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sunfishfiesta · 4 years

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Ultimate Guide to Patch Pants (identifying and creating)

A Comprehensive and In Depth Guide for those with a More than Passing Interest in Patch Pants So, I’m sure most of those reading have heard of crust pants, or patch pants, or whatever you want to call them. But I have never seen a total, complete and comprehensive guide for identification and creation of truly beautiful patch pants. The terms crust pants and patch pants will be used interchangeably during this guide. Note this guide will only cover more developed crust pants and will not deal with kinderpunk pants. I have created a number of crust/patch pants and this information comes directly from experience I have in creation of patch pants, information I have been given by other people who have created what I consider quite beautiful patch pants, as well as observations of other people’s craftsmanship both in real life and the internet. I will be using pictures from a variety of sources, but all should be collected on fuckyeahcrustpants (my patch pants archive blog), and that is where I will be linking the pictures from. Creation: This section is going to be almost entirely writing, if you want examples of what is discussed here the identification section will help. There are a few different methods of going about making crust pants, some which yield significantly more aesthetically pleasing and genuine looking results than others. Of course a given is the longer you own them, the better they get, if you put genuine time and effort into your creation they will reflect that, careful sewing and a fine understanding of a number of different stitches and their appropriate applications will assist in your ability to mend properly, darning is a useful option but it does not have a very wide spread use among punks. It is also extremely time consuming, but I personally find it produces pleasing results. The first step when one begins a pair of crust pants is either tearing/cutting holes in them (this can result in a less genuine appearance as the holes may look artificial) or one can choose to wait for holes to develop, this results in a fine patina as well as holes which look like they have genuinely developed from wear (because they have). Having a patina underneath the layers of patches also adds to the effect as patches wear away they expose the already dirt-shined interior layer. The next thing to consider is materials, this can include almost any kind of fabric and almost any kind of thread, although careful thought for both utilitarian and aesthetic purposes should be used for the placement of each patch and what material and thread is being used to repair the hole. It is often best to use patches which are either darker than or the same color as the base pants being created (this generally results in a more cohesive appearance), or one may choose to use white or an off tan if one prefers patina/dirt shine to be more visible. It’s important to note the lighter the fabric you use the darker dirt will appear on it.

Some of the more popular options for thread on patch pants include; artificial or real sinew, waxed dental floss, yarn, very fine strips of leather, or standard thread. Waxed floss and sinew either artificial or real hold some benefits over standard thread, it is much more durable and one may use a lighter to melt the the floss to creating a seal at the end of a line of stitches. Popular choices for fabrics include; dark denim or standard black broadcloth, oilskin, bike or motorcycle inner tube, leather (scavenged from old couches, old leather jackets, boots, etc.) and work-wear canvas. Denim and canvas are generally softer and are best for lower wear areas or areas you don’t want to be stiff, including the mid thigh, mid shin, back of the knee and crotch. On the other hand, leather, oilskin, and inner tube are much more durable and much stronger but are also stiffer and will be uncomfortable if used in multiple layers, or used in places that are normally flexible in pants, they are best for the knees, or ass and can also be used on the front of the thigh and front of the shine, but too many layers will feel weird. If one chooses to wait for holes to form there will be an inevitable order in which the pants will get patches, it will start on both the ass and the knees. The edges of the pockets, the crotch, and the bottom cuff of the pants will fail next, and after that the front thighs and shins, back of knees and the back of the thighs and shins. Patches will slowly radiate from high wear areas similar to growth rings: Estimates of age can be made simply from view by recognizing the location of and density of patches. There are a number of different techniques to repairing each of these sections of a pair of pants, generally strips of whatever material is being used sewn with a standard straight whip stitch will suffice, but one may wish to switch up their method for aesthetic variation or utilitarian purposes. A diagonal whip stitch or a blanket stitch around pockets or cuffs is a useful way of stopping small tears or spots of wear from spreading. One may also sew a patch overlapping the pockets or cuff on both sides sewing the perimeter of the patch and doing a running stitch or line whip stitch along the seam underneath the patch. Repairing soft pockets is something I have not seen only limited information about but I will cover it here, one can use pieces of white t-shirt for the inside of pockets when they fail. One can attach them through the use of dental floss or regular thread, but sinew is too thick and will be uncomfortable. It is best to put knots and melted thread nodules on the side of the pocket facing away from the leg as unless long johns are worn they will rub uncomfortably against the leg. This applies to knots and melted thread nodules in general, which should always be placed on the outside of the pants for the same reason. Belt loops can be replaced or repaired with the use of a thin strip of leather simply by sewing each side of it to the spots where the previous belt loop was. Darning can also be used on almost any part of a pair of pants, and will provide rigidity and durability to weak areas, it can be done with or without a patch, and the patch can be placed over or under the fabric of the pants. This allows reinforcement of areas you may not want to cover because of appealing patchwork at the location in question. Traditional methods of affixing patches can be used as well. A method where ones cuts around the hole, or cuts slits to fold fabric around the edge of the hole to create an additional seam underneath which the patch is sewn using a running stitch around the perimeter followed by a whip stitch around the edge of the patch. Varying these several repair techniques will allow you to create a more interesting and textured layer of patches. Band patches as well as zippers and additional pockets are another consideration. First I will cover band patches, generally using moderation in the number of band patches will create the most interesting effect, having too many band patches will make you look really weird and will make the pants less interesting. Selecting bands around a specific sub-genre, or sub-culture helps create a more cohesive look and allows people to gauge how much you have in common in regards to musical interest. This is definitely not a hard rule though, as varying the types of music you have can either be funny (between extremely different genres) or simply look good. Zippers can be used for aesthetic or utilitarian purposes, but it’s more fun to have them do something useful. If one puts a zipper along the thigh it’s nice to add a pocket underneath, you can also put them over the entrance to pockets, or entirely around a leg to allow it to be detachable. Pockets can also be added where there is a slit in the original fabric of the pants shows through between two patches simply by cutting that slit and then affixing a piece of fabric or another pocket underneath. Some people choose to put a number of coatings on their pants to assist in the development of a patina, this may range anywhere from graphite, to coal tar, to motor oil, olive oil, or coconut, to simply rubbing dirt on them. The most attractive and genuine looking patina comes from simply allowing your pants to develop dirt shine on their own, if you live kinda gross your pants will reflect this, using them as napkins during your meals and wiping stuff from other art projects, work, or travel is a good way to build up a patina as well. Patina and dirt shine will vary in appearance depending up whether a coating was applied and depending upon your environment, if you go to a lot of shows, if you’re a house punk or a train hopper, if you work in a certain environment the patina will change in thickness, shininess, and color. Identification: There are a number of different styles of patch pants, all from different sub genres or communities within punk. Here I will display and then explain the significance of stylistic decisions made within a selection. Generally there are variations in patch pants based on geography or sub-culture. Keep in mind these are by no means hard and fast rules but rather overarching themes I've noticed.

This is a pair of japanese crasher crust pants, they’re characterized generally by giant knee holes mainly black or dark fabric patches, they’re often sewn without the use of dental floss, although it may still be used. Sometimes pins are attached, zippers are used heavily. They may or may not have heavy dirt shine or patina. Band patches are generally used with moderation and are usually inter-community bands.

This is a pair of a slightly more modern style american traveling punk patch pant, they often focus more on browns and off-greys for patch color as well as utilizing white which eventually turns an off brown or black due to patina. Band patches may be used moderately to heavily depending on the person. Zippers are used more sparsely. Larger patches are generally used and the use of leather, bike inner-tube, and oilskin is much more common. North American traveling punks as depicted here will also often use overalls rather than regular pants, these are referred to by people in the traveling community as “bibs”.

This is a pair of classic crust/stench core pants from the UK. They are characterized by heavy dirty shine, almost all large black or very dark brown patches, few band patches, light use of zippers. They also often seem to have cargo pockets, which isn’t as common on other styles. Well that pretty much covers the 3 main styles, there are many other variations from all over the world but these are the 3 that stuck out to me as being highly influential. Conclusion: I hope this guide has been useful to anyone wishing to start a pair of patch pants of their own, or that it has simply been an enjoyable read for anyone who is interested in the topic! I had a lot of fun writing this. : )

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crushedbyhyperbole · 4 years

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Disco Ball Diva

A/N: For @buckyshelves Merry Christmas, I hope you enjoy this and have a great festive holiday

To @bucky-smiles for organising this secret Santa gift exchange, you’re awesome and so, so kind

Also... thank you to my friend Haz who beta read this for me. You are always so supportive of my writing and I love you

Summary: You’re inappropriate, sassy, have snazzy powers, and now you’re an Avenger-in-training. Not everyone appreciates your blasé attitude, and when a surveillance mission goes south you’re thrown together with one hot brooding super soldier. It doesn’t help that you can’t stop ogling his bum.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader w/ powers

Word Count: 7k. I actually feel bad that it’s so long.

Warnings: Violence, gun violence, Bucky kills people, mentions of blood and injury, bad language (which is a given for me), some sexual tension (light) but mostly just reader is an asshat XD

The Avengers compound is not like you imagined it. Or maybe it is but you haven’t found any of the secret stuff yet. Hidden jet hangers under the basketball court, labs in the basement, glass cases full of superhero suits. Wait. That’s the freakin’ X-Men.

Still, it’s nothing like you hoped. The conference rooms are boring, obviously, because meetings are the epitome of dull. The communal lounge and kitchen are both boring; there’s no espresso machine that doubles as a drone, no fridge that transforms into sentry bot, there isn’t even a SodaStream. Yawn! You don’t even need to see the fitness suite to know that it’s not a place you want to visit, and you’re not allowed below the ground floor yet. Talk about not trusting the noob.

Your room is a vision of extreme lacklustre, but you only moved in yesterday, so, no redecorating just yet, save for the peace lily your brother gave you.

Congrats on your new job and home by the way, here’s a half-dead plant I had but couldn’t be bothered to look after. Now it’s yours. Enjoy!

Your super power is definitely not green thumbs, nurturing life, healing, or anything even a tiny bit supportive. You can’t fly, don’t have super strength, speed, or a crazy-good aim. There’s not a green rage-monster just below the surface waiting to erupt and smash things. Well, if someone steals your cookies you might have to choke a bitch but hey, rainbows are cool, right? Super distracting, like oh hey, what’s all this shiny shit flashing around? Oh dayum, I totally didn’t see that badass super warrior coming to kick my ass.

You swallow hard. The small conference room feels like an interrogation room despite the polished wood table and plush leather chairs. Of four sets of eyes that are currently watching you, only one pair is encouraging.

Tony Stark. The guy who recruited you. Took you from a life of selling hotdogs on street corners in the City and apartment sharing with a crazy cat lady called Angie who you found on Craigslist. You had nothing against crazy cat ladies, per se, but you would prefer it if the pissy smell was optional. Angie had opted in, hence why you jumped at the chance to opt out. Ugh.

“Rainbows?” The scowly but buff brunette with the dreamy blue eyes and robotic arm, scoffs mockingly. “You project rainbows?”

The equally buff blonde who you suspect might be Captain America (or maybe his stunt double) snickers, his head lowered to hide his amusement. Does Captain America have a stunt double, for like, TV appearances and meetings with officials, and stuff? You’ll ask later. Right now, you’re annoyed.

“Oh, I’m sorry, fist-of-victory!” You snap your fingers like the queen you are. “Am I too snazzy for you? Do my rainbows ruin the whole Neanderthal vibe you got going on there?”

Loud snorts and chuckles pull you back. The redheaded vixen you know already as Black Widow is pinching her nose to stifle her laughter, and Tony is looking to the heavens in askance but emotional stability is not forthcoming.

“Wow.” The brunette says flatly.

“Fist of victory.” Tony ponders, eyes twinkling. “I like that.” He levels an amused gaze at you, rolling his next words around in his mouth. “Manchurian candidate is a little out-dated, wouldn’t you say, Barnes? Ready for an upgrade?”

Oh shit! Your eyes get big. The brunette is none other than the infamous Winter Soldier. You should have known by the arm. Show no weakness! Your brain screams.

“What’s the official title for that skill, you have?” Steve Rogers has gotten his face to cooperate, now there’s no trace of a smirk. “Light manipulation?”

“Walking disco ball.” You put on the light show again, manipulating the effects so the lights are dancing across the, now stormy grey, eyes of one Sergeant Barnes.

“It’s definitely distracting.” Natasha says objectively. “Could be useful.”

“See! That’s what I said!” You punch the air, sending the lights into a frenzy.

“I have a theory.” Tony is playing his cards close to his chest still. “That’s why y/n is here. She’s agreed to work with us, and at the very least she can be a supportive member of the team.”

“Team, frickin’, playahhh!” You holler, earning a concerned look from Rogers and a downright obnoxious groan from Barnes. “What? What you complaining at? You fucking love me already!”

The truth was that you didn’t know how your ability worked. You could feel it when you did your thang, like the hairs on the back of your neck stood on end and the air in your hand felt stiff and substantial.

Better not talk about hands full of substantial stiff things around grandad Tony, he might kick the bucket.

You could manipulate the amount of reflections in your light show by making the air heavier, make them move, dance, even adjust the size of them a little. Agreeing to work with The Avengers had been a no brainer; you get paid, get a place to stay that isn’t full of the stench of sadness and cat piss, and you get to find out more about your ability. Win, win, win.

+++ A couple of weeks later +++

“You really expect me to take Rainbow Brite on this mission?” Barnes has his arms crossed across his chest, refusal crinkling his brown and pursing his lips into a thin line. The guy looks hot in tac gear. One bicep straining against the material, the other is obviously free and oh-so-fucking-awesome. Thighs tight under those black tac pants, thigh holster accenting the flex of muscle as he shifts his weight. Wait-what!?

“Wait a fucking minute!” You squawk. “Rainbow Brite? Oh, hell no!” You march up to him, similarly decked out in black gear that makes you look like some tiny recruit in ill-fitting body armour instead of badass like him.

There’s a smirk on his perfect mouth now, dusky pink lips lop-sided with amusement, and the twinkle in his eyes is more than a little alluring. What the fuck?

“Huh.” You stop your tirade, blinking, baffled. He’s playing with you. Trying to get you pissed so you’ll refuse to go, or maybe he wants you to go so you’ll make a fool of yourself and Tony will see you’re not useful. Too many mind-games already, you don’t have the patience for this shit, so you go with an insult instead. “If I’m Rainbow fucking Brite then that makes you Twink. Dink!”

“Well, he does epitomise my sparkling personality.” Sardonic, deadpan. It’s classic brooding Barnes and you’re almost proud that he got an 80’s pop culture reference. Almost.

“And they did rename him Mr fucking Glitters back in 2014.” You pout, adopting his stance, arms crossed.

“Perfect!” Tony pops m&ms into his mouth, turning away dismissively. “Rainbow Brite and Mr Glitters it is. Head to the carpool, there’s a vehicle waiting for you both.”

There was no getting away from this mission. You’d grumbled, griped, whined, and begged Tony to send you with anyone but Broody Barnes but the Iron Man was true to his alter ego, he did not budge.

You are about to take a few pot shots at him in the insults department when Barnes’s voice comes over the earpiece you have already been fitted with.

“Earth to disco ball. Get in the damn car already.”

“It’s disco diva to you, giant cocksicle.”

He laughs at that and is still grinning when you slide into the passenger seat beside him.

“You’ve got some mouth on you, kid.” Was that acceptance? Admiration? Whatever it was it looked good on him.

“Yeah, you know you want my mouth.” It sounded better in your head but now that it’s out it can’t be taken back. Barnes looks a little frowny but at least he’s got nothing to say so you can quietly die in peace.

Can someone cringe so much they die? You might find out.

The mission is surveillance. Low-key observations of a facility out in Nova Scotia that makes products for iGoddess, a beauty company owned and run by Gabrielle Porter, the niece of one Alexander Pearce, crime syndicate king-pin and scumbag extraordinaire.

You know the company; you buy their stuff. Well, you do now you can afford it and it’s not wasted under the scent of cat urine and bleach. How can a company so devoted to making women feel special and empowered be mixed up with drugs, weapons and human trafficking? Fucking bullshit, that’s what it is.

Bucky had ditched the car in the parking lot of a lake-side leisure and visitors centre about fifteen miles away, and with gaudy waterproof outerwear over your tac gear, you had begun the hike that would set you smack-bang in the middle of nowhere good. Posing as hikers had been Tony’s brief but you’re cold and bored, and your body aches from being on the solid ground.

You’re both lay just behind the crest of a hill a little way away from your target building. Bucky mutters his observations into his comms as you look through your own binoculars trying to see what he’s looking at. He’s talking guard numbers and movements, the weapons they carry, security features and people entering or leaving the facility. It’s no use, you’re not cut out for this. Surveillance is soul destroying. You’d rather be interred in Tony’s kitchen, at least there’s coffee there.

Not even an hour in and you’re itching to get up and move around. The hike had gotten your blood pumping but now you’re going stir-crazy, joints tingling with the need for motion.

Boring. Boring. But at least you can entertain yourself. Where there’s light there’s beauty and you tease the air through your gloves, finding that your skin doesn’t need to be bare for you to create the effect. Well whadd’ya know.

“There’s movement.” Bucky warns. “Looks like some of the guards are exiting the compound.”

You snort, they’re probably bored too.

“A Jeep and a couple of motorbikes, moving quickly.”

“Sounds like they’re going home.” You mumble, focused on the lights in your hand.

“They’re headed this way.” He curses. “Grab your- What the HELL are you doing?”

Bucky tackles you to the ground from where you were on your knees almost at the hill’s crest.

“Asshole!” You’re trying to get away from him but he pins you to the ground.

“I’m the asshole?” He complains as he rolls off you, sliding down the hill on his ass, shoving his gear unceremoniously into his backpack. “Mission compromised.”

“What happened?” Tony’s disembodied voice doesn’t sound happy.

“We were spotted.” At the bottom of the hill, Bucky starts picking a path through the rocks and small fissures hidden by the wild grass and heathers. A quick glance back tells him you’re not following; you’re caught.

“Uh, hi, guys.” You chuckle nervously as one of the guards levels an assault rifle at you. “Would you believe we’re winners of a free weekend iGoddess Spa?”

Bucky is livid. If it had just been him, he could have taken them out and escaped, but, no. Tony had to insist that he bring you, show you the ropes, look after you. Babysit you.

He snorts. You don’t need a minder you need to be put in a padded room where you can’t inflict any more of your weird bullshit on him. Fucking rainbows. What kind of skill is that, other than one that gets you caught?

Eight hours ago you were both doing great. There’d been some small-talk in the car, he’d opened up a little and you’d responded. Even on the hike over you’d been great, your filthy mouth was a source of much amusement for him, and you’d listened. His instructions were followed close enough to the letter, and he was happy. Everything was good.

Now it’s all fallen to shit and he’s locked up in a heavy-duty restraint chair that brings back memories of dark places and dark times for him. To his side, you’re slumped forward in a regular wooden chair, cable-ties binding your wrists and ankles to the wood, pulling at your skin, making your hands and feet turn blue. How the hell are you both supposed to get out of this?

He’s watching the movements of your chest that tell him you’re still breathing. The cut on your head has stopped bleeding but you’re drooling blood-tainted saliva down your grey rash-guard. Both of you had been stripped down to your undergarments and checked for hidden weapons. He was the first to be incapacitated as they’d used you as leverage, holding a gun to your head until he complied, stripped, and submitted to the chair. When they’d took away your gear you’d fought and Bucky had seen red; he’d strained against the chair until the butt of a gun to the head had put a stop to that. When he came to you were out cold, beaten and bloody. How hard had you fought?

Your feet and hands are turning purple now. The weight of your body pulling the restraints against your skin is making the plastic ties dig deep, cutting off the circulation.

“Y/n?” Bucky hisses, hoping the noise doesn’t prompt the guards to come back. “Y/n! Wake up!”

The room you’re in looks like an interview room. Two-way mirror, camera in the corner, reinforced door with heavy-duty locks that were strangely not engaged. It’s grey and cold, and the only things in the room are the two chairs and you two. The device Bucky is locked into is bolted into the floor; a permanent feature, like they expected him or maybe Steve. He tests the chair again. It creaks but doesn’t give. He’d have to really put some brute strength into it to break out, and that would create too much noise. He’d wait.

“Y/n!” A little louder now, and you stir.

He keeps talking to you, just bullshit words, what he wants for dinner, what film he’s going to watch when he’s home safe. Anything to help draw you back to consciousness.

“You wana watch a film with me, y/n?” He thought for sure you’d tell him to go fuck himself.

You moan, head lolling as you come back to him.

“Hey! Rainbow Brite!”

“Fuck you.” It’s a whisper but he’ll take it.

“There she is.” He allows himself a relieved smile. “C’mon, sweetheart. I need you to sit up for me. Take the weight off those ties before there’s any permanent damage.”

It takes a few more moments before you can shuffle yourself properly into the chair, then you’re flexing your hands and feet to get the blood moving again.

“Oh-god-it-hurts-so-fucking-bad!” You are practically wailing as the pins and needles sensation in your extremities reaches a peak. The slightest movement now sends a cacophony of intense pain into your limbs.

“It’ll be over soon.” Bucky sooths.

“Why are you being nice to me after I got us caught?” You eye him suspiciously, flapping your hands to rush the blood into your fingers. Rip the band aid off. “Is this some kind of prank? Ohhhhhhh! This is an initiation isn’t it? Oh, I see. Where’s Iron Doosh? Hey! Tony!”

“Would you shut up? This is real. We’re really captured.” Bucky hisses.

“Tony Stank, Skank, Spah-hank.” You sing-song as you struggle against your restraints, examining your bound feet through spread knees. “I hope this is one of the chairs from his good dining set.” You stand, leaning forward and centring your weight above your bent knees.

“What are you doing?”

“Just need to…” You shuffle over to the mirror.

“No, y/n, wait!” Bucky begs. “Don’t break the glass.” His frantic expression says the rest. Your feet are bare and you’ll shred yourself to ribbons.

“What? You’re crazy. Why would I do that?” You chuckle, amused that he’s so worried. “There’s no one in there.” You wink at him. “They’d be in here by now if there were.”

You shuffle a bit more and grunt as you throw yourself backward to the ground. The chair cracks but doesn’t break.

“Fuck!” You struggle some more, grunting and groaning like a butch female tennis player in a grand slam. One of the arms loosens and you fight against the wood until you get your left hand free, then you’re reaching into your hair for a bobby pin to jam into the clasp of the cable tie on your right arm.

Moments later, you’re free and rushing to Bucky who is fighting against his own restraints. There’s sweat beading on his bare chest and his hair is sticking to his forehead. A quick swipe of your hand clears his brow and he stills, watching you as you search the chair for whatever mechanism has him trapped.

“There’s a big red lever at the back.” You muse. “You think it’s an ejector seat?” A cheeky wink. “If I sit in your lap we can both go for a ride.” You don’t have time for giggling and flirtation, but you do it anyway.

“Y/n.” Bucky chastises lightly.

“What? This is every girl’s wet dream. Every, damn, girl.” You mumble as you grip the handle. “And I can’t even enjoy it.”

“Just pull the damn thing already. We don’t have time to mess around.”

“Pity.” You tug the lever and a loud hiss fills the room, pressure releasing from the chair.

Bucky is on his feet and at the door before you make three steps. He’s rubbing his right forearm where the metal clamps had bitten into his flesh, there’s blood there too, long ago dried.

“There’s movement out there.” He has his ear to the door. “I need a weapon, we need our gear, and we need a vehicle.”

“I need some chocolate and bottle of wine.”

“What?”

“Are we not making a shopping list?”

Bucky rolls his eyes and grabs your wrist. “C’mon.”

With the door cracked open, Bucky can see movement at the end of the corridor; there’s a security room which is promising for retrieving your gear, but not if you want to avoid being seen.

“Stay behind me.” He pushes you towards his back.

You look down at his bum. “No problem.” You sigh and then you’re moving, your hand on his bare back so you can feel where he’s moving next.

Bucky suddenly shoves you down into a squat, shushing you with a finger held against his lips. The way he moves is like water, smooth and forceful, carrying the momentum of his body towards a lone guard who has paused at the corner by the security room. How he hasn’t seen you is a miracle but the man doesn’t even hear Bucky until the his own knife is slipped from its sheath and into the his temple. There’s no sound, no gurgling, not even much blood. Bucky lowers the body to the floor and cleans the knife on the pants of the dead man.

Looking at him now, you can see why people fear him. His expression is cold, calculating, and focused. It’s necessary, the distance he puts between himself and the act of killing. Even when Bucky was him, there was always a distance; a gap between him and his orders. Now the killing is his choice and he has to live with that, there’s no excuse of mind control now. This is all him.

The security room has one guard inside who is overpowered moments after Bucky opens the door.

Fucking amateurs, you think. Does that room not have cameras that cover the door and surrounding corridors?

Turns out that it does and the reason the guard hadn’t seen you was because he was sexting his girlfriend.

“Sexting?”

“Yeah. Like sex role play and talking dirty over text.” You snort. “Jeez, you’re old.”

“What can I say? You’re broadening my horizons.” He winks then and it’s so out of place in this grim situation that you laugh nervously. “Sounds fun.”

“Well don’t take tips from this guy.” You wave his phone in the air loosely. “He’s fucking terrible at it.”

“What’s bad about it?”

You’re not sure if he means to ask that, he’s busy trying to get outside communication through the phones which seem to be keycode protected and also checking through the security feeds to see if he can find your gear and a way out of this for you both; he’s clearly distracted. At least he’s happy now that he has a pair of handguns and a pair of knives, no weapons for you because you haven’t completed your firearms training yet. But let’s face it, who would arm you anyway? You were a disaster waiting to happen.

“He’s a bit of a wham-bam-thankyou-ma’am kinda guy.” You chuckle. Bucky is going to regret starting you off down this line of conversation. “His poor woman has probably never experienced even mediocre sex with this schmuck if his sext skills are anything to go by.”

“Too eager to bury the bone?” Bucky sounds distant, but he is listening to you as he checks drawers for weapons, keys and anything else that might be useful. God knows your gear was nowhere to be found.

“Check it.” You hop up on the desk near him and scroll through the laughable chat. You feel slightly guilty reading this guy’s private shit but he’s dead so he isn’t going to care. Reading from the chat, you do fake voices. “So she’s like ‘hey baby, you free tonight? I got something for you.’ Peach emoji, cat emoji. And he’s like ‘you off your period? Can we bang?’ I mean, what the fuck dude?”

Bucky is smirking when you look at him. “What did she say?” He straps both thigh holsters to his almost naked body. It’s comical how he’s gearing up from salvaged stuff wearing only a pair of skin-tight spandex shorts that leave nothing to the imagination. Once Bucky is packing (in more ways than one, now) you have to force your eyes elsewhere.

“’Yeah, baby! I missed you so bad. Can’t wait to be in your arms again.’ She just wants lovin’ y’know?” You spoke the line in a soft, breathy voice. Fake, of course.

“And what did he say?” Bucky is checking the monitors one last time before he moves to the door.

“You like a bit of sexting? Huh, Barnes?” You smirk, eying him mischievously. “Living vicariously through the sexting chronicles of Captain Dick-Down over there?”

“Just looking to know what not to do if the opportunity for sexting ever arises.” It’s light-hearted and completely unlike the grumpy Bucky you’re used to. Maybe there was something in the air; sex pollen or something. That’s totally a thing. “C’mon.” He says after a moment, eyes twinkling with mirth, soft lips pulling up to the side in a cute smile. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

It’s comedy gold, the pair of you running the halls of an apparently secret part of the factory, him in his tight little shorts and you in your panties and spandex t-shirt over a sports bra that makes your rack look like a uni-boob. You awkwardly tug your rash-guard down over your ass whenever Bucky is behind you and you’re thankful you didn’t wear a thong though that would be better than skid marks. God, you hoped you’d not shat yourself when they beat you.

You barely encounter anyone until you’re almost at the warehouse; Bucky is so stealthy that even with you hindering him, he only has to subdue one foreman and drag you into a cleaning supply closet once, to avoid a pair of patrolling guards. Not that you’re complaining, being squashed up against an almost naked super soldier gave you endless thrills, even if he was all stiff and awkward about it.

Bucky stalls before the double doors that lead to the warehouse. There’s a heavy plastic strip curtain over the exit too, it’s almost opaque with age and hinders your view of what is beyond the meshed safety-glass of the door’s small windows.

“They know we’re coming.” He whispers to you, mere inches away. “There’s a lot of them out there and I can’t keep you safe if you disobey orders. So, please,” he begs, “please do as I tell you.”

He begs so sweetly, you think, blushing. But you’re not one for passing an opportunity for inappropriate comments.

“I’ll be a good girl, Daddy.” You bat your eyelashes, feigning innocent. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

“Really?” Bucky doesn’t know whether to blush or be annoyed. You never seem to take anything seriously; it’s always a joke, or something you can twist to your amusement. He gets doubly serious. “If you die, it’s on me. You think I haven’t lost enough people over the course of my very long life? You think I want to wash your blood off my skin later tonight? Bury you alongside all the other people lost to some fight or other in the name of SHIELD or the Avengers? I can’t save you if you don’t want to be saved.”

You watch him as he fervently tries to convey the dire nature of your situation, desperate to make you understand that he doesn’t want you to die here, he cares. His eyes are piercing and your heart is a ricocheting bullet in your chest. What if you don’t make it out ok? What if this is it for you? Both of you? Suddenly, you’re acutely aware that Bucky Barnes, Winter Soldier, Fist of HYDRA come Fist of Victory, has cleared himself a little spot in your fucked-up soul, and is there to stay. You don’t want him to get killed because of you, but there’s nothing you can do, you’re not trained for this, or at all really.

You nod once, not trusting your voice in that moment. You could choke on your words or you could vomit all over yourself. It’s a lottery, so you say nothing.

“Good girl.” He gives your shoulders a reassuring squeeze. “Stay behind me. Be quick, keep low, don’t hesitate, and for Christ’s sake no disco ball.” There’s a small smile tempting the corners of his lips, like he’s saying he forgives you for getting you both into this mess. “Ok, sweetheart, lets go.”

Out in the warehouse there’s a whole host of guards and workers, patrolling and overseeing shipments being loaded into lorries. It look like it’s important, and probably why the majority of the facility is clear of security staff; the merchandise is being moved.

It’s a mad dash, crouching low as you ghost around the edge of the warehouse. The huge rows of stacks are packed full of boxes and crates, further obscuring your movement around the area. Bucky is silent, especially since he’s barefoot; he’s every bit the assassin he’s hyped to be, but you can’t take him seriously padding around almost naked with the top of his crack showing and his junk all jiggly in the front.

A radio crackles to life. Three personel down. Prisoners have escaped. Cameras last caught them headed your way.

They must have found the bodies.

“They’re in here somewhere.” A man says, loud and authoritative. “Search the rows, shoot to kill. They’re not low-life mob goons, they’re Avengers and can’t be allowed to live.”

Well that settles that, you think, gone are the chances of mere bodily harm. It’s death or death.

You watch in awe as Bucky scales a nearby stack to stalk one of the patrolling guards. When his opportunity arises he yanks the man up by the throat, snapping his neck in the process. You can’t help but admire that metal arm, so sleek and powerful. You groan, light and lusty, earning you a concerned look from the owner of said appendage.

Killing that guard has yielded an assault rifle, another knife and another handgun. You’d think Bucky would be too smart to arm you but apparently he’s not. Silently he points to his eye and then to the gun where he shows you how to turn off the safety, puts the gun in your hand and moves behind you to adjust your grip. He aims for you, pressing his chest against your back and you swear you can feel his junk against your ass. Once he’s satisfied that you aren’t going to injure yourself, he’s gone from behind you, crouching low at the end of the row.

He grabs another guard and drags him backward. The struggle is louder than he would have liked, and the man got out a partial shout before his throat was closed forever but Bucky is hopeful that he can thin the numbers down enough to make it possible to get you into a truck and away safely.

Bucky shoves the newest body under the nearest stack and beckons you to him. You both move like a two-carriage train, he’s the engine and you’re the caboose following in his wake. He only leaves you to commit murder but you feel lost when he’s gone, cold even. There’s something alluring about the way he uses his body and your mind drifts to other carnal things.

A hand on your shoulder makes you jump. There’s more of a commotion going on in the warehouse now, not just the sounds of men moving goods and silently searching for two prisoners. There are massive amounts of footfall, boots hitting the concrete at speed; bringing in reinforcements from outside.

Bucky is about to whisper in your ear when the squeal of a megaphone pierces the air; he stills with his lips almost touching your skin before pulling back with a frown.

“Sergeant Barnes?” Bucky knows that voice, he’d heard it for years, worked with it, even obeyed it on occasion. “Save the girl. Turn yourself in.”

You shake your head, panicked, urgent. Don’t leave me, your eyes are saying.

A noise nearby draws Bucky’s attention and he suddenly forces you to the ground under a stack where he slots himself immediately after; the security team are searching for you, stealthily stalking the rows. It’s cramped and dusty, the bottom shelf above you so close you can barely breathe without your back brushing the metal supports. How Bucky fits is beyond you, the man is a beefcake, all bulk and magnificently defined muscle. Thinking of him naked is the only thing that keeps you from succumbing to claustrophobia. Something brushes your hand and you jolt, eyes snapping to meet his. He grasps your hand properly and gives it a reassuring squeeze. In your chest, something gives. Maybe your permafrost heart is thawing, maybe you’re about to have a stroke, maybe you really like him.

When the coast is clear, Bucky pulls you free and you emerge into a different row, one with fewer boxes, one you’ll likely be spotted in. You can just see the massive doorway of the warehouse, double sliding doors like a hangar, several half loaded trucks and maybe forty men with body armour and guns. One guy in the middle is wearing a full-face helmet with a white skull etched across the features.

“Holy shit! Is that Punisher?” You hiss before Bucky can clamp his hand over your mouth, the warning look on his face is stern as he leans in to you.

“Crossbones.” He corrects you, barely audible despite the proximity. You still don’t know who that is but he’s totally not as cool as the Punisher, so it doesn’t matter.

His hand is still over your mouth but there’s no point in struggling, you couldn’t break free of him even if you tried, so you push your tongue out and squirm it against his palm, making him recoil in disgust. Your chuckle is silent and his frown turns to the ghost of a wry smile before his attention is fully back on the man he calls Crossbones.

Bucky is taciturn at the best of times but he’s in full diagnostic mode now, assessing the situation. His eyes flicker around the warehouse from yet another new position. It seems like he’s trying to get you closer to the trucks but you suspect that’s what Crossbones expects. There are more men closer to the trucks too and Bucky has already had to kill another two in the latest relocation. The missing men haven’t gone unnoticed and Crossbones is issuing orders, plugging the gaps so you can’t escape.

“I will find you Barnes.” Crossbone’s voice sounds wet through the megaphone, like he’s salivating with excitement at the prospect of getting his hands on you both again. “If you turn yourself in, maybe I’ll let the girl live.”

Bucky’s eyes are downcast, like he’s actually considering it, but the moment passes and Bucky’s resolve hardens. He drags you away towards the end of the row.

“The end of this row has a direct line of sight to the exit. I need a distraction. Can you do that for me?” He whispers.

You nod, lips set in determination. “One disco ball distraction coming right up.”

“On my mark.”

The fluorescent strip lights overhead create more than enough light for you to use. With your right hand flat against Bucky’s left shoulder blade and your left manipulating the air to create a huge show of dancing lights, you move in tandem. Bucky steps out of hiding, keeping you just behind him with his metal arm, he surges forward squeezing off four shots. The way his arm snaps to aim so quickly is astounding, like he has a targeting chip implanted in his brain. Who knows, maybe he does. Four men fall and remain still. Another three shots, then another two and he’s pulling you into another row at a crouching run to the opposite end as he discards the empty gun and pulls out another. He’s saving the assault rifle for Crossbones.

“Again.” He instructs gruffly. “Can you get their eyes?”

“It’s not an exact science this, you know?” You huff and he seems to know that you’re saying you’ll try your best. Of course you’d try, but you don’t know much about your power, even after the few months you’d been training with the team. If it meant you both got out of this alive, you’d flash your tits at the enemy for Christ’s sake.

You emerge again, him with the gun in his metal hand this time, stepping out with you at his back. This time they are ready for you and they start firing before Bucky gets off his first shots. He makes a dash for a fork-lift with a huge pallet of crates sat at floor level. He shoots his rounds in threes until the 9-round magazine is done. The gun is discarded as you both slide behind the cover of the pallets. Machine guns rattle, pummelling the crates with round after round. Bucky prays the crates don’t contain munitions.

“I make fourteen down. Twenty-two left.” His breathing smooth where your is ragged. You curse yourself for being so unfit that even a tiny bit of stress and exertion leaves you heaving air like a couch potato made to climb stairs. “Crossbones is a problem.”

“What do we do now?”

Bucky has two handguns, four knives and an assault rifle, you have one gun and your rainbows. This isn’t going to go well, you think.

“You’re going to hide over there and watch the rear.” He points to your left.

You smirk. Now isn’t’ the time for joking.

“I’m going to thin the crowd some more and, if I can, take Crossbones out.” He looks determined but ridiculous in his underpants, dusted with dirt and debris from the floor that’s stuck to the slightest bit of moisture on his skin. “This might not work. Run to the left, hide in the stacks again, stay down and don’t expose yourself.”

You nod and he readies himself to break cover. The shooting has stopped now and it sounds like the guards are changing positions again. His muscles clench, coiling ready to spring.

“Wait!” You stop him with a hand on his arm, the metal is unnervingly cool. Tension builds. “I wanna fuck you until you pass out.”

“Ummmm.” Bucky blinks, eyebrows raised in surprise but he’s smiling. “You’re serious?”

“Yeah, well, no, but, uhhhh.” You splutter, this hadn’t gone well at all. “I couldn’t let you go without telling you, you know, what Captain Dick Down said to his girl. You asked, for future reference, and all.”

“Oh. Right.” He frowns, turning away again. “Move when I do.” He orders stiffly, preparing to move.

Well, shit!

“Bucky, wait.” Your voice is softer this time, tears prickling your eyes. There’s a chance that neither of you will make it through this and it’s suddenly hit you that there’s something missing.

“What now?” He grumbles, turning to find you closer than he expected.

You surge forward, cupping his jaw in your hands as you capture his lips in a kiss that’s both urgent and needy. You don’t care if he doesn’t respond, you need to feel this before it’s too late. All this tension between you, the jibes and snarky banter, it’s unresolved and sexual in nature. You want him, and if this is all you can have then so be it. One stolen moment before it all slips through your fingers, and you both go to your graves.

You’re already pulling back when he snaps back to attention, quickly pulling you back for another kiss. His tongue delicately touches between the seal of your lips and you sigh with longing.

“You ready?” You pull away but he’s still clearing his head, trying to focus again.

On your feet you’re running out, pumping your legs as fast as you can, heading to the wrong place. Machine guns stutter to life and Bucky is on your heels a second later, fear contorting his features as he scoops you up in his metal arm and returns fire almost blindly. He’s shielding your body with his own and yips like a wounded pup when the bullets find him.

On your knees beneath the curved shield of his back you see the enemy are far closer than you thought. Everything in you yelled stop and you felt the pressure rise through your body and out, cascading off you like a roiling storm.

The bullets stop but the guns are still firing, muffled by the thickness of the air. Despite the pain in his lower back and hip, he turns to see what’s happening. Bullets sluggishly pushing through the air like flies in syrup, all but stopped and slightly redirected on a path that will take them away from a central focal point that is you. You’re doing this, shielding you both as if by some miracle, your power not only refracting the light causing rainbows but acting like a forcefield.

“As much as I have to break up this little party, I really can’t have you killing my friends.” The voice of Tony Stark is heard a second before the Iron Man himself and several of his Iron Legion appear and shoot each and every remaining guard with a taser disc, stunning them into unconsciousness.

Crossbones is a different matter and is somehow resistant to the zapping he just got. He levels a grenade launcher at the stacks near where you and Bucky are crouched and fires. No air shield will save you from all of that falling metal, but Bucky is still fast despite his wounds. There’s blood running down his leg in rivulets as he pulls you to safety, and shields you instinctively with his body once more while the sound of explosions and grinding metal fill the air.

“I did not know I could do that.” You praise yourself.

“I still got shot.”

“It’s just a flesh wound.” You snort. “Walk it off.”

“You’re a real ray of sunshine, you know that?”

“I must be something special if you took one in the ass for me.” You wink. “I hope it heals puckered, then you’ll have two rusty bullet holes.”

“STARK!” He shouts but pulls you closer to him. “Evac for one. She’s walking hom-owwww!” You pinch the skin on the inside of his thigh viciously enough that he shoves you out of his embrace.

You both stay close on the Quinjet home. Bucky had been confused as to how Stark had known to mount a rescue mission but when you produced Captain Dick Down’s phone from your uni-boob bra it all became apparent. All of the comms in the facility had been locked down but that was a personal device, one that probably wasn’t allowed to be carried. Good old Captain Dick Down.

The facility had been put to a far worse use than drugs and weapons trafficking. iGoddess was a front for human trafficking and also human experimentation. The restraint chair they had strapped Bucky into had been used to restrain test subjects; Alexander Pearce was trying to replicate the super serum that made Steve and Bucky what they were.

“So, this was a win for us.” Steve said in the debrief. “Our intel was lacking but it worked out in the end.”

“Says you who didn’t get shot in the ass cheek.” Bucky grumbled, shifting cautiously on the Mr Glitters cushion you’d given him as a joke.

“I got to see some wonderful scenery,” you grin brilliantly, “so I’m not complaining.”

There had been no further discussion about the kiss you and Bucky had shared when you thought you might die in that place, but that’s ok. Your daily thrills are made up of making him squirm, and since you two had become closer since your ordeal, you have had several of moments like those. There’s plenty of time and you’re prepared to play the long game, starting with your newest idea. You pull out your phone and casually write a text while Steve is rambling on about seized research and assets.

[I’m so turned on right now].

Bonus add-on for this work: Captain Dick Down - External link to AO3

Because apparently 7k words wasn’t enough and I just had to try my hand at a little text chat/social media piece. It’s more of an embellishment. Enjoy

And if you liked this story, why not try Good Ole Stuffing, a smutty follow on for the same reader/character.

#cmmsecretsanta #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky fanfic #reader insert #reader with powers #marvel fanfic #powers au #my writing #cloudy's writing

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trufflerabbit13 · 4 years

Text

A Dove’s Ripped Wings: Chapter 6 | Ex

prologue / 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 /

Word count: 6.8 K

🏐🏐THIRD PERSON P.O.V.🏐🏐

The Ibato family were all frozen at the dinner table, staring at their youngest member as she brought her chopsticks to her mouth. She was the only one who moved, continuing her meal as if she hadn't dropped the bomb on them.

"C-Chi-chan, c-c-can you repeat that? I think I'm g-getting old and my hearing i-isn't as good as it u-used to be," Minako stuttered, her eyes shaking as she stared at her only daughter with a weak smile.

Chiaki blinked, looking up at her mother who sat across from her in confusion, her head tilted to the side.

"I joined the volleyball team."

Chiaki flinched as a loud clang rang out, her eyes shooting to Taiga who dropped his bowl he had in his hand, the rice spilling all over his front. Kouga, who sat next to their mother, choked on his miso soup, a wet gurgle leaving his mouth as he smacked his chest with his fist.

Minako's lips trembled before she burst into tears.

Chiaki sat in her chair, frozen in place as she watched the chaos that happened in front of her. Taiga was frozen stiff like a statue although steaming rice was covering him, Taiga wheezing as he tried to dislodge the tofu stuck in his pipe, and Minako sobbing while she fumbled with her phone.

Chiaki didn't realize Minako was calling someone until the familiar ring entered her ears, and she heard it get picked up with a "hello," a voice she immediately recognized as her father.

Hiroto's eyes widened, startled as his wife's sobbing face came into the sight as soon as he picked up the FaceTime call.

"H-Honey? What happened, are you okay?" The man questioned quickly in concern, his eyebrows knitting together. He only gets a blubbering response that makes his worry spike for his wife.

Minato, who sat across from him at the dinner table, looked up from his food, eyebrows raised up in interest, sending his father a questioning look.

"H-Hiroto....! Chi-chan....! C-Chi-chan!" Minako cried out Chiaki's nickname, making the two men in Tokyo share eye contact in concern, thinking something had happened to their youngest family member that was in Miyagi, hours away.

"Honey, calm down. Did something happen to Chiaki?" Hiroto asked gently, inwardly panicking, seeing how his wife was a mess on the screen, nose red as tears ran down her face.

"C-CHI-CHAN SAID SHE JOINED THE VOLLEYBALL TEAM!!!"

Hiroto and Minato froze, the later dropping his chopsticks, it rolling on the floor. Hiroto himself almost dropped his phone in his soup, fumbling with it in panic.

"W-What....?" Minato questioned with his tone a few octaves lower than usual. He's immediately up on his feet, rounding around the dinner table so he can peer into the phone in his shaking father's hand.

Chiaki has her eyes closed, the female pinching the bridge of her nose tiredly as the chaos continues at her house. Kouga was recovering from his near-death experience, the male wheezing as he wiped at his mouth that dripped with miso soup. She helped Taiga clean up, trying to place the rice grains that stuck onto him back into the bowl to get thrown out. Minako was still crying, looking like a mess.

Hiroto and Minato, who were in their house in Tokyo, tried to grasp the situation back at their other home in Miyagi, their mouths opening and closing. Their mind tried to process what they heard from Minako.

Both males blinked as the phone was taken away from the crying woman, the face of Chiaki replacing her.

"Hi dad, Minato-nii-san," Chiaki greets, smiling wearily, turning away from her family that was in the same room as her.

"Chi-chan, is what mom said true?" Minato quickly questioned before properly greeting her. Chiaki's eldest brother peered into the phone, stealing it away from his father. Seeing this, Chiaki blinked before nodding. She then flinched as she heard a loud wail from her phone, watching as Minato looked equally as startled as she felt.

"M-My baby girl taking part in something to do with volleyball a-again? I-I'm so t-touched!" Hiroto cried out, his loud wails echoing. Minato grimaced at the noise, his nose scrunching up briefly. His eyes widened as he watched as Hiroto began to stumble around.

"D-Dad?! What are you doing?!" The dark-haired male questioned, standing up to stop his father, who began to stuff a backpack.

With tears and snot running down his face, Hiroto responded, "h-how can I stay here when my princess decides something i-important like that! I need to go home and celebrate! We need to celebrate Minato!"

Minato felt a headache threatening to attack his head. With one hand, he gripped his father, stopping the large man. However, Minato can't help but grit his teeth, straining his muscles to stop Hiroto, who was built like bricks. "Dad, you can't! You have a meeting tomorrow morning and an important practice match with your team in the afternoon. And don't bother lying about it, I talked to Hirugami-kun today, so I know!"

Chiaki watched this with a cold look. Her gaze shifted to her family who was in the same room as her. Not much has changed; the three still trying to recover from their shock. Her eyes then moved back to the phone screen, her brother struggling to hold down their father, trying to stop him from taking the bullet train back to Miyagi.

"Dad, I'll be mad if you come back. You know I don't like it when you're irresponsible," Chiaki spoke. She was able to see that her words made Hiroto freeze, the man visibly shrinking back in sadness. Chiaki was almost sure that if her father had dog ears, they would have been flat against his head, his tail tucked between his legs.

"Chi-chan...." Hiroto pitifully called out his daughter's name, looking heartbroken. But Chiaki paid no mind to him, her attention on her eldest brother, who seemed to look relieved.

Minato sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose for a brief second. However, he recovers quickly, a small gentle smile on his face as he looks into his younger sister's face through the screen of the phone.

"Chi-chan, I don't know what happened back in Miyagi, but I'm very proud of you. When you have time, can you call me and tell me the whole story? I would love to hear it," Minato's brown eyes that are droopy like her own are warm.

Chiaki returns the smile, her own eyes narrowing in fondness, "for sure, Minato-nii-san. I trust that you have everything under control over there?"

Hearing this, Minato's face scrunches up briefly before nodding. Chiaki holds back a laugh, her eyes shifting to the dinner table of her home. It seemed like the twins and mother had calmed down enough to clean up the mess they made.

"Alright, I'll talk to you soon, Chi-chan. I miss you and love you," Minato sweetly says, the corner of his eyes crinkling, just like the way Hiroto's does when he smiles.

Chiaki whispers her own goodbye before placing the phone on the table. With a sigh, she rolls the sleeve of the sweater she wears, moving to help clean up the mess and see what can be saved from their dinner.

🏐🏐TUESDAY AFTER SCHOOL🏐🏐

"I'm glad you were able to get an okay from the school nurse," Daichi comments as he stands next to Chiaki.

Chiaki nods in silent agreement. She was glad too. Yesterday afternoon, she had not gone to the volleyball team's practice after school because she had to speak to the school nurse about joining the volleyball team. Of course, the nurse had put up a fight, seeing as Chiaki was of tremendous help. But eventually, she gave in, although somewhat reluctantly.

Now she stood next to Daichi and Sugawara in front of the bus, making sure everything was set. On her upper arm, she had a red cloth band that signified her as a medic, something she proudly wears.

During the weekend, Takeda had emailed the inter-high representatives. And it was quickly decided that when the tournament comes around, Chiaki will work as one of the many medic volunteers around the stadium. When Karasuno has their own games, she will be on break and be allowed to be on the court with the coaches and manager. And during the other times, she will be working, standing at standby, watching other games just in case there is an injury.

Chiaki didn't mind that. Especially seeing as it gave her volunteer and experience hours she can use for university. Plus, she'll be able to scout other schools.

Daichi made troubled eye contact with Sugawara, the silver-haired male seeming to be holding in a laugh. The two males looked down at their black club jacket. Attached to it is a hand, Chiaki holding onto the cloth and Daichi holding back the need to comment on it. Sugawara, on the other hand, found the whole thing funny because it seemed like Chiaki was doing it without even realizing it.

Both males recall yesterday afternoon after practice when Kageyama had spoken to them. The first year had warned them about Chiaki's tendency of holding hands and commented that it'll likely be one of them who would be at the receiving end of her affection seeing as they were closest to her. Neither of them minded, but a small part of them felt flustered at the thought.

All the members slowly climbed onto the bus, leaving the three of them being the last ones to be outside. A mischievous gleam flashed in Sugawara's eyes as his hand moved to wrap around Chiaki's, making the girl blink in surprise. She stared at his hand for a moment before her eyes went to her other hand that still gripped onto Daichi's jacket. At that moment, she seemed to realize what she was doing, looking a bit taken aback and a bit bashful.

"Oh... I'm so-"

"It's okay if you want to hold hands, Aki-Chan! Daichi nor I are bothered by it," Sugawara assured with a beam before pulling her along, entering the bus. Daichi followed after them with a small smile, taking a seat near the front, sitting beside Chiaki.

Sugawara had claimed the window seat, seeming to be in a good mood, his hand still holding Chiaki. Little did he know that with his words, he had opened the doors that Chiaki was reluctant to do so herself, and from now on, she wasn't going to hesitate to hold hands with either of them seeing as he had given her the green light.

"Ah, Aki-senpai, here," Kageyama spoke up from the seat beside them, rumbling through his gym bag before pulling out a bottle of ginger ale and a small packet of pills. Sugawara and Daichi eyed the items with an eyebrow raised, while Chiaki looked relieved, taking it with a smile and nod.

"Kageyama, what are those for?" Daichi questioned, watching as Chiaki popped a pill in, swallowing it down with the soda.

Kageyama frowns, making sure to watch Chiaki swallow the pills before speaking. "Aki-senpai gets motion sickness from bus rides. Having those helps a bit, and I remembered last night."

This makes both Sugawara and Daichi look at the female beside them in concern.

"She should be fine now, though. She'll probably feel a bit nauseous, but because she took those, she should be fine. But it really is strange, it's only for buses" the raven-haired setter comments matter of factly, "she's fine on cars and other moving vehicles. But she always feels sick on buses."

"I probably can't stand boats either," Chiaki says before getting comfortable in the seat. She grimaces as the bus begins to move, Chiaki leaning her head against Daichi's shoulder as she closes her eyes. Said male flinches for a brief second before relaxing, Sugawara snickering in response. The silver-haired male had a feeling his friend was going to take a bit to get used to the skin contact with the girl, but he knew Daichi would eventually.

Sugawara sits up a bit as he hears a commotion from the back, Tanaka trying to hype and cheer up Hinata, who was abnormally nervous for today's practice match.

"Oi, Hinata! Have some pocky! That'll lighten you up a bit! Her-what the heck with that face!" Tanaka gasped as he took a good look at the ginger, flinching at the dark circles underneath the first-year's eyes.

Hinata blinks, his eyes almost lifeless. "Ehh? Ah, I kinda didn't sleep last night..." Hinata admits before covering his mouth with his hands, "c-can we open the window...? If we open it, I'll be-" The poor boy isn't able to finish his sentence as he disperses his stomach's content on his victim.

Chiaki kept her eyes closed with her eyebrows furrowed, "Suga-San, please open the window before the smell comes to the front of the bus and makes me even sicker..." She weakly whispered, the silver-haired male immediately doing as she said.

Daichi petted her silver-head in pity, "Aki-chan, take a nap if you can. I'll wake you up when we get there."

In response, the female nods in understanding, burrowing her face into Daichi's upper arm and letting her conscious go.

The silver-haired female adjusted the white face mask on her face, turning to Kageyama, who watched her silently.

"How is it?" She questioned, dusting off the black Karasuno tracksuit she wore that matched with Shimizu and the other club members. Kageyama nodded, his arms crossed over his chest.

"I wouldn't recognize you immediately, Aki-senpai. With your new hair color and half your face covered, it's hard to recognize you as long as you don't speak, and people don't get a good look of your eyes," the setter reassured, giving her a thumbs up.

This makes Chiaki sign in relief. Her gaze shifts to where the others were gathered. Hinata was apologizing multiple times to Tanaka, who had got dressed into a extra pair of clean shorts, typing his dirtied pair into a plastic bag to take home and wash.

Kageyama and Chiaki approach the team, they eyeing the silver-haired female in confusion and curiosity in their gaze.

"Why are you wearing a face mask, Aki-san?" Ennoshita questioned, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion, "are you feeling alright?" He question, growing concerned for his fellow second-year's health.

Chiaki opens her mouth to assure that she's fine when most of them look at her in worry. But before she could, she's beat by Kageyama.

"She's hiding her face to go unnoticed by her ex," Kageyama answered as if it was the most obvious thing have a stoic expression.

"WHAT?!" The boys all yell in shock, their mouth hanging open before looking at Chiaki to confirm the setter's words.

Chiaki blinks once, processing what her kouhai said. And when she does, she lightly smacks his head with a frown on her face. "Don't spread lies, Tobi-kun," she scolds, shaking her head in disbelief in slight annoyance.

"S-So, what he said isn't true?" Tanaka questions while sweating, unusually nervous to hear her response.

The silver-haired female sighed, placing a hand on her hip, "me trying to hide isn't a lie. But the person isn't an ex. I haven't even had a boyfriend before."

This makes a look of surprise to spread across Kageyama's face, the male eyeing the girl beside him with a puzzled look. "He's not?"

At the younger boy's words, Chiaki could feel her cheeks had flushed a light pink. However, the facemask she wore hid it, much to her relief. Chiaki shakes her head and takes her place beside Daichi and Sugawara, having ended the conversation with her silence.

The other boys could tell that the conversation had ended as well, Hinata and Tanaka moving to Kageyama.

"Pssst... Is what she said true, Kageyama...? She never has had a boyfriend?" Tanaka questioned, Hinata nodding in curiosity, his eyes shining.

The raven-haired boy frowned, scratching his cheek. "Uh, we all assumed they were dating back in middle school. But they never said anything officially, so I can't say, Tanaka-san," Kageyama admits, thinking back to his time in middle school. "But, they were super close to the point that we thought they were dating. The whole vibe was almost like a married couple..."

This makes Tanaka sweat drop, not being able to imagine that Chiaki, who was beginning to be known as someone unattainable, the Takane no Hana (1) of his grade to be in a relationship. Hinata, on the other hand, looks shocked by the information.

"If what she said is true... I can't believe someone as pretty as Aki-senpai never has had a boyfriend," the ginger comments in awe, "you would think she'll have suitors lining up in front of her house."

At his words, a dark look appears on Kageyama's face. He grips onto Hinata's head, making the said boy squawk in pain and surprise. "Listen here, bōke. Around Aki-senpai, there are four scary guards that wouldn't hesitate to snap your neck if you even glance at her in the wrong way. No one is worthy in their eyes..."

All the boys who heard this gulped, shaking in fear as they wondered and imagined what their setter said. Daichi, who had also heard, only paled, a faraway look appearing in his eyes, a weak laugh leaving his lips as he silently agrees to what Kageyama said.

Eventually, they all make it to the gym, although Chiaki did note that Daichi had disappeared at one point. A few moment later he had come back, dragging Tanaka, who pouted as his captain scolded him with a vein popping on his forehead. Sugawara, who saw her puzzled look, laughed seeming to be used to the specific scene.

"Tanaka probably picked a fight with the opponent team again, and Daichi must have scolded him," the silver-haired male explained, Chiaki nodding in understanding not verbally responding to her senpai. And she wasn't planning on opening her mouth any time soon. The silver-haired female hadn't spoken a single word since she walked into the gym, deciding if she had to, she'd whisper.

She felt on edge, looking around and recognizing quite a few familiar faces. When she walked past them, she kept her head down, letting her bangs cover her eyes and hide her features her mask couldn't.

And thankfully, none of them seemed to notice anything. However, Chiaki nearly flinched when Kunimi stared with his half-lidded eyes, a look of curiosity in them as they trailed after the Karasuno team. Beads of sweat trailed down the back of her neck as his gaze landed on her. Although there was no denying Kunimi had moments where he was lazy, she knew that he was one of the sharpest underclassmen she had back in middle school.

A small sigh of relief left the female's mouth as Kindaichi approached the slightly shorter boy, pulling his attention away from her.

Seeing this, Chiaki turned towards Tsukishima, the said male blinking as the female grabbed his hand.

"Wha-"

"Don't move, I'm taping your fingers for you," the silver-haired female whispered, using the tall blond's body as a shield as she began to tape his finger although he argued that he could do it himself. Chiaki paid no mind to the scowling blond, neatly taping his hand, much to his astonishment.

Tsukishima bent his fingers, scrutinizing his taped finger with narrowed eyes before looking down at the female with a condescending smile, "huh, you're not that bad."

"Two of my older brothers are middle blockers as well, I've taped their fingers all my life," Chiaki quietly explained as she put away her tape. However, she looks up in surprise as she hears a crash. Tsukishima and she both blinked as they realized a stiff Hinata had crashed into the bench, tumbling to the floor in his nervousness.

Chiaki can't help but furrow her eyebrow, growing concerned for the short boy realizing how nervous he looked. It seemed like it was the same for the third-years, all of them watching the orange-haired boy in varied levels of worry.

"Aki-senpai, don't look, but at two o'clock, Iwaizumi-san is looking over here," Kageyama whispers as he walks past her. The female is thankful for the warning, nodding in understanding before maneuvering around the team before using Daichi and Sugawara as a human shield next.

They both send her a questioning look but don't make a scene as they only share a look of confusion with each other before shrugging it off. From the corner of her eyes, Chiaki could see that, like Kageyama said, Iwaizumi was looking at her. Beside him is Kunimi, seeming to say something to his upperclassmen.

Unknown to Chiaki and a waste of her worries, the two males had no clue it was her. Instead, they were speaking about their jealousy of the Karasuno team, their other teammates joining in.

"Karasuno has two managers? How is that fair?" Hanamaki comments, running a hand through his pink hair with a pout.

Iwaizumi lets out a laugh, seeming to look a bit amused as his friend whines, "I don't think the one with silver hair is a manager though. She's wearing a medic band on her arm, she's probably their medic."

"I feel even more jealous now. A personal medic? That's kinda like a nurse, right?" Matsukawa grins, nudging Hanamaki, who also shared a similar look as him.

"Their manager is really pretty, but their medic also has a very good figure although I can't see her face with her mask," Kunimi comments, making the three years look at him a bit taken aback, not expecting him to join in their thirst conversation.

Hanamaki releases a loud laugh as he roughly grabs Kunimi, wrapping him in a headlock the younger boy immediately tries to escape, "looks like Kunimi is also a man! But you ain't wrong about figure, they're big," the male grinned, earning a smack from Iwaizumi who decided that was enough.

Kunimi looks annoyed at the comment, glaring at his senpais, who snickered at his expression.

A whistle was blown, catching everyone's attention as they gathered on the court. Chiaki wished her team a quiet good luck before taking a seat beside Shimizu, a small medical bag at her feet.

"Ah..." Both females chorused, Chiaki closing her eyes as she fights the urge to punch at the bridge of her nose.

As soon as the game started, Hinata messed up with his nerve, going after the ball even after Daichi called it. Shimizu sighed beside her, sharing a brief eye contact with Chiaki, the two females not being able to help it but let out a weak, wry laugh.

The longer the game continues, Chiaki becomes even warier, her eyes darting around the court of her team in concern. She could tell that irritation was building up in a certain freshmen setter, the dark aura seeming to leak out of his body.

Each time the orange-haired first-year messed up, Chiaki couldn't help but shift on the bench, slowly moving to sit on the edge.

"Okay! Lets steadily take back points one at a time!" Daichi encourages, an easy going smile on his face in hopes to calm his teammates. However, that freezes in place as he realizes who was serving next.

Kageyama has a similar expression, sweating as his mouth part in dread. Of all people...

Chiaki holds back the need to speak encouraging words, her eyes darting to the Seijoh team before looking back at Hinata, who held the volleyball looking like a small, terrified chihuahua as he shook in place.

"Kageyama," Tanaka hissed at the male in position beside him, "is Hinata okay, or did he stop breathing?" The male with a shaved head questioned as Hinata took forever to serve the ball.

In response, Kageyama spoke with an urgency in his tone, "even if you ask me, I've got no idea, Tanaka-san!" The setter hissed back. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, the ball smacked him straight on the back of his head, making him stumble a few steps forward.

Ah... Chiaki and everyone thinks.

It's silent for a second before it gets broken with hysteric laughters.

Tanaka bursted out laughing first, Tsukishima quickly joining in. "Wahaha! Oi, how's the back of your head doing, Kageyama?" The wing spiker asks, holding his stomach as he cackled.

Beside him, Tsukishima was snickering, his eyes gleaming, not even bothering to hide his amusement and glee, "the back of your head is looking good, King!"

Slowly, Kageyama turns, a look of fury burning in his eyes, looking ready to lunge forward any moment.

Chiaki saw this before anyone else, jumping up to her feet, surprising Shimizu.

"Tobi-kun, freeze!"

Her clear voice rang through the now silent gym, both Tanaka and Tsukishima shutting up after seeing Kageyama's angered face.

Kageyama froze just as she said, blinking while a couple of the players from Seijoh also became still as stone at the familiar voice and command.

It was a familiar code to those who went to Kitagawa Daiichi, something Chiaki had made for Kageyama when he was about to or if he did overstep his boundaries. It was suggested by Chiaki because Kageyama had the tendency of irritating Oikawa without realizing and that caused an unwanted rift in the team.

And while there were only a few people who knew it, they all knew only one person used it.

Iwaizumi stared at the female with silver hair, not being able to look away from her in disbelief. Kunimi and Kindaichi had a similar reaction, staring at Chiaki with their mouth hanging open.

"N-No way," Kindaichi hissed, nudging Kunimi, "is that seriously.....?" He didn't end his question, but Kunimi knew precisely what his friend was asking.

The boy with his hair parted in the middle nodded, his eyes narrowing, trying to get a better look at the female who was standing. "Aki-senpai is the only one who could stop Kageyama like that. And I recognize her voice."

At Chiaki's voice, Kageyama snapped out of his anger, looking at the female before nodding, letting her know he wasn't going to kill Hinata with his emotions out of whack. Seeing this, Chiaki takes a seat back down on the bench.

She looked calm. However, inwardly she was freaking out, especially when she felt a heated gaze being shot her way from the opponent court. She doesn't dare to look over, already knowing who was staring at her. I'm going to die today. I'm going to get murdered... Look at him, Hajime-senpai has gotten buff, he's going to be able to crush my head with his thighs like a watermelon.... Thoughts like these ran through Chiaki's head as she inwardly cried at her fate.

Kageyama released a long breath, Chiaki's voice snapping him out of his anger and replacing it with a sane, calm mind. However that didn't stop him from slowly making his way towards Hinata, who was frozen in fear.

"W-W-Wait! Kageyama! We can talk about this!" Hinata stuttered, taking a staggering step back as the taller male loomed over him.

"Hey, you."

Hinata froze at Kageyama's voice, already being able to see his life flashing before his eyes. "Yes..." He meekly responds, his shoulders sagging.

Kageyama's sharp eyes are shaded by his bangs as he glares down at the shorter boy. "Just what are you scared of that has you so goddamn nervous? Is it because the opponents are big? Because it's your first practice match?"

Hinata can't help but break out into a sweat at the darkness that seeps out of the setter. He flinches as Kageyama's palm smacks into the back of his own head, the loud sound seeming to echo in the silent gym.

"You're saying," Kageyama slowly spoke as he continued to smack his head as Hinata watched, his sharp eyes promising murder, "that they're something even scarier than you driving a serve into the back of my head, huh? So, what is that....?"

Hinata, who's stiff as a board, looking like a baby chick getting glared at by a snake spoke in a dead tone. "Nothing, in particular, comes to mind...."

A haunting laugh leaves Kageyama's mouth, the setter continuing to smack his head to emphasize his point, "then you don't have a reason to be nervous anymore, now do you? Since you've already done the scariest thing, you can think of! So now...."

Hinata flinches, shrinking in as he sees the taller male raise his hand. But his eyes widen as his ears ring at the loud voice that comes out of Kageyama's mouth.

"HURRY UP AND GET BACK TO MOVING THE WAY YOU NORMALLY DO, YOU BŌKEEEE!!!"

Shimizu, who sat next to Chiaki, worriedly placed a hand on the younger female's shoulder, lightly shaking her, "Aki-chan, are you okay?"

A dry laugh left the silver-haired female's mouth, Chiaki looking like her soul had left her. "Shimizu-senpai, don't mind me... I'm just thinking about my death that's going to happen at the end of the game..." She dejectedly spoke, leaning her head against Sugawara's shoulder. The said male patted her head in pity, already noticing how Iwaizumi was still staring at her way.

"My death...." Chiaki trailed off, making both third-years sweatdrop.

Both teams gathered together separately, quickly sipping water as they took a moment to discuss and have a break.

"I-Is that really, Aki-senpai?" Kindaichi questioned, his eyes darting to where Karasuno was gathered, his gaze going over to the silver-haired female with the red medical band on her arm.

Kunimi hummed as he used his shirt to wipe at his face, also looking over at the opponent team. "It has to be her. The nickname she used for Kageyama and the command. Aki-senpai is the only one who used it. And the longer I look at her, the way she stands reminds me of her," the first-year wing spiker says.

"It's definitely her," both first-years turn to Iwaizumi in surprise, not expecting the older male to be listening to their conversation. The third-year vice captain has his eyebrows furrowed as he glanced at the Karasuno team. "Chiaki has a habit of crossing her legs when she's standing. And look, she's holding hands with the silver-haired guy and Kageyama."

At his words, both first-years look over once again, realizing the spiky-haired man was right. This makes Kunimi snicker, not being able to help but find amusement in it. "It seems like Aki-senpai hasn't changed that much with her need to hold hands."

This makes Kindaichi blush, a pout on his lips. Kunimi immediately notices this, lightly smacking his friend's back, "stop pouting, it doesn't make you look cute. And it doesn't change the fact that Aki-senpai didn't hold your hand a lot. She must have picked up the vibe that you had a crush on her."

Kindaichi scowled, sending a stink eye at his friend, looking offended at what Kunimi said. "Don't bring it up, you ass. And stop being so smug cause you got to hold hands with her more than me. You can't deny that Kageyama got to hold Aki-senpai's hand more than you."

This makes an irritated look appear on Kunimi's face, the smirk getting wiped off his face. The banter between the two keeps them occupied while the third-years gather around Iwaizumi in interest.

"So, you guys know her," Matsukawa questions, the tall male eyes lighting up in interest. He briefly makes eye contact with his best friend, Hanamaki. The said pink-haired male looked eager to hear some gossip.

Iwaizumi only hums in response, not being able to look away from Chiaki, seeming to drink in her appearance after a year of her being absent from his life. "She looks different..." He whispers to himself, but his words are heard by both Matsukawa and Hanamaki, the boys' interest getting piped.

But seeing that they weren't getting the response and answer they wanted from Iwaizumi, Hanamaki wrapped a hand around Kindaichi's neck, dragging the first year to him. The boy stumbled and looked confused as he got flanked by two of his senpais.

"So, Kindaichi, tell us who that pretty girl is," Hanamaki questioned with a grin. Matsukawa nodded in agreement, not caring as Kindaichi got a bit uncomfortable under their gaze.

Kindaichi sent a look at Kunimi, hoping his friend would swoop in to help him out. But Kunimi pretends to not see, crouching down to re-tie his shoes although he obviously doesn't need to do so.

"Well?" Matsukawa questions expectantly, both he and Hanamaki getting closer to Kindaichi.

The poor boy gulped, "s-she was our senpai in middle school. Uh, she was Iwaizumi-san and Oikawa-san's kouhai. You might know her too, she's Ibato Chiaki-san, the-"

"The Dove of Miyagi," both Hanamaki and Matsukawa chorused a look of surprise on their face, looking back at where Chiaki stood in interest. Silently, the boys looked at the Karasuno team until their coach called them for their attention.

🏐🏐EXTRA🏐🏐

🏐🏐EARLIER AT TOKYO 🏐🏐

The males all panted as they lay on the floor in various states of exhaustion, sweat soaking into their athletic shirts from their sponsors.

"Who angered Coach Ibato?" Hirugami Fukurou, the twenty-three-year-old middle blocker who recently joined the team, questioned, laying on the cold floor like a starfish, his chest rising and falling. He could hear his own heart beating in his chest, his legs and arms feeling like lead.

The only response he gets are groans from his teammates, most of them looking too dead to even form proper words. Fukurou releases a sigh as he forces himself to turn over on his stomach, his muscles that are lacking oxygen screaming in protest at his movement.

After he moves, he falls back limp to the ground, only lifting his head up to look at his Coach, who has his face twisted with his arms crossed over his chest. Any idiot could tell that Ibato Hiroto was in a tremendously lousy mood.

"Alright, which dumbass made him like that?" The captain for the Schweiden Adlers' grunts, seeming to look as dead as the rest of his team, "I'm older than you all, I can't take back to back hard practice from Coach when he goes into ogre mode. Admit it right now, and your punishment won't be as harsh."

No one speaks up, not a single one of them can think of anything that comes to their mind. Realizing this, the captain's gaze moves to Fukurou, who flinches and looks away, refusing to meet eyes with the older man.

"Alright, Fukurou, as the newbie, you're tasked to find out what's causing Coach to be like that. And find what we have to do to make his mood better. Not even Coach Suzaku can stop Coach Ibato when he's like that," the captain pretends to not see the look of horror and disbelief on Fukurou's face.

It takes another second for the middle blocker to realize how serious his captain is. When he looks around for help from his teammates, he only receives a gaze of pity, or they shift their gaze away in guilt. Just as the male wishes his life goodbye, the door to the stadium opens, a head poking in.

Minato blinks as he sees the team all spread out, a look of exhaustion on their faces. His gaze shifts to where his father is, his eyes lighting up in realization, seeming to piece everything together. The man can't help the wry smile as he sends an apologetic look at the players seeing as they took the brunt of his father's anger.

"Minatooooo," Fukurou cries out his friend's name in relief, Minato immediately finding the male on the floor. Minato approaches him with a smile, helping his friend sit up with a chuckle.

"Looks like my dad's giving you guys a hard time," the eldest Ibato son comments, earning a scoff from the players.

"More like trying to kill us with practice," Fukurou grunts, giving the tall man a nod of thanks.

Minato and Fukurou were acquaintances before the latter joined the Schweiden Adlers, the two having met at camp when they were in middle school. They were the same age and had a similar passion, plus they both came from a family with a background of volleyball. When Fukurou joined the team, seeing as Minato's father was the head coach and Minato himself his assistant, the two had rekindled their friendship, often going out to dinner or drinks when they were done with their jobs.

Fukurou gripped Minato's shoulder, a desperate look appearing in his brown eyes, "please tell me what's got Coach Ibato in such a bad mood! He's going to end up killing all of us by the end of the week if he continues to be like that!"

This makes a weak laugh leave Minato's lips, immediately knowing what had made his father like that. With a sigh, Minato began to explain. "This weekend, we got a call from my mother in Miyagi. Anyways, you know about my sister, right? I'm pretty sure you met her the last time she came to visit us."

Fukurou immediately nods, "the Dove. How can I not, she left quite an impression. And she's the same age as my younger brother. So what about her?"

"Well, after her accident, she didn't want anything to do with volleyball. But this weekend, we found out she joined her high school's volleyball team," Minato explains, a small smile on his lips as he thinks about his baby sister.

Fukurou, on the other hand, has a puzzled look on his face, "shouldn't that be good news?"

"It is, that is until he found out she joined the boy's team as the team medic."

"Oh...."

Both males' expression scrunched up, knowing what that meant. They were both older brothers to sisters, they knew how families worked.

A silence fell over them, neither Fukurou nor Minato having the energy to say anything for a moment, a faraway look appearing in their eyes as they imagined their own sister hanging around a group of hormonal boys.

"You have anything in mind that can bring up Coach's mood?" Fukurou finally asks, remembering the reason why he was having this conversation with Minato in the first place.

A thoughtful look appeared on Minato's face before he nodded, pulling his phone out to send a text.

Chiaki blinked, pulling her phone out, feeling it buzz in her pocket as she waited outside of the bus, being the first one to arrive. She opens the text from Minato, her eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

________________________________

Minato-nii-san:

S.O.S. please text 'I love you, Daddy. Miss seeing you, and have a good day at work. Don't be a mean coach, okay?' to Dad, ASAP. If not, our family might get sued for mass murder.

Received: 3:08 PM

_________________________________

While confused, Chiaki does as she is asked before slipping her phone back into her pocket as Shimizu approaches her with a small smile.

Fukurou and Minato silently watched as Hiroto pulled out his phone when it pinged in his pocket. The said man's face that was a stony mask of an ogre seemed to melt in front of their eyes, his cheeks dusting a shade of pink. Fukurou's mouth is hanging to the floor as Hiroto beams, his lousy mood just a moment ago seeming like a joke.

"Alright, men! Good job today! You're dismissed early!" Hiroto hollers with a broad smile on his face, not seeming to notice the look of disbelief that's sent his way by his players. The said man, almost skips out of the gym, leaving all his players in his dust.

Minato flashes his friend a peace sign.

From that moment, between the Schweiden Adlers' players, Ibato Chiaki was known as the team's goddess, the only person who can help them when Hiroto's bad mood went out of hand.

🏐🏐TERMS🏐🏐

Takane no Hana 高嶺の花: - Literally translated as, "Flower on a high peak." It means "something out of one's reach." Some things are beautiful to look at, but realistically, there is no way you can get them. The object might be something that you want very much but can't have.

A/n

Yayyyy, Minato's look is finally revealed!! Many of you may recognize him but he looks like Yamasaki Sousuke from Free! He inherited his mother, Minako's, dark brown hair and droopy eyes but Hiroto's eye color! He's actually almost a Carbon copy of Hiroto on the face and body structure except for his eyes and height! He's taller than Hiroto, being the tallest in the Ibato household!

Don't forget to vote and comment to let me know how you think of the story so far! Did you like the extra, haha.

Next update: Chapter 7 | Ahiru-chan will be coming out on October 16th, 2020 so keep your eyes open on it. INteraction with Iwa-chan is going to be here!!

-Ember

posted: October 2, 2020

2 notes · View notes

marveliciousfanace · 4 years

Note

kisses 14/i love you 22/sensory 38

Thank you for the prompt (and for your patience while I answered it)!! I hope you like it.

Read it here on my AO3, or beneath the cut.

“I’m going to kill him, I swear to god.”

“I cannot recommend that course of action.”

“No, I’m going to do it. I’m going to kill him.”

Data didn’t even glance up from his PADD. “I must remind you that assault against another Starfleet officer is punishable by court martial, and murder is illegal in the Federation. Additionally, as your superior officer, I would be obligated to report the pre-meditated nature of the crime.”

Tasha huffed a laugh from where she was plastered against Data’s back, draped over his shoulders like a blanket. She shifted, rubbing her cheek against the arc of his neck, her nose brushing the edge of his uniform collar. He could feel her smile against his bioplast skin. “What?” she teased. “I don’t get spousal immunity?”

“We are not married. That condition does not apply.”

“Hmph.” The steady rhythm of Tasha’s breathing rose and fell against Data’s back. It was a familiar weight, one Data had become accustomed to in the evenings they shared. Although he worked faster at his computer console, he felt the trade-off of extended close-contact was worth doing his reports on the bed. Tasha had come from sparring practice; her skin was still slightly damp and flushed with exertion, but Data didn’t mind. It was always pleasing to be reminded just how alive Tasha really was.

She pressed a kiss to his neck, then a second one, following the trail along a tendon towards his ear. “Maybe we should get married, then. That way, when they find Corey’s body in the turboshaft, you don’t have to say anything.”

“How would Lieutenant Corey’s body get into the turboshaft?”

“I’ve got my ways.” Tasha nipped gently at the skin just below Data’s ear, then went back to the kisses. “He deserves a lot worse than that. God, the shit he was saying…I nearly decked him right there in the gym.”

“I do not believe that is a legal move in sof’el’itju.”

“No. But it’d feel good.” She huffed in frustration. “It’s always going to be like this, isn’t it? People are going to say shit about you, and I’m going to want to punch them.”

“What did Lieutenant Corey say to warrant such an extreme reaction?”

Tasha snorted. “Trust me, it’s not extreme.” The kisses stopped, and her head drooped against his shoulder, her weight growing heavier against him as she slumped. Absently, Data reached up with the hand not on his PADD, placing it over Tasha’s arm in what he knew was a soothing gesture. Her arm tightened around him, and her voice was muffled when she muttered, “It was just stupid stuff. About you. About…us.”

Data blinked. He set the PADD aside. “Tasha.”

She groaned. “I know, I know! I shouldn’t let it wind me up like this, but it’s rude, and I hate it, and-“

“What did he say?”

The patience in Data’s voice settled her again. She thumped her forehead lightly against him, a half-headbutt like the kind Spot gave to Data’s legs when she wanted affection. Data curled his fingers more firmly around Tasha’s arm. Not enough to hurt, but enough to ground her.

Softly, Tasha murmured, “He said that it figured, you and me. That if I was capable of anything real that I wouldn’t be ‘shacking up’ with a pile of circuitry.”

“Why would he say that?”

“Because he’s an asshole,” Tasha growled. She buried her face in his neck. “He’s a fucking asshole who’s just bitter that I was mopping the floor with him and wanted to knock me off balance. And it worked.” She sighed, shaking her head. “Ensign Vonak practically had to tear us apart. I was ready to kill him, and he was still fucking talking, going on about how you were Starfleet’s pet computer and was it like kissing a circuit board and I just wanted to…” Her hands clenched into fists, and then released as she let another breath out. “I’m the chief of security. I’m supposed to be above these kinds of stupid, petty fights.”

“Corey is a member of your department. It was extremely disrespectful of him to speak to you in that manner. It is not unreasonable that you reacted in anger.”

“Maybe.” Data felt her eyes close. “But I’m not supposed to beat up members of my department just because they upset me. There’s rules about that kind of thing.”

“Are you upset because Corey disparaged my sentience, our relationship, or your honor?”

Tasha hesitated, and then said, “All of the above.” She let out another little huff. “It feels petty to report him over something like this.”

“On the contrary,” Data said. He twisted around, forcing Tasha to pull away to look at him. “Lieutenant Corey works in security. If he displays signs of prejudice, that is likely to affect his performance, likely to the detriment of others. It would be negligent not to make a notation of it.”

“You really think so?”

Data nodded. “We were aware, when we began this relationship, that not everyone would understand. But we are also Starfleet officers, and we are expected to adhere to a certain level of decorum. I would recommend that you speak with Lieutenant Corey, to make him aware that this behavior will not be tolerated. If he appears contrite, it may be appropriate to let him off with a warning. If he does not appear to regret his actions, a formal reprimand may be the only acceptable course of action.”

“How can you do that?”

“Do what?”

Tasha shook her head, waving a hand at him. “How can you act so professional, all the time?”

Data raised his eyebrows. “I do not believe that is true. Were I to be truly professional, I would not be engaging in intimate relations with-“

Tasha laughed, cutting him off. “Okay, fair enough. But…this really doesn’t rattle you? When people talk like this about you? About us?”

Data hesitated, considering. “It would be inaccurate to say that I am unaffected. It clearly upsets you, which I do not like. And it is…concerning, that these are struggles we continue to face. But I am also used to it. I have been experiencing this kind of response since my activation. I find I am…somewhat immune.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I appreciate your empathy.”

It made her smile. She leaned into him again, sweeping his PADDs farther down the bed and thumping the duvet with her hand, and Data laid down, wrapping an arm around Tasha when she sprawled on top of him, snuggling against his chest. “Thanks for letting me rant at you,” she murmured. “I’ll…talk to Corey tomorrow. Professionally.”

Data stroked her hair, and she pressed another kiss to his neck, wriggling closer. “That is a mature decision,” he told her. He hesitated, and with affection in his voice, added, “Perhaps it would also be mature to take a shower before you sleep. You were just engaged in vigorous exercise.”

Tasha lifted her chin, crossing her arms on Data’s chest and resting her head on it. “Is that your way of telling me I smell?” She grinned.

Data allowed a small smile to quirk in lips. “My olfactory sensitivity is not strong enough to react. However, I believe if you sleep now, you will forget to shower later, and our crewmates may not be so accepting.”

Tasha laughed, hauling herself off his chest. “Alright, point taken.” She dragged herself off the bed, and headed in the direction of the bathroom. Over her shoulder, she shot him another grin. “You joining me?”

He did.

And perhaps the mature thing to do would have been to allow Tasha to handle Corey all on her own. Data certainly had no intention of interfering with inter-department protocol. But it did seem appropriate, when he stepped into the turbolift with the lieutenant the following day, to make an observation. One which was not threatening, nor an abuse of his power as a lieutenant commander or a second officer.

Still. When Data stepped out of the turbolift again, Lieutenant Corey was stiff, his face ashen. Which was good, thought Data. He’d understood.

When he joined Tasha on the bridge, he smiled. And she smiled too.

#star trek the next generation #datasha #ask games #my thoughts #my writing #im still taking prompts for this pairing if anyone is interested #and i have two more to edit and post so keep an eye out

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elizaviento · 5 years

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Manipulation (part 5)

NSFW lite -- 2950 words. Hints/mentions of rape.

(FYI: This story is a sequel/companion piece to Assimilation, which can be found in the Rick Fic Masterpost link in my blog’s description along with additional chapters of Manipulation. Or, you can click the #manipulation tag in this post, within my blog, to access all additional chapters.)

*****

“Now approaching planet Earth,” the ship’s autopilot declared in its choppy monotone, awaking me with a start. It hadn’t seemed to disturb the woman asleep in the passenger seat in the slightest and I sighed in relief. Not only did she obviously need as much rest as she could get, I also didn’t particularly want to sit in awkward silence while what had transpired between us – or, rather, between me and Unity – ran on a loop in my head.

Taking a moment to come to my senses, I located and unscrewed my flask only to find it woefully empty. “Shit,” I cursed, recalling that I’d drained the last bit before setting the autopilot and passing out. I supposed I would be forced to reminisce on my new found status of a naive dumb ass after all. And, right on cue, my mind began to replay Unity’s letter time and again, lingering on one particular sentence –

“Please understand that I kept her from you so that you wouldn’t end up hating yourself more than you already do.”

Of all the downright shitty and absolutely fucked up things that Unity had done during the weekend, that one sentence was the only statement of truth. Because, I wouldn’t have just hated myself a bit more than I pretty much have my entire life. I would have finally had the perfect excuse to eradicate myself from this universe once and for all. So, was I grateful to Unity for preventing me from raping one of the very few people in my life that I didn’t despise? Grateful may be too strong a word considering it had ended up raping her itself to prove, once and for all, that I was a low life piece of shit and always would be. I could have told Unity that myself and saved us each a fuck ton of time and effort. So, no, I supposed I wasn’t grateful, after all.

But, at this point, what was done was done. From what I’d gathered from my time with Unity, most of its assimilated victims eventually regained their memories. Sometimes it took hours; sometimes it took days, weeks, or even years dependent upon the amount of time the subject was assimilated. Of course, I’d only learned this after the last time Unity and I split for good. Somewhere along the line, I’d become curious – or perhaps guilty – about the lives we ruined when Unity assimilated unsuspecting beings to commit various crimes and then leave them to deal with the consequences. Tracking down a number of those assimilated victims had taken years in itself but almost all of them confirmed that, eventually, their memories of assimilation had returned.

So, I was essentially screwed.

I was almost certain, as her eyes continued to dart this way and that, she was dreaming of what had transpired while Unity assumed control of her body. Once she regained even a tenth of those memories, she would despise me. And, perhaps that was a good thing. Perhaps, then, I could finally free myself of this unhealthy obsession.

“Now entering atmosphere of Earth,” the ship declared, jolting my focus back to landing properly. Glancing toward her, she stirred slightly but remained fast asleep.

As I brought the ship in for a landing in the driveway, I punched the garage door opener and extended a hand to shake her awake. Groaning, she clapped her hands over her ears as the screech of the garage door assaulted her aching head as well as mine.

“Hey. We’re here – w-we’re back,” I said, only glancing her way as she swung open the passenger side door and literally fell out of the ship. Hopping out of the driver’s side, I made my way around as quickly as I could without appearing concerned, throwing in an exasperated sigh for good measure. She’d apparently landed flat on her ass as indicated by the way she was leaning against the side of the ship and the way my lab coat bunched around her thighs.

“I don’t even know what day it is, let alone what time. Are they here?” she asked, staring straight up at the ceiling.

“Yeah,” I confirmed, guessing she was referring to the remainder of her – our – family.

“I can’t walk through the house wearing nothing but your lab coat.”

“You aren’t – you have other, uhh, things… on your body,” I said, immediately wanting to stuff the ignorant sentence back down my throat. “I’ll distract them so y-y-you can sneak through.”

“Thanks, Rick,” she said in a tone so grateful that I began to doubt my earlier assumption that memories were returning to her as she slept. How could they have been if she weren’t currently trying to claw my eyes out?

When she began to haul herself from the floor, the hem of my lab coat rode even higher on her hips, exposing those lacy panties that I demanded she get nice and wet for me just mere hours prior. Averting my eyes, I exited the garage into the kitchen and then made my way to the living room.

“Hey,” I greeted the family as they all sat watching that brain dead show where desperate girls fight over some lame ass loser. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted her crawling toward the den.

“Dad,” Beth began as she stood and rounded the couch to block my path. Oh great, here we go, I thought as she carefully continued. “I – um – Jerry and I were looking for our weed wacker and found your subterranean lair…” At this point, I tuned her out and gave the impression I was listening by nodding now and then. When the final word she spoke pitched higher in tone than the rest of them, I answered whatever question she’d asked with, “Okay.”

“Okay?” she confirmed, appearing shocked. Only then did I wonder what I’d actually agreed to while walking toward my room. That is, until Summer decided to interject.

“Grandpa Rick, what happened with Unity?”

“Who?” I asked a little too defensively before rebounding with, “Oh, Unity. Yeah, well, I-I-I mean honestly – we – we’re talkin’ about an entity that thrives on enslavement and deceit, you know? It’s not cool. Fun’s fun, but who needs it? I – uh – I’ll be in my room.”

Thankfully, that seemed to drop the subject and they allowed me to retreat to my small room without further objection. Once inside, I locked the door and plopped down on the rickety cot. No matter what happened from this point, I knew for a fact that things had changed irrevocably. Eventually, she would regain her memories and then the chips would fall where they may.

How long had it been since I’d discovered I wasn’t the only Rick in the multiverse with the hots for his daughter’s best friend? A decade? I had no sooner invented the inter-dimensional goggles and slipped them over my face for the first time before I flipped through the eyes of Rick after Rick until I landed on dimension C-69. Because, that Rick, who’d I’d crossed paths with at the Citadel a time or two, was fucking someone doggy style. So, of course, I watched. A perfect POV experience unlike any porn site around, I mentally congratulated myself when the breathy moans and cries of the woman, as she rocked to and fro, enhanced the experience tenfold. But, when C-69 spoke to his female companion, every muscle in my body went rigid and I had literally stopped breathing.

“Mmm, baby girl – that’s right. You like this dick, don’t ya? Fuckin’ tell me you love it, Chicken.”

“Rick!” the young woman exclaimed with a laugh, lowering her head to the mattress as he continued to plow into her. “I told you not to call me that while we’re fucking! You know I can’t stop laughing.” Then, she looked back at me – HIM – with those god damn stunning eyes.

Feeling like my heart would explode; I had hastily removed the goggles and forced myself to leave them off until the intense wave of nausea subsided. However, it had only seemed to intensify when the undeniable fact kept resurfacing again and again, no matter how many pulls I had taken from the nearby whiskey bottle –

I wasn’t the only one. Not even close. And, if Rick C-69 had managed to fuck her at that point in time, than so had an infinite number of our counterparts.

Eventually, after extensive ‘research’ using the goggles, I had discovered that when I had run off into the great wild yonder, my counterparts had either stayed to be with her or they took her with them. Of course, that was years before she got married, so the Ricks who were too chicken shit to make a move sooner, myself included, ended up suffering through an affair or soul crushing unrequited ‘love’.

“Love,” I mumbled and scoffed to myself. What a pile of horseshit.

Coming back to the here and now, I decided that I had better ways to occupy my mind. What good would it do to stew in my bedroom when I could hear her voice just on the other side of the wall, lying about why she hadn’t come back home when the kids did? So, I shrugged into one of my spare lab coats and portaled into the garage to resume my latest project. But, not before smashing a few empty beakers, you know, just for the hell of it. Fuck those beakers.

----------

After cleaning up the one billion tiny shards of glass from the beakers that could just burn in hell for all I cared, I had refilled my flask and emptied it all over again in the span of fifteen minutes. So much for resuming projects that I’d had fuck all concentration to finish over the last month. I supposed passing out at my work station again was the only viable alternative and now I was waking up to the not so surprising gift of stiff joints and cottonmouth.

Standing from the shitty stool to crack my spine, I spied the inter-dimensional goggles dangling from a nail next to the cork board. Suddenly curious if any of my counterparts were experiencing the same nightmare I was, I plucked them from the nail and slipped them over my face. Just as I was flipping through dimensions, there was a knock on the door from the kitchen side.

“Go away, Jerry!” I shouted, paused briefly on C-69 to watch as he woke up next to her counterpart in the bed they shared.

“Uh, yeah. Not Jerry.” Her small voice leaked toward me through the particle wood and I nearly tripped over the stool on my way to the door, swiftly yanking it open before even removing the goggles.

“Oh, uhh. Hey – hey there,” I greeted her. She looked startled and I realized how odd I must have appeared before ripping the goggles from my face.

“You have another lab coat?” she asked before quickly adding, “I’ll wash the one you let me borrow, by the way.” A blush rose to her cheeks as she fidgeted, bunching her hands in the hem of her blouse.

“Don’t – don’t do that. There’s shit in the pockets I don’t want ruined,” I began before thinking better of it. Even if she did wash the coat, it would forever be the one I let her borrow after she had been assimilated, raped, pranced around, and manipulated. No thanks. “Actually, j-just throw it away,” I instructed, retrieving and unscrewing my flask.

“What? You just said you didn’t want the stuff in the pockets ruined.”

“I changed my mind.” Taking a swig, I dismissed her with a wave of my hand while I resumed my place at the workstation, hoping like hell that she would just leave me to my misery. But, no dice. When she continued to stand there with her hands still bunched in her shirt, I put on my most intimidating ‘what the fuck do you want now’ face and turned back toward her.

Taking a deep breath, she began, “Look. Rick, I need to talk to you.”

FUCK! Fuck, shit, fucking mother fuck!! Well, this was it…

“Stop – stop right there,” I said, throwing up a palm to interject as I stood and took a step toward her. She stepped back. I stopped and narrowed my eyes. “W-what the – you think – I’m not gonna bite you!” I nearly shouted, as if she had any reason to trust me. Then, reigning myself in, I continued. “Can you let me explain?”

“How can you possibly know –” she began but I cut her off, determined to nip this in the bud; to throw her off my scent before she detected the stench of repressed ‘feelings’. Ugh, fucking kill me.

“I – I told you I didn’t fuck you. And, that’s true.”

“I know,” she interjected. Holding her gaze, I waited for her to continue. “I’ve had these… dreams. I don’t know if it’s just my head fucking with me or if it happened or if only some of it happened. Regardless, I believe you,” she finished, her expression sincere.

Shaking my head at my previous hopefulness that maybe she wouldn’t regain the memories so soon, I gestured for her to take a seat on a nearby stool while I did the same.

“I’ve been doing some – some research,” I lied, not really seeing the benefit in informing her that I’d sought out others who had also been released by Unity long ago and, therefore, already knew how this would play out. “Apparently, people who – who’ve been assimilated into a hive mind or had their consciousness hijacked by a parasite usually recover memories at some point. Dreams are – uh – are a common method.”

Watching the realization wreak havoc on her features, I pulled my flask again and took a large gulp before holding it to her in offering. Without a second of hesitation, she snatched the flask from my hand and tipped the contents down her throat.

“Jesus Christ, Rick!” she cried, coughing like the greenest of lightweights. “Is this gasoline or something? Fuck!”

She was so goddamn cute and I laughed as she continued to cough for several more seconds.

“Don’t – don’t ask,” I warned as I plucked it from her hand and took another drink. Fuck knows I was gonna need it.

“So, MY dreams?” she said, thrusting me back into a conversation I wasn’t keen to continue.

“Most likely memories,” I confirmed. “Sssooo, that’s why I need to explain.” Her face completely deadpan, she blinked in response. At this point, I had no way of knowing what memories she had regained, exactly, but thought, fuck it – better to pay the piper now so I wouldn’t have to suffer his collection song later.

“You’re fuckin’ hot, alright!” I practically yelled, throwing my hands in the air. “Y-y-you can call me a pervert. What the fuck ever. But, I can’t – I’m not gonna pussy foot around here.”

Again, she blinked.

“You expect – expect me to just – uh – you know, r-r-reject some hot young thing when she climbs – straddles my lap, huh?” Tripping over my words the way I do when my mouth has trouble catching up to my brain, I resisted the urge to gulp the remaining contents of the flask right then. But, when she only blinked again in response, I began to lose my patience. “What the – w-w-what’s wrong with you?”

Appearing to finally come back to her senses, she shook her head before replying. “Rick, I’m not just ‘some hot young thing’. You’ve known me since I was fourteen years old. I’m your daughter’s best friend!” Her voice rose in pitch with each word as she grew more and more upset, which only served to frustrate me.

“Fuck, you think – think I don’t know that?!” Reflexively, I slammed one palm on the counter of my work station, causing her to flinch.

“Don’t fucking yell at me, Rick!” she defended herself and I almost felt proud. “This is really fucking with my head right now, okay? I just need…” She trailed off, furrowing her brow.

“A good dicking?” I filled in, condescension dripping from my lips. “Yeah, well. Y-you already got it and it was – wasn’t from me so get a grip.”

“But, you would have, Rick. If you’re saying that my dreams are memories then you would have.”

Her words confirming that I’d been correct to divulge more information than she’d initially asked for, I knew it was time to end this sick fantasy of mine once in for all. She hadn’t once pointed the finger or accused me of taking advantage of her. In fact, it appeared that she was only looking for assurances on if her dreams were, in fact, memories. Even if she appeared, understandably, shocked that I’d admitted to finding her sexually attractive, she didn’t appear disgusted or put off – only confused. She could have so easily called me a perverted old man, a borderline rapist, a delusional piece of shit. But, she didn’t. She was giving me the benefit of the doubt and I knew that if I let her, it would eventually ruin her.

So, my resolution absolute, I crossed my arms defensively and readied myself to say the most despicable thing possible in hopes of pushing her away –

“Like I said – hot young thing and blah blah blah. Get – g-g-get over yourself already. I fucked a giraffe. You aren’t special.”

Her face remained placid as she quietly stood from the stool and exited the garage without another word. Mission accomplished.

To be continued…

P.S. For those who have already read Assimilation and would like more information on Rick/Reader C-69, please read Welcome to Miami in my Rick Fic Masterpost. :)

#rick and morty #rick sanchez x reader #rick sanchez #fanfiction #sister smith series #manipulation

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wormy-business · 5 years

Text

Something Strangely Powerful

Chapter 2: Elf Husband

It’s finally here! The second chapter of SSP! I’m sorry it took me like 3 months to finally finish, but I’m going to try to do work on this more regularly until I feel like it’s finished.

Description: Pam recounts the story of how she met Taako and Lup’s father

Read on A03

“Pam.” Kravitz repeated with a nod of his head. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. Taako and Lup have told me wonderful stories.”

The woman smiled, reaching over to set both of her hands atop her children’s, one hand over Lup’s and the other over Taako’s hand. “I love my babies very much, even if I can’t always be around them.”

The twins both smiled, and Taako turned his hand over so he could briefly hold his mother’s hand before she pulled them both back. “So, how did you meet my baby boy?”

“Momma,” Taako rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest, “I’m like, over 200 hundred years old.”

“Do the years on the Starblaster like, count though? Like even if we didn’t beef it we still got reset.” Lup noted.

“Whatever, that still makes me at least 112.”

“That’s nothing!” Pam exclaimed, items in the room seeming to shake in response to her volume. “You are still babies to momma!”

Kravitz’s eyes narrowed as he looked at her. She didn’t look over 30, for that matter she looked pretty human, too. Which was odd, seeing as both Lup and Taako claimed themselves as very proud elves. In fact, other than the freckles dotting their faces, they didn’t really resemble their mother at all.

“Now, tell mom how you met!”

Kravitz cleared his throat, shifting awkwardly as he looked again at Taako’s mother’s biceps. Now, Kravitz wasn’t necessarily a small man, but her arms looked bigger than Magnus’s.

“He was trying to kill me, actually.” Taako spoke before Kravitz could try and preface anything, and he could feel his face turning a deep red.

“Well I-, I mean, there’s uhm, the thing is-” Kravitz was cut off by Pam’s burst of laughter, and when she calmed she began to speak.

“You silly boys, always playing around!”

“Oh, that reminds me, momma, how’s everyone back with you? Yknow, Codsworth and lil’ Bean and them?”

Pam looked over to her daughter as she took a bite and nodded her head. “Everyone very good! Metal husband and I thinking about spawning more babies again.”

“Oh, don’t tire yourself out too much momma.” Taako said, genuine concern laced into his voice.

“Do not worry about your mother, Taako! Am so powerful, it is really like nothing!”

Kravitz turned, mostly speaking to Taako, “you have other siblings? How have I never heard of them?”

Lup answered before Taako could, “oh they live with mom.”

“Yeah, mom’s not from two-sun. Mom is from, uh, momma where’d you say it’s called again?”

“Pam is from Boston.”

“Right, mom lives in a place called Boston.”

Kravitz nodded his head as everyone spoke, trying to remember if he’d ever heard of “Boston” before.

“Yeah we uh- actually we’ve been trying to develop new uh, additions to the uh, to the reality warp belts so we can go to places like Boston freely.” Barry added, this being the first thing he’d said the whole dinner.

“Yeah, we’ve currently got enough technology that we can warp back to places the Starblaster has been before, like two-sun or Tesseralia but we can’t get to foreign realities yet. The babe and I have been trying to work that out between all the adjusting.”

“My little girl! Always been so smart! Momma so proud!” Pam gave her daughter a one-armed hug, making the elven woman blush, her hair falling into her face.

“Moooooom!” She whined. “Not while we’re eating.”

Her mother laughed again, returning to an upright position. “I just tease, but momma still very proud.”

Lup was smiling, but her cheeks remained flushed red.

There was a brief moment of silence at the table before Kravitz spoke once again. “So, miss Pam, if I may ask, how did you get to two-sun and to this reality if you’re from Boston?”

“Is simple!” She answered, boisterous as always. “I want to go to new place, I go! I want to go back? I just remember where I went and I go again! Is really not that hard for me.”

Kravitz again just nodded, still not entirely sure how it worked. “Ah, I understand.” He lied.

“Yeah, Momma’s powers are actually sort of the reason Lup wanted to start studying inter-planar stuff, and if Lup is going to be doing cool space travel stuff you know chaboy is gonna follow!”

“Yes, yes, yes! Both my babies very smart, and so talented! Taako so good at cooking, Lup so good at science, such wonderful babies!”

Both of the twins blushed slightly, but Taako puffed out his chest, flipping his hair over his shoulder. “Well Auntie Lada was a great teacher, and I loved all the recipes you would show me when you came over so I had to start doing my own, natch.”

“We should go see Auntie sometime, actually. It’s been a while and the last time we were in two-sun it was for Greg fucking Grimaldis.

“I still remember first time there! Such good fun. Is funny story, actually.”

Pam rose from her kneeling position and looked around. This place looked pretty normal, despite the fact that two suns were shining in the sky above her. She fluffed her coat and began walking, talking and humming to herself as she moved effortlessly through the trees. She came to a stop as she heard voices coming from somewhere else in the trees. Slowly, a man emerged with an arrow strung back in his shortbow. His face had sharp features, his long pointed ears turned down, and his bronze skin seeming to glimmer in the sunlight.

“Y-You!” He stammered out, giving a quick glance over his shoulder where Pam could see a gathering of hooded figures. “Give, give me all your gold, now!” Pam, unphased, walked towards him, and with a swift, stiff arm movement knocked the bow and arrow out of his hands. He watched the speed at which his weapons flew into the treeline, disappearing in an instant. He looked back up at the imposing woman, his eyes wide with fear. “Please,” He begged softly, “don’t kill me.”

Pam threw her head back and gave a chesty laugh, then wrapped her arm around the elven man and pulled him up so he was sitting on her shoulders. “I Like you! You bold! We go find party to crash!”

“And that is how I met your father!” Pam said, both of her children and Barry nodding, as they’d all heard the story before.

Kravitz was smiling, his hand over Taako’s. “That is quite the story.” He stated.

“Oh, there are many more stories to tell!” Pam said with a grin, giving the camera a wink.

“Momma? Who are you winking at?”

#something strangely powerful #ssp #the final pam #monster factory #the adventure zone #taz balance

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kpopandstarwarswhynot · 5 years

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My insane ramblings about Jungle Park by @jimlingss - part 1

.‘Hi! I don’t usually do this. Actually, this is my first time doing it but tumblr doesn’t have a solid comment section like AO3 so I decided to leave my comments here on the ten chapters released so far.

My insane ramblings about Jungle Park by @jimlingss

Chapter 01 - reader (me) was surprised to see that the main character was a taxi driver! It was a very good surprise tho, I like small unique touchs like this. She could have been a waitress and bartender or any job that had shifts, but you chose something different and I'm curious to know if it was random or not? *pensive reader*. I felt sorry for her with those party girls, because I totally knew she was going to throw up. I felt sorry for Jimin too, dealing with all the office BS just because Hoseok Sunshine (reader says that sarcastically), is too scary. I loved how Jimin just left the problem there and walked out, he is too fed up at this point I can see.

Main character looking for a job is me, even the part where she sees an amazing job and thinks she wasn’t good enough. The Mc Donald’s’ interview got me laughing so har. “Well, I’ve eaten at this franchise a lot.” I was in tears reading it. You are a great at doing fun dialogues. The old lady set her straight tho and she needed it.

Hoseok’s description was on point, completly perfect. I love his sun-kissed skin and sharp jawline. *reader is dreaming now*

She did great at the interview even thought she was very nervous and she was very bold at asking for the job like that, I like her personality.

I got surprised again to find out that they knew each other...I mean, Hoseok doesn’t remember it but something happened between them clearly. I’m very curious to know more about it.

To wrap this first chapter comment up, your writing is amazing and it really got me hooked since the beginning. So hooked, that I went to bed like 2 a.m. reading more of your fanfic.

Chapter 1.5 - Jennie, as in BLACKPINK’s Jennie? I’m curious to see if this part is going to fit somewhere down the road.

Chapter 02 - Annnnddd of course Hoseok didn’t pick anyone... why would he? He isn't the one hearing other people’s problems. “Is thee anyone who won’t give you a headache?” This was the winning line for Jimin, right there he got Hoseok. I’m glad Jimin exists !!

Poor M/C, she had to wait for a week just because Hoseok is a pain the buttocks. *I have anxiety, waiting kills me.*

Again, another suprise. A divorce law firm wasn’t what I was expecting. You are full of surprises for me I see :D.

I loved everyone in the office and I’m glad to see you are using a different recipe when comes to the support characters. You have actual characters, not just the boys and a close to friend tot he M/C like most fanfics. The lawyers law team is my favorite group, they are too funny for their own good. Also, I can see Sunyi and Yoongi’s banter making very funny scenes more ahead.

Hoseok was a huge dick saying that her office was a storage room, she didn’t need to know that. And, of course he didn’t gave her a proper training *roll eyes*, how she was supposed to do stuffs????

That is my girl! I loved that she didn’t dwell on the sad office/storage room situation. She went out and made it better!

Of course Jin would show up at the sight of food. That boy really loves food.

Have the feeling that she is going to get a lot of complains about Hoseok Sunshine (reader still says that sarcastically). And Sunyi complaining about Yoongi, here and there hehe. I was glad to see people going there and trying to talk to her a little bit.

Is Hosoek seriously wacthing her door like a hawk???? Doesn’t he had something better to do? *reader is judging* Jimin, in the other hand, is having the time of his life. Especially with Hoseok’s misery.

I don’t know why Jimin is suprised that Hoseok did nothing to proper prepare the M/C. Even I knew he wasn’t going to do shit.

Jimin's words encouraged her to get a death setence kkkkkk.

Hoseok is a crontrol freak, a little survey isn’t going to get things out of control...

...okay, I said that a little too soon...

I can not, or maybe I can, that they are all outside Hoseok’s office hearing them fight. LOL

JIMIN RUNNING AWAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!! LMAO!!

Chapter 03 - OMG! Hoseok is such a vindictive drama queen. I can not believe he is going to make her fire somoene just because she did a survey. Poor M/C and Kei, they were innocent there. I would cry with the secretary if I was in the M/C’s place.

Poor thing, being called Hoseok’s henchman on her what? second day? third day? And she was almost making friends... *sad song playing*

The hiring interview dialogues was perfect! I loved every bit of it. You are a very creative person, I’m delighted with your writing.

He says “it is just a recepcionist” now. If she hires anyone he would kill her.

“Don’t complain to me when I actually do my job.” HA IN HIS FACE! I’M LOVING HER.

The scene with her and everyone leaving was very sad... I just wanted to hug her. I like how she took some sad energy and transformed into something producitive.

Jimin is definitely having the time of his live!

I prefer gray to yellow but okay... I’m a black and white kind of girl.

Chapter 04 - Hoseok really enjoy putting her in difficult positions doesn’t he??? *reader glares at hoseok*

This Lisa girl really doesn’t like the M/C... I can not blame her. She was closer to Kei than she was form the M/C, so for her the M/C is the main villian.

I’ve been in Seubi’s place too. Being in a place that makes you unhappy isn’t the healthy. The M/C advice was really great.

oh shit, Hosoek is mad...And the girl quit already?? She was truly unhappy.

I can not believe she used the law to run way from the conversation. I’m deceased with that. HSAUSHAUSHAUHS Hosoek was clearly impressed and amazed with her, even thought he threatened to throw his mug at her.

OMG!!!! That bitch Kei! I was feeling bad for her but her attitude was completly childish. The M/C have a difficult life. Sweet side of Hoseok shows up. I loved to see him worried about her. I’m glad that people at the office didn’t say that she deserved it.

The gossips were the best LOL this always happens.

Trapped inside an elevator together, classic! I approve that scene. ^^

A PEEING CORNER? LOL I can not believe he mad a joke like that. Their entire light dialogue was perfection hun, I loved it. If I were to hightlight here my favorite lines, I would have to highlight it all because it was amazing.

Oh my, she is hiding stuffs about their past... I can feel it. I think they were more them just acquaintances.

Chapter 4.5 - THE TECHNICIAN SCENE WAS GOLD!

Chapter 05 - OHHH, she is still doing the taxi thing. But why? I mean, wasn’t the HR job supposed to help her get out of that life? Also, it is dangerous to drive while sleepy.

I loved her little revenge on the three stupid dudes tho...

The lunch thing...She was so excited, I felt really bad for her not being with her friends. In the other hand, she is going to lunch with the handsome Hosoek alone.

I love how their interations start stiff but end up being quite nice and natural in the end. Hoseok’s library story was the best kkkk.

She left her carrots for him? She stills cares for him I guess.

This was my opinion on the first five chapters. I didn’t want to write more than I could in a single post on tumblr.

If the author reads this: I’m totally in love with your fanfic. It is sweet and funny <3

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barpurplewrites · 6 years

Text

A Spirited Agreement

Greetings all. Today we take a jaunted to a haunted house. This fic was inspired by one of @writing-prompt-s posts.

-x-x-x-

Belle had always wanted to further her education. She never expected to be able to do so, but after her death she found the opportunity.

------

General Certificate of Ghost Training

Individual Candidate Statement of Results

Centre Name and Number: 0815, Storybrooke

Candidate Number: 2122012

Date of Death: 04/10/1918

Candidate Name (Post-Life): Belle

Syllabus Number, Title and Result

1001 – Chills and Flesh Creep – A

1011 – Screaming and Moaning – A

1111 – Whispering (Advanced) – B

1015 – Odours (Flowers) – A

1019 – Object Levitation – A

1025 – Mortal Communication – A

1031 – Physical Manifestation – A

1037 – Possession - F

Belle sighed at her GCGT results. She’d taken the Possession course three times now and had finally managed to scrap the lowest acceptable grade. She just could hold the focus required to keep herself in control of the subject. There was too much to get distracted by being in a living body again after so long. The rapid beat of a heart was enough to distract her to the point of ejection.

She shook her hair out of her face and sat up straighter. Her other results were great, and after a century of study she was finally ready for her first full time haunting. Discovering that the afterlife placed a great value on study had come as a surprise. The larger surprise was that her gender did not restrict her options, death truly was the great leveller.

“Belle?”

A cloud of cigarette smoke announced the arrival of her mentor, Juno.

“Sorry for the wait. New arrivals driving me crazy.”

Belle smiled as she followed Juno into her office. Dying could come as quite the shock and everyone reacted to their sudden vital change in different ways. She’d been spitting mad and used language that would have shocked her father. She shook her head as she recalled how she had focused on her desire to slap Gaston for staining her dress, it had taken her an hour to realise that she was dead, and a bloody dress was the least of her concerns.

Juno sat behind her cluttered desk and blew out smoke rings as she hunted for Belle’s file.

“Ah, here we go. Congratulations, these are very impressive results.”

“Thank you, shame about the possession one.”

Juno waved a dismissive hand; “Nonsense. Possession isn’t everything. I sometimes question the sense of teaching it at all.”

Belle didn’t say anything, everyone knew why, or rather who, had turned Juno against possession. It was best not to bring up that name.

Juno took a long drag on her ever-present cigarette; “Okay, have you read your assignment file?”

“I have, it’s an interesting place.”

Burworth Grange had been built as a hunting lodge in the 1880. During the Great War it had served as a convalescence home for wounded soldiers. A member of the family who own the estate had lived there during the inter-war years, but it returned to a medical facility in 1940. In the late 1950’s the house and grounds had been gifted to the village and was now used as a community centre.

“Have you given any thought to how you will haunt the place?”

Every newly qualified ghost was given the chance to reinvent themselves. Many chose something close to the person they had been in life, or something heavily influenced by their manner of death. If Belle chose the latter she would style herself as a corpse bride. It was tempting, but she was loath to give Gaston that much influence in her afterlife.

“I’m going to go with Great War nurse, it’s a role I know.”

Juno gave her a rare smile; “Good, good sensible to start with the familiar. Play to your strengths, and remember you are limited to three full manifestations per year for the first decade.”

Belle stood and offered her hand across the desk; “Thank you Juno.”

Juno sook her hand; “Scare them stiff Belle.”

Just as Belle reached the door Juno said; “Just so you know there is a ghost in the grounds. He restyled himself as an Imp a few centuries back. He’s an odd sort, keeps to himself, you probably won’t see much of him.”

Belle hoped her confusion didn’t show on her face. There had been nothing in her assignment file about another ghost at the Grange.

“What’s his name?”

“Rumplestiltskin.”

Belle’s first month in Burrworth Grange had been uneventful. She wanted to get use to the rhythm of the building before she set to haunting, there would be no point wasting one of her manifestations if there was no one around to see it.

She had caught glimpses of her fellow ghost. He had truly embraced the persona of Imp. Rumplestiltskin’s skin sparkled and made his reptilian eyes all the more off putting. His high-pitched giggles could be mistaken for birds, as long as you’d never heard a bird before. They had not yet spoken to each other, but he’d given her a ridiculously foppish bow when their eyes had met the first time through a window. It would have been nice to have someone to talk to, but Belle was going to impose her company where it was clearly unwanted.

Besides she had plenty to keep her occupied.

Nobody stayed in the house overnight, so she was going to have to go with daytime creeps. It was harder to get a fright out of a live person in the daylight, common sense ruled the mind rather than the nerves that came with the dark.

The local secondary school used the high-ceilinged ballroom twice a week for badminton. The PE teacher was a serious no-nonsense woman with no tolerance for ‘foolish flights of fancy’. With an authority figure that didn’t believe in the supernatural Belle was certain she could cause chaos among the more open-minded and impressionable teenagers under her care.

She planned carefully. For the weeks running up to her first big event she worked at minor hauntings. The long narrow corridor that led to the ballroom reeked of lilies. The lights flickered and popped for no reason that the caretaker could discover. A lingering chill filled the corridor and ballroom, that no amount of cussing at the radiators would dispel.

She’d hugged herself with delight when she’d heard two of the staff discussing her efforts.

“I’m telling you it’s the ghost.”

“Don’t be daft…”

Belle drifted unseen and unfelt behind them. She was making an impact. Wonderful.

“…the Gremlin doesn’t do flowers. It’s always the sheep stink from him.”

Belle frowned. The Gremlin? Oh, they must mean Rumplestiltskin. It stung a little that the live ones were crediting her work to the Imp, but they hadn’t seen her yet, so it was only a temporary mistake.

“Maybe he fancied a change? Or we’ve got a new ghost?”

“Wonder if this one’s got a sweet tooth too.”

Belle let them wander away, still bickering about if it was the Gremlin who stole the biscuits or not. She chewed on her thumbnail as she considered the situation. Rumplestiltskin was an old ghost. If the live ones thought that her tricks were his then she was doing something right. After tomorrow’s manifestation they would know that there was a new ghost in the house. It would still take time to build up her legend, but she was in no hurry.

The day of her manifestation dawned foggy and grey. She couldn’t have asked for better weather. Invisible she walked the route she was planning to take; a simple stroll along the corridor, and into the ballroom as if she was checking on patients in beds. As long as she got her timing right she would be seen by several lone individuals. The hodgepodge of alterations that had been made to the Grange over the years would help keep her out of sight of groups. She didn’t want a mass sighting just yet.

The grumbling of a sluggish class reached her ears. The PE teacher was already snappish as she chided them to hurry. Belle schooled her feature into the stern look she had copied from the ward sister she used to work under. The front door opened an blew in a swirl of fog. Belle wasn’t going to miss a perfect opportunity like that, she stepped into the mist and let herself become partially visible.

Two of the girls caught sight of her and gave a shriek. Belle disappeared as the teacher listened to their babbled report. So far so good. The class were spooked and looking around for her. A few muttered that even a ghost wouldn’t get them out of this lesson.

Belle focused on her planned route. The class were straggling out in a reluctant line, they were less keen than usual this morning. A boy caught sight of her in a shadowy doorway, he stopped suddenly and peered into the dark office, but didn’t scream. Undeterred Belle carried on, she had to get to the ballroom before the teacher. Three more children jumped at the shadows she passed through, each catching a glimpse of her. By the time she reached the ballroom, the class were on edge and the teacher was sighing and huffing at their foolishness.

“Come on hurry along! There is not need for this silliness just because it’s a bit foggy!”

The teacher stood at the door of the ballroom and impatiently hurrying the class inside. This was it. Belle let herself become almost solid and walked through the room. The first four children into the room screamed at the sight of her. She quickly turned to face them and made her eyes glow as she raised a finger to her lips to shush them. They screamed again as she vanished from sight.

“What is going on in here!”

Belle floated along to the kitchen which would be empty at thins hour of the day. The high ceilings and long corridors echoed with the near-hysterical babble of children and the irritated voice of the teacher.

“Bravo dearie. I’d begun to think you were never going to get started.”

Belle stopped with a gasp. Rumplestiltskin was lounging in a chair with his feet up on the table top. It was the first time she had seen him so close, in fact the first time she had found him in the house at all. Remembering his dramatic bow, she bobbed a curtsy; “Thank you very much.”

He twirled a hand; “Tis not matter dearie. Nice to finally have someone who knows their stuff here.”

He cocked his head to one side and peered at her, then rapidly pulled his booted feet from the table and leaned forward on his elbows.

“How would you feel about working together from time to time?”

There was nothing to stop them collaborating, but Belle had thought he would never want to because of his aloof nature. Perhaps he’d just been waiting to see how good she was before he made an offer. She smoothed down her uniform and settled herself in the chair opposite him.

“What do you have in mind?”

In recent years Burrworth Grange has become known to ghost hunters as one of the most haunted places in the north of England. The varied sightings are often dismissed as pranks and fakes, but many collaborating accounts have sparked new interest in the history of this building.

- Ghosts of the North.

#halloween house of horror 2018 #RumBelle #ghosts

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ihaveatheoryonthat · 3 years

Text

I’ve got some more old writing! This one’s hard to sum up-- and nowhere near complete-- but it was fun to look back on.

It takes years to hear anything from the Clock again.

At this point in their lives, Ratchet and Clank aren't in Polaris anymore, or even anywhere in the known universe, so the incoming message comes as an unpleasant surprise. Ratchet mutters something unsavory under his breath and flicks the lightning ravager, not bothering to turn away from their current death-weasel-shaped problem.

The unlisted caller almost convinces Clank that it's not worth acknowledging-- that some telemarketer just has especially poor timing and that it would be best for everybody if he simply ignores it-- but the herd of inter-dimensional weasels is thinning, and, if this is their only habitat, their continued existence as a species looks grim. Not for the first time, he wonders how a creature native to Zanifar managed to get its kind stuck in the space between dimensions, but then reminds himself that other Zanifarians had done far worse for themselves.

He stares at one of the creatures Ratchet has turned his back on-- it's twitching with residual electricity-- and decides that, as their operation's voice of reason, it's his responsibility to set some kind of example. Whether or not Ratchet decides to make anything of it is another matter entirely, and Clank feels that he already knows how that will end as he accepts the call.

He doesn't expect anyone in particular as he answers. Possibly, he thinks, an overworked Gadgetron salesman hoping to earn a sizable commission. He almost humors the concept that it could be one of Qwark's agents, but Sigmund's voice cuts the idea short.

The weasels' chattering stops at the same time that Ratchet looks over his shoulder, ear twitching as it runs into Clank's antennae, and Clank takes it to be a signal that, for the time being, the coast is clear. Sigmund is going a mile a minute-- almost too fast to process-- and, for everyone's sake, Clank detaches from the harness and deploys the holo-screen to they can speak face to face.

He affords Ratchet a short look.

The lombax in question is nudging a static-charged weasel corpse away from where they're standing and, when that's done, plants his omniwrench firmly into the ground so he can lean against it.

"I do apologize, Sigmund, but would you please repeat that? Perhaps a bit more slowly?"

"Right! Sorry sir!" The caretaker's image makes a spiraling gesture that could mean anything. Clank interprets it as being symbolic of rewinding, but, really, he's just guessing.

As he re-gathers his thoughts, Sigmund seems to register what he's seeing on their end of the line, because he points in the general direction of a death weasel and, to himself, asks, "Are those…?"

"Sigmund, focus." Clank says as Ratchet simultaneously answers, "Extinct?"

"Uh, well. Never mind. That's not why I called."

"That is probably for the best."

Ratchet snorts at that, but, otherwise, remains quiet. Clank pointedly ignores him.

"Do you require our assistance?"

"Well, uh. Yeah. Sorta. I guess?" On his end of the call, Sigmund fidgets nervously with his fingers, "I mean, they're just temporal anomalies-- I probably shouldn't be worried-- but they're resisting repair and I… wasn't trained for field work. Among other things. So I was hoping that maybe…?"

When Clank turns to get Ratchet's input, the lombax is already watching him. He gestures loosely to the area immediately surrounding them and shrugs.

"It would appear that we have time to spare. Perhaps even literally." Clank turns back to the screen with a quiet giggle, but not before catching Ratchet rolling his eyes. "We will require the anomaly's coordinates."

Sigmund's optics flick back to a weasel-shaped lump. "It's, er, on Zanifar, actually."

"Convenient." Ratchet says flatly.

"Specifically, um," He goes quiet for a second, "Specifically the Tombli Outpost."

The quiet makes its way to their end of the line.

"Don't worry about it too much." Ratchet offers after a moment. His wry amusement is gone and the stiffness in his voice becomes increasingly obvious as he continues. "It's probably just something I messed up when I was there, but I guess it can't hurt to check things out. Maybe the ammo I was using didn't exist yet. It's stuff like that, right?"

"That-- that would do it, but I can't imagine something so small would be so stubborn."

In unison, both Ratchet and Clank turn to one another, and then pretend that they don't understand what the other was trying to get at.

Sigmund seems to realize that he's being left out of the loop and awkwardly tacks on, "U-uh, so. That's it. Thanks for the help. I really-- uh-- really appreciate it." before ending the call.

"So, Zanifar?"

"Correct."

Ratchet tugs his wrench out of the soil and gives it a couple of experimental swings, mind clearly elsewhere. Patiently, Clank waits for whatever it is he has to say.

"If you want to, you can sit this one out. I can navigate the facility just fine, and your--" He stops short of acknowledging the Z'Grute in the room. Instead, he eyes the actual wildlife suspiciously.

Somehow, Clank doubts they pose much of a threat at this point in time.

When it becomes clear that Ratchet doesn't have any intention of saying more, he takes over for him. "I do not see any reason why I should not accompany you."

There's a noncommittal hum as Ratchet waves the omniwrench out of existence.

"It is only fair-- if this anomaly was a byproduct of your actions on Zanifar, then it is actually my own doing. You did not know the inherent risks. I did. As a matter of fact, I encouraged you to act on my behalf."

Ratchet doesn't look convinced.

"And it is not your burden to carry. Perhaps, in revisiting it, you can begin to understand that it was a failure of my own that I mistakenly set you up for."

Inevitably, the topic of failed time travel comes back during the trip to Zanifar.

"Tell you what, pal. I let go of what happened with your dad, you let go of Alister."

Clank stops cold.

"Yeah, didn't think so."

"That is different."

"Oh yeah? 'Cause from where I'm standing, it doesn't look it."

"You are currently seated." It's petulant, but Clank doesn't care. He doesn't want to go down that wormhole.

Ratchet puffs up his cheeks in frustration but doesn't look over. "You are currently pedantic." He replies after a moment-- mockingly, perhaps, but not without some measure of affection.

"Look, let's just call a truce for now. We can figure this out when we get to Zanifar-- there's no use in arguing about it all the way there."

"Were you not the one who chose the topic?"

"Not the point, pal."

"I am also aware of that."

#ihaveatheoryonthat R&C #writing scraps

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bamby0304 · 7 years

Text

The Hart: Chapter One

Summary: When Lizzie was just a few months old, she lost her father. Fifteen years later she lost her mother, and then her sister. Now in her early twenties Lizzie spends her days and nights hunting things and saving people. When the Winchesters meet the bright eyed and bubbly blonde they don’t realise what they’re in for… and neither does she…

Part Sixteen: God’s Will

Masterlist

Warnings: Back to nothin’, sorry...

Bamby

EPOV

"So you're interested in joining the parish?" Father Reynolds asked as we followed him into the church.

"Yeah, we just don't feel right unless we hit church every Sunday." Dean answered, sounding a little too casual.

Father Reynolds nodded. "Where did you say you lived?"

"Premont, Texas." Dean told him. Sam agreed next to him.

"Really?" Father Reynolds came to a stop and turned to us. "That's a nice town. St. Theresa's Parish. You must know the priest there."

Sam was stumped, but Dean was right there, answering with confidence even though he was wrong. "Sure, Father O'Malley."

I laughed, pressing a hand to his arm as I shook my head. "Excuse my boyfriend, he's a bit of a jokester. Father Shaughnessy found it amusing, though it took some time."

The look Dean gave me at the word boyfriend did not go unmissed by me. I usually used Sam as my pretend boyfriend or fiance or whatever, but this time was different, and Dean couldn't quite hide how he was feeling about that fact. The slight cocky grin lifting at the corner of his lips. The amused glint in his eyes. He was pleased with himself.

"Father Shaughnessy." Father Reynolds nodded. "I know him well."

My smile widened. "Then perhaps the next time you see him... could you tell him he's in the prayers of Elizabeth Hart?"

"Of course." Father Reynolds gave a nod, a small smile of his own on his lips. "You'll all be a welcome addition. We could use some young blood around here."

"Listen, I gotta ask you, no offence, but the neighbourhood..." Dean shrugged, leaving the sentence unfinished, knowing the priest knew what he meant.

"It's gone to seed a little, there's no denying that. But that why what the church does here is so important. Like I always say, you can expect a miracle, but in the meantime, you work your butt off."

"So true, Father." I nodded. "Though... we heard about some murders."

"Yes." Father Reynolds's face fell as he spoke. "The victims were parishioners of mine. I'd known them for years."

"And the killers said that an angel made them do that?" Sam asked.

"Yes. Misguided souls." Father Reynolds shook his head in disappointment. "To think that God's messenger would appear, incite people to murder. It's tragic."

"So, you don't believe in those angel yarns, huh?" Dean looked a little pleased to see someone agreed with him.

But Father Reynolds was quick to correct. "Oh, no, I absolutely believe. Kind of goes with the job application." he pointed to his collar.

"Father, that's Michael, right?" Sam gestured to a painting on the high walls of the church.

"That's right." Father Reynolds nodded. "The Archangel Michael with the flaming sword. A fighter of demons. And a holy force against evil."

As we all turned away from the painting, Sam spoke again. "So they're not really the Hallmark-card version that everybody thinks? They're fierce, right? Vigilant."

"I like to think of them as more loving than wrathful. But, uh, yes, a lot of Scripture paints angels as God's warriors. An angel of the Lord appeared to them, glory of the Lord shone down upon them-"

"And they were terrified." I finished. "Luke 2:9."

Father Reynolds turned to me again, smiling lightly, pleased with my response. "Exactly."

DPOV

As we walked out of the church, Sam and Liz stood either side of Father Reynolds while I stayed back. I was confused. How the hell did Liz know all of that stuff about angels, and the bible? How did she know Father Reynolds from Texas? As I wondered I noticed some candles and flowers by the steps of the church. It was like a shrine.

"Thank you for speaking with us, Father." Sam nodded to Father Reynolds.

"It's my pleasure. Hope to see you again."

Before he could leave, I stopped him. "Hey, Father, what's all that for?" I gestured to the shrine.

"Oh. That's for Father Gregory. He was a priest here."

"Was?"

"He passed away right on these steps. He's interred in the church crypt."

"I'm so sorry for your loss." Liz laid a gentle hand on Father Reynolds's arm. "When did he pass?"

"I'm sorry, as well. He was a good friend..." Father Reynolds nodded, patting her hand. "He died two months ago. He was shot for his car keys. I didn't even have time to administer his last rites. But like I said, it's a tough neighbourhood. Ever since he died, I've been praying my heart out."

"For what?" Sam asked.

"For deliverance. Form the violence and the bloodshed around here. We could use a little divine intervention, I suppose."

Sam and I shared a look then, both of us hearing the same thing in his words. With a smile back on my face, I nodded to Father Reynolds. "Well, Padre, thanks. We'll see you again." I shook his hand.

After he shook mine, then Sam's and then Liz's hand, he then headed back into the church, leaving us on the steps looking at the candles.

"Well, it's all starting to make sense now." I noted, moving to the shrine for the murdered priest. "Devoted priest dies a violent death. That's vengeful-spirit material right there. And he knew the other stiffs because they all went to church here. In fact, I bet because he was their priest he knew things about them nobody else knew."

Liz nodded, grabbing a photo that was placed with the candles and flowers. "I gotta agree with you on this one, Dean."

I gave a short nod. "Thank you."

"Then again..." Sam started. "Father Reynolds started praying for God's help two months ago, right? About the time all this started happening."

"Come on." I shook my head. I could not believe Sam. "What's your deal?"

"What do you mean?"

"Look, I'll admit, I'm a bit of a skeptic, but since when are you all Mr 700 Club? Seriously, from the get-go, you've been willing to buy this angel crap. I mean, what's next, you gonna start praying every day?"

"I do." he answered simply.

It took me a moment to realise what he said. "What?"

"I do pray every day. I have for a long time."

That was a shock to me. "The things you learn about a guy. Huh..." recovering, I gestured back to the church. "Come on. Let's go check out Father Gregory's grave."

EPOV

As we headed for the church crypt, I walked side by side with Dean in silence. Though the tension that had settled between us suddenly, spoke a million words. It wasn't about the sex, either. Something else was bugging him.

Finally, he turned to look at me. "How'd you know all that stuff about the bible? And who Father Shaughnessy is?"

"I did a job in Premont a couple of years back, and had some help from the priest. He knows me and what I do." I explained.

"What about all the bible stuff?"

I gave a simple shrug. "I'm from a religious family, Dean."

He looked surprised. "You're religious?"

"Well, no. Not really. I mean, I used to do it all. I went to a religious school, church every Sunday. Prayers at the dinner table before eating, and by my bed before I'd go to sleep." I looked down at the ground as we walked. "But once I started hunting. Once I lost everyone I cared about, I kinda just... stopped."

His surprise turned to curiosity. "Why?"

Shrugging, I looked up at him again. "Because I didn't have anything left to pray for."

There was a look in his eyes. A look of sympathy and understanding. Despite the fact he didn't know about my past and everything I'd been through, he still knew I'd lost my family. That's usually the way most hunters became hunters.

I knew about Dean and Sam's mum. I knew about their dad. I knew about their upbringing. I knew it all- or at least most of it. So I knew, the understanding and sympathy was not false, or a way to cover up pity. He really did know what it was like to lose people who you loved and cherished. So did Sam.

Speaking of which... he was being awfully quiet.

Turning around, I realised Sam wasn't following us anymore. "Sam?"

Dean looked behind us as well a frown forming when he noticed his brother was gone. Shaking his head, he headed back to find him.

SPOV

I felt someone shaking me as I lay on the cold, hard ground of the church crypt. It wasn't until I heard Dean's concerned voice that I woke up properly.

"Sam! Hey!" he shook me.

I groaned, looking up at my brother as he knelt by my side, looking down at me, his hands grasping my jacket. Sitting up, I took my time to regain my balance as I looked over at Lizzie who stood behind Dean looking equally worried.

"You okay?" she asked, voice small.

"Yeah." I answered, looking away as my eyes noticed that large angel statue in front of me. "Yeah." I repeated, smiling. "I'm okay."

"Come on." Dean stood and helped me to my feet. He made sure I was steady before we started to leave the crypt and headed for the chapel.

"Wait here." Dean told Lizzie as he directed me to a room off the side of the chapel. Once we were inside, he closed the door as he spoke to me. "You saw it, didn't you? Didn't you?"

"Yeah. Yeah, Dean, I saw an angel." I smiled, feeling perfectly fine. In fact. I felt great.

He didn't respond, he just stepped away as I took a seat, and pulled out his flask. "All right. Here." he offered me the flask.

I shook my head. "I don't want a drink."

With a shrug, he took a drink himself. "So, what makes you think you saw an angel?"

"I just... it appeared before me and me just... this feeling washed over me, you know? Like peace. Like grace."

"Okay, ecstasy boy. Maybe we'll get you some glow sticks, and a nice Dr Seuss hat." he joked.

But I didn't find any of this funny. "Dean, I'm serious. It spoke to me. It knew who I was."

"It's just a spirit, Sam." he insisted, moving to the benches in the opposite row and taking a seat. "Okay? And it's not the first one to be able to read people's minds. Okay, let me guess, you were personally chosen to smite some sinner. You just gotta wait for some divine Bat Signal? I that it?"

I gave a short nod. "Yeah, actually."

"Great. I don't suppose you asked what this alleged bad guy did?"

"Actually I did, Dean. And the angel told me. He hasn't done anything... yet. But he will."

Chuckling lightly, both amused and not, he stood back up. "Oh this is- I don't believe this."

"Dean, the angel hasn't been wrong yet. Someone's gonna do something awful and I can stop it."

"You know, you're supposed to be bad too, Sam." he countered. "Maybe I should just stop you right now."

I was getting pissed off and defensive now. "Dean, I don't understand. Why can't you even consider the possibility?"

"What, that this is an angel?"

"Yes. Maybe we're hunting an angel here and we should stop. Maybe this is God's will."

Sighing, he moved back to the benches. "Okay. All right. You know what? I get it. You've got faith. Hey, good for you. I'm sure it makes things easier." he took a seat again. "I'll tell you who else had faith like that. Mum. She used to say when she tucked me in that angels were watching over us. In fact, that was the last thing she ever said to me."

Now I felt a little guilty... "You never told me that."

"What's to tell?" he shrugged. "She was wrong. There was nothing protecting her. There's no higher power. There's no God. I mean, there's just chaos and violence. Random, unpredictable evil that comes out of nowhere, and rips you to shreds. So you want me to believe in this stuff? I'm gonna need to see some hard proof. You got any?" when I didn't respond, he went on. "Well, I do. Proof we're dealing with a spirit."

DPOV

The three of us were kneeling in front of Father Gregory's grave where a vine like plant was growing outside, above it and through the window to drape over it.

"It looks like-"

I cut Sam off. "It's wormwood. Plant associated with the dead. Specifically the ones that are not at rest." I looked around to the other graves. "I don't see it growing anywhere else, except over the murdered priest's marker. It's him, Sam."

"Maybe." he just wasn't going to let this angel thing go.

"Maybe?"

"Dean, I don't know what to think."

"Fine." Liz shrugged, standing up. "Then let's summon him."

Sam looked up at her. "What? Here? In the church?"

That's not a bad idea... "Yeah." I nodded, standing up next to her. "Yeah, we just need a few odds and ends and that seance ritual in dad's journal."

Sam laughed. "Seance, great. Hope Whoopi's available."

"That's funny, actually."

Liz just rolled her eyes at both of us. "Look, if Father Gregory's spirit is around then the seance will bring him to us. If Dean's right and its Gregory, we put him to rest. But if Sam's right and it's an angel, then nothing will happen."

"Exactly. It's one of the perks of the job, Sam. We don't have to operate on faith." I noted. "We can know for sure. Don't you wanna know for sure?"

EPOV

As I stepped out of the small corner store, I couldn't help but smile at Sam as he looked through the bag of things we'd just brought for the seance. "Dude, all right, I'll admit, we've gone pretty ghetto with spell work before. But this takes the cake." he shook his head. "I mean, a SpongeBob place mat instead of an alter cloth?"

"We'll just put it SpongeBob-side down." Dean shrugged, a grin curling up at the corner of his lips.

I laughed lightly, shaking my head as Dean and I continued for the car.

He looked over his shoulder to make sure he could speak without being heard by anyone else, before he gazed down at me. "I've been thinking-"

"About casual sex?" I grinned.

The look in his eyes, the way they darkened slightly, I knew my words had him instantly thinking about our morning activities. "God... you're going to be the death of me."

"At least you'll go out with a bang." giving him a wink, I bit my lip, drawing his eyes down to my mouth.

"You are so lucky Sam's here." was all he managed to mumble before his brother grabbed our attention.

"Guys, that's it."

We turned to him, but it was Dean who spoke. "What?"

Sam pointed to a man standing in front of a car and about to cross the road. "That's the sign."

"Where?"

I looked over, but couldn't see anything. "Sam, what do you see?"

"A light. A bright light. Right there. Right behind that guy. That's him. We have to stop him."

Right then, the man began to cross the street. Sam was moving in an instant, ready to follow the guy... or kill him. Either way, both Dean and I knew we couldn't let him go. Not when we weren't a hundred percent sure what he was going to do to the guy- or if the guy was even guilt, or what thing we were dealing with in the first place.

"Wait a minute." Dean grabbed Sam's arm, stopping him.

Sam looked down at Dean's hand holding him. "What are you doing? Let me go."

But Dean wasn't budging. "You're not gonna go kill somebody because a ghost told you to. Are you insane?"

"Dean, I'm not gonna kill him." Sam insisted. "I'm gonna stop him."

"Define 'stop', huh? I mean, what are you gonna do?"

Sam watched as the guy got in his car. Turning back to his brother, be practically begged. "Dean, please. He's gonna hurt someone. You know it. You both do." he noted as he looked to me. "Lizzie, please."

Sighing, I looked into his pleading eyes and nodded. "Okay. Let's go."

"Thank you."

Dean let go of him, the three of us stepping up to the Impala. Dean unlocked his door and got in, but left Sam's and mine locked.

Sam looked through his window to his brother. "Dean. Unlock my door."

Ignoring him, Dean turned the car on. "You're not killing anyone, Sam." he turned to me as I looked at him expectantly.

"Let me in."

Shaking his head, he put the car into gear. "I got this guy. You take Sammy, do the seance. Watch my brother."

Seeing no point in arguing, I stepped back and let him drive away as Sam watched him go. "Don't worry, Sam. He's not gonna let anything happen and you know it." I assured him.

Kneeling in the crypt, I found it more eerie at night. Especially with our candles glowing, and everything for the seance ready. I'd almost asked Sam if we could have the SpongeBob-side face up. Sam lit the final candle and grabbed his father's journal before he began to read the Latin incantation. As he came to the end, he lifted a powered we'd mixed together and sprinkled it over the black candle he'd just lit, extinguishing it.

"What are you doing?"

We spun around to see Father Reynolds standing in the door way of the crypt.

This is not good...

"What is this?"

Sam and I were lost for words. We couldn't manage any reason or excuse, but at the same time we knew we had to tell him something so he didn't call the cops on us. Just don't say witchcraft, ghost or seance...

Sam closed the journal and stood suddenly. "Father, please. We can explain. Um... actually, maybe I can't. Um…" for a moment I really did think he was going to save us. Walking closer to the priest, he tried again, "This is a seance."

Yep, we're screwed.

The priest was not happy. "A seance? Young man, you're in a house of God."

"It's based on early Christian rites, if that helps any." Sam shrugged, trying to get the priest on our side. It didn't work.

"Enough." the priest grabbed his arm. "You're coming with me. You too." he pointed a finger at me.

I stood and followed them as the priest lead Sam out. "Father, please, you have to hear us out. I can explain. Just wait a-"

A bright light filed the room, causing me to stop talking and causing the priest and Sam to turn back to the room.

"Oh, my God." Father Reynolds' mouth gaped open. "Is that... is that an angel?"

"No, it's not." Sam answered. As I looked to him, I could see disappointment written on his face. "It's just Father Gregory."

As if his words were a trigger, the bright light faded to reveal Father Gregory standing by the candles and journal we'd left on the floor next to his grave.

Father Reynolds could not believe his eyes. "Thomas."

"I've come in answer to your prayers." Father Gregory smiled kindly, until he noticed Sam. "Sam. I thought I sent you on your path. You should hurry."

Sam gently shook his head. "Father, I'm sorry, but you're not an angel."

"Of course, I am." Gregory insisted.

"No. You're a man. You're a spirit. And you need to rest."

"I was a man. But now, I'm an angel. I was on the steps of the church. And I felt that bullet pierce right through me. But there was no pain. And then suddenly, I could see... everything. Father Reynolds, I saw you praying and crying here. I came to help you."

"Help me how?"

DPOV

I'd followed the guy just like I said I would. First, he took me to a house where he picked up a woman and gave her the flowers he'd been carrying. Then he set off again. I had no idea where he was going, but I stuck to the job. Staying close enough so I could see him, but not so close that he'd notice me.

As he rounded a corner, I soon did the same, but the car was nowhere to be seen. In the brief time it took for me to turn into the street, he'd managed to disappear.

"Damn it." I hit the steering wheel out of frustration as I began to slow down and look into every drive way, needing to find this guy.

SPOV

Father Reynolds stepped closer to Father Gregory's spirit. "Those murders... that was because of you?"

"I received the word of God. He spoke to me, told me to smite the wicked. I'm carrying out his will."

"You're driving innocent people to kill." Father Reynolds tried to explain.

"Those innocent people are being offered redemption." Father Gregory turned to me then. "Some people need redemption. Don't they, Sam? Elizabeth?" his eyes swept over to Lizzie.

I had no idea what he was referring to when it came to Liz, but I was sure- when it came to me- he was talking about whatever was inside me. This thing in me that causes the visions...

"How can you call this redemption?" Father Reynolds asked.

"You can't understand it now. But the rules of man and the rules of God are two very different things." Father Gregory explained.

Lizzie stepped up. "Those people you offered redemption. They're locked up. They will be for the rest of their lives.

But no matter what we said, Father Gregory didn't seem to understand. "No, they're happy. They found peace, beaten their demons. And I've given them the keys to heaven."

"No." Father Reynolds shook his head. "No. This is vengeance. It's wrong. Thomas, this goes against everything you believed. You're lost, misguided."

"Father. No, I'm not misguided."

"You are not an angel, Thomas. Men cannot be angels."

Father Gregory's smile fell as his face turned to confusion. "But... but I don't understand. You prayed for me to come."

"I prayed for God's help." Father Reynolds corrected him. "Not this. What you're doing is not God's will. Thou shalt not kill. That's the word of God."

DPOV

By the time I found the car, it was almost too late.

The guy had parked in an alley way. I'd left the Impala at the other end so they couldn't hear me coming, before I closed the rest of the distance on foot. As I neared the car, I could see the guy grabbing at the woman, leaning over to her, a knife in hand. She struggled and screamed, trying to fight against him.

Moving to his window, I used the butt of my gun and smashed the glass. Grabbing the guy, I punched him in the face and slammed him against the steering wheel, knocking him out. Reaching in, I unlocked the door so the woman could get out.

She scrambled out of the car, crying. I climbed over the hood to help her, closing her door and grabbing her arms as I made sure she wasn't hurt.

"Are you okay? Are you okay?" I asked, sound more urgent the second time.

"Thank God." she cried.

The car started suddenly. I only had time to grab the woman and pulled her away from the car before the guy drove off in a hurry.

"Damn it." I needed to go after him. Turning to the woman again, I looked down at her. "Are you sure you're okay? Do you have a cell phone?" she nodded. "Call 911." I told her as I started backing up for my car. Once I was inside, I turned the engine on and sped off.

SPOV

I looked to Father Gregory with sympathy. He was confused, but he didn't belong here anymore. "Let us help you."

"No." there was fear in his voice.

Father Reynolds was gentle as he spoke. "It's time to rest, Thomas, to be at peace. Please, let me give your last rites."

Father Gregory didn't say anything. After a moment or two, he simply nodded.

With an answer, Father Reynolds began. "Oh, holy hosts above, I call upon thee as a servant of Christ, to sanctify our actions this day in fulfilment of the will of God." he made a cross in front of him.

Gregory began to flicker. The fear in his eyes grew. "Father Reynolds?"

Father Reynolds gave him a kind smile. "Rest." listening, Gregory knelt before him as Father Reynolds continued. "I call upon the Archangel Raphael, master of the air, to make open the way. Let the fire of the Holy Spirit now descend, that this being might be awakened to the world beyond."

Father Gregory was bathed in a bright light, and as it faded so did he.

DPOV

I was in the middle of chasing the guy through roads and around corners. This time I wasn't letting him get away. Not when I knew what he'd do. But as we neared some traffic lights that were green, another car that should have stopped- seeing as they were oncoming traffic- didn't. A pick up in front of the guy I was chasing swerved to avoid an accident.

As the pickup sharply turned, a thin and long metal pole came flying out of the back of his vehicle. It flew through the air, heading straight for the guy I was chasing. The pole penetrated through the window of the car, causing the guy to come to a stop.

Even though I couldn't see it, I knew... I knew the rode had killed him.

I slammed on the brakes, stopping beside the guy's car. Getting out of the car, I looked around at the scene before me. "Holy..." walking around, I peered in through the window to see the damage.

Sure enough, the rode had pierced right through him. He was dead.

EPOV

I sat on Dean's bed, looking down at my chocolate as Sam packed his stuff. I was already packed and ready to go. I'd gotten straight to it the moment we got back. Seeing as neither one of us had said a word, I actually finished faster than I normally would have.

There was a look in Father Gregory's eyes when he'd looked at me. I saw how he'd looked at Sam when talking about redemption, and how some people needed it. But as he turned to me, he looked exactly the same, as if whatever Sam had done or might do, I was the same.

The door to the room opened as Dean stepped in, taking one look at me before looking to his brother. "How was your day?"

Sam sighed, not looking away from his bag. "You were right. It wasn't an angel. It was Gregory."

Shaking his head, Dena pulled out his flask and took a drink. When he was finished, he offered it to Sam, who took it and took a drink as well.

Lowering the flask, Sam looked down at it in thought. "I don't know, Dean. I just..." he took a deep breath and sat down, "I wanted to believe, so badly I'd... it'd so damn hard to do this, what we do. All alone, you know. And there's so much evil out in the world, I feel like I could drown in it. And when I think about my destiny, when I think about how I could end up..."

"Yeah, well, don't worry about that, all right? I'm watching out for you." Dean assured him.

Sam looked up at his older brother then. "Yeah I know you are. But you're just one person, Dean."

I jumped off the bed and headed over to him. Placing the chocolate on the table I gave Sam a smile as I sat down next to him. "You've got me, too."

"Thanks... but I needed to think there's something else watching too, you know? Some higher power." Sam shrugged, giving a light laugh. "Some greater good. And that maybe..."

When he left it there, Dean asked, "Maybe what?"

"Maybe I could be saved." Sam answered, his eyes tearing up. I reached over and grabbed his hand for support. "But, uh," he laughed again, trying to lighten the mood, "you know, that just clouded my judgement. And you're right. We gotta go with what we know, with what we can see, with what's there right in front of our own two eyes."

Dean looked away. "Well, it's funny you say that."

Sam looked up at him confused. "Why?"

"Gregory's spirit gave you some pretty good information. The guy in the car was bad news. I barely got there in time."

"What happened?" Sam asked.

"Is everything okay?" I added.

"He's dead."

"Did you...?" Sam left the question hanging there.

"No." Dean shook his head. "But I'll tell you one thing. If... the way he died, if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I never would've believed it. I mean, I don't know what to call it."

"What?" Sam pressed. "Dean, what did you see?"

"Maybe... God's will."

Bamby

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xwubzxbubzx · 7 years

Text

Progressive Collapse

A continuation of my Dark!Ford fic: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4

Warnings for mentions of memory alteration, incest, possessive behaviour, jealousy. SFW. 3.8K

Stan forgets many things, but he does not forget his brother.

v. Impasto

Impasto is a technique where paint is laid on an area of the surface very thickly, usually thick enough that the brush or painting-knife strokes are visible. When dry, impasto provides texture; the paint appears to be coming out of the canvas which gives the painting an almost three-dimensional appearance. It was favoured by Impressionists for its expressive qualities.

When Ford wakes up the next morning, Stan is not next to him. He leans over the side of the bed and checks the floor. His brother’s clothes are still strewn across the thick carpet but Ford’s slippers are missing. He looks for his coat and finds that it, too, is gone. Barefoot and shivering, he walks out of the room, and down the staircase. A cold draught passes through the Shack, causing the curtains to flutter — the door is ajar and Ford sees a dark shape silhouetted in the sliver of light, he opens it fully.

Stan is facing away from him, staring out into the treeline; his bare ankles poke out of his tan coat, pale and thin. The material is tight across his broad shoulders and thick arms. The fabric shifts in the wind, cupping the curve of his calves.

“Aren’t you cold?” Stan makes no move at the sound of his voice, as though he has been expecting him.

Ford moves next to him and his brother glances at him briefly. “I could ask you the same thing. I am wearing your coat.” He raises his arms and shrugs, causing the material to part, underneath he is dressed in only his boxers.

“I’m fine.” Ford says and he means it, the sight of Stan ensconced in his clothes warms him.

“The snow’s been cleared away.” He points to the grey strip of road that is bounded by high walls of white. “I think we can go into town and pick up some stuff. I don’t really want to eat a frickin’ frozen bear if I have to.” He attempts a smile.

Ford tilts his head, considering. Stan does have a point, but the thought of leaving the Shack annoys him. He prefers the solitude it offers, enjoys the way Stan must rely on him for all forms of human contact. He doesn’t wish to share that privilege with anyone.

Stan is still looking at him, eyes hopeful. The red imprint of Ford’s teeth are visible just beneath the collar of the coat. It is a teasing thing, begging Ford to bend forward and mar the softness of Stan’s throat.

“Ford, c’mon. We can’t stay here forever.” Stan knits their fingers together, squeezing slightly. “Please?”

Ford relents and nods his head. He understands that he’s being manipulated but it is still effective; he doesn’t mind it that much. “We’ll go now, if you want?”

Stan brightens visibly and lets go of his hand. He turns to go back inside, door creaking closed behind him. Ford hears the soft sounds of footfalls grow fainter and fainter. He doesn’t regret agreeing to this, after all, no one should approach Stanley when he is there with him; people are often made discomfited by his presence — apparently he can be a bit too intense.

Stan winces a little as he sits down. He’s squirming slightly in the driver’s seat, trying to find a position he is comfortable in. Ford feels satisfaction fill him, the events of last night linger on Stan’s body and will remain there for a long time.

The car shudders as Stan turns the key. Engine flickering on and off. Stan is growing more and more frustrated and he smashes a fist against the dashboard. When he turns the key again there is no response. “Had you for 40 years and now you’re giving me trouble. That’s just my luck—”

“Stan, I’ll handle it.”

Stan gapes at him. “Do you even know how?”

“I created an inter-dimensional portal, I’m sure this will pose no issue.” His palm grazes Stan’s freshly-shaven cheek. “Relax, I’ll be done soon.”

The rush of cold wind that hits him is bracing, at least the interior of the car offered some semblance of protection from the elements. The hood gleams, he pops it open. A thin film of frost covers it that melts against his fingertips. He remembers being a boy, watching with wide eyes as Stan brought home the El Diablo for the first time. He remembers the drives they took out to the water front, how the headlights of cars would illuminate Stanley’s skin and highlight his features, he remembers how much he wanted to slide close to his brother and kiss him. His patience has been rewarded.

The car is meticulously well kept. One of the few things that Stan still has from Glass Shard Beach. He runs his fingers over the smooth metal, looking for a ridge. He finds it and presses the pad of his thumb against it. It beeps, recognising his fingerprint, one of the few things about his body that are innately different from Stan’s. The small device falls away from the engine and lands in the cradle of his palm, it is paper thin and lines – circuit traces – are barely visible on its translucent surface. There is no need for it anymore. Stan will not run away. He crushes it.

Ford pushes down the hood, tapping at it to get Stan’s attention. His brother rolls down the window.

“You finished?”

“It’s all fixed up, Stanley. Try it now.”

Stan obeys and turns the key. The engine roars to life. “That was quick.” He sounds impressed.

Ford sits back inside the car, Stan fiddles with knobs on the dashboard and the air conditioner blows dry, heated air at him. Stan has always been thoughtful to a fault. “Thank you.” He sighs, relishing in the warmth.

“I should be saying that, Sixer. This hunk of junk wouldn’t have started if it weren’t for you. What was the problem anyway?”

“Mm… It was nothing really. Just the cold.”

Ford settles into the seat, watching Stan’s face crease in concentration as he reverses onto the road. He drives slowly, carefully. The complete opposite of how he used to back when they were young and reckless. This is a recent change, Ford can tell. The ice slicks the road, causing each turn to slip more than it should. Stan’s fingers hold the steering wheel tightly. He is still wearing Ford’s coat.

The town is not far from the Mystery Shack, but the drive seems to stretch. The view is unchanging. Tall trees dusted in snow as far as the eyes can see. Stan talks, sharing small anecdotes, trying to piece together the frayed tapestry of his memory.

Ford is just beginning to sweat when the first buildings become visible through the tree-line, the windows are covered with a layer of condensation, everything outside looks fogged over and indistinct. Gravity Falls has always been small, uniquely remote. It is nestled in the clearing of an endless of forest, mountains rising above it. From his window it looks like a place from a dream, shop fronts are vague smudges of colour and light, people are smears on the glass, obscured and melting.

Stan parks in front of the only store in town that has not banned him, at least that is what he tells Ford. He pushes the door with a jerk, it sticks but opens. Ford does not move, unwilling to join the press of crowds, become part of it. “Let’s go, Ford.” Stan is impatient.

“Do you have a list of everything we’ll need?”

Stan has the decency to appear sheepish. “I pick up stuff as I see it. It’s not organised, but I get most of what I need.”

Ford gives him a disapproving look, before steeling himself and opening the door. His breath wisps out in front of him. The lot is empty, for the most part. It is still early morning and obviously many people are still at home, sleeping in their beds or dead-eyed at work. He wonders what day it is.

There is graffiti on the sides of the building, barely legible phrases and childish drawings. A bored teenager greets them once they enter, she seems remarkably similar to the red-headed girl Stan employs. The both have the same bored expression, dark circles under their eyes, magazine in their hands. It is an effortless indifference.

The shelves are high and filled with more brands than he remembers there being 30 years ago. The lights are fluorescent and cold, a camera whirrs in the corner, watching them. Soft but unfamiliar music plays in the background, a peaceful white noise to cover the silence. He hasn’t ever accompanied Stan here before. It has been a long time since he has gone shopping. It has been a long time since he has been in this dimension.

Stan is carrying a plastic basket, smirking. His shoulder bumps against Ford. “Get whatever you want, not like we’re gonna be paying for half of it. These people never learn.” He walks off, there is a slight yet gratifying limp in his walk, an unmistakeable stiffness.

The few people that are there seem to recognise Stanley, smiling as he walks past. Ford does not like this at all but Stan barely pays them any attention beyond a cursory nod and easy grin. He decides to explore the store on his own and categorise the sheer number of changes that have occurred in this world while he was gone.

It is fascinating. Cellular phones have grown unimaginably small and ubiquitous, so many people are hunched over, lost in their own world with their thumbs darting across screens – screens that can register touch. The thought excites him. He considers buying one. Dipper and Mabel have introduced him to the internet but he hasn’t taken the time to fully explore it. Perhaps he should now, his work with Stan is done. He can finally focus his attention on different things and there is so much to do.

He’s roaming through the aisles, hands trailing against the shelves, when he hears a crash and a pained yelp. The sound is familiar. Stanley. He starts towards the direction of the noise, moving with quiet and startling swiftness. It does not take long. When he finds Stan, the man is crumpled on the floor; his basket is overturned, cans and miscellanea are strewn around him. His head in his hands, thumbs kneading at his temples. A store clerk hovers nearby awkwardly, not knowing what to do. Ford kneels down beside him.

“Thank god you’re here, Sixer.” Stan turns to look at him, he is pale as a sheet. Ford rubs his back gently, large concentric circles.

“Sir, are you alright? Should we call someone—?”

Ford cuts her off. “My brother is fine.” He says firmly, before softening his gaze and attempting a comforting smile. “We’re not as young as we used to be and the winter hasn’t been kind. There’s nothing to be worried about, everything is perfectly alright.”

She remains unconvinced. “If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to—”

“Don’t worry, this happens sometimes.” He helps Stan get up, his brother looks slightly pained but the sickly glow of his skin has disappeared. “As you can see, he’s a lot better now.”

Mollified, she nods and walks away. Her minimum wage salary does not compel her to care more.

“Ford.” Stan’s voice is weak. “Can we go to the bathroom? I don’t feel too great.”

No one really notices them, their age lending them anonymity. Stan is heavy against him, a dead weight, but they both manage to make it inside the dingy bathroom. It reeks of refuse and antiseptic causing Ford to wrinkle his nose. A single unshaded light bulb hangs from the ceiling, swinging to and fro. Ford locks the door behind them.

Stan braces himself against the bowl of the toilet and retches, deep heaves from his diaphragm. Nothing escape his mouth except bile and saliva. He slumps to the floor, exhausted. Ford is next to him, making soothing noises, smoothing back his hair.

“Are you feeling better now?”

“Y-Yeah. Guess I’m just tired, haven’t had breakfast or anything.”

“We’ll get something to eat after I’m done buying everything.” Ford pulls him up and Stan presses against him in a hug.

“Thanks, Sixer. Always feel better around you.” They stay like that for a while, until they hear a rattle of someone trying to turn the handle.

“One second—” Stan yells, and rinses his hands and mouth in the sink, splashing water against his face. He opens the door and both of the brother’s exit, the man outside barely paying them any heed as he enters.

Ford walks slowly, he has a fairly accurate layout of the store in his mind and he plots out the most efficient route to get all of the necessities. Stan stays close to him, their shoulders brushing as they move. Ford has a firm grip on his brother’s elbow, an assurance of support and strength.

Thankfully, it is not take long until they are back outside, loading things into the trunk of the car. Stan had protested at Ford actually paying for everything in the cart but had eventually quietened, unable to continue the discussion while the cashier was within earshot.

“You could’ve let me take one thing.” He complains.

Ford ignores him, Stan’s arms had shaken slightly as he picked up their groceries. He’s weak with pain and exhaustion. “Do you want me to drive, Stanley?”

“You can drive?” Disbelief colours his tone.

“Of course I can.”

Stan does not look up as he tosses the keys at him, the tinkle faintly as they arc through the air. Ford catches them. “Isn’t this just a week of surprises? You can fix a car, cook and drive. What else are you hiding, Sixer?”

When Ford smiles, it shows his teeth. “Not much, Lee.”

He doesn’t have to adjust the seat, his legs are the same length as Stan’s; the back of his skull is cradled comfortably against the headrest, like it’s been molded to fit him. This is probably the first time Stan has let anyone besides himself drive the El Diablo. He must still feel sick.

“Do you know where Greasy’s is?” Stan asks.

“Greasy’s?” Ford rolls the name on his tongue, he has a vague inkling of the place. Maybe he went there once?

“It was around while you here.” Stan huffs out a soft laugh. “I figured you wouldn’t know it, not your kinda place.”

“Can you tell me the way there?” Ford does not want to burden Stan when he is in this state more than he needs to, but he’s got absolutely no idea where to go.

“Off Main Street, two rights and a left. It looks like an old train car, you can’t miss it.” Stan closes his eyes, and curls up against Ford’s side. His hands shift, unbuttoning the top of his dress shirt.

“Tired?”

Stan hums in response, draping the coat over himself like a make-shift blanket.

Ford does not drive as smoothly as his brother, he presses the brakes a little too hard, and he swerves uncomfortably close to other cars but he tries. Stan’s breath is even, and warm against his arm.

“We’re close.”

“Mm… I know.” He nuzzles his face against Ford and inhales deeply. “Why do I feel so much better near you?” This is a question Ford cannot answer, not yet anyway. He doubts Stan wants to know the real reason.

He parks the car jerkily, and Stan shifts away from him, stretching out his arms. His hair is mussed, curling upwards charmingly, and making him look decades younger. Ford reaches over and pats it down.

“Nice nap?”

“Didn’t sleep, actually.” He cracks his neck. “This headache wasn’t as bad as the first couple of ones. Whatever you did must’ve worked a bit.”

“I think so too. Maybe we should try it again?” Ford wants him to say yes.

“Nah, Sixer. This seems like a one off, hasn’t been a problem since then really.” His hand rests on the door-handle. “I’m starving and I know you are too; we both haven’t eaten for at least a day.”

The diner is cozy, young families tucked into booths, long-distance truckers slump onto the counter, sipping strong coffee and watching television. Stan pulls him to a corner table near the back. The faux-leather of the sofa is bright red and spotted with years’ worth of questionable stains. It is pleasant nonetheless, the air sweet with the scent of baked goods and warmth.

A woman walks over; she’s about their age with bright blue eye shadow and garish pink lips, one of her eyelids is closed in a perpetual wink. She recognizes them but Ford can’t seem to place her. He checks her nametag — Susan.

“What’ll it be, Stan-ley.” She giggles at the rhyme. Ford hates her with a sudden passion. She then turns to him, still smiling. “And you must be the real Stanford.”

Ford inclines his head, barely acknowledging her attempt at conversation. He wants her gone.

She doesn’t seem fazed, looking back at his brother. “Haven’t seen you around here for a while. Too busy doing mysterious stuff off in the wood?”

Stan doesn’t seem to mind, preening under the attention. “Oh, you know. I’m doing this and that. Trying to figure everything out, killing monsters. The usual stuff.” There is a certain smoothness in his tone — an oily glaze of charisma.

She giggles again, the sound grates at his ears, and curls a lock of hair around her finger. “Well, you still shouldn’t have forgotten us like that.”

She’s flirting with Stan. His Stan. And Stan seems happy about it, running his hand through his hair like he is 16 and not 60. Ford’s holding the table, knuckles white.

“We’ll both get some pancakes.” He interrupts. He can’t bear this anymore.

She startles at the sound of his voice before jotting their order down. “Oh, I’ll get it for you right away. Don’t think about paying a dime, Stan Pines. Everything’s on the house for the town hero — and his brother.” The last part of the sentence is tacked on, like Ford is an afterthought.

“Wasn’t planning on paying anyway, Susan.” Stan calls back at her retreating form. He turns to Ford, face serious. “What was that about, Sixer?”

“What do you mean?” Ford tries to go for innocence but the lingering anger in his voice betrays him.

“You look about ready to kill someone.”

“I don’t respond favourably to strangers, especially not ones that get as… familiar as that woman just did.” Ford picks up one of the salt shakers, rolling it back and forth in his palm, trying to calm himself.

Stan doesn’t desist from his line of questioning. “Cut the crap, Ford. And her name’s Susan.”

“What do you want me to say, Stan? That I enjoyed the fact that she was blatantly trying to get you to fu—”

“Shut up.” It is said with such force that Ford complies. Stan leans back, appraising him and then he laughs from deep in his belly. “Never pegged you for the insecure type.”

“I think a better word would be jealous.” Ford says, affronted.

“Jealousy, insecurity, two sides of the same coin.” There is still amusement in his tone. Ford doesn’t like being mocked.

“Am I wrong to be? You two seem to share some romantic history.”

Stan fidgets, blushing softly. “Relax, will you? My head’s kinda fuzzy, but trust me, I don’t want to revisit that memory again.”

Ford is seeing red. “So you were involved—”

“If you count one date where I bolted after screaming ‘non-specific excuse,’ then yes, we had a torrid love affair.”

“I still don’t like it.”

Stan reaches over, taking the salt shaker from his hand. “You don’t have to.” He quiets, watching the white grains gather at one side as he tilts the container. “You never acted like this with Carla.”

“I was younger, and far more confused. If you recall, I used to leave every time she came over.” Ford was different then, anxious and frightened and weak. He thinks he hated her, but it was an impotent and futile feeling, more envy than anger. The portal had changed him, or maybe Bill had; hardened out his edges and sharpened them to a point. “Even so, we weren’t together then either.” He says this delicately, not wanting to disturb the dark and tenuous thing between them.

Stan slouches lower in his seat. “I think I loved Carla, but that doesn’t make any sense because I’ve always loved you.” Ford slides his hand across the table and rests it atop Stan’s. A spark slips from his fingertips and absorbs into Stan’s skin, red and fleeting. It is a little reminder, a small nudge in the right direction. “I wish I knew what the fuck was happening.” Stan sounds drained, turning his hand over so that he can grip Ford’s fingers, squeezing them together for a moment.

“Food’s here!” Susan calls, carrying a tray that is piled high with far more than two plates of pancakes. Stan’s hand darts away, slipping beneath the table. She places the steaming food in front of them, beaming. “Enjoy.”

Ford thinks that she leans too close to Stanley, that she bends over too far but his brother’s concentration is elsewhere, directed on consuming as much as physically possible in one sitting. It is most likely a remnant from the days he couldn’t predict when his next meal would be. The guilt, the rage, makes Ford lose his appetite. He wishes he could take back all those years where Stan lived alone, but then they have made him so dependent on Stanford, he is inextricably intertwined with Stan’s idea of a home.

The drive back to the Mystery Shack is silent. Ford remembers the way; he could navigate these woods blind-folded if he had to, the knowledge was necessary for his survival. He knew the forest far better than he knew the town. The trees seem more human, more distinct to him than most people do. He feels calmer with each mile gained between them and civilisation.

The sun is bright, hanging high in the sky; Ford assumes it is somewhere around noon. The glare reflects of the snow and into his eyes – he has to squint to see. Stan is draped across the front seat, lost in post-binge exhaustion. He looks content, eyes closed, listening idly to the radio. Ford can still hear him heaving in the dank toilet, hear his name on Stan’s lips when he’s helpless, hear him laughing with the waitress. Stan’s always in his head, waiting.

“How are you feeling, Lee?”

His brother doesn’t open his eyes. “Mm…Stuffed but good. Why?”

“Just checking.”

“Is that concern I hear in your tone? You’re spoiling me, Sixer.”

Ford laughs, “Maybe it is. I like taking care you.” He looks at Stan through the rear-view mirror, he is blushing, more from arousal than embarrassment. He’s all warm, safe and loved all because of Ford. He doesn’t need anyone else.

Not anymore.

it’s on ao3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/11679609/chapters/26650206

Also, maybe I haven't explained but dark!ford is the way he is because Bill constantly possessed him. I always figured that there would be long lasting damage from sharing literal head-space with a demon. It adds a layer of irony too, Ford's been manipulated and he's doing the same to Stanley.

part 6

#stancest #my fic #dark!ford #4 #5 #stanley pines #stanford pines #incest tw #gr/av/ity f//alls wb

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tazaki-theredknight-blog · 6 years

Note

💕

“…So lets say F is for Force, and G is for gravity, V is for velocity or vector of time- I’ll specify when– time or and D is for dimension…” It was odd to see this large man reflecting the shadow of a G-I-Joe soldier spout formulas and ideas you’d hear in a classroom or lecture hall. Danny wasn’t fond of lectures and Tazaki bored of them quickly. However, after learning about the Ghost Portal and the issues they were currently up against with inter-dimensional travel, he was revved up and ready to go. The other hunter was writing rather quickly on a make-shift white board. Letters and numbers with foot notes in smaller print were put there, here, and over there. The board which used to be largely broken piece of glass was now against the wall being written on with quick-erase markers.

D^1 = VT: Dimension 1

Space (D^3 in 3 dimensions) Hence D^1 = CT.

Dimensions have constant velocity of light– Side note: although we recognize sound quicker, light still travels faster! Anyway, like I was saying, in current physics velocity is relatively proportional to time’s constant speed with light being the limitation. When time continues and elevates, velocity diminishes because they are polar in the formula…” He continued talking about physics and vectors and signals… It all sounded like noise to the ghost-boy and huntress who were both looking at the man from the other side of the room. While Asha was in awe, the other two seem to be exchanging similar glances of ‘is he serious?’

“Is he…always like this?” Danny asked, doing a double take at the glass. He could have sword he’d only looked away for a second and yet there was new print and equations sprawled out with arrows and small illustrations of what he assumed to be portals. Tazaki nodded, clearing her throat in the process. “When riled up about stuff like this yeaa.. I would have never guessed he was a scientist when we met though. Very bronze on the battle field, and very loud when he’s drunk.” Danny raised an eyebrow, wondering where she was going with this - and he saw it, the faint smile of hers. When she recognized the character of someone, for better or for worse. “But..” she continued, “He’s got a big mind full of great ideas and cares about the outcome of his actions. Even if its not what everyone else agrees with.” She patted Danny’s shoulder which was tense. He had been tense ever since Asha arrived. He relaxed some, but he couldn’t bring himself to calm down fully. There were two people, actual people in his house right now, not to mention one was a stranger. The noise that was bouncing off the walls was starting to give him a headache, and feel dizzy. Like being on a stage with an awaiting audience wanting nothing but the curtain to come down so he could take a breath. Suddenly he was brought back to reality by his friend’s voice. Something in it though..didn’t sound right. She sounded quieter or maybe a little tired.

“I don’t know everything about the man but he’s earned my trust for now.” Hunters didn’t know everything about each other after all. Asha and Tazaki had only met some months ago. It was a different relationship than what she had with Danny. The red head was more guarded and cold with the other hunter because that is how their job was best handled. There was little opportunity to talk and get comfortable and under each other’s skin. A luxury Daniel Fenton may not have realized he’d had with the huntress. To most she was a skilled individual at her job, sometimes willing to work with a team, sometimes not, with little tolerance for strangers and a heavy hand to those found guilty.

“Are you two listening?” The two snapped out of their moment and looked over to see Asha now right next to them blinking curiously.

“Mhm, yup,” Tazaki replied. She coughed softly into her hand, and shook her head. It looked like she was trying to wake herself up.

Danny was a little lost. “Uhm..to be hon-”

“What was the last thing I said?” Asha tested. Danny looked between the two and the board, trying to see if he could take a wild guess. Given his luck he’d probably strike out like in school. Lancer would have a last laugh even after graduation - go figure.

“You were explaining how each dimension increases or expands by velocity time. And that time and energy are just different manifestation of V and T.” Gold eyes narrowed at green with a smile. “Hm.. I guess you were listening.” Tazaki smirked, crossing her arms. “Continue then, professor.” He seemed to disagree with that nickname and looked to Danny. Tazaki laughed quietly into her shoulder before bringing up a curled hand to her mouth and coughing. ‘Tch…great.’

“How about you young man. You said your parents were scientists - yes? And they invented the portal.”

“Uh, yea.. but their goal wasn’t inter-stellar travel or opening specific dimensions. It was to study ghosts, only in the ghost temporal zone. I don’t think I’m the person to ask-”

“ Are you sure?” “Yes” “Positive?” “Yes…” What was with this guy. Big like a house, and yet looked so defeated from a young and much smaller boy telling him he didn’t know anything. “ You look like he just killed your puppy Asha,” Tazaki joked. The dark man took a look at the board and then at the notes sprawled out on the table and sighed. “This really is a mess we have isn’t it.”

“Something like that…we should ga-” She was interrupted from her own coughing. Both gentlemen now looked over as she patted down her collar bones, clearing her voice. “..gather a perimeter of the woods in the area.” She finished. Danny opened his mouth first, “Are yo-”

“You can help with that right?” Tazaki added quickly, choking down another cough. “Said you knew this city like the back of your hand, right?”

“Well yea I do, but do y-” Did she look…paler?

“Great. Asha can you work with Danny on that?” The scientist nodded, going over to a couple of rolled up papers on the table. Choosing one, he rolled it out like an old rug and set a book and automatic on two ends to keep it flat and un-moving. While he looked for pencils Danny looked at his friend with concern. He was stubborn on his own injuries sure but when it came to someone else - someone he cared about and wanted to protect-

“Taz what’s…” It was weird. Normally she’s all for explanations or talking, at least with him. Was it because Asha was here? Was it because of him? ‘Is it me? Did I…did I do something?’ he thought. Innocent eyes blinked in worry at the vanishing image of the young woman.

“Please excuse me..” he thought he heard.

–

Away from the living room, and upstairs, Tazaki kept hand to her mouth and the other on the hallway rail. Gripping the wood felt reassuring but she couldn’t stay in the hall forever. ‘Where is the bathroom?’ Stiffening, the huntress froze feeling everything inside begin to tighten and throb. Hanging her head, crimson locks slipped over her shoulder as her shoulders shook.

Old injuries ached. The ache turned into a white-hot burn. Coughing made her body jolt, the sensation sending shivers and needles up her back. Veins rose under her skin as she sucked in a breath taking a step and a half forward. The tired heart in her chest thud like a hammer hard at work. It rattled her ribs to suddenly feel too small in the skin that bound them. Like she was wound in a coil that did nothing but tighten, just waiting to snap. Blood stained lips parted to gasp and wheeze as she found strength to keep from falling or doubling over. Everything was happening so fast, much faster than last time…

Her throat burned from the sound that escaped it, and she was quick to keep it from happening again. Breathing became a chore: opening your mouth, pulling air in one moment and willing the same air to get out a second later. Was there air? It felt more like smoke… or was that her lungs failing to take in enough air - who knows. Staggering forward she spotted it - the restroom! Or rather a sanctuary. Once inside she pushed her back to the bathroom door shutting her eyes as the ringing started in her ears. Quickly, she peeled off her jacket, tossing it to the floor. Pale skin now red in patches - she was hot, everything felt too hot. Rushing to the sink she turned the faucet on full blast for cold. Dipping her hands in and bringing the liquid to her face. Looking in the mirror, the white around the green of her eyes was pink, with hints of red. Suddenly her own reflection doubled and she took a step back, gaining balance by grasping an old and stiff shower curtain. Everything wanted to come up. Breakfast, dinner, her guts..everything. Breathing heavily she started to cough. No doubt the running water wasn’t masking much sound, but it made her feel better to know at least the inside sink wouldn’t be totally soiled red. Leaning on her knees, she continued, trying to get a breath or two in between. It didn’t take long before she was kneeling and held a shaky grip on the sides of the toilet bowl. Coughing was normal and annoying at first, like someone with a bad cold, but sure enough it became what it always did - violent.

–

“..That’s about it for the layout around the woods. There’s thick patch of trees by Casper High but the largest is by the cemetery..”

“Right right..” Asha acknowledged, making marks and diameter. He looked between the map and Danny, before straightening his stature. “You seem distracted.”

“Aren’t you?” That came off a little more strong than he anticipated, but c’mon this was Tazaki. “Don’t you know what’s going on?” The older man seemed to collect some thoughts before answering. “To be honest, no. It’s not really my business to know, is it?” Danny binked, slightly stunned by the answer. ‘Wait if he doesn’t know…’ Their relationship was more professional than friendship despite a few jokes here and there, a polar of what Tazaki and Danny were.

“Listen, I’m going to go confirm this map from a street’s eye view so I can get used to your town. I’m sure Tazaki has done that already with memory or through you by now right? I need to catch up. ” Good, with him out of the house maybe he could get some answers, wait-hold on.

“Wait isn’t it dangerous to go alone?” There it was, that hero within himself, concerned for all citizen within his park, even if he didn’t particularly enjoy their company yet.

Asha grinned. “I appreciate it lad, but I’ll be fine. I’m not looking for trouble tonight, just traces and anything we could add to the table. I’ll be back in 60.” With that, he was out the door with a small satchel and a flashlight. Whatever was in his bag of tricks must be enough to get him out of a pinch because he didn’t seem like a naive hunter. Looking toward the arch of the living room, Danny approached it slowly, turning around the bend as Tazaki had earlier. It was there that he noticed something he was familiar with seeing, Blood.

Blue eyes with a hint of green widened, as his gaze led him to a few more spots along the stairs and the railing had partial red hand prints. They looked like clues to a murder, and he wasn’t a fan of playing Clue! A lot of thoughts hit him at once: alarm, worry, panic, frustration - everything. He really wasn’t used to having people around, never mind people to worry about in close quarters. “…Taz!” he called, rushing up the stairs, he stopped at the top, looking quickly left to right, “You oka-” stopping when he turned right, “ay…?” he voice trailed, relieved to see the huntress sitting down at the end of the hall. She was sitting with her head to her knees, and her arms around them. She didn’t hear his foot steps, not that it was surprising, he had ghost powers after all.

“Tazaki?” Her shoulders were trembling slightly, and upon hearing her name, she lifted her head some and turned it. Half lidded eyes greeted Danny before she closed them again. “Sorry…I’ll clean…” she said quietly, to which Danny was confused. He wasn’t sure how to approach this, should he help her lie down, a hospital? Her breathing pattern certainly wasn’t normal, it was ragged and shallow.

“Clean..clean what? Do you… Do you want to lie down?” It wasn’t until the bathroom door creaked slightly that he knew what she was talking about. Turning his own head, he mouthed ‘Oh’ at the scene. Smears of red ran up and down the sides of the porcelain toilet, tub, and sink. There were were prints on the floor and on the edges of the tub, that if followed correctly could tell the story of how she wanted to wash her mouth but couldn’t bring herself to the sink, and so settled for the tub instead. It was also easier to lean into and hurl than a toilet. Some of the blood was the normal vibrant and signature crimson, the other however was a was a nasty dark red, with specks of black - dirty blood the body wanted to be rid of desperately, forced out in a cruel and exhausting manner. She really did haste the taste of iron. Lifting her head more so, she opened her eyes some and Danny looked back at her both with concern and confusion. This couldn’t be from that wound she got while coming here right? No… The look in her eyes told him it was something different.

“I…” “Hey stop talking,” Danny urged. “You don’t have to explain-” he added quickly. It earned him a weak laugh from his comrade. “You’re too good…” she whispered. “Don’t worry about the bathroom I can-” He started to get up from his position beside her but she quickly grabbed his wrist to stop him. Green eyes widened to how cool he felt. It was therapeutic. To his surprise, she was incredibly warm. Actually, burning up was a better description. “That’s one hell of a fever!” he exclaimed. Before he could say anything else however he was being tugged back beside her. “….Y-you’re so cold..” She said quietly. “Why are you so cold..” She was snaking her arms around him now, much to Danny’s surprise when she had him in a firm and intimate embrace. His body stiffened naturally against the unfamiliar feeling of being touched, of behing hugged, of being wanted. Normally, she might have asked if he wanted her to stop, but there was little ration to reason in the state of her mentality. Even with eyes closed everything was spinning. She rested her head in the crook of his neck, a burning forehead relieved by the cool temperature of his skin. Slowly, Danny’s shoulders began to relax, as he shifted so she wasn’t on her knees hugging him but that most of her weight was on him instead. Hesitantly and carefully, he wrapped one arm around her, under that blanket of crimson hair and the other as a reassurance on her back. Her shirt was damp with sweat but he could feel the heat radiating off of her. Everything invaded his out of touch senses. The smell of blood sweat not his own, the overwhelming and much needed feel of warmth battling the cold of his skin, and the shaky breathing of another body return to normal right under his ears. Looking down, he wanted to confirm his suspicion and he was right, she was asleep. This strange woman that had a knack for popping in and out of his life at the strangest of times was really never out of surprises, even ones like this. Unconscious, Tazaki still held her grip on the Phantom boy, tightening her hold when he tried to move. For once he was glad he couldn’t phase away or scramble away from someone’s grasp. There wasn’t a reason to aside from old habits dying hard. Right this second, he was the best place he could be. How long had it been since he felt another pair of arms around him? Too long…

Being cold had become so normal, he didn’t think he would find a use for it aside from wearing sweaters in the summer or feeling less human than he already did. Yet here he was, stuck in an embrace his mind ached to leave but his soul sustained.

#the-half-ghost-kid-hero-rp #ask #tazakitheredknight #tazaki-theredknight #{<3}#{I tried lol}

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thespecialrelationship-phff · 7 years

Text

Chapter 5

AN: Last chapter for today. Enjoy!

Harry’s POV

''Harry, we've landed.'' I feel Ed nudging me. ''I can't believe you actually fell asleep.''

I roll my eyes at his flippant comment. He has a point though, the flight from south Florida to Orlando was short and I swore I wasn’t going to sleep. And yet here I am, leaning against the cold plastic wall of an airplane, neck unbelievably sore. As I try to straighten, my body protests the rather unnatural position I've forced it to take for the flight. These damn tiny seats, even in business class, weren’t made for comfort. A groan slips out as I roll my shoulders.

''Going to make it old man?'' Ed quips.

While technically an employee Ed is much more a friend at this point. Sure he handles certain aspects of my schedule and logistics but he's a comforting presence. I know he works for Prince Harry but he's friends with me. Comments like his previous one never cease to remind me of the fact. ''You don't have much room to talk do you? I believe I have a few years on you.''

''Well then act like it.''

I rub a hand over my face in humored agitation. It's always good to have someone who can keep the mood light. Ed can certainly do that.

As we wait the terminally long time it takes for people to queue up to get off the plane, I check to make sure I have all of my belongings. It wouldn’t be a very good start to the week with an embarrassed phone call to the good people at American Airlines. Indeed I do have everything though, my satchel, jacket, tablet, wallet and yes cell phone. Quickly I check to see if I've missed any pressing messages or calls. I'm shocked when there's absolutely nothing. ''Huh.''

''What?'' Ed looks over his shoulder as we start to move.

''Nothing really, just no one needed to get into contact with me during the flight.'' I step into the narrow aisle, just missing knocking my bag into someone.

''Everyone on the team knew you were on the flight. They're probably waiting for you to land before pouncing.”

''You're probably right.'' I concede. As we exit the plane I say a polite thank you to the air hostesses who manage a shocked smile in return.

When we step onto the gangway now side-by-side Ed continues the conversation. ''Unless you were waiting to hear from someone specific. A leggy, blonde, American maybe?''

I glance around nervously to ensure no one has heard his offhand comment. ''Ed, come on.''

He just snorts. ''Oh, look at how red you're getting. I knew there was something going on there.''

''There's nothing going on.'' I bite out. ''She just baffles me that's all.''

''Baffles you?''

''Yeah,'' I continue grudgingly. ''She wasn’t what I expected and then she's just continued to well baffle me. One minute she’s one way the next another.''

''She's gotten under your skin.''

I scoff, ''Give me some credit.''

Unfortunately, I think Ed might be more right than I would like him to be. Ever since that first meeting and then the phone call shortly after I've been on a mission to figure out Miss Randolph. The young woman has me thoroughly confused. Overwhelmingly the public views her as this warm, caring, breath of fresh air and yet I found her stiff and a little standoffish. And yet there seems to be a tiny bit of a spark within her, one she apparently doesn’t like to show.

And I can’t even think about her unexpectedly flirtatious side without going down the rabbit hole. I don’t think I’ve been able to hear the word naughty without thinking of the First Lady.

''Besides, we're here to work.'' I say with as much conviction as I could muster.

''Of course, Harry.'' As we reach the end of the gateway, Ed manages to slip in one more comment. ''And you've never been one to mix up work and play.''

''Sometimes I really regret hiring you.''

Ed just laughs loudly, ''Oh, sometimes I regret it too.''

When I step into the airport proper I stifle a groan. It seems that the good people of Florida at least some of them were aware that I was on the flight. Probably for the best then I did wear the nicer trousers and the white button-up. It's a comfortable outfit and still looks good slightly rumpled. I keep my head mostly down with a bland, but friendly expression on my face. It's one that doesn’t encourage interaction yet doesn’t look angry on cameras. I've gotten good at using this particular expression.

With little incident Ed and I make it through baggage claim and to the car. Thankfully the car is ready and waiting for us. I only have seconds to absorb the stifling heat of Orlando. It's going to be a damn hot week.

We arrive at the Grand Floridian Hotel just before 11 to ensure that the lobby would be empty as possible. When I first step into the lobby I’m assaulted with the strong sense of familiarity. Years ago Will and I stayed here with mum. Sure, we didn’t spend much time in the hotel but a little boy doesn’t forget their first trip, only to Disney. The large, airy lobby doesn’t seem to have changed that much. It still has the Edwardian details in stark white, making it same very old world and luxurious. ''This will do just fine.'' I hear Ed murmur behind me.

Before I can address his comment a middle-aged man is approaching us with a rather unnatural tan and very white teeth. He makes a beeline for us. I presume he's the hotel manager. ''Your Royal Highness,'' he drops his head slightly in a bow. Wincing slightly I make sure no one else has seen the gesture. ''Welcome to Disney World and the Grand Floridian Hotel. I am Ricardo Valerez We're honored to have you.''

Ed glances over to send me a rather mocking look. I for the sake of professionalism don't retaliate.

''Mr. Valerez, good to meet you.'' I shake his hand. ''But please call me Harry.''

He stutters then smiles brightly. ''Oh it is an honor…Harry.'' He's still shaking my hand and rather flamboyantly.

''Yes, of course.'' I wince at the continued shaking. ''Have you met Mr. Ed Lane Fox, my private secretary? I'm sure you two will be working closely together.''

With that Mr. Valerez releases my hand from his vise like grip. Smiling sarcastically I pat Ed on the back as Ed and Mr. Valerez now shake hands.

I watch as Ed also struggles to detach Mr. Valerez from a handshake, my lips pursed tightly together to keep from laughing. ''I think we are ready to see the rooms now.''

''Of course, of course. Follow me!''

As Mr. Valerez leads us through the lobby, I hand a few paces behind letting Ed hear all of the fun facts the hotel manager decides to share with the group. As the man continues to talk and talk I realize why he's gone into the hospitality business. There's no other profession that would require this much small talk.

''And here we are.'' Valerez grandly waves his arms again. ''This floor as has been discussed with your security people, the secret service and ours is restricted access during your stay.''

''The secret service?'' I blurt out.

Both men turn to me surprised, probably because I haven’t said anything for the journey to this point.

''Yes, sir. I was told it would be fine to accommodate both of you and the first lady on the same floor.''

It makes sense I suppose and it limits how much of the hotel we take up. I'm just wondering why I didn’t know of this development a little bit earlier. I nod. ''Right, of course. I'm sure Ed had told me that and it just slipped my mind.''

I cast an accusatory glance over to Ed who just smiles calmly. Valerez looks between the two of us. ''If there's a problem…''

''Not a problem at all.'' I assure. ''Thank you for your kindness so far Mr. Valerez. I'm looking forward to my stay.''

''And if you need anything else, please don't hesitate to call-'' Ed closes the door in the manager's face.

''That was rude.''

''I assumed you wanted peace and quiet for a bit.''

''You were right.''

I take a deep breath then drop my bags on the counter. The suite I'm staying in has a nice kitchen and living area as well as a separate bedroom. Good. I'll have at least one room completely to myself for the trip. The suite is decorated in the same old-world resort style as the lobby. It's very mature I can't help but think. It doesn't feel like America's biggest playground is just steps away. ''Everything looks like it's in order.'' I say as I sit on the couch.

''Good. I'll go to my room then and let you rest a bit before the inter-''

''We're you going to tell me Margaret was staying on the same floor or were you going to wait until we ran into each other at the ice machine.''

''I didn’t think it mattered really.'' He has an annoyingly innocent expression on his face. ''Like you said you're here to work sir.''

''Anymore surprises regarding the First Lady I should know about?''

''They wanted to confirm that she was doing the interview with you tomorrow for the morning shows.''

''Of course she is. Unless she doesn’t want to?'' I pause, once again there's this unwillingness to participate coming from her. It's frustrating. I need her to want to be here or to at least act like it. I stand, suddenly needing to pace. Especially since she was the one to stress the importance of the idea. ''If we have to drag her feet to everything why in fuck's sake is she here?''

Ed looks at me sympathetically. He knows how important the games are to me.

“Perhaps she has a bit of a crush on you sir?”

I shake my head. “I don’t think that’s it.”

At least that’s what my gut is telling me. I don’t peg the First Lady as a woman who is motivated by a guy. But the flirting and the stuff about the Duke of Leinster’s nephew. It has me confused.

I sigh, ''As long as it doesn’t affect how the games are viewed I suppose it doesn’t matter. '' I look at the large bay windows that overlook one of the pools. ''But maybe if you can keep an ear open. Maybe her staff or secretary will let something slip.''

''I'll be on the lookout.''

''Good.'' I notice something then. Walking through the pool area I can clearly see a group of five men, dressed in suits between them I spy a flash of golden hair. ''You know Ed, I think I want a swim.''

''What?''

''I'm going to the pool.''

He looks down at the pool area as well, no doubt spotting the reason for my swim. ''You can ruffle the American's feathers tomorrow. What about having a little rest?'' Ed practically whines.

''Don't worry, I don't need you to accompany me.''

He exhales, ''Thank god. I'm going to nap.'' He walks towards the door. ''For god sakes don't forget to wear sunscreen.''

''Yes, yes I know.''

''And a condom!''

''Fuck off!'' But he's already slammed the door behind him.

It takes me just minutes to locate my swimsuit and a tanktop in my suitcase. I even remember to grab a tube of sun tan lotion. As we make our way to the pool I'm chatting with my RPOs who are much more casually dressed than the secret service. I like that they usually try to bend in.

The pool isn’t too crowded and I'm thankful for that. I make my way towards a more secluded spot knowing that's exactly where I would go if I wanted private time at the pool. Margaret, a public figure herself, would probably gravitate to that same spot. Sure enough I see the familiar sight of large men in dark suits standing near a line of chairs. They look intimidating as hell which is probably why no one else has ventured to use of one of these chairs.

However there's no Miss Randolph in sight. I approach the secret service men, ''Hello, I'm-''

''We know who you are sir.'' The largest one replies. ''Miss Randolph is swimming right now. You're free to take any of the lounge chairs.''

Well that was rather abrupt. I nod though and sit on a lounge chair. Maybe I should just go in the pool to find Miss Randolph.

''Sweetheart approaching.'' I hear one of the men say into his earpiece. I'm assuming that 'Sweetheart' is Margaret's codename.

I look over to the pool where- bloody hell.

Margaret steps, no emerges from the pool. The hot sun making each droplet of water glisten against her smooth skin. The glistening water makes it easy to follow every curve of her body and there are a lot of curves showing. The navy blue bikini could show more skin I suppose but not by much. Margaret takes a moment to stretch, squeezing some of the water out of her dripping hair. I watch like a man dying of thirst, willing to lick off every droplet of water on her skin.

Quickly she's moving this way her hips swaying with the effort. I know she hasn’t seen me as she continues to walk over this way. The moment she notices me her stride slows ever so slightly. Her gaze shifts over to her security who just nod. She visibly relaxes. Finally I see the moment she recognizes me, her eye widen and she smiles tightly.

I stand once she is close, ''Margaret!''

''Your Royal Highness,'' Her smile never wavers. ''What an…unexpected surprise.''

''Well that is the purpose of a surprise.'' I point out with a smirk. ''And it’s Harry, remember.'' Now that the two of us are barefoot, I realize that the First Lady is actually a fair bit shorter than I originally thought. Without her heels her head is well under my shoulder.

I step forward having to lean down to place a quick kiss on her cheek. I'm surprised that she reciprocates, even if it does feel a little forced. ''So, when did you land?''

''A little over an hour ago.''

''And you're already at the pool?'' I'm not sure if I like the suggestive quality in her tone.

I shrug, ''I wanted a little bit of sun before the games started.''

She nods, ''I'm surprised you haven’t already burnt to a crisp, with your fair complexion and all.''

''I was just about to put on some sunscreen actually.'' I hold out the tube of lotion. ''Could you get my back?''

My glib question ruffles her. Her sharp blue eyes narrow as she looks from my hand back to my face. I can tell she's trying to hold back some sort of retort. God, I wish she would stop playing games.

''I'm sure you have a manservant or something of the sort to do that.''

Chicken shit.

I put on my poshest accent, ''Well yes, but I allowed Reginald to have the afternoon off.''

She ignores my teasing and instead turns around. I really do try to be a gentleman when she bends over to pick up her things, I really do. But I am only a man. Margaret has a spectacular arse. She turns back around quickly. My head shoots up, hopefully she hasn’t noticed. From the way she glares at me though I think she definitely saw me looking at her arse.

I cough, ''Are you ready for the interview tomorrow?''

''Yes.''

''I am too.''

''Good.''

''If you'd like, I'm taking a tour of the facilities tonight, we could join.''

''I had my own tour this morning.'' She replies. ''Since it wasn’t on my the schedule.''

I suddenly feel the urge to apologize. Does she feel left out? Insulted? ''What did you think of them?''

Her lips are pursed when she replies, ''Good.'' Her phone rings, she looks down. I see her eyes light up and the difference is startling. ''Excuse me, I have to take this.''

''Of course, I'm sure you're busy.''

''Don't sound so surprised.'' She mutters.

The words are so full of malice I'm not sure if I heard them correctly. ''What was that?''

''Nothing!'' She smiles that ever more annoying bland smile. I know it's not genuine, surely she doesn’t think she looks sincere. ''I really have to go.''

''Wait!''

Margaret's demeanor changes before my eyes. She stands a little straighter, her hands land on her hips and her foot taps slightly. Obviously the First Lady isn’t used to or doesn’t care for someone telling her what to do.

''Would you join me for dinner tonight?'' I have no idea where that came from. Really I hadn’t planned on asking her to dinner. Jesus, Ed is going to have a field day discussing this.

I'm pleased to say I've caught the First Lady off guard. She blinks. ''Well, I-''

''Nothing formal of course.''

''Right.'' She looks a little bit confused. Her eyes are darting to the side, looking anywhere but at me.

''We don't even have to leave the hotel.''

''That's probably for the best.'' She says. What on earth does she mean by that?

''What? You don't want to be seen with me?'' I tease.

''If you want the games to be the focus of this week it's probably best we don't see each other outside of business.''

''What do you mean?''

She looks at me in disbelief, ''You tabloids, the newspapers, the week after we met.''

I know exactly which ones she's talking about. It was something I expected. Any woman who comes within five feet of my person automatically becomes my girlfriend in the press. God help the girls if they make the mistake of smiling. If they do that we're in love. It hardly even phases me at this point. I find it interesting that it's phased her though.

''The papers will write about us being an item either way.'' That's the unfortunate truth.

''I don't want to give them any more fodder than necessary.''

I cross my arms, ''And being romantically linked to me would be oh so terrible?''

She rolls her eyes, ''Considering we aren’t romantically linked, yes it would.''

''You never mess around with the papers?'' God, she's uptight.

''What?''

I try to explain. ''We know that 80% of what they print is shite, and you never decide to play with them a little. Feed into their bullshit just to make them look like fools later.''

The idea intrigues her I can tell. No one likes having their business in the paper and Margaret gets a lot of attention. A girl like her probably hates having her private life put out there. To me it would make sense to screw around in an effort to make the media pay.

She bites her lip for a moment then cocks her head to the side. I find I'm waiting on edge to see what she'll say. ''Do you always take rejection this poorly?''

Her words knocks me back for a moment. It wasn’t what ii was expecting at all. She smiles sweetly after delivering that blow to my ego. I smile back, yes indeed the First Lady has some fire to her. I love it.

I know there's one way to deal with her now. Yes, she's sarcastic as hell and independent but she also knows she has to be polite to me. I'll exploit that.

''Tonight, Citricos, 9 o'clock.'' Her mouth parts slightly at my declaration. ''I believe you have a phone call…''

She blinks rapidly. I revel in the fact that I've knocked her off her game.

''Yes.'' She throws on a white, jacket with lace and then is gone. Her security follows her through the pool area while she takes the phone call. As she walks away I admire once again the swing of those graceful hips. I also notice her hands. She's talking with them emphatically. Whatever that phone call was about pulled out her passion. Interesting.

As much as I would like to stay in the sun, Margaret and Ed for that matter have a point. I shouldn’t be out here too long. I will burn. ''Sorry to drag you all out here for just a few minutes.'' I mention to my RPOs, Dave and Tom, as we walk.

They look at one another and shrug. Dave the older of the two remarks. ''I think it was worth it.''

''She is properly fit yeah?'' Tom adds.

The three of us laugh. I nod as well. ''Works not going to be a chore this week I suppose.''

''We all drew lots to see which ones of us were going to come.''

''Oh?''

''Bloody glad I won.'' Tom says laughing.

Chapter 4 Chapter 6

AN: See you all next week! Let me know what you think!

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celticnoise · 4 years

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CQN continues its enthralling and EXCLUSIVE extracts from Alex Gordon’s book, ‘That Season In Paradise’, which highlight the months that were the most momentous in Celtic’s proud history.

Today, the author turns the spotlight on Little Mr Mischief. the one-and-only Jimmy Johnstone, and the selfless role he played in the glorious triumph over Inter Milan in the European Cup Final on May 25 1967 in Lisbon.

IT TOOK the rest of the newly-crowned Lisbon Lions a fair bit of time amidst the euphoric aftermath to convince Jimmy Johnstone he hadn’t let the team down. The little winger figured he hadn’t played to potential as Inter Milan were swept aside.

There can be little doubt that the man who was daubed Mickey by Jock Stein after the famous Walt Disney cartoon mouse, but known as Jinky to his team-mates, was a complex character who continually sought reassurances – even minutes after being part of a historic Celtic team that had just claimed the glittering European Cup.

Bobby Murdoch, in his 1970 memoirs, gave an interesting insight into the psyche of his good friend. He said, ‘Probably the most controversial player we’ve had at Celtic Park since I established myself in the first team is little Jimmy Johnstone. For a wee fellow, Jimmy has had a fairly fiery career, to put it mildly. Controversy and problems are never far away.

‘Yet you won’t find a bigger worrier anywhere than Jimmy Johnstone. We came into the Celtic team during the same season and played on the right-wing together. Because of this, I have got to know him really well and I really do understand him. As a footballer, I rate him as one of the best I have ever seen anywhere. He is positively brilliant on the ball, yet in those early days when we were both trying to create an impression with our rather immature standard of play, Wee Jimmy just wouldn’t believe he was any good.

‘He had no faith whatsoever in his own ability and I used to shout myself hoarse telling him that he could take the full-back any time he wanted. He had to be encouraged all the time. I was almost a private coach to the Wee Man, shouting stuff like, “The full-back is scared stiff of you, Jimmy” or “You can take him any time you like” or “You’ve got this team worried sick”. And so on for ninety minutes. He had to be kidded and coaxed all the way.

‘In the years since, however, he became steadily more confident and now demands the ball from all of us. It is always his plan to make a fool of the full-back so that he will lose his composure and panic into mistakes. When he is on form there are times I almost feel sorry for the opponent. Jimmy, though he now owns a restaurant and pub and drives a Jaguar, still feels insecure. He still takes all his problems on the field with him and there are times when his concentration isn’t what it should be. He’s the kind of person who has to see hard cash in his hand before he believes that he is really as well off as people say he is.

FLYING HIGH…Jimmy Johnstone is just off target as keeper Giuliano Sarti attempts to block his effort.

‘There’s always a bit of fire in a red-head, of course, and Jimmy is no exception. He takes it very badly when he has one of those days when nothing goes right for him. A lot of his trouble on the field has simply come about because he has lost patience with himself and has taken it out on an opponent. He has no hatred for any player, it is just that he blows up so easily when things are going against him.’

Former Celtic manager and player Davie Hay, now a distinguished and worthy ambassador of the club, was closer to Jinky than most and accepted he was the Wee Man’s unofficial off-the-park ‘minder’. He said, ‘Jinky possessed a self-destruct button. He could be a complex personality if he perceived there was an injustice being done to him. It could be real or imagined, but you could always detect that Jinky was fretting about something.’

Many years after Lisbon, Jimmy Johnstone, in a reflective moment, said, ‘I’m proud that I was part of the greatest club in the world. To be the first British team to win the European Cup, but more so to be part of the greatest Celtic team ever. That’s something else, isn’t it?

‘Picture it, though. Who were we? We were nobodies, just a bunch of guys. Here we were in Lisbon, playing against the mighty Inter Milan. If you remember, they had won the European Cup and the World Championship twice in three years. Big Jock always said we’d win, but, to be honest, I thought we’d get a right gubbin’. I can see them yet standing alongside us in the tunnel waiting to go out onto the pitch – Facchetti, Domenghini, Mazzola, Cappellini, all six-footers wi’ Ambre Solaire suntans, Colgate smiles and slicked-back hair. They even smelt beautiful.

‘And there’s us midgets. Ah’ve got nae teeth, Bobby Lennox has’nae any, either, and old Ronnie Simpson’s got the full monty, nae teeth top and bottom. The Italians are starin’ doon at us and we’re grinnin’ back up at ’em wi’ oor great, gumsy grins. We must have looked like something oot o’ the circus.

HIGH JINKS WITH JINKY…Inter Milan captain Armando Picchi takes to the air as Jimmy Johnstone threatens.

‘But, somehow, we knew within ourselves, our own ability and we started to believe in ourselves, but we never, ever for a minute thought that we would win the European Cup. Afterwards? We all got drunk, I think. For a week after it, we just got drunk.’

Even today, the mere mention of Jimmy Johnstone brings a beaming smile to the Danny Kaye features of Tommy Gemmell. He recalled, ‘Wee Jinky used to tell me how disappointed he was with his own performance in Lisbon. He really wanted to go out there and just take over. As we all know, he was a cocky, capable little character when he was in the mood and he knew this was his sort of platform.

‘The European Cup Final was invented for Jinky; that was his sort of stage. But it is to his eternal credit that he sacrificed himself that day for the team. He roamed here, there and everywhere taking the Italian team’s tough guy Burgnich with him. It wouldn’t have been how he thought or dreamed how it would turn out, but he saw the team as being a lot more important than himself and he just got on with putting in a marvellous shift.

‘Jinky really couldn’t fathom what he had given the team against Inter. Their manager, Helenio Herrera, was acclaimed as possessing one of the most tactically astute minds in the game. Unfortunately, it was built solely on defence. He would have plotted and planned for this game as soon as he knew who his team would be facing in that Final.

UP AND OVER…Inter Milan keeper Giuliano Sarti tips a Jimmy Johnstone header to safety.

‘There’s little doubt that he believed Jinky would have performed throughout the match wide on the right in his usual position. And no doubt he would still have stuck Burgnich on him and that would have given Facchetti a bit of freedom to race up their left side.

‘But Facchetti wasn’t afforded the cover his team-mate would have given him and he was pinned back in his own half for virtually the entire game. He might have looked for some help from the other central defenders, but they were getting tied up by the movement and interchanging of Willie Wallace, Stevie Chalmers and Bobby Lennox. Jinky was totally unselfish, but so, too, were those three guys. They were all noted goalscorers, but, like Jinky, they were asked to perform against the Italians in a different manner to confuse the opposition.

‘Jock wanted them to make openings for Bertie Auld and Bobby Murdoch, supporting from the midfield, and for me and Jim Craig coming down the flanks. The four of us would pass the ball to feet, take the return and move forward. One quick glance at the statistics will tell you all you need to know. Believe it or not, we had forty-two attempts at the inter goal with twenty-six on the button.

‘I had nine shots on target, Bertie had two, including one that struck the bar, Jinky had two, including a header, and Bobby had four efforts saved by Guiliano Sarti who was having the game of the life. The performance of the keeper would have broken the hearts of other teams. We weren’t just any other team, though, and we proved that in Lisbon. And what about the three guys up front, Wallace, Chalmers and Lennox, who had scored nine of our sixteen goals in the competition prior to the Final? Stevie had claimed five while Wispy and Lemon had two to their name.

‘As you might expect, I’ve watched that European Cup Final several times now – if I’m being honest, I think I’ve worn out about a couple of hundred pairs of specs! – and even I have been surprised to discover that Stevie only had one shot on target – the winner! – Wispy drew one save and, astonishingly, Wee Lemon didn’t work the keeper at all! So, if we are just judging the European Cup Final through statistics, then Jock’s tactics were absolutely spot-on. But a wee guy called Jinky was instrumental to everything that went on that day. No-one should ever forget that. ‘

Willie Wallace added, ‘Wee Jinky, of course, was an unbelievable character. I’ve always thought someone should write a Harry Potter-style book about a wee footballer who could do all these magical things as he grows up. You could base it on the life and times of Jimmy Johnstone, I suppose. He was a special player and Lisbon was an ideal setting for him. He told me and all the other Lions afterwards that he wished he could have contributed more that day. We told him to behave himself and stop looking for compliments.

‘Inter MIlan stuck a bloke called Tarcisio Burgnich on him that day and he was one of the best man-markers in the world, if not the best. But Jinky stuck at his task throughout the ninety minutes. Burgnich never left his side and Jinky took him into areas that opened up the way for Bobby Murdoch and Wee Bertie to come through. It’s not the stuff that is immediately noticeable, or even appreciated by some supporters, but players know what it is all about. Anyway, I will always remember Wee Jinky coming so close that day with a header, which wasn’t bad for a bloke who stood 5ft 4in.

‘Cairney dinked one in from the right and, for once, Burgnich was nowhere to be seen. Jinky just took off and made perfect contact with his head. The ball was hurtling high into the net until Giuliano Sarti, who might have thought it was going over under its own steam, suddenly reacted to the danger and sprang high to get a hand to the effort to turn it over the crossbar. If he had hesitated, Wee Jinky would have scored. With a header!’

TOMORROW: ‘The Wee Man was different class.’

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