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mandoalorian · 3 years

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Loving You For You [Maxwell Lord x GN!Reader]

Summary: Maxwell Lord is struck with a panic attack when he's getting ready to shoot one of his famous infomercials. He's hit with the trauma of his youth and begins to spiral, until you, his loving partner, show him that it's okay to feel afraid and it's okay to find admittance in his struggles.

Warnings: descriptions of poverty, starvation, body dysmorphia, panic attack, general insecurity, brief mention of addiction (alcohol and gambling), brief mention of abuse.

Rating: PG-13

Word count: 2000>

Author's note: So many of you loved 'Perfect to Me', which was about a reader who had their own body dysmorphia (you can find it in my Masterlist under ‘Maxwell Lord’, and asked me to write more. I put a little twist on things and wrote this, a one-shot in which Maxwell suffers from body dysmorphia and struggles to leave his past behind him. Reader discretion advised.

Masterlist

When Maxwell Lorenzano was 6 years old, he owned one pair of shorts and two t-shirts. He had no choice but to wear them throughout the coldest winter in history, his knees red raw from the cold, and they lasted him for two years until he quite literally was growing out of them. When he finally parted with them, his mother gifted him with a dark blue knitted sweater, and Maxwell swore it was the best present he'd ever received. He'd finally feel the warmth he craved so desperately. The warmth that other children got from their parents embrace...he was getting from an itchy sweater that smelt like cheap beer and cigarettes. But it was his, and it was all he had.

After Maxwell's father stole all of the money for his gambling and alcohol addiction, he left Mrs Lorenzano with just five pesetas to feed the small family for a week. The brown eyed boy remembered that winter as the worst one yet. The bedwetting had gotten bad again and he had never gone so hungry. He remembered his stomach rumbling in class and his cheeks would flush as the other kids teased and laughed at him for it. He remembered stealing a banana from another kid's packed lunch, getting caught, and told that if he continued to steal, he'd be nothing but a criminal low-life just like his father. But he was just hungry. His shoes had holes in them so his toes poked out. He bathed in a tin bucket once a week right up until he was a teenager.

And thirty years later, Maxwell Lorenzano, or Lord, as he now went by, was staring at himself in the full length bedroom mirror. Everything was perfect. He'd proved everyone back home wrong. He became someone. Someone esteemed, someone important and someone with a heightened self worth. People asked for his autograph in the street and preached to him about their love and admiration for his work. He was a man who could make dreams come true. Everything was perfect… or so it should've been.

It didn't fit. Maxwell picked at the way the pale pink polo shirt clung to his body. He turned to the side and sighed when he saw the way it highlighted his little tummy. He sucked in his breath, trying to flatten it, but it didn't really work. And for a split second he considered how many meals it would take to lose that little bit of weight. This whole outfit had been tailored for him just two weeks ago and it was perfect but now he hated it. He didn't just hate it. He felt disgusting.

It was weird. Sure his insecurity about his body image was rampant as he took in his appearance, but he didn't feel like himself.

Truthfully, when he changed his name from Lorenzano to Lord he had done it to start anew. That name was his father's and he wanted no association with the man who had abused and tormented him and his mother. But when Maxwell Lorenzano became Max Lord, it was like the struggle ended. He'd fought for so long and so hard trying to fit in with the modern-day example of a successful businessman. He was the least American all-American man. He dyed his hair blonde, even seeked a vocal coach to try and rid himself of his accent. And it worked. Everything was being handed to him on a silver plate. He was the coverboy of Forbes, the owner of three country clubs and day spas across America. The Wall Street Journal were constantly on his case, wanting to interview him. He was swimming in cash. He had everything he could ever want. But it wasn't him.

He felt like a fraud. A liar. A con-man. And as he looked at his reflection in the mirror, he saw nothing but the broken little boy he was thirty years ago, wearing ill-fitted clothes and a fake smile. It wasn't meant to be like this. He was spiralling.

"Hey honey?" he heard your sweet voice call from the next room, your footsteps approaching down the corridor. His tense composure relaxed ever so slightly when he heard you coming, and he grabbed the white suit jacket from the top of the dresser, quickly pulling it over him. He didn't want you to see him like this. See his tummy and the way the stupid shirt didn't fit him the way it did two weeks ago. You'd seen him naked plenty of times and deep down Maxwell knew that you wouldn't care, but he just felt so vulnerable in his own skin. "The camera crew are waiting downstairs in the lobby and they're getting antsy," you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose in frustration as you padded into the bedroom. "The director is insufferable, Max. I keep telling him this is your infomercial, not his, but he just-- hey, Max? Are you listening?" you narrowed your eyes with concern. Maxwell hadn't looked at you once since you walked into the room.

"Hmph? Oh yeah." he murmured, turning back around to see if his tummy poked out even wearing the white jacket over the shirt. It didn't, which was a relief for him, but the padded shoulders of the jacket made him look huge and boxy. And it was just another thing he began to hate about himself.

"Are you okay?" you asked, biting your lip and walking towards him. You wrapped your arms around his waist and placed your hands over his tummy. He winced. "Max?"

"Yeah I'm fine." he said quickly, pulling out of your grip and buttoning up the suit jacket.

As he was about to leave the bedroom to start shooting the latest infomercial for his company, Black Gold Cooperative, you grabbed his arm and pulled him back. You popped open to the button of his suit jacket, freeing his tummy, not that you noticed. "You should keep the jacket undone," you hummed. "I like you in pink." You placed the palm of your hand on his chest and subconsciously began to brush him down, straightening his collar so he looked as smart as possible.

"I might get changed. Don't really like this outfit." Max muttered with a frown that made your heart ache.

"Wh-what? You loved it when you tried it on for me at the tailors the other week. And you look so good. Is there something going on?" you asked curiously as Maxwell stepped away from you.

He sighed in defeat (and slight frustration), before ripping the jacket off his body and letting it pool to the ground. "Look." he said, pointing his finger aimlessly at his tummy.

"What?" you asked, genuinely bewildered.

"Look." he repeated again, wiggling his ring clad finger this time.

"Maxie you gotta help me out here," you replied. "What am I looking at?" You noticed Maxwell's lips begin to quiver and tears prick his dark glazed eyes. He swallowed a lump in his throat that he didn't realise he had before slapping his hand over his face in shame and breaking down into a heaving, sobbing mess. "Oh Max," you cooed, taking him in your arms and guiding him over to your bed. You sat him down on slid next to him, wrapping your arms around him and pulling him into your chest. "Baby what is it? You can talk to me."

"Nothing fits," he hiccuped, and you felt his tears dampen your own blouse. "I feel disgusting. I feel fake and. Disgusting. It fit two weeks ago- and now-"

"Max," you hushed him, running your fingers through his golden locks of hair. "It fits you perfectly. You look amazing, and I'm not just saying that because I'm your partner, I'm saying it because it really truly does. You look so handsome." you promised him.

"When I look in the mirror all I see is the old me. The me who wet the bed, who starved and stole and who couldn't save my mother from my father's horror and abuse. I moved here to escape it all, but it still haunts me. It follows me and I can't- I just want it to stop." Maxwell confessed, the tears now streaming down his face.

You had dated Max Lord for three years now, and you were both deeply in love with each other, but he had never quite opened up to you about his past trauma. You knew little things here and there but you never expected it to be so bad. Your boyfriend was suffering and you felt so helpless.

"I hate myself." he continued through a choked sob. He began to feel so constricted in his clothes, tugging his pink shirt. It felt like he couldn't breathe, and you saw the panic on his face.

"Hey, breathe with me. Let me help you." you whispered, cupping his face with your hand and wiping away his tears. He found himself subconsciously leaning into your touch and he followed your breathing. Inhale for seven seconds and then exhale. And repeat. It was working. As he followed your breathing, you gently began to undress him and as you discarded the garments of clothing he began to feel better.

Leaving him on the bed, you promised you'd be back in one second, quickly darting into the walk-in closet and bringing out some of his comfiest cashmere pyjamas.

"I- I can't," Maxwell panted. "I have to shoot the- the infomercial."

You shook your head, unfolding the pyjamas. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to do, okay? This is your infomercial. Not anyone else's."

"I can't let them down." Maxwell insisted, looking back at the clothes that were pooled on the floor. He had to be brave. For once he had to be brave.

"No," you said sternly. Maxwell looked at you with doe eyes. "I want you to change and get into bed. I'll be back in one minute, I'm just going to let the crew and the director know that we'll do this another day."

"Yeah but-" As always, Maxwell Lord was the most stubborn man on the planet. "I can do it. I can- I can-"

"Sweetheart," you whispered, planting a kiss on his forehead. "There's no shame in admitting when you can't do something. No shame in struggling. I love you all the same."

"You aren't embarrassed of me?" he sniffed wearily.

"How could I be? I feel like the luckiest person on the planet because I scored with you. You're the most amazing, gentle, compassionate guy I have ever met. Max, I wish the rest of the world got to see you the way I see you. You are perfect." you smiled and Maxwell felt his cheeks flush pink.

"I love you so much." he confessed, and you giggled, leaning in to brush your lips against his.

"I love you too," you smiled warmly, nudging your nose against his. "Get comfortable and I'll dismiss the crew. I'll bring a VHS up and we can watch a movie in bed too. Anything you fancy?"

Maxwell pondered for a second, trying to remember his wide selection of filmography he kept in one of the living room cabinets. He could always go with one of his favourites— a guilty pleasure he liked to indulge in when he craved comfort. "Breakfast at Tiffany's?" he asked with a hopeful glint in his eye.

"Oh yes, we haven't watched that one in a while! I'll make us both some herbal tea too," you exclaimed, handing him a comb so he could brush out all the hair product and reveal his natural waves. "We've been needing a movie day." you commented.

"Let's not do anything," Maxwell grinned. "For once. Let's just relax and cuddle and watch movies."

"I can't think of anything better." you smiled cheerily, pinching his cheek and giving him another kiss.

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#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #maxwell lord #max lord #maxwell lord x reader #max lord x reader #ww84 #jose pedro balmaceda pascal

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emmy-writes-sometimes · 4 years

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Living Room Graduation

You’re due to graduate from college, but due to COVID, it was cancelled. Chris, your neighbor, and his brother try to give you a graduation anyway.

You were gutted, to say the least, about your graduation being cancelled. Actually, your entire final semester was cancelled, your parents were stuck with your grandparents in Maine, and you had a huge old house to yourself and you couldn’t even have anyone quarantine with you. So you were at your worst, skipping Google Hangouts classes to re-watch the same TV shows you’d seen four times to binge all of the Lord of the Rings movies (you don’t even like them really, they’re just on Netflix), to sleep for fourteen hours a day, and only leave the house for curbside pickup or your weekly Starbucks run. You were completely and utterly done with life at that point.

It was around seven when you realized the trash collector was supposed to come in half an hour, so you sprung out of bed, threw on some shorts, and tried to make it. You probably looked like a mess, and it only slightly comforted you when you saw your neighbor, Chris, walking his own trash out in a sweatshirt and sweatpants. He was a sweet guy. He was an actor, he was in some of your favorite movies, and he had the sweetest dog who would sometimes come to your front yard and roll around. His brother, Scott, had been quarantining with him. At least they weren’t alone.

“You forgot too?” Chris asked across the driveway. You were probably six or seven feet apart.

“Yeah, my parents usually do this,” you responded. “But they’re stuck in Maine, so I’m here.”

“Oh, no! Hey, aren’t you supposed to be finishing college? Boston U, right? Is it pre something?”

“Pre-law,” you responded. You put the trash can down and crossed your arms in the cold, still talking to him. “I’m deferring law school for a year to try and get an internship and pay some of my loans off. I guess you’re not working right now, either?”

“Nope. I got a series coming out on Apple, but nothing’s filming right now, so Scott and I are just kind of sitting ducks,” he answered. “I gotta go take the dog out for a walk, but you should come over at some point as long as you don’t have coronavirus. We’re good company. And we’d be glad to have you.” You smiled.

“Thank you,” you said with a smile on your face. “Yeah, it’s freezing, I’m going back inside to put some pants on.” He laughed as you turned and walked across the driveway, bare-footed, until you reached your front door and slipped inside.

From that March evening, you were a regular at the Evans house. You came over for breakfast, lunch, even dinner sometimes. You and Scott would sit on the couch, Dodger between you, and watch TV for most of the day until you had to tune into class, when you’d run home. As it started warming up, you started using their pool. You missed your family, but Chris and Scott were quickly becoming some of your favorite people. Chris even networked you with one of his lawyers who was helping him with a political website he was coming out with, earning you a remote internship for the summer.

May came and your spirits were low, despite the fact that you had Chris and Scott all but living with you. You hated the fact that you couldn’t even protest for your classes to be graded so your GPA remained at a 3.89 and wouldn’t round up. You hated that your parents still weren’t home because they were taking care of your grandparents still. You hated being in that big farmhouse, all alone, even though your friends were next door. You hated the fact that you couldn’t do any school traditions or even remotely celebrate your graduation. But you tried to keep yourself occupied, like watching all of the Marvel movies with Scott just to annoy the shit out of Chris.

“Oh, come on! I don’t look that bad!” Chris defended as you were watching the first Captain America. He was making lunch for the three of you (because you and Scott only wanted to postmates in and Chris insisted on making food), so he was in the kitchen just behind where you and Scott were laughing and commenting.

“Dude, no one looks good in polyester stars and stripes! Just admit it!” You said to him. He groaned and jokingly shoved you into the couch. “I’m sorry. You just make it so easy to make fun of you.”

“I could say the same. You weren’t fooling anyone when you put that sweater on while you were tanning outside.” That was right – you had put a sweater on over your bikini the day before when you were at their pool, trying to cover up the fact that you were attending class and tanning at the same time.

“Oh, that’s different!” You said, walking into the kitchen just to punch him in the side. You’d seen how he worked out and that was definitely the most vulnerable part of him.

“Hey!”

“Guys, no roughhousing!” Scott called, not even bothering to look behind you. Your phone chimed, signaling that you had class in ten minutes, and you sighed.

“Go on and use the office,” Chris said to you, “and I’ll have lunch after.”

“Thank you,” you replied, grabbing your laptop and running up the stairs to Chris’s office area. He always kept it the cleanest room in the house, but it was filled with pictures of him and his co-stars, pictures of him and his family. Your favorite was a framed picture of Dodger right in front of his computer.

You logged into class and the Google Hangouts noise started playing loudly. Chris looked up at the ceiling before walking over to Scott, knowing that you were getting ready for class and wouldn’t be back down. He sat down next to his brother and pet the dog who was always at his side.

“Okay, since her graduation got cancelled, I wanna do something,” Chris said to Scott. “She deserves it. And her parents aren’t even here to see her graduate.”

“Well, what do you want to do?” Chris sighed, taking his phone from his pocket, and looked up your college’s website. Then he saw the COVID information page, which had plans for graduation on it.

“It looks like they’re doing a virtual graduation with all of their names and pictures and everything. So maybe we could screen it here, give her a nice brunch and some alcohol, make her feel not so anti-climactic,” he suggested, handing Scott the phone. The graduation was going to be on YouTube, so it was easy to pull up on the TV. And they could lure you over under the guise of something else and surprise you with it.

“Alright, then, how do you wanna do this? We have to make some excuse to keep her out until that time.”

“Just… You go with her on a Starbucks run or something after class today. Find a way to make sure it’s the one across town. That’ll give me enough of a chance to make some food and put some stuff up and go over to her house and steal her cap and gown.”

“Christopher, you are a mastermind,” Scott said. “Remind me never to piss you off while we’re in quarantine. You have time, money, and motive.” Chris chuckled and went back to making lunch, bringing the meat out to the grill while you were still in class.

Over the next few days, you didn’t suspect anything. You went along with everything, as usual, and Chris was even alone with you as you walked Dodger. He managed to keep it a secret, even though he wanted to burst and tell you that you shouldn’t be sad on your graduation. The week leading up to it, he forced you to use the office space almost every day. He gave you food and coffee, he made you take breaks for your sanity, and he made you get nine hours of sleep every night. Finally, the day before graduation, you burst into the door.

“Guys!” You said loudly, holding a printed piece of paper. “I contested to get my classes graded instead of pass fail and they did it! I have a 3.9 now!”

“That’s amazing!” Chris said, walking over to give you a hug.

“What? That’s awesome!” Scott got up off the couch and hugged you too. Even Dodger looked excited.

“So now I can actually say I have a 3.9.”

“Let me see it!” Chris took the paper from your hands, looking at all of your grades. Despite all of the meltdowns and classes you skipped, you managed an A in every single one of them. “I’m so proud of you!” He said, hugging you again.

“I’m going to go call my parents,” you said.

“Oh, by the way,” Chris said, grabbing you before you could make it out the door. “Come over tomorrow at 8:30. No questions asked, alright? And wear something cute?” You gave him a look before turning around and leaving.

“Dude, you basically spoiled it!” Scott said, elbowing his brother.

“What happened to no roughhousing?” Chris asked. He ran away before Scott could do anything. He had some work to do, if only for you.

The next morning you showed up at their door at exactly 8:30, carrying a six pack and hoping that whatever they had planned would allow you to get drunk. You’d finally passed out after watching Baccalaureate and the awards ceremonies all by yourself. Your best friend was the valedictorian, too, and you called her to cry about it. But you were up bright and earlier than usual when Scott opened the door and shuffled you in. Red and white was everywhere – they’d pulled out some Christmas decorations that were red garlands, Chris had literally put glitter confetti all over a table, and there was a cookie cake on the table with your name on it.

You teared up as soon as you saw the cookie cake. You could smell breakfast, too. He’d made you an entire meal, bigger than the usual kind. Both of the boys were wearing red, too, and you beamed. They’d planned you an entire graduation party in their living room because you couldn’t go to yours.

“What?” You asked. They both just laughed and embraced you in an Evans sandwich.

“I stole your cap and gown too,” Chris said, “you should really lock your doors when you’re over here for class.” You laughed.

“Thank you, so much, guys.”

“It’s the least we can do. We’re proud of you. Come on and get some food and alcohol and we can cry through the ceremony together.” You laughed again and started making the rounds in the kitchen, grabbing a little bit of everything except for some extra bacon, and you let Chris pour you a massive glass full of alcohol for yourself. He brought out your gap and gown and your cords and stoles and made you put them on. The ceremony started at 9, so you weren’t too pressed for time. But you sat down between the two of them, Dodger right on top of you, and watched as your name eventually came on screen. Both boys cheered and nudged you, clinking all of your glasses together.

“I’m so proud of you,” Chris said, “really.” You leaned into his shoulder and then Scott’s, just grateful that you had them.

“I’m really glad we took the trash out at the same time,” you said with a sniffle.

“Oh, don’t cry! Come on, we have alcohol!” Scott said. That just made you laugh.

“Come on, kid,” Chris said as he messed up your hair. “Let’s get some cake.”

A/N: I’m sorry this is so short but I hope you like it! Congrats to anyone in the Class of 2020!

#chris evans fluff #chris evans imagine #chris evans x reader

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natasha-romanoff-deserved-better · 4 years

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Children Of Yesterday- Chapter 4

Standing in front of him, are two more children, only slightly older than the one he had found. The blonde child was freakishly skinny with dark bags under his eyes, and was standing with another black-haired slightly taller child who had a bony arm wrapped around him.

The blonde was wearing an over-sized Captain America costume that drowned him, and the other only wearing a leather jacket with sleeves that covered his hands and fell to his knees.

Tony almost chokes.

The blonde in the Captain America costume. The black-haired child standing over him. The scared, timid kid on his hip with glasses and bruises.

He knows who these kids are.

After an accident with Hydra and the time stone, Tony and Rhodey are left with six of their teammates turned into young children. Trying to keep the six young, traumatized and rambunctious children safe all while finding a cure and attempting to give them a taste of a real childhood might be their biggest mission yet.

Continue reading here under the read more, or click here to read on AO3!

“What the hell do you mean they escaped?” Tony asks, disbelief clear in his voice. “You’re telling me, a couple of children escaped from a government facility on their own?”

“No,” Fury corrected. “I’m telling you that a Red Room trained assassin who happens to currently be a child escaped and took the other five with her.”

There are still agents scrambling everywhere, but thankfully the alarm has finally been switched off. Fury pinches his nose between two fingers. “Romanoff managed to knock out one agent and shot two others who were trying to stop them all from leaving. Somehow, they managed to shut off all the power, including a majority of our locks and security cameras.”

“And then what? You just let them waltz on out?”

“Did you not hear what I just said?” Fury snaps. “Romanoff shot two of our agents. They had a mini standoff near the doors. She shot the agent who was trying to keep Rogers and Barnes from joining them, and then another who was trying to stop them all from leaving together. She fired other shots, but they missed.”

Somewhere in the building, two quick shots are weird. Fury grimaces. “Unfortunately, some of those locks they undid also included some cells we were holding suspects in.”

Tony can’t help but snicker at that, and Rhodey nudges him. “This is serious, Tony.”

Tony raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, but you can’t deny it’s at least a little bit funny.”

Rhodey stares at him for several seconds, before the corners of his mouth slightly quirk up as well.

...

“I’m hungry.” Sam whines as he kicks away a small pebble with the toe of his shoe. Natasha looks up from her spot on the ground, leaning against a brick wall.

“They gave us snacks on the plane.” She reminds him.

Clint frowns. “That was like, forever ago.”

Natasha rolls her eyes. “Get over it.”

“Actually, they’re right.” Bruce speaks up, voice soft. “I’m kinda hungry too.”

“There’s a bodega I saw right around the corner. They’d have food.” Sam points out.

“We don’t have any money, though…” Bruce mentions.

“We’ll just sneak it out.” Clint tells them, with a causal shrug of his shoulders.

Sam is appalled. “That’s stealing!”

“Do you want food or not?”

Sam doesn’t have a response for him, instead just crosses his arms and gives a small shrug of his own.

The group walks in through the automatic sliding doors, Bucky and Steve only barely hiding their surprise at them. They briskly walk through the store, heads held high as they pretend to have complete confidence in themselves. Sam leads them, having been chosen for having the most experience inside stores. He follows the small aisle signs to the food section, acting as if he had been inside this exact store many times before.

They all crowd into the aisle, away from the view of the balding man behind the cash register. Steve has a fist of Bucky’s shirt clutched in his hand as the two of them gape at the shelves.

“There’s so much…” Steve whispers in awe.

Sam sends them a weird look, but Bruce shakes his head at him. Sam then sends a questioning expression to Bruce, who only shrugs his shoulders in response.

“Okay, um…” Natasha frowns, looking at all the bulky food items that would be hard to conceal within their clothes. “Here.” She grabs a loaf of bread and untwists the tie. She reaches inside, grabs a handful of pieces and pulls them out, passing them out. “Put it in your clothes somewhere not obvious.”

It helps that most of their clothes are a slightly baggy on them- the medical wing did the best they could to fit them with what they had, but it still didn’t quite sit the best on them.

Clint shoves a piece flat up against his stomach. Sam folds a piece and sticks it up his long sleeve. Bruce pins a piece of bread to his hip using his waistband. Natasha watches them, and once satisfied, ties and places the bread loaf back onto the shelf.

“What else?” She asks them, also feeling slightly overwhelmed at all the options.

“These!” Bucky reaches up and pulls down a pack of beef jerky. He shows the group his find with a wide smile as he holds it out for approval. The others glance at it, and with a shrug each pull off bag of jerky of their own.

They each look each other over, checking one another to make sure any hiding spots aren’t too obvious. Steve doesn’t look thrilled about the stealing, but he doesn’t say anything, so they ignore him. Sam is slightly hesitating on walking them out, so Natasha brushes past him, taking the lead.

The cashier’s eyes linger on them for a second as they move out, but then return to the notepad on the counter. The children file out of the door. They’re careful not to rush to much while leaving, but once the doors close behind them, they break out into a sprint. They’re all smiling, laughing and yelling with adrenaline as their feet pound on the ground.

“That was awesome!” Clint exclaims as they turn the corner and back into their small hideaway alleyway.

“We’re like those cool movie villains!” Sam agrees.

They’re all panting as they pull out their spoils, bread being disturbed between them. They attempt making jerky sandwiches, but quickly find out the jerky is too tough for that, so they eat their makeshift dinner one by one.

Bucky tears the last corner off his bread piece, and hands it over to Steve, who is sat slightly away from the group. Steve takes the offered piece but doesn’t put it in his mouth.

Bucky frowns. “Are you okay?” he asks as he sits down next to his best friend. Steve nods, but doesn’t answer. “Stevie.”

“I’m…fine.” Steve forces out, breathless. By now, it had been several minutes since they’d stopped running, and everyone else’s breathing has mostly evened out.

Bucky scoots forward, coming to sit in front of Steve. “In and out, Steve. You gotta keep trying to breathe. Ma said 4 seconds in and 4 seconds out, remember?”

Steve nods, concentrating on moving the air through his lungs instead of the burning in his chest. Bucky begins doing the breathing exercise with him, slightly to encourage him, but mostly to distract him as he does funny faces with each intake and exhale.

Bruce is watching the scene nearby, focused on the two boys. “He has asthma?”

Bucky nods without taking his eyes off Steve.

“He needs an inhaler.” Bruce tells him.

Bucky sends him a look then, slightly exasperated. “If we had an inhaler, don’t you think we’d be using it right now?” Bucky turns back to Steve. “Besides, it’s fine. I’ve talked him through them a lot. I know what I’m doing.”

Natasha, Clint, and Sam are all watching now as well, standing back with curious eyes. “Is he going to be okay?” Clint asks.

“I’m fine.” Steve’s strained voice cuts in.

“It’d be best if we could get home soon though. We have an inhaler at home.”

“He’s right.” Natasha speaks up. “I need to get back too. Quickly. I don’t have time for this.”

“So… how do we all get back then? The only ones who lives in New York are them but we’re all far away.”

“We gotta get to an airport, I guess.”

...

“Boss, I have something.” Friday’s voice jerks Tony out of his trance, from where he is reviewing the security footage from the medical wing before the cameras had been cut off, hoping the kids may have revealed part of their plan while still there. “A group of six unaccompanied children matching their descriptions has been picked up on a security camera walking down 25th street. Would you like to view it?”

“No, it’s them.” He says, confident in Friday’s ability to recognize them and the group’s strange appearance. He wasn’t willing to waste anymore time- at this point, the kids had been gone for several hours, and the worry was becoming unbearable. Even the safest parts of New York could be dangerous, especially for children who most likely had no idea where they were or how to navigate the modern-day city. “Friday, suit up.” He wanted to get to them as soon as possible. “Alert Fury and Rhodey as well.” He commanded as his suit began to encase him. “Tell Fury we need to clear the area of any civilians. I don’t want the kids making a scene and someone filming them.”

Friday agrees and Tony takes off in his suit, the location the group was last seen already entered in the GPS.

Once he lands, Tony leaves his suit behind, safely tucked behind into a corner. Rhodey argues with this, recalling the way Natasha had fired several kill shots at him at the first time they confronted them. But he suspected he would have more success with all the kids outside of the suit. He didn’t want them fearing him or thinking that they were in trouble.

He steps out into the open.

Clint spots him almost immediately, and wastes no time yelling out a shrill "run!" to the others. None of them even question it- they all take off running at his alert.

"Shit. Fuck. Shit." Tony cusses as he begins sprinting after his miniature teammates, chasing them around a block corner. "They've going down 27th!!" He yells into his earpiece, informing Fury and Rhodey of the new direction.

They don't make it far-a black SUV makes a sudden turn and bumps over the curb onto the sidewalk several feet in front of them, cutting off their path as agents unload from the vehicle.

Natasha spins around and has the stolen gun pointed at his head before he can even get a single word out. She shoulders her way in front of all the others, protecting them. Behind her, Steve starts into a renewed wheezing fit.

He doesn’t take his eyes off the group, but in the corners of his vision he can see the SHIELD agents gathering around, ensuring none of the kids could make a run for it or that any civilians could see what was happening. Keeping a close watch on Natasha, he can tell the appearance of agents and Fury beside him puts her more on edge. Her finger moves to rest on the trigger.

“Natalia.” He brings both hands up, showing he has no weapons or intentions to fight. “You know me, remember? I helped you.”

She blinks at him.

Tony sighs. “That’s going to work anymore. I know you can speak English now.”

“You left us with them.” She says, gesturing over at Fury and other agents with disdain.

Steve makes a strained noise as he tries and fails to suck in air. Bucky puts a hand on his shoulder, whispers something to him.

“I know, and I’m sorry. I thought you all would be safest there.”

“We wanna go home!” Sam cuts in. They all nod in agreement.

“I know. We’re going to help you.” Technically, it wasn’t lying. It wasn’t like he said what or how they were planning help.

Steve buckles and his knees hit the ground. Bucky drops as well, having had a grasp on his friend’s elbow. His voice is more urgent now as he continues trying to talk Steve down. It’s not making a difference.

“Steve needs help, Natalia. We can help him if you let us.”

Natasha is gnawing on her lip, and she sends a worried glance over her shoulder at the two boys on the ground.

“His lips are turning blue,” Bucky tells her, his eyes wide.

Natasha looks back to Tony. “You’ll save him, yes? No tricks?” She asks.

“No tricks,” Tony promises.

Natasha takes a deep breath, closes her eyes for several seconds as she steels herself, and lowers the gun.

Rhodey rushes in, dropping to Steve's level and shoving an inhaler between his lips. he presses the top of the inhaler, once, twice, three times, ejecting the lifesaving medicine. Steve reaches out to grab at Rhodey, the scared young boy searching for comfort in his savior.

Natasha's gun clatters to the ground as she drops it, bringing her hands up to hide her face. The gun now safely out of her hands, other agents close in, wrapping the kids in blankets and handing them water bottles. Natasha, however, doesn’t let any of them near her.

She turns to Tony. "What are you going to do to us?"

"I-what?"

"Because we ran away. What is our punishment? I would prefer to know now." There's a very slight tremor in her voice she is trying hard to hide.

Tony’s joy at finding them all safe and unharmed sinks. She had given herself up thinking she would be punished all so that Steve could get his medicine. “Oh, god. No, Natalia. None of you are in trouble, okay? No one is mad. We're just happy you're all safe.”

Behind him, Fury snorts. “Speak for yourself. She shot several of my agents.”

“Not. Helping.” Tony hisses at him.

Fury is unbothered. “I’m just saying. When they come back they’re going to have to have extra security, maybe an agent just assigned to her to make sure this doesn’t happen ag- “

Tony cuts him off. “Come back?” He raises his eyebrows, now turning to face Fury directly, putting his body directly between him and Natasha. “What makes you think they’re going back to SHIELD?”

“What makes you think they aren’t?”

“They aren’t going back with you. Clearly, none of them felt safe there.”

“And where else are they going to go, Stark?”

“They’re staying with me.”

Fury laughs, but Tony doesn’t budge.

“Come on now, Stark. Let’s be reasonable here.” Fury says, taking a step closer.

Tony raises a hand, a gauntlet already forming on his hand and charging up, ready to shoot. “You’re not taking them. They’re coming back to the tower with me, where they’ll be safe and cared for. Kids don’t belong in a hospital, Fury.”

Fury shows his palms, a sign of surrender as he backs away again. “Fine, fine. Whatever you say. Have fun trying to manage all of them. We’ll get out of your hair then, since you so clearly don’t want us here.”

Tony doesn’t move from in front of the kids until all the agents are loaded back into their SUV’s and are out of sight. Only then does he lower his gauntlet and turn back to the children.

Steve is still on the ground, and holding the inhaler in his hand, but no longer seems to need it. Instead he is now sitting criss cross, focusing on taking deep breaths. Bucky is standing next to him, arguing with Sam about the logistics of Tony’s gauntlet, whether it was a gun or a bomb. Bruce is standing silently, shifting his weight from foot to foot as his eyes go back and forth between the two adults. Natasha is a few steps away, unhappy expression on her face as she ignores Clint, who is making a poor attempt at a joke to try and ease her.

“I’ve already called Pepper,” Rhodey tells him. “Told her we found them and to meet us here with a car.”

Tony thanks him, no idea what he would do without his best friend who was always thinking one step ahead. “Are you all okay? Does anyone need anything?” He asks to the gaggle of children.

They shake their heads wordlessly.

Expect Sam.

“We ate a snack already so don’t worry!” All the kid’s eyes snap to him, narrowed. Bucky reaches out and punches him in the arm.

“You aren’t supposed to tell them that!”

Sam is clearly offended at the accusation, mouth dropping open as he defends himself. “He asked! What’s wrong with telling him we ate?!”

“Because we stole the food, dipshit.”

“Hey, hey.” Tony steps in. “Don’t call him tha- wait, what? You guys stole food?”

“Nice going.” Bucky whispers at Sam as he crosses his arms.

“It was Clint’s idea!” Sam says, pointing over to Clint.

“Hey!” Clint exclaims, a betrayed look on his face.

“Jesus Christ.” Tony pinches the bridge of his noise, trying to rub away his building headache. “Where did you guys steal from?”

“That place over there,” Sam points down the street. “With the green sign.”

Tony follows his finger, and groans again when he sees the small mom and pop shop that Sam identified. “Okay. Everyone look at me.” He waits until all six tiny eyes are on him. “We don’t steal, alright? Stealing is bad.”

Tony pauses, frowning at himself for a second. “Or…We don’t steal from small shops, okay? Those people need the money. If you have too, go to somewhere like, Walmart or something. But that’s only if you absolutely have too. Got it?”

A large black car pulls up to the curb next to them. The front door opens, and Pepper steps out, eyes landing immediately on the avengers turned children.

“Oh, my god.” She breathes out, seeing them all for the first time in person since the time stone incident. “They’re so cute.”

#look i actually wrote something #children of yesterday #marvel #marvel cinematic universe #natasha romanoff #clint barton #sam wilson #bruce banner #tony stark #Steve Rogers #Bucky Barnes #james rhodes #marvel kid fic #mcu

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iron--spider · 4 years

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Without further ado—here are my book jacket summaries. SEND ME YOUR VOTE IN AN ASK! And the winner will (most likely) be my next big fic, which won’t be for a little bit because of my friend’s wedding events. But it will be coming soon :) You can definitely ask questions but I can’t necessarily say I’ll answer them because 1. I don’t know every detail about these quite yet, though I do know the general beginning, middle, end 2. I don’t wanna spoil them completely. Please don’t steal this shit lmao I’M TRUSTING Y’ALL.

IDEA A.

(Endgame AU, future fic, older Peter Parker, Morgan included, Peter/MJ romance, Drama/Mystery)

Tony Stark is dead. Lost almost ten years ago, and not to Thanos or any Avengers level threat, but in a clash with the Green Goblin that Peter regrets every morning when he wakes up and every night when he goes to sleep. Being Tony’s protege meant that most of Tony’s tech went to Peter, and on one of his more melancholy days, Peter goes through Tony’s old workshops, and digs up one of Tony’s inventions that he doesn’t recognize or remember. And once he turns it on, he realizes it must be some kind of communication device—and he gets the surprise of his life when he connects immediately with a familiar voice.

Tony’s voice.

After some panic, some anger, some accusations, Peter realizes it isn’t a trick. Peter realizes that he’s actually speaking to Tony. Tony, from the past. Tony, three days before the day of his death.

Can Peter can change the past? And if he does, can he deal with the consequences?

IDEA B.

(Endgame everybody lives AU, no five year loss, pregnant Pepper, Avengers as family including Team Cap, Peter/MJ romance, Drama/Mystery/Comedy)

Tony wakes up one morning to a concerned call from May Parker. As per usual, Peter is worrying his poor aunt to death—but this time is different. His phone is giving a message that it’s not in service. And when Tony’s panic rises and he searches for Peter with Friday, he’s horrified to find out that there’s no trace of Peter anywhere on the earth.

He’s gone. Disappeared, without a trace.

Tony leaps into action, using all the tech at his disposal, searching through Spider-Man fan groups online, and eventually, he’s led to an abandoned warehouse on Roosevelt Island. There’s a strange feeling in the air, and it isn’t just his fear making him sick. There’s something going on. There’s something...off.

And Tony finds a major clue under a nearby bridge, faded underneath old graffiti and withering posters and the sands of time.

TONY - I’M HERE. I’M HERE IN 1991 :(

And it’s signed with small spider.

IDEA C.

(AU in which Tony never met Peter, pre-civil war timeline with Avengers as family, Peter as an orphan with no May and Ben, eventual Peter/MJ romance, Drama)

Tony Stark has a happy life. He loves his girlfriend. He’s got a lot of money, he’s a philanthropist, he gives back. He’s also a superhero, with a bunch of superhero buddies.

But strangely, there’s something missing. He’s got ghosts of people he once knew, people who are gone with no goodbyes, and he’s got ghosts of people that were never here to begin with. People he might have met, in another life.

One night he’s looking through his father’s old files, and he finds out there was a project Howard was working on—searching for heroes that came before Captain America. The folder isn’t packed, and there are only a few suspects with not much evidence, but there is one person in particular that strikes Tony as soon as he sees him.

Peter Parker. Someone Howard dubbed ‘the Spider-Man’. The kid was born in 1913, and all of Howard’s evidence was blurry newspaper photos, some handwritten notes that made it seem like Howard himself was following Peter. He was never able to prove that Peter was actually the Spider-Man, but his conclusion was that he was most likely correct—because the Spider-Man never reappeared after Peter Parker died in a factory fire in 1929.

Tony reads the details about Peter. An orphan, living on the streets. Someone Howard described as kind, helpful. ‘Undoubtedly the masked hero. A genuinely good and decent human being who only thought of others.’

Suddenly, Tony is thinking about time travel.

IDEA D.

(Endgame everybody lives AU, not FFH compliant, Peter/MJ romance, Peter & Harry Osborn friendship, Avengers as family, Morgan Stark present, Drama/Mystery)

Peter Parker is finally on the right track. He’s a sophomore at ESU, staying close to home so he can keep up with his Spider-Man duties. He’s in a long term relationship with MJ. And they and Ned have adopted a new friend into their group—Harry Osborn.

But everything goes wrong when Norman, Harry’s father, announces that his son has been killed and Spider-Man is to blame. And worse yet, he has video evidence, despite the fact that Peter was nowhere near the event when it happened.

MJ and Ned take Peter, and they run.

Tony fights for his kid in the public eye while he facilitates Peter and the others with safe houses, and Peter quickly realizes that there’s a lot more to Norman Osborn than he ever could have imagined. Including the leagues of supervillains he sends after Peter and his friends. He clearly knows who Peter is, knows he’s Spider-Man. But he isn’t leaking his identity to the public just yet. And Peter has no idea why.

Can Tony clear Spider-Man’s name before it’s too late?

IDEA E.

(Tony surrives the snap in Endgame but falls into a coma, FFH compliant, Peter/MJ romance, Morgan Stark present, Drama)

Tony remembers snapping. Remembers the whiteness that he thought was the pearly gates finally coming into view. But then nothing happened. He was in the middle of nowhere, a great dark space, and he figured purgatory would be more exciting than this.

Sometimes, he can hear voices.

The people he loves. Pepper, pleading for him to come back. Morgan, telling him how much she loves him. Rhodey and Happy, telling him how they’re taking care of everything while he sleeps.

Sleeps?

He hears Peter, too. Almost more than anybody else, and the kid’s guilt is out of this world. Eventually, Peter talks about going on a trip. A trip that May and the others convinced him to go on. Tony’s glad. He knows the kid has earned it ten times over.

Later, he hears more voices. Jumbed, mass hysteria.

It’s bad but we can help him—

We’re gonna try, we’re gonna try—

Please wake up, he needs you—

Peter’s in the Raft, Tony. It didn’t work. He’s in the Raft.

Tony feels a kind of strength he’s never felt before. A kind of anger and horror and pure rage and the blackness dissipates, stretches, moves like a ladder falling.

He pulls himself out.

Beeping, noises, everyone moving around, grabbing him, pushing him down. He’s dizzy, he’s sick, but it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. Nothing else matters. They’re talking, but he can’t hear them.

He’s gotta get Peter. The Raft? The fucking Raft?

He has to save him.

#my fics #long post #LET ME KNOWWW #i worked on my comments today i didn't get them all done but i will i promise #and i'm working on two little one shots #so hopefully i can get those out soon #love everybody

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popculturebuffet · 4 years

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Jake Reviews Stuff: Close Enough: Logans Run’d and Room Parents

IT’S FINALLY HERE, PERFORMING FOR YOU. Seriously I have waited 3 years for this. And while yes thanks to a combination of a french animation festival and HBO’s own oopsie doodle I was able to watch 3 episodes already, and review them, it dosen’t make this any less sweet. The fandom can finally come togehter as a whole and enjoy the hell out of the series. And doubling my excitment is the fact that HBO Max dropped 15 episodes! 14 episodes bundled into half hours and one extra long episode that seems to feature one of the greatest musicans and comedians of all-time, a man who needs no introduction but hell if i’m not giving him one. WEIRD, AL, YANKOVIC!

I could not be more excited if I tried. And yes that’s with full awarness my pre-amphibia and owl house workload just became at LEAST 4 times what I expected and this may be all there is. Having to review 12 episodes still means getting to WATCH 12 episodes of a show I truly adore. It’s an easy trade off. So with that out of the way, we can dig into close enough’s second two episodes and see if the show can keep the momentum from the first pair! Door’s open, let’s do this! The full review and spoilers under the cut.

Logans Run’d With Candace having her first sleepover Josh and Emily (Who apparently aren’t on good enough terms with their parents to have them watch her something I hope they explore later in the series), have their first Candace free evening and spend it as you’d expect for a 35 year old couple: Pelvic thrusting to turn down to what while doing general errrands then planning to have a nice night in of tea and the great british baking show, which continues this show’s hard to get used to trend of using actual brand names. The two invite Bridgette to join them which she scoffs at saying the pair, and Alex who is not only delighted to join them but is in an old timey sleeping costume with listening horn which, no joke, is his profile picture on the show’s website, which feels perfect honestly and I love everything about that.

The three soon realize to their horror through flashback that they indeed are old (Hilariously alex’s is literally just his introduction in this episode), and beg Bridgette to take them along to a club, Logan’s Run’d. What follows is the three of them getting hard core drunk all the way to 9PM while Bridgette flirts with a younger guy and youtube sensation and who looks like the earth 3 version of hank venture.. until it turns out he’s actually a toddler wearing some sort of robot suit because of course. Things go south however both as our heroes realize their running out of steam.. and as another 30 something is made VIP>.. which in this club is being murdered to death by a giant fan. With blood which I”m sure JG was giddy to do first chance it was approriate given he did 8 years of a show on a children’s network and children’s networks hate blood as much as they hate actually letting shows mention the concept of death directly by name. Naturally the four of them want to book it out of there: While Bridgette , if she wasn’t lying about her age to the toddler, isn’t in the danger zone, she still just hit on a toddler and is naturally afraid of going to prison, but get stopped by the bar guy. Alex, in a supremeley sad yet badass moment, pulls out his blockbuster card and prepares to sacrifice himself for his friend’s sake: Partly because he cares about them and candace and partly because he’s worried he has nothing left to live for now he’s old, something I myself worry about going into my 30′s next year. Josh (Emily takes a second to join in) rushes to save his best bud and the two reassure Alex he has a future, a future of not having to get new music, of having nights of just relaxing and watching tv and getting pepper in your beard for , as Alex puts it “That george clooney look” Bridgette was the last one and guards her friends from being murdered for obvious reasons before breaking the fan. Our heroes are saved, alex and me honestly as all of that sounds really appealing to be honest and I live 2/3 of it already, are convinced that growing old is pretty sweet. Oh and the owner turns out to be an old guy, as Alex realizes when he refrences logans run and is murdered by the crowd. Our heroes enjoy pancakes, Bridgette still finds the guy cute which.. no no bridgette just no, and Alex muses about them having seen a man die. Final Thoughts: A decent episode.. while not as good as 100% no stress day ahead of it or the previous episode, i’ts a simple episode with good gags, an utterly great character moment for Alex which shows that despite his weirdo exterior he’s a damn good guy and he has something to live for. Also the toddler subplot was stupid and kinda creepy. A decent gag filled episode withs ome great ones and some really good animation. Also the opening is utterly iconic, easily one of the shows best jokes so far and probably in total and still works despite the use of turn down for what being slightly dated, but it works because it’s just really damn funny. Not the series best thus far but it’s still okay if a standard episode is this enjoyable.

Room Parents: Now this is the good shit. It’s parent meeting time at Candace’s school with Me Daughter Teacher having one last announcment while Josh is about to pass out from having to hold in 3 powerades... dude should’ve gone for gatorade.. it still goes through you it just tastes objectivley better. Anyways me Daughter Teacher locks the room for the announcment because he needs a room parent and things quickly turn to purge as everyone is either fleeing or trying to murder each other to avoid it. While i’m not a parent, I can at leat understand not wanting to give time to do this when your schedule is likely already a hellscape. Josh (Who wonders if they got a purge going, got a good laugh out of me. ), being basically what if Mr. Peanutbutter had an illigitmate son he dind’t know about, and i’m still not convinced he’s not his dad until the show proves otherwise, happily volunteers to Emily’s horror. Josh however.. is entirely game. He even makes a dad joke calling it a “Fun Raiser” to emily’s annoyance. It’s a nice show of just HOW opposite the two are: Emily being more stressed, as 100% stress day proved/will prove given it’s after this episode even though i’ve already seen it but it’s set later but...

The point is she’s a ball of stress while he’s a ball of enthusasim just like his dad, who i’m now just.. 100% convinced is his dad and dosen’t know it. Prove me wrong. Anyways Josh meets Nikki another parent whose own son is ominously framed in shadow because of course something weird about her who offers to pitch in.. and is also transparently intrested in josh. The next day Josh and nikki talk on the phone and Bridgette and Alex instantly pick up that she’s into him and that josh is the kind of guy every girl wants, with Bridgette sighting the look when he inhales mustard and Alex, being the objectivley best, citing his thin papery jack of clubs body type. I’m now 100% convinced they all had a foursome at some point before the divorce which Emily tries not to think about and Emily isn’t convinced.. until Josh, in another great gag, says Nikki said “wash your balls, so random”. Emily, now panicked, enlists Pearle who gladly volunteers her spy van, because Pearle is also objectivity the best, to go spy on alex in a montage set to heart’s crazy on you were we get our image for this episode which is a great gag.. especailly Emily mouthing “Wait afterwords’ and it being followed by them going to the sex hotel.. which is actually the essex hotel.. which is for affairs as it’s sign says. It’s hard not to just list gags for this show because it’s damn good but i’ll try. Emily then confronts Josh that night (doing the dramatic light turning on thing by holding the lamp another great gag), and Josh explains no he’s not cheating on her because he’s a pure boy, and he aquises to her, also finally realizing Nikki’s been transparently trying to seduce him. Naturally their attempt to uncoroomparenther before the Fundraiser goes pear shaped as it turns out Nikki is a con artist who pulls what professionals call a josh , scam a stressed parent, tie him up or kill him and then steal the fundraiser money for a school, for a living (She has another one cooking at the moment) and leaves them. Emily orders a knife via a delivery service, while a waiting Pearle wonders where they are.. which raises a lot of questions. WHy pearle is there is easy, she’s supporting Candace and her friends/tennants. That part is easy. Why she brought Randy, who at least at this point is objectively useless and why Alex and BRidgette AREN’T there I can’t explain. Maybe mecha pope garfield rose from the grave. Maybe Bridgette’s fucking that clown again. Maybe Alex has more garifled theroies to bust out. Actually those last two answer my question for me.. I mean someome’s gotta reveal Garfield was a founding member of the Justice Society of America.

Our heroes arrive however to Foil Nikki , who thent ries to escape on a children’s train.. which being a children’s train Josh and Emily just hop on and in a hilarious bit slowly remove the kids before ending up with Candace, who says “daddy’s girlfriend is getting away”. Jessica DiCiccio is a delight as Candace and her delivery is impecable here. However Nikki switches tracks and cranks up the speed. Thankfully while Emily and Candace fall off the train pearle and Randy, who I STILL don’t know why he’s in this episode he has no lines and does nothing, catch them, leaving it to Josh to fix his mess. After a breif fight and a nut shot Josh sucesfully swaps the money for Nikki’s fake son/dummy who she chokes bart style before both explodes when they hit a thermometor factory. Our heroes win, the fundraiser is a sucess and the teachers have elected Josh room parent for life (”That can’t be legally binding” “IT’S LEGALLY BINDING!”) Final Thoughts: A great , really damn funny episode with a great premise. While Emily being worried Josh would cheat seems weird given he’s a nice enough guy, it’s sometimes understandable to be panicky about that sort of thing and her worry is warnated given one party is trying to seduce her husband, josh is just too stupid to realize, which makes for a lot of great gags. It’s a really tighly done episode that like the above is more pure comedy and just hilarious, but has even better jokes and a much better executed premise to work with. And no weird toddler things. So overally a slam dunk. I have more close enough reviews coming today, obviously though i’d rather watch the rest before reviewing them, but while I do you can shoot me an ask to talk more close enough, and in more serious matters... One of my best friend’s cat’s cancer has come back and being out of work and just having moved into a new appartment, he needs help paying for it. You can find the go fund me here. And as always until we meet again, later days.

#close enough #josh ramierz #emily ramierz #alex #bridgette #candace ramierz #pearle #randy #jg quinte #calvin wong #hbo max #close enough spoilers

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megaguardain · 4 years

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Achievement Hunter Crew: The Bat-Heist, Prologue and Chapter One

UPDATED

After the whole thing with James Ryan ‘the asshole guy’ Haywood, I’ve written him completely out of the story. He doesn’t exist in this universe anymore. Also, I’ve moved the timeline so character’s have changed superhero identities.

Introduction

In a world where superheroes have been around since the early 1900s, no one just robs banks anymore. Everyone’s gotta be taking over the world or enslaving the human race or whatever. But this crew, they’re just wanna rob and steal, not for the money. Just for bragging rights.

Earth-96 is a world where DC characters premiere when they first appear in the comics and age in real time. Batman has been patrolling Gotham since 1939 and the mantle has passed from Bruce Wayne to others since his passing.

Prologue

Earth-96, 2019. Tyler, Texas.

“The Batman was ‘instrumental’ in the arrest of the Joker earlier tonight, a spokesman from the GCPD told us,” the newswoman on the TV said. Shots of a battered Joker, giggling to himself, being loaded into an armored police van while Batman spoke to the police. He was actually shorter than the officers he spoke to.

Batman pressed something on his gauntlet and there was a sound of a roaring engine as something giant barreled toward him. As it got close, the Batman leapt into the air and grabbed onto the giant vehicle.

“Was that a new car?” a newsman asked as the cameraman caught the rear of the Batmobile turning down an alley, “Or did the Flash just pick him up?”

“It probably was a new car. How many has he got now?”

“Probably as many Robins he’s had,” the newswoman commented as she shuffled the papers in front of her, “Up next, who is this new Green Lantern?” the picture shifted to an amateur shot of a Latino woman in a Green Lantern uniform, “And can we trust her?”

The TV turned off. The man watching it put down the remote and sat up, stroking his lower jaw while in deep thought. He wore a black two-piece suit over a white dress shirt. His sleeves were rolled up, exposing the million tattoos on his arms. After reaching some kind of conclusion in his head, the man smiled and pulled out his phone. He scrolled through his contacts and selected one labelled “Michael”.

The phone rang as he put it to his ear.

“‘Sup Geoff,” Michael answered.

“‘Sup Michael, listen,” Geoff said, “I got an idea for something,”

“What kinda something?”

“A big something,”

“We heisting?” Michael asked.

“Oh yeah. It’s a big one, we’re going to need everyone on this,”

“What’re we stealing? Cash? Gold?”

“A car,”

There was a moment of awkward silence before Micahel asked, “Just a car?”

“‘Just a car?’,” Geoff sarcastically asked back, “Just get everyone and meet me at the safehouse,”

“Ya gotta give me something more than that Geoff,” Michael insisted, “Alfredo probably won’t show up over ‘just a car’,”

“We’re heisting the Batman’s car,” Geoff dropped the bomb.

“Shit,” Michael chuckled after another moment of silence, “Yep. Alfredo’s going to love that. That really isn’t just a car,”

“Told ya,” Geoff smiled, amused with himself, “We’ll go over the details at the safehouse,”

“A’ight. See ya soon,” Michael said.

“See ya soon,” Geoff said, ending the call. Geoff poured himself a glass of whiskey as he looked out the window, “This’ll be one for the books,”

Chapter 1:Unpredictable in a Predictable Way

Earth-96. Gotham City, New Jersey.

The new Batmobile had great soundproofing. Batman could hardly hear the sound of the engine from inside the car. The car sped through the streets of Gotham, everything inside was tinted red from the interior lights. He piloted the car over the Robert Kane Memorial Bridge, leaving the city lights glaring through the smog behind him.

“Dim exterior lights,” Batman commanded, his voice distorter still active. The external lights on the Batmobile dimmed, providing almost as much visibility as if they were turned completely off, “Engine, silent run,” Batman commanded. The engine of the Batmobile fell silent, even from outside the car it barely made a sound.

Batman’s muscle memory expertly piloted the car down a hidden path off the side of the road, towards Wayne Manor. It rolled down and around, along a cliff face on the coast to a cave entrance that was hidden by a waterfall. Inside the cave was dimly lit by lights on either side of a paved track. The Batmobile followed the track into the cave.

After minute or two of following the dimly lit track, the cave opened up into a large cavern. There were multiple platforms bolted to the walls of the cavern, connected by catwalks, wires and elevators. The track the Batmobile led to one of the lowest platforms, it looked like a shelving unit with multiple cubbies that held various bat themed vehicles. From older Batmobiles to the Batplane, Batcyles, a lot of bat themed vehicles. Batman parked the Batmobile he was driving in the empty spot on the Vehicle Platform and got out of the car.

“How’s the new car?” a voice above called down. Batman looked up to see a man with black hair leaning on the railing of the platform above looking down at him. The man wore a red hoodie with a dark t-shirt with Batman’s logo on it.

“It pulls to the left,” Batman said as he approached the nearby elevator, “And the seat is too big,” he added as he stepped into the elevator. The elevator had no music as it took him up to the higher platform.

“Well, you’ll break her in. And maybe grow into the seat too,” the man teased. He was a whole six inches taller than Batman’s five and a half feet stature.

“I have never understood why you refer to the cars as ‘her’ Tim,” Batman said, ignoring the joke about his height and walking toward the fifteen foot, multi-screen computer on the platform, “Joker’s back in Arkham,” Batman said as he sat down in the large chair in front of the computer. He looked tiny in the chair.

“And his gang is already rioting. Wanting to strike down the government hierarchy,” Tim explained.

“What about Sionis or Ogilvy?” Batman asked as the computer displayed the profiles of Black Mask and Emperor Penguin.

“The False Face Society has been growing. With Joker’s latest stunt, they probably won’t stop,” Tim reported, “Ogilvy seems content with running business from the Iceberg Lounge. No one’s going to try anything big for a while,”

“What about Jason and his gang?” Batman asked, taking his cowl off. Showing that Batman wasn’t actually a man, but an Asian woman with short black hair.

“Cass, I know Jason isn’t your favorite person, but he’s on our side,” Tim sighed.

“He is a criminal, he kills people,” Cass scowled. The computer displayed information about the Red Hood Gang, run by the formerly dead, formerly Robin, Jason Todd.

“So did Bruce originally!” Tim countered.

“Not the same,”

“How?”

“Bruce was wrong and he realized that when he adopted Dick,” Cass explained.

“Well, just think of him as a neccessary evil,” Tim sighed, walking away.

Cass just stared at the computer screens as they continued to scroll through the different gangs of Gotham City and their territories around Gotham. The screens shifted to reports of the Joker Gang protesting outside Arkham Asylum, calling to free Joker.

The next night,

“Everybody on the ground!” a man wearing a potato-brown mask with a hand drawn smile shouted as he fired his rifle into the ceiling of the bank. He wore a brown leather jacket over a kevlar vest and t-shirt.

“Let’s go! Give us the money!” a man wearing a hockey mask that had a pattern with stickers from different tourist traps from around America shouted, tossing a duffle bag to the teller behind the counter. He wore a black two-piece suit under a kevlar vest and held a shotgun to a teller.

A third man wearing a BMX helmet, a Hawaiian shirt under a kevlar vest and white shorts, kept a shotgun trained on a security guard, “Don’t,” he growled when the guard moved.

“I knew it was a bad idea to extend hours into the evening,” the guard grumbled.

“Just load up the cash, we’re not interested in being murderers,” the one in the hockey mask said. The teller loaded bundles of money into the duffle bag.

“Give me the dye packs,” the one in the potato mask ordered another teller.

“Wh-what?” the teller asked.

The man in the potato mask punched the bulletproof glass that separated him and the teller, it shattered into pieces and possibly made several bystanders wet themselves as they screamed, “Dye packs,” the man ordered again, aiming his rifle at the teller, “Now,”

The teller quickly gathered and placed the dye packs on the counter in front of the potato masked man. The robber put the dye packs in his jacket pockets.

“How we doin’ Alpha?” he asked.

“I got the money!” the tourist hockey masked man shouted, taking the filled duffle bag from the teller, “Let’s go!”

The three bank robbers made their way to the front door, they each took cover on either side of the door frame. A sign behind them said ‘Welcome to Gotham City Trust, your money is safe with us!’.

“GCPD should be here any second now,” the BMX helmet man said.

“Good,” the potato masked man said, tossing the dye packs to his partners. The crew had to wait for less than a minute before they heard the sirens. The sirens stopped as they came close to the bank.

“GCPD!” they could hear shouted at them over a loudspeaker, “Put your weapons down and come out with your hands up!”

“They asked us so nicely Bravo, whaddya think?” the potato maked man asked.

“We should give them a gift for being so nice, Charlie,” the man wearing the BMX helmet suggested.

Alpha, Bravo and Charlie opened the doors of the bank and, without emerging too much from cover, threw the dye packs at the police cars parked outside. They landed with audible thuds that the robbers could hear from the bank entrance.

“Grenades!” one of the officers shouted.

“Go! Go! Go!” Alpha commanded. The robbers ran out the door and to the right, travelling along the side of the bank and away from the cops.

“Wait, it’s not a gre-” the dye packs exploded, covering the squad cars and nearby officers in hot red paint and creating a red smoke that flew into the sky.

“See ya losers!” Charlie shouted back at the police as he continued to flee.

The crew crossed the street, avoiding the oncoming traffic that sounded their horns at them, they came into a small alleyway that had an armored four-door car waiting for them. But before they could get close to the car, a shuriken in the shape of a pair of bird wings embedded itself in the car’s hood.

“You guys new ‘round here?” a young voice asked. The crew looked and saw an African-American man on the nearby fire escape, holding two yellow escrima sticks connected by yellow wire. He had yellow helmet with a black visor in the shape of a bat. He wore a yellow and black suit with a black reflective bat symbol on his chest, “Ya’ll should just give-”

The robbers just started firing at him. The young man pressed himself back against the building while the robbers slowly made their way close to the car. Bravo entered first in the driver’s seat and started the car, Alpha sat in the passenger’s seat while Charlie got into the back. Bravo sped out of the alleyway before the young man could stop them.

“We got the Signal’s attention, won’t be long ‘til he shows up,” Charlie said.

“You know what to do if that happens,” Alpha said.

Bravo drove the car away from the bank, several police cars with lights and sirens blaring chased after them. As they weaved through the slower traffic, Charlie rolled down the window next to him and started blind firing back at the cops.

“So, how’s it feel to be back in your home state Charlie?” Bravo asked casually.

“Heh. It’s alright. Never been to Gotham,” Charlie said just as casually, “Always wanted to see the Bat with my own eyes,”

“Well, if this goes right, you’re going to,” Alpha said. Bravo slipped through a hole in a police blockade on the Madison Bridge that led into Old Gotham. As the crew came off the bridge, a shadow passed over them.

“Was that-?” Charlie asked, just before Batman landed on their hood, “Yep! Yes it was!”

“Pull over!” the vigilante ordered.

“You want me to pull over? Okay!” Bravo said, jerking the wheel to one side, causing the car to spin out as Charlie pulled his upper half out of the window. Charlie fired his rifle at Batman, the dark knight flipped onto the roof and kicked the gun out of his hand.

“Shit!” Charlie cried.

Batman pulled Charlie out of the car, but he punched Batman in the gut. They both flew off the car as it sped away, a few police cars shot past them to chase after the other robbers while others stopped to barricade the street. Charlie stood up and pulled off his ruined potato mask, his face was hardly scratched despite having kissed the street at almost seventy miles per hour.

“You’re shorter than I expected,” he commented when Batman stood up.

“Give up,” Batman ordered.

“No, fuck you,” Charlie smirked, putting his fists up in a fighting stance. Charlie ran at Batman, throwing a right hook but Batman was already dodging, he grabbed Charlie’s arm and restrained it behind his back.

“Your friends left you behind,”

“Yeah well,” Charlie groaned, “Still gotta job to do,” he twisted around and tried to punch Batman with his free hand, but Batman caught it and restrained it too.

Charlie shrugged off Batman’s grip, surprising the vigilante, before spinning around to slug the dark knight, but only grazed his bat-ears. Batman struck a space under Charlie’s arm and robber’s arm fell limp. Charlie looked at his unusable arm and gave a one armed shrug, he charge at Batman again. Just as he got close enough to punch Batman, he realized he was flat on his back with Batman standing above him. The last thing he remembers before blacking out was Batman’s fist.

“Cass,” The Signal’s voice came over the radio in Batman’s ear.

“Go ahead Signal,” Batman said as he watched the police take custody of the bank robber.

“Sorry, they got away,” The Signal said, “I lost track of them and they switched cars before I found them again,”

“Understood, we’ll find them,” Batman assured.

Alpha and Bravo drove a beat up hippie van to a warehouse on one of Gotham’s many docks. They had removed their masks already, Bravo sporting a full beard of reddish-brown hair and glasses. Alpha having a handlebar mustache and stubble.

“You sure Michael’s the one that should’ve been caught, Geoff?” Bravo asked as they pulled into the warehouse. It was pretty sparse inside, not much in terms of equipment or lighting. Two people sat at a crate, one was on her Nintendo Switch playing some game, the other was cleaning a sniper rifle.

“I’m sure Jack. He can buy the time Gavin and Trevor need, and get out without much trouble,” Geoff explained as he put the looted money on a crate they were using as a table, “Everything is going according to plan,”

#dc comics #earth-96 #achievement hunter #geoff ramsey #michael jones #batman #tim drake #cassandra cain #joker #robin #duke thomas #jack patillo #if you don't like who i made batman #then that's a personal problem #fuck ryan haywood

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peacefulwriter88 · 6 years

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Never Good Enough - Chapter 6

Sebastian Stan x PoC, Chris Evans x PoC

You randomly go on a blind date, set up by your friend Anthony, with Sebastian Stan. Due to the awkward interaction you are convinced that the date ends badly due to your cultural background.

When you run into him years later, can he re-win your heart?

Warnings: M for Mature (language, mild angst)

A/N: I swear if you keep up with this story things will look up for Sebastian. I swear it. But you know, you gotta have the angst. So there’s that, Anthony being an obnoxious big brother who gives the best advice and bubbly drunk Chris.

“Where are you headed?” Anthony’s voice shakes you as you look up from your phone, surprised to see your best friend earnestly standing in front of you versus being in his room. The was over with interviews for the first day, and Anthony typically coordinated a time to talk to his wife and children before he would escape in whatever city you were in, trying to find a few hours to explore the city in the form of dinner.

You didn’t want him to know what you were up to even though by the way he was smiling down at you, a knowing smirk on his face, you knew otherwise.

He knew exactly what you were up to.

“What do you mean? I’m just sitting here, catching up on some news via BuzzFeed…”

He rolls his eyes, taking the hotel lounge chair across from you as he watches you intentionally,

“Sebastian and I were thinking of grabbing dinner. He went to invite you but lo and behold you are down here. In the hotel lobby. He send you a text to meet you down here so you can both leave without me?”

You shrug nonchalantly, reverting your eyes back to your phone. Trying to ignore the smile that was fighting your way to your face. The idea of Sebastian trying to steal time that didn’t include Anthony thrilled you – you knew that Anthony had been an obnoxiously good job of interfering with interactions with the both of you for weeks now. You weren’t sure why and quite frankly had stopped trying to fight but it was complimenting that Sebastian wasn’t giving up.

Like you could deal with that right now. You were trying to figure out your other feelings. Your silent as you contemplate this, before you give into Anthony’s heavy gaze. Finally you huff out,

“What?!”

“You really not going to tell me?”

“Tell you what?”

“We’ve been on this press tour for what, like a month now. The whole time we go out you are rocking sweats or leggings or whatever but you aren’t leaving your room outside of work hours looking like that.”

He was referring to the tight jeans you were wearing, taking advantage of your company’s black card to make some purchases that you normally would talk yourself out of. Your jeans fit you perfectly and were paired with the black leather jacket that helped disguise the flowy blue top you were donning, the heels teeing off your look. You had curled your hair and thrown it in a high ponytail, adding some clips ons to give it some real volume. This was the most make up you had put on outside of premiers so you knew exactly what he was referring to.

You looked damn good.

At least, that is what Alicia told you when you facetimed earlier to double check the look. She was the only friend that you knew would pick up at this hour, California being hours behind London at the time.

But you weren’t going to tell Anthony that. No, instead you were going to play dumb until you couldn’t anymore.

“Maybe I wanted to….” You falter as he gives you that look and you groan, falling back in your seat.

“I don’t want you to make fun of me.”

“I won’t.”

“I don’t want you to tell me I told you so.”

He snorts,

“I can’t. I’m just surprised that you gave into Sebastian? And that he got your number. First Evans, now him?”

“Wait, what? Sebastian?”

Anthony quirks an eyebrow up.

“You’re not going out to dinner with him?”

“……no.”

Silence, then Anthony is chuckling, falling back in his seat.

“Damn. Evan’s moves quick.”

“Shut – it’s not like that!” your flustered as Anthony watches you amused.

“Uh huh. Sure it isn’t….”

More silence.

“You really are juggling two men’s heart right now? Remember how you’ve been on a slow go for months now and look – now you got TWO dudes after you.”

“That’s not whats happening! Sebastian doesn’t like me like that, never will. And I don’t know about Chris – we just want to go out for dinner tonight.”

“That’s not true at all.” Anthony counters and you fall back in your seat in defeat, looking at him.

“What do you know?”

“Well – two things. Chris demanded that I have to give him your number because he wanted to ask you if you he could treat you to dinner, alone. He made sure to reiterate that. That he was taking you alone. And then after that, Sebastian asked if I’d join him for dinner, but only because he wanted to ask you and he wasn’t sure you’d want to go out him alone. I mean, despite that text that I got from Tom made creeping on you and Chris, I still had my money on Sebastian and you spending the night out together...”

You blink at Anthony for a minutes before you ask,

“What creeper photo of me and Chris? What did Tom do?”

Anthony shrugs, digging in his pocket for his phone.

“Tom took this photo of you and Chris in the hallway and boy is it steamy. Shared it with me asking if this was thing. Wanna see?”

You nod, desperately shaking your head. Tom Holland, adorable little gentleman and unwanted paparazzi. You’d find a way to get back at him.

Anthony isn’t able to show you the photo, his attention is distracted, temporary losing his train of thought as he looks at the elevator.

“Oooo, guess you have to find out another time. Looks like your suitors are on their way over.”

You turn, following his gaze as you watch Chris and Sebastian walk out of the elevator. Both of them are wearing dark blue shirts, the material hugging around their biceps. Chris had opted for dress pants and Sebastian was donning jeans – both were advertising scruff that peppered their defined jawlines. You couldn’t tell which you liked more – the clean, put together look of Chris or the simple causal outfit that Sebastian wore.

You groaned. You were so fucked.

“You are soooo fucked….” Anthony sings lowly, repeating your thought out loud watching your reaction and you turn to him, leaning over enough to punch him in the chest.

“Ow! What was that for?”

“You are not helping the situation right now.” You mutter as you lean back and turn, smiling at both of them. Telling yourself what you always did when you went on a date with a hot attractive man that, as Chris neared with his eyes finding yours with ease, you were realizing may be way out of your league. Which was absolutely nothing because you never went on dates with hot, attractive men. Basic men sure but not fucking movie stars.

“God you’re right.” You moan under your breath and this causes Anthony to laugh, clutching his still sore side as Sebastian diverts his attention away from his phone, a large smile on his face. He’s stopped in front of you all along with Chris who is also watching in mild amusement and you feel like this is one, awkward fuck show as he asks,

“Hey Y/N! I was just looking for you – was going to ask if you wanted to join Mackie and I for dinner,” his eyebrow furrows, looking from Anthony to yourself to Chris, taking in the situation before he asks, “What’s so funny?”

You shoot Anthony a look before he stands up, shaking his head.

“it’s just how Y/N treats me when she knows I’m right. Doesn’t happen often but when it does its painful. Which is probably why I choose to be wrong.”

You roll your eyes, following his suite and standing. Missing the way both men look you over as you straighten yourself quickly and Anthony rolls his eyes. Regretting instantly suggesting you to join him on the press tour, knowing what the next few hours – months – are going to be filled with.

“Let’s head out Seb. Chris already beat us to it – he invited Y/N out earlier so maybe next time.”

You don’t even have a chance to read Sebastian as he looks from you and Chris, watching him trying to figure out what was going on between you and his counterpart. Anthony is quick to drag him away, leaving you with the tall, handsome Boston native who is towering over you, giving you a bashful smile.

“You look very beautiful.” It’s a simple comment but its sincere and you try to disguise your blush as you give him a playful push.

“You look pretty handsome. But I guess that’s why you’re Captain America.”

He chuckles, shaking his head as he offers his arm.

“Shall we? I have a fun evening planned a head of us.”

You try to contain your shaking as you lace your arm in his and nod.

“We shall.”

You realize way too soon that you had taken Chris Evans for granted. You were sure that the night would have been filled with attending a stuffy restaurant, followed by a cheesy walk around the city and ending early at your hotel. For some reason, you were sure he was going to find out that you were really an insecure nerd who spent too much time reading up on historical facts, comics, failing on DIY projects while you read articles on the way to enhance your musical instruments. You could only put up the facade of sassy, strong and independent woman for so long – easy to slip behind the guise at work where you thrived the most – in a world where you put up barriers because it was the easiest way to protect yourself from disappointment.

Instead he takes you to an English pub, deep in the heart of the city where he buys you the cheapest yet most delicious beer and bangers and mash, and you both end up chatting for far too long at the bar, teasing each other as you ingest the meal.

Its only when one of the regular’s hits on you, challenging you to a game of darts that you shift your scene.

“C’mon stranger. You want to tell me that you’re better than me and your cute guy friend at darts.”

“Yes!” you insist, standing up from your chair and grabbing your beer. “And I bet you a round of beer that I am.”

Both men take the bait, following you to the dart board where, unsurprisingly, you lose. In fact, you get one bullseye and some tacky throws that don’t amount to anything that you immediately attest to the strong beer. However, both men find it amusing, your confidence spiraling with your bad throws and the strangers ends up buying you and Chris a round instead, telling stories about how the nworld was shifting for the worse so it was nice to make two nice friends and boy – didn’t Chris remind him of that Captain America fella?

The comment comes continually throughout the night and causes you to laugh and agree that he did look to familiar to the Captain America man much to Chris’ delight, who is becoming a slave to the alcohol and good company, getting louder with each story he retells as he throws a protective arm around your, ensuring to all the men in the place that you were accounted for.

It made you feel safe being tucked in his arms, his muscles swallowing you into safety. So you chid past you around 9:30, the part of you that set a alarm for 9:30 pm because you knew that you both had early mornings and wanted to be responsible. You didn’t want to leave the fun, the safety, the newness of being with someone like Chris in a foreign city but you can’t ignore the responsible adult in you, and you force Chris out of the bar, only after you give into his insistence that he would settle the tab.

“After all,” he says, smiling down at you with that adorable large grin on his face, “that is what gentleman do on first dates.”

The comments has you soaring, so much so that paired with alcohol, you almost eat shit the moment you leave the pub. Stilettos and old world cobblestone were not a solid combination, especially paired with two, strong beers.

You laugh as you almost fall, Chris easily catching you and drawing you to him, chuckling at your clumsiness and he shakes his head saying,

“You know if you just want to touch me, you can just ask. I’m not opposed at all.”

You give a mock gasp, smacking him before you giggle out,

“That’s not it at all! I may have just over-estimated my ability to walk in these heels tipsily but to be fair I didn’t think I’d be this tipsy tonight.”

You’re gripping him, giggling harder as you let the alcohol run loose in your veins. He smiles as he looks at you, helping you straighten out.

“You were doing a really good job up until you met cobblestone. So we can opt to do two things. We can choose to take a cab back to the hotel,” you nod somberly as he continues, “Or I can give you a piggy back ride and we can walk around a bit, being super touristy to help sober you up a bit. Fresh air might be nice.”

You’re sure he can feel your heart increase at the idea of getting a piggy back ride from him. It was every girls dream.

“I choose the piggy back ride for $400 Alex.”

He laughs as he stands in front of you, squatting before he says over his shoulder,

“Just jump on and I’ll take it from here.”

You know the small moan you make is heard by him, can tell by the way he chuckles as you easily climb onto his back as he says,

“Something you’d like to share?”

“Nope, not while I’m on you like this.”

He laughs, standing up and your surprised at how high your lifted, giving a playful glee as your arms tighten around him. His hand bites into the sides of your thighs, hands meeting flesh, muscle and fat and starts moving with ease.

“You’re really cute when you play the shy game.” He comments after a while.

“I’m not being shy.” You admonish, resting your chin on his shoulder and you could hear the low rumble of a laugh start. You give him a squeeze with your thighs and he laughs as you say,

“I’m not!”

“Ok you’re not. Shy’s usually my number when I’m around a really attractive woman. Except with you…with you it’s different.”

“Why is it different?” The beer has you feeling more bold, unafraid to respond as you ingest his compliment about you. You can feel his muscles flex as he shrugs,

“I don’t know. You make me feel comfortable. You have this energy about you that’s contagious. You act confident, strong, sure of yourself. Not afraid to be honest – to say what it is. It’s refreshing to be around…not a lot of people built that way anymore. Too afraid to listen and say what you think.”

“Ah,” you answer, finding comfort around him. “Anthony likes to call it my bubble of arrogance.”

Chris laughs, shaking his head.

“I think Anthony doesn’t like that you challenge him and are right when you are. You’re not arrogant. You don’t say things without thinking through your words I feel. At least, from what you’ve allowed me to see.”

You bite your lip, debating it.

“I’m pretty prideful, competitive, stubborn but you haven’t brought out that side of me yet but overall I just try to be….I don’t know…I try to be a good human.”

Another nod,

“All we can try to be is a good human at the end of the day. And hey I’m equally prideful and competitive and stubborn. You should see me around football season – I can be unbearable.”

You laugh as he continues,

“Also, I don’t think you realize how much shit you give me. You’ve got me all dazed out, especially after your earlier little tease.”

His voice is lower, and you can feel your cheek heating up as you groan.

“Oh, yea about that…” you instinctively try to hide yourself in his shoulder, shielding yourself from him like he could see you in your current position. He stops at a light, adjusting your weight before he squeezes your thighs.

“I liked it. Like it when you’re a tease.” He whispers back, and you can’t help but smile before he asks, his voice a tone lighter,

“What I really would like to see are those mad piano skills you were bragging about earlier. You can’t claim that you remixed Benny and the Jets and not think I was not going to forget that. That’s a karaoke classic.”

You laugh as you tighten your hold around him, your mouth inching closer to his ear,

“Find me a piano and I’ll prove you wrong.”

He opts to walk around with you for thirty more minutes, your weight an afterthought as you both continue your conversation. By the time you make it to the hotel, remembering that there was a piano in the hotel bar, he knows he’s in trouble.

In trouble because he was attracted to you.

It wasn’t the allurement of your body anymore. No, that was the generic layer that had intrigued him, drew him in. It was you.

You were different. Your honesty was alarming, your ability to express your opinion without reservation intrigued him. You provided a different perspective, a lens he knew he would never know because of the privilege of being a white male. But you challenged him on social topics, provided a different way to view the world with the perspective you hold. How that stemmed insecurity at times but also a sense of spontaneity – taking chances and being comfortable voicing yourself because you were inevitably always going to be judged being who you were. Might as well do it being honest to yourself and others.

He liked your kindness, how you were intentional to get to know the people at the bar. How you asked him questions to understand him better, questions that weren’t laced with fake sincerity. Your humbleness and humor that you hid behind laughter, pushing it away like it didn’t matter.

You were genuine with him, was aware of who he was – his celebratory – but was unphased by what that meant for his character.

He liked you. And the realization of that, the prospect, terrified him.

“You going to continue to stand there looking like a deer in headlights or are you going to join me over here?”

Your voice snaps him out of his thoughts and his eyes shift to you, smiling as he takes a seat next to you on the piano beach. He’s overwhelmed by your perfume; the vanilla scent overpowering the small space and can’t help but lean into you as your hands dance over the keys with ease.

“So not sure if this is the right crowd to impress with a Japanese pop remix of Benny and the Jets,” your eyes flicker over to the small crowd of older professionals and he chuckles as you look back at him, “but I think I can come up with a pretty good jazz rendition.”

He feigns like he’s thinking really hard on the prospect and you nudge him as he laughs, shaking his head.

“Sounds great – really, any version you come up with.”

You smile as you stop your idle playing, looking at the keys for a minute before you place your fingers on the keys, starting to play off the recognizable tune from the talented Brit and he nods his head along to it. And then the melodies switch, differing from what his ear had been trained to expect, shifting in a way that was earthier – lighter. He watches you with awe as your hands move quicker, getting lost in the music in your head as the melody continue to evolve, capturing the attention of the few occupants in the space. They watch in awe as you play, a slight smile on your face as you nod your head, forgetting about him – where you were at. He could see the shift in you, the ease as you get lost in this world, the music, and he can’t help the smile that forms on his face.

Utterly in trouble.

You finish the song after a few minutes, being rewarded with a few claps from both the bartender and the occupants and you shake your head, taking a deep breath as you look over at him.

“What was that shit talker? Something about not believing I could put a beautiful twist on a classic?”

He chuckles, laughing as he turns toward you,

“You were right – I was wrong I will give you that. But you can’t blame me; its Elton John!”

“Which is why I will forgive you. Just this once.” You kid, leaning into him and you both stop, staring at each other. He takes in the way your eyes drink him in, large pools watching carefully as your mouth twitches into a soft smile. You lick your lips and he can’t help but watch the moment, infatuated by the idea of tasting you, wondering if you felt the same.

Fuck it. He’d never know unless he tried.

His hand comes up to cup your face, brushing your cheek as he leans forward. You don’t move, and he can feel your pulse quickening against the skin on your neck as he draws you closer, his lips brushing against yours, testing to see if its okay. Its enough as you lean into him, your lips brushing against his own like cashmere, warm and sweet and he gives a relieved sigh as you place a hand on his shoulder. He wants it to be sweet, wants to pull away to tease you – its what he’d normally do – but he’s addicted, drawn into your spell. Instead his tongue flicks against your skin, questioning and you oblige, opening your mouth to let him kiss you deeper and he’s gone. Dizzy from the way your tongue easily glides with his, slowly, patiently, teasingly and he groans as his hand wraps around your neck while his other one grabs your wrist, pulling you closer to him.

It was addicting being kissed like this – a first kiss that was fueled by lust and alcohol but something else and you moan into his mouth when his thumb brushes against your exposed skin on your waist, causing you to shudder and he fights his cock from twitching in his pants because you deserved far better than sex on a first date even though he would happily take you here if you’d let him.

He didn’t want you to think you were just sex for him.

He wanted you to know that you meant more.

It’s when you both hear someone clearing their throat do you pull away, the motion happening so quickly you almost fall backwards, and he catches you easily as the bartender awkwardly places two drinks on the piano.

“Wanted to say I love that version of Benny & the Jets and these are on the house…. I’ll ugh….leave you both to it.”

You can tell he feels awkward for interrupting the intimate moment and you watch him, your lips flush and puffy before your eyes return back to Chris and you smile shaking your head.

“Smooth Evans, real smooth.”

“I didn’t know he was going to give us free drinks! I totally would have planned this better if I did….” He draws off and you laugh, snuggling closer to him, resting your head on his chest. Your hesitant at first and he easily wraps his arms around you, drawing you closer to him.

“I know.” You whisper, wrapping an arm around his waist as you go for a drink. He takes his cue, grabbing the left over before he rises it, placing a kiss on your forehead before saying,

“To a great night. And many more to come.”

You smile up at him, your eyes glistening with contentment and nod.

“To many more great nights.” You agree, and he bends down to press a quick kiss on your lips. When he pulls away he asks,

“Would it be too soon to ask you out to breakfast?”

You laugh and shake your head.

“Give it a few hours and I’ll let you know.”

You’re both too far gone, to enraptured with one another to notice Anthony and Sebastian walking in to the hotel lobby, obviously tipsy from meeting up with old friends. Can’t realize that as the two wait for an elevator, tipsy eyes roaming the hotel lobby, they fall upon you both at the piano.

“Think she’s trying to teach him how to play. Lost cause that one.” Anthony jokes but Sebastian’s eyebrows are furrowed because he knows differently. Knows differently when you stop playing, staring at him before Chris leans into the kiss.

And the way you lean back into it.

“Hey man, the elevator is here.” Anthony says, his voice is more silent as he nudges the tall Romanian in. Cursing the shitty timing of them rolling in, no longer able to joke about how pissed off you were going to be when they were hungover tomorrow. He had been able to temper some of Sebastian’s curious questions about Chris and yourself but he couldn’t deny what had just unfolded in front of them. And for once in a long time, he feels bad for him. Because Sebastian was really different, changed, maturing and still growing and he knew how much he really liked you.

Sebastian follows in blindly, trying to think through what he was feeling. Silent. A silent Sebastian was dangerous – he got lost in his head and started overthinking things – creating anxiety in the space he was in. Anthony knows it – can sense it, knows that the earlier events was running through his head and is hesitant before he says,

“Listen I wasn’t going to get involved but damn you can’t have those puppy blue eyes and expect me to not say anything,” He sighs as Sebastian turns to him, his face confused and forlorn tearing at Anthony.

“Fuck! Listen – I know that you like Y/N. Don’t try to deny it anymore I see it dude. It’s so obvious. And no small wonder but Y/N is into you too but…. Sebastian you gotta step up more dude. Chris made it known how he feels about her. Made it known what he was willing to do to win her over. That he is willing to go the extra mile for her you know. You’ve been nice but I’m nice and we’re friends. You gotta work thirty times as hard if you want a chance with her…. because you still have one I think. She may never admit it to me – but I know that she likes you. She was actually pretty happy that you were going to ask her for a date. But damn, you gotta man the fuck up Sebastian. You’re fucking Sebastian Stan, blue steel wonder and pecks for days. Show her that.”

The elevator dings on his floor and he heads out, shaking his head. Then he stops, turning around.

“I’ll even stop cock blocking and allow you to take her to lunch alone from now on. But put some damn effort in man because you can’t blame her for wanting Chris over you right now. She doesn’t even know that you’re into her. In her mind, she’s just this unattractive woman of color that you’re stuck working with. And that’s the shit you’re going to have to combat.”

He leaves Sebastian on the elevator, even deeper in his thoughts.

Why the hell would you think that your race had anything to do with I’m finding you unattractive? Or that he wasn’t into you at all?

How bad did he damage you all those years back?

Tag List: @xgminigypsy @zohoffman @ssweet-empowerment@capsofwinchesters @tacohead13 @harleycativy@pietrotheavenger @francezka10 @papichulosebastian@obsessionsofmynerdheart @melaninmarvel @avengedqueen26 @nasteaxluvgal @winterbuttmunch

#Sebastian Stan #christmas #sebastian stan x person of color #sebastian stan x plus size reader #chris evans x person of color #chris evans x plus size reader

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totesmccoats · 6 years

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Batman and the Signal #1

After years of teasing and buildup, Duke Thomas finally has a suit and a codename. As the Signal, he protects Gotham during the day, when the Bats are all sleeping. Besides being the only non-nocturnal member of the Bat-family, he’s also the first with powers, albeit, powers he doesn’t quite understand. He can “read” light, and is able to reconstruct images of where it’s been and where it’s going. Essentially, he has the ability to rewind and fast-forward his perception.

His first assignment, given to him by Batman, is to investigate the recent spree of metahuman teenagers – like Duke – popping up in Gotham. But even with his training under Batman, there’s no guarantee he’ll even survive his first day.

Duke Thomas has always been a breath of fresh air to the recent Batman mythos. For one, he’s not a dark haired white guy. (I know Todd was blond at one point; and also wish that Damian was more often depicted as half-Asian, but he’s not.) He’s also been a bit of a perpetual outsider; someone a distance removed from the Bats and Robins. So it makes sense to give him an entire 12 hours to himself, to become his own type of hero. He’s also got his own crew, the former members of We Are Robin, whom he’s let into his superhero life. In one issue, he’s already showing how he’s doing things his own way.

On the art side of things, Hammer and Martin are showing us a side of Gotham we don’t often see; what it looks like during the day. But also, Duke takes them into the streets more than the rooftops. Being a daytime hero means more groundwork, and also running into more people as they go through their daily routines. Despite what we usually see of the city, during the day, Gotham can be surprisingly bright and spacious. And the modern style of the new Wayne-funded developments even give the city a few shades of Metropolis. The brightness continues through Duke’s costume, which takes the yellow highlights found in Batman and the Robin’s costumes, and makes it the primary color. Eventually, even his black chestpiece is replaced with a more reflective material, bouncing the light back rather than absorbing it.

Between the half dozen Batman books DC has running at any given time, it’s easy to feel overexposed by Gotham city. Turns out all you need to make it feel new again is let the sunshine in.

Batman: White Knight #4

Jack continues with his plan to take over Gotham – nicely – announcing his run for city councilman; and turning his campaign launch into a PR stunt when he gets Batman and Gordon to interrupt and arrest him for no reason. Blackport is already overwhelmingly in favor of Jack, and the rest of Gotham is slowly turning. Even Gordon is convinced by Jack’s plan to use the Batman fund to instead fund a new team of super-cops; and Jack hopes that Gordon can convince Batgirl and Nightwing to turn as well.

Meanwhile, Neo-Joker leads the mind-controlled villains on a raid of Gotham PD headquarters to steal files and find a way for her to reawaken Joker. She also tells Mad Hatter how she came to meet, and fall for, the supervillain.

But, for my money, the most interesting development is that Harley senses that somewhere along the line, Jack legitimately turned his plan to get revenge on Batman and the GCPD into a way to save and improve Gotham. And if anyone would know, it would be her, the person who knows him best, and a professional psychologist. Maybe the Joker really is dead.

And, of course, Batman keeps playing right into Jack’s hands – almost causing a riot at his campaign launch, and pushing Gordon away by refusing to listen to a plan that could help them both. If Bruce still has a chance at saving his own hind, he’s letting it slip past him awfully quickly.

SGM is really out-doing himself with the art in this series too, and can switch things from the sweetness of Jack and Harley spending a night out together, to the brutality of this Batman’s ways of taking out criminals, and the pathos of Neo-Joker’s backstory. Plus, there’s a garage full of the GCPD’s idea of what their Batmobiles should be like, and if there’s one thing he goes all out on – it’s cars.

Batman #38

Stop me if you’ve heard this one before, although, I can assure you you haven’t. One rich kid, two murdered parents, a butler, a desire for vengeance. But this isn’t Bruce Wayne. It’s Matthew, the son of a couple who worked on Wayne’s board. As Bruce, he assures Matthew that the person behind the murders will be caught, and that he’ll be taken care of. As Batman, he investigates. The first suspect is Zsasz. Shortly after this discovery, Zsasz’s parents are found dead in their home. But Zsasz didn’t do it. Then, another couple is killed.

Coming off the perfectly delightful Superfriends two-parter, King reminds us he can also write twisted noir Batman with this one-shot story that’s a twist, not just of the Batman origin story, but of all the twists on the Batman origin to come before it. It also plays into King’s larger arc of Bruce Wayne trying to heal past the trauma that’s defined him. Just because Matthew is very much like Bruce Wayne, and looks up to Bruce Wayne, does not make him Bruce Wayne, nor any of the Robins or other heroes with similar backstories. Sometimes, tragedy doesn’t result in heroes.

And, despite the darkness of this issue in particular, King still finds places to inject humor. The clues Batman ends up following to solve the mystery, down to his final deduction, could’ve come straight from the Adam West show – just add blood.

Justice League #36

Following the opening of a congressional investigation into the Justice League, the chairwoman leading the investigation is assassinated by a Batman doppelganger. The next day, the public pressure from the investigation and assassination, as well as personal agendas not lining up with the team’s charter, further increases fissures in team cohesion as they try to prevent another international incident involving a nuclear sub in Chinese waters.

I can’t remember the last comic book to make me so stressed. If Priest succeeds in one thing this issue, it’s selling how stressed everyone in the League is at the moment. Aquaman’s balancing being part of the League with being the King of his people; Wonder Woman is starting to think that Batman’s rules are interfering with her mission of peace; Superman’s being called to testify at congressional hearings; Simon feels that the League’s charter is preventing him from saving lives; and Batman’s gotta somehow heard all these cats while also dealing with a doppleganger using his example to kill people. It’s a lot to deal with, and adding to all of it, the public ain’t the biggest fan of vigilantism right now.

I’m also really enjoying Wood’s art on this series. It’s bold and colorful, unabashedly heroic, almost to prove by aesthetics alone how necessary the League is in spite of the public’s doubts. On the other hand, he perfectly captures the stress in every heroes face as they deal with each-other and other mounting stressors. They’re larger than life, but also relatably human – a very fine line that he nonetheless walks.

Green Arrow #38

Another Ferreyra illustrated issue, hell yeah! I don’t think I get this excited over any other artist. He kills it every issue he’s on. This one included. From Dinah kneeing Ollie in the balls, to a sunset on the beach, to an underground fight; he does it all with style and personality.

After Dinah and Henry rescue Ollie from the trench in the Pacific ocean Moira abandoned him in, Ollie has to make things up to Dinah for almost getting himself killed in the pursuit of money. Meanwhile, Moira resurfaces and reconnects with Malcolm Merlyn, and together, hope to pay back her debt to the Ninth Circle. Unfortunately for them, they’ve decided they’re already settled.

How else could this issue end but a three way fight between team Arrow, Moira and Malcolm, and the assassin the Ninth Circle sent to collect their debt? Well, many ways; but none as satisfying.

Black Bolt #9

Black Bolt and Blinky visit Titania to tell her that her husband is dead. And then the three of them hold a funeral for Crusher Creel. It starts with a toast at his local watering hole, and ends with a visit from Captain America and Odinson, who come to pay their respects to a worthy adversary who died a hero’s death.

This issue got to me. I’m no bastion of emotional fortitude or nothing, but, because of everything leading up to this, this death meant something, and Crusher’s funeral means something too. Within the pages of this story, Crusher found love and redemption. That his funeral drew heroes and villains alike says that his life mattered because in the end, he chose to give his own for someone else’s. It’s a simple story, but a powerful one. We’re all loved. We all matter. No matter where we come from, we can all choose to be heroic. And that will matter too.

Hawkeye #14

Kate remains captured by Eden, who gives her a moment with her mother to convince her to turn her back on Clint.

Meanwhile, Clint and Kate’s friends make a plan to find where Eden took Kate, and save her. The plan Clint comes up with after finding out where Eden and Kate are? Kidnap Madame Masque, who’s still in a Kate clone body, and pull the ol’ switcharoo on Eden. Like most of Clint’s plans, he hasn’t thought this one entirely through.

This is mainly a Clint issue, and it’s great how Thompson continues the tradition of writing Clint as an almost utter fuckup, but importantly, a likable fuckup who always tries his best.

Rise of the Black Panther #1

This series, which serves as a retelling of T’Challa’s origins and early years as Black Panther, has two Black Panther’s in it, neither of whom are T’Challa. The book begins with his grandfather Azzuri meeting Captain America and the two working together to defend Wakanda from Hydra; then follows the reign of T’Chaka, as told by his first wife, and T’Challa’s mother, N’Yami. Together, the story tells of two kings who broke tradition for the betterment of Wakanda. Azzuri gave vibranium to an outsider so that he could use it to save the world; and T’Chaka made a common woman his Queen, and gave her the resources she needed to study vibranium and develop new technologies from it. But, it is also a story of Wakanda being pulled onto the world stage as it is attacked by outsiders for the first time. Wakanda is able to repel them, but always at a cost.

This first issue does a great job at establishing the legacy that T’Challa inherits from his forefathers; a legacy of a recently unified country just beginning to expand past its history of secrecy. It presents T’Challa inheriting a country at the height of its power, but also, at its most vulnerable. It also establishes that whatever T’Challa does, he’s following in the footsteps of imperfect men. This issue ends with the stakes being that T’Challa has to be a Black Panther unlike any Wakanda has ever known. The next ones will have to tell us how he begins to become that.

Paper Girls #19

The Girls, and Chris, decide to find old!Tiff before she gets smushed by the giant robots, and when we meet old!Tiff, she has a run in of her own with some future-folk. And through the whole issue, including the Girls and Chris finding old!Tiff and going to a church for safety, Mac doth protest KJ’s lesbianism way too much, to the point where her edginess begins irking the other characters.

Like pretty much every issue this arc, this one moves quickly, ending almost before you know it. And, a lot of this issue is characters playing catch-up with one another as they go over that Tiff is married to Chris, Tiff can see the fighting robots, and time-war. Like, it makes sense in-universe that the characters have to re-explain everything to the people who weren’t there for the initial exposition, but being that we the audience presumably know most of this, it stalls the issue and the overall story a bit too much.

Crosswind #6

Cason and Juniper finally meet in Seattle and prepare to defend themselves and each-other’s friends and families from the gang coming to kill them all.

Like all great finales, this is an issue full of self-actualization and beautiful bloody coups de grace, mostly from June, who finally stands up to her whimpering douchebag husband. Cason also actualizes, deciding what he wants to do with the rest of his life, being that he can’t go back after today. By the end of the issue, Simone manages to bring all of her characters to satisfying places, while still giving them some room for inferred growth.

Staggs, meanwhile, gets to finally deliver on the action and blood front, and even draws a poignant send off for her recently departed dog.

The final panel of this issue promises more Crosswind, but with such a satisfying ending, I have to hope the series continues as an anthology, showing us another incredibly freaky-friday.

Comic Reviews 1/3/18 Batman and the Signal #1 After years of teasing and buildup, Duke Thomas finally has a suit and a codename.

#batman #black bolt #black panther #crosswind #dc comics #green arrow #hawkeye #joker #justice league #marvel #paper girls #signal #white knight

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unofferable-fic · 4 years

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The Flower & The Serpent (Arthur Morgan x OFC)

Chapter 7 - The Luck of the Rebels

Summary: In the early 1890s, the Van der Linde Gang were truly at their finest. Experts at stealing from the rich and giving to the poor, they’ve made a name for themselves across the West. Two of their newest recruits, a pair of rebellious Irish siblings with an unknown past, slowly find their footing and settle into their new lives as outlaws. And yet, as they grow older, threats from all sides begin to appear. A strained relationship with Colm O'Driscoll spells disaster for the gang, and no matter how far they roam across America, the world continues to change around them. If they want to survive, difficult choices must be made. No one is as they seem and the impending arrival of law and order threatens to tear the siblings, and everything they hold dear, apart. Is it too late for anyone to find a happy ending?

Gif originally found here

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Pairing: Arthur Morgan x OFC

Warnings: Language, Irish patriotism, fluff.

Word Count: 6,047

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

Playlist: “Let Me In, Heathcliff” — Ruth Barrett, “Mo Ghile Mear (with Sting)” — The Chieftains, “The Rebel Soldier” — Craig Duncan, “We Hear Them Talking” — General Vibe

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A/N: Also available on AO3. Chapter seven comin’ at y’all.

Maebh found herself waiting uneasily with William and Davey in camp, eyes focused on the trail down which their companions had disappeared. While Davey asked her questions about what the hell her and John had seen, William remained eerily quiet, attention seemingly drifting between the visitor and the pocket watch in his hand.

She eyed him up and down, already knowing that his mind was going a mile a minute. “When did you lose the watch again?”

“Yesterday or last night,” he murmured, studying his possession carefully. “I’m not sure which.”

“Dutch didn’t break it, did he?”

He shook his head. “Nah, I think he just caught the edge of it with his foot, but it’s still tickin’ away.” He paused and then shoved it into the pocket of his jacket. When he spoke again, his voice was accompanied by a slight growl, unnerved with the unusual developments. “I definitely would’ve noticed had it been dropped outside his tent.”

“And if not you,” Davey began, eying the tree line. “One of us would’a noticed if it’s been missin’ that long.”

Though they were each clearly coming to the same conclusion, none of them seemingly wanted to say it aloud. Maebh sighed and quickly lit a cigarette, opting for any sort of distraction from the uneasy truth — someone had most certainly placed William’s watch outside Dutch’s tent. They wanted it to be found. And, lo and behold, on the same night when John spots a ropey figure sneaking around outside camp.

Hearing footsteps coming down the path, Maebh raised her head to see Dutch and Hosea returning. If their scowls were anything to go by, the probably didn’t find the person who was messing with them.

“You catch that fucker?” Davey asked, ever the optimist.

“No,” Dutch answered. “He was gone before we even arrived, but John was pretty insistent ’bout what he and Maebh saw. Arthur is gonna stay with him for the rest of the night, as am I, just in case that fool comes back.” His eyes drifted to William, who still wore a frown, deeply accentuating the scar running through his brow. “I believe you when you say you didn’t leave your watch there, William. It ain’t like you.”

“One of us would’ve noticed the watch sittin’ there for an entire day,” Maebh added, standing close to her sibling. “Especially if we’re always walkin’ in and out.”

“Right you are, Miss Hennigan. It doesn’t add up.”

Miss Grimshaw, who took it upon herself to explain to the other confused gang members what exactly was going on and why their sleep had been interrupted, returned with a double barrel shotgun in hand. “What’s the plan, Dutch?”

“Arthur, John, and myself are gonna stay on watch for the night while the rest of you get some sleep. It’s been a long evenin’.”

“You need an extra gun?”

“Sure, if you’re willin’. Ain’t no harm in it, I guess. But four is enough. Off to bed with the rest of ya.”

Had the events of that night not transpired, Maebh would have been excited to finally rest her eyes after a long and tasking day. And yet, when she went to her tent, she found it difficult to drift into sleep with the knowledge that someone had somehow invaded the only place in America where she and her brother felt safe. At least she could have some solace with him by her side.

* * *

3rd September, 1893, outside Winterset, Iowa

We haven’t seen hide nor tail of our camp intruder since Maebh and John’s run in outside camp. Though four of us remained on guard duty that night, he never came back, nor did he come back any night after that. There’s a tense atmosphere around camp, and while he is usually resilient, young William seems angry that someone could invade his personal space and steal something he held so dear. He is more inclined to go on guard duty now, and volunteers for anything that involves keeping an eye on camp. Probably wants to murder the bastard himself before anyone gets a hand in...

The train heist couldn’t be coming at a better time. Dutch seemed excited at the prospect of another good take and, after selling off some of the stolen goods from that homestead to a poor community outside Des Moines, more money couldn’t come at a better time. We could do with some new supplies, and god knows Pearson could do with some fresh meat or herbs or something. He wants me and Maebh to lead with this one considering Hosea is taking another lead and Bessie has come down with something. We’ve also brought in William and Marston for the job, with Karen on standby incase we need an extra gun to be on the safe side. It seems promising, and we could use some good news.

While John does some investigating about a plan of action and the local law, I’ll be heading over to Saint Charles to have a word with a friend of Trelawny’s about that train. After that, we need to discuss how we plan and stopping the thing without hurting any innocent folks…

* * *

Shutting his journal, Arthur yawned and got to his feet. As he put his hat on and strolled out into camp, Dutch approached. “Good mornin’, Arthur.”

“Mornin’, Dutch,” he replied with a little nod. “You seem in a good mood this mornin’.”

“That’s because it is a fine mornin’, son.” He waved a long arm around camp, the gang working away in the bright and warm day. “A fine mornin’!”

“Should be nice to ride to Saint Charles in this,” Arthur added, taking an apple out of his satchel. “After the weather we’ve had lately.”

Dutch began to walk with him over to the stew pot where Susan and Karen were already standing drinking their morning coffee. The two men poured their own cups as Dutch continued on. “I actually wanted to talk to you ’bout that. I’d like you to bring the two Hennigans along with you.”

“How come?”

“I think the young feller needs to get out for a bit,” Dutch elaborated. “He’s been on edge ever since his pocket watch was found — we all have. He needs a good distraction. And Miss Maebh, well, you know they’re attached at the hip.”

Arthur nodded his head in agreement, munching away on the fruit. “Sure, Dutch. What about Marston?”

“Everyone else is workin’, so I’ll go over any information he gathers. I got the Callander boys out on a lead with Karen, and Hosea is lookin’ into the next place we can move to if we need it. He’d rather stay here with Bessie on account’a her bein’ a lil sick.”

Arthur had a sup of his coffee and asked. “You got any plans today?”

“Bar helpin’ John, I’ve a woman I need to visit.”

Arthur couldn’t help but smirk at his mentor. “That girl from the saloon? You don’t waste time.”

“You gotta live life to the fullest, Mr Morgan. That and considerin’ we haven’t seen nothin’ ’bout that stranger since the other night, I don’t mind leavin’ camp for a few hours. Miss Grimshaw said she’d rather stay here to keep an eye out too, which gives me a chance to woo the lovely Annabelle.”

“Then you might as well live life to the fullest,” Arthur chortled, mirroring his previous words. The pair chatted casually over their coffee for a while more before Arthur went off to find the Hennigans. At Swanson’s suggestion, he found them a little while down stream, fishing together in an attempt to replenish food supplies. They sent him some enthusiastic greetings as he approached.

“Are you finally takin’ me up on my fishin’ offer, Arthur?” Maebh asked. “Or you here for somethin’ else?”

“Here for work,” he explained, noticing how they already had a few fish caught in a bag sitting on the shoreline. “If you two wanna get outta camp for the day.”

William’s brow piqued. “I think you know the answer to that.”

“Is this ’bout the train?” Maebh replied.

“Oh, then we’re definitely comin’ with you!”

Arthur waved them after him. “Well c’mon then. Drop those fish off at Pearson’s wagon but bring one or two along — we can eat ’em on the way to Saint Charles. We mount up in ten.”

The siblings obliged and William slung the bag over his wide shoulders. With the fish delivered to a satisfied cook, the siblings soon met Arthur by the horses with some supplies for the day packed and ready for the short trip. It was thankfully quicker than the previous one Arthur and Maebh had ventured on with Hosea. They took a break on the outskirts of town to cook up some of their earlier catch. As they always were when in the other’s company, the siblings seemed in high spirits, joking and telling Arthur a story about learning how to fish as children.

“Da was adamant that we learn how to fish,” Maebh continued on as she ate the last bite of crispy fish meat. “Says we need’ta learn how to fend for ourselves and all that, right? So usually William takes to this stuff like a fish outta water — always got on with horses, always did great breakin’ ’em, was a natural at huntin’ and skinnin’ — but for some reason, this was another story. Da is teachin’ us how to cast and I do okay — it lands in the water as far as my little arms can send it. But William wants to cast his even further. So he whips it back as hard as he can, and flings it forward. We look up, only to see Da’s hat that he left sitting with our gear caught on the end of the line and goin’ flyin’ into the lake. Every time we went fishin’ after that, he would clutch his hat on top of his head and stand as far away from William as possible.”

The story gave Arthur a good-natured chuckle. “Well now I know where you two get your sense of humour from.”

“Our parents were both pretty sarcastic,”William agreed. “As is most of Ireland, I’d say.”

“How did you end up in America?” he asked with curiosity. “From how y’all talk about Ireland, it’s obvious you miss it.”

William threw his sister a glance before she answered. “The British didn’t exactly make it an easy place to live. There was fightin’ left and right so our parents thought it’d be easier to raise us here.”

“I ain’t gonna pretend like I know a lot ’bout Irish history, but I get the impression y’all ain’t fond of the English.”

“We don’t dislike all of ’em,” William added, though his tone was severe. “But their soldiers have been killin’ our people for centuries. There were people campaignin’ for home rule before we left, and when the bill didn’t pass, our parents left with us on a boat bound for New York.”

Arthur nodded along, eager to hear more of their time back home. Bar the usual exclamations about ‘the feckin’ Brits’, he rarely managed to get any information involving their mother and father. He knew nothing of Home Rule, he knew nothing of the British, but why would he? The only bit of education he received from the Hennigans was the fact the Potato Famine wasn’t technically a famine…

“So what, the Irish was tryin’ to rule themselves instead of havin’ the British rule them?” Arthur scratched at his chin in thought. “Seems like a good thing to fight for.”

“Course it was,” William agreed. “You lot had your own war with them too, sure.”

“I gather from your passion that your folks were patriots too?”

There was a short silence around the campfire and for a moment Arthur was worried he had overstepped with an apparently simple question. While Maebh remained silent on the subject, William replied carefully. “Yeah, they were a pretty patriotic pair if I’m honest.”

At that, the conversation dwindled and Arthur seized the moment to get to his feet. “We should, uh, pack up and head into town.”

The brother and sister followed his lead, quickly helping him put everything away and the trio were soon making their way into Saint Charles.

Leaving their horses hitched outside the local post office, Arthur addressed them both. “Okay, so from what Trelawny told us, the clerk who works behind the desk in there is crooked for the right price. We’ll go in and have a chat with him but you two leave the talkin’ to me.”

“You gonna charm him, Morgan?” William asked as they strolled towards the building.

“I ain’t no charmer, but I sure as hell know how to be a scary son-of-a-bitch.”

As they scaled the wooden steps up to the post office’s front door, Arthur spotted a man sitting on a bench outside with his eyes trained on them. At first, this older man made him wary, but as the stranger folded up the newspaper he had been reading, a wide smile covered his plump face.

“William Hennigan?” the man said, his eyes wide in astonishment. “Tusa atá ann nó a bhfuil mé ag taibhreamh?”

Arthur was dumbfounded and, before he could offer to cover up their identities, William stopped in his tracks and asked his own question. “An tUasal Ó Murchú?”

“Bhí a fhios agam gur tusa a bhí ann!” he said delightedly as William approached him for a friendly handshake. Only then did he notice the woman in their company. “Agus tá Iníon Maebh anseo freisin!”

“Buíochas le Dia,” Maebh exclaimed and offered the old man a warm hug. “Shíl mé nach bhfeicfinn tú arís. Conas atá tú?”

“Táim ar fónamh, táim ar fónamh!”

Arthur stood awkwardly on the sidelines as an apparent reunion took place with an old Irish friend. He watched his gang-mates, unsure as to whether he should introduce himself or leave them to a private exchange. While he bided his time, he looked this new man up and down. By his clothing, Arthur assumed he was a trader or farmer of sorts. He looked old enough — perhaps older that Dutch — with his greying hair and beard, and a heavyset frame. He was a big man in both weight and height; the kind of person William usually would have called a ‘big, mean-lookin’ bollocks’. Despite the fact he looked as though he could squash a man by sitting on him, the smile he wore seemed to never fade as he greeted the siblings and rambled on excitedly in their native tongue.

As Arthur looked around helplessly, Maebh suddenly remembered his existence and placed a hand on his arm. “Ah, Jesus, tá brón orm, an tUasal Ó Murchú. This is our friend, Arthur Morgan. Arthur this is an old friend of ours from Wisconsin, Mícheál Ó Murchú.”

Using what little Irish he had managed to remember, Arthur shook Mícheál's hand and offered him an unsteady greeting. “Dia duit, Mícheál.”

Maebh appeared somewhat surprised while Mícheál let out a laugh. “Dia is Muire dhuit, Arthur. An bhfuil Gaeilge agat?”

Arthur paused for a second before shaking his head with a laugh. “I’m sorry, I’m afraid that’s all the Irish I got.”

“When did ye learn that?” Maebh asked, smiling broadly.

“Picked it up from listenin’ to you two. It’s ’bout all I could manage.”

“Sure it’s better than nothin’!” Mícheál replied in an accent almost as thick as his frame. “Sure look, a friend of the Hennigan kids is a friend of mine.”

“Mícheál was our old neighbour back in Wisconsin,” Maebh elaborated, smiling at the memory. “We met him on the boat over here. Owned a ranch up the way with his wife and son.”

“Ah,” Arthur drawled. “So you were tryin’ to get away from the English too?”

“Too fuckin’ right I was! That shower o’bastards took my land and didn’t they only go and reject another Home Rule bill yesterday.”

“I saw,” William grumbled with his arms folded across his chest. “All those governments are the same. Too busy steppin’ all over common folk to sort out any messes.”

“Usually the government are the ones causing ’em,” Arthur offered. “Though I can only speak for the American government in that regard.”

Mícheál gave him a friendly but hefty clap on the shoulder. “Here, I’m sure these youngins have eat your ear off enough that you know all ’bout na Sasanaigh back in Éire.”

“They may’ve mentioned it once or twice,” Arthur joked. “It’s been an educational experience.”

“Those kinda people have a lot to answer for” he growled before his expression turned solemn. The air shifted and Arthur had been confused with the sudden tension as Mícheál placed a hand on William’s shoulder. “I thought you too had been killed after I heard what happened to your dad. It was only when I saw the wanted posters did I know you’s had survived.”

Arthur shifted on his feet, unable to contain his interest in the change of conversation as the old friends caught up. Maebh glanced at him uneasily and he took that as a queue to take a few steps back. Though he gave them a little bit of privacy, he still heard the conversation as it continued on in their native tongue.

“Níor thug siad rogha dúinn, Mícheál,” Maebh was saying in a hushed whisper. “Fágadh amhail marbh muid.”

“Tá a fhios 'am,” Mícheál replied, sounding like he was trying to calm her. “Ní raibh mé ag súil le haon rud níos fearr . A leithéid de sprionlóir!”

“Ní féidir le duine ar bith a fháil amach cá bhfuilimid,” William chimed in. “Táimid ceart go leor, ach má fhaigheann an rialtas amach cá bhfuilimid, déanfar muid a mharú.”

Arthur looked at them over his shoulder as Mícheál nodded firmly. “Is binn béal ina thost!”

“Sorry to interrupt,” Arthur cut in before pointing to the post office. “I’ll head inside and get that letter sorted while you three catch up, alright?”

“Sure thing, Arthur,” Maebh replied with a grateful smile. “Take your time.”

And take his time he did.

The clerk was, as Trelawny promised, more than happy to provide some information in exchange for a few dollars. He casually scribbled down the trains exact course and its scheduled times between stops. Thankfully, the lead became more and more promising with each new piece of information gathered. Sometimes these things turned out to be dead ends and he had certainly experienced his fair share of those. With a nod to the clerk, Arthur headed back into the cool morning air and saw that his companions still stood talking with the old man. Hugs were shared, by the looks of things they were parting ways. He met Maebh’s gaze and gave her a shrug, hoping that she understood his hesitance to interrupt. While her green eyes studied him intently, she held out delicate a hand to him, a gesture he took as a signal to return to the group. He awkwardly held her small hand in his and allowed her to gently pull him back into the fold. Despite the initial contact, he hadn’t been prepared for her to loop her arm around his in an affectionate manner.

“Thanks for that, Mícheál,” she said, switching back to a language he could understand. “You always were a good man.”

The old Irish man grinned beneath his thick white beard as he fitted a flat cap on to his head. “You’s two know more than anyone that this world can be a cruel one. We have to stick together if you want to make it outta here alive, isn’t that right, Mr. Morgan?”

“It sure is, Mr. Ó Murchú,” he replied, hoping that he hadn’t butchered the man’s last name with his inexperienced tongue. “You gotta be loyal to what matters.”

“You’s found yourselves a fine friend here, pháistí. A feckin’ fine friend indeed. Take care of each other and you know where I am if you’s need me.”

They exchanged their goodbyes, and soon Mícheál was ascending his wagon and rolling away with a casual wave. Arthur watched him go, noting the slightly despondent look on the siblings’ faces. “Y’all alright?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Maebh answered, still hanging on to his arm. “We’re good.”

“Guess we weren’t expectin’ to see him ’round here,” William offered measuredly, eyes fixed on the now distant figure. “It’s been four years since the last time.”

Unwilling to push them to talk about it if they weren’t comfortable, Arthur gave Maebh’s arm a gentle tug. “How ’bout we head back to camp then? I got all the information we need for the train.”

The siblings readily agreed, though their demeanours were far more reserved than they had previously been on arrival. He walked to their horses, half expecting for Maebh to release her hold on his arm, but instead she casually strolled arm in arm with him. The intimate gesture made his cheeks flush but he kept his mouth shut, sure that if she was uncomfortable she would have no problem with telling him to go away. As they reached her mount, Arthur released her arm and offered her a helping hand up on to Dullahan’s back. He knew she could get up on her own — this wasn’t something he doubted — but after escorting her along, it seemed like the polite thing to do. As she took the hand he offered in hers, he swallowed thickly and helped to hoist her upwards. Once she was safely seated, he hurried himself to his own saddle and kept his gaze on anything but her. Thankfully, it seemed like her thoughts were focused on other things. Unfortunately, he couldn’t help but focus his on the words Mícheál had uttered that he did manage to understand. He had, not by their choice, discovered some small things about Maebh and William’s upbringing that they clearly didn’t want anyone at camp knowing. At first he was uncertain as to whether he should be suspicious or worried. He had his own secrets for his own reasons, so maybe he shouldn’t be surprised that they too held untold stories close to their young hearts.

Mícheál had been correct about one thing — the world was a cruel, cruel place, one in which everyone seemed to have pasts that haunted them or hidden skeletons they could never forget.

They rode back to camp in a mostly silent and somber atmosphere, unsaid words and admissions held on tied tongues. In saying so little, they had said a lot. Arthur could only hope that some day they would trust him enough to share their undeserved burdens through honest conversation. Then, perhaps, he too could share his own.

* * *

Back at camp, Maebh was leading Dullahan along to graze with the other horses. Their trip to Saint Charles had gone well with regards the intention of gathering information. The run in with a ghost from their past, however, was unexpected. Still, she didn’t have much time to ponder the encounter before Dutch had called the three of them over to talk details.

Inside Dutch’s tent, John Marston sat over a bunch of papers, clearly in deep thought.

“Don’t think too hard there, Marston,” William said as he arrived. “Your brain ain’t used to that shite. It’ll explode if you push it too hard.”

“Fuck off, Hennigan,” John replied gruffly, clearly unamused. “Do you ever shut up?”

William paused, letting the silence hang. “Are you flirtin’ with me?”

Arthur let out a laugh while John nearly snapped the pencil he was clutching tightly. Dutch, sensing the ensuing argument, interrupted. “John, why don’t you update them on our plan before a fight breaks out in my tent?”

“Right.” He cleared his throat and began to address the group. “We’ve been thinkin’ ’bout how we’re gonna actually go about robbin’ this train. We was throwin’ some ideas together when I suggested the best way to go ’bout it would be to get ourselves on that train.”

“Whatchu mean ‘on it’?” Arthur asked with a thoughtful expression.

“We goin’ t’jump it?” Maebh added.

John shook his head. “We’re goin’ as passengers.”

“Hold on. You want us—” She quickly gestured between the four of them. “—to go as passengers on a train full of rich lads? Us?”

“Well… yeah.”

“We don’t exactly look like high caliber posh people, now do we?”

William scoffed. “Speak for yourself.”

“All we need to do is get cleaned up and buy some fancy clothes,” John insisted. “With Trelawny’s help we can tickets off that crooked clerk you met today and hop on the train before it heads through the quiet spot. Then, once it passes through there, we’ll start the robbery. We’ll have two in the first carriage and one at the back. One of us is goin’ to go dressed as a worker so they can get to the driver and force him to stop the train. This way, we got everythin’ covered. Get in, stop the train, rob ’em, and get out.”

“So what you’re sayin’,” William began slowly. “Is that we’re goin’ in undercover and we have’ta pretend to be snooty rich pricks? Like actors?”

“Basically, yeah.”

In a rare show of enthusiasm, the young Irishman clapped his hands. “Right, I’m in.”

“That’s actually not a half bad idea, Marston,” Arthur admitted, looking happy with the day’s work. “You’re gonna need a serious bath though.”

“You’ll all need serious baths if you’re gonna pass for those kinda rich bastards,” Dutch cut in, giving John a supportive squeeze of the shoulder. “You all did great work today — really great work — but we’ll get into specifics later. Go get somethin’ to eat and rest your feet awhile; you all earned it.”

Maebh was soon sitting at the campfire with William, forcing herself to eat Pearson’s leftover fish stew. They had been visibly uneasy since their encounter with Mícheál. He was the first person they had seen from their old life in Wisconsin and they were hardly expecting to see him in a different state altogether. He was nice enough to let them know where his new homestead resided outside Saint Charles and, while she was uncertain about visiting, William seemed fond of the idea. Perhaps at some point they would pay him a call for old time sake. He had always been a good man. Even their father used to trust him enough to take care of her and William when he wasn’t around.

Still, Arthur being there was an unfortunate circumstance she wished could have been avoided. What she and her brother had done was something she hoped he would never discover. Yes, they were outlaws and yes, they had probably done bad things themselves, but this was something that could bring more trouble on to the gang than necessary. As long as they never returned to Wisconsin, perhaps the confession could be avoided. The pressure that remained on her shoulders was constricting and weighed heavier today once Arthur had heard things she wished he hadn’t. She could only assume that William felt the same way.

Noting that the Reverend was sitting nearby, flicking through his bible, Maebh muttered to her brother in their native tongue. “Are you alright after earlier?”

He looked at her and replied in an even tone. “I suppose. It’s a bit of a weird one. It was nice to see Mr Ó Murchú, but I’m worried Arthur might be suspicious ’bout what he heard.”

“Me too,” she admitted. “It definitely would’ve sounded ropey to him.” She paused, finishing the last mouthful of her meal and placing the bowl and spoon on the ground. “I know it’s probably a stupid idea, bu I wish we could just, I dunno, talk to someone ’bout it.”

“That’s not stupid. It’d be nice if we could considerin’ it’s a weight that’s constantly there whenever Dutch talks ’bout loyalty…”

“If you had to tell one of ’em, who would it be?”

William’s brow furrowed, his deep scar highlighted in the light of the fire. “Hosea, Dutch, or Arthur if I’m honest. You?”

“I’d be happy to talk to Hosea or Dutch ’bout it, but not Arthur.” When he gave her a look of scepticism, she shook her head. “It’s not that I don’t trust him, but I’d be more worried ’bout him not trustin’ us as far as he could throw us afterwards. Whereas Dutch or Hosea might give us the benefit of the doubt.”

“Right, right,” William mumbled in understanding before releasing a sigh. “I get that. He’s been very good to us. I’d hate to see him put off by all those goings on.”

“Arthur is a good man to have on your side, so I aim to do very little in life to upset him. Y’know who might be good to talk to as well? Mrs Matthews.”

The idea grabbed William’s full attention. He wiped his beard and mouth with the back of his hand and dumped his bowl inside hers. “That’s actually a good shout.”

Mrs Matthews and Miss Grimshaw were definitely the matriarchs of the camp. They were always there to help if someone came back from a job injured, and always there to scold someone for not pulling their weight. While Miss Grimshaw was the type of person to blow off the kneecaps of someone who threatened you, Mrs Matthews was the type to embrace you afterwards and say you’ll be alright. They had both taken care of Maebh after the robbery in Winterset and while William was always there to help, sometimes friends with a more feminine touch were greatly needed. If there was someone she felt wouldn’t judge them, it was Bessie Matthews.

“Might be worth chattin’ to her and Hosea,” she suggested, nodding to the pair sitting off in their tent. “We don’t even have to get into specifics if we don’t want’a.”

After a moment’s contemplation, William clasped his hands together. “Suppose it’s worth a shot.”

He got to his feet and offered her a hand up. After leaving their bowls by the wagon, the pair strolled over to the tent where the older couple sat together, Hosea grounding up some herbs in a mortar while his wife read a book. She had a thick woven blanket wrapped around her shoulders, so Maebh assumed she was still feeling a tad under the weather.

“Knock, knock,” she said casually and waited outside. “Evenin’.”

Hosea looked up as they announced themselves and offered them a warm smile. “Ah, my favourite Fenian rebels.”

“Mind if we come in? Hopefully we’re not disturbin’ you’s.”

“Not at all! C’mon, take a seat.”

Maebh and William took him up on his offer, sitting themselves beside the laid out bedrolls. William eyed the older woman with concern. “How’re you feelin’, Mrs Matthews?”

“Not so bad,” she replied, sitting up sightly so that she could properly chat. “Feeling a little better than I did this mornin’.”

“Nothin’ a little ginseng can’t fix,” Hosea added, gesturing to the leaves he was grinding up. “This stuff is great when you’re under the weather. If you two ever happen upon some of it in your travels, bring it to me and I’ll show you how to make some health cures.”

“Cheers, Hosea,” William replied gratefully, looking at the mixture. “I’ll be sure to pass it on if I find some.”

“How did you two get on in Saint Charles today?”

William remained silent and allowed Maebh to take the lead with this one. “Good. We got all the information we needed from the clerk and it looks like Marston came up with some decent ideas for the heist while we were gone.”

“So it was a productive day all around then,” Bessie said with an encouraging smile. “I’m sure it’ll go off without a hitch.”

“Hopefully, yeah.”

“What brings you two to our tent, then?”

Keeping a close eye on her brother, Maebh answered. “We were actually wonderin’ if we could talk to you’s a’bout somethin’ more personal...”

Though the statement would probably bring a small sense of anxiety to most people, Mrs Matthews only offered an encouraging smile. “Of course. You know that you two can always come to us about anythin’, m’dear.”

“I dunno,” Maebh muttered. “We weren’t sure if we could come to any of you’s ’bout this.”

“It can’t be that bad,” Hosea said assuredly. “You two are in a gang fulla outlaws and orphans and folk who ain’t known nothin’ other than how to load a gun.”

“We understand that everyone probably has their own skeletons in their closet,” William said, adding his own two cents. “But ours won’t do us any favours.”

Bessie placed her hand over his in a comforting manner. “If it’s somethin’ weighin’ down on you both this much, then I’d rather you let it out. A guarantee you’ll feel better for it.”

“And we won’t see you as any different,” Hosea agreed, encouraging the discussion. “We’ll listen and help however we can. “Don’t you remember how Dutch and I met in the first place? A pair of hucksters tryin’ to rob each other, caught red handed, and y’know what we did? We laughed and shook hands.”

“And are you forgettin’ how they found Arthur and John?” Bessie said. “John about to be hanged for robbin’ a homestead and Arthur a petty criminal who would have no problem cavin’ your head in. Both only kids, but we took ’em in and tried to help. John had already murdered a man when he was only eleven years old. Do you really think we’re gonna look at you two any different?”

“All I know is,” Hosea began, mirroring his wife’s positivity. “That in the three years since you’ve joined this gang, you’ve both pulled your weight and done whatever you could to help the cause. You’ve no problem volunteerin’ for jobs or huntin’ to keep supplies up, and the bond you two share has only strengthened as time passed. You’ve both gelled right into the group and made friends that you trust to have your back. Regardless of what you tell us, we ain’t gonna suddenly turn ’round and erase the good years we’ve had.”

“He really has a way with words, don’t he?” Bessie chuckled and looked fondly at her husband.

Maebh looked to William, whose eyes conveyed the comfort he felt with regards telling the couple what they had done to wind up in such an unfavourable situation. With his permission, she took a deep breath and began telling their story.

Together, under the watchful gaze of two helpful elders, the Hennigans told all about their past discretions and how they came to be found robbing a risky stage in the middle of Wisconsin. Across camp, another pair of eyes were studying the youths carefully. Arthur sat atop his bunk, journal in hand and pencil scribbling away in an attempt to capture the scene. Ever the artist, he studied their expressions so that he could try to recreate the different emotions crossing their faces with lead on paper. He was unsure as to what the conversation had been about, but he could tell from the outside that it was something rousing a level of seriousness between the siblings. If he was to take a guess, it might have been about the unexpected encounter earlier that day.

Unable to do much else about it, Arthur sat and he drew, spending more time on capturing Maebh than the others. With careful strokes, he placed her profile on the page. Her eyes came next, then her thin nose, and rapidly moving lips. He didn’t notice how much time he’d spent on her before moving on to the others, but it seemed necessary. He felt that words weren’t enough to capture the range of emotions being expressed within the tent and the apparent story he couldn’t hear being shared. The beauty of the moment was something he wished to see and relive whenever he flicked through the pages of his journal. Whatever they had been through, he dearly wished to capture it.

Arthur took care in recreating her, more than he ever realised in the moment.

#red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x oc #john marston #red dead redemption fandom #rdr #rdr2 #fanfiction #fanfic #arthur morgan fanfic #the flower and the serpent #dutch van der linde #hosea mathews #rdr fanfiction #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan x ofc

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galactic-aesir · 5 years

Text

Road Trip!: Chapter Three

After getting hit with an anti-magic Shen Gong Wu that leaves Dojo unable to fly them back to China, the Dragons in training, plus Jack Spicer in tow, road trip across America towards the Bailey’s family ranch.

Surprising no one, it doesn’t go as planned.

Rating: Gen Tags: Multi-Chapter Fics, Road Trips, Temporary Truce, Dialogue Heavy, Dubious Placement in Canon

Read it on AO3 Read Chapter One

Keatt guffawed as they attempted to push the car towards the garage. The wreck was flat on its rims with a broken back axle. Even with the five of them at it, all they managed to do was make a two foot car-shaped groove in the muddy ground. One final heave sent them tripping over each other and crashing into the mud as Keatt bent over double, smacking his knee as he laughed.

“Ooh, fellas,” he tried saying between hiccups of laughter. “I haven’t suckered idiots like you in a while.”

He wiped a tear from his eye and tried to compose himself but the mocking smile on his face betrayed his amusement as they shook the mud off themselves.

“Anyways, I’ll be in the office. You have ‘til sundown to fix the car. Get off my property any later and I’ll call the cops on ya for loitering. Got it?”

With that, he sauntered off back to the office building leaving the monks plus Jack alone in the scrapyard. They grumbled as he left before turning their attention to the car.

“Great going, Pedrosa,” Jack snipped.

“Hey! I got us a car, didn’t I?!”

Omi looked at it curiously. “Does it qualify as a car?”

“No, it doesn’t, Omi.”

“Aw, come on, Kimiko.”

“Raimundo,” Kimiko said, cutting the brazilian off. “It’s a deathtrap past its prime. It’s an ex-car.”

Clay scratched at his head as he looked it over. “Woowie. I’ll admit, Rai. It looks like it won last place at the local derby seven years running.”

“So?” Raimundo said. “Jack can fix it.”

Split between agreeing with the praise and tearing into him, Jack settled with both. “Of course I can fix it! I’m a genius. But I can’t do it out here! How the hell are we supposed to get this into the garage?”

Clay peeked over his shoulder to see if Keatt was out of sight. Seeing no one around, he turned to the rest of him with a smile and motioned them all to get out of the way. “Don’t worry, y’all. I’ll have her out of there in a jiffy.”

Before anyone could ask him how, the texan smashed his foot to the ground.

“Earth!”

A column of earth erupted from under the car and pushed it into the air. Clay jumped onto the hood and with a wave of his hand began directing the wave beneath him. Riding it like a surfboard, Clay propelled the car towards the garage, whooping all the way. The monks watched him go.

“Huh, that works.”

***

After moving the car over into the garage, Jack toured them around the scrapyard with a rusty shopping cart. It took them the major part of an hour to fill it with the remnants of disused cars and partially wrecked trucks. They’d managed to find half of two engines and a replacement for the back axle along with a few other parts that Jack figured they would need and hauled them to the waiting car.

In the garage, surrounded by car parts and tools, Jack looked in his element. He spun a wrench in his hand and puffed up his chest as the monks looked over the piles of scrap. “I told you you’d need my help!”

“No, you didn't,” Kimiko said, utterly unimpressed.

He wagged the wrench at her. “It was implied!”

At the continued unimpressed looks from the monks Jack rolled his eyes.

“Whatever, now that I’ve got pretty much everything I need, I should be done with this in, like, four hours tops.”

“Four hours?” Raimundo said. “Can’t you go any faster?”

“Hey! If you want to frankenstein an engine out of scrap faster then be my guest, Pedrosa.” When Raimundo scowled at him Jack continued. “I’m just saying, losers; you need me. In fact,” he added tapping his chin in thought, “I don’t even know why I’m helping you out! I could just fix this car and leave by myself.”

At this, the monks took out their Wu nonchalantly if not menacingly. Jack shrank, laughing nervously, and relaxed only when the monks stashed their weapons.

“Haha, no worries, wouldn’t dream about it. I’ll have this thing working better than it ever did in its sorry life, you’ll see!”

“You’d better, Spicer,” said Kimiko.

“Wait, so what are we supposed to do while you work?”

Jack shrugged. “Don’t know, don't care, just as long as you stay out of my way.”

Dojo popped up from underneath Clay’s hat where he had decided to stay until they got on the road. It’d be easiest to hide himself under there if that swindler ever came back to check on them.

“I don’t know about you kids but I’m feeling a bit peckish.”

“Alright, I’ll go for snacks,” Kimiko said. “Clay, you wanna come?”

“Sure.”

“Ooh, get me a ginger ale!”

“And why should I?” she asked.

“Because I’m fixing the car and, wait, hold on, let me think, oh yeah: it’s my money!”

Kimiko frowned, he was right of course, not that she was going to admit it. Jack was a jerk and they may be stuck together for now but that didn’t mean she needed to like it. Or make it easy for him after all the grief he had put them through. Instead of a response, she turned to the rest of the monks, ignoring him completely.

“Omi, you coming?”

“Oh, I would like to help Jack! I am most interested in this motorhead stuff!”

“Gearhead.”

“That too!”

“Absolutely not,” would have been the words that Jack would have used. Instead, they died in his throat after the first syllable as Omi’s face fell, eyes welling with tears. Jack, for all the evilness in his pitch black heart, could not ignore the puppy dog eyes and so he swallowed down the words and huffed. “Alright, fine, you can hand me my tools or something.”

“Yes!”

Kimiko turned to their remaining member.

“Rai?”

“I’ll stay behind. Someone’s gotta keep an eye on you-know-who from stealing our you-know-what.”

“I’m right here!”

“Alright, then. We’ll be in that convenience store just outside of town. See you in a bit.”

Clay lazily waved a hand as they left. “Don’t trash the place, y’all.”

***

“Cheesehead, pass me a 3/8th wrench.”

Omi hummed as he looked at the open toolbox in front of him. It had many drawers and many more tools inside of it in a wide variety of shapes. The little monk was perplexed to find that he had absolutely no idea what any of them did. Nonetheless, Omi was not to be discouraged. Relying on his Tiger instincts, he quickly grabbed a tool he was sure Jack needed and placed it into Jack’s outstretched hand.

The hand quickly retracted as Jack went back to work. Omi congratulated himself. Even with no prior knowledge, he was no match for this task! Surely this was proof of his incredible skill and intelligence!

His pride was quickly dashed however when Jack straightened himself out of the hood and frowned at him. He pointed at the tool.

“This is a screwdriver.”

“Oh!” said Omi. “What does it do?”

Jack tipped his head back and groaned. “Ugh, I can’t work like this! Where’s a loyal minion when you need one?”

Raimundo zipped by them, using a floor creeper as a skateboard.

“Probably in that scraphead over there,” he grinned, pointing his thumb at what remained of the Jackbots.

“Hey! They’re not scrap!” Jack said, moving over to the pile of ex-Jackbots, as if to protect them. “They’re the meticulously engineered product of my incredible genius! They’re the pinnacle of modern robotics! Years ahead of their time!”

“Dude, they’re just robots.”

“Yes, and not particularly robust ones at that.”

Jack gasped and hugged the ex-robots, draping himself over the pile. “Don’t listen to them, they’re just jealous. Daddy loves you.”

“Weird.”

“Whatever,” Jack said, making his way back to the car.

He paused as a thought struck him and flipped the screwdriver in his hand before sitting himself down at the workbench to work on his robots.

“Hey, you’re supposed to fix the car, Spicer!”

“Yeah yeah, it can wait, this is more important,” he said prying the panel of a bot open and removing a small black component. Compared to the rest of the Jackbots, this part was obviously made solid with hard steel and heavy rivets. Wuya’s insignia on it glistened silver on the center of each one.

“What’s that?” Raimundo asked, leaning over Jack’s shoulder.

“Why’re you on my case, Pedrosa?”

Raimundo squinted at Jack. “‘Cause you’re evil.”

“Thank you!” Jack cupped his hands under his chin and batted his eyelashes at him.

“That wasn’t a compliment,” the Dragon of Wind frowned. “You could be building a bomb or something. I don’t trust you to just tinker around.”

Jack’s mouth was pressed into a line as he regarded the Xiaolin monk. “As tempting as it is, Raimundo, that wouldn’t help us out. Or me. Besides,” he said, mouth twirling into a smirk. “How would you even know if I was building one anyways?”

Raimundo's eyes went wide as it dawned on him. Jack looked on with a knowing smirk amongst the car parts and scrap metal and old wiring. He would have no idea if Jack was setting up a trap or a bomb. He would have to go on the Heylin’s word. Sensing this, Jack's lips curled further into a wicked grin.

“Huh. Guess we’ll just have to trust each other then.”

***

An electric jingle played as they walked passed the automatic doors. The cashier at the front offered them a welcoming hello before turning back to watch a baseball game on the old dusty TV set in the corner of the shop. It was a general store that had been repurposed many times over the course of its long life. It was old but clearly cared for by the current owner.

Clay and Kimiko set out between the scant aisles to get snacks for their friends and Jack. Kimiko was considering buying an off-brand ginger ale for Jack out of spite when Clay came around the corner with a mountain of chips and snack cakes. She snorted at the sight of him teetering under the mountain of snacks that were threatening to fall on top of him.

“Hold on there cowboy,” she said, the corners of her mouth twitching upwards, taking a few off his hands. “We can't blow our budget on snacks.”

Clay sighed and looked longingly at the snacks Kimiko was replacing onto the shelves. “I figure you’re right, there, Kimiko. I’d hazard saying that we still need to pay for at least one night at a motel.”

“‘At least’? How far are we from Texas?”

“It’s not exactly a hop, skip and a jump but it ain’t that far. I’d reckon a 30-sum hour drive?”

Kimiko’s face scrunched at the thought of being stuck in America for that long, let alone that long in a car with Jack Spicer.

“Is there anyway we could go faster, Clay?”

“No can do, Kimiko. ‘Less you want cops riding our tails.”

Kimiko grumbled. She grabbed a cheap ginger ale from the coolers and slammed the door shut.

“Figures.”

***

In the end, Jack hadn't actually been making a bomb. All he did was take out the small components out his bots and put them into his Wu-stealing bag, which Rai had asked about and yes, apparently not only did Jack have a bag just for stealing their Wu, he also kept it on his person at all times so he could haul his broken Jackbots back home at the end of a showdown.

“I don't get it, dude. Why don't you just build them better?”

“With, what?” he said, tossing the bag in the backseat next to his folded up trenchcoat and busted helipod. “Military grade steel and explosives? Do you know how hard it is to get a hold of that stuff?”

“Aren't you, you know,” Raimundo made air quotes, “‘an evil genius’?”

“An evil boy genius,” he specified, turning up his nose at the monk. He then paused and frowned. Looking embarrassed, he mumbled, “My parents won't buy me the good stuff anymore.”

Raimundo and Omi laughed at him.

Jack grabbed a wrench and made his way to the engine block. “Keep laughing, Xiaolin losers! Once I hit 18, you're screwed!”

“Jack Spicer, it would be unwise for you to wait until you are older!” Omi warned, running after him. “We train everyday to develop our abilities and we will only grow stronger! You will be left behind unless you begin training now!”

“Omi, please stop helping the bad guy,” grumbled Raimundo.

“Pssh, I don’t need help. Or training. I have robots for that. So have fun ‘waxing on, waxing off’ for the rest of your lives,” Jack said miming the movement. “Speaking of which, get going Raimundo. That car won’t clean itself.”

“Who said anything about cleaning?”

“I did,” Jack said with a smirk. “Get going, oh-so-noble Xiaolin Dragon of the Wind. The fight against cleanliness is an eternal struggle.”

“Indeed it is,” said Omi solemnly, thinking of Raimundo’s room back at the temple. “One that Raimundo is sorely losing.”

“Aw, what?”

“It would be wise for you to train on this Raimundo,” Omi said wisely. “As Master Fung says, ‘a tidy temple is a tidy mind,’ and it is important to keep one’s mind tidy in order to meditate. Perhaps your messiness is why you are lagging behind the rest of us!”

Raimundo was stunned out of words for a moment before squinting at the smaller Dragon as a realisation hit him.

“Is this about the chores I skipped out on yesterday?”

Omi did not hesitate. “Yes.”

“Come on, I said I was sorry!”

Jack laughed.

“Clean your mind, Raimundo,” the older teen said, waving his fingers at him. He then turned to Omi and said, “I’m teaching you how a combustion engine works. Hold this torch.”

Raimundo’s shoulders slumped as Omi bounced up to the top of the engine to get a better look at what Jack was doing. He couldn’t believe this. Was this what it felt like when he betrayed his teammates for Wuya? It sucked.

Oh wow. And just thinking about that just made him feel even worse.

Frowning, he looked to the trashed interior of the car and the quasi-unidentifiable junk littering the torn seats. With a sigh, he picked up a rag and got to work.

***

Clay and Kimiko quickly paid for the snacks and started their long walk back to the scrapyard. Once they were out of the town, Dojo popped out of his hiding place and opened a small bag of chips to munch on. There was no noise along the lonely, rarely traveled road other than the dragon’s munching and the crunch of their feet on the gravel shoulder.

Kimiko was staring intently at the styrofoam cup in her hand, fuming silently. Clay could feel the air charge around her as she boiled internally. It was strange of her. Clay wasn’t born in the metaphorical barn. He knew when something was up. In the quiet of the gentle bristle of leaves and crunching rock, his voice nearly startled her when he finally spoke.

“You mind me asking why you were so peeved off about no gettin’ back to the temple?” he asked casually enough. “This isn’t the longest we’ve been away or nothing.”

“Ugh, it’s just...” Kimiko frowned and shook her head. “It’s nothing.”

“Don’t sound like nothin’.”

“Why don’t you mind your own business, Clay?” she snapped.

Clay put his hands up in surrender. The plastic bags in his hands bounced against his arms. “Didn’t mean to pry, Kimiko.”

The Dragon of Fire felt her cheeks heat up in embarrassment. She hadn’t meant to snap, especially not at Clay who was, often times, the kindest of them.

“Sorry.”

“Mmm hmm.”

Kimiko bit at her lip, as if considering whether or not to speak. Clay kept his eyes on the road ahead of them but waited patiently for her to continue. Finally, she sighed.

“I was supposed to fly out to go see my Dad in Tokyo. We were planning a surprise party for my sister. It’s her birthday tomorrow.”

Clay cocked his head. He did remember her mentioning plans to go back home but Kimiko hadn’t told them about a sister.

“Well, happy birthday, Kimiko’s sister. She older or younger?”

“Older. A lot older. She works a lot too so I don’t see her much.”

“Oh, well,” Clay said, “I’m sure she’ll understand if you can’t make it. You can always reschedule for some other time, right?”

Kimiko's shoulders sagged, all anger snuffed out of her like a candle. She looked sadly at the styrofoam cup in her hands and flicked at the plastic lid absentmindedly.

“No. Not with the kind of work she does.”

Clay didn’t say anything, leaving room for Kimiko to continue if she wanted to. He understood that family could be… complicated.

“It’s just, I––” Kimiko started and stopped, trying to find the right words. “I know what she does is super important and I get that that’s what she wants to do but I– we haven’t been the three of us together in a room in years and... and I just...”

She sighed. “I just miss them.”

They continued to walk, both lost in their own thoughts for a while.

“I miss my sister too.”

Kimiko blinked out of her reverie. “What?”

“I have an older sister too,” Clay admitted. “My dad and her don’t...” He paused. “Well, they just don’t see eye to eye, is all. She lives with my mom.”

“Oh,” was all Kimiko could say. “I didn’t know.”

Clay shrugged. “‘Cause I didn’t tell,” he said. “An’ well, listen. I ain’t much with words, Kimiko, but I’ve got a decent ear. You’re free to talk to me if ya want. Y’ain’t gotta keep it locked up, ya know? It’s bad for your health.”

Kimiko laughed softly at that. “Who told you that?”

Clay smiled. “My sister. She’s smart like you wouldn’t believe. She’s going to one of those big city universities.”

Kimiko smiled back, bright like the sun. “She sounds smart. What is she studying?”

They continued to talk as they made their way back to the scrapyard, Dojo smiling fondly down at them as they went.

#xiaolin showdown #xs #kimiko tohomiko #clay bailey #jack spicer #raimundo pedrosa #omi #dojo #fanfiction #mywrites #I FORGOT TO POST THIS ON TUMBLR WHOOPS

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ganymedeandcallisto · 7 years

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someone asked me for the 100 questions but tumblr is fuckin up so here u go my friend

1. What’s your middle name, and do you like it? a: lea (pronounced lee), it was my grandmas middle name and yes I do love it  2. are you artistic? a: fuck yeah I am I sing and play instruments and do art  3. Have you had your first kiss? a: yes  4. What is your life goal? a: to be happy TBH  5. Do you have any expieriences with a famous person? a: my dad went to grade school with this guy who won an Oscar! also Bernie sanders came to my high school for a rally which was so so cool  6. Do you play any sports? a: what is a sport  7. What’s your worst fear? a: that everyone I love is pretending to like me TBH  8. Who’s your biggest inspiration? a: Kim from Matt and Kim ngl, also the people in Costa Rica who created the giant dog sanctuary  9. Do you have any cool talents? a: I play 6 instruments and also I have a really good memory  10. are you a morning person? a: YES I love getting up early especially when I don’t have to do anything  11. How do you feel about pet names? a: hate (dyldoge)  12. Do you like to read? a: YEAH I DO it’s so fun to me  13. Name a list of shows that have changed your life. a: the office, game of thrones, the walking dead (mostly cause glenn and maggie)  14. Do you care about your follower count? a: nope unless it’s 420 or 666  15. What’s the best dream you’ve had? a: probably one where I was either flying or hugging someone  16. Have you ever kissed someone of your same gender? a: I have not  17. Do you have any pets? a: YEAH I HAVE TWO BEAUTIFUL BABIES (dogs)  18. Are you religious? a: I am not  19. Are you a people person? a: ahahahahaha noooooooooooooooo  20. Are you considered popular? a: I’m not sure?? TBH  21. What is one of your bad habits? a: saying yes when I want to say no, also procrastinating  22. What’s something that makes you feel vulnerable? a: showing music I love to people  23. What would you name your children? a: *dogs I love all dog names  24. Who’s your celebrity crush? a: Marcos is the biggest celebrity of my heart  25. What’s your best subject? a: English/history that uncovers how awful white america is/has been  26. Dogs or cats? a: both!!!!!!!! but TBH dogs more  27. most used social media besides tumblr? a: I’m not sure but I’m gonna say chat snaps  28. best friends name a: Marcos and varla ofc <3 <3 <3  29. who does your main family consist of a: my sister and my mom and dad and my two beautiful dog children  30. Chocolate or sugar a: chocolate  31. have you ever been on a date? a: yes! not formally like “would you like to go on a date with me?” tho  32. Do you like rollercosters? a: I did……but Marcos and I went to the fair last summer and concluded that we are too old for this and our joints are too stiff  33. Can you swim? a: yes and I love swimming so much  34. What would you do in the event of an apocolypse? a: grab everyone I love and live in a Costco  35. Have you struggled with any kind of mental disorder? a: yes ednos, depression, and trichotillomania  36. Are your parents together? a: yes they are  37. What’s your favourite colour? a: green forever and ever  38. What country are you from/do you live in? a: USA :^)  39. Favourite singer? a: I’m gonna say my favorite artist is Matt and Kim but there are so many other favorites ahahah  40. Do you see yourself being famous some day? a: no TBH unless it’s for cooking  41. Do you like dresses? a: yeah I fuckin love dresses but they are uncomfy sometimes  42. Favourite song right now? a: poplar street by glass animals or vampire money by mcr honorable mention: planetary [go!] by mcr, well it’s true that we love one another by the white stripes, northeast by Matt and Kim, man on the moon by zella day, the way we move by langhorne slim and the law, when you’re young by Edward sharpe and the magnetic zeroes  43. Does talking about sex make you uncomfortable? a: no I actually really like talking about sex! I think it’s healthy to  44. How old were you when you first got your period? a: like 11 I think lmao  45. Have you ever shot a gun? a: nope and I don’t really wanna  46. Have you ever done yoga? a: yes  47. Are you a horror girl? a: hell yeah give me some of that 😩💯😭👌🏽✔️✔️👅💦💦😳👀😍 babadook  48. Are you good at giving advice? a: sometimes like I know exactly what I wanna say but I talk around it bc I’m bad at explaining things  49. Tell us a story about your childhood. a: one time when I was 4 my cousin was bothering me and putting a pillow over my face so I bit him so hard it bled and now he’s a trump supporter but I can’t bite him bc I’m an Adult  50. How are you doing today? a: I’m good!! I had a really great breakfast with my RA Rebecca and my roommate Sydney!  51. Were you a cute kid? a: there was no kid cuter than me up until like 1st grade when I got glasses  52. Can you dance? a: when no one is watching TBH  53. Is there anything you do that you can’t remember ever not doing? a: eating with chopsticks and also wanting to be in love  54. Have you ever dyed your hair? a: nooooo but I wanna  55. What colour are your eyes? a: brown  56. What’s your favourite animal? a: horses and dogs!!  57. Have you ever made a huge fool of yourself? a: yes I definitely have :^))))  58. Do you have a good relationship with your parents? a: I think so!! they support my decision to change my major and I’m so so happy  59. Do you have good friends? a: like 3 maybe who I never get to see :////  60. Are you close with anyone of the lgbtq+ group? a: ya bich it me (also yes!! many of my friends are)  61. What’s your favourite class? a: this quarter, Asian American studies  62. List all the tv shows you are watching. the walking dead, westworld, full frontal with Samantha Bee, daily show, game of thrones, I think that’s it?  63. Are you organized? a: honey………no  64. What was the last movie you saw? Opinion? in theaters I saw rogue one and I loved it so much THERE WERE POC LEADS  67. Which tv character do you relate to most? a: I don’t know actually but probably Pam from the office TBH  68. What are some things that stand between you and complete happiness? a: distance :/ and financial instability :/  69. If you received enough money to never need to work again, what would you spend your time doing? a: taking care of dogs  70. What would you change about your life if you knew you would never die? a: id change the not dying part…….it’s gotta happen sometime just not now  71. What would you do differently if you knew that no one was judging you? a: I’d dance all the time in public  72. If you could start over, what would you do differently? a: stand up for myself  73. Would you break the law to save a loved one? a: is this even a question of course I would  74. When was the last time you travelled somewhere new? a: in August when me and Marcos went to SLO  75. When you think of your home, what immediately comes to mind? a: the living room and my dogs greeting me and getting in n out for dinner  76. What have you done to pursue your dreams lately? How about today? a: I found out I can change my major really quickly  77. What did you want to be when you were a kid? a: a paleontologist I loved dinosaurs  78. If you dropped everything to pursue your dreams, what would you be risking? a: not too much actually I dream of being financially stable with my love Marcos and being surrounded by dogs and having my family live not super close but not too far away  79.When did you not speak up, when you know you really should have? a: in class bc participation is part of the grade  80. Describe the next five years of your life, and your plans, in a single sentence a: I’m going to finish college with a steady job, hopefully travel a lot, and spend all the time I can working towards The Dream™  81. What would happen if you never wasted another minute of your life, what would that look like? a: me: graduates college and gets a masters degree within a year  82. If you could live forever, how would you spend eternity? a: looking for a way to make Marcos also live forever and then taking care of all dogs  83. How would you spend a billion dollars? a: I’d buy a big house that has a lot of land for my dogs to run around in and pay for a bunch of kids’ tuition and buy my parents a bunch of vacations and create spaces for dogs everywhere and donate to Bernie Sanders and Elizabeth Warren……that’s kind of a big question  84. If you could time travel, would you go to the past or the future? a: the past so that I can see all the history white people cover up  85. What motivates you to succeed? a: The Dream ™ of being financially stable in a nice apartment with a few dogs and the love of my life Marcos  86. What dream that you’ve had has resonated with you the most? a: I had a nightmare that trump became president  87. Would you rather live in the city or the woods? Why? a: woods bc city smell like pee and is smoggy  88. Do you believe in life after death a: kinda but I hope it’s a life where I don’t really have to Do anything  89. What teacher inspired you the most? How did they? a: my great uncle because he was a professor of English and he loved my great aunt so much and had a house in the middle of nowhere surrounded by forest and deer and it had a greenhouse and a place for bats to roost  90. What’s your fondest childhood memory? a: making pillow forts with my sister and then destroying them by jumping on top of them  91. If you could have dinner with any one person, living or dead, who would they be and why? a: I wanna have dinner with Donald trump, specifically so I can stab him in his orange face with my fork  92. What would you have to see to cry tears of joy? a: not too many things TBH I cry very hard at practically everything  93. What is the hardest lesson you had to learn in life? a: you shouldn’t have to change something about yourself in order to deserve love (unless ur a neo nazi or a mass murderer or something like that obviously)  94. What do you think happens after we die? a: party in the afterlife  95. What would you do if you would be invisible? a: probably steal money from trump but make it look like mike pence or richard spencer did it  96. What’s something you can’t do no matter how hard you try? a: whistle ahahaha  97. Would you want to choose the sex and appearance of your offspring? a: all dogs are beautiful  98. How did your first crush develop? a: my first crush was on Luke Skywalker and it developed by me watching a new hope  99. Is there a feeling you are trying to ignore? What is it? a: it’s the feeling of That Fuck Shit and i ignore it on the daily  100. Do you live or do you just exist? a: time is meaningless and none of us Actually exist

#dt #long post #long posts

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womenofcolor15 · 4 years

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Here’s Why DOJ Says Trump Labeling ANTIFA A Terrorist Organization Is ‘Highly Problematic’ + Whites & Cops Spotted Doing Damage During Protests

Trump is vowing to name ANTIFA as a terrorist organization and the DOJ is explaining why that would be “highly problematic.” Meanwhile, videos of whites and cops doing damage to businesses during the George Floyd protests are surfacing. Get it all inside…

On Sunday, Trump tweeted that the U.S. government would be “designating ANTIFA as a Terrorist Organization.”

“I don’t see any indication that there were any white supremest groups mixing in. This is an ANTIFA Organization. It seems that the first time we saw it in a major way was Occupy Wall Street. It’s the same mindset.” @kilmeade @foxandfriends TRUE!

— Donald J. Trump (@realDonaldTrump) June 1, 2020

“’I don’t see any indication that there were any white supremest groups mixing in. This is an ANTIFA Organization. It seems that the first time we saw it in a major way was Occupy Wall Street. It’s the same mindset.’ @kilmeade @foxandfriends TRUE!,” he tweeted.

“These were the people that trashed Seattle years ago. Who’s paying for these people. I was appalled that 13 of Joe Biden’s staff were donating money to bail people out in Minneapolis. They should have stayed in jail until this is over (and beyond).” @newtgingrich @foxandfriends

— Donald J. Trump (@realDonaldTrump) June 1, 2020

He continued, “These were the people that trashed Seattle years ago. Who’s paying for these people. I was appalled that 13 of Joe Biden’s staff were donating money to bail people out in Minneapolis. They should have stayed in jail until this is over (and beyond). @newtgingrich @foxandfriends”

As expected, Trump is deflecting. He’s blaming the violent protests on radical left-wing group, ANTIFA, making NO mention of other possible groups that are participating in damaging property during the protests. Trump blames ANTIFA for driving all of the violence and property damage.

According to ABC News, senior officials within the Justice Department, which would prosecute any such cases, have publicly warned against designating any U.S.-based groups as terrorist organizations, with one senior official telling Congress that such a move would be "highly problematic."

Legally, it seems Trump doesn’t have the authority to do so. Also, designating a terrorist group is typically a lengthy process, which requires careful legal review, as well as proof of foreign ties.

ABC News reports:

In particular, current and former government officials have repeatedly worried that officially designating a U.S.-based group as a terrorist organization could have significant First Amendment consequences.

The First Amendment protects the rights of Americans who like spewing "hateful speech" and "assembling with others who share the same hateful views," so "unless an organization engages solely in unprotected activity, such as committing crimes of violence, any designation of a (U.S.-based) organization as a terrorist organization … would likely run afoul of the First Amendment," Mary McCord, the former head of the Justice Department's National Security Division, told a House panel in January.

Such free speech concerns aren't implicated when dealing with groups based abroad, such as ISIS or al-Qaida. After all, foreigners outside of the United States are not protected by the First Amendment.

Attorney General Bill Barr said the Justice Department would prosecute people who crossed state lines to participate in violence, citing his authorities under anti-riot legislation.

“The violence instigated and carried out by Antifa and other similar groups in connection with the rioting is domestic terrorism and will be treated accordingly,” Barr said.

Will they be prosecuting people who go online to incite violence under a fake alias? According to CNN, Twitter removed an account that was allegedly created by a known white supremacist group. Posing as ANTIFA, the now-suspended Twitter account tweeted a call for violence

"This account violated our platform manipulation and spam policy, specifically the creation of fake accounts," a Twitter spokesperson said in a statement. "We took action after the account sent a Tweet inciting violence and broke the Twitter Rules."

Goes to show how the alt-right is using this moment in time to continue to spew violence and hate.

President Trump also said on the call: "You gotta arrest these people...And you can't do the deal where they get one week in jail. These are terrorists, these are terrorists. They're looking to do bad things to our country. They're Antifa and they're radical left."

— Yamiche Alcindor (@Yamiche) June 1, 2020

Trump spoke with U.S. governors and told them "You gotta arrest these people...And you can't do the deal where they get one week in jail. These are terrorists, these are terrorists. They're looking to do bad things to our country. They're Antifa and they're radical left."

youtube

He told the governors they needed to "dominate" the protesters.

Listen to the full conversation is below:

youtube

While the Trump administration is blaming ANTIFA for everything, Pittsburgh Police Chief Scott Schubert said "anarchists" are likely the ones who hijacked peaceful protests downtown.

“I’m just so angry at the fact that some segment hijacked this and took some of the youth and brought them into the mix,” he said.

Peep a clip below:

View this post on Instagram

Keep on telling you these motherfuckers are the devils not all of them but most of them, we can’t Even protest in peace, they came and destroy ever thing and make it like we’re doing it.that is the message they want to see in the media. @baronemiamibeach @sportsoneclt

A post shared by PETER THOMAS (@peterthomasrhoa) on May 31, 2020 at 3:48pm PDT

What’s odd (or not since we’re talking about #45) is that Trump doesn’t make any mention of white people who have been caught on camera damaging property. Seattle Police Officers were seen damaging property:

youtube

In another video, cops were seen telling a white woman what to write as she was spraying graffiti on the side of a building:

View this post on Instagram

The cops were out here laughing with this white lady instructing her on what to tag on this building. If you listen closely towards the end they told her to add “Floyd.” What kind of shit is that? But of course this shit gone fall back on black people at the end of the day. Hate to see it.

A post shared by WALTER BRADY, MUST DIE (@walterwbrady) on May 31, 2020 at 10:39pm PDT

Not surprised.

This woman (who isn't black) was spotted stealing cheesecake:

“It appears the woman is walking out with a cheesecake after a Cheesecake Factory was looted. Unclear where she may have gotten that.” Where do they find these anchors?pic.twitter.com/QSr0fSr6B2

— Ana Kasparian (@AnaKasparian) May 31, 2020

Protesters pointed out white people tagging buildings with "BLM":

View this post on Instagram

Protestors are pointing out certain behaviors happening on the streets not being done by black protestors but that could cause only black protestors to take the fall.

A post shared by TheYBF (@theybf_daily) on May 31, 2020 at 7:20am PDT

A white man came out to a protest in Salt Lake City with a bow and arrow. He got into it with protesters and tried to shoot people with it! Everyone came together to disarm him and then they assaulted him. Check it:

NEW: Man in Salt Lake City threatened the crowd of protesters with a bow and arrow. In return, protesters destroyed his car. pic.twitter.com/LEemilHa2P

— Norbert Elekes (@NorbertElekes) May 31, 2020

was front and live of when that mother fucker pulled out the bow and arrow man. he definitely went into the protest to start some shit and got fucked up POS! #slcprotest pic.twitter.com/cwhBrdatjq

— Professor Gleam (@gleamgod2900) May 31, 2020

When he spoke with the media, he lied and said two African-American males beat him up when in fact, it was mostly people who are NOT black. Watch him lie below:

View this post on Instagram

If you didn’t see the 2nd video would you believe him? Smdh! Straight chaos in America!

A post shared by Safaree StuntMan (@safaree) on May 31, 2020 at 7:38am PDT

Karma caught up to him rather quickly. Here's what happened to his car after the incident:

an old white man pulled up in his car to the protest in utah today screaming “ALL WHITES MATTER” and literally pulled out a fucking BOW AND ARROW AND STARTED SHOOTING AT PEOPLE.

this is his car now pic.twitter.com/tduoL3Zmz6

— (@sadie_baby_) May 31, 2020

Hmph.

White people are also handing out bricks to people. This black woman said NOT on MY watch:

View this post on Instagram

Let them know Queen! Stay safe and stay woke, everyone!

A post shared by TheYBF (@theybf_daily) on Jun 1, 2020 at 6:44pm PDT

We'll just leave this here:

Despite all of the drama, peaceful protests have been happening across the nation:

JERSEY CITY HAD A PEACEFUL PROTEST TODAY. NO JUSTICE NO PEACE. pic.twitter.com/BS7ScBTHZW

— brainorchestra. (@_brainorchestra) June 1, 2020

#MIAMIPROTEST peaceful protest has moved to American Airlines arena 06/01 pic.twitter.com/MxGYHu605P

— Anthony Moreno (@taurusinforest) June 1, 2020

Peaceful protests today in Commack, New York. pic.twitter.com/1rmdTnU5qX

— Joli (@Jay_Izaguirre) June 1, 2020

Photo: Joseph Sohm/Shutterstock.com

[Read More ...] source http://theybf.com/2020/06/01/here%E2%80%99s-why-doj-says-trump-labeling-antifa-a-terrorist-organization-is-%E2%80%98highly-problematic

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ramialkarmi · 7 years

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Will Shu talks about the workers' rights litigation that threatens $2 billion Deliveroo

Deliveroo founder Will Shu talked to Business Insider about the workers' rights case that threatened the gig economy model of his massive food delivery startup.

He also talked about whether he might take Deliveroo public in an IPO.

The company is handing out helmet cams to deter the brutal attacks on his riders.

And, he tells us, he once worked for Just Eat as a delivery guy in order to see what his company was up against.

On Sundays in London, former Morgan Stanley banker William Shu gets on his bicycle and delivers pizzas, a job that pays about £10 an hour.

Shu is the CEO of Deliveroo. Shu says that he has only ever been recognised by a customer once, when he delivered to a colleague he used to work with at an investment fund. "I hadn't talked to him in like three years," Shu told Business Insider recently. "He didn't understand that I started the company. He just thought I was a delivery guy ... He was just like, hey, what are you doing? I didn't have time to talk to him. I said hey, I gotta go."

The man then started contacting mutual friends, asking, "I'm pretty sure Will delivered a pizza to me a few weeks ago, and there's no explanation."

There is no parallel among other tech unicorns, either. Having your pizza delivered by the CEO of Deliveroo — his company is now worth $2 billion (£1.5 billion) — is the British equivalent of having your books hand-delivered to your house by Amazon's Jeff Bezos.

Shu is hardcore about getting food delivered right. He got the idea for the company when he was working at Morgan Stanley in London. If he needed lunch or dinner at his desk, the "system" for ordering food consisted of a giant, messy bundle of takeout menus from local restaurants. There was no way to know what was good or bad, or which places were known for delivering promptly or not. How has this simple problem not been solved yet, he thought.

Now, Deliveroo is approaching a huge turning point, whether Shu likes it or not.

Shu and his board are hinting heavily that they might be preparing for an IPO. At the same time, the company is warily watching litigation work its way through the British courts that could upend its "gig economy" business model.

Like Uber, the people who deliver services for the company aren't classed as actual employees. They're freelancers, paid by the job. In November, a UK employment tribunal handed down an appeal ruling saying that Uber's drivers should be treated as employees — a decision that could guarantee them minimum wage and paid time off for sickness and holidays, among a host of other old-economy benefits. Deliveroo won a similar case, brought by 45 of its riders, but who knows what an appeal — or a change of law from government — might bring.

In the meantime, things couldn't look better for Britain's biggest unicorn: It has taken a staggering $865 million (£659 million) in investment funding, suggesting that its official valuation of $2 billion severely underestimates its true value (technology venture capital investors prefer returns on their money that are five or 10 times the cash they put in). He has 1,000 employees in 150 cities globally.

And Shu is nowhere near done — Deliveroo has yet to launch in the US, even though America is perhaps the biggest, most lucrative, and most friendly country for food delivery ideas. It is the place that will likely fuel Deliveroo's future growth.

Shu built all that in just five years.

Business Insider sat down with Shu in Lisbon at Web Summit, the giant tech conference. He told us what he's doing to protect Deliveroo riders from London's fearsome moped gangs, who target his riders with knives and acid in order to steal their vehicles.

We talked about his preferred solution to the employment lawsuit, and how he'd like to work with the government to offer gig economy workers pension plans that can accrue the same way their wages do. Finally, we discussed the early days of Deliveroo, when he was germinating the idea for the company: he worked undercover at Just Eat, the publicly traded company that is his greatest rival, delivering Chinese food in London's Pimlico neighbourhood for two weeks in order to see what he was up against.

On the problem of Deliveroo drivers being attacked by moped thieves...

JE: What is Deliveroo doing about the problem of attacks on its drivers?

WS: It's a problem for sure. In the last - I don't know the stats - but it's of the utmost concern for us.

We've done a few things. We've given a lot of helmet cams to riders that they can just attach on their bike helmet or on their scooter helmet. So this way at least they have a record of what's going on, and also, hopefully, that can deter people from trying to steal their scooters.

JE: Do helmet cams deter criminals?

WS: Don't know for sure. This is something we've launched two months ago, it's a relatively new thing. It's anecdotal feedback it's not statistical. I think the other thing that we've done is in the app itself, in the rider app, there's a button they can press if there is an emergency.

JE: Does that go to the police?

WS: That actually goes internally, and then we can liaise with the police. Of course, the first thing is if something is happening that's dramatic they should, of course, call the police first. But they can let us know with the press of a button what's going on.

We're taking feedback from the riders, we have drop-in sessions, and these two things were really a result of them coming to us and also having a discussion with them and thinking what's a good solution. Of course, it's a problem, I do Deliveroos myself. I do it on a bicycle now, not on a scooter, because I do it more for fitness. But I did it for a year on a scooter.

JE: Have you ever been attacked?

WS: No. Never. Nothing like what I've seen. There's aggressive drivers and things like that, but nothing on that line.

JE: Can riders refuse to go to an address or neighbourhood if they are worried about crime?

WS: They [riders] have the right reject anyone that comes to them, it's a button on the app. So if they don't feel safe they don't have to do any order ... For us the safety is of the utmost importance.

On doing deliveries himself...

JE: You famously do deliveries yourself. You used to do them about once a week. Do you still do that?

WS: Maybe not once a week but every once every few weeks. I'll do it on a Sunday, that's when we're busiest usually in central London so I'll do it near my house or near the office.

JE: Do customers ever recognise you?

WS: Um, no. Definitely not customers. The customers don't care. They want their food right, they're not looking at what this delivery guy looks like. Sometimes the other riders do. And I chat to them.

One time I would say I was in Pho in Wardour Street [in London] and ... I had done this conference with Wagamama [the trendy Mexican restaurant chain].

Wagamama have this general manager conference, all the store managers, they had this big thing in Manchester, like 400 people. So they said, hey can you speak? I said sure, I talked about how I do deliveries ... a week later I'm in Pho on Wardour Street and I'm taking the food out and these two women stop me and they're like, hey are you Will and I'm like, yes how can I help you? And they're like, oh we work at Wagamama, we were at that conference a week ago, we heard you talking about doing deliveries and we just figured you were just telling stories. But here you are actually doing it! They thought it was kinda cool. That was about the only time.

"I'm pretty sure Will delivered a pizza to me a few weeks ago, and there's no explanation."

The only other time I would say was at the very beginning, when I delivered to my ex-colleague. I hadn't talked to him in like three years ... He didn't understand that I started the company he just thought I was a delivery guy ... He was just like, hey what are you doing? I didn't have time to talk to him I said hey, I gotta go. And this was like a big story for a while because he then contacted other people. "I'm pretty sure Will delivered a pizza to me a few weeks ago, and there's no explanation."

I saw him later ... He worked at an [investment] fund with me. He was a really nice guy. It was just really funny because I'm not close to him, and so he didn't really expect to see that.

JE: Tell us about the "dark kitchens," where Deliveroo sets up temporary huts or food trucks that can serve food from local restaurants.

WS: It's a really, really cool concept. We are now live in a number of British cities, so we're in London, Reading, Brighton, Nottingham ... And we're expanding to more, including multiple sites in different cities, and then internationally we're in Dubai, Singapore, Hong Kong, Milan.

We call them Deliveroo Editions. By the end of 2018 we'll have 450 operators probably ... They're employees of the restaurants so the way it works is that the restaurant takes up occupancy in the space, they bring their ingredients, they bring the staff. And it's just an outpost of the restaurant.

On the potential for an IPO...

JE: Have you rejected many acquisition offers?

WS: There's always strategic discussions, inbounds and outbounds, but we want to build one of the biggest companies in the world, that's what we're focused on so that stuff is not of super-interest. Especially after raising a lot of money as well.

JE: Are you going to IPO?

WS: We're thinking about all kinds of possibilities. I think an IPO is somewhat logical given the lead investors in this last round, which are public market investors, T. Rowe Price and Fidelity.

I think an IPO is somewhat logical given the lead investors in this last round, which are public market investors, T. Rowe Price and Fidelity.

What I am focused on is running the company and winning and really building a product which means best restaurants for consumers, getting them food to them quickly, whether that's in the private space or public space is there's definitely differences but ultimately ... There's pros and cons to both, right? But I think that for me that's my focus and whether that be in the public arena or private arena that's just fine.

JE: When are you going to launch in the US?

WS: US is a market that I think if we want to go in we have to go into a lot of cities simultaneously, it's such a big market. I think it's one of the best markets in the world (the US), it's just that we're focused on what we're doing right now in our 12 countries.

On workers' rights litigation ...

JE: What happens to Deliveroo if you ultimately lose this litigation or the law changes and drivers have to be classed as employees?

WS: First of all the whole on-demand space is just relatively new, talking about five years, six years. So there's just a lot of misinformation and misunderstanding amongst, I'd say, politicians as well as journalists.

What I care about, what's really important to me, is actually the riders themselves, right. And so there are surveys, everything we talk about to them overwhelmingly what they care about is, No.1, flexibility. And what flexibility actually means is log in, log out. Work around your life. The average Deliveroo rider in the UK works about 12 hours a week, something like that. So generally it's not a full-time thing. It's different than say, I don't know if you take Uber cars, a lot of these guys it's kind of their full-time thing. So this is different. We have a lot of students, we have a lot of people who are taking care of elderly, we have actors, so that the sort of population is very broad in terms of the people who want to do it. So flexibility is the most important thing to them.

No.2 is wages, earning a higher wage. And so right now in the UK approximately our average rate of pay per hour is about £10 per hour, which is still substantially higher than the minimum wage which I believe is now £7.50 nationally. So I think those two things are really important. That's pretty obvious.

Our average rate of pay per hour is about £10 per hour, which is still substantially higher than the minimum wage which I believe is now £7.50 nationally.

JE: Is it possible to earn below minimum wage on Deliveroo?

WS: They're independent contractors, and it's not so much an hourly concept. The way our system works is you get assigned deliveries and most people get paid on a per-delivery basis. So when I say an hour, I'm referring to the number of deliveries people do in a particular hour, multiplied by the rate of pay on a per-order basis. So it can vary ... which is on our app.

We know that a lot of riders also work for Uber Eats, Amazon, Just Eat. So it's actually a very tough thing for us to know. Because let's say Jim is working for four apps at once and you do one delivery on Deliveroo but you did two on Just Eat, and you did three on Uber Eats, in that one hour. I only know what you made with us, I won't know what you made with the others. And if you talk to riders in London especially, because that's kind of the biggest - and in Paris and a lot of these other cities - they'll almost all tell you that, yep, they've got three, four apps open at the same time.

JE: If the law requires you to class them as employees they can't do this anymore?

WS: That's right. That's not what they want, though.

JE: They want to arbitrage you, based on demand, by playing you off against Uber Eats or Just Eat.

WS: It's the market. And I think if you provide them the best earnings and the most amount of jobs per hour, they'll naturally gravitate towards you. And to me, that feels pretty fair.

JE: Does it screw with your business model if you have to class them as employees?

WS: It's not a cost thing. The issue is flexibility, right? Riders want the job because it's flexible, and if we make that job inflexible less people are going to want to do the job even if you pay them the same. I am 100% sure of that.

JE: That would make life extremely difficult for the functioning of Deliveroo.

WS: I don't know about extremely difficult, it would put us in a different position. We would have to figure out a way to do it but the whole point is flexibility is what people sign up for and if you take that away from them, yeah I think less people will want to do that job. Is there any doubt about it? I mean likewise, talk to any Uber car driver, ask them if they want to work on an hourly shift.

JE: I know they don't. I talk to them all the time. They love the fact that they can just take the day off.

On offering pensions to Deliveroo riders...

WS: The reality is more and people are going to want this kind of work. So my third point, we talked about flexibility, we talked about earnings, is actually benefits.

We actually want to offer benefits but in a flexible working model. So for example, we want to work with the government to flesh all this stuff out, but picture a scenario where you are accruing pension on a per-delivery basis ... If you're able to do that on a flexible basis then that means our interests are aligned with yours, and then you can also work in that flexible manner. For us, that's something that's really important. But we understand why that hasn't happened yet, this is a really new thing, and so it's going to take time for governments and policymakers to think through all this stuff. But the reality is this is what people want to do. There's no doubt.

We actually want to offer benefits ... picture a scenario where you are accruing a pension on a per-delivery basis

JE: The gig economy is getting a bad name over time. Low wage jobs, low productivity. Uber and Deliveroo come up together because you guys are the biggest gig economy platforms. Do you worry about that? Do you worry that Deliveroo might become a totemic example of the dysfunctions of the gig economy?

WS: I don't sit around worrying about the media all day honestly. I care about our riders, I care about customers, I care about restaurants. And not that I don't care about you, but it's just not the No.1 thing I think about every day to be honest. And again, I think a lot of the criticism that's directed towards the gig economy is a result of it being a new thing that grew very very very quickly.

Five years ago you could not log in and out of a job. that's just the reality so for a lot of people it is very very unknown and scary. but for the people that are actually doing the jobs I think those are the people you should actually talk to.

And of course you can always find the odd person who's unhappy, journalists are very good at that, but if you look at our survey data, and we can share that with you at some point, it's clear that overwhelmingly people want flexible work. And I hope the government can recognise that and work with us to not just offer flexible and high-earning work, but also benefits as well. And look, you talk about low wages, well on average it's £10 an hour, approximately £10 an hour, which you know at the end of the year is a lot higher than £7.50 ... It's literally 33% better than McDonald's. So I think that's how we think about it. So we want to pay much higher.

On working undercover at Just Eat...

JE: You come to Web Summit to check out new startup ideas. Have you seen any good ones? Any terrible ones?

WS: A lot of people told me Deliveroo was a really terrible idea. I guess it still remains to be seen. But five years in, we have traction at least.

JE: Why did they tell you Deliveroo was a terrible idea?

WS: Because Just Eat was around.

JE: So what do you do better than Just Eat?

WS: They don't deliver the food, they have the restaurants deliver the food. And so as a consequence the restaurant quality — it's like all kebab shops, right? And then, No.2, you don't know when you're going to get your food, because there's not a company doing it, it's just a guy in a restaurant.

JE: So if I am a restaurant owner it's easier for me to deal with Deliveroo because I don't have to hire delivery guys.

At Just Eat you know you get paid, like £6 in cash, these guys sleep above the restaurants.

WS: That's right. I worked in some of these Just Eat restaurants before I started Deliveroo just to kind of understand how the system worked. At Deliveroo we have a right to work check, we have background checks, you get an invoice, it's all very clear what your taxes should be, and all that stuff. At Just Eat you know you get paid, like £6 in cash, these guys sleep above the restaurants. It's very different type of thing.

JE: How long did you spend doing that?

WS: Two weeks. I worked at a place called [redacted] in Pimlico, it was a Chinese restaurant run by an Afghan guy. And he was super funny. He's like 'I'm going to tell you how to run a Chinese restaurant.' He was just a funny guy.

JE: He had no idea you were from Morgan Stanley and had a lot of funding.

WS: I didn't start up the company yet, I was just trying to learn, I was on my scooter delivering Chinese food for him. So I've seen a lot of those restaurants, the takeaway shops, you know.

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