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mymoonagedaydream · 1 year

Text

Part 2

Pairing: Bucky x y/n

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: Language

Author’s Note: This was intended to be a one-part story but the lovely response it got on AO3 has prompted me to make it a series. I now have a ten-page word document of plot in bullet points to get through so, enjoy!

Am I writing two series simultaneously? Yes. Has this ever worked out for me in the past? No.

Part 1

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You stood in front of the mirror, squinting at the small, circular scar that sat a few inches left of your belly button. It had healed remarkably well in the few weeks you’d been home. You tilted your head slightly, musing that if it weren’t for the weird, lightning-esque burn marks that sprouted from it in every direction, you probably would’ve been able to pass it off as a birthmark. You just shrugged at your reflection, turned and hopped in the shower.

Readjusting to normal life had been difficult, the hardest part being figuring out exactly what ‘normal’ meant now. The city was still littered with various memorials and floral tributes, some fresh, some neglected; any noise louder than a car horn made every pedestrian in the street flinch and shake with terror; new charities for people who’d lost homes and businesses were canvassing on the streets constantly while tabloid journalists spent their days trying desperately to weed out and expose the numerous scammers amongst them.

Thankfully, though, the biggest inconvenience you’d experienced so far was the messed up subway timetables due to various tunnels caving in. Despite your injury, you felt like you’d gotten away lightly- missing the immediate aftermath was a blessing that not many in the city were afforded.

Unfortunately, your good luck stopped there. You’d barely heard from Bucky at all and you hadn’t seen him in person since he dropped you off at your place all those weeks ago. It was understandable, the whole fucking world was now obsessed with “The Avengers” and he was caught up in the eye of that storm, but you couldn’t help feeling a bit like you’d been abandoned. After everything the two of you had been through, it was really hurtful that he’d stayed away for so long.

After making yourself presentable and pulling on your work uniform, you left your apartment, giving a wide berth to the bulldozer working on one of the many potholes in the sidewalk. You wandered onto the subway and managed to find a seat opposite two well-groomed guys in suits, both reading from the same newspaper. They definitely weren’t siblings, they looked nothing alike, but were they a couple? You stared for a few seconds. Their thighs were touching, but that was nothing remarkable on the cramped subway cars, especially now there were half as many services as usual. Both were wearing wedding bands, but they were different colours. This was a tough one.

You smiled to yourself, remembering how god-awful Bucky was at this game. Even after hours of playing it at the window he’d never guess right. One time you saw what was very clearly an elderly mother with her son, probably heading to some kind of special family function judging by their outfits, and he outright refused to accept that they weren’t a couple. None of your watertight evidence could sway him. You pulled a muscle in your stomach laughing, he just muttered something under his breath about how age wasn’t everything in a relationship.

You shook off the daydream and lazily wandered your gaze down to the front page of the newspaper. An audible gasp escaped your lips when you read the headline, drawing the attention of the few commuters in the car without headphones. It read:

Earth’s Mightiest Heroes?

“Avengers” injured in botched overseas operation

Without thinking you leant forward and snatched the paper, rapidly flicking through the pages to find the full article. There was no real information in there, which you should have anticipated- they’d obviously just received a leak comprised of a single sentence and milked it for every dime it was worth. One word did catch your attention, however. Stark. If he had any information on Bucky then, so help you god, you’d get it out of him.

---

Standing in front of Stark Tower, the righteous confidence you’d felt so strongly on that subway car was starting to waver a little. The confrontation had gone remarkably well in your head but now you were starting to realise how stupidly fucking naive it was to think you’d even get an audience with the guy who owns this place. He probably wasn't even in.

You took a deep breath and pushed open the door, doing your very best to look nonchalant in front of the armed security guards while hurrying over to the front desk. The receptionist was staring at his monitor and typing furiously. You cleared your throat, but he didn’t look up. Looking around, you noticed an old-fashioned call bell sitting on the counter- probably an ironic gift from a colleague, maybe for secret Santa. You hit it. He winced and threw out his hand to silence it.

‘How can I help?’

‘I need to talk to Tony Stark.’

He laughed. 'Do you have an appointment?'

'No, but it's urgent.' An unconvinced eyebrow was raised in your direction. ‘It’s about James Barnes.’

‘What about him?’

‘I know him.’

‘So does the rest of the world, sweetie.’

You rubbed your forehead, trying to collect your thoughts. ‘Look, I was with him after the attack, I got hurt and he helped. I’m his friend. Can you tell Stark that, please? I need to know if he’s alright.’

You could feel tears welling in your eyes as you spoke. The receptionist conceded, picking up the phone and waving you over to the seating area, probably figuring it’d be easier to get rid of you with a firm no from up high. He waited in silence for a minute or so before speaking into the receiver in a tone too hushed for you to hear. He frowned, gave you a very confused glance, and whispered again. Then he hung up.

‘Well, looks like it’s your lucky day,’ he gestured towards the elevator, ‘top floor.’

You had no idea how the hell you pulled that off. You strolled over, hit the button and turned to watch the display beside the doors tick slowly upwards. It was only two floors from the top when you suddenly realised that your whole planned confrontation had completely melted out of your head.

There was a loud ding as the doors slid open and you shuffled forwards, finding yourself in an incredibly extravagant penthouse with a view of the whole city. A stern-looking man with an angular beard and dark glasses approached you, not lifting his gaze from the phone he was tapping at hurriedly. As he got closer you noticed a few small cuts and bruises littered across his face.

‘Tell me what you told the guy behind the desk.’

He still wasn’t looking up, his abrupt questioning catching you off guard. You scrambled for a second and he clicked his fingers impatiently.

‘I’m a friend of James, I want to know if he’s alright.’

‘Wrong. Tell me what you said.’

‘I dont-’ you could feel your face starting to heat up, ‘I just- I’m confused.’

‘It’s a simple question.’

‘I don’t remember.’

He was obviously irritated, sighing as he dropped his hands and met your gaze for the first time. ‘You’re the one who got shot, right?’

You nodded, too intimidated to do much else.

‘Show me.’ He gestured towards your stomach, noting your trepidation as he did so. ‘Look, I need proof that you are who you say you are if we're going to continue this conversation.’

You nodded again, grabbing a fistful of your shirt and hesitantly lifting it to reveal the eerie-looking scar.

‘Gross,’ he gestured for you to cover up, ‘alright.’

Turning on his heels, he stormed across the floor towards a circular seating area. You guessed that you were supposed to follow him. The shiny floor squeaked under your cheap shoes, your cheeks flushing when you caught a glimpse of yourself in the huge windows and remembered that you were still wearing your barista uniform. Stark waved you into a seat.

‘Alright, so your boyfriend is in Siberia, he-’

‘Siberia?’

‘Yes. He was doing some recon when we lost him, we thought-’

‘Lost him?’

‘Can you not talk unless you have something useful to add, please?’ You smiled apologetically. ‘Thank you. Basically, what we thought was a small, residual Hydra cell turned out to be a big operation and we were outnumbered. Some of us were injured, but there was a party we lost track of. Bucky’s party. He’s probably fine, we just don’t know-’

Stark clocked the confusion on your scrunched-up face. He sighed loudly, using one hand to brace himself against the table while the other moved to lift up his glasses and aggressively rub his eyes.

‘Go on.’

‘...Hydra?’

‘Jesus Christ.’ He collapsed into the seat behind him. ‘Y’know what, it doesn’t even matter. All you need to know is that he’s probably fine but, if he's been captured, it could be very bad. We think it would be a good idea for someone he’s close with to be nearby, just in case.’

‘In case what?’

He shot you a warning look but this time you didn’t back down. Your heart was in your throat, you were getting desperate for answers.

‘Look, I don’t have much time, I just came back here to scramble some more manpower and tech. I’m leaving in a few hours, are you coming or not?’

‘To Siberia?’

‘No, to Disney World. Are you sure you didn’t get shot in the brain?’

---

Part 3

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skippyv20 · 1 year

Text

No mention of Prince William !

Telegraph Article

'The Spencer family are known for leading with their hearts, not their heads'

The Prince is the latest in a long line of rebels – a legacy stretching for centuries

ByKate Wills18 December 2022 • 8:00am

A headstrong redhead causing scandalous rifts with the Royal family and courting publicity all the while. No, not just Harry, but many of his great-great-great-great-ancestors, too.

In his Netflix show, Harry has been reasserting how much he is his “mother’s son”, making decisions that are “all heart”. And although it seems like Harry is breaking with tradition by starting a new life in California, in many ways the Prince is actually just following in the footsteps of his maternal family, the Spencers, living out a rebellious legacy that stretches back through the centuries.

“The Spencers are difficult,” the Queen Mother once observed to a friend, according to Tina Brown’s biography The Diana Chronicles. And that’s certainly one way of putting it. Harry’s family tree on the Spencer side is full of unconventional disruptors who craved glamour, challenged the status quo and ripped up the royal rule book.

“Harry’s lineage is a really fascinating mix of royalty, aristocracy and glamorous, rich heiresses,” says historian Dr Carolyn Harris, author of Raising Royalty: 1000 Years of Royal Parenting. “The house of Spencer can be traced all the way back to sheep farmers in medieval times.” But there’s royal blood in the Spencer clan, too.

“He is descended from not one, but two illegitimate children of King Charles II of England: Henry Fitzroy and Charles Lennox, via two of his great-great-grandmothers, Adelaide Seymour and Rosalind Bingham,” adds Harrison.

“Then also on his mother’s side there are American links, so in a way, Harry is getting back to his roots by settling in California. Diana’s maternal great-grandmother, Frances Ellen Work, was an American heiress who divorced her husband in 1891 on the grounds of desertion. It was a high-profile case that appeared in all the newspapers at the time.”

Albert Edward John Spencer in 1922 with his daughter, Lady Anne Spencer, (centre), and his sister, Lady Margaret Spencer CREDIT: Hulton Archive

Harry clearly identifies very strongly as a Spencer, Harris points out, “and we can draw many parallels between the unconventional path that he’s taken and that of his ancestors, as well as the clever way many of them used the media to their own advantage”.

For example, one of the first Spencers to cause a royal ruckus was Robert Spencer, the 2nd Earl of Sunderland. In the 1670s, he orchestrated King Charles II’s secret pact with France and also became one of James II’s closest advisers, known for his diplomacy, but also his duplicity.

“Nearly 300 years on, my father would talk about him with an ashamed, resigned chuckle,” Charles, the present Earl Spencer, writes in The Spencers: A Personal History of an English Family. Robert was known to be “cunning, supple [and] shameless” with “a restless and mischievous temper, and an abject spirit”; Harry may be starting a new life in California, but maybe the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

With her rose-gold hair and blue eyes, Lilibet Diana is “very Spencer-like”, according to Harry – just like him and his mum. But that’s not all the youngest member of the Montecito Mountbatten-Windsors stands to inherit from that side of the family. Just as, one day, her young cousins may show traits of the Middleton clan, so Lilibet will undoubtedly find genetics playing a part in her life, just as they have in Harry’s.

“Harry is extremely proud of his Spencer heritage, as was his mother, who spoke to him about it at great length when he was growing up,” says Ingrid Seward, royal commentator and editor of Majesty magazine. “The Spencer family are known for being outspoken, all action, leading with the heart, not the head. Not only does Harry look very Spencer with his red hair, but he calls his aunts Sarah and Jane his ‘red aunts’.”

With the bushy ginger beard he is currently rocking, Harry certainly resembles his ancestor John Spencer, the 19th-century politician who was known as the “Red Earl”. But the Spencer trait of auburn locks – and shaping royal history – can actually be traced a few generations back, to Sarah Churchill, Duchess of Marlborough.

Played by Rachel Weisz in the Oscar-winning film The Favourite, Sarah started as a maid in the court of James II and became the most powerful woman in England through her manipulative control of Queen Anne. In 1700, Sarah arranged the marriage of her distant relation Charles Spencer, the future 3rd Earl of Sunderland, to her favourite daughter, Anne.

Lady Sarah McCorquodale and Lady Jane Fellowes, who Harry calls his 'red aunts' CREDIT: Shutterstock

Centuries before the modern Diana and Prince Charles wed, Sarah attempted to marry her favourite granddaughter – the original Lady Diana – to the broke Frederick, Prince of Wales, with a promise of a £100,000 dowry. The plan fell through after King George II was warned by his prime minister to find a wife “less politically threatening” for his son.

And Harry’s current family feuds have antecedents. Sarah ended up falling out with her granddaughter Anne and disinheriting her grandson Charles, 5th Earl of Sunderland. Alexander Pope said of her: “Full sixty years the World has been her Trade,/ The wisest Fool much Time has ever made./ From loveless youth to unrespected age,/ No Passion gratify’d except her Rage.” Harry would probably say she just needed a good therapist.

Then there’s Diana’s great-great-great-great-aunt Georgiana, the Duchess of Devonshire. The daughter of John, 1st Earl Spencer and his wife, Margaret, the teenage Georgiana became a sensation in 18th-century London. But she found that her cold, older husband was not as interested in her as everyone else (remind you of anyone?)

Like Harry in his youth, Georgiana had a reputation for hard partying – she was a gambling addict with a laudanum dependency who was always having to borrow money. Scandal turned to calamity when Georgiana became pregnant by the future prime minister Charles Grey and she was banished to France.

Georgiana Cavendish, Duchess of Devonshire, was famous for her beauty, political campaigning, gambling and unorthodox domestic arrangement CREDIT: Hulton Fine Art Collection

But Georgiana set the fashions of the day – popularising French hair powder and tall hairstyles among other trends – and also campaigned tirelessly for the Whig party, while the newspapers documented her every move. “You live so constantly in public you cannot live for your own soul,” her mother, Lady Spencer, wrote to her.

The Spencer tendency to choose passion over propriety is strong in Diana’s immediate family, too. Her mother, the heiress Frances Roche, was quickly disillusioned with country life as a young aristocratic mother. “I’m so bloody bored with opening village fetes,” she told a friend. It was no wonder that the fiery Frances wanted more from life. “She was very attractive and blonde and sexy with such joie de vivre and fun about her,” a friend told Brown for The Diana Chronicles.

By the 1960s, Frances escaped to London and started an affair with married bon vivant and wallpaper heir Peter Shand Kydd. She separated from Diana’s father and fought for custody of the children but lost, partially due to her own mother, Baroness Fermoy, who testified against her. Social outcasts, the Shand Kydds eventually moved to the coast of Scotland.

Diana’s older sister Lady Sarah McCorquodale also inherited this rebellious Spencer spirit. According to Brown’s book, she was kicked out of boarding school and once rode her horse into her grandmother’s living room. Sarah had her own romance with Prince Charles, and introduced her younger sister to him.

Diana spoke to Harry at great length about his Spencer heritage when he was growing up CREDIT: Tim Graham

Then there’s Diana’s younger brother Charles, who has seven children from three marriages and is known for speaking his mind. At his speech at Diana’s funeral, he famously pledged that “we, your blood family, will do all we can to continue the imaginative and loving way in which you were steering these two exceptional young men, so that their souls are not simply immersed by duty and tradition, but can sing openly, as you planned”.

His daughters are certainly singing their own tune. The model Kitty Spencer, 31, recently wed multimillionaire businessman Michael Lewis, 63 (five years older than her father). “Sometimes I feel like my family should be on The Jerry Springer Show,” she once said. “From the outside, the structure looks so dysfunctional. However, every single member of my family is part of my happiness.”

So, what clues can we glean about Harry’s future from how his famous forebears ended up? Although – like Harry – many of them were banished or exiled or moved abroad, nearly all of them ended up coming back to the royal court. Whether it’s dynasty or destiny, there’s no doubt we can expect many more surprises from this Spencer.

Does Prince Harry's ‘Spencer gene’ hold the key to his rebellious past and future? Please let us know in the comments below

More from the Royal family

King Charles to likely pay for Prince Andrew's private security – after refusing to do so for Harry

ByVictoria Ward19 Dec 2022, 7:11pm

Royal Mint’s King Charles coin tease baffles Twitter

ByVictoria Ward19 Dec 2022, 5:45pm

Jeremy Clarkson apologises as more than 6,000 complain over Duchess of Sussex column

ByVictoria Ward19 Dec 2022, 5:41pm

Duke and Duchess of Sussex to present new Netflix documentary series

ByVictoria Ward19 Dec 2022, 4:10pm

Prince Harry ‘should make the first move to seek reconciliation with the Royal family’

ByVictoria Ward18 Dec 2022, 7:00pm

How ‘princess syndrome’ shapes Meghan’s world – and why that appeals to Prince Harry

ByMelissa Twigg18 Dec 2022, 12:30pm

Fascinating! Thank you!!!! ❤️

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collegianwired · 2 years

Text

Napoleon’s Highest Honor Goes to City College Alumnus

BY SORINA SZAKACS

PHOTOS BY LOUIS WHITE

When Apollo 11 landed on the moon in 1969, Jerry Hulse had already written almost a decade’s-worth of travel reporting for the Los Angeles Times, stories that not only won him awards and recognition, but opened new windows onto the world for Angelenos.

As the “gentleman traveler” of the L.A. Times, Hulse transformed his love for travel into a successful career and managed to reshape California and the world’s tourism in an unprecedented way.

Two decades into his travel-writing endeavors, Hulse received the Insignia of the Chevalier de la Legion d’Honneur awarded by François Mitterrand, the French president at the time.

Napoleon Bonaparte established the Legion of Honor in 1802. The honor is awarded to those who contribute to France’s prominence. It is the highest award the French government bestows. Hulse received the insignia from French Minister of Tourism Jean-Jacques Descamps at the French Consulate in Beverly Hills on Oct. 12, 1987.

Descamps described Hulse as “a Californian who has demonstrated continued friendship through the media,” according to an L.A. Times article about the ceremony.

Hulse first visited France in 1951, while he was writing for the Valley Times.

“The love affair with France began then and has never lost its ardor,” he told the L.A. Times after he received the honor.

Travel Around the World Propels Career

···

Hulse became a famous travel reporter after he published a series of stories, according to his son Richard. He accompanied Jack Ford, a former Air Force World War II fighter pilot who ferried airplanes for a living, on two trips around the world in 1951 and 1952.

“Many times over the years, my father shared these adventures with anyone who’d lend him an ear,” Richard said. “I remember him telling me, ‘Dickie, before I went on the first jaunt, my idea of a trip was driving from North Hollywood to Van Nuys. My anticipated ten days away from home flying with Jack ended a month and three days later. I wasn’t sure I’d have a job once I returned home.”

During Hulse’s first trip around the world, the plane lost radio contact with air traffic controllers between Wake Island and Guam, according to his son. In Athens, a starter broke. They had problems with the radio again between France and England. On a flight from Scotland to Iceland, an engine broke and Ford flew the plane back to Scotland.

“Between Iceland and Greenland, black oil started sputtering out of the engines, but the pilot miraculously managed to complete the journey,” Richard said. “By the time my father returned home, he had written 22 stories for the paper.”

Hulse joined Ford on a second trip the next year. Ford attempted to fly a two-engine De Havilland Dove airplane over the Atlantic Ocean to Europe.

“During the flight, both motors iced up, and with the knowledge that one can die within four minutes in the frigid waters of the Atlantic, they barely made it to Iceland,” Richard said. “My father flew back home courtesy of the United States Air Force.”

Ford invited Hulse to join him on a third trip, but Hulse refused because he could not get more time away from the newspaper. The third trip was fatal for Ford. His plane exploded shortly after takeoff on Wake Island.

Hulse Finds Love in Wartime

Jerry Hulse was born in Grand Junction, Colorado on Sept. 5, 1924. His family crossed the Rocky Mountains when he turned three. They first moved to Hermosa Beach, then across the street from the Hollywood Bowl and later settled in a house in the San Fernando Valley. Hulse attended Lankershim Elementary School, where, according to his son Richard, he excelled in art and creative writing.

···

Hulse was only 17 when he first met his future wife Josephine “Jody” Carr. While the United States declared war on Japan after the Dec. 7, 1941 Pearl Harbor attack, Hulse cruised Magnolia Boulevard in North Hollywood in his vintage Ford.

“It was a chill December morning in 1941, when I first saw her,” Hulse wrote of his wife in his book “Jody.” “She was small, with a pink ribbon in her hair, and as far as I was concerned she was the prettiest girl I’d ever seen. Every morning for a couple of weeks I offered her a ride. Finally, she accepted and we began dating. I think I fell in love with Jody the first time she got into that car. She was different from other girls I’d known. She was quiet and withdrawn, with an innocence that was rare even in the winter of ’41. I promised myself that someday I would marry her.”

They dated, went to dances together and exchanged letters while Hulse was in the Navy. Four years later, they married.

They drove to San Francisco for the honeymoon. In [Half Moon Bay], they only found a grocery store so they had “jelly rolls and [Pepsi Colas],” as a wedding breakfast.

Marriage Fuels New Career

Three days after the wedding, Hulse returned to work as a parking attendant, a job he lost the same day. He drove “an old Packard” to a parking spot, but could not break in time. “I took off like Superman flying [backward], and landed on top of a car in the lot next door. The boys gave me my check and waved goodbye,” Hulse wrote in his book.

The incident was a turning point for Hulse. He decided to enroll in college and look for a career path that would help him take care of his family. He attended classes at Los Angeles City College during the day and worked the nights in a fender shop.

During college, he worked on the campus newspaper, the Collegian as a reporter.

···

“When I graduated I got a job on a newspaper, covering every story you can name--kidnappings, robberies, murders,” he wrote in his book. “I even reported on the Berlin crisis. Later I got a roving assignment that kept me on the move (still does), traveling around the world to nearly any place you can name.”

Hulse joined the Los Angeles Times in 1952 as a crime reporter. Eight years later, he became the newspaper’s travel editor. He wrote weekly travel columns that changed the tourism landscape from the 1950s until the early 1990s.

The School of Travel Industry Management from the University of Hawaii at Mānoa named Hulse “Legacy in Tourism” honoree in 2008.

“Hawaii’s tourism industry owes a huge debt of gratitude to talented writers like Jerry Hulse who have been able to capture the magical allure of the islands,” the announcement states. “When Jerry began writing about the islands, there were just about 300,000 annual visitors. By the time he retired, Hawaii was welcoming more than 6 million ... and one out of every five of them was from California.”

···

Christopher Reynolds, staff writer for the L.A. Times, met Hulse at the beginning of the 1990s. Reynolds was at the starting point of his career while Hulse was heading to the finish line.

“We met in old Times headquarters on Spring Street when I was 32, just starting out as the paper’s travel writer, and Jerry was 68, about to retire after 32 years on the road,” Reynolds said. “He was always courtly and fit, a keen listener. He could also be a demanding editor. And he was always determined that his hard work gathering, writing and shaping stories should look effortless to readers on Sunday mornings.”

Hulse Goes on a Quest

Reporting skills helped Hulse save his wife’s life in 1974. Like an epic hero, Hulse overcame several trials in his quest to find Jody’s biological mother. The doctors told him that medical history information would be crucial to his wife’s treatment.

A year later, Hulse published “Jody,” a book that tells the story of the search. The book was published in 15 countries and made into a TV movie, according to the L.A. Times.

···

While searching for information about Jody’s biological family, Hulse encountered many obstacles reporters face every day.

“As a reporter, I’d been bullied before by martinets secure in their world of civil service, dealing with human beings as if they were entries in a ledger,” he wrote in his book. “Long ago I’d learned that you don’t argue with these people. You sidestep them.”

He only had six days, but he succeeded. His perseverance prolonged his wife’s life for 20 years.

“This is the story of a handful of people and what happened to them,” Hulse wrote in the preface of his book. “It is also, I see now, the story of hundreds of thousands of Americans still seeking their own true names, each a nomad searching for the place in blood and in spirit from which he or she came.”

4H Club Meets in Heaven

Hulse wrote his farewell column for the Los Angeles Times when he retired on June 7, 1992.

“The time has come to take my leave-to surrender this space to others with fresh dreams and young ideas. ... And so on this final Sunday of writing my Travel Tips column, I ask your indulgence while we journey together down Memory Lane,” Hulse wrote.

He ended his column and his career as a travel editor with the line: “Well, time to go. It has been memorable and I shall miss you.”

Hulse retired to Kauai. His biography on the “Legacy in Tourism” 2008 honorees page mentions Hulse’s last column for the Times. “My Own Private Paradise” was published on March 1, 1998.

···

“Jerry’s credibility as a travel writer came from his uncompromising ethics and style that was both poetic and honest,” the biography states. “As for his ethics, unlike many of his travel writer contemporaries, Jerry did not accept complimentary travel and lodging when he wrote his stories. Everything was on the Times and every story was clear of any conflict of interest.”

Reynolds says Hulse was a “fascinating fellow who had a remarkable career.” He also said that Leslie Ward succeeded Hulse as a travel editor for the Times. She remembered that Hulse was part of an informal group of travel writers and editors.

“They called themselves the 4H club, because they each had a last name beginning with H, and they sometimes traveled as a pack in the 1970s and 1980s,” Reynolds said.

Georgia Hesse, travel writer for the San Francisco Examiner was one of the four. She died earlier this year. The other two members of the group were Kermit Buss Holt of the Chicago Tribune and Bruce Hamby of the Denver Post.

Reynolds wrote Hulse’s obituary in the L.A. Times on Jan. 26, 2002. Hulse died a day prior, of complications after double hernia surgery. He was 77.

Late James Murphy, chairman of Chatsworth- based Brendan Tours, quoted in Hulse’s obituary said that the latter had power to motivate anyone to travel.

“People took his word as absolute gospel,” Murphy said. “When we started operating in Ireland in 1973, Jerry put a little piece in the [Sunday] paper. We took over 3,000 telephone calls on that Monday. All from just a sentence or two.”

Reynolds wrote in the obituary that peers remembered Hulse as “a fastidious researcher, a chronic worrier, a great lover of the tropics and a writer who suffered quietly in the creation of prose that seemed graceful and carefree.” A Columbia Journalism Review article reported in 1970 that Hulse was “widely considered to be the best travel writer in the country,” according to Reynolds.

The late Georgia Hesse remembered meeting Hulse on her first trip as a travel writer, at a conference in Indonesia in 1963.

“He was already very famous, and I was so afraid, because I was in my 20s and meeting all these people,” Hesse told Reynolds. “And he was the first to come over and say hello. He was just the soul of politeness and cordiality. He would open doors, and pull out your chair, and stand up when you came to the table, which among newspaper people is not necessarily the usual practice.”

Richard remembered his father wrote eight drafts before editors accepted one of his articles. “Writing wasn’t easy for him,” Richard said.

“But when he did it, he did it well.”

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collegiantimes · 2 years

Text

Napoleon’s Highest Honor Goes to City College Alumnus

BY SORINA SZAKACS

When Apollo 11 landed on the moon in 1969, Jerry Hulse had already written almost a decade’s-worth of travel reporting for the Los Angeles Times, stories

that not only won him awards and recognition, but opened new windows onto the world for Angelenos.

As the “gentleman traveler” of the L.A. Times, Hulse transformed his love for travel into a successful career and managed to reshape California and the world’s tourism in an unprecedented way.

Two decades into his travel-writing endeavors, Hulse received the Insignia of the Chevalier

de la Legion d’Honneur awarded by François Mitterrand, the French president at the time.

Minister of Tourism Jean-Jacques Descamps at the French Consulate in Beverly Hills on Oct. 12, 1987.

Descamps described Hulse as “a Californian who has demonstrated continued friendship through the media,” according to an L.A. Times article about the ceremony.

Hulse first visited France in 1951, while he was writing for the Valley Times.

“The love affair with France began then and has never lost its ardor,” he told the L.A. Times after he received the honor.

Travel Around the World Propels Career

these adventures with anyone who’d lend him an ear,” Richard said. “I remember him telling me, ‘Dickie, before I went on the first jaunt, my idea of a trip was driving from North Hollywood to Van Nuys. My anticipated ten days away from home flying with Jack ended a month and three days later. I wasn’t sure I’d have a job once I returned home.”

During Hulse’s first trip around the world, the plane lost radio contact with air traffic controllers between Wake Island and Guam, according tohis son. In Athens, a starter broke. They had problems with the radio again between France and England. On a flight from Scotland to Iceland, an engine broke and Ford flew the plane back to Scotland.

“Between Iceland and Greenland, black oil started sputtering out of the engines, but the

pilot miraculously managed to complete the

journey,” Richard said. “By the time my father returned home, he had written 22 stories for the paper.”

Hulse joined Ford on a second trip the next year. Ford attempted to fly a two-engine De Havilland Dove airplane over the Atlantic Ocean to Europe.

Hulse Finds Love in Wartime

“It was a chill December morning in 1941, when I first saw her,” Hulse wrote of his wifein his book “Jody.” “She was small, with a pink ribbon in her hair, and as far as I was concerned she was the prettiest girl I’d ever seen. Every morning for a couple of weeks I offered her a ride. Finally she accepted and we began dating. I think I fell in love with Jody the first time she got into that car. She was different from other girls I’d known. She was quiet and withdrawn, with an innocence that was rare even in the winter of ’41. I promised myself that someday I would marry her.”

They dated, went to dances together and exchanged letters while Hulse was in the Navy. Four years later, they married.

They drove to San Francisco for the honeymoon. In [Half Moon Bay], they only found a grocery store so they had “jelly rolls and [Pepsi Colas],” as a wedding breakfast.

Marriage Fuels New Career

Three days after the wedding, Hulse returned to work as a parking attendant, a job he lost the same day. He drove “an old Packard” to a parking spot, but could not break in time.“I took off like Superman flying [backward], and landed on top of a car in the lot next door. The boys gave me my check and waved goodbye,” Hulse wrote in his book.

During college, he worked on the campus newspaper, the Collegian as a reporter.

The School of Travel Industry Management from the University of Hawaii at Mānoa named Hulse “Legacy in Tourism” honoree in 2008.

Christopher Reynolds, staff writer for the L.A. Times, met Hulse at the beginning of the 1990s. Reynolds was at the starting point of his career while Hulse was heading to the finish line.

Hulse Goes on a Quest

A year later, Hulse published “Jody,” a book that tells the story of the search. The book was published in 15 countries and made into a TV movie, according to the L.A. Times.

While searching for information about Jody’s biological family, Hulse encountered many obstacles reporters face every day.

He only had six days, but he succeeded. His perseverance prolonged his wife’s life for 20 years.

“This is the story of a handful of people and what happened to them,” Hulse wrote in the preface of his book. “It is also, I see now, thestory of hundreds of thousands of Americansstill seeking their own true names, each a nomad searching for the place in blood and in spirit from which he or she came.”

4H Club Meets in Heaven

Hulse wrote his farewell column for the Los Angeles Times when he retired on June 7, 1992.

He ended his column and his career as a travel editor with the line: “Well, time to go. It has been memorable and I shall miss you.”

Hulse retired to Kauai. His biography onthe “Legacy in Tourism” 2008 honorees page mentions Hulse’s last column for the Times. “My Own Private Paradise” was published on March 1, 1998.

“Jerry’s credibility as a travel writer came from his uncompromising ethics and style that was both poetic and honest,” the biography states.“As for his ethics, unlike many of his travelwriter contemporaries, Jerry did not accept complimentary travel and lodging when he wrote his stories. Everything was on the Times and every story was clear of any conflict of interest.”

“They called themselves the 4H club, because they each had a last name beginning with H, and they sometimes traveled as a pack in the 1970s and 1980s,” Reynolds said.

Reynolds wrote Hulse’s obituary in the L.A. Times on Jan. 26, 2002. Hulse died a day prior, of complications after double hernia surgery. He was 77.

Late James Murphy, chairman of Chatsworth- based Brendan Tours, quoted in Hulse’s obituary said that the latter had power to motivate anyone to travel.

reported in 1970 that Hulse was “widely considered to be the best travel writer in the country,” according to Reynolds.

The late Georgia Hesse remembered meeting Hulse on her first trip as a travel writer, at a conference in Indonesia in 1963.

Richard remembered his father wrote eight drafts before editors accepted one of his articles. “Writing wasn’t easy for him,” Richard said.

“But when he did it, he did it well.”

0 notes

ptergwen · 3 years

Text

web of lies

take a leap. if you start to fall, the net will appear to catch you.

photographer!peter x journalist!reader || masterlist

w/c: 7.1k

warnings: swearing, one drinking mention, descriptions of anxiety, and angst if ya squint

summary: peter can’t stop holding your hands, betty and ned are the modern day bonnie and clyde, ned is a terrible guy in the chair, the osborn’s are up to something, and mj hates you all

a/n: y’all i’m super excited about this series like i haven’t had an idea i’ve really loved in months? so it’s good to be back !!! there are tons of things i have planned and i can’t wait to share them with all of you hehe i really hope you enjoy part one <3 happy reading

to be honest, which is what you do best, you’ve had a thing for peter parker your whole time at the daily bugle. you actually almost told him once.

a couple months ago, peter walked you home on a night you worked overtime. he’d came in last minute to leave some pictures on your boss’s desk. no one else but you was there, hunched at your computer in the dim office lighting. peter was pleasantly surprised to see you, yet concerned for your well-being. you had to put your finishing touches on a story.

he didn’t feel comfortable letting you travel alone at that hour. so, he went with you when you were ready. his company was more than welcomed. you told peter about your article while you two sat on the subway. he’d listened intently, your head resting on his shoulder and his arm around you. he made sure you got to your apartment building alright as well.

“hey, peter?” you’d asked, halfway up the steps. he was waiting until you were inside and safe to leave. “hm? you good?” he’d smiled sort of expectantly. “yeah. i... i wanted to say...”

your words got caught in your throat when he gave you the softest puppy eyes you’ve ever seen. you couldn’t do it. for some reason, you were too scared to confess how you felt. “thanks again for walking me home,” you’d settled on. he’d seemed disappointed that was what you wanted to tell him. nevertheless, he said not to worry about it before taking off.

that one moment perfectly captures it all; how yours and peter’s narrative plays itself out.

—

“we’ve got an update on hydra v. the people!”

“those freaky giraffes escaped the zoo... again.”

“shoot one more spitball and it’ll be your last.”

“does anyone have an aspirin?”

welcome to the daily bugle, where the chaos never ends and the calm never starts. you’ll find new york’s finest writers, publishers, and creatives of all kind right here. that would include you. you’re one of the top journalists in the whole building, according to mr. norman osborn. he’s the brilliant and slightly insane man who runs this place.

although it’s rare for someone in your field, you were hired straight out of college. norman read a few pieces you’d written and loved them so much that he offered you a job. full time, full benefits, no questions asked. there was something special about the way you wove your words together. your writing had its own voice. a strong voice, one the paper was severely lacking.

you’ve been with the bugle for just over a year now. it’s not the quiet, nine to five gig you were initially expecting it to be. you’re each very unique individuals in your office, and there’s never a dull moment because of it. your coworkers can be found hosting debates on the riskiest topics or tackling each other for blueberry muffins, and that’s just a regular tuesday. the place is stranger than strange. but, it’s become home.

thanks to mr. osborn being so accommodating, you actually settled in rather quickly. another big help has been the friends you’ve made. your first was michelle jones, who prefers to be called mj. she’s a fellow journalist with a wickedly dark humor that trickles into her writing. if you had to describe her in one word, it would be blunt. mj is as real as it gets, and also eternally loyal. she keeps her circle small, so you’re honored you get to be in it.

mj sits right next to you, which means you’re always talking through your days. that’s due in part to the way your office is set up. there aren’t any cubicles, tables and swirly chairs taking up their space instead. norman heard it was more progressive, probably from his son harry.

harry is about your age, only a couple of years older. he hangs around quite a lot, but doesn’t do much with his time besides that. according to norman, he’s still seeking out his passion. he’s banking on him finding a suitable career at the bugle. he’d like to pass this all on to harry some day, hopefully sooner than later. either way, you don’t mind having harry here. he’s super funny and friendly with everyone.

there’s also ned leeds, who’s an editor and reviews most of your pieces. he’s sweeter than candy, even when he’s ripping your grammar to shreds. on the rare occasions you’re not discussing breaking news, you two talk about movies. ned is a film buff and gives you the best recommendations. you’re convinced he was a critic in his past life.

last but so from least is peter parker. he only works for the bugle part time, since he’s still in school. you both graduated from your respective colleges the same year. peter wants to get his masters degree, though. he’s a photographer who’s aspiring to be a cinematographer. him and ned have their passion for the industry in common, and that’s what makes them such great friends.

you learned this and more from the times you and peter have partnered up on stories. he’s one of your best friends not only at the bugle, but in your entire life. the many long nights you’ve spent collaborating have brought you close to each other. they consist of drinking and deep talks, along with some actual work. he takes the pictures, you do the writing. you’ve been told you make a lovely pair.

peter says it himself, too. you’d like to believe he means it as more than coworkers. he’s so caring, and smart, and pure, and peter. yeah, you like him an awful lot. you can hardly stand the feeling of it sometimes.

the fact that you you haven’t come clean already is ridiculous.

“goddamn. not again,” you mutter out. “em, you better come look at this. it’s bad.” mj wheels over to you in her chair with a puzzled look. her eyes follow yours, landing on your computer. “leeds just sent this? to everyone?” she questions, your reply a short hum. you’re both staring daggers at the email your screen displays.

ned is responsible for assigning each journalist their own topics to cover. he’s been lacking a bit recently, having you write up think pieces on fluffy things. in other words, stuff that no one cares about. he asked you to compare oat milk and almond milk just last week. you’d hoped this week would be better, but here you are.

“this is ass. who does he think we are, buzzfeed?” mj scoffs at her own words. the daily bugle prides itself on being a reliable news source, on paper and tv. you’re starting to stoop down to the low level of your competitors. “he assigned me some tiktok dance trend. i’m not writing a single word about that app.” she sets her elbows down on the table, head in her hands.

“aw, why not? grandma mj isn’t down with the kids?” you tease and click out of the upsetting email. “i don’t write for kids,” mj deadpans. she pushes her glasses up on her nose. “what’d you get?” “the evolution of memes,” you gloomily reply. you’re surprised norman has been approving these topics. then again, ned is the head editor. he can do whatever he wants regardless of approval.

mj glares over at the kitchen, where betty brant currently resides. she’s making two hot chocolates instead of her usual one. “i blame her,” mj mumbles to you. your eyebrows furrow. “dude, what? betty is an angel. she doesn’t even work in editing.” betty is the bugle’s highest rated anchorwoman. her and her news team are on people’s televisions every night.

“no, but she has been spending a generous amount of time with leeds,” mj grumbles. she’s admittedly very nosy. the upside is that she tells you any juicy office drama there is. “my theory is betty’s making him give us crap stories so she can report the good ones.” she glances over at you to see what you think. “no way. that can’t be allowed... or legal,” you laugh back.

as if on cue, ned appears next to betty in the kitchen. he takes the extra hot coco that’s piled high with whipped cream. betty tucks a sheet of paper into his suit pocket and kisses his cheek, then he’s gone. you can only gasp as you watch this unfold. what has she done to poor, clueless ned?

“not such an angel anymore, huh?” mj smirks in satisfaction. “suddenly, she has red horns and a pitchfork,” you bitterly agree with your tongue in your cheek. betty waves to you two on her way back to broadcasting. mj gives her a fake nice finger wave, you ignoring her. “we can’t sit back and let this happen, em. we have to do something,” you decide. “let’s tell norman.”

uninterested, mj takes off her glasses and starts to clean them. “like he’ll believe us. yeah, golden girl betty brant is sabotaging the writer’s room,” she rewords her previous statement to put its stupidity in perspective. you throw your hands up. “she is, though! we literally watched it happen!” mj puts her freshly wiped glasses back on and sighs.

“i doubt norman would care, y/n. every newspaper to ever exist is corrupt somehow.” your pessimistic old pal has a point. however, you’re not so willing to accept it. “why can’t we be the first one that isn’t?” you offer a small smile. mj snickers, wheeling back to her own computer. “those are words of the innocent.” she’s already tapping her fingers across the keyboard.

“i thought you weren’t doing the tiktok piece,” you say under your breath. you’re slightly pissed mj turned you down, since she’s the reason you know about betty’s meddling. “i’m not,” mj answers sharply. “i’m gonna email quentin and ask if we can change our topics. happy?” quentin beck is another editor in the building. he’s not bad, but he is intimidating. no one typically goes to him as their first option.

“i’m thrilled,” you confirm and grin at mj to emphasize it. “thanks for stepping up. you’re forgiven.” “i didn’t realize i had to be sorry,” mj notes, this time in a playful manor. she shakes her head as she begins writing. “you and your morals.”

what you value most in your career is honesty, under any circumstances. of course, the other daily bugle writers are the same. norman strictly prohibits clickbait and crazy headlines because that isn’t real news. you leave that to companies like buzzfeed. you’re honest in the sense that you say whatever has to be said, what everyone else is too afraid to. you’ll speak your truth no matter who tries to stop you.

it didn’t used to be that way. there’s some childhood trauma that remains deep in the back of your mind. you’ve left that behind you now, having over a decade to cope with it. hey, they say the past is in the past. what’s important is your takeaway, that you would never let yourself or anyone else be silenced from there on out. never again.

quentin ends up giving you the okay to write different stories. he lets you and mj choose choose your own because he’s got “better things to do” and you’re “big girls.” what a peach he is. mj goes with how capitalism is continuing to provoke global warming. she has something to say about every major world issue, and you admire the hell out of her for it.

you’re a bit stuck when it’s time to write your article. it’s terribly ironic because you pushed for this. you aren’t too worried, though. the city is crawling with material, so you’ll find what you’re looking for eventually. lucky for you, some much needed inspiration comes skipping out of the elevator.

“morning, peter,” you hear liz greet him at the front desk. she’s your floor’s receptionist. her wisdom and patience keep this place going. “hi, liz. how’s it going?” he asks. “things have been quiet... mostly. can i do anything for you?” liz peers up at him. peter sports a shy smile. “uh, yeah. mr. osborn wanted to see me?” “right. hang on.” she nods, dialing his office phone number.

it’s endearing how peter calls him mr. osborn, seeing as the rest of you go with norman. he’s probably the politest guy you’ve ever met.

grinning, liz puts down the phone. “you can go in whenever you’re ready. good luck!” peter laughs nervously and turns to leave. “thanks, you too.” his face falls when he realizes his mistake. “wait, i- i didn’t mean to say that. that was stupid. you’re not-“ “it’s fine, peter,” liz reassures him. his anxiety makes him trip over his words sometimes. that, and he’s a bit dorky in general. you find it rather adorable.

you also wonder what exactly he needs good luck for. he’s not even supposed to be working today, so your curiosity as to what’s going on has been piqued.

“um, i’m gonna go now. bye!” peter rushes off, his face tinted pink from the embarrassing encounter. you’re hoping he’ll stop and talk with you for a little while, but he heads straight to norman’s office. your whole body deflates at that. mj notices from her peripherals.

“what’s the matter? missing your hubby?” she coos, her words dripping in sarcasm. “no,” you lie. “i’m... i don’t know what to write about.” ok, there’s some truth. mj gives you a couple pats on the shoulder. “ask parker for help. you two work... well together. don’t you?” this must be the zillionth time you’ve heard that.

“we do,” you murmur and glance at norman’s closed door. peter is hidden behind it. “i just don’t wanna bug him. he has finals soon, and whatever norman is putting him up to. it’s my job, anyway.” mj pokes your arm. “those sound like excuses to me,” she concludes, still jabbing at you childishly. “you really just don’t wanna tell him you like-“

“can you keep it down?” you hiss, yanking your arm back. “he’s literally right over there.” peter stands up and shakes norman’s hand. you catch it through the blinds on his window. “y/n, you were drooling over his mere presence only minutes ago,” mj prefaces, a smile pulling at her lips. “you can handle three little words. i like you, that’s it. spit it out already.”

you’ll never admit this to mj, but she’s right. you lost your momentum after your first failed attempt to say the three little words. you’re still not sure what stopped you. you’d shared the details of that faithful night with her, and she’s been pushing you to try again since.

the door to norman’s office opens, and out walks peter. he’s beaming after their conversation, which seems like a good sign. harry passes peter on his way in to pay his dad a visit. he claps him on the shoulder, peter happily accepting before continuing his stride back into the main office. it takes a moment to register that he’s coming towards you.

you quickly set your focus back on your computer so he doesn’t think you’ve been watching him. even though, you definitely have.

“y/n!” peter calls your name. he’s on the opposite side of your table, in front of you. “peter!” you match his tone. “i was just dropping by. i thought i’d say hey while i’m here.” he’s still grinning. “what’re you doing?” he looks cute as ever in an oversized and cream colored sweater. his curls are slicked back with a tad too much product, cheeks rosy. you gaze up at him when he rests his arms on the table.

“pretending to be productive,” mj answers for you, pressing her lips together. peter cocks his head to the side. “pretending?” “ignore her. she’s being a shit stirrer today,” you explain. “like every other day,” he jokes, earning a laugh from you. mj just tuts and keeps writing. “talk about me like i’m not here,” she mumbles to herself, then gets back into her article.

“anyways, i thought you didn’t work today?” you ask to take the attention off yourself. also, because you’re curious. “oh! get this.” peter perks up even more, if that’s possible. he has energy like no other. “you know alex in broadcasting? betty’s camera guy?” “what about him?” you wonder. “he called in sick earlier this morning, with the flu or something.” he’s oddly excited to announce this. that prompts you to make a funny face.

biting back another smile, peter elaborates. “mr. osborn needed someone to fill in for him, so he picked me. i’ll be here all week.” it makes sense, since peter knows how to work a camera and does so wonderfully. you give him a celebratory push at his chest. “peter, that’s amazing! this is the perfect way to transition from pictures to film, right?” he’s nearing his finals at school, which consist of more movie-like projects. the news will be great practice.

then, he’s off to hollywood. you’ll put that out of your mind for now.

“exactly! i think it’ll be a good place to start. the pay isn’t bad either.” peter wiggles his eyebrows at you, you giggling once again. you do a lot of that when he’s around. that’s going to be more often now. “plus, i get to see you. everyone wins.” he squeezes your hand that was just on him. your heart begins to thump. “except alex,” you challenge, playing with his fingers. “but, for real. i’m happy you get to do this and that we’ll be spending more time together.”

“thanks, y/n/n. me too.” peter grins and leans over, taking a peek at your computer screen. there’s a blank word document on it. “you never told me what you’re up to,” he chuckles. “guess mj was right... nothing.” “i’m always right,” she chimes in from next to you. you look between the two of them with a scowl. “i haven’t found my story yet. i don’t know, this never happens.” peter nods as you share your dilemma. “no good ideas are coming to me,” you murmur.

“they will. you have a way of attracting things.” he licks his lower lip, your heart completely stopping this time. “well, i gotta go set up for rise and shine with betty brant.” he waves his hand like he’s presenting his words. that’s what betty calls her morning news segment. “be careful with her. she’s being really sketchy these days,” you warn peter, mj grunting in agreement.

confused, peter purses his lips. “really? ned says she’s a sweetheart. they’ve been going out for a while.” mj pops her head up and adjusts her glasses. “did ned also tell you she’s bribing him to give her all of our scoops?” she’s asking rhetorically because she already knows the answer. of course he didn’t. “it’s one thing to not like her. you’re just making things up now,” peter huffs.

mj kicks your foot under the table. “i told you no one would believe us. not even peter gullible parker.” “it’s benjamin,” he corrects her. “whatever,” she brushes it off, resuming her work.

peter does tend to be sort of naive, to only see the good in things when there’s plenty of bad. you’re the same in that way, unless you hang around mj for too long.

“is that true? betty’s stealing your stories?” peter turns to you and asks. you gesture to your screen. “i don’t have one, so you do the math.” he hums sympathetically. he’ll listen to you, never mj. “i’m sorry. thanks for telling me, y/n. i’ll watch out for her.” he bends his fingers to look like goggles, putting them around his eyes. you sigh lightheartedly.

“are you twenty two years old or twelve?” mj remarks, but not without a comeback from peter. “you’re, like, eighty five. worry about that.” they’ve had this type of banter for as long as you’ve known them. it’s equal parts amusing and exhausting. “don’t be late on your first day.” you snap peter out of it with a knowing smile. he returns it.

“i hope something crazy happens so you can write about it.” he’s walking backwards now, towards the elevator. “see you later, pete,” is all you say back, yet another laugh threatening to escape you. “see you. bye, michelle,” peter says just to bug her. “it’s mj,” she groans without looking up. he shrugs. “not so fun, is it?”

after peter is gone, you try to get back into work. or rather, you try to start your work. what he said about you having a way of attracting things keeps ringing in your head. was he flirting? no, he couldn’t have been. peter parker doesn’t flirt. words aren’t his strong suit, and you have countless memories that prove this to be true. earlier with liz, for example.

you’re probably reading way into this. peter was simply doing what any good friend would do and gave you advice.

it’s late in the afternoon when anything worth mentioning happens again. peter is still with betty, as far as you know. they’re probably preparing for the nighttime news now. all you’ve done since seeing him is nibble on snacks and bug mj, who’s almost done with her story despite your distractions. this is really bad, considering your deadline to submit is at the end of today.

you’ve never missed a deadline.

mj emails her work to quentin while you repeatedly bang your head on the table. she hits send before deciding to entertain you. “whatcha doing over there?” she cautiously prompts, powering off her computer. “trying to get an idea. i’m desperate, if you couldn’t tell.” your voice is muffled. “i could.” mj grabs your shoulders and pulls you back so you’re sitting up. you childishly pout.

“y/n, the only thing that’s gonna give you is brain damage,” mj says sternly, then softens her tone. “why don’t you ask for an extension? norman gives me them all the time.” whining, you slump down in your chair again. “yeah, but you’re you! we do things differently, have different expectations put on us.” she’s back to cold mj after you say that. “alright. at least i did something today besides pine over that little-“

mj’s insult for peter is interrupted by harry. “ladies, what’s shaking?” he comes up to you two with a the hint of smirk on his face. you manage a nod to acknowledge him. “oh, hey... harry,” mj unenthusiastically replies. she’s the one person who isn’t really a fan of him. “not much. y/n was just having a tantrum.” “she was not,” you dismiss her. “it’s work stuff. you know your dad.”

harry clicks his tongue in a teasing way. “yep, the grind never stops in this joint. boss man is...” he does the sign for cuckoo with his finger. you laugh a little at that. “in a good way,” you add on. mj only watches you two, blinking blankly. harry gives you a definitive pat on the back. “before i forget, he wants to see you.” that gets mj talking. “norman?” she questions. “your dad?” you choke out at the same time.

“who else? he said you two have to talk.” harry flashes you a weary smile. “have fun in there, old sport.” you’re too busy biting the skin off your bottom lip to respond. “mhm... she will,” mj speaks on your behalf. even she sounds worried. saluting you both, harry leaves to go pester your other colleagues. you’re completely and totally fucked.

“that’s it for me!” you grin sarcastically, freaked out by harry. “i’m fired, aren’t i? i’m definitely about to get fired, and it’s all because-“ “relax!” mj cuts off your rambling. she reaches down and grasps at your wrists. “get it together, y/l/n. you’re the best we have, okay? you aren’t going anywhere.” your grin becomes a frown. “then why does norman wanna talk to me? and, why don’t i have a story?”

mj always has the answers, but this time is the execption. she lets out a breath. “i don’t know. you’ll go find out and tell me what happens.” there’s no use protesting. you’re going to have to face whatever you’re about to at some point. “ok,” you give in, defeated. “i’ll be back soon, i hope.”

the walk to norman’s office feels like a walk of shame. mj can do nothing but sit back and observe it. if this ends the way you think it will, you’ll be collecting your things and won’t ever return. norman is a kind man, and he’s usually pretty understanding. he doesn’t mind the workplace shenanigans as long as you get your job done. unfortunately, you haven’t today.

you hear your boss’s booming voice when you approach his door. inhaling deep, you knock on it, and the room goes silent. “come in,” norman responds after a few seconds. mustering up a smile, you open the door to be met with your doom. “hi, am i interrupting something?” you check. “not at all! you’re just the person i wanted to see. sit, sit,” he beckons you over. he’s not using his angry voice, so maybe you’re in the clear. you enter the room as told.

you’re shocked to see a terrified peter is already in one of the chairs. he visibly relaxes a bit now that you’re here. what the hell is happening? whatever you were expecting, this was the last thing.

taking the armchair next to peter, you sit facing norman’s desk. you nudge his arm to get his attention. his big brown eyes lock with yours. “what’s going on?” you whisper. “no idea,” peter whispers back. the two of you turn to norman again when he claps his hands. he’s plopped down into his cushy leather seat.

“so,” he begins, gaze flicking from peter to you. “you kids know why you’re here?” “is it because i missed my deadline?” you blurt out. you’re once again a nervous wreck. peter doesn’t speak, just winces. “not that. although, i did hear from ned that you turned down his assignment.” norman flicks at a post-it on his desk. “i asked quentin for one instead. me and mj,” you explain, peter’s eyes going wide.

“you talked to quentin? that guy’s bad news,” he murmurs to you. “how so?” norman questions, since it’s his employee. “he- he, um,” peter clears his throat before answering, “he’s super critical, you know? hates all my pictures.” “i love your pictures,” you assure him, the corners of his lips turning up. “your style is so cool. yeah, though. quentin’s pretty bitter.”

considering this, norman drums his fingers on the desk. “i’ll look into that. but, that isn’t why you’re here. i’m letting you off the hook this time.” your whole demeanor changes and a huge weight lifts off of you. “really? you are?” “i have a scoop of my own that i want you to cover,” he continues, peter bumping your knee happily. a toothy grin takes over your face.

“since peter will be sticking around for a while, i want him to join you.” norman waits a beat in case you have any questions. it’s been a minute since you last worked together. peter laughs in disbelief. “you want me to take over for alex and do this?” norman nods proudly. “y/n will need the extra hands, if you have them.” “yes, sir. i do,” peter immediately confirms. “my last class is next thursday, so i have the time.”

“wait, so you’re almost done? that’s awesome!” you bump peter’s knee this time. “yup, all that’s left is finals... and studying.” he mindlessly takes your hand, lacing your fingers together. you’re enjoying his gentle touches. “thank you so much, norman. seriously, i appreciate this a lot,” you tell him and mean it. “hey, no problem,” he chuckles at your eagerness. you grip peter’s hand tighter.

“what’s the story?” “ah, yes. the most important part,” norman starts, peter sharing an excited look with you. “how familiar are you two with spider-man?” his excitement fades at the question posed. it’s unbeknownst to you, caught up in the moment. “uh, same as everyone else, i guess,” you casually reply. “how come?” “he’s your subject.” norman points at you both. “you’re gonna study him over these next few months.”

peter’s hand goes limp in yours, and he gulps hard, throat feeling dry. “you mean, like, an exposé?” “no, no. there will be no exposing,” norman clarifies. “i’m sure he wears the mask for a reason.” that settles peter only slightly. you’re not sure why he’s so tense all of a sudden. “what’s our aim here, then?” you steer the conversation.

“see what new york’s favorite hero gets up to every day, how his life is beyond the crime fighting,” norman further describes your task. peter exhales a shaky breath, shifting away from you in his seat. the golden sun hits his face and reveals a bead of sweat dripping down it. you stare at his figure in worry. “you okay, peter?” “fine. i’m just... hot,” he murmurs back. his sweater does look pretty heavy, so you concede.

getting back to norman’s story, you grimace at the idea. “do you really think people will want to read that? for lack of a better term, it sounds kind of...” you pause. “basic.” “i thought the same thing at first,” he surprisingly agrees with you. “harry pitched the idea to me this morning. you won’t believe it! the other night, he caught spider-man hanging outside his window.”

“harry... harry saw him?” peter squeaks out. he uses the wool material that feels like it’s swallowing him to dab at his forehead. “he stopped on his balcony. must have been pretty late, the kid’s a night owl,” norman says about his son. your face lights up as you listen to him. “he took some shots of spidey in action, when he swung off. i saw a few. they were pretty great.” he’s grinning at his son’s success.

“maybe he’ll get into photography with you, pete,” norman suggests. peter gives him a weak smile in return. “we’d be happy to have him.” he usually has a lot more to say about his career than that. his behavior is starting to genuinely concern you. “anyway,” norman gets back on topic, “it got me thinking. how much do we really know about this guy? we’re supposed to blindly put our trust in him?”

you’re beginning to see the appeal now. you’ve written your share of pieces on the avengers and their methods, tackling the same questions norman just asked you. spider-man shouldn’t be overlooked, especially when he operates so close to your home. this could be another revolutionary superhero story in the making. and, you get to bring peter along for the ride.

“you know what? this has a lot of potential,” you smile at norman, then peter. he has his phone in his lap, fingers flying across the screen. it must be something important. you’ll discuss with norman while he takes care of that. “we could make it a weekly thing, about spider-man’s adventures. find out what we can about the man behind the mask...” peter shoots up in his seat. “without taking it off,” you finish, putting his mind at ease.

“see, i knew you were gonna love it! it was a blessing in disguise, you missing that deadline.” norman bangs his fist on the table with a hearty laugh. “what do you say, peter? you still in?” peter slips his phone back in his pocket. his tongue pokes out to wet his lips. “oh, of course. i can’t wait to work with you, y/n/n,” he speaks in a monotone voice, adding on, “again.”

something is definitely bothering him, and it isn’t the weather.

“i gotta go. betty needs me upstairs, so,” peter moves to get up, his body stiff. you assume that’s who he was texting. “thank you again, mr. osborn.” he’s rushing out of the room just like that, until you call after him. “um, don’t you wanna set a time to meet up? so we can get started?” you reasonably ask. “i... i really gotta go. find me later,” peter tells you, giving you both a tight lipped smile and running off.

“the dynamic duo is back!” norman announces to you. you’re disappointed you can’t share that sentiment with peter.

he’s absolutely booking it down the stairs, not bothering to wait for the next elevator. this is bad. this is a nightmare.

peter went from having one of his best days in a while to the worst in not even a full round of work. today started off fine, and got better when norman promoted him. it got way better when you came along. he saw your smile that makes his insides tingle, heard your laugh that’s the prettiest sound to grace his ears, held your hand that he never wants let go.

things went a bit downhill after that. betty was pushy and yelled at him a lot, demanding he only film her good angles for the segment. you and mj weren’t wrong when you told him to be careful.

later on when he saw you again, everything was okay. he was physically shaking as brad told him mr. osborn requested to see him. brad is mr. osborn’s assistant. a try-hard for sure, but good at his job. why did mr. osborn call him in? did betty complain already?

they’d been sitting in mostly silence, save for small talk until you came knocking on the door. simply being next to you was enough to ground peter and his racing thoughts. it was enough, then it wasn’t.

the whole day had gone to shit after he found out you were going to be writing stories about his alter ego. not only that, but he was helping. during the pitch, he’d texted ned to meet him in the bathroom. he was really anxious and needed a friend who understood why.

ned accidentally found out peter is spider-man last year. it’s a long story that involves peter hiding from some bad guys in the building and ned shrieking so loud the lights flickered. they’re cool now that peter talked things through with him. his secret has been kept, from what he knows.

pushing open the men’s bathroom door, peter is a mixture of sweat and ragged breaths. he’s panting from his fast descent down the staircase. he takes in his disheveled appearance using one of the mirrors. his styled hair is now damp and undone, hands trembling and palms sweaty, chest heaving. here’s his daily reminder that anxiety is not cute. as if he didn’t know.

his stupid, gigantic freaking sweater is only making things worse. it’s suffocating him. no one else is in here, so peter pulls it over his head and tosses it to the ground. he’s got a t-shirt on underneath that happens to be black. what a convenient day for him to wear the hottest material there is.

peter splashes his face with some cold water next to try and cool himself down. that doesn’t do much for him. his face still feels like it’s on fire, but now it’s wet. he takes his hands through his mop of curls, backing away from the sink.

“fuck. fuck, fuck, fuck,” peter repeats to himself. he’s silent for a moment, then rage overcomes him. he kicks open a bathroom stall. “shit! i can’t do this. what am i supposed to-“

the door creeks open, so peter shuts up in case it isn’t ned. it thankfully is, and he wears a deep frown at the sight of his best friend. “dude, what happened? you look...” “terrible. i know,” peter finishes for him. he tugs at his locks in another attempt to tame them. ned approaches him carefully. “you’re not, like, dying... are you? because betty was telling me you have to-“ “of course you were with betty,” peter exhales in frustration. “no, ned. i’m not dying.”

in ned’s defense, the text he received was very alarming. all peter wrote was, ‘EMERGENCY. SOS.’

“i mean, yeah. it was my break.” ned sits on the ledge by the window, close to peter. “you do the same with y/n.” the mention of your name upsets peter all over again. he hides his face in his hands as ned watches. “if you’re not dying, then what’s the problem?” ned finally asks. “me and y/n...” peter removes his hands from his face, meeting ned’s worried eyes. “mr. osborn wants us to do a project together.”

“uh, peter? you’ve been saying how much you miss her forever, dude! you’re not excited?” ned snorts at him. he means well, but he has no clue what he’s talking about. “no. it’s supposed to be about spider-man,” peter answers angrily. this isn’t the support he was hoping for. realizing the severity of the situation, ned gets serious.

“oh... but, you’re still doing it?” he questions. “i didn’t have a choice,” peter scoffs out. “i can’t let either of them down.” “you’ll expose yourself!” ned escalates things further. “it’s not like that. we’re gonna follow spider-man around and post updates on him,” peter says, technically in the third person. he’s given an are you insane? look from ned.

“you are spider-man! and, no offense, but you’re not so good at hiding it,” ned refers to himself finding out. “how are you gonna be in two places at once?” damnit, peter hadn’t thought about that yet. he can’t be taking pictures of spider-man and swinging from building to building simultaneously. “i- i’ll figure it out,” peter stammers, unconvincingly.

ned looks him over in a disapproving way. “jeez. you’re really putting your life on the line for this girl-“ “woman,” peter interjects, not loving ned’s attitude towards you. “have some respect.” unfazed, ned gets up from the windowsill. “speaking of women, remember betty? you’re still on the clock,” he changes the subject. peter nearly forgot he has to go film her segment.

“i’ll head up to her now,” peter gives in. he scoops up his discarded sweater, not bothering to check his appearance again. ned follows behind him to the door. “we wrote her script together, you know,” he gladly informs peter, who already knows from you. “not really a flex,” peter mumbles his response. “peter, lighten up.” ned hits at his shoulder. the two of them exit the bathroom.

“you’ll figure this out later. i can always help.” he shoots him a sugary sweet smile. “thanks, ned. for talking with me and everything.” peter doesn’t smile back. they do a quick bro handshake, then they’re going their separate ways. “have a good show, dude!” ned yells back, to which he doesn’t get a response. peter doesn’t have it in him.

he allows himself to take the elevator back up to broadcasting. he’s so drained from the several anxiety attacks he endured. while peter waists for the elevator, he contemplates all the issues he’d better solve. it’s a relief to hear it ding because it brings him back to earth. that doesn’t last long because both you and betty are there when the door opens.

you’d each had the same idea, to find peter. unlike betty, your intentions were good. you asked liz if she saw peter leave. she told you he went downstairs, so you did also. betty was already in the elevator when it got to your stop. she was looking for him because, you guessed it, he had to record the news. the small space was filled with tension as you and betty occupied it.

“perfect. we’re going right back up,” betty beams, motioning for peter with her index finger. “hop in!” “coming,” peter does as told, going to stand between you and betty. she presses the button for your floor and theirs. the doors close. “pete?” you speak up, voice soft. “you kinda ran off earlier. i thought you were with betty.” “clearly, he wasn’t,” betty sneers.

you’re less concerned with her and more with peter. the sweater he looked so huggable in is now folded in his arms, his face splotchy and jaw clenched. he must have gotten triggered by something back in norman’s office.

“are you sure you’re okay? you... you can talk to me about it.” you take a step closer to peter, your doe eyes searching for his. he meets them with a tiny smile. at least, it’s real this time. “i’ll be fine, y/n/n. ‘s nice that you came to check on me, though.” “don’t mention it.” your arms loop around his neck and bring him into a hug. peter hugs you back by your middle, chin resting on your shoulder, breathing out in relief.

you keep your hands on his shoulders when you pull back. his stay on your sides, a lopsided grin now crossing his features. “spider-man...” you quirk an eyebrow. “how are you feeling about that?” “should be cool,” peter somehow maintains himself. “i’m mostly looking forward to doing it with you.”

listening in, betty joins the conversation. “what’s happening with spider-man? anything i should know?” her hand reaches into her bag and emerges with a notepad. does she ever think of her own content? “she’s nothing if not persistent,” you grumble to peter. chuckling, he pulls you into his chest. if he didn’t hold you back, you would’ve pounced on her.

“we’re gonna do a piece on him,” peter tells her. “you can’t copy or steal this one because it’s already been approved,” you contribute, smiling smugly as peter holds you tighter. betty is taken aback. “are you accusing me of stealing? who said i-“ “ned ratted on you... sorry,” peter says in a sing song voice. squealing, you jump away from him. “he did? we were right?”

“mj’s never wrong,” he reiterates. “mj knew about this? oh my god, i can’t believe her!” betty stomps her foot. “we got you on candid camera.” you make a clicking noise with your mouth. peter mimes taking a picture to back you up. “alright, alright. i won’t do it again,” betty mumbles, turning away from you two in annoyance.

“finally!” you hold up your hand for a high five, which peter gives you. “we really do make the best team,” he hums. your fingers intertwine with peter’s, and he lays his palm flat against yours. he prays extremely hard you don’t notice that it’s sweaty. you do, but you couldn’t care less.

“i was wondering when you’d wanna start our... research?” peter asks you, his lip between his teeth. “you were saying something earlier. maybe we could make a schedule.” “how elaborate of us that would be,” you tease. that earns a breathy laugh from peter. with a knowing smile, you put your free hand back on his shoulder.

“what are you doing tonight?”

peter parker taglist

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if i forgot you please lmk!

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newtie-patootie-bootie · 3 years

Text

Masquerade (Prologue)

Summary: This is your third season and your aspirations on finding love are dwindling but news on Lady Whistledown’s society pages say that there is to be a foreign royal in attendance to the season. Could this royal dignitary be the one you’ve been waiting for, or could there be a mysterious stranger lurking in the shadows, waiting to pluck your heart for his?

Disclaimer: I do not own Bridgerton nor The Mandalorian- all rights go to the owners and creators of their separate stories.

Warnings: None just yet, enjoy my writing as I lead up to the story!!

|| Please do not repost or plagiarise my work ||

| Chapter 1 |

“Dearest, have you read the newest Lady Whistledown?” Your mother burst into the drawing room with a flurry of her skirts, clutching the article in her fist as you, your brother and your father took in her frazzled form.

Her eyes were alight with excitement and she was nearly vibrating with delight, “no, Mama. I haven’t.” You answered her, eyebrows pulling together gently and she barrelled forward, slapping the scandal sheet in your hand.

You abandoned your needlepoint on your lap and opened the reports gingerly, perusing the freshly printed words with increasing distress:

‘In related news to this year’s promising season, my dearest reader- my sources say that a discreet candidate was called on by the Queen herself!

In a show of good faith and generosity to the newly signed trade agreements between the Crown and the elusive, yet breathtaking realm of Mandalore; it seems that this mysterious suitor has touched foot on our verdant lands in search of one of this season’s blossomed flowers to pluck for his own.

I have heard that this particular aspirant is eager to secure an acceptable match, perhaps with the season’s named Incomparable?

Or, perhaps there will be a sweet winter blossom that bloomed so richly as she was presented to Her Majesty, the Queen for her third season. Could the magnificent daughter of the Duke and Duchess of Wintere snatch such a lucrative title from Miss Daphne Bridgerton?

I so do adore a good rivalry between two influential families and as such, I would like to express my most exuberant notions of good fortunes to each family and may the best woman win.

This intrepid author would also like to disclose that there should be a number of severe competitors at the Danbury Ball this evening- and even worse, bloodthirsty mama’s charging forward with energetic hopes to secure the prospects of such an exceptional suitor.

After all, it is not everyday you are offered the chance to become a Queen.’

“She has named our dearest daughter a ‘winter blossom’, no doubt in reference to our family crest, darling!” Thomas’ eyebrows lifted at the high praise and yes, it was true. The family crest consisted of blooming hellebores and a snowy owl taking flight. “She also named our daughter to be a worthy adversary of the season’s Incomparable, Daphne Bridgerton!” Elaine gushed, taking a seat beside her husband and her skirts pooled with the air trapped but she seemed nonplussed as did Thomas who watched her with an adoring smile. “Isn’t that wonderful, darling?”

“I’d consider that a high honour indeed!” Thomas boasted proudly, raising his teacup to you and a sigh left your lips, ever world-weary.

“Looks more like a wilted weed to me.” Your brother teased and earned a reproachful stare from your parents, Ryder shrugged off the blistering glare from your mother before turning back to his book.

“Mama,” you implored, the paper crinkling in your tight grip, “do not put any stock into Whistledown’s scribblings- she has a tendency to exaggerate and her words incite challenge when there is no need for it.” You scoffed, tossing the offending scrap on the plush cushion beside you, “she has surely just made Daphne and I targets for the 200 other girls for the entire season!”

Ryder stood from his place across the room and moved closer, snatching the crinkled sheet from the pillow and plopped himself down, taking in its contents for himself, “Cressida Cowper is going to eat you alive, dearest sister.”

“Please do not remind me of Cressida Cowper, do I not appear distressed enough for you to cease your mistimed jibes, brother?” Your tone heightened, echoing somewhat in the drawing room.

Ryder’s smirk softened into a worried frown and took your hand in his in a soothing fashion, soft thumb massaging the space between your knuckles, “apologies, sweet sister. I only wished to make light of your situation for your own piece of mind.”

Sighing, you whispered your own apology at your sudden snap and you hummed softly in thought before a mischievous grin curled against your lips, “if anyone should feel concerned about Cressida Cowper’s intentions, I would think you to be more perturbed than I, older brother. The heir to the Duke of Wintere, a monumental promise of success to any willing debutante, I’m certain.” Ryder shuddered at the thought of the ill-mannered girl setting gladiatorial eyes on him and the notion of the high prospects he would bring to the mart. Immediately abandoning your hand, he burrowed himself deeper into the seat beside you and flicked the sheet out dramatically.

It was an indiscreet attempt to occupy his mind elsewhere as he kept his eyes firmly on the black print, yet he took not one word of the information in.

“Darling, this is good.” Your mother’s voice gently eased you from you and your brother’s banter as she reached forward and took your hand in hers, “this means that suitors will now take notice of you, and if this king hears word of your beauty in Whistledown’s musings, then I believe we should all be thankful to the woman, do you not agree?”

Your fingers curled around hers but your eyes remained downcast at your half-sewn needlepoint and you sighed softly, “I don’t see the need for such articles to be published. There will be enough dramatics to satisfy the weak-minded all season.”

“Your mother and I only want what is best for you, little owlet.” Your eyes raised to meet Thomas’, his gaze warm, tone loving as he levelled you with an adoring smile, “if it eases your mind, I have come across some news of this new ruler during my time at the club. I have heard he is just and fair. An honourable gentleman if somewhat mysterious as Lady Whistledown reports. You have nothing to lose by dazzling him with your grace and charm- but you have everything to gain if you succeed in wooing him. You have no need for tricks or deception to win the attention of any suitor, for you are perfect just the way you are.” Tears blurred your vision, threatening to slip down your cheeks. Your frown turned into a watery smile as your father placed his warm, large hand over you and your mothers, “and I shall be there to protect you and only agree to a match deserving of a jewel such as yourself.”

You sniffled back the forming tears before smiling warmly, “thank you, Papa.”

“There is no need for gratitude, dearest. This is a father’s duty; one I aim to fulfill to the highest regard-” Your father’s words were cut short as one of the servants walked into the drawing room.

“Your dresses have arrived, Your Grace, my Lady.”

“Ooh!” Elaine shot up from her seat, clapping in excitement before grabbing your hand and hauling you upstairs to your room, “we must find the perfect gown for tonight’s fete!”

Your sputtering and half formed protests carried down the hallway as Thomas opened the newspaper that had been sitting untouched in his lap, chuckling indulgently, “ever the child, your mother.”

Ryder shook his head in amusement, a smile curling his lips.

"Have you read the newest Whistledown? Foreign royalty searching for a suitable bride? I suspect this season will turn out to be exemplary.”

"I heard that this King's treasury is one to rival the Crown itself."

"I heard he has a son, yet there is no mother that has come forward to claim the child. A most scandalous affair, indeed!"

"I heard that their land is rich in minerals. Some type of iron that is nigh indestructible! I'd wager it'd fetch a high price."

"Daphne Bridgerton locked in a violent competition with the Duke and Duchess of Wintere’s daughter? How delicious."

"I have never heard of this Mandalore, is it near Scotland?"

You were barely able to contain your ire for the gossiping hounds polluting the air of the ballroom.

Your jaw ticked imperceptibly and you fought the urge to roll your eyes so hard you would be able to see the back of your head.

Their whispers were anything but that as you walked past each intrusive mama and daughter as they revelled in the rumors etched in the latest scandal sheet authored by Lady Whistledown, containing information of a supposed king attending the ball.

Your eyes scanned the ballroom and made contact with the youngest Featherington- carving a path for her, her rounded figure swathed in a bright, eye-catching yellow gown that suited her complexion and figure little, yellow beads and jewels glittering in the lights overhead.

You caught her eye and her shy demeanor slipped somewhat as she smiled, excited to see a familiar face and you curled your arm through hers and locked them together, “why have I not seen you on the dance floor, Miss Featherington?” You asked and Penelope sighed.

“I am just admiring the view, Lady Dalton,” you raise one brow at the title and her tiny frown curled into an indulgent smile as she corrected herself and called you by your given name, “you seem to have taken the room by storm when you joined the dance floor, every bachelor here has his eyes on you and Daphne tonight. I would think many of the suitors here are bursting at the seams for your hand- and it is your third season as well.”

“No doubt to Lady Whistledown’s meddling, I’d wager. I have already entertained enough male suitors tonight. I shall take my leave of them for the time being,” your tone changed to a slight whine which served to incite Penelope’s rich giggles, “have you taken your turn about the room?”

“I’m afraid I am not as carefully provided for as you, my Lady. Father has decided to forego these events and my mama is not quite so attuned to my aspirations to ensure a well-rounded tour.”

“Well, then, allow me, Miss Featherington.” You hummed politely, smiling brilliantly at the shy girl who returned the gesture just as brightly and you led the way about the hall. Nodding your head politely to every suitor that greeted you, you curled closer to Penelope, “I see your mother is surveying the hall with Lady Cowper and Lady Edgecomb.” Penelope’s world-weary exhale betrayed her true thoughts and you ran a soothing line along the back of her hand with your thumb, “the determination of rumormongers is indeed boundless, are they not? Perhaps, we shall next be blessed with the sight of them suspended from the rafters with ear trumpets to survey even the most meagre pieces of gossip.” Penelope giggled, covering her mouth with her hand daintily as she did so, bowing her head.

“Ah,” Anthony Bridgerton exclaimed, his arm encircled with Daphne’s as they stepped in front of you, “Miss Featherington, Lady Dalton.”

“Penelope,” Daphne spoke your names warmly, her bright smile widening as she curtseyed perfectly.

“Lord Bridgerton, Daphne.” You and Penelope greeted in unison, curtseying elegantly though you felt your arm tense as Penelope teetered on her feet in an attempt to keep her balance. You rose rather quickly to save her any embarrassment, “how fares the hunt, Daphne? Many of the most eligible suitors have presented themselves at this fete, don��t you agree?”

“Oh yes, my Lady.” Anthony spoke over his sister, answering for her. “Quite a well-rounded affair. Why, I can count every worthy bachelor on each finger of my left hand.” Daphne stared at her brother, aghast but your tinkling laughter could not be hidden with a well-placed hand over your mouth.

“I could only hope that you could spare a finger for my own brother, my Lord? Is he not worthy of your high praise? I would hate to inform my father of this scandalous news!” You teased slyly, a sparkle of mischief in your eyes as Anthony chuckled.

“Of course, my lady. Ryder Dalton, heir to the title Duke of Wintere is honest and true. A man worthy of the title he will one day inherit.” You bowed your head gracefully at the praise.

“Did you read the latest entry of Lady Whistledown’s scandal sheet?” Daphne asked, head inclined slightly in question and your lip curled in irritation, earlier humor forgotten.

“Unfortunately, dearest Daphne. What does this author hope to accomplish by sowing dissension among peers? It is only going to be harder for us if we are to be locked in this invented rivalry until the season ends. Not to mention that all other 200 fine young women will see us as common adversaries to quarrel for a desirable bachelor.” You shook your head and sighed wistfully.

“Perhaps, Lady Whistledown’s sources were incorrect in their counsel. I have yet to see a comely King from a foreign land in our midst.” Daphne teased and you chuckled, nodding as you looked about the room but gazed over no fanfare nor buzzing enthusiasm.

“Nor a royal guard. What do you think, Penelope?” You hummed and the young woman beside you almost wiggled with excitement to be counted.

“I believe that Lady Whistledown is breeding a development early in the season to incite challenge.” You voiced a wordless agreement and Penelope continued, her fingers still clinging to yours, “Her Majesty is one to be enthralled and I would think that the public invitation to this monarch of Mandalore is an attempt to bring about said excitement.” Penelope’s curls bounced around her rounded face as she spoke and you took her words in with great thought.

“A compelling view, if I ever heard!” Anthony complimented and Penelope bowed at Anthony’s flattery, “if you ladies will excuse us, we still must take our view of the room.”

“Ah, we shall keep you no longer! Happy hunting, my Lord. Good luck, Daphne.” You sympathised genuinely and Daphne huffed in agreement as her brother pulled her away. “That was excellent, Penelope. Sharp wit, indeed!”

Your words were met with sweet giggles from your friend as you continued your turn about the room, dance cards dangling delicately from your gloved wrists in and quizzed Penelope on the memory of her miniatures, impressed with her skill to point out each suitor with ease.

Once Penelope tired of walking, she took her rest by the edge of the dance floor and you bid her luck before striding to the refreshments table in search of a beverage to quench your thirst.

Your eyes remained locked on the small glasses of lemonade, unbothered with taking care in your surroundings- you were shocked to feel someone knock into you rather forcefully. You stumbled, unable to right yourself and you could feel your traitorous feet tangle around each other.

Time seemed to slow to a complete stop, though your mind ran freely and aware. A frisson of fear crackled down your spine at the premature embarrassment of the predicament you were just about to drop yourself in just as you felt strong hands slip against your back, righting you almost as quickly as your legs betrayed you.

“Oh, goodness, please do excuse my-” your apology trailed off into stunned silence as you took in the unfamiliar man you could call your savior. This stranger that had his arms around you in a most improper fashion and you know you should untangle yourself from his touch immediately but the heat of his large, ungloved hands bled into the exquisite material of your gown, through your corset and seared directly into the flesh of your arched back.

His clothing was much the same of every suitor attending, nothing unique or flamboyant to stand out amongst the countless other candidates. The slight crinkles in his suit brought an air of indifference- as if he cared little for the state of his dress. What persuaded you to fully take in his form, was his sun kissed, bronze skin that shone deep in the synthetic light of the chandelier accompanied by the ornate lights mounted on the wall; so striking and different from the many men that boasted pale complexions and youth.

You could see the ruggedness in the etchings in his skin, the lines that betrayed his advanced age compared to the others in attendance. The hair atop his head was rich and dark with slight streaks of gray, airy soft curls that adorned his head like a crown, wild and untamed. The same dark hair that graced his head, also carved around his jawline and upper lip, small patches of hair scarce in some places- so unlike the pronounced fashions in high society and you found yourself preferring the unkemptness. His eyes were a harsh change from the softness of his hair, striking and bold. They glittered like dark gems in the gentle lights as he perused your features, intelligent yet curious as he took you in with a cool countenance and thick brows pulled together in an expression of concern.

A prominent nose curved down with a hooked slope, rather large but it suited him and you fought the urge to caress the curved bridge with your fingertip. Pink lips parted, thin but pillowy as the tip of a red tongue slipped between to hydrate the slightly chapped flesh.

It set him apart from the rest, a beauty you so desperately wished to explore.

Just as you studied this unfamiliar man, he also took your form in.

His gaze was not leering like many of the bachelors loitering about the room- nor a lecherous grin curved those sinfully soft lips as he drank in your appearance with ease, noting every detail and micro expression with rapid ease and forced himself to cease the ever growing notion to tighten his arms around you, drag you closer to his chest when he felt the way your body curled into his touch, seeking the warmth he provided on a subconscious level.

Clearing his throat softly, he righted you on your feet and took a step back, bowing at the waist and a soft curl slipped in front of his handsome features, concealing his left eye, “forgive my impropriety, my Lady,” his voice was deep, rasped and foreign and those same lips curled around each word with an elegance none of the men here could hope to match, “my intentions were pure, I assure you. I did not mean-”

“-t-the apologies are mine, my Lord. I did not see you.” You cut off his apology, your usual confidence abandoning you and curtseyed softly before you both straightened in tandem, “please accept my most sincere apologies.”

“Only if you accept mine, my Lady, as I was the one to knock you.” This man raised his eyes to meet yours, a small smile playing on his lips at your stunned expression.

Realising how unladylike you seemed, you quickly smoothed your expression into a serene smile and bowed your head gently, “well then, I accept your apology, my Lord.”

“And now, I shall receive yours.” He bowed once again, though his eyes never once strayed from yours, his hand coming to brush back the curl that slipped in front of his face, freeing his eye from the obstacle. “Quite an affair, is it not?”

You turned to look upon the room and the dozens of bodies packed in the lavish ball and the bodies moving in rhythmic synchronisation as they flounced around the dancefloor, skirts billowing and waistcoats whipping. “Yes, my Lord. It is certainly a promising fete.” You ripped your gaze from the dancers and you looked back to the mysterious suitor that you know for a fact his profile has never graced your miniatures. “I do not believe I have had the pleasure, my Lord.” You introduced yourself and he bowed his head in a nod to your status.

“Din Djarin, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, my Lady.”

You did not miss the way he left out his title, not many men did. It was refreshing to meet someone unbothered by status and titles. You smiled brilliantly and for a moment, he had trouble remembering how to breathe.

How did people do this?

“What brings you to London, Lord Djarin? I do not believe I have seen you here.” You certainly couldn’t recall seeing those mesmerizing, yet prominent features etched in your miniatures.

“I’m in town for business, mostly- but I thought I would attempt to join the fray of finding a beautiful woman to make my bride.” Din’s eyes found yours when his lips curved out the word ‘beautiful’. You could feel your cheeks heat and quickly brought the tiny glass to your lips and took a long draught- almost emptying the glass entirely. It was unseemly on your part but you couldn’t find it within yourself to care, you needed to soothe your drying throat and tame the butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

“And what better place to be than a cotillion for ambitious debutants who are searching for the perfect match?” Betraying your inner emotions, you struck up kind conversation, performing an air of confidence and strengthened your resolve. A wide smile stretched his lips, revealing perfect, straight teeth and the act of a simple smile brightened his features. Your heart slammed against your ribcage in response, your steely courage cracking in half with little to no effort.

He took a sip of his own lemonade just as a pair of gossiping mama’s walked past you both, talking loud enough for you to overhear their conversation with minimal exertion- if any, “and where, pray tell, is this so-called king?"

"Perhaps, Whistledown's sources were wrong. You can never trust a scandal sheet these days, I wouldn't be surprised if he turned out to be a charlatan."

You swallowed the sigh you desperately craved to release and inwardly shook yourself free from the coils of irritation that started to constrict around you before turning your attention back to the mysterious lord, only to notice his eyes were following the rumormongers and you helped yourself to a portioned sip of lemonade in an endeavor to quell the heat burning within you. A certain dark fire heated his gaze, stoking a reaction in you. Something deep and primal you had never experienced before and you suppressed a shudder at the ferocity clearly displayed in those deep, dark eyes.

“What are your thoughts on this foreign monarch, my Lord?” You barely managed to choke out, Din’s eyes snapped back to you as your question hung in the air and you swallowed subtly as his piercing gaze burned through yours.

“My thoughts?” He rasped, shifting on his feet in a show of subtle anxiousness. His earlier fire dissipating and awkward trepidation took the forefront.

“What do you make of the rumors surrounding the arrival of a ruler of a distant land coming to London to participate in the season?” You tilted your head in innocent curiosity, “surely, you have heard of this mysterious King hailing from his distant realm?”

“Rumor articles and gossip do not interest me, but yes, I am familiar with the topic you wish to discuss.” His smile twisted his lips into a forced stretch- barely passing for genuine and you weren’t sure as to why he seemed so uncomfortable when just moments earlier he was quite at ease conversing with you.

“And what do you make of his scarcity when his arrival was rumored to be a most certain guarantee? I should think the King would be thankful for not attending. Overbearing mothers and their equally simpering daughters have proven to be nuisances at the best of times.”

“Is that so?” Din looked at you, surprise colouring his pleasing features at your unfiltered response, “are you not disappointed that you may not meet this ruler and further your prospects on the mart?” His hand gestured subtly at his side, the barely touched lemonade sloshing dangerously close to the rim, “it would be a high honour to catch the eye of a king, now would it not?”

You chuckled, ducking your head for a moment, reflecting on your answer before opening your lips, “as silly as it may sound, I wish to marry for love.” You raised your hand, noncommittal waving it about, “I realise it will never happen, you do not endure two seasons with silly notions of love intact. I must maintain a status beholden of my title and secure a proper, advantageous match. But I can operate under the illusion of hope, can I not?” Din’s eyes cast down in thought, your words were soft, spoken quietly as if you were afraid another may overhear- whether by accident or on purpose, he could not say.

But the sincerity in your eyes could not be overlooked, the innocent yearning for a future that could very well be out of your reach sparkled against the hues of your irises.

“Perhaps your aspirations will be met, my Lady.” Din smiled kindly and you hummed in thought, but your brilliant smile was dim. Working up his courage, he set the small glass of his barely touched lemonade on the refreshment table and vaguely gestured to the dancefloor, anxiousness twisting his features almost comically, “w-would you care to dance?”

His hand was large, rough with thick fingers. They were working hands, familiar with hard labour and you shivered imperceptibly at the thought of those hands running down the expanse of your naked flesh.

You took a few steps forward, maintaining a respectable distance for propriety’s sake. With a smooth movement, you gently leant around him- his eyes never left yours as you placed your glass on the refreshment table beside his.

A gentle scent curled into your nose, blessing your senses with the subtle hints of sweet spices, oak and . . . a touch of gunpowder.

A heady, peculiar scent and it suited its wearer perfectly.

You slid your gloved hand into his, fingers slipping against his palm. The gossamer material caught on the rough skin of his palm and his lips upturned into a grin. “It would be my pleasure, Lord Djarin.” He grinned and you helped him by pointing to the card around your wrist and he made a soft ‘oh’ sound before taking hold of it and let go of your hand to grip the tiny pencil- thick fingers swallowing the dainty stationary and you smiled as he filled the Canon Galop Quadrille with his name in sharp, messy strokes.

“Shall we?” He let the card and pencil drop as his fingers snaked up your wrist slowly, feeling every dip and hollow before clasping your hand gently and leading you to the dance floor. “I must confess, I’m not accustomed to dancing all that much. I pray you forgive me if I fumble.”

You chuckled softly as you joined the other couples on the dancefloor and took your places. You smiled at Din who shuffled in place subtly, waves of anxiety pouring out of him, “I will not judge you, Lord Djarin. You have my most sincere promise and if you have any issues with the steps, I shall guide you. Do not worry.” He looked at you, your soothing tone calming the raging storm of distress inside him and he reciprocated with a smile of his own.

The music began to play as you curtseyed to the other couples and took your place in front of Din, your hand slipping into his and a strong muscular arm wrapped around your back, large hand splayed across the expanse of your skin and you suppressed another shudder at the addicting heat he emitted. With a gentle nod, the tempo in the set increased and you began to skip about the room with practiced ease.

You gently tilted in a different direction, silently alluding to the next movement and he carried you effortlessly through the throngs of couples, winding around the dancefloor perfectly.

Giggles erupted from your throat, this particular dance always brought out the child within you and Din smiled at the sound, finding that he wished to hear it more often. “I dare say, my Lord, that you move quite well for not being accustomed to this particular dance.”

“I’m rather accustomed to a life outdoors, perhaps it has aided me well.” Din murmured, tightening his hold against your back.

You twisted and twirled around the dancefloor, weaving around bodies and as you separated to complete the next act of the dance, your eyes never left his and the mysterious man seemed more than content to hold your gaze and then you were back in each other’s arms.

“Perhaps, we could discuss the matter of dancing etiquette further, at a more. . private venue?” You asked quietly, alluding for him to call on your home.

Before he could open his mouth to reply, a loud thump hit the ground and the music paused abruptly and you both stopped, all the guests' gazes swivelled to the ballroom doors as they were thrust open violently.

Gasps and shrieks rippled across the room as two armoured warriors marched forward, spears in hand and their features concealed by unusual helmets, stark colours streaked across the material in a wash of deep reds, browns, yellows and teals along with similarly handprints. A dark- completely opaque visor stretched across their helmets before spanning down, splintering the armour in half.

The curve of their coloured breastplates indicated their feminine physiques, pieces of vibrant painted plates clung to the thick, almost tribal clothing they wore beneath- sharp hues of red and brown adorned their bodies, hems tied tight with pieces of dark leather around their wrists and calves. Fur lined the capes around their shoulders as the thick material flowed to their booted feet, the leather scuffed and worn- creased from years of dedication and physical labor.

Yet your eyes remained trained on the pure silver spears they held at the sides, pointed ends lifted straight in the air as they slammed the butts of the weapons down against the polished floors in tandem.

A loud metallic ringing filled the ballroom and harsh bootfalls began to echo.

Din stiffened in your arms before gently extricating you from his hold, the both of you turning to face the open entrance.

You swallowed harshly as a hulking figure took the space of the doorway, silver armour gleamed in the lights above, clearly displaying the pure gold accents weaved through the chest plate and accompanying pieces- dark clothes thick and concealing any form of skin to be shown, brown gloves worn, flaxen tips stark against the deep colours.

Just like his guards, he was not unarmed. But unlike carrying a spear of his own- you did not miss the pure obsidian claymore sheathed around his back. The hilt was brilliant against the darkness of the blade- made up of what seemed to be the same material that adorned his body.

His helmet was simple- unlike the tribal colourings of his people, his was silver- notes of gold bled through the seams of the visor, framing it with its simplistic beauty and fur lined his shoulders, gold chain clinking against the silver metal and the crimson cape billowed behind him as he continued with his heavy gait.

“Is it him? Surely not!”

“I expected a fanfare- yet this is not what I had imagined.”

“Do they dress like this in Mandalore? Will I have to?!”

“Look at them, so primal!”

“Why do they carry weapons? So uncivilised.”

Whispers filled the hall as the foreign stranger stopped, his helmet scanning the room.

“The twenty-fourth monarch of our sovereign land,” The guards called, demanding silence from all in attendance, “The First of Clan Mudhorn and sole ruler of Manda’yaim. We present our king, the Manda’lor.” Their fists beat against their breastplates as they turned and faced their leader and bent their knee to the floor, heads bowed in respect. “This is the Way.”

The dark visor continued to survey the hall until it stopped-

-directly onto you.

Your breath caught in your throat as your eyes caught your reflection staring back at you from across the room, you could no longer feel Din’s presence beside you. A quiet, rasping voice rang true from beneath the ornate silver helm, so familiar and yet completely unplaceable.

“This is the Way.”

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focsle · 2 years

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I put together a red string newspaper articles timeline to get a better sense of Wm's life prior to shipping. His biggest stated motivation to go whaling seems to have been a desire to make something of himself and to test his character (which he described as being indolent, and also said he lived a life of leisure / idleness). He also references depression ashore. But the comment that made me curious was what he closed his first entry with:

"Six years of my life have passed for nothing—Would I could blot their occurrences from my memory!"

I wanted to get a better sense of what happened over the course of those 6 years when he would've been around 14ish to 20ish, to see what also could've motivated him to go to sea. So, under the readmore, more of my piecing together.

April 1835. His parents, Elizabeth and (also) William, marry through the Dutch Reformed Church.

c. 1835 / 1836. William is born. I don’t know when. Wish I could find a birth record for him cos I'd very much prefer to visit him on a birthday rather than a deathday...ANYWAY...

1849. William’s father, a Yale-educated physician who has practiced in NYC since 1830, is in charge of two hospitals in the city during one of New York’s cholera epidemics. This epidemic was the deadliest of the four cholera outbreaks that struck NYC from 1832-1866.

August 1850. William is living with his family on the corner of Washington Square Park. The federal census lists him as 15 years old, the eldest son out of 4. He’s working as a Clerk.

c. 1850? His father’s obituary (in 1888) says he went to California in 1850 and stayed until the US Civil War broke out (in which he served as a surgeon). This doesn’t seem entirely accurate, as he appears as a physician on NYC directories up to 1853. However, it appears that he works as a doctor on New York to California-bound steamships, he stops showing up on NY’s city directories in 1853/54, and by 1857/58 he’s a doctor in San Francisco. I did find a passport for August 1850 that I initially wrote off as being a different man who shared the same name and birth year. But now that I know of his traveling I think it's likely his.

Feb 1850 to Feb 1852. William attends the New York Free Academy from ages 15-17ish. He only completes one month in his third year of schooling and then no longer attends.

March of 1853. His father is aboard the steamer Oregon treating the ill. He receives a published letter from them thanking him for his treatment (for illness described as ‘fever in various stages’ said to have impacted over 100 people on board, with 15 dead).

December 1853 / January 1854. His father is onboard the steamship San Francisco as surgeon, and also ends up treating a cholera outbreak on board. In addition to this the steamship is also wrecked with a reported 200 lives lost (don't know if the cholera is part of that count or if it would raise the death toll). His father survives and returns to New York via the ship Three Bells.

June 1855. William is staying at a boarding house in Brooklyn. The census lists him as being 19, and doesn’t list a profession for any of the boarders. (I am not 100% certain this is the right man as I am with the other documents but...since there are no records of anyone else who matches this Boarding House William and human error is rife in census records I’m….95%…certain.) No other family members are seen on this state census. They do leave New York at some point (and then return in their later years). It’s unclear how long William may have lived at this boarding house, and if he’s perhaps there in the years before when his father stops showing up on directories too.

Potentially Autumn of 1855. At some point in this year (around September or October) William says he left New York. He references the Steamship Illinois, a mail steamer which makes trips from New York to California. It had an autumn journey on Sept 20th, 1855. In his journal he makes no direct mention of life in California beyond referencing a letter he sent to San Francisco while in the Azores (which at this point I believe was to his father who was in Cali). He also makes a slightly odd comment that could be read as him getting into some trouble with the law either in New York or California, but he’s very mum about it and immediately cuts himself off on mentioning it.

July 3rd, 1856. Arrives in New Bedford.

August 15th, 1856. Ships out on the bark Wave as a greenhand, aged 20/21 ish. His sense of time is confusing as at another point he said he had to board a vessel three days after arriving to New Bedford. The Wave did technically leave on July 28th and had to return because of an issue with the mast before sailing again in August. William was not on the crew list for the July launch, and even if he was that would’ve given him nearly a month in New Bedford. Unreliable narrator…

April 13/15th 1857 - Dies somewhere in the Pacific, aged 21-22ish.

#my bff william #his dad is interesting…tho the challenge is there was another dr wm buel living in the same place his dad went to school #so separating them out prior to 1851 (when the other dr dies) is a lil tricky #I DID HOWEVER find out what his dad looked like perhaps from a passport that could be his

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true-blue-megamind · 3 years

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FAN THEORY SUPPOSITION SUNDAY: The Warden

SPOILER WARNING! It’s still a thing, and, if you haven’t yet, you still need to watch Megamind. (If you have seen it already, however, you need to see it again. Because it’s awesome.)

Yes, yes, the post is three days late this time. Real life has to take priority and such. So sue me. (Don’t really do that. LOL!)

For that same reason—or more accurately because this week has exhausted me—I will attempt to make this post shorter than usual. We’ll see how that goes. My money is on “not well.” LOL.

Anyway, today we’re going to look at a subject that often divides the Megamind fandom: the Warden and his relationship with Megamind. There are several fan theories—I mean, suppositions—surrounding this, but I’m going to be focusing on a few of the main ones.

The first of these is that the Warden was actually a father figure to Megamind when he was young, allowing him to be raised in jail not out of cruelty or disinterest, but because it was the only way to keep him safe from shadowy government agencies that otherwise would have performed all sorts of experiments on the blue alien. This both accounts for why a child would be allowed to grow up in what is clearly a high-security prison for dangerous adult criminals—something that, admittedly, needs some sort of explanation—and fits with widely accepted sci-fi and comic book tropes. (From Area 51 to mysterious “Men in Black” type organizations, fiction is full of government agencies created to study extraterrestrial life and technology.) Some even go so far as to suggest that the Warden may have tried to adopt Megamind officially, but was blocked from doing so by these same entities. On top of this, such an idea also offers room to re-imagine the Warden as a much more interesting, complex, and sympathetic character. Indeed, there has been some excellent fan fiction written about this pseudo-parental relationship.

Art: Fathers And Sons Day by tabbydragon

There is some evidence to support this. The first is that, although the Warden behaves harshly toward Megamind in the “jail-break” scene near the beginning of the film, Megamind himself seems to be trying to engage in a playful exchange: pranking the older man, wishing him a good morning, and even teasing him. While some say that this is simply Megamind’s personality as well as his determination to always appear indominable, others suggest that, perhaps, the blue man is trying to recapture a lost amiability between himself and the prison Warden. It is possible that, when he was younger and less villainous, Megamind might have exchanged friendly jokes and greetings with the man in charge of the jail he called home. It has even been suggested that the Warden is so hard on the blue man at the beginning of the film not because he hates Megamind, but because Megamind’s life choices have hurt and alienated his father figure. This idea finds some support in the facts that, when Megamind leaves jail to confront Titan, the Warden wished him good luck, and at the end of the movie, that same man seems genuinely happy as he watches the television broadcast of his one-time prisoner being named Defender of Metro City. Finally, there is some evidence from the comics which, although not truly considered canon, as I’ve mentioned before, do offer some material for fan theories. In the “episode” entitled Bad Minion! Bad! Megamind runs into the Warden in a bar, and the latter offers the former advice. There is certainly a somewhat fatherly feel to the scene.

The second theory is exactly the opposite: that the Warden either did not care for or outright disliked the former supervillain. Unfortunately, as fun as the Warden/Father Figure concept is, this second, darker idea has far stronger evidence to support it in the film itself. (Try not to hate me, everyone.) These clues range from the obvious to the subtle, but there are quite a few of them to be found.

During the first scene in which we see Warden interact with Megamind, he doesn’t behave like an angry, disappointed father—at least not a good one. He isn’t merely surly toward Megamind; he is absolutely nasty. The Warden verbally condemns the alien, telling him that he’ll “always be a villain,” and essentially steals what he believes is a gift for the blue man, even taunting him by saying: “I think I’ll keep it!” This hardly seems like the actions of someone who once felt any sort of affection for the extraterrestrial. That same portion of the movie holds another clue as well: the screens monitoring Megamind’s brain activity. Indeed, in original concept art for the film, the system appears both more invasive and more nightmarish. It seems that, far from protecting Megamind, the Warden may have actually allowed him to be experimented upon.

Next, there is the newspaper article at the beginning of the title sequence, which bears the headline “Hometown Boy Makes Bad.” It’s hard to see what the paper says, of course, even if you bother to really notice it, but luckily for us Liz (Demishock) wrote a wonderfully thorough blog post which, among other things, provides a transcript of the “news story.” In it, the Warden is quoted as referring to young Megamind as a born villain as well as abnormal.

You don't know this kid. I've watched the little criminal since he was in diapers. This kid is just a bad seed. I've got experienced, hardened criminals in here who are afraid of him - I mean, have you seen the size of his head?… It's not like he's a normal kid… I mean, have you gotten a good look at his gigantic blue head? I don't know where you come from, but where I come it's just not right.

Granted, there seems to be some truth to what the Warden is saying, as the article also mentions that Megamind, who can hardly have been more than seven years old at the time, has basically been put into solitary confinement for the safety of other prisoners following an unnamed incident, adding that the other inmates “refused to point fingers for fear of retaliation.” (This fits with the fan theory that young Megamind would have had to both fight and develop a fearsome reputation in order to protect himself. You can read more about that in the post How Strong is Megamind?) However, the Warden seems to dwell a lot on the fact that Megamind looks alien, and he displays an obvious dislike for the young boy.

Finally, there is evidence hidden in the school scene, although it’s easy to miss. In an amazing two-part video series, Megamind: A City of Deception. YouTuber The Theorizer illustrates several hidden clues about Megamind’s early life and how it it led him to embrace villainy. (I will very likely write another post going into more detail about that at a later date.) One thing that The Theorizer discovered is a seemingly innocuous detail in the background during the popcorn scene. Take a moment to examine the images below. Look closely at the blackboard and you’ll see a paper cut out of a school bus. Look even more closely at that and you’ll find something odd: the bus is full of crayon-drawn children except for one figure: an adult male, riding in the back of the bus, who looks suspiciously like the Warden as he appears at the beginning of the film.

In a movie where so much attention is given to small things—I mean, seriously, the animation team actually went through the trouble to write a news story for a paper that was on the screen less than ten seconds—this cannot possibly be a coincidence. (You can learn more about the artists’ amazing dedication to detail in my post What’s Hidden in the Animation?) Although it is vaguely possible that Megamind, painfully aware of how much his appearance was despised, chose to draw the Warden’s face instead of his own, most fans believe there is a darker reason for this oddity.

Think about it: the Li’l Gifted School for Li’l Gifted Kids is built close by a jail with a strangely similar name: Metro City Prison for the Criminally Gifted. It’s clearly a small academy, yet the only two known aliens in the city—who, by the way, have extremely different social backgrounds—both just happen to attend there. And now the prison warden appears to be somehow involved with the elementary school? It’s bizarre. Add to this the fact that the young alien adopted by a privileged family—a boy who possessed super-strength and laser vision—seemed inclined to be a bully, (as is made obvious by the kickball scene,) and a disturbing fan theory emerges. Adults realized that Wayne Smith, the child who would eventually become Metro Man, might prove dangerous if left unchecked, and came up with a plan to turn him into a hero instead. Wayne was showered with praise, conditioning him to seek public approval, but a superhero needs a nemesis. The strange-looking, unwanted blue boy who’d already been labeled a criminal would have seemed like the obvious choice. If this is true, then Megamind was purposefully, albeit covertly, groomed to become a supervillain from a young age, and the Warden played a major role in doing that.

So there you have it. Two competing fan theories concerning the Warden’s connection with Megamind. Both have some evidence supporting them, and there are fans who are firmly dedicated to one or the other. Which is true? Did the Warden care for Megamind like a son but distance himself when the boy turned to villainy? Or did he judge and despise Megamind but come around to liking him when he finally realized what sort of person the blue man was deep down? The fact is that those questions can be argued for hours on end. No matter which of these suppositions you prefer, however, the mere fact that even a minor supporting character is complex enough to offer room for this debate speaks to the impressive amount of work and devotion that went into creating this amazing animated film.

#Megamind #Megamind movie #Megamind fan theory #fan theory #fan theories #fanon #Warden #the Warden #connection #relationship #relationships

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watchtower-feed · 3 years

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First Nemesis

You're a new up-and-coming supervillain and you're looking for your first nemesis. You're thinking of starting small. Like that reporter from the Daily Planet that keeps messing up your villain name. What was his name? Yeah. Clark Kent.

A rookie reporter who grew up in the middle of nowhere Kansas. There's no way he would see a direct attack coming. Even moreso an indirect one.

You're hitting a small fry but that doesn't mean your methods are gonna be cute. You decide to go with the classic kidnap-your-loved-ones strategy. That one never fails.

You're standing in front of the sign that says Kent Farm and take out your phone to dial away. Of course, as a supervillain, getting such personal information on a lowly Daily Planet employee was nothing. The phone rings twice and a cheerful but polite voice greets you. It aggravates you even more.

"I know what kind of person you really are, Kent. And you will rue the day you messed with me." You pause for a dramatic moment and then menacingly whisper, "But only after your parents do."

You hang up. The hand gripping your phone shakes. You're grinning like an idiot because that was one of the best threats you've ever given. Much better than how you practiced it in front of your mirror.

Brimming with adrenaline, you stride to the farmhouse and knock boldly. It's still early in the morning so you expect them to take a while to answer the door. But then it opens and an couple greets you. Already in their work clothes.

"Can we help you?" asks the man you know as Jonathan Kent and his wife, Martha Kent, looks at you from just a step behind him.

You suddenly revert to yourself. Your civilian self. "O-oh! Hello! Umm... Good morning. I hope I'm not disturbing you.."

The old man chuckles a little but it's only half meant. "This is basically lunch time for folks like us." It's only 7:30am. You clearly remember calling at that time so Clark Kent wouldn't be able to punch in for work at exactly 8:00am like he always does.

"Oh yes. Well, umm... I.. I know your son... He's a..." The couple visibly tenses as they wait for you to continue. You notice this and you wonder if this isn't the first time their son has messed with a supervillain and used them as leverage. "..reporter for Daily Planet."

Confused looks. The couple looks to each other then at back you. Their brows are raised and it's more obvious now that they're questioning you. Deeply questiong the very existence of you at their doorstep.

You suddenly snap. What are you doing? You have a plan! You're supposed to be a supervillain! You knit your brows together and stomp one foot in as you push the door the back. Jonathan takes a step back and Martha holds onto his shoulders. You shout at the top of your lungs, "Your son has been getting my name wrong in his articles at the Daily Planet and I demand justice!"

Your pulse is beating profusely and your whole body is tense. You stare at the old couple but they're not cowering in fear like you expected them to be. Instead, Martha had her brows furrowed and her mouth was frowning. "Oh, dear," she says. She gently wraps her arm around yours, "I'll make us some coffee," and leads you to the kitchen.

You find yourself going blank as you're seated in a quiant little kitchen with worn-out yellow walls and furniture bordered with pale teal. Martha goes to the counter and suddenly you all hear a loud booming sound that came from outside. It's enough to make you jump out of your seat, ready to run or fight, but the old couple just stares out the window and then collectively shakes their heads.

"Can you please tell him we have a visitor? And that he should behave himself." Martha looks sternly at whoever it was outside while her husband had already left through the kitchen door.

You can hear faint yelling from outside and try to listen in. "Oh don't worry about them dear. It's just my son--"

"Your son?!" you jump out of your seat. "He's already here?"

She looks at you for a second before she shakes her head. "You told him you were coming but he didn't even think to tell us. My goodness that boy.." Martha continues to mutter about her son while she walks back to the kitchen counter.

The backdoor creaks open and in walks Jonathan with a huge disheveled man trailing after him. He's wearing a flannel shirt that's obviously two sizes too small for his torso and pants that don't even reach his ankles. His hair is a mess and he's struggling to put his glasses on upright. As soon as he walks in, he narrows his eyes at you, struggling to recognize where he's seen you before.

Your offended meter has definitely reached its peak and is now erupting. You stomp your foot and point at him while you appeal to his mother. "Do you see the disrespect? He doesn't even remember who I am?!"

Clark Kent's jaw drops as he looks to you then his mother, then back to you. "You told my ma?!"

"Clark Joseph Kent!" Martha snaps and slaps his arm with a tea towel. "Who told you you could yell at guests in this house?" Clark is absolutely flabbergasted. He gets another whip with the tea towel. "And why have you been bullying this young lady in the newspaper? What has she ever done to you?"

You suddenly think about it. You had your chin resting on your hand as you mull it over. "Actually, nothing. I haven't done anything to you," you say out loud.

Clark huffs as he straightens himself, trying to take back some control in this situation. "I'm sorry about how rude I'm being-- or been but who are you?"

All three pairs of eyes are on you now and you take your own pair of eyes and look at your hands all the way down to your feet. You're in your civilian clothing.

"AHHHH!" you burst out without thinking. Hands gripping the sides of your head. After all that research. All that planning and scheming. All that waiting for your scheduled flight. You forgot to come here wearing your supervillain costume. You're a civillian. You're doomed.

The Kent's worriedly look to each other as they watch your meltdown ensue. All too suddenly you start bowing, spitting out rushed apologies about a mistaken identiy, and taking slow but long strides toward the main door. But before you could make your escape, thick bulging biceps block your path and you look up to find a very pissed off Clark Kent. He's using his other hand to massage the bridge of his nose while his eyes are forcibly closed.

"Just hold on a second here..." he grits through his teeth. "You can't just barge in here and think you can run away just like that."

Another tea towel whip hits Clark's arm. "Would you stop tormenting the poor girl? Sometimes you forget you're bigger than a gorilla."

Jonathan finally decides to step in. "Now, now. How about we sit down and clear this all up over some coffee?"

"Umm," you finally pipe up. An escape has finally formed inside your head, "I forgot that I really should be going. I might not get a flight back to Metropolis today. So..." You bend your knees to try slip past Clark but he blocks you with his knee against the wall and his face is suddenly closer. You can now very clearly see the irritation etched on his face.

"Nonsense," Jonathan answers. "My son can take you back." Both of you quickly swivel your heads to Jonathan with wides eyes. "What? You're going back to Metropolis, aren't you?"

"Yeah, but I didn't exactly drive here..."

"Pfft. What? You flew?"

All eyes snap toward you and the longer they stare at you, the more you can feel your insides squirming. You force out a nervous laughter. "It's not like your son can fly, right?"

Jonathan's booming laughter breaks the tension like hammering through glass. "He can't even fly a kite. I'd drop dead if I ever saw this boy of mine fly."

Martha laughs along with him and you can see Clark doesn't like being the butt end of a joke. So you laugh too.

In the end, you did end up having that cup of coffee with your nemesis Clark Kent no less, but only because you had to wait for Jonathan so he can drive you both to the train station. Turns out Clark didn't bring his passport.

#clark kent x reader #clark kent imagine #superman imagine #superman x reader #watchtower-feed #This came to me in a dream lol no i was conscious

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hermannsthumb · 3 years

Note

As per our convo, Newt getting set up with Hermann via Hermann’s father’s binder full of pre-approved suitors for his son...

(from @k-sci-janitor 👀) easily one of our funniest concepts yet. I was going to end on newt coming over for dinner scenario but I like the ominous open ending. I'm not actually sure when kaiju attacks fall in the PR timeline so excuse my handwaveyness, LOL

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

Hermann’s relationship with his father is what one would call strenuous at best, but—Hermann must admit, to the man’s credit, and in spite of his many flaws—he took the news of Hermann’s sexual orientation as unflinchingly as if Hermann had told him the day’s weather. It was a bit annoying, in fact. Hermann had agonized over the proper way to breach the subject for months, certain it spoke to some sort of personal ruin (whether ostracization from the Gottliebs or being forbade following through on any attraction he may feel whilst still living under the family roof, he wasn't sure), before finally simply announcing it one day at the breakfast table on a whim.

It had been a long-standing tradition that Hermann’s parents compile a binder—effectively of dossiers—on all the most eligible bachelors (for their daughter) and bachelorettes (for their sons) to aid in the choice of the latest Gottlieb mate. It was easiest this way, or so Hermann and his siblings were told. Parental approval was already secured. The histories of each were already secured, which bypassed any nasty shocks that might emerge in the courtship stage. Most of them were children of his father's colleagues or bright minds in their own rights: surgeons, and dentists, and mathematicians. Poets were strictly forbidden.

The occasion of Hermann’s breakfast table announcement had also been the day Hermann’s father presented him with his very first binder of prospective mates—a few days after his eighteenth birthday, and shortly before he was to go off to begin work on his PhD. His father had slid him a hand-written binder of names, no more than a dozen, and all with accompanying photographs. “All are accomplished young women,” he assured Hermann. “We can arrange any meetings of your choice over your winter holidays.”

Hermann glared down at the row of frozen smiles. He stabbed his fork into his cooked tomato wedge. “I don’t want to marry any of these women,” he said, and turned his glare on his father. He still had a rebellious streak in him at that point, something nurtured by a charismatic young man he used to trail after in boarding school, who pierced Hermann’s ear with a sewing needle in the boys’ toilets and listened to songs about setting things on fire. In late this streak had manifested itself in Hermann in nicking packets of cigarettes from his father’s study, one of which was in his pocket now. The weight of it made Hermann feel bolder. “I don’t want to marry any woman,” he continued. “I like men.”

The binder was drawn away in silence, and Hermann was free to eat his toast and tomatoes. The next morning a binder of young men was in its place.

(In a way the acceptance infuriated Hermann. It meant he could not blame his father’s obvious dislike for him on an unfounded, homophobic prejudice; rather, it was a result of Hermann’s own personal failings.)

The binder was placed at Hermann’s breakfast plate every day until he left for his studies. It was placed at his plate when he returned from them five years later. Not even the emergence of the kaiju from the bottom of the ocean shortly after Hermann turned twenty-four dampened his father’s hopes, nor turning all their scientific efforts towards the new jaeger program: some names were removed from the binder (the reasoning Hermann shudders to think at), more still were added, though Hermann is expected only to consider it once a week now on account of his busy schedule. This was one of such days.

“Your brother is very happy with his wife,” Hermann’s father reminds him. “She was one of my first suggestions for him, in fact.”

Hermann is not fond of his sister-in-law. Too rude—too cold. Though perhaps that makes her perfect for Hermann’s brother. “Haven’t we got bigger things to worry about these days than whether or not I’m going to marry?” Hermann says. He adds milk to his tea. “I’m sure they’re all, er, marvelous selections, only—”

“Your sister, too, with her husband,” father says.

Hermann sighs. He hasn’t got much of the rebellious streak he used to in him anymore—too stressed. Not fancying a fight before they’ve even begun today’s coding work, he picks up the binder and begins flipping through it. Sons of engineers working on the jaeger program with them, prominent young chemists, many of whom Hermann has been presented with since he was eighteen. Plenty of them are even handsome. Half of Hermann wonders if he should just pick the least-unappealing one of the bunch and be done with it already. He turns the page over and freezes. “Oh,” he says. “This one is—new.”

“Hm?” father says.

Hermann holds up the binder, tapping at a new entry. “Newton Geiszler.”

“Dr. Geiszler,” father says, nodding. “A child prodigy from Berlin—he’s made tremendous strides in kaiju science in such little time. And,” he adds, “three PhDs. Two of them before he even turned twenty.” The unspoken implication was that Dr. Geiszler far surpassed Hermann in intelligence and Hermann should feel ashamed for not skipping as many grades as Dr. Geiszler.

Hermann feels he ought to resent Dr. Geiszler for it, but he's finding it difficult to summon up any animosity towards him. It's likely because Hermann finds Dr. Geiszler to be strikingly handsome in his photograph: cheeks which haven’t quite lost their baby fat (giving him the appearance of being a scruffy hamster), large, thick glasses, tousled hair, an easy grin. Three PhDs, and German at that. And a child prodigy? “I’m surprised you haven’t mentioned him to me before,” Hermann says. He seems precisely the sort father would. Geiszler’s photograph is black-and-white and a bit grainy, but Hermann swears he could make out the lightest bit of freckles across his cheeks.

“I’d not heard of him until he published an article last week on kaiju biology,” father says. “Besides—he’s moved to America.”

Geiszler has three piercings up the side of his left ear. “I am going to write to him,” Hermann declares.

Father nods, and picks up his newspaper, clearly already disinterested. They speak no more of it that day.

It is not hard to find Dr. Geiszler online (his name is not the most common, and his field of study certainly isn’t), nor is it hard to match his photograph to his faculty page on MIT’s website. From there, Hermann retrieves Dr. Geiszler’s email address. He takes the evening to read over Geiszler’s publications spanning back to 2003 before he gathers up the courage to type out an actual email.

Dear Dr. Geiszler,

You do not know me, but I have recently been made acquaintance with your work and find it—Hermann pauses—scintillating. My father and I are—Hermann backspaces this—I am currently working on the development of the jaeger program…

There’s a response waiting for him the next morning. It’s as enthusiastic as it is brief. Dr. Gottlieb- That’s so awesome!! Believe it or not I’ve been following your work too. I have a million questions for you about the jaegers. If it’s classified info I promise I won’t tell. -Newt

It makes Hermann smile like nothing ever has before.

Hermann’s correspondence with Dr. Geiszler does not transgress beyond the professional until the following January. By that time, Hermann and his father have successfully completed the coding for their first jaeger prototype, and Hermann has been offered his fair share of tenured university positions to pick from as he likes. He finds himself oddly disappointed that none of them are in America with Dr. Geiezler. This, which leads to the realization that he’s grown rather fond of Dr. Geiszler, is perhaps what drives Hermann to uncharacteristic sentimental extremes on January 19th: he orders Dr. Geiszler a birthday present. The first email Dr. Geiszler sends him after that addresses him as Hermann. The first email Hermann sends Dr. Geiszler after that addresses him as Newton. Things move rapidly after that.

“Are you still writing to that young biologist?” Hermann’s father asks him in March. Hermann has spent the last two months devouring every bit of information Newton has seen fit to divulge about his personal life: his dexterity with no less than three different instruments, his favorite loud monster movies, how he’d love to get a kaiju tattooed on him one day. Hermann suspects he might be falling in love with Newton. In hardly five months! These are war times, Hermann supposes, so it would make sense. People are meant to do such extreme things.

“I am,” Hermann says.

“I’ve asked around about him,” Hermann’s father says. His expression is stern—unimpressed. “About his character. I’m not sure it’s wise to continue your correspondence.”

The reasons are this. Dr. Geiszler’s methods are unorthodox. Dr. Geiszler is loud and uncouth, and has little respect for his intellectual superiors. Dr. Geiszler was thrown out of a convention once for storming up on stage and stealing a microphone from an engineer to shout about the destruction coral reefs. Dr. Geiszler was in a distasteful band for several years. Dr. Geiszler was once arrested for egging a politician’s house. Dr. Geiszler has gone on record as describing the kaiju as “kinda cool”. Almost none of this is news to Hermann; in fact, that which is only causes Hermann’s affection for Newton to grow. “I will consider your advice,” Hermann says, knowing he won’t. Besides, it's not as if his father really has Hermann's interests at heart—Hermann knows he merely wishes to preempt any scandal Newton Geiszler could possibly bring upon the Gottlieb name.

In April Newton goes on television and declares that he’s sure the kaiju are extraterrestrial in origin, on account of their great size and his brief examination of a sample from the second kaiju to make landfall. He’s laughed off by his older peers before he can get another word out. The email he writes to Hermann afterwards is furious, capslock-heavy, and expresses that Hermann is the only one who takes him seriously in the whole world. It leaves Hermann certain that he is in love with Newton.

“Dr. Geiszler was interviewed on some American television program,” Hermann’s father says a few days later.

“I know,” Hermann says, proudly. Newton was on television. “I watched it.”

“He made some extraordinary claims,” Hermann’s father says.

But Hermann is thinking only of the outfit Newton wore (skinny jeans and an oversized leather jacket, so out of place compared to the suited other scientists sitting around him), the shade of his eyes (hazel), his short stature (hardly taller than Hermann), and the cadence of his voice (high, but not unappealing). He’d been so confident, and carried himself with a self-assurance that was foreign to Hermann. It was marvelously attractive. “I’m sure they're correct,” Hermann says. "Every single one. Newton is a terribly brilliant scientist." All bold claims are met with derision at first, are they not?

Newton’s theory is proven correct after the next kaiju attack, when experts other than him get their hands on kaiju samples and validate his claims. The general consensus after that is that the kaiju are not of this world. And Newton was the first to propose the theory! Hermann sends Newton an email full of congratulations, and Newton responds with a heart emoticon in his sign-off. Newton isn't just a brilliant scientist. “Newton is a genius,” Hermann tells his father, dreamily.

The binder reappears on Hermann’s work desk a few months later, Newton’s page torn conspicuously from it. Hermann tips the whole thing straight into his trash can. He has more important things to worry about—arranging a meeting with Newton, perhaps. Hermann ought to have him over for dinner.

#newmann #maria's fanfiction tag #Anonymous #the new post editor is weird but I like that I can make things pink

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freebooter4ever · 3 years

Text

Living in close quarters for months on end with a bunch of men his own age doesn't bother Snafu a bit. It's the one part of the Marines Corps he actually enjoys. Like living on an island full of eye candy. Snafu became mostly numb to the sheer number of naked butts by the end of his second day on Pavuvu. With the heat and the sun, the men need very little provocation to strip their clothing off. It was distracting for about an hour and then it became commonplace.

Later, after Gloucester, after living for three straight weeks in rain and misery, under the constant threat of violent death, and then returning once more to Pavuvu, Snafu becomes numb to everything....

He's never been one for carousing - a trait his peers in high school picked up on pretty quick. He's been compensating ever since. Packing on the innuendo and flirtation, and studying how other men act towards women and amplifying it in his own behavior.

So even before the numbness set in, Snafu isn't sure he ever actually felt anything like what others seem to describe. Even though Snafu admires his daily fill of half dressed fellow Marines wandering around camp, he does it in a detached sort of way that makes him feel more like an observer than participant. And it's good, because while there are whispers and rumors about certain guys who will take a man into the woods and show him a good time, Snafu doesn't need to get involved. He gets himself into enough trouble without adding a court martial onto it.

A few days after Gloucester an envelope arrives. There's no letter, simply a newspaper clipping slipped inside and stamped. The clipping is from his hometown newspaper and the article is about their hometown hero - brave Merriell Shelton - who shot up the enemy with his 'mortar gun'.

It's truly amazing how in a small town such as his, one can go from being the delinquent orphan son of impoverished half crazed parents easily forgotten by polite society, to being a hometown hero in the span of one battle.

Everyone in K company teases him about the article, especially about the 'mortar gun' bit. Snafu enjoys it immensely. He takes pride in his notoriety. It adds to his carefully cultivated mystique. No one wants to fuck with the fast talking, mean Merriell Shelton, war hero.

In actuality, Snafu is no hero. He fights for one reason, and that's the fifty dollars a month being sent home to his kid sister. He doesn't want her saddled with being a burden to her adopted family. Not like Snafu was with their own parents.

Overall, aside from the numbness, everything about Snafu's time in the Marine Corps is going well. He has respect, he has the looming potential of death and relief, and he has a steady diet of filling if questionable food. He thinks he's got a handle on things.

Till his downfall arrives a few days after the envelope.

Eugene Sledge looks like a fool from the minute he steps into Snafu's tent. Something about him irritates the hell out of Snafu. To try and figure out what about Sledge bothers him so much, Snafu goes out of his way to run into the guy. But no dice. Nothing works.

It doesn't click until Snafu accidentally runs into Sledge in the showers. Normally Snafu showers on off times to avoid any accidents. But after one particularly disgusting round of coconut duty, Snafu is stuck washing the gritty stickiness off in the middle of the day.

At first there's just him and Pops in the showers. A typical sight - Gunney Haney is obsessively clean. Snafu ignores him, and ignores the new Boots who join them halfway through. Snafu requires single minded focus to fish out all the coconut pieces that mysteriously found their way into his hair.

Once finished, Snafu turns around and bends his head back under the stream of water to rinse. He opens his eyes after the worst of the suds are gone, and spots Eugene Sledge in the group of new recruits. They are huddled around the shower heads in the opposite corner as far away from Snafu and Pops as they can get. Snafu smirks at them as a greeting.

It's kinda fun being intimidating.

Except they aren't paying attention to him. Sledge's eyes are transfixed on Haney as the man scrubs his dick.

Admittedly, for the uninitiated, seeing Haney shower is quite a sight. The man uses a bristly GI brush. The working theory is that he's been doing it so long and he's so old that his skin is pickled enough to be as thick and tough as leather. Everyone stares and winces in pain when they first witness Haney washing his junk.

However, Sledge is unusually engrossed. Snafu feels a strange prickle at the back of his neck and a spike of annoyance over this.

Jealousy - a word Snafu's never related to before.

Once he recognizes the feeling, though, he starts seeing it everywhere. Sledge is genuinely kind, and cares about everyone in a way that would stretch Snafu thin enough to break. Sledge is the best sharpshooter in the company, beating Snafu's considerable score by almost an entire point. Sledge takes every work duty thrown at him without complaint and with stubborn pride. Sledge takes everything thrown at him without complaint, including Snafu's own malice.

And all Snafu wants is for Sledge to just fucking look at him.

The tipping point comes after Sledge's little buddy Philips rotates home without warning. The despondency Sledge sinks into for a few days makes Snafu ache with frustration. Sledge starts disappearing whenever the replacements get an hour or two off. Snafu makes it his mission to find him.

He eventually does. Turns out Sledge is running off to a secluded beach, but he never goes in the water. Instead he sits crosslegged in the sand and stares at crabs. Snafu shimmies up a palm tree and scoots across the rough bark until he's nearly hanging over the oblivious Sledge.

In Sledge's lap is a dog-eared notebook, probably a moonlight requisition from the officer's tents. Sledge hunches over the page, his hand scribbling furiously and Snafu cranes his neck till he can see what Sledge is working on.

It's drawings of crabs. Countless pages of them. Snafu straddles the uncomfortable palm tree for almost an hour, watching in disbelief as Sledge makes study after study of crab anatomy.

Instead of killing the damn invasive creatures with a shovel and burying them in the sand, Sledge draws them.

If Snafu could draw, maybe he'd finally be free of this strange fascination that's taken hold of him. The image of Sledge that one afternoon - showering, naked and lean and glowing in the midafternoon sun - burned itself in Snafu's brain. He doesn't know how to purge himself of it. At the time, he didn't even realize he'd been looking that closely at Sledge while they were in the showers, but afterwards his brain pieced the scraps of memory together and gave him a picture more vivid than what he thought he saw.

And now he sees it whenever he looks at Sledge.

Even on Peleliu, after everything's gone to shit, but somehow they got off the beach and somehow they're not dead yet, his mind drifts to Sledge. The boy strips off his shoes in the midst of battle. Snafu stops him, shoving Sledge's boots back into his chest with force.

It's the first time he lays hands on Sledge and he doesn't even register it because he's too busy being worried about the damn idiot being caught with his pants down and shoes off.

Sledge is a distraction. That's all he is.

Until Sledge fucking picks Snafu up off the ground even when Snafu is pretty sure he's already dead. Sledge drags Snafu out of his shock and out of danger, and proves he can keep his cool during battle. Cooler even than Snafu, who still runs hot whenever Sledge gets too close.

Naive little Sledgehammer grew up quick, but unlike Snafu, he did not grow up mean - he still saves worthless things fallen helpless in the sand and dirt. From that minute on, Snafu makes it his personal mission to preserve Eugene's goodness.

He doesn't anticipate Sledgehammer accepting Snafu's newfound loyalty so readily.

Burgie calls Snafu out on it teasingly during their ship ride back to dreaded Pavuvu. A painful bout of seasickness causes Snafu to lose track of Sledgehammer for a few hours aboard ship, and Snafu spends the time wandering the decks in search of him.

"Since when did you appoint yourself as his shadow, Snaf?" Burgie retorts when Snafu asks if he's seen the 'Hammer'.

"Just need to collect on my bet about him smoking by the end of his first battle," Snafu shrugs.

"Every nonsmoker smokes by the end of their first battle, Snafu. You already knew that," Burgie says, "Leave him be."

"No way," Snafu argues, "Someone needs to teach that rich boy that he don't know everything."

"And of course you'd be the one to do it," Burgie sighs.

Ironically, Sledge is the one to find Snafu in a random ship compartment instead of the other way around. Snafu is lying prone, trying to keep his half digested meal from rolling around.

"Here," Sledge says, shoving a small box at Snafu as hard as Snafu shoved Eugene's boots.

"What is it?" Snafu asks, feigning disinterest.

"Crackers. They'll help with the stomach," Sledge replies, "C'mon, let's get you topside."

"How the hell'd you get crackers on a ship short of rations?" Snafu asks. He obediently follows Eugene through the ship to the deck. Like a damn shadow.

"I sweet talked one of the swabbies," Sledge explains casually.

That news roils Snafu's gut. Jealousy again. It's lucky they made it to the deck. He staggers to the rail and pukes overboard.

"The swabby liked my accent," Eugene says and leans beside Snafu, "Think he was from northern Alabama. I told him how us southern boys have the best aim in the Marines."

Snafu finishes vomiting up the last of his afternoon chow.

Sledge sighs and places his hand on Snafu's upper back.

Snafu's glad no one else is around on this part of the deck to see his shame. He hangs on the rail and feels miserable.

"Get it all out?" Sledge asks, and passes Snafu his canteen.

Snafu takes a sip, swishes it around his mouth, and spits into the sea. And then guzzles as much water as he thinks he can keep down. He sticks his tongue out at the disgusting aftertaste and hands the canteen back.

Sledge runs his hand down from Snafu's back to his arm. Before Snafu knows what's happening Eugene is gently taking Snafu's hand and leading him away from the rail. Sledge sits on the deck and leans against the ship's wall. He tugs on Snafu's hand for him to sit next to him.

"Better to go down to one of the cabins," Snafu resists.

"You don't want to know how bad it smells down there," Sledge warns, "Trust me. Fresh air is best."

Snafu gives in and collapses next to Eugene. He tilts his head back against the cold metal and closes his eyes.

Sledge takes the box of saltines from Snafu's hands and Snafu hears rustling as Sledge opens the package. Sledge then nudges Snafu's elbow with the box.

"Eat," Sledge says.

Snafu groans and leans his head on Sledgehammer's shoulder instead. He doesn't want any ill-gotten flirtation crackers. It's a lot easier to close his eyes and pretend to sleep.

Sledge seems to not mind Snafu sleeping on him. He doesn't move away, at least. So Snafu uses it as an excuse to shuffle closer. Which is when he realizes Eugene never let go of his hand. He's still holding on. Tight.

"Snafu?" Sledge prompts. He uses Snafu's nickname like they're best buds, though they've hardly ever spoken.

Snafu grunts.

"On that airfield…" Sledge says, "Don't you ever dare do that again, allright?"

"Whatever you say, Sledgehammer," Snafu drawls, "Don't even know what I did."

"You just...lay there," Sledge says quietly, "Like you were...."

"Waiting?" Snafu tries to remember his own state of mind in that moment.

"Gone," Sledge says sharply.

"Same damn thing," Snafu gives up on sleeping and lights a cigarette.

"If you're not around who'll tell me what I'm doing wrong?" Sledge asks.

"Shit, Sledge," Snafu drawls with a grin, "practically anybody who's not you could do that."

Sledge actually chuckles. That's the thing about Eugene. He's not stuck up or prissy like Snafu'd expect him to be. He's humble, and willing to laugh at his own inexpertise.

"I'd rather it be you," Eugene adds quietly with a small smile.

Snafu sucks on his bottom lip and refuses to respond to that.

"So no dying," Eugene finishes, as if such a conclusion were a choice.

Snafu does fall asleep and when he wakes up a few hours later, Sledge's head is tipped on top of Snafu's. Sledge's long nose is in Snafu's hair and he's snoring loud enough to wake the enemy a thousand miles away. Snafu can feel Eugene's snores blowing his hair around.

Despite these annoyances, Snafu tries to freeze in place and jostle Eugene as little as possible.

Their hands are still linked together. Sledge's hand is wrapped tight around Snafu's. Snafu lifts Sledge's hand to examine his delicate fingers - long and gentle, but not dainty. Eugene has the calluses of an expert marksman, and painfully short fingernails. Snafu picks at the boy's ring curiously.

Sledge shifts and turns farther in towards Snafu's body. He draws his arm away from Snafu's fiddling and instead places his hand on Snafu's soft belly. "Stop moving," he mumbles.

"You stop snoring," Snafu complains. He bumps his head intentionally into Sledge's big nose to make his point.

Sledge ignores him and slumps more of his weight onto Snafu's shoulder.

Snafu accepts his fate and reaches over Sledge's body to steal the saltines. He opens the cracker package and starts snacking.

"Must you, with the crunching?" Sledge snarls after a few minutes.

"Got hungry, Sledgehammer," Snafu, "If you're gonna be using me as a pillow, I'm gonna need to generate extra padding."

Sledge sighs and holds his hand out, "Give me one."

Snafu complies, "If you get crumbs in my hair, I'll kill ya."

"Wouldn't be the worst thing in your hair right now, Snafu," Sledge gripes.

"Yeah? What else is up there? Pick it out for me," Snafu grins.

"Smells like you took a nap in seawater," Sledge says, "Or smoke."

"Get your long nose out of my hair then," Snafu quips.

"Once you get past the brine smell it's not so bad," Sledge mutters and doesn't move

"Yeah, well your shoulder smells like…" Snafu starts, and then cuts off when he realizes Eugene's shoulder doesn't smell like anything Snafu finds unpleasant. "Did you change your shirt?"

"Traded it for the saltines," Sledge explains, "The swabby wanted a souvenir that saw battle. I gave it to him. Stole this one off a supply crate."

"Fuck, Eugene, I thought you flirted your way into the galley," Snafu grumbles.

"Who says taking off my shirt wasn't a part of that?"

Snafu can't see it with his head on Sledge's shoulder but he swears Gene is smirking at him. "Should have just given him your pin," Snafu argues.

"Can't," Eugene replies, "Sid says they're good luck."

Snafu rolls his eyes at the mention of stupid Sid and settles back comfortably to sleep.

Eugene hooks a thumb in between Snafu's button holes in his shirt to keep his hand on Snafu's stomach. His fingertips barely brush Snafu's bare skin, and suddenly Snafu is no longer interested in sleeping.

And then Eugene's wandering fingers hit Snafu's shrapnel wound.

His response is immediate and a little shocking, "What the fuck, Snafu?" Without asking Eugene starts popping open all of Snafu's shirt buttons.

"What the hell, Sledge?" Snafu tries to back away from him.

"My father's a physician, let me look at you," Eugene orders. He manhandles Snafu's hips forward away from the wall to stretch him out on the deck. Snafu's thin wound runs from right beside his belly button to right over his hip. "Jesus, Snaf, that could turn infected."

Snafu is still trying to process the feel of Eugene's long hands gripping his hips, there is no room in his brain for worrying about infections right now.

"You're gonna need to lie down," Eugene tells him, "Here…" Sledge takes off his shirt and folds it up so Snafu doesn't have to rest his head on the floor.

"Thanks," Snafu says blankly.

"I thought it didn't hit you, you idiot?" Eugene asks.

"Naw, it hit me," Snafu smiles, "just didn't kill me."

"Wait here, I need a kit," Sledge gets up and walks off, leaving Snafu on his own.

Snaf uncomfortably folds his open shirt closed and crosses his arms over his chest self-consciously. He hopes no one will accidentally walk past this part of the ship while Snafu is stuck laying here like a patient. It takes far too long for Sledge to return.

When Eugene does finally return, he's holding a big medic kit that definitely is going to be missed somewhere.

"What'd you have to take off to get that?" Snafu asks, his voice mean, "Your pants?"

"I'll return it when I'm done," Sledge tells him in a no nonsense tone. He sets the kit down and flips it open. "I'll need to open the waist of your pants though, do you mind?"

Snafu looks to the sky to avoid Sledge's concerned gaze. "Don't care," Snafu says as nonchalantly as he is able. He wets his lips and squeezes his eyes shut.

Sledge gently uncrosses Snafu's arms and moves them to the side. When Sledge unbuttons Snafu's pants, Snafu takes a deep breath. His stomach constricts, and he knows his bones are poking out embarrassingly far. Sledge's hands are warm and surprisingly soft. Cleaning everything, and putting a tiny amount of stitches near Snafu's waistband area doesn't take Sledge long at all. Before Snafu even gets to fully enjoy the feeling of Eugene's fingers sliding over his most sensitive area, Eugene is already buttoning Snafu's pants back up and smoothing his shirt down. Snafu flicks the shirt back off, deciding if he's already indecent he might as well continue that way.

Snafu moves to sit up, but Sledge puts a hand on his shoulder.

"Stay down for a bit," Sledge says, "I want my shirt back though. Here." He scoots next to the wall at Snafu's head and then helps Snafu lean forward enough that Sledge can reclaim his stolen shirt. Sledge throws the shirt on and then scoots closer again, beckoning Snafu to lay back down.

Having his head in Sledge's lap is about a thousand times more distracting than Eugene touching his skin. There was a medical excuse for that. There's no goddamn excuse for this.

As if reading Snafu's mind, Sledge decides to up the ante and he runs his hand along the clean skin beside Snafu's wound. Sledge's hand continues up to Snafu's chest and then stops. Sledge picks at a brown spot of dried mud below Snafu's sternum till it pops off and he can flick it away onto the deck. He then massages away the sting and leaves his hand resting there.

Snafu daringly rests his own hand on top of Sledge's. He doesn't breathe even once till they're both settled and Eugene doesn't pull away.

"You need a shower, Snafu," Sledge comments.

"You gonna give me one?" Snafu lolls his head so he can see Sledge's face.

"Only way to do that now would be to toss you off the ship," Sledge says seriously.

"That a no?" Snafu guesses.

Sledge glances down at Snafu with his signature 'I know better than you, but I am also amused' expression, and then stares blankly out towards the sea. He sighs, "Sleep off the seasickness. I promise I won't snore."

Snafu silently watches Eugene's profile for a while before he finally closes his eyes.

Sledge keeps his promise. He doesn't fall asleep once during the entire time Snafu is out. Sledge does, however, eventually remove his hand from atop Snafu's chest and that wakes Snafu up instantly.

Snafu stays perfectly still, and tries to breathe as even as possible. He doesn't want Sledge to notice he's awake and kick Snafu out of his lap.

Snafu carefully peeks one eye open, and sees two hands hovering above his head holding a book and pencil.

"Writing again?" Snafu accuses.

"Hmmm," Sledge says.

"What about?" Snafu asks.

"You," Sledge responds.

Snafu smiles. He knows Sledge is just being obtuse and not actually writing about him, but still, "Tell me."

"No," Sledge refuses.

Snafu eyes Sledge's hands and attempts to determine how much force it would take for him to grab the book away.

"If you take this bible from me, I'll never let you sleep on me again," Sledge warns.

"What makes you think that's a threat?" Snafu teases. He sits up and tries to lean over to read Sledge's writing.

"Because you slept like a baby during your nap," Sledge says. He angles the book away from Snafu's prying eyes.

"Plenty of other guys in the company more comfortable than you to sleep on, Sledgehammer," Snafu says.

Sledge looks Snafu straight in the eye and dares him, "Then why don't you go find them?"

Snafu holds his gaze for a few breaths. And then wordlessly puts his head back in Eugene's lap.

Sledge calmly sets down his pencil and book, and threads his hand into Snafu's hair instead. "You know what I miss?" Sledge idly scratches Snafu's head as he talks, "Having an inexhaustible supply of blank paper."

"I still don't understand how you've managed to hold onto that one pencil nub for so long," Snafu comments. If talking means Sledge will massage his head, Snafu will do anything to carry this conversation.

"Writing in my bible is well and good, but nothing compares to a fresh blank sheet," Sledge states, "I can't believe that in school I used to tear pages up, or throw them away if I made even one typewriter mistake."

"We should find you a new pencil," Snafu continues his own train of thought, "Or maybe a couple."

"What a waste," Sledge sighs over his stupid crumpled typewriter pages.

"I bet the officers' tent in camp has pencils," Snafu muses.

"You need to borrow a pencil?" Sledge asks, "Sorry, I wasn't listening for a minute. Here, take mine." He hands Snafu the tiny nubby remains.

"Thanks, Sledgehammer," Snafu says and sticks the pencil behind his ear to remind himself later.

The first thing Snafu does on Pavuvu is go scrounging for paper. The constant stream of people coming in and out of the officer's tents makes it particularly easy to search. Snafu gets five pencils on only one run. He doesn't dare take the brand new stacks of paper. It would be too obviously missed. Instead he hunts through trash bins around the camp, and pulls out anything that looks clean and innocuous.

Snafu figures any important classified documents are being shredded or burned immediately anyway. No chance of him accidentally picking up something he shouldn't.

It takes a few days, but finally Snafu hits the jackpot. An entire stack of half used blank sheet notebooks. They're spiral bound, and the edges are dirty, and the covers don't look particularly pretty. But the pages inside are clean. Snafu takes his stack behind the mess tent and scrubs off some of the dirt stains.

A few of the notebooks are too gross to be salvageable. For these he carefully cleans his knife, and cuts out the crisp pages individually.

When he's finished he leaves his collection on Sledge's cot with the pencils resting on top of everything. Satisfied, Snafu takes a step back and surveys his work. Then realizes he can't let it look like he is doing Gene any favors. He sticks his hands out and musses the papers completely so the stacks are no longer neat and the pages aren't ordered by type. But he leaves the pencils on top. He doesn't want them to get lost or sat on.

At first Sledge doesn't say anything about Snafu's gift. The next time Snafu stops by the empty tent, the paper and notebooks are neatly stacked on a high shelf to keep it out of the way of crabs and vermin. It warms Snafu to see how organized the messy pile he left became. Even the pencils are safe and snug wrapped in a little handmade pouch.

Snafu takes the warm feeling with him to chow that evening.

"Did you wake up on the right side of the bed for once, Snaf?" Burgie asks.

Snafu brushes his comments off with a smile and sarcastic look.

Sledge looks up the minute he realizes Snafu is sitting down. "Hey," he says eloquently.

"Hey," Snafu says back. He sets his tray down and pulls out his cigarettes.

"I swear you smoke more than you eat," Sledge observes. He eyes Snafu's still mostly full and cooling plate of food.

"I only put things in my mouth if it's worth the bother," Snafu tells him, smirking.

"Are you saying warm mush isn't worth it?" Bill jokes as he polishes off his own bowl heartily.

Snafu laughs at Bill's graceless eating, till he realizes Eugene is staring. Not at Bill, but at Snafu. And looking very mournful for some reason. Unable to stand seeing Eugene looking that way, Snafu anxiously extends his hand to touch Sledge's knuckles, and then offers him a smoke.

"No thanks, Snafu," Sledge says, very unfriendly and possibly looking to start a fight, "I prefer to eat my meals."

"Has anyone gotten any letters from home yet?" Burgie changes the subject brightly.

Bill shakes his head.

"Nothing but my mother's usual package," Sledge says. He notices Snafu staring at him with quiet interest and adds with a sigh, "Yes, Snafu, I saved you your favorite jar."

Snafu smiles, "See, always worth it to wait." He grabs his unused spoon off the table and slips it into his pants for later.

"Sid still hasn't written to tell me if he made it home okay," Sledge says with a worried frown.

"I'm sure he did," Burgie says kindly.

"What about you, Burg?" Snafu interrupts, "You hear anything from Florence lately?"

"She's written, yes," Burgie says and turns as red as the canned beets Sledge's mother mailed last week.

Snafu whistles, Leyden begs Burgie to read any exciting bits aloud, and Sledge politely asks who Florence is.

"Burgie's girl he met in Australia after Gloucester," Snafu explains.

"I knew she liked me because she was the only girl not flocking around Snaf," Burgie jokes.

"Like flies to shit?" Bill snaps, "Snafu being the shit 'n ass."

"Don't think he slept in the stadium bunks with the rest of us even once," Jay laughs.

"I had more worthwhile places to go," Snafu says and eyes Sledge to gauge his reaction. He lazily takes a drag on his cigarette.

"Think we'll be given liberty in Australia again sometime?" Sledge asks. He holds Snafu's gaze steady.

"Don't care," Snafu shrugs.

"Unfortunately no," Burgie says, "I suspect we'll be run ragged till this war is over."

"At least she writes you," Bill interjects, "You'll just have to skip over thataway and pick her up before going home at the end of all this."

"Not sure how I'll manage that," Burgie takes a deep breath, "But it's true, I think she felt as strongly as I did. She expresses it well in her letters."

Bill whines that Burgie is holding out on his buddies by not divulging the content of said letters. He and Burgie get into a heated discussion that mostly consists of Bill begging and wallowing in self pity over not having any sweethearts.

Snafu and Eugene ignore them. Once Sledge finishes his meal, Snafu offers his cigarette again, and Sledge accepts. They pass it back and forth as they watch the sunset over the beach in the distance. Snafu wallows in every single touch of their fingers during each exchange.

"Speaking of mail," Sledge starts, "Snafu, did you leave paper on my bunk?"

"Why would I leave paper on your bunk?" Snafu scoffs.

"I thought maybe you were writing a letter and forgot it, or something?" Sledge asks, as though he isn't smart enough to put two and two together. No one accidentally leaves a jumble of notebooks lying around. Not when they're such a hard commodity to find.

Bill barks a laugh "Snafu writing? Can you imagine...that'd be the day."

"The only paper I ever concern myself with is asswipe," Snafu taunts. He dangles his cigarette out of his mouth and smirks at Leyden. Snafu throws one cautious glance over to Sledge and immediately regrets it.

Instead of being grateful, Sledge is annoyed. He snatches the cigarette straight out of Snafu's mouth. Sledge's fingers press into Snafu's lips briefly before he steals the smoke away, almost like a gentle punch. The unexpected touch and Sledge's deadly serious glare turns Snafu hot down to his toes.

Sledge finishes the cigarette in dead silence, and rather than stub it into the ashtray, he takes the nub and sticks it back between Snafu's lips. Sledge abruptly stands, grabs his tray, and stalks off without another word.

Leyden awkwardly coughs and gives Snafu a sympathetic look.

"Did you dump a bunch of papers on Eugene's bed?" Burgie asks Snafu for clarification.

"Fuck no," Snafu lies. They know he's lying. He grinds the cigarette into dust on the ashtray.

"Maybe I should have mentioned the Australian guys were buzzing around you, too," Jay suggests to Snafu, "Except there were less of them thanks to the war."

"Don't think that would've helped, Jay," Burgie says.

"Yeah?" Snafu says. He climbs over the mess hut wall and walks off.

#Sledgefu #Pining #Demisexual snafu #Bad germs

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irondadfics · 4 years

Note

I’m looking for fanfics where Peter is Tony’s biological child and he goes missing/gets kidnapped as a young child. He is raised by someone else and doesn’t know he’s Tony’s son. I’ve already read Lost Boy and Things I Almost Remember on archive of our own and I wanted to find stories with a similar plot.

WHEW! It’s kind of a long list, but we did our best finding several fics that feature both BioDad!Tony and Peter being kidnapped at a very young age. ENJOY!!

PETER IS TONY’S SON BUT THEY WERE SEPARATED WHEN PETER WAS A CHILD REC LIST

Lost Boy by winterda

Isaac Stark disappeared from a crowded park a few months shy of his third birthday. There were never any signs of him, and no arrest were ever made in connection to the case. It was as if the toddler had simply vanished off the face of the earth. Twelve years later, Peter Parker has a really bad day, which only get worse when his prints are put through the system.

Things I Almost Remember by IcedAquarius @icedaquarius31

Peter's past is not as it appears. It all starts one day with a genetics project and slowly spirals into something Peter never could have imagined.

hydra's not a home by tempestaurora @tempestaurora

At 6 years old, the son of Tony and Pepper Stark, Peter, is kidnapped, never to be seen again. Or, so they thought. Ten years later, while raiding a HYDRA base, the Avengers come across a new, enhanced individual, working for the enemy: in black spandex, with a tendency to stick to walls and shoot webs from his wrists, the Black Spider is a pain in the ass in more ways than one.

If They Knew All About You by MsHermia

Tony Stark had lost his son when he was only 2 years old, stolen away in broad daylight with nobody the wiser of what exactly happened. Years later, Tony has just made it through the disaster with Ultron. He is trying to keep himself and the team together but relationships are strained and tempers are running high. Then a random turn of events leads to his path crossing with that of a particular vigilante. They are strangers to each other, or so they think.

Peter Parker is on top of the world. After a few shitty years, losing his parents and then losing his Uncle, things are finally looking up. Sure he lives in a crappy little apartment with his Aunt but he might have just found his mission in life.

------

This is an AU story obvious by some of the tags. I'm starting out a few weeks after Age of Ultron took place. Civil War will be a thing. Other than that I'm not too concerned about sticking to every canon detail and storyline.

Finding Their Way Home by ElliahRose

Peter Benjamin-Edward Stark went missing on a Tuesday. For months the entirety of the New York police department, as well as anyone else the Starks could convince to join, searched for the tot. He was only three when he was taken and for four months, two weeks, and four days, Tony Stark and Pepper Stark (nee Potts) worried and fretted over their beloved child.

Peter Benjamin-Edward Stark was murdered on a Friday. A ransom call gone wrong spelt the end of the child’s life. The world grieved as the kidnappers gleefully told the devastated parents they’d find his body in the morning.

They never did.

Twelve years passed and the family was still grieving, and Tony Stark worked tirelessly to find his only child’s killer and gain justice for his son.

Meanwhile Peter Parker was having literally the worst day ever. He just wanted to help make the world a better place, but instead he got stabbed. That's just his luck, isn't it?

missing, presumed dead by hailingstars @hailing-stars

They hadn’t had a funeral for Peter.

There hadn’t been a casket or a service inside a church.

There had been, before Tony decided in his heart that Peter was gone, candlelight vigils and pleas on the media for whoever had taken him to bring him home. Neither of those did any good. Neither of those brought Peter home.

Tony Stark's son gets kidnapped when he's two. Twelve years later he comes back.

I told you to be better (and you became the best) by HaruK

Tony was blessed with a healthy baby boy, and for once in his life, was actually happy. Until everything derailed and he had to send his son away to keep him safe, because those related to the Stark family, one of the worlds biggest and most targeted families in the black market, always end up hurt. With a new name and identity that Tony himself doesn't know, the young baby was wiped off the map, his existence erased, never to be heard of again. . Years later, Anti-hero Iron Man meets a local superhero vigilante and Tony becomes surprisingly close with young Peter Parker.

The Curly-Haired Boy In The Paper by Svn_f1ower @svn-f1ower

When Tony sees the blurry, grey scale photograph of someone he thought he had lost years ago, he follows the trail to a newspaper company, to a hospital, to an adoption agency, to the police station and finally to May Parker's house.

hold him tight & don’t let go by jessicagoddamnjones @farremoved

Peter Stark went missing when he was four years old.

Eleven years later, he’s found.

Only now he’s Peter Parker by day, Spider-Man by night, and he doesn’t like the idea that his entire life is a lie.

Rise from the Ashes; Just to See You Again by Mintstream @iwritedumbshit

Tony Stark didn't expect Mary Fitzpatrick, or the news she delivered. He didn't expect that he would become a father, or that he would actually enjoy it. He didn't expect Penny to love him just as fiercely as he did her.

He didn't expect to lose her so soon.

In the wake of the loss of his daughter he tried--tried to do right by her. He became Iron Man, he was an Avenger, he protected his world because he couldn't protect his daughter, but through it all, he hoped to be reunited with his daughter.

He didn't expect to be alive when he was.

AKA the biological daughter kidnapping AU no one asked for. Hope you read, and hope you enjoy.

Updates on Saturdays.

Coming Home by inkinmyheartandonthepage

AU – Peter Stark was kidnapped when he was just three years old. Tony and Pepper never stopped looking for their boy. Years later, Peter finds his way back home.

A Change In What We Knew by Imissyoutoo @imissyoutoo

Tony scoured the floor behind Steve as though his one-year-old son had somehow crawled to him, before finally, he looked up. The realisation dawned on him like an eclipse; the decaying darkness hiding the sun. Hiding his son. Because his boy wasn't there.

”Where is he? Steve? Where's my son Rogers?!” At only a year old, Tony Stark’s son is taken, leaving him shattered. Little does he know, his journey to find what is lost only begins twelve years later. In the most unlikely of places, and all because of two words.

”Hey kid.”

I Found You by honestchick

Tony had a son; he raised him for two years until someone kidnapped him. Tony was devastated and heartbroken. And who would have thought in Starks Expo, he’d be able to see his son once again?

move back home forever by chasingflower @evahmohns

The results say he’s not actually Peter Parker.

They say he’s Peter Stark. You know, the one who’s been missing for 10 years.

Yeah. He knows.

Soon You'll Get Better by lostinmorewaysthan1

Peter Stark was kidnapped. That was all anyone knew. He vanished into thin air, no traces left behind, when he was eight years old.

Six years later, on one of the final raids on the HYDRA bases, they find an enhanced assassin, with super strength and the ability to climb walls. No one imagined that it would be Peter. Least of all Tony.

With no memory and brainwashed by HYDRA, Peter Stark goes home and tries to recover.

Let This Road Be Mine by CommunicationFlail

Ten years ago, five year old Peter Stark disappeared. When the trail went cold, the case was closed. Now new evidence has been brought to light and Tony will stop at nothing to get his son back. No matter how many fakes he has to meet. His son is out there, and he will find him.

Return to me, the one I love so endlessly by SuperHeroTiger @superherotiger

James Edwin Stark was born on the 10th of August 2001, and for the first time in his life, Tony Stark cried tears of joy.

All the fears, all the dread that had once consumed his soul washed away with a single look at the baby’s gentle features, so familiar and yet so distinctly unique at the same time. Tony made many promises that day. Promises to love his son, to protect him, to always be there for him.

On the 10th of August 2002, James Edwin Stark was stolen in the middle of the night, and his father’s world came crashing down. Shattered and alone, Tony whispered the same promise he’d made to his son the day that he was born.

‘…My love for you is endless…’

Fourteen years later, hidden away from the world in a forest of pine, Peter Beck would dream of a day he might get to see the towering city of New York. And when a wounded stranger stumbles onto their property a week out from his birthday claiming to be a famous billionaire from New York, his dream might just come true.

Once Lost Now Found by FreckledAvenger11

Peter Parker was just trying to get used to life without his uncle. He wasn't expecting to find a familiar face in an article about Tony Stark's missing son. Follow Peter on his journey to discover just who he is. Is he Peter Parker? Is he Spider-Man? Or is he someone else entirely? Just who is he and what secrets died along with his parents in that plane crash?

So He Walks The World Alone by Miola014

This is a story 'bout a broken boy With his headphones in just to block out the noise Of everyone around him telling him the way to go So he walks the world alone Wondering if it gets better Or if he's always gonna feel empty forever So he gets lost tryna find another way back home As he walks the world alone

The Kidnapped Peter Stark AU that I promised y'all!

#fic rec list #tony is peter's biological dad #kidnapping

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awanderingdeal · 3 years

Note

How about Nado meeting Kuny’s parents

Do with that as you please

Happy

Sad

I don’t mind

Love, Trash Monster :)

Hello Trash Monster! Thank you for your prompt. This one kind of got away with me and loved writing it. It’s actually rather angsty for me, but there is a happy ending.

CW: coming out, homophobia (mentions of potential harm to queer people), food mentions, very minor sexual content

Please let me know if you feel I need to add any warnings

Rating: T+ (sexual content is very minor, but the subject content is a bit heavy at points)

Credit for the sweater weather universe goes to @lumosinlove

"You know you don't have to tell them if you don't want to," Jackson grazed his thumb reassuringly over his boyfriend's hand where they were clenched together. They had been sat stiffly on the sofa for the last 20 minutes, waiting for the knock on the door that would announce the arrival of Evgeni's parents.

"I'm want," Evgeni sighed, his words barely a whisper. "I'm just scared. I don't know what they think. What if they hate me?"

Jackson clutched Evgeni's hand tighter, lifting it to his mouth to press his lips gently against his skin. "Zhenya, I mean it. I love you and I will still love you even if you decide you don't want to do this."

Evgeni shuffled impossibly closer, "I love you too, I'm sorry, I'm coward."

"Stop," Jackson frowned. "You are not a coward. This could get you arrested back home. Killed even. You are allowed to be scared." He let out a frustrated sigh, not aimed at his boyfriend, but at the world around him. "Look, how about we just see how things go. I'll follow your lead and there is absolutely no pressure to say anything to them. As far as they know, I'm just your housemate."

"Very good housemate," Evgeni chuckled, although his laugh seemed strained. "Okay, we play by ear."

"Where'd you learn that one?" Jackson teased gently. Evgeni was always dropping new words and phrases he'd learned, his smile quietly proud, and Jackson loved it.

"I learn from Finn. We both complain about silly boyfriends speaking French and he teach me English," Evgeni explained.

"Hmm, I'm not sure this is a friendship I should be encouraging," Jackson gave a mock glare.

"Too late," Evgeni smiled. It was a real smile this time, and Jackson felt like his next breath came a little easier than the last. "We go shopping together next weekend. He give good advice unlike you."

"I changed my mind, this is an excellent friendship," Jackson grinned. Evgeni opened his mouth, likely a clever reply on his tongue, but anything he had to say was interrupted by a loud knock on the door.

Jackson couldn't understand the string of Russian that Evgeni muttered, but he'd have wagered a large amount of money that it wasn't positive. "Hey, relax. It's just your parents. You love them, they love you," he reassured, despite the growing bubble of anxiety in his own stomach. He'd met his Evgeni's parents a few times before, but it felt different now, even though they weren't aware that anything about their son's relationship with his 'housemate' had changed.

"I go now," Evgeni said as he stood, but the words seemed to be aimed more at himself than Jackson. He left the room muttering to himself and running his hands nervously through his curls.

A minute later, there was a burst of noise. Jackson smiled, letting his breath out with a sigh of relief. Some part of him had decided the world was going to implode the moment the front door opened, but all he heard was the happy sounds of a child and parents being reunited.

"Jackson," Evgeni pushed through the door a moment later. "You remember my Mother and Father?" he asked.

Smiling, Jackson stood. This part was easy. He could be polite. He was Canadian, polite was in his blood. "Of course," Jackson nodded. "It's lovely to see you again, Mr and Mrs Kuznetsov. Evgeni has been looking forward to your stay." He offered his hand out for his boyfriend's mother to shake.

"I tell you to call me, Yelena," the tall woman said, batting away his hand softly and pulling Jackson into a hug. "Evgeni only wants to see me for Syrinki," she pretended to whisper. Jackson opened his mouth to mention that he had in fact been learning to make the Russian dish so that Evgeni would feel a little less homesick, but reconsidered. The idea felt too intimate, too suspicious. Looking up briefly, he met Evgeni’s eyes, finding a sadness in them. Maybe he had been thinking the same.

“Nonsense, even big boys like us need a hug from our mom’s from time to time,” Jackson finally settled on a reply.

Yelena gave him one last squeeze, patting his cheek. “You’re a good boy, Jackson.”

He wasn’t sure if he was making it up, but the moment seemed significant. He looked at Evgeni again, but just received a shrug, so Jackson turned his attention to Mr Kuznetsov. The man really did not speak much English, so Jackson just waved and said, “hello.” The smile he got in return was almost identical to Evgeni’s.

***

It was now day 3 of the Kuznetsov’s week long visit, and Jackson was really starting to think something was up, he just couldn’t quite place what. They sat on the sofa, looking at some photography Mr Kuznetsov had taken. Jackson had been told repeatedly to call him Lev, but he still couldn’t do it in his head. It seemed like a perfectly ordinary thing to do, Mr Kuznetsov was very passionate about his hobby, but Mrs Kuznetsov kept making little comments that Jackson found quite strange.

“This is church we get married in,” Mrs Kuznetsov explained, pointing to an unassuming, old looking building nestled between some trees. “Would you like to get married, Jackson?”

The question didn’t even throw him this time, just another example of the odd little elements that kept cropping up. The reasonable part of him wanted to chalk it up to an over curiosity, however he was not entirely convinced. “Yeah, one day,” he nodded, training his eyes on the photo so they didn’t wander to look at his boyfriend.

“No have to be in church though,” Mrs Kuznetsov patted his hand, “not these days.”

Jackson wasn’t sure how to respond to that and thankfully, Evgeni came to his rescue muttering to his mother in Russian. Her reply was terse, but she slid her finger over the tablet screen to reveal the next photo.

Things moved on smoothly, and soon Jackson was leaving the three of them. As nice as it was to get to know the family, he realised it was a bit awkward for Mr. Kuznetsov and Jackson liked to allow them to spend time together without feeling guilty about leaving him out. He had almost forgotten about the incident, until lunch time the next day.

Jackson and Mrs Kuznetsov had made lunch together, which had been strange and yet oddly comfortable. He had realised midway through slicing carrots for the soup that it felt as if they had done this many times before.

“Oh! I forget,” Mrs Kuznetsov clapped her hands together excitably, getting up from the chair she had just sat on. “I see a photograph in the newspaper,” she said, rooting around in her purse, making a small triumphant noise when she found what she was looking for.

She placed the clipping down on the table proudly. The photo was of Remus and Sirius. “I think it funny that it in news all the way in Russia,” Mrs Kuznetsov chuckled. “The article was not so nice, so I just cut out photo. Make me think of you. Such nice boys they are.”

Jackson didn’t know what to say, so he just looked at Evgeni. However, his boyfriend was not looking in his direction, staring at his mother instead. Mrs Kuznetsov went about ladling soup into the bowls, humming softly under her breath.

***

It was the final evening of Evgeni’s parent’s stay, and Jackson couldn’t wait to truly release the breath he had been holding. The two older Kuznetsov’s were wonderful, but Jackson wanted to be able to touch his boyfriend, to use the affectionate endearments they had given one another and quite frankly, he was horny.

That thought was ripped from his mind, by the commotion of Mrs Kuznetsov tripping and throwing her glass of iced tea all over Evgeni. Jackson didn’t know much Russian, but he recognised the swear word that fell from his boyfriend’s lips and the scolding he received from his mother didn’t need translating. Then she began gesturing towards the wet clothing, saying something that made Evgeni’s eyes widen. Jackson would forever maintain that the sound that came out of Evgeni’s mouth was a squeak.

“Off, off,” Mrs Kuznetsov ordered, her voice firm.

Jackson sympathised with Evgeni’s reaction now. He cleared his throat, mumbling a comment about getting a mop and hurried from the room. On his return, he realised he hadn’t been long enough, finding Evgeni standing in just his underwear. He swore softly to himself, going about mopping the floor, trying his level best to look anywhere but Evgeni. It felt like forever before his mother took his clothing, muttering something about the washing machine.

“Mama,” Evgeni called, just as she was leaving the room. She looked back, smiling softly and Evgeni took a deep breath. “Jackson is my boyfriend.” He looked at his father and repeated the sentence in his native tongue. Jackson couldn’t recall loosening his grip on the wooden handle, but the sound of the mop clattering on the floor pulled him from his shocked pause.

“Zhenya,” he breathed. And in that moment, the monumentality of his words seemed to hit Evgeni. Jackson saw the panic cross his boyfriend’s features, tensing his muscles to go and offer comfort, but somehow Mrs. Kuznetsov got there first. There were tears in her eyes, and a thousand thoughts ran through Jackson’s mind. He wanted to console Evgeni. He wanted to assure Mrs Kuznetsov they were good people, that Evgeni was the same son he had been thirty seconds ago.

“I am so proud of you,” she reached out to grasp Evgeni’s hand. “I wait all week for you to tell me.”

“What?” The word came from Evgeni and Jackson simultaneously.

“Evgeni talk you, like I talk Alyonushka,” Mr Kuznetsov smiled. The words were stilted and the accent heavy, but Jackson understood well enough. Evgeni’s cheek took a pink tint to them.

“I know love when I see,” Mrs Kuznetsov wagged her finger at Jackson as if he was a naughty child. She gave a small sigh, looking between the two of them, “Russia not so nice. But you safe here in USA, and Russia get better. One day, you hold hands there too.”

Jackson felt tears in his own eyes now. Not even the fact Evgeni was standing in only his underwear could ruin this moment.

“Go put clothes on. I tell story to grandkids one day,” Mrs Kuznetsov smiled.

“Mama!” Evgeni reprimanded. His next words were Russian, but the embarrassed exchange between mother and son was universal. Jackson suddenly realised he could tell his own parents now, and that seemed both terrifying and magnificent. He wasn't at all worried about their reaction, but it still seemed big. Deciding those emotions could be left for another day, he let himself enjoy this moment.

#jackson nadeau #evgeni kuznetsov #rating: t+#cw:coming out #cw: homophobia #cw:food mentions #sweater weather #lumosinlove #request fill

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marchioness-caprina · 3 years

Text

Love Scandal

Pairings : Reader x Hawks

Writing Style : 3rd Person

Warning : Slight Yandere! Hawks ( If you squint Really Hard) , Cursing

Word Count : 2754

3rd Person's POV

" You have GOT to be kidding me! " Y/n yelled in frustration as Momo gave her a concerned Look.

" So.... Is what the Tabloids saying True--"

" Of course it's not! I just work under His Agency! And what happened Yesterday was Purely out of Defense and Nothing else! " Y/n cut off Jiro immediately venting out her frustrations.

Y/n along with the girl's of the Former Class 1-A were hanging in a small Cafe to catch up since things had been pretty hectic since they became Pro Heroes a year ago.

" So.... What are you gonna Do about it? " Uraraka asked as she read even further through the article and she gasped.

" Oh no.... Don't tell me it's something terrible? " Y/n muttered already seeing what's to come judging by the look her Friend gave her.

" Uhh... You could say... You two were caught in the... Umm.. Act? " Uraraka tried finding the right words so she wouldn't annoy her friend even further before showing her phone towards y/n who's eyes widened like flying saucers.

On the screen was a picture of Her and Hawks in the Alleyway. Hawks was turning away from the camera but he clearly had his hands on y/n's hips and from this angle it looked like they were kissing.

" Ugh! For crying out loud who took this picture !? Fucking Son of a Bit--- ugh! " Y/n fumed in utter irritation her red turning extremely red not because of embarrassment but because of anger and irritation.

" Y/n calm down, I think it's best if you talk to Hawks about this... Maybe he'll clear it up Kero " Tsu suggested and y/n had already bolted out the cafe in full speed.

It was silent inside the cafe before one of the girls began talking.

" Wouldn't they make a good pair though? " Mina muttered and the girls all gave a small giggle before agreeing.

____________ Meanwhile

Y/n was stomping through The Building and her hero co-workers could clearly see the growing irritation of her aura and they were genuinely scared to approach the fuming lady.

Once y/n was outside Hawk's Office she slammed the door open revealing a resting hawks with his feet on his desk. His face was covered with an old newspaper and y/n could hear audible and soft snores coming from him.

The man was clearly unaware of her presence when she literally slammed her way inside while stomping a aloud as she could... He was unaware or so she thought .

" Hawks! Fucking wake up! " She growled her to me seeping off irritation.

Hawks stirred in his sleep and with a groan he pulled the newspaper away from his face and opened one eye to see the figure of y/n who was menacingly glaring at him.

" Hey Kid what brings you to my Nest mphf-- Ahh shoving it to my face now aren't you?... Let me guess My fault? " Hawks smirked when Y/n had forcefully shoved her phone containing the article of their so called ' Love Scandal ' .

" No shit Sherlock! You Think!? Why the fuck did you have to shove me to the alleyway like that!? I told you I could handle it!" Y/n barked as Hawks's eyes trailed down to her phone lazily reading through the article chuckling to himself.

" Ohoho~ Looks like the headlines got the best of us Kid. Just look at all these Juicy details---"

" Which are False" Y/n immediately cut in glaring at the man who gave her a Bemused expression.

" Well you did decide to get involved with a scoundrel like me---"

" Only because you keep blocking other Agencies from Hiring me because you wanted me in yours" Y/n cut him off once again to which Hawks only gave a chuckle as a reply.

" You know Kid, you gotta let me finish my sentences. Now stop being angry you'll get wrinkles " That comment made y/n furious her hand immediately came clashing on Hawks's cheek with a loud slap.

" Ohoho~ ok I guess I deserve that one for not taking it seriously " Hawks Grinned eyeing the girl infront of him.

" You've really turned Feisty Baby Bird, it feels like Yesterday you were a polite and obedient Sidekick and now here you are slapping your boss like that. You know I really gotta give you credit for not taking my bullshit like that " Hawks yawned sitting down in a more comfortable position.

" Oh come on Hawks, we know I take all of your bullshit Every fucking Day and This Time it's Kinda frustrating... Oh wait let me rephrase that. It's Extremely Frustrating! " Y/n hissed crossing her arms over her chest as her glare became ice cold and the man before her only growing Amused by her reaction.

" So what do you expect me to do? Bullshit Rumors will be Bullshit Rumors and I don't give a damn about every single one of them... So let me guess. You want me to make a public appearance and Deny everything they claim here on this Article? " Hawks questioned and Y/n who seemed to be a bit more calm now gave him a firm nod.

" Yes, that is exactly what I am expecting you To do Hawks. I want this Rumor to Vanish immediately. You deny it and I Deny it too, let's explain why we were in that position " Y/n stated her tone was calm and collected , the opposite of the tone she used before.

Hawks nodded his head continuously in a slow and lazy manner his eyes never leaving the girl as his expression seemingly showing as if he was in deep thought.

" Yeah.... I could do that but" Hawks paused a playful glint displaying through his orbs, his eyes meeting hers that smirk on his face never seemed to falter.

" But what? " Y/n questioned clearly growing irritated again.

" But I won't " His answer set y/n off ten folds and she was so close to flipping his desk . She almost did but Hawks stopped her before she could wreck the whole place.

" Just Kidding. I will " He laughed and y/n was too pissed off to deal with her antics she just turned around and left.

" I'll call the press. You better clear this mess Hawks " She spat out before leaving.

Oh y/n, she has no Idea Hawks had cunningly planned all of this from the very beginning so he could slowly have his way around her. Hawks had been patient with her ever since the first year she had interned in his agency as a student. The moment he met this strange epitome of beauty named y/n he became a love struck desperate man who craved nothing but the affection of his most prized position. Y/n.

He Even went out of his way to reason or more like threaten other agencies who were more than willing to take her in as a new pro hero. He was so so selfish to let her go and he was desperate to have her by his side.

He even purposely pairs himself with her during missions so he could protect and watch over her. He had given subtle clues that he likes her but apparently his little baby bird wasn't smart in the love department . But he was patient. But the moment people started making rumors about her and That other New Hero Named Deku claiming that they would become a really ' cute ' hero couple if they ended up dating. He was more than furious. Dammit he wanted everyone to Know that His baby bird is Exclusively His. Only His.

So he devised a plan and even hired a photographer to take a picture of them ' in the act' and hired an editor to write something about it and spread it everywhere on the internet to cause a media wild fire that y/n and hawks are dating.

And everything was going according to plan. He knew y/n would come to his office to complain about this and convince him to deny it, he knew she'd be fuming in anger , he knew she was here the moment she stepped inside the building and all that's left is to face the press with his 'announcement' that is sure to surprise everyone including y/n.

________________ The Press Meeting.

" So is it true that you and Pro Hero Hawks are dating H/n? " A reported asked y/n to which she shook her head to.

" What is Taking Hawks so long? " She grumbled , the room was flooded with cameramen and reported and the flashes of camera light was starting to get to her.

And on Cue the winged Hero arrived in the room looking as smig as ever.

" It's Hawks! Make sure to catch this on Camera! " The reporter yelled and so on the area was Flooded with questions left and right and Hawks seemed to be unbothered by it.

" Hawks! End this already " Y/n yelled at Hawks who grinned at her playfully.

" You're so Impatient Baby bird " He muttered making the girl glare at him.

" Don't call me that " She grumbled but Hawks ignored her. Instead he picked up the Microphone and started tapping on it.

" Testing, Testing ok it's working. Can you all please be quiet and I'll answer your question" Hawks announced and slowly the room faded into silence and once everything has quieted down Hawks cleared his throat the microphone still in his hand.

" Ok, I know it caused a Dramatic Mishap to Ensue the Moment everyone saw the article and I would like to clear some things out regarding that Love Scandal... Me and H/n are Not dating! I repeat NOT Dating! " Hawks stated loud and clear through the microphone.

Y/n sighed thinking that it was finally the end but No. Hawks had other plans.

" We're not Dating Cause She's My Fucking Wife! " Hawks announced and everyone was silent.

Y/n was frozen in place unable to think clearly and her expression showed it all. Hawks had a victorious grin on his face, the whole crowd of reporters and camera men were quiet and it took them 5 seconds to actually let that information Sink in.

" WHAT!? " Y/n exploded and she rose up from her seat and soon the reporters started shooting different questions their way .

" Hawks what the actual fuck!? Is this a Prank!? ---" Y/n was caught off guard when Hawks scooped her off her feet and smashed his lips against hers silencing her in a short yet passionate kiss.

" How's that for a Picture show?! " Hawks yelled to the reporters before finally flying away from the commotion holding his baby bird in his hands who was now by the way. Fuming with anger once again.

________________

Y/n was furious and when she's furious she gets violent and she started thrashing around forcing Hawks to land on the rooftop on a random building.

" Hawks! What the fuck was that!? Ugh! Why'd you do that!? Was that some sick Joke!?" She growled as she shot Hawks one of her menacing glares to which he wasn't affected to.

" Maybe it is... Maybe it isn't " Hawks answered the smirk on his face seemed to be permanent when he's with her.

" Dammit! You Fucking Asshole!. Shit! How the Fuck am I gonna clear this up now!? I should have gone to Fatgum's agency instead! You know what!? I'm going to request a transfer! Fatgum is way nicer anyways---" She was cut off when Hawks had swept his feet under hers thus knocking her on the ground. With a Yelp her back was slammed on the ground with Hawks hovering above her.

" Say that to me again Baby Bird and I swear.... Even if I have to .... I'll Destroy Fat Gum's agency into a pile of debris... Don't Temp me... I will do it.... You have no idea how long I've been trying to get you to notice me and my feelings... Yet you always seemed to bullshit it away every Fucking time! " Hawks yelled letting all of his emotions get the best of him.

And for the first time. Y/n saw Hawks at his Most Vulnerable state. Not the calm and collected Hawks who never seemed to break. Right now was a man who experienced hundreds of rejections from one girl... Y/n.

How could she be so blind? Now that she thinks back to the past she did remember every sweet and romantic thing Hawks did for her and how he asked her out on daily basis to which she thought was just a flirtatious joke. She was both dense and stupid when it came to love and she didn't notice that the man whom she had fallen for actually loved her back.

Hawks always kept his composure but today she's seeing none of it... Just Hawks. Not the Pro Hero Hawks... Just Hawks.

He was always joking when he's around her that she brushes off every flirtatious comment from him to be a joke too. But now that everything had come to light. It was undeniably obvious.

"... You really hate me that much? " Hawks voice was so soft and timid, it almost didn't sound like him at all.

Y/n was surprised at his sudden comment that she was pulled back to reality her eyes meeting with his but to her shock. She saw the eyes of a hurt and broken man .

Guilt overtook her . She loved him but she always pushed her feelings aside having the fear of being rejected because Hawks is incredible in every way and y/n...is y/n.

Her eyes widened when a single teardrop fell on her cheek and that tear came from Hawks who was trying his hardest to keep his shit together. How can you have this powerful affect on him? It's driving him Nuts. Does he have to kidnap her so she'd stay with him? Does he have to fake her death and keep her all to himself? He was close to that breaking point but that psychotic thought was immediately thrown to the side and forgotten when y/n had reached over to cup his cheeks and brought his face down inches from hers only to scoop his lips in her own for a long, passionate and loving kiss.

Hawks was unable to respond at first because. It was surreal. Y/n was finally accepting him! He felt her slowly pull back but he was having none of it! He waited so long for this moment!.

Pushing his lips down to hers he indulged himself in the sweet taste of y/n's lips, opening her mouth slightly she granted him entrance inside her wet cavern where his tongue explored every inch and claiming it as his own. Their lips danced in sync in a steady and passionate movement.

Once the two pulled away his eyes pierced hers as if asking if she meant it to which y/n replied with a laugh.

" Hawks you dumbass you didn't have to make a scene like that... I love you too honestly... From the start... I was scared to tell you... I didn't want to get rejected " She answered honestly making the man frown.

" Chickadee I'd be the biggest fool alive if I'd reject you.. And that show earlier was necessary.... Everyone needs to know that the beautiful pro hero h/n is Mine... My Baby Bird " Hawks muttered kissing her cheek.

" I love you, you annoying bird man " She chuckled attempting to push him off.

" Whatever you little brat... I love you too and don't push me away... I'm touch starved by you, It's your fault so take responsibility" Hawks grumbled making the girl laugh.

" But we're on a rooftop! " She protested but Hawks only rolled his eyes cuddling right next to his y/n.

" Don't be so picky. If you keep this up we might end up in my bedroom--"

" Hawks! "

#bnha x reader #Keigo Takami #Keigo Takami x Reader #Hawks x Reader #Takami Keigo Imagine #Hawks Imagine #Bnha #Y/n #Reader #Hawks x Y/n #Boku no Hero Academia #Mha

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