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pinktintedmonocle · 3 years

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Dedicated Followers of Fashion - A Cobra Kai Lawrusso Fanfic - Chapter 1

Daniel raised an eyebrow. “That jacket is certainly something. Where did you even get that?”

Johnny shrugged. “Can’t remember. Had it since the nineties.”

“Oh yeah? Thought you didn’t own any clothes bought after 1989?”

When Johnny wears his sleeveless denim jacket to sparring practice, long buried feelings begin to emerge between him and Daniel. As they try to deal with their emotions, a few iconic outfits from their past make a reappearance.

Set post season 3, so beware spoilers if you haven’t finished it yet.

1992

“John Lawrence, here for the modelling gig.”

The receptionist looked at Johnny over the top of her wire rimmed glasses, pursing her lips in disapproval.

“You’re late.”

“Yeah, I know. I ran outta juice half a mile from the nearest gas station and me and my friend Bobby had to push my Firebird – ”

“Just sign here”, said the woman, pushing a clipboard towards Johnny. “Then take a left down there to get to costume and make-up.”

She pointed towards a corridor with a blood red nail and Johnny squiggled his signature then set off, walking briskly. He knocked on the door and it was quickly opened by a harassed looking man in a brightly patterned shirt.

“Are you the model? You’re very late you know, we were expecting you almost an hour ago.”

“Yeah, I know”, said Johnny. “But my car -”

“I don’t care, just get in here”, said the man, dragging Johnny into the room and starting to unbutton his shirt.

“Right, we need to get your clothes off and the baby oil on. Miranda!”

A small woman with a measuring tape around her neck materialised out of seemingly nowhere, brandishing a bottle of oil. Together, Miranda and the man prepared Johnny for the shoot, styling his hair and oiling him up. They gave him a pair of low rise designer jeans to change into; he quickly took off his own very much not-designer jeans and pulled them on.

“Right!” said the man, clapping his hands together and surveying his handiwork. “I think you’re all good to go! Oh – apart from one thing -”

He handed Johnny a sleeveless denim jacket and Johnny shrugged it on over his bare chest before the man pushed him out of the room and Miranda led him to the set.

After the shoot, Johnny walked up to the photographer.

“Hey, look I was just wondering if there are any more jobs like this going. It’s just I could really use the money and -”

“Oh, there are plenty of jobs like this going. For people who show up on time”, said the photographer, glaring at Johnny before walking off.

Back in the dressing room, Johnny scrubbed the baby oil angrily off his chest. He tugged his own jeans and shirt back on before his eyes fell on the denim jacket, now draped over the back of a chair. He slung it over one arm and left the building, more than ready for a beer with Bobby.

2019

“Maybe our new logo could be an eagle eating a snake”, suggested Johnny, picking up a pencil and beginning a crude sketch.

“Needs to have a bonsai in it”, said Daniel, not looking up from his phone.

“Alright. How about an eagle sitting in a bonsai eating a snake?”

Daniel tutted. “An eagle can’t sit in a bonsai, Johnny. It’s too big, the bonsai would just topple over.”

Johnny dropped the pencil and huffed, crossing his arms.

“Yeah, well, why don’t you try and come up with some ideas, LaRusso, rather than just staring at crap on your phone? What are you looking at, anyway?”

“Your Facebook page”, Daniel answered without missing a beat. “And you’re right, it is crap. Why is there a photo of you pouting while standing in front of a mural of some angel wings?”

“Oh shit, thought I’d got rid of that one”, said Johnny, pulling a face. “Can you delete it for me while you’re there?”

Daniel sighed. “No, Johnny, I can’t delete it for you, that’s not how it works.” He was for silent for a moment, still scrolling, then smiled.

“This one of you and Miguel is nice, though. You at a concert or something?”

“Yeah, Dee Snider, the most badass rocker ever.” Johnny stuck his tongue out and raised his hand to his mouth, two middle fingers held down, mimicking the pose in the photo.

Daniel rolled his eyes. “That jacket is certainly something. Where did you even get that?”

Johnny shrugged. “Can’t remember. Had it since the nineties.”

“Oh yeah? Thought you didn’t own any clothes bought after 1989?”

Johnny threw the pencil at Daniel across the office they had set up in Miyagi-Do. The smaller man caught it easily and scowled, but Johnny just grinned.

“Maybe I’ll wear it for you sometime, LaRusso”, he said with a wink.

“Lucky me”, Daniel muttered, looking back down at his phone.

Johnny wasn’t sure if it was just a trick of the light, but it almost looked like there was a faint blush on Daniel’s cheeks.

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

Johnny could tell before he even got out of bed that it was going to be a swelteringly hot day. He woke in the early hours of the morning and couldn’t get back to sleep, the sheets sticking uncomfortably to his skin.

Eventually he got up and munched on cereal while aimlessly scrolling through Facebook on his laptop. (He had recently learnt that the box which asked him ‘What’s on your mind?’ was not a space for private thought, and that anything written in there could be seen by anyone else on Facebook. He discovered this after typing ‘How to take down Kreese and also what is cotton candy made of’ and Daniel had replied thirty seconds later with ‘You’re an idiot, Johnny’.)

As the heat continued to build Johnny took a cold shower before selecting an outfit for the day’s training. He threw on shorts and a sleeveless t-shirt and was just about to walk out of the bedroom when the denim jacket caught his eye, crumpled up on the floor of his closet.

Maybe I’ll wear it for you sometime, LaRusso.

Johnny picked it up, and before he could change his mind he shoved it into his gym bag and headed out of his apartment.

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

“Good work today everyone”, said Daniel, nodding approvingly as the students filtered out of Miyagi-Do, wiping sweat off their foreheads and glugging from water bottles.

“Yeah, getting badass”, agreed Johnny. “Barely any pussies among you now. Well, apart from maybe you.” He pointed at Demetri.

The pale boy looked offended. “Hey, what’s wrong with me? I thought I did pretty well today!”

“You did, Demetri”, Daniel said reassuringly, patting him on the back as he left and frowning at Johnny.

Johnny just smirked and glanced towards the house, thinking longingly of the ice cold Coors Banquet waiting for him in the newly installed refrigerator.

“Hey Sensei!”

Johnny turned to see Miguel standing in front of him.

“You wanna come over to mine for dinner tonight? My mom says you’re welcome to join us if you don’t have any other plans.”

“Not tonight, kid. I’m gonna stay here for a bit, work on some new moves with LaRusso. But another time, yeah?”

“Yeah, of course”, said Miguel with a smile. “See you later, Sensei.” He started to walk out of the dojo, waving goodbye to Daniel as he went before looping an arm around Sam’s shoulders.

When the kids had left, Daniel turned to Johnny.

“You hungry?”

Johnny shrugged. “I could eat.”

He followed Daniel into the house, allowing his eyes to trail down the other man’s petite form. It had been a while since Johnny had seen Daniel train in anything that wasn’t a tracksuit or a gi, but due to the temperature Daniel was dressed similarly to Johnny in shorts and a sleeveless workout top. Johnny watched as Daniel’s long legs carried him out of the yard and inside, a slight sheen of sweat glinting on the tanned skin. Johnny bit his lip and fetched his longed for beer from the refrigerator, taking a swig.

“You want a cold one, LaRusso?” he asked.

“Do you have any beer, or in fact any form of alcohol, that isn’t a Coors Banquet?”

“No.”

“Then I’ll stick with water”, Daniel said dryly. He turned around to start preparing the dinner and Johnny held up his middle finger behind his back.

As Daniel busied himself Johnny opened his gym bag, reaching inside and pulling out a towel to wipe the sweat off his brow. He paused when he saw the jacket, scrunched up in the corner of the bag along with a can of deodorant and a packet of corn nuts.

Maybe I’ll wear it for you sometime, LaRusso.

Lucky me.

He took it out of the bag and pulled it on, feeling the rough denim scratch against his skin, before strutting back into the yard and sitting on the deck. He sipped his beer as the early evening sun beat down, trying and failing to think of something that wasn’t Daniel LaRusso’s legs.

Daniel soon emerged from the house and strode over with two plates of food. When he caught sight of Johnny he stopped mid-stride, mouth opening and closing a few times before he settled on just shaking his head.

Johnny grinned. “What? Told you I’d wear it for you sometime, LaRusso.”

“You’re ridiculous, you know that Johnny?” said Daniel, joining Johnny on the deck and handing him a plate and cutlery.

“I’m ridiculous? You’re the one who has a dojo in an ornamental garden.”

“What, as opposed to a more sensible location for teaching children karate, like a public park or a seedy strip mall with faulty wiring?”

Johnny ignored the jibe and poked at his dinner with a fork, wrinkling his nose in distaste. “A salad?” He put the bowl down. “Think I’ll go and grab a burger.”

“Really, Johnny? You want something hot in this heat?”

“Maybe I do”, Johnny replied, making eye contact with the smaller man.

This time the blush that bloomed on Daniel’s cheeks was definitely not a trick of the light.

After a moment Daniel coughed and looked away. “Come on Johnny, eat your salad. It’s good, I swear.”

Johnny pulled a face again but still speared a carrot and a lettuce leaf with his fork and popped them in his mouth, munching nosily. As green stuff went it actually wasn’t too bad. Not that he would ever tell Daniel that.

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

After dinner they discussed potential new moves they could teach their students for the tournament, Daniel diligently writing them all down while Johnny lounged on the deck, nursing another Coors Banquet. (“Why don’t you just teach them that move you used on Kreese, the one that made his arms go limp? Then we’d win no problem.” asked Johnny. Daniel had rolled his eyes. “Funnily enough, temporarily paralysing your opponent is considered an illegal move in a karate tournament for children.” “But you can at least teach me, LaRusso.” “I’m not doing that, Johnny. You’d use it on anybody who annoyed you, which would mean practically everyone in the valley would have numb limbs.”)

Eventually Daniel put the pen down and stood up, offering a hand out to Johnny.

“You wanna try putting some of these moves into action?”

Johnny nodded and clasped Daniel’s hand, letting the smaller man pull him up. As he did, Johnny let his thumb rub gently over the back of Daniel’s hand for just a moment, noting with interest the slight but noticeable hitch in Daniel’s breathing as he did so. He thought of the blush from earlier, the way the pink tinge had spread prettily across Daniel’s olive skin, and swallowed thickly. The sensible thing would be to ignore these feelings, to push them back into the distant corner of his mind where they had been dwelling for the past three decades.

But Johnny Lawrence was not good at doing the sensible thing.

Daniel started to warm up while Johnny did a few half-hearted stretches of his own. Then they got into position in the middle of the yard.

“You gonna be able to move properly in that, Johnny?” asked Daniel, eyes flicking up and down Johnny’s denim clad torso.

“I can move in anything, LaRusso. Don’t think you’ve got an advantage over me just because you’re wearing some fancy-ass designer workout gear and $300 sneakers.”

“Whatever, Johnny. You wanna start with the new set of kicks?”

They trained for about forty minutes, moving from the kicks to a new punching technique and then into some blocks (“Can’t we just keep punching?” Johnny had asked. “’Cause you know, the best type of defence is just more offence.” Daniel raised an eyebrow. “That’s the winning attitude that got us into this mess to begin with. Come on Johnny, let’s just try it my way, OK?”)

The sun was low in the sky but it was still baking hot, and Johnny could feel the sweat running down his chest, exacerbated by the heavyweight denim. It was worth it though. Johnny hadn’t really planned what would happen once he’d put the jacket on, but the first time Daniel’s bare skin had come into contact with the fabric he had let out a breathy little gasp. Johnny had then deliberately started to make sure his jacket touched Daniel whenever possible, and by the time they had worked through most of the new moves Daniel was looking dishevelled, hair unruly and falling into his eyes, skin slick with sweat, breath ragged. He lashed out with a front kick and Johnny blocked as planned, but rather than backing off he spun Daniel around and pulled him into an embrace so the smaller man’s back was flush against his chest before dragging his jacket slowly over Daniel’s damp skin. Daniel shuddered and let out a small whimper. He went to move away but Johnny grabbed his wrist and pulled him back in so that they were face to face. Johnny let go of Daniel’s wrist, moving his hand instead to the other man’s waist, letting his fingers rub over the slight swell of softness at Daniel’s middle.

“Johnny”, Daniel breathed, voice breaking, eyes wide, leaning in just ever so slightly.

Johnny gulped. This was dangerous territory; flirting was one thing, but they were now on the verge of something else entirely. An image of Carmen and Miguel flashed into his mind, happily chatting away at their family meal, and he felt a sudden rush of guilt. Daniel was still staring at him with those big doe eyes, and he suspected that if he went in for a kiss the smaller man wouldn’t resist him.

Instead he stepped back, arms dropping to his sides, almost tripping over a rock as he put some distance between him and Daniel (who designs a dojo with freaking great lumps of stone in it, anyway? And Daniel had the nerve to criticise him for being unsafe).

“Uh”, he said, throat dry, voice coming out low and scratchy. “That was good. I mean, good – uh – session. With the new moves.”

Daniel just stared at him for a moment before he seemed to come to his senses.

“Uh, yeah”, he said, clearing his throat. “Good, uh, good work Johnny.”

“Uh, yeah. You too”, said Johnny, gesturing vaguely in Daniel’s direction. They were both silent for a second and then they both spoke at once.

“It’s getting late, I should –”

“So I need to get back –”

They smiled tightly at each other.

“See you tomorrow, LaRusso”, Johnny said awkwardly.

“Yeah. Tomorrow.”

Johnny fetched his stuff from the house and left by the front door, slinging his bag into the back seat of his car. He pulled out of the driveway, glancing for a second in the rear view mirror. Daniel stood in the doorway, watching him, an unreadable expression on his face.

At home, Johnny peeled off the denim jacket and threw it back into the closet. He grabbed a beer from the refrigerator and drank it in one before cracking open another and sitting down in front of the TV. He let a mindless action film wash over him until he felt his eyelids start to droop and he drifted off on the couch to dreams of long legs and big eyes and a soft New Jersey accent that just whispered Johnny, Johnny, Johnny over and over again.

#cobra kai #cobrakaifanfic #cobra kai fan fic #cobra kai fanfiction #Johnny Lawrence #Daniel LaRusso #lawrusso #clothing kink

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readysetstarker · 4 years

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so, i’m guessing i’m in for an “ugh, finally” from a follower or two. i’ve been busy, gone through some very personal stuff over the last couple of months that made writing a near-impossible task for me. thankfully, i’ve mostly made it through. so sorry for such a long wait, my dears. i hope y’all enjoy.

also, much love to @quellthefire for, well, pretty much everything over the past few weeks. she knows everything she’s done for me. it’s why i specifically waited for her to return from work to post this, lol.

i’m sure some people have changed usernames or had blogs deactivated, and if you have, please PM instead of replying so i can fix your url on the tag list! i know it’s taken me way too long to get this part out, and a lot has happened since last september. sorry to make y’all wait.

Tag list: @loki-iwanttobeking, @strawberryparkers, @hoe4parker, @deliciousflapbanditfarm, @idontfeelsogoodmrspock, @srrnnrrs, @carttorchdeatth, @starkerhowlter, @starkeristhenameshippingismygame, @awesomeimportantfan, @itsjustmeowrooh, @starkravingspiders, @subverbaldreams, @this-starker-hoe, @moderndayqueenofscots, @prettyboy-parker, @sadbumblingmess, @winter-starker, @afreckledfairy, @lunakir, @parleroumourirr, @mintystarker, @starkerfics, @starkerprince, @mystarker, @aoifelaufeyson, @consciencecoward, @shinycreatoroafbonk, @themanandthespider, @jokesonme9000, @silkystark, @superpaperclip, @betteraskremus, @justallydavis, @marvel-shxt, @loki-helmet, @urfavisastarker, @haysend, @outlawbiscuits, @xmissemilyx-blog-blog, @silverloveless, @hereforagoodtimenotalong, @zoerayne2426, @kkomusume, @ardett, @seriouslystarker, @starkerprince, @shipperofalltheships, @morgoona-stark, @momobaby227, @idfuckanymarvelperson, @lltrashll, @richieleeparker, @haylove5, @katieb968, @xlace-babyx, @multi-fandom-fucker, @narutoyaoifan, @thatmarvelstan, @shinytoy, @allie-lyre, @country-cowgirl-101, @heyimstarker, @kiaorastarker, @nymeriasutcliff, @hoeforthegays, @ironspiidey, @annoyingcatto, @another-starker-hoe, @isomnelyswear, @starker-3000, @donttellanyoneitsmebabe, @peachbabytarte, @paintingbellarke, @pixiedragon99, @starterrrrrrrr, @pankade, @procrastinating-porcupine, @book-reviews-by-titch, @scared2death2live, @leatheronplaid, @untold-royalty, @kittycake574, @rk800puppy, @nerdylocksandthethreebears, @ikneelbeforemygod, @bipolarlatinx, @amazingness666, @fandombitchs-blog, @love-is-not-an-option, @starkerflowers, @theatrekidwithissues, @babygirl-barnes, @rebel13lion39, @cherrygoldlove, @casnovak88, @princess-parker, @blue-birb-blog

Warnings: peter is 19. anxiety attacks, mentions of a student/teacher relationship. nothing nsfw here. saving that for later ;)

—

Peter read the email over and over again, heart pounding like an uncontrollable jackhammer, and willed it to be fake. Some part of him hoped that maybe Flash had gotten ahold of Professor Stark’s email, gone through his computer, and sent it to throw Peter off. The things Flash had done and said to him back in high school, Peter wouldn’t count Flash out of doing something so… cruel.

Regret to inform you that your services as a teacher’s assistant will no longer be needed, the words said, each letter like a knife in Peter’s chest. Thank you for your interest in the position, but a more qualified candidate has been chosen to replace you. I’m sorry for any inconvenience this change causes...

He couldn’t bring himself to read the rest. His blood went cold, even as his heart pounded so hard he briefly thought it would jump out of his ribcage. This couldn’t be happening. He could just close his eyes and count to three, and everything would be fixed, right? Right?

Peter hastily clicked out of the window and began pacing his room. He chewed on a nail until it broke. What was he going to do? What was he going to say? He had already told May he had an announcement to make at dinner; she was expecting something good, if the way she was humming and singing to herself in the kitchen was anything to go by.

The last thing he needed to brag about was losing the position.

His fingers were moving across his keyboard before he could properly think. Pulling up the email again, sending Professor Stark a reply filled with apologies for anything and everything he had done wrong, and refreshing the page four times within the span of two minutes. Hopefully, Professor Stark wasn’t one of those teachers who didn’t respond to their emails.

Peter paced his room and refreshed the page until May’s voice finally floated in through his doorway, “Dinner’s ready, Pete! I don’t think I burned it this time.”

Peter’s heart jumped into his throat. He’d have to tell her.

The smell of definitely-burnt meatloaf clung to Peter’s nostrils when he entered the kitchen, a hazy, smokey fog hanging over the apartment. May stood at one of the windows in the living room and used a copy of The Daily Bugle to waft it out into the night. She brushed her dark hair out of her face with her free hand and offered him a weak, guilty smile.

“Okay, I lied. It’s a little charred. But I won’t be offended if you want to scrape off the black bits.”

Peter offered her a weak chuckle and went to set the table. He nervously ran his thumb over a chip in one of the plates while May abandoned her task of fanning out the smoke, but she left the window open. A gentle breeze and the smell of Queens at night joined them at the dinner table.

The meatloaf was dry and tough, but the vegetables she had cooked to go along with it were nearly perfect. She did tease him about how much salt he put over them before she took a sip of her water and cleared her throat. “So,” she started, and Peter didn’t feel very hungry anymore. “What was your big announcement? I’ve been dying all day, since you texted me at lunch.”

At lunch, I still had a job, he thought bitterly, buying some time for himself by chewing thoughtfully on a stalk of broccoli.

“Oh, yeah.” Peter swallowed and, wow, his tongue was ridiculously dry. Had he put too much salt on his food this time? No, he hadn’t, but he liked to think that it wasn’t his fear and anxiety making his tongue stick to the roof of his mouth. “It’s, um, it’s not—”

“Is everything okay?” May asked, and the concern in her voice made his chest ache. “I know finals are coming up. Are you doing okay in your classes? Do you need help? You know, we have that retired chemist upstairs; I’m sure she wouldn’t mind tutoring you if I baked her a pan of my walnut brownies. She was asking for some the other day.”

“No! No, I’m doing fine in my classes. My astrology teacher actually made me exempt from taking the exam because I have the highest grade in the class.” Peter’s teeth dug into his cheek. “May, it’s about the teaching assistant job.”

“The what?” May perked up, eyebrows rising to her hairline. “What job? When did you apply?”

“Didn’t I tell you?” May shook her head, food forgotten, completely entranced by Peter’s next words. “Oh, um, the teacher of one of the dual enrollment classes I took in high school was hiring a couple of assistants for next year. I applied for it.”

Her face lit up; Peter could see the excitement in her eyes. His stomach dropped even further as she leaned in with a grin.

“Did you get it? You got it, didn’t you? Wait, when did you even apply? Why didn't you tell me you were applying?” she asked. Each question came so quickly Peter didn’t have time to answer. She was practically vibrating in her seat.

Fuck.

What was he supposed to say to that?

“I, um, I did my first training for it today,” he offered.

It wasn’t a complete lie, not a lie at all, but it still didn’t feel right watching May cheer and jump from the table so forcefully that she knocked her chair over. She didn’t seem bothered about disturbing the neighbors with the noise. May rushed around the table and threw her arms around his shoulders. Her kiss to his cheek was met with no protest.

“Oh my god, I’m so proud of you! Did you enjoy it? Does it pay?” she asked, and quickly followed it up with: “Oh, that doesn’t matter. What matters is that you enjoy it. And that it doesn’t get in the way of your school work.”

Peter just nodded as she kissed his cheek again and ruffled his hair. “We have to celebrate! Oh, I have moose tracks ice cream in the fridge! Bought it on a whim. What excellent timing, though!”

May didn’t seem to notice the strain in his smile as she placed a noisy kiss to his forehead and abandoned her half-eaten loaf for fetching the ice cream from the fridge. Peter let the smile drop from his face the moment she was back in the kitchen, twisting his fork on his plate, a piece of tough and overcooked meat speared on the end of it. His appetite, already struggling, made itself non-existent now.

He had to do something to save himself the embarrassment of owning up to May. He couldn’t disappoint her, not with how excited she was, and how she politely (and, almost embarrassed) asked him to assist with rent.

The cherry on top of his horrendous night was calling Tony, hoping maybe he could distract himself or ask for a fitting punishment, one of the ones Tony dolled out when Peter really wanted him to be mean. His first call was cut short, barely making it to the third ring before an automated voice told him his call couldn’t be completed.

He tried again, hands shaking, heart jumping into his throat, hoping the operator on the other end wouldn’t judge or laugh at his desperation. She was monotonous as ever, but that didn’t stop his mind from supplying every little possible laugh and mocking word she would have said once he was no longer within earshot.

Waiting for Tony to pick up his second call was even more nerve-racking than the first time, and the rejection hurt that much more. He didn’t bother listening to the message again, shutting his phone off and tossing it to the end of the bed.

Peter’s eyes stung and the back of his throat ached.

He pretended to be content when he forced himself under the covers, hiding his face as he went to sleep with damp cheeks.

—

Peter had spent his entire morning building up the courage to confront Professor Stark. He had barely managed to focus enough on his psychology professor’s lecture to take decent notes, couldn’t eat due to the anxious churn in his stomach making him sick, and had to calm himself down from the edge of not one, but two meltdowns in one of the bathrooms in the social sciences building.

He needed to do this. Not just for him, but for May, for both of them to be able to stay afloat.

The landlord just raised their rent. He couldn’t afford to be passed over for the position.

So he struggled with his focus on classes, managed to avoid setting another fire in a chemistry lab for the second time that semester, and somehow didn’t drive himself completely insane. His leg bounced like he had four springs embedded into his heel during the last twenty minutes of his biochem class before they were dismissed, and he was the first student out the door.

He had practiced what he was going to say, his arguments on why Professor Stark needed to keep him, planned to cover any lingering doubts in his abilities. Sure, he only took the 101 lecture, but he was a quick learner. He could still assist with other lectures, if given the chance to study them beforehand.

And catching the older man off guard in his office played well in his favor, until Professor Stark gestured to one of the chairs Peter stood between and told him plainly, “Sit down.”

His argument, his perfect defense of himself, was shattered. Peter blinked, mind still trying to catch up with the sudden halt of his thought process. “What?”

With a nod to a specific chair, Professor Stark continued, “Sit. You want me to tell you why I cut you loose, right?”

Peter practically threw himself into the chair, flubbing over his, Yes, Mr. Stark. This is what he needed, to know where he went wrong, know what he needed to improve on. If it meant going home with six of Stark’s textbooks or a bruised ego because of the man’s infamous harshness, Peter was fine with that. He could take a shot to his ego.

He expected a little criticism.

What he didn’t expect was Professor Stark to clear his throat, lean over his desk, and fix him with a smirk before saying, “Okay, kitten. I can do that.”

Peter’s brain grinded to a violent halt. The words registered. His brain still refused to process them.

His first thought, once he could actually think, was That’s inappropriate.

Peter’s face pinched together with a mix of confusion and distaste. He’d heard horror stories of college professors who wanted sex in exchange for perfect grades, or internships, or anything else a student might need to progress academically. Mainly, he’d heard stories from female students, not male students.

Maybe Professor Stark was one of those teachers, and Peter had given him a bargaining chip by confessing just how serious his situation was. There was no way Peter was going to sleep his way into the position. He valued his pride more than that.

Peter had already thought of running to his advisor and making a report of Stark’s coming onto him, when the voice ran through his head again. The words played on repeat, a familiarity clinging to his tone—

Peter’s heart dropped into his stomach.

Tony’s smirk deepened, but there was no pleasure in it. Mirthful, he leaned back in his chair and rubbed at his trimmed goatee with one of his hands. The other drummed on the arm of his chair as he waited for Peter to say something.

Peter’s tongue stuck to the top of his mouth. Speaking was a struggle, but somehow he managed to work out a few words, “Oh, my god.”

Tony laughed. His Tony. He looked… less than happy to see him. “You gotta understand the kind of predicament I’m in, yeah? This whole thing we started isn’t, well, good for either of us now.”

Peter’s face burned; he was sure that Tony could see him turning red all the way down to his neck.

He wished he could focus. He wished he could nod along and agree with everything Tony was saying, but God, it was so difficult to do any of that when he was staring Tony right in the face. All of the faces, the bodies, everything he had fantasized about when they weren’t talked could never have lived up to the man sitting in front of him. Even the grays in his hair were different; they lined his temples, as expected, but there were strands strewn about in the hair he had so carefully styled up and back.

And his voice was just as distracting as it was through a phone speaker.

Peter needed water. Was the A/C in Tony’s office broken?

“Um. Yeah,” he said, still slowly processing Tony’s words. How had he managed to work for the man earlier without getting distracted? Sure, the man’s voice had sounded familiar when he first heard it, but hearing the confirmation that he was exactly Peter thought of when he was at home—

Home. Shit.

“But!” he started, nearly jumping from his seat. Tony started at his outburst, eyes wide and brows high on his forehead. “But, Dad- Um, Tony. Stark. Sir. Professor Stark, please, I need this position. I’ll do whatever you want me to if it means keeping it.”

“Dangerous words in our current situation, kiddo.”

Peter scoffed. “It’s not like anyone knows.”

Tony clicked his tongue and grimaced.

“Who?” Peter asked, the blush in his cheeks fading to white.

“Dr. Strange.”

“Shit.” Peter put his head in his hands, rubbing patterns into the back of his eyelids. That was exactly what he wanted to hear. Not like he had Dr. Strange’s class the next day, or the following week until finals. How was he going to look the man in the eye now?

He shook his head; he’d cross that bridge when he came to it. Tomorrow, at 10 AM.

“Is…” Peter paused. How would he word this? Slowly, he figured, as he started speaking again, “Is what we’re doing... Is that the reason you want to fire me?”

“Pretty much,” Tony answered with a nod. “There’s only so much tenure can save my ass from.”

Peter swallowed, pretended that the low dip in his stomach wasn’t there. Firing Peter to save himself. Suave, handsome, but an asshole. He sure knew how to pick them.

“So, let’s stop.” Tony’s brows rose again. “The whole, you know, phone thing. The relationship. Whatever you want to call it. I need the job more than I need, um, that.”

Silence. Tony stared at him, face now a blank slate, eyes boring into Peter. He wished he could tell what the older man was thinking, if for nothing but to ease his anxious, pounding heart. His face felt hotter still. He was pretty sure he was beginning to sweat. Tony should get his A/C checked.

God, Peter wished he would speak already. The silence and scrutiny were killing him.

Tony’s hand came up to his goatee again, rubbing at his stubble and covering his mouth in the meat of his palm.

“Sound logic,” he said. His hand dropped from his face with a shrug. There was another moment of silence as Tony chewed on his lip and seemed to ponder over Peter’s words. “You really want this job?”

Peter had to push his hair out of his eyes from nodding so vigorously. “Yes.”

Tony tapped his finger on his desk a few times. Peter half-considered leaping over it and demanding an answer.

“...Fine. It’s yours. On one condition.” Tony held a finger out to him. “You do not use this situation against me, in any capacity. I mean it, no extortion. I’ll fire you immediately.”

“Got it.” Peter nodded. He certainly wasn’t planning on it; it was the last thing he would ever tell anyone outside of their situation. He was dreading Strange’s next lecture. That was already exceeding the amount of people he wanted to know about them.

“Good. I look forward to working with you, Mr. Parker.”

Peter failed at hiding his grin, and he wanted nothing more than to reach across Tony’s— Professor Stark’s desk and throw his arms around his neck. The word Daddy almost slipped from his mouth again when saying his thanks. He caught himself, rushing out of the teacher’s office for his next class. He was already late, but he didn’t care.

He still had the job. At this moment, that was all that mattered to him.

—

Back in his office, Tony ran his fingers through his hair and sighed.

God, he was so fucked.

#starker #ironspider #peter parker x tony stark #my work #phone sex au #god finally #it feels like it's been ages #the chapter count has gone up now ;)

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themangoyogurt · 4 years

Text

Misguided Youth: The Second Misunderstanding

Chapter 2

It was time to atone for the sins of last night, and that meant having to face the mysterious man who both infuriated and intrigued you. And to make things harder, it turns out that his friends were the type to meddle.

It was time to atone for the sins of your past. Rolling over onto your side, you heaved into a waiting trash can. You felt like shit - both physically and emotionally. You hated being that friend, and Jyn already had enough issues in her life without you being one of them. Making yet another mental promise to get your act together, you reached over to your side table to text her an apology.

Somehow Jyn had been able to deposit your body into bed, and the saint had not only left some aspirin next to a bottle of water, but had also made sure to charge your iPhone. Checking your messages, you almost dropped the device in shock.

General Hux | 9:39 PM | Where the fuck are you asshole?

Big Titz | 11:42 PM | Kyloooo. Come fuck me.

Phasma | 11: 45 PM | Hux said you got your ass handed to you by a girl.

Phasma | 11:46 PM | It is now my life’s mission to meet her.

Big Titz | 11:58 PM | I’ll let you cum in my mouth.

You dropped the phone in disgust. Of course the man from last night would be type to just input “Big Titz” instead of an actual name. What a douche. You’d rather just chuck the damn thing out the window, but unfortunately you’d need it as collateral to get your own phone back. You seriously needed to stop drinking so much. After all, it wasn’t like you had the stamina from undergrad anymore.

Sitting up with your chin perched atop your knees, you tried to shake the demons out of your mind. You were so lost - scared to admit that you only signed up for grad school because you weren’t sure what to do with your life. All you knew was that in the blink of an eye, it seemed like all of your high school buddies were getting married left and right. Doing adult things like joining book clubs, having kids, and arguing over paint chips at Home Depot.

You took one look at the scene and promptly thought “fuck that”.

You parents had been lackluster at best. On bad days, they found amusement in belittling your passions and thoughts. On good days, you were simply ignored. The moment 18 years rolled by, you were swiftly out the door with a one way ticket to New York City. You swore that nobody could ever convince you to have kids. Just in case you were a shit mom and perpetuated the cycle of neglect and pain.

Why did you even bother thinking about your parents? Now you were going to be in a crap mood for the rest of the day. As if on cue, the cosmos decided to add fuel to the fire when you phone number lit up on the glass screen.

Sighing, you picked up with a lazy, “Hello?”

“Is this the bitch who stole my phone last night?”

You immediately swept your feet to the side of your bed to stand up. So the leather jacket clad creep wants to start a fight? You were more than happy to oblige.

“Depends. Is this the old man from last night? The guy who has to prey on younger girls because women his age can see through his bullshit?”

The sound of something smashing echoed in the background, and you couldn’t help but smirk. He huffed, “Just give me my goddamn phone back!”

You snapped, “You’re the one who took my phone. Nobody wants your filthy manslut machine.”

“Whatever. Let’s just meet and get this over with. Can you come down to Brooklyn and meet me at the Starbucks on Bedford and 7th?”

Rolling your eyes, you muttered, “You’re lucky I live in Brooklyn, too. What if I lived on the Upper West Side or something? Also, of all the coffee places in fucking Williamsburg, you want to meet at Starbucks?”

Glass shattered in the background as Kylo seethed, “I’m not drinking the fucking coffee with you. We’re just meeting somewhere public.”

“Jesus. Calm down, I’m just joking.”

This guy could seriously go from zero to one hundred in a flash. You shuddered thinking about someone that huge running around throwing tantrums. You set a time with Kylo for later in the afternoon, eager to get off the phone. You couldn’t resist one last taunt though. Just before hanging up, you teased, “By the way, your friend ‘Big Titz’ sure has a way with words. I can’t wait until she finally gets the Pulitzer she deserves.”

The last thing Kylo heard was your cackle and then the line went dead. He had had remind himself that he was holding someone else’s phone, and he couldn’t slam it down the fire escape. Even if he really wanted to. He stared out the window, still seething with irritation.

Who the hell was this chick? Stomping around just saying whatever the hell she wanted. Kylo huffed and crossed his arms. He hated that despite his general disdain for you, a small part of him was intrigued. It had been ages since anyone worked him up like that. Made him feel anything at all. Somehow, he was already developing an appetite for your snark and attitude.

Maybe he was looking forward to meeting you at Starbucks after all.

He couldn’t wait to push your buttons some more. Maybe, he couldn’t wait to feel you push back.

･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

Kylo felt his chest tighten, and he hated it. The man had half the mind to just turn around and walk home. Phones were overrated anyways. He watched you standing on the street corner, waiting for the light to change before crossing over to his side. You looked like you really didn’t care about meeting up with Kylo, and somehow that managed to bother and fascinate him at the same time.

Your hair was pulled up in a messy top knot - baby hairs sticking up and loose strands framing your cheeks. A thick knit cardigan was slung over your shoulders, but he could see some sort of graphic tee through the opening. Black ripped skinny jeans topped off the look, and heather wool socks peeked over a pair of Dr. Martens that had certainly seen better days.

God, someone this annoying shouldn’t look so cute.

“Hey, you’re actually here on time!” You chirped. Without the influence of alcohol, you were actually in a rather good mood. Kylo’s brow twitched at the assumption that he wouldn’t have been on time. Noticing his balled up fists, you quirked an eyebrow and flatly replied, “Relax, Goliath. I didn’t mean it that way.”

Kylo felt surprise at the fact that you could read him so clearly. Before he could respond, you fished out a black iPhone and waved the device around in his face.

“This yours?” You joked. Kylo huffed and moved to seize it from your fingers. Quickly whipping your hand out of the way you continued, “Nuh-uh. Not until I see mine.” He rolled his eyes and pulled out a similar, yet distinctly more battered, phone. Your lips split open into a wide smile as you swapped devices. Turning it on, you checked your messages and made sure that everything was in order.

“As if I’d snoop through your messages. You’re not nearly as interesting as you think,” Kylo dryly spat.

You looked up from the phone and grinned. “You’re right. I don’t have the pleasure of being friends with ‘Big Titz’.”

“Jesus, again with the name! I don’t even remember her! I don’t think we’ve even hooked up.”

Giving Kylo a look of faux innocence, you replied, “You don’t have to convince me, Kylo. It’s not as if I’m judging you or anything.”

He threw his hands up in frustration and began a sharp retort when a tall blonde woman suddenly appeared and threw an arm around Kylo. Her British accent seemed to dance alongside her jovial expression as she teased, “I hope you’re not punching walls again, Kylo. People Magazine would go nuts.”

Kylo grimaced as a third individual materialized next to him. You recognized him as the “General” from last night. Although he was dressed down in dark-washed jeans and a cable knit sweater, he still held an imposing air around him. Judging by his sharp gaze and rigid demeanor, you could see where he got his nickname from.

The man sized you up, and then a wicked grin spread across his face. Turning to Kylo, he softly spoke, “I didn’t realize that you were bringing a friend with you to brunch.” You quickly raised both hands up and replied, “Oh, no. I didn’t...”

The man quickly cut you off and interjected, “No need to be polite! It’s my treat anyways. A friend of Kylo’s is a friend of ours. I’m Armitage. You can call me Hux, and this is Phasma.”

You looked between the trio - Kylo’s ears were reddened, and you couldn’t tell if it was from embarrassment or anger. Phasma looked like she was eating the whole scene up as her mischievous smile matched that of Hux’s. You really weren’t in a position to turn down free food, and agitating Kylo seemed to be an added bonus.

An equally evil grin spread across your face as you chirped, “Sure! Thanks for the invite.”

Kylo groaned, “Fucking hell.” Everyone ignored him though, and Phasma slipped an arm around your shoulder. Leaning against your ear, she whispered, “So. I’ve been meaning to hear all about how you almost punched Kylo last night...”

･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

“So how long?”

Phasma looked up from pouring syrup on her waffles and quirked an eyebrow. “How long since what?”

“How long has your friend Kylo been suffering from being a total dick?”

Hux choked on his bacon as Phasma burst out into laughter. The blonde reached over and snatched you phone up before inputting her number into the device. “Here’s my number. We’re totally hanging out later, okay?”

Kylo rolled his eyes. “Don’t encourage her. She’ll just develop bad habits.”

You stuck a tongue out at the man and retorted, “Too late for that.” He groaned and speared a sausage with his fork. Watching you joke around with Hux and Phamsa, gave Kylo an odd sense of satisfaction as he watched the natural joy that spread across your face. His friends weren’t exactly easy people to get along with, and he was surprised by how effortlessly you seemed to assimilate into the group.

Phasma was mid-laugh when she noticed the way Kylo was eyeing you. You were giggling over some nonsensical thing Hux was talking about, and didn’t notice how soft Kylo’s gaze was as he took in the way your shoulders would shake every time you exhaled a puff of air. An idea suddenly popped into the woman’s head, when she asked, “Hey, what are you doing tomorrow night?”

Kylo and Hux both swiveled their heads to look at the blonde woman. You shrugged your shoulders and replied, “Nothing, really. Why?”

“Phas,” Kylo flatly interrupted. She turned to Kylo and gave him a defensive stare. Hux responded by nudging Kylo in the shoulder, and you quietly watched as the three seemed to engage in a silent conversation. You guessed that Kylo was the one to relent, because the man slumped backwards into the booth and threw his hands up with a sigh.

The tall blonde asked, “Want to see a show with us tomorrow?”

You pushed a potato wedge into your mouth and nonchalantly shrugged. “Depends on who is playing.”

Hux coughed and you swore that Phasma’s eyes glittered. “Have you heard of K.O.REN?”

Kylo stared at your relaxed demeanor in agitation as you worked on shoveling down more potatoes. He felt completely offended that you were unaware of the fact that you were eating brunch with one of the largest rock bands in the world. They played international stadiums for fuck’s sake, and here you were packing home fries into your mouth like it was your last meal. You shrugged your shoulders again and replied, “Who’s that?”

“Who?! As in you think K.O.REN is one person?” Kylo incredulously spat.

“I don’t know! Karen is a pretty common name!” You defensively retorted.

“Karen? Karen?!”

Hux moved to push Kylo back into the seat while Phasma kneeled over in laughter. Wiping a tear from her eye she gasped, “No. Knights of Ren. Shortened to ‘K.O.REN’. They’re a band.”

Your wide eyes blinked a few times before yet another shrug graced your shoulders. Kylo swore that he was going to lose it. Don’t you use the internet? Social media? Anything? Which rock in Central Park did you drag yourself out of? Noticing that Kylo was about to lose it for real, she quickly continued, “Look. One of my good friends is covering the show and we can get you backstage passes. Do me a favor though, and don’t look up the band prior to going. He’s wants to get some opinions from people who have never heard the band before. Something about a ‘fresh perspective’ or whatever.”

Hux watched in amusement as your fork reached over the table and began to pick at his bacon. The fact that you were now helping the bassist clear off his plate didn’t go unnoticed by Kylo either. Swallowing once again, you replied, “Can I bring a friend?”

“Sure. But you can’t tell her...or him...who the band is. Deal?”

“Deal.”

Phasma gave Kylo a wicked look as she stressed the word “him”. Kylo rolled his eyes and feigned nonchalance. You could bring whoever you wanted to the show. It was none of his business. If you wanted to get drunk and make out with some douche...

He hadn’t even realized that he was balling up his napkin in an angry fist. Her suspicion now confirmed, Phasma quietly began to plot in her head. This was going to be the most fun the woman had since the trio were just teens playing shitty covers in her parents’ garage.

#kylo ren x reader #kylo ren x you #kylo ren #misguided youth

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caseybanning · 4 years

Text

Loose Ends

(Light spoilers for Ambition: Nemesis 140-160 but not in great detail)

"--Obviously I wasn't daft enough to take up his word," Casey balked before taking a sip from their wineglass. Their voice is just loud enough to compete with the dinner crowd around them. "Regardless, I still had to reply with something, so I had agreed to his wretched little deal. My instincts were right about him though and knew he couldn't follow through, so I had to track him down." They paused, staring down at their dinner plate. "If I could go back to my younger self and tell them to get as much as they can in writing, signed, a lot of things probably would've been so different."

"Mhm," Mary mused. She'd been keen to let Casey continue prattling on through this whole evening, curiously barely saying much in return and instead kept quiet with supper and drink. There was a lull in the conversation, and Casey glanced nervously to their aunt. Mary has occupied herself with spreading a pat of butter on a mushroom roll, still faintly steaming from the basket.

"The holiday in Port Carnelian was nice, by the way," Casey says. "... I guess holiday isn't too accurate though, since we're on the subject of business. It was partly a business trip but the rest of my time there was in leisure once I got what I needed taken care of there. Roland enjoyed it as well."

"And how is he getting on these days? Roland." Mary picks up her fork, a cube of potato speared onto it's tines.

"Splendidly." Casey says. "We are thinking of taking another holiday soon when we're able. I have to stick around here a bit longer yet and make sure that Tallulah is in tip-top shape for the season. There's already a growing list of potential renters that want to take her out." A thoughtful pause. A woman's tinkling laugh cuts through the conversations around them from the other side of the restaurant. "Do you ever stop to think why we refer to ships as "she"? For all the hangups my parents still have about trying to see and understand me as I am, I'm sure they don't give it much thought to refer to a boat by a peculiar pronoun instead of just 'it'." They remark.

From the corner of the restaurant, a gentle piano melody begins and they both pause to listen. "Bach, I think," Casey muses after listening to the first few bars.

"They'll come around, or they won't." Mary says bleakly, swiping her napkin against the corner of her mouth. Casey gives her a considerate look and sighs.

"I can hope for sooner." They reply. "All in time, I suppose. Whenever that may be."

The candles on the table flicker and they both watch, enjoying the pause in the conversation before Casey starts up again. "Oh, did you hear about that new musical down at Mahogany Hall? Roland and I were going to obtain tickets for next week. Susannah may be coming with us, and we can bring you along." Their knife and form glint in the candlelight as they start cutting into a piece of meat.

Mary grimaces and looks up, her chin jutted out almost defiantly as she stares them down. "What are you doing?" She asks, a sharpness to her question.

Casey's movements pause. "What do you mean?" They ask, their voice light.

"You do this when something is wrong," She says, talking over Casey's quiet words of protest ("I do not.") "--where you just start filling the silence with whatever comes to mind. What's wrong?"

"Nothing." Casey insists. "...Well, there is something that I wanted to ask you later, maybe after we've enjoyed most of our meal... but it's not necessary right now."

"Something to ask me?" Mary asks, unconvinced. Her arms are crossed across her chest, brows high up on her face. "I mean, why wait?"

Casey folds up their napkin and sets it aside. "It's business," They reply in a steady voice. "Boring, dreadful, will later involve some paperwork that I know the both of us will hate..." They glance up to meet her expression, which has cooled from quiet anger to open confusion, so they continue. "I wanted to sell the townhouse."

Mary's teeth clench together behind her closed lips, the tips of her fingers digging even more into her arms as she tries to keep herself still. Casey doesn't seem to notice. "If you were interested in buying it," They explain further. "I don't want to sell it to just anyone, or leave you to contend with some other landlord that would bind you to a more gruesome contract. I want to sell it to you."

The candles simmer. A screeching scrape of a knife is heard from the next table over. Casey's hands lace together on the table as they lean closer, but Mary hardly seems to even breathe. "You've practically lived there longer even than I," They explain. "You've maintained it well, it's in a good location for your activities... you could re-sell it, rent it, live here in perpetuity, whatever you'd desire. I don't need revenue from it." They shrug. "I've been thinking about it for quite a while, actually--"

"Casey," Mary finally replies, her voice low, and each word out of her mouth keeps a deliberate, targeted rhythm: "What are you doing."

"Trying to sell you a house." Casey replies just as strongly.

"Like hell that's what you're doing," She hisses back. "You think that's what's happening here? That I'm going to just sit here and accept that for what it is? I've known you since you were about five minutes old," Casey shifts in their seat and looks down. "I've seen you at every lowest moment in your life and tried to keep you from the brink each and every time, I know something is wrong, so what trouble are you in?!" She shouts. The conversations around their table freeze, briefly. "Just because you've given this careful thought doesn't mean that you're trying to, what, lie up loose ends? Are you dying?"

"No." Casey's voice is quiet. They're not able to look her in the face now.

"Good," She continues. "Dying young is overrated."

"And I'm not planning on it--" Casey starts to explain, watching their aunt exhale out of the corner of their eye. "--but in the event that, maybe--" Mary's jaw drops, indignant, but Casey presses on. "--in the event that something truly dire were to happen, the townhouse is in your name in my will anyway."

The piano melody changes--Vivaldi, providing a baroque upbeat background to the death glare Mary is giving Casey at that exact moment. She huffs angrily and adjusts her glasses. "It's useless to try to stop you, whatever you're actually planning that would spur this decision." She says. "I just need you to understand, it's--you--disappeared for a month." Her voice is raw. "Or years ago when you went off to the Iron Republic, or--hell, when you left Vincent and we already thought the worst!" Casey opens their mouth to speak but Mary cuts them off again. "Why do you keep doing this?!" She demands. "Why do you keep... why are you so driven--why does it seem like you are so determined to run headfirst into the things that are likely to kill you someday?"

A sever whisks by with a tray and pauses for the smallest moment at their table, her mouth open in a question. One look at their expressions and she gives a considerate nod. "I'll come back later," She nods again, quickly moving on to the next table. Casey closes their eyes, the tips of their fingers fiddling idly along the edge of their flatware. Mary glances at their hands and could see picked-at cuticles, red and sore. Their brows are tensed, and the candlelight only exaggerates the small lines that have begun to crease at the corners of their eyes these last couple years. Casey looks at her, the cheery mask finally fallen away into something softer. Vulnerable.

"I can't tell you here," They finally reply. "Not with..." Their voice trails off and they gesture outward to the restaurant. "...I promise, I'll tell you everything that I can, just not here. Not right now."

Hours later, the wall clock in Mary's parlour chimes in the silence. Neither of them seem to want to look at each other, with Mary's arms crossed and her gaze stuck on something outside the window. Casey leans forward in their seat with a sigh, rubbing their hand over their weary face.

"Does anyone else know about this?" Mary finally asks. "The... with the Masters?"

"Roland." Casey replies numbly. "Anyone else who had worked with them to accomplish it. Whoever is left, anyway. You, now."

Mary turns her body more toward them but can't look up just yet, instead now fixing her eyes to a spot on the floor. "I was able to find help at the University for something previously thought impossible," Casey continues. "You know how I couldn't recall anything from the month I was gone?... There was someone I found that was able to conduct an experiment to aid in giving some of those memories back. Normally with irrigo they're gone forever, but not in this case. It's not enough though, I need more context for them." A beat. "That's truly why Roland I went to Port Carnelian."

"What comes after?" Mary asks.

The clock ticks. Casey brushes their hand back through their hair and sighs. "Honestly... I don't know." They admit to her, their voice quiet. "I don't know how much farther this goes from here. There are two obvious ways that this ends, but it's the getting there that needs planning. Right now I'm occupied with tidying up things in case, well..."

"You die." Mary says. "Or worse, if you're caught. That's what you've been saying. How about a third: you just stop here?" Mary splays her hands out. "Do what you need to in order to understand your memories, but you can just stop here. James' death was an incredible tragedy, Casey. But there is no reason for you to risk running after him." She says.

"They ruin lives." Casey says, venom in their words. "Steal cities, watch them be destroyed over and over, constantly rebuild on top of the rubble like it's nothing, try to carry on as if it's normal, and step on our backs if it would get them as if it can get them a bit higher on the Chain. At this point, it is no longer just about James."

"Why do you need to do this, though?" Mary asks. "Why is it you? Why not someone else? If this... conspiracy with the Masters goes farther, you're not going to be able to succeed alone."

"In my research it became understood that there are other families that have been impacted by this conspiracy," Casey explains, crossing their arms. They drag the toe of their shoe along the woodgrain in the floor. "As for why no one else has made an attempt like this... I'm not sure about that either. We know that the Revolutionaries, if they can ever come up with a coherent plan, want to do something in the name of the greater good but by any means necessary. Trying to keep as many people out means less overall damage to innocents."

Mary is quiet for a long while, just looking at Casey from her chair.

"I don't want to bury you," She finally says. "I don't want to send whatever is left of you to the Tomb Colonies. I don't want to live the rest of my life wondering where you've gone if you're captured and made to disappear. Sell me the house when you come back alive. That's my counter-offer: that you must come back alive. And then we can celebrate."

"It's a deal," Casey says quietly.

#fallen london #words words words #non RP post #ambition nemesis spoilers #((the more i write these snippets the more i am going to try to omit some of the major details for late game))#((something i probably should have started doing years ago but from here on out it is absolutely necessary))#((this would take place approximately at 160 or so? so the business of the irrigo and etc etc is skipped over))#((i tried writing it but it was getting too much into step by step what happens at the game))#((and i think keeping the mystery is the right thing to do here))

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insideoutstory · 4 years

Photo

Inside Out → Chapter Twenty-Three

summary: Christine and Nancy finally have some downtime to discuss their friendship. word count: 4.7k warnings: Just some girls being girls, and some Sad Mike.

[ masterlist ] [ FF.net ]

The fallout was easier than Christine had imagined.

She’d gone home with the Hendersons for the night, which wasn’t so bad. Dustin, ever so chivalrous, had opted to sleep on his floor so she could have the bed. What was more, he even pretended not to hear her crying into his pillow. She hoped it would dry up by morning.

She’d expected the worst part to be lying to her dad. But as it turned out, lying was coming pretty naturally to her these days. Even when he came rushing into the Henderson’s kitchen, choked up and frantic at the sight of her wheelchair, Christine kept her cool.

“Dad, honestly, I’m fine,” she assured him. “I literally just fell off the road. It was really dumb.”

“This is all from falling off the road?” he asked incredulously.

“Yeah. I was rushing to get to Dustin and I landed on my ankle wrong, which meant landing on my arm wrong, which meant landing in the bushes on the side of the road. Don’t remind me.”

“Well where was this? Why were you running?”

“I was with Nancy and Jonathan at the Byers’ place.”

“Jonathan?” He stared at her, more confused by the second. “Why were you and Nancy with Jonathan?”

“…Homework.”

He raised his eyebrows, and Christine gave him a sharp look. She indicated Dustin on the other side of the table, hoping it might look like she just didn’t want to talk about it around the kids. Her father quickly nodded.

“Oh—yes. The—The homework you had…to do. Good. Well, that’s fine then. Hope it went well.”

Christine rolled her eyes and smiled down at her eggs. If she was good at lying, she didn’t get it from hanging out with Dustin or her dad.

When the subject of Jonathan had come up again around dinner, over their traditional welcome-back-Chinese-takeout, Christine told him the truth. Mostly.

“It’s all about Nancy,” she groaned, twirling a fork through her noodles. “She started spending a lot of time with Jonathan after the funeral, which made Steve really upset. He really, really likes her, and I think Jonathan does too. So we went over there to talk to him about his intentions or whatever. It didn’t go great. Honestly, I’m kinda glad I broke my leg. At least it diffused the tension.”

“You know, this is not what I had in mind when I said you should get out more,” he chuckled into his soup. “I’m gone for eight days and two kids go missing, one comes back from the dead, you break your leg and end up in some dramatic love triangle.”

“Ha. I’m not really part of the triangle, Dad. I’m more like an outlier point.”

She frowned down at the plastic container, dragging her fork around lazily. It was stupid to still be upset about boys after everything that had happened. Somehow, she still had the emotional capacity to be upset about everything at once. She felt like exploding, between Steve and Barb and Eleven. Sooner or later, she’d have to burst or let something go.

“Any news about Barb?” her dad asked gently.

“Not really,” she mumbled. “The paper said they found her car at a bus station, a couple towns over. But it…it doesn’t make any sense…”

“Maybe things were getting too much for her around here. Small town, all that pressure, the drama…”

Christine drew a circle on the bottom of the tray. It faded in a matter of seconds, disappearing in the sauce.

“I should have done more.”

“Honey, you can’t…”

“I should’ve,” she said firmly. “Nancy and I were being stupid, fighting over some dumb jock. She got put in the middle, and I know how much she hated it. And then I showed up to that stupid party, and I said I was going to help her, but—but I wasn’t. I was going to stick it to Nancy cause I was mad. And then she got mad at me, and I got mad at her, and we were fighting and Barb was panicking, and that was the last thing she ever saw before…b-before…”

She dropped her fork, and pressed her only good hand over her face.

Her father’s chair scraped against the floor as he pulled it closer to her. He didn’t pull her hand away, just gently stroked her arm.

“You can’t blame yourself for anything that happened to Barbara, bumblebee. I know it hurts, to lose someone. But remember what we practiced. What was the last thing you said to her?”

Christine wracked her brain, flipping through fuzzy memories of crying in the Harringtons’ living room.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered tearily. “I—I said I was sorry.”

“See? You told her. Even then, you knew that you were wrong, and you were trying to make it right. Barbara knew that. And wherever she is, whatever reason she left, I’m sure she’s sorry too.”

It pushed her over the edge. After a whole week of putting it off, reality speared her through the gut. Barb wasn’t sorry. She wasn’t anything. Because she was gone. She’d been dragged into the Upside Down, and she’d died there, cold and alone. And she wasn’t coming back. No more comedies and fried chicken at the Holland residence. No more knowing looks and comforting glances when Nancy started talking about her love life. No more indelicate snorts or good advice or late night joy rides to get ice cream and sing in the car. Barb was gone.

Christine’s father held her as she burst into tears. It was hard to cry, physically difficult when she was restrained by the sling and the cast. Her frustration made her cry harder, and eventually, her father had to pick her up and carry her to bed. He didn’t ask about the pillow fort in the corner. She wondered if he noticed that seeing it made her sobbing worse.

Somehow, the lying still wasn’t the worst part. It was a good contender, along with the nightmares she kept having about the Demogorgon and the Upside Down. She was always trapped there, but she found different things every night. Barb’s body. Eleven’s body. Nancy’s and her dad’s and Steve’s. All the boys battered and broken with sunken eyes and vines crawling over their limbs. She’d tug at them and tug at them, but nothing could break them loose. Sometimes she’d run from the Demogorgon for what felt like hours, only to jerk awake and find she’d only been asleep for fifteen minutes. It was exhausting. Even when she was unconscious, she didn’t seem to be getting any rest.

Somehow, that also wasn’t the worst part. It wasn’t lying, or crying, or having nightmares, missing her friends or jumping every time she turned the lights off.

No, the worst part of the whole thing was this goddamn wheelchair.

She’d never felt so inconvenient in her life. Hawkins was not built to be accessible, and she’d never really noticed it until now. Everyone around her had to accommodate for her, and she was absolutely sick of it. She didn’t like being a burden.

It was impossible for her to use her bike, which meant they had to set up a carpool to get her to and from school. Her father was going to work late every morning so he could drive her and Nancy. He assured them he’d cleared it with the office and shifted his hours, but it still made her feel like crap. Mrs. Wheeler drove them home every afternoon, and Christine would stay with them through dinner until her father could pick her up after work. This change would have happened anyway, since Nancy no longer had Barb to drive her home. But watching Mrs. Wheeler struggle to fold the wheelchair and stuff it in the back was enough to make Christine consider ripping the sling off and dealing with the consequences.

Nancy’s schedule had changed too. The office had given her a pass to leave early and arrive late to class so she could ferry Christine around the school. Most people would’ve adored a pass like that, but Christine knew it was stressing Nancy out. She was a nerd at heart, and wanted to spend as much time in class as she could so she didn’t miss anything. She told Christine that it didn’t matter to her, that she was happy to help, that they both knew there were more important things than schoolwork at this point. But she always did it with a tight smile that showed her growing strain.

The other problem was that picking up Christine meant Nancy kept bumping into Steve.

“You still haven’t talked to him?” Christine asked one afternoon, over a week later.

They were doing their homework in Nancy’s room. It was a hassle to get up there. Christine had to hop up the stairs one step at a time with her arms around Nancy’s shoulders. But the girls valued the privacy more than the extra work. Anything was better than working in the living room while Mr. Wheeler snored over The Price is Right.

“You know I haven’t,” Nancy sighed. “I’m too busy to think about it right now. You come first.”

“And I appreciate that. But you can’t keep using me as an excuse to avoid him.”

“I’m not avoiding him.”

It was a feeble excuse at best. Christine sent her a knowing look, and Nancy folded immediately.

“I just feel like it’s best for both of us,” she amended.

“For you and Steve? Or…for you and me?”

Nancy smiled sadly. She pushed her homework aside.

“Christine. I’m really sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry. I was being dumb, and…”

“Maybe we both were,” Nancy insisted. “Just…Just let me go first, okay? Please?”

Christine pouted, but leaned back against Nancy’s headboard. Nancy nodded, and wrung her hands in her lap.

“That whole week, I…I blamed you for a lot of things. I think it was just easier, you know? Than acknowledging it. And I told you that you were being a bad friend, but…I was being a bad friend too. Worse, even. I never should’ve kissed Steve. I knew something was up when we went to that party, and I just ignored it. I was so…I don’t know, excited that he liked me that I didn’t think about how it would look, or how it would make you feel, or how shitty he was being to you. I mean, he manipulated you into bringing me just like he was always doing with your lab reports and…that’s so messed up.”

“That’s what Barb said,” Christine confided with a weak smile. “I remember being on the phone with her after we had that fight. She was like ‘you cannot be that dumb.’”

“Yeah,” Nancy laughed. “Yeah, she said that to me too. And I knew what he was doing but…he’s just so good at making you feel…”

“Special,” Christine said with a nod. “I know. That’s why I kept doing the work. Even when I knew you guys were dating, I just kept doing everything he asked me to. It’s just stupid.”

“He’s stupid,” Nancy insisted. “You’re smarter than twelve of Steve. Screw him.”

“I thought that was your job.”

Nancy’s jaw dropped, but Christine was smirking. She giggled at the look on Nancy’s face, and was promptly smacked with a textbook.

“Ow! Watch it, I only have one good leg.”

“Then maybe you should be more careful with your words,” Nancy warned. Still, she was grinning. “But seriously. Forget Steve. I’m not gonna hang out with someone who uses my best friend like that. Or someone who used me.”

“You?” Christine squinted at her. “What do you mean he used you?”

“Let’s face it, Christine, he just wanted to…you know. Sleep with me. Barb warned me when we went to his house, and I didn’t listen. But…she was right.”

“No, she wasn’t.”

Nancy looked over at Christine in surprise. “Chris…”

“Look, I know that I’ve been pissy about this whole thing from the start. And Steve’s done a lot of fucked up things, to me and to you. But you can’t look at him and think he doesn’t care about you. That’s insane.”

“No. No, it’s—it’s not…”

“It is, Nancy. Steve really likes you. I mean, he kept talking to you and checking up on you even after that party. He lashed out when he thought you were cheating on him—which I will totally kick his ass for after my leg heals—but it’s because he was really heartbroken. And then he came back to apologize, admit he messed up, and that he wanted to make it up to you.”

“You can’t think he was being serious,” Nancy said dismissively.

Christine shrugged. “Actually, I do.”

Nancy didn’t look convinced.

“Think about it like this,” Christine offered. “When he realized what he did, he went to apologize to Jonathan. Not to you. Jonathan. If this was all about getting you to sleep with him, wouldn’t he skip the one on one apology and go straight to convincing you he was sorry?”

“I don’t know. I mean, I guess…”

“Exactly. And, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but he hasn’t exactly been buddy with Tommy and Carol this week.”

“That’s just because Tommy’s using him as an excuse,” Nancy reminded her. “You know he told everyone he and Steve duked it out because he doesn’t want to admit you almost broke his nose.”

“That may be true, but the point still stands. And I didn’t get the chance to clean the graffiti at work.”

“Christine, anyone could’ve done that…”

“But they didn’t. Anthony told me.”

“And?” Nancy said adamantly. “That’s like, the bare minimum he should’ve done. So what?”

“So, it’s a start. I mean, don’t look now, but it seems like Steve’s genuinely trying to be a better person.”

“You’re insane.” Nancy shook her head, grinning incredulously. “I can’t believe you want to give him the benefit of the doubt. You of all people.”

“I’m a sucker for a redemption arc,” Christine said offhandedly. “And a nice head of hair.”

They giggled together for a while. It almost felt like being back on her living room floor, drunk off sugar and soda and pizza, playing Truth or Dare while horror flicks played in the background.

Nancy sobered first, fixing Christine with another bittersweet smile.

“You still like him,” she observed.

“Yeah, I guess.” Christine sighed, and let her head thump back against the wall. “I know that sounds super dumb, but…it’s hard not to like him.”

“I know. But that’s exactly why I can’t go back to dating him, Chrissy. I don’t want to let some guy come between us again. If there’s anything that I’ve learned this week, it’s that you’re way more important to me than any boy or any test. I can’t…I can’t lose my best friend again.”

“I don’t know. We make a pretty explosive combo—Psycho Bitch and the Slut.”

Nancy let out a breath of laughter, and rolled her eyes. “Shut up, dork.”

“So is that it?” Christine asked, sitting up a little straighter. “Can we be friends again?”

“Yeah.” Nancy smiled, and nodded her head. “I’d really like that.”

“Great…then it’s my duty as your friend to let you know that Steve’s crazy about you, and you’re still not allowed to use me as excuse to avoid it.”

“Ugh! Christine!”

“I’m serious, Nancy,” Christine countered. “You think I haven’t learned the same lesson this week? I’m not gonna let some stupid thing like jealousy get in the way of your happiness.”

“Chrissy, you make me happy.”

“And so does Steve. Besides, you not dating him isn’t magically gonna make him like me. If he likes you, he likes you. And I know how much you like him, logical flaws aside. So it might take me some time to get over it, but…I’m not gonna stand in the way of that. You can’t live your life always putting other people’s feelings first, Nancy. Life’s too short, you know?”

Nancy nodded, but she still looked conflicted. Or…no. Conflicted wasn’t the right word. She looked almost put out. Clearly the conversation had not gone the way she’d planned it to, and she wasn’t happy with the result.

Christine narrowed her eyes.

“This isn’t even about me, is it?”

“What?” Nancy’s head popped up too fast, her ponytail bouncing wildly. “Christine, haven’t you been listening to me? Of course it is.”

“Ugh, Nancy!” Christine whined, flopping onto her side in the pillows. “I cannot believe you are about to make me have this conversation.”

“What conversation?”

“This conversation! About you liking Jonathan Byers.”

“What? What—no! No, that’s—that’s totally not what this is about!”

“So you admit it?” Christine baited. “This isn’t about that, but you do like him?”

“No! I—I do not like Jonathan.”

“You are such a bad liar. We might not have been speaking for a while, Nance, but I’m not blind. I was third wheeling for a solid two hours while you two were playing horror house.”

“No way! Christine, it wasn’t…”

“If I have to listen to you say ‘it’s not like that’ one more time this month, I’m rescinding our friendship. Every time you say that, it is exactly like that, and you are just trying to run from your own feelings.”

For a moment, Nancy resembled a very distressed fish. Her mouth gaped open and closed. She was searching for some kind of excuse, some obvious reason to ward Christine off, but she could not find one. After several seconds of choking sounds, she fell forward onto the mattress and screamed into her blanket. Christine cackled, and Nancy looked up at her with hair in her eyes.

“Do you hate me?” she asked in distress.

“I could never hate you,” Christine assured her. “I don’t always understand you, but…I guess you just have a…very wide spectrum of taste.”

Nancy smacked her again.

“Ow! Hey, I’m allowed to be critical! That’s part of the best friend deal, right? I have to judge if they’re worthy of you.”

“Of course he is,” Nancy sighed. “I mean, he saved my life, you know? That’s not something a lot of people can say.”

“I know, I know. There’s a lot of stuff that you two went through together that no one else was there for, and no one else will ever understand. I get it. It’s just…it’s Jonathan Byers, you know? He barely talks to anyone at school, and he hardly sticks around outside it.”

“It’s just cause he has a job. He told me he picks up shifts at the auto shop to help out his mom. And he just…doesn’t like talking to people. It’s hard, and he isn’t super sociable. That’s not that weird, right?”

“No, but taking pictures of people from bushes is. Taking pictures of people from bushes is actually my main concern here.”

Nancy groaned and rolled onto her side to face Christine.

“I know. And I shouldn’t forgive him for that. But he apologized, right? And then he worked to make it better. How is that any different from forgiving Steve?”

“Because Steve…It’s because…” Christine pouted. “At least Steve’s cute.”

“Shut up! That is so shallow!”

“See? Even you don’t think he’s cute!”

“I do!”

“Oh my God, you think he’s cute?”

“No, I—He’s cute in his own way, okay?”

“Yeah, like ugly cute.”

“Christine, stop!”

“Fine! Sorry, I’ll stop picking on your boyfriend.”

Their giggles died off quickly, and Nancy pressed her face into her blankets.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” she said, reminding both of them of the facts. “Right now, neither is Steve. And if I’m being honest, I…I don’t know what I’m gonna do.”

Christine bit her lip. Her first impulse was to make a joke about the plights of Nancy Wheeler, trying to decide between the two boys who were head over heels for her. But for once, she swallowed her sarcasm, and tried to think of something helpful.

“You’ve just gotta give it time. Think it over, and do what feels right. Go through a pros and cons list or something.”

“Chrissy,” Nancy groaned. “They’re people, not a science project.”

“I know, but writing it out helps organize your thoughts. I’m not trying to give you an equation, just something that could help.”

Nancy frowned but grabbed her notebook. She flopped onto her stomach, taking her pencil and creating a chart with four columns: Jonathan (Pro), Jonathan (Con), Steve (Pro), Steve (Con).

She went off on her own, rambling to talk things out, scribbling down notes in her book. Christine watched with a bittersweet smile. She knew it was Nancy’s problem to figure out. Whatever conclusion she came to, she had to do it on her own, and Christine didn’t want to interfere. But she could’ve told Nancy the answer right off the bat. All she had to do was look at the first thing her brain had written down.

They spent the hours before dinner neglecting their homework to talk about boys. Christine expected it to be uncomfortable, full of the same awkward pauses as the conversations they’d had after Jenny’s party. But after two weeks of fighting monsters and breaking bones, it seemed like they’d finally got past the awkwardness. Christine grabbed for Nancy’s pens and tried to scrawl a long list into Steve’s pro-column, which all looked like chicken scratch cause she was using her left hand. Nancy had plied her for all the information she could remember about hanging out with Jonathan in middle school, before he’d ditched AV club for the art department. Christine held back her comments about the stalker photos, even as Nancy wrote it on the page, and added her own line to Steve’s cons.

“Dumb as dirt.” –Barbara Holland

Dinner was a quiet affair. Mr. Wheeler seemed to like it that way, even if it made the meal feel more tense. After a week of eating with them, Christine was beginning to understand why Nancy hated mealtime so much. It was nice to have a large family to sit with, but Christine would take a low-key takeout meal with her dad any day.

After about fifteen minutes, Mike asked to be excused. He’d barely touched his food, but his mother didn’t put up a fight as he disappeared into the basement.

“He’s like this all the time, now,” Mrs. Wheeler said to Christine, as if she hadn’t watched Mike do the same thing for the past five days. “I just don’t understand it. After all that, Will comes back. You think he’d be ecstatic.”

“I think he’s just drained, Mom,” said Nancy. She was free to defend her brother so long as he wasn’t in the room. “He went through a lot. He just needs time to process.”

“I know. I just wish he’d eat…”

“Actually, do you mind if I’m excused too?” Christine asked. “The meatloaf is delicious, Mrs. Wheeler. My pain meds are just affecting my appetite.”

“Oh, of course. I’m so sorry, Christine.”

“It’s fine. Thank you.”

Nancy got up, wheeling her chair around into the living room. Without instruction, she looped around until they’d reached the door to the basement.

“Think you can get down there okay?” she whispered.

“Yeah,” Christine assured her. “Down is fine. I just need to convince Mike to carry me back up.”

Nancy smiled, patted her on the shoulder, and walked back to the dining room.

It took Christine some time to situate herself. She stumbled out of her chair with as little noise as possible, and swung the door to the basement open. Then she had to ease herself onto the floor. It was tough to close the door behind her, and even harder to do it quietly, but she managed it by the tips of her nails and a quiet click.

“Okay, Mike,” she called down. “If you want me to leave, you better say it now, cause it’s gonna take me about five minutes to get down these stairs.”

There was no response.

Christine grit her teeth, and with one hand on the banister, began to scoot her way down the staircase. She had to go one step at a time, moving her good leg and then her butt. Her cast hung awkwardly out in front of her, dangerously close to smacking the stairs or the railing. But finally, she was able to hop down the last few steps.

“You’re gonna break your other leg.”

Mike had not looked up. He was sitting in the blanket fort under the table, his radio in his hands. It hummed faintly, but the sound was steady. There was no warbling interference or mysterious voices to be heard.

“Well you could always help me,” Christine reminded him.

“Nah. It’s funny to watch you hop around.”

“Glad my pain amuses you.”

She stuck her tongue out at him, and hopped the last few feet to the fort. He scooted over so there was room for her, and lifted the blanket roof so it could clear her head.

Neither of them said anything. They listened to the static on the supercomm, Mike occasionally changing the channel in case he could get a different result. It must have been ages before he finally turned it off.

“I do it too, you know.” Christine stared down at the radio. “Leave my stereo on, scan through the channels. It’s driving my dad up the wall.”

“Have you heard anything?”

She shook her head.

“Then how do we know if she’s out there?”

“Cause she’s Eleven,” Christine said with a shrug. “I think she was a lot stronger than either of us knew. And if Will can survive in the Upside Down for a week, I’m sure she can.”

“Twelve.”

Christine turned to Mike, her brow furrowed. “What?”

“It’s been twelve days,” he explained. “That’s more than a week. That’s almost two weeks. If she’s still there…”

“Then maybe she’s not,” said Christine. “It’s like the magazine, remember? Sometimes you can’t control where you come out or…”

“No.” Mike shook his head down at the radio. “She’s here. I know it, I just…I don’t know why she won’t come home.”

That sat in silence again, until he felt comfortable enough to confide one other thing.

“I thought I saw her. When we got back from the school. There were all these agents here, talking to my parents, telling them we had to let them know if she contacted us. And I swore I saw her in the window. I’ve done everything I can to get her back. I’ve tried calling her. I’ve tried leaving out Eggos. I even left the fort up. I don’t understand.”

“Mike,” Christine said softly. “If your house in under surveillance, coming back here is the last thing she’d do.”

“What about your house, though? It’s safe haven, right?”

“It was. But they know about me too. My place was crawling with agents when you guys were hiding in the junkyard. I wouldn’t be surprised if they opened up all my phones and put bugs and stuff in them.”

“Do you think that’s how they found us?” he asked brokenly. “At the school?”

“No.” Christine clenched her jaw. “No, I don’t think that’s how they found you.”

“Then what did we do?”

Christine twisted on the floor, grabbing one of Mike’s hands.

“We didn’t do anything wrong. You saw her, right? She’s out there, somewhere. She’s alive and she’s hiding, and we both know how good she is at that. I think…I think we just have to accept that wherever she is…we’re not what she needs right now. It’s too dangerous, with either of us.”

“But this is home. She…She has to come back.”

Mike took his hand back, covering his mouth as he coughed. It was a suspiciously wet cough, but Christine let him cry in peace. She didn’t want to wound his pride.

Maybe this, she thought. Maybe this was really the worst part. Not the lying, or the injuries, but the not knowing. The closure that no one could give them.

She leaned a shoulder against one of the chairs that was acting as a column for the fort.

“She will, Mike. I know it. My blanket fort’s still up too.”

#ocappreciation #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things oc #fyeahstrangerthingsocs #chapters #chapter 23

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thewritingcaptain · 5 years

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the Spider-Man: Introduction: The Buildup

Full story on AO3 (Smidget) and FF (CaptainS10).

Summary: A novel version of Spider-Man's journey in the Marvel Cinematic Universe, from shortly after he was bitten through all of the movies.

Note: Hello, Marvel fans! So this is my first foray into the world of MCU fanfiction, and I'm super excited! I have been wanting to write something for this fandom for a long time, but I felt like I didn't have any decent ideas. This one came to me on a whim yesterday, after chasing scenes from the two Spider-Man movies in my head around for days that I really liked. Why not do a novel retelling of the movies? I have no diea if it's been done before for this fandom, although I realize it likely has been; but one can never get enough of something they love, right?

I'm starting with Spider-Man for a few reasons. A, because I've always loved Spider-Man, and I had always wanted to write something for him anyway. B, because I recently saw both of the new MCU Spidey movies, so they were fresh in my brain. C, because I'm still recovering from Endgame, and I'm desperately craving to write some Tony Stark and Peter Parker scenes.

So yeah! This will follow the canon of the movies pretty closely, but it's not going to be a carbon copy of it either. I will keep major story and major conversations the same in their essence, but I'm hoping to fill in some of the missing pieces of things in the MCU and give us some more of what we want to see. I do hope to do at least a few of these - Iron Man is next on my list to try - and while each will include bits and pieces of other characters, the main ones will be the main POV focus for each. Surely there will be some crossover later, but I'll sort that out when we get there.This has been a long author's note, so sorry! If you're here to check this out, then thank you, and please enjoy! <3

Story below the cut!

INTRODUCTION: THE BUILDUP

Everything seemed… grey.

For weeks after the funeral, things seemed out of focus. The only time it ever seemed in focus was when the pain hit, and he couldn’t deal with it, not for long. So he didn’t. He let things slip out of focus, instead of fighting it. Everything that was happening was unimportant now. Even his stupid powers.

Those powers he’d gotten - oh, he didn’t even want to think about them. They were the source of this issue, without a doubt. If he hadn’t been so distracted messing with them, reveling in them instead of trying to figure them out and put them to good use, maybe it wouldn’t have happened. Or maybe it still would have, but maybe he’d have actually had a shot at stopping it. Maybe he at least would have seen it coming. Maybe he could have done something, at least, or tried to. Maybe then he wouldn’t feel so guilty.

It was worse, of course, because it wasn’t just him. No - death rarely ever left only one hurting person in its path. Just as it had been when it was his parents, his aunt was also left behind to suffer. Only this time, the person who had helped her through it was the one that had died. Now they were the only people they both had left, and yet… Oh, he wanted to help her. He wanted to ease her pain, so badly, but he couldn’t even ease his own.

In the aftermath of it, and in the weeks after the funeral, things were just grey. And not just for Peter Parker; the loss of his uncle was hard on his aunt, too. And while he knew that the whole time, it wasn’t until the night that he heard her weeping from her own room, quietly, trying to cover her pain for him, to help him, that he realized how big of a mess he’d been. And then he realized he needed to fix it.

He wasn’t the only one mourning. And doubtless, he wasn’t the only one who had ever mourned like this, either. His scenario was a wretched one, at times, but he was far from the only one who’d ever experienced anything like this. Seeing his aunt mourn was enough to remind him of that.

Seeing her pain was enough to dull his. It was enough to bring the world back into focus. That included making him face the amount of pain he was in, and the thoughts that accompanied it, rational or not. But his mind was sharp, as it always had been; and he knew enough to know, when he was thinking clearly, what lines of thought were rational, and what ones were not.

And despite it all, the one that had stuck with him, the one that bothered him the most, was oddly the most rational of them all. He may not have been able to stop his uncle’s death either way, but part of the reason he was so upset by it was that he had a chance to, if he’d only stepped up to the plate. And from that realization came a determination: he needed to step up to the plate. He had these powers now, like it or not. He had to decide how to use them.

It didn’t take long to come to a decision. So long as he had these powers, he had a responsibility to use them. And that meant to him that no one around him would ever feel like this again if he could help it. His reach may not have extended the world over, and he may still have other things to do, and other obligations to attend to, but this would become number one if he could help it. Number two, perhaps, if he absolutely couldn’t.

And so he stepped up to the plate. His grades, which had slipped to minimal while he was in his practically catatonic state, went back up, as high as they ever were. He came back out of his shell; he took the time to catch up with his old friends - or old friend, specifically, as fate would have it - and with his aunt, talking with her, trying to work through things, He knew it was still painful for her, but she was managing. She was handling it all better than he ever did. To think she had lost everyone she’d ever cared about and managed to go on like this… Hell, he’d got bitten by a genetically altered spider and went off the rails for a while. His uncle died, and he completely lost his mind, for a lot longer than a while. And then there was her, taking it all in stride.

That was the difference between an adult and a child, he supposed. Perhaps next time he would be able to handle it like an adult.

He shook the thought away. There wouldn’t be a next time. He wouldn’t let it happen again.

Anger became his drive. Pain became his fuel.

And that’s when the hero began to form.

~~~

By the second month after the funeral - three months since he’d been bitten and discovered he was getting strange capabilities - he had started to work out the kinks in this whole hero thing.

For one thing, he’d finally started to come into his powers. He kept discovering more things he could do as he went.

The first one he’d discovered, invariably, as it had developed on its own and was near impossible to miss, was his heightened senses. He suspected they had been heightening over time, a simple way his body had changed after the bite, in response to whatever the hell it was it had actually given him. He didn’t experience the full height of these new senses until after he’d came to from his grief, so to speak. He’d been catatonic, and his pain had literally taken the world out of focus, dulling everything, including his senses. When he got them back at what should have been normal, full capacity, they were much stronger than he remembered. The only logical conclusion was that they were.

The next few showed up in quick succession. He again suspected that these had been developing before, but due to him being catatonic, he rarely was in a scenario where he may have accidentally used them, and even when he did, he was too out of it to notice. When he settled back into the real world, he began to realize how often he would run into things, or grip something too hard and leave a dent in it. Super strength, agility, speed, and even the ability to heal cuts and bruises quicker. He knew these couldn’t just be in his head, because he’d never seen anyone crush their door handle like a crumpled wad of paper, or stab a fork through a plate and into the table when they tried to spear a bite of macaroni and cheese a bit too hard. Both of those were fun to hide from his aunt.

The last one was rather unusual, but not to say useless. It showed itself in a rather weird way as well. He didn’t often go outside at night, so it was no surprise that night vision was both a shock and a late revelation to his list of powers. But there was no other explanation for how clearly he saw things in the dark dead of the night. In retrospect, maybe he should have expected that with his heightened senses, but it was still an odd experience when it happened.

Armed with these powers and all the knowledge he possessed, he also spent this time to work on the making of some sort of suit. Every hero had to have a suit. Even Tony Stark, aka Iron Man, still had one, despite revealing his identity years before. And Peter wasn’t so sure how he felt on that front; keeping it a secret seemed a better idea for now, not least of all because if his aunt found out… well, it was likely his vigilante days wouldn’t last very long, to say the least. She didn’t need that extra stress in her life right now, anyways.

So he knew he needed a suit, and a name. He could always try for something sophisticated, something to make him sound smart, like he was worthy of trust and leadership, but… well, he also knew he needed to keep it simple enough to be recognized, and he was still a kid, regardless. He could sound as cool as he wanted, but it meant nothing if he couldn’t back it up. And right now he had nothing but basic superhero powers. He had nothing to set him apart, nothing to make him worthy of trust or leadership even if he claimed it, and worst of all, he had no experience. He had nothing to back any fancy-sounding name or costume up.

In the end, he had to keep it simple. He had to stick with something he could do, and a name he could back up. And what better way to stay true to his roots than to go with a name related to what gave him his powers in the first place? Besides, a spider-like costume would be easy enough to make. Some colors and some stripes - he couldn’t go all one color; he didn’t want to seem like he was ripping off the only other spider-related hero there was - and he would be all set. He could do some basic sewing. It just wouldn’t be fancy.

And of course, every hero needed a signature, something to be known by. For him, that was easy. He was a spider-man; he would have webs. He went to a science and technical school; he had access to everything he needed to make them.

By the end of that second month after the funeral - the end of his third month coming in to his powers - he had everything he needed. A suit, basic control over his powers, some rudimentary webs… he’d even quit the robotics team to make the time to practice and work on actually doing this whole superhero thing. He was set.

And so Spider-Man, officially, was born.

~~~

End Note: So, I know the Russo brothers decided doing a retelling of his story of becoming Spider-Man and all that was redundant, but I wanted to explore a little of what made this particular version of Spider-Man tick, and I also wanted to do some sort of intro before just jumping right in to the story. And I know this chapter seemed a bit distanced - I did that on purpose. From here it will actually be from Peter's perspective (though still third person).

From here, after perhaps a chapter of Spidey doing his thing, we'll go in to the MCU versions, starting with Civil War as that's canonically his first appearance. I hope to upload this on a schedule, probably a chapter two days a week if possible, but we'll see how it goes at first before I set it in stone. And if you liked this and are interested in seeing more of this, then great, and thank you for reading!

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lady-divine-writes · 6 years

Text

Klaine one-shot - “Not in Service” (Rated PG)

After years of pining over the most popular boy in McKinley - Kurt Hummel, nerd boy Blaine Anderson manages to get Kurt's cell phone number ... the day before Kurt loses his phone and decides to buy a new one. Blaine decides to use this as an opportunity to confess every feeling he's ever had for Kurt, how much he admires him, how much he's wanted to ask him out, for once and for all in the safest way possible ...

... because there's no chance anyone is ever going to see those messages ... right? (3654 words)

Notes: Okay, so I had been writing this alongside another one-shot I wrote for K*urtbastian (Dead Air), but I liked the other one better. But seeing as I had put so much work into this one, I've decided to post it. If you've read the other, you'll see that this one is entirely different. Let me know which one you like better <3

Warning for mention of bullying. Head Cheerio Kurt, nerd Blaine.

Read on AO3.

“Oh, give me a break!” Kurt exclaims out of nowhere, cutting short the conversation he’d been leading about the upcoming Regionals, and McKinley High’s chances of grabbing the gold.

Which is of course, obviously.

He starts rifling through his book bag like his life depends on it, then searching the pockets of his letterman jacket – first patting them down, then shoving his hands deep in as if expecting them to open up, revealing storage areas previously unknown.

“What’s wrong now?” Mercedes groans, looking up from her lunch - tater tots and celery sticks, her own personal compromise. She’s trying to slim down, but she refuses to spend the rest of her life eating like a rabbit to get there. Though, at present, the number of tater tots on her plate are dwindling while the celery sticks seem to be multiplying.

“My stupid phone!” Kurt huffs, searching his bag a second time, removing its contents piece by piece to be sure he’s covered his bases. “I’ve lost it … again! What does this make?”

The third time this week, Blaine thinks.

“I think this makes the third time this week,” Mercedes offers.

Blaine, pretending to appear deeply enthralled by his Calculus textbook, bites his lower lip and smiles, choosing to overlook how stalker-ish it is that he knows that.

“Well, you know what this means …” Kurt tosses down his bag in frustration, then re-thinks that and rescues it from the filthy ground.

“That you’re not responsible enough to own a phone?” Santana supplies. Kurt and Mercedes (and from his far corner of the cafeteria – Blaine) glare.

“Thank you, Satan,” Kurt snaps.

“Why don’t you trade up to an iPhone?” Mercedes stabs a celery stick with her fork, then changes her mind and spears another tot. “You’ve only wanted one forever.”

“Because losing a $500 phone would be less devastating than losing that crappy $100 one?” Santana says. She puts her hands up in defense as another round of glares heads her way. “Hey! I’m just sayin’.”

“I did want one until I found out that I won’t be able to keep my old number for some stupid reason,” Kurt explains, choosing to ignore negative comments from the peanut gallery. “That’s going to be a hassle.”

“But it’s worth it,” Mercedes sings, flashing her own iPhone with its shiny gold cover, knowing how much Kurt’s been coveting it.

“I don’t think I have it in my budget to buy a new phone,” Kurt argues, gathering up his things and getting ready to let Mercedes persuade him to buy one anyway.

“Nonsense. They’re on sale. And you know how much you love shopping for stuff on sale.”

“True, true.”

“Plus, it’ll give us an excuse to skip next period.”

“Cedes!” Kurt hisses, winding his arm inside hers as they hurry out of the cafeteria, huddled close together as if that will make what they’re doing less conspicuous. “You’re so bad!”

“Yes, but you love me anyway.”

“I do.”

Blaine peeks over the edge of his book and watches the friends leave. They get swallowed by the mob of students loitering outside the cafeteria doors, and then poof. They’re gone. Blaine sighs. Welp, there goes his master plan. That would be just his luck, Kurt losing his phone the day after Blaine managed to get his number. Kurt didn’t give it to him. Blaine paid Noah Puckerman, the boy with the stickiest fingers in McKinley, $20 to swipe the number for him. To be fair, Blaine doesn’t know if what he has is Kurt’s real number, or if he’d been swindled out of twenty bucks.

But he’d been optimistic.

Blaine didn’t have a plan past getting the number. In fact, he had no idea what he was going to do with Kurt’s number (provided it was his). But now, he doesn’t even have a chance.

Not like he had any before. What did Blaine think – Head Cheerio and most popular boy in school Kurt Hummel was going to date nerd boy Blaine Anderson simply because he managed to get Kurt’s number? Kurt probably wouldn’t give Blaine the time of day once he found out because how creepy is that? Paying some lowlife to get a hold of your phone number? And Kurt would be right. Kurt’s number was unlisted in the student directory for a reason.

And that reason probably looked a lot like Blaine.

Blaine takes his phone out of his pocket and pulls up Kurt’s number. Just seeing it there, with Kurt’s name at the top, makes his heart flutter. He imagines what it would be like if he had permission to have it. If Kurt had given it to him for real and he hadn’t spent his allowance on it. If the two of them were friends …

… or boyfriends.

But with Kurt’s phone gone, Blaine has to start over from scratch. Maybe this is a lesson well learned. Maybe he should just grow a pair, go up to Kurt, and say hi, tell him how handsome he is, how talented, how long he’s admired him from afar ...

Yeah, right. Blaine might also sprout a pair of wings and start circling Kurt’s house at night like a giant bat.

That conversation would earn Blaine a permanent spot in the dumpster out behind the cafeteria – the one the lunch ladies toss the expired coleslaw and uneaten seafood salad in – after the football team finds out.

According to Brett Bukowski, that smell never comes out.

And it wouldn’t matter one lick to Kurt because Kurt has no clue who Blaine is anyway. Not that Kurt abides by bullying. He absolutely doesn’t. In fact, it’s been Kurt’s personal mission to abolish bullying ay McKinley High School once and for all. But Blaine would have to be on Kurt’s radar in order for him to care.

And Blaine isn’t.

Blaine has been sitting behind Kurt in nearly every one of his classes for the past three years. They even went to elementary school together. It was only for a few months when they were eight years old. They sat next to each other in class, and at the same table at lunch. Kurt even helped Blaine straighten his bowtie once. But at some point in the middle of the year, Kurt’s mother passed away, and his father sent him to a private school. Kurt looked different back then, but Blaine recognized him right away, the first moment he saw him.

Kurt doesn’t seem to remember.

Kurt has said hi and bye in passing, but only ever speaks to Blaine to ask him to pass notes to Mercedes. He doesn’t know why he thought getting Kurt’s number would change anything, but at the time it seemed like an inspired idea.

A stroke of genius.

With the depth of his own pathos sinking inside his stomach, he gives composing a text to Kurt a try, just to see what it feels like.

To: Kurt

Hey, Kurt! How have you been? I just wanted to tell you your hair looks really nice today. See you in class J

Blaine smiles. It’s such a simple message, the kind two friends would definitely send to one another. But he’d never have the courage. Because they’re not friends, and probably never will be.

Blaine’s smile fades as he exits out of his messaging app and puts his phone in his book bag. He packs his belongings and makes his way to the library before the end-of-lunch bell rings. He doesn’t enjoy picking his way through the crowd that floods the hallways after lunch. Too often he gets bumped or locker checked, and not even by people picking on him. Sometimes just by accident.

Because he’s small, and insignificant, and easy to overlook.

It doesn’t have to be this way, though. By rights, he’s done with high school. He finished the last of his required courses the end of junior year, and is actually a sophomore at Lima Community College. Being a year ahead in his classes meant two things for Blaine – either graduating a semester early and taking advantage of his early acceptance to Harvard, or filling that time with the extracurricular, throw-away classes he didn’t get the opportunity to take.

He opted for the latter.

Ironically, he didn’t want to grow up just yet.

Most of his high school career has been abysmal, that’s true. He’d been tossed in dumpsters more times than he wanted to remember, stuffed in one particular locker so many times the door had been removed by the janitor permanently. Blaine only had a few months to fix that, to do something, anything, that would erase the pain and misery of those first three years.

Maybe that’s why getting Kurt’s number was so important to him.

He cringes. Just thinking that, he feels like the lazily written protagonist in a late 80s rom-com, the kind you look back on 30 years later and realize how fundamentally flawed it truly was.

How much you should have been rooting for anyone but the “hero”.

He gets to the library five minutes before the bell. He sets his things down at the tutoring desk (tucked in a far, secluded corner) and takes out his phone, figuring he’ll scroll through his Instagram feed before the first student shows up.

But the notification that pops up before Instagram opens makes his heart stop.

Message sent.

“What?” Blaine mutters, re-opening his messaging app and checking his sent message log. His stopped heart dislodges from its place inside his ribcage and drops to his knees as he sees the first message on the screen – his message to Kurt. “No … no!” Blaine checks Google to see if there’s any way to stop the message from being sent, desperate to get it back, but it’s too late. The message is gone, on its way to who knows where. If that wasn’t Kurt’s number, well, no harm no foul. But if it was …

… that phone’s lost anyway, isn’t it? Kurt will have a new phone by the end of the school day and, from the sounds of it, a new phone number. So, in theory, Blaine should have nothing to worry about.

But, unfortunately, that’s not how Blaine’s brain works.

Just to be on the safe side (and keep himself out of the dumpster) he decides to compose another message to counteract the first one. But what should it say? Sorry, wrong number? How likely is that when he opened the text Hey, Kurt? Should he try to convince Kurt that he knows another Kurt and that that message was meant for him? What are the odds? Besides, that wouldn’t explain how Blaine got Kurt’s number in the first place. Kurt is a smart boy. He’d never buy that excuse. No sane person would! He takes a deep breath and starts typing, hoping he can come up with something on the fly that will sound halfway reasonable.

To: Kurt

I’m sorry! I’m so so sorry that I sent you that text! Please ignore it! I promise, I won’t do it again!

Blaine sends the message before he really gets the chance to read it. Then, realizing that Kurt probably has no idea who sent him either message, he quickly follows up with:

To: Kurt

This is Blaine, by the way. Blaine Anderson.

After he sends that message, his poor, overworked heart withers and dies. He’s such an idiot! How can a boy with a 5.0 GPA and early acceptance into one of the most prestigious universities in America be such a phenomenal imbecile? He never identified himself in the first message, nor the second one. What are the odds anyone in Kurt’s friend circle has Blaine’s number? Blaine rarely gives it out. Kurt would have never known who sent the first message to begin with, and Blaine would have gotten away with it.

Unless Noah told. That’s a distinct possibility. He probably would. But shit!

Blaine’s skin prickles with cold despite the fact that he’s sitting beside a heating vent going full blast; his head swims with the reality of what his life might end up looking like for the next week or two.

Strangely enough, when he pictures it, he only sees darkness.

Blaine’s head drops to the desk with a hard thunk. What’s left for him now? Does he pick up his bag, walk out of school, and never look back? Hitchhike to Harvard and camp out on the main lawn until the start of summer school?

No.

He’s been carrying this secret with him, deep inside, for so long. He has to let it go. Even if it’s to empty cyberspace, he has to give it up.

He’s dug himself in deep this time. He might as well fill in the hole.

He lifts his head, and composes another message.

To: Kurt

You don’t know me … at least, I don’t think you do. You’ve only spoken to me a handful of times, but otherwise, you don’t seem to know I exist.

Blaine chuckles. That’s the understatement of the century. And it’s not because Kurt is one of those popular kids who has his head shoved so far up his own ass that he doesn’t associate with people outside of his social circle.

Quite on the contrary.

It’s simply that Kurt is completely and utterly out of Blaine’s league.

To: Kurt

But you and I have history, so to speak.

To: Kurt

Well, to be honest, it’s more like an anecdote.

To: Kurt

I sit behind you in a few classes and I’ve always wanted to say hi to you, but …

To: Kurt

I’m just too afraid.

To: Kurt

I’m afraid of being laughed at. But also … I get picked on a lot, and I’m afraid of becoming more of a target than I already am.

Blaine’s hands shake as he writes that. Even if Kurt never reads this, and odds are he won’t, the fear is still too real.

To Kurt:

But I look up to you so much.

To: Kurt

You’re smart and popular, and you have so many friends.

To: Kurt

You sing in Glee Club and you’re captain of the Cheerios.

To: Kurt

You’re doing everything I would have done if I’d had more courage.

To: Kurt

Speaking of courage …

Blaine hesitates, a small voice in his head screaming, “Don’t do it! Don’t do it! Turn back now before it’s too late!” But another voice reminds him that Kurt is never going to see these messages.

So what would it hurt to go for broke?

To: Kurt

I’ve been trying to find the courage to ask you out forever.

To: Kurt

Nothing major. Not like prom. I wouldn’t want your reputation to tank because of me. Just coffee.

To: Kurt

I know that you’ll think I like you because you’re Head Cheerio, because you’re popular, but that’s not it. I swear.

To: Kurt

There are hundreds of reasons to like you that have nothing to do with you being popular.

Blaine bites his lower lip, knowing he’s going to step over some lines, drudge up some past that maybe he shouldn’t, but he can’t make himself stop typing.

To: Kurt

When Coach Sylvester wanted you to lose weight after you joined the Cheerios, I saw how hard that was on you. But then you told her that if she didn’t want you on the squad plus or minus a few pounds, that she could go to hell. And she made you captain.

To: Kurt

You ran for student body president on a platform to end bullying, because you overcame bullying yourself, and even a death threat to get where you are.

To: Kurt

But when that other Cheerio won (I think because she promised to go topless one day a month), you were so gracious in defeat. And then you still went on to get the superintendent to ban dodgeball in all public schools, for which I, personally, thank you.

To: Kurt

You were so strong after your dad got sick.

To: Kurt

I heard you spent every night with him at the hospital, and then came to school every morning. I don’t think I could have done that.

To: Kurt

You brought that boy Sam some clothes when his parents lost their home last year.

To: Kurt

And I’ve seen you stand up for the Glee Club against the football players, even against Coach Sylvester.

To: Kurt

You’ve been out and proud in school for years now, and have paved a way for LGBT kids in our school to feel safer and more accepted, which is difficult when you consider the mental Neanderthals we’re surrounded by every day.

To: Kurt

No matter what life threw at you, you never gave up.

To: Kurt

You’re a good person.

Blaine looks at his phone after that last message. He could end it there, but that’s not the end. He takes in a breath and holds it. He has nothing to lose, he reminds himself.

To: Kurt

So, if I don’t sound like a total loser, and you think that maybe the two of us could be, you know, friends …

To: Kurt

I’m in the library, at the tutoring desk. Maybe you could stop by, and we could talk.

That first little voice rings in his head, “Mayday! Mayday!” and Blaine steps his remarks back a bit.

To: Kurt

Or not. I know you’re a busy guy. I’m sorry for bothering you.

To: Kurt

P. S. Just so you know, I’m not a stalker, so please don’t call the police on me.

“Ugh!” Blaine moans, dropping his head back onto the desk. “Why? Why did you text that? You pathetic loser!”

He turns off his phone and sets it aside.

And … that’s it.

That’s all he had in him to say.

He did it, though. He overcame his fear and told Kurt how he felt … in the safest, most non-consequence facing way possible.

He should feel relieved.

But he doesn’t.

He sent those messages, expressed all of those feelings, but they just disappeared into the ether, never to be retrieved (once Blaine clears his message history), their intended recipient totally unaware of their existence. What good would it have done if Kurt had read them anyway? What would that change except to make Blaine seem like more of a loser than he already feels?

He thought he’d feel lighter after admitting all of that, like he’d accomplished something. But he doesn’t.

He feels vacant.

Empty.

Vaguely incomplete.

He knocks his head on the desk a few times, chanting, “You. Are. Such. An. Idiot. You. Are. Such. An …”

“Hey. Are you busy?”

Blaine stops chanting and sighs. “Do I look busy?” He doesn’t care that he sounds snippy. Only five or so people come to see him on the regular anyhow, and most of them have witnessed him in the midst of an existential crisis before.

“Well, you look like you might be having some sort of episode. If that’s the case, I can come back.” A giggle follows that remark that sends a chill down Blaine’s spine.

That’s no regular.

That’s Kurt.

Blaine looks up, a nervous smile plastered to his face as he tries to remain calm. This is a coincidence. That’s all. Nothing but a weird, wacky, one-in-a-million, kick-you-in-the-crotch coincidence. Blaine is here to tutor. Lots of kids, from the cheerleading squad to the football players, come to see him. Even the ones who have tossed him into dumpsters stroll in as if there’s no bad blood between them to ask Blaine for help bringing up their grades. So this isn’t that out of the ordinary.

Except that Kurt has a 4.8 GPA. He’s never needed tutoring, so why would he be here?

It can’t have anything to do with those messages. No way. That phone is gone, those messages went nowhere.

So … why today of all days? Why on the one day Blaine bore his heart to him – or to his lost phone – through dozens of inane text messages, would Kurt show up for tutoring?

Blaine can’t begin to guess. But once this does turn out to be one big, crazy coincidence, he’s going to buy a ton of lottery tickets because fate is obviously working overtime.

“Uh, no. No, I’m not. I … is there something I can help you with?” Blaine asks.

“I … I wanted to show you something.” Kurt reaches into his book bag, pulls out his phone, and shows it to Blaine. Blaine exhales, relieved. That’s all. Kurt got his new phone and he’s showing it off, probably to everyone he sees. He happened to be in the library, noticed Blaine sitting at the tutoring desk, and decided to brag.

Completely reasonable.

But when Blaine takes a second look, he sees it’s not a new phone. It’s Kurt’s old phone. There’s a message displayed on the screen. It only takes Blaine three seconds and the words please don’t call the police for him to know that it’s his message.

Not the first message Blaine sent, but the last.

“Your name is Blaine Anderson,” Kurt says, letting out a breath as if he’d been holding it for an hour now. “You sit behind me in science, math, and economics. Last year, you sat behind me in history, math, and AP European Literature.” Kurt takes a step towards the empty chair in front of Blaine’s desk. “We met for the first time in elementary school. You wore a bowtie to school every day. I used to wear suits, and my hair …” Kurt runs a self-conscious hand through his bangs “… was less highlighted then.”

“I … I remember,” Blaine says, swallowing heavy.

“So do I.” Kurt takes a seat. And with a small, bashful smile, he takes Blaine’s hand. “Can we talk?”

#klaine #klaine fanfiction #klaine fic #Frankie writes

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thewritewolf · 6 years

Text

True Sight Chapter 4

Instead of starting at the beginning of the chapter, I’ll be pulling a scene from the middle as a sample. In this scene, our party of four has gone to a sushi restaurant. Read the rest of the chapter for their trip to the movies.

Enjoy!

As always, the full chapter can be found on AO3

Not long after, they made it to the sushi restaurant. They found the boys were waiting for them inside.

They were sitting in a booth, Nino and Adrien opposite each other. The two boys were in the middle of a conversation, with Nino's back to Marinette and Alya. Adrien was the one who noticed them first, face brightening into a smile as he waved them over. Alya, of course, took the seat next to her boyfriend leaving her sitting next to...

“Adrien! Hello!” Marinette said abruptly as she slid next to him. Pulling her eyes away from his emerald green ones, she addressed the last member of the party. “Hi, Nino!” He finger gunned in greeting.

Adrien's smile faltered only for a moment before he handed a menu to Marinette. “The waiter was here a few minutes ago, but we haven't ordered anything yet. I haven't looked at the options yet either, since I wanted to see what everybody was up for first. Sushi is a very communal dinner.”

At once, everyone opened their menus and began hungrily scanning them for the best rolls. Marinette was still considering the apetitzers when Alya cried out in excitement. She spun her menu over to Marinette and placed a finger on the house specials: The Ladybug Rolls and the Chat Noir Rolls.

“Can you believe it, girl? Apparently they offered them as one-year anniversary specials back at the start of the school year. Everyone loved them so much, they kept them on as special rolls!” Alya said, breathlessly, having already read the sidebar blurb next to the rolls.

One year anniversary. She and Chat Noir had been akuma-fighting partners for over a year now. How time flies when fighting for your life. She smiled nostalgically as she thought about her second best friend, her chin on her hand. Alya continued, eyes closed and head held high in a mock display of pretentiousness. “Obviously, we will be ordering Ladybug rolls.”

Marinette responded absently, still reminiscing. “And what is Ladybug without Chat Noir? We'll need an order of them to go with the Ladybug rolls.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Adrien's face light up. She almost forgot that he was a big fanboy of Chat.

Their eyes locked...

“I'm really feeling these Dynamite and California rolls, dudes.”

Only to be drawn back to the moment by Nino's appetite.

The debate on what to order was steered by Adrien's recommendations, since he had the most experience out of the group with high-end sushi. They listened to him regale them with his worldly knowledge.

“Normally, for a group of four, it is usually recommended to get four or five sets of rolls. However...” He was interrupted by the rebellion of his own stomach, which growled angrily. “...I'm a big eater these days, so I'd like to get six sets, and two appetizers.”

Marinette was giggling at Adrien when her own gut cried out. She blushed and looked up at Adrien, who had a smug grin on his face. It wasn't her fault that her heroics meant she needed a waaaaay greater calorie intake. Not that she could say that to anyone here, of course. Instead, she coughed. “Yeah, that sounds great. Let’s do that.” She spoke quickly, hoping to get the conversation on track.

In the end, they decided on edamame and calamari for appetizers, and six sets of rolls for the main course: California rolls, dynamite rolls, dragon rolls, spider rolls, the Ladybug rolls, and the Chat Noir rolls. They didn't have to wait too long on their cucumber water, and the appetizers came hot on their heels.

While they were waiting, Adrien took it upon himself to teach his audience the ancient secrets of chopsticks.

Marinette surprised him by already having mastered it. “Wow, Marinette! How did you get so good at this?”

She looked at him warmly and with a bit of pride in herself. “My mother was very insistent on keeping her culture alive with me.” Her mother may have been born in France, but her grandmother was from China. “It would have brought dishonor on my family, dishonor on me, and dishonor on my cow if I couldn't even use chopsticks.”

Adrien laughed aloud at this. Was he a fan of Disney movies too?

“Yeah, well, some of us still need help, Miss Worldly.” Alya reminded them by failing to pick up even one of the soybean pods. Turning to Adrien, Marinette shared a look with him that said “We will bring culture to these barbarians.” This goal kept them occupied until the main course arrived.

At that point, Alya had become proficient and had acquired a taste for calamari, which she finished almost single handedly. Adrien had been struggling to come up with a pun involving Marinette and calamari - “calaMARI, it's right there, I know it!” She made a mental note of Adrien liking puns. She’d have to listen more carefully to Chat’s puns instead of blocking them out as usual.

Either Adrien was not as good a teacher as Marinette, or Nino was simply a lost cause. When the waiter arrived with the first plates of sushi, Nino swallowed his pride and quietly asked for a fork.

Some gentle teasing later and they could at last dig in. Nino tried to regain some of his lost honor by dunking a California roll in wasabi. This went... poorly for him.

“I tried to warn you.” Adrien said with feigned disinterest, suppressing a chuckle at his friend's situation.

Nino probably would have responded, had he not been chugging his water at that time, tears flowing freely down his face. Alya was patting his back, a half-smile playing on her face, and a Ladybug roll halfway to her mouth. Once Nino recovered, she ate it, the first of the group to have one. Everyone followed her lead to taste test the hero rolls.

As it turns out, the Ladybug roll was lobster, olive, and tomato, with a cream cheese filling. Sesame seeds were mixed into the sticky rice, making it a crunchy roll.

Adrien was gushing over it. “God, this is great. Sweet and savory all at once, and the crunch compliments the lobster beautifully. A perfect snack for the perfect heroine.” He leaned back, blushing slightly at his outburst, but not back peddling on any of it. Alya glanced over to Marinette with concern, but Marinette was on cloud nine. Adrien (indirectly) called me perfect!

“Are we all ready for the Chat Noir roll? This one has wasabi already in it – the only one on the menu that does – so it is not for the faint of heart.” As Alya said this, she looked directly at Nino, who defiantly meet her gaze and speared the first of the dark green rolls.

Adrien commented, “I don't see how it can compare to Ladybug, but I'll try one.”

As it turns out, Chat Noir was made of tuna, avocado, wrapped in dark seaweed, and, as promised, contained wasabi – an unusual decision, but then, Chat was an unusual hero.

No one was able to stand the heat, despite the excellent taste. Well, almost no one was able to stand it.

“Honestly, it isn't that hot, you guys.” Marinette's cheeks were flushed by the heat, but it didn't bother her. She had built up a tolerance for spicy foods, it being one of her favorites.

“Girl, I liked it too. Hell, I had a second, but it wasn't an easy task.” Alya crossed her arms, one hand raised dismissively. “But I definitely prefer the Ladybug.”

Adrien finished chewing and nodded. “Same here.” The plates were almost all empty at this point, a few stranglers all that remained of the great bounty they had ordered.

“My man, I'll stick with the dragon roll, thank you very much.” Eel, cucumber, and crab. Tasty, but mild. Marinette giggled at Nino’s choice.

She was rather content with how the meal went. She got to sit next to Adrien, they had all laughed, Nino had cried, she got to sit next to Adrien, she got to taste new foods, she got to sit next to Adrien...

“And what did you like most?” A voice to her left drew her back to the conversation. Adrien was watching her with interest.

She shoved down the brief rise of panic – which has gotten much easier over the course of the dinner – and gave it some thought. “Definitely Chat Noir is my favorite.”

Adrien's eyes widened and he gave a genuine, warm smile. “I bet that means a lot to him.”

Marinette giggled. “Well, yes, I like Chat Noir, but I was talking about the roll based on him. Tuna seems a bit stereotypical, but it is really good.”

“The heat doesn't bother you?” Adrien inquired.

“Nope! I like my food spicy. It is a good contrast from all the sweet food back at home.”

The waiter arrived with the bill, which Adrien took from Marinette's hands as she tried to look at it. She playfully tried to take it back, but Adrien simply leaned back and placed his credit card inside before handing it back. Marinette huffed. She would like to know just how much she owed Adrien, but that thought was derailed as he grinned at her and winked.

“None of you will know how much I spent here, so none of you get the idea of trying to pay me back. This is definitely my treat.”

Nino shot back, “True, but we are the ones that are paying for the movies.” He held up a finger as Adrien was about to protest. “You are cray-cray if you think we're letting you pay so much as a cent after we get out of here, dude.”

“Well, once I get my card back, are we ready to head out?”

Everyone said yes or an equivalent, and they were out the door.

With how far along into winter they were, the day was already giving way to night. They were a bit ahead of schedule and would definitely be getting to the 6pm showing with more than enough time. The conversation winded into classwork.

“So you guys haven't started on the project yet either?” Alya addressed Nino and Adrien. They shook their heads.

“Nah, dude. It has been pretty rough tryin' to get a few hours outta my boy Adrien here.” Turning to face said boy, he asks, “You still free tomorrow? We'll need to meet up and get to work on it.”

“You know...” Marinette began, looking to the side. “We don't have much work done on it either, and we got special permission to work in the school library tomorrow morning. Maybe you could join us? Four minds will be better than two.” She finished, looking back at her friends.

Naturally, the first pair of eyes she meet was Adrien's, who looked positively excited. “That sounds great!” His giddy smile wavered. “Although, it might be difficult since I'd have to go home tonight, then wake up early tomorrow just to be there on time.”

Alya, ever the noblest wingwoman, made a suggestion. “We could have a sleepover at Mari's! It is great there, they have plenty of sweets, they cook a phenomenal breakfast, and there are plenty of movies.”

Her heart swelled and threatened to stop simultaneously. She'd need to keep them downstairs while she hid the incriminating evidence on her walls, but she could pull this off. “I don't know if my parents would be willing to let me have boys over, but since we're arriving early, I'll call and ask. I'm sure if they have warning they'll be fine with it.”

Nino responded quickly. “My folks won't have any problem with it. I'll tell them I'm staying at Adrien's, just to be on the safe side.”

Adrien looked like a puppy staring at a cake – desire mixed with fear of the consequences. “I doubt my father will let me stay over anywhere.”

“Pft! Just tell him you are hanging out at my place, like usual. He hasn't had a problem with that, so we ought to be good now. Sure, you haven't stayed over before, but that shouldn't change anything.” Nino said while sliding an arm around Alya, holding his fist out to Adrien.

Adrien took a moment to consider this, a mischievous expression on his face as he fist bumped Nino. “Sounds like a plan. I'll call and inform Nathalie and I'll tell her about our plans for tomorrow.”

With that, the conversation shifted to other topics.

#miraculous ladybug #marinette dupain-cheng #adrien agreste #nino lahiffe #alya cesaire #miraculous #True Sight #ml fanfiction

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lady-luck-courier · 6 years

Text

Baby sitting

Re-posting this because tumblr hecked up the formatting, but this is one of my first fanfiction writings I am ever publishing and my first NV piece! Inspired by @nuclear-reactions amazing reactions I hope you enjoy!

I had faced everything the Mojave has to throw at me

I have faced a quarry full of deathclaws

I have sent ghouls into space on pre-war rocket ships

I have traveled to kill my attacker and ended up seducing him

I have been a peace keeper and an assassin

I brought Caesar's legion to their knees at the second battle of the hoover dam

I even found a goddamn sex bot to get onto the strip

But this, this is the hardest challenge I will ever have to face.

The little bundle in my arms shifted again, my heart was pounding as I hurried through freeside, a rifle strapped to my back, a pistol on my hip, and a diaper bag over my shoulder. I got a few strange looks from the residents, a few thugs eyed the soft quilt piled in my arms as if to get a better view of what was swaddled inside. I went as fast as I dared to without jostling the precious cargo in my arms.

I kicked the door open to the lucky 38, trying to remember who I’d seen this morning and who i’d sent on supply runs and who was still home. Arcade was still home.

“ARCADE” I screamed as the elevator doors slid open

I heard a crash one room over, Arcade rushed to see what the cause of my panic tone was, he was still holding his coffee mug, sloshing the liquid around, his glasses askew and his shirt untucked

“Six!? What’s the matter? Where’s the injury” his eyes flew over my face, completely missing the bundle in my arms

“Nothing Arcade, but look what I found!”

I gently unwrapped the blankets, a round baby's face appeared in a state of peaceful dream. Arcades eyebrows shot so far up his face I feared they would fly off

“A baby. Six, where the hell did you find a baby?”

“Well”

There was only one thing I hated more deathclaws, and that was the legion. And the legion hated me more ever since I threw a wrench into their plans. So when I went out into the wastes on a solo scaving mission just outside of south vegas I was on high alert for any attacks they might send out. Geralt city was one of the smaller towns more often passed over but caravanners have been saying there was a small lake full of fresh radiation free water and nature was slowly taking a foot hold once again, so I saw no harm in checking it out. Dawn was just breaking, the perfect time between the ferals slinking back into the darkness and when the weather was only in the double digits. I slunk in between the shadows and broken walls, coming across some scrap metals and a few drained energy cells.

I thankfully I saw the legionnaires before they saw me. They stood in the town square, four of them in total surrounding a caged cart. I crept out further and eavesdropped

“What should we do with the cripple?”

He whacked the side of the cage and I could see the small frame of someone wince inside

“Kill her right now?” one suggested

“No, let’s sell her for a discount. If not, well we can keep her for some personal entertainment”

They chuckled

It made me sick hearing them refer to a person as a piece of meat. I unslung my hunting rifle and peered down the sight right at the first ones head, the one who suggested keeping her for entertainment

He dropped like a sack of flour. All the others heads whipped around trying to find the source

“Hello boys!” I stood up and waved to them “Remember me?”

They yelled and charged at the girl with a high powered hunting rifle with spears and swords, and they wonder how I’ve been picking them off so easily.

I looted bodies for the control for the collars around their slaves necks and picked the lock off the cage. Two women, a man and a child were inside. One of the women walked with the aid of a crutch

I helped her out of the cart and she studied my face with wide eyes

“Who are you?” She asked “NCR? Brotherhood?”

“Courier” I answered holding out my hand “Six”

She pulled me into a hug and sobbed thanking me before limping off following the others, it occured to me they were a family. I watched them until they became small spots on the horizon. Right before I left that cart forever I heard a baby cry.

Arcades jaw hung open

“Yeah” I said “I need to get the others, Arcade, hold her”

He jumped and flinched back as if the suggestion sucker punched him

“Me? No!”

“Acrade” I asked my eyebrow arching “Are you afraid of the baby?”

“Not afraid! Just terrified of dropping the little thing, you know their skulls aren't fully developed and-”

“So you never held a baby before in all the years you worked with the followers?”

“No, I mean- I know how to hold one but-”

I pushed her into his arms, he immediately locked up and stared at the infant

“Now i’m going to get everyone else, i’ll be back soon” I said sharply turning back to the elevator

“Six. Six? Six, please don't leave me with the-” the elevator doors slid shut cutting him off

I came back an hour later with everyone in tow, when the doors slid open we all saw a stiff Arcade trying to shush the now awake and crying baby, it looks like he hasn’t moved from where I left him this morning

“Thank god” He sighed “She just started crying, please help”

The poor guy looked like he craved death and the babies face was red and snot and tears trailed down her face. Everyone rushed out and started to crowd around the baby, effectively making her cry harder.

“Can I try something?”

Everyone's head snapped towards Boone. Arcade sighed in relief and quickly pawned her off into his arms. Boone carefully took her and gently tucked her head under his chin and held her against his chest, supporting her head and neck with his hand he breathed in slowly through his nose. She quieted down immediately. You could feel the shock radiate off everyone in the room. I stared at him wide eyed

“Where’d you learn that Boone?” I asked

He took a moment to respond, gently swaying back and forth

“When Carla told me, I tried to get my hands on every parenting book I could find, some were more helpful than others but I figured if I knew what to expect it wouldn’t be so terrifying”

It was a little strange to see him be so delicate with something, and as the baby started to babble softly everyone caught a glimpse of Boone’s rare smile.

“What’s her name anyway?” Arcade asked

“I-” I stopped “I have no clue, not like she had a name tag or anything.”

Everyone looked around as if for an answer

“Kelly” Boone said “Lets call her kelly”

No one argued

Kelly was kept quite against the snipers chest, until a smell started to permeate through the living room.

“Smells like...shit” I wrinkled my nose

“Bingo” Raul said “Change it boss”

“I dunno how” I replied “Does anyone?”

Silence fell across the living room

“I got it boss, but I can only do it if Boone lets her go”

Raul held his hands out and Boone grudgingly gave up the infant

“You got a diaper bag?”

“Yep!” I hefted the bag up and let it slap against my side

“Good, come with me you’re gonna help me out”

I trailed behind Raul into one of the spare bedrooms and watched him work

“Wow Raul, seems like you got some experience with this” I commented handing him a clean diaper

“Well, I had a big family and they liked dumping their bawling bundles of joy onto us so they could get some rest, so I got good at this pretty quick. I didn’t mind though” His rotted digits secured the safety pin, Kelly giggled happily and grabbed Rauls fingers. Big eyes looked at him with absolute trust and innocence, she shook his hand back and forth and smiled. I thought I saw a tear or two leak out of his eye.

“Raul, buddy, you okay?” I asked placing a hand on his shoulder

He sniffed “I’m great”

Veronica was great with kids, or so she kept insisting. So when Boone left Kelly with me and Raul to shower veronica saw her opportunity. Kelly was happily smacking one of the forks against the floor, giggling when it got stuck in the carpet. Babies were weird. Veronica crept up behind her

“Veronica” I asked, her hands froze halfway to the kellys stomach “What are you doing?”

She only winked and started to tickle Kelly’s side.

She began to shriek and cry

“Oh dear” Raul muttered before returning to his tinkering

“Ver, I really don't think kelly likes that” I said

“No, the kids at the brotherhood loved me, I just-”

She tried to gather the screaming bundle in her arms to bounce her and blew raspberries on her cheek.

Kelly screamed louder

As if his “baby-is-crying” sense was tingling, or he heard kelly screeching, Boone marched into the living room and swept kelly away glaring daggers at Veronica

Veronica sat in shock and hurt

“But...Kids love me, I was the cool aunt”

“Ver, I think kelly is just a little young for the roughhousing” I patted her shoulder reassuringly. She feel back against the carpet and covered her eyes with her arm, defeated

ED-E hovered around the makeshift crib Raul constructed for Kelly, Listening to her babble and playing the sounds back to her make her giggle and coo as we all tried to come up with a plan for taking care of her. The two seemed as if they were studying each other, ED-E gently poked at Kelly with his antennas and kelly in return grabbed at them and tried to stick them in her mouth. His victory anthem make Kelly shierk with joy for some reason and she loved sticking the barrel of the laser rifle in her mouth (the only way she would release it was the when his danger warning played). Three times I had to make Boone sit down and keep him from dismantling ED-E, promising that ED-E wasn't going to hurt Kelly. I looked at all the people at the table, a patch work of broken and beaten people, and I felt a warmth swell in my chest over the obvious concern they had for this little baby that was dropped in our lap.

“So, Kelly will be staying with us for the foreseeable future?” I asked lacing my fingers and resting my chin atop them, all of them nodded in unison. I smiled lightly and turned to look out the window, showing an orange colored sky. For a moment it felt a little bit of innocent, pure, unfiltered hope returned to all of us. Maybe the world wasn’t such a hellscape after all, and there was hope.

#courier six #MK #craig boone #arcade gannon #veronica santangelo #ED-E #raul tejada #I also wussed out and didn't write all the companions cause I don't feel confident in my writing

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sky-writes-daydreams · 6 years

Text

A night in with Cor.

*at work when Moosh sense tingles.* Hm.... *checks her blog and sees that the moosh needs hugs and love* oh nos..... no.... Sads no touch our moosh. *sads have touched the moosh. cue cracking knuckles and clicking a pen* Oh we are so fixing this.

So.... I saw that @themissimmortal has been having it rough and needed hugs and love and just soft cor fluff. Seeing how I love the Moosh to death and her and my sister wallflower got me back into writing on here.... This is the least I can do. So Moosh... If this makes you smile... Then My job is done. :) So get ready for some pure unadulterated Cor Fluff!

Necromancers had nothing on your workplace. Sure, those demons could turn you to stone and kill you, but work sucked out your soul. There was no energy left for writing or even video games afterwards. Just cuddles with Cor and dinner before you passed out to do it again the next day.

Finally, After all the overtime and the bullshit, you had a few days off coming. A whole weekend you could just do whatever and be with Cor. That was the part you loved the most. After one last grueling twelve hour day, you opened the door to your shared apartment and sighed. It was past sunset now so Cor would be home. You dropped your bag by the door and kicked off the shoes off your aching feet. Your blood sugar was getting low as well so dinner would have to be something quick. You slowly walked into the kitchen to an amazing surprise.

Low jazz was on in the background as a shapely body danced to the beat in front of the stove. Bare feet leading to grey sweats and a tight muscle tee, was your lover and support, Cor. He looked back hearing you and smiled gently.

“Welcome home love. Have a good day?” You smiled gently then.

“As good as I could make it…. You?”

“Easy. Trained some new kids. They’re picking up on everything quickly.” You nodded as you went closer. He was roasting Veggies in a light sauce and they smelt amazing.

“Baked chicken breast ok?”

“Perfect.” You stole a bite then of the veggies and smiled. The flavors were out of this world. Not many knew but Cor was an amazing cook when you let him in the kitchen.

“Gods Cor…. you make these better every time.”

“Well someone’s got to make sure you keep eating.” He gently nudged you then.

“Ah. Can’t feel a rib now.” You laughed then. He always said you were too small at times just to make you laugh. He put an arm around you then and gave your head a gentle kiss.

“Go on and sit down in the living room. I’ve got this… you need to relax.” You looked up into those eyes and almost melted. So much love and care was there, you couldn’t argue. You gave him a little kiss before obeying.

You sat on the comfy couch and slowly felt yourself unwinding and letting your shoulders and neck relax. The pain would hit later but for now, you were ok. A mindless sitcom was on the Tv as background noise in this room. You weren’t paying any attention to the tv as you slowly spaced out. It seemed like less than a minute to you before you felt Cor’s strong hand against your neck slowly rubbing out a knot that had formed. You groaned slightly enjoying the sensation. His hands were always rough but they never hurt you. Only helped to bring pleasure in all the right ways.

“You awake still?”

“Yep…. though you keep this up and I won’t be.” He laughed then giving you a kiss on the cheek.

“What to drink hon?”

“Hm…. tea?”

“Green ok?” You nodded slightly then. Your neck didn’t hurt when you did it. He had fixed that. You heard him leave and slowly sat up stretching. A new show was coming on already. You stopped then and looked back.

“Cor… how long?”

“Only Fifteen hon. You spaced out. Had a feeling you were relaxing.”

“Yeah A bit…” You raised your arms above your head then and heard both shoulders pop. You cringed from a bit of pain and the sound but slowly lowered them. Cor had plates and silverware in his hands and set them on the coffee table. The chicken looked moist and so full of flavor just like the roasted veggies. He came back with the tea for you both and soon sat next to you. You smiled and leaned over giving him a kiss.

“Thank you.”

“Anytime hon. There’s enough for seconds if you want as well so eat up. Ok?” You nodded and got your plate and just relaxed. He listened to you talk about your day as you two ate even though it was really hard to feel angry even at the most stupid things because of the amazing food. He picked up on it as well and ended up chuckling as you speared a green bean after talking about a stupid move your boss made that messed your work up. You gave him a fake glare as you took a bite and pointed the fork at him.

“If this wasn’t so good, I’d be really annoyed Cor.”

“I can tell. What did those poor veggies ever do to you?” You laughed then and stabbed another.

“They’re addictive when you cook with them. That’s their crime.”

“It’s a good crime hon.”

“Is that a thing?”

You two finished out with laughter after that discussing good and bad crimes, like it was a legit thing for vegetables to commit such things. You finished yours first slowly setting the plate down feeling ready for bed already. You were almost dozing when he touched your face. You opened your eyes and he was smiling.

“Food coma?” You nodded and he smiled.

“How about a bath first hon? To work the soreness out of those muscles.” You smiled then.

“Cor I haven’t had a real bath in forever…”

“Then let me help with that. Ok?” You sighed gently then. You couldn’t say no. Your feet were killing you.

“Ok. Just this once alright?” He gave a single nod then and smiled.

“Understood. I’ll get it started. You go pick out pjs.” You smiled then.

“Some you can rip or some to honestly wear.”

“Some to wear hon… I’m saving the ripping for later.” He winked then making you blush slightly. No one could tell you Cor wasn’t a closet Pervert considering how many pairs of panties he had ruined in foreplay. You slowly got up as you heard him running the water in your huge tub. You had a master bathroom complete with a jacuzzi. The shower stood alone which is what you normally used. Cor had Dished out extra on the down payment of the apartment for that bathroom alone. After a rough workout, He did like to soak.

You got your favorite bottoms out of your drawers then along with underwear. Then you decided to have some fun. When Cor moved in, he set aside some of his street clothes in your side of the shared closet. He wanted them near your stuff so you knew you could wear them. Which is what you were doing today. You pulled out a dark grey shirt with a dragon on the front and smiled. It ate you to wear it but you loved how soft it was. He walked in as you rubbed it on your face and he smiled.

“Good choice hon.”

“Cus it’s yours?”

“Nah. You look super cute in it is all. Bath’s all ready if you are.” You looked over. He was smiling and had a small lighter in his hand. Cor was up to something.

“What did you do?”

“You’ll see.” You walked out then and turned down the hall. The lights were on low in the bathroom and The scent of Sandalwood drifted out. You walked closer, slowly inhaling it and feeling your mind slow down. It was your favorite scent and he knew it. Only under it, there was a sweeter note. It didn’t hit you what it was till you got closer to the tub. It was filled with Bubbles as the water slowly moved from the jets. Vanilla bubble bath.

“Cor….” You looked back. He was in the door smiling.

“I Thought it might help. Ignis told me about it. Something called Aromatherapy. Helps to relax and destress people and I knew sandalwood was your favorite… So we found something to accent it.” You were melting inside. He really put effort into this.

“Thank you….” He just smiled.

“I’m not done yet.” You laughed a bit then.

“Might be if I can’t stay awake.” He just shrugged a bit and You shook your head. He was such a good man to you. He closed the door slowly as you ducked out of sight to undress. Your muscles were starting to ache from the day so when you slipped into the hot water, your gasp from the heat turned into a moan of relief. You sank into the bubbles and water and leaned back on the wall nearest the door, letting your head lull back against a towel. Between the jets and the heat, you were in bliss. With your eyes open you could see the incense stick burning on it’s tray close by and a few candles lit close by as well. You couldn’t believe how lucky you were to have a man like him by your side.

Fifteen minutes in and you were almost asleep. Nothing hurt and after that amazing meal, you were perfectly content. You barely heard the door reopen or Cor walk over. You jumped when he touched you though.

“Easy…”

“Sorry…”

“No it’s ok… Feeling ok?”

“I’m amazing Hon… You didn’t have to.”

“I know… But you’re always working so hard babe. It’s the least I can do to help Especially after the week you’ve had.” You chuckled then. It had been a shit week. You hadn’t even had time to wash your hair. A fact you could now feel. You sat up a bit then and felt pouting. At least till you felt Cor pulling you back.

“Huh?”

“No point in getting out of heaven if I’m here.” You stopped then.

“Cor…”

“Don’t say it. I know I don’t have to but I want to. You need this… So relax and enjoy.”

“Oh? Is that an order?”

“Might as well. A relaxation order. I can even get Clarus to write it out if you want.” You chuckled then.

“Nah… I’ll let my Marshall spoil me tonight…” You trusted him. Plus… What was the harm in this?

You found out. There was no harm. Cor was perfectly gentle. He used the faucet in the tub to fill a cup to wet your hair and slowly massaged in the shampoo. Your eyes almost could see the back of your skull from how good it felt. He did this anyway when you had trouble sleeping but tonight, it felt even better. He was humming gently as he did this even as he was rinsing out the soap and his hands went lower to your shoulders and neck. Hearing that deep voice hum lightly was perfection and as you leaned your head against one of his arms, you kissed his wrist.

“I like this…”

“Which part?”

“You… Humming. Hands on me.”

“Oh? I’ll have to remember that…. It’s done a wonder on you so far… No knots in your shoulders anymore.” You smiled then. You could feel that it was true.

“All thanks to you.” He chuckled then.

“Too soon for that hon.” You leaned up a bit then and looked back. He was smiling.

“What do you mean?”

“After bath.” You groaned then. He was always like that when he wanted to spoil you.

Slowly the water went cold as the bubbles faded. You two just stayed in there talking about things and life enjoying being near each other. He helped you out of the tub and into a warm towel before hugging you tightly. You hugged back smiling. He was so warm and soft right now for you. It made your eyes tear up from how much you loved him.

“Hey….”

“Hm?”

“You ok…?”

“Perfect Cor….”

“Then why the tears babe?” You smiled then.

“I love you so much…. You’re so good to me Cor….”

“You say that like you aren’t to me… you’ve stayed by me so long hon… I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Exist and be a badass.” He laughed picking you up then making you squeak and hold the towel close.

“No…. I’m no badass without my woman to protect and spoil.”

“Cor!!!” He was honestly smiling, eyes crinkling and shining perfectly. He kissed you and you slowly kissed back forgetting that you were naked under the towel for a moment. He took you back to the bedroom then as you leaned on him smiling. He carefully put you down on the bed where he had moved your clothes. You hit him gently with your bra and he smiled.

“So Full massage or just a foot rub?” You stopped then.

“You’re serious?”

“Yeah.” You sighed a bit then.

“Um… Everything feels ok right now… but a foot rub couldn’t hurt.”

“Still wearing that old pair of shoes huh?”

“Haven't had time to buy new ones…” you muttered. He sighed then and smiled.

“We’ve got time tomorrow… Ok?” You nodded then and got your tops on as he slowly got started massaging your ankles and working his way down. A once stiff foot slowly became movable and painless. You hummed in appreciation as he hit all the right spots leaning back on your elbows. Cor was smiling and soon wiggled just the pinky toe slightly.

“This little piggy went to the field.” You giggled then and he smiled.

“This little one went to hunt demons.” He got the next one then and gave it a wiggle. He went through all five just making you laugh at the childish antic. He switched feet then and you smiled.

“How do you know?”

“What?”

“Where to hit?”

“Oh. When I was doing my hand to hand training. We learned all the pressure points on the body. The feet ones cause a full body reaction that help relax a person. Especially when you’re up on your feet so much.” You nodded then.

“Amazing what all you can remember…”

“Oh yeah… Still can’t remember your favorite Movie though sadly.” You couldn’t stop it then. You started laughing as he smiled. You looked down at him and beamed.

“It changes silly….”

“Oh? Damn… I’ll figure it out one day though.”

“I know you will…” He hit a spot then and you jerked. It tickled. He stopped then and smiled as you went red.

“I think you’re good.” You nodded and slowly flexed the toes. It was so much better now.

“Oh gods… hon I might have you do that every night….”

“Hm… How about once a week?”

“That could work.” You got up then and finished getting your pjs on. He didn’t mind and soon had the bed ready to crash. You got onto your side and under the covers then. You were almost energized and yet you were ready for bed. He got the light off then and soon went to his side and joined you. Instantly, you curled up by his side and his arm went around you.

“Feeling better huh?”

“Much…. Thanks Cor…”

“It’s worth it to see you like this… I’ve been worried about you… So I thought this would help. Just a relaxing night with me.” You nodded laying your head on his shoulder. Already you could feel your eyes wanting to shut.

“It did… Love you.”

“Love you too hon… Sleep well ok?” He had noticed. You smiled then and nuzzled in against him closing your eyes. The last thing you heard though, was him humming an old song to you. You really were a lucky gal to have the marshall at your side.

#writing #Cor x reader #For the Moosh

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firemedicdiaz · 6 years

Text

1000 Follower Ficlet #22

A bonus ficlet because no one has requested Spock reader insert yet, and I’d like to get better at writing him!

Requested by the wonderful @purelittleblueberry!

Fandom: Star Trek AOS. Pairing: Spock X Reader. Prompt: I Love You. Rating: All ages. Words: 1444.

“How can you tell if a Vulcan really loves you?”

Nyota looks up from her PADD as you approach her at lunch time, eyeing you as you sit down at the table across from her with your tray in hand.

“Sounds like you’ve got it bad,” she says with a small, sympathetic smile.

You roll your eyes and sigh in exasperation as you pick up your fork and start pushing your food around on your plate, too distracted to really want to eat. You can’t help thinking about Spock. At some point the night before, as the two of you had laid in bed together after a long day, you’d somehow stupidly admitted that you loved him. Your words had been met with silence and an indecipherable expression, and while you’d brushed it off in an attempt to appear nonchalant, you’d been splintering apart on the inside.

“I told him I loved him last night,” you whisper by way of explanation.

Nyota grimaces a little but quickly rearranges her features into a mask of composure.

“I take it your sentiment went unrequited?” She asks.

You nod weakly, spearing a piece of food onto your fork and sticking it into your mouth, chewing numbly.

“Well it’s that or he didn’t hear me,” you mumble. “And considering that damn Vulcan hearing of his, I doubt it’s the latter, which is why I came to you. You’re an expert in xenolinguistics; surely you know a thing or two about other cultures as well.”

Nyota straightens up a little in her seat and averts her gaze for a moment as she thinks on your question.

“Well,” she begins. “As I’m sure you’ve realized, the Vulcans are a highly logical people. They believe that their society will only prosper if they routinely purge their emotions and approach all situations from the perspective of that logic.”

You nod along as she speaks, going through the motions of eating your lunch with everything tasting like cardboard in your state of emotional turmoil.

“So I’m sure you can imagine, too, that professing one’s love for another is a big deal for Vulcans,” she continues. “I don’t think it’s because he doesn’t love you, I think you just surprised him. For Vulcans, love is approached logically. I’m sure he’s got a lot of thinking to do now that he knows how you feel, and I’m sure that if you just sit back and let him come to you, in time, you’ll see he feels the same way.”

You sigh and nod once more, glancing up at Uhura from where you’ve been staring at your plate.

“Thanks, Ny,” you says quietly. “I hope you’re right.”

She smiles at you and goes back to reading whatever it is she’s got pulled up on her PADD as you get back to finishing your lunch. Once you’re done, you leave the table and get back to your duties, throwing yourself into your work and logging more overtime than you’ve ever managed before, though you’ll be hard pressed to admit that it’s because you’re avoiding Spock.

The rest of the day passes by without incident, as does the next, and the next, and the one after that. It’s nearly a week before you finally slow down a little bit in your work, and even then it’s only because you can feel someone staring at the back of your head as you pore over an article related to your current assignment.

“Can I help you?” You ask, straightening up and slowly swiveling around in your chair so you can glance over your shoulder.

“Ashayam,” he says in his usual, modulated tone. “I was hoping you had a moment in which to speak privately.”

It takes you a moment to realize that the term he’s used in referring to you is one of endearment. He’s used it before, of course, but this time it seems particularly pointed, and it’s the first time he’s ever used it where there’s a potential of being overheard.

“I suppose the rest of this reading can wait,” you say lightly, powering down your PADD and pushing it aside at your workstation. “Where would you like to talk?”

“I was hoping we could retire to my quarters,” Spock replies.

You nod, agreeing wordlessly and standing from your seat. Spock silently leads the way and it’s not long before you’re standing in front of his door. You’ve been here a thousand times before, you’re sure, but you’re suddenly feeling acutely nervous. Taking a deep breath to steel yourself, you wait a moment for Spock to open the door and step inside before following him.

Strolling slowly through the common area in his quarters, you make your way to his sofa and take a seat, glancing around the sparsely decorated, utilitarian space. Spock joins you moments later, sitting on the opposite end of the couch and angling his body towards yours to facilitate communication.

“It has come to my attention that I may have failed to acknowledge and return a sentiment you had shared the other day,” Spock begins, his tone even as always.

“Whatever gave you that idea?” You ask lightly, doing your best to keep the reproach and sarcasm out of your tone even though you know they’d likely be lost on him.

“Your absence as of late has not gone unnoticed, and I have evaluated all possible explanations for your sudden avoidance of me and determined it to be because of my behavior,” Spock replies. “I have since sought counsel and have been told that when humans profess their love, the sentiment is meant to be returned or denied immediately so as to minimize any confusion and emotional upset between the involved parties.”

You freeze, feeling unprepared for the conversation you’re very suddenly having. Swallowing thickly, you let out a long breath and nod.

“That’s right,” you say as evenly as you can manage. “But I, too, have sought counsel and have learned that Vulcan customs surrounding love and bonding are vastly different from those I’m used to, so, what’s your point, Spock?”

“My point, t’hy’la, is that I do return that sentiment,” Spock says uncharacteristically softly, inching a little closer toward you. “Taluhk nash-veh k’dular.”

Your eyes widen at his words.

“In English?” You prompt almost inaudibly.

“Your companionship means a great deal to me,” Spock elaborates. “I love you, too, Y/N.”

Your heart leaps into your throat at his words and it’s all you can do not to let tears well up in your eyes. You’re inordinately thankful for the fact that you’re already seated, otherwise you fear your legs would be doing a terrible job in keeping you upright in their sudden jelly state.

“Really?” You squeak.

You watch Spock unblinkingly as he moves closer again, this time leaning forward and reaching out for your hand. He takes it in his and threads his fingers in between yours, entangling your hands together and gently stroking along the back of your hand with his thumb.

“Yes,” he assures you.

You smile at him and give his hand a gentle squeeze. You’re aware of how much the touching of hands means to Vulcans and you feel elated that he would be so forward with you. You’re even more surprised, however, when he closes the gap between you a moment later and presses a gentle, chaste kiss to your lips.

You’ve kissed him before, but never like this. It’s never meant so much, and it’s never been to seal the kind of promise that those three little words hold. You reciprocate and pour a little more feeling into the kiss, reaching up slowly, almost hesitantly to gently trace your fingertips over Spock’s cheekbone. His skin is cool to your touch but the warmth that the kiss has sparked inside of you is untouchable.

You pull apart a few moments later, both of you breathing a little faster than before, and blink your eyes open, meeting Spock’s gaze.

“Wow,” you say softly. “That was just... Wow.”

Spock remains silent, his eyes searching your features for any signs of discomfort or displeasure while his free hand comes to rest on your knee. Over the next several minutes, the two of you make yourselves comfortable on the couch, sitting with your shoulders touching while Spock puts on a movie for the two of you. It’s impossible for you to focus, though, as all you can think about is the implications of your now-requited love.

As the movie winds on, you make a mental note to send Nyota a thank you message later on, and to reassure her that Vulcans really do take the notion of love very seriously.

@starshiphufflebadger @the-nerdy-blogger @itsjaynebird @goodnightwife @thevalesofanduin @elsa-lost-in-translation @yourtropegirl @gryffindor9whovian @auduna-druitt @archangels-lollipop @bookcaseninja @supermoonpanda @star-trekkin-across-theuniverse @bubblegum-star-trek @sergeantangel @pinkamour1588 @webhoard @the-space-goddess-16 @room-with-a-cat @captain-amelia-bradley @startled-seastar @littlecarowrites @enterprisefeels @eyeofdionysus @emmkolenn @captainsili @mysteriously-lost-forever @battlebunnyteardropsinthesun

#1000 followers #milestone #Star Trek AOS #Spock #Star Trek imagines #reader insert #ficlet #fluff #NaNoWriMo entry

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pattismithpoet · 7 years

Text

flying saucers rock 'n' roll

The sheets were soaking. Wet pajama tops sticking to hot belly. I rolled over and jimmied my flashlight from its safety slot between the mattress and the boxspring. Ha! My belly was still a deep prickly pink, it burned my hand just to touch. I pressed the flashlight into my palm to make a red x-ray halo 'round my fingers. I leaned over the bed to fish for my tuning fork and my stethoscope but the sudden movement made me dizzy. I tried to get my thoughts moving in a cold stream so I could tell them everything when they got home. Logic was moving in a wave of blue glass balls. The bed was wet, my hair was damp, but my body was still hot. It meant I didn't sweat the fever out. It might mean a warm tea enema later on, that slick tube up my bottom. The atmosphere was falling apart. Amoeba shapes started rushing. Where was my raygun?

Someone was in my bedroom. It wasn't Mommy cause they were still at the hospital. It was something female, like the Amana refrigerator lady, only with the silky red face of a fox. Her big head rocked, no flash at all beamed from her glass eyes. She was offering up a tray of gleaming objects -- miniature diver's tools, luminous disks and a black plastic whistle the shape of a cigar. There were sharp hairy jewels and headphones connected with the source of the music -- the low fender whine -- but I went for that whistle. My mouth was all shiny and burny. I could barely puff 'cause I was crying so hard but I tried and tried 'til I did and the shine pulled me right out of the heat into cool grey, falling back into a sea of black curtain.

Stefanie died. They came home real late. Their eyes were red from crying but not as red as my belly. Like a true child I was sinister enough to interrupt their grief by discharging symptoms -- belly smeared with pin pricks, sickly sulphur ooze and the fear of littered space behind my eyes. The doctor said it was scarlet fever. I knew better. He quarantined me, and sister had to look at me thru a telescope.

Time warped. My dresses shrunk. It was 1957. Stefanie was dead, rock 'n' roll was rising and I had seen my first UFO. It was shaped like an eleven-year-old girl with colorless eyes.

They gave me her comic books and her iceskates but I wouldn't touch them. They had her yellow energy spread all over them. I just laid there sliding my fingers around my whistle. It had a real comforting texture like the back of a boy's neck. I laid there for years. The sheets developed the spinal eye they used to call my back. I laid there and listened for that future music, to lull me outta this separate limbo called childhood.

Mama said I was born old. I always had this absolute swagger about the future and a morbid foto-recall of the past. I could remember exactly how it felt in the womb. Snow was falling. Jimi Hendrix was singing: are you experienced? I was turning on a spit in a sea of vomit cleanser, a wall of sound intoxicating rhythm, and as close as my face, a breath, a session of hesitation, and the bells, the troops, the 21-gun salute, the push into promise and that first long animal cry of love like a fender whine.

Destiny plagued me. I never slept, I laid, and watched the night unravel like the future. Music crystallized like snowflakes; gradually the entire storm. Guitar necks sticking out of the ground like bayonets. The war between sounds. Alexander coming to conquer with a fender and a saucer. I knew it was coming and I wanted to be in on it. I knew it came and went and I wasn't in on it.

I was at this party. All I knew was James Brown and somebody put on "Third Stone from the Sun." Everybody was looking at me, so I pulled out my whistle, the one shaped like a cigar with black pick-ups. By the end of "Foxy Lady" it was pure amp damage. They were banging their pates into the plaster but I was laughing hysterically. The ones who ripped their wigs fascinated me the most, to watch these bald and slick comet shapes rushing the walls. It reminded me of something, but I was too giddy to get my mind shining. I wasn't in on it, wasn't in on it, I couldn't stand it. I wasn't born to be a spectator.

It was 1966 '67 '68. Every place I went it was somebody else. I could-not-live-today. Too plugged into sanguine rhythms past and the silver video we call future. Here I come future, coming to get ya. I see it all moving on an immense yellow highway. They come on like trumpets and violins -- cars, armies of cars that move off the ground, glowing cigar shapes, and the radio just pumps like a fist. Brick roads, turnpikes, they drive me insane 'cause I can see what's coming. ELP, ELO, nothing real 'cept UFO. Got to be royal rock warfare cause it's sitting in limbo. Not what was and not what will be. Rock got to move out of its stagnant moment. Pray for something bubbling under the sky's canopy to rip open and rush like gas.

I was the same old party. I put the whistle on the tray -- it went reeling. It was happening again. I was overcome but it didn't matter. I just did what the rest of my gggg-generation did -- didn't duck heads up and get creamed by the '60s. Everything that happened it was somebody else.

"This your wristwatch?"

"No."

"You an artist by any chance?"

"No."

"Freelance?"

"No."

No-no-no-no-monotonous bells long bong. I looked at Jimi Hendrix's hands. They were so immense they could push a face thru wax, etch and spear spinal stars in the noir crayola field we call sky. 'Scuse me! I tripped and dropped my hand in his. It la la la landed like an insect nest and all the red wire spiders jabbed in his flesh like g-strings. It was easy to transform everything into guitar strings -- hair, grass, fingers, illuminated calligraphy. Everything was something else. A sound was a room, a spongy layer of flesh, a trampoline of tissue, rubberish tissue, a laugh, a kiss . . .

I had to get out, I got to get out, I got out. Trunk up the used drapery, gonna be a new party. Children will go to the party, roll down a snowbank, eject a floodlight and the new experience will be totally ecstatic. Someone's destiny will be his diver's tool that makes the incision in his chest and relax his fist over the heart and pump it pump it thru the veins of space, the soul-ar radio breaking into snowflake light, hammering harmonics from the heart of a boy with colorless eyes whose neck is the texture of the back of a whistle.

Blow-blow -- the diaphragm is such-a-kinky machine. I got to get out of bed. The walls are damp and the masking tape is curling. Magazine pictures of stratacasters, telecasters, jazz masters and ariel views of saucer-shaped pits slide to the floor. Coffee. Cigarettes. The moves of mama early in the morning. I water the cactus. From my sixth floor window I can see another window, a boy is smiling and to my right no clouds, no sun, no stones, no nothing, just a host of black cigar shapes whining in the pink skin sky. Copyright © Patti Smith from Crawdaddy, June 1975

#patti smith

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lionhart-w · 6 years

Text

The Demon in the Bottle

Desmond woke up to a metallic rattling. He looked over and realized that Morgan was growing more and more frustrated because he couldn’t reach the formerly sleeping man.

Ezekiel was nowhere to be seen. Desmond stood up and Morgan dropped down and bared his teeth to show anger. He filled a glass of water and drank it in one go. The cabin had gotten hot while Desmond was sleeping, though no ray of sunshine was to be seen.

He found Ezekiel outside, splitting some logs with a hatchet.

“Hiya.”, said Ezekiel straightening his posture as Desmond approached. “Any nightmares?”

“No. I think locking Morgan up did the trick. Has… um…” He tried to remember for a moment. “Hester! Has Hester already been here?”

“No, not yet. She should be here by nightfall, though.”, Ezekiel split another log.

“What’s the wood for? It’s hardly parky.”

“It’s not for a fireplace. It’s for protection.”

“From what?”

“A Djinn.”

“Why would a Djinn attack us?”

“It won’t. You probably saw all the jars in the bedroom earlier. Well, I have one bound in a flagon and I need a Djinn’s liver for summonings. They are incredibly flammable so it won’t risk crossing the border of fire I will lay out.”

Desmond processed those words for a second. “Summon what?”

“Nothing specific… yet. Djinn livers are like salt for cooking - you need them for almost everything. I just need to stock up a bit.”

“How do we kill it?”

“We?”

“Sure.”

“Well, if you insist. You need an ax or”, he held up his hatchet. “something like that.”

—————————————-

It was late afternoon when Hester arrived. Desmond was sitting on a half-rotten bench outside, when he spotted her, emerging from the dense forest around them. She had chin-length, naturally blonde hair and couldn’t have been older than 21.

“Hiya! I’m Desmond.”

“Nice to meet you outside a kidnapping, Desmond. I’m Hester. Where’s Ezekiel?”

“Inside, I think.”

She went inside; Desmond followed her.

“About time, girlie.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“I forgot. What’s new?”

“Someone vanished on Fonrica and people claim to have heard screams. Maybe some unknown demon?”

Ezekiel shrugged. She continued. “The Island Guard is still investigating the homicide at the store and the disappearance of Desmond Gardner. But good news: they think you’re a victim and not the killer.”

“Aren’t I?”

Hester gave Ezekiel a questioning look. He shrugged as if to say Well… yeah.

He wasn’t the killer and he had been abducted.

“What’s for dinner?”, asked Ezekiel, breaking an awkward silence that was growing between them.

“Roasted fish and Achini tubers.”

“Achi- what?”

“Achini tubers. A local specialty.”

“I’ve had some before.”, said Desmond. “Kinda taste like corn but in potato form.”

“Alright then. Do you guys want to set a table or just sit somewhere?”

“I don’t want to work right now”, said Hester.

“It’s alright. I can do it alone. So table?”

“Sure. The food’s already cold, so a few more minutes won’t do it much harm.”

Desmond helped Ezekiel retrieve a small wooden table from a tiny shed next to the big one. They set it up outside. There were some knives and forks in the kitchen.

“What’s the deal with Hester, by the way?”, Desmond asked.

“What do you mean?”, Ezekiel seemed a bit defensive.

“Well… how do you know her?”

“She is a local and I happen to know her from another visit here.”, he said tightly.

“I see.”, Desmond could sense information being withheld from him but didn’t ask farther.

The fish didn’t have much spice on it but the Achini tubers were good; soft and buttery.

Ezekiel retrieved an unmarked bottle from inside. “Gin?”

“No thanks. I’m trying to stay away from alcohol for a while now. Lost an entire evening a few days ago.”

Hester declined the offer as well.

“When will you deaden the Djinn?”, she asked.

“Maybe later tonight. Djinn are, according to 101 Evil Spirits and how to slay them, a bit fluorescent and I’d like to test that.”

“Will you need help?”

“I don’t think so. Desmond, here, said he’d help. Stick around, though, if you want.”

“Sure.”, she said. “Any plans for that incubus?”

“His name is Morgan, and no. None.”

Hester sighed. “Why would you give it a name? You’ll get attached.”

“I do not need to justify my actions to you.” Ezekiel sulked a little.

“Don’t you need an ax drenched in Demon blood to kill a Djinn? Why don’t you stick that hatchet of yours into the incubus?”

“First of all, I will not take out Morgan, second, this hatchet has seen enough demon blood to kill a dozen Djinns, and Djinns don’t require demon’s blood per se. It’s just an insurance if you miss the heart. The blood slowly kills ‘em - and that’s not good is it?”

“When did you kill a demon with that?”

Ezekiel sniffed and seemed even sulkier than before. “Morgan had a brother. He jumped me when I entered the cottage last week for the first time.” He pointed at the small bulge in the soil next to the door.

Hester patted him on the shoulder. “Where is that thing, anyway?”

“We locked him up. Wouldn’t stop causing nightmares.”

“You didn’t lock him up when you slept? That was foolish. He could have sucked your soul out.”

“Don’t be stupid. Alps don’t damage the soul - they just nibble a little.”

“You’re a numskull, Rave.”

They sat a little and when it was so dark they barely could make out each other's faces they lit a campfire.

After a while, Ezekiel said: “You wanna kill that Djinn?”

He led them to a stream nearby and they laid out a circle of wood on a little island in the middle. (“To prevent a forest fire.”) He and Hester carried a large metal flagon to the circle while Desmond lit it on fire. He left an opening for Ezekiel and Hester to leave.

They placed it in the middle of the ring and Desmond closed the circle.

“How do we release it?”, asked Desmond.

Ezekiel gave him a short smile, picked up a rock and chucked it at the container. It clanged and fell over. For a few seconds nothing happened but then something shot out of the bottle. An arm. It was somewhere between violet and dark blue. The flagon clanged again and flew up a few meters. Another arm emerged and then a bulgy Something the arms were attached to. Then the head appeared. It looked like a flaming ball of dark violet blaze with scorched and crooked horns. Its eyes were the darkest black Desmond had ever seen. As if a void was staring at them. It didn’t seem to have physical legs but it didn’t float. Looking at the place where usually legs would have been made Desmond feel dizzy; he turned his gaze elsewhere. It was double the size of him. It was only now Desmond realized he had somehow tuned out anything else. Ezekiel was shouting something.“Shit-Shit-Shit-Shit!!”

He pulled himself together and turned around.

“Desmond! Get away from there!!”, Hester shouted as she quickly waded through the water towards the trees.

Desmond backed off but tripped. The monster passed through the flames and slowly moved in their direction. Desmond hastily got up and ran towards the trees where Ezekiel and Hester took cover.

“That’s not a Djinn, Ezekiel!”, Hester shouted.

“Yeah, I got that, thanks.” He unscrewed something at his hatchet. The lower part of the handle came off revealing what looked like a small spear and a thin rope attached to it - it resembled a small harpoon.

“What is that thing?”, asked Desmond nervously.

“No idea, mate.” Ezekiel turned the ax blade 180 degrees and it clicked.

He jumped out from behind the tree where they had taken cover. He aimed the harpoon-like a gun and shot.

The point dug itself into the chest of the devil. Desmond noticed it hadn’t made a sound, which was kind of eerie - it simply stopped dead and stared at Ezekiel.

Ezekiel shouted something in a language Desmond didn’t understand and the devil made a sound that sounded like it was sighing through a scorched throat. He cut off the harpoon-rope with a knife and turned the ax blade around again. It started walking towards him. He flung the hatchet at its head where it stuck. It slowed down and went to its knees. It lifted one arm and swung at Ezekiel. It caught him in by his stomach, he flew across the clearing and smashed into a tree.

“Ezekiel!”, Hester screamed.

The creature seemed fainter now. The purple flames faded revealing a black-dark brown skeleton. It collapsed entirely and the plants around it caught purple fire. He and Hester sprinted over to where Ezekiel had landed. To Desmond’s relieve, he was sitting upright but was pressing his hands against the place where the thing had touched him.

“Let me see.” Hester kneeled down beside him.

He revealed a mix between deep red blood and dark grey seared skin.

“I’ll be fine.”, he said. “Let’s get back to the lodge.”

They both supported him by his pits as they walked back to the cabin.

The moment they entered Ezekiel stormed towards the bedroom. He came back out with a mountain of books and started going through them on the couch.

“What was that?”, asked Hester.

“Best guess? A Djinn mixed with something else. Maybe a Blazing Devil. Although that would be unlikely. The important question is why was that thing bound in the bottle and not a Djinn?”

“Can you even bind something else than a Djinn in a bottle?”

“That’s the thing. No. No, you cannot.”

“I better go now.”, said Hester. “I’ll come again tomorrow morning and bring bandages.”

After she’d left they silently sat on the couch - there was an awkward tension between them. Ezekiel combed through a heap of books (some of them in a language Desmond couldn’t read.) and Desmond poured himself a glass of liquor. Since he was a little agitated and couldn’t sleep he decided to throw his whole ‘no more alcohol’-thing overboard. The liquor loosened his tongue so he broke the silence. “That looks nasty.”, he said, frowning as he touched the sticky bloody burn wounds on Ezekiel’s flank. The latter breathed in sharply and seized his hand.

“Yeah. No touchy.”

“Does it hurt?”, Desmond said as he drew his hand back.

“Yes, it hurts. What do you think it feels like?”

Desmond remained silent and looked at his feet.

“Are you okay, Desmond? You weren’t that witless earlier.”

“I’m just tired.”

“Huh…”, Ezekiel took the empty glass out of his hand and smelled it but seemed revolted.

“Did you drink this?”

“Maybe. Why?”

“That’s meant to knock out small tier demons, pal. You should be in a coma by now.”

Desmond looked him directly in the eyes. “Yeah? Well, I can take a little more than your average Billy Joe.”

“What? You better lie down in the bed, dude. This is unnatural.”

He carefully brought Desmond to his feet and gently pushed him towards the bedroom door.

“Don’t you touch me, Demon-Boy! I am fine. That stuff’s really good. You should try some.”, he darted towards the bottle. Ezekiel stopped him.

“Desmond, you should reall-“, he couldn’t finish his sentence because Desmond had knocked him out.

“No touchy…”

He took the bottle labeled as Daimocit (It had the words ‘Nighty night, nightmare’ scribbled in pencil underneath) and drank it in one go. Then everything went gray, then blue and then black… He was back at the table.

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