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lilyofthesword-writes · 3 years

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Hunter (Kurama Oneshot)

Summary: Kurama reminisces over his early human childhood memories while he waits for you to regain consciousness from your comatose state.

Pairing: Kurama x F!Reader (Can be read as platonic)

Word Count: 1,864

Disclaimers/Warnings: Short depictions of bullying, childhood trauma. Angsty but there is still some fluff to be found.

A/N: Set post-canon. This pulls in bits of Supernatural lore, specifically some of the creatures seen in the series, but is not actually set in the Supernatural universe. This is something I’ve had in my head ever since I started the series over five years ago. Feels awesome to finally have it written out! Hope you all enjoy!

Masterlist

Your breath was slow as it filled your lungs, almost as though it were fueling your comatose slumber. Kurama stood idly against the wall, watching over you in the hospital bed. He didn’t necessarily need to be there, but he felt like he should. For what it’s worth, he hadn’t seen or heard from you since you were children. He wondered if your eyes still held the same fire that coursed through them all those years ago.

In his younger years before puberty, he hadn’t been the most popular amongst the children at the playground. His bright ruby hair and green eyes made him stand out and not in a good way. While the parents found him adorable, most the kids did not. His mother, Shiori, always did her best to keep a close eye on him, but being a single mother presented various challenges for both of them. She was unable to catch every moment when the other children would pick on him, purposely leaving him out of their fun. His first true glimpse into humanity should have left him jaded, and it did, at least until you showed up.

One morning, while his mother was preoccupied, one of the boys shoved him onto the gravel, scuffing Kurama’s hands as he braced himself for the fall. It hurt, just not enough to make him cry. He was still a demon of the Makai after all. It would take more than that for him to show pain. He glared up at the boy, but his view was blocked by the small back of another child.

“Why do you have to be so mean?” Although your voice was quiet, it still managed to express more rage than a yell or scream ever could.

The boy’s retort died on his tongue. He could have said something. Any child would have, however lackluster it could have been. There was just something about that situation that made him turn tail and run back to his friends.

“You didn’t need to do that,” Kurama’s voice was just as soft.

Spinning on your heels, you swung around to face him. Your face was serious with the twinge of a pout on your lips. “But neither did he.”

You watched his confused expression curiously, the brightness in your eyes not dimming for a single moment. He wasn’t sure if he should thank you or just leave, still unsure of this being human situation.

“What’s your name?” You cut through his thoughts.

“Shuuichi.”

Your hand shot out to help him up as you gave him your name. He accepted it reluctantly. The warmth of it seeped through his skin, a warmth he still remembered as he stood by your side in the hospital.

Reaching his feet, he continued to study you. Why didn’t you act like the others? You grinned and squeezed the hand you were still holding for whatever reason. “Wanna play on the swings, Shuu-chan?”

He didn’t really like the nickname. Others kids tried to call him that and were shot down immediately. Yet from you... It sounded right, like you were the only one meant to call him that. He joined you on the swings every day you two met up at the park. When he learned you and your family moved in next door, the days you weren’t at the park were spent at one of your houses.

He wouldn’t be adverse to hearing you say it again. Kurama thought about what it would be like now that you were an adult. Would it still sound just as right? Would you even remember the nickname, or even him for that matter? You had only known each other for a couple of years. Did he make as much of an impression on your life as you did his?

The day you had to leave was one of the most upsetting in his human life, second only to his mother’s terminal illness he and Yusuke had managed to cure with the Forlorn Hope artifact. He had woken from a light sleep, sensing a demonic entity nearby. Then, there came a faint smell of smoke. Fully alert, he dashed to the window to peer outside. The smoke was coming from your home.

By the time he flew down the stairs and out the kitchen side door, the house was already engulfed in flames, no doubt due to the demon. He flung himself over the fence and ran to the large tree that grew beside your window on the second floor. You had your window thrown open when he started climbing, your choked coughs and sobs were engulfing all of his senses. You couldn’t reach the branch that protruded out to you, but he could close the gap. He could get you out of there.

And he did. He grabbed your hand and pulled you onto a sturdier part of the branch before the end broke off and fell into the grass below. The way you sobbed in his arms... He couldn’t bring himself to pull away and have you climb down the tree with him. No. He opted to wait for the fire department to safely bring you both down.

Shiori cradled the two of you in her arms after the firemen brought you to the paramedics for a check-up. Other than smoke inhalation, you were physically fine. Emotionally? That was an entirely different story. Losing your parents and the newborn baby brother you had been so excited for was not something you should have had to experience. You had stopped crying, but it was like you weren’t even there. The light in your eyes had dwindled to nearly nothing.

Over the following few days, you stayed with the Minamino’s. You barely ate and your sleep was plagued with nightmares. Your dreams were filled with the demon that destroyed your life. You had caught a glimpse of it before you were rescued but that was all it took. Kurama desperately wanted to help you sleep, help you live. His abilities had not yet amassed to their full potential, so the plants he knew would work, he could not grow. For the first time in his long life, he felt truly hopeless.

Your aunt and uncle, your only living relatives he quickly learned, were at the Minamino’s doorstep later that week. They had come from overseas for you as soon as they had heard about your family. While they were clearly apprehensive at the thought of staying any longer than necessary, they still allowed you enough time to say your goodbyes. Shiori embraced you as any mother would, full of warmth and love. When you hugged Kurama, you poured every part of you into it. You didn’t want to leave but understood you had no choice.

“Goodbye, Shuu-chan.”

The last words he heard from you echoed in Kurama’s head. He had thought that goodbye was permanent. It never once crossed his mind that you would find your way back into his life.

“Kurama?”

His mind snapped back to the present.

“Botan,” he greeted casually.

The blue-haired reaper was tentative in her response. “How is she doing?”

“Still dreaming. She should wake soon.”

The djinn Koenma sent him after should be dead before dawn if the carnivorous plant he seeded in the creature’s chest had anything to say about it. Then, its spell would be lifted.

“Good...” Botan stared at the floor like it was the most interesting thing in the world.

“Did you find out anything?”

“We... We found a lot on her, but I don’t think you’ll like it.”

“Will it explain why she was there?”

Botan relented with a sigh. “Yes.”

Kurama stepped forward, gently swiping at the hair that had fluttered onto your face because of the air conditioning vent above you. “Then, tell me.”

She huffed and came around to stand on the other side of your bed. Gripping the railing, she watched your peaceful form. “Kurama... She comes from a line of hunters. At least on her mother’s side, she does.”

He glanced up at Botan before placing a large hand over yours.

“Against her mother’s wishes, her aunt and uncle trained her to continue that line. She excelled at it for quite a few years.”

No... Not you of all people.

“Why past tense? What has changed recently?”

“She started working alone after her caretakers passed away. We’ve found instances of her starting a hunt but not following through. The most recent was a small nest of vampires in the United States. They were breeding cattle to feed off of, never once having a drop of human blood. She... She wound up defending them against other hunters.”

Despite the short couple of years he spent with you, that sounded more like you. Kurama held your fingers so delicately as though they were glass, stroking your knuckles with his thumb. “So she was hunting tonight...”

Botan nodded nervously. “I believe so. It wouldn’t be hard for a skilled hunter to put together the pieces from all the news reports of missing women.”

Yes... The missing women found dead a week later after they had been reported, drained of blood with only a tiny needle wound as the culprit. Had you beaten him there only to be captured yourself?

“I wonder what you are dreaming about...” Kurama muttered more to himself than anyone. Most djinns preferred their victims to have pleasant dreams as they fed on their blood. Complacency lowered the chance of the human waking up and escaping.

Silence settled in the tiny room, tense and thick. Botan’s head hung low with her gaze still on you. You certainly did not look like a hunter by any means. Then again, your unassuming looks could aid in how dangerous you really were.

“You know Koenma will want to see her when she wakes up,” Botan’s quiet voice still felt too loud for the room.

“Yes... However, I would like to speak with her first.”

“Of course. I will leave you to it.” Botan left and returned him to the quiet of the room.

About an hour later, sunlight was just barely beginning to peak over the horizon. He had sat himself in the chair next to the bed, waiting for you to open your eyes. He had spent most of the time racking his brain on how he would explain everything.

You had caught Spirit World’s attention with this one. It sounded like you had been trying to atone, but Koenma still needed to do his job. Maybe, if he took a liking to you, then you would be more like Kurama or Yusuke and be assigned random missions to protect the three realms. Although, that may have been wishful thinking on his part.

He heard the sheets rustle ever so slightly. Your eyes flitted under your eyelids. Kurama surged forward, taking your now twitching hand in his. A dry, raspy groan left your throat as you slowly woke. Even in the low light, your eyes had trouble adjusting. Yet, they settled on him regardless. Confusion turned to recognition when you were finally able to focus properly, his original question being answered.

“Shuu-chan?”

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prince-toffee · 3 years

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Villains

Part Two

The room was empty and bare. The room was very plain, no paintings or pictures hung or framed, no personalised items, no trinkets or mementos. The space was devoid of any personality or warmth. This partially due to the fact that everything personal was moved out of the room, and also the fact that the person whom once occupied these living quarters wasn’t one for forming close personal attachments. Shadow Weaver sat on a beautiful ornate wooden chair at the centre of the sterile room. She watched the blank dark green wall as she took a long sip from her glass of red wine.

That room was once hers. When she officially aligned with The Horde, she was given her own bed chamber as she had to live in The Fright Zone as an unspoken rule. Where else would have she been accepted? She had no where else to go. She was pleased with what she was given, the room was quite large, she had a queen sized bed, her own side bathroom, with a toilet, shower, sink, and bath all included. The bath in particular became a favourite location, useful in relaxation after a long day of dealing with cadets that made her blood boil and her blood pressure rise. Over time she did personalise the room, add various scented shampoos and what not, some artistic and yet horrifying paintings, and a study with all her work - reports, cadet exams, notices, and request forms over which she lost her mind too many times.

Her quiet pleasant contemplation was cut short as Force-Captain Cobalt’s voice invaded the room through the data-pad which leaned against one of the wooden legs of the chair she sat on. The blue porcupine man cleared his throat, “Umm, Sha- uh, Lord Shadow Weaver.”

“Speak.”

“All your personal belongings have been moved to Lor- to Hordak’s old Sanctum. But there’s another emergence that requires your attention.” Weaver sighed, she responded by saying she would be there in a few minutes. She downed the glass of wine in seconds, it was a good year, shame she couldn’t have savoured the taste, she had saved that bottle for a victorious occasion. And she couldn’t have thought of a better occasion.

The witch just discarded the glass by simply throwing it away, it shattered on impact, of course. But the brand new leader didn’t care. Not anymore. She was in charge, no consequences, it felt so freeing. The scarred woman shifted her mask over her grey face and moved out. She did not admit to another soul the fact that she was ashamed of her physical appearance, she never betrayed a weakness, she was distant therefore safe. There was logic and reason to her outfit - a frightening mask to deflect any questions about her face, a high collar to hide her neck, and then a layered robe to allow no part of her scarred, wounded, burned body to be seen. She implemented the opposite tactic to Hordak, he choose to show some flesh, some key areas of his body that were healthy and strong to deflect any suspicion or conspiracy of him being otherwise. Anyone who saw Hordak, as rare as it was, they all thought the dark Lord was a modern Adonis. Nobody suspected he was in fact a sick frail man who was slowly falling apart.

Shadow Weaver knew about Hordak’s ‘sickness’, and vis versa. There was a deal between them, both knew each other’s weakness, and so they formed a partnership to support one another. Hordak had the Black Garnet in his possession after acquiring the Scorpion Hill Kingdom, and so he handed the magical artefact to Shadow Weaver, he knew the Garnet was useless in his hands, he had no knowledge therefore no ability to utilise the Garnet. But Shadow Weaver could. She was brought in as his Minister of Magicks to advice the Horde in the magical ways, how to defend against magic, and how to weaponise magic in offense.

The rune stone gave her sufficient life force for her to leech off of, never again was she hungry. And she wielded the awesome power of the elemental mineral. In return Shadow Weaver took the spotlight off of Hordak, the duty of truly commanding the Horde’s forces, leaving Hordak free to do... whatever he did. Weaver never knew what Hordak did in his ‘Sanctum’, all she ever managed to get out of him was the fact he was working on a secret ‘experiment’, and she knew that much was a slip up. It didn’t matter now anyhow, all of Hordak’s secrets were going to be hers and if not, then they don’t matter anyway.

She waltzed through the corridors and hallways of red and green metal, pipes, and cables, at a leisurely pace. Unlike Hordak, who’s heavy metallic footsteps always alerted the soldiers ahead of time in the corridor, Shadow Weaver made no sound, didn’t allow any trooper to get ready, they had no idea she was coming. She scared the hellfire out of everyone she passed. They always jumped in shock, straightened themselves out and stiffened. Weaver liked that.

The noise of double doors sliding open marked her entrance into the throne room, her throne room. Her commanders turned to her and bowed. She liked that too. “Speak.”

“Lord Weaver, while we were breaching Hordak’s Sanctum, which was harder than we thought it would be, a lot of booby traps, we got around a dozen treating wounds in the infirmary. But anyway when we got in we acquired all of his personal belongings mostly just tech. One of his personal data-pads gave off a ping, some sort of automatic notification. It was a signal sent from an outpost in the Northern Reach in the frozen wastes, apparently the computers there have detected some new First Ones tech.”

“Ah perfect! That’s exactly what we need!” Shadow Weaver heard the vent being kicked open, only then when she lifted her head up to the high ceiling did she see the short purple woman descend to her to the floor. This. of course, was Entrapta the Princess of Dryl. Shadow Weaver didn’t like her much, she was the one to whom Hordak was going to give the Black Garnet. They didn’t see, but her face soured as her arms folded. “Have you briefed her about the power grid?”

Cobalt sighed, “I was about to.” It seemed that the Princess had interjected herself into Horde matters and into the command structure. She swung around like she owned the place. And Hordak would’ve probably let her walk all over him too.

“Well, since I’m here already I’ll explain. The Fright Zone’s power grid, a surprising intricate system that transfers power all around The Fright Zone keeping everything running, over heated. Meaning it’s stopped working, coolant systems have failed and ruptured expelling scolding steam through the corridors, a powerful and dangerous feedback surge has been created leading to the destruction through explosion of the main power-generators. Multiple floors are on fire. In Layman’s terms: It’s bad.”

“We are not imbeciles, Princess, do not treat us as such. You are not in command here, so I would watch your tone with me! You are only here, but I permit it.” Weaver pointed her finger at the hovering woman.

Entrapta looked down at the grey finger of the sorceress and then turned around, “Mmm, no, I am here because I want to be.” She began to stride across the throne room using her hair. Shadow Weaver still didn’t know if the purple tentacle hair was a magical ability or a technological aspect. Either way she followed the Princess. With a simple wave of her hand she dismissed her Force-Captains, its not like they wanted to stay around her so Cobalt, Grizzlor, and Octavia left without any further convincing. The witch kept up with the Princess. She made no sound when she walked, but the purple woman somehow knew she was close enough behind her to hear her, “As I was saying, the power grid can’t hold the amount of power it transmits, so we need a strong conductor, maybe a regulator too. That’s why the signal from the Northern Reach is a mighty convenient occasion. First Ones tech is ideal for the job. My recommendation: Send an excursion to the outpost, excavate the tech, transport it back here and install it in, solving the issue.”

“I didn’t ask for your ‘recommendation’... but that is a decent solution.” They passed the throne and moved forward through a thin hallway of pipes, as they reached its end a door slide open. Past it they entered a sort of a corridor round-about, another door in front of them. The corridor curved around to multiple doors, opposite the doors were windows of one way glass looking over the landscape of The Fright Zone.

Shadow Weaver noted the burn marks and metallic plating torn and shredded, signs of damage caused by an explosion. The booby traps the Force-Captains spoke of. All disarmed, she hoped. The Sanctum doors opened, Entrapta entered first, Shadow Weaver followed close behind. Hordak’s Sanctum was a dimly lit tall box, computers all around it with data Entrapta couldn’t wait to get into. Various tech scattered around. To contrast all that were Shadow Weaver’s own belongings moved from her old room to her new one. “I like the paintings, good taste. I’ve got paintings too, back at home. But I prefer little cute big eyed kitties, rather than abstract horrific rorschach-like depictions of inner turmoil of anxieties. Hm, perhaps representing repressed and or traumatic memories. Interesting.”

Weaver raised a brow as she narrowed her eyes, “Uh huh. Thank you.” She was spot on. Her eyes could barely keep up with the Princess. She seemed very excited. She finally stopped dashing across the room madly and stood still at the centre of the room. Her pigtails split into multiple ends each tendril plugging into a different computer or any other data-holding devices, her hair fuzzed and the ends of each tendril lit up in a bright purple, on the boarder of being pink. The light moved inward towards her head in pulse-like motion. Weaver guessed, correctly, that Entrapta was downloading the information into herself.

“Oh, that’s fascinating.”

“What is it?”

“I’m not sure.” Before Shadow Weaver could ask any follow up questions from the corner of her eye she noticed a grey blur dashed across a higher scaffolding, accompanied by sounds of small footsteps scuttling about. She looked up to see a pair of small yellow luminous eyes.

It was Hordak’s tiny bat creature, Hordak seemed to have been close and appreciative of the creature. Whether it was a pet to him or like a child she did not know. All she knew was it was an annoying tattletale - spying, recording, and telling on people, completely loyal to Hordak in the way a child tells their parent on a sibling in return for candy, or chin scratches in this instance. The creature hissed. It clearly did not like Shadow Weaver, she did get rid of its creator.

“Cute.”

“What?”

“The hybrid, I think it’s named Imp. Fascinating little miracle of science.”

“Ugh, it’s as useful as a rodent. And twice as infuriating.” She said that like Imp wasn’t there in the room with them, he heard that and launched at the sorceress, biting her in her finger. The dark magician yelped and shook her hand in a cartoony comedic manner, a few seconds of the motion and Imp’s grip loosened and he flew through the air and landed in Entrapta’s hair where she brought him closer to her and gave him some soft scratches under his chin. He softened in her arms and pressed his cheeks against her shoulder. He stock his tongue out, and mouth farted at Shadow Weaver. Weaver growled and sighed.

“I’m getting the feeling you don’t like me.”

“What inclination makes you say that?”

“Oh just about anything and everything you do.” Entrapta unplugged from the tech and finally turned to face Shadow Weaver. She gave her a genuine smile, warm and well-meaning, “How about a dinner?”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re clearly not a fan of mine, and this might be a beneficial social experiment to let us know each other better, since we’ll be working closely together for the foreseeable future.”

“Heh, what makes you think we’ll be ‘working closely together’?”

“You do want to know what this Hordak had been working on, don’t you? Do you know anyone else who can comprehend this sort of stuff?”

“I... I suppose not.” It was true, she didn’t, so Entrapta was important. But she wouldn’t admit that, and she would certainly not go to a dinner with a Princess. Before she could scoff any further, she heard a shy voice clear its throat. Weaver turned around to face it. It was Scorpia. Princess Scorpia.

“Umm, Ms Weaver, the uh, the excursion transport is ready. What are our next orders, ma’am, sir, m’Lord, Lady, Shadow Weaver... sir.” The Scorpion Princess awkwardly informed, her large red claw raised up to her temple, saluting. Two or three drips of sweat rolled down her face. For being so huge and muscular walking-rectangle she was very shy and small.

“What transport?!”

“Oh I was the one who requested it.” Entrapta replied. Entrapta moved through the room past the new Lord and moved to Scorpia. She handed the bat baby to the Scorpion Force-Captain, the hybrid boy kept attempting to chomp on Entrapta’s hair. Scorpia cradled the batling, whom now moved onto biting the hard claws. “We should solve the problem as soon as possible, so I gave a go-ahead.”

Shadow Weaver’s hand instinctly went up to her face, her muscle memory told her to rub her nose in exhausted irritation, but of course her mask blocked her hand. “Fine. Go. Fix my fortress.” She waved her hand to dismiss them, Scorpia and Imp moved out swiftly, only once she moved out of frame did Weaver notice that Catra stood behind her. The cat was sweating, clearly very nervous, she didn’t say anything, and followed Scorpia out. Entrapta hanged behind.

“Dinner. When I get back. We’ll talk. Takes around four hours to get to the outpost, four back, and a day in-between for excavation. So in three days, at 7, The Fright Zone cafeteria. I’ll cook.”

#shadow weaver #entrapta #hordak #spop imp

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destinys-lies · 3 years

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Great Job, Internet! by destiny’s lies

Disclaimer:

Boku no hero academia and its characters do not belong to me, but Kōhei Horikoshi. Any images used are credited to their original owner(s).

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Prompt:

Day 3: Haunted—Superstition

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Author’s Note:

Just an Izuocha drabble to help improve my writing skills. I chose to do superstition.

A friend of mine (she wants to be anonymous) helped me out a lot with this story, so thanks! She made it really fun for me to write this. Also, she says, “Don’t break glass.” I hope you guys enjoy this story!

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Synopsis:

Izuku knew death was inevitable but he didn’t expect for it to come so soon and be so painfully stressful.

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Izuku sat alone on the couch, staring at the television screen. A show about haunted houses was playing. He was never the biggest fan when it came to the spooky and paranormal, but he had to admit, it was interesting to watch.

Multiple pinging sounds echoed throughout his house. It was his phone. Someone must’ve texted him.

With a tired sigh, he got up from the couch and sauntered upstairs to his bedroom to find his phone lying on his bed. He picked it up and looked at the several messages covering the screen.

They were all from Ochako.

A slight smile crawled onto this face. She was always thinking about him. He let his gaze crawl up to the pictures of him and Ochako hanging on the wall. Each picture held a precious memory from their past. He was so lucky to have her in his life.

Holding his phone in one hand, he reached the doorknob. His elbow bumped into a wall, causing a picture to fall onto the ground. The frame broke. His shoulders twitched by the unexpectedly loud volume of the sound. The shattered frame contained a picture of him from his younger years.

He thought nothing of it. He’d come by later to clean it. Closing the door behind him, he walked downstairs, reading the messages that Ochako had sent. She wanted him to go to the grocery store to get some ingredients to make for dinner later. He texted a message back.

Izuku would have no problem with that, he’s done it at least a thousand times. Locking the door behind him, he merrily walked down the sidewalk.

Eventually, he reached the end of the sidewalk. Beside him stood a pole with a button that allowed pedestrians to cross. He pressed the button and waited for the light to turn green.

Once the light turned green, Izuku checked both directions before proceeding. Cars on both sides of the crosswalk stood still, their engines quietly rumbling. Certain that he was in the clear, he walked down the crosswalk. The sound of loud screeching startled him. He quickly glanced in the direction to see a big, black truck speeding towards him. The driver carelessly honked the horn, showing no signs of stopping or slowing down.

Without wasting another second, he jumped out of the way onto the sidewalk. His heart violently thrummed in his chest as he glanced behind to see the speeding truck fade into the distance. He sat on the curb, trying to catch his breath before standing up.

He wiped off the dirt from his pants. A large, jagged hole in his jeans was visible on the side of his jeans.

“Great,” he grumpily muttered. “Just what I needed.”

With a huff, he continued his way onto the grocery store.

* * *

Returning from the grocery store, Izuku went on his merry way home. The sound of rushing water caught his attention and turned to look at the large pond lying in the center of the park.

I’ll cut through the park. It’ll take me home faster and the scenery looks great.

He walked up to the pond until he spotted a weird object sticking out of the pond. He leaned in to get closer until he felt a shove from behind.

“Whoopsie!” a person exclaimed before timorously dashing away.

He dove headfirst into the pond.

It was nothing to worry about though, it was just a pond. Well, that’s what he suspected. However, when he fell in, he realized the pond was way deeper than he expected. He flailed his arms as the grocery bags he clung to acted like cement bags, dragging him down. Realizing he had to sacrifice his food for his life, he let go of the bags, letting them sink to the bottom of the pond as he swam up to the top.

Emerging from the murky water, Izuku began coughing up water as he took big gulps of air.

“Today…is...really...not...my day,” he panted, trying to catch his breath.

He needed to vent to someone. Thinking of Ochako, he pulled out his wet phone to text her. He pressed the power button in an attempt to turn it on, but the water ruined it. The phone stared at him blankly.

“Are you fucking serious?!” he groaned, clenching his other hand into a fist.

He put away his phone and stomped back home, furious and soggy. The crack of thunder warned him about the impending rain. Then it rained. He began rushing home, the sound of heavy raindrops falling onto the sidewalk.

He stopped running to catch his breath before another crack of lightning struck a few feet in front of him, hitting a tree. He stood there in shock, staring at the charred tree before collecting himself and walking again. He heard a loud shout behind him and turned towards the sound, nearly getting hit by the tree that the lightning struck.

“SHIT! SOMETHING’S OUT TO GET ME!”

He dashed the rest of the way home, locking the door behind him and running up the stairs. He logged on to his computer, trying to get his mind off the disastrous series of events that occurred. His mind wandered back to the frame he shattered earlier.

Izuku decided to look through new frames on his computer to get his mind off everything. He saw a link from a discussion forum that piqued his interest. Curious, he clicked on it and began reading it through.

The guy on the forum was talking about all the things he had experienced. Strangely, all the stuff this guy mentioned he had experienced, all because he broke a picture frame. The post was five years old. He scrolled down the chat to see what the guy did to stop this “curse,” but he didn’t see any updates.

Izuku quietly read the post aloud, “When glass breaks, it’s already too late. Your life is tangled in a new fate. A new life full of despair and agony awaits until you fall and never rise again. That is when the curse breaks but at that point, it is already the end because you’ll be dead.”

DEAD? he thought. All those things that happened to him—they were because of breaking that picture. Another crack of thunder lit up the sky. “I’M GOING TO DIE!” he cried.

* * *

A few hours later, Ochako entered the house, closing the door behind her. Work had been tiresome and stressful. She closed the door. It was dark. That’s strange, she wondered. Typically Izuku is up at this time waiting for me.

She turned on the lights and looked at the couch. There in the murky darkness was Izuku covered in blankets and quivering in fear. His bloodshot eyes stared down at the ground. Her smile fell into a frown.

“Izuku?” she sympathetically asked. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m going to die, Ochako,” he whimpered as he slowly rocked himself, hugging his legs close to his chest. “I’m going to die.”

“W-What? Why do you think that?”

“I don’t know, but someone’s trying to kill me. They’re after me—they all are.”

“Izuku, honey, who’s after you?”

“EVERYONE!”

“They tried to kill me with a truck! They saw me b-but they s-still ATTACKED ME! They want me to die, Ochako!” he panicked, viciously trembling. “T-THE THUNDER! THE THUNDER TRIED TO KILL ME! I UPSET THEM OCHAKO! I UPSET THE GODS! I don’t know what I’m going to do, Ochako. Should I go by a different name? Should I just wait f-for it h-happen? Wait to just die? I’m not going to die, Ochako! I’M NOT GOING TO DIE! I CAN’T DIE! I can’t die by a stupid picture!”

He waved his hands frantically, rambling on and on about the endless possibilities of dying before finally breaking down into tears. Ochako silently stared at him. She walked over to him, sitting beside him and embracing him in a hug.

“Hey Izuku, it’ll be alright. You’ll be okay.” Ochako gave him a reassuring smile. Izuku tried to smile back, but the stress of the day made it difficult.

Ochako gestured towards the door. “I think you need some fresh air. Let’s take a walk.”

Izuku followed Ochako outside, sticking close beside her. The heavy rain was now a drizzle. Ochako liked the rain, it was one of her favorite things. She always carried an umbrella with her.

Together, they walked down the sidewalk and Ochako put away the umbrella when the drizzle stopped. The streets were damp and the air was still scented with the smell of rain.

Ochako giggled as she splashed a puddle on Izuku, trying to lighten the mood. Izuku usually would’ve laughed along with her, but he was too busy watching a large dog. Its leash looked worn and loose from years of stretching it. The dog aggressively barked and growled as the two passed by. It pulled on the leash, lunging at Izuku with blood in its eyes.

Ochako realized what Izuku was worried about, so she offered to walk on the other side of the street, away from the dog.

Then all of the sudden, the dog’s leash snapped and it charged at Izuku. He ran as fast as he could run, adrenaline pushing him all the way back home.

A few minutes later, Ochako arrived, a guilty expression donning her face.

“The dog’s owner told me that he’s never acted like that before, he’s usually a sweet dog,” she worriedly explained. She shut the door behind her and walked over to Izuku, who was anxiously sitting on the couch with his face in his hands.

“It’s alright,” Izuku assured her. “I just must’ve done something to upset him.”

He chuckled nervously trying to reassure Ochako. Ochako let out an exasperated sigh. He was doing it again. She knew him too well, he was trying to hide his problems for her own ease. She wasn’t going to let it go though.

“It’s going to be okay.” She smiled comfortably at him, gently rubbing his back.

“I don’t want to die,” Izuku cried.

“You’re not going to die,” Ochako told him, leaning closer to him. She pulled a charm out of her pocket and placed it into Izuku’s hand. “Here,” she said. “Have this.”

Izuku stared at the rainbow-colored bracelet. “What is it?” Izuku asked, looking down at it.

“It’s a good luck charm. It’ll keep you safe,” she told him. “It kept me safe when I needed it. Now you need it.”

“Ochako?” Izuku stared into her soft, brown eyes, his mouth breaking into a small smile. “Thank you.”

“No problem, honey,” she replied before placing a kiss on his cheek. “Anytime.”

#izuocha #izuocha h/c week #midoriya izuku #uraraka ochako #fanfiction #my hero academia #my hero academia fanfiction #day three #haunted #superstition #mha #mha fanfiction #bnha #izuocha hurt/comfort week #izuku x ochako

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flipomatic · 3 years

Text

Internship Chapter 22: Day 19 - Edric

Author Note: This chapter is longer than usual and contains non graphic violence.

First Chapter Previous Chapter

___________________________________________________________

As usual, Edric was walking with Frederick to go see the dispatcher. They would probably be sent on patrol today, since they spent most of the week training. Edric had the wood sword on his belt, as required by Frederick. He had tried to ditch it that morning, dropping it in the training hall before meeting up, but Frederick noticed and made him fetch it.

Now they were going to get their orders for the day. As usual, Frederick opened the door and entered once they arrived. Edric followed him in.

Unusually, the dispatcher was already talking to someone when they stepped in. He had his back to the door, and was looking at a small object mounted on the back wall. Edric couldn’t see it clearly without getting closer. The dispatcher was speaking to it in a confused tone, arms crossed over his chest.

“What’s with these orders?” He was asking the device. “This isn’t right.”

“You dare question orders from the Emperor?” That voice, high pitched and tinny through the device, that was a voice Edric knew. He had met her in this very building, on his first day of the internship. Kikimora sounded irritated, her voice carrying the sharp hint of a threat.

The dispatcher immediately recanted, bowing his head forward. “No, I’m not. I apologize.” Edric wondered what orders they were talking about; this was suspicious activity.

“Good.” Kikimora still didn’t sound pleased. “Now, you have visitors to attend to.”

The dispatcher looked over his shoulder, then quickly turned to face them. As he turned, Edric could see that the device behind him was a small mirror. It was empty now, but presumably had Kikimora’s image in it just a moment before.

“Sir, I apologize for keeping you waiting.” The dispatcher hurried back to his chair, sitting down and inspecting the papers on his desk.

Frederick didn’t comment on it. “Where are we headed today?” He got right to business.

“Let’s see.” The dispatcher picked up a piece of paper off the top. “You’re headed to the construction site on the west side of Bonesborough. One of the workers needs to be brought in for questioning. He’s suspected of murder, so be careful.” The dispatcher held the paper out to hand it to Frederick. “Here’s his profile.”

Frederick reached for it slowly, showing unexpected hesitance. “We’ll bring him in.” He said, looking down at the paper.

“You’ve been assigned a vehicle for transportation.” The dispatcher walked over to one of the walls, where he grabbed a set of keys off a rack. “Van number 2.” He said as he handed the keys to Frederick.

“Can I drive?” Edric asked with a smirk.

“No.” Frederick replied curtly as he turned to leave the room. Edric had expected that response, but he still felt disappointed.

They left the dispatcher’s office, walking towards the front of the jail. Edric still hadn’t seen where the vehicles were kept, so this was something new. The prospect of not having to walk was an exciting one; walking all day was one of his least favorite parts of this internship.

As it turned out, the cars were not stored in the Emperor’s Coven wing. Edric followed Frederick out and through the lobby, entering the other part of the jail. He hadn’t been back here before, but didn’t have time now to look around.

They weaved through a few hallways, until they emerged into a large garage like space. There were three vans inside, all labeled with a large number on the side.

Frederick approached van number 2, using the keys to unlock the passenger seat door before going to the driver’s side. Edric assumed that passenger door was for him, so he opened it and climbed in.

The inside of the van wasn’t anything special. There was just enough room for Edric’s legs so he didn’t feel cramped. The dash was a boring grey, not exciting at all. When he turned around, Edric could see that there was a barricade behind the front seats. He could see through a small vent that there were two benches lining the sides in the rear. The van was super plain; Edric had been hoping for more pizazz.

Frederick climbed in the driver side and used the key to start the vehicle. He placed the paper, which he’d carried all the way from the dispatcher’s office, onto the center module. The engine turned over a few times before roaring to life. Frederick then cast a spell to lift a large pull up door, which opened up to the street.

He drove the van out of the garage and cast the same spell to shut the door behind them. With that, they were on their way.

It wasn’t too far to the construction site in question, especially with a vehicle to get them there. Edric stared out the window and watched the world flash by. He almost never got to ride in one of these, as they were quite rare. They took a lot of stored magic to run too, so only the Emperor’s Coven used them on a regular basis.

“Take a look at the profile before we get there.” Frederick kept his eyes locked on the road as he spoke. Edric grabbed the paper to read it over.

The suspect was wanted for the murder of one of his cousins. The body had been found in a ditch last week. Cause of death was blunt trauma. Edric was glad that there wasn’t a picture. The forensic evidence pointed to a family member. Eye witness accounts had seen the suspect with the victim not long before he vanished. They were just bringing him in for question, but it all added up to a very suspicious image.

This seemed like a dangerous job, but Edric was sure Frederick could handle it if things got dicey.

Soon they reached the construction site. Frederick parked the van near the entrance and the two climbed out. Once Frederick had locked the doors, the walked in. There were a few warning signs about wearing a hard hat; Edric wondered if this was the same construction site that Em had gone to a couple weeks ago.

Whatever they were building was coming along well. The framework of a building was up, along with scaffolding to aid in reaching the upper levels. Construction witches were standing on various parts, working on building the structure.

Much to Edric’s surprise, he saw two familiar figures standing to the side of the construction site. Luz and Amity, the last two witches he expected to find here, were looking around at the building in progress.

Frederick didn’t pay them any mind as he walked straight to the foreman, a witch wearing a bright orange vest and carrying a clipboard. Edric parted from him, just for the moment, to go talk to them.

“Amity, Luz!” He called over to them.

Amity’s eyes widened as they jumped to him. “Edric?” She said his name as a question. Oh right, he was wearing a mask.

Edric stopped in front of them. “Yup.” He lifted his mask to show them his face. “It’s me.” He pushed down his hood and left the mask sitting on top of his head. It was a lot easier to talk like this.

“Hi Edric!” Luz waved enthusiastically.

Amity was frowning. “What are you doing here?” She was less enthused to see him.

Edric raised one eyebrow. “I should be asking you that.”

“We’re visiting the Construction Coven.” Luz answered the implied question, waving one hand to gesture at the whole construction site.

Amity nodded in agreement. “Em mentioned that there was a site here, so we wanted to check it out.”

“Why though?” Edric asked, looking for more details. He remembered that Amity had wanted to see the Emperor’s Coven and the Illusion Coven, but he thought that was just because her awesome older siblings were interning there.

Amity’s cheeks gained a pink tint as she cast her eyes away. “We’ve been learning about different covens, trying to figure out which one to join.” Oh, that was a much more logical explanation for her recent behavior.

“This one is cool too.” Luz had turned away to watch a construction witch hammer a joint together. “I love them all.”

“It’s a tough choice.” Edric commiserated. He had been forced into the Emperor’s Coven for the internship, when what he really wanted was to go to the Illusion Coven. It would be harder to know what he wanted if he liked or hated them both.

“Edric!” Frederick was calling for him, from over by the foreman. “Come here.”

“I gotta go.” Edric started walking backwards that way. “Watch out for falling objects.” Luz and Amity waved goodbye as he slid his mask back over his face, spinning to walk forwards.

“Do you know them?” Frederick asked as Edric reached him.

“That’s my sister and one of her friends.”

“Oh, I’ll have to introduce myself before we go.” Frederick was looking in their direction, though they were too far away to see well.

“If you want.” Edric shrugged. Amity would probably love to meet a patrol witch from the Emperor’s Coven.

Frederick nodded, and then turned to the foreman. “We’re ready now.” He said.

The foreman looked up at the half built building and called out, “Victor, these Emperor’s Coven witches want to speak with you.” Up in the building, on the third level, one of the construction witches froze in place. He turned slowly to look at them. He matched the description on the profile.

Edric expected him to climb down to talk with them, but instead he did the opposite. He turned and started to run, picking up speed towards the edge of the building.

Frederick was too fast though. He cast a quick spell that made him disappear and reappear up on top of the construction rig, right in the suspect’s path. The suspect was forced to stop running, and started firing spells at Fredrick.

Edric snapped himself out of staring and ran to one of the other corners of the structure. He started climbing the scaffolding to try and get up there to help. It took a lot of effort, and by the time he reached the level he was out of breath.

He had come up the right corner though, and saw that the suspect was now between him and Frederick. Edric even drew his wood sword, in case he needed to defend himself.

The suspect noticed his arrival, and turned to face him instead. He shot a fire spell his way, which Edric ducked to dodge. He had to be careful up here; a nasty fall could come with any misstep.

Now the suspect lunged towards Edric, with a small object in his hands. It looked to be a hammer of some kind, perhaps the blunt weapon used to commit the murder. All of the practice with the sword paid off, as Edric was barely able to block and deflect the blow. The suspect skittered back to the middle, where he dodged a spell from Frederick.

The suspect looked back and forth between them, and then dropped down off the beam. He landed on the ground roughly, knocking over one of the other construction members in his haste. Edric cursed that he had just climbed all the way up there just to have to climb back down.

The suspect started to run again, but found himself blocked by an abomination. Amity had cast one from the side, again stopping the suspect in his tracks. He fired a spell at it and tried to dodge around it, but an ice pillar from Luz again halted him.

This distraction had given Frederick the time he needed to reach the ground. He drew a sword, a real steel sword, and approached the suspect. The witch’s eyes were wide with desperation, but there was nowhere else to run.

He tried one last fire spell on Frederick, but he dodged past it to knock him out with the hilt of his sword. The suspect collapsed to the ground, unconscious. Frederick leaned over to handcuff him, finalizing an arrest.

Edric finally got his feet back on the ground as Luz and Amity ran over.

“Good job stopping him.” Edric said to them, glancing them over to make sure they hadn’t been hurt.

“This is a pretty dangerous internship.” Amity commented dryly in reply.

Luz was still excited though. “We did great! Three cheers for teamwork!” She cheered all on her own. Edric was too tired and prideful to join in.

Frederick had picked up the suspect and was now carrying him. He approached the three teens. “Thanks for your help kids. Couldn’t have done it without you.” Edric knew he was strong, but it still surprised him to see Fredrick carrying a witch under just one arm.

“Happy to help.” Amity was smiling, looking at Frederick with wide eyed admiration.

“Let’s go Edric, we have to escort the suspect back to base.” Frederick shifted his grip on the suspect; perhaps he wasn’t as easy to carry as Frederick made it look.

“I’m coming.” Edric quickly said goodbye to Luz and Amity, then followed Frederick back to the van.

Frederick unlocked the back door, opening it to reveal the space Edric had seen from the front. He stepped and laid the suspect on the ground, before locking him inside. He then unlocked the front doors of the van so the pair could get inside, and soon they were driving back towards the jail.

They rode in silence for a few minutes. Frederick’s hands were tense on the wheel, Edric watched out of the corner of his eye as they tightened and loosened. The left arm of Frederick’s shirt was singed, the skin below it bright red.

Finally, Frederick spoke. “Good work with the sword today.” That wasn’t quite what Edric was expecting. “Your block was excellent.” He paused between sentences, as if he were choosing his words carefully.

“I had a good teacher.” Edric said that only partly as a joke. He didn’t really like this moody Frederick.

Frederick chuckled, the sound low and forced. “I still have a lot more to teach you.”

Silence returned to the van, remaining for the rest of the drive.

When they arrived at the jail, they pulled back into the garage. Frederick fetched the suspect and released him to another coven member. He explained that he had tried to run and been aggressive, and said a full written report would be coming later.

Frederick then told Edric to come with him, and they headed back into the Emperor’s Coven wing of the building. When they reached the intersection, Edric expected Frederick to turn towards the locker room. He didn’t.

Frederick turned down the hallway that led to the dispatcher. He was walking quickly, hands tense at his sides. When he reached the dispatchers office, he opened the door without knocking.

As Edric entered behind him, he watched as Fredrick practically slammed the van keys down on the dispatcher’s table.

“I don’t know what you’re playing at, but it has to stop.” Frederick spoke in a low, threatening tone.

The dispatcher looked him over, pausing on his arm before looking over at Edric. “What do you mean?” He asked, though his tone was weak as if he already knew.

“Sending the intern on such dangerous work. Lilith never would’ve tolerated that, and neither will I.” Frederick leaned over the dispatcher as he spoke. It did seem like they were arguing now about his presence on the arrest today, but Edric’s interest was more piqued at the name; Lilith had been the previous coven leader.

“As far as I’m aware, today’s orders came from the Emperor.” The dispatcher rose to his feet, his voice stronger than before.

Edric wondered how true that statement was; it didn’t seem likely that the Emperor would have time for little things like assigning coven members to make arrests.

Frederick seemed to believe it, since he sighed and pulled back, taking half a step away. “I see. I apologize.” He spun on one heel and Edric wished he could see his face.

The dispatcher didn’t say anything as they left his office.

Frederick led the way across the building, this time actually going to the locker room. Usually Edric would part from him there, but today he followed him in. The witch was still acting strangely.

Once inside, Frederick sat down on one of the benches and took off his mask. He looked somber, a prominent frown on his face. He brought one hand up to cast a healing spell, finally starting to heal his burn.

“I’ll take the sword home and train over the weekend.” Edric broke the silence, placing a hand on the hilt of the wood sword. It wasn’t entirely a lie.

Frederick’s frown softened slightly. “Good.”

Edric soon left, lost in thought as he walked home. Today had been strange, very strange. He wondered what was going on behind the scenes.

Perhaps he could find out.

Next Chapter

#the owl house #the owl house fanfiction #edric blight #amity blight #luz noceda #this one is long #but not the longest chapter in the fic #posting a little later than usual cuz i was finishing 13 sentinels #which is a very good game i liked it a lot #flip writes

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jzixuans · 5 years

Note

Hey, I've been feeling down recently and was wondering if you had any Logince headcannons. Platonic or romantic work, whichever you feel more comfortable with. Sorry if I'm bothering you.

aw lad don’t worry about bothering me i’m glad to share some headcanons ! i hope you feel better soon!

now, might i interest you in some childhood friends-to-enemies-to-friends-to-lovers logince? [PREPARE FOR A LONG ASS BULLET FIC I’M SO SORRY (google docs says it’s 4.2k words oh my god)]

they’ve known each other since the first grade because oh my god they were neighbours

they were the kind of childhood friends that were aware of each other’s presence and they hung out a little on the playground and worked on group projects but they didn’t really click

there WERE occasions tho where their parents would sit them down together for play dates bc one or more of said parents were Occupied with Important Adult Stuff

and since this was way back when they were wee lil smols, they were hyperactive lil children

so they played lots of adventure games, lots of role-playing, play fighting, that kind of stuff (twas often the dashing daring prince accompanied by his wise magickal advisor)

okay, so maybe they did click, but only a little (so they say)

they liked most of the same stuff, reading, learning, doing stuff with all that knowledge in those big brains of theirs, and that was pretty much the base of their close-but-not-that-close-friendship

and then they got older, and as all kids do, they started prioritizing different things

logan still loved learning and applying that knowledge, but it was more of a ‘learn and apply what knowledge can make you really successful’ and that was how he found his love of science

for roman, it was more of a ‘take what you’ve learned and use it to create your own path to success’ because he planned to go into music and theatre

as a result of this, both boys were exceptional students, except logan cared maybe a little too much about the academics and roman not enough

as the years went by, logan threw himself into studying, making schedules and routines so that he could make sure he knows what he needs to know and maybe a little bit more on the side, who cares if he lost an hour of two of sleep?

roman just learned to go with the flow, so he took everything in stride, took in what he needed, left the rest, and focused on his art instead, even if he’s started to grow an unhealthy apathy to school

and maybe logan falls just short of perfect on his tests, and he looks over and roman has glowing one hundreds in red ink on his

logan looks back down at his and the teacher has written ‘Think outside the box!’

meanwhile logan answers every question in class with scary accuracy, beaming with pride whenever the teacher praises him, and after school that same day roman gets pulled aside with an ‘I know you’re smart, so why don’t you want to put in the work?’

of course logan’s parents wonder why his grades don’t match his progress work, and roman’s parents wonder how he can spend all his time singing and dancing and still come out with high nineties (“is he cheating?”)

and the two have been drifting apart enough as it was, but now they kind of hate each other because ‘why can’t i just be more like him?’

logan starts hating roman because ‘he doesn’t even CARE, how is he doing better than me?’ (part of him misses the days when roman cared so much about anything and everything)

roman starts hating logan because ‘he’s so stiff and condescending, why can’t he just be happy for me?’ (and part of him misses when logan would so willingly stand by his side as his faithful warlock advisor)

so naturally, competition just kind of,,,, grows between them, until they’re constantly at each other’s throats and everyone else watching the shitshow go down has absolutely no idea where the hell all this animosity came from

at this point logan has a new friend in virgil fray and roman has befriended patton hart (virgil and patton know not to bring up the boys’ ‘rivalry’)

of course, being neighbours, they can’t exactly escape each other, and their rooms are adjacent to each other’s (they used to just lean out their windows and talk side by side, but they haven’t in yEARS)

so it’s nearing summer, and it’s hot out so roman’s working on his homework with the window open when he hears this cry of frustration, the angry pushing back of a chair, and the throwing open of the door

his first thought is one of smug satisfaction knowing that logan is dealing with school worse than he is, but then a flash of black catches his eye underneath his window

he makes it to the window just in time to see logan hop the fence in his backyard, and that only means one thing: he’s going to the old park behind their houses

neither of them have touched that park in ages

roman is Intrigued™, so he caps his pen, turns off his lamp and tells his parents he’s going for a walk before dashing out the back door

when he gets to the park, logan’s somehow managed to climb on top of the roof of the play structure

and roman ain’t slick so he just stands at the bottom and yells up to him

and logan is Lost In Thought so he nearly falls off (lbr roman thought it was funny)

“what are you doing here?”

“well excuse me, suck-rates, i happened to notice that you weren’t doing too hot and wanted to see if you were okay.”

“like you’ve ever cared.”

“woah there, is blink 180-ew rubbing off on you?”

“lay off of him.”

“alright, alright, fine. forgive me for checking in on you.”

“you have a horrible way of showing people that you care, then.”

“well you have a horrible way of being a good friend.”

it just kind of,,,, slipped out, and now both boys are Oh Shit

but both boys are also not the type to back down from their feelings so they kind of have the Silent Stare-Off of Stubborness

roman decides to be the bigger person (bc any chance to one-up logan) and cave first

“so uh, what’s been bothering you?” (psh you thought he was gonna apologize first? not yet fam)

logan rolls his eyes bc this asshole amirite, but he wants to vent and this is probably his best opportunity to tell roman what’s really been bugging him

“i don’t know how you manage to do it.”

“do what?”

“do so well in school! you don’t even try!” and damn dude that one stings because he sounds exactly like his parents and every other teacher

“so you’re angry because you’re jealous that i’m better than you at everything.”

“that’s not what i meant and you know it.”

“i’ll have you know that i do try.”

“but you don’t care.”

“about school.”

“what?”

“i mean yeah, sure, i don’t care about school that much because i don’t really need it to go into music or theatre, but i still do my work.”

“but―”

“don’t you dare say anything about my grades because you know damn well that you’re smarter than me.”

“am not―”

“besides, weren’t you the one that told me in the fifth grade that ‘grades don’t mean shit’? my my, what a foul mouth for ten-year-old logan crane.”

“shut up.”

“nah.”

and by now logan’s decided that roman’s probably not going to rip his head off so he climbs down to stand beside him

and maybe the sun is setting bc i’m a classy romantic

and they’re having a Soft Quiet Moment

“…please don’t tell me that school was the only reason why u hated me.”

“… why did you hate me?” smh lo you’ve got to stop deflecting

“…”

“are you kidding me.”

“YOU STARTED IT”

“what no you did shut up”

and wOw now it’s awkward so

“oh would you look at that, it’s getting late, my parents are gonna think that i’m slacking again, better go. good talk let’s do this again sometime okay byee” and whoop roman just zooms off

and logan realizes that maybe roman’s life isn’t as perfect as he makes it out to be

but too late roman’s gone and he doesn’t want to look like he’s following him so he waits a good half hour before trekking back home

logan doesn’t finish his homework that night because he’s too busy rethinking the past many many years

the next day, he’s frantically trying to cram his work in during his lunch period

virgil takes one look at him and he says “dude, are you okay?”

“no”

“cool, let me know if i can do anything to help.” and maybe it’s a cold answer but logan and virgil are cold edgy people so that’s just how they do

after like twenty minutes virgil takes out his earbuds like “you haven’t complained or sent one angry glare in roman’s direction what the fuck is up kyle”

“i’m just…. stressed.”

virgil, externally: “yeah of course i feel u dude.”

virgil, internally: “i’ve seen you start a project at 3am the morning it was due without breaking a sweat but go off i guess.”

skip to later that night, logan finished his shit (he needed a distraction from the Roman Crisis) so he leans out his window for some Fresh Summer Night Air

and oho would you look at that roman had that sa m e i d ea

but it’s one of those clear nights where you can actually see the stars and logan just got roman off his mind so he’s a lil distracted

but of course roman notices and now that they’ve gotten some of their ‘rivalry’ out of the way, he remembers how much logan loved to drag him out to the park as late as they were allowed to stay up to watch the stars, and logan looks so at peace here (he’s only really seen logan’s angry face recently)

roman wants to say something, because part of him really wants to make up with logan

but before he can work up the courage he’s interrupted by his mom calling him

“roman! are you done all your work?”

“yeah, mom! almost!”

“you better be going to sleep early tonight!”

and roman is about to duck back inside before he gets yelled at even more but oh no too late logan’s already noticed and now he’s staring at him

“uh, hey.”

“hi.”

“are you, uh, are you feeling better?”

“for the most part, yes.”

“that’s good. look, uh, i gotta go, but i’ll see you at school?”

“oh, right, yes. good night, roman.”

“night, lo.”

roman falls back into his room with a crash because ‘oh my god why was that more nerve-wracking than any performance i’ve ever done?”

logan sinks back against his wall with a sigh because ‘is roman avoiding me now?’

the next day at school the two actually say hi to each other in the hallway and it’s like the entire world stops moving. students are staring and whispering, virgil and patton exchange looks, and logan and roman only just now realize how big their rivalry had gotten

the two lock eyes and burst into laughter because something as simple as a passing greeting in the hallway has turned the school on its head

and the rest of the school has absolutely no idea what just happened when the two part ways, virgil and patton trailing behind them, dumbfounded

they catch each other on the way home, though they walk in silence

that night, they’re back at their windows, side by side once more, and they exchange small talk

a couple weeks later, exams are coming up around the corner and both boys are stressed out of their minds

logan’s still working well past midnight when he hears the old creak of roman’s window opening

“i see your lamp. are you still up?” he hears roman whisper, and maybe it’s the late hour, but his voice is hoarse and wobbly, and logan is most certainly not used to hearing that

“that’s a ridiculous question, of course i’m still up,” logan replies, still not looking up from his computer because his history final project is due in two days

except roman doesn’t reply, and all he can hear from his direction is shaky laughter, and then a wet sniff

“of course i’m ridiculous. it’s not like i’m smart or anything.”

“what?”

“if i were smart i wouldn’t’ve procrastinated this english paper and i could probably be getting some sleep right now,” roman continues like he forgot that logan was there

“roman―“

“and sure, i can do other stuff, but it’s not like it matters or anything, not to my mom, or mr. schmitt, or you―”

“roman!”

roman’s babbling stops and logan worries that he’s scared him off until he looks up and sees roman leaning halfway out his window and now logan’s worried that roman’s going to fall out and break his neck on his patio

roman’s eyes are red and his nose is rubbed raw from crying. his usually-perfectly-coiffed hair is messy and greasy from running his hands through it, his clothes are rumpled, and his grip on the windowsill is trembling

yet he’s still half out the window, eyes comically wide, and logan can’t help but shake his head at how big a dork he is

“i’m sorry.”

roman’s so startled that his elbows buckle and he barely manages to land back in his room so he doesn’t fall (didn’t expect logan to apologize first, didya?)

he’s barely back out the window when logan starts talking again

“i shouldn’t have dismissed you so quickly. you are intelligent and you are capable and you absolutely didn’t deserve any of my anger or bitterness or hatred. for that, i’m sorry.”

roman is, SHOCKED, to say the least. when they were kids, usually it was roman who apologized first, if at all, logan only after being prompted to by parents or teachers (which might’ve contributed to their drifting apart)

“i’m― thank you.”

there’s a pause because it’s late and logan is really really bad at this

“i’m sorry, too. i only really hated you because everyone kept comparing us. that wasn’t really fair of me.”

“i guess not.”

“so i guess we both agree that we’re both assholes.”

“essentially.”

“cool.”

“what were you going to talk to me about?” and roman has an ‘oh yeah’ because he completely forgot what he came out here for

“i guess i just missed doing this.”

“i did too.”

and they’re not completely in the clear, because they have years of hurt to clean up, but in that moment, they just sit and talk, and maybe missing one assignment amongst a whole year of perfect grades won’t hurt

they’re butts tired in the morning but neither of them regret it, regardless of virgil and patton’s comments of ‘how much sleep did you get last night? you look like you’re about to pass out.’

that weekend, their finals are all handed in, exams don’t start until the next week, and they’re both sick and tired of studying so logan invites roman over and they lounge in his star-speckled room, talking about everything and nothing

roman’s busy going through logan’s stuff (“what? i haven’t been in here since the summer before the seventh grade”) so logan has a free minute to just,, watch him, and he just now realizes how much he missed having this ball of energy in his life (in a positive way)

after that day, the tension between them is almost gone and conversations are so much easier (virgil and patton get to sigh in relief because ‘thank god, i love them, but they needed to get their shit together’)

but alas, exams approach and roman calls logan late one night, in tears and stressed beyond relief, begging him to meet him at the park (he would’ve called patton, but patton’s never really been under forced academic pressure, and logan’s just a smidge more familiar for him)

logan’s out of the house without another thought, and he sees roman sitting up on the monkey bars with his knees tucked up to his chest (‘oh my god roman don’t you dare fucking fall’)

“i’m sorry, you were probably sleeping, but i just needed to get out of the house and―”

“please don’t apologize for reaching out. what― what’s wrong?”

“i just can’t! my mom’s been threatening to pull me out of music if i don’t do well on this exam because ‘math is more important than music’ but i don’t know anything! i’ve been scraping by pretty well on tests but i can’t fucking study and none of the information is sticking and―”

“roman, you’re hyperventilating. you need to breathe―”

“don’t tell me what to do!” roman regrets this Immediately because logan recoils his hand like he’s been burned. great, just another thing to feel Bad about. “i-i’m sorry, i shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

if this was a month or two ago, logan would’ve had a scathing remark about roman’s inability to control himself but now he just places his hand back on roman’s shoulder and taps gently with his finger

“you remember that school assembly from grade nine? the one about mental health?”

“yeah?”

“can you do that breathing exercise?”

“probably”

ten minutes later, roman’s cried himself out and he’s stopped hyperventilating but he can’t seem to stop his hands from shaking

logan has absolutely no idea what to do but he’s seen patton do it before with some of the younger kids so he holds his arms out (v awkwardly) and goes, “would you― would it be― would a hug help?”

this gets a lil laugh out of roman because he’s trying and that’s adorable so now he’s cry-laughing into logan’s shoulder

“your mother sounds an awful lot like your horrendous dragon witch. i suppose we must simply team up to defeat her.”

roman draws away so fast he bumps into logan’s chin

“OH MY GOD YOU REMEMBER THAT”

“like i could forget it”

“oh my god”

“i mean, i wanted to, but those were… fun times.”

“hell yeah they were.”

“when’s your exam? i can help you study, if you want.”

“in about seven hours.”

“…change of plans, you’re coming back with me, you’re going to sleep for six, wake up, get a cup of tea, and we’re going to do a brief review before school.”

“…okay.”

so they walk back to logan’s house (roman makes sure to tack a note to his bedroom door for his parents, he’ll face the consequences later), and they just, collapse into a pile of leggy boi on logan’s bed (they were too tired to argue about formalities)

logan wakes up with roman clinging to his chest and he very sorely misses that warm cuddly heat but Nope he is Determined™ to help roman get that bread

so he wakes roman up, plops his notes down in front of him and tells him to flip through it while he goes to make breakfast

roman is a jittery Mess all the way up to the exam, but logan promises that he’d be waiting in the cafeteria for him (it was his lunch period’s exam day so he a Free Boi) and he leaves roman with a “you are more capable than you know. you already have everything you need to succeed. and no matter what, you are valid.”

two hours later, roman comes out and he has Zero Confidence in his results, but logan greets him with a clap on the shoulder and the reassurance that “at least you’re done with this.”

they meet up with virgil and patton and go for lunch, and oho, perhaps this is the beginning of a New Squad

at the end of the week, on exam review day logan’s waiting out in the hallway to go to his next class to see his results when he sees roman sprinting down the hall with the biggest grin on his face

“i got an 84!!! thank you, you beautiful blessed nerd!!” because honestly? roman expected nothing more than a 52 so this was a very pleasant surprise, and now roman’s hugging logan so tight that logan swears he heard his elbow pop

the other students of the school are still processing because it was literally only been a little over a month since they started talking to each other again, and anyone out of the loop just got hella whiplash

(and if this burst of happiness and gratitude left a weird, bubbly feeling in logan’s stomach, well, he’ll just keep that to himself)

the next few summer days are spent hanging out, in their rooms, at their windows, at the park, and sometimes, virgil and patton join them

sometimes they’re in roman’s room, roman typing away on his computer with a dozen open notebooks scattered around him while logan lays on his bed, and the two bounce ideas back and forth for the next adventures of the daring prince c and his faithful advisor logos

and then they’re two weeks into the summer break, virgil’s off visiting family in china for the next few weeks and patton’s in the caribbean, so they’re just aimlessly tossing a ball back and forth in roman’s room while they talk about their futures and stuff because “oh my god they’re gonna be high school s e n i o r s in the fall“ ((‘gee, blink, don’t u think that’s a lot of drama for 16 y/os?’ yes absolutely, shut up))

roman chucks the ball at logan, who catches it in one hand and he’s smirking and roman has to take a moment to catch his breath because ‘why was that so hot omg’

over the next couple weeks the two are basically joined at the hip, and when they’re not hanging out, they’re texting or calling each other and it finally feels like they’re really making up for lost time

at the same time, they may or may not be falling for each other and they have no idea what to do with these Feelings™

logan doesn’t know how to what to do because virgil is v aro and the only other person he can talk to is roman, whOM HE HAS A CRUSH ON

meanwhile roman is v frantically texting patton like bro pls call me as soon as u get back there’s a cute boy hELP

it’s nearing the beginning of august when the two go into town to get food and ice cream and they’re laughing and joking and waving melted strawberry ice cream in each other’s faces and they’re sitting on a bench when they lean in real close mid laugh and ‘oh no his face is rIGHT THERE’

they draw away real quick but both of them realize that ‘that wasn’t horrible?’ and they slowly look back at each other and ‘oh.’

“is this―”

“um―”

“is this― i mean if you want it to be ― is this a date?” and roman holds his breath because ‘dear god, please say yes’

“i’d like it to be, yes.” logan is terrified because he does n o t want to fuck this up

except now roman has the biggest grin and he absolutely does not care that he’s got ice cream dripping onto his leg

roman tackles logan into a hug because ‘he’s on a date with logan fucking crane’

logan is thrilled because now he gets to keep this excitable ball of energy who’s made him smile and laugh more in the past couple months than he has in years

(no diss against virgil and patton, but they can’t relate to logan and roman as well as, well, logan and roman)

they both have ice cream on themselves but neither can be bothered to care at this moment because they’re so damn happy

even after they go home that night, they stay up real late at their windows, side by side, just appreciating the company

it’s the next day, and they’re at the park, the sun is setting ((listen,,,, it’s an aesthetic)) and they’re sitting on the swings, holding hands ((they’re in love, babey!!))

“are we… does this make us boyfriends now?” logan is a v technical, official terminology person, of course he’d be the one to ask

“if you want to be boyfriends.”

“i don’t think i’d be asking if i didn’t.”

“then yeah, yeah we’re boyfriends.”

logan walks back into his house with a giant smile, and he plays that event over and over and over again in his mind as he lies awake in bed that night

roman calls patton immediately

and they may or may not scream about it together

logan sends virgil a short text that goes along the lines of ‘roman and i are dating now’ but in real life he’s so giddy that his fingers shake as he types it out

they have their first kiss in roman’s bedroom a couple days later

when school rolls back around in the fall, they walk through the doors hand in hand

and now their rivalry is nothing but a legend that the seniors tell the freshmen whenever someone complains about ‘that one couple that keeps making out in the math wing stairwell, excuse me, i just want to get to class’

#logince #romantic logince #logan sanders #roman sanders #ts logan #ts roman #thomas sanders #sanders sides #blink writes #long post #anon #cursing tw #i am sO SORRY THIS IS LATE #I HOPE UR FEELING BETTER BUDDY

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pineaberry · 5 years

Text

Fictober 2019: #17

Star Wars: The Old Republic.

Inspired by all the Quinn love on my dash, here it is:

The Transponder Station Pt. 4: THE THRILLING CONCLUSION

Pt. 1 Found Here: [X]

Pt. 2 Found Here: [X]

Pt. 3 Found Here: [X]

________________________

With some difficulty Malavai managed to focus on the present. The vibroblade handle had skittered across the floor meaning the blade was still inside her. Her belt had tightened around the wound keeping it closed, she must have loosened it. His mind scanned the crew. He would need help, who could he trust to remain calm regardless of whatever dark turn this took?

Broonmark was out of the question. The creature was all fur with claws were too clumsy for something so precise, plus he wouldn’t put it past the savage to try and eat his fallen leader or something equally primitive. Pierce had seen blood before, he might be the least squeamish. Though the bruiser about as dexterous and intelligent as the Talz, he would no doubt recognize the blade and put two and two together. No, that was a confrontation he didn’t want to have while Tremas bled out on the table. Jaesa could help, if she could avoid distress long enough to not to trigger her powers. He wasn’t sure he wanted that kind of observation or that it wouldn’t cause her to do something rash.

Selfish, a voice echoed in his thoughts. She’s dying and all you can think of is keeping up the charade.

Shame filled him but still, coward that he was, he hid behind the fact that he had to save Lord Tremas. If nothing more, he needed to undo the damage he had caused. He turned to the crew exuding the very image of military detachment.

“Everyone out! Vette, you’re with me. Remove her armor while I prep a kolto drip,” he ordered. The Twi’lek was the only one who would allow him to keep breathing should she decipher the truth. Worst case scenario, she was the one easiest to subdue should things go south in the medical bay.

He worked quickly using his medical scanner to find the internal damage. The blade was deeply wedged, but it had thankfully missed her vital organs. He clenched his jaw as the kolto drip mitigated some of the blood loss. The blade would have to be extracted, thankfully the oscillation module on the blade’s handle had been severed quickly by her lightsaber rendering the vibroknife a relatively less deadly knife. He had Vette clean the burn-mark on her face with a kolto infused bandage before going through the painstaking process of removing the blade. Blood streaked metal soon emerged from the tear on her side.

Unbidden memories of rainy days at Dromund Kaas filtered past his emotional shield as he saw the blade emerge from Tremas’ form. He’d been on his way to procure supplies, a simple enough venture back when there had been only three passengers on board, when out of the blue she had declared that they were all of them going shopping. No doubt their exploits on Nar Shadaa had provided a windfall of credits for her. His Lord had given what had been, in his opinion, an obscene stipend to her Twi’lek slave. He remembered noting how generous she was with her money in contrast to other Siths who had a tendency to hoard their riches. He had attempted to remain calm and professional throughout the trip though he did crack a smile when she saw Tremas’ eye the purple kyber crystals excitedly. His own military stipend allowed for little more than the purchase of an extra uniform, and perhaps an upgrade module for his blaster. His recent promotion and its boost in salary had been stalled going on two cycles, no doubt held up by someone with an ax to grind. And so he had whiled the hours away following his two shipmates and carrying their purchases.

Tremas had insisted on taking them to an expensive bistro high atop a skyscraper overlooking the Imperial Citadel. He'd learned of her taste for green fire sauce, and she of his fondness for Trammistan chocolates and Kopi tea. It was the first time he had felt completely free of the ever present stress after Drukenwell.

At the end of the day, after setting a course for Tattooine, he'd found a black glossy storage case in his quarters. Upon closer inspection he came to see“M. Quinn” was etched on the side in silver script. After inspecting it for explosives or similarly unwelcome surprises, he opened it to find several sets of clothes and a pair of heavy boots. They were not the standard military issue, but luxury items reinforced with armor, weapon, and even cooling modules. Not only that but there was also a new high end blaster, field medical kit, even a new datapad and to top it all off, the vibroknife he had been eyeing longingly while she’d been bartering for purple crystals.

She smiled when he mentioned it, of course, as though it were all just a game. He hadn’t wished to be a burden, and he had every intention of supporting himself.

“I’ll not have my Captain traversing the galaxy in rags and tatters.”

It made sense of course, to give him the best tools for the job. He would have believed it was only that, save for the knife. He had no use for it on the field.

“The vibroknife is unnecessary, my Lord. I will not require it to serve you.”

“But you wanted it, Quinn. That’s reason enough. It’s called a gift, welcome aboard.”

He wanted it. That was the only motivation. He wanted it, so she provided it with no strings attached, no ulterior motive. It was such a pure, simple thing, and yet it struck a chord deep inside him that his throat constricted. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had spared a thought about what he wanted.

“I am… overwhelmed, my Lord...”

The memory was cut short as he heard someone sniffling. Vette had begun to cry. Her blue fingertips smoothed dark locks back from ghostly white skin. The stench of blood and kolto was everywhere.

“Please hang on…” she sniffled and it took all of Quinn’s willpower not to break down and cling to Tremas' form like a frightened child. It was his doing. This was what he had strived for since he’d left Balmorra. Yet all he wanted to do was die of shame and guilt.

He sprayed a layer of kolto to seal the wound on her side stemming the blood flow and starting the healing process, before preparing the tank. His hands shook as he prepared her for immersion. He’d done this to her. Every fragile breath, every weakened heartbeat was evidence of his betrayal.

My Lord... my love. Please don’t die.

Idiot. He was an idiot. She could have killed him any number of ways, quick and efficient. Instead she had vented her rage on the droids, allowing him to wear her down to this state. Even then she hadn’t attacked. She could have executed him at once and she didn’t attack.

Even lunging at her should have been easy to block but she… she allowed him near. She had allowed him to wound her to the point of death. Meanwhile, here the traitor stood with only a few minor scrapes and bruises to show for the exchange. He’d mutilated her and in turn, she’d given him his life back.

Nausea turned his stomach as he felt the slickness of her blood on his hands. Her skin was ice cold and wrong. She who always held his hands and thawed them now lay on a medical bed drained of warmth. Vette was trying to hold back tears as she stood by the Kolto tank.

“What happened out there?” she asked quietly, looking at the Sith Lord floating inside.

He felt a lump in his throat and the prepared words didn’t come. Instead he turned away and attempted to wash his hands wishing his sins could be so easily erased. Vette looked down and saw the ornate blade coated in her friend’s blood. She may have been a lot of things, but she wasn’t stupid. Her gaze fell on the man currently looking as though he were about to retch. Her blood stained his uniform, a fitting image for the things he had done.

“Baras… Baras happened,” the words were like acid on his tongue. Not entirely a lie, no. But his part in the entire sordid affair made the next few words feel like hot coals against his heart, “my Lord was caught by surprise.”

"You're her tactician! You led her into a trap and then you just left her? She was bleeding out when she came in! You are supposed to be her support! What kind of field medic just leaves?!"

"My lord ordered me back to the ship before I could analyze her wounds," he said and his words were tainted with the realization that she had probably thought he would take advantage of her wounded state. His heart felt as though it were being crushed under the weight of his guilt. "Even after my failure... my Lord protected me from Baras. This is my fault..."

Until her last breath. Her last words had been spent clearing him of any fault, securing his position with her crew. He was unworthy of her. Whether it was his defeated posture, or the obvious remorse in his voice, his reply was enough to quell any more questions from Vette.

“Yeah, that sounds like her,” she said with a sad little smile, “you know, when I first met her, I thought she looked exactly like what a Sith is supposed to look like. Tall, proud, like she’d never had anyone tell her what to do. I resented her, I hated her... even when she went out of her way to be kind.

"Then his Tubbiness sent us into a creepy tomb to recover a relic or something. I’d tried to go there myself before and it had been nearly impossible, but with her… it was like taking a stroll on the beach. She kept talking to me even joking but I kept treating her like she was just another weird Sith. After she got the thingie, I hoped to give her the slip. I lagged behind, but got jumped by a pair of crazy Sithlings before I could get very far. I was done for, I knew it. But then she was suddenly there in front of me. Tremas took a lightning blast to the chest to protect me. Shook the pair off like it was nothing, and told me to not to wander off because it was too dangerous.

“She acted like it had been normal, but I saw the damage at the next medical station. I saw what it’d done to her. She'd taken that blast, and didn't even punish me. When I asked her why she’d saved me said: ‘Because you were afraid.’ Can you imagine it? A Sith stepping in front of a blast of lightning just because some slave girl is scared. I told her she was crazy but after that, I don't think I ever felt safer than when she's around. There’s just something about her. She puts herself in danger constantly for us, I think, we take it for granted sometimes. Everyone sees an undefeated Sith Lord, the Emperor's Wrath, I think... sometimes... we see her like that too and we forget she's a person.”

“I would be a fool to forget,” he said barely above a whisper. He monitored her vitals and avoided Vette's eyes. Hopefully, she would interpret his guilt as a result of his inability to support her properly. “There is little else we can do. You should go inform the others.”

“What about you?” Vette asked obviously trying to determined if he was injured.

“I'm fine, I'll stay here and monitor her progress.”

Vette eyed him for a moment before reluctantly leaving Malavai with his thoughts. The crew was waiting just beyond the door, and far too late did she realize her clothes were stained with blood. They bombarded her with questions most of which she wasn't sure herself.

For all of its miraculous properties the kolto was working far too slowly for his tastes. She couldn't die, not now... not after having spared him... not after everything they'd done together... not by his hand... His fingers were curled into tight fists to keep himself from shaking.

How little you must think of me. Exactly how stupid did you think I was?

She had known all along and still accepted him. She had known and still had hoped that he would ultimately make the right choice. He had failed her.

It all became too much and he ran to retch in the refresher.

________________________

Read More About Tremas HERE!

Original Fictober Promp List HERE!

#Malavai Quinn #Vette #SWTOR #SWTOR OC #Tremas Cidran #fictober19

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emperorsfoot · 4 years

Link

New chapter of my shamefully self-indulgent Entrapdak Arranged Marriage AU.

This chapter features Imp’s adorable antics, a broken ceiling, Hordak and Entrapta meet for the first time, and Catra is very frustrated.

...

“Entrapta! Entrapta! Grr!” Catra threw her arms up in exasperation, fur of her tail frizzing out, fangs barred with a snarl to vent her frustration.

Their ship had already started its descent to the planet’s surface and Entrapta wasn’t even dressed.

That wasn’t accurate.

Entrapta was dressed. As a mechanic. A menial worker.

Not the sovereign ruler of an industrial titan like Dryl that she was.

She could not meet her future spouse –never mind that- she could not meet the Emperor of the Known Universe and his brother, looking like the person they had their servants call to service the palace ventilation systems.

The ship gave a violent lurch as they hit a pocket of turbulence in Horde World’s atmosphere and Catra was thrown off balance. She landed on her feet –she always landed on her feet- but the trunk containing Entrapta’s wardrobe was thrown across the cabin, spilling the Princess’ gowns all over. Catra heaved another snarl. She longed for a simpler life, a war-orphan, or an underappreciated soldier. Anything had to be better than a lady-in-waiting to a tech Princess who thought measuring the pH balance of the atmosphere and how it affected the ship’s hull was more important that making sure she was ready to meet the Emperor of the Known Universe, or her future spouse.

“Hey, don’t worry so much.” Scorpia, another Princess and Entrapta’s friend, bent down to help Catra pick up the strewn clothing. “Entrapta’s a little quirky, but she agreed to do this because she knows it’s important. She’ll be ready in time.”

Catra sighed. In defeat, not relief. Scorpia was nice, but she did not seem to grasp the importance of first impressions. Entrapta was actually really amazing –once a person got to know her- but she made a terrible first impression.

Then it was Scorpia’s turn to sigh. Clasping her pincers together –still holding one of Entrapta’s dresses- and staring out through one of the view ports at the dusty and barren landscape of Horde World. “Isn’t it romantic.” She gushed. “Two people, crossing the stars to meet. Strangers coming together for the good of a nation. At first, just for duty. But then! A tender glance! A gentle touch! Gazes locking… and sparks fly… It’s true love!”

Catra just stared at her. Dead-eyed. Unimpressed and unmoved.

“It could happen!” Scorpia insisted.

“It’ll never happen if we can’t get Entrapta ready by the time ship lan-“ Catra was cut off as the ship gave another lurch as the pilot decelerated for their final approach to the Imperial landing site. Catra only hissed, showing more teeth.

“I’ll help with Entrapta.” Scorpia nodded, realizing maybe Catra’s concerns were more legitimate and pressing than she originally thought.

But the moment the ship did actually landed, Entrapta disappeared to explore the alien palace that was the heart of the Horde Empire and Catra had no idea where she went.

…

Hec-Tor bared his teeth at the scale, displeased by the result. He managed to go a full year and a day without any weight loss from his condition and in the span of only twenty-four hours had somehow managed to lose two-hundred grams of body mass.

He stepped off the scale, waited for the number to clear, then tried again. Double checking the result. When the number showed the same. He triple checked. When all three attempts yielded the same result, he was forced to record the data in his health tracker app. He was losing weight again.

That hadn’t happened since Keldor disappeared. Hec-Tor twisted the ring he still wore on the third finger of his left hand. Keldor’s ring. In another few days, he would have to take it off and replace it with a different ring. Entrapta’s ring. Slipping the band off his finger, he looked at the inscription. ‘By the Power…’ Keldor never really explained what it meant beyond ‘it’s just an Eternian thing’. Slipping the ring back on his finger, Hec-Tor stealed himself to face the day.

Today was going to be a bad day.

His intended’s ship landed some time in the early hours of the morning. Hec-Tor was glad he was not made to greet her first thing upon her arrival. He would not have been in the best of sorts to make an acceptable first impression. He was rather confident that he would not make any kind of good first impression at all. But then, he thought the same thing before his marriage to Keldor and in the end, first impressions turned out not to matter all that much.

Hec-Tor was younger back then. He was sullen and quiet and had adhered to protocol as best as one could while also looking at their feet and not making eye-contact. While Keldor was unlike anyone Hec-Tor had ever met up to that point. Instead of reciprocating the ceremonial bow with one of his own, the Eternian Prince had laughed –just a short, half stifled laugh behind his hand, but still a laugh- and asked Hec-Tor if he did more than posture and pose. Horde Prime frowned in displeasure, and Keldor’s father, King Miro, gave his son a strongly worded reprimand. But it succeeded in reminding Hec-Tor that the marriage had been arranged for Keldor just as much as it had been for him. They were both of them being forced into this and that was one thing they had in common.

Remembering that, Hec-Tor reminded himself that this was arranged for his current intended just as much as it was for him. While a small platoon of servants combed and gelled his hair, dabbed at his cheeks with foundation and concealer, lined his eyes with kohl, painted gloss on his lips, fitted decorative plugs in his ports, and just generally groomed him to look his best, Hec-Tor read over the dossier on his intended.

Princess Entrapta. While she kept the title of ‘Princess’ in reality, she was the Queen of her territory. She was the sovereign and sole ruler of Dryl, which was not its own planet, but a small mountain nation located on Etheria.

Hec-Tor paused at that. Recognizing the name. Etheria was a planet that shared a solar system with Eternia –Keldor’s home planet. Entrapta and Keldor were practically neighbors! However, unlike Eternia, which was unified under one monarch, Etheria was a confederacy of multiple independent states.

Dryl was small in terms of land coverage. But it was an industrial titan that specialized in weapons manufacture. Weapons that combined highly advanced technology with complicated magic. Weapons that could be powered by their wielder’s ‘fighting spirit’ rather than limited battery packs that needed to be recharged. Armors and shieldings that were just as resilient and strong as phitanium, but easier to shape, more efficient to manufacture, and –best of all- cheaper since they wouldn’t have to pay Queen Elmora’s premiums. Heck! Dryl even made bots that could be sent into battle in place of living soldiers.

That explained why Horde Prime wanted her in the family.

With Entrapta married to the Emperor’s own brother, her loyalty would be to the Empire –which her children might have a chance to inherit one day. That would ensure that Dryl would not be selling their weapons to the Empire’s enemies.

Scrolling through the file, Hec-Tor realized that the vast majority of the information was on Dryl and its arms industry. There was very little information on Princess Entrapta herself. Hell! The file didn’t even include a picture of her.

Hec-Tor sighed. Of course, the file wouldn’t contain much information on her. Horde Prime did not arrange this marriage to make his brother happy. He didn’t care about Princess Entrapta the person. All Horde Prime cared about were the weapons and power she could bring to the Empire. Who cared if Hec-Tor was miserable for the rest of his life? Not every arranged marriage could be as lucky as his first one to Keldor. Not everyone could fall in love with their intended.

His chair was turned around and Hec-Tor examined his reflection. They did everything but put contacts in his eyes to give him pupils. He sighed. This was far more opulent than his brother made him dress up for his first engagement. Horde Prime must really, really want those weapons.

With a sigh, Hec-Tor stood from the seat. He needed a break from all the primping and preening. Maybe get some real work done. There were a few items from yesterday that he never managed to get around to. At the time he thought there would be time to deal with them today. That was before his brother took the liberty of changing his entire agenda for the rest of the week –and his life. At the very least, he needed to address the blight on Antares. Horde Prime probably wouldn’t let him dispatch soldiers to either Krytis or Denebria until after the wedding, the Emperor would want to keep the military close until then.

But if he could just get to his office and do something productive.

Anything productive.

Even if it was just hitting ‘read’ on a non-critical memo.

He stalked down the corridors of the residential wing to his office, wearing nothing more than a dressing gown, with a head full of so much product he looked sculpted out of paste.

A door to his left burst open and Imp dashed out, in a similar state of half-dressed but very well make-uped. He saw his father standing in the corridor and skirted around to hide behind the older man’s legs. Just in time for a trio of servants to follow –tripping- out of the same room after the little… imp.

Imp hissed at them.

Only one seemed brave enough to approach, addressing Hec-Tor. “Your Highness, we are trying to make the Prince ready to meet your intended and he is not cooperating. Could you… speak to him, please?”

Hec-Tor looked down at the child clinging to his calves. Imp glared up at him. He did not like playing dress-up any more than Hec-Tor did.

“If I have to suffer through this, so do you.” He informed his son.

The boy gave a screech of disagreement, abandoned his father as an ally, and climbed up a wall instead. Imp shot his father a scathing look of betrayal before wiping half the makeup and cream from his face and smearing it on the expensive wallpaper. Then he disappeared into an air vent.

“Imp!” Hec-Tor shouted after him. Forget ‘feral’ that child could be outright wild sometimes. He got it from Keldor. He was also always a little wild.

Forget doing something productive. Now all Hec-Tor cared about was finding his son in the complicated and labyrinthine ventilation systems of the Imperial palace.

He turned suddenly anxious eyes and misplaced anger on the trio that had been grooming Imp or the introductions. “Find him!”

They ran to comply.

Hec-Tor headed in the opposite direction, long ears piqued. Listening for any movement in the walls that could indicate his errant son. Imp was spry and fast. Of all the members of the Kur family that Hec-Tor had known –both living and dead- Imp was by far the most healthy. His physical defects were extra limbs in the form of wings –that actually functioned!- and a pointed tail. He was also a little under sized for his age, but that just made it easier for him to pull stunts like this!

But the worst part was that Hec-Tor knew, if Keldor were here, he would be egging their child on. Encouraging Imp to make trouble and be an agent of chaos. Keldor would think it was funny. Keldor would be proud.

Damn. Hec-Tor made himself sad.

Before their wedding, during a heavily chaperoned stroll through the grounds of the castle in Eternos, Keldor not only convinced Hec-Tor to ditch their escorts and sneak out, but actually succeeded in doing it! Climbing up a tree close to the castle wall and pushing Hec-Tor over it before the Imperial Prince even knew what was happening. Keldor then took Hec-Tor on a tour of the back-allies of Eternos, a side of the city he was sure no Prince was meant to see.

Imp definitely got this rebelliousness from his other father. It certainly didn’t come from Hec-Tor!

He came to an intersection in the corridors and froze, closing his eyes, listening hard for any scuffling or scurrying sounds that could be Imp trying to evade him. Just barely picking up a faint sound, Hec-Tor made a turn a followed the sound out of the private residential wing and into the business section. If anyone dared give him an odd look for stalking the halls in what was essentially a bathrobe, he snarled at them.

The moment Hec-Tor found an access panel large enough for him, Imp was going to be in so much trouble!

A louder scuffling in the walls.

Imp must be closer!

Hec-Tor leaned against the wall. His ear just a hair’s breadth away from touching the wall –he was still mindful of all the cosmetic work he’d sat through already and did not want to sit through it again.

He followed the scuffling sound. Listening to the metal of the vents shift with the weight of a body. Funny, Imp was never heavy enough to make the vent paneling shift and bow before. But then, Imp was a growing boy.

He followed the movement in the walls he was almost in the public areas of the palace now. A place he did not want to be walking around in a bathrobe and little else. But he wanted to find his son more.

Then he heard Imp give a startled and confused little chirp. And his journey moving in the walls came to a halt. Now the scuffling in the wall was located in only one spot and it was fast and frantic.

“Imp?” Hec-Tor called, hoping the boy could hear him through the drywall and vent plating. “Are you stuck?”

Imp couldn’t answer, of course. While he might be the most physically healthy member of the Kur family, he was also born mute. His vocal cords not forming right during gestation in the vitrine. The only sounds he could make were guttural chirps and squawks. With a wall between them cutting off any visual communication, there was no way for Imp to make his situation and his needs known. Hec-Tor just had to guess and hope he took the appropriate action.

He grabbed the first person he saw, not caring if they were palace staff, or a visiting dignitary (or extended staff) there for his wedding. “You! Get me the head of palace maintenance! Immediately!”

Not sure what else to do, it was all the hapless passerby could do to nod an affirmative and run away the moment Hec-Tor let go of them.

Another squak of dismay drifted through the wall and Hec-Tor once again pressed his ear to the wall. This time he did smear his makeup, but he didn’t care. Some things were more important. “Imp? What is going on in there? Are you injured?”

The only answer he got was a string of confused chittering and trills.

“Imp!?”

People were casting uncertain glances at him now. What if mental instability was another of the Prince’s defects? He was literally yelling at a wall.

“Oh. Well, hello little guy?” Then another voice drifted through the wall. One Hec-Tor had never heard before. Pitchy and nasal.

Was this the head of maintenance come to extricate Imp from the wall for him? It had better be! He did not like the idea of a complete stranger being in a dark enclosed space along with his son whom could not communicate in words.

“Who’s in there?” He demanded.

“Is that your friend out there?” Asked the voice. “Are you stuck?”

Hec-Tor dragged his talons down the decorative wallpaper. He wanted to see what was going on in there. Who was in there with Imp? What were they doing?

“Hang on.” Said the other in the wall. “The thing with old castles and palaces like this is that all the ventilation was built in a closed system so that it’s harder to get inside for regular maintenance and service. See how the plating it warped here? Probably happened over the last hundred years by particles that made it past the first battery of filters. I heard the winds on Horde World can carry rocks as big as a fist a hundred kilometers in the air. I know something that big shouldn’t be able to make it through filters, but when the wind can throw it that high, they can also throw it clean through carbon fiber mesh. Something like that bouncing around these vents, no wonder you got your tail stuck in a warped section.”

Was- was the speaker giving Imp –a five year old child- a lecture on engineering? While they were both stuck in a wall!? Who was this person?

“Almost got ya… there!” There was a metallic popping sound.

Then Imp gave a grateful and relieved little trill.

Hec-Tor sighed. His son was okay. Still in the vents. But unharmed.

“I think I saw an outlet over there.” Presumably, the owner of the voice was pointing, but Hec-Tor could not see it. “C’mon. I’ll show you and make sure you don’t get stuck again.”

The shuffling and scuffling began again. This time moving up. To the ceiling. Hec-Tor looked up, trying to follow the sounds with his eyes.

Then a crack appeared on the ceiling.

Oh! Oh, no! No, no, no! Didn’t the voice in the wall just say this palace was old! If they were a fully grown adult being, they should not be putting their full weight on the ceiling panels. They were meant to be decorative and cover the unsightly support beams and insulation. They were not meant to hold weight!

“Oh.” Apparently, the voice realized this too late. “I might have miscalculated the addition of your weight.”

That was the last thing they said before the whole ceiling came caving down.

A cascade of broken panels and insulation that should have been replaced decades ago came crashing down in the center of the room. Among the debris, a ball of lavender hair came tumbling out. It rolled a few meters away from the main pile.

The hair slithered. Disentangling itself frown around the body of an alien female. Copper skin and fuchsia-red eyes. Wearing dark purple overalls like a menial worker. Maybe she was the head of maintenance. And held in her gloved arms was Imp. He was fine. Cradled and shielded from the debris by her body and hair.

“Well, you’re out.” She announced. Then glanced back at the mess in the middle of the room. “Though, I have a feeling I might be in trouble…”

“Give me my son!” Hec-Tor all but snarled at her.

“Oh. Sure.” She opened her arms and Imp fluttered his wings, flying into his father’s waiting arms. Then the woman paused, as if actually noticing him. “Why are you wearing a bath robe? Oh! Did I drop in on a bathroom!? I’m so sorry! I just wanted to observe the adaptations your architects have made to compensate for the harshness of Horde World. This building is an engineering marvel and I find it fascinating!”

“Who are you?” Demanded the Prince.

“Oh. Uh,” she twiddled her hair.

Under any other circumstances he would have found the fact that her hair moved like limbs quite interesting. But at the moment, he was unimpressed.

“This is a little awkward.” She confessed. “You see, I’m not actually from Horde World. I just came for the wedding. Oh! Maybe I’ll see you there. I should say ‘hi’ at the reception!”

That did not answer his question.

But then, another voice shouted across the room.

“Entrapta!”

A magicat and a scorpioness came running up to here.

Entrapta? Did they just call her ‘Entrapta’? As in Princess Entrapta? His intended. The person he was arranged to marry. This dirt-covered, vent-lurking, inelegant, creature could not possibly be the one his brother meant for him to marry!

“We are so, so sorry!” Said the scorpioness. She lifted ‘Princess Entrapta’ up into her arms.

“Where have you been!” Snarled the magicat. “Not only are we behind schedule, you’re an absolute mess! You can’t meet a Prince of the Horde Empire looking like this!”

Hec-Tor just stood there, staring at them. Did none of them know who he was?

“Let’s get you cleaned up.” The scorpioness said in a much gentler tone. “Maybe the Prince won’t mind. Maybe he likes quirky partners.”

He most certainly did not!

Well, okay. Keldor was pretty quirky. And Hec-Tor loved him. A lot. But Keldor was special! Just going off this first impression, Hec-Tor was not going to like this purple, prehensile haired, vent germline one bit!

This marriage was going to be a disaster.

#entrapdak #entrapta/hordak #hordak #entrapta #spop #au #arranged marriage AU #imp #catra #scorpia #Hordak walking around a palace in his bathrobe #Imp being Imp #first meetings #meet cute

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jungle321jungle · 5 years

Text

Book Rants: The Storm Runner by J.C. Cervantes

Page 304 out of 426.

That’s the page I’m on as I’m writing this because I lowkey can’t stand it anymore.

What I can’t stand is The Storm Runner, by J.C. Cervantes.

I’m not gonna touch on all the representation and all of that or anything. Simply because well, I need to rant. So, if you’re looking for a spoiler free review I’ll make it short for ya: Zane exists. He has a dog. He meets a girl. He’s told not to do the thing. He does the thing. Evil dude is released. Goes on a mission to put evil dude back with girl and uncle. And uh I haven’t finished the book so I can’t say more than that right now. Anyway to the rant!

Warning this rant will be a certified mess. I’m just writing whatever comes to mind.

The first thing which pissed me off about this book, is Zane himself. Like this kid- God. So Zane is your main character and he has a limp, and he’s a godborn, and he kinda likes the girl. And he’s trying to undo everything he did.

That’s legit all I can say about his character rn that’s not negative.

So Zane, Zane, Zane’s inner voice. The monologue of the story. Is just so bad. Here’s so examples of actual lines from this book from the most recent section I read.

"It was party city!"

"If only they knew I was godborn, too. And not just related to any god, but Hurakan, the creator and destroyer!"

Like cringe? I don’t know what else I can say besides the word cringe.

Like I have seen reviews where people says Zane’s voice is Percy-esque. And what annoys me is that’s true. But only a small percent of the time. It flips between lines I just read, to bland, to boring and then you get a full on sarcastic thing and it just seems badly timed and out of place for Zane. There’s one I just read but I’m not gonna torture myself with trying to find it.

Another thing which annoyed me about Zane is how forgettable he is? Like he’s the main character that shouldn’t be possible. But like when reading this there was about a three month gap in between me putting the book down and picking it back up a few days ago. And while reading a few days ago I could remember what had happened in the last chapter but I couldn’t remember Zane’s name.

So I text my friends as I read to vent. And I literally sent: “wow i read like four chapters and i didn't realize until now when it was mentioned that i forgot mcs name”

I shouldn’t be able to forget his name.

So another thing which annoys me about Zane are his decisions and how it moves the plot. But before we even touch the plot let me touch on the other characters.

First off Brooks.

She’s the mysterious girl who’s there to help, the living expert on Maya everything. And a girl so full of secrets and depression she belongs back in 2003.

Oh and she can turn into a hawk... until she can’t.

Next up we got Hondo.

Hondo is my fav of the three. He’s Zane’s uncle and he’s there for the wild ride just because. Like I’m sure there’s a logical reason? I think it was just cause they needed someone with a car? I can’t remember it was three months ago. Actually it could be longer, cause before that last time I had set the book down for a long time too. Anyway he has the best personality. And I would pay to see him be the main character instead.

So while my favorite of the three is Hondo, my favorite character is actually Ah-Puch. Mr. Evil Dude himself. He’s more interesting than the other three combined, and I just read when broke into the Twins’ lair and all that jazz and I got so happy. To be honest I much rather watch him destroy the world than anything else.

Of course my happiness was immediately undermined as it always is with this book, but I’ll say more about that in a sec.

So the plot... Oh the plot.

I will say the plot on the whole is brutally fine. The gist is that Zane is the prophecy kid (cause we’re in the realm of Riordan) and he's supposed to be the one to free Ah-Puch and he does, because he wants his dog brought back to life. I’m not gonna go into people and love for dogs and all, but I just think a smidge more thought could be put into things? Like theres another point where the seer old lady Ms. Cab tells Zane to stay home ‘cause his house is the only place with special protective wards. And like I didn't expect him to stay there, since the story needs to happen, but it seemed like he didn’t even try to make an effort to stay in the house? It was just like welp, there’s danger and murderous creatures, but nah I need to go talk to my mom.

Like just think a tiny bit more, just a little. Please.

When Ah-Puch shows up at the twins (I’m gonna keep mentioning this part cuz it's what I just read) he was super badass and him and Muwan was super cool. Watching the Twins shake in their boots was a bit satisfying especially because something unexpected was happening. But during that Ah-Puch goes on and on talking about how the Twins are liars and this and that, but like Zane believes every word. He doesn’t even doubt the validity for half a second. This man- this super evil man who wants to destroy everything. Like look Zane may be thirteen but there's gullible and then there's ridiculous.

(Semi off topic: during this scene Brooks just kinda vanishes. She says they need to run then kinda just sits there next to half dead Hondo watching until it's time to remind Zane to run again via telepathy- oh yeah she has telepathy)

Now switching gears to my previous comment about undermining my happiness. It seems like everything I enjoy is immediately shot in the face not much later.

When Zane is doing a coin toss with the Twins, he picks the death side of the coin and the way its written and the fact that the chapter ends with this. It sounds so profound- so powerful.

Then on the next page we learn it’s a mind game the the coin is weighted so he picked the wrong side. Yes, I understand that the Twins always win and whatever and this shows that. But it felt like such a quick switch in tone, in Zane it completely dashed all happiness I just had on the page before. Ah-Puch showing up during deadly basketball is the same thing. I loved reading him swooping in and the glass shattering violently over the crowd, and I thought it wa so cool how he had done that. The Twins thought they were untouchable but then here comes Mr. Evil Dude to destroy it all. It was perfect.

Then you learn he just followed the tracking device he put on Zane.

I will admit I had forgotten about the tattoo deal thing- given my few month break- but had I read this book consistently it wouldn’t have been a surprise whatsoever. It’s super expected. Also I thought it would show just how powerful Ah-Puch is. Even not at full strength,and freshly back in the world he tracked them down and was ready to give them a slow painful death.

LOL NOPE HE FOLLOWED THE LEASH HE PUT ON ZANE.

I hope you can just feel how much I am groaning and sighing right now.

So after that Jazz shows up to save the gang and you’re like cool cool good timing whatever. I’m glad he agreed to come, but then he admits he put cameras in their clothes insert more sighs. So this guy was just watching them agree to play deadly basketball and meet Mr. Evil Ah-Puch and did nothing until the dangerous people were gone? They could’ve used some help sooner Jazz. A lot sooner.

Well, I think I got the rant mostly out of my system purely because I haven’t read the last 100 or so pages, but if you’re probably wondering why I read this book if I can’t get through without getting annoyed.

Honestly I think the whole reasoning is the fact that my boss gave it to me. She was the one who told me about Riordan Presents and gave me the book as a gift. So I think I just feel sort of pushed to finish it (and read the next one she gave me)? Regardless of if that's the reason or not that I keep reading, for some reason I am still pulled into this book?

I am driven insane by it- and yet I still read it, and I might even read the sequel ‘cause I am trash. But I think this factor is what annoys me the most overall.

I want to like this book and I want to hate it. But I can’t do either. It's the definition of a love hate relationship. And I don't think I’ll ever get out of it.

Idk if I’ll post something about the end of the book yet, it depends on how much I want to pull my hair out

Someone please kill me before I finish this thing

#book review #book rant #the storm runner #rick riordan #riordanverse #read riordan #pleaseicantbetheonlyonewhoisannoyedbythisbook #stopthepositivereviews #saveme #help #mystuff #thingsssssssssss

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xsister-serpent · 6 years

Text

I Dig You Part 1

Summary: Goth!Reader x Kylo meet on tumblr and their friendship evolves to something more. But what happens when the reader wants to finally meet Kylo face to face?

Warnings: Cursing, mentions of suicide and self harm. Fluff and Angst.

A/N: I literally just came up with the idea a few nights ago and i loved how it turned out. Readers message is in purple lettering while Kylo’s is in red. There’s a couple of hints in this story and I hope you guys get them <3 Tagging: @floral-and-fine @xephyrsong

You and Kylo were two peas in a pod. Your relationship was somewhat normal now a days, being that you two bonded through social media. At first a notification came up on your email, signaling that you had a new follower. Because of those annoying porn bots you had to be certain that this was an actually person. You clicked on the icon and an blog showed up along with the username, xKnightofRenx. Much you your relief It was a person. A young man facing away from the camera in a blurred black and white photo. You couldn’t help but chuckle at his edgy “Welcome to my Dark, Twisted Mind’ theme he had. His blog was filled with gothic-esque photos, artwork, and beautiful gif sets of mythology and fandoms. Some photos were of his silhouette or his modern goth outfits you’d seen floating in your recommend tag. Occasionally some NSFW gifs of bondage and Dom imagery, nothing that truly shocked you. Curiosity got the best of you as you searched for a selfie of his. Unfortunately there was none to be found. As you scrolled through his Tumblr you eventually hit the follow button. Yours was lacking a polished look compared to his and everything he made/reblog was to your liking. Soon enough your notifications began to show up with his username. He’d like your posts and reblogged images you had. You had wondered if he posted any tags on your images. Some of them were straightforward general wise, others were absolutely hilarious. Especially ones of favorite fandoms. A smile crossed your face when you read the tag thanosdidNOTHINGwrong, or stillnotoverit.

You reblogged his content too like aesthetic photography, quotes from movies, books etc. It had become a normal thing now seeing him label as your number 1 fan on your activity feed. Until you had notice something on your dash while scrolling one night. He was reblogging posts of glorifying suicide and self harm. You sat up on your bed as a little red flag went up. You notice the depressing vagueness in his posts. You immediately went to the messaging icon and pressed it.

Hi Kylo I noticed some things on your dash and I just want to let you know if you ever just want to talk or vent I’m here.

With another touch the message was sent to him. You sighed hoping that he’d reply or at least just see the message. You placed your phone to the side of you and reached for a book. If you were honest with yourself you didn’t expect much from him. You made yourself comfortable in bed and began to read. Within a couple of quiet hours your phone beeped with a notification. You reached for it and saw his reply.

Hey Y/N, thanks for checking in on me. I’m just going through a rough patch with my personal life. I’m an idiot for posting it on here.

An idiot? You questioned

No you’re not an idiot. And I’m really sorry to hear that. Do you want to talk about it? I won’t press on it if you don’t want too.

A few seconds later he replied.

I don’t want too, but I do appreciate your concern, it’s a kind distraction, He added a smile emoji.

Before you added a reply another message showed up.

So American Horror Story huh?

You chuckled at least your words gave him some comfort and distraction. Before you knew it the night consisted of back and forth messages of your shared fandoms. It was something you looked forward too. You grew close to him and you even exchanged instagram usernames. Just like his Tumblr he never showed his face even in his stories, just pictures and videos of his brothers or his mom. It bothered you a bit but you didn’t think too much of it. It was interesting relationship, especially the flirting. Kylo was always a gentleman when it came to complimenting your selfies, he was one of the few men who you enjoyed reblogging your photos knowing he’d never say anything too explicit. Sometimes he’d add cute flirty tags to them. Within the next couple of months of messaging each other you felt yourself hard and fast for him.

A few months passed by and your birthday was just in a few days. You wanted to see him. He’d mention he had lived close by where you did and It excited you that there was a possibility you could finally see him.

What are your plans for tonight? Gonna try to summon Cthulhu? Or is that on saturday night? He messaged you.

You laughed aloud and typed back. You paused as you throughly thought out your message.

Maybe, ask him If we can make him our president ask for free healthcare and affordable living lol. To be honest, I was thinking maybe you’d want to hang out with me?? If you’re not busy that is?

You held your breath as you sent it. Almost immediately you felt your stomach twist in regret. There’s probably a reason why he doesn’t show his face, you thought to yourself. A millions things went through your head as you played the numerous possibilities. It was him not doubt, his videos had his deep voice, and went live when he was editing photos, and always left cute comments photos of your dogs. But what was done, was done. You watch as three rolling dots showed up on your phone. Another chime.

You asking me on a date Y/N?? He asked with a blushing emoji.

Your feelings for him grew no doubt and now you believed his did too. From the poetry he’d tag you in to the sensual gifs you tagged him in. Your fingers traced over the keyboard and with a deep breath you began to write.

“Kylo I really really like you, I’d like to get you know better and maybe meet face to face?” You said aloud as you typed.

You sent it and prayed he’d reply back. Another three rolling dots.

I really like you too Y/n. I’d really love to meet up with you tonight. How about we meet up at the Catina Restaurant? My treat?

“YES!” You screamed in delight scaring your dobermans Xena and Nyx. They both looked up at you with a tilt of their head. “Sorry babies, mommy got a little excited.”

‘Sure, do you want to meet up at 8?’ You messaged.

‘Yea, I’ll be in the reserved corner of the bar in the outside patio in a black suit.”

‘Alright I’ll see you then’ you smiled as you press send.

You hopped off the couch and ran towards your closet. You looked at your black dresses picking out a nice slim cocktail dress. A bubbling of excitement filled your stomach as you made your way to the shower. You were finally going to meet him.

KYLO’S POV

Kylo couldn’t help but smile to himself as Matt high fived him.

“I can’t believe she said yes,” He gasped.

“I can’t believe she gave you a chance,” his brother Ben spoke as he looked at Y/N icon, “She’s a cutie, got that whole Morticia Addams thing going on. It’s kinda hot.”

Kylo shot a glare at his brother.

“I’m happy for you Ky,” Matt interjected. “You two would look good together.”

“Yea you’d guys would match everyday in monochromatic clothing, you don’t have to worry about separating colored clothes from laundry,” Ben chuckled.

Kylo’s hand went to the back of his neck as he stared at the message once more. A spike of anxiety racked his nerves.

“This is the part where you thank us,” Ben whispered patting his brother on the back.

“Did you even tell her what I looked liked???”

The brothers fell silent and Kylo groaned in annoyance.

“I just said you’d show up in a all black suit,” Ben admitted sheepishly.

“CHRIST BEN THAT COULD BE ANYONE!” Kylo snapped.

Ben tossed his hands in the air, “OH HEY Y/N LOOK FOR THE EX MANAGER OF HOT TOPIC WITH A CRAZY ASS SCAR!”

Before Kylo could retaliate. Matt interjected, “Kylo! Check to see if she logged off!!”

Kylo hastily went to his computer and checked the instant messenger but her icon had disappeared. His stomach turned into knots as he shot a glare at Ben. Kylo grabbed a pillow from his bed and chucked it at him.

Ben quickly ducked, “You’re lucky I did this for you!!”

“Lucky?!? Are you serious?!?,” Kylo snarled, “This woman has no idea what I look like!”

“But she said yes to meeting you,” Ben shot back, “Isn’t that what counts??”

Kylo groaned and slump back to his bed covering his face with his hands.

“Well,” Matt spoke pushing his glasses, “You can’t back out now Kylo. She’s getting ready thinking she’ll go out on a date with you. You owe it to her to show your face.”

Kylo ran his fingers through his hair. They were right, she did explain she was falling for him. And he fully admitted he felt the same way.

“She won’t care about the scar,” Matt assured.

“Yea but what about the others??” Kylo asked.

“If she’s does, she’s just as shallow as Bens’ personality.”

Kylo softly smiled while Ben furrowed his brow at his little brothers’ comment.

“Alright I’ll do it,” Kylo breathed.

He took a quick shower and styled his long black hair. He shoved past his brothers and went into his closet, pulling out his best suit. He called the bar and reserved the spot he told Y/N he’d be at. Kylo fixed his suit straightening his sleeves. He looked at himself in the mirror admiring his look. With one more spritz of his cologne he walked out into the living room.

“Where you going??,” Asked his father Han eyeing his sons suit.

“I’m going to join a coven,” Kylo replied in a deadpan voice as he grabbed his keys.

“Well be safe,” his mom Leia called as he walked out the door.

Kylo unlocked his car and climbed in. He took a slow breath and began to drive.

#kylo ren #kylo ren x reader #kylo x reader #goth!reader x kylo ren #star wars #kylo ren fic #solo triplets #ben solo #matt the technician #do people read these?

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khadij-al-kubra · 6 years

Text

Can I Bar-row Your Attend-tion (ch3)

Pairing: Roman/Patton

Characters: Roman, Patton, Logan, Virgil, Thomas, Joan, Talyn (some OCs)

Word Count: (who’s she? never heard of her? XP)

Summary: Roman and Patton are two bartenders at a local bar & grill with some serious chemistry. However, the only people who don’t realize it are each other, and one of them is in a relationship…on the rocks.

Author’s Note:

Hey friends! What’s this? Two chapters in one week!? Don’t get used to it, sadly. I want to get content out ASAP, but my work schedule sucks. For now though, here’s the next chapter in the Bar & Grill AU, and I am SO thankful to see all the positive feedback so far and am happy you’re enjoying it! If you’d like to be in the tag list for future chapters in the Bar & Grill AU or other works by me, let me know. And as always feel free to leave a comment in the messages or reply if you have any notes or constructive critiques. I’m always open to writing advice. Enjoy!

<--PREVIOUS

Chapter 3: Premium Chemistry, Shaken not Stirred (POV- Roman)

It was a slow Tuesday night at the bar & grill, just a dozen of regulars either having dinner at the tables or drinks at the bar. The Sanders’ employees were by no means slacking on their jobs, yet there was an air of comfortable easement. Which suited Roman fine. He’d just come from another long rehearsal before his shift and frankly it had left him in no mood to be overly charming to any new faces tonight. Fortunately for him, Patton was patient enough to listen to him vent.

“…And THEN Fred—you know, our Angel? Ugh, I can’t believe I have to kiss him—anyways, he goes and tells everyone my idea but then just rephrases it differently and takes credit for it. If that wasn’t bad enough, they all go along with it and tell Fred what a great idea he had, especially our stage manager Kiersten, or should I say Kier-satan! Curse that little lesbian Lucifer—I swear those two divas are in cahoots—but it was MY idea in the FIRST place! UGH I can’t stand them! I may also be one of the hot popular leads in the cast, but at least I’M not a jerkity-jerk-two-faced-jerk…Gaghhh, I don’t even know what I’m saying anymore!”

“Roman, take it easy! I know you’re upset but you’re starting to spill,” said Patton.

Indeed he had overfilled one of the glasses and now there was a small puddle on the counter. Good thing it was just club soda from the nozzle and nothing expensive.

“Oh! I’m so sorry,” he said as he fixed the last drink. “Here’s your Old Fashioned, Sal. Just like you.”

“Thanks pal,” said the mustached contractor with a wink.

“And your third Shirley Temple, Imani. You might want to slow down there.”

“Very funny Roman,” said the hijabi. “Save the over dramatics for your rehearsals.”

“I am NOT being over dramatic…not this time anyway,” he pouted, wiping up the spill he’d made with a wet rag.

“Of course you’re not,” said Patton, patting his shoulder sweetly.

Very few things could take even an ounce of enjoyment out of theatrical experiences for Roman, but lying diva cast-mates was one of them. Sadly, he’d been cursed to work with two. In the last few weeks of rehearsals Roman had come to befriend most of the cast and production team. However Fred had proven himself to be an entitled actor that only gave the time of day to his own clique, and Kiersten was—for lack of a Patton approved word—a bitch who was fake nice to everyone only to subtly undermine everyone else’s opinions, even the director! Roman absolutely hated people like that!

“Hey Patton,” said Lizzie, another regular, from the other side of the bar. “Can I get a gin for me and a whiskey sour for my lady love here?”

For once Lizzie was in a black dress and not her usual EMT uniform. Beside her was a curly haired woman in a rose pink dress that complimented her olive skin-tone perfectly. Yas queen, Roman thought. At least someone around here was getting lucky in the love department.

“Coming right up Lizzie! Goodness, it is so nice to finally meet you Maya,” said Patton, ambling over to his customers.

“You know my name?” asked Maya looking pleasantly surprised.

“Oh of course! Lizzie talks about how wonderful you are all the time.” Then Patton gasped loudly. “Is that an engagement ring I spy? CONGRATULATIONS you two! Here, have a celebratory cookie. Aw heck, have two! You deserve it.”

“Thank you,” they said, smiling as Patton handed them each two mini chocolate chip cookies from his apron stash.

As Roman watched his co-worker he couldn’t help but silently gush. This was the thing he loved most about Patton- how sincerely kind he was. The bespectacled angel never put on airs or had ulterior agendas. There wasn’t a single catty bone in the cat lover’s huggable body (ironic given how allergic Patton was to cats). If he listened to or remembered a little detail about you, it was because he genuinely cared about you as a human being. And for Roman, who worked in the competitive and often shady world of theater, that was a rare and beautiful quality in a person.

Everything about Patton was beautiful.

“I think that spot there is clean enough lover boy,” said Sal, his mustache twitched in a smirk.

“Right. Thanks Sal—wait, what do you mean lover boy?” he asked.

“Listen, Ro,” Patton said coming back over. “I understand why you’re so upset and your feelings are completely valid. But you can’t let people like that get you down and ruin the whole experience for you. That’s how bullies like them win. You get along with the rest of the cast, right?”

“Yes, they’re fantastic,” he said. “Our Mimi and I have even become good friends.”

“Aaand your director is nice and fair, right?”

“Very. He’s downright brilliant.”

“And you’re having fun being part of this show, right?”

“Of course! RENT is an institution!”

“Then that’s all that should matter! Just do your best, ignore the rest, and remember to have fun with it!”

Roman chuckled at Patton’s dad-like gesture. So adorable.

“I suppose you’re right Patton. It’s just frustrating. I can’t stand deceitful people like that. They really get under my skin! ...Anyways, enough about my drama. How are you Patton? Anything new in your life?”

For some reason Patton seemed surprised by the question. It’s not as though Roman wasn’t interested in the other’s life. In fact, he was very interested in it. Wanted to be a part of it even…part of his world. Now is not the time for mental Disney references, Roman. Then Patton beamed. Dear lord, its like he was made of sunshine.

“I’m doing pretty great actually,” said Patton. “In fact, I’ve started volunteering at the local animal shelter on my days off. It’s not Veterinary school, but pretty close enough.And I still get to help cute little animals.”

Of course he would spend his rare free-time helping others. He truly was an angel sent from the heavens. ‘That’s wonderful Patton! I’m happy for you, truly.”

“Thanks Roman. That…means a lot to me.”

“And how’s it been with my temporary replacement?”

“Not bad. He gets along with the customers well enough, although he can’t hold a candle to you.”

“Well of course,” Roman waved his hand dramatically. “I’m basically Lumière.”

Patton giggled. “Actually, aside from looking alike, you wouldn’t think Remy and Logan were related. He’s a lot more laid back. Although he does have a habit of showing up late for work, and I think he might have a bit of a coffee addiction.”

“A bit?” Lizzie called from across the bar. “Please, that guy probably has more coffee in his veins than blood!”

Roman laughed. “Coffee can be pretty addicting. That’s why I switched to drinking chai lattes. They certainly taste a lot better too.”

“Huh. Interesting…”

For some reason Patton seemed to be staring at Roman’s mouth. Good lord, did he have something in his teeth? He turned his head away to slyly check. Phew! All good.

“Well at least one of us is getting along with our new co-workers. Unlike me,” he grumbled. Stupid Fred. Stupid Kiersten.

“Aw Roman, isn’t there something I can do to cheer you up?” asked Patton.

“I doubt it, but I appreciate the gesture Patton.”

Roman sighed, propped his elbow on the table and rested his cheek in hand. As much as he loved being in RENT rehearsals it was taking a chuck out of his treasured time with Patton. Now not only was he forced to deal with two diva bitches, but also someone else was having time with his Patton, probably falling for him just as much as Roman had and waiting to make a move. What if Remy charmed Patton enough that he’d actually break-up with Dio for the guy? What if he was more Patton’s type, more worthy of the sweet man’s love than him? What if his replacement was more handsome than he was!?

Wait what am I thinking? There’s no one more handsome than me. Still… Suddenly there was a staccato tapping on his shoulder. Roman turned from his musings to see Patton grinning at him. The man was practically vibrating with giddiness.

“Can I just, say something crazy?” he asked.

At this line Roman shot up like a meerkat. No. He’s not… Patton wiggled his eyebrows at him conspiratorially, biting his soft looking bottom lip in excitement. He is! Roman did a quick sweep of the bar & grill to make sure there was no sign of Logan. Lenient as their friend boss might be, he’d never let them get away with an impromptu Disney number while they were supposed to be working. Luckily Logan wasn’t around. Probably still in his office. Good.

Roman gave Patton his most dashing smile. “I love crazy!”

“All my life has been a series of doors in my face

and then suddenly I bump into you,” Patton sang.

Roman joined in on cue. “I was thinking the same thing! ‘Cause like,

I’ve been searching my whole life to find my own place.

And maybe it’s the party talking or the chocolate fondue.”

“But with you,” Patton did a slide to the right.

“But with you” Roman slid to the left. “I found my place.”

“I see your face.”

On ‘face’ Patton lightly booped his nose and then stepped out from the bar. Roman followed suit. They had more room to move with and around each other.

“And it’s nothing like I’ve ever known before!

Love is an open door!

Love is an open door!”

Roman knew that Patton could sing, having hummed Disney songs together before, but he’d never had the pleasure of hearing it in full. Patton’s lovely tenor voice blended perfectly with his own baritone vocals. They even nailed the harmonies!

“Love is an open door!”

“With you!” Patton pointed.

“With you!” Roman pointed back.

“With you!”

“Love is an open door.”

Roman couldn’t help laughing out loud. Patton’s joy and whimsy truly were infectious.

“I mean it’s crazy.”

“What?”

“We finish each other’s—

“Sandwiches!” Thomas shouted from over at the kitchen window, holding a plate of club sandwiches.

“That’s what I was going to say!” Roman called back indignantly.

Then he felt Patton pulling him by the hands to the center of the room as he skipped backwards. “I never met someone”

“Who thinks so much like me!”

“Jinx! Jinx again!” The two grinned as they nailed the pinky swears.

“Our mental synchronization

Can have but one explanation.”

“You”

“And I”

“Were”

“Just

Meant to be!”

Perhaps spurred on by the theatricality of the moment (definitely not his secret feelings), Roman dared to take Patton’s hand and wrap his arm around the other’s waist. Then he led Patton into a waltz. It was a bit sloppy but in a silly lighthearted way. He adored the flustered look on Patton’s face.

“Say goodbye”

“To the pain of the past.

We don’t have to feel it anymore!”

In the back of his mind Roman knew that they were drawing attention to themselves but he didn’t care. Only Patton was in his world in that moment, and thus his world was bright and joyful and perfect. Patton was perfect.

“Love is an open door!

Love is an open door!

Life can be so much more!”

“With you!”

“Love is an open doooor…” Patton finished the song with a giggle. God I love this man.

Suddenly the place was filled with applause. Roman swore he even heard someone whistle from the kitchen. It wasn’t very loud given that there weren’t many people at Sanders’ tonight, but the energy was certainly boisterous enough to match even a full house. For some reason, Talyn was handing money over to Joan. Even Virgil seemed to have appeared out of nowhere and was clapping as he leaned against the wall. Where did he come from? I swear that guy is like a shadow sometimes.

That’s when Roman realized he and Patton were still holding onto each other. They were face to flushed smiling face. So close he could see the pure honey color of Patton’s eyes. Roman could lean in, feel just how soft those sweet lips truly were if he wanted to, and dear lord did he want to. So far yet so…close…

STOP! STOP! HE’S TAKEN YOU IDIOT! The flaring red alarm in Roman’s brain brought him back to the reality of the situation. Roman stopped himself and settled for just smiling at Patton. Way too close Roman. You nearly ruined the best thing you have with the best person in your life. Dio doesn’t know how lucky he is.

“Just KISS already ya goofballs!” Dakota shouted from across the room.

Terrence shut him up by smacking him on the back of the head form the table opposite him, but it had already been said. It was out there now, spoken to the universe. Roman’s entire face was burning and his co-worker was just as red beneath those freckled cheeks he wanted to kiss so badly. Oh great! You’ve embarrassed him! He immediately let go of Patton’s hands, laughing it off awkwardly. He already missed the warmth of those soft gentle hands. If only his heart would stop fluttering.

“Ahem.” Oh no.

Roman slowly turned around to find Logan standing there. His arms were crossed, his face stone-like, and yet to Romans surprise he didn’t seem angry. In fact, he would swear there was an amused glint in his dark eyes.

“Well. That was quite the performance. Highly unprofessional in this setting,” he said, adjusting his glasses.

Patton stepped in front of Roman, arm held out protectively. “It was my fault Logan. I was the one that started singing. Roman had a really bad day and everyone was already taken care of. I just wanted to cheer him u—

Logan held up a hand, and Patton closed his mouth with a pop. “However…given that it is nearly empty in here, save for our regular customers and they all seemed to enjoy the show…I shall let it slide this one time.”

“Wow. Thank you Lo—“

“Just don’t make a habit of it, or else it’s dish duty for the both of you.”

Roman gulped, picturing all those burnt cheese encrusted pans. His nails would never survive. “Understood specs.”

“Excellent. Now, if you’ll excuse me, there is a shoebox full of bank statements in my office that need organizing.”

Logan walked away with an almost giddy smile. He really is a happy little nerd at heart. Roman shook his head fondly as he and Patton returned to the bar.

“Nice little show you put on,” said Virgil, suddenly standing at Roman’s end of the bar.

“Gah,” Roman jumped. “We really need to put a bell on you, shadowling.”

“Hi Virgil!”

“Sup bro?”

“Need me to place an order for you?”

“Nah don’t sweat it. I already asked Thomas while you guys were having your Disney mania moment. You two were getting pretty cozy at the end there.”

Roman’s ears felt hot again and he shot a panicked look at Patton. The fatherly figure either hadn’t heard that last part or was pretending otherwise. How DARE Virgil embarrass his own stepbrother like that! Wait, is he blushing too? Is that a good sign or a bad one? Okay, just play it cool Roman.

“Oh don’t be ridiculous, Cruella de Virgil. Patton was only trying to lift my spirits after an arduous rehearsal, which he did as always. Uh-I-I mean-like you always do with any of your friends! Nothing special or non-consensually romantic about it!”

Roman laughed weakly but thought he’d played it off well. Patton no longer looked embarrassed at least. Although…his smile seemed a bit off.

“Yep! Just helping out a…friend,” said Patton.

“I do feel better now. Truly,” said Roman. He covered Patton’s hand with his own and gave a reassuring squeeze, knowing how much the man loved physical affection. “Thank you for lifting my spirits Patton. It means a lot.”

“Anytime Roman,” said Patton.

“I hate to interrupt fellas,” said Sal, “But we’re out of beer nuts here. Mind getting some more?”

“Woops! Sorry ‘bout that kiddo,” he said to the older gentleman. “We should have another can of them in the supply room somewhere. Be right back.”

Roman watched the pseudo padre practically prance to the back storage, unable to ignore how good those khaki jeans looked on him from behind. He felt ashamed at his having the male gaze but DAMN IT ALL, how could a man be both sexy and cute at the same time? That’s not FAIR!

“Geez, you do have it bad, don’t you Princy?” said Virgil.

“Whaaaat? Pshh me? Have feelings for Patton? Knowing full well he’s my co-worker and already taken? You-you impude my honor! I-I do not secretly…love…Patton…”

“Falsehood,” said Logan passing by with a box in his hands.

This had Virgil and pretty much everyone else seated at the bar in a guffaw. He shot them all dagger eyes but even he knew this was a weak response. Heck, if the cyborg had picked up on the feelings he’d tried to hide then clearly he hadn’t done a very good job. His shoulders sagged in defeat.

“Is it really that obvious?” he asked.

“YES,” They all answered.

“Subtlety isn’t exactly your strong suit,” said Imani.

“That’s true,” he sighed. “Wait, you don’t think Patton—

“Don’t worry bud, he doesn’t know. I love my brother but he’s about as oblivious as you are dramatic.”

Roman gave a fake-offended gasp, but even he knew it was a gesture weakened by his relief. Thank goodness Patton was still preoccupied in storage. Come to think of it, he’s been going back there a lot lately…I hope he’s okay. Probably just sneaking off to text his boyfriend, the lucky bastard.

“Seriously though,” Virgil said, “you really should just kiss him already. Or at least tell him how you feel. You know, carpe diem and all that.”

“Virgil…I’d be lying if I said doing either of those things hasn’t occupied my every waking daydream since I met that beautiful man!” Roman sighed loudly, setting down the towel he’d thoroughly wrung out. “But I don’t dare to risk ruining our friendship if he doesn’t feel the same.”

“Some risks are worth taking. And that’s coming from the guy who won’t risk going outside if there’s even a slight chance of scattered thundershowers.”

“But…your tagger symbol is your initials inside of a storm cloud.”

“The irony doesn’t escape me.”

“Besides,” said Lizzie, “I don’t think it’d be too big a risk since Patton clearly feels the same about you.”

“Wait, wha-what?” A glimmer of hope rose up in Roman chest.

“Hey, what the heck Lizzie? I have a bet going on!” Imani shouted from the other end of the bar. Wait, what bet?

“So do I sister!” Lizzie playfully stuck her tongue out at the Muslim woman then kissed her fiancé.

“Wait, wait, back up! What the heckity-heck with five abs in one peck—

“That’s a visual,” said Virgil.

“—makes you think Patton could possibly have feelings for me? Are you certain? Did he say something to you?”

“Well no, not in words per se. But he sure does show it pretty darn clearly,” said Sal as he took a swig of his drink. Then he held it out, silently asking the bartender for another.

“How so?” Roman asked as he mixed another Old Fashioned.

“For one thing he gets real touchy feely with you. Always going in for hugs and squeezing your arm and the like.”

“Patton’s always like that. He’s a very affectionate man.” One of his most endearing traits, Roman thought.

“True, but with you he’s extra,” said Sal as he took his drink.

“Plus, whenever you show up for you shift, he gets super bubbly,” said Lizzie. “Even by Patton standards.

“Not to mention you two just fucking waltzed around the room together,” said Joan as they passed by with two orders of nachos.

“Aaand he sang a Disney song just to cheer you up,” said Talyn as they brought Terrence and Dakota their checks.

“And don’t forget I grew up with the guy,” said Virgil. “I recognize his puppy-love face and he definitely gets it around you.”

“But,” said Iman with a resigned huff. “You want to know the biggest tip off? You are the only person here who he never calls kiddo.”

Roman’s mouth was opened prepared to protest, but this last bit of evidence took the wind right out of his chimes. He couldn’t remember Patton ever referring to him by his favorite fatherly term of endearment. Did that truly mean he saw Roman as more than a friend? Could he really be lucky enough to have somehow earned the affection of someone as kind, beautiful and wonderful as Patton Cline? Could the light of his life truly see something in him worthy of loving? If that’s the case then maybe Roman did have a chance! Maybe they could be more than friends, maybe—

“I…I can’t.” Roman signed, shoulders slumping with lost hope. “You’re right, I should be honest with my feelings. And perhaps what you say about Patton may be true. But there’s one glaring obstacle you’re all forgetting about; he already has a boyfriend. An awful creepy one but nevertheless…he is taken. And as much as I hate my snake-faced rival, Dio is the one Patton has chosen to be with. Not me...which means that is what he wants most.”

Roman did his best to swallow back tears threatening to make a jailbreak from his eyes. “So long as that is the case, I will not disrespect Patton’s choice by coming between them. That would be dishonorable of me and unfair to Patton. And I love him too much to ever do anything that could possibly hurt him.”

He could practically feel all of their eyes on him, but none of them said anything. They merely turn back to their drinks or meals. Roman was glad of it. He didn’t think he could handle them trying to convince him otherwise. He was more than willing to suffer in silence if it means doing right by the man he loved.

When he looked up at Virgil though, his best friend, there was a look of understanding in the artist’s eyes behind his bangs. Perhaps even respect.

“Fair enough,” Virgil said.

“Order up Virgil,” said Thomas.

He held out the to-go bag, for once leaning outside of the kitchen doors instead of the windowsill. The cook was giving Roman a look of sympathy. Had he been eavesdropping between orders?

“Thanks Thomas,” said Virgil grabbing the bag. “I already had Logan ring up my bill when I came in, so I’m just gonna duck out.”

“Okay. See you next time then. And Roman…hang in there buddy.”

Then the young cook retreated back into the kitchen. Yep. He definitely eavesdropped. Surprise, surprise. Was everyone in Sanders’ privy to the Chilean soap opera that had suddenly become his love life? Or lack thereof.

“For what it’s worth Roman…I’d be cool with it.” Virgil scratched the back of his neck beneath his hood. “I think you’d be really good for my brother.”

“Wow...Thanks Virge,” said Roman, humbled by the anxious man. “That really means a lot.”

“Whatever,” Virgil scoffed. “Just know that if you do ever break his heart, I’m gonna kick your ass.”

Roman chuckled. “Believe me Dark Knight, I’d kick my own ass first before I let that happen.”

“Good.” Virgil put on his large headphones and two-finger saluted him. “Later.”

Roman watched his friend leave Sanders’ and looked through the glass window as Virgil parkoured away, his black clad figure merging into the dark of the night. It was nice to know that Roman had his approval, though it hardly mattered. Not while Patton wanted to be with someone else.

“I’m back!” said Patton.

“Gah!” Roman jumped a little at Patton suddenly appearing behind him. Seems both brothers have a talent for appearing out of nowhere.

“And I brought beer nuts.” He poured them from the large metal cylinder into the small table bowls at the bar. “Here you go kiddos. What’d I miss?”

“Nothing! Nothing of interesting. Certainly no missed confessions or anything…Uh you sure were back there a long time. Did you get lost or something?”

Patton smiled back at him, but it wasn’t his usual ear-to-ear smile. If Roman didn’t know any better he’d say his eyes looked a bit red behind those glasses.

“Nah, I had to make a quick phone call to…anywho, it doesn’t matter. So didja miss me Roman?”

Roman. Not kiddo. ”Always Patton.”

His partner in bartending crime and unknowing thief of his heart chuckled in that childlike manner he had. Then he turned back to work, cleaning glasses and humming the song they’d sung together only moments ago. Even as he did such a simple task Roman couldn’t help admiring him. Those fairy dust freckles, kind eyes, soft looking waves of hair, and warm smile…he truly was the sun in his sky; So close and beautiful, yet so very far away.

Roman sighed and said softly under his breath, “More than you’ll ever know.”

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bastardnev · 7 years

Text

Do You Want Me To Leave?

Under any other circumstances, Wade would be preparing to hit Neville with some choice comments of his own, usually about his ears. This time, however, was different. For the first time ever, he was hoping that he could actually help him.

based off of the first prompt from this list + takes place the night after payback 2015

i have no idea where the sudden urge to post this came from but!! oh well!! here it is!!

Wade had heard about what happened from Zack.

Originally, he had only caught the tail end of the incident, a clearly upset Neville storming past him in the hall away from the locker room. A red-faced Dolph was heading in the opposite direction, slamming into a door and marching out into the parking lot. A fight had very obviously happened between the two ‘lovebirds’, although for the life of him Wade couldn’t figure out what it was over. They seemingly had a perfect relationship, so what could have gone wrong?

Wade learned the details later on in the night before Raw started. Zack was loitering in catering--a typical Monday night for him--and appeared distracted, like his mind was elsewhere. It didn’t take much probing from Wade to get him to speak.

As it turns out, Dolph and Neville had made plans to hang out the night before following Payback. Dolph insisted on going out and celebrating Neville’s (countout) win. Neville was supposed to wait for him down in the lobby of the hotel that they were staying at. No matter how long he waited, however, Dolph never showed up, nor did he respond to any texts that he was sent. Neville was beginning to worry, wondering if maybe they’d missed each other or--even worse--something bad had happened to Dolph.

Then he checked Instagram.

The very first thing that popped up on his newsfeed was a photo of Dolph out partying with other people. As he continued to scroll, more and more pictures from the night began to pop up, Dolph looking progressively drunker in each one. All that Neville could do in that moment was turn off his phone and head up to his room, vowing to confront him about his nonsense in person the next night.

Clearly, that didn’t go very well. Neville had approached Dolph while he was in the locker room, asking why he felt the need to go out without even sending him so much as a text to let him know that their plans were off. Dolph responded in a way that only he could--aloof and inattentive. He clearly didn’t see this as being that big of a deal, much to the annoyance of Neville. When he pointed this out, Dolph lashed out at him, wondering why he was making such a big fuss out of nothing.

He didn’t stop there, though. Harsh word after harsh word came out of Dolph’s mouth, leaving Neville in shock. He couldn’t even find the words to defend himself as Dolph called him ‘clingy’ and said that he need to ‘just get over it’ and let him ‘have fun for once.’ All that Neville could do was dash out of the room, trying to ignore the gazes of his co-workers who had just witnessed the whole humiliating scene.

This brought Wade to where he was now, rushing through the hallway and trying to find where Neville went. Under any other circumstances, Wade would be preparing to hit Neville with some choice comments of his own, usually about his ears. This time, however, was different. For the first time ever, he was hoping that he could actually help him.

Wade rounded a corner, eyes darting around and landing on some equipment crates shoved in the very back of the hall. There was some space behind them, just enough room for someone to hide. He approached them, listening carefully for any signs that Neville was back there. The closer that he got, the louder the sound of labored breathing grew, as if whoever was back there had been crying.

“Neville?” Wade called out. He moved closer and peered around the side of the crates. Sure enough, Neville was sitting behind them, his face resting in his knees. “Hey, kid, you alright?”

Neville responded by lifting his head up and looking at Wade, wiping at his tear stained cheeks. He stared back down at his lap before saying, “What do you want?”

“I, um… heard about what happened. Y’know, with you and Dolph.” Wade sat down on the floor next to him.

“Who hasn’t?” Neville replied feebly, fresh tears beginning to form in his eyes. “The whole damn company knows about it at this point. I can’t wait until those damn pigs on the dirtsheets catch wind of this. This’ll be their top story for the next three years…”

Wade reached into his back pocket, pulling out the mini pack of tissues that he carried with him and handing it over. “Here, take some of these.”

Neville looked down at it a bit warily. He appeared almost surprised by Wade’s behavior, like he didn’t expect to be comforted by someone who he normally considered an enemy. His damp eyes looked from the pack up to Wade before he slowly took it from him. “Thanks…”

Neither of them spoke for a minute, Neville’s sniffles being the only sounds before Wade finally said, “I’m… really sorry about what happened. You didn’t deserve that. No one does.”

No response. Then again, Wade can’t say he expected any different. The two of them weren’t even friends--it made sense that Neville wouldn’t want to talk to him about something this personal. “Do you want me to leave?” Wade asked. “You probably want to be alone. I’ll leave you be, okay? You can come out when you’re ready.” He made to stand up.

“...Wait.” Neville suddenly grabbed on to Wade’s wrist, causing him to pause. “Stay with me. Please. Don’t leave me.”

“Are you sure?” Wade waited for Neville to nod before he sat back down, leaning back against the wall. He understood that Neville probably needed someone to vent to about what happened, even if that person is Wade. “Tell me what’s on your mind, kiddo.”

Neville took a deep breath, licking his lips before saying, “It just… sucks how this all went down, y’know? If that was gonna happen, I would’ve preferred that it be in private. Everyone saw…”

“It’s horrible. I understand how you feel.” Wade knew that breakups were never fun, but to have a relationship end so poorly in front of your co-workers must be humiliating.

“I don’t get why he had to yell at me like that. Did I do something wrong? Did I say something offensive?”

“No,” Wade said immediately. “You didn’t do anything that warranted that kind of childish reaction. Dolph has always been an asshole with a short fuse. He knows he’s the one in the wrong and doesn’t want to admit it, so he throws a tantrum.”

“He really has always been this way, huh…” Neville sighed. “I was so blinded by his good looks that I barely paid any attention to his little ‘antics’. It’s my own fault that this happened.”

“Now, what did I just say? I told you that you weren’t to blame here. This is entirely Dolph’s fault. He’s a douche.”

“I should’ve seen this coming, though!” Neville gripped the tissues tightly in his hands, the plastic wrapper crinkling. “Looking back at it, everyone around me was basically telling me that he was no good, and I ignored them. I had so much faith him and that he was a good person, and now that’s come to bite me in the ass.”

“So you had faith in your romantic partner, big whoop. That’s a normal thing that people in relationships do. You’re not bad for that, Nev.”

“But it’s so embarrassing… I’m almost afraid to go back to the locker room because I know someone’s gonna make a comment about what happened. I’m not in the mood to listen to any ‘I told you so’s.”

“If anyone says that to you, then I’ll kick their ass.” Wade shrugged. “Simple.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously! You’re clearly upset, and anyone who feels the need to joke about it deserves a swift kick in the ass. I’ll do the honors. Although, I personally don’t think anyone’s gonna say anything.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because no one thinks poorly of you at all. Nev, listen to me.” Wade threw an arm around Neville’s shoulders, scooching closer to him. “I know for a fact that everyone is on your side.”

“...Really?”

“Yes, really. I overheard some people talking about it before. They’re all defending you. Zack’s on your side, Paige’s on your side, Eva’s on your side, I’m on your side…”

“You? You really mean that?” Neville’s eyes widened.

“Nev, I see you as a rival, but… I also don’t wanna see you upset,” Wade admitted. “I don’t want to see you sad, especially over some stupid boy. There’s only one stupid boy around here who’s supposed to bug you this much, and that’s me. I’ll be damned if I let fucking Ziggler of all people take my place. I’ll kick his ass too along with everyone else’s.”

“Heh, I guess you’re right…” Neville sniffled, a small grin working it’s way onto his face.

“Hey, is that a smile I see?” Wade teased, poking Neville’s cheek.

“Stop that.” Neville swatted away his hand, his grin wider this time. “Um… Thanks for listening to me.”

“Of course. I’ve got your back, kiddo.” Wade gave him a pat on the shoulder.

They both jumped at the sound of pyro going off, signalling the start of the show. “Jesus Christ, that’s really loud,” Wade commented. “We should probably be going.” He stood up, offering Neville his hand to help him up. “We have a match to get ready for.”

“Oh, right, we’re facing each other later.” Neville frowned. “Shit, I look like hell. I don’t want the fans to see me like this.”

“Here, come with me to the men’s room. Eva told me about this trick she learned to make it seem like you weren’t just crying. It worked for her, so it’ll probably work for you too.”

“You’re seriously taking beauty tips from Eva Marie? You really do like her, don’t you?”

“Eh, I’d rather not talk about it. It’s complicated. Come on, we don’t have time to waste.” Wade began to walk away from the crates.

“Lead the way,” Neville replied, unable to hide the smile on his face from the fact that--even though there was no reason for them to--they were still holding hands.

Neville knew that this camaraderie between them probably wouldn’t last past tonight, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy it for what it was.

#neville #adrian neville #wade barrett #barrett x neville #wwe fanfiction #au where nev uses instagram lmao #also wade's friend group consists of zack eva and paige because i said so #wade claims that he doesn't like eva but he's a Liar #anyways hop on the wade/nev hype train #jess.txt

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nyam · 7 years

Text

Caped Demon’s Disciple

Words: 3310

Rating: T for Teen and Up Audiences

Day 6: Reverse!AU

Summary: Genos is the strongest man in the world, living the most dull and loneliest of lives - that is, until a banged up cyborg comes waltzing into it.

Caped Demon’s Disciple

Being the strongest man in the world was a reward in itself: as long as he can serve the public for when it needed him, every anti-climactic fight, every boring monster, every monotonous day with no new information on the mad cyborg and mean comments spewed against him was all worth it.

At least that’s what Genos told himself as he stood in the checking counter, attempting to kindly explain to the customer that no, those bananas weren’t included in the sale and no, policies were policies and he couldn’t deduct the price and no, it wasn’t fair and so on.

The man was about to come in for another outburst when a faint explosion occurred in the distance, followed by the dull sound of the evacuation raids.

“This is a warning,” the voice sounded, immediately filling fear into the customers and sending the store into a frenzy. “Please evacuate. A demon level threat is headed for city Z. Please evacuate-”

When Genos turned back, the store was empty and everyone had fled; the blonde only grinned. Good. He was about to crack the cash register at any second now with that man hollering over his shoulder… sneaking a look left and right, Genos reached for the duffel bag under his seat, sighing.

It seems I will have to leave work early…

Genos sped across the empty city, his flowing white cape flapping behind him from the rush of wind, his bright blonde hair swooping back with a charming air blown style - oh how the public would love him, mock him just at this moment.

It was no lie that there were mixed feelings towards the so-called powerful hero Caped Demon: since the moment he delivered a single blow on a demon level that and someone had posted the fight online, the video went viral - from theories to debunking to hailing and praising, everyone had come to wonder who the handsome hero really was. A liar? A god? It brought him admirers and critics alike, all attempting to pry into his life for all the wrong reasons.

Genos sighed, swore, cringed and raged; but at the end of the day he’d brush all the fake words off with the mail and continue on with his life, push on in his search for the creature that had devastated his town and left his family for dead.

The hatred he felt that day… Genos knew since then he had to be stronger, he had to train until nothing, no monster could ever get the best of him - no more families would be torn apart like his, no child would be left behind in defeat. After three years of grueling training, Genos finally got his wish and became strong enough to send monsters flying with only a single blow - a power untapped by no man before or since - but…

He sighed, rounding another corner and dashing towards the dark swirl in the distance.

It was nice and all, really. The power was all he ever wanted, and now he had it… but he was nowhere closer to his goal than the beginning. He was alone, worked part time as a cashier and C-class hero to sustain himself, went out for drinks with his coworkers on the weekends (always unwillingly), did his laundry and cooked his own meals just like anybody else. Despite being alone most of the time and never speaking to anyone, the blonde never fancied himself as wanting people in his life - after all, he knew too well how easily one could be ripped from his grasp.

No, instead he just felt something was missing. Maybe a sign, a clue that there was something to chase after, something to follow-

“Ah!” He stopped in his tracks, shock and confusion simultaneously racking through his body as he watched what appeared to be a machine jumping up into the swarm.

Who is that idiot? Did they really send just one fool from the Heroes’ Association to deal with a demon level threat?

He shook his head, clicking his tongue in annoyance when he heard a terrible laughter shriek inside the twister; Genos darted forward with a gasp as the shape swirled and expanded, revealing a mosquito-esque woman laughing in utter malicious delight, slashing back and forth in the blink of an eye across the machine-like being, sending body parts flying and a single torso falling, a strange light emerging from the center when-

BAM!!! Genos leaped forward and blasted the woman off into the skies, landing square onto the road with a deadly, elegant glow.

He glanced to the side when the disembodied body fell to the ground in a heap.

Genos carefully stood up and made his way towards it, brows furrowing almost in pity. Those fools, he thought, a life could have been saved had they not had sent a single hero alone.

But then the body moved; the heap of scrap metal shifted, duck-taped parts falling away and random bolts popping out, but slowly, Genos watched in bewilderment as a shocked face struggled to look up at him.

The human froze. A...a cyborg?!

“You…” the thing struggled, and the hero wondered if it was about to utter its final words when the cyborg’s serious face dropped into a single simple smile. “Hey, that was pretty cool, man.” Genos’ jaw dropped. He did a finger gun at him. “Thanks.”

“I - “ he stumbled. “Are you all right?!”

“I’ve had worse, yeah. But what you did back there was awesome, kid, how’d you do it?”

“Um. Please seek help.”

“What’s your name?” the cyborg deflected. “I’m Saitama.”

“...” Unbelievable. “It’s...it’s Genos.”

No wait-! He would’ve slapped his own forehead had his hand not have been covered in blood. Why hadn’t I said Caped Demon?! Damn! I’ve given away my true identity!

This could mean…

“Cool name. I’m going to pass out now though, so see you around.”

Before he could say another word, the cyborg dropped his head to the floor and promptly shut down.

Much to Genos’ confusion, that Saitama...proved to be persistent. He wasn’t even trying to hide it - Genos could look right over his shoulder and he’d be there, giving him a small bored wave from the distance. He was also loud too, his barely-kept together body falling apart, dropping a plate of metal, a leg clomping off at a turn, a bolt bouncing off the sidewalk or vent popping with fumes. Hell, Genos nearly tripped over himself when he found him casually digging through his trash cans - and let’s not forget the night where he was sitting alone at home when a bored voice groaned in the distance, “For heaven’s sake, kid, don’t just sit there! Do something cool!”

At this rate, Genos was getting ready to either pop a dent into his chest or change his address. He sighed, placing his empty glass on the counter. His coworkers were laughing and fooling around from behind him, but Genos paid them no mind: instead, he only wondered about that strange cyborg following him around? What did he want? What did he find so interesting about him?

These thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a glass slamming down next to him, someone moving to sit into the booth on his left. Genos spared a mild glance before doing a double take and gaping: the said cyborg on the other hand ever so casually turned and looked at him, bored eyes now looking serious.

“Okay, look,” he started, “I’ve been kind of uh, ‘following you’ for a while. You might have noticed.”

Is he joking?

“But - “ he took in a breath, then opened his eyes - one glitching - and stared straight into his: a.k.a, he was not. “I’ve been thinking it over, and as much as I really don’t want to, I was wondering if you uh, mind showing me how you do it.”

“Do what?” Genos incredulously asked, eyes wide and disbelieving.

“Wha - the thing! Where you just - punch stuff and it’s dead!”

Oh. Of course. Genos narrowed his eyes and promptly turned back to his glass, facing away from him. Figures, he thought. Just what was he expecting? This weird little tinbot being was just like everyone else, here to either praise or denounce him.

Great. Just great. Just what he needed after a week of utter garbage.

“Oi - Mister uh - what’shisface - Genos!”

“Hmph. I do not need to talk to you nor answer your question. All I ask is that you keep my real name quiet - the last thing I need is the public to know who Caped Demon really is.” Oh hell. His eyes widened. Did he just… give him blackmail material?!

“A-Anyways,” he fumbled, “I shall get going. Good night.”

“Ah - woah, wait!”

Without hearing whatever he had to say next, Genos quickly left a twenty dollar bill for his tab and took off, hurrying down the sidewalk, away from the voice calling out his name when he heard the sound of an engine giving out a final plume and going quiet, the voice stopping immediately. Genos stopped, hesitating, before turning around to find Saitama face-down on the ground, completely powered down.

He had no choice.

Bam! A glass of tea was slammed onto the table. Bam! Then a plate of freshly scrambled eggs, a perfect toast and crisp cooked bacon strips.

Saitama stared down at the food presented to him in bewilderment.

“Please drink your tea, finish your breakfast, then leave.”

“You really don’t beat around the bush, huh…” Saitama leaned back in thought. “Okay, I’m a cyborg and I fight monsters for fun.”

Genos stared at him.

Saitama deadpanned. “That’s it.”

“Huh? You’re kidding.”

Saitama’s left eye fell off with a clank. “Nope.”

“That’s… that’s foolish. What kind of goal is that?”

“‘Ts not a goal, it’s just what I do.”

“And what exactly prompted you to become a cyborg?”

Saitama only gave him a long stare, his one single eye quietly baring into Genos’ before he promptly lifted his tea and downed the whole cup in one go.

“So how’d you get so strong?” he started.

Genos narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “Why do you want to know?”

“Seems convenient, and kind of cool.”

“...Is that it?”

“Yup.”

Now it was Genos’ turn to stare at him, watching with a thoughtful look as the bald cyborg cursed under his breath, reattaching his eye back into place; he was falling apart at the seams obviously, held together by makeshift gears and tape, body parts made of the common everyday metals and bits that could have been found in flea markets. The only thing that didn’t look straight out of the garbage can was his face - smooth, simple, with only one human-looking eye and one completely black save for an LED golden iris.

It was jarring, but oddly balanced all the same.

When his shoulder gave out another loud poof of smoke, Genos frowned.

“What?”

“You’re obviously incapable of performing hero work - not in that condition, at least. If anything, it is nothing short of a miracle that you’re alive today. Please seek out a specialist.”

The bald man’s brow twitched. “Hey, I’ll have you know I’ve been taking good care of myself as of late. See this?” He showed him his fist, banged up and dented. “I took on three monsters and I can still move it.”

The hand promptly snapped off.

“Oh.”

In his defense, it was all by accident; it was by mere chance that the moment Saitama was about to leave that some goons from a secret organization came to attack. With no choice but to bring Saitama along, Genos and the bald cyborg took on and down the Evolution Building.

That should’ve been the end of it, but no - Saitama started dropping in randomly, sometimes literally, when Genos kept finding his body lying around in the aftermath of monster attacks. He kept insisting Saitama to go see a specialist, but the more he started to find out about him, the more he began to realize that the bald cyborg had been a lone one: Saitama had, for so many years, took the world on as his own. He never said much about his family or past, but considering Genos hadn’t either he never pressed.

He started cooking for him; “A brain needs nutrients,” he’d say to himself as he bought extra food and glanced out the windows wondering if Saitama might come by.

Some cold nights he made for a warm heater too, peacefully drooling over the floor while letting out a long series of weak vhrrrrrrrrrrr’s...

He was also interesting; sometimes he’d tell the human stories about his past misadventures on the road, or show him the weird gadgets he’d tried to install into his body - the most notable being the potato peeler in his knuckles.

And soon enough, the apathetic cyborg had found a place in Genos’ life.

Genos stopped avoiding him - hell, he even sometimes looked for him after certain brutal battles, a dull fear that the walking tinbot might have finally collapsed for good. He started smiling when he saw him, started pressed him to join the HA, started inviting him over and cooking dinners for two, humming, glancing at the wall clock several times wondering what time he would come.

Partners, he sometimes wondered, washing the dishes as he fancied the thought of the two of them, fighting together to take down whatever came across their way. Saitama was certainly a formidable foe - the dead monsters were enough proof of that - but even then all it would take would be just one lucky hit…

No. He shook his head.

“You should join the HA,” Genos said one night as they cleaned up after dinner, “you will be paid the more ranks you rise.”

“I’ll pass. Too much work.”

“You’ll make plenty of connections.”

“Nah.”

“The Heroes Association also has amazing medical experts.” Not that he himself had been studying endless nights on cybernetics or anything… “And if you stay long enough, you may rise to S-class and find an apartment within the headquarters. You wouldn’t have to travel anymore.”

“No thanks, kid. Really.”

Genos hesitated. He stared down at his hands, powerful enough to destroy entire cities, and quietly handed the dishes to Saitama to dry.

“For me.” He turned towards him. “Join for me. I’ll go with you, Saitama, but please consider it.”

At that, the cyborg had no choice. “Fine.” He sighed, lashes lowering. “I’ll stay for a bit, I guess.”

On a man with too many emotions, relief was a pleasant change. “Thank you.”

Saitama had barely passed through the skin off his teeth; with a heavily low C, he made it into the association and started his new career.

Genos took them out for dinner, praising him in delight and watching with a growing smile as more and more smoke popped out of his vents and shoulderblades.

“Hey - ah, I hope you don’t mind,” he said on the way home, “But I kind of signed up as your disciple.”

Genos stopped. “My what?”

“Um. I could change it, if you’d-”

“No! No,” he quickly said, feeling lighter and heavier at once, “I’m glad you’ve decided to become my disciple.” Genos glanced down at his boots. “...You wanted to be stronger, didn’t you. Yes, that was why you looked for me from the start.”

“Well yeah,”

His heart sank.

“But it’s not really the reason why I stayed.”

- And soared right up his throat and into the air. “Saitama!”

“Wha- kid, don’t yell like that!”

“I’m very happy - ah-! - you should come live with me!”

“Huh?” Smoke crackled out his shoulders, popping a metal plate off his back. “That’s - wow. That’s really nice of you, Genos, but I wouldn’t go that far...”

“I insist. There is enough room, and I will make accommodations for you and your things.”

Saitama looked away, and had he been human Genos would’ve sworn he’d be blushing.

His worst fears had come true.

Genos had ran, faster than he ever had before, past the sun and beyond the night - swearing to himself, he’d find him before the stars do, he’ll beat the night and find him before it gets too dark and cold to have dinner anymore -

Golden eyes widened in shock. “SAITAMA!!”

He jumped over the rubble of his body and landed a brutal blow into the stomach of the Sea King, panting, before whirling around and dropping to his knees beside him. “Saitama!” His voice cracked. “Oh no - no no no no no.” Genos whispered under his breath, cradling the back of his head and gently patting his cheek, overflowing gold staring into both dead black and empty white. He felt people surround them, heard the faraway sirens coming for the fallen heroes, “Saitama,” he breathed, voice low and barely above a hushed whisper. “Saitama, Saitama, please - “

A hand made of scraps weakly poked his cheek. “O-o-o-o-o-i,” he grimaced, then tried to speak again only to choke out glitched vowels and what sounded like a ‘I’m fine.’

Genos gasped, lips trembling, before letting out a sound and lowering his head, gently pressing his forehead against the others’. Something roared in his chest, so tight and hot that the tears that slid down his cheeks almost burned.

“Saitama,” he murmured, over and over again like a mantra.

He wasn’t very good as a teacher.

Genos had never seen himself as someone who’d need another, but now more than ever was he grateful for integrating himself into the hero society, for having options and a place to sit while they operated on Saitama in the robotics department. It was several hours into the night when an old doctor with a mushroom haircut came out with a very human looking young man - still bald, just the way he liked it - one eye black with golden and one white with brown - dressed in khakis and a simple red and white hoodie.

“Genos,” Saitama grinned, waving his new, high-tech hand with ease. “Look - “ he did a short spin, revealing the full black and silver metal of his legs and neck. “This doc here got me fixed up!”

“How you managed to live for so long will baffle me for years to come,” the old doc good-naturedly joked, shaking his head. “But in any case please don’t forget to check up on yourself, Mr…”

“Wait! Don't say my hero name - just say Saitama!”

“What’s his hero name?” Now come to think of it, he never did tell Genos…

“Bald Cyborg,” a passing technician grinned, earning a glare from the angry disciple.

“Shut up!”

“All right, so how’s it looking?”

“Dragon-level threat. Not too bad, but I highly recommend you to withhold your incinerators until you’re properly trained with them.”

“What? But I only blasted you like, one time - by accident,” he added.

“That is true and I’ve deducted some points off your training chart for that-” Genos smiled when Saitama let out a small “whoop!” in the background- “But according to said program, I’m giving you two months to fully work out the kinks of your mechanics until you can use them in the field.”

“So I just hang back here for this one?”

“It’s not so bad. You can go look for survivors.”

“...”

“...And maybe fight the minions.”

“I like the sound of that maybe.” Saitama raised a brow. “What’s the occasion?”

“Nothing. You’ve been doing well, is all.” Genos eyed him, gaze lingering on the tubes of his neck, sliding down into his chest and hidden by his shirt.

When Saitama turned up to look, he turned away, cheeks red.

“On another note, I was thinking we could make cutlet chicken for dinner. Hopefully we will finish on time.”

The cyborg only gave him a lop-sided smile, once dull eyes now shining. “Whatever you say, Sensei.”

“Saitama!”

#saigenosweek #a day late but eyy #genos has powers #saitama does not #nyamtalks #sai is totally based off this thing we were talking about in discord #all ragged up #lol

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leatherwhiskeycoffeeplaid · 7 years

Text

That’s Not Fine

Pairing: Dean x Reader; Charlie Bradbury, and ofc Seraphina

Word Count: 3228

Warnings: Symptoms of Bipolar 2 disorder, depression, hypomania, suicidal thoughts, suicidal ideation, negative self image and thoughts. If any of this is triggering or possibly triggering Please Do Not Read!!!!

Author’s Note: Written for the Mental Health Awareness Challenge hosted by @letsgetoutalive. This is an AU where Dean is not a hunter but he is the reader’s husband. The reader has Bipolar 2 disorder and she is me. This story is based on true events that happened over the summer between myself and several others. They know who they are and I hope this gives them a little peak at what was going on in my head at the time. I can never apologize enough and to some I can’t apologize at all for the things I did while having an episode, and its completely inexcusable. Things are different now and if you feel like things are getting out of control or those around you keep saying, get help, please seek treatment. No one deserves to deal with a disorder like this without help. It’s awful for everyone involved. My birthday gift to myself today is truth, to lay myself out for you all to see. My name is Sundae, I’m bipolar, and this is my story. Italics are inner thoughts, Bold italics are IM messages.

There it was again, that thought, the nagging, constient voice whispering in your ear. ‘They hate you. You pissed them off. They just put up with you and your crap because they feel bad for you. You have to make it up to them, fix it. Fix it. Fix it!’ That little voice was back and it was getting louder and louder everyday.

“Hey babe, you okay?” you husband Dean sat down next to you on the bed, wonder in his beautiful green eyes.

You looked up from your laptop screen, putting a fake half smile on your face as you nodded. “Yep, all good. Was just messaging Charlie back.”

“Oh, tell her I said hi and I’m gonna get dinner going. Thought I’d let you know since I know you are trying to write in here.”

“Yeah, not much writing going on today but alright. Let me know when it’s ready. Love you.”

Dean leaned closer, “Love you too.” his pink plush lips brush over yours before he jumps up and walks out of the room.

Your eyes went back to your screen, the message to Charlie still sitting unsent in the IM window. ‘It’s just I feel like I’m bothering you all the time and I don’t want to do that. I never want to do that to you because I love you. You are one of my best friends and if I’m too much to handle you are welcome to drop me out of your life.’ You reread that message three times before letting your fingers fly over the keys again. ‘I completely understand and I encourage you to distance yourself from me. It would be a lot better if you did.’ Sent.

There it was finally, in black and white, and you hoped when Charlie read the message she would see it was for the best for her to walk away from her friendship with you. You’d always told her that you were trouble. That being friends meant that she would be dealing with a crazy person and she had laughed it off thinking it was just a joke. It wasn’t and now you waited for when she’d read the message and get back to you.

Clicking over into another tab sat the unfinished story you had been working on. A challenge a friend had given you that when you said you’d do it had inspired so many things. A rockstar falling in love and getting addicted to heroin, using with her bass player/boyfriend, the highs and lows of stardom making them chase that high higher and higher until they couldn’t chase it anymore. You’d planned it out, knew what was going to happen, but here you sat staring at just the first few paragraphs, all energy to write it gone.

“Come on Y/N, you can write this.” you whispered to yourself. You’d been writing for years, the last year of which had been your most productive, writing and releasing stories onto your blog multiple times a week. Most of your nights spent wide awake, fingers flying over the keys to bring to life new pieces of storytelling and filth for the masses to read along with you. You knew you could do this, you’d finished every single challenge you’d been given so far, and you were not about to let this one be a failure.

Rereading what you’d written though sparked no inspiration and when you clicked back into the tab for Tumblr you saw a message from Charlie.

‘I’m not going to do that and you aren’t bothering me. I don’t understand why you feel like that but we’ve been over this again and again. Please, Y/N, let this go and move on.’

She was mad at you. Clearly she was mad and you felt tears starting to burn behind your eyes. You’d done it again, made a friend mad when you were just trying to fix it. ‘I’m sorry. It’s just how I was feeling is all.’

‘You have no reason to feel that way.’

Charlie’s response didn’t make sense to you and you reread it half a dozen times before replying again. You did have reason to feel that way because she’d been distant and you knew you’d been bothering her because she’d told you earlier in the week she’d been busy with work. You needed to make her see that you were no good for her and you were a cancer in her life that needed to be eliminated.

‘But I do and I’m just sorry.’

There was no reply after that and you knew your friendship was over. Fat, hot tears ran down your cheeks as you sat in bed waiting for a reply that never came. Dean hollered from the kitchen that dinner was ready and you wiped at your face till you were sure he couldn’t tell you’d been crying.

The smell of steak filling your senses as you wandered slowly into the kitchen. “Smells great babe.”

Dean turned around, a smile gracing his gorgeous face. “Thanks, did you need more time to write after dinner?” He asked as he started to portion out the plates.

“No, wasn’t getting much done anyway.” You were a failure and all you could do was stuff your face and hope Dean didn’t decide this was when he wanted to walk away from a fat ass like you.

Together you ate while he talked about different parts of his day at the shop he co-owned with his dad and you tried to pay attention as you kept rerunning the chat you’d had with Charlie. There had to be a way to fix it, you’d messed it up so badly.

Dean continued to talk until you had finished dinner, not once did he ask how your day had been, and as you walked to the bedroom together to watch tv your heart sank. ‘He doesn’t even care how your day was. He knows it was boring. He probably hates you like Charlie does and like Ellen does, and Jo.’ You knew everyone hated you and you deserved for them to hate you.

The next couple hours were spent watching a movie on Netflix and when Dean fell asleep without kissing you goodnight you’d turned off the tv as well as your bedside lamp, and turned away from him. You reached for your phone, the Tumblr app opening, and showing a new message from someone and you were filled with dread at who it might be.

‘Please, Y/N, let it go. I can’t keep telling you that everything is fine between us. You are my friend and I love you but you need help. Something is wrong and I can’t help you.’

Charlie’s words cut like a knife through your heart and you let silent sobs wrack your body. Something was wrong, very wrong, and every time you saw a doctor they always told you the same thing. It’s just a little depression and a few months with medication should make you feel better. And the doctor was right, it did, for awhile.

That’s when you would feel normal, you’d finally sleep and eat like everyone else, you’d spend time with Dean doing things you loved and your brain didn’t feel like it was running a marathon. The meds worked, they did but then everything would start to slip. You’d take your meds but then you’d start feeling that urge to stay awake. To write one more story, ideas flying out of your head so fast you could hardly keep up. The phrases, “did you sleep? When did you come to bed? Have you eaten today?” all became regular parts of your husband’s vocabulary.

You’d shrug him off, you were fine, and super productive. You had stories ready for when you had writers block and your follower count was up since you’d been posting so much new content. Things were fine, he just couldn’t see it. You didn’t need to sleep to be amazing or put out amazing content, this was how you were and you loved it.

But you knew, every single time, and you dreaded what you knew was coming. What you were going through right now, this low, the darkness slowly closing in around you. Every thought in your head telling you that you were a bad person and deserved to be told so by everyone. You didn’t deserve to be happy, you deserved to feel this way, and to watch your friends walk away from a crazy person like you.

You clicked over to your dash, scrolling through posts and finding nothing to occupy your mind. All that kept going around and around in your head was Charlie’s words, your brain highlighting certain parts and leaving others behind. ‘Y/N, let it go. I can’t keep telling you that everything is fine. You need help and I can’t help you.’ Over and over again your brain kept repeating it until finally you couldn’t hold it in anymore.

Instead of bothering anyone you opened a text post, sticking a little asterisk in where you’d put your usual text and start venting in the tags.

Writing all that out did nothing to make you feel better and you continued to cry until you fell asleep. When you awoke the next morning, Dean was already gone, and you grabbed your phone to check for notifications and messages. A text from Dean told you he loved you and he’d be late getting home. Paperwork for the expansion was finally in and he’d need to work on it with his dad after hours.

Next was Tumblr and as usual you didn’t have any messages. The notifications were from people reblogging mostly your reblogs and a few likes on an old story back when you were actually able to write. With nothing worth looking at there any longer, you opened your dash and started scrolling. Just a few posts down was one by Charlie and she was obviously not happy.

Charlie’s post ate at you, reading it and the tags over and over again. You knew it had been wrong to put her in the tags, knew that online etiquette says don’t out anyone or say anything except positive things about others but you had to get it out. Your brain wouldn’t stop, the voice repeating itself over and over again until you posted it.

You pushed the reblog button, your fingers poised over the keys trying to think of what to say but all you could think was that she was right. You were sick and manipulating people into feeling bad for you. There was no reason for anyone to feel sorry for you because you were acting like a child, boohooing on the internet when you should just keep it to yourself.

Closing the reblog you starting planning instead. The world didn’t need you in it, messing everything up for everyone. Bothering them with your nonsense and dragging them down when they were all so happy. Dean would be home late and you knew that would give you the time that you needed to do this right.

Walking into your bathroom you took stock of what you had on hand in the cabinet. Muscle relaxers from when Dean hurt his back a few weeks before, the sleeping pills your doctor gave you for when you told him you had trouble sleeping, and your Prozac that was half full of capsules. You weren’t sure if it would be enough but you figured if you ground everything down they might at least work faster. Dean would probably get home too late to help you and it would all just end.

With a plan forming in your mind you heard a ding from your phone of a message. Opening it you saw it was from Seraphine, a friend you had made online and you sighed wondering what she wanted.

‘Hey sweetie just wanted to check in on you. I saw your post from last night and if you need to talk I’m here for you.’

‘Hey Sera I’m fine just having a moment. Don’t worry about me. I’m good.’

‘You sure?”

You chewed at your lip knowing you were lying but not wanting to worry your friend at all. ‘Yeah I’m fine. Everythings fine.’

‘Doesn’t seem fine. How are things with Dean?”

‘Dean’s good. Working late tonight which is good for me. Lets me get done what I need to do.’

There was a pause between messages and you sat on your bed waiting for her to reply so you could say goodbye and get the mortar and pestle from your kitchen to start getting your pills ready.

‘What is it that you need to do?’

You were getting aggravated, you needed to go so you could do this. You needed to end this conversation and end your sad pathetic existence.

‘Nothing you need to worry about. Just something that needs to be done. I’ve got to go. Bye sweetie.’

‘Wait! Don’t go, Y/N. Please, whatever it is you need to do I want you to know you don’t have to. What time is Dean coming home?’

You looked up at the clock and realized the day had slipped away from you. Hours of time just bleeding into one another without you even noticing, the sky outside your bedroom window already showing an orange and pink glow of the sunset.

‘I don’t know. All his text said was late. It will be fine. I gotta go, Sera.’

‘You don’t have to go. Stay and talk to me, Y/N. I’m worried about you.’

You scoffed to yourself and punched in your reply. ‘You don’t have to be worried about me. Nothing to worry about. I need to go, Seraphine. It will all be better once I do.’

‘No, it won’t. Please, don’t go yet ,Y/N.Call Dean and tell him you need him to come home. You shouldn’t be alone right now.’

You shook your head, tears burning and falling quickly down your face. ‘I’m not going to bother him and I’m fine.’

‘You aren’t fine and you need to call him. If you won’t I will. Please, Y/N.’

Your phone slipped from your hand and onto your bed where you left it to swipe at the tears coursing down your face. You were so pathetic, crying like this. You needed to stop and just do what needed to be done. Leaving your phone where it landed you stood up and rounded the side of your bed just as you heard the front door open, Dean rushing in while calling your name.

“Y/N! Hey babe, Charlie called me and said that you needed me to come home right away. Sweetheart, what’s going on?” The love and concern poured off of Dean in waves and you were overcome with despair, shame, and fear. A great heart wrenching sob leaving your body as you launched yourself into his chest, his arms wrapping around you as your body convulsed with cries.

“Whoa sweetheart, what’s going on? Come on, kid. Talk to me.” Dean held you tight to him and you just cried, not a single word could be released with how hard you were sobbing. He moved the two of you till he could sit on the end of the bed, pulling you sideways into his lap, rubbing his hand in circles over your back and telling you how much he loved you. “Talk to me, Y/N. Please tell me what happened?”

Through your tears your drew in a few deep breaths, you lips quivering as you shakingly responded. “I’m scared. I’m so scared and I-I don’t know what to do.” More sobs erupted at your confession and Dean squeezed you in reassurance.

“Charlie said you were planning to kill yourself. Where you? Please tell me she was wrong about that. I can’t lose you. Not like that.” Dean’s voice broke as he spoke, his own grief over his wife being in so much pain spilling ovel.

“I’m so scared because I want to Dean, so bad. I want everything to just stop. Make it stop, Dean. Make it stop.”

Dean pressed his lips to your head before moving his hand to your cheek and bringing your face up to look at him. “Tell me what to do to make it stop and I will. Tell me what you need and I’ll do it. Right here, right now.”

You shook your head, tears streaming down your face as you confessed, “I don’t know.”

“It’s okay. I’ll figure it out. Maybe we should call your doctor and tell him what’s going on. He should be able to help.” Dean reached for your phone knowing the number to your doctor was inside along with the emergency contact number for moments like this.

“No, Dean. Please, don’t call him. Not right now. I can’t. Please, just hold me. I need you to hold me and make it stop.” you turned yourself in his arms till you could wrap yourself completely around him, sobbing into his shoulder and releasing all the hurt you’d let consume you the last couple of weeks.

He held you to him, reminding you that he was there, and he wasn’t going to leave you. When you finally started to calm he leaned back and looked into your reddened eyes. “Sweetheart, we need to get you help. I love you but you need to talk to your doctor.”

You shook your head in protest. “No, I’ll be fine, Dean. Really it’s fine.”

“Y/N, that’s not fine. The phone call from Charlie telling me my wife was making posts online, talking to people about needing to go do something and everything would be better after. That’s not fine. You are not fine but you can fight this. We can fight this. Please babe, let me help you fight this. Let me call your doctor.” Dean’s olive orbs pleaded with you and you leaned around him to grab your phone.

“Help me?” A shuddered breath fell from your lips and Dean kissed your forehead before nodding.

He scrolled through your contacts and made the call to get you help.

12 weeks later

Bipolar 2, finally your doctor had listened and you had the right diagnoses. It was scary, the scariest thing a doctor had probably ever said to you and Dean stood by you the entire time. Not once thinking to walk away from you or to let you stop fighting. The medication you were on was changed and with it your activities at home. The amount of time you spent online went down considerably and you’d managed to apologize for your behavior towards Charlie at the time.

You’d told Seraphine thank you, having connected the dots that she had been the one to contact Charlie, who in turn called Dean. Together they had all saved you from yourself and now you were on the road to being a healthy version of yourself. No amount of thank yous were enough but you tried at least once a day, to return some of their kindness back into the world. Because being sick isn’t an excuse but it is a reality and with these people on your side as well as proper medical treatment, your reality was looking a whole lot better.

Tagging let me know if you want off the ride: @aprofoundbondwithdean @brooklyn-writes-flangst @duckzorz @gizmospacerocket @kayteonline @jotink78 @manawhaat @maxremixed @mrsjohnsmith @mrswhozeewhatsis @oriona75 @rizlow1 @littlegreenplasticsoldier @harley-kitty-queen @callmesweetheartifyoumeanit @lady-of-the-bunker @tardis-is-mine @nichelle-my-belle @superromijn @sis-tafics @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @mysupernaturalfics @nerdflash @waywardjoy @superisatomboyuniverse @cici0507 @beatlesobsessionlove @chelsea072498 @loveitsallineed @love-me-some-pie21 @atc74 @for-the-love-of-dean @impala-dreamer @percywinchester27 @i-dont-understand-whats-going-on @bitch-jerk-assbutt-xo @therosecolouredpost @dorky-and-i-know-it @supernatural-jackles @iwantthedean @gemini75seeyore @babypieandwhiskey @milkymilky-cocopuff @mrsbarry-allen-1031 @letsdisneythings @winchesterenthusiast @femmedplume

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itsworn · 6 years

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How Did He Keep His 1967 Chevrolet Chevelle SS396 for 52 Years?

There is a group of four Chevrolet enthusiasts living near the Wisconsin–Illinois border who purchased new performance cars in the latter half of the 1960s and still own them. These four like-minded gentlemen don’t call themselves a fraternity—I made that up. But they do present an interesting perspective on how to avoid the temptation of impulsively selling a treasured muscle car. While many muscle car enthusiasts live with regrets over the cars they sent down the road, some have stayed the course and now reap significant benefits. Regrets of selling a car I used to own . . . I’ve had a few. But then again, too few to mention.

Lynn Bower has owned his SS396 Chevelle since he bought it new in late 1966. Although there is discussion as to whether the rear cove panel on 1966 SS396 Chevelles was painted black, the panel definitely came black from the factory on 1967 models.

This fraternal order of original owners has both staying power and good taste in high-performance Chevy machinery. Dennis Sweetwood still owns the stunning 1966 Nassau Blue Corvette coupe that he bought new in 1966. Larry Burkhalter still owns the 1969 Le Mans Blue 396/350hp Camaro he bought new in 1969. Jim Stricker still owns the Le Mans Blue 396/375hp Camaro he bought new in 1969. And lifelong dairy farmer Lynn Bower still owns the featured four-speed Marina Blue 1967 Chevelle SS396 hardtop he bought new in December 1966. His car is the subject of this feature.

Bower’s car is equipped with the optional L34 396ci engine that produced 350 hp at 5,200 rpm and 415 lb-ft torque at 3,400. The top-dog L78 396/375hp motor was not offered when Bower ordered his car in October 1966.

These guys have the blues, but in a very, very good way.

How does a person hold on to a car for 50 years? It’s not complicated, says Bower. “I just liked the car ever since I’ve had it.”

The life of a dairy farmer necessitates a dogged determination to show up for work every day and never take a day off. It might have been those qualities of perseverance and commitment gained through farming that helped him keep his beautiful Chevelle for more than 50 years. Then again, maybe he just liked the car.

Many of the components on this original-owner car are as-delivered with correct stampings, including this original, restored, PN 1100693 37-amp alternator.

In 1966, Bower owned a 327/250-horse 1964 Impala with a four-speed transmission. One of his neighbors owned a Mustang with 289 power. The two would cruise the town in their rides, and occasionally participate in informal acceleration trials. His neighbor suggested that they both get faster cars with bigger motors so they could step up their game. Sometime around October 1966, Bower went to McEleney Motors in Clinton, Iowa, and ordered this Chevelle. According to the original paperwork, the car was picked up on December 9, 1966. His Mustang neighbor friend ordered a 1967 390 Mustang. But things did not work out as planned. “I got the Chevelle. He got married and never got the Mustang.”

Even the radiator cap, with its correct center rivet, is original. You haven’t lived until you’ve paid to have a radiator cap restored to perfection.

Bower drove the Marina Blue Chevelle fairly regularly for the next 10 years or so, but farming was always his priority. At some point in the late 1970s or early 1980s, the Chevelle was parked. A couple of Grand Nationals and tractor-pull machines satisfied much of Bower’s longing for horsepower. The Chevelle waited in the wings for the day when it might emerge again.

The Chevelle’s eventual restoration journey was filled with twists and turns. “I had gotten involved in local tractor pulls, but it was a lot of work,” says Bower. “I had my Chevelle put away, but in about 2011, I decided it was time to get it running.”

The Bright Blue interior in Bower’s car sports optional A51 bucket seats, a console with center clock, and the N34 steering wheel with simulated walnut grain. The original seats were in very good shape when delivered to Dennis Sweetwood, but Bower decided to restore them to new condition.

The first thing he did was have a body shop paint the car. “It looked good, but it wasn’t really the right color,” he recalls. “The doorjambs were not painted either, so it was OK but not great. The following winter I had the motor painted, but not restored to factory specs. In the spring I had a shop take the body off the frame and paint the frame, but they painted the frame glossy black. It should have been a flat black, but I didn’t really know what was correct at the time. After a couple years I then had another shop paint the frame the correct flat black. At that point, Dennis Sweetwood and Jim Miller began working on it to try to correct the previous work. But in 2012 we all decided to restore the car properly by basically starting over.”

SS396 models were equipped with the ribbed rocker panel moldings. Bower originally ordered full wheel covers and door edge guards in 1966, but they were eliminated for the restoration. Good move.

The car was completely disassembled at Sweetwood’s shop. Miller performed the body and paint work, while Sweetwood handled the overall restoration. A previous shop had replaced the trunk pan, but it was still in very good condition and therefore retained for the restoration. Many N.O.S. parts were located, but many original parts were restored to new condition.

During the restoration, Bower quickly learned that Sweetwood would continually strive for perfection in every detail. He recalls, “I’m not mechanical. Dennis and those guys did the work. They deserve all the credit. Dennis would always say to me, ‘Lynn, those bucket seats are all right, but . . . ’ And when he would say the word but, I knew that meant they were not quite up to snuff.”

The attention to detail shows—and frankly, makes—this original owner’s Chevelle not only a great car but a great reminder of the benefits of staying the course.

Behold the Fraternal Order of Original Owners (left to right): Larry Burkhalter, Jim Stricker, Lynn Bower, and Dennis Sweetwood. Bower is especially grateful to Dennis Sweetwood and Jim Miller for the outstanding job they did restoring his Chevelle. He is also overwhelmed by the many people who have supported and helped him to get the car back to original condition.

At a Glance 1967 Chevelle SS396 Owned by: Lynn Bower, Thomson, IL Restored by: Dennis Sweetwood and Jim Miller Engine: 396ci/350hp V-8 Transmission: Close-ratio Muncie M21 4-speed manual Rearend: 12-bolt with 3.73 gears and Positraction Interior: Bright Blue vinyl bucket seat Wheels: 14×6 steel Tires: F70-14 Coker Tire Firestone Super Sports Wide Oval redline Special note: Muscle Car Review Pick Winner, 2017 MCACN

Chevelle Stuff In 1967, the Chevelle SS396 was a separate series in the Chevelle model line. Both the VIN plate on the driver’s front doorjamb and the Fisher Body style number plate (trim tag/cowl tag) on the firewall identified the car as a true SS396. The SS396 two-door Sport Coupe was designated 13817 on the data plate and in the VIN, while the convertible SS396 carried the 13867 designation. For the 1967 model year, Chevrolet built a total of 59,685 SS396 Sport Coupes and 3,321 SS396 convertibles.

The Chevelle SS396s came standard with:

L35 396/325-horse engine

Three-speed manual transmission

12-bolt open rearend

Rear fender bracing

Dual exhausts

1967-only hood with simulated vents, blacked-out hood, blacked-out headlight bezels, and grille with no Chevy crest

Blacked-out rear cove panel

SS396 emblems

Super Sport script on the quarters and dash

Black crinkle finish strip on the dash

14×6 steel rims

New for 1967 was the dual-reservoir master cylinder, a nice safety improvement over the single reservoir of 1966. Also new was an energy-absorbing steering column and padding on the instrument panel. While Lynn Bower’s car has drum brakes all around, front power disc brakes were newly available for 1967. (Production data courtesy of chevellestuff.net)

The post How Did He Keep His 1967 Chevrolet Chevelle SS396 for 52 Years? appeared first on Hot Rod Network.

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itsworn · 6 years

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Hot Wheels Designer Built a Firebird, Then Made it a Toy!

How old were you when you got your first car? Most people say sometime around driving age. But if your story is like any one of us here at Car Craft—and if you’re reading this it probably is—you may not remember when someone pressed a die-cast car into your chubby palm. It was probably a toy that set your life course down this path.

“I still remember my first Hot Wheels,” Brendon Vetuskey says. He was three. “Yeah, I can still remember things from when I was three years old,” he explains, acknowledging the audacity of the claim. “It was an orange Large Charge with basic wheels. I can remember having cars like that all through my childhood.”

Inevitably Brendon graduated to larger cars, beginning his full-scale journey with a first-gen Camaro (which burned to the ground thanks to a backfire into one of those tricorn foam-element filters—we beg you to learn from his mistake). A string of hot cars followed, but it was a ’67 Firebird—Verdoro-green with a black vinyl top and interior—that really motivated him. About a decade ago he found one.

For what he paid he didn’t expect a perfect one but he didn’t expect what he got, either. “It was a very rusty car,” he laments. “As I took it apart I found more rust. Tore it apart further and even more rust. Had it stripped and it came back like Swiss cheese.” So bad was his ’67 that he bought and cannibalized a numbers-matching 400 car, a car that most of us would’ve just kept and built instead of a crusty 326 car.

Thankfully for us Brendon didn’t. Forever optimistic, he perceived that car’s shortcoming as a kind of freedom—this was a ponycar that most of us would’ve sent to the glue factory after all. This was a blank canvas. For example, instead of jamming the wider wheels in just tubs, Brendon took the artistic license to split the quarters and widen the body. He also made the faux quarter scoops honest by opening them up and diverting their flow to the brakes.

It was actually the protracted build schedule and a seemingly endless capacity for dollar bills that gave the car its most distinctive feature: its naked finish. “My Belvedere sat in paint-shop purgatory for seven months and I had a good fifteen grand into it,” he says. “I remember putting that car back together and getting dings and scratches. On fresh paint. So I figured I’d clearcoat the thing, throw it together, and work the bugs out before I painted it.

“But the reality is, the car has an unusual popularity,” he continues. “If I take it to a car show, everyone comes up and wants to touch it. It’s a great conversation-starter. ‘Oh, I can see this. I can see that,’ people say. It draws them in—they say it looks like it came out of Mad Max: Fury Road or out of The Fast and the Furious. It just draws attention. Plus I can just get into the car and drive it. I don’t have to wash it. I don’t have to detail it. No clay-bar. No dusting. I just wipe the window off and drive it. I can take it to track day and not have to worry about it getting scratched up or dinged. I don’t have to freak about where I park it. I don’t have to freak if someone touches it at a car show. I can just enjoy the car. So I’ve just been enjoying it.”

In fact you could make the case that Brendon literally created the car for everyone’s enjoyment. Remember the thing about die-cast cars? Well upon graduating from design school, Brendon took a job at a company that acquired a Hot Wheels license. “By weird coincidence I mentioned on my resumé that I collected Hot Wheels,” he explains. Just before buying this car he landed a position at Mattel, Hot Wheels’ parent company. “I’ve been designing Hot Wheels cars since 2010 but moonlighting, doing a little extra work on the side,” he says.” He’s been on the die-cast team officially for a year as of this feature.

We tend to think of Mattel as a toy manufacturer but realistically it’s in the dream-fulfillment business. And who doesn’t dream of seeing their pride and joy rendered in scale? That’s right, Brendon designed a 1:64-scale Hot Wheels of his car, a highly detailed version faithful down to the recessed tail panel, flared quarters, open vents, LS power…and even the DSE suspension. So even you and I can own Brendon’s car, and at far less cost than the original..

But if you buy one, may we make a suggestion? Get two. And the next toddler you come across, press it in their chubby little palm. The world needs more dreamers.

Tech Notes

Who: Brendon Vetuskey What: 1967 Pontiac Firebird Where: Long Beach, CA

Engine: Though a corporate LS1, the engine actually came from a 2001 Pontiac Trans Am. Superior Automotive Engineering rebuilt it as a 383 with an Eagle crank and 6.125-inch rods and Mahle pistons. An LSR-series cam actuates the valves in a set of GM 243 cylinder-head castings (Corvette ZO6). Brendon mounted the engine three inches back to improve weight distribution but it meant reworking the Edelbrock headers, recessing the firewall, and notching the crossmember. Brendon painted the engine Pontiac blue to make the engine feel at home.

Induction: Long-term plans (dreams) call for a turbocharger or Whipple supercharger but for now a 95mm Holley throttle body on a FAST 90mm manifold with an Airaid induction kit gets the job done. Tuned by Tad wrung it out to 518 lb-ft torque at 4,700 rpm and 553 hp at 6,000 rpm on pump gas.

Transmission: A GM LS7 clutch couples the aluminum flywheel to a wide-ratio T56 Magnum transmission. The Driveshaft Shop built the carbon-fiber 3.5-inch driveshaft.

Rearend: Moser Engineering built up a 12-bolt case with 3.73:1 gears on a limited-slip carrier.

Chassis/Suspension: Brendon’s neighbor Brett Campbell cut down the crossmember for the relocated engine and welded up all of the seams. Brendon built up the front with a Detroit Speed Stage III kit and fast-ratio steering box. The front suspension also uses the stock drum-brake knuckles and fast-ratio Z28 steering arms. Brett also fabricated the bar-ends for a 1.25-inch sway bar up front, and bent and welded the tubing for the full cage. A DSE Quadralink suspension with a Panhard rod locates the 12-bolt. Koni coilovers with 750lb front and 300lb rear springs support the ends.

Brakes: A Corvette-style master cylinder urged by a Hydratech hydraulic-assist pressurizes Corvette C5 brakes prepped by Kore3 Industries.

Wheels/Tires: The US Mags Bandit wheels invoke the image of the Pontiac Rally II that debuted the same year the F-body hit the market. But instead of stamping them from steel, US Mags forged these from aluminum. They measure 18×9.5 and 18×12 and feature a custom brushed finished (the first of their kind). They mount Toyo R888s in 275/35R18 and 335/30R18.

Paint/body: Whew! Where do we start? Brendon recessed the firewall 3 inches, raised and widened the tunnel to accommodate the T56 and dual exhaust, and relocated the battery to a box sunk into the trunk floor. He also equipped said floor with a hatch to access the fuel pump and added bracing for the DSE rear-suspension mounts. He moved the doors back to tighten the gap and moved the front clip back to match. The hood extends forward to better fit the nose and a fabricated close-out panel fits between the bumper and grille. Spoilers by Randy built the front splitter.

Brendon mounted the quarters stock at the jambs but pushed them out approximately 1.5 inches wider than stock to accommodate the bigger wheels and fit the ’69 Trans-Am spoiler. The inner fenders/wheel tubs attach to the fenders and quarters higher than stock to give the suspension full travel from lock-to-lock. Removing the wheel arches’ inner lip offers yet more tire clearance and gives the car a more contemporary look. He also recessed the tail panel, which mounts LED taillights. Naturally he had to widen the rear bumper to fit the body’s new shape. He also added drain tubes to the rear-window frame to prevent water from standing.

The body isn’t actually bare; Brendon prepped it with KBS Coatings’ adhesion promoter and finished it with the company’s Diamond Clear. The black on the fenders, hood, and door meatballs is actually Eastwood Rust Encapsulator. He wrapped the trim and splitter with flat-black 3M vinyl.

Interior: Brendon says the silver lining of an east-coast car is an intact interior—even the dash pad and door panels are original to the car. But citing poor support, Brendon says he ditched the stock seats for Corbeau-style sport seats. He also had the stock gauges rebuilt with electronic movements to work with the late-model drivetrain—AutoMeter made the tachometer in the likeness of a gauge it produced early in the company’s history. The car came with the optional fold-down rear seat but Brendon sacrificed it to the cage.

The post Hot Wheels Designer Built a Firebird, Then Made it a Toy! appeared first on Hot Rod Network.

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