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pedros-mustache-main · 4 years

Text

crayons & caresses

summary: you know it’s wrong, that pining after your student’s father is wildly inappropriate, but gosh if john deacon isn’t the most handsome man you’ve ever seen.

word count: 12k+

warnings: pining to the extreme!, slight angst, discussions of parental death, health scare + medical response, alcohol, language, innuendo, suggestive moments (not 18+ but be mindful)

a/n: mechanic/singledad!john is everything i didn’t know i needed in my life. also: WOW this took me a long ass time because i find john the hardest to write, but i love him so. much. so hopefully it’s worth the wait.

(photo: originally from @davidgayhan i think?? ugh look at him. i drool. yes i did set this during the brief short-perm-montreal moment. sue me)

september, 1981.

you love all of your students equally. each one is like a fingerprint on your heart: unique in their own way, made up of patterns and histories you will never be able to appreciate in full before they are whisked away to their next year. it is safe to say you adore the collection of twenty-four seven year olds who walk into your classroom each morning. their bright faces, some still chubby with baby fat, fill the lonely parts of your soul, and you leave your flat each morning with a sense of purpose and duty. you are their teacher, their guide through some of the most crucial parts of learning. it is an honor and a privilege to teach them—each and every one. but there is one student who sticks out among the rest.

his name is beau deacon.

beau is remarkably quiet. he’s small for his age, both in height and in weight. at times, he appears frail, what with the way he sits by himself in the corner during reading hour, flipping through a picture book with glazed over eyes, never really concentrating on what’s before him. he walks slowly during recess, preferring to stay by himself and drag a stick along the blacktop than play a game of kickball with the other boys. he whispers when he speaks and avoids meeting the eyes of those who do try and pry a few words from him.

you try to engage him—really, you do—but nothing seems to stick. not the participation reward system you build just for him, but use for the entire class. not moving his desk closer to yours. not even coercing your best friend ami to bring in her therapy dogs one afternoon early in the year. despite your best efforts, beau remains decidedly uninterested and removed.

it bothers and worries you to the point of questioning your colleague on the matter. martha is sixty, but spry as ever. she’s been your confidant this last year. you’re new to teaching, green as ever, but she has welcomed you with open arms and a plethora of advice. you feel comfortable sidling up next to her in the car-line one friday afternoon. it’s hot outside, summer not yet allowing autumn to take root, so you hold a hand over your eyes to shade yourself from the sun.

“can i ask you something?” you say, keeping your eyes trained on the children who filter out of the school and into their parent’s waiting vehicles.

“as long as it’s not about sex,” martha mutters. “haven’t had a good romp in so long i don’t even know if it still works the same way.”

you swallow a laugh as a trio of students pass you by. their mother waves over her shoulder, shouting her thanks, before shoving the children in the backseat of a tan mini-van. you watch the van pull away, another car rolling forward to take its place, before asking your question.

“beau deacon,” you start, hoping that, if you simply say his name, martha will fill in the gaps herself.

blessedly, martha twists and nods with a knowing smile. “i know that tyke well. had him last year.”

you release a huff of air in relief. “oh thank goodness. i’m almost beside myself. i don’t know what to do with him.” you frown as you attempt to speak as diplomatically about your student as possible. “he’s awful quiet. he doesn’t play with any of the children and barely looks at me when i speak to him. how’d you manage?”

to your dismay, the older woman just shrugs. “i didn’t really. his mum died all sudden like about halfway through the year, and he clammed up. no matter what i did, what tricks i tried to pull, he stayed completely unmovable.”

“oh.” your shoulders drop in defeat. “i didn’t know.” truthfully, your heart tugs for the child. to lose one’s mother at such a tender age? you can’t imagine the world of hurt he lives in. it’s no wonder he sticks to himself.

“you didn’t speak with his father?”

“no. was i have supposed to?”

“no, not necessarily. mr. deacon was helpful on a few occasions last year. we were sort of a united front, i’d say, when things were particularly bad in the beginning. perhaps give him a call. at least to let him know you’re in his corner.” she smiles and squeezes your bicep. “and you can always come to me, love. i may not have all the answers but i do have some.”

“thank you, martha. i think giving mr. deacon a call might be smart—” you turn at the tell-tale sound of feet dragging against the ground. in the few weeks since classes have started, you’ve grown to know the sound of beau deacon’s footsteps better than your own. he’s always on your mind, the sullen little boy with glasses, so it’s hard not to pounce on him with love when you turn around to see him in the school doorway. “oh! beau! we were just talking about you.”

beau stops walking, and his grip tightens on the straps of his backpack. he doesn’t look up at you, doesn’t say anything. he simply stands there, as if he’s listening but doesn’t know how to respond, so you soldier forward.

“do you have any big plans for the weekend, beau?” you ask.

he shakes his head.

“none with your father?”

another shake of the head.

“well, perhaps you’ll do something fun and you can tell us about it on monday, yeah?”

to your surprise, he nods, which is more than he does most days. you can’t help the smile that claims your lips and the way your arm waves a little too hard to his retreating form. he walks to a faded old corvette and opens the passenger door with ease. you can hear a muffled voice—his father’s no doubt—and see the man stretch his arm out to take beau’s backpack.

but then the car door is shut, and the chevy pulls out of the parking lot with too much speed to be safe when a child is in the front.

you glance at martha. she rolls her eyes and mouths men. you can’t help but agree.

a week passes before you finally find the time to phone beau’s father. you find his name—john richard deacon—and a telephone number in beau’s emergency contact form, shoved amongst a stack of other hastily filled-out parent paperwork. there’s no secondary number listed—not even a distant relative or family friend—so if the call doesn’t work, you aren’t sure what your next move will be. even so, after all the children have left and the other teachers are beginning to close their classrooms for the day, you slouch at your desk and punch the numbers into the phone. it rings three times before someone picks up.

“taylor auto-repair. this is rog.”

the voice on the other end is high and scratchy. you’re taken aback, both by the man on the phone and the blaring rock n roll music in the background. you aren’t an expert, but it sounds like zeppelin. not what you’d expected.

“hello?”

you shake yourself free of surprise, and the wheels beneath your chair scrape against the linoleum floor as you sit forward. “oh, sorry. i thought i was calling the deacon residence?”

“deacon? like john deacon?”

“yes, i’m beau’s schoolteacher. i thought—well, this was the number on the contact form.”

there’s a sigh, and the phone brushes against something rough before rog says anything more. “hold on.” when he speaks next, his voice is distant yet poorly muffled. “deaky! there’s some bird on the phone for you! what have i told ya about putting the shop’s number down instead of the house’s? fuckin’ hell, mate.”

you frown, pressing your fingers to your lips as you wait for... deaky... to take the phone from his co-worker. when a new voice does appear on the line, you again find yourself surprised.

“hello? this is john deacon.” john’s voice is almost lilting, like a song. it’s soft, comforting—though how you determine this from four simple words is beyond your understanding.

“mr. deacon, hi! my name is [y/n] [y/l/n]. i’m beau’s teacher. i thought we might have an over-due chat, if you have the time?”

“oh, hello.” there’s a pause on the other end, as if he’s considering whether or not he’ll entertain your out-of-the-blue phone call. “has beau done something wrong?”

you laugh despite the worried edge to his tone. “no, absolutely not! beau is a delight. he’s practically a model student. however, i do have a few concerns... do you have a moment?”

“yes, i can have. just give me a second.” the line goes muffled again, the only sound a fading rolling stone’s song before all goes quiet. you hear a door shut and the squeak of a chair before john speaks again. “i suppose this is about beau’s shyness?”

you choose your next words carefully, uncertain if john simply cannot accept his son’s retreat into himself or if he does not see it. you’d rather not jump to conclusions and alienate him on your first phone call, but you must admit your unease at hearing the word shyness. beau is far more than shy. despite the frown puckering your brow, you hold your concerns close to your chest for the moment.

“shyness is a word one could use, yes.”

“he’s been that way since his mum died last year.”

rolling your lower lip between your teeth, you nod. “i heard. i’m terribly sorry for your loss.”

john makes a noise somewhere between a huff and a grunt and does not acknowledge your paltry offer of condolence. “if you’re calling to ask how you can fix ‘im, i don’t have any answers for you.”

“i don’t want to fix him, mr. deacon,” you say. “i simply want to help.”

“i’m sure you’ve spoken with mrs. cooper then.” he sighs, and the sound seems to rattle the receiver pressed against your ear. “look, i appreciate what you both are trying to do for beau. but he’s young, and the pain of losing his mum— i just don’t want him to rush into moving on.”

“oh, mr. deacon, that’s not my intention at all!” you wince at the high-pitch of your voice and clear your throat. good lord, this was not going as you’d planned. “i just want him to feel comfortable in the classroom, that’s all.”

“that’s kind of you, but i think it might be easier if you just let beau work it out for himself.”

you fall silent and glance down at the hem of your blouse. there’s a blue thread dangling from the article of clothing, and you pull on it, watching the thread unravel until it falls free from the shirt itself.

in all honesty, you’re puzzled by john’s hesitance to so much as entertain your concern. anyone—student, teacher, classroom parent—who comes across beau knows he’s more than shy. it’s written in his face, in the way he holds himself, in the way he shuffles aimlessly to and fro. god, he breaks your heart. you want to wrap him in a blanket and protect him from the cruel world.

but you’re not his mother. you’re merely his teacher, and you must respect john’s wishes despite how wrong you think they are. perhaps, in time, he will come around, see the need for a little concerted effort in helping beau work through his obvious grief-stricken state.

“is there anything more i can do for you, ms. [y/l/n]?”

clearing your throat again, you sit straighter in your chair and fiddle with a pen on your desk. you click the depressor up and down, up and down. “no, there’s not. i’m sorry to have wasted your time.”

“you didn’t,” john says—and his voice has that indescribable soft quality you noted the moment he first spoke. “really, it does mean something to me that you even thought to call.”

“i care for my students a great deal.” you aren’t sure what brings the words to your lips, but the second they fall past your tongue, a flush crawls up the back of your neck. you’re sure you sound like a petulant child, whining at the mere inconvenience of a rejected idea.

“i can tell.” his tone is anything but salty. in fact, the truth dripping from each word leaves you decidedly flustered. you click the pen faster, your leg bouncing beneath the desk.

“yes—well—i’ll leave you to it.” though you add, “if ever there’s something i can do for beau, don’t hesitate to ask.”

“i’ll be sure to.”

after a rushed goodbye, you drop the phone to its base. the hard-plastic clatters, the coiled wire dropping in a pile on the desk. you press your fingers to your eyelids and groan. both deacon boys, it seems, have the power to infuriate and melt you at the precisely the same moment.

this, you think, does not bode well for the rest of the year.

if you’re being honest, you have to admit that you think of john deacon often as the school year falls into a comfortable rhythm. no matter how hard you try to forget the phone call, forget the way his voice lulled you into a strange sense of serenity, he’s like a specter in the back of your mind: always there and definitely uninvited.

still...

when the children work silently at their desks, you sit behind yours and struggle to keep your mind from wandering to either of the deacon boys. when you greet beau as he walks through the door each morning, you resist the urge to drop a question about his father’s well-being. when the faded red corvette pulls to the curb each afternoon, you bite your tongue and fist your hands at your sides to keep from introducing yourself properly through the open window.

it’s embarrassing, really, how much the phone call with john deacon has affected you. it’s embarrassing how... interested you are in his life. you’re a schoolgirl with a crush—a crush on a man you’ve never even seen! if you were to admit your undue fascination with the deacon household to your best friend ami she would laugh in your face and remind you how desperately you need to get out more. you keep your wonderings and your daydreams to yourself to save her the trouble of telling you what you already know.

come mid-november, when the students are well-adjusted to their daily routine and you’ve learned how to juggle so many personalities at once, you finally pause to take a breath. the breath comes at the end of a school-day. it’s drizzling outside—not raining, but not dry either. the sky is a wash of gray and a deep purple. there’s a storm coming, a bad one too from the looks of it. humming to yourself and contemplating whether or not you should stop by the grocery on your way home, you tug on your jacket and step outside the school into the chilled autumn air.

you’re about to cross the parking lot to your car when you hear a harsh sniffle come from your left. you pause, keys in hand, and twist to see a huddled form on the curb. it’s clearly a student and a young one at that. knees drawn to their chest, backpack large over their back, fingers interlaced on their knees, they are the picture of a frightened schoolchild. the hood of their blue raincoat obscures any defining features, so you hustle to their side and kneel down, but not before glancing at your watch.

nearly four. someone’s been forgotten.

“hey?” you tilt your head to try and catch a glimpse of the face beneath the shade of the jacket hood. “did mum not come through the car line?”

you barely stifle your gasp when the slick raincoat crinkles as the student turns to meet your gaze.

it’s beau deacon.

his eyes are puffy, tears still clinging to his blotchy cheeks. beneath the wide frames of his glasses, fear swims across his gaze. he draws in his lower lip and rubs his hand under his nose. his eyes flicker to the ground, his toes tilting inward.

you press a hand to his shoulder. he feels so small beneath your palm, like a fragile piece of clay, molded by tragedy and loss in such a short span of time. “where’s your father, beau?”

he shrugs. “dunno.”

“i guess he’s running late.” you look at your watch. very late. “should we give him a call?”

beau nods, and you stretch to your full height, offering your hand to help him from the curb. beau does not take it as he stands. he pushes his glasses up his nose and follows you inside the school office where he hesitates in the doorway as you borrow the receptionist’s phone to call the auto-shop.

no one answers.

lowering the phone to its base, you look over your shoulder. through the venetian blinds you can see the sky darkening as you hem-and-haw. in the distance there’s a flash of lightening, and fat raindrops dot the tan sidewalk.

you could leave beau with the receptionist. it’s not uncommon for parents to run late or completely forget about their child. normally, betty calls the child’s guardian and gives the waiting student a granola bar and coloring page or picture book to flip through as they wait for the mortified adult to speed to school. there’s nothing obligating you to stay.

just as there’s nothing obligating you to offer to drive beau home.

you look at betty and calculate the words of your offer. “would it be wrong of me to drive beau home? he lives on my way ‘s all.” boldfaced lie—at least, you think—but what betty doesn’t know can’t hurt her.

betty doesn’t stop clacking on her electronic typewriter. “i don’t think so.” she peers over her glasses at the clock hanging over the door, still typing. “i’ve got a dentist appointment in half an hour, so i don’t have time to wait around today. you’d be doing me a favor, love.”

“alright, it’s settled then.” you slip the thin strap of your purse over your shoulder and turn to beau with a toothy grin. “i’ll drive you home. maybe your father just isn’t feeling well today and overslept?”

beau frowns, and inwardly, you cringe, your smile faltering. beau’s mother died of an illness, so it likely disconcerts him to think of his father in a similar state. in a piss poor attempt at an apology, you grab a piece of chocolate from the bowl near betty’s desk and slip it in beau’s hand as you make your way to the parking lot. the faintest flicker of a grin crosses his face as he methodically unwraps the candy. you take that as a sign of forgiveness.

once beau is snug in the backseat of your station wagon, you pull into traffic with a bubble of giddiness in your stomach. what you’re doing is ridiculous. though you feel horrid beau was left behind, there’s a sick park of you that is glad for it. it’s unlikely you’ll ever meet john deacon unless fate throws you together. he did not attend back to school night, and as a single father, you doubt he has time for any of the other parent-student events on schedule for the rest of the year. in all honesty, you’re taking this opportunity to put a face to the man behind the phone call that’s plagued you with daydreams since it occurred.

if you can just see his face, just learn what he looks like, perhaps the fascination with fade. unless, of course, he turns out to be as attractive as your mind has made him out to be and then you’ll be in even hotter water than you are now.

adjusting yourself in your seat, you glance in the rearview mirror. beau has his head pressed against the foggy glass of the window, his eyes scanning back and forth as he takes in the surrounding scenery. rain droplets create dark shadows over his face, and you wonder if that’s what he feels like on the inside: foggy and rainy and shadowy. you shake the thought free; you read too many melodramatic novels.

“so, beau, what’s your address?” you ask, your tone obnoxiously chipper. he tells you, and you shrug as you tighten your grip on the steering wheel. “gotta give me more than that, hun. do you remember how to get home? do you think you could tell me?”

beau nods and scoots away from the window, leaning nearer the space between the driver and passenger seats. there a gleam in his eye. you catch sight of it as you turn right at his instruction and see him hovering near your shoulder. it seems that with each turn you make his voice inches a decibel louder until you can hear every word with a clarity previously unknown. he’s confident when he’s instructing you, when he knows what he’s supposed to do.

he’s confident when he’s helping.

you tuck the bit of knowledge away for later as you pull into the cracked driveway of a red-brick bungalow. the house is small and unadorned, the homes on opposite sides just as plain and simple. a single spruce tree, like something out of a holiday catalog, is the only foliage in the yard. gauzy curtains are drawn to block the sunlight coming through the two bay windows framing the white front door.

you turn the car off as beau slides across the bench to open the car door. grabbing your handbag, you all but tumble after him, hastening up the sidewalk.

“wait a minute! beau!” you punctuate your call with a breathy laugh and smooth the sides of your hair back as you approach the front door. the bubble of giddiness from moments before has turned to a bubble of nerves, and once again, you realize this moment is entirely ridiculous. still, you adjust your blouse and straighten the crooked edge of your collar.

beau’s left the front door open, his shoes and backpack already tossed on the living room floor. you hesitate at the threshold. you haven’t been properly invited in, but the open door might just be beau’s way of telling you it’s alright to invade his home. at least, that’s the message you decide to take.

crossing the threshold, you hold tight to the strap of your purse and glance around the cramped front living area. beau’s nowhere to be seen, and the home is silent as the grave. you bite the tip of your tongue when your gaze falls over a photograph of a woman holding a baby. it’s beau and his mother; has to be.

maybe... maybe you’ve overstepped your—

“beau, is that you?” the sound of heavy footfalls on stairs snaps your attention away from the photograph. before you can slip away and forget you ever had the silly notion of meeting your student’s father with the intent of something other than a professional hello, a man rounds the corner.

your eyebrows shoot up your forehead. it’s not the john deacon you’d imagined.

he’s shorter than you pictured, only several inches taller than yourself. his jaw is sharp, peppered with a five o’clock shadow, and a thick mustache almost covers his upper lip. a white wife-beater tucked into green trousers completes the ensemble, and his bare feet pad across the floor as he sticks his hand out in greeting.

“you must be the teacher!” he pumps your hand up and down, his grip crushing but his smile wide. his voice is friendly and welcoming, though you can’t be sure it was the voice you heard over the phone. so many days have passed since then, perhaps you just forgot, though it’s highly unlikely.

“i’ve been trying to call deaky ever since i got here, but the damn fool just won’t pick up. i don’t even know where beau’s school is so i couldn’t come and get him myself. the ship we run here isn’t very tight.” he rolls his eyes with a grin. “thanks for bringing him home, darling.”

your head swims as you struggle to keep up with the man’s fast pace. so, he isn’t john deacon? and john deacon isn’t here? you open your mouth to ask the first of several questions but he beats you to it.

“hell, you look positively confused. shut the door, won’t you? the rain’s getting in, and molly was always worried about the the hardwood. i’ll put on the kettle.”

“oh, i don’t—”

he bumps your hip toward the door. “nonsense! deaky will want to thank you for driving beau home.” he’s around the corner before you can refuse, so you shut the front door against the steady rain and slip off your shoes, leaving them beside the two pairs already against the baseboard.

you’re quick to follow him to the kitchen. the walls are a muted yellow, the countertops clear but the sink full of unwashed dishes. the refrigerator in the corner is bare save for the back to school letter you gave to each student to bring home to their parents. that—and a photograph of four men in a basement. it appears to be a homegrown band of sorts, and the man behind the drumkit is shouting at the man who looks like an overgrown string bean. you’re not sure which one is john, so you turn away, feeling rather out of place when the man at the stovetop says:

“beau’s probably in his room. he always holes himself away as soon as he gets back. doesn’t come out until supper. that’s when deaky gets home.” a pair of mugs clatter against each other as he pulls them from a cupboard. “brian says it’s just a phase, that he’ll grow out of it once he processes molly’s death, but i’m not certain.” the man’s eyes flicker to you, and he laughs, loud and short. “oh dear, i’ve done it again! i forgot you’re not in the loop. i’m freddie,” he explains. “part-time nanny, full-time diva.”

you accept the mug of tea as freddie passes it to you, a smile lifting your tight mouth. “[y/n] [y/l/n]. so you’re beau’s... nanny?”

freddie drops to the round kitchen table shoved in the space between the kitchen counter and the wall. you follow suit and stir a drop of sugar in your tea. “you could call it that. i just watch him in the afternoons, between school and deaky getting home.” he sighs. “since molly... well, things have been hard to juggle.”

“i thought mr. deacon picked beau up from school? unless that was you in the car i saw?”

“heavens no! i don’t drive!” freddie laughs again. “that was deaky you saw. he takes his break at the garage long enough to pick beau up and bring him here. i guess he and rog were overrun today. bet beau was terrified. poor dear...”

you glance over your shoulder, down the dim hallway leading to, you assume, beau’s bedroom. there’s a half-full laundry basket deposited outside another open door, perhaps the bathroom. a few mislaid toys litter the carpet. it’s reassuring, knowing that beau has a few good men in his life, willing and ready to raise him. still, there’s a pervading sense of loneliness throughout the bungalow. you saw it in the photos on the living room wall, but it’s here too: in the dead roses, brittle to the touch, in the table vase; in the index-card note tucked on a notch in the cupboard, the feminine handwriting unreadable from your spot at the table.

freddie’s voice is somber when its breaks through the thick air. “complications of pneumonia,” he says, following your gaze to a wedding photo on the hallway wall. “it came on quick but didn’t last long, thank heaven.”

unbidden, tears prick the corners of your eyes. you’ve never felt more like an intruder—and you know why.

your crush on john deacon is misplaced. you see that now. realizing what you’ve done in coming here—twist a child’s terrified moment of abandonment for your gain—makes you sick to your stomach. what kind of person are you? assuming a recently widowed father would be at all interested in his son’s pesky teacher? the thought brings a flush to your cheeks, and you rise from the table all too fast. the mugs of tea wobble when your knee connects with the underside of the table.

freddie frowns at you. “you okay, love?”

“i—” how to explain yourself without sounding a total fool or heartless woman? “i think i’ve overstayed my welcome” is all that comes to mind, and you aren’t surprised when freddie uses his foot to push your chair back out from under the table.

“sit down. john will be home soon. let him thank you then you can go.”

from where you stand, you look to your right. the front door practically screams for you to politely decline freddie’s insistence and high-tail it to your car, to get out while you still have the chance. but he’s making it too easy to stay for what you’ve come for: a peek at the illusive john deacon. you know you should go, that you should leave well enough alone, but despite your best intentions, you find yourself sitting down again and allowing freddie to bombard you with questions about teaching life.

half an hour later, when your sides hurt from laughing while freddie regales you with the dramatic story of beau’s birth, the door to the garage opens and closes with a loud click. you twist in your seat, arm draped over the back, and bite your lip hard to keep from drawing in a sharp breath.

by god, he’s a stone-cold looker. better than you could have imagined.

john deacon stands in front of the garage door, his head of tight curls wet from the rain. he’s tall but not towering, his shoulders made broad by the leather jacket across his back. he hasn’t noticed you or freddie as he’s too preoccupied with wiping the grease on his fingers across a piece of soiled cloth. he turns, not towards you, but towards the hallway when beau tumbles out of his room with a shout of joy. beau races down the hall, his arms extended, and jumps into his father’s waiting embrace. john mumbles something in his son’s ear, ruffling his hair, before dropping him back to the ground. the sullen little boy jumps around his father’s feet, chattering in great detail about his day at school, though he forgoes mentioning his father’s absence in the car-line.

you exhale, a wash of new tears covering your eyes as you stare at beau. he can be happy. you’d thought it impossible.

you must have exhaled louder than you thought because john looks over at the sound. his brow tightens in a frown of confusion, his eyes flicking back and forth between yourself and freddie, but freddie is quick to explain. he stands from the table and takes your hand, pulling you to your feet.

“deaky, this is [y/n] [y/l/n], beau’s teacher. remember you spoke to her on the phone?”

your cheeks heat at the thought of him mentioning the phone call beyond the walls of the auto-shop. warmth spreads over your face even further when he gives you a tight-lipped smile and extends his hand. you slip your fingers over his palm, and he shakes your hand.

for a moment, your hands linger as john glances at beau, who is tucked behind his leg. he cringes, groaning. “please tell me you didn’t go out of your way to bring beau home today?”

you drop your hand from his and clasp your fingers before your waist. scrunching your nose, you tilt your head to the side. “well...”

“bloody hell,” john murmurs. he screws his eyes shut and runs a palm down his face. “i’m sorry,” he says. “you shouldn’t have had to do that.”

“it was no trouble, really. in fact, you live on my way home.” the comment isn’t a falsehood. you’d realized as beau pointed his way home that your flat lie only a minutes down the road. just as it had then, the realization sends a nervous clench to your stomach now. the thought of the deacons so close...

“you must think me a horrible father.” as he says this, john reaches around to smooth his hand across beau’s back. the gesture, done mindlessly, almost makes you laugh. how could anyone find him a horrible father?

“absolutely not, mr. deacon.”

the corner of his mouth twitches upward in something close to a smile. “john, please.”

you roll your lips together and blink rapidly to keep your eyes from going wide. john. “lots of people miss the car-line. it happens more often than you think.”

“well, let me give you something for your trouble.” he slides past you, the scent of cologne and car oil in his wake. his movements are stiff, hampered by beau who insists on clinging to his father’s leg, his ankles crossed over john’s foot.

“i don’t want anything, john.” you almost trip over his name. it tastes good, strong and steady. god, you’ve got it bad. “it wasn’t a hassle.”

john ignores you as he slides open a kitchen drawer. unsatisfied with its contents, he reaches for another before meeting your eyes with a wry smile. “all we’ve got is take-out menus anyway.” he shuffles nearer, beau still heavy on his leg. “thank you, ms. [y/l/n], for bringing him home. i got sidetracked at the shop and—” he sighs. “anyway, just... thanks.”

“again, you’re welcome—and call me [y/n].”

there’s a moment where you’re simply staring at one another, the room around you lulled to a comfortable silence. john is handsome, of this there is no doubt. perhaps he’s not striking in a classical way but you’re sure someone would have killed to chisel a bust of his face during the sixteenth century. it’s regal and sure in all the right places, but soft where it counts: around the eyes. when he chuckles at something freddie says, his eyes fold around the edges, and your heart all but gives out.

“what do you say, [y/n]?”

“sorry?” hopeful no one caught you ogling, you bring your attention front and center, turning to freddie. his proposal dawns on you a second too late to be anything but obvious. “stay for dinner? no, i can’t do that.”

“why not?” freddie reaches out to pinch your forearm. “it’s our way of saying thanks, and neither of us will try to poison you with our cooking. we’ll just have brian bring something ‘round.”

you shake your head and scoot around freddie to lift the handbag hanging from a kitchen chair. “i’d like to, but i’ve stayed too long already. perhaps another time.”

prying beau from his leg, john trails behind freddie as you make your way to the front door. freddie wishes you well, reminding you to drop by any time, and john simply lifts his hand in a motionless wave. on the front stoop, hair tangled around your face by a sharp wind, you lean your torso across the threshold.

“mr. deacon—i mean, john,” you say quickly, willing your voice to sound stronger than you feel. “if you’d like, i can drive beau home in the afternoons. i live not five minutes from here, and it wouldn’t be any trouble.”

john hesitates. beau stands in the kitchen, his head poked around the corner. john looks over at his son then back at you. “that’s a kind offer, but i like coming to the school.”

your eyes flick to beau, to his round, soft face and intelligent eyes. yes, if you were his mother you’d enjoy coming to pick him up too.

with a nod, you retreat into the wind. “well, the offer still stands.”

as you slide into your car and pull out of the driveway, waving to beau who now stands in the doorway, you hope against hope that john will accept the offer one day—just so long as it means you get to see him again.

he calls during the middle of show-and-tell. you nearly forgo the call as abby sinclair insists on lifting her pet toad for all to see and you’re worried she’ll drop it, but you’re waiting for a message from the front desk—missing package again—so you pick up on the last ring.

“hello?”

“hi, ms. [y/l/n]. it’s john deacon. is this a bad time?”

“oh, mr. deacon!” you wince at the delight coloring your voice and tear your eyes away from abby, who has handed her toad off to max. “i was expecting a call from the front office.”

he snorts out a rushed laugh. “sorry to disappoint.”

you brush a lock of hair behind your ear. “no, not at all.” out of the corner of your eye you catch max squeezing abby’s toad between his palms, and you push the phone away from your ear. “oy! max, knock it off! abby, please put the toad back, dear?”

john is chuckling on the other end of the line when you return to the call. “sorry,” you say. “show-and-tell.”

“i know. beau was excited this morning.”

with a smile, you glance at the boy in question. “he did very well. everyone was impressed with what he brought.”

“brian made that for him as a birthday gift, so he can’t take any of the credit.”

“he didn’t! he explained who made the planets, but he did want to be clear about who painted the stars.” you hesitate, the sound of laughter over your shoulder reminding you not to get too entangled by the sound of john’s voice. “is there something i can do for you, mr. deacon?”

“right, yes. well, it’s a bit awkward... do you remember a few weeks ago when you drove beau home?”

you nod, the memory lifting from your heart with ease. how could you forget? you only replay the evening like a film every night before you fall asleep. “of course”

“do you remember offering to drive him home again?”

“yes.”

“i’m in a jam at the shop and can’t leave this afternoon. would you mind? taking him home, that is.”

you answer without hesitation. “i can do that. it’s not a problem.”

“you’re a life-saver. it’s just with freddie not driving... i guess what i mean to say is thanks. it helps me out a lot.”

“i’m happy to do it, john.”

“i promise i’ll make it worth your while this time. proper take-out and all.”

“you really don’t have to do that,” you say, hoping he does anyway.

“no, freddie will insist. i’ll let you get back to class for now. thanks, [y/n].”

“don’t mention it. good luck with your jam at the shop. i hope it’s cleared up soon.”

“me too. all the sooner to get back to beau—and you.”

he hangs up before you can respond, and you’re left with your jaw scraping the floor and your heart in your throat.

all the sooner to get back to you.

the words circle your head like a drug for the remainder of the day. you can barely focus as you teach, stumbling over your words and through math equations and spelling tests.

surely he didn’t mean it like that. he probably just tacked you on at the end of the sentence in his haste to get back to work. he probably wasn’t thinking when he spoke.

but, by god, you were listening.

you’ve never been so head-over-heels for a man in your life. each day when you wake up with john at the forefront of your mind, you wish for a morning where you can stay in bed and dream of him all day—his voice, his smile, his gentle way with beau. it all makes you crazy. ami calls your fascination puppy love and claims it will fade with time, but you wonder if it’s gone deeper. you’re interested in more than john deacon’s looks. you’re interested in what makes him tick and whether or not he’s in a band with the three other men who constantly appear in every conversation you share and whether or not he misses his wife and what his hair looks like when he wakes up in the morning. you what to know him and be known by him.

all the sooner to get back to you.

perhaps it’s wishful thinking—a dreamy idea on the part of a lovesick woman—but part of you wonders if he feels the same way about you.

driving beau home becomes part of an unspoken routine. after sharing dinner at the deacon household that second evening, john admits when walking you to your car how overwhelmed he can feel between his job at the auto-shop and his responsibilities with beau. with a tentative hand on his forearm, you promise you’ll help lighten the load. he thanks you by squeezing your fingers with his, and then he’s gone.

it begins by driving beau home every monday, wednesday, and friday. you enjoy your time with him. as soon as he settles in the back seat of your station wagon, he comes alive. the protective shell he wears in the classroom is replaced by the bright and earnest eyes of a seven year old boy, curious about the world and all it has to hold. he asks you questions and tells you stories, and you laugh as you watch the light dance in his eyes. he’s a sweet child, and you truly treasure the afternoons you spend with him.

one friday, you drop him off and find the cozy bungalow empty. beau has stopped retreating to his room once returning from school—at least, this is what freddie tells you—so you’re not completely surprised when beau invites you in for an afternoon snack. you are surprised by the empty house, however. freddie is nowhere to be seen and neither is john. what concerns you even further is when beau opens the refrigerator and slams it shut with a huff.

“nothin’,” he mutters, slumping to the table with a groan.

“what?”

“there’s nothing in the fridge.”

“what do you mean by that?” you cross the floor and open the fridge, hoping beau’s comment is nothing more than a hungry child displeased with the array of choice and nothing to his liking, but you find his statement to be true. the fridge is woefully stocked—naught but a half-filled carton of orange juice, three apples, and a sandwich wrapped in tinfoil. you glance over your shoulder. “is it always like this?”

“no.” beau circles about on his chair. “but it’s happened a few times since dad and uncle rog got more busy at the shop.”

“well, that won’t do. grab your shoes, beau, we’re going to the market.”

once returned from your grocery run, you teach beau how to make spaghetti. he stands beside you on a stool, pushed up on his toes as he watches you prepare the boiling water and pasta. as you wait for the pasta to soften, you set about crafting a homemade pasta sauce. it’s your mother’s recipe, and it’s easy to make. easy enough that you allow beau to carefully slice the tomatoes under your supervision and dice the onions and sprinkle the spices.

the kitchen smells like your childhood: fragrant yet simple, sweet and comforting. somewhere in the waiting for the sauce to simmer, beau turns on a radio and draws you to the center of the kitchen. he holds your hand tight and kicks his feet to the music. you laugh and mirror his movements. he grabs your other hand and steps on his stool, forcing you to bend in an awkward twirl around his finger. you struggle but complete the movement, though he attaches himself to your shoulders like a barnacle. you whirl around on your socked feet in attempt to toss him off, but he holds tight, his fingernails digging into the skin of your collarbone. he squeals in your ear, a mixture of laughter and gasping breath and shrieks.

“mama, mama, stop!”

he says it without thinking, his head lolling against your shoulder as you stop short at the sound of his breathless voice. he giggles against your back then releases himself and slides to the floor. you stare at him, feel his words in the back of your throat like an uncomfortable burn, and then you hear the garage door shut.

you swallow hard and force your eyes from the yellow-and-white linoleum floor. beau hops from his stool, sauce-covered spoon in hand, and rushes to his father’s side.

“daddy, look, we made dinner! miss [y/l/n] and me!” he tugs on john’s shirtsleeve, but john’s just staring at you, his face unreadable. beau turns to one of the other three men crowding the hall behind john. “uncle roggie, taste it!” he forces the spoon in the face of a mulleted blond.

eager to break the thick tension, you motion to the spaghetti. “i—there wasn’t anyone home so...” your sentence trails off, and you bite the inside of your cheek.

so many eyes on you. you feel exposed against them all, caught in a domestic moment with a child that’s not your own in a home that’s not your own.

john looks over his shoulder, eyes flashing in anger. “fred?”

freddie winces. “about that, deak.” he rubs the back of his neck and glances at beau. “i can explain later.”

“you’d better,” john mutters.

“i should go,” you say at once, hastily grabbing your things from the table. your keys jingle in your hand with the force of your anxiety, and you stub your toe against the floor in your hurry to put your shoes back on.

john’s hand on your arm stops you. you look up, stooped as you try to slip the back of your sandal over your heel. he looks down at you, face still remarkably unreadable. “no, please stay,” he says. “you made supper.”

you shake your head and rise to your full height. “i’ve intruded enough already.”

you’re embarrassed, too. the gaggle of men heard beau’s slip up; they heard him mistake you for his mother—and certainly they saw the immediate flush of happiness rise over your cheeks at the sound.

mama. you’d always hoped, always wished, someone would call you that one day. you just didn’t think you’d hear it from a student with a deceased mother and a father you pined after first.

“[y/n], stay.” john’s voice is soft, breathy, and his eyes flit back and forth between yours with a startling amount of intensity.

how can you say no?

once the dinner has been divided, you sit beside john on the couch in the living room. the kitchen table is too small to host the gathering, so the living room was deemed appropriate just this once, to beau’s great delight. he sits on the floor at the coffee table, a tall glass of milk beside his plate of pasta, his eyes bouncing over everyone in the room with unrestrained joy.

“beau, why don’t you introduce everyone for miss [y/l/n]? she doesn’t know all your uncles.” john nods to his son in encouragement, and beau is only happy to take the job.

standing, beau crosses first to the impressively tall and curly-haired man sat beside him on the floor. “this is uncle brian. he likes space and teaches all the big kids at uni.”

he moves to freddie, who sits on a plush armchair. “this is uncle freddie, but you already know him.”

the last man leans against the foyer table, his ankles crossed and sunglasses still perched on his nose. beau pats his arm. “this is uncle roger and he works with daddy.” in a stage whisper, he adds, “he thinks he’s a lot cooler than he really is.”

roger guffaws and lightly pushes beau’s head to the side. “oy, you twerp, take that back!”

glancing about the room, you nod in greeting. “it’s nice to meet you all. i’ve heard quite a bit.”

brian smiles at you from the floor. his legs are bent awkwardly beneath the coffee table, and you’ve noticed the way he helps beau cut his side salad and keep sauce from dripping to the area rug. “all good things i hope?”

“oh yes, of course.”

“[y/n], dear, you really must tell brian what that student of yours did last week,” freddie pipes up. “it had me laughing well into the night. i’m sure some of his twenty-year olds are much the same.”

“i shouldn’t, fred.” you look at beau, who is watching you in interest.

freddie nods in understanding and tugs on his earlobe. “little ears, yes. maybe another time.” he pushes brian’s shoulder with his foot. “really is a riot of a story.”

as supper progresses, conversation twists and turns down different avenues. you explain how you came to teach in the area and find you used to work with one of brian’s newer colleagues. freddie tells the group about his recent run-in with an angry bird watcher in the park. his gestures are so grandiose he whacks roger in the chest, who has come to sit on the arm of fred’s chair. there’s more laughter than there is silence, and you settle back in the couch. at one point, john drapes his arm over the back of the couch—not around your shoulders, but close enough to send your heart into overdrive. it’s all you can focus on—the proximity of his muscular arm behind your head—as brian explains to beau the difference between the big and little dippers. even as roger describes the ramshackle band they four participate in on the weekends, you barely register the words because you swear to the high heavens you feel john’s pointer finger purposefully brush against your shoulder.

beau begins to yawn sometime near the eight o’clock hour, and you jump from the couch when you realize you’ve stayed so late.

“good lord, i’ve got to go!” you shuffle about the room, gathering your belongings, as john rises behind you. “i didn’t know it was so late!”

his hands are in his pockets, and he studies you as you put your shoes on. “got a big date tomorrow?”

you frown. “no,” you say on a laugh. “i’ve actually got breakfast with my mum.”

he looks away for a moment, but you can’t help but note the edge of a smile.

he grabs his jacket from the coat-stand when you’re ready. “i’ll walk you out.”

at the door you wave to the others. “good night, all! it was nice to meet you.”

roger tips an imaginary hat. “i’m sure we’ll meet again, [y/n], if deaky has anything to say about it.”

freddie kicks the back of roger’s leg, and the injured man doubles over in a yelp of pain. “you fucker!” freddie mutters. “you know that—”

john ushers you out the door before you can see or hear any more.

the night air is chilly, and you warm your arms around yourself. you reach for your keys in the depths of your purse and slide them into the lock on the driver’s side of your car. it’s dark out. you can barely make out john’s features beneath the light of the moon, but when he shuffles to the side, an automatic flood light turns on above the garage. you blink against the sudden light and smile, chuckling beneath your breath as your vision adjusts. you’re not eager to leave quite yet, and he doesn’t seem eager to send you away, so you both stand, looking at one another in the darkness of the drive.

“your friends are nice,” you say.

he hums in agreement. “m’yes, they are. we just started as a screw-around band a few years back, but when molly got sick...” he pauses, clasps his hand on the back of his neck, and shrugs. “they’ve been my lifeline, y’know?”

“i can’t imagine what that was like, losing her. i’m glad you had them around.” you suck in a deep breath. “about earlier... i didn’t know beau was going to say that, and i’m sorry it happened. i realize that my... involvement might appear to be me wheedling my way into your family, but that’s not it, really! i mean, i like you and beau—as friends—but i’m not trying to...” you sigh, shaking your head. “i’m sorry it happened ‘s all. i don’t want you to get the wrong idea.”

before you know what’s happening, john’s reaching out to cup your cheek. his smile is soft in the glow of the moon and the floodlight, and your heart stops in your chest.

his thumb brushes over your cheekbone. “i haven’t seen beau that happy in a long time. you’ve brought a lot of joy back into the house, [y/n].”

you’re sure you’re sweating despite the chill of night. you shake your head, but his hand holds fast against your face. “no,” you whisper. your voice sounds heady, even to your own ears. “beau’s just a good kid.”

“yes, and you’re a good teacher.”

is his face inching closer? you’ve suddenly forgotten how to breathe.

“a good teacher and a good person.”

if it weren’t for your firm hold on the car door handle, you think you might slip to the ground in a puddle of goo.

his lips are on yours, then, and you fall into his arms as he holds you against himself. you have dreamt of this moment far too many times to count, but you never thought it would happen. really, you thought you would finish the year without ever knowing the taste of john’s deacons lips.

but there he is, and there you are, and he tastes like the wine he drank during supper. he is more eager than you thought he would be, and soon he has your back pressed against the door of your car. you huff into his mouth and feel your eyes roll back into your head when he drags his lips across your jaw, inching closer to that spot behind your ear. your arms practically quiver around his shoulders, and you open your eyes long enough to catch a glimpse of a particularly bright star winking down at you.

he catches your lips again, and you feel hot and delicious all over.

“john,” you mumble against his mouth. “john.”

loathe as you are to stop the moment, you do, pushing his shoulders until he pulls himself away. his hand still cradles your hip, and he looks flushed in the moonlight. you’re sure you look equally as rumpled.

you grin. “well.”

he matches your smile, though it’s fleeting. “call you, yeah?”

unlocking your car door, you nod. “please do, mr. deacon.”

he shakes his head on a chuckle and shuts the door, waving gently as you pull out of the drive. when you’re several homes away, out of eyesight, you drift to the side of the road and blast the air conditioner. then you pound your fists against the steering wheel and let out a muffled squeal of delight.

he doesn’t call you.

when you sit down to think about it, it’s not that great of a surprise. you’ve been around him only a handful of times, and though you’ve both been comfortable in those moments, you don’t blame him for resisting whatever it is he feels for you. there’s beau to think about. you’re his teacher; surely there’s some line you shouldn’t be crossing? there’s molly too, and her memory and the years they spent together and the child they had together.

if anything, you figure he’s using you to test the waters of romance again. those stolen touches and deep stares and that kiss in the drive—it’s all just experimentation. the conclusion drawn from those experiments? he’s not ready.

you sigh, take another sip of wine. maybe you should stop driving beau. you like john; you like him a lot. and after that kiss, you haven’t been able to stop thinking about him. you thought about him before, but never this much. he threatens to consume your every waking moment, and it scares you because he’s not interested. desperately pining after a disinterested man means one thing: ruin. if you stop driving beau home, put some distance between yourself and the deacons, the puppy love and infatuation will fade over time.

it has to or you’ll go crazy.

it’s early evening, and your stomach grumbles. your flat is quiet as you putter around the kitchen in search of a suitable supper. there’s not much in the cupboards and even less in the fridge. you desperately need to go to the grocery store. take-out it is. withdrawing a handful of menus, you spread them out on the counter and flip through them mindlessly.

your thoughts are elsewhere. always on john.

you wonder what compelled him to kiss you. he’s an enigma, john deacon. you’ve seen him in moments of great levity—when he’s around beau or his friends or recounting a story from his youth. he has an infectious laugh, delightful crinkles around his eyes, and a quick wit. but he can be hard, too, like an immovable stone. he’s quick to toss a glare at anyone in his way in those moments of weakness, and his biting wit can turn sour at the drop of a hat. you chalk it up to weariness, those moments. weariness, loneliness, frustration. it doesn’t phase you, though perhaps it should.

with a groan, you drop your forehead to the cool counter and shut your eyes. the kiss lingers on your lips; it has the entire week since. you want him badly—in more ways than one.

the telephone rings, and you startle, clutching a paper menu to your chest. “fuck,” you whisper. you need to get a hobby other than daydreaming. pressing the phone to your ear, you barely get out a word of greeting before someone’s shouting at you on the other end.

“[y/n]? it’s fred! we’ve got a fuckin’ problem over here.”

you frown. “freddie? what’s going on? why are you are john’s? it’s a saturday.”

“no time for that! how fast can you get here?”

“well, i don’t know. i’ve got to—”

“beau’s sick! he’s on the bathroom floor, moaning and groaning and—shit!—[y/n], i don’t know what to do!”

“i’m sure it’s just a tummy ache, fred,” you say. “i see it all the time in my class. give him some pepto and he’ll be fighting fit in the morning.”

“no, [y/n]!” something in fred’s tone—a raw, animal fear—has you standing straight, your heart stuttering in your chest. “he said he feels like he’s gonna die just like molly did!”

“okay, okay.” you begin to move toward your bedroom, but are yanked back by the phone chord attached to the wall. you stumble backwards with a grunt. “okay, i’m coming, fred. just hold tight.”

“fucking hurry!”

you slam the phone down, rush to your bedroom to change from your nightclothes, and jump in the car without a pair of shoes. as quickly as you can you race to the deacon household. the sun dips low, casting an orange glow over the suburban streets lined with family cars. you grip the steering wheel tight, your heart thumping a prayer of protection for beau.

the driveway of the bungalow is empty, the garage door thrown open. the old convertible john toys with in the evenings is parked inside, but his everyday vehicle is gone. cutting the engine of your car, you run through the garage and into the house. fred stands in the hallway, pressed against the bathroom door. he looks ridiculous, clad in a bright yellow bathroom and bunny slippers, but he pounds his fist against the door, pleading for beau to unlock it and let him in. he turns at the sound of your bag dropping on the carpet.

“oh, thank god,” he breathes. he grabs your arm and wrenches you to his side. “beau, miss [y/l/n] is here. why do you talk with her, huh?”

before you say anything to beau, you frown at freddie. “where’s john?” your whisper sound harsh in the dim lighting of the hallway.

“at the shop. overtime. i can’t reach him.”

you jerk your head to the phone sitting on a side-table in the living room. “go try again and i’ll stick with beau here.” when he’s gone, you slide to a sitting position on the floor and press your ear to the thin wood of the door. “beau? beau, honey, it’s me.”

beau only groans in response.

“beau, can you please open the door? i want to help you. that’s it; just help.”

there’s a pause then you hear: “no. go away.”

“it’s okay if you’re embarrassed, beau. we all get sick sometimes. fred and i just want to help you feel better.”

there’s the sound of water sloshing and then a hard sniff. “i want my mommy.”

“oh, baby, i know.” you clear your throat to work past the lump rising to the surface. “come on, just let me in. i promise it’ll be okay.”

“but... what if i die like her too?”

“that’s not gonna happen, beau. i promise.” he doesn’t respond, so you plead once more. “please let me in.”

he shuffles to the door, unclicks the lock, and cracks it open. through the opening, you can see his pale face gleaming with sweat. gently, you push the door open further.

beau’s curled on the floor, his head bent toward his knees. his arms tighten around his stomach, and a spasm ripples through his body. he’s dripping with sweat, his star wars pajamas soaked through. hot air clogs the room, and you switch on the overhead fan. pressing your fingers to his forehead, you cringe and draw back. he’s burning up.

“beau, baby, what hurts?” you finger some of the sweat-matted hair away from his forehead.

“my tummy.”

“what’s your tummy feel like?”

beau shakes his head into the floor. “bad.”

“do you feel like you’re gonna be sick?”

“already did. on my floor.” he opens his eyes long enough to stare at you through thick lashes. “i’m sorry.”

“don’t apologize about that. we’ll get it cleaned up later. i’m just gonna go get you some water, okay?”

he groans, shifting against another spasm of pain. “okay.”

stepping back into the hall, you grab freddie’s arm before he can slip into the bathroom. you tug him to the safety of the kitchen. his eyes dance between yours, expectant.

“well?”

“did you get ahold of john?”

“no, the fucker.”

“we’ll have to go pick him up then.”

fred’s brow twitches. “what? why? what’s wrong with him?”

you throw a glance down the hall when beau whines. “i think it might be his appendix. my dad’s burst last summer and he looked a lot like beau does now.”

“fuckin’ hell.” freddie runs a hand across his mouth. “just what deaky needs.”

you nod in agreement. “i know. we’ve got to take beau to a hospital, though, before it gets any worse.”

“yeah, yeah, i know. go get the car started and i’ll meet you in a minute.”

several minutes later, you’re en route to the auto-shop, freddie cradling beau in the backseat of your station wagon. the drive is tense, your bare foot hard on the gas pedal. beau wrestles and whines against freddie’s hold, continuously asking for his parents and where you’re taking him.

no one wants to say the word hospital, so his cries go unanswered.

freddie directs you to the auto-shop, his phrases terse, and you pull into the drive with a sharp squeal of tires on gravel. with the car still running, you hurry across the parking lot, loose pebbles catching on your feet. music blasts from a stereo within the garage. it’s loud and obnoxious and keeps you from locating john fast enough.

“can i help ya, miss?” a lithe man steps out of a side office, his hairline receding and face near gaunt.

“yes—i’m looking for john deacon.”

the man continuously wipes his hands on a dirty rag. none of the oil and grease on his fingers budges. “he’s down there.”

dirt and grime covers the bottoms of your feet as you race down the shop. cars of all varieties line the wall to your left, some stationary on the ground, others lifted towards the vaulted ceiling. there’s a handful of men at work, but you don’t recognize any of them as john. you’re prepared to start shouting his name when a familiar voice stops you.

“[y/n]?” it’s roger. “can’t get enough of our deaky, can you?” he’s chuckling as he steps out from behind a truck. “what are you doing here?”

“it’s beau,” you say, and his face falls.

“over here.” roger wastes no time in finding john beneath a volkswagon beetle. only john’s legs are visible, his knees bent and leather boots firm on the floor. he curses when roger hooks the toes of his shoes around a curve in the sliding plate on the floor and drags john out from under the car.

“what the fuck, rog? i—” john stills when his eyes land on you. his muscle tee is loose over his chest, and a line of grease mars his forehead. he swallows. “[y/n]... i...” he sits up. “i’ve been meaning to—”

though you’re curious about the end of his sentence, you cut him off. “beau’s sick. we’ve got to take him to hospital.”

the blood drains from john’s face in an instant. the wrench in his hand clatters to the cement ground, and he’s grabbing your elbow, pulling you toward the exit, before you can say anything more.

“crystal, i’m gone!” he shouts, practically shoving you in the direction of the car.

there’s either no reply or you don’t hear it because john shouts for freddie to move the fuck over and give him beau. you slide behind the wheel and pause, twisting to catch a look at the scene in the back.

beau looks like a newborn swaddled in his father’s arms. his face is wet with tears and sweat, and he sobs in his father’s grasp. john feels beau’s forehead and frowns, muttering an oath under his breath. then his eyes flick to yours.

“what are you waiting for? go!”

you don’t need to be told twice.

it’s another fifteen minutes before you reach the hospital. your head throbs under the stress of it all: beau’s pitiful moans for help, john urging you to go faster, freddie barking directions as he slaps the headrest behind you. before you’ve pulled to a complete stop, john is out, beau in his arms. you shoo freddie after him.

“go! i’ll park the car.”

by the time you’ve found a parking space and picked your way across the parking lot, beau’s been admitted for emergency surgery. his appendix, as you suspected. it’s a routine procedure, and he’ll be fine within the next hour. relief floods your system at the news, and you find john and freddie sitting beneath a large fish tank in the waiting room. you take the open spot beside john and cross your ankles.

“your feet are disgusting,” fred says. he points to the bottoms of your feet, dark with dust, dirt, and grime.

you shrug. “forgot shoes.”

the quiet of the waiting room is both a comfort and annoyance. a clock on the wall ticks loudly, and the fish tank bubbles at an uneven rate. every breath you take feels too loud, and the antiseptic smells cling to the inside of your nose.

still, the quiet gives you a moment of rest. you catch your breath. you let the knowledge of skilled and capable doctors working on beau ease your heart-rate. it will all be okay; he’s going to be okay.

you glance at john. his fist is pressed against his mouth, his eyes shut. his leg bounces, and you dare to reach over and lay your hand against his knee. he stills, his eyes flashing to you.

“he’s going to be okay, john.”

on the other side of john, freddie jumps to his feet. “i’m going bananas just sitting here.” he rubs the side of his head. “might burst. i’m gonna give brian a call.” he stalks away, his bunny slippers slapping against the linoleum floor.

you shake your head, biting back the urge to smile.

but then john’s fingers curl around yours, and you can’t help but give into the grin.

you look up, meet his eyes.

“i didn’t call you,” he says.

“no, you didn’t.”

he shifts in seat and looks to the floor. “you should be wearing shoes.”

at the turn of conversation, you frown then follow his gaze. “yes, i suppose.”

“take mine.” he releases your hand to bend down and undo his laces.

“no, john, don’t be silly. i’m fine.”

“please, [y/n], take the shoes.” he slides the boots toward you, and you begrudgingly slip your feet into the warmth of his shoes.

you look silly, the pair of you—your ill-fit mtv t-shirt, loose jeans, and oversized leather boots; his muscle tee with the aptly faded word muscle scrawled across the chest, his faded jeans, and socked feet. one of his toes pokes through the end of his sock, and his exposed arms look cold in the frigid air of the waiting room. you laugh.

“we look like a pair of bikers or something.”

the corner of his mouth twitches upward. “not much of a biker. that’s crystal’s territory.” he doesn’t look at you when he continues speaking. “i’m sorry i didn’t call.”

on a sigh, you drag the boots across the carpet. though it pains you to do so, you let him off the hook. “it’s not a big deal, john. it was just a kiss. no promises.”

“i know.” his head tilts to the side. “but i wanted to call you. nearly did twice, but i chickened out.” he turns, then, and meets your eye. “i like you, [y/n].”

you smile, but know it doesn’t reach your eyes. still, you reach for his hand again. “i like you too, john. i’ve enjoyed getting to know you and your family.”

he shakes his head, and when he speaks, his voice is firm. “no, i like you. that’s why i kissed you and that’s why i didn’t call. because you make me so bloody nervous.”

your shoulders drop, as does your jaw.

“ever since you dropped beau off that first time, i’ve been thinking about you and about you and him together and then he called you mum and i saw the way you acted with him and—” he pauses for a breath. “molly was different with beau. i mean, she loved him, but she was always so fragile and worried and—and that’s not the point! the point is that you make beau happy and you make me happy. and i want to be happy again.”

“john...”

his grip on your hand tightens as he leans closer. “make me happy, yeah? i’m stubborn as a mule and shy, too, but i want you—badly.”

the fire in your heart spreads at his words. it spreads throughout your body until you feel like you could burst and shine a light into even the darkest corners of the earth. a laugh bubbles forth from between your lips. you lift a hand to stifle it.

“you want to know something?” you ask.

“what?”

“i’ve been pining after you, john deacon, ever since i heard your voice over the phone. i was content to just wallow in my daydreams, but this seems better.” you lift your fingers to brush his chin. “a lot better.”

“i can’t promise i’ll make a good boyfriend. i’m pretty rusty.”

“me too. we can be rusty together.”

he grins, leans forward further, his nose brushing yours. “can’t promise there won’t be hiccups. i’ve got baggage.”

“i can carry it.”

he kisses you, his hand on the back of your head, keeping you firm against his mouth. you grin, your teeth knocking his as you laugh. his curls are soft against your fingertips, and you hold on for dear life when he chuckles into your smile.

“mr. deacon?”

john kisses you once, twice more, before pulling away to look at the doctor. “yeah?” he doesn’t sound the least bit embarrassed to be caught in such a position in the middle of a hospital waiting room, but you hide your face against his neck. your cheeks hurt your smile is so wide.

“beau’s ready to see you now.”

john stands and extends at hand. “comin’, dove?”

your footfalls are hard against the ground, the boots heavy around your ankles, as you walk with him hand-in-hand to beau’s hospital room. you lean against his side, breathe the comfort of him in, and smile.

yes, this is much better than your daydreams—baggage, boots, beau, and all.

#john deacon #john deacon x reader #john deacon fic #queen #queen fic #j writes

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asoulofstars · 3 years

Text

Whumptober 2021

Day 4: Trust Fall (“Do you trust me?” | Taken Hostage | Pushed)

Fandom: XMCU

Once again based specifically off of @paradisecost and my AU. I cried writing this. Whoops. The end came rather unexpectedly even to me.

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

The big cloak Logan had gotten her wasn’t doing much to hide her wings; it honestly made her more conspicuous. Her wings were thirty-three inches from the edge to where they connected with her skin, a full sixty-six inches from edge-to-edge. The cloak couldn’t do much more than hide the vibrant color, and her discomfort was obvious.

“We’re almost done,” Logan muttered. “And then you can take that off.”

Riona almost smiled. It was unnerving sometimes, how he could read her mind despite not knowing her the way that her Logan did. But she also liked that there wasn’t a lot she had to say with this Logan. Especially because the things she did want to say were supposed to be things she said to her Logan, but she couldn’t help that her heart just ached for every Logan she might ever come across.

“Hey, Riona, keep up,” he said, gruff but gentle all at once, and Riona realized that he was a good twenty feet away as she got lost in her thoughts.

“Right, sorry,” she said, bouncing over to his side.

“I’m just gonna get a rope and tie our waists together,” he grumbled. “Don’t need you getting lost.”

Riona tried not to get lost in her thoughts again as he finished his shopping, getting supplies for them and Charles. She noticed him tense up, and she frowned.

“Logan?”

“Drop your cloak; fly off as fast as you can. Don’t lead them back to Charles, just hide somewhere. I’ll come get you.”

“What—” Before she could finish her question, a net went flying over top of her.

Logan snarled, whipping his claws out, but she felt a gun press against her head.

“Now, now, Wolverine. Put those claws away, and we won’t hurt your little friend here.”

Riona swallowed, despite the fear shivering down her spine, and looked up at Logan. “Don’t do it.”

“Oh, Miss Starsight, we do happen to know who you are. A bullet won’t kill you immediately, but you don’t heal fast enough for us to not strip your wings down after. So, Wolverine. Sheath those claws.”

Logan growled, long and deep, and Riona knew the sound of a caged animal. He sheathed his claws, but she knew that he was just biding his time until the opportunity arose to unleash the beast within. It was a noise that should scare her, but coming from Logan, it only fueled the hope that she clung to, because Logan was not just an animal. He was smart, had lived so many lives, and he was never going to just back down.

They didn’t speak until they were at their secondary location. They had tied them both up rather awkwardly, with Logan’s arms bent back and tied up with her wings. They were then left alone, and Riona took a deep breath.

“What’s the plan?” she asked.

“Do you trust me?” he replied.

“Without a doubt.” She chewed her bottom lip. “As long as your plan doesn’t include sacrificing yourself, anyways.”

He snorted. “No, I’m getting us both out of here. I’m not dying today.”

“Okay. Do what you have to do then.”

“Hold as still as you can; I know your wings get stiff, but those need to be still, too. I don’t think I can get us free without cutting you, but I can get us free without slashing you up, because these fuckers forgot I don’t have to use all my claws at once.”

She tried not to laugh at the usage of fuckers, especially since the mood was otherwise tense. Freeing them was just step one. “You’d be surprised what my pain tolerance is. Go ahead.”

He did it so fast that Riona barely felt it. That didn’t mean she wouldn’t be bleeding, but it was a small price to pay. Logan took off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders.

“Don’t let your blood get anywhere; we don’t know what they might use it for. Stick close, and if I tell you to run, do it.”

Riona nodded. She didn’t like the ordering her around, but she knew that if he told her to run, she better do it, because he could take care of himself, and he could do it a lot better if he wasn’t worried about her getting in the way.

“Come on.” He grabbed her hand, pulling her close against him.

His other hand was claws out and ready, and Riona shivered slightly. Getting out was actually fairly simple, and she was surprised that Logan didn’t have to fight there way out. He seemed to be wary of that.

“Come on. This way.” He found a manhole. “They’ll expect us to head for the forest; you have wings, and I have my sense of smell. We’re gonna hide down here, coat ourselves in anything gross to mask our trail, and get the hell out of dodge.” He tapped his temple. “Charles can listen for us; help figure out where to hide and when we’re close.”

Riona nodded. She climbed down first, and she blinked and let her eyes adjust to the darkness. It wasn’t much of an adjustment; her eyes were used to gazing at minimal light; she spent too much time awake at night. He squinted. She smiled a little.

“What?” he asked.

“Just…the signs of old age. How about I lead, and you just tell me where to turn?” She took his hand again.

“Well, fine.” He tugged on her. “Let me look at your back first, though.” He dropped her hand.

Riona slipped off the jacket. She could feel where the blood had stained the fabric, even if they were never going to see it against black. His fingers felt against her, and he let out a low rumble, mostly coming from his chest.

“I’m sorry I had to do that,” he said gently. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“You didn’t,” she said. “Come on, Logan. I trust you.” She didn’t think there was anything more to say, but he was still too tense. “Logan, I know you never would have done it if there was another option. Besides, the adamantium is better than the bone was. My Logan woke up because of me yelping when he nicked me in his sleep. Adamantium is so sharp you can’t even feel it.” She took his hand again, leading him into the darkness.

“You feel it when it stabs you. Maybe not just a cut.” His voice was low, but she could hear the twinge.

“Fair enough,” she replied. “But you didn’t hurt me. You did what you had to do to get us out, and you didn’t nick my wing at all, which is appreciated.”

“Yeah.” He let out a huff of air.

Riona just held onto him and pulled him deeper into the underground maze they’d found themselves in, but she knew that they were safer down here and together.

“Turn left ahead,” Logan said softly.

Riona squeezed his hand to acknowledge him and pulled him to the left as they approached the new tunnel.

“Do you trust me?” he asked her again.

“Always,” she said.

“Take another left.”

She did, and before she knew what was happening, he pulled out of her grasp, and he gave her a gentle push. She was no longer in the dark, back in the gardens of the school. She swallowed hard, looking back at where she had last seen him.

“Good luck,” she whispered. “Fuck.” Tears welled up in her eyes.

“Riona!” A familiar voice was loud, and then she was wrapped up in his arms. “Charles said he’d get you home.”

“It wasn’t Charles,” she said. “Or, maybe he helped, I don’t know. But it was you.” She clung to her husband, and she cried into the crook of his neck.

“I’ve got you, Riona.”

She nodded. He always did. No matter what version of him it was. She hoped that the other Logan could find peace, and she hoped that he wouldn’t be alone when he died.

#whumptober2021 #no.4 #do you trust me #taken hostage #fandom: xmcu #oc: riona #medium: fic #written in the stars (my writing)#paradisecost #v: hope is a precious thing #everything changes but the heart #ask to tag i guess for any tws or anything else

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anakinthetrashking · 4 years

Note

Ok, so you reblogged my post about bnha fic recs and I also looked through the ones you linked and I LOVED THEM. If its alright to ask, would you happen to have more Protective Aizawa or possibly Dadmic or Protective Present Mic? Also Protective Midnight or Momnight? Only if you have! Thanks! -bnhastanning

I somehow stupidly lost my reply to this ask, not once, but TWICE. at the end, when i was almost done. im so sorry but this will be the crappiest version yet... (also! hello, fellow batfam fan... *spiderman pointing meme*)

I read a lot of fic and i loooooove sharing them with people, so thanks for giving me an excuse to do this!! :D

lots of fics, so im putting them under the read more! One of these days I’ll get around to making more organized fic rec posts...

Dadmic: only a couple, and tbh i think they have more dadzawa in them?? Secondary Colors by NaoNazo

"You got pushed down the stairs... and you're apologizing for it," he stated blandly. "That seems counterintuitive." "Um... sorry?" Izuku whispered. He was starting to shake a little, adrenaline flooding his veins and leaving him cold. He had no idea what Purple was going for with his blunt statements and the hand reaching toward his shoulder as if to steady him, but apologizing was generally safe. "You don't have to apologize, dude. I don't know your name, but I doubt it's actually Deku." "Um. Midoriya." Izuku peered sideways at Purple as they rounded the corner. "Izuku Midoriya. Deku is just, um, just what my... friends call me." He winced. "Sounds real friendly."

and Cat Days by Griffinrose

Izuku has a shapeshifting quirk. He's not the best at controlling it, especially under stress. So when tragedy strikes and he gets lost in the city, he's stuck as a cat. At least he found a nice underground hero to take him in?

Pied Piper by Blackholeca has some really great concerned Dadmic in recent chapters!!

If they wouldn’t give him a chance then the solution seemed simple, he’d give himself one. He’d force the world to see him, force them to recognize his hard work. He wasn’t missing a quirk, it was simply that everyone else had been given an advantage. He wasn’t broken, or useless, or incapable, and he’d prove it by outrunning all of them, he who was quirkless, he who had started in last.

As for momnight, there are also only a couple, and im also not caught up with these either. i have a little bit more of an excuse with these, as Indefinite by OwlF45 is really REALLY long, as well as intense. Worth the read though! I just gotta catch up! So much mindblowing stuff in that, and the Momnight is really sweet.

It comes with the package deal of a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Midoriya gets another chance at life, but he must throw it away when that dreaded day comes. After all, a life for nineteen is more than a fair trade.

Or: the world will rise or fall, and it depends on one boy protecting Class 1-A to prevent the inevitable.

The other Momnight one I have is A Single Reason by TheDeepSeaWitch. Also really good, but really intense and I’ve had to take a break because I was getting a bit depressed, whoops. But I liked it!

Training begins the next day, and doesn’t stop for any reason. They wait for heroes, then for police, then for anyone to save them, but nobody comes.

It’s only a month before Izuku forgets their names. It’s a year before he forgets his own.

It’s only a chance meeting with an impassioned soul eight long, painful years later that saves them.

---------------------------------

They thought they were lost forever, that there was no future out there for them with their scars so visible and the blood on their hands still pungent and red. But if they have the strength to try, then perhaps, one day, they may yet find their forgiveness, and rediscover themselves along the way.

The Reforming Villains AU nobody asked for.

For Dadzawa:

Flare Signal by achievingelsium, of course! Annie writes some of my absolute fav dadzawa content, so definitely check it out!!

AU. Midoriya Izuku shouldn't be surprised he ended up like this: hiding the secret of One for All from his own father, the notorious villain Dragon. The path to being a hero is a hard one.

Or; Izuku is an aspiring hero forced to work for his father’s villain organization. Then he runs into All Might.

Izuku Ya’broker by Dreamillusions, is a fic i loved a LOT.

Perhaps you should actually listen to the news every once in a while, so you wouldn't end up in these kinds of situations. What kinds of situations? Glad you asked. Look at Izuku, for example. You would think Izuku would be at home after school, safe and sound from anyone attempting to, you know, kill him. But no, Izuku decided to roam around. Because of a bet. This is the kind of a situation you shouldn't end up in. Don't be Izuku.

Butterfly by aconstantstateofbladerunner, is rightfully popular! It has some horror/suspense themes though, so if thats not your style, try one of Blade’s other fics!! She’s a seriously good writer.

The first over-night trip off campus since the training camp was supposed to be a fun break from more intense work back home. But between a bleak introduction to chaos theory, a chilly reception from the locals, and the looming threat of a villain attack, Izuku has too much on his mind to properly enjoy the fresh air. But those worries are a light breeze compared to the hurricane that accompanies what he finds on the outskirts of town.

Or rather, what finds him.

A House Divided Against Itself by BeyondTheClouds777, another one of my fav fics by a great writer!

"Become a villain," they said.

“I’ll be a villain,” he said.

He lied. He’s only there so he can tear apart the League of Villains from the inside out.

The scars we carry by Banana_Ink is a great AU with plenty of Dadzawa

Aizawa rescued Izuku from the league of villains and takes care of the child for now. Izuku has two quirks in this AU, one natural - Forced Quirk Activation - and one that AFO 'gifted' him with - Self-Heal. He has a pretty big handprint-scar on his face and started as a problem child, scared and wary of people. But Aizawa managed to help him slowly heal.

This AU is just some silly little thing I came up in my freetime and like to add to it as I go, so I don't have a plan at all. Mostly I write for fun so I hope you might enjoy this as well :D

Ticked Off by Xenolis is a fic that I just want to rec all the time,,, for some reason...

~ ON HIATUS/OCCASIONAL UPDATES ~ Midoriya Izuku attracted trouble. It was just a fact of life – the sky was blue, the grass was green, and Izuku constantly found himself in an absurd number of deadly situations. He was okay with that. Mortal peril was an average Tuesday afternoon for a Pro Hero like him. Being kidnapped was practically a holiday. Saving civilians as a building collapsed around him was easier than facing his worried mum afterwards. He had dealt with All Might's disappointed dad stare and only cried for two hours afterwards. A serial killing villain with an unknown Quirk would be no problem! ..but even Izuku had to admit that being sent back in time to his first day at UA wasn't on the agenda. Still, there was no-one more spitefully determined than him – he was going to make the most of it. Yeah, good luck, heroes and villains alike! Deku was here to cause mischief and love his friends!

Toward A Bright Future by LazyRainDancer holds a special, soft place in my heart. I always want to go reread it after watching the show and I always want to rewatch the show after reading it. it never ends

You wake up at UA, the highest ranked hero school in the country, with no recollection of how you got there. Unfortunately, those aren't the only memories you're missing. Still, you can't let a little amnesia get in the way of you warning the school about the attack you know will happen during Class 1-A's field trip to the USJ. After you deliver your warning, you're beyond shocked when the principal offers you a position as a TA for Class 1-A. You accept the position in hopes that you'll be able to use your Quirk to help protect the students. It'll be far from easy, but you're determined to do whatever it takes to change the students' future for the better.

The rest don’t really have Dadzawa? But theyre really good so I had to rec them anyway

once forgotten, twice removed by blueh, good writer for multiple fandoms

“Yes,” All for One agreed. “This will be the final resting place of All Might.” “You,” Midoriya Izuku said and paused, thinking over the words. He sounded taken aback. “You want me to help fight All Might.” “Of course,” All for One nodded along. “I can offer you double of whatever my counterpart is paying you currently, along with anything your little heart could desire. Of course, you would get to help out drastically—" “Did you happen to check what world you were pulling me out of when you did this?” Midoriya Izuku interrupted and it was said in such an incredulous tone that had the situation not been as critical as it was, All Might would have laughed. Also known as: number one hero Deku has been through a lot of things, but being thrust into an alternate reality where he’s All for One’s Successor is a first. He has to navigate this world when his alternate self is a villain dead-set on killing him and all of this version of class 1-A. All the while, his friends search desperately for a way to get him back.

Office Space by Caelismylife quirkless izuku gets a job at UA analyzing quirks, HECK YES

It took a little time, but he eventually found himself with a job at UA. The revolving door of heroes was not in the contract.

To Repair with Gold by TitleUnwanted FEEEEELS

AU. Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me, biggest lie in the world. Tattoos, which appeared when quirks did, are when a person feels an impact on something they are told and it becomes inked on their body, the closer they show to your heart the deeper the impact it has on the person.

For Izuku this is a blessing and a curse.

An Accident at Workstudy by Galactic_Jax been enjoying this one!

Izuku is working hard to prove himself at his work study, but it's hard when Sir Nighteye has made it clear he's not wanted. But what happens when Izuku is caught in a villain attack on his way to the agency? Will a few revelations about his most recent intern's past be enough for Sir Nighteye to change his mind about All Might's successor?

Nice to Meet You? by Allwalkfree didn’t know i needed this until i read it

Kirishima introduces Bakugou to his favorite senpai. In which over several encounters Bakugou and Amajiki learn to become tentative friends.

A Study in Firsts by Oceanbreeze7 dorm shenanigans AND feels

There’s a first time for everything. The first time everyone crammed in Momo’s room to study, a mess of limbs and books on her bed. The first time Mina burned crepes so badly the smoke alarm went off. The first time a jumpscare got Sero so badly, he flipped off the back of the couch. The first time Uraraka fell asleep at the table and accidentally sent it floating. The first time someone realized Todoroki walked far too quietly, and far too cautiously around the dorms to be normal. The first time Midoriya broke his toe on a door frame and kept walking through it. The first time Kirishima woke up screaming through the walls. The first time Tsuyu blanched at the sight of a needle. The first time Bakugo dropped, clutching the back of his neck with eyes scarily vacant and detonating everything around him until Aizawa had to intervene. It wasn’t always pretty, but the dorms were filled with firsts.

Hero Class Civil Warfare by Roguedruid extremely satisfying to read

Heroes lead by Bakugo. Villains lead by Midoriya. Seven days prep time. Three days for Izuku Midoriya to show why they should be glad he's not a real villain.

A Fleeting Smile by AnonymousTwit good bakugou content

Or a collection of fifteen Bakusquad one shots where someone outside of the Bakusquad catches a rare glimpse of a friendlier side of Bakugou Katsuki, and one time that is specifically reserved for the four people that he hates the least.

Hope this gives you something to work with!!! I have more(and am always adding) in my bookmarks on AO3, but this should be a good start! Hopefully you’ll find at least one that you love! have a great day!!!! -Ani <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

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jaimehqs · 3 years

Text

Did you see the moving van outside? It looks like there is a new resident moving in. There’s a new name on the resident directory and it’s JAMES ‘JAIME’ CARMICHAEL. They are a 34 year old PEDIATRIC NEUROSURGEON (CURRENTLY IN FELLOWSHIP) and they seem quite cool. Well, they come across as someone who is COMPASSIONATE, RECLUSIVE & DEMURE but they can also be VERBOSE, WORKAHOLIC & STUBBORN.

TRIGGERS

as a disclaimer, below you will find triggering content, chief among them is CHILD NEGLECT and MENTIONS OF WORKING IN A HOSPITAL. my overall trigger warning tag to blacklist which will be used on ALL of my tw posts will be: hey don't look at this, but i will be tagging specific tags too.

PSA: if you’re interested, please check out my CONNECTIONS page !

BASIC INFORMATION

FULL NAME: james alexander malcolm carmichael

NICKNAME(S): doesn’t particularly mind his birth name, but at times people have often called him jaime.

BIRTH DATE: september 25, 1986

AGE: thirty-four

ZODIAC: libra

GENDER: cismale

PRONOUNS: he/him

ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: panromantic

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: demisexual ( it isn’t so much so that cris is completely disinterested in sex (he’s got a perfectly good libido, thank you very much), he just doesn’t find himself sexually attracted to people based on physical appearance or initial impressions. instead he finds personality, intellect, and existing emotional attachment considerably more compelling )

NATIONALITY: british

ETHNICITY: english, dutch-german jewish

OCCUPATION: pediatric neurosurgeon ( currently in his fellowship program )

POSTIVE TRAITS: independent, versatile, adaptable, curious, inquisitive, intelligent, divergent thinker, anti-authoritarian, self-actualizer, flexible, original, ambitious, charismatic, creative, loyal, thoughtful, warm-hearted, respectable, compassionate

NEGATIVE TRAITS: stubborn, unconventional, uncooperative, assertive, cynical, temperamental, withdrawn, restless, insecure, jealous, intolerant, naïve, impatient

BACKGROUND

BIRTH PLACE: england, united kingdom

HOMETOWN: oxford, england

EDUCATION LEVEL: went to university of oxford and majored in human physiology, went to medical school at ucl for 4 years, did residency for 7 years, and now is currently in last few months of pediatric neurosurgeon fellowship program

FATHER: william carmichael

MOTHER: diana carmichael

SIBLING(S): two older brothers and one older sister: nathaniel, matthew, and sarah

CHILDREN: none

PET(S): female ragdoll call named ginsberg ( yes, she’s named after allen ginsberg )

OTHER IMPORTANT RELATIVES: cecelia and grant ( grandparents on mom’s side )

PREVIOUS RELATIONSHIPS: 2 serious romantic relationships in the past

BACKSTORY

— TRIGGER WARNING BEGINS —

- when someone hears the name carmichael, they automatically think of words like prestigious, wealthy, and perfect. and who wouldn’t? with the father being a lawyer and mother owning her own real estate business, you had to think like that. in the public eye the carmichael family was flawless. everyone wanted what they had. jaime carmichael, was born into a world where perfection was of the utmost importance. the carmichael family is one of those prestigious families that has always been full of wealthy and high-class snobs, and jaime’s parents were no exception. he grew up learning how to be charming and how to be well behaved. jaime’s childhood years consisted of him sitting restlessly at various fancy parties and dinners, while his mother kept him from all the fancy treats so that he would grow up to be fit and strong. jaime’s parents were always cold and emotionally isolated from him, only after a perfect son to show off to the world.

- as a young, restless little child, jaime sought escape from his shallow, chilly life in the form of a friend. his friend taught him that there was such a thing as warmth and friendliness, told him lots of stories of greek mythology, and he learned that his parents had been lying about “tactless individuals” being horrible people. however, when his father found out about his associations with his friend, within a week, the boy mysteriously disappeared. since then, jaime kept all his unapproved-of friends to himself except from his grandparents on his mom's side who loved him unconditionally and were his best friends.

— TRIGGER WARNING ENDS —

- jaime is the youngest child of the 4 carmichael children & although there are age gaps between him and his siblings he doesn’t feel as though he’s the stereotypical ‘forgotten child’. this reason is solely base off the fact he typically makes himself scarce anyway to go off to do his own thing lmfao.

- for most of his adolescents up until adulthood, jaime always has had a rather tranquil personality. he never was one to act on emotion or impulsiveness, which meant most of his time he was seen in the his father's den reading about art history, helping his mother around, etc instead of learning the family business like his other siblings. it never personally interested him, so he never thought to pay much attention.

- because of his serene behavior, also came the fact that he’s mostly reclusive and demure, too. one would think being of carmichael blood would mean one would act diplomatic in all situations, but not for jaime. when given the chance, he will most likely be in the back listening rather than participating unless addressed, making him a great observer of his surroundings because of this skill. he prides himself on being a great listener in important situations even if people may believe he’s not particularly interested.

- a lot of people have come to believe over the years that because of his reclusive personality, he must be unapproachable.

- which he would clearly tell anyone that rumor is further from the truth. it’s not that he’s unapproachable, per se, it’s more of the fact he doesn’t typically go up to people to spark conversation unless it’s for work or art related means. otherwise, his conversational skills are subpar at best and he doesn’t mind much.

- as unfortunate as people’s misconceptions are when people do have the courage to approach him, they’re always surprised he’s rather civil, zen, and all around friendly and not at all like the rumors make him out to be. he always has to laugh at those kinds of things, of course.

- but besides that, he’s also witty and sarcastic. he likes to crack jokes and puns ever so often, even though he can have pretty dry humor at times. his sarcastic remarks are never meant to be harsh, but because of his dry humor undertones, he can sometimes come off rather offensive.

- although jaime has patience, he’s still a carmichael through and through, which he will not let anyone forget. he is unafraid to stand up for himself when he feels he’s in the right–or at least, attempt to do so. and although he strives to contain his zen aura, he can fall into fits of frustration and annoyance quite often when his family are involved ( which happens to be quite often ).

- jaime doesn’t care to raise his voice or scream his head off when he’s upset, because frankly, he doesn’t see that as a reason to make his point come across effectively. but when he does become upset, his silence speaks louder than any person’s words could muster. it’s actually quite scary how the atmosphere around him drastically changes when he becomes angry. in simple terms, he’s somewhat like a praying mantis in the ways he becomes very still & silent. one look can be a 1,000 words unsaid. if he’s upset at you, his silence will cut deeper than anything.

- importantly, jaime’s romantic sexuality is panromantic, meaning he would pursue both sexes and beyond romantically. when it comes to developing a far more intimate relationship, however, jaime is demisexual. meaning it is not so much so that he is completely disinterested in sex ( he’s got a perfectly good libido, thank you very much ), he just doesn’t find himself sexually attracted to people based on physical appearance or initial impressions. instead he finds personality, intellect, and existing emotional attachment considerably more compelling.

- although he often makes himself scarce when it comes to familial ties, jaime is fiercely protective and loyal to his family. no one will ever come between him and his family.

- he was born and raised in oxford, england.

- when he graduated from secondary school, he pursued a higher education by going to university of oxford. in the beginning, he wasn’t sure what he wanted to major in. the possibilities were endless, of course, but he wanted to pursue something he loved and also make a decent living on his own two feet when he graduated. at first, he thought he would be interested in something to do with the arts, but that dream died rather quickly when he rationalized how he didn’t want to make his passion for art into a full-time job that he would come to quickly hate in a few years. so, after some thought, he weighed his options and fell into step with human physiology. he always believed he had an eye for helping people and it was also a perfect career to fall into when it came to making a really great income. from there he studied his ass off by finishing university in 4 years, went to med school at ucl medical school, did his residency in 7 years, and is currently in his last few months of his pediatric neurosurgeon fellowship program.

- to put it plan and simple jaime is an art ho. jaime always loved anything artistic. even when he was little, he would go around with his disposable camera and take pictures of everything and then take to paper to draw the things he had taken pictures of as well.

- he’s like a hippie dippy child of the universe. no joke. no seriously, his place at home is full of sensual shit and art. it’s getting out of hand and somebody needs to stop him soon.

- he strongly believes that art is an umbrella term that relates to expressing oneself ( not just through photography and painting ) and that everyone has the freedom to express themselves however they please. because of his beliefs, he chooses to break gender roles like bread and wears whatever the fuck he wants because yolo.

- his appearance pretty much represents his hippie dippy lifestyle with him wearing all sorts of cute hipster shit. he’s clothes are v flow-y but don’t let that fool you. he doesn’t miss the opportunity to represent his upper-middle class within his style, so he does dress to impress, let me tell you ( he’s a fashion ho too ). his hair color changes sometimes too depending on his mood but it’s generally never too eccentric.

5 RANDOM FACTS

1. to put it plan and simple jaime is an art ho. jaime always loved anything artistic. even when he was little, he would go around with his disposable camera and take pictures of everything and then take to paper to draw of all the things he had taken pictures of as well.

2. he’s like a hippie dippy child of the universe. no joke. no seriously, his place at home is full of sensual shit and art. it’s getting out of hand and somebody needs stop him soon. he strongly believes that art is an umbrella term that relates to expressing of oneself ( not just through photography and painting ) and that everyone has the freedom to express themselves however they please. because of his beliefs, he chooses to break gender roles like bread and wears whatever the fuck he wants because yolo.

3. has a female ragroll cat named ginsberg. he named her after allen ginsberg because he’s obsessed with the dead poets society and sometimes deems himself as a member.

4. sometimes when he’s nervous, he will tap his leg pretty quickly.

5. jaime is never one to get drunk ever. he’s usually the one to always babysit the drunk ones ( he’s the honorary dad friend ), but he thought one day he would have a little solo party in his apartment on the one saturday night he had off and watch the lizzie mcguire movie for nostalgia purposes. long story short, he eventually ended up drunk on wine and recorded a whole music video of myself dancing to the ‘what dreams are made of’ song. let’s just say that video recording will never see the light of day.

OCCUPATION & INCOME

PRIMARY SOURCE OF INCOME: being a pediatric neurosurgeon.

SECONDARY SOURCE OF INCOME: when he has the time, he’ll usually do photography and/or art commissions. but it’s mostly only as a hobby and when he feels like it.

CONTENT WITH THEIR JOB (OR LACK THERE OF)?: it’s a tiring job, but well worth it.

PAST JOB(S): during high school, he used to help his mom with her real estate business by handing out flyers and during med school, he would work as a tutor.

SPENDING HABITS: mostly he spends money on his hobbies such as photography and art supplies. he also spends spoiling his cat, too. if he’s really feeling like a ‘treat yo self’ moment, he’ll splurge on a designer outfit or a shit ton of food.

MOST VALUABLE POSSESSION: when he was about 10 years old, his grandmother gifted him a book on the history of art because she knew he had a passion for it. it’s a bit tattered and dog-eared but it’s well loved when it comes to looking for inspiration.

SKILLS & ABILITIES

TALENTS: painting, being ambidextrous, somehow waking up at the ass crack of dawn every morning.

LANGUAGE(S) SPOKEN: english, french, and a bit of korean.

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE & CHARACTERISTICS

FACE CLAIM: ben barnes

EYE COLOR: deep brown. his eyes are as hickory as rich as the earth’s soil; stained with the color of hot chocolate on a cold winter night that wraps around you like a blanket; engulfs you in its warmth and makes you feel at home.

HAIR COLOR: warm brown. his hair is a lovely whisky, the color of fallen leaves browned and sleek with the first rain of autumn.

HAIR TYPE/STYLE: thick, full, and silky to the touch. shaved and shortened on the sides. primarily put into a curly contemporary quiff. sometimes grows out his hair to shoulder length and then puts it into a bun.

GLASSES/CONTACTS?: wears contacts and glasses.

DOMINANT HAND: technically both, but uses the right more.

HEIGHT: between 5′10-5′11.

EXERCISE HABITS: goes for a 2 hour run/jog every saturday morning, but let’s be real, he doesn’t exercise much lmao.

TATTOOS: currently doesn’t have any, but wants to get one someday.

PEIRCINGS: as a rebellious teenager, he once got his tongue pierced on a dare ( long story ), but ended up liking the look of it anyway ( he doesn’t wear it any longer but will sport it out once in while just for shock value ). he also has industrial piercing on his right ear and both lobes pierced.

MARKS/SCARS: probably? but nothing too big or noticeable.

NOTABLE FEATURES: has particularly long eyelashes.

USUAL EXPRESSION: neutral???

CLOTHING STYLE: light and flowy high fashion displayed throughout an extensive wardrobe, mixed with dark and elegant taste. commonly paired with rings of all sorts and simple necklaces.

JEWELRY: varies rings and necklaces.

ALLERGIES: none

DIET: predominately pescatarian.

PHYSICAL AILMENTS: none

PSYCHOLOGY

MORAL ALIGNMENT: true neutral and occasionally teetering on chaotic good.

TEMPERAMENT: delicate and unfaltering, never without a sense of poise. posture tall, a prominent feline sway in his walk – every move is calculated. appears very energetic and optimistic when first meeting, but has a very apollonian vibe once you get to know him well. very much of a flower child, as you will. he expresses his tranquility in his persona and actions.

MENTAL CONDITIONS/DISORDERS: generalized anxiety disorder.

OBSESSION(S): his cat, food, binge watching soap operas and sci-fi shows, baby yoda aka grogu, sleeping when he can.

COMPULSION(S): buying too much art supplies and home décor.

PHOBIA(S): coulrophobia ( fear of clowns ).

ADDICTION(S): none that he’s aware of.

DRUG USE: smoked weed once and thought he was gonna die. moral of the story, he never touched a drug again.

ALCOHOL USE: social drinker

MANNERISMS

SPEECH STYLE: can range from intimate, formal, to casual.

ACCENT: british

QUIRKS: refuses to hurt any animal, including insects, fights for human rights, belongs to a fan club, enjoys jokes with puns, has an obsession with a particular TV show, series, film, or franchise, gardens, is always reading, paints, takes pictures of everything, practices calligraphy, must drink coffee or tea to “wake up”, is “organized chaos”, loves to hug, taps foot when bored or nervous, sleeps during the day, always answers a question with a question, always answers a question with a question, goes off on tangents, is extremely sarcastic,

HOBBIES: photography, painting, anything art related.

DO THEY CURSE OFTEN?: like a motherfucking sailor.

FAVOURITES

ACTIVITY: anything art related.

ANIMAL: cats, red pandas, ferrets.

BEVERAGE: tea or coffee.

BOOK: and then there was none by agatha christie

COLOR: blacks, greys, purples, mustard yellow.

DESIGNER: balenciaga and dior

FOOD: salmon or tilapia

FLOWER: sunflowers

HOLIDAY: halloween

MODE OF TRANSPORTATION: train or car

SCENT: vanilla or lavender

WEATHER: fall type atmosphere

#florencev.intro #florencev-starters #child neglect tw #hospital mention tw #hey don't look at this

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the-smartest-mallard · 4 years

Text

One Last Night || Huriel

SUMMARY: Huey & Ariel take Kimberly for one last prom, and meet a few people along the way NOTES/TWs: TW for death, but it’s not explicit rlly; kinda sad but also super sweet <3

@ariel-the-rebel

ARIEL/KIMBERLY:

Ariel was still a passenger in her own body. And it was miserable! She couldn’t believe this was happening. This ghost - Kimberly - had basically tricked her into drinking with her - ghost powers or whatever! All she could do now was watch and rage at the new driver.

Kimberly, for the record, wasn’t loving this either. Ariel lacked not only her long hair and legs from another life - but also her sense of style. She had to really try and pull a suitable look together for prom considering this closet barely had anything.

But, she tried. And she thinks she did okay - especially after raiding another sister or two’s room. Honestly, how big was this Ariel girl’s family?

And when the doorbell rang, she dashed down the stairs to answer it. Taking only a moment just before to adjust anything that might have moved out of place then carefully answered with a big smile. “Huey?”

HUEY:

Huey had rushed across town, the Holy Grail still wrapped in a blanket in his backpack, and he had gotten changed as quickly as he could. He hadn’t thought about prom that much because he hadn’t thought he was going, so all that was left to do was grab a black suit from the back of his wardrobe, tame his hair, and then contemplate what on Earth he was going to do with the Holy Grail.

He couldn’t leave it at home. What if someone had been after them and was watching him right now? Taking it to prom seemed like a horrible idea too, too much scope for someone to pick it up and grab it, but he would definitely feel better if it was within his eyeline at all times.

He was going to have to take it to prom.

He checked his watch; he needed to get going. There was time to pin a swan feather from his collection (of feathers in general, not just swan feathers— that would be weird), and nab another before he left, backpack and Holy Grail in tow.

He pressed the doorbell at Ariel’s and then stepped back, waiting for the door to open. He was not at all expecting the sight he was met with — the dress, the heels, the makeup. He blinked, and then he smiled, “Hey. You look nice. Very nice. Are any of those from Ariel’s wardrobe?” He was just teasing… mostly. “I brought you something, but— well. I don’t want to ruin your outfit.” He produced a black swan feather, twirling it between finger and thumb. “It’s Swan Lake theme, tonight.”

ARIEL/KIMBERLY:

“Thanks. I did what I could with...this,” Kimberly groaned, gesturing to herself. Well, Ariel. “I had to raid two other sisters’ closets for some of this - the dress though, you’ll be pleased to know, was in her’s. In the way back though like a dirty secret.”

She giggled at herself, stepping out of the house now and closing the door behind her before walking over to Huey. What she was expecting next was flowers. Or a corsage. Instead, a black feather. Which she made a face at first.

Oh. Yes. The theme. She hadn’t even thought of that.

“I wish you’d told me about the theme before I got ready,” She huffed, taking the feather and after a moment just tucking it into her hair. It’d have to do for now. She then looked him up and down. “You clean up very nice yourself, though.”

HUEY:

“Yeah — Sorry.” Huey cringed a little, but in his own defence, he had forgotten there was a theme at all until he had gotten home and remembered his brothers talking about their outfits and prom and themes, in particular. And he also had a lot on his mind right now — being on-theme for the prom was the least of his worries.

The blush that coloured his cheeks when she looked him up and down was not unexpected, but still a little strange. It felt almost wrong, in a way, because even though the girl in front of him was technically his girlfriend, she also definitely wasn’t. He gave a weak smile, tried for a slightly better one, and then said, “Um, thanks. Might’ve done better with a little more time, but…” he shrugged, and then gestured to the street behind him. “Shall we get going?”

They were going to have to walk, but it wasn’t like it was far. With all the one way roads and tourist traffic it would probably take longer in a car than on foot. “Did anyone see you inside the house?”

ARIEL/KIMBERLY:

“Uh, are we walking? Really?” Kimberly whined, looking between Huey and the road. But the look he gave her said they indeed were, so she huffed and followed him down the steps of the Triton home. Which was not the home she expected Ariel to come from. “Fine. Let’s just go already.”

She lifted up her dress, being careful to not ruin it. She didn’t think it looked expensive or anything, but she did not want to be caught dead in a ruined dress by the time she got to prom. Even if it wasn’t her. And she was dead.

The thought only made her angrier, and she reached out, forcefully looping her arm with his. “Of course not. I’m very sneaky.” She wasn’t, but no one was home, thankfully. It seemed they’d all already gone off to enjoy the festivities.

HUEY:

Huey simply arched his eyebrows in answer; he could’ve been sarcastic, or he could’ve given her a genuine answer, but he figured that that look was enough. It wasn’t like it was far away, though he did make a mental note to keep an eye on her dress - he didn’t want anything happening to it.

“The queen of sneaky, apparently. I’m impressed you got that dress with no one noticing.” He meant that, too; there were only 4 in his house and he could barely get away with anything. He couldn’t imagine having 8 knocking about the place.

He didn’t mind her arm looped with his. He would’ve offered, if he hadn’t been worried that she would take his head off for it. Kimberly was kinda scary. “So who was your date meant to be? Anyone nice?” He paused, and then cleared his throat. “Or I can stop asking, if you want. We don’t have to talk about it.”

ARIEL/KIMBERLY:

Kimberly’s - Ariel’s? This was so confusing - lips came together in a thin line at that. Part of her wanted to order him to stop talking. Just take her to prom so she can have a good time.

But another part…

“His name was David,” She started, careful. She wondered what had happened to him. Had he been upset? Angry, even, that she hadn’t shown up to prom? Did he wonder about what happened to her? “He was...very nice. A real gentleman. He went all out asking me to prom.” The thought made her smile.

HUEY:

Huey nodded as he listened, wondering who the mysterious David might have been. Was he still in Swynlake? Did he remember her? He must do. Huey would remember Ariel forever, he thought, if she went missing… yeah, no, he didn’t want to think about that at all actually.

“He sounds great.” He told her, offering Kimberly a gentle smile. He hadn’t even really asked Ariel to prom; at first he had just sort of assumed they were going, and then they weren’t going at all. The smile on her face was enough to make Huey feel a little pit of guilt deep in his stomach — he really needed to make more of an effort.

“Fair warning, tonight might be… something. I don’t know if it’s always been a thing, but secondary school prom tends to be… dramatic.”

ARIEL/KIMBERLY:

“He was,” Kimberly said, nodding a little. Her eyes slipped closed for just a moment...perhaps caught up in memories of David. Or just her life before...well, this.

Death. A cold reminder slipping up her back and sending chills.

A bit of a buzzkill, aren’t you…

If she could hiss at the voice in her - Ariel’s - head - which was Ariel… Still! She’d do it! Do you know how hard it is to get ready when someone is telling you to stop in your head? Like they were screaming bloody murder? If anything, Ariel should thank her! She looked absolutely cute - and that took some effort.

She snapped out of the small argument she felt coming on with Ariel, then looked to Huey. “Define dramatic? Because I feel like when you say dramatic, you mean more than just crying in the bathroom.”

HUEY:

“Well… a few years ago someone set the gym on fire. I think that’s the worst it’s ever been, to be honest, but still. I wasn’t even there and I have PTSD.”

It was most of the reason why Huey dreaded this time of year, honestly. He loved a party (he really loved planning parties too, but being on committee meant working with one or many Ashleys, and he wasn’t about to volunteer for that), and he would love prom if he could just go and hang out with his friends and dance a little awkwardly and then go home after a night well spent. Unfortunately though… it seemed it was never destined to be just a simple night.

(For the record: the other reason he didn’t get too excited for prom was the theme. Dressing to a theme was hard…)

“Hopefully tonight won’t be too bad, though?” He tried for a smile, but he knew it was a little lacklustre “it’ll be fun. We’ll make the best of it, I promise.”

ARIEL/KIMBERLY:

Kimberly jerked slightly, turning her whole body to look at him. “I’m sorry - what? What kind of animals is that school raising?” She hissed.

Wait until you meet the Ashleys.

“And what’s an Ashley?” She sneered. “Ariel did not sound happy about them.”

But then she stopped, and listened to Huey. She knows she’s normally bad at that. Her father even told her that a lot. Maybe if she listened more, she wouldn’t be in this situation. Dead and lost to time.

“...I’m sorry. You’re right. Let’s - yeah, let’s try to have a good time.”

HUEY:

Ashleys. Huey immediately grimaced, looking down at his shoes. “An Ashley is one of several Ashleys who are all mean for no reason, each in their own special way. The move in a pack and think they run the place.” He paused, looking at Kimberly and shrugging. “They shouldn’t bother us, though. I get the feeling they’re gonna have more on their plate at prom. They take prom queen very seriously.”

He would just make sure they steered clear of the Ashleys as best they could tonight; it should be easy enough, cause like he said - the Ashleys generally had more to worry about than the two of them. Although, with Ariel dressed like that…

They were coming up on the school now, and Huey gave her a smile, a proper one. A good time. They could manage that. “Okay — get ready for the most magical night of your life,” he led her inside the building, casting a glance at the decorations. “...or something.”

ARIEL/KIMBERLY

Kimberly nodded, understanding completely. So they were the ones in charge. Looking at Huey, she knew why’d they single him out. He was very nerdy, after all. She wanted to bring up how she had been somewhat like that with her friends. Before the Grail consumed her life. But her words died in her mouth.

Huey was nice. And she didn’t want to make this more awkward. Despite her attitude.

As they came upon the school, she had a sick sense of deja vu and her stomach turned. It had been so long...and it looked so much the same. Yet so different. But he spoke again, trying to be cheery and they entered the building.

She laughed a little, the decorations coming into view and some poppy song she’d never heard assaulted her eardrums. “Afterlife, maybe,” She joked, then looked around. “Whoa...what do you guys think fashion is nowadays?”

HUEY:

Afterlife, of course. Huey actually laughed, which kind of startled him; it felt almost bad to joke about it. It was a sad, sombre sort of thing. But if she was the one making the jokes, well… maybe he was allowed to laugh?

Huey wasn’t surprised by anything he saw as he looked around the room of assembled teenagers. Every event was like some kind of costume competition, with the objective of being the biggest, most glamorous, most outrageous person in the room, and tonight was absolutely no exception. Still. He dreaded to think what an 80s prom might look like.

“Well… I mean, we used to think that about you guys. No offense. But why was everything neon?” Questionable, and Huey didn’t even know anything about fashion. He took a breath, looking again at Kimberly. “So… what do you want to do first?”

ARIEL/KIMBERLY:

Kimberly looked to Huey, and smiled a little at the laugh. It really lifted her spirits to hear it. Maybe tonight would be good. Maybe this was the prom she was meant to go to. Sure, she’d love to have gone to her own. Be among her own peers, but…

“Excuse you!” She gasped, swatting at him playfully. “My original dress was AMAZING, I’ll have you know!” She giggled though, still holding onto his arm as he continued to speak. Then hummed as she looked around. “Gosh, there’s so much - Oh! Lets go get a picture taken!” She said this, shoving him towards the little picture area. “So we can never forget and - oof!”

“Uh! Triton, what the hell, you clumsy little - what are you wearing?” Ashlé started as they ran into her, ready to tear them apart before taking a small step back to look at them. “Did one of your sisters pick this out?”

Kimberly’s nose scrunched up. Oh, she knew girls like her. Already five seconds in, and she knew. “Do I know you?” She asked, going to flip her long blonde hair but remembering it wasn’t there. “You and your train are in the way.”

Ashlé’s face soured more. “Mallard, what drugs is your girlfriend on?”

“Why - I’d never!” Kimberly chirped up, looking to Huey now.

HUEY:

A picture sounded good, actually. He didn’t want to mention the fact that it would be he who held onto it, not her, because she seemed to picking up a bit, and he knew better than to ruin that mood. So instead he gave a laugh, tugging her by the arm over to the backdrop they had set up—

Straight into the path of an Ashley.

Or Ashlé, to be specific. Huey sighed, about to just apologise and skirt around her… but apparently, that wasn’t to be.

“Kim— Ariel.” He hissed, giving her a warning look before he looked to Ashlé. It was absolutely not like Huey to talk back to an Ashley, especially not after that run in with Ashley A a while back, but maybe it was the fact that his girlfriend was possessed and he had the Holy Grail in his backpack - he was feeling bold.

(And maybe, on some level, he was sort of, just a little, trying to impress Kimberly. Maybe. Which was exactly why he said:)

“Well, y’know, it’s hard to recognise you under all that dress, Ashlé. Plus, with the lackeys back there, we thought it might be someone important.” Instant regret. He was dead. Time to leave. “C’mon, Ariel,” He tried to tug her out of the way, back towards the other wall.

ARIEL/KIMBERLY:

Get her, Huey!

Ariel’s cheers ran through the head Kimberly found herself possessing, and she was in agreement. Even impressed, her eyes widening a little in surprise as she looked to Huey. Now she understood why the little spitfire seemed to like him so much. Maybe there was more to him than book smarts.

“Real mature, Mallard. Going after a girls’ looks,” Ashlé twisted, taking a step closer, lackeys moving with her. In her heels, she came eye to eye with him, unlike most girls. Her hand reached out to grip the back of his tux, keeping him in place. “Just because I’m graduating doesn’t mean you’ll escape my wrath.” Her nails dug into him. “Don’t think you’re safe.”

“Oh, come off it!” Kimberly erupted, causing a couple heads to turn and glance curiously their way. She stepped forward and yanked the clawed hand off her date. “I don’t have time for bitches ruining my night! I’ve waited too long for whoever you think you are to come and ruin it!”

“Triton, don’t forget who you’re talking to!”

“I don’t even know who I’m talking to!”

HUEY:

Huey had explained to enough people by now that it was not just fight or flight, but fight or flight or freeze, a hidden third option chosen by most rodents. Right now he felt like just that, a mouse caught in the paws of a sadistic cat. So that was just what did — he froze, but he couldn’t help but look right back at her, meeting her gaze so maybe it looked at least kind of like he wasn’t sure he was about to die?

When Kimberly swooped in to save the day, he was more than a little relieved. He looked over at her, not at all surprised that she was something of a spitfire. She would have to be, looking for the Grail on her own, holding onto it like she had…

“I think we would all be having a better night if we were on opposite sides of the room.” He concluded, stepping back to make sure he was out of Ashlé’s grasp and reaching for Ariel at the same time, taking her hand before it could be used to slap Ashlé. “I’m sure if you start walking your minions will follow.” He added, looking between the two who were still just holding onto her dress. Did they know how to do anything else?

“C’mon,” he urged Kimberly, tugging on her hand. “Photo time.”

ARIEL/KIMBERLY:

Kimberly was very much thinking of Ashlé. And Ariel’s screams of anarchy inside her skull were definitely all the encouragement she needed.

But then Huey grabbed her hand, and she remembered where they were. Who she was with. And who she was. This was all beneath her. Even though she wanted to tear out every feather in this girl’s dress, she let Huey hold her back before silently nodding in agreement with him and turning away.

All Ashlé got out before they walked off was a huff and a, “Typical.”

“And there are more of them?” Kimberly harshly whispered to him as they made their way to the photo area.

HUEY:

“Unfortunately.” He muttered, shooting a look at Ashlé out of the corner of his eye. No doubt she would regroup with the rest of her coven, though whether Huey and (not) Ariel were big enough news to be passed on to the rest of the group was debatable. “I’m pretty sure they multiply every other day.”

Enough of that, though. Hopefully they wouldn’t have any more run-ins with Ashleys for the rest of the night.

He led her over to the backdrop — he didn’t know who had painted it, but it was actually kind of good, with the lake in the background and the scenery and stuff. Not a half bad job. The last group was just vacating the photo area when they got there, so before anyone else could swoop in, Huey pulled Kimberly forward. “Okay — this is your perfect prom, you get to pick the pose. Whatever you want.”

ARIEL/KIMBERLY:

Uh, Kimberly wanted to tear out those dumb feathers from that stupid dress. But Huey guiding her away was able to calm her down enough for her attention to switch to something more improtant. Pictures!

“Oh! We have to go classic, of course!” She said, now grabbing him and yanking him in place. “You know, you behind me. Hands around my waist, my hands on your’s. You know!” As she spoke, she tried to pull him into the position, no matter how awkward his long limbs moved in comparison to her.

She wondered for a moment how someone so small as Ariel kissed him. Which got an angry rant from Ariel herself - which went ignored. She’d gotten quite good at ignoring her.

“Okay, ready? Okay! Smile!”

HUEY:

“Right, right,” Huey nodded, his mind casting back to all those vintage photos of people at their proms. Did people even still do that? He wasn’t surprised to find that he didn’t care. It’d be a nice photo, something that would be funny in hindsight, and if it made Kimberly happy, he wasn’t going to complain. He just let her drag him into the right position, trying not to accidentally elbow her in the ribs or step on her toes or something as he wrapped his arms around her middle.

For a moment, he thought about how it was still so strange, looking at his girlfriend and seeing someone else. Because sure, her eyes were a different colour now, and she was wearing clothes that Ariel was probably really mad about, deep down in there, but it was more than just that. She seemed totally different, her expressions, her mannerisms — he didn’t know how no one else had noticed it.

The flash went off on the camera, momentarily blinding him, and Huey used the time spent blinking stars out of his eyes to stow that thought away. A few more hours and Kimberly could be at peace, and Ariel would be back. In the meantime, they just had to try and navigate prom.

“Let’s go look at it,” he urged her, pulling her towards the photographer as he showed off the photo he’d taken. “Well?” He looked at Kimberly. “Do I make a good enough model or do you want a redo?”

ARIEL/KIMBERLY:

Kimberly couldn't help but giggle at Huey’s reaction. “Good job,” She said, before letting him pull her away and over to the camera to take a look. And she had been right. “We look great!”

Well, him and Ariel. But still her, but - it wasn’t. It was weird to imagine if he or her would keep that photo after she had...whatever. Another thing that was weird to think about. This whole thing was. Ner in her wildest dreams would she think she’d be here. Even in Swynlake.

“You did really good. Come on! Lets hit the floor!” She said, bouncing a little with excitement as she pulled him off in another direction. “I don’t know this song, but I get the vibe it’s going for.”

HUEY:

He wasn’t sure why he was so uplifted by her approval, but he was. When he’d first picked her up from Ariel’s house, he’d wondered if the entire night would be him making the wrong move and her taking a swipe at him for it, which he could’ve put up with, but… well, neither of them would’ve enjoyed the night, would they? This was much better. Apparently all it took was some boppy pop music and a half-decent photo backdrop for them to warm up a bit.

Huey laughed as he was pulled towards the dance floor. Dancing was not in any way his strength, but he had the spirit. “It’s a good song.” He agreed, trying his best to move to the rhythm and not take someone’s eye out.

Before they had been there too long, though, someone bumped into him, and then stumbled past, just managing to stand on the back of Kimberly’s dress.

“Woah!” JJ cried, looking at the pair. “Sorry!”

ARIEL/KIMBERLY:

Kimberly yelped in surprise, causing a couple heads to turn, and she whipped around to face the culprit. Of course, she had no idea who this was. But she was already fired up from their earlier interaction and wouldn’t think twice about tearing into this new victim.

“Watch where you’re going next time!” She huffed, looking down to her dress with pity. Then back up at the teen again. Then back at Huey, as if catching herself just in time to ask if she was going too far.

And by his expression - and Ariel’s continued raging inside - she realized she had.

So, she pursed her lips, tensed up, then sighed and looked back to him. “I mean - sorry. It’s my sister’s...You know? Don’t want it ruined.”

You are terrible at this.

HUEY:

Huey could only blink, surprised, as apparently could Jack Jack, who looked at the would-be Ariel with wide eyes and increasingly red cheeks. Huey didn’t really know the youngest Parr that well, but that was probably a good thing — it probably meant he kept out of trouble, unlike his siblings.

Luckily for them, though, JJ wasn’t wasn’t totally unused to girls shouting at him — the perks of having a sister. If it could be called a perk. He recovered quickly, with a small shake of his head that tousled his curls and brought a small, kinda nervous smile back to his face.

“Right, yeah - lemme make it up to you! Uh…. there’s pizza?” JJ offered. “I will definitely fight the hordes of hungry teenagers to get you a slice. A good slice.”

ARIEL/KIMBERLY:

At that, Kimberly seemed to perk up. It had been so long since she’d had - well, any type of food. And just at the mention of it, Ariel’s tiny body seemed to growl in hunger as well. Perfect timing.

“Actually, that’d be perfect,” She said, smiling sweetly and grabbing his arm. “If you need a weapon, you can take this purse with you as well. I chose it because it seems good to smack people around with.”

Old habits did die hard, she supposed. Plus, she was gettign tired of carrying. Win - win for everyone.

HUEY:

The offer seemed to have gone down well, which was enough to make JJ stop sweating, but not enough for him to feel fully at ease. His impression of Ariel had always been that she was kinda chill, not… whatever was going on here. But hey, he didn’t know her, maybe she contained multitudes. He wasn’t gonna judge. He just took her purse, tucked it under her arm, gave a mock salute, and was on his way.

Huey, however, was absolutely judging, and he glanced around to make sure that most heads had turned back to whatever it was they were doing before her little outburst. He couldn’t blame Kimberly for reacting — that wasn’t her dress, and it was a nice dress, so someone stepping on it was definitely cause for concern — but still. Ariel wouldn’t have reacted like that. Ashlé suspecting was one thing (she had probably already forgotten about them both by now, seeing as to her they were ants, and she was a sadistic kid with a magnifying glass), but others might not. They needed to keep on the down low as much as possible.

And he had been so busy thinking, and worrying, he didn’t notice the other two had started moving through the crowd. “Hey, wait up!”

It was easy enough to follow them. JJ carved a path through the crowd with his free elbow and the purse, the two of which seemed like a pretty solid combination. Huey managed to get past just as people started mingling together again, trailing them all the way to the pizza table.

“Look out, coming through, hungry lady here, c’mon,” JJ battered his way to the front, earning a few disgruntled mutterings as he went, and gestured to the cardboard pizza boxes littering the table. “M’lady.”

ARIEL/KIMBERLY:

Kimberly found it hard not to giggle at this newcomier’s antics. Was he a little sloppy and clumsy? Yes, but at least he had good intentions. Unlike the girl. So, she held up the end of her dress and followed along, smiling all the while.

She threw that smile back at Huey before turning back to the pizza.”Thank you, good sir. I think we’re even now,” She said as she carefully grabbed her and Huey a slice on a paper plate.

“Uh, JJ?” A voice came, and Kimberly turned to see a small Chinese girl looking at them all curiously. Blinking, Su looked between them, but kept looking back at her suspiciously. “Hey...you guys in a rush or something?”

HUEY:

Jack Jack gave a miniature bow, making sure to nab a piece of pizza for himself before the crowds descended on them once again. Honestly, he thought he was gonna have to get himself a one of those purses, cause Ariel was right: it was very good for whacking people with. He’d never have to wait in line for anything ever again with one of those things.

To save from being jostled away from the table, Huey stepped up behind Kimberly, looking over her shoulder. He didn’t know why seeing a slice there for him too made him smile; it was just the polite thing to do. Although, Kimberly had proven if there was one thing she wasn’t, it was polite. So. Huey was gonna choose to take this one as another sign that she was warming up to him.

He was so distracted by that slice of pizza that he didn’t notice Su until he saw Kimberly’s head move. He only really knew Su as Mei’s sister, ot as her own person, which sure was a little weird, but he assumed, if she was anything like Mei, that she was nice. She certainly seemed it.

“For pizza,” JJ answered, and Huey reached around Kimberly, grabbing a box with a few slices left inside. He handed it to the younger boy, who held it out to Su. “Payback for standing on Ariel’s dress. I got her, and now you, the best pizza Swynlake Secondary has to offer.”

ARIEL/KIMBERLY:

Kimberly eyed the young girl back, then looked to Huey and JJ. “Yeah - he’s lucky I’m so merciful tonight,” She joked, laughing and waving off the odd air that came over them. “Anyway - JJ, you and Su can go dance or eat pizza. I think me and Huey are going to have some time alone, you know?”

She wrapped an arm around Huey’s thin waist, smiling sweetly at the two then up at her not but Ariel’s boyfriend. Still, Su stood there, hesitant for a moment, then looked back to JJ. “Okay...what kind do they have?”

And with that, Kimberly took the distraction to usher Huey away, giggling a little as she did so.

HUEY:

Huey wasn’t sure entirely why, but he blushed at that.

Maybe it was the arm around his waist, which was technically Ariel’s but also very much not Ariel’s right now, or maybe it was the little look Jack Jack gave them, the glance between the two of them and the small nod before he turned around to Su to play waiter (literally, he was doing a little mock bow again). But either way, Huey was glad it was kind of dark in there as he was pushed back towards the crowd, leaving the pizza table behind.

The night after that seemed to go in kind of a blur. People getting thrown into punch bowls, prom king and queen, and the drama that had followed (there was always some kind of drama; prom was just like that), all of which Huey was very glad to not be a part of. When the dancing had resumed after Nemo had… yeah. Huey wasn’t thinking about it. He had just been grateful to get back to what had otherwise been a pretty good night — Kimberly was definitely a better dancer than him, but he didn’t even care.

With the night wearing on, the music was starting to slow down a little. Huey didn’t even know what the song was, to be honest, but he put his hands on Kimberly’s waist and swayed along to it, just a little off beat.

“Y’know,” He paused, wondering if he should tell this story. It wasn’t like Ariel wasn’t there. But still. It was a nice story. “This is actually how me and Ariel got together. It was a wedding, not a prom. But we were dancing, and then the song went all slow, and it seemed kinda awkward to stop dancing… and then she kissed me.” He paused, and then added, his tone a little softer. “She’s a lot braver than me. Which is good, ‘cause you could’ve been in my body, and I don’t think that’d work for anyone.”

ARIEL/KIMBERLY:

Despite the circumstances, Kimberly was having a nice time. Especially once she settled into the festivities. She would dare say Ariel was also having a good time, deep down. Literally, wherever she was and how possession worked.

And Huey wasn’t a bad partner for the evening either. He was kind. And went out of the way to make sure she was okay. And comfortable. She appreciated that.

With her arms looped around his shoulders, swaying comfortably with the music, she smiled up at him at that. “That sounds about how I’d see it going,” She chuckled, patting at his chest. “Oh really? I was about your height, you know? But I would have definitely made you wear heels to this, whether you liked it or not.”

Another little laugh, shaking her head. This was - nice. On the verge of perfect. But the faces were all wrong. But she could pretend...if not just for a moment…

“This has been really nice...actually.”

HUEY:

Kimberly really hadn't been bad company either. He might’ve had a better time with Ariel, cause there wouldn’t have been that weird awkward period right at the start there, but it had been good. Nice. And he could do it all again with Ariel next year, if they wanted to.

“Ah, and you would’ve ruined my cool guy reputation.” His nose scrunched as his laughed, ‘cause the idea of him really was laughable. He could barely walk in a straight line as it was, he couldn’t imagine trying to walk in heels. Though that would have been her problem, not his.

He was glad that she was having a nice time, though. That she’d enjoyed it. Being trusted with someone’s prom, when they were… she only had the one night, is what he was saying, and he had worried about it being his responsibility. It was nice that he could give her that.

“I’ll try not to be offended by the actually.” He teased, before glancing around the room. “We could call it a night, if you want? Before anymore calamities.”

ARIEL/KIMBERLY:

“Pfft - whatever,” Kimberly chuckled.

At his suggestion, she looked around. After the crowing ceremony drama, about half of the attendees seemed to clear out, so there was so much more room for them on the dance floor. But, if that was only a taste of what Swynlake’s modern secondary could offer her for drama, getting out sounded like a good option while she still could. They’d managed to stay out of trouble so far, may as well not push it

“Yeah...it’s probably best that we go now before a second wave of drama comes,” She hums, pulling away for a moment then grabbing his hand and leading him out the gym doors and into the hall of lockers. “What now, lover boy?”

Though, she knew. It was time for her to go. Even though a part of her didn’t want to go. Was still in denial that she had long since passed. And this wasn’t her body.

“One more walk though, for old time sake?”

HUEY:

He didn’t really want to say it, but he saw the recognition flash in her eyes. He didn’t know how any of this worked, but… he knew it was time for her to go. Into the light, to the other side, whatever it actually was. Her soul had been tied to the Grail, and now to Ariel, when she had drank from it. Maybe if anyone else had found it, Kimberly really would have achieved eternal life. Or at least, she would’ve passed on to the next person, and the next person after that, hopping bodies for eternity.

But they’d given her what she wanted. One last night, one last prom. That would be enough for her to move on, wouldn’t it?

“Sure.” He nodded, giving her hand a squeeze. “I know a spot.”

Town was almost eerily quiet, what with most people either being at the secondary school or the adult prom, but it was nice. It made Huey feel a little better about hauling the Grail around with him; it was just the two of them.

Well. The three of them.

It was equally quiet by the lake. It might’ve been creepy on any other night, the full moon reflecting on the deep, dark water, but it felt sort of on theme for prom, actually.

“Well… was prom everything you expected it to be?”

ARIEL/KIMBERLY:

The lake was still as beautiful as she remembered. Almost like it hadn’t changed since her time alive and young and free. The full moon looming over them - it was perfect. It made tears sting at her eyes. Her town....she loved it.

In life, she wasn’t too big on Magicks. She’d thought them dangerous. Scary. David had taught her differently. And because of him, she wanted to do better. Which is how she got mixed up with the Grail - and here she was now.

“It...it was something else,” She admitted, but smiled sadly at him. “I had a great time, Huey.” Taking a breath though, putting back on a firm face, she nodded and wiped at her eyes. “Listen to me - you need to get that Grail somewhere safe. It can’t - this can’t happen to anyone again, alright?”

HUEY:

Huey nodded earnestly, knowing that they were going to do their best. Turning it in to Town Hall would be so simple, but what then? What if someone got their hands on it, someone who decided to use it for evil? He knew they were in danger by holding on to it, but he also knew that it was better that they did, that it was safe with them, for now. It needed to be taken back to the forest, to be buried deep down somewhere, somewhere where no one would ever find it again.

“We will.” He assured her, taking her hand and squeezing it gently. “Ariel and I, we’ll make sure that it gets into the right hands. We won’t let it go until we’re positive. And we’ll make sure, wherever it goes, it’s far away from anyone else.”

Huey could only imagine how the Grail could be used to hurt someone. To ensnare them like Kimberly had been, or to threaten, or… well, he could imagine a lot of things, and none of them pleasant. “I promise. We’ll take care of it.”

ARIEL/KIMBERLY:

Huey took her hand, and Kimberly felt a sudden calm come over her with the squeeze of her hand. She took a breath, sharp and deep then looked him in the eye and smiled. “I trust that you will. Good luck,” She said, her voice shaking a little. “And thank you.”

And with that, Ariel’s bright blues came back. A silence overtaken her and she blinked once. Twice. Then looked to Huey. “She’s...gone.” Her hand, now once fully her own again, squeezed his tightly and smiled just the slightest. “She’s okay though…”

HUEY:

Huey was sad to see Kimberly go, but he had to admit — he was glad to see Ariel return, brown melting away into blue again. He didn’t know what to say, at first. He didn’t know if she was upset at having someone else control her body, or angry, maybe. She really did have the right to be either of those, given the circumstances. All Huey did was wait for her to say something, smiling back at her when she smiled at him, even if it was barely there.

“And you?” He asked, browns furrowing a little. He was glad to know Kimberly was okay, wherever she was now, but Ariel had been a passenger for a while now. Who knew what that could do to a person? Would it have any side effects? “How do you feel?”

ARIEL:

Ariel laughed awkwardly at that. Honestly, she didn’t know. It was weird now having control. Suddenly the weight of life crashing down on her. Was it...weird to feel a little sad she was back in control? All the responsibilities of her life coming back to her?

Probably. And she really didn’t want to voice it. If anything, she was tired.

So she nodded, leaning forward until she was fully leaning against him, head resting on his shoulder and wrapping her arm that wasn’t holding his hand around him. “Yeah...I’m fine just...super tired. It’s been a long night.” She turned her head up to look at him though. “I missed you though…”

HUEY:

Huey wasn’t surprised that she was tired. He could imagine that being possessed was pretty stressful, even if the ghost you were possessed by was just a girl from the 80s who wanted to go to prom.

He leaned his head against Ariel’s, face smushed into her hair, and wrapped his free arm around her in turn. He didn’t know if Ariel was telling the truth about Kimberly being at peace, and he still had the Holy Grail in his backpack, and yet this moment was the most calm he’d felt all night. The quiet and the chill to the night air… it was calming. Comforting. And Ariel was back — that was a lot of it, too.

He straightened up when she tilted her head, dipping his chin so he could look at her. “I missed you too.” He told her, and he meant it, too. He wished they could’ve had prom, but there was always next year, he supposed. “I’m really glad you’re back.”

ARIEL:

Ariel smiled up at him. Why were her eyes all wet? Uh, she felt so dumb and sappy but also didn’t care. She slowly reached up, pulling her hand from his and set it on his cheek before leaning up just a little more to press a kiss to his lips.

“Sorry I...pulled an Ariel,” She tried to joke. “I don’t know what happened there…”

Aside from the odd pull of the Grail. She wondered if that’s what happened to Kimberly. She figured though she’d never know that. And with luck, they never would. Because while she wanted to just live in this soft, rose tinted moment against Huey, the weight of what just happened clung to her tired body as well.

“But we have to get rid of that thing...get it somewhere safe,” She said. “No one should have to go through what Kimberly did again…”

HUEY:

The kiss was soft, and sweet, and enough to distract him from the many, many reasons he had to worry right now. He kind of just wanted to stay like that, in the cloud of her perfume, with the warmth of her body against his, not worrying.

But she was right. They needed to do something.

“You’re right.” He agreed, pulling back just a little, enough to meet her eyes properly. “I’ll keep hold of it, tonight.” He assured her. It was still in his backpack, as it had been all night, and it would stay there. He’d take it home, and hide the bag somewhere safe for the time being. At least they were out in the farmlands, where it was quiet, where he or his Uncle or on of his brothers would notice the footfall of strangers.

“And I’ll think about who we can give it to. I’ll do some research.” That wouldn’t be difficult; he loved doing research. “There has to be someone who can take it back out to the forest and hide it.”

#( t; one last night )#huriel #i miss kimberly already #huey be like: i cant help but notice that i sTILL HAVE THIS GRAIL #anyhow #sad sweet teens

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super-nixed-blog · 4 years

Text

The Organization

She looked up from her notebook and switched pens to write her story. She was sitting in the student lounge on the fifth floor staring out the window wondering where to start. That’s when she noticed the cloud of smoke slowly rising above the tree line somewhere in the distance. She knew that’s where she had to be, not here staring out a window trying to write yet another story she probably wasn’t going to finish.

She got up, packed her stuff into her bag then raced down the steps and out the building. She ran in the direction of the smoke, not caring that she was going to run out of parking lot soon and trespassing was an illegal thing.

She had an idea of what the smoke was from so she needed to hurry up. She hopped fences and sped through backyards as fast as possible towards the smoke.

She was part of an organization, they molded kids into elite adults. They’d each have a set of skills that the average person wouldn’t have and they’d each have one master skill that they’d be best at. The Organization is made up of five groups. Each group has at least one sub-group and there’s a sixth group whose members are good at everything so they made their own group.

As kids, they would live normal lives but after school they would go to a sort of secondary school where they learned how to fight, hack, gather information among other things. As they got older, they learned more and more until they were about eighteen and were divided into groups based on their skills. Sure they all learned the same things but some kids were better at it.

She was part of the explosion management segment of the organization. Her segment dealt with all types of explosives and demolitions and went into how to make and defuse bombs. Anything that had anything to do with explosions, her group was there.

Naturally the group leader had found some old buildings that were set to be torn down and her group was going to blow them up instead to get real life experience. The only problem was that the smoke she saw wasn’t supposed to be there yet. It was a day early.

This would be the first time in years that any of the segments got real world experience because seven years ago one member from each segment came together to form their own group, which wasn’t unheard of, but they chose to rob banks instead of testing each other. It was all for the good of the organization though, even though it was illegal.

Everyone knew it was them but no one said anything. They all had some sort of unwritten agreement. The group would keep bringing in money and no one would say anything. Simple and it worked. During a slow period, the organization made thousands, almost a million dollars.

They had formed their own sort of Robin Hood and Bonnie and Clyde group within the Organization. They’d rob the banks and deposit the money in the organization’s bank account. Of course they got caught and were stripped of their membership access and thrown in jail. But because of them, the organization survived the dry spell.

The members of the group each had a task to do when they robbed the banks. The hacker would hack the cameras, the groups riflery specialist would keep look out on a roof across the street. The language specialist would talk to the teller. The poison specialist would be the one to carry the money out and the explosive specialist would be planning an alternate escape and occasionally have to open the safe.

They were perfect until that last run. That’s when they got caught. No one really knew exactly what happened since everything was going according to plan but the police were already on their way there. The group had been arrested before they could even get to the safe.

The members of the group never spoke about robbing banks, they didn’t snitch on each other either. They all got the maximum sentence for it. They each got 25 years for that robbery and police began looking into their pasts to see if they were involved in the other robberies that occurred in the four months leading up to them being caught.

Nothing could really be proven though except for the one that they got arrested doing. But that didn’t stop current members from idealizing them and wanting to get them out of prison. They wrote letters trying to prove their innocence and talked to judges trying to get them to understand. But no one listened.

Some members, mostly members from the hacking group and the explosive group came up with a couple plans to break the other members out of prison. That’s what the explosion today was. She knew it was going to happen but didn’t know when. She wasn’t even sure if this was it. She wasn’t part of the jailbreak group. She had told the leaders of the organization but they told her to come back when she had actual proof. She never got that proof, which is why she was now racing towards the explosion hoping it wasn’t what she thought it was.

As she ran the saw a couple other members running too. And she knew, this wasn’t the prison break group. It wasn’t until she saw members of her segment running in the opposite direction that she fully knew. They had started testing early and something went wrong.

She stopped someone, reaching her arms out to grab them as they ran past her. “What happened? What’s going on?” She questioned slightly breathless.

“The explosion, it was only supposed to be a small test. We tried to blow up a small car but now…the prisoners are loose. All of them.” The person said running away again.

It was the prison break group. One of their plans was to change the location of a test explosion so that when the explosive segment tested it, it would loosen the ground outside the prison. It was the perfect escape apparently.

The prison break group was in contact with the prisoners and they had found a drainpipe that they could use to escape. They had managed to get into the pipe then dig into an existing tunnel that lead to the test site.

She ran faster hoping to find her segment’s leader, he was supposed to be there to make sure everything went right.

People were running and screaming all around her. She looked to her left and saw a man in a jumpsuit chasing a teen into a nearby backyard. The crowd of people thinned as she got closer. Then it turned into a mass of men and women in jumpsuits all gathered around a group of five. She immediately knew who they were, their pictures were in the entrance hall of the Organization. Everyone knew their faces. They were villains and heroes at the same time. People loved them for what the did and others hated them for it.

She stopped just short of the group and watched for a bit in horror and amazement, she couldn’t decide at the time.

“Today we are free men and women. This is our second chance don’t screw it up.” The leader of the group said, then turned his back to the larger group and started walking away. The rest of his group followed suit. The larger group just stood there and looked at each other until they heard sirens in the distance. They all started to run in every direction. Determined not to get caught.

In the chaos of the scrambling escapees, she lost the former organization members. She knew she had to get out of there before the police showed up but couldn’t be seen by one of the inmates. That’s when she felt a tap on her shoulder. She swung around ready to attack but stopped herself when she saw it was her segment’s leader.

“Good, you’re here. Let’s go.” He turned around and walked out into the mass of scrambling inmates. She followed close behind him, making sure not to lose sight of him.

“Where are we going? Why are they ignoring us?” She had so many questions but those were the first two to come out.

“I made a deal. No one in the explosive segment was to be touched.”

“So you were part of this all along?”

“Yes and no. I’ll explain later. For now, we need to get out of here.”

“Fine, but only because I need to know what exactly is going on.”

The two walked through the chaos and into a nearby house. The leader sat down at the kitchen table and motioned for her to sit across from him. “So, I’m sure you have a lot of questions. Let me start by saying that, you were right to report to the leaders when you found out about the prison break plan. Only problem was you didn’t have enough information for them to investigate.”

“Yeah, I know. I was there.” She rolled her eyes.

“Of course, as was I. Here’s what happened, you know how each group has its own separate account. Well the group of robbers funded our segment for a while, long before they robbed banks for the Organization. They were a separate, secret group within the Organization. There’s always one every few years. The only problem was this one got a little too greedy so we, the leaders of the Organization had to set them up.”

“So then why break them out of prison if you’re the ones that put them there in the first place?”

“Well, we need a new group to fund the Organization and the sub-groups now. It has after all been seven years.”

“Okay, but why am I here? I tried to rat you guys out to the leaders.”

“Simple, you were very close to the exact plan when you told the leaders what was going on, that’s why there were multiple plans. Now, we want you to lead your own group in catching the prisoners. Of course we’re making this a competition which anyone can join. But I figured I’d give you a heads up so you can pick your team now.”

“I don’t get it. Why me though. Sure I basically figured out your plan but why reward me? It makes no sense.”

“Don’t think of it as a reward. Think of it more as a warning. Taking on this task means that you can’t have a fully normal life. You would essentially be a wanted fugitive for the rest of your life if anyone on your team screws up. But if all goes well and you’re not greedy, you’ll be heroes.”

He tried to make this sound as pleasing as possible. She didn’t know what to do. While the chance to be the Organization’s source of income was interesting, something told her not to do it. “I can’t lie, I have a bad feeling about this.”

“As you should. If you didn’t then I’d be concerned that your training was useless.”

“How long can I think about this for?”

“You have until sunset when the rest of the Organization finds out.”

“Alright.” She stood up to leave. She went to the front door and looked out. Everything looked calm. It was quiet. There was no one in sight. “Where is everyone? What happened?”

“Don’t worry about them, they’ll all be returned by tomorrow night. The ones you should be worried about are the five that left before everything got crazy.”

“How will everyone but them be caught. Are you tracking them?” She accused already knowing the truth.

“Of course we are. We can’t have a bunch of prisoners escape from a prison we built.” He stood and left out the back door.

She opened the front door and stepped out. She looked around and saw that everything looked normal and there were no sirens anywhere. She looked up at the sky, it was still blue but there was a hint of an orange glow slowly creeping its way across the sky towards her.

She started walking back towards her school knowing she wouldn’t get there before sunset but she just had to think about her options and walking helped her think things through better.

She pulled out her phone and typed a text and hit send after thinking about it for five minutes.

“I’ll do it.”

“Good. You start right now. Good luck.”

#short story #writeblr #writers on tumblr #writer #to be continued #what's next

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peeterparkr · 5 years

Text

Laces of Illusion|t.h.|h.o.

pairing: harrison osterfield x reader x tom holland

soulmate au (only you au)

summary: for a hopeless romantic like you, it would be ideal to know who your soulmate is, how long will it take for you to discover true love doesn’t exist?

prologue (including the teaser.)

word count: 2.9k

warnings: ouija board, divorce, some swear words,

IF YOU READ THE TEASER SCROLL AND YOU’LL FIND A ‘-’ and then the new part starts.

series masterlist next chapter

Prologue-The name that keeps popping up.

And they lived happily ever after.

Every single fairytale seems to remind you that dreams indeed do come true, it makes you forget the big agony and the big bitch life can be. And for a six year old girl, the dream was just the beginning, there wasn’t yet any utter realization that life wasn’t easy. Y/N was a love enthusiast, she grew up believing in soulmates since she was younger, and by younger, I mean a girl who believed in the concept since she was 3. The innocence of a child is a magical journey. Not to be mistaken with their naivety, that’s a whole other problem. Children need to believe the world isn’t as bad, and she didn’t. She believed that there was hope, let’s call it, faith, trust and pixie dust. That really isn’t a problem. Is it?

In this case, it was a big problem. With her eyes fixed on the false stories with happy endings, that was what would clearly be her downfall, she hid herself under a lie, under a pink world that would be soon crashing above her. She dreamed of a life as a princess, and with a love life of a romance movie. She was a hopeless romantic.

For her, there was no greater adventure than finding someone with whom you would spend the rest of your life and live, of course, happily ever after. She didn’t know that the greatest adventure she wanted to have would be nothing compared to the real story. The road to a new life.

And it all started when she was six years old. Sometimes children are a little naughty, she was no exception. Y/N never had her doubts and after having seen for the umpteenth time a romance film in which they ended up married and ‘happily ever after’, y/n decided that maybe it was exactly the moment to believe even more. Her parents had just divorced and she was watching a movie with her older brother, Marcus, and her older sister, Robin. It was just the day after the papers had been signed, but of course they hadn’t lived together in a while.

The oldest sister was trying to get y/n to focus on everything but the divorce, and she knew her little sister was a fan of the so called chick flicks. It was fine. But their parents were downstairs, discussing some further arrangements. Eh, she knew y/n wasn’t the real problem.

“Maybe mummy wasn’t right,” y/n said just as the movie finished, she hadn’t really watched it, she had decided that she would just use it as a background for her thoughts. “Maybe daddy wasn’t her soulmate.”

“Oh, you’re going to start with that crap, y/n?” Marcus rolled his eyes, earning a glare from Robin. “What? Aren’t you going to say anything?”

“Don’t be harsh, Marcus,” Robin said.

“How can I not be? Did you listen to her? Starting with that soulmate crap, good lord, she’s so stupid!” It’s needless to say Marcus wasn’t the best of brothers, then again he was a teenager, 13, to be more exact. We can’t blame him, we all are a pain in the ass when we’re 13.

“Marcus,” Robin hissed.

“Well, we don’t know it,” y/n continued. “Maybe mummy was supposed to get married with a prince!”

“Ah, c’mon,” Marcus mocked, as Robin nudged him. “Well, explain, y/n.”

The oldest sister, who was now 20, just stared at them both, eager to listen to theory of the 6 year old.

“Well, I think there’s someone meant for us, and maybe dad and mum weren’t for each other, but we could find out who really is!” Y/N continued with a grin on her face. “Is there a way, Robin? To find out who we truly belong with? Our soulmate!”

“I bet we could find a way to know,” Robin smirked, knowing she could well involve her brother as well, to make them forget about everything else. “But let’s try, you know, instead of finding mum’s, we can find yours!”

“Mine? But, okay! How do we… how do we do it?” Y/N’s smile had brightened up her whole face, her eyes were shimmering as she had hopped of to crawl over to her older sister who was on the edge of the bed, who received her with a hug.

“I’ve…got an idea,” Marcus smirked. “There’s this thing…called the Ouija board.”

Robin glared at her brother. “And we won’t do that.”

“What’s a wee–gee boawd?” Asked y/n. “Is it magic?”

“Yes!” Marcus laughed.

“No,” Robin cleared up. “No, y/n, I mean, maybe… you’re meant to marry…hmm prince Eric, perhaps?”

“Don’t be silly,” y/n giggled. “Eric is Ariel’s soulmate.”

“Ah, I was wrong!” Robin followed along. “Then, see? There’s not really a way to know!” She kissed her sister’s head and then turned to her brother. “Don’t bring that up again.”

And they didn’t, not with Robin at least. Because Marcus knew he wouldn’t get his way around their oldest sister. So, just at midnight, Marcus decided it was time to play a little joke on his sister.

“So, how does this magic work?” the little and absolutely clueless y/n asked, looking down at the board, as they had their fingers on a bottle water top over the scribbled ouija board Marcus had made.

“Sh!” Marcus glared at her. “Be quiet, kay?”

“Okay, okay,” the girl whispered now on the floor of her brother’s room, as she stared down at the paper. “So we just ask who my soulmate is?”

“Yes, and it’s not magic…It’s a ghost who answers,” Marcus explained for the fifth time.

“A ghost?” Y/N blinked looking at her brother. “Mawcus I don’t think this is right.”

“Don’t be a sissy, y/n,” Marcus frowned. “Don’t you wanna know who is your meant to be?”

“I…I do,” y/n answered skeptically, and now basically terrified.

“Now, okay, ask away, my y/n.”

y/n grimaced, the top of the lid had moved around the board, and y/n giggled nervously, mostly because she was terrified, and that was her way of coping with fear.

“What’s the name of my soulmate?” She asked anxiously, as she watched the bottle lid move around the wrinkled paper.

“H…. A….R…..R… double r?” Y/N was looking at the letters as they fled away, it was taking her a lot of time to read, she was only six, for godsake.

“Y/N pay attention!”

“Right, sorry…. I….S…O….N…Harrison? Oh, it continues! O….S…T….E…R…F….I thought it would say oyster, sorry!…I…E…L…D? Ha…rri…son, Harrison Ostewfled? Os..”

“Harrison Osterfield, idiot, that’s your soulmate.”

Harrison Osterfield, that sure was going to be a name that would be stuck for the rest of her life.

There are different type of children, you see. There are the dreamers, and there are the realists. When you’re young, the realists are mostly called the suckers, oh and they’re the worst. Luckily, Tom was one of the dreamers too. He had a great vision in sight, he was convinced he’d end up somewhere great. He wasn’t wrong, the kid would go places.

So while y/n was learning her soulmate’s name and almost being caught by her mum, Tom was having so much fun.

Not too far from those events, the equally young Tom Holland was up to his own shenanigans, and you’d guess where, and if you haven’t, for the sake of this story, it’ll remain as a mystery. Tom and the now named Harrison Osterfield, who, for now, will be held into another panorama, because he deserves his own introduction and not being a secondary character, were hanging out at their friend’s, Ben, house. Ben had an older brother, and they were playing a pleasant prank on him.

Ben’s brother, John was also what we’ve called before, a pain in the ass. He was 13 too, and a very dear friend of Marcus, but I’ll get onto that later. Ben was getting tired of being picked by his older brother. Somewhere at school, they had learned that if you put someone’s hand in cold water while they were sleeping, they’d instantly piss themselves.

But you see, the prank didn’t finish there. So, while John was snoring, the three friends sneaked into the room, trying to keep from the giggles that were coming from them. Ben had a feather, Harrison had the whipped cream and Tom had the cold water. A really complicated plan for 3 six-year-olds. Well, technically Ben was about to turn 7 but that was a whole different story.

So, the plan went simple. First, Tom got John’s hand in the water, then Harrison was going to put whipped cream and then Ben would tickle his nose. Foolproof.

No, they failed it. Things had happened way too fast, and the only thing Tom remembers was letting the recipient fall to the floor, while John was screaming and Harrison turned the lights on.

This story is irrelevant to the story, but it’s a good anecdote Tom likes to remember every now and then, specially because he’ll always remember that night as the day his story was doomed. Not because of that particular water event, though.

Now, we know what was happening.

Let’s jump to a few years later.

After the divorce, y/n and her older brother, Marcus had the worst life. Not because it was actually bad, just very tiring. Robin had to stay for university so she had no trouble, but now, Y/N and Marcus had to move out of town, mostly because their mother didn’t want to be near their father. So mostly, they’d spend some weekends with their father, and some summers, Christmas was the worst, because they had two of them.

So cut to one of the summers, y/n’s 13th birthday. Seven years later from learning the name of her soulmate, y/n’s father decided that since she was the youngest and the only one who he and her mother could actually fight for her attention, he decided to get her to travel to New York as a birthday present.

Of course, Marcus couldn’t stay behind and had to join them for that summer trip, because he didn’t know what else he could do for the summer, he did have a lot to do, but it was his sense of charity for his little sister.

He didn’t stop bothering her, that’s for sure. So, y/n wasn’t as eager when she found out her brother was coming along. It was a good trip to New York.

Here’s the deal, that summer, y/n wasn’t the only one in New York.

Faith, trust and pixie dust, and a little bit of magic and Tom was there for that summer too. Keep that in mind, for later.

Coney Island was crowded and y/n was struggling to find her way with Marcus who was really bored with the whole surrounding people. It was getting late at night, and y/n was getting hungry, her father and her decided to eat a corndog as they were watching Marcus stroll his way around with a girl he had met that day. So, y/n was glancing around at all the people her age, and this brown haired boy caught her attention. He was followed by two other guys, probably a little younger.

He just stared at her and dedicated a charming smile, causing y/n to blush and look down at her corndog. Her father noticed her behavior and realized that perhaps he wasn’t doing the best parenting job by being glued to his thirteen year old daughter.

So he let her be. And she started to walk away just to find her brother being rejected by the pretty girl with beautiful hair. y/n laughed as she walked over.

“Huh, found out your true self?” Y/N asked with a sinner look.

“Shut up,” Marcus hissed back. “No,” he sighed as he laughed. “I… well, may have screwed up.”

“You? But you’re prince charming,” Y/N answered with sarcasm, earning a glare from her older brother. “I’m joking, but what happened?”

“Well, she wanted to go to that fortune teller woman and see the future, and I told her it was only crap,” Marcus shrugged. “Because it is indeed crap.”

“I don’t think it’s crap,” Y/N shrugged. “You never know, destiny is a funny thing.”

Marcus pinched the bridge of his nose as he laughed. “You can’t be any serious.”

“What can I say? I still believe in happy endings,” y/n smiled at her brother who shook his head.

“So, you think that everything is written somewhere?” Marcus asked. “I don’t, I believe we build up our own destiny.”

“We build it up, but the path is already made,” y/n explained. “I think that every person we bump into, means something to us.”

Just in time, the guy who had smiled at her before was passing by. They just locked their sight and he was the one to blush now, he was handsome.

“I forgot who I was talking to, Miss Dreams do come true,” Marcus mocked her as he looked down at her. “I’m sorry I can’t follow with that nonsense, I’m not Robin to encourage it either.”

“C’mon let’s go to that fortune teller,” y/n suggested. “The girl is over there, you might be able to win her back.”

“So you want to be left alone, then?” Marcus smugged. “Saw the look you gave to that guy, you fancy him?”

“What?” Y/N was thrown back. “No, no, of course not.”

“Fine, fine, let’s go to that fortune teller then,” Marcus gave in as they walked their way over, he had the widest smirk on his face. You know, he was still a huge pain in the ass, maybe it wasn’t only because he was 13.

y/n tried to walk into the place where the fortune teller was but Marcus insisted on going alone and y/n waited outside. The woman that had been hanging out with her brother stared at her, and y/n just gave her an awkward thumbs up.

The guy who had smiled at her was now behind her, and she stiffened as she looked at him. He was blushing and the two guys who he was hanging out before were looking at them both. They seemed almost identical. They probably were twins.

“Hello,” the boy greeted her embarrassed, he had a thick British accent like hers.

“Oh, hello,” she grinned to them. “Another brit, huh?”

“Oh, you’re---you’re--” The boy couldn’t finish the question, because Marcus was already out the carp, intimidating the boy. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” y/n shrugged. “My idiot brother, this is Marcus and I’m y/n and you’re-?”

“Leaving,” Marcus answered, crossing his arms. This wasn’t the first time that Marcus acted all brotherly with her, and she didn’t like it.

“Marcus,” y/n hissed.

“Marcus and y/n…. Wait, are you John’s friend?” The boy asked. “I mean it would be such a small world if-”

“I’m friends with a John,” Marcus answered. “Why?”

“Does he have a younger brother? Ben?” The boy kept asking.

“Y/N go inside there, I already paid the lady,” Marcus turned to his sister.

“Well, I’m sorry,” y/n rolled her eyes and then smiled at the young boy, just as she walked into the carp. It was covered with blankets, and all types of drapes, and it had a funky smell, that y/n was trying to decipher. It was dark, and the woman had something on top of her head.

Her hair was red, and her eyes were surrounded by a thick black eyeliner, adding to the mystery she already was. Her hands were full of rings, and her red lipstick combined with her red long nails. Her hands were standing on top of a crystal ball, one which y/n was looking at.

“Take a seat,” the woman ordered, before yawning and as she reached down her table to turn on the light of the crystal ball. Y/N pursed her lips as the lady eyed her down. “Your brother was just in, right?”

Now, consider this. 13-year-olds are easily manipulated, and the fact that she started by knowing her brother was the guy who had just been there impressed her. Y/N wasn’t brilliant at that time, she was so naive, because given the situation, of course, the lady did know because her brother had already paid her. But, let’s not ruin her the situation.

“Yes!” The girl answered excitedly.

“So, what do you want to know?” The woman asked. The smell of cigarette could now be perceived and it was obvious she had been smoking.

“Well, I don’t know… the usual, I guess?” Y/N blinked several times as the woman kept staring. “My destiny.”

“Fine eh, let’s see…” The woman looked at the ball and started chanting. “I see… I see a name.”

“Oh, what...what’s the name?”

“It’s Harri…. Harrison… Harrison Osterfield,” The woman said, and y/n felt like her heart was going to jump out of her mouth. She opened up her mouth and brought her hand to it, gasping.

“Oh my god,” y/n whispered as she stood up, trying to get off the carp. The lady stopper her.

“You make your own destiny, y/n,” The woman warned her.

Harrison Osterfield. If that name had already been stuck until now, it would surely never leave her mind.

wanna be tagged?

tag list: @tomspeteb @crapri @sweetenedangeltears @oh-balls-you-idjits @star-trekked-twinkie @myspideysensesrtingling @spider-gwenscanary @marvelousxtsh @nextkaratekid @multifandom-fangirl4 @fortheloveofmcu @flashcal @iwillalwaysbevictorious @quicksoldier @totallyreadyforthis s @quacksonqueen @yoinksholland @lovelyh0lland @typicaltrashbagg @supernatural-trash-lover @assumeimapenguin @americaswritings @nano-hero @elentiya02 @its-livelovelife e @its-tchalla @butwhyduh @strangerthingsluv v @leena-xoxo @toms-darling @ivyohmy @greenarrowhead @softboyparkerr @tom-hollands-eyelash h @jtorressuck @clairesrainbow @desirableprey @fairydustparker @newlove-neweverything @underoosmarvel @patdandtop @its-the-unknownspideywrites s @savethebabyseals @misformarvel @hermionedeservesbetterthanron @quitetommy y @tomhaz @wronglanemendes @kaciidubs @itsvianny @arya-di-angelo @jake-and-amy-are-married @brokenuntilmay3rd2019 @spiderman-n @hollandechart @stargazing-dreamer-girl

masterlist

#tom holland x reader #tom holland series #fanfiction #tom holland x you #tom holland imagine #tom holland x y/n #tom holland fic #harrison osterfield x reader #harrison osterfield x y/n #harrison osterfield x your #harrison osterfield x you #harrison osterfield series

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drink-n-watch · 4 years

Text

Halloween is just around the corner and although this episode of My Hero Academia may have seemed fairly cheerful on the surface, there is a darkness brewing that is slowly starting to weigh everything down…

I just hopped right into it there. Whew, must be getting excited. Sorry about that. I had another good but unreasonable busy week. How is it going on your end Crow?

“Unreasonably busy” is a really good way to put it. Glad we got through it! But I think you hit the nail on the head when you mentioned a brewing darkness. That last shot… But, we don’t want to get too far ahead! Oh, I’m bold, and yeah, we’ll have spolilers.

So this week, Deku had to secure his working studies program at the Nighteye agency and as we already know, he did not make the greatest first impression.

Turns out Nighteye is a devoted All-Might fanboy just like Deku though, so they bonded over their shared love of the old no. 1 hero and Deku got a second chance to prove himself in the form of a simple task. All he needed to do was to somehow get Nighteye’s seal from him and his spot would be secure. It’s a pretty meaningless contest all things considered. What do you think Crow?

Let’s talk about how it played out first, but I’ll say this: I was seriously annoyed with Nighteye through this whole sequence. Especially with how it ended! For someone who has such a high opinion of All Might, Nighteye had no qualms about substituting his judgements for the previous number 1 hero. Plus, as we saw with how he treated Bubble Girl, the whole idea of respect just doesn’t seem to occur to Nighteye…

Things went as you would expect. Deku failed, but in the most extra and dedicated way possible and got the internship anyways. Nighteye even admitted that he was always going to give it to him as he had decided as soon as he learned about it (told ya!). That wasn’t the important part.

The important part or should I say partS were that 1, Nighteye was fully aware that Deku had inherited All For One and no one was surprised by the revelation and 2 Nighteye honestly believes that Mirio is the better candidate.

Interesting dynamic creating a worthy and capable rival in Mirio changes a lot of things. Up until now, Deku had the likes of Todoroki or Baku to contend with, except Todoroki is suffering from PTSD and has to sort himself out before thinking of becoming no 1 hero, while Baku is 50% villain if not more. Mirio is very similar to Deku in many respects. Optimistic, respectful and open, it’s very difficult to root for one above the other which creates a very interesting conflict!

Yes, it does! If it were almost any other student, I don’t think Izuku would be as rattled. All of them are competent, and some of them have potential for greatness, but in terms of being number 1, with the exception of Todoroki, I’m not seeing it.

But Mirio is practically All Might Junior! He’s so obviously heroic and so amazingly powerful that Izuku has to wonder if he measures up

I have to admit, all through the test, I hoped that Deku would be smart enough to add randomization as a test — throwing the papers and books that would move without his decision was a perfect way to test the extent of Nighteye’s powers. I was disappointed that Deku couldn’t manage to get the stamp himself.

And I think he was disappointed, too. That’s got to eat at his confidence.

After Deku’s personal trial is over, we go back to the school to find out that he’s really the only student to have had any luck so far. Unlike the previous internship, the work studies program puts students directly in the line of danger, and as such, most professional heroes are not willing to take the risk and do not have the insurance for it.

Nevertheless, it seems no. 3 hero Hawks has put in a request to work with Tokayami (birds of a feather!) while the renowned 3rd years are taking an interest in talking with Kirishima, Tsuyu and Uraraka. I wonder what that’s about!

They seemed afraid to hope — and with Aizawa’s deadpan delivery, it could be anything. I like how this show takes things like liability insurance seriously. It’s a small thing; and maybe I shouldn’t get so excited about it. But it’s the kind of thing that makes the world feel real.

In the closing scene, we find out that it all comes together, in that not only will Deku have to keep an eye on Overhault, but he actually meets him and (ED unicorn girl) Eri in person during the after-credits tag. Exciting things are certainly coming up!

In my notes, I said that scene “felt like doom.” The anguish on Eri’s face as she looked back at Overhaul, the calm glowering power coming from Overhaul himself, and Deku’s usual open expression just seemed to set the stage. I have no idea what’s coming; I’ve not read the manga. But that scene felt momentous.

Next episode is promising!

As I was listening to Aizawa explain the background considerations of hero internship, it struck me yet again how much I like the core premise. Although My Hero Academia doesn’t beat us over the head with it, but it is stated right from season 1 (and whispered throughout) that in a world of heroes for hire and morals for money, virtue becomes irrelevant. The strength of your character is secondary to the marketability of your skill.

This isn’t a very hopeful message, and you may think I’m way off the mark as the universe of My Hero Academia has always been presented to us through Deku’s rose coloured glasses. But there have been a lot of hints to that effect. I mean the entire character of Endeavour is pretty much a personification of this. And I like this theme. I don’t think it will be pleasant to see Deku run up against these bitter realities, but it’s something I have never seen properly explored in a tale for all audiences and I hope I do get to see it in My Hero Academia.

You have this amazing habit of zeroing in on the heart of the matter. I was thinking about that as I watched Nighteye once again disrespect a character (seriously, I’m really angry with him for how he treated Bubble Girl). It’s the classic “might makes right,” but far from being a cliche, the writers are dramatizing its effects through this whole world. It’s the theme that made Stain such a viscerally powerful villain. I couldn’t bring myself to say he was wrong. His reaction to the problem of heroes not being heroic was extreme, but he was right.

And so are you.

The reason I still have any respect for heroes is because of individual heroes, like Deku, All Might, Aizawa, and even Mirio. There are others, of course, but even among our cast, as you mentioned, Baku is half villain himself!

I, too, really hope we see this idea develop during this season.

Another element I’m basing this impression on is the subtle running theme of “faking it”. It doesn’t matter how weak, scared or defeated you feel, a hero must appear strong and in control. That’s All Might’s entire schtick. Be a “symbol”, inspire the masses! It’s really endearing but it does work both ways.

It doesn’t matter how cruel, greedy or ruthless you are, as long as you LOOK the part, as long as you can give a heartwarming interview, then you two can be a symbol of justice. We heard Nighteye say it again. You can”t let them know you’re worried. Authenticity is a weakness, and weakness is bad….

I actually hurt my neck I was nodding so hard in agreement. Based on the previous, it looks like my idea won’t pan out, but do you think that All Might might have chosen Izuku as the next One for All precisely because he’s different? Precisely because his goodness comes first, literally before his heroism, and everything in him flows from that?

In other words, is All Might trying to change what it means to be a hero? Even if I’m wrong, I love how they’re playing with this idea.

That would be sweet. Mind you I have a feeling All Might isn’t all that great at planning ahead. He never really had to after all. With that quirk, he could power through any situation, and later on, Nighteye would have been there to advise him and he sees the future! We’ve seen All Might get himself in sticky situations a lot because he didn’t consider his health or took things for granted. He’s a bit prone to acting first. I think that may be a factor in why he chose Deku. The boy seemed like a hero in the moment.

After these three episodes I have come to realize something, I much prefer to binge My Hero Academia. Don’t get me wrong, I’m enjoying watching along, a lot in fact. But the momentum of the story just doesn’t suit bite-size in my opinion. I would have watched these last three episodes and probably a few more in a single setting easily, and that would have made a cohesive opening arc. As it is, I’m sort of waiting for the story to get started almost a month in.

I can’t find any flaws in your logic! But as I think back across these three episodes, that last shot of Overhaul, Eri, and Deku keeps coming back to me. If we consider the first three episodes as the tag, maybe things are about to kick into high gear. And I can’t wait!

My Hero Academia s4 ep66 – Looming Darkness Halloween is just around the corner and although this episode of My Hero Academia may have seemed fairly cheerful on the surface, there is a darkness brewing that is slowly starting to weigh everything down…

#action #anime #blonde bishie #Collab #episodic #My Hero Academia #shonen

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ibelieveinahappilyeverafter · 5 years

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To Land On Your Feet - Chapter 03

I hope you guys enjoy this chapter! Sorry if it's an hour or two late across time zones; school was much busier than I was expecting it to be! (This version is even later since I passed out last night before I could hit upload.)

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Summary: Aizawa Shouta had a good life. He was a happily married pro-hero teacher, had two cats that loved to make his life difficult, and soon, if things went well, he would have Shinsou Hitoshi as a son. Thanks to an unexpected attack by a man with the League of Villains, though, Shouta is turned into a cat. While he had a fondness for cats, that never meant he wanted to be one, especially when no one seems to recognize him and his friends and family are trying to find him when he’s right there.

He had been planning to find a way to change back, but instead he ends up following Shinsou Hitoshi to the foster home he lives in after hearing some worrying information from the teen himself. Shouta himself was guilty of venting his frustrations to cats, but hearing that Hitoshi would be locked outside in the cold if he was late getting home was just another clue among countless that something was wrong. He has to get back to normal, but he’d be a poor hero and a shit father-to-be if he didn’t follow the kid and make sure he was okay.

Besides, quirks like this usually had a time limit. Right?

<<First Chapter>><<Previous Chapter>><<Next Chapter>>

Chapter Three

‘Alright, kid, if you have a secret secondary quirk that deals with hearing the thoughts of cats, now would be a great time to tell me about it.’ Shouta thought the words as loud as possible, unsurprised and yet still disappointed when Hitoshi scratched under Shouta’s chin as if he really was nothing except another street cat. ‘I don’t look that different as a cat, do I?’

“You’ve been through a lot too, huh?” Hitoshi’s voice was soft and quiet, Shouta frowning when the kid brushed over the scar under his eye. ‘Too,’ he had said. Shouta didn’t like that. “It’s okay. The scars always fade away eventually.”

Okay, that Shouta really didn’t like. He knew Hitoshi had a rough past with the way he spoke about some things, but the kid was so walled off it was hard to get anything personal out of him. Hizashi liked to call it karma, but Shouta was scared with how much of himself he saw in Hitoshi some days.

“Oh, hang on, I got just the thing for you!” Hitoshi moved to sit in the middle of the sidewalk as if he couldn’t care less, Shouta wishing he could laugh as he saw Hitoshi dig around in his bag before pulling out cat treats with a wide smile. “I feed the strays I see from time to time, so I always make sure to have a few treats on me. What do you say, buddy, want some?”

Right. Hitoshi, his student that he had a great deal of parental feelings for, was attempting to feed him cat treats. Blinking up at Hitoshi, and seeing the kid look so cautiously hopeful to the point he was holding his breath, Shouta withheld a sigh and moved forward to eat a few of the treats.

Really, it was a logical decision. His body was exhausted and, while this may be an entirely different story if he were human, the cat treats would go a long way in restoring his energy and settling his hunger. It had been almost a full day since he had last eaten anything, after all, and this was better than nothing.

If part of the reason he did it was so Hitoshi would look a little less worn down and tired, well, no one had to know that except him and maybe Hizashi when this mess was over.

“You’re pretty lucky, kitty. I usually leave earlier than this, but today has been… pretty bad.” The dark tone of voice had Shouta feeling more of those parental type feelings.

Since he couldn’t sit by the kid and offer him silent support, he settled for pawing at Hitoshi’s knee and giving a warbling meow that had him wincing. Honestly, how did people think he was an actual cat?

“Thanks for trying to make me feel better.” Hitoshi offered him more cat treats and a tired smile, Shouta only eating the treats to try and cheer Hitoshi up. “My…” Hitoshi trailed off, looking away for a moment before pushing out a sigh. “My teacher, Aizawa-sensei, is missing. He’s a pro hero who was on patrol last night and he didn’t come back.”

‘Oh, kid…’ No wonder Hitoshi looked stressed and worried. Shouta knew his homeroom was no doubt running amok and attempting to confront the villain that had done this to him, but he had hoped Hitoshi wouldn’t have to deal with the stress of this. ‘And I can’t even tell you I’m alright, huh?’

“It’s actually pretty funny.” The smile Hitoshi had on was hollow and fake and seemed to be a mirror image of the smiles Shouta once gave to Hizashi. “I didn’t learn about it until later, because, see, I train with him, right? He’s training me to get into the Hero course, so we train after school and he teaches me… everything, pretty much. He’s never late, though, but he was today. He was late and then half an hour passed, and he didn’t show up and I actually thought he just got sick of dealing with me.”

‘What?! Oi, kid, I know you have as many self-worth issues as some of my students, but you have to know by now that I wouldn’t give up on you! Isn’t that obvious? Am I not obvious enough?’ Shouta’s lecture came out sounding like yowling similar to his cats when they were angry, Hitoshi only laughing instead of looking properly chastised.

“You sound like Yamada-sensei,” Hitoshi grinned, trying to distract him with another cat treat. Shouta ate it out of pity and idly wondered how many treats Hitoshi kept on him. “‘S okay, Yamada-sensei came in around the time I started thinking that. I honestly thought Aizawa-sensei was dead for a few minutes with how he looked.”

‘Oh, Hizashi,’ Shouta sighed to himself, no doubt sure that Hizashi was worrying himself to pieces over this entire mess. The USJ incident hadn’t been that long ago and Shouta still saw traces of Hizashi’s fear from that event. It was in the way he hovered next to Shouta’s right where his vision was weaker, and in the way he sometimes flinched and tensed if he couldn’t automatically spot Shouta when entering a room.

“He offered to take over my training, but we just talked, instead,” Hitoshi said, rubbing at Shouta’s cheeks and almost managing to distract Shouta. Another thing to take note of, it seemed, was that his new body responded as a cat would to outside stimulus. “It was… bad. He didn’t even have his hair spiked back or anything and he was quiet. You probably don’t know this, kitty, but Yamada-sensei is actually Present Mic. Present Mic isn’t ever quiet, but Yamada-sensei can be, sometimes. This was a bad quiet, though.”

‘Not that I’m not grateful, but why do you never talk this much when I need you to? Do I need to start attaching microphones and cameras to cats before sending them your way?’ Shouta wished he had the words to complain, settling for swatting at Hitoshi’s hands when he started getting too distracted.

“You know, kitty, sometimes I wish I wasn’t so broken.” The words startled Shouta into almost jumping, his full attention now on his kid. Hitoshi didn’t seem to notice, staring off into the distance, instead, and seemingly lost in his thoughts. Shouta wished he could just properly frown or, even better, nudge Hitoshi to go back into the school or the dorms or the spare bedroom he and Hizashi had started unconsciously cleaning and decorating for a teenage boy who loved underground heroes and cats.

When Hitoshi started to gain that frustrated look of having too many thoughts that he didn’t know how to voice, Shouta tried for another meow, headbutting Hitoshi’s shoulder, thinking to himself, ‘Sorry, kid. If I was more careful then we could be having dinner right now and you two wouldn’t be worrying so much.’

“Thanks for being such a great listener,” Hitoshi smiled, looking to come out of his thoughts as he gave Shouta another scratch before glancing at his phone, frowning the moment he did. “Sorry, kitty, I gotta get home. I’ll be locked outside if I’m late again and the temperature is supposed to drop tonight. If I get another sore throat, then my teachers will find out about it. I barely snuck by with the last one.”

‘I knew you were sick that week! You kept insisting on physical training over quirk training and refused to even talk half the time.’ Now Shouta was glad he had kept sneaking the kid vitamin water that was good for that kind of thing. ‘Honestly, you’re lucky Hizashi was so wrapped up in work that week or…’ Shouta’s thoughts trailed off into a background hum as the words Hitoshi had said finally registered.

Locked outside. Locked outside when the weather forecast, last he had checked, was supposed to be near freezing. That hadn’t been a joking tone, either. That tone was simple, tired, and so matter of fact it was like Hitoshi had been complaining about how tomorrow would be chilly instead of sunny.

“Thanks for listening to all my rambling, kitty. Maybe I’ll see you again sometime.” Hitoshi gave him a smile before pushing himself up and brushing his pants off, starting to walk away from the school.

Shouta knew, without a doubt, that he should be working on getting to Hizashi and Nedzu and contacting the police. One of them, no matter how many it took, would realize who he was eventually. It was best to get this matter over and dealt with sooner rather than later, but Hitoshi was walking away as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders, a longing, sorrowful, tired expression that he never let others see if he could help it.

Shouta’s body was moving before he could even think, new and unfamiliar paws breaking into a quick sprint that had him catching up and falling into step beside the now startled teen.

“Oh! You wanna walk with me for a while, then?” That tired expression seemed to lighten and Shouta knew, without a doubt, that he made the right choice. Hizashi would be okay; especially once Shouta explained why he had been gone for so long, but if he let Hitoshi leave on his own now, then Shouta would be a pretty shitty father-to-be – especially after hearing something like that.

“You know, you’re pretty strange, for a cat,” Hitoshi said after a few minutes of comfortable silence. “You’re not a normal cat.” The words had Shouta perking up as he shot his head towards Hitoshi, delighted that the kid might have realized who he was, even if it had taken him a while. “You’re some sort of god in animal form, aren’t you?”

Maybe it was a good thing he was a cat, if only so Hitoshi would never know he laughed at that. It was hardly Shouta’s fault, though. He just… he had never heard Hitoshi say something so childish. It was nice. It was good. It showed the kid was more comfortable than he had been all those months ago.

Jeez, it had only been a few months, but Shouta had already latched onto the kid as much as Hitoshi had latched onto him back. It had been hard not to feel something for the kid when Shouta first saw him at that Sports Festival. Even bandaged, high on pain medication, and fighting off a burning headache, Shouta had still seen so much of himself in Shinsou Hitoshi.

Hitoshi had come so far from that suspicious, beaten down teenager that had been expecting trouble and detention when Shouta had first approached him after classes were over with a proposition. Now here he was, against all odds, laughing and joking about a ‘stray cat’ being a god in disguise.

‘Do you even realize how far you’ve come, Hitoshi?’ The kid always complained about never seeing any change in himself, but he had come so far.

“I can tell you’re laughing at me,” Hitoshi pouted, dramatic and childish as he threw his arms about much like Hizashi might to make a point. “I mean, just look at how big you are! You’re probably as tall as me- Here, c’mere, kitty.”

Hitoshi prodded and nudged at him, careful and wary in a way that spoke of being bitten by strays before. Shouta made sure to butt at his hand before standing himself up on his hind legs just to satisfy whatever tangent the kid was on now.

“See, look at that! You already come up to my chest!” Shouta… did. He knew he had been turned into a house cat, but now he was re-thinking that he might be some sort of other big cat. When standing up on his hind paws he easily reached a little below Shinsou’s chest. Shouta had to be four feet head to tail at least- Actually, maybe it was four feet without the tail. “You’re either a divine creature in animal form or a big cat that escaped from the zoo.”

‘Your guess is as good as mine, kid.’ Hopefully the quirk that had been used on him didn’t have any delayed surprises. He didn’t want to know how this could get worse. ‘Come on, Hitoshi. Let’s get you home.’

Dropping back down to all fours and giving Hitoshi a nudge to get him moving, Shouta found himself content to listen to Hitoshi ramble about his day as he started walking again, complaining about Nemuri, who was his homeroom teacher, and the sub for Hero Ethics, which was the class Shouta usually taught. Hitoshi seemed to have so much to say and, luckily for them both, Shouta had a knack for listening to chatterboxes ramble about their day.

As they walked, though, Shouta couldn’t help but to think about how much better it would be if he was able to respond back, Hizashi on Hitoshi’s other side and adding to his stories to blow them even more out of proportion.

One thing was for certain; Shouta needed to find a way out of this mess.

#bnha #boku no hero academia #mha #my hero academia #erasermic #to land on your feet

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the-evanescent-inkwell · 5 years

Text

An Abundance of Dragons

Sabra Mendez has always seemed to be a magnet for the strange and unusual in her otherwise ordinary world. Her most frequent guests were dragons. Big dragons, little dragon, red dragons, blue dragons, loud dragons, quiet dragons, rash dragons, and passive dragons. She knew each of the regulars by name, even a set of twin dragons that came in separately once a month. Sabra knew dragons better than she knew herself.

However, the winged European monsters weren't the only thing she managed to attract to her lofty rustic bar.

Ghost and ghouls were also common, stopping by to pick up snippets of conversation at 3:03 a.m. until 4:30 a.m. There were also strange birds, sea monsters, psychics, witches, sorcerers, and talking animals. La Madremonte was a regular, stopping in every few weeks with her sister the Banshee. Traveling demons stopped by and played soft, longing ballads. La Perca del Estornino was always alive and busy with visitors from all over the world. Word had spread since Sabra was a little girl, stuck in her run-down school, helping her father clean the bar before his shift, that she was a friend to them all. Now, it was common knowledge in the hidden community that La Perca del Estornino was a safe place for travelers to stay in the early hours of morning.

Sabra had always been a bit different, growing up in Buenos Aires. It wasn't because she was a little mixed brown girl attending a mostly white school, or because she had splotches of white discoloring on her face, or her poor Italian, or her Mexican accent. It wasn't because of her short, unruly hair, her working-class and unmarried parents, or her worn shoes and hand-me-down backpack. None of that ever bothered Sabra, and no one seemed to care too much where she went to school—up until secondary school, at least. It was more that she could see things no one else noticed. She waved to foggy figures invisible to all but her, left scraps behind her house for the creatures she could hear congregating there, handed people little knick-knacks she had on hand because she could tell they needed them more than she did. Her mother, Jacaranda Rivera, was continually mortified by her behavior, always telling her to shut her mouth and stop wandering off. Her father, Miguel Mendez, saw her differently. He told her she was gifted and should never hide her gifts, using them to help others. He told her that she was what every good barkeeper needed to be; someone who knew people. Since his job when she was little had been working at a bar called La Casa de Mañana, it was no surprise that that was the metaphor he picked. What was a surprised to Sabra was when he died of colorectal cancer that he left his life's work, La Perca del Estornino, to her. Jacaranda told her that she didn't need to take on the responsibility of the bar; she could go to college in America like she wanted, get a degree in art, and paint for the world. But this was more important to Sabra. So she canceled her plans and reopened the bar. It's what her father wanted.

When she was nineteen, after closing time at three, the dragons and ghost started showing up. So she let them in, heard their stories, then let them go. They spread the word, and the next night, more came back. Over the past decade or so, Sabra had changed the closing time three times, finally settling on 7 p.m. to 3 a.m., reopening at 3:03 a.m. for the mythological and supernatural creatures until 4:30 a.m., when she finally went home. It was a good system, and she had very little complaints.

Sabra was very talented and had a lot of strengths, but if she could choose a favorite, it would be her ability to connect with people. She listened to normal and crazy, letting them spill their stories onto her. She knew the regulars, those that came in every now and then when they needed space, and then those that popped in once and never showed up again. She was a friend to everyone, even those who didn't know what friendship was. Over the course of her twenty-eight years of life, Sabra had figuratively adopted thousands of children and given them advice and comfort before sending them on their way. Some she never saw again. Some she saw every night.

The 22nd of March wasn't an unusual day in any way. She still cleaned up and began opening at seven. She still watched the front and made phone calls every now and then. She still created small talk and intervened when she saw it fit, listening to the mix of Italian and Spanish and English, as well as a few other languages thrown in from tourists that decided to stop by.

La Perca del Estornino was located between two small park squares. All the small windows were filled with green leaves. It was approaching autumn, but the trees in this part of town never really grew too brown. The room was dimly lit with gold lights reflecting off brown walls. The bar was exposed wooden oak planks, finished smoothly without taking away the worn aesthetic. The stools were black upholstery, the cushions pinned to the wood with large golden studs. The back brick wall was covered with chalkboards, Sabra's calligraphy listing popular drinks and specials. Shelves framed the boards, filled to the brim with bottles. Small tables were placed around in corners, the floors were smooth and dark, but appeared rugged, and large lamps hung from wires on the ceiling. Sabra always liked the aesthetic of the bar. She approved of her father's interior design choices.

Her last customer of the night was always the same; a regular named Felipe Alonzo. He was an older man with salt and pepper hair who worked at a bank across the street. He was a fairly pleasant man who liked alcohol, but from what Sabra understood, he and his wife fought frequently but wanted to stay together until their kids were out of secondary school. He stayed until closing to avoid another argument.

At 2:56 a.m., Sabra ushered Mr. Alonzo out and began washing dishes. Her two employees, Dante and Cara, hadn't left yet. Dante was about twenty-two and wasn't great with people, so Sabra put him in charge of washing glasses and doing inventory. On the contrary, Cara was a smiley girl of about nineteen with a huge personality. She was a bit clumsy though, so Sabra never let her pour. She was lovely and the customers liked her, so Sabra kept her. But Sabra always kicked them out at three.

"Are you sure you don't need help closing up?" Cara asked politely while Dante immediately left. Cara was pure Italian on all sides of her family and hadn't quite figured out the phonetics of Spanish, but Sabra could pick through her accent when it became to thick.

"I'm perfectly alright. Go home. Make sure you're caught up in school. I don't want to lay you off because you're failing."

"Alright, thank you, Sra. Mendez."

"Drive safe!" she called as Cara disappeared around the bend. The Sabra shut the door and turned the closed sign over. 3:01 a.m.

She quickly swept and picked up the room before hitting the blinds and hiding the interior from bystanders on the street. All ready for 3:03 a.m.

The first visitor was a small purple dragon with a sweater and satchel. "Hello?" he said in English. Sabra smiled warmly at him. "Hello. Welcome. Can I get you anything? Sorry. My English is bad."

"Oh, sorry, um. . ." He ordered a simple drink and Sabra fetched a glass. More visitors flocked in, a majority of them dragons. Her favorite regular showed up around a quarter until four. Roman Xirarch was a young Italian dragon, about the equivalent of a human teenager, who had moved to Rosario from Bologna to study Mesoamerican culture, specifically the arts, abroad. He was a drama major and acted like a stereotypical homosexual. He flew in to chat with Sabra and have a drink at least five times a week. He was small and turquoise, with dark purple spikes, long fangs, and curled horns like a ram. He had a defect in his mouth and constantly had his tongue sticking out a little bit. The other draconic regulars called him the "Mlem Lizard". Roman didn't seem to mind.

He flew through the air vent and landed on the bar, prancing around like a smug house cat. Sabra raised an eyebrow. "Too dramatic to use the door?"

"You know me so well!" he growled happily in his strong accent. "Want to see what I found for my hoard?!"

"I'd love to!"

Dragons were the biggest hoarders of shiny things. Some showed off their collection of metal, gold, and jewels, some hid it, and some just plain collected garbage and didn't care if it was stolen or not. In Roman's case, he had a very small hoard and just liked sharing what he had found with people. He wasn't greedy, and he never stole things, he just liked furnishing his cavern apartment in Rosario with small bits of shiny metal and pesos that fell out of people's pockets.

Roman produced a small shiny crystal from his little red knapsack sitting between his large wings on his back. He dropped it on the table and Sabra carefully picked it up, studying it in the light. "What do you think it is?" he asked excitedly. "Someone dropped it outside the library and didn't go to pick it up, so I assumed it wasn't important. Isn't it pretty?!"

"Lovely," Sabra responded, pulling out her smartphone. "I'll look it up."

After a bit of research, Sabra found out it was some sort of cheap diamond, sort of like fools gold, but she didn't burst Roman's bubble. She put her phone away. "It's a special type of diamond."

"Is it?!" he squealed. "I found a diamond! Mamma is gonna be so proud of me!"

"I'm happy for you," Sabra smiled. "How's school?"

"Good. I had a speaking assessment today, and my instructor said my Spanish is getting better."

"Good!"

A few ghosts came in and congregating in a corner, whispering and laughing together. At 4:15 a.m., the crowds were mostly clearing up. Roman had fallen asleep on a stool and was whisking his spiked tail back and forth. At exactly 4:21 a.m., a man wearing a wide-brimmed hat, leather jacket, and a thick belt walked in. He looked like an American cowboy. There weren't a lot of those in these parts. Sabra pursed her lips together. He sat down at the bar and asked, "Sabra Mendez?"

"Yes, sir. How can I help you?" She spoke in English, assuming from his accent that he was American. He smiled at her in amusement and asked in perfect Spanish for a round of shots. Sabra politely fulfilled his order, then made small talk. "Are you from these parts?"

"Just passing through. I'm an archeologist."

That would explain the hat and jacket. What she had likened to a cowboy easily passed for Indiana Jones. "Interesting. I wish you luck. I'll be right over there if you need anything."

She headed over to finish cleaning a stack of shallow dishes the birds had been using to peck nacho crumbs out of. Roman had woken up and was studying the archeologist. "Who is he?"

"I don't know," Sabra admitted. "I haven't seen him before. He said he's an archeologist."

"He doesn't seem alarmed by the ghosts or dragons."

True to Roman's word, a pink dwarf dragon crawled out of the archeologist's pocket and started purring when he scratched her chin. Sabra shrugged. Roman shrugged back.

At 4:29 a.m., Sabra approached the man and said, "I'm sorry, but we're closing."

He nodded and finished his drink, the pink dragon disappearing into his pocket again. He leafed through his wallet and left a ball of notes on the bar before leaving. Roman crawled along the counter and squawked at the top of his little lungs, "Alright, it's closing time! Get out and go pester someone else! Sabra needs her beauty sleep."

"What makes you think I don't already have it?" she teased him, but she didn't interfere as he scared the others out. She was picking up the tips while Roman cleared out her bar and noticed there was something wrapped in the notes left by the archeologist. She unrolled it and found a small golden nugget. She frowned and studied it. Roman saw and cooed over it. "Oooh! Can I have?"

"No," she said. "Odd tip to leave. . . Get home. You have class tomorrow."

He groaned. "But Sabra!"

"Off you go!"

He finally took off, leaving through the air vent again. Sabra closed up and wrapped the golden nugget in a napkin, sticking it in her pocket and calling an Uber. She was deposited on her property and headed in, flipping her keys over her fingers. The faintest scent of salt and humidity hung in the air. She walked up the steps while people started waking up and getting ready for a long day ahead of them. Lucky for Sabra, her little studio apartment was still quiet. She walked into a dark room and was careful not to slam the door. Streetlights darted past the window, the dark blue curtains pulled down and billowing softly in the circulation. She almost tripped over a pair of sneakers and kicked them aside, taking off her own shoes and dropping her bag by the door. The white curtain separating the majority of the room from the "bedroom" swayed softly as she entered. The radiator was clicking loudly. Right, I need to fix that. The bedroom door was closed. Sabra popped in and found Ben fast asleep. She kissed his forehead and he stirred, mumbling hello. "Go back to sleep," she said before leaving the room and heading behind the curtain. As she opened the dresser and began throwing her clothes into the laundry hamper, the lump of blankets on the right side of the bed rustled loudly. Sabra unclipped her bra and pulled on a baggy hoody and a pair of cotton shorts before climbing into the bed. A small head emerged from the blankets and stared at Sabra sleepily. She kissed the dark head gently before cuddling the figure. "Night, cariña."

Mack sighed contently and curled up, mumbling, "I love you," in about three languages before settling on Italian. Sabra tucked her chin over the raven hair and closed her eyes, listening to her spouse's ragged breath. The radiator slowly died away, leaving peaceful quiet, the waves crashing against the shore a few blocks away and the wind whistling past the ajar window. Comforted by the warmth of the cozy apartment, Sabra slowly sunk into sleep.

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