooed.  Skeppy calmed down hearing his friend happy about the choice he had made, hoping that he wasn’t going to regret it later.

“By the way… can I see it? Now you’ve made me curious!” Techno shook his head and Skeppy frowned in disappointment.

“I can’t show it right now, the bandages are on it and I can’t take them off for a day, maybe tomorrow at school” Techno smiled subtly, he will never admit this but he couldn’t wait to show Skeppy his tattoo.

Making their way to the bus stop, they shared earbuds to listen to some music, right now they were using Techno’s phone meaning that Monstercat was playing it their ears, specifically, “Call me” by Subtact.

But the music was just a background to fill in an eventual moment of silence, they had been talking since they left the coffee shop and the tattoo argument never left the conversation.

“Would you ever get a tattoo Skeppy?” Techno asked curiously, walking side by side with his best friend, his hands were casually placed in his hoodie’s pockets.

The brown-haired boy had his hands behind his head in a very anime-like pose, “Maybe, I think it would be way smaller than yours though” the sky over the city was grey, the sun’s light was barely able to pass through the immense stretch of clouds, summer was ending and school had already started.

The two young boys arrived at the bus stop and kept chatting until their ride home arrived, Techno’s bus arrived first so they waved their goodbye’s and went their own way.

While looking outside of the window, he started thinking about how to avoid any possible questions about the bandages in the bathroom that his brothers could find.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He opened the front door to find two brothers playing cards on the coffee table, both of them too absorbed in the game to greet him.

“What are you guys doing?” Techno passed next to them to go leave his bag into his room, “Waiting for you to get home, dinner is ready and Phil won’t be coming home until later” Wilbur spoke up, eyes fixed on his cards, “Don’t disappear Technoblade, I just need to heat the food and we can eat” Techno nodded and entered his room, opening his backpack to grab out the bandages and soap he bought before parting ways with Skeppy, he knew there was vaseline somewhere in the bathroom and Will had a moisturizing cream he never admits he has and uses, there was no point in buying them since they were at home already, he could just borrow them.

After taking his shoes off and slipping in his slippers, he exited his room to sit at the counter to eat with Wilbur and Tommy, placing his glasses by his plate and rubbing his tired eyes before taking his first bite.

There were about two or three minutes of silence before anyone started talking.

“Tubbo said that he, Nikki and Eret are planning on a movie night next Saturday, they invited us” Tommy broke the silence, the Berry siblings loved doing movie nights, they had a small projector which served as a monitor and a big ass couch where them plus the Pandel could all fit if squished a bit, reason why they usually invited them.

“I already said I’m going, you guys coming too?” He looked at his older brothers, but his gaze fixed on Techno’s left shoulder… was it just an impression or…?

“I don’t have anything to do so, yeah I’m down” Wilbur replied after taking a sip of water, “You Techno?”

Now both of their gazes were on the pink-haired brother, who was currently munching on a vegetable. “Yeah sure,” he shrugged it off,  “Have you asked Phil yet?”

Tommy’s eyes were still fixed on Techno’s left shoulder, “No… I was thinking of…asking him when he came- Techno wh-why is your left shoulder bigger than usual?”

He almost choked on his salad.

“What are you- Oh… yeah, you’re right” Wilbur also looked at his shoulder, welp, fuck.

“I… uh…” Techno almost stuttered, he had forgotten how vigil and attentive to details Tommy could be… what could he tell them…

Saying that he got in a fight was the worst idea ever, knowing his brothers they would have asked him the name, grade and address of who did this to him, so that idea was out of the question.

Eh, just deny it.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about” he took another fork of his salad, trying to play it cool, “But I swear it looks-”

“Maybe it’s this hoodie” he quickly interrupted him, he had to get the attention somewhere else, fast.

“This hoodie is pretty fluffy and I didn’t use it for the entirety of summer so… “ He trailed off, leaving Tommy very suspicious.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The day at school wasn’t too different from others, the only “unnatural” thing he had to do was go get a violin and carry it from one side of high school to the other, thank god he usually carried stuff mostly on his right shoulder.

Speaking of carrying, he had to carry his backpack on only his right shoulder, a thing he despised and never did, but placing any type of weight on the new freshly-made tattoo stung a little bit, hopefully in a couple of days he could go back to using both shoulders normally.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Bandages… vaseline… the soap is already in the bathroom… “ It had passed twenty-four hours from when he got the tattoo, it was time for him to change the bandage, and to do so, he wanted to be a hundred per cent sure he had everything he needed before going to the bathroom.

He grabbed all of the necessary things and peaked into the living room, Wilbur was in his room and Tommy wasn’t home yet so he took a deep breath and silently DASHED to the bathroom.

First thing first.

Lock. The. Door.

He wasn’t about to get walked in on by one of his brothers, so he locked the door and took another deep breath, he was now partially safe.

Underneath his hoodie, he had changed after arriving home into his only tank top, aka Wilbur got gifted one but he didn’t like it, so much that when doing laundry he had placed it in the stack of Techno’s clothes, so now it was his.

He didn’t want to do the whole operation shirtless so I guess the tank top was pretty convenient.

Stripping out of his hoodie, he looked at the bandages wrapped around his arm and the deep bags under his eyes: if someone else looked at him, they would think he was part of a gang or something.

Carefully peeling off the bandages, he realized that the skin around the tattoo was pretty red, the bits that were getting exposed to the air felt hot, it was going to be a big problem if he had gotten an infection.

As the last part came off, Techno looked once again in the mirror, the beautiful floral tattoo that he had seen drawn on paper by the tattooist look way better on skin, his skin.

Techno was afraid of regretting his decision, getting a tattoo this big from a day to another was careless of him, but god it looked pretty, he loved it.

Realizing that he was smiling at his own reflection, he shook it off and got back into a more concentrated state.

As the tattooist said, with a glass, he poured over the black ink cold water, his shoulders loosened up at the welcome sensation of chill washing over him.

He took the soap he bought and started making slow and soft circular motions, pressing as little as he could-

The sound of the handle trying to open the door made him jump, oh no no no, please…

“What do you want?” he recomposed himself and spoke with his usual unbothered voice, “Did you lock the bathroom Techno?! Why the fuck would you do that?!”, a high voice came from the other side of the door, Tommy must have arrived home from practice and he usually takes a shower right after entering the apartment so…

“It’s called privacy Tommy, plus I just got out of the shower, and no, I’m not rushing, I’m taking my sweet time” A loud groan could be heard right before footsteps walking away, Techno sighed, close one.

He continued taking care of his tattoo with extreme caution, washing away the soap, applying the vaseline, and wrapping it back up again. He threw everything in his drawer ( who usually only had the gel he occasionally used and his trusted comb), put on the hoodie again and shouted at Tommy that the bathroom was free.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After that, he went straight back into his room to work on the unusually low number of homework, unfortunately, it was French, so it didn’t matter how much stuff he had to do, it was going to take a long time either way.

He finished around the time that Phil got home, the older brother had the habit of greeting every brother one by one, so when a “Hello Technomate~” arrived from the slightly open door, Techno smiled and replied with the least dead-inside voice he could make: “Welcome back home Phil”

He was about to close his textbook as Phil’s voice in the distance asked him a question he wasn’t expecting.

“Hey Techno… Why do you have bandages in your drawer?”

Time stopped and Techno froze, a shiver shot up his spine. Why did Phil open his bathroom drawer?

“Uh… Well… Tommy sometimes comes home with cuts and bruises so I bought bandages in case he ever needs them” It wasn’t a lie, Techno would always patch up Tommy if he got hurt when his protect-the-weak vigilante moves failed him and he got some bruises, his voice was a little shaky but he was so far away from Phil that he probably didn’t notice.

“Huh… That’s… awfully empathic of you… “

Techno stood completely still for a couple more seconds waiting for him to find the antimicrobial soap and the vaseline, but it never happened.

He exhaled after taking off his glasses, throwing himself on the bed, turning to face the ceiling.

He didn’t regret getting this tattoo, but for how long could he keep it hidden from his brothers? For how long would he be able to lie to his brother?

Only time could tell.

#technoblade #tommyinnit #wilbur soot #ph1lza #the eret #nihachu #tubbolive #my writing #my fanfiction #fanfiction #writing #fd!au #fd au #mcyt #mcyt fanfiction

[fleckcmscott]

Bewitching Hour

Summary: October has been a blissfully busy month. With Halloween around the corner, Arthur and Y/N have some planning to do.

Warnings: Swearing

Words: 4,665

A/N: Special thanks to @hhandley80​ for this request! You've been so supportive and sweet. I truly appreciate you and hope you enjoy it!

On a side note, my oneshots will be more sporadic. I'm still writing but life has been life. Also, I've finished the first draft of another multi-chapter featuring Arthur and Y/N. It's going to take time to rewrite the subsequent drafts and edit, edit, edit. The chapters will go up once the story is ready. Thanks for your patience and support! 🙂 I heart you all!

If you have any thoughts or questions, please comment, feel free to message me, or send me an ask! 

Arthur's suggestion that they make plans to celebrate Halloween should not have been a surprise. He loved starting traditions with Y/N, and she prized adopting them with him. "It's been awhile," he'd said as they'd walked arm-in-arm to the laundromat. "I think it'd be nice."

Holidays had been a source of merriment most of her life. The beauty of red and green decorations at Christmas. Turkey and mashed potatoes at Thanksgiving. An egg hunt and chocolate rabbit at Easter. The togetherness of family during them all.

Halloween, though, wasn't a favorite.

As a child, she'd had fun trick-or-treating, riding her bike from house to far-flung house. And she hadn't minded escorting her little sister as a teenager. Y/N's homemade witch costume had been passed down. She could still recall the sleekness of the ribbon between her fingers as she'd secured the pointed hat under Mabel's chin.

But the magic had fallen away. When married to Jeff, she'd had to attend his boss's annual party. After receiving an apologetic shrug and kiss, she'd be relegated to hanging out with the other wives. They'd included her in their recipe swaps, in their exchanges of mild gossip. Her natural friendliness made chit-chat easy, far easier than having a good time. Those evenings had been spent nursing a glass of wine and willing the clock to go faster.

During the period she'd cared for her father, she'd tried to hand out candy. She liked being a good neighbor and imparting kindness in the form of bite-sized sweets. As his health had declined, the porch light had gone dark. Random rings of the doorbell would result in shouting and swearing. Repeated attempts to explain the door's lock wasn't broken. Festivity would transform into drudgery. It hadn't been worth the trouble. Instead, she'd watched terrible TV specials while her thoughts wandered to a future far from Boonville. A future she'd doubted would ever be.

"I don't know if it's your thing," Arthur had continued, bringing her back to the present. "But you might enjoy it with me." The response he longed for was evident in the worrying of his pocket, outlines of his knuckles visible through the tan cloth.

Everything they'd experienced together had soothed the sting of those wasted years. The hesitancy lurking in her was silly. Unwelcome. Less than either of them deserved. She'd met his keen eyes and half-smile. The sudden mental image of him dressed as a cowboy or pirate, eyepatch and all, prompted a laugh. Convinced her as she dug out her dry-cleaning stub. "It isn't my thing," she'd said. "But you are."

Relief had relaxed his wrinkles, save for his crows feet, which had deepened as he'd returned her happy expression. A slender arm wrapped around her waist, drew her against his solid frame. Once the clerk disappeared through the swinging doors to retrieve their clothes, Arthur grasped her chin and kissed her. The tender explorations were soon sloppy, and she'd giggled, his enthusiasm becoming her own. Their noses had met, his lashes resting on his wide cheekbones. "I think you're the sweetest treat, Mrs. Fleck."

Currently, Donahue's Department Store, Gotham's number one retail emporium (if the ads were to be believed), was bustling with last-minute shoppers. Weary mothers escorted their babbling children through the aisles. Clerks swapped out displays for the changing blue light specials. Lines went for yards. Patricia and Y/N sought refuge at a corner table in the café on the top floor. The warm glow from the pendant lamps provided a relaxed ambience, one that matched the hot cider and pumpkin spice cake they were savoring.

"I've got my grandson on Sunday," Patricia said between bites. "My daughter's going to a party with a medical records tech from Gotham General. Met him when she missed the bus. They split a cab and hit it off." Chuckling, she lifted her mug. "Speaking of, how's married life been so far?"

Memories of the past week quickened Y/N's heart, until she thought it might stop. How Arthur had gripped her replacement Social Security card, just to read her new name. The way he'd grab her for a twirl whenever they were in the kitchen. The reverence in his gaze when they'd lay together after sex, a look that both thrilled and made her blush. "The bills for his medication and appointments will no longer make us cringe," she deadpanned. She lowered her fork. "When we met, I was kind of blindsided - I'm not the type to fall in love quickly." The corners of her lips tugged up. "Being married to Arthur feels like a habit. A habit I should have learned twenty years ago."

"I'm glad you found each other." Patricia reached across the light brown table and covered Y/N's hand, gave it a squeeze. Then she wiped frosting from her mouth and nodded in the direction of the escalator. "Now let's find a costume that'll drive him nuts."

Beyond the colorful cosmetics and pungent perfume counters, they sorted through racks of vinyl smocks and plastic masks. Pop culture icons and princesses. Vampires and spooks. Knockoffs of classic movie monsters. Most were poorly made and decidedly uninteresting. Y/N pawed through accessories in a nearby basket, a cigar here, a patched hat there. "How about a hobo? I could steal Arthur's tie."

"This was his idea. Give him something a little exciting." After a roll of Y/N's eyes, Patricia held out a plastic display bag. "Found it."

The white font on its blue label declared she should "Create a unique look!" A woman in a leopard-print leotard and bow-tie wore black cat ears and a tail, the only two items included in the set. Y/N's nose wrinkled. "I don't think so, Patricia." She rummaged through another bin and examined a hockey mask. "I don't show a lot of skin."

"You show Arthur." Patricia ignored Y/N's glare, continuing to shove it at her. "Every man loves a woman dressed as a cat. Our next lunch is on me if I'm wrong."

Patricia could be relentless, but Y/N had to admit she was usually right. She arched a brow as she eyed the costume. Maybe she could find a solid body suit instead of animal print. The kit was only $2.98. And her friend had made it a challenge. "You're on. But I'm not wearing a bow-tie." She crossed her arms across her chest and tapped her mouth. "Your turn. Would Robert like you as a French maid or a go-go dancer?"

~~~~~

It was a busy season for performers. Arthur remembered HaHa's talent agency being booked solid for October by the end of August. Myriad functions at nursing homes, parties, and children's organizations took place throughout the city. Amusement Mile had a series of special events, allowing Arthur to work extra hours before the slowness of winter dragged in. Once the holiday was over, he'd buy make-up and props on clearance.

He'd always assumed he would like Halloween - if he'd had the chance to celebrate it properly. It was about connection, something he'd never managed. The customs gave him a pretense, a template to meet people, rather than leaving him wondering how to go about it. Provided a hiding place for his seeming inability to act normal.

Recollections of the day were few but vivid. When he'd been around eight, there'd been a party at school. The teacher had made brownies and given the students a half-hour respite from lessons. (A welcome relief, since he wasn't very good at most of them.) But he hadn't had a costume. Hadn't known how to reply when the other kids asked where it was. Not wanting to be left out, he'd pocketed a watercolor pallet and sneaked to the bathroom.

The teacher (he wished he could remember her name) had walked in as he'd smeared green and blue on his face, a pathetic attempt at a turtle. Fear of punishment had caused his laughter. But her kindness as she knelt, wiped away tears and pigment with a scratchy, brown paper towel, had calmed him. "Wait here," she'd instructed. It had taken all his courage not to run home.

After some minutes, she'd returned, an old white sheet in one hand, black marker and pair of scissors in the other. "The nurse won't miss this." She'd traced eyeholes, helped him cut them out. She'd asked questions. About his mother and what it was like at home. Questions he was at a loss for how to answer. Finally, she'd draped the cloth over his head. "There," she'd declared. "Gotham Elementary has its own ghost."

Even as he'd gotten taller and the sheet no longer went beyond his knees, that costume had remained his go-to. He'd venture out to the rest of his building, knocking on paint-chipped doors and pushing broken buzzers. Having learned to stay away from doors that yelling or funny smells emanated from, he hadn't gotten a lot of candy. What he had collected he'd shared with Penny. The wax lips became a free toy. He wasn't sure his memory of startling his mother and being tickled until he couldn't breathe was real or imagined.

At twelve, he was told he was too old to go trick-or-treating. He'd starting scrounging for change to buy hard candies at Helm's Pharmacy. They weren't particularly appetizing, but they'd been what he could afford. Only a few kids rang, a number that dwindled further every year. Most neighbors kept their distance, likely aware he was troubled. Cinnamon discs and butterscotch drops had loitered around the apartment for months. He'd sucked on them in an attempt to cut down on his smoking, just to save money. It hadn't worked.

Y/N hadn't spoken about the holiday, not the way she had other special occasions. At first, he'd thought it had slipped her mind. Work, planning their honeymoon, completing the red tape required to meld all aspects of their lives had taken up much of their time. But, given her reluctance to talk in detail about her past heartache, he'd come to assume her Halloweens had been unpleasant. He was certain he could change that.

Sitting on the dingy, dark green plastic seat of the train car, he giggled to himself, chest puffing up as he straightened. They'd been man and wife for eight whole days. Movies and songs said love was supposed to be somewhere between serendipitous and fated. A happy accident that was meant to be. Lying awake at night, he would find himself wondering where they were on that scale. If the emotions swirling through him - the excitement of belonging, the fear of fucking up - were what every newlywed felt. Then Y/N would snuggle closer in her sleep, murmur nonsense into his skin, and for a few minutes he'd be at peace.

Years had been spent trying to figure out who he was. Trying to find an identity, his role within the world. While he was still searching, it had been far easier to become accustomed to the role of "husband" than he'd dreamed.

Teaching his wife about events across the city had been a delight. Gotham Village's Annual Costume Extravaganza was a parade that went all the way to Gotham Square. He'd participated a couple of times, never formally registering but slipping into the clown section. It had been exhilarating. Had allowed him to pretend, for a little while, that he was being seen. That the crowds lining the sidewalks were cheering for him. Signs for extravagant balls were plastered on billboards and lampposts throughout the streets; he'd have gladly attended and shown her off. A haunted house was being held in a building in his old neighborhood, a fundraiser for the orphanage. He hadn't brought that up.

In the end, once he'd explained trick-or-treaters went from apartment to apartment, they'd decided on a cozy evening at home. The details had been left to her. Whatever she'd plan, he'd love it. He wondered what she'd disguise herself as. Would she be a sexy devil or nurse, like he'd seen on a sit-com? The notion sparked a fire in his cheeks.

Given how busy he'd be, he'd stay dressed as plain, old Carnival. Part of him regretted accepting two gigs, especially on a Sunday. He would have preferred her company. But he wanted to put the money towards the wedding band he'd put on layaway. (Even though they had one account, he wasn't going to let her chip in for it.) He should already be wearing it for all of Gotham to see.

The lurch of the subway prompted him to rise and grasp the pole grip. His stance widened as it came to a halt, knees bending with the instinct of a man who'd ridden public transportation since he was a boy. As soon as the graffiti-covered doors parted, he stepped out onto the platform and ascended the stairs, eager to share his new insurance information with Dr. Ludlow.

~~~~~

Scratchy violins and the hum of a theremin. Shrill shrieks and cracks of thunder. A cackle resounded, then a pipe organ, playing a melody in a minor key.

There was no doubt about it. Halloween spirit had saturated 4A.

NCB's Movie Marathon Mayhem had begun at 10:00 AM. Y/N had had it on since getting out of the shower, hoping to catch a horror classic while she decorated the apartment and prepared Bloody Mary mix. As she hung cotton batting between the television's rabbit ears, creating a long, narrow spider-web, she realized they were only playing cheesy B-movies. Giant insects threatening buildings. Science experiments gone wrong. Alien invasions. Oh well. At least she wouldn't have to pay much attention to get the gist of the plots.

The orange plastic platter, black bats along its edges, had been an impulse buy. She thought its array of sugary skeletons, candy bracelets, and Jolly Jack chocolate bars would be well received. But having seen only one or two kids in the lobby, she had no idea how many children lived in their building. She hoped she'd bought enough.

The cardstock window decorations she'd found were festive and matched Arthur's sweet nature. One portrayed a warted, green witch flying on a broom past a full moon. On the other, a ghost and mouse shared a pillowcase of candy and wished a "Happy Halloween." She held the tape dispenser between her teeth as she stuck them to their white front door.

Just then, the elevator dinged. Glancing to her left, she saw Arthur stroll down the cheerfully lit hallway. Buoyant expression on him, despite his white, blue, and red make-up being streaked from sweat. Striped prop bag on his shoulder and carved pumpkin cradled in his arms. "The store owner was going to throw it out," he explained with a half hug. "But he let me have it as a tip."

Classic, triangular eyes evoked the annual carving contest her parents had taken part of back home. Her father had been well-known in the community, being the town's only doctor. Entering the competition had been expected. They'd never won but enjoyed it all the same. Y/N had picked out the patterns and scooped out the squash's slimy innards. Her mother had baked the seeds. Peals of their laughter echoed in her ears, and a lump formed in her throat.

She swallowed hard against it. Dammit, Y/N. Get it together. This was supposed to be a special night for Arthur and her. She needed to distract herself. One of his curls peeked out from under his bald-cap and green wig. She twirled a strand around her finger. "With that toothy grin, it just might be your twin," she said. He pecked her temple, the kiss sticky from greasepaint. She lit the half-melted candles using his red lighter and put the jack-o-lantern just outside their door.

While he freshened his paint in the bedroom, she slinked into the bathroom to change. Arthur's and her routines were closely aligned; keeping her costume hidden had not been easy. The headband holding the furry cat ears was quite stiff, its teeth a tad sharp on her scalp. Once it was in place, she hid it under her hair. The lint on her form-fitting stretch top and leggings reminded her why she rarely wore all black. She retrieved her brown eyeliner from the nearby shelf and started in on her whiskers.

Arthur's footsteps neared, heavy due to his clown shoes, and Y/N turned to lean back on the sink. His thin lips parted as he scanned her body, forehead furrowed in pleasant surprise. His reaction planted a seed of bliss in her belly, one that bloomed every second they regarded each other. The lunch she'd have to spring for was well worth the pink shells of his ears. Eventually, she held out the fluffy, wired tail and a safety pin. "Would you pin this just below my waistband?"

Fingers grazing hers, he took it and sat on the toilet lid. He cupped her hips and pulled her closer, positioned her until the dampness of his breath hit a bare sliver of her back. "Hold still," he murmured, his voice sending a tingle through her. At his gentle ministrations, the spandex of her leggings felt snugger. "Did you- Did you read my journal?"

A faint click of metal as the pin closed. "No." She colored the tip of her nose, frowned at how lackluster the shade was. "I'd never do that. Even if I'm dying for a preview of your material. Why?"

"No reason." A soft huff, his shy smile clear in his answer. "I have an idea." He handed her a washcloth and hurried out of the room. She was patting her face dry when he returned, a fine tipped brush and pot of black greasepaint in his hand. "This'll look better."

Her brow arched. She'd only had her make-up done once; Patricia had invited her when they'd first met. Such an outing was not her preference, but Y/N had accepted, being new in town and wanting to learn about her colleague. There'd been champagne at the counter, which she'd sipped until she'd spent too much on eyeshadow and apricot scrub. The next morning, she'd put the products and a note on Patricia's desk: "I'll never forgive you. Thanks!"

The heat radiating from Arthur prompted her to close the gap between them. She craned her neck towards him, slid her palms to his yellow vest until she held him just below his ribs. His forefinger curled under her chin, lifted it slightly and angled it to the right. The cool, wet brush met her fevered skin. The dusty smell of the greasepaint blended with a whiff of stale cigarette smoke and traces of his sweat. She licked her lips.

The vibration of his chuckle was felt before heard. "I really like your costume," he said lowly. Two more ticklish caresses of the bristles on the apple of her cheek. "If you're not careful, I might werewolf and go wild."

She stretched closer to him, the fervor in his tone going straight to her center. Though he'd been growing bolder, his cocky side wasn't often revealed. She wanted it, thirsted to see more of the wild horse kicking inside him. Her touch ran over his chest, until she dipped under his black suspenders and pulled. "Are you going to gobble me up?"

Teasing strokes on her nose. "Maybe." Then his thumb whispered along her jaw and guided her face upwards. His kiss was supple, slow, a drag of his mouth as his tongue sought entry. She yielded, the simmer of anticipation bringing her to her toes. He groaned deeply and palmed her thigh, then fondled the curve of her rear-

The ding-dong of the doorbell halted them. He lifted his head and laughed, gaze sparkling. "I got paint on you."

She twisted in his arms and looked in the mirror. The whiskers caught her eye, embellished at the ends with dainty curlicues - his skill never ceased to impress her. Red brightened her lips and streaks of white were on her cheek. "It's all right. They'll just know I've been necking with a clown."

~~~~~

The sound of the bell continued. Over and over and over. More than it ever had in Otisburg. There were mummies, ghosts, a couple of skeletons. A superhero proudly displayed his red cape and blue tights, and a kid in her karate robe went on about her yellow belt. A tiny clown, too young to walk, was brought by her sister. As Arthur made funny faces, the baby cooed and tried to take his red, foam nose. Arthur parted with it gladly.

Only one member of the Wayne family appeared, slicked back hair and pompous pout making the disguise complete. The man accompanying the boy introduced himself as their upstairs neighbor and shook their hands. After one look at Y/N, he nudged Arthur's bicep. "So, she's the one keeping half the building up at night. Good on you, pal." Arthur blinked in confusion as she ushered the guy away, red-faced and muttering about his nerve.

Arthur was overly generous, giving out fistfuls of sweets while taking a few extra seconds to gather his nerves and compliment the costumes he liked best. It felt good to interact with strangers without constantly second guessing himself. Y/N would rub his arm or kiss his shoulder and tell him what a great job he was doing. "Kids are easy," he said, refilling the candy dish. But he reveled in her praises, anyway. And the knowledge that meeting the neighbors was going well.

Clean-up required little effort. The jack-o-lantern sat on their kitchen table, flames flickering as the wicks burned away. The door decor was packed safely for use next year. His plaid blazer was slung over the back of a dining chair and his wig was off. Y/N's decision to leave her whiskers on pleased him - she made a damn sexy cat. He pocketed the last few pieces of candy to snack on during the remainder of the evening.

The Sunday Night Special Presentation she'd picked out, a made-for-TV horror movie, began at 9:00 PM on GBC. Most of its airtime was punctuated by her tipsy snickers and legal wisecracks, which was typical when they watched something stupid. Yet, as the show went on, she grew quieter, barely speaking between sips of her third cocktail. As they sat on the sofa, her posture stiffened. Forearms crossed over her breasts. Her nails dug into her upper arm.

The change started two-thirds of the way into the show, when the plot about a doll running amok twisted into a story about a professional woman trying to assert herself against the demands of her mother. Against the expectations of availability. To fight for the simplicity of having dinner and peace and quiet. It resonated with him, which felt weird. Especially when the film cut to black, the implication being the mother would meet a violent end at the hands of her possessed daughter.

A cheerful jingle came on. Puerto Rico was a direct flight from Gotham Airport, it advertised, a flight that lasted "two hours and fifteen tropical minutes." They should get out while the weather was still good. The juxtaposition of mood broke him out of his ponderings. He flicked off the blaring television with the remote. Then he heard Y/N sniffling.

She set her glass on the coffee table, a slight tremble in her hand. "I need some air," she whispered as she rose, then went out onto the fire escape.

Arthur rubbed his thigh and pressed his lips together. He wasn't used to seeing her cry. Not from sadness. Should he follow her? Give her time? Both had worked previously, depending on the situation. But he wasn't sure what had upset her, what situation they were in now.

Exhaling sharply, he grabbed her glass and dumped the rest of the drink down the kitchen sink. Rinsed their dinner plates and put the slow cooker in the fridge. When he'd finished making decaf coffee ten minutes later, she still hadn't returned. He ambled towards the ajar glass door and stepped out.

Moonlight outlined her shapely figure and reflected off her hair, the silver a contrast to the orange glow of the streetlamps illuminating her face. Her stare seemed fixated on the street below. He followed it to see a group of ghouls and goblins spraying shaving cream on a shop window. A couple, one he'd see occasionally when out for a cigarette, walked down the sidewalk. A woman was half-carrying a drunk man towards a bus stop.

Upon clearing her throat, Y/N spoke. "I may not look like it, but I had a great time with you tonight. The movie just got to me." Relieved, Arthur sidled next to her, wrapped his arm about her back. Her head fell to his shoulder and she smoothed her hand over his stomach. "I don't mean to hide from you. Someday you'll know the details of my earlier life." She scoffed. "When I'm ready to think about them." He entwined their fingers and kissed her hairline, avoiding the wired tips of her cat ears.

Shivering, she took a shaky breath. "There are no skeletons in my closet. Only disappointments." Her voice cracked as she beamed at him, cupped his cheek, and pressed her face to his. "Knowing I'd get to have you would have made those years so much easier."

He held her tightly, massaging between her shoulders. She'd been speaking about herself, but he couldn't help thinking it was about him, too. His years with Penny. His stints in Arkham. The loneliness, the isolation, the endless anger and yearning to be more than a speck of dirt no one cared for. His journal was full of questions about where the hell his one and only was. If he'd known she'd be real, tangible instead of a figment, would existence have hurt less?

Wincing, he tried to push through those thoughts. To focus on her instead of himself. What mattered was that Y/N needed him. Perhaps a joke would cheer her. "I was thinking the other night of how easy it is to smile around you," he said. "You tickle my funny bone." Amusement bubbled in her throat, music to his ears. She released a contented sigh and nuzzled the crook of his neck.

Peaceful stillness ensued as the minutes passed. Though the breeze was chill, goosebumps forming on his pale skin, her affection kept his heart warm. His fingertips rubbed circles into her lower back, and she offered a pleasured hum. Across the way, footsteps pounded. He glanced to see a kid darting up the street, plastic pumpkin pail in tow. The boy's scream was filled with boundless energy: "Happy Halloween, Gotham!"

Snorting, Y/N took Arthur's hand and led him inside. The cheap tail she wore bounced with every exaggerated swivel of her hips. "I've behaved all evening, which your werewolf comment made extraordinarily difficult." She looped her arms around him and flashed a come-hither stare. "May I have a goodie?"

The scrape of her nails on his scalp coiled a knot in his abdomen. "Aren't you supposed to say 'trick-or-treat?'" he asked huskily.

"Your pussycat needs a petting or two." She closed the bedroom door behind them. "Maybe even a mauling."

His brows shot up on a hitched giggle. Then he palmed her hip while she started in on his buttons. Before she got too far, he traced a whisker with the pad of his thumb. Let their foreheads meet and pecked her eyelids. "Only if you give me something good to eat." He pressed into her, his enjoyment relentless, not waiting for her reply before devouring her mouth.

~~~~~

Tag list (Let me know if you want to be added!): @harmonioussolve​, @howdylilflower​, @sweet-nothings04​, @stephieraptorr​, @rommies​, @fallenstarsabyss​, @gruffle1​, @octopus-plasma​, @tsukiakarinobara​, @arthur-flecks-lovely-smile​, @another-day-in-chuckletown​, @hhandley80​, @jokerownsmysoul​, @mrscarnival​

#arthur fleck #arthur fleck fanfic #arthur fleck x reader #arthur fleck x ofc #arthur fleck x female reader #joker 2019 #watchwhathappens

[keelywolfe]

SOS Drabbles: Part 2

Note: Three more short drabbles for our boys! Our funny, sweet, spicy boys who are so much in love. I hope y’all enjoy them!

Part of the ‘By Any Other Name’ series

Read the first three here

~~*~~

For Part 2:

Starting here on AO3

or

Read them here!

~~*~~

Chapter 4: Science!

Ebay could be an incredible thing when it worked as it should.

Edge didn’t generally have much difficulty in dealing with it. After all, he’d spend the first part of his life learning how to handle cheapskates and swindlers, and that was only dealing with his brother. Underfell was a fine teacher in the art of brutal negotiation, a skill Edge brought with him to the Embassy and put to good use.

Today, however, Ebay brought him something on the more relaxing end of the spectrum. A package filled with old, broken action figures, ready to be cleaned up and repaired, returned to their former glory. A different kind of puzzle to be solved and he was sincerely looking forward to it.

Not even the fact that he needed to set up on the coffee table dampened his mood, although he did need to take an extra moment to find a way to situate his injured leg comfortably. Some judicious use of pillows solved that, along with one under him to cushion his coccyx from the hard floor, ah, he truly was getting soft. Once he was able spend hours sitting on the hard ground, even sleeping on it when necessary. It seemed those days were past and Red might have a few venom-laced words about it, but frankly, that wasn’t a skill Edge was interest in cultivating any longer.

There was room in life for being prepared for any eventuality and for keeping from having a sore ass.

The coffee table wasn’t quite a large enough space and Edge was forced to spread his tools next to him on the floor. He laid out a lint-free cloth across the coffee table and carefully set the action figure he was working on upon it, readying it for plastic surgery.

Heh. He’d need to remember that one for Stretch.

The arrangement worked, though it would have been easier if his tools were on the table. One of these days, he needed to set up a workbench, perhaps in the basement alongside Stretch’s laboratory tables, that was where he was right now and—

As if summoned by his thoughts, the basement door suddenly burst open and through it came Stretch along with an alarmingly acrid smell. He was wearing a pair of oversize goggles, a protective apron, and a pair of heavy-duty rubber gloves that went all the way up to his elbows, giving him the appearance of a deranged mortician or perhaps Doctor Frankenstein in his post ‘building a creature’ phase.

“absolutely nothing to worry about, no problems here, i’ve got it all under control!” Stretch said brightly, even as he heaved the fire extinguisher out of the closet, trundling back to the basement door with it. “it’s just a precaution, no need to panic! the overheads got it all, vents at a hundred percent, babe, promise!”

He disappeared back through the door and into the faint wisp of smoke that was starting to gather at the top step, before Edge could even say that worry and panic were both looking like very viable options and under control not nearly as much. The door slammed behind Stretch and left Edge sitting alone.

The entire exchange took perhaps thirty seconds.

Edge stared at the closed door. He looked back down at the much-abused action figure spread out on the towel, awaiting his care, his much safer form of mad science that only required a few small screwdrivers and a paintbrush.

Then he sighed and struggled to his feet, limping to the kitchen to fetch a fire extinguisher of his own.

As Stretch often said, science waited for no one. In Edge’s experience, neither did flames, but the coffee table would.

And when he did end up getting his own workbench, smart money was on keeping it upstairs.

-finis

Chapter 5: Ridiculous

It was ridiculous for Edge to be restless whenever Stretch went into Ebott these days and he knew it. Absolutely ridiculous. His husband went into town often, several times a week in fact, and had for years now.

To the Beanery to spend some time with two of his favorite kind of companions, disgustingly sugary coffee and friendly baristas. To the bookstore, where Jeff no longer worked but Thomas still did, and the old Human still had Edge’s email address from the first time Edge contacted him as a representative of the Embassy to verify his business was Monster-friendly and to inquire if he would be willing to display an official logo stating it as such. That was before he and Stretch were involved; Edge learned some time later that Stretch frequented the place and if he called for a more extensive background check after he did, not a single member of the Security team question him about it, although his brother did radiated a sort of smug approval that Edge refused to acknowledge. Thomas still emailed him occasionally, mostly around holidays with gift suggestions and once with information about a former employee of his that showed worrying tendencies towards prejudice against Monsters. He was an ally of the kind Edge preferred, friendly and useful.

Stretch also went to thrift stores in search of revolting finds to sneak into their home and to the small store by the University that sold laboratory supplies, ventured everywhere, anywhere, by way of the bus route, and aside from one attack incident, Stretch always returned home to him.

Absolutely ridiculous to be fretting about him now simply because Edge was at home rather than at work, with nothing to think about except that his husband was out there in the world where unfriendly Humans existed and Edge wouldn’t even be able to go to him if Stretch needed help, nevermind that he could call an entire Security team to him if necessary or that fact that most Humans were not only friendly but often fond of Stretch and easy laughter, along with his social media accounts. The lingering ache in Edge's leg was a reminder than most was not all and every week he was sent accounting of any incidents within the city involving Monsters. He knew all too well what could happen and the what if's and could be's were buzzing around his skull like angry bees.

Edge was reading a page in his book for perhaps the third time without the faintest idea what it said when the front door opened and Stretch walked in. All six feet plus of him, wearing one of the sweatshirts Edge gave him for Gyftmas last year, the one with an orange body and black arms, discreetly chosen to be slightly more fitted than he normally wore. There were two large cups from the Beanery in his hands, one half drunk, and a collection of bags hanging from his arm.

He managed to drop the bags in a messy pile by the front door without spilling either, toeing off his shoes and making a beeline to Edge to offer him the filled cup. Edge took it wordlessly, the cold sides damp with condensation and the ice dwindled from the long bus ride.

“hey, babe,” Stretch leaned down to give him a light kiss. “miss me?”

Then he let out a startled squeak as Edge pulled him down into his lap. A small wave of iced coffee splashed over his fingers as Stretch struggled not to spill it, dripping down on Edge’s trousers and he didn’t care, didn’t care that his husband was sitting on the book he’d been reading, crinkling the pages, didn’t care about anything but pulling his love closer to take a better kiss. When he finally drew away, Stretch looked dazedly pleased if a little confused.

“Yes,” Edge admitted quietly. “I did.”

That confusion softened, a smile lighting his pretty face and Stretch snuggled in closer, both their coffee cups carelessly set on the side table as Edge chose holding his husband close over the temptation of caffeine for the moment.

Perhaps it was Stretch’s understanding of physics coupled with his ability to teleport that made it easier for him to fold his tall, slender form so comfortably into Edge’s lap. He sighed contentedly and squirmed briefly, somehow finding a way to get even closer. “don’t need to miss me anymore, baby, i’m right here.”

“You are,” Edge murmured. Right here, safe in his arms, and those lingering, ridiculous worries evaporated under the warmth of his husband’s embrace.

They could stay like this, he thought, for a little while yet.

-fin

Chapter 6: Chores

Note: This one gets a little spicy, but nothing too adult!

Stretch generally kept up with most of the daily chores over the course of the week when Edge was at work. Not that Edge ever specifically asked for Stretch to do so; his assumption when he first asked Stretch to move in with him was honestly that it would be similar circumstances as living with his brother, taking on extra laundry and various trash removal. Even then he’d loved Stretch enough to willingly take on that burden and it was with no little shame that Edge learned very quickly that his assumptions were not only wrong but completely the opposite.

There was no question that Stretch’s housework wasn’t up to Edge’s exacting standards, but then, few would be. That he did it at all was welcome and humbling as he made the bed each morning, washing the breakfast dishes by hand, even taking care of what laundry he could, leaving aside anything that needed dry cleaning.

Once, Stretch admitted sheepishly that he’d learned very quickly to check labels when he accidentally put one of Blue’s wool sweaters in the dryer.

“should’ve kept it,” Stretch had said philosophically. “by the time i took it out, it would have fit one of the chickens.”

On Saturdays, Edge still did his own cleaning, following a mental list of things that needed done. for his own peace of mind. Part of him always wanted to apologize, to explain that it wasn’t that he didn’t think Stretch did a good job, but the one time he’d tried, Stretch only kissed him quiet.

“babe, you don’t need to explain,” Stretch told him, gently. “i get it. do what you need to do, okay?”

There were times that the word love was inadequate to describe his feelings for Stretch.

Like today. Edge finished scrubbing the shower stall and was heading back downstairs when he heard Stretch moving around in the bedroom. He looked in, absently thinking of asking what he was thinking about for dinner but he was barely inside the door when he froze.

What Stretch was doing was folding towels, but it wasn’t the chore that had Edge’s attention.

Stretch was wearing a set of oversized headphones and Edge distantly made a mental note to double check that he was not wearing that particular set on the bus, because the noise dampening effect seemed entirely too effective. That thought couldn’t hold his attention for long, not when his eye lights were firmly resting on Stretch’s hips.

For someone who had a unique ability to trip over his feet at any given time, Stretch could certainly dance when he wanted to. Edge leaned against the doorjamb, watching the sway of his husband’s pelvis with hooded sockets as Stretch gyrated to whatever song he was listening to, towels folded along with the beat.

He was humming along almost absently, Stretch had a lovely singing voice, but that didn’t catch Edge’s interest, not with the glimpses of pale, smooth bone winking out from beneath the hem of his sweatshirt every time he moved. That was, until Edge heard the lyrics.

“…sticks and stones may break my bones, but chains and whips excite me…” All sung throatily in Stretch’s deep, smoky voice and the sudden surge of heat that quickly gathered at Edge’s pelvis might have embarrassed him if Stretch hadn’t turned at just that moment and caught sight of him, startling so badly the towels in his hands were flung into the air, falling to the floor in drifts of terrycloth.

“holy shit!” Stretch blurted out, slumping back to sit on the bed. He yanked off the headset and tossed it on the nightstand, wheezing, “you scared the blue fuck out of me!”

“Did I?” Edge asked silkily. He stepped into the bedroom and closed the door behind him. “Well, we can’t have that.”

There was only time for Stretch’s sockets to widen before Edge caught hold of his soul with a gentle grip of blue magic, pushing him backwards and mussing the rest of the towels. Stretch didn’t seem to care about the loss of the fruits of his labors, wriggling around in the nest of cotton until he was comfortable.

Edge prowled over to stand over him, drinking in the sight. Halfway on the bed, his long legs braced against the floor with his bare toes already digging into the carpet. His sweatshirt was riding up, revealing tantalizing glimpses of the upper crests of his pelvis and the beginning of the line of his spine. Whatever greedy expression was surely on his face, Stretch only smirked, wriggling again and that sinuous movement was a temptation all its own. His voice was a low, husky purr as he asked, “and what do you think you’re doing?”

A demonstration seemed to be in order and Edge settled between Stretch’s spread legs, catching most of his weight on his elbows as he nestled their pelvises together. “You said I scared the fuck out of you. It’s only fair that I put it back where it belongs.”

Stretch’s laughter caught on a curse as Edge deliberately rolled their hips together, that low swearing breaking into a gasp as his hands scrabbled against the sheets.

A clean house was well and good, but as Edge leaned in to take his husband’s mouth in an eager kiss, his last coherent thought was that chores could wait.

-fin

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #by any other name

[stars-and-rose]

a.s.h.es, ashes (we all fall down) chapter one

Jesus take the wheelie HERE WE ARE

(huge thanks to @broadwaytheanimatedseries​ for helping me with some of the finer/ kinda fucking important details for this fic! and shoutout to @fuzzylittleb​ for editing this for me!)

Fandom: Thomas Sanders/Sanders Sides

Pairings: Eventual Logicality, Eventual Prinixety, RED (Remy/Deceit/Emile)(it’s pre-established but it’s in the back seat for a bit), So much platonic Analogical and Royalty oh my god-

Summary: After a recuse gone wrong, SuperHeroes Logan and Virgil find themselves with mysteries on their hands- but most importantly, who in their organization A.S.H. wants Logan dead.

Word Count:4,506

Trigger Warnings: Fire, Injuries, Unconsciousness, Panic Attack, Violence, Cursing 

Next>>

Chapter One: Smoke in Your Lungs

Pushing open the glass doors, Logan Cosmos scanned the busy café. He adjusted the bag over his shoulder as he walked towards a booth in the far left corner. When he sat, he snapped his fingers in front of the boy seated across from him. The startled boy jumped, pulling off his headphones and glaring at Logan.

"Hey! You didn't have to do that."

Logan cocked an eyebrow. "Really? You were wearing your noise-canceling headphones, Virgil."

Virgil Tempest shrugged. "They aren't exactly noise-canceling. I mean, for anyone else, I'd bet they would be but for me-"

"Your abilities get in the way?" Logan finished in a hushed tone.

"Yeah. One of the many woes of being a Super. Anyway, how was your class?"

Logan groaned. "To put it simply, my professor is a dumbass."

Virgil winced. "Ooof."

Then Logan sighed, leaning against the table. "Well, a positive. We do not have a mission tonight."

"Thank god."

"Negative: We still have a patrol."

Virgil groaned. "You win some. You lose some. I'm going to need caffeine for this, I'll go order."

   Logan glanced at the cash register, where a green-eyed boy was handing an older woman a muffin. "Ah, he's working today."

   "Yeah. He's annoying, but I'm more comfortable around him. It makes ordering less stressful when I crack a bad movie joke and he fires one right back." Virgil replied, standing from the booth.

   Logan nodded, watching as his best friend walked away. He was so proud of Virgil, he didn't know how to put it into words. Watching Virgil battle his anxiety- watching Virgil win the battles with his anxiety- made Logan smile. As much as being a Super was difficult and tiresome and vexing, at least joining A.S.H. had given Logan his best friend. Through long nights and battle scars and mental breakdowns, Logan and Virgil managed to keep each other in one piece.

   As Virgil ordered a dubious amount of caffeine and battled the cashier over some hidden plot in a children's movie, Logan pulled out the tablet A.S.H. provided its Supers, digging it out from under his textbooks and notebooks. A flick of Logan's wrist turned the device on. Another flick opened up a map of their city. Sure, Logan could have done it manually, but sometimes the ease of using his abilities made the irritation of having them dissipate a bit. Logan drew his fingers over the screen, mapping out the area the duo would have to patrol that night.

   A few minutes later, Virgil sat down, pushing a large drink across the table to Logan. Virgil barely touched the thing, yet it nearly fell off the table. The grey-eyed boy glared at the cup, and muttered a phrase that was probably "Fuck super strength."

   Logan let out a hum and took a sip of his drink, which was the same London fog latte he always ordered on patrol days. Virgil chugged his espresso, then looked down at the map. "Where do we gotta patrol?"

   "Few blocks in Southside. It's a residential area, mostly apartment complexes and a convenience store." Logan replied, zooming in on the map.

   "Crime rate?"

   "Pretty low. A mugging a few weeks back, and other crimes of that sort."

   Virgil let out a sigh of relief. "Easy night. Thank god. I have a gig tomorrow afternoon, and honestly, I don't know if I could go through with it if we had a rough night."

   Logan arched an eyebrow. "Another wedding?"

   "Another fucking wedding. I hate weddings, Lo! Overpriced and tons of strangers."

   "Well, usually wedding guests don't hold much conversation with the photographer. Also, some of the expenses of a wedding go to the photographer. Besides, you only need to continue doing these gigs until we retire from A.S.H."

   Virgil ran a  hand through his messy dark hair; Logan could see the blonde roots Virgil hated so much starting to peek through. "Speaking of A.S.H…." Virgil lowered his voice. "Have you found anything?"

   Logan leaned across the table a little more, suddenly aware of how busy the café was. Too many people meant too many ears, and too many ears were too big of a risk.  "Some files of old SuperHeroes who died in combat or retired, various recordings of meetings, and a few marked-up articles, all written by the same guy. Why are you so invested into looking into A.S.H.'s files, anyway?"

   Virgil shifted in his seat, his eyes flitting around the room. "Just a hunch, okay? I feel like something's up."

   The first time Virgil had brought up looking into the organization's files, it had been late at night during a patrol. Logan had tried to convince Virgil there was nothing that A.S.H. would be hiding, but the other Super was invested in the idea. To calm Virgil, Logan had started using his abilities to hack into A.S.H.'s database. At first, it had been simply to placate Virgil, but Logan had been digging for over a month and had only come up with a minuscule amount of information. There was more information, all of it heavily locked, and now Logan's own curiosity and pride were invested in decoding all the files.

   Logan glanced down at the clock on the tablet. "We should make our way to Headquarters. Our patrol starts in less than an hour."

   Virgil huffed, taking another sip of his drink and shifting in his hoodie. "Can we walk? I really don't feel like taking the bus."

   Sliding out of the booth, Logan nodded. "Some fresh air would be nice. Do we need to stop at your apartment for your medicine?"

   "I have backups with my suit, I'll take them when we get there if I need to."

   Leaving the cafe,  they walked through the streets of Azotha to the A.S.H. Headquarters, only stopping once for Virgil to capture a shot of the sunset's light reflecting off a skyscraper.

For the second time that day, Logan opened a pair of glass doors, holding them open for Virgil. The lobby of A.S.H.'s headquarters was mostly empty. The only people in the room were the receptionist who was playing a game on his phone and a pair sitting on the bench. Logan recognized them: a set of first-year partners he and Virgil had helped train. Eliza was a flyer and her partner Kris was the human equivalent of a magnet. Eliza was holding an ice pack on Kris's forehead, angrily scolding them. After quickly checking in quickly with the bored receptionist, Logan and Virgil made their way over to the younger SuperHeroes.

"Is everything all right?" Logan asked.

Kris looked up, their eyes gleaming despite their injury. "You'll never guess what happened! I ran into Knight and Nova!"

A panicked looked passed from Virgil to Logan. Knight and Nova were labeled the most dangerous SuperVillains of their time. The duo had been active for five years, and not a single Super had been able to catch them. A.S.H. sent missions to search for the SuperVillains constantly (Logan and Virgil had been assigned to that particular mission a few times) and yielded no results.

The strangest part was, Knight and Nova didn't associate with other SuperVillains, nor did they cause large scale destructions. They were a mystery, striking every few months, stealing from a major corruption or leaving cryptic warnings in the mayor's office, then disappearing again. They were an enigma, an enigma Logan wanted to solve.

Virgil did a quick scan of Kris. "Did they hurt you?"

Eliza sighed, "Not exactly. Kris, tell them how you got hurt."

The younger Super pouted, an embarrassed flush covering their cheeks. "Well, we found them on top of the Whynter Building, right? We didn't know what they were doing but they were unprepared so we attacked them!"

"I didn't attack them, that was Kris on their own!" Eliza complained. She pointed at her partner. "They thought we could capture the SuperVillains by ourselves."

"I surprised them, and the SuperVillains flew down into the alley. Knight used his abilities and I got confused. I thought I was chasing after Nova, but in reality, I crashed into a wall."

A beat of silence, then Virgil let out a laugh. "You crashed into a wall?"

"They crashed into a fucking wall." Eliza huffed. "Fell for one of Knight's illusions."

"To be fair," Kris said, moving Eliza's hand and fixing the ice pack on their forehead. "Other people, older and higher ranked people, have fallen for Knight's illusions too. They're so lifelike it's hard not too."

Logan bit his lip. "But neither of them injured you directly?"

"Nope!"

Eliza twisted a lock of her curly hair around her finger. "Knight actually looked apologetic, watching this loser slam into the wall."

Logan glanced at Virgil, who had his nose scrunched up in concentration. Most SuperVillains would have taken the opportunity to take out a first-year SuperHero before they could truly harness their powers. But not only did Nova and Knight let Eliza and Kris go, but they didn't try to hurt them either?

That was something to think about later. Virgil and Logan had to get suited up for their patrol.

"Take care of Kris, Eliza. Vee and I have a patrol to go on." Logan announced.

Eliza mock-saluted as the older SuperHeroes walked away. Logan glanced at Virgil, "Elevator?"

"Yeah."

Luckily no one else was riding the elevator, so they got the tiny shaft to themselves. Logan pressed the button for the fourth floor, and the doors slowly shut behind them. Music Logan swore was older than the building poured out of an old speaker. Virgil glared at the speaker as if he was trying to make it explode. Luckily for the janitors, Virgil lacked that ability, and the doors opened before Virgil could decide to smash it.

The fourth floor was a little bit more active than the lobby, with a few Supers suiting up for patrols and missions, and a few more packing their bags and heading home. Logan led Virgil to their lockers, placing his palm against his, while Virgil did the same next to him.

The touchscreen connected to his locker opened, and Logan grabbed the black material hanging in it. If Logan ever took over A.S.H., the first thing he would do was change the uniforms. First of all, the material was irritating, which made fighting uncomfortable. Logan swore he had more welts from the fabric of his uniform than from actual combat. The suit was built for protection though, not comfort. That aside, each uniform was identical, making it difficult to tell the difference between Supers. Each SuperHero had their unique logo stitched right above their hearts, but could you see that during a battle? No. Not at all.

As Logan pulled the suit over his clothes, his fingers brushed over his logo. Virgil had designed it for him. It was the letter G, and Virgil had designed it to look like the letter was glitching, to associate with Logan's codename. Virgil's own logo was a spiking heart rate, stitched into his suit with careless caution.

"Lo? Can you untangle my earpiece?" Virgil asked, struggling to pull up his suit. Logan sighed and grabbed the communication device hanging from Virgil's locker. Logan had not an inkling of a clue how, but Virgil had managed to get the earpiece twisted with his eyepiece.

"Virgil? How- how did you mess this up so horribly?"

Virgil sighed, zipping up his uniform. "I just threw it in there on Monday, I don't know how it got so tangled!"

Logan groaned, finally pulling the pieces apart and tossing them at Virgil. His friend caught them with ease (damn his powers). Logan pulled on his own, untangled eye and earpieces, snapping his eyepiece on his glasses. Then, he snapped his finger to activate both pieces. Virgil rolled his eyes, manually turning on his equipment. "We online?"

"We are indeed."

Virgil gave Logan a wicked smile, his teeth flashing in the electric light. "I'll beat you downstairs."

Then, Logan blinked, and Virgil was a blur in the corner of his vision. A swear escaped Logan's lips and he closed his eyes, picturing the outside of the headquarters. He felt the familiar fizzling in his gut, and when Logan opened his eyes, he was standing outside with the night breeze blowing in his hair.  Seconds later, the glass doors next to him were thrown open, and Virgil skidded to a stop next to him. "Damn the people on the stairs."

"We're making excuses now, Vee?"

"Damn you too." Virgil flashed Logan a set of double-birds.

"If you kept doing that, I'm not going to let you teleport with me to our patrol location."

Instantly, Virgil had his arms thrown around Logan's shoulders. "No, no hey, you're my best friend Lo! I love you!" He announced, dragging out the 'o' in love.

Logan rolled his eyes, a fond smile forming on his lips. "You only love me when you need something from me."

"If that was true, would I have shown up at your house with mint-chocolate chip ice cream when NASA released the black hole image and you freaked out for three hours?"

Instead of responding, Logan pictured the convenience store he'd seen on the digital map earlier. Virgil yelped and dug his nails into Logan's shoulder as the two of them teleported.

"Hey!" Virgil snapped. "That wasn't cool!"

"My apologies."

"Hmph. For that, I'm taking the eastern side of this sector."

"Why?"

Another wicked grin passed over Virgil's features. There are fewer buildings on the Eastern side. Less work for me.  Stay out of trouble, Glitch."

Logan rolled his eyes. "Same to you, Adrenaline."

Virgil gave his partner a mock salute, before speeding off into the distance. Logan watched him go, then pressed his fingers against his eyepiece. A map of the western side of the sector glowed to life in his vision. Logan zoomed in on an apartment complex, memorizing its features, then teleporting there.

The patrol was uneventful. For the past three and a half hours, Logan teleported from rooftop to rooftop, searching for any suspicious activity. With only thirty minutes left on patrol, Logan was sitting on the rooftop of a building, mentally going over the notes his physics professor had given that day.

Then, he smelt the smoke.

Instantly Logan was on his feet, eyes searching the horizon as a scream echoed from a nearby building. Smoke was pouring out of an apartment window, and flashes of red and yellow were visible through the smoke. Logan concentrated on his comm, turning it on. "V- Adrenaline?"

"Issue on your end?" His best friends voice crackled through the comm.

"Fire. Anderson Street, third building on the left. Requesting back up."

"On my way, Glitch."

Logan shut off his comm, glancing at the ground below him and teleporting down. He spirited down the street, stopping in front of the building. The flames were starting to grow, and people were running out of the complex in a panic.

Logan didn't have the time to explain he was with A.S.H., which was against protocol, but if he did, he would have lost valuable time. Logan entered the building, gagging on the smoke in the air. The first floor was clear but on the second floor, Logan found a younger girl trapped behind a cabinet. Teleporting behind it, Logan knelt next to the girl. Her dark eyes were wide, and she was shaking.

"I'm going to assist you, may I lift you up?" The younger girl stared at him for a brief moment, then gave him a brief nod. Logan scooped the child into his arms, and she gripped his arm tightly. "Close your eyes now, all right?"

The girl obeyed, and Logan teleported them outside. The girl opened her eyes, staring at him with wonder. "You have magic?" She whispered in awe.

"No, it's a gene-. Nevermind. I do indeed have magic."

The girl's eyes widened with glee, but before she could reply, a man ran up to them. "Alina, darling!"

The girl looked at the man and smiled brightly. "Daddy! The magic man saved me!"

The man gave Logan a small smile. "Yes, he did. Now the magic man has to go save other people, okay?"

The girl nodded, and Logan handed her off to her father. The man muttered a quick, "Thank you," into Logan's ear before he walked away with his daughter.

Logan teleported back into the building when his comm was activated again. "G, there are a few more people on the fourth floor; there was someone on the third but I got them out. " Virgil announced.

"On it." Logan dashed through the building, making his way up the stairs until he reached the fourth floor, which was where the fire started. The heat was biting and ash started to stick to his clothes. Logan hesitated, looked around for which room held the most flames.

That was his mistake.

A cracking sound filled his ears, and before Logan could turn around to see what it was, something hit him in the back. Logan fell to the ground, his body held down by something heavy. He squirmed, trying to get free from whatever was holding him down, but he couldn't. He tried to teleport, but his mind was too frazzled from the hit and the heat to form the image Logan needed to teleport. Using the last of his concentration, Logan activated his comm, connecting with the A.S.H. Headquarters.

"This is Agent Glitch." He wheezed out. "I'm requesting back-up. There's a fire... I'm trapped in the building and my partner cannot get everyone out on his own."

Radio silence. Then a faint, "Cut him. He was getting too close to the truth." Static filled his ears, and Logan tried to reconnect to the comm, but the other end had severed the link. Understanding filled Logan's muddled brain. A.S.H. was leaving him to die.

Logan struggled against the weight on his back, but he was getting sluggish. The flames were closing in, the heat starting to overwhelm him. A hoarse scream roared from Logan's throat, but he doubted he could be heard over the roaring fire.

This was it. Logan was going to die.

He laid his head against the burning ground, gasping for air. He was going to die. He was going to die. Who would grieve him? His poor mother, who'd been abandoned by everyone else in her life? Virgil, who had just started getting to a place in life where his anxiety was livable? His friends from college? The other superheroes from A.S.H.?

The flames were closing in. Logan closed his eyes, accepting his fate. Before the flames could reach him, he heard a crackle of energy, and a soft, "Don't worry, I got you."

Then, the heat become too much, and Logan passed out.

-. --- - .... .. -. --. ... .- ... .. - ... . . -- ... -. --- - .... .. -. --. ... .- ... .. - ... . . -- ... -. --- - .... .. -. --. ... .- ... .. - ... . . -- ...

Beautiful blue eyes, the color of the sky at its absolute clearest, glowed slightly behind gray-tinted goggles, filled with something that looked like concern. Then, surprise bloomed, and Logan's eyes closed again.

-. --- - .... .. -. --. ... .- ... .. - ... . . -- ... -. --- - .... .. -. --. ... .- ... .. - ... . . -- ... -. --- - .... .. -. --. ... .- ... .. - ... . . -- ...

"Logan? Oh my god, oh my god please wake up, I can feel your heartbeat but you need to wake up, come on Lo." The voice was shaking, holding back tears. Logan opened his eyes, looking up at Virgil's gray eyes. His dark makeup was smeared and tears were streaming down his face. "Oh my god, you're okay."

"What happened?" Logan choked out, his lungs feeling heavy and his head fuzzy.  He remembered the fire, his comm getting cut off (oh, oh hell, they had left him to die) and the beautiful eyes.

"I do- don't know." Virgil was talking fast, his chest rising and falling even faster. Suddenly, Logan was so much more worried for his friend then he was for himself. He grabbed Virgil's arms, attempting to ground his best friend.

"Name five things you can see," He instructed, voice still hoarse.

"You, my hands, the wall, I think that's a rat, and dirt."

"Good, four things you can hear?"

Virgil closed his eyes, a shaking breath coming out of his mouth. "My heartbeat, your voice, cars, that rat moving."

"You're doing so well, Vee. Three things you can feel?"

"Your hands, the breeze, and this  god damn suit."

"Two things you can smell?"

Virgil's breathing was starting to slow. "You smell like a campfire. And we're really sweaty and it stinks."

"Fantastic, one thing you can taste?"

"Salt- I was crying, wasn't I?"

Logan ignored the question. "Are you all right?"

"Am I all right? Holy shit Lo, I'm worried about you, not me! You were missing for three days."

All the air exited Logan's lungs. "What? What are you talking about?"

"The fire. A.S.H. told me you died! But I went back into the apartment and looked for your body. It wasn't there, and I don't trust A.S.H. so I've been looking for you since. But, Lo, where were you?"

Logan closed his eyes and thought about it. His mind was hazy, but one image stuck out: blue eyes behind gray goggles. Familiar gray goggles.

"Give me the tablet," Logan demanded. Virgil tilted his head in confusion but slipped the device to his partner. Logan's fingers flew over the screen, the tablet working faster than his fingers. Soon, he had an image on the screen, and when Virgil looked over his shoulder, a gasp escaped from his mouth.

"That's Nova." Virgil breathed. It was indeed the SuperVillian. The Super was standing with blasts energy surrounding him, and bright, blue,  glowing eyes shone behind gray goggles.

"That's a correct observation." Logan took a deep breath. "And as impossible as it sounds, I believe he was the one who saved me from the fire."

Virgil, to Logan's surprise, didn't shout in denial. Indeed, he took in a deep breath of his own and replied, "Well, it kinda makes sense, since Knight brought you to me."

Logan looked over at his partner, a bit shocked. Virgil raised a hand and started to tug on a loose piece of hair. As he was about to scold his partner for the bad habit, Logan noticed a smudge of glittery red on Virgil's glove. "Is that lipstick?"

Virgil glanced at his gloved hand, and his ears flamed. "No. Its blood."

"It is glittery."

"Vampire blood."

Logan decided to move on. "You said Knight brought me to you?"

"Yeah. I came into this alley to take a breath, and he appeared from the shadows. I almost punched him the moment I saw him, but I saw you in his arms, out cold. I might have jumped to conclusions, but he told me he wasn't the one who'd hurt you. He told me to make sure you took care of yourself and to make sure all the smoke was out your lungs. As soon as I took you from him, he was gone."

"And he kissed your hand?"

"Ignoring you." Virgil leaned back against the brick wall, rubbing at his eyes and making an even bigger mess out of his eyeshadow. "What's going on here? SuperVillains aiding SuperHeroes?"

"Would it be a bad time to mention that A.S.H. cut my comm while I was in the fire?"

Virgil whipped his head around to stare at him. "Explain."

After giving Virgil the synopsis of what had occurred in the burning apartment, his partner took in a shaky breath. "This isn't happening. It's just a dream."

"I'm afraid we are awake Virgil."

As Virgil was processing the information, Logan looked through the notifications on his tablet. One caught his eye- a news report from two days ago, labeled "SuperVillains Nova and Knight Spotted Aiding Victims of a Fire."

Intrigued, Logan clicked on the link. He was brought to the local newspaper's website, but instead of an article, there was a notice from the newspaper. The notice claimed that the article had been taken down. Logan glared at the screen but noticed another article at the bottom of the page, this one reading "Local Reporter Reported Missing."

Another click led Logan to a full article, discussing the disappearance of Remy Morpheus, a reporter for the same newspaper. The article revealed that Remy was the writer of the deleted article on the SuperVillains, and had written many articles on controversial topics. The name was familiar to Logan, and it soon hit him: the articles he'd found in A.S.H.'s secure files were also written by Remy Morpheus.

Logan nudged Virgil, who looked like he was on the brink of losing his mind. "Read this."

The darker hair boy took the tablet, reading the article, his nose scrunching up as he read. "A missing reporter?"

"A reporter who reported on a supposed rescue attempt by Nova and Knight. A reporter who wrote controversial articles, some criticizing A.S.H. A reporter whose articles I found covered in notes when I was hacking into A.S.H.'s files."

"You're saying you think there's something going on?"

Logan nodded. "I hate to speculate, but there is a mass of evidence that points to foul play."

Virgil's fingers made their way back to his hair, his eyes slightly unfocused. His lips were moving, but Logan didn't have Virgil's enhanced hearing to be able to discern the words. Before Logan could comment, Virgil shook his head quickly, snapping himself out of his thoughts. "So, we've got a missing reporter who might know things he shouldn't, two SuperVillians who might not be pure evil, and a fucking massive organization who might be hiding something and seems to want you dead."

Logan leaned against the wall next to Virgil. "It seems we have a mystery on our hands."

"Please do not Sherlock our situation."

"Ignoring you."

"And hey, don't you mock me." Virgil huffed, laying the tablet in his lap and crossing his arms. "You know, things were going well."

"We never did have an abundance of luck," Logan mused.

"And I know you aren't going to let this go."

"I wasn't planning on it."

"And no way in hell would I let you do this on your own."

Logan glanced at his friend.  "That means you'll assist me?"

"Mmhm. But first, we're going home, you're changing, and we're both going to sleep."

Logan looked down, and it hit him that he was still wearing his charred A.S.H. uniform. Virgil was too, but his uniform was in better shape.

"Reasonable. Then, I think we're going to visit The Times's office."

Virgil raised his eyebrow again. "We're starting with the reporter?"

"Indeed. In the morning, we start the investigation on the disappearance of Remy Morpheus."

Virgil stood, slipping the tablet away. He offered his hand, and Logan took it, getting to his feet. The two SuperHeroes stumbled out of the alley, heading home under a starless sky.

TAGLIST

@another-sandersidesblog​ @nye275​ @faithfreedom​ @dodos-in-damnation​ @storytellerofuntoldlegends​ @mavros-lykos​ @dall-off-weekes​ @the-fandoms-are-takin-over​ @rosesisupposes​

@rebeyerfdog @average--human @icequeenoriginal @mferge7

@benjaminclareyrobar

#sander sides #sander sides au #superhero! au #super villain! au #(ish) #super powers #logan sanders #roman sanders #patton sanders #virgil sanders #eventual prinxiety #eventual logicality #RED #platonic analogical #like so much of it #superheroes #supervillians #possibly evil organiztions #remy's a reporter #yes i am indeed pushing my two years of journalism onto a charcter #emika and jay will appear in this fic because i love them #i have a roulette wheel and I spin it to see who gets the angst #spoiler alert: it lands on logan the most #sander sides fic #thomas sanders #emily writes #a.s.hes ashes (well all fall down) #fire tw #violence tw #panic attack tw

[cloudyhyunjin]

Nights

You notice a certain red and blue vigilante has started making sure you get home safely

Member: Felix

Warnings: idk I use a lot of commas and im kinda a shitty writer so have fun i guess. (ALSO THIS FIC USES INCORRECT FIRST AID DON’T EVER WIPE A LACERATION WITH A RAG OKAY!!!)

Genre: Fluff and a pinch of angst, Spiderman au

Song Rec: Nights-Frank Ocean (I did totally listen to WOW by 3racha on repeat while writing this though)

Word Count: 9.5K

Author’s Note: This takes place in Queens but i’m from chicago so don’t expect accuracy in locations and stuff cuz that’s where spiderman is from, also in highschool, and because we don’t know how tall Felix is he’s gonna be taller than you in this scenario but I only mention you being shorter than him like once so… yeah

It wasn’t your fault that heads started turning in your direction when you walked through the halls in school. Nor was it your fault that the quiet whispers eventually got loud enough for you to hear.

‘Apparently he follows them to their job after school’

‘I could’ve sworn that I’ve seen him watching them walk home from the convenience store.’

‘Do you think they know each other?’

At first the comments scared you. Who was following you home at night? Was it someone who was trying to hurt you? The fear of this person was so prevalent that you convinced a friend to drive you from school to work every day for a few weeks until you found a more convenient way to travel. Of course, it would have been more helpful to have a ride home from work. Walking home at night was the scariest part of your day. But that wasn’t possible, so you opted for a small can of pepper spray, and your house keys between the fingers on your dominant hand in order to help you feel more safe during the walk. You only had to walk in the discomfort for a few days however. The comments in the halls helped you to feel a bit less scared.

‘Why would Spiderman follow them home?’

At first you couldn’t believe it. It wasn’t because of the shock of the spiderman following you home, more that you thought it was just a ridiculous rumor started by your classmates. Your classmates also helped in voicing you other concerns.

‘What’s so special about them?’

You couldn’t think of anything that was special enough to warrant a superhero taking the role of, what was essentially, your own personal bodyguard. The idea stayed in your head that maybe you weren’t special. Maybe spiderman did this for everyone that he saw walking home alone, which was the real question. Was it really only you had had gotten this treatment? You hoped, if spiderman was truly making sure you got home safely, that you were the only person who got the treatment. It did make you feel just a bit more special.

That week prior where you were unsure of who was following you home had been the week when you feared walking home from work the most. Your mother constantly tried to convince you that taking a bus home or getting a ride from a friend was safer than the mile long walk, but your father went a different route and tried to get you to take self defence classes. Your friends gave you the most concern, they were constantly trying to provide you with rides home or trying to get you to go to their house instead as they lived closer to your job. You understood where their fear came from. With all the weird aliens and criminals showing up the crime rates in Queens had doubled lately. Maybe that was why you suddenly had a red and blue shadow.

It took a while to notice him, but once you did you couldn’t stop seeing him. You had seen the dark figure running across the tops of buildings trying to keep up with your fast pace. Felt the air whipping behind you, which you could only attribute to the hero swinging on his webs past you. Occasionally you heard his footsteps pattering on the sides of buildings. There were a few times in which you almost started a conversation with him, you would stop and look for him only to make what you assumed was eye contact for an uncomfortably long time and then return to your walk. It gave you a weird sort of reassurance knowing that he was there, you felt as if he would try his hardest to protect you. It made you feel slightly attached to him.

You had grown so used to the presence being there that you grew worried when you didn’t seem him right away. The worry didn’t sprout from fear of you not being okay, more from fear that he wasn’t. However he always made an appearance. You were comfortable with him constantly surrounding you. It would have been okay with you if you only ever contacted him through the long stares. So one could only imagine how strange it felt when you started making more contact with him. A small piece of paper you found attached to your locked with a web.

‘Good luck on your math test today! Don’t worry about the web on your locker, it should dissolve in a few hours’

The first letter sat on your locker for a few hours before, like he said it would, the web dissolved and the small paper fell to the ground. You walked back to your locker the next morning to find another note.

‘What you don’t like my notes?’

A small frowning face was drawn next to the words and you smiled slightly to yourself before pulling the note off the locker and slipping it into your back pocket.

“No it’s just different.” You whispered to yourself before turning and walking to your first period class. You were painfully aware of the note in your pocket every second of the day, every slight movement in your chair and you felt the piece of paper digging into your body. It was almost funny to you that Spiderman went to your school. He wasn’t some strange 30 year old man who decided to take an interest in you, nor was he just Tony Stark’s newest recruit that had suddenly grown fond of you. It scared you that you probably knew him and you knew for a fact that he heard all of the rumors that went around the school. The rumors that you might be related to him or maybe his partner. Some people said that you might have even paid him to protect you. He had to have heard everyone grasping at straws and trying to figure out why spiderman suddenly took an interest in you. But now that you knew he went to your school, maybe you could finally ask him yourself.

-

Note after note started appearing on your locker, every day like clockwork. You would show up at your locker to find a note attached with that stupid little web. Sometimes they were helpful reminders, but other times they were just compliments or variations of ‘Have a good day y/n’. It was cute, and after only a few days the whispers in the halls started to pick up on the notes. The questions turned into more accusing statements and they grew louder. It seemed that they didn’t care if you heard at that point.

‘There’s no way they aren’t dating spiderman.’

Full blown conversations and theories flying past you as you walked past them. The judgement didn’t last long however. The people of the school eventually came to find it cute, different types of aww sounded off every time they caught you smiling at the notes. Deskmates started asking you about it as well. If you knew who he was or why he was trying to make contact with you. You never had an answer for them, and it upset them every time. You did continue to entertain the idea that maybe you would tell them everything that you knew about spiderman, and you would tell them about him when you were comfortable. They were, of course, oblivious to the fact that you knew just as much about him as they did. 

Some days you would find that the halls would get increasingly more quiet as you drew near to the locker. You always knew why the second you turned the corner into the hall where your locker was stationed and saw another little sheet flapping slightly as people whipped past it. You were usually immune to the letters, not showing much emotion when you saw them as to not give your witnesses a show. But this day, for some reason unknown to you, was a bit different. A small smile plastered itself on your face and you turned your head downwards as you walked quickly towards it. You stationed yourself in front of the locker and read to note.

‘Ooh fancy I’m breaking tradition again. It’s cold out so make sure you wear a jacket.’

“Fancy it is Mr. Spiderman.” The note was once again pulled off the metal it stuck to and tucked into your back pocket. You didn’t mind him breaking tradition if it meant that you could hear from him just a bit more. You lifted your head to look at the combination lock on your locker only to have your eyes quickly covered by a pair of hands.

“Guess who?” The voice rumbled behind you, you knew exactly who it was but you played along with him anyways.

“The grim reaper, here to bring me the sweet release of death so that I never have to interact with Felix ever again.” You answered and wrapped your fingers around his wrists pulling his hands away from your eyes. You dropped his hands and turned around to lean against your locker. He stood in front of you slightly hunched over, a baggy grey sweatshirt with the hood covering his black hair. Matching black bags under his slightly closed eyes. He hadn’t been sleeping much, it was easy for you to tell.

“How are you y/n?” He pulled his hood off only to run a hand through his hair and pull the hood back up. The black hair was different from the bleach blonde that he had been sporting for the past few months.

“You dyed your hair.” He tilted his head at your comment, upset that you dodged his question. “I like it. It really brings out the bloodshot in your eyes.” You smiled and tilted your head as well, mimicking his movements. He chuckled at the comment but he didn’t let his prior question go unanswered.

“What are the notes making you uncomfortable or something? You know I would totally beat up spiderman for you.” He teased and poked your shoulder a bright smile adorned his face, you had definitely gotten used to that smile.

“You’ll beat up the spiderman and win. Yeah, sure.” You scoffed and pushed yourself off of your locker and turned around putting in your combination, you opened your locker and swapped your books. “And besides I don’t mind the notes.” Felix muttered a small ‘Good’ and smiled at you. He stood on your left side so that he wouldn’t be blocked by the locker door and leaned his left shoulder against the brick wall that separated two sets of lockers. His head leaned against the wall as well and he closed his eyes. A small ding sounded from his phone and he groaned before pulling it out of his back pocket. He rolled his eyes as he scanned over the notification.

“I’m sorry I have to go, uh… Aunt May wants me for something. Put on a jacket it’s cold outside.” He turned around and ran towards the exit before you could say goodbye. It was strange for a few seconds, and you couldn’t help but wonder ‘what is it’s him’. But the Felix you knew, he was afraid of heights. A few months prior you had tried to take him to one of those indoor skydiving place only for the both of you to chicken out at the last second. The idea left your head as quickly as it entered. You closed your locker and threw your bag over your shoulder, walking out of the school with the note still sitting in your back pocket.

-

The walk to work was indeed cold and you scolded yourself for not putting on a jacket like you were told to. The usual 30 minute walk took a good took an extra twenty minutes; you were alone on this walk. It felt strange to not get any signs of him, no footsteps, no sights, or sounds. It scared you a little bit and every few steps you would slow down and look around, hoping to see or hear something, anything. But there was nothing.

You pushed your way into convenience store and walked to the employee room. Hanging up your backpack and slipping on the red vest, you sighed and closed the door when you were done. Ever day seemed all too familiar. Spider Man’s appearance in your life was a much welcomed difference in the same old routine, as you walked behind the counter you only hoped that his lack of appearance today didn’t mean something bad.

As the hours went by, you still couldn’t get the thought you of your head. Was he going to be okay? Would you be okay walking home alone? You could only hope that the answer to both of those questions was yes. God was this stranger tearing you up inside. Not knowing who he was of if he was okay were the only thoughts on your mind. However, your thoughts were disrupted by a small thudding sound coming from the front of the store. You looked around the brightly lit room for anyone before you walked around the counter and towards the front door slowly. As you approached the door you found a light brown bag pressed against the outside of the glass door, surrounding it was that familiar white web. You laughed and smiled brightly then you walked outside of the store and cut the bag free with a key on your keyring.

You walked back into the store and locked the door behind you, deciding that it was time to take your break. You positioned yourself on the front counter so that you were facing the front door and you opened the bag. Inside was a Sub sandwich from the shop across the street, and of course a small note. It as written on a small brown napkin instead of the normal white notebook paper

‘You should make sure that you’re eating something.’

“How considerate,” You took the wrapping off of the sandwich and took your time eating it, the shop usually wasn’t very busy once it got late which allowed you to do so. A few people passed by the shop and gave the left over web on the door strange looks as they did so. Occasionally they would look at you as well, but you just smiled back at them. It was good that no one was showing up to the small shop, it gave you extra time to attempt to work on some of your school work. Keyword being attempt. It seemed stupid and repetitive but he was still on your mind. He had been at the sub shop across from your work while you were at work. That was the most disappointing, he was so close to you and you could have caught him but you didn’t.

A loud knocking disrupted your thoughts once again and you lifted your head to the front door. Felix stood in the same grey sweatshirt and smiled at you when you made eye contact with him.

“Are you open?” The sound was muffled but it was easy to understand what he was saying. You set the sandwich down and walked to the door. You unlocked the door then opened it for him, he stepped in and the both of you walked back to the front counter and took a seat on it. He had been looking tired lately, you assumed that it was because the semester was ending and he was trying his hardest to prepare for finals. He had a bad habit of letting his grades get a bit too low and then having to study profusely in order to pass his classes. You always offered to help him with subjects where he wasn’t the best but he turned you down every time. Making up an excuse that Aunt May needed his help with something or that he was able you pass the classes on his own. You never bought any of the excuses but you didn’t ever press it. He would tell you why he was “Busy” when he was ready, right?

“No offence Felix but you look like hell.” You pulled the other half of the sub out of the brown paper bag and handed it to him. He put one hand up in protest and shook his head.

“No thanks. I don’t like swiss on my subs.” Your eyebrows furrowed at the comment.

“How do you know it’s swiss?” You shot back. His cheeks got slightly more red and his eyes widened when he heard you. It only lasted a few seconds though, he chuckled and replied.

“You always get swiss on your sandwiches, silly.” Muscles in your shoulders relaxed, you didn’t know they were so tense until that moment. He was right; you did always get swiss on your sandwiches. How did spiderman know that? Maybe it was just a guess.

“I didn’t get it for myself.” He didn’t seem surprised.

“Let me guess it was your shadow.” Felix said. A fake bitterness in his voice and you laughed at the mock jealousy. He was always good at making you laugh, to be completely honest he was always good at making everyone laugh. You had always wondered why Felix didn’t have more friends when it would have been so easy for him to make more. He claimed that it was because he was busy enough with you that he didn’t have time for anyone else. Of course, you always felt a bit guilty when he told you this. You couldn’t have taken up that much of his time right?

The two of you sat on the counter for the rest of your shift and spoke all throughout the rest of your shift. When it came time for you to go home you clocked out and grabbed your backpack back from your locker, replacing it with the red work vest that you had been wearing earlier. Felix offered to walk you home and you gladly accepted, he lived close by and you knew that he would be able to make it home around the same time as you.

The walk back was filled with light hearted conversation and laughs. A bit of ice cream was even involved in the trip. Felix had suggested that despite the cold weather, ice cream was always a good option. The walk took longer than usual but you were okay with that, it was a good distraction. So good in fact, that you didn’t even notice spiderman’s absence.

-

You walked into your first period class after you picked up the note from your locker.

‘Be extra careful tonight! I heard there’s some dude running around town mugging people. I’ll keep you safe but still”

At first you questioned why he didn’t just say that he’s take care of it instead of saying that he’d keep you safe. But after a few minutes of thinking about it you realised that it was obvious that he had been spending a lot of his time in making sure that you were okay recently. It made sense in that capacity, but you feared that he was becoming too occupied with your safety over the city.

Felix was the first person that you saw, not that he saw you though. His head was buried in his notebook as he tried to finish the homework from the previous night. You laughed at the sight; he looked so small hunched over in his chair. You walked over to him and pulled out the chair from the desk next to him. He looked up at you and smiled, you returned the expression.

“You look like you haven’t slept in weeks.” You commented on his appearance as you sat down in your seat. A low chuckle rumbled from his chest as he looked over his right shoulder at you. He closed the notebook and put it in his lap, he then laid his head on the desk and closed his eyes. A small smile still held itself on his lips, and you looked at his face for a bit. You grew exceedingly concerned the longer you looked over his face. His right eyebrow had a deep cut through it that wasn’t there yesterday. The same could be said for the left side of his bottom lip. Felix opened his eyes to find a worried expression plastered on your face.

“What is it now?” He lifted his head off the desk and leaned back in his chair maintaining eye contact with you. You brought your hand up to his face and ran your thumb along the cut on his bottom lip. His lips parted slightly and his breath hitched at the action. Your eyes travel to his lip but his eyes stayed right on you. The two of you were silent for what felt like far too long for Felix, when you finally brought your eyes back to his he saw nothing but concern in them.

“What is this?” You pulled away your hand from his face and put it in your lap. He shook his head at the question.

“It’s nothing y/n” He spoke softly and the small smile from earlier found its way back onto his face. Your concern morphed into something else that had a hint of annoyance. He knew you wouldn’t like that answer. He was right, you hated that answer with every fiber of your being. “I promise, okay? If it was something important I would tell you.” You turned away from Felix and muttered a small ‘okay’.

It stressed you out that Felix wouldn’t talk to you, and for a few seconds you questioned your friendship with him. Why couldn’t he trust you? He used to trust you with everything so why wouldn’t he tell you? He must have sensed that you were so pressed about his safety, because before you knew it both of your hands were enclosed by his and he was looking straight in your eyes.

“Hey, I’m alright I promise. It just really isn’t important what happened.” His smile this time was larger and brighter, you didn’t miss the slight wince as the cut on his lip stretches a bit too far. You smiled back at him and nodded your eyes still on his. If he really didn’t want to tell you, there was nothing you could do about it. So you took the explanation and turned back to the front board freeing one of your hands. However his other hand never moved from yours, it stayed throughout the entire class. He used his left thumb to draw lazy circles over the back of your hand. Every single time he squeezed you hand your heart seemed to beat just a little bit harder. It stayed in his even as he walked you to your second class through the whisper filled hallways. It was definitely something that you could get used to.

-

The walk to work that day seemed even more lonely and cold than the day before. There was no sign of spiderman again, nor was there any sign of him during work. You sat through your boring shift with no sandwich to brighten your mood, and no Felix to keep you busy. It the world seemed to stop during your shift. Not many people came during the brighter hours compared to how busy the shop usually was when the sun was still shining. Your shift ended after an eternity and you began your walk home, once again feeling more alone than usual. You shuffled your feet and picked up your pace as you went on your way and tried to ignore anything else that was going on around you.

“Please don’t hurt me!” But how could anyone ignore that. Your head whipped to the sight across the street. A large man stood in front of a much smaller woman, he was holding a large knife out in front of him and she was doing the same with a purse. You didn’t have to think twice before you ran to the other side of the street and a bit further into the dark alley where the scene was taking place.

“Hey!” You called out, both of thme turned their heads in your direction. “Don’t you know Queens has been getting dangerous recently? It’s not safe to walk home alone at night!” The man laughed out loud and turned in your direction. You made eye contact with the lady and smiled slightly at her as the man continued to walk towards you. It wasn’t until he was only five or six feet away from you that you started taking steps away from him trying to get him as far away from her as possible.

“You mean like you are?” He spoke suddenly and smirked. The sudden realization hit you, you didn’t have protection right now. Spider man wasn’t around to keep you safe which meant that you had just thoroughly fucked yourself over. You looked back at the woman and nodded your head at her.

“Run!” You yelled at her as the man lunged towards you with the knife. You jumped back and stumbled over yourself before tripping and falling. A sharp pain shot through your upper arm and you put your hand where the pain was, your hand seemed to make the pain worse so you pulled it away quickly. The street was dark but a few of the lights from the small empty restaurants behind you aided you in your vision, and the sight you saw didn’t make you feel at ease. Your hand was covered in blood, and a decent amount of it you. You continued to crawl backwards away from him using your legs to push you and your good arm to help keep you upright. The man lunged at you again and you squinted your eyes, preparing for the worst.

But the worst never came, all you heard was a loud thug and a pained grunt from who you assumed was your assailant. You kept your eyes shut though all of the yelling and small yet sharp noises, your hands flew over your ears as well and you ignored the throbbing in your arm that only seemed to get worse with the movement. What was probably only minutes seemed like hours as you sat on the ground just outside the small dark alley, but it ended eventually. Two large hands wrapped around your hands and pulled them away from your ears. You flinched at first but when your eyes shot open and looked up you instantly relaxed a little bit. You chuckled a bit to what you assumed was his amusement and opened your mouth to speak.

“It’s good to finally meet you Mr. Spiderman.”

-

You found yourself sitting on top of a tall apartment building across from the hero. The lights from nearby buildings making it easier to see, however not all too easy. You had pulled the sweatshirt off of your body and you sat in a thin t shirt, it was cold out and you shivered at any wind. He tried to make keep the sweatshirt on at least half of your body, however you ultimately won the argument and ended up taking the entire sweatshirt off. You did seriously regret it though. The streets were especially cold this late at night, but being as high up as you were made it even worse. You had also tried to convince him to just patch you up on the street, but that was an argument that you couldn’t win.

You looked at him with an intensity that you didn’t ever think your eyes could hold. Where had he been? Did he ever really leave you or were you just too oblivious to see him? Every single question you had sat uncomfortably in your mouth, ready to be asked. But for some reason you just couldn’t ask, you couldn’t bring yourself to initiate any sort of conversation with him. He pulled a bottle of water and a package of gauze pads out of a grocery store bag. He also insisted that he was the one who grabbed everything needed for cleaning your wounds. You could only imagine the faces of the people in the store as the spiderman walked in and bought medical supplize. You would never know though, he dropped you off on top of the building before his supply run.

He opened the box of gauze and pulled out a few of the small packages, you tried to reach for the water bottle so that you could open it but he smacked your hand away before you could reach it. You pulled both of your hands back and put them up, another wave of throbbing pain shot through your arm ar the sudden movement and you winced. His hand was wrapped around your wrist within the blink of an eye in order to stop any sudden movement.

“Don’t move.” He said, a deep grumbling voice disguised whatever his real voice sounded like. You were angry at him for that, he knew so much more about you than you knew about him. However, you doubted that voicing your concern would do anything about it. He pulled your wrist down slowly and pulled you a bit closer to him gently. He let go of your arm and opened the water bottle, then pouring some over the gauze pad. “This is probably going to hurt a bit sorry.” He said before grabbing your arm a bit gentler than the first time around.

“That would sound a lot more sincere if you didn’t have that voice thing.” You scoffed, he tilted his head to the side at that comment. You could only imagine that look on his face underneath those squinted white eyes. You laughed a bit at how the suit could change eye shape, the eyes softened when you laughed and his shoulders relaxed slightly. “How am I even supposed to trust you if I don’t know who you are?”

“You’ll know someday.” He wiped the gauze over the injury and you hissed at the contact. He pulled back a bit at the sound. “I’m sorry. I think I failed health class when we learned all of this.” The speech was rushed but the apology still seemed sincere underneath the artificial voice. He looked at you again, you nodded and prepared yourself for the pain. It hurt but not as bad as the first time around, he was definitely being more gentle than he was the first time. It took a solid twenty minutes for him to figure out how he was actually supposed to clean and wrap the wound, but he did a pretty good job overall. You threw the slightly bloodied sweatshirt back over yourself once you finished. The sleeve was still slightly wet and you mentally cursed at how you had ruined the sweatshirt. You pulled the hood of the sweatshirt off of your head and opened your mouth to tell spider man something, but when you looked up you found him standing by the edge of the building. You turned your body slightly and looked over the city, still keeping your distance from the ledge.

“Felix would hate this.” You said. He looked over his shoulder at  you and made what you assumed was eye contact. “He’s my best friend. He’s terrified of heights.”

“He’s not afraid of heights.” He quickly spoke back and kicked one foot lightly over the edge of the building, an act that shook you to your core. You scoffed at the comment.

“What do you know him or something?” You asked. He didn’t answer at first, only turning his head away from you and back to the skyline.

“Better than you think.” He said so quiet that you almost couldn’t hear it, you assumed that he didn’t mean for you to hear it so you didn’t say anything back. You both sat in a comfortable silence for a few minutes, nothing needed to be said and you enjoyed it. You only ever shared moments like this with Felix, it felt reminiscent of one of those moments. You hadn’t had one of those moments with him in a while, so you enjoyed the one with Spiderman as much as you could. The silence was only broken as you realized how truly cold you were. It was a nice moment while it lasted, but you needed a jacket.

“You know I would probably be enjoying this a bit more if I weren’t also afraid of heights.” You stood up and wiped your hands off on your pants, ignoring the dull throbbing in your arm. You thought you heard a small chuckle from spiderman, but you brushed it off. He still stood on the edge, the tips of his feet hung slightly over the side. He muttered something and started to turn around to look at you.

“What’s so bad about hei-“ Mid-turn his left foot slipped off of the side of the building. You heard a small yell as he disappears from your sight behind the ledge. You gasped and ran to where he previously stood, almost losing your footing and falling off the building yourself. You stopped just before you could see over the side of the building and mentally prepared yourself for what you might be about to witness. Your knees hit the hard material of the roof and you bent over slightly, wrapping your hands around the ledge in the process. You cautiously moved your head over the side of the ledge. He stood on the side of the building fully vertical, a web coming from his right hand and attaching to a spot just below the ledge. You could have sworn that he was smiling, but the mask and lack of light made it impossible to tell.  An annoyed expression formed on your face at the sight.

“Aww you do care.” He teased, you rolled your eyes and smiled a bit in response. You sat back on your feet right next to the ledge and he pulled himself up to sit right next to you. He hung his feet over the ledge and leaned back on his hands. He looked over his shoulder at you for a few seconds before once again turning back to the city. You stood up and walked closer to the middle of the building before shouting out to him.

“Come on. I should probably be getting home soon.” You put your right hand on the handle to the door that lead into the apartment building and started to twist it, you opened it slightly before a red hand slammed the door shut. You looked to your right and there stood Spiderman, he shook his head when you made eye contact.

“Nope, we take my way home.” He grabbed your right hand and walked towards the ledge, fear filled every part of your body and your muscles stiffened. He looked back to you once he made it to the ledge, the fear in your eyes must have been apparent to him. He pulled you a bit closer and grabbed your hands then wrapping them around his neck. “I’m gonna keep you safe alright. Just hold on tight.” He walked the two of you a bit closer to the edge, you breathed deeply. He wrapped his left arm around your waist which definitely did not help with your breathing situation, you wrapped your arms around his neck a bit tighter and dug your head into the crook of his neck.

“I trust you.” You said quietly but ou hoped he heard you. He chuckled and the close embrace let you feel the laugh before healing it. It sounded familiar and comfortable, you could get used to that sound.

“I know you do.” He said as he jumped off the edge of the building.

-

The next few weeks after you met Spiderman were some of the most comfortable you ever had. Felix seemed a bit better rested, and you thanked the heavens every time you saw him smile. A real genuine smile wasn’t something that you saw from Felix very often, so whenever it did happen it felt almost as if the heavens were thanking you instead. You had also started seeing spiderman more often, which was something that you definitely weren't’ against. Sometimes he would swing by your work, literally. It would always happen late at night when there were no people around, and he would quickly swing past the front of the shop so that you got a quick look at him. It was enough to know that he was okay and you were forever grateful that he thought about your poor heart.

The notes were still showing up as well, sometimes they found their way into your backpack which confused you to no end. You knew that he was sneaky but you didn’t know that it was to that extent. Sometimes the notes were even accompanied by other presents, they were usually small though. Simple things like a cup of coffee or a breakfast sandwich from a coffee shop close by. A full bouquet of flowers though, that was no small present.

You stood at your locker and stared at the flowers for what was probably far too long. Red roses wrapped at the stem with white lace, you took a step towards them and pulled the note apart from the rest of the bouquet.

‘Red roses, cliché right? You probably don’t have any place for these but I couldn’t risk dropping them off at the end of school and having someone seeing me. I hope you understand. And that you like the flowers!’

You sighed at the note, slightly upset that he couldn’t give them to you himself. But you understood that with that you would also want him to do it without the suit, and you didn’t know if he was ready for that yet. Sure it tore you apart inside that you still didn’t know who he was but you couldn’t just force him to do it. You had to be patient, but that seemed like the most unfair part about all of this. He held all of the control in this situation, of course you could retaliate somehow. You could stop reading the notes, let them all just fall to the  floor like you did with the first one. Hell you even could have left those flowers there, but you weren’t heartless. You pealed the boquet off of your locker carefully as to not break any of the flowers.

“Fancy, he left you flowers.” Felix leaned his left shoulder against the lockers to your left as you continued to struggle with the boquet. “Kinda cliché though.”

“I like cliché.” You responded. You were finally able to pull the flowers off the locker after a minute or two of trying and that was when you were really able to admire them. A few chunks of loose web might have still been stuck to them, but they were still pretty. You turned to Felix and smiled, he didn’t smile back but he still looked content and that was good enough for you. Felix walked you to first and second period that day, just as he did every day. You were happy with the way your life was panning out, it seemed as if nothing could ever bring you down.

What a silly little thought that was.

The very next day you walked to your locker to grab your books and the note. The people passing by could only imagine everything you felt as you found a locker without a note, you tried to shake off all of the thoughts and feelings that were running through you and continue with your day. That couldn’t mean much could it? You grabbed your books and ignored all of the curious conversations about you that had once again become quiet. You rushed to first period and walked into your class, you didn’t want to wait for Felix at your locker that day. To your surprise you sat in class alone that day, Felix never showed. It wasn’t like him to not show up and to not give an explanation as to why he wasn’t there.

Your next three days went the exact same way. No Felix, no note, no Spiderman, no sense of normalcy. Felix hadn’t even bothered to call and tell you why he wasn’t around, ever text you sent him went unread and every call unanswered. On the fourth day without Felix you decided to take matters into your own hands. Felix didn’t live far from you, so you sent him a text message that you were going over there and you walked to him place.

The walk was cold and scary. You knew spiderman wasn’t out there this time to protect you, which was the most difficult part of any walk you took. You didn’t feel safe again until you stood in front of Felix’s apartment door. You knocked a few times, you were even surprised at how loud the knocks sounded. You reasoned that it was probably all of the feelings that you bottled up being taken out subconsciously, but you knew that it was just because you really wanted someone to answer the door. The door opened a few seconds later, Aunt May opened the door with a smile but it softened the second she saw you.

“Hi Y/n, how are you?” She asked kindly, you always liked Aunt may. She was like a second mother to you and this apartment was like a second home.

“I’m doing good. Is Felix here? I need to talk to him.” May’s facial expressions grew sad at your question. You knew where this was headed right away. She stepped outside with you and closed the door slightly.

“Y/n, I don’t know if right now would be the best time for that.” She spoke quietly, almost as if she didn’t want him to hear that you were there. You grew even more frustrated at her words, it definitely wasn’t the best time for an argument though so you tried to calm yourself down.

“Aunt May please.” You pleaded with her, she looked even more upset as you spoke. But you still couldn’t stop yourself from accusing her. “Why don’t you want me to see him.” May put her hands on your shoulders and rubbed them slightly after that comment. She shook her head at you and tried to smile.

“It’s not that I don’t want him to see you. If anything I think that’s exactly what he needs.” She stopped speaking for a few seconds and contemplated the next words that would come out of her mouth. “He just doesn’t want to see you Y/n.” You stepped away from Aunt May’s the second that the words finished leaving her mouth, if it was even possible she looked more upset at your action. Tears filled your eyes and you tried to keep yourself from crying. Aunt may kept speaking but you didn’t hear any of it, you didn’t understand any of it. You took a deep breath in and spoke again.

“You know just tell him to text me or something. We started a new unit in math and I don’t want him to fall behind.” You made up some stupid reason for him to contact you and walked as quickly as you could from that stupid apartment. Aunt May called after you but you ignored her, you didn’t feel like talking anymore. You sprinted home from the apartment, not out of fear but because you wanted to get as far away from Felix as humanly possible.

You locked yourself in your room that night and into the next day. You told your parents that you just weren’t feeling very well, at least it wasn’t a complete lie. Truthfully though, you had never felt worse. It seemed ridiculous to be upset over things like this, but it was the only way that you could feel in the moment. It just seemed so much more different now that you weren’t getting the notes, and ow that spiderman wasn’t giving you some sense of comfort as you walked home at night. It especially felt different now that Felix  wasn’t talking to you or even acknowledging your existence. Any sense of what was normal had been ripped out from underneath you, that was what was most difficult to cope with. So you decided not to cope, and you sat in your room for two whole days.  

You ignored any texts from your friends, and you ignored and knocks at your door from your parents. It was so easy to ignore people, you had almost understood why Felix did it. But that didn’t mean you forgave him, especially because he hadn’t contacted you yet let alone said sorry for ignoring you. You missed him. More than you had ever missed anyone before. You missed his smiles, his voice and laugh. You desperately wanted to be able to talk to him again, in any way possible. But there was only so much that you could do, the rest was up to him. So you waited for him. You cried and in the small periods of time when you weren’t crying you slept. That was your new normal for those two days. And then in one of those small periods you where you used to sleep he finally broke the silence. It was a text at 6am, of course he couldn’t realize he wanted to talk to you in a few hours after you got some sleep.

‘Can you meet me on the roof of that ugly apartment building on First Street?’

You laughed quietly at the text, it was the first time that entire week that you felt any real joy. You sent him a quick text that you were on you way and snuck out through the fire escape outside your window. The entire way there you felt a bit more comfortable, the feeling reminds you of the times when you knew spiderman was following you but you knew that he wasn’t. Your legs couldn’t carry you there fast enough, but you were so sleep deprived that running wasn’t an option. When you finally did arrive you tried your hardest to make it up to the roof as quietly as possible, which meant that it took even longer to get up there. But as you opened that stupid grey door and saw Felix it somehow all seemed worth it.

He stood at the edge of the building with the tops of is feet hanging over the sides. He had that familiar grey sweater on and the hood up, he wasn’t facing you, but you could already feel the tension in the air. You stepped out onto the roof and the door slammed loudly behind you, Felix turned around at the sound. He thanked every higher power in that moment that the sun was just coming up behind him so you couldn’t see his face yet, he knew you wouldn’t like what you saw. He took only a few steps away from the ledge of the building towards you, but he kept his distance still.

Any positive feelings left your body for a few seconds as you remembered what he put you through. There’s was only a burning anger in you at that moment, the urge to cry was so much strong that it was that night in front of his apartment. But this time, you didn’t hold back your tears.

“Start talking.” You snapped at him. Felix didn’t expect you to sound so weak, nor did he expect to feel so weak himself. “Where have you been? I’ve tried to text and call you, I even went over to your place but Aunt May said that you didn’t want to see me. Why didn’t you want to see me?” He walked even closer to you while you yelled at him, you would be lying if you said that you thought he didn’t deserve your anger. He left you alone with no reason for an entire week. He eventually got within about two feet of you, and he tried to take a step closer but you took a step back. That was one of the most painful things that he had ever experienced.

“I’m sorry,” He started, his voice was quiet and sad. You had only seen this side of him a few sides. You hated seeing it though, and you wanted to get rid of it as quick as possible. “I should have answered your calls, or told you what was wrong. I should have been honest with you from the start, but I wasn’t and I’m so sorry for that.” He took a few steps closer to you, you didn’t take any steps back this time. Your eyes started to adjust to the lack of light, and you wished they hadn’t. The two cuts on his face from before couldn’t hold a candle to what he looked like in that moment. A dark purple bruise sat on his left cheek, deep cuts were littered across his face, and his lip was busted open. You stepped closer to him and your hands went up to his face, every ounce of anger left you and you just felt guilty. How did you let this happen to him?

“I’m sorry Felix.” The apology came out as nothing but a whisper and more tears started to leave your eyes. Felix brought his thumbs to your cheeks and wiped the tears away.

“Do not apologize to me. You didn’t do this.” He said sternly before continuing his earlier monologue. “I didn’t tell you what was going on and I let you worry about me. Believe me I wanted to tell you everything so badly. I had planned to tell you on Monday but something went down on Sunday and I was pretty much bedridden for a few days. Aunt May’s orders, of course.” The two of you laughed, you could have only imagine how terrified Aunt May would have been when she saw Felix like this. You knew it was probably worse though, you got chills at the thought that Felix could have been hurt worse than what you saw before you.

“What happened on Sunday?” Felix opened his mouth to say something but then quickly shut it again. There was no doubt in your mind that he was going to tell you that it wasn’t important. However he realized that he had to start being honest with you, so he took a few more seconds and tried to choose words that wouldn’t make you as upset.

“I was doing my normal rounds and I saw these guys robbing the bank across the street from your convenience store. I went in to stop them but there were a few more people than I could handle and I kinda got my ass beat.” He laughed at the story as if it was actually funny, but you were horrified by it. You pulled your hands off his cheeks and held onto his hands that were still attached to your face.

“Why the hell were you trying to stop a bank robbery on your own? You idiot. You should have called the cops or something.” You punched his left shoulder, not very hard but enough to make a point and then pulled both of your hand off of his. He studied your worried expression for a while before pulling his hands off of your face and reaching into the pocket of his black sweatpants. @lets-talk-about-kpop

“That’s what I wanted to tell you about on Monday.” He pulled a small piece of old white notebook paper out of his pocket and held it in his palm  for a while, the two of you stared at it intensely. “I had this weird dilemma after Sunday. I just felt so guilt that I wanted you in my life, especially with how dangerous it can get sometimes.” He made eye contact with you and continued. “I don’t want you to get hurt because I really love you.” A blush crept its way to your cheeks and a warm feeling spread throughout your entire body.

“Felix I love you too but what the hell are you talking about?” You might have been happy and in love but that didn’t stop you from being confused. He smiled brightly again, the split lip making it a bit more difficult and painful but he dealt with it for the moment. He lifted the white paper in front of your face and you grabbed it out of his hands. You looked back up at him then unfolded the paper.

‘Good luck on your math test today! Don’t worry about the web on your locker, it should dissolve in a few hours’

The whole world stopped turning for a few moments, your eyes grew wide at the note. It seemed like there was no way that Felix would be able to drop off a note every morning without anyone catching him. So you thought about it for a bit longer, and you played with the idea in your mind. And suddenly, everything just made so much sense. He knew what you got on your sandwiches and how you liked your coffee. There was also no doubt in your mind that Felix would do something as cliché as leave a full bouquet of roses on your locker for everyone in the school to see. You looked back up at Felix and giggled like a child. It was funny to you that only an hour ago you were completely broken over him. But in that moment everything seemed perfect. You took a step closer to Felix, now only inches away from him. The sun gave the roof a bit more light as it slowly rose. The two of you became engulfed in an orange glow.

“I guess I do take up all of your time then don’t I?” Felix let out a real and genuine laugh at your teasing; it was so nice to hear him laughing again. He put both of his hands on your waist and pulled you right against him, smiles adorned both of your faces.

“When you said you loved me earlier, that wasn’t platonic right?” Felix asked you, he seemed genuinely confused at your confession. You just laughed at him and pushed the hood off of his head before wrapping your arms around his neck. “I love your laugh.” His lips were on yours the second he finished his sentence, it felt normal and so natural to you. You scolded yourself mentally for not doing this sooner. You wanted to scold him for not confessing sooner, but you pushed it aside and let yourself get engulfed by the kiss. His lips were as soft as you had imagined them to be, and you tried your best not to irritate the cut on his lips but you guessed that he didn’t really care. He squeezed your waist lightly before moving his hands down to your hips. He was taking it slow, but you didn’t mind. You unwrapped your arms from his neck and placed your hands on the sides of his neck instead. You felt a thin material covering his skin so you pulled away with a confused expression on your face.

“What is this?” You asked Felix. Your fingers played with the edges of the blue and red spandex that stuck out of the collar of his sweatshirt. Your eyebrows relaxed as you made eye contact with him again, another one of those blinding smiles was staring right back at you. You decided in that moment that you could get used to everything exactly how it was.

“You know Y/N,” Felix rubbed his hands lightly at the sides of your hips. “I am the Spiderman after all.”

#Here she is #PLEASE don't let this flop lol #IM ANXIOOOOUUUUUUS #I dont know what to tag this with so be patient with me please #stray kids #stray kids scenarios #stray kids imagines #stray kids fanfic #stray kids fluff #stray kids angst #lee felix #stray kids felix #felix scenario #lee felix scenario #felix flull #felix angst #lee felix fanfic #masterlist #straykidznet

[estrxlar]

The Ghost Of You

06 - Too Little Too Late

Chapters songs:

Yam Yam: No Vacation

Numb: Men I Trust

4EVER: Clairo

—

Sugawara

Hey, I won't be riding the bus this morning. My father is visiting and I have to spend the morning with him I'm guessing. I might be available after school, though. So if you wanna walk

Yeah, I'll let you know. I hope everything with your dad goes okay.

Okay. See you later then.

Yeah, you too.

—

One last message from Sugawara is received, before I close the messaging app, and turn off my phone. I wasn't quite ready for what was to occur this morning: seeing my dad. You would think I would be happy about it, or at least be a little excited. But really, I couldn't be more stressed. All my father has ever done is criticize my talents, my behavior, and almost everything that has to do with me being me. Every time he comes to Japan, which isn't a lot, it's the same lecture all over again about what I'm doing with my life, and where I'll be when I'm older.

But at least two or three more hours of sleep. Might as well take advantage of missing a day, right?

—

    As I stretch out my arms under my sheets, a knock on my door is heard, followed by my mom's soft voice. "Y/n, your father is getting you today. I'm off to work, okay? Make sure to feed Astra." Her tone is low and worry full, but I wouldn't blame her. Surely your ex-husband coming back shouldn't be so easy.

   "I know, mom. Thanks. You have a good day," I say back to her, hearing her footsteps slowly disappear. That's my queue to begin getting ready. What I wear consists of something simple: a thin white shirt, a sage green sweatshirt on top, and jeans with white sneakers, which is something safe. I wouldn't want him to begin criticizing me by starting with my outfit. And as for my hair, I wore it the way I always did.

After a few moments of getting ready, I stand up in the mirror, making sure my personality wasn't showing on the outside. I hated that this is how I had to think of myself when around my parents, but there wasn't anything I could do about it. As suspected, a few minutes later, a message from him appears informing me he had gotten here.

—

Dad

Hey! I'm outside, come quickly so we can grab something at that small cafe you love.

Okay, I'll be out there in a second.

—

Nothing baffled me as much as him being so normal about this situation did, but there wasn't much I could say to him. I could only imagine how many questions he would ask me, or if he would even care about the important things, like if I was going through anything.

Reaching for a basic shoulder bag, I say my farewell to the cat, and make my way downstairs. Once I reach the front door, I take a deep breath and open it to reveal the usual view, except an expensive car stood in the driveway, with a smiling man inside of it. I smile back, easing that he didn't look pissed as fuck. After that, I locked the front door and walked towards his car.

Hesitantly, I pull the handle and step into the front passenger seat. "Hey, Dad." I greet him, meanwhile closing the door. "How've you been?"

"Hm, I've been just fine. What about you?" He begins to pull out of the driveway, and soon enough, we're on the road. "There's much to talk about."

I nod, as he states the obvious. "Yeah, of course."

This is awkward.

My hands begin to fidget, popping and stretching my fingers while he drove on the road, saying absolutely nothing. That was until I asked something to fill the empty space between us. "How's work been? I heard you got a bunch of promotions."

"It's been like always; normal. But yes, I have gotten promotions. I guess I've exceeded the limit, though. So.. what about you? You're still on your whole band-thingy?" He clears his throat, turning into another street: the same Suga and I would walk. "Your aunt says she's excited to work with you."

My aunt, AU/N, was my blueprint. She was my father's little sister, and she had a hell of a lot of money. One time when she was younger she slipped in dog pee at Walmart and sued them 50,000$. Since she was a musician, and far more successful than my band, she decided to start her label, signing many small bands like mine. And so, since I had a connection, my friends and I decided to sign with her during the summer after we graduate. We'd have to move to New York in America, but that was just fine. Because moving meant we could establish a good career and attend college as well.

   "I'm excited too. You know, to move and all." My eyes take mental images of the portrait outside today. Trees were finally growing leaves again, and grass as well; spring was around the corner. "Why the sudden visit? Is there a conference being held in Miyagi?"

My question seems like have made him uneasy, for his fingers began making small beats on the steering wheel. In no way did I mean to be so sudden, but an answer to my asking was necessary.

Thankfully, his response isn't a shout and rude remark, but a simple explanation that frankly made me feel better about his stay. "I'm most likely not gonna be able to see you before you graduate, so I wanted to spend a day with you. I know I said I'd drop you off at school after breakfast, but I thought we could hang out longer.

Is that okay?"

"Yeah, it's fine."

—

To my surprise, the drive wasn't as short as I thought. A total of thirty silent minutes felt as if it was an entire hour. Once we arrived at the small cafe in the plaza, the both of us got off the car and glanced at each other, beginning our way towards it.

    I had a certain idea of why he'd picked this spot for us to eat at. When I was younger, I'd spent lots of time here doing whatever I was up to, and usually with one of my close friends, (not that we're close anymore.) To be completely frank, it came to me as a shock my father even paid attention to how much I adored this place. The light lavender concrete walls and cutesy pots with succulents and house plants. Not to mention its colorful m decorations, far more improved than when I was a little kid. Still, it drew Moku, Oikawa, Iwaizumi, and Toruku to make it our number one hang-out spot from the ages of 8-14, even if it wasn't as attracting as it is now.

As we enter, the small bell at the top of the door rings, and we're greeted by a young girl at the counter that surrounded many baked goods. "Welcome!" She says, meanwhile packing up an online order. "Is there anything I could help you guys with?"

"Two coffees, please." My father replied, holding up two of his long, worn-out fingers. 'Coffee? I mean, I guess. Not that I cared or anything. I honestly preferred the tea with the little peaches in it— what was it called?' My father's voice cuts off my thoughts. "And a fruit lemonade for her. The coffees are for me; long hours!"

   'That's it!' I said to myself internally, briefly smiling at the worker while she wrote a few words down. And soon enough, we're told it'll take only a few minutes. Still, it baffled me my father even remembered such a little thing I loved when I was a child.

   What a try-hard.

   The two of us find a corner table for two, and he pulls out a chair for me to place myself. I do so, as my father does the same. Then, a long-awaited conversation begins. "How did you know I liked this place?"

   He straightens his collar, saying, "You never stopped talking about it when you were little."

  "And the drink?"

  "I just remember how many times it appeared on my taxes from this place, that's all." He chuckles, leaning onto his arm along with stroking his sharp beard. "Why do you ask?"

  Without thinking, I answer sharply, looking down at the wooden patterns on the table. "Why do you think? I didn't think you'd paid attention," I say to him, quickly looking up for a rude remark.

   He effortlessly sighs and keeps the situation unproblematic. Although, I wouldn't have minded diving deeper into the reasoning of his absence. "I did sometimes. Sorry."

  I tell myself to leave it at that, to leave it at 'sorry', but I can't. I can't not say something. "Can I ask you something? And I want a valid answer, not excuses. I know you wanted to have a nice time but this is the most I've talked to you in the past year so I'd rather get straight to it than poke around the elephant in the room."

  In the corner of my eye, I see him nod, giving me an okay that I could rant. Well, more like calmly let out my feelings. "I just— I don't understand what happened. After you and mom got busy, it was a total blur. I'm not asking for you two to get together again, and I never questioned why you split up either. I'm simply asking why you guys forgot you had a daughter, that's all."

    Not more than a split second later do I realize how rude that sounded. But too bad, I wanted to know. A few silent seconds slide by while he seems to be thinking of an answer, and explanation. Then, the sound of footsteps coming towards us, signaling our beverages had arrived.

  "Two coffees," the young lady mumbles, setting them in front of my father as he smiles. "And a fruit lemonade!" She exclaims. The pink-tinted drink makes waves in cold glass in her hand once it's set down. "All set. Is there anything else I can get for you two?"

   We shake our heads lightly.

   "Alright then! Enjoy!" She beams, then happily walks away. Ever since I was younger, I never understood why the store wonder daughter was so nice. But I'm guessing it lasted throughout the years, or else she wouldn't treat customers so gently.

Father slowly lifts the drink to his lips, and enjoys his cinnamon roast, while I feel my back aching from the perfect posture I perform around him. "Ah, carry on, Y/n. What is it that makes you so upset? The idea your mother and I did all we could to give you a better life, or is it that we picked ourselves up and became better people?" His manipulative tone comes in, sending mixed signals. But I could see where he was coming from completely.

"I just wish you two had taught me what it's like to be a proper parent. Instead, every time I would try getting your attention, you would always look away, and send me off to do something else." I feel my hands squeeze my thighs under the table, as I look up and down at my father with a silent yet harsh tone, "all I wanted was to admire you and learn what was so interesting about sitting in an office working for another person. But that's changed now, right? Because you've maxed out the level of superiority now that you've not done a single other thing."

"Y/n—"

"The fact you worked endlessly doesn't bother me as much as you criticizing me does. It truly hurts me that you attempt to steer me into another direction every time you visit when you haven't even been to at least seven of my birthdays. I wouldn't be surprised if you forgot it, either. You would judge who I hung out with, what I liked to do, everything. You even judged the way I handled my best friend dying, yet didn't think to send me to therapy. Toruku's mom is the one who took us to get help, not you. Why do you do it? Why do you think it's a good idea to bring me down? You've never been there for me, so you don't know me. You never will, father. You'll never know who I am."

A trembling hand reaches for my drink quickly, as I sip from the thin black straw in silence, taking in as much as I can. And all he can do is sit quiet, still processing my explanation.

That is until he speaks, finally. "I'm— I'm sorry."

"It's too late for that."

He nods.

The straw twirls between my fingers during the spinning memories of spending more time with my friends than my parents that ran through my mind. But it's whatever, right? I did just fine raising myself. At least that's what I told myself. Truth is, I needed people. I needed to grow with others on my side. It wasn't any wonder that I felt so lonely when I was younger. I'm dependent, yet independent.

Before getting up from my seat, I make sure to down the rest of the cold lemonade I had in my hand and grabbed both my hood and small bag. "Can we go now? Please."

"Sure. We can leave."

—

After getting home, I can't help but immediately let a few tears escape my eyes. The fact two words were all my father could say made my blood boil and my bones stiffen, especially since it was the last time I would talk with him in person before I graduate. Maybe I could meet him before he goes back to Korea, but I'd rather not. Not after leaving it at that.

The doors slam still echoed through the house, while I sat against the front door, crying in my lonely arms. No car to leave, and no one to hear me except a sleepy cat. While I do so, every thought of ever healing the hole between our relationship entered my thoughts, and the never-ending process of realizing I can't fix it hurts just as much as the pain in my chest.

Throughout the blur of water in my eyes, I make out the image of a white figure lying across my feet. I look up briefly, wipe my eyes, and stroke Astras back. Her soft, thin hair glides between my fingers, giving me a realization that I wasn't completely alone. No, I wasn't. I still had old friends and family that supported me, other than my father.

Right now, I had to think about the things that were important to me. The things that would help me grow, not look back at my regrets. Maybe the purpose of his visit was a sign from the universe, telling me to get over my past because my goals are too close for me to hesitate.

I needed a break from today. A nap, possibly. I don't think I'd be going back to school anytime soon, so I might as well rest a bit. That's exactly what I need, rest after a long week. After all, the weekend was just around the corner.

I slouch up the stairs with the chunky cat in my hand. By the time I reach my room, both my pants and shoes are in the other, and I'm ready to knock out between messy blankets.

—

'Ring!' My phone makes alarms under me, sending vibrations through the pillow my head rested on, making my eyelids quickly open. A hand snaked for the device, bringing the bright screen up to my face. It was no other than the band group chat.

Xanax sluts

Giki

Guess who just got invited to a party

Toruku

Us

Giki

No me but I asked if you guys could go and they said we can bring whoever

Toruku

Bruh

Who is hosting it

Giki

Some chick names Miya I know. She's a third-year and seems like a stuck-up little bitch but she's actually pretty cool.

Hikishi

Omg I love her she's so sweet

Me

Oh I know who you guys are talking about she's the girls' volleyball team captain

Giki

Yeah

Anyways she said you guys could go

Hikishi

When

Giki

Uhh

In like

An hour?

Me

HUH

GIRL IM NOT READY FOR A PARTY TN I JUST GOT IN THIS ARGUMENT WITH MY DAD 😟

Giki

Oh come onnn just slap on a dress or something and we can go

Hikishi

WAIT YES IM SO BORED

Toruku

Will, there be alcohol

Giki

No

Toruku

Will there be drugs

Giki

No

Toruku

Then this isn't a party-

Giki

Come on she's my friends and I promised you guys would go plus she's super popular so everyone's gonna be there AND she's rich

Toruku

And who's driving us

Hikishi

You mf who else

Me

Fine I'll go but you guys better not do anything to cause attention, if there's gonna be snobby people then we're most likely to be looked down on

Hikishi

I'm so excited yayy

Toruku

What are you excited about there's no drugs or alcohol

Hikishi

Cause this is the first party we're going to ever since last month

Toruku

Oh yeah

Giki

Mhm it's like this back to school party

Toruku

Giki if this is a kids party I'm gonna slap the lesbian out of you

Giki

ITS NOT YOU TOUCH-DEPRIVED TWINK

Me

See you guys in an hour ig

Hikishi

Oh-

—

Mom

Going out tn

Ok. Are you staying at anyone's house?

Maybe. Idk yet

How did it go with your dad

It went fine

Good baby I'm glad

Tell me when or if you get to someone's house

Ok I will love you

—

Happy that my mother didn't make an argument, I sigh, checking the time. It seemed pretty dark outside, so it had to be around eight or nine. And quickly after, I decide it's best to begin getting ready, again.

—

Please note chapters, it means a lot. I work endlessly on these making sure they're perfect for you guys. Have a good rest of your day, and I hope you take care of yourself. Love you lots!!

- estrxlar

[jenkinsjourneys]

Camping & Cycling in Corfu June 2018

We have spent the last 5 days camping in Corfu & what a fantastic experience it has been.

My husband (Drew) & I already had a two man tent that we use for our cycling tours & last year we was cycling in Corfu when we spotted a sign for a camp site. When we looked into it in more detail we quickly realised we could combine our two passions cycling & camping in one trip at an affordable price.

The biggest expense was the flights, that said going in June helped us get a good deal (£300). We decided to go for a five day trip to trial things out.

We arrived mid-day on a Monday courtesy of Jet2 & the helpful staff at our car Hire kiosk directed us to the carhire park just outside the terminal building. Easy & as we had previously driven in this country we were confident that we could easily navigate to our destination with the help of a map provided with the carhire.

We arrived in Dassia approx 6 miles from the airport to our home for the next 4 nights. Nikkos met with us at reception (Camp Dionysus) & was extremely obliging offering to show us his facilities prior to us confirming our stay. It's important to note at this point we had previously contacted the campsite to request a camping pitch.

He handed us a site map & pointed out the areas for tents. They also have caravan & motorhome pitches. We chose a location on flat ground close to the shower block in the middle of the Olive Trees. What a superb setting! We was already convinced we had made the right choice. Once set up we explored the site & it exceeded all our expectations. Beautifully spotless swimming pool (Which we used on a number of occasions to cool off after a day of stunning weather), cooking area for dining, dinner prep & cooking should you choose to use it. Oh & a fridge to store your chilled food & drink.

We then found the numerous two berth Bungalows that you can book from £12 per person per night. Basic inside but had fresh beds, electric, lights & shelving. Everything you need without having to take your tent & excellent idea for a weekend trip. We are going to try them hopefully later in the year.

We remembered the restaurant that Nikkos had recommended on our arrival Antonio Grill (Dassia), so decided to have our evening meal out. The setting was right out of a scene from the Durrells. Vines growing over head, locals chatting in their native tongue & excellent food & wine. We had the mandatory greek salad to share as a starter with Taziki (greek garlicky dip) & pitta's with pork Souvaki as our main. It's worth mentioning that Drew & I tend to share meal because you get to try different dishes, helps prevent overeating & the bill is always reasonable. This meal came to €29. Including wine & Beer.

We then returned to the campsite bar to watch the English victory in the Tunisia world cup game. The bar staff were so accommodating pulling up a table with a great view of the screen.

We then returned to our tent to have our first night sleep in the Olive Trees. Temperatures were warm at night but bearable. It's worth adding take some citronella candles or use some mosquito spray, if you tend to get bitten. I took long linen trousers & long sleeve top for sitting out side the tent on an evening. Drew managed to get bitten just once.

Day 2 was a chill day, we visited a fantastic coffee shop called Cafe Me just 5 mins walking distance for brunch, stunning latte's & pastries. We then chilled out by the pool. We have to say the pool is well maintained & cleaned daily. This evening we walked to Thomas Taverna at the bottom of the drive. It's third generation restaurant with recipes passed on. We request their recommendations & again we had a table filled with various Corfu dishes. Exceptional meal again excellent value for money (€30).

Day 3 we went exploring up to the north west of the island. We stooped off at Peroladies & walked down a mud road to a beautiful bay. Crystal clear sea & stunning coastal views. Next on our road trip was Sidari. It is quite touristy in this resort so lots of people on the beaches. We wanted to find a spot that I had learnt about from a post I read from Pinterest: Canal de l'amore. We got into the sea after putting on a brave face & swam out & into the cave. You soon warm up & it was a lovely experience.

Day 4 we hired bikes from Takis in Gouvia for €15. The bikes were well maintained & luckily the one I used had a panneer frame, so I was able to secure my ruksac & have a sweat free back for the duration of the ride into Corfu town. We cycled along the paths & side roads which was adjacent to the beaches. While in town we looked at the old & new fortresses & visited the locals market just up a side street by the bus station. Where you can buy all your Greek herbs, fresh salad & fresh fish.We visited Safrons our coffee shop of choice when in Corfu town.Then took a leisurely cycle back. Stopping off at Lidl to get our chicken breasts for our barbeque lemon chicken made with the herbs and spices we had brought earlier in the day.

[uomo-accattivante]

(NOTE: If you want an accurate idea of the real-life spy that Oscar Isaac will be portraying in his next film, “Operation Finale,” read this. What a story! 😱)

***

For a long time, when I was growing up in the building I still live in on Manhattan’s Lower East Side, I knew one neighbor only as Peter. Tall, bronzed and muscled, Peter lived on the 13th floor. If I was riding the elevator alone with him, he always said, “Hello, how’s your mother?” in an Israeli accent after (sometimes) removing a cigarette from his mouth. When I’d see him talking with my 4-foot-10-inch mother in the lobby, her tiny hands gripping shopping bags from Gimbels, they were so different in size that they looked absurd. Mom knew Peter was an amateur artist; she had once been in his apartment to admire his work. She was an amateur artist, too, and my father teased her that she had a crush since that time she went with him to Pearl Paint on Canal Street to buy more oils.

Then in 1986, everyone in my building found out that Peter was not only an artist; he was also a Nazi hunter. It was the 25th anniversary of the trial and hanging of Adolf Eichmann, and a wave of newspaper articles accompanied a special exhibit at the Jewish Museum. Peter the elevator charmer was none other than Peter Malkin, the former Israeli spy who snatched Eichmann off an Argentine street in 1960. Eichmann, of course, was at that time the most wanted Nazi at large — an ardent believer in the Nationalist Socialist agenda, and a former architect of the Final Solution as the SS Obersturmbannführer in charge of Jewish affairs.

After the excitement those articles caused, he got a book deal. “Eichmann in My Hands” (Warner, 1990), co-written with Harry Stein, shed more light on his role in the capture of Eichmann. Here he claimed that he had been a Mossad agent for 28 years but never killed anyone. Mom wondered if I, too, wanted to read the book, but I was just post-college having fun, and the Holocaust was far off my radar. That sentiment annoyed her greatly.

I recently thought of Malkin again while writing other Lower East Side stories. I tried to find his old book on my bookshelf, but then remembered it was one of the books my husband made me give away after insisting I was a book hoarder and promising I would never miss it. I walked to Strand to see if the store had it. It did, one copy. Signed by Malkin.

I sat in a Broadway cafe with a friend who was amused by my excitement at Malkin’s scratchy signature: “Who? Should I know of him?” Now I was determined to really get to know my elevator companion whom my mother so admired. If I hadn’t appreciated him before, I would do so now.

Peter Zvi Malkin was born in 1927, in a village in Eastern Poland that had roughly 1,400 Jews before the Holocaust, nearly 70% of its population. He had a few persistent memories of that time, including a one-door, one-window heder, a tiny school.

Then, in 1933, when he was almost 5, his family moved him to Haifa, to escape rising anti-Semitism. His parents also took his brothers, Jacob, 6, and Yechiel, 17, leaving behind their eldest child, 23-year-old Fruma, a blue-eyed blonde who lived next door and was a second mother to Peter. She and her husband had three children, but her son Takele was closest to his age; the child was his daily playmate, and his best friend.

Poland in these uneasy times had an exit visa shortage, and cutting through red tape required money the family did not have. Fruma pleaded with her parents to save funds, and she promised they would reunite in the Holy Land shortly. Her parents acquiesced. In his memoir, Malkin recalled boarding a ship, and in British Mandate Palestine he entered a strange new world of foreign sounds and tastes, like oranges, dates and prickly pears. His father and his elder brother found work making bricks in Haifa — and by 1938, with news in the papers worsening, Malkin’s mother was making desperate trips to the local government department to, once and for all, get her daughter and grandchildren out.

Young Peter was a risk-taking kid, often exploring where he should not. People noticed, people talked, and soon someone at Haganah, the pre-state underground militia, heard about his exploits.

In 1941 he was selected at the tender age of 14 to join its secret ranks. Here, he got intensive training in explosives. After the final year of British rule, the group became the core of the new Israel Defense Forces — and with Malkin’s proven knack for detonating bombs, he was a sapper during the Israeli-Arab war of 1948.

A year after Israeli independence in 1948, Malkin joined the Mossad, Israel’s new Institute for Intelligence and Special Operations. Concurrently, he joined the Department of Internal Security, known as Shin Bet. He artlessly wrote on his application “I like adventure” as his main reason for applying, and despite eyebrows lifted at that answer, they offered him the job, starting at $40 a month. Safecracking and explosives were his fortes, and he trained in many more specialized skills. His cover was as an artist who traveled for inspiration, but he actually took art very seriously, having started painting at 16.

While spying, Malkin often drew stained-glass windows in churches. “I spent a lot of time in churches,” he said in one interview. “If you go to a synagogue, someone is always asking if you’re alone, if you’re married. In a church, in a hundred years no one would ask.”

At the start of 1960, Malkin was debriefed on his latest assignment, which shocked even him. He was to capture Adolf Eichmann. The new mission was called Operation Attila, and Attila was Eichmann’s code name. That May, Malkin and six other Israeli men flew to Buenos Aires, where the Mossad believed it had pinpointed Eichmann’s whereabouts. Mossad’s headquarters in Tel Aviv decided that Malkin would lead the capture, but then another agent would take over interrogation.

How had Eichmann gotten here?

After the collapse of the Third Reich, he was briefly caught, but in 1946 he had escaped from captivity in the United States and spent years hiding in Germany. In 1950, Eichmann went to Italy under the assumed name of Ricardo Klement, but only after a monk got him a Vatican refugee Red Cross passport. On July 14, 1950, he disembarked in Argentina, and for 10 years he worked in a variety of jobs in Buenos Aires. Eichmann was briefly a gaucho.

In August of 1952 he was joined by his wife, Vera Lieble, and his sons, Klaus, Horst and Dieter: The sons were instructed to refer to him as Uncle Ricardo. The Eichmanns had a fourth son while living in Argentina, Ricardo, who reminded Malkin of his lost blond playmate, his sister’s son Takele.

Lothar Hermann was almost blind, and became the unlikely source who had put the Mossad onto Eichmann. A former dissident and a Dachau camp survivor who, after Kristallnacht, left Germany for Argentina, Hermann had lost his sight, the result of severe beatings from the Gestapo. The family lived as non-Jewish Germans, and his daughter, Silvia, knew Eichmann’s eldest son, Klaus, who still used the family name Eichmann at his father’s insistence, even though Eichmann himself went under Ricardo Klement. One day, in an outdoor restaurant, Hermann and his daughter sat down at the table next to Eichmann and Klaus, and Silvia Hermann decided to make introductions. Her father may have been blind, but he had seen Eichmann when imprisoned and had heard his voice. He immediately contacted both German and Israeli authorities about this suspicious “uncle” and they sent someone to investigate in January 1958. After a quick inspection of the unimpressive middle-class Olivos neighborhood where the suspect was dwelling, the Mossad discounted the intelligence; it seemed impossible for a once lofty Nazi to be living there.

In 1960, a new Mossad team found that the man was still living in Buenos Aries, and still under the alias Ricardo Klement, but now renting an even more unimpressive suburban home on Garibaldi Street in the dreary suburb of Villa San Fernando. Hiding near a creek, the team spied on Attila, a thin man in thick black-rimmed glasses. The weather was not kind and they were often cold, as none of these crackerjack minds had realized that May was the start of winter in the Southern Hemisphere.

Through his field glasses, an agent observed a celebratory family dinner March 21 and did the math: The Klements’ anniversary celebration corresponded to what would have been the Eichmanns’ 25th, “silver” anniversary. Attila unfailingly returned home by the same bus each evening from his administrative job at a Mercedes-Benz factory; the bus arrived at his stop at around 7:20. The snoops were increasingly sure that Atilla was Eichmann, and that getting him when he was near the bus stop was the best plan of action. They decided on May 11 as the day it would all go down.

On this cold, rainy day, the green-and-yellow commuter bus pulled up on Eichmann’s stop along Route 202. Atilla did not get off. But minutes later, a little past 7:30 a.m., the next bus arrived.

Malkin wore fur-lined leather gloves so as not to have to touch the man during the scuffle. He wrote, “The thought of placing my bare hand over the mouth that had ordered the death of millions, of feeling the hot breath and saliva on my skin, filled me with an overwhelming sense of revulsion.” “Un momentito, Señor,” Malkin said, using the Spanish phrase he had practiced for this moment.

Unarmed, he grabbed Atilla’s right hand, spun the man around by the shoulders and pinned his arms behind his back. The man’s scream was piercing. Malkin pressed his hand over his mouth. Atilla’s false teeth dislodged. The leather gloves were quickly “soaked through with his spittle.” He took him on his shoulders, and spirited his target into a waiting black Mercedes-Benz. A fellow spy drove them both to a “safe house” in a rented villa 90 minutes south, in a more upscale neighborhood in the Florencio Varela district, where there was a garden with Moorish arches, a plush carpet and a stone wall to keep out nosy neighbors. In the safe house, Atilla denied he was Eichmann even as the doctor quickly examined his mouth lest he had poison hidden on him. Then Atilla was checked for a scar of 3 centimeters beneath the left brow, two gold bridges in the upper jaw, a rib scar of one centimeter, a Secret Service tattoo, his shoe size and other markings.

“You have SS number 45526?’ Mossad interrogator Hans asked Atilla.

“No! 45326.”

The men were startled.

“Was ist deine name?” another agent named Zvi Aharoni demanded.

“Ich bin Adolf Eichmann.”

In a small bedroom, a blanket concealing the only window, Eichmann was blindfolded and manacled by his ankle, in striped pajamas. Hans worked on him to see if he knew where other prominent Nazis were hiding, including Josef Mengele.

At night the spies stayed inside in the villa. As the team whiled away the hours with chess and cigarettes, a female agent arrived to cook and clean. In the pre-PC era when he got his book deal, Malkin wrote that the men had hoped for a sexy woman to arrive and change the atmosphere. But instead they had been sent Rosa, a chunky Orthodox Jewish spy whom he knew back from Tel Aviv. Oh well, at least now they had a cook. Eichmann ate only kosher food during his 10-day stay in the safe house.

Malkin was assigned to feed and shave the prisoner, and to make sure he moved his bowels. He also oversaw his deep knee bends — Eichmann had to stay in shape to survive the trial. While Malkin sat in the room on his shift, he began to secretly draw him, using the sketch pencils, acrylic paints and makeup he carried in his disguise kit. All he had in his possession was a South American travel guide he had purchased for the trip. He used its map-covered pages for a canvas.

He had plenty of time alone with Eichmann over 10 days, and he surreptitiously began with a black-and-gray portrait overlaying a map of Argentina. On the next page, he imagined him in SS regalia. “I continued drawing in a kind of frenzy. Now I had him watching a railroad train, counting the cars; now in abstract, lying prone atop a flatcar, bearing a machine gun; now, on facing pages, appeared Hitler and Mussolini; now my parents and, in muted pastels, her eyes immense and brooding, my sister,” he wrote. The Mossad wanted Eichmann to sign a form saying he was traveling to Israel on his own accord. He would not sign for Hans, who had spoken to him so harshly. Malkin decided to give it a try, never admitting he chatted regularly with Eichmann, partly to understand the mentality that had sent millions, including 150 of his relatives, to their deaths. They spoke in broken German and a half-Yiddish that Eichmann understood well. The man who had a master file he labeled “The Final Solution” maddeningly claimed he was no anti-Semite, that he even studied Hebrew with a rabbi in Berlin. To study how to kill them better, Malkin suggested.

“I have nothing against the Jews,” Eichmann insisted. This did not sway his guard, who had lost so many relatives. “On the contrary, I love Jews.” To add insult to injury, Eichmann went on to recite the Shema: “Hear O Israel, the Lord is our God, the Lord is One…” He asked to be tried in Germany. “You must be tried in Israel,” Malkin told him. He told him that if he signed, his wife and little ones could come to the trial. (This actually happened in Ramale Prison on April 30, 1962, and Vera Eichmann’s visit was revealed only recently.)

Eichmann called Malkin by his agent code name, Maxim: “Do you dance, Maxim? Do you like music? I hope you like Viennese waltzes.”

“We found ourselves co-conspirators of a sort,” Malkin wrote. “He knew as well as I did to fall silent at the sound of approaching footsteps.”

Malkin served him a good red wine that a fellow operative had been saving for the Sabbath, and played flamenco music on an old record player in the villa. Music cheered the Nazi. Malkin toasted him. He sneaked him a Kent. More relaxed, Eichmann confided to Malkin that he had lived in fear. “For 15 years I expected what has happened to me — and it has happened.” He also admitted that he had spoken to a fortuneteller in Argentina, who told him he would not live past 57; he believed her.

Eventually, Malkin got the signature.

With so many spies in one house, Rosa and Malkin now shared the room that had two single beds. One night, he whispered to her that he was talking to their prisoner against orders. Sympathy was an uncrossable line, and Rosa was horrified, but she listened to what they had discussed. Afterward, she scolded him: “You act like you’re in love with him!” Eventually so many emotions were brought up by the capture that Malkin joined Rosa in her bed one night, and he held the woman, clothed, in his arms, crying.

The operation to commandeer Eichmann was timed close to festivities celebrating 150 years of Argentine independence from Spain, which made it possible for the Mossad to fly the first El Al plane to land in Argentina without suspicion, even though there were no scheduled flights between the two countries. The delegation was in fact an operational cover, and included Mossad and Shin Bet security service people. Operation Atilla was so top secret that the delegation leader Abba Eban, then minister of education and culture, may not have even known about Eichmann’s capture. When Eban disembarked, he gave a speech in astonishingly perfect Spanish, after strains of “Hatikvah” played. Malkin and his spy pals were at the airport to watch. They waited for word on what day the plane was leaving, which turned out to be less than 48 hours later, on May 20. When told all was a go, Malkin quickly used his makeup kit to change Eichmann’s appearance on the flight to Argentina, dressing him in an El Al uniform as a steward. Eichmann loved being in uniform again, and straightened his posture. It was not lost on Malkin that Eichmann was leaving the country with a Jewish star on his hat. “Recognize that star?” he asked him pointedly.

As they headed to the airport, Malkin’s teammate, Dr. Klein, rolled up Eichmann’s sleeve to give him an injection. Were they killing him? No, Malkin assured him, this was the day he was going to go to Jerusalem, and they needed him as mellow as possible. Eichmann was ushered on board the El Al aircraft with the forged passport for Israeli agent Zeev Zichron. Malkin had made up Eichmann up to look like the passport photo of Zichron.

Mossad agents decided it was best to tell the other passengers on board, since it was a lightly populated flight and many of those delegates who had come for the Independence Day festivities were not allowed back on and had to fend for themselves to get home. The passengers were understandably flabbergasted that they had to book alternate commercial flights. One of the men on board, however, was El Al’s chief mechanic, who fell to pieces, having lost his 6-year-old brother in the camps. Prime Minister David Ben-Gurion announced to the Knesset that Adolf Eichmann had been captured on May 23, 1960. You can imagine the hullabaloo in Israel. But there were no medals or interviews for the agents. Rather, there was absolute authority of safety rules — they were instructed to tell no one of their involvement.

In 1961, starting on April 11, Eichmann was put on a trial that would last for more than four months.

Every word of the trial was filmed to document evil that much of the world was denying. Eichmann, however, did not view himself as evil, saying famously, “Nothing is ever as bad as it appears, or one could put it another way, nothing is ever as hot as when it is cooking.” Malkin went just once to the courthouse, walked near Eichmann’s glass isolation booth, locked eyes with Eichmann and nodded. He never went back. He said he didn’t want to hear the trial.

On August 14, Eichmann was sentenced to death and found guilty on all crimes against humanity and the Jewish people.” He was hanged June 1, 1962 and his last words (in German) were: “Long live Germany. Long live Argentina. Long live Austria.” Eichmann was cremated at a secret location, and his ashes were disseminated into the Mediterranean Sea, beyond the limits of Israel’s official waters. No country would endure his grave, nor would his grave ever be a site of pilgrimage.

Malkin stayed mum on his involvement, but broke the rule once, in the spring of 1967, when his mother fell ill and he got permission to abandon an assignment in Athens. His beloved ima was dying in a Haifa hospital, 12 years after Eichmann’s ashes had been scattered. “Mama, I captured Eichmann. Fruma is avenged,” he told her. She did not answer. He repeated his claim. Gradually her eyes opened. Her hand squeezed his. “I understand,” she managed to say.

Well, there was one other time he let out the truth, the day he hailed a cab in New York City with a Mossad friend in the back seat. Malkin recognized a Polish accent. It turned out the cabbie was from the same town Malkin had fled as a young boy. He knew how Fruma was killed, and how all the others in town met their deaths. In 1941, he said, the Jews in town were rounded up near the fountain, then taken to a camp outside Lublin. The driver had survived as a slave laborer and escaped, but not before the man had witnessed Eichmann making rounds. His seatmate poked him and whispered, “Are you going to tell him?” No, he could not. He left the cab and turned back to see his friend talking to the driver, who was now looking his way, wonderstruck. The driver called out, “Is this true?” Finally, Malkin called back, “Yes!” The driver gave Malkin’s Mossad friend back the cab fare. He could not take any money — his passenger had already repaid all Jews a thousandfold. By most accounts, by this time he was already the most successful agent in Israel’s history, the Jewish James Bond. After he caught Eichmann he also nabbed Israel Baer, the Soviet mole whom the Russians had sent to Israel. Baer had claimed to be born to Austrian Jews. Malkin was rightfully proud that he clandestinely acquired a list of ex-Nazi nuclear scientists collaborating with the Egyptians. He once eavesdropped on a meeting of Arab officials by hiding under their conference table. He eventually rose to become chief of operations in the Mossad.

But he did not work for Israel only. On Malkin’s passing in 2005, Robert Morgenthau, now a renowned former Manhattan district attorney, said of my neighbor, “I think he was the outstanding intelligence agent of the 20th century.” Starting in the late 1970s, Malkin assisted Morgenthau on several investigations, including one involving CIA agents suspected of selling weapons and explosives to Africa. In addition to consultant fees, Morgenthau repaid Malkin by expediting his green card.

Not all Peter Malkin anecdotes are so heavy: I chuckled reading how he once used his expert disguise gifts on his mother before a mission; he arrived at her Sabbath dinner in Haifa, pretending he was a foreign student who showed up at her door at the request of her son. Via an unspecified spy apparatus, he changed the sound of his voice and the appearance of his mouth. For several minutes he had her convinced, but then she realized who was really sharing challah with her. “You are going to kill me!” she cried. However, further in the meal his mother guessed that he was going away on a top-secret mission. “Even a secret agent,” he said, “can’t lie to a Jewish mother.”

In the spring of 2005 I first found out that my own mother had stage IV ovarian cancer, a disease she would battle for the next two years. At the time of the diagnosis I was working on a book with her, a funny novel about the members of her retirement club, the Happiness Club, who were always complaining about their children not coming for a visit. She had taken notes on several Happiness Club members, including a Holocaust survivor named Irene Zisblatt, whom she recorded in the late 1990s for the Century Village retirement newspaper she edited, the Hawthorne Herald. She asked my brother and me to turn the newspaper article into a documentary. We were insulted that she was suggesting our next film together. Spielberg saw value where we did not, and Zisblatt’s story was included in the documentary he produced, “The Last Days,” which won an Oscar in 1998. The second it won, the phone rang — “Told you so,” my mom said.

I laughed again about that call so many years later. My mother was right about bothering to get to know your neighbors, and your duty to the future if you are a storyteller.

The other day, while my daughter did her eighth-grade homework, I rode the elevator to Malkin’s old floor and rang his doorbell. A middle-aged woman whom I have seen in the laundry room but had never spoken to answered.

I explained what I was writing. “Oh I recognize you,” she said. “You have a young daughter, right? A teen. An Australian husband?” She introduced herself for the first time: Irena Nuic-Werber. She was in real estate. She briefly asked me to wait, as she wanted permission to participate in my article by name, for normally she and her husband are very private people. Yes, her husband Daniel was quite honored. He felt it was important to help celebrate Malkin.

“When we bought [the apartment,] there was his art up to the ceiling — vibrant colors, red, yellow, orange. Many of his artworks were painted on maps. It was breathtaking,” Nuic-Werber told me. “We did not meet him, obviously, but we bought from an attorney who knew him well, who had stories. We were very touched to live here, as much of my husband’s family perished in the Holocaust.” Tears welled in her eyes. “We think of his apartment as a sacred place,” she said, “In Israel, you know, he is very famous. I wish he was more well-known in America.”

###

#oscar isaac #peter malkin #operation finale #adolf eichmann #laurie gwen shapiro #article #forward #true story

[artificialqueens]

MacArthur Park (Rajila) - Juniper

Summary: Raja has an epiphany during Delta and Manila’s lip sync. Drag Race set. 3k.

Author’s note: Two from me in one queue! A good chunk of the beginning is an expansion of Untucked, but I feel it’s necessary. This idea was just eating me alive, so I hope you enjoy!

Exhilaration.

It was probably the only accurate way to describe what Raja was experiencing as she left the main stage, hands jittering as she moved toward the lounge. Every bundle of nerves were on fire, and she had no desire to fight back the wild eyes and smile she was sporting. She opened the door, heart still thumping loudly, threatening to rise up out of her chest. She quickly reached for a cocktail, slipping the straw between her teeth, trying to find a normal heart rate. It was just her on the couch, along with a producer and three camera men she was supposed to act oblivious of.

A stage was nothing new to Raja; she’d been up above crowds for almost twenty years, dancing around in a dress, pretending to sing someone else’s songs. As she matured, gained a professional reputation, she began hosting shows, speaking to young minds that wanted to hone their crafts to be just like her. Raja, the fashionable, runway-drawn, fierce artist that she was. However, never had she been forced to write a script of stand-up comedy and deliver it in front of a crowd, her idol, and the entire nation watching at home.

She’d done well, maintaining composure as she drew laughs from the audience of strangers, bucket of fake blood stemming from her scalp and all. It was one of the most exciting moments she’d experienced in the competition thus far, the rush like that of a high-speed amusement park ride, throwing her all out into the sea of vultures below, eyes expectant.

Shangela’s plan of throwing Raja under the bus had failed; she had opened the show and left a lasting impression doing so. Raja amusedly sucked down more alcohol as she thought about it.

One by one, the girls made their way backstage; Carmen, Alexis, Shangela. Each queen recounting their acts, what got the most laughs, which jokes they were most proud of. Raja’s stomach was finally starting to settle, mentally reminding herself not to grind her teeth on camera at the slight shade she was receiving from Shangela.

She’d set the tone, and it seemed that everyone was excelling in the challenge, so far. It was going to be interesting to see what the judges would have to say. All the girls were lifting glasses off the table, fiddling with the lemon on the edge, a scantily clad Carmen somewhere behind, ditching her fat suit and readjusting her tuck.

The door creaked open again, and Manila slipped through, wide eyed at Carmen. She sat as the queens grilled her, asking questions suggested by the producer, and her answers led Raja to believe that maybe she hadn’t done so well. It was a competition after all, but she’d found a good friend in Manila, and wanted the very best of her challengers by her side until the end. She’d be damned if that wasn’t the Heathers.

Yara entered, and Raja’s mind drifted away, thinking about the long evening they still had in store. Her feet were already aching, the blonde wig hot on her head, and as she finally came to a calm state, she felt exhausted.

Delta came in last, and her nervous energy was picked up by Raja immediately. She knew her sister, and something was definitely up. Delta and Manila talked about the struggles of being out on your own, not having anyone else to bounce jokes off of, or take up dead space, and Raja’s heart skipped a beat. If it truly was as bad as she sensed, it wouldn’t be a shock to see two of the Heathers in the bottom.

They were all escorted back out onto the runway, enduring the critiques. Raja was pleased, and for most of the girls, there were compliments aplenty. Confirming her fears, the judges tore into her friends. She watched Michelle’s polished fingernail point at Delta, demanding that she get out of her head. Raja shot her a worried look.

Once back in the longue, Raja relaxed onto the sofa. The dynamic of the room had shifted, as it usually did when people’s feelings got hurt, and Raja winced as Delta began to rant, laughing apathetically about disregarding her criticisms.

They change the subject, having a relaxed kiki, discussing the words of Ru, Santino, Michelle, and their guest. Shangela cuts Raja off mid-sentence, and the annoyance bubbles inside her gut once again.

Manila beings to talk a lot, as she often does, spewing off words and defenses about being called a copycat, before Delta speaks up again. She’s beating herself up, acting as though she’s so underwhelmed by her performance and her place in the competition. She feels undervalued, and Raja shakes her head as the self-deprecating comments keep coming. There’s a sarcastic tone, but it hurts Raja’s heart.

Delta is more than a friend. A lifelong companion, a drag sister to have by her side forever. Raja’s seen Delta up on stage, collecting tips and applause. She knows how amazing she is, how beautifully her mug is painted, how intelligently her style shines through. She’s a polished queen who has earned her respect, and it pains her to see the dark cloud hanging over her head.

Suddenly, she’s on the floor, ripping off her wig and mocking the elimination process. She’s raving about the absurdity of it all; this isn’t a drag competition, it’s just a show made to exploit them and put them through the ringer. Raja’s tapping her foot, the other queens visibly uncomfortable at the vibe being created, as Delta swears that she’ll refuse to lip sync.

It doesn’t look good for her, Raja knows. Delta has already been in the bottom twice, and track record could definitely play a factor if her competitor brings it. She steals a glance at Manila, trying to save face, but she catches the occasional lip quiver. She’s talented, but so is Delta, and she feels guilty for knowing which Heather she’d rather have stay.

She grabs Delta by the wrist, pulling her into the gold bar. She isn’t going to let her sister crash and burn without a fight.

“Okay, you’ve gotta stop this,” she pleads, but her words fall on deaf ears. Delta’s mind is riddled with insecurities, and it seems that no matter how many well-deserved compliments she’s paid, her heart is overcast. The song is a classic, a disco hit that Delta knows, even without studying. Delta is a firework, and Raja knows she can pull through one more time to stay another week.

She’s trying to act calm, not letting her own nerves show. It wouldn’t feel right without her by her side. Sure, she’d have Carmen and Manila, but they weren’t Delta. If she was going to win, she wanted Delta with her through it all. She’d have to go sometime, but not now. Not like this.

They all go back onto the main stage, Raja’s predictions coming true. She doesn’t have time to be irritated with Shangela’s win; her heart is racing as the raised platform is deserted, one by one, until it’s only Manila and Delta.

Raja isn’t sure what she believes in anymore, but she says a prayer, nonetheless.

She’s biting her lip. She thinks to the nights they’ve spent gossiping, twirling the hotel phone cord around her finger. The coffee runs, granted to them after many complaints to Chanel. All the hours they spent, working their fingers to the bone, only to be rewarded with disgusting food and a lack of sleep. The Heathers made it bearable. By the second day she’d found someone so similar to herself in Manila.

It was going to be a damn shame to watch her sashay away.

The opening chords flood out of the speakers, and the lights move. Manila gracefully flutters down to the floor, yellow feathers dancing on their own. Her attire is almost eerily fitting to the song.

Donna Summer’s voice speaks to Raja as she tries to keep her gaze even, willing her spirit to give confidence to Delta. She’s performing, brilliant as always, and comically uses her chunky bracelet as a prop.

Then, the song is building, and everyone’s eyes turn to the Asian queen as she throws her whole body into the song, hands shaking, eyes crossed. The sheer energy and passion strikes Raja to her core, and the laughter of the judges seems like it’s coming from a million miles away.

Her eyes burn as she tries to force them onto Delta, but she can’t rip away. Manila is dancing the house down, so theatrical, and hungry to stay. The raw emotion is radiating off her body, and it’s entrancing.

Everyone is all smiles. The anxiety creeps up Raja’s center as she sees RuPaul’s gaze intently fixed on the younger queen, aware that Delta is quickly fading into the background. Manila’s bending her body back, arms in the air, expression crazed. Her fingers drag down her face, wiping the tears and mascara all over her cheeks.

Slowly, the exhilaration from before comes back, and she feels her body bopping to the beat. Raja’s cheeks ache from smiling so widely, and she has to restrain herself from taking a step forward.

In so many years, she has never felt like this. This truthful, honest display is beautiful to her, and it reaffirms her faith in the art of drag. It’s so beautiful. Manila is so beautiful.

It feels like five hours and two seconds all at once, but it’s finally winding down, and Manila stumbles as she runs into Delta, sweeping her up in her storm. She clings to her friend, crying out apologies, and Raja wants to run up and cradle them both.

The applause is thunderous as each queen returns to her respective end of the stage. There’s no doubt in anyone’s mind what the result will be, and yet Raja still curses when Manila is declared safe.

Everything afterwards moves in a blur, and Raja steps up to embrace Delta as she’s walking offstage. The other Heathers join in, and Manila is still sobbing. Raja finds herself gripping her wrist during the group hug. It doesn’t last long enough.

They all step backstage, feet bruised and battered, spirits weary. Typically, they’re allowed to go back into the workroom to de-drag, so long as they pretend not to see that tale-tell message on the mirror, spelled out in cheap lipstick. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Manila talking to Chanel, who’s holding a clipboard in her hands, and Raja can only assume she’s pleading to just go back to her room. She’s exhausted, and Raja can relate.

–

A few hours later, Sutan gives up on biting his lip, and finally pushes up from the bed. He knows he should be mourning the loss of his friend, but his mind is racing through a million thoughts a minute, and he’s craving some fresh air.

It’s not long until midnight, and they have an early call tomorrow. Still, he grabs for his pack on the coffee table, making sure his lighter and keycard are in his back pocket before heading outside.

There’s fancy outdoor lighting hanging everywhere, casting an orange glow on the outside pavilion Sutan always heads to when he needs fresh air. Metal tables and chairs sit unoccupied, and for a moment, he thinks his only company is the slight breeze and the cloudy night sky.

He sees his blonde tuft of hair first, peering up for any signs of the moon. He’s in a hoodie and gym shorts, bare feet dangling over the grass, as he sits on a short cement wall.

As Sutan approaches, he can see black streaks still staining the younger man’s face. Splotches of thick foundation remain, and he can’t help but wonder how long he’s been out there.

“Hey, Heather,” he said softly, as to not startle him. It was strangely silent for such a populated hotel, the only true sound coming from hidden crickets. “Your face is going to rot.”

It’s a joke, but neither laugh. Sutan leans against a pillar adjacent to the wall, lighting up, and for a couple of minutes no one speaks.

“Do you think Gabriel hates me?” Karl finally asks, voice hoarse from disuse.

“No, Manila,” he responds with a hefty sigh. “He knew he was going to be in the bottom, it was just his luck that you happened to kill it, right? It’s an honor to leave to another Heather.”

Sutan feels strangely calm. For a moment, he wonders if he’d feel any different if the outcome had been in Delta’s favor.

“Would you have hated me if I sent you home?”

“Probably,” Karl says, after a few beats. “For a while, anyway.”

Sutan takes a long drag, the sparks at the end of his cigarette burning their way up, dying and turning to ash. Something stings, and he wants to pretend it’s not the thought of going back to a life without Manila, never hearing her laugh in the morning or seeing her stupid cross-eyed face.

“Well, at least you’re honest,” he breathes out. Karl doesn’t smoke, though he does look in need of some vice to drown his sorrows with.

Karl feels guilty, and he doesn’t hide misery well, Sutan notes. He wants to reach out, but keeps his distance.

“It’s gonna be you and me, Heather,” he says, eventually, and Karl looks up, under eyes dark with fatigue. “Until the bitter end.”

“You think so?”

“Unless Shablamgela has some secret weapon and sends both of our asses home,” he snorts, and suddenly Karl is laughing weakly. It sends a tingle through him.

Karl pats the cement next to him, and Sutan stomps the butt of his cigarette out before hopping up. They watch the grass sway with the breeze. There are no flowers.

“What did it feel like?”

Karl groans, rubbing his face. He bumps Sutan’s shoulder and he chuckles quietly.

“The absolute worst. I felt like I was going to throw up, I was so scared. My heart was beating out of my chest.”

Sutan said nothing, content to listen.

“This sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, I couldn’t shake it. Ru’s eyes were burning into my skin. I didn’t want her to go, but I couldn’t lose. I didn’t think I wanted this so bad. It’s about more than the money and title, now. I’ve worked so hard, my whole life, and I always end up second best. I don’t wanna waste my life away in an office job. I’m meant for this, I know I am. Nothing brings me joy like sketching out my next outfit, plotting out a performance. It feels right, Sutan.”

His stomach flips at the sound of his name.

“Yeah,” he breathes in agreement, before clearing his throat. “I know what you mean. Like, I’ve done so many other projects…but there’s something about drag. It just draws me back.”

“It’s gonna suck to send you home, too.”

Sutan sees the quirk of Karl’s lips, and he shoots him a narrowed glance.

“Shut up, Heather.”

They’re laughing, for real now, sadness being alleviated each second. Karl leans his head against his shoulder. Sutan lets his eyes close. He can feel the other man’s breath on his arm, and it tickles him, but he makes no effort to move.

He thinks back to the elimination, watching Manila silently scream with passion, move with artistry. The makeup coated tears he so longed to wipe away. It was enchanting, intoxicating, and for a few seconds, he let himself dare to imagine what he might have done if he had let himself take those steps further.

She was beautiful, even dressed up as a Muppet. Something clenched around Sutan’s heart. Perhaps all they had in common was more than coincidence. Two sides of the same coin, meant to be together.

He knows he shouldn’t, that he’ll probably regret this, but he doesn’t care. It could be his fried brain talking, forced into near solitude and wringed out for all it was worth, but he thinks the moon is looking to him, and she’s saying to move toward his body.

He twists, placing a hand on Karl’s knee. His head perks up, and their eyes meet. Sutan is scanning every inch of his face, trying to see if he’s reading the situation correctly. The feeling is unmistakable.

Karl smiles, suddenly, and Sutan does this same. He only moves in about an inch before he hears the other boy speak up.

“We could really make a difference in the way drag is viewed, I think. The world is gonna be wowed by us when all of this is over and airing. Even if I don’t win, I’m so ready for what’s to come. We should be proud of ourselves. I can’t wait to see what Sahara is gonna say.”

In an instant, Sutan jerks back, eyes focusing on nothing. He’s willing his face not to heat up, thankful for the heavy shadows encompassing them. His nerves are rattled. How could he have forgotten?

Sutan has a big ego, but he isn’t stupid. He knows what certain things look like, how they feel, and how they sound. The tone applied to Karl’s voice when he says his name is not at all the same as the way he says Antoine’s. He’s dizzy, so embarrassed by what he was about to do.

Karl stifles a yawn, covering his mouth with the back of his hand.

“I’m fucking beat. I think I’m gonna turn in,” he says, and Sutan can only numbly nod. He’s both grateful and upset. Wants him to go, desperate to ask him to stay.

Karl hops off the wall and walks back toward the building. Sutan can hear him swipe his card, the faint beeping mocking him.

“Love you, Heather!” He calls out, and Sutan waits until he’s gone to reply.

“Love you, too.”

#raja gemini #manila luzon #rajila #delta work #hurt/comfort #slight angst #juniper #rpdr fanfiction #submission #canon compliant

[hardman5509]

Officer Bluebell’s Usual Morning/Belated Bday Gift

For @ninozapo

Every morning would relatively play out the same.

She would wake up in her apartment at 6 am sharp. Maybe spend ten minutes in bed, depending on how much work she had last night. After gathering the energy, she would crawl out of bed and take a nice and long hot shower. That would kill any drowsy webs still haunting her mind. After a breakfast of cereal and fruit, she would dress and head out.

Bluebell sighed as she spotted Red Pistol approaching carrying a brown paper bag. A mystery meal. It could be doughnuts, burgers, meat loaf or actual mystery meat. Where Red Pistol got ahold of these strange things is the real mystery. Bluebell threw open the passenger door and closed her eyes, anticipating the worst.

“You in the mood for salmon?” Red started as she landed in the seat.

“Thank god.” Bluebell sighed under her breath. “Yeah.” She claimed with her normal voice before driving off to work. “So, any predictions?”

“We’ll run into the Queen Bee and get the credit for the capture for once.” Red Pistol cleared her throat as she threw the salmon into the backseat.

“Nah.” Bluebell let out a little chuckle. “She’s too smart to stay in the city after that last robbery. She’s bound to be a faraway country by now.”

“Nah back!” Red Pistol slightly nudged Bluebell in the shoulder. “She’s not that smart! She’s going to lay low for a while, and then jump back up with another large-scale robbery! In fact, I think we should stake out a back-alley pawnshop. She’s bound to try and sell the hot loot!”

Bluebell shook her head, let out a sigh, and focused on driving. Once Red Pistol got started on her ideas, the only way to stop her is to come across a crime or get the Chief to get her to be quiet.

Speaking of the former…

Bluebell had a habit of gazing around whenever she stopped at a light, something she developed during her patrols. And being that the light had just turned red, she had plenty of time to look to and fro. A old woman and a business man waiting for the bus, a couple walking together, a father pushing a baby stroller down to a grocery store, a man carrying his bags and a pistol out of said grocery store, a hobo begging for money, a peddler trying to sell imitation watches…

“Robber.” Bluebell muttered to Red Pistol, still trying to make out Queen Bee’s next plan. Red Pistol actually went quiet and turned to where Bluebell looked in to see the man rushing out with his gun and his bags full of stolen frozen foods and cash bills. “Call it in.” Bluebell called out as she opened the glove box and pulled out her off duty pistol.

“Hey now…” Red Pistol calmly stated.

“I got a gun, you don’t.” Bluebell had to point out before running off to chase after the robber.

The robber looked ready to turn himself in, going by his random shuffling and his constant turning and twisting to try to see if anyone is going to harass him now. Too bad he missed the woman in the bomber jacket running full tilt at him until she tackled him hard to the ground, sending his ill-earned prizes flying around the sidewalk.

“That’s way too easy.” Bluebell thought to herself as she yanked her jacket off to tie the arms as makeshift handcuffs. The guy started to cry. “What, were you expecting to win?” She asked in a honest tone 

“Yes!” The guy sobbed.

Bluebell reached over for the gun, only for her hands to slip on something by the magazine. Pulling her hand back to look at it, she found what looked to be ink stains on her hands. Arching her brows, she pulled out the magazine to find…

“A ink cartage.” Bluebell blankly stated. She looked the gun over. “And a airsoft pistol.”

“I couldn’t afford a actual gun.” The guy admitted.

 “So you jammed a ink cartage into a gun?”

“I lost the magazine.”

The sound of clapping drew Bluebell’s attention over to where she parked her car. Red Pistol had left the car and leaned against the car to slowly clap at Bluebell’s award-winning capture. She kept on clapping as Bluebell had to pick up the wannabe robber and drag him to the car.

“Congrats.” Red huffed out. “You caught a elementary-school bandit. 

“Be quiet.” Bluebell muffled out.

As Bluebell tossed the robber into the back of her car, a loud noise rocked her body. A news van had pulled up right to her car, nearly nicking Bluebell’s mirror. Out of the van leapt a tall woman with even taller hair. She adjusted her tie as her cameraman and mic-guy got out and quickly set up her equipment.

“Breaking news!” The reporter shouted, nearly causing the mic-guy to fall over. “This is Jay Platinum, reporting live from Moffat Avenue! Star officer Blue Bell hasn’t even started her day yet and she’s already caught a criminal!” Jay raced over to Bluebell’s side alongside her crew so they could stick a microphone and a camera in Bluebell’s face. “What are you thoughts on the increasing rate of petty crime as of late?” 

Being one trained in the art of public media control, Bluebell responded with, “No comment.” She slammed the back door, walked calmly around to the driver door…

“I’m driving.” Red Pistol sniggered as she gunned the engine. Bluebell let out a long groan as she practically threw herself over to the passenger door and got in. All the while Jay and her crew recorded the whole embarrassing affair for Bluebell 

“Well, another five minutes of fame for ‘ya!” Red Pistol patted Bluebell on the back with one hand. “Next time, can I take the arrest? I could use some TV time myself.”

“Knowing my luck, Jay will endlessly praise you.” Bluebell grunted under her breath.

So they had to take a small detour to the arresting house to drop the wannabe robber (Which, as Bluebell pointed out, isn’t true as he did leave the store premises with stolen content so he’s a actual robber, just not a good one.) the two made it to the station house to change into their uniforms and get briefed on today’s assignments by their superior, Chief Roulette.

“Right.” Roulette sighed as she pushed her overly-large glasses higher up on her nose. “As we all know by now, Officer Bluebell has caught yet another petty criminal on her way to work. Let us all applaud her incredible fortitude in upholding the law.” Everyone in the room started to slowly clap. Bluebell took off her cap and promptly buried her head into it to avoid listening to the dull mockery of her equals…and Red Pistol.

“As such, she and Red Pistol are going on patrol duty to Albert Avenue.” Some bad news was coming out of the chief’s mouth. Albert Avenue is in the richest district in the district, so either’s it going to be a easy ride having to deal with dumb rich bastards who will always think they know more than they do or having to arrest every single moron who would try, and fail, to steal something.

“Wow!” Red Pistol patted Bluebell on the back. “We get the hardest job thanks to you arresting that kiddie thief who would have walked straight into a open sewer hole if not for you!” She let out a long sigh. “Can I drive?”

“No.” Bluebell grunted. “You’ll abandon me the moment we’re approached by a old lady asking us to help move a couch.”

“I wouldn’t do that. You’ll have to be out of the car for that to work. 

Bluebell tossed her cap back on as the briefing ended and everyone moved out to get into their squad cars. At least the day was starting and she could do her job normally. Red Pistol spun around her service pistol as they hoped into the car. With a slight sigh to herself to calm herself down in some weird way, Bluebell drove off towards her patrol route.

Hopefully the rest of her day would be better. Maybe Red Pistol will be pelted with a rotten egg.

#officer bluebell #blue bell #officer blue bell #red pistol #ninozapo

[daniella-the-travella]

Machu Achoo

Now for the post you have all been waiting for... my trip to Machu Picchu!!

Let’s start where I ended off in my last post. After returning from Ica, I was very worn out and started coughing. I ate some dinner and went right to bed. The next morning, I felt awful. My head was hurting and my throat was scratchy. I saw white spots in the back of my throat and knew I was done for. Camille, another girl in my house, had the same symptoms the previous week, so I knew I had her virus. She got better eventually, so I knew I would make it. I got up and found out that Morgan and Camille were both sick as well!! Morgan had the same thing I had, and Camille got traveler’s sickness. Traveler’s sickness is common when you venture to new places with different bacteria in the water. The water in Peru is not safe for us United Statesians (technically we are all Americans here). The cure for traveler’s sickness is an antibiotic that was very easy to find. Together, all three of us skipped school and had a sick day. We shared vitamin C and compared the amount of fluids we drank. I think I won with 4 liters.

Sick day party! It only lasted about 5 min before we were all tired and went back to our rooms.

All of the lovely beverages I drank to try to flush out the sickness.

The next day, Tuesday, was pretty much the same deal. All three of us stayed home sick, mostly sleeping. How exciting, right!?

I enjoyed walking around the house with my comforter. You could say I found it... comforting. It was the perfect length, so it didn’t drag along on the floor.

Wednesday. This day was miserable for me. Camille and Morgan were feeling better, thank goodness, but I certainly was not. We woke up around 4:30am to get ready! At this point, I was actually feeling good! I thought there was a chance that I was better! We were picked up by our private bus and taken to the airport. I was cracking jokes most of the way there; it was a great time! We even came up with the idea that there is a group of people called the night runners. There were a lot of people running on the streets, and we decided it was because they were part of a club. Now that I think about it, we were very tired, and it isn’t that funny anymore.

At the airport, we checked in our bags and went through security. It was strange to me that I was allowed to have fruit and a full water bottle through security without getting yelled at because it was a domestic flight. Then, Morgan and I napped until the plane was ready for us. I waited to board the plane until the boarding line was only 5 people long, so I didn’t have to stand for a long time. I had a fever and my headache was back. I tried to sleep on the plane. When we landed in Cusco, I wanted to cry. I had a fever, headache, sore throat, and then suddenly I could feel the altitude. At 11,150 ft, there is a lot less oxygen in the air. When I was breathing, it felt like my lungs were shivering. When I took bigger breaths, it went away. Upon entering the airport, there was a basket of free coca leaves. We were told not to take them because they could be unsanitary, but only after I was already sucking on a couple. Oops. Coca comes in the form of leaves that can be held in your cheek, or it is made into tea, caramels, chocolate, and, yes, after processing, cocaine(however, cocaine is a very concentrated form of coca, and it would require a LOT of coca leaves to actually “get high”). The purpose of the coca is to help with altitude sickness and to improve digestion. Digestion is much slower at high altitudes. The coca works as a stimulant and gives you energy to power through. Once we all had our bags, we SLOWLY went to a little store to get “mate de coca” (coca tea). Keyword: slowly. Take it easy when you jump from pretty much sea level to the middle of the mountains. I don’t actually enjoy drinking tea very much, so when one of the girls in my group dropped hers, I gave her my cup of tea. Don’t worry! I did not spread my sicky icky germs. The tea was so hot, three people had burnt their tongues, so I hadn’t taken a sip yet.

My first coca leaf. I did not like the taste very much. My tummy also got upset any time I had any form of coca.

The next goal was to get to a lower elevation. We got on a bus, and drove down. We made a couple stops along the way. The first was to visit alpacas and llamas! There was a little museum, and then we got to feed and pet the animals. We could also watch people weave using alpaca wool. I perked up enough to walk around a little because one simply does not sit on the bus when there are alpacas to pet. The second stop was to try cuy. Cuy is guinea pig. I was a little hesitant at first, but then I ended up really liking the skin. I got tired of eating the actual meat because there were so many little bones to eat around. The drive through the sacred valley was gorgeous! The reason why it is called the sacred valley is because the soil is very fertile. There were many terraces and fields of crops as we drove by.

My new llama friends.

It’s hard to eat a guinea pig when there is an adorable painting of one playing a... some sort of string instrument... right next to the table.

This is a plate of potatoes and cuy. The lowest piece in the picture is the head, mouth open. You can see its teeth poking out. Its leg is right next to the head.

Danny (the guy in the picture) took a selfie with me eating my first bites. He is the main academic coordinator dude that helps organize the trips. He also constantly asked how I was feeling during the trip. Thank you for looking out for me, Danny!

Look how pretty the Sacred Valley was!!!

Finally, we made it to the hotel in Ollantaytambo. I ventured out to get water and then slept. I started getting scared that I wouldn’t be able to go up to Machu Picchu.

Thursday morning, everyone went on a tour of an Incan grainery except me. I stayed back to sleep. I still felt iffy. My throat was less sore, but I was coughing a bunch. Around 11 am, we got on the magical train that took us up to Machu Picchu town. I felt horrible the whole way, but could not get myself to close my eyes for a nap because the scenery was beautiful! I was riding in a backwards seat. To my right, there was a winding little river that sparkled in the sun, and to my left, there were snow covered mountains in the distance. At a certain elevation, the few plants and grass, turned to lush vegetation. This is because we entered the cloud forest. There were orchids and other colorful flowers and bushes and vines and trees... The cloud forest eventually leads to the Amazon. At the end of the train ride, we pulled into the station, got off the train and marched up a hill to the hotel. Some of the people in my group stopped to take breaks as we went up the hill, because elevation, but for the first time, I felt great! The more time we spent in Machu Picchu town, the better I felt! After missing lunch, we were hungry, so Morgan, Camille, and I went to a little restaurant. As we walked through the streets, people, mostly men, were shouting cat calls and trying to get us to go to their restaurant. There were many to choose from, but the fancy table clothes and outdoor seating drew us in to this particular one. I ordered chicha morada and a fruit pancake. Both were delicious. Chicha morada is purple corn drink, and I say it tastes like mellowed down purple grape juice. I love it!

Machu Picchu Town

My yummy pancake with papaya, strawberries, and pineapples.

Then I took a short nap before checking out the hot springs. The hot springs were really cool (or should I say hot). There were a bunch of baths filled with water of different temperatures from the river (the same one along the train tracks). The first one we tried had no people in it, and we quickly found out why. It was freezing cold. Then we tried another. This one was a strange lukewarm temperature. It was really uncomfortable, so we quickly left this one as well. We finally went to the crowded big pool. This pool was the warmest and felt really nice. There was a gravel bottom, which we did not expect because the other ones had tile bottoms, and we met some interesting people from around the world. It also smelled like pee, but oh well, I guess. There was a list of benefits of bathing on the wall right next to the list of alcoholic beverages you could order while enjoying your soak. Some of the benefits were releasing toxins, relieving stress, and helping with altitude sickness. Turns out, it also gets rid of your nasty virus that has been bugging you all week! I felt great afterwards! I was also very hungry.

This is the pretty little river/spring.

This is what the bathes looked like.

This was one of the carvings in the wall along the path to the hot springs.

Some of our friends told us about a yummy pizza place right next to our hotel, so we decided to try it. When we got there, they asked us which country we are from. We told them we came from Canada because why not. While we waited for our pizza, we sang along to the music and played a little jenga. The jenga blocks were signed by people all over the world. We decided to write on a jenga piece of our own. The wood-fire pizza was amazing! Nothing like the greasy pathetic crap they have in the US. At the end, they started playing live music. When we went back to our hotel, I could hear it from my room the rest of the night.

Here is our Canadian flag with our own Jenga block. We wrote “No hay drama” because our professor, Carlos, always says it. Directly translated, it means “there is no drama,” but he says it sort of like “no biggie.”

To be continued because Tumblr is having a panic attack from all this writing!

#Peru MTU Machu Picchu Study Abroud