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weirdthinkingdragon · 3 years

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Welcome To The Family (2/???)

Should tw be a thing for a bit of mind-control? Oh well, I'll put it as a warning here just to be safe.

Three weeks have passed. I've been informed by Eri that Shinsou has a mind control quirk. In all honesty? That doesn't change anything with the way I see him. He doesn't know I know his quirk. He doesn't need to since it wouldn't really change anything. He still seems rather untrusting of me though. I wish to change that, but how? More progress has been made with one of the adults, and he's around the least amount from working three jobs! Ugh, this is rather frustrating.

There is still plenty of time for that to change though. Remember Y/N, it's only been three weeks. At least the bond between Eri and I has grown substantially. We even already made our own little code thing by putting our right pointer finger on our nose, closing our left eye, and slightly poking out our tongues in a silly manner. It makes her giggle every time. We haven't shown that to the others yet. Not because there's anything wrong with it, it just never came up since I leave right after they come home. Shinsou almost saw it twice. No big deal if he does.

I even got to meet the two she thinks so highly of, and they're both adorable rays of sunshine themselves. They even brought dresses for an extra interesting tea party we had that day. The green one- the one whom of which I found out is named Deku, or Midoriya- is rather uncomfortable with wearing the dress, but seems to do it for Eri. The blond, Togata, has a short strapless pastel blue one that he doesn't seem to mind wearing in the slightest. He told me it's because he's rather used to suddenly being naked from his quirk. I can only wish to have that confidence. They told me more about their school, which honestly makes me wish to visit them and their friends someday. Sadly, that's not my place though.

Tonight is a night that I have to babysit them a bit longer, and have to put Eri to bed. Something about extra paperwork. I decided to be good for them and do some cleaning of their house. Nothing major, just the dishes that seem to of been sitting for a bit longer than they should have, and maybe even sweep the living room since there are a few visual piles of cat hair.

I start with sweeping the living room now while Eri watched more of her favorite show with her stuffed animals. It took a bit longer than it should have taken to find the broom in the utility closet. Oreo comes up to me and starts trying to swat at the broom, catching Eri's attention.

A smile starts to form on my face. Why not have a little fun with this? I start to drag the broom around, making him chase it. It doesn't take long for the other two on the cat tree to catch interest. I lean down and shake the broom side to side. Sundae jumps off from the highest point of the cat tree and lunges towards the brush of it, scaring Oreo in the process. Oreo jumps high in the air and angrily starts to bat at his brother.

Eri starts giggling and I get rather close to joining her. Mochi comes over from his box on the floor of the cat tree and starts to lazily bat at the broom as well. Oreo didn't seem to like that, so they jump onto Mochi. He wasn't being aggressive, just playful. I use the broom and gently sweep it on the two of them. They start trying to bite the bristles of it.

Their attention wasn't kept by the broom long though sadly. Sundae attacked Oreo, who was still focused on Mochi, then took off out of the room. Oreo then follows in hot pursuit. Mochi surprisingly trudges after the two of them. I laugh and shake my head while locking eyes with Eri. "They're sure lively today!" She giggles in reply.

There was a giant pile of fur after sweeping the living room. A ball of it big enough to barely fit in my palm. Nothing but a fluffy swirl of black, white, and orange. It's not in my palm though since there's most likely a bunch of other dirt too that wouldn't be pleasant to touch. I get it all in the dustpan and go to dump it in the garbage.

Eri is still rather interested in her show, so I decide to let her watch it a bit longer before cooking and having to put her to bed. Shinsou stayed at his school for a while longer today. My guess is he helps Aizawa or maybe even trains with him there since he doesn't seem like he'd have much time here.

I start doing the dishes, which doesn't take too long. A bit of green mold on one of the dishes makes me recoil in disgust a bit though. Okay, maybe they've been here a bit longer than I thought. Eri came into the kitchen half-way through me doing the dishes and sat on one of the chairs at the table to be by me. "Eri, you don't have to be in here you know. You can keep watching your show."

She shakes her head. "But I like being with you. I get so sad when you leave."

A quick twinge panged through my chest at that information. "Aw, I miss you when I leave too. Don't tell anyone, but you're my favorite to be around!" I inform and see her being really happy about that.

It's true though. She's been incredibly easy to take care of compared to so many others from before. Like the brother who kept ripping the heads off the dolls of his younger sister, or the one I kept having to keep a very sharp eye on to not find the hammer to test out how durable the windows of the house were. Or even the one who kept trying to put Play-Doh in their hair. Her past might have some to do with it. I focus my sudden new anger on thinking about the vile man to scrub the stained dishes more thoroughly.

It doesn't take too long to finish the dishes and start dinner. I decided to make dinner for the others too, even though it might be cold by the time they get to their home. Keeping it in the oven for a while might work. I get it ready and put it inside the oven. My stomach growls a bit at thinking about food. I don't feel right eating their food though, so I always bring snacks to eat while Eri eats what gets made. Luckily, she doesn't seem to be picky and sometimes asks for something that can be made. They told me anything for her is fine so that just makes it all the easier.

A familiar purple-haired teen enters the kitchen in the corner of my eye. "Ah, Shinsou! You're back! Your dads told me they wouldn't be back for a while. Hope you don't mind what I'm making for dinner. Eri said she wanted it."

He only replies with an uncaring shrug. He sets his backpack on the table and takes out homework to start on. Ah, homework. Don't miss it. Sadly though, even as an adult homework is still a thing, just in a different way. A part of me also likes to think he's only in here to watch me with Eri again. That's a very common thing I've noticed. He'll be around, but never want to join us. He'd probably hate me more if I told him, but I find him rather adorable in that aspect.

"Hey, Eri. Did you have fun again today?" I pretend not to see it, but that caring smile towards her didn't go past me, boy!

Eri goes over and hugs him. He hugs her back, and I'm pretty sure my heart melted a little again. I can get behind this being a common occurrence. I'm so happy to be the one gifted with taking care of these two children.

I must have lost track of time focusing on the two of them since the stove starts beeping, informing me the food is ready. I mumble out an "already?" and go over to the stove, taking it out. It gets placed on the stove to cool a bit as I grab hot pads, cups, silverware, and everything else needed for the table for the two of them.

Shinsou looks at me quizzically. Eri seems to notice his look too. "They never eat the food they make. Don't know why. It tastes so good!" His eyes narrow at me accusingly.

"I just don't feel comfortable eating your guys' food, you know? I usually just make Eri something and bring a few snacks with me to eat instead," I go off to think in space a little bit. "Okay, maybe that does seem rather suspicious now that I think about it."

"Suspicious?" Eri questions.

"Means like something is not right. Like if a person kept the following someone. A person watching the two would find that suspicious." She tilts her head, maybe more confused. "What does that do with food?" Oh, her dear innocence.

"Don't worry about it, Eri. It's nothing important right now. How about we just eat, and this time I guess I'll join you?" She looks down for a second at her empty plate, then back up at me. "Okay!"

I bring the food to the table and grab another plate, sitting down next to Eri despite Shinsou's glare at me again. Shinsou puts some on his plate. He only seemed keen on eating it after I took a few bites of it.

"Oh yeah, Shinsou?" He looks at me questioningly. "Could you wait here after dinner? I need to talk to you."

He replies with a nod and continues eating. Eri smiles at him. "See Toshi! It's so good!" He gives her a toothy smile. "Maybe even better than Hizashi's." Um... which one is that? I only finally memorized their last names!

Don't think he will tell me, so I decided to pretend to know which one it was. Either way is a 50-50 chance. Maybe I should ask Eri to remind me of which is which.

Eri nods. "Much better than the time daddy tried to make that gross stuff."

Shinsou gets an amused smirk. "You mean that homemade dish he burned beyond belief? heh, he wouldn't let it down for weeks."

I stay silent as I let the two of them talk. Hopefully, I'm not coming off as creepy just by still being here. I do wonder why they want me to stay with the two of them. Shinsou seems much more than capable of taking care of Eri himself. Even if he doesn't know how to cook, it could be learned.

"Y/N?" Eri's voice saying my name snaps me out of the thought of Shinsou cooking and struggling by burning it. "Yes, Eri?" I ask. "Could you read me the princess and the frog tonight?"

"Of course!" I smile at her. "You must be really excited, huh? I've never read to you yet, have I?"

She shakes her head. "Alright, grab the book after dinner and I'll be up there soon after." Her hands shake in excitement. She starts eating her food faster.

"Slow down! It's not going anywhere." I tease.

She only replies by slowing down slightly.

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I tuck her in and started to read the story to her while laying on the bed above the covers so she could look at the pictures in the book too.

We start to read the book. Well, mostly me reading it out loud to her. I don't even get halfway through the book to notice her falling asleep leaning against my shoulder.

She's rather stubborn though and refused to fall asleep until the book was finished. Laying her down fully, she falls asleep almost instantly.

Turning off the light, I then proceed back to the kitchen. There Shinsou sat, still doing his homework.

It's quiet between us with me sitting in the same chair as earlier. The only sound being the scratching of the pencil he's using on paper. Now is the best time to bond with him, but how? Could talking about his quirk work? Maybe him knowing I'm not afraid would help?

He looks up from the paper, straight into my eyes. "Do you truly like Eri?"

What's with that sudden question? Hasn't it been shown well with my interactions with her? "Of cour-" Something akin to icy claws felt like were wrapped around my head, leaving a numbing and foggy feeling over my body. My body is no longer in control of itself. The only explanation is it's his quirk. So this is his quirk in play. Does he want truthful answers? Then so be it. I've got nothing to hide.

"Be honest," His voice takes a sharp tone. "Do you like Eri?"

"Yes." my voice is monotone, and it honestly sounds rather strange.

He becomes ever-so-slightly less tense. "What is your goal?"

"To take care of you and Eri."

"In what way?" His eyes narrow. "Are you secretly hired to take Eri?"

"No. I am doing my job, and more." His brows furrowed into a look of confusion instead of accusing. "More?"

"My goal is to befriend you and take care of Eri." The foggy feeling goes away from my mind, most likely his quirk losing control as his eyes widen. It's hard to tell whether he willingly stopped, or it was caused by shock. "I'm also aware of your quirk. You should know that makes you no different to me."

He abruptly stands up from his chair like he's never been told such a thing before and can't believe it. I can only imagine how many children probably tell him it's a villain's quirk or something. Poor kid. Er, well... Teenager. In all honesty, that makes it worse. "How long have you known?"

"A week maybe? I'm not afraid of you or your quirk. I know you're trying hard to be a hero, and you'd never do anything that would harm me unless needed. You've most likely been told before, but you're not a villain, nor will you ever be," I smirk at him. "If you are, you're doing a terrible job at being one."

He gives a small and rather happy smile in return. There we go! We're getting somewhere! "Your guardians are usually around, but if you ever need anything and they can't help, you can always come ask or tell me, Shinsou."

He remains quiet for a moment. "Hitoshi."

"Pardon?"

"My name. Call me Hitoshi," He rubs the back of his neck with his left hand. "If you're serious about being with us, then I suppose it wouldn't hurt to call me by my first name," he lets out a sigh. "I also suppose it would also be problematic to find another sitter since Eri is rather attached to you already."

Well, he changed his mind rather suddenly. I'm not complaining though! I nod. "Hopefully I can be close with you as well someday. I know we're still rather rocky, but thanks for giving me the chance to grow better with you."

He replies with a nod in return. The pencil still in his hand writes down a few more things, then he puts it back into his backpack and looks at the time on the stove. "We might as well wait in the living room for their return."

I nod, and we both go into the living room. Shin- Hitoshi is much more relaxed around me now. Man, wish he could have used his quirk for confirmation earlier. Then again, this is the first time Eri hasn't been around, and she probably wouldn't be too happy to see him use his quirk on me.

The T.V. is mostly background noise as the two of us sit in silence. "So, Shin- Hitoshi. Are you more of a comedy person or a horror person?"

He shrugs. "Comedy can help me get into the minds of others by saying things that might make them reply, but horror is more interesting."

"Ooh! that's actually really smart to do! I didn't think of that until you mentioned it!" He smiles and rubs the back of his neck again.

A hand is suddenly placed on my shoulder, making me jump out of my skin. I sharply tilt my head up to lock eyes with Yamada. Seriously! How is their door so silent when it opens!? And more importantly, how can such a loud man be silent enough to sneak up on someone!?

"Glad to see the two of ya gettin' along!" He says with Aizawa slouched beside him.

I smirk at him. "It's been a bit of a challenge, but nothing I'm not willing to try going up against! Also, you scared the daylights outta me! How could you sneak up so well?"

He laughs. "All in a hero's work, even if I'm supposed to be a more noisy one!"

"I bet! Oh! Also, I did the dishes for you and made dinner, which is in the oven. I did it to keep it at least a little warm for when you guys got back to your home. Hopefully, you guys don't mind." They seemed rather surprised by that. Checking the time, it's almost midnight. There isn't school for them tomorrow. Eri told me they always take non-school days as family days. Well, unless either of them are called in for a patrol.

I get up and put my shoes on and look at Hitoshi before I go. "It was great getting closer with you today! See you soon, Hitoshi!" The adults' eyes widen greatly, and Yamada's mouth hangs so far open he might as well be a pelican. It makes Hitoshi laugh. Huh, he must not let many call him by his first name or something.

I leave, even more excited for what the future holds with this family than before.

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#Yandere EraserMic household #yandere erasermic x reader #yandere present mic #yandere eraserhead #welcome to the family #yandere hitoshi shinso

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vibesoda · 3 years

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thinking about when i was a dsmp frog writing awful fanfiction and even then i didn’t horribly mischaracterize fruitninja.

look this is an excerpt from one of my old dsmp fics, it’s a hero au but def not as well written as some of my current stuff. for context, illumina’s quirk is causing unpredictable shit to happen and fruit’s quirk is godlike reflexes and reaction time.

“Aw, frick!” Illumina grovels as a seagull swoops away with his lunch.

The man standing next to Illumina knocks the bird out of the sky in record time, with a single swing of his arm. He proceeds to catch his friend’s sandwich and hand it back to him.

“Oh, thanks, Fruit,” Illumina replies with a crinkle of his eyes, his dark mask concealing a grin.

Fruitberries rolls his eyes. “It’s like clockwork at this point. Some animal or weird hobo dude always comes out of nowhere and steals your lunch. The only thing unpredictable about it is who the thief is going to be this time.”

Illumina pulls his mask down to eat as he walks. “If it weren’t for your quirk, I’d probably be a hobo, too.” His words come out muffled, obscured by the sandwich in his mouth.

“You’re so lucky to have me.” Fruit smirks, tossing his sage-tinted hair out of his eyes.

“True,” Illumina agrees.

Fruit hums in response, stuffing his hands in his hoodie pockets.

“It’s so weird,” Illumina continues, tapping a finger to his masked chin. “It’s like speedrunning a game that’s highly reliant on RNG. You have to have good improvisation skills, or you’re toast.”

“Not that I would have any experience with that,” Fruit snorts, earning a chuckle from Illumina.

“Shut up, nerd. You’re just as much of a nerd as I am, you nerd.”

Fruit smiles softly, raising his hands in playful surrender. “You caught me.”

Illumina coughs as Fruit’s arm collides with his chest and he almost chokes on his sandwich.

Illumina opens his mouth to ask what the frick Fruit is doing, but his question is immediately answered by a finger pointing ahead of them.

“Isn’t that the garage complex the witness said she the suspicious individual leaving the other day?” Fruit whispers, casting a dubious glance at Illumina.

“Yeah,” Illumina responds, swallowing the rest of his sandwich, “Jeez, you recognized that fast. Look, I know I’m used to random things happening but that doesn’t mean you can clothesline me out of nowhere.”

i barely knew shit about mcsr at the time of writing this laughing out loud

#how do the dsmp folks look at illumina and go ‘yeah. he exudes confidence and charisma’#I Do Not Understand #anyway come cringe at my old writing with me #mcsr

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im-totally-not-an-alien · 4 years

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Final Fantasy 7 prompts # 34

1. Sephiroth makes Cloud have a full on mental breakdown and now he feels bad. On the other hand the blond is crying into his chest, and he's really not sure what to make of that.

2. Cloud Strife: King of the Chocobos

Yuffie wouldn't stop calling him that, particularly on the account that they were being followed be no less that nine chocobos. It doesn't help that it's mating season. Yuffie keeps telling him to flirt with them to get a free ride.

3. AVALANCHE giving Nanaki a bath, which somehow induces a water war

4. Protective Cloud looking out for Tifa. He somehow gets pulled into the "Bouncer" role

5. Vincent scaring off one of Clouds many stalkers (of which, Cloud is oblivious)

6. Tifa's wolf ring can call to/ summon Cloud in cases of emergencies via the wolf emblem on his pauldron. Kinda like a summon materia

7. I'm in love with the Commander Strife thing where he joins Shinra post time travel shenanigans and fixed everything.

So:

A. Commander Strife being babied by Genesis

B. Commander Strife becoming Zack and Clouds pseudo big brother

C. Sephiroth, Genesis, Angeal, Zack and Cloud try, and fail, to find out Commander Strifes first name.

D. Commander Strife babying the Infantrymen and looking out for them since few people in the company actually care about them.

E. Sephiroth and Commander Strife exploring the bond through the J-cells

F. Commander Strife is given a soft light blue sweater, "so he doesn't have to wear his uniform at the mall again"

G. Kunsel is obsessed with discovering Commander Strifes backstory. He has the corkboard with pictures and string and everything!

H. "Bold of you to assume I know what I'm doing." - Commander Strife

I. Someone vandalized six large walls within Shinras training facilities. Six whole beautiful and highly detailed paintings, each portraying one of the Commanders and one of the General. The last one was all of them together, standing side by side with thier swords at the ready.

The five people in question were so flattered that the investigation was halted and the paintings remained. The perpetrator(s?) was never caught.

J. Cadet Cloud sending home a picture of him and Commander Strife together, to his mom.

She couldn't help but laugh at the goofy faces they were making.

K. Commander Fair cackling madly as he sprinted down the corridors carrying a blushing Commander Strife while being chased by an enraged cake covered Reno.

....the troops decided that they saw nothing.

L. A picture at a holiday party with the four Commanders and the General, all with hot chocolate in hand and wearing a whipped cream mustache

M. Commander Strife just hands Zack a whistle and walks away.

Curious, Commander Fair blows the whistle, and is immediately swarmed by dogs.

N. Genesis drags Strife out on a spa day

O. The Commanders were all in a room when Zack started asking hypothetical questions about thigh high socks and stuff.

He questions how they keep them from sliding down.

Strife answers the question without thinking, and grumbled about how uncomfortable sagging thigh highs were.

===============================

He froze, jaw closing with an audible click and slowly looked behind him to see Genesis and Zack looking at him with an odd gleam in thier eyes.

"And pray tell, little bird," Genesis cooed with a overly sweet voice, "how would you know that?"

The blond panicked a little, "It's a long story."

Zack snuck up to his side and linked thier arms together, "A story that you will definitely be telling us...if you don't want any rumors!"

Cloud stared that them in disbelief, "You're blackmailing me?"

"Of course!" The redhead sang.

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P. Cloud making Genesis a custom LOVELESS themed motorcycle as thanks for letting him cry on his shoulder. Literally.

Q. Everyone is in honeybee outfits. Reno snaps a picture, and runs for his life.

R. Commander Strife is confronted by a man who claims to be his father, which he knows is impossible for time traveler reasons.

He quickly realizes what the man wants when the guy demands a DNA test...after all, the science department has been practically foaming at the mouth, wanting a sample of his DNA.

S. Sephiroth never gave up on figuring out what the mysterious blonde was hiding. He becomes even more invested in his investigation when he hears him mention the Wutai princess by her first name. Suspicious.

T. While he was on the run with AVALANCHE, Strife had always slept with his group. Being the way he was he unconsciously sought out things that were both soft and firm to use as a pillow, which often lead him to sleeping on his team mates.

He wake with his head resting on Vincents chest, Barrets arm or Tifas abs and always, always, always, they would wake him gently by running thier fingers through his hair.

He missed them so much.

U. Vincent has rejoined the world, but refuses to fully rejoin the Turks. This doesn't stop them from throwing him a birthday party.

V. Vincent is commonly referred to as "Vincent the Vampire" and "My Valentine" by Zack and Genesis respectively.

W. Cloud met the chairman/ chairwoman for his fanclub and he realy wishes he didn't.

X. Commander Fair is forbidden from picking movies at movie night. Thats what he gets for bringing X-rated movies, Though the part that Strife didn't like was that everyone was trying to cover his eyes and ears. He wasn't a child!

Y. Commander Strife runs into younger Tifa and has to explain that no, he is not Cloud.

She doesn't believe him.

Z. Zack, Kunsel, and Sephiroth somehow wind up inside Commander Strifes head and decide to snoop. They find out everything and aren't sure how to proceed.

8. Time travel fix it, but from Kunsels perspective

9. Time travel fix it, but from Zacks point of view and he gets caught up in the madness

10. Time travel fix it, but from random SOLDIERS/ Turks point of view

11. Clouds mom goes back in time and takes her 13 year old son by the hand and, armed with only a few materia, marched into the ShinRa mansion and went strait to Vincent.

She gives the wide eyed Turk the tounge lashing of a lifetime. She becomes enraged however, after the former ShinRa spy gives her some flimsy excuse and slams his coffin closed. Long story short, she drags the man out by his cloak with her son close behind, fiddling with his small sword and glaring at the man as if daring him to do anything to his Ma.

Valentine is baffled.

12. Reno makes the wrong move and Cloud finally snaps, telling him exactly where he can shove his rod

13. Cloud is just so tired of being grossly hit on and sexually harassed. He starts coming up with one liners/ insults /refrances to combat the crude remarks.

Example:

Woman: How big is your ****?

Cloud: *said in the tone of those tootsiepop commercials* The world may never know.

14. Tifa gets turned into a frog, but doesn't turn back. Even when using maidens kisses and ensuna she remained an amphibian.

Aerith convinces Cloud to kiss Tifa, which he does, shyly on the cheek. She poofs back to her normal self and they both blush while the flower girl giggles.

No one even suspected that it was her doing.

15. Sephiroth revives and meets Cloud and Tifa's kids, who took one look at him and decided to latch onto his legs and demand his attention.

They also boldly declared him to be thier uncle/ the moon God, and tell him all about thier wierd family.

They told Sephiroth that he'd fit right in with AVALANCHE, to which he genuinely laughed at the irony of the situation.

#sephiroth #ff7 story prompts #Cloud strife #tifa lockhart #avalanche #SOLDIER #genesis rhapsodos #zack fair #angeal hewley #aerith gainsborough #ff7 #ff7 prompts #Reno #reno of the turks #vincent valentine #long post #loooooong post

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macybeckham7 · 4 years

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Lover

‘We can leave the Christmas lights up to January’ he smirks as he takes in the good work you both did putting them up, to make the house feel Christmassy. ‘This is our place, we make the rules’ he grinned.

You look at his soft grin on his face, and there was always that mysterious look about him, you never really knowing what he was thinking or what was about to come out of his mouth at any given second.

Have you know him twenty seconds or twenty years? That’s what you always questioned. Sometimes it was like you didn’t know him at all, but others it was like you could read him like a book. He always kept you on your toes.

He put on a vinyl on your pink record player and he pulled you into his arms, as you danced around the room. Your were his first love and he completely adored. He always thought your eyes were brighter like anyone else’s and any star. He found himself following you like a lost puppy and he didn’t care about his friends banter towards him. Can I go where you go? You always joke that if you are leaving it to get away from him. You gently rest your head on his shoulder on his as you both thought quietly to yourself. Can we always be this close forever and forever?

You couldn’t believe that you were actually in your own house with your lover. You had always dreamed about this but this was so much greater than you could ever dream. The endless possibilities you could do, you could let your friends crash in the living room, you could walk around in just your underwear and not have to ask for permission. ‘This is our place, we make the call’ you always smiled, which got you excited about the home you were making for the two of you.

You watch from the window as he arrives home from training, he is totally unaware how a simple smile can bring anyone to their knees. And I’m highly suspicious that everyone who sees you wants you. You thought yourself, you couldn’t believe how he doesn’t see everyone swoon. Even the guys would admit he was a good looking guy.

You both saw the world in each other and you were each other’s lovers.

You both couldn’t wait till you both get married, when you were officially each other’s. You couldn’t wait till you can take this magnetic force of the man to be your lover. Your heart has been borrowed and his has been blue, from the previous lovers you had been with. You had to kiss a few frogs but it was alright because you got to meet a true Prince Charming.

‘Darling you’re my lover’ he whispers as gently caresses your cheek and leans in and kisses you softly.

#footballer imagines #harry winks imagines #ben chilwell imagines #john stones imagines #ruben loftus cheek imagines #trent alexander arnold imagines #jack grealish imagines #james maddison imagines #tyrone mings imagines #hector bellerin imagines #kieran tierney imagines #dele imagines #eric dier imagines #marcus rashford imagines #jesse lingard imagines #jadon sancho imagines

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mintymiknow · 5 years

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Target Sighted [Agent!Minho] and 5:51 [Ravenclaw!Jisung]

* I put two drabbles in one post so as to avoid spamming or something. Basically, there are two separate drabbles in this post!

These drabbles are part of the 50 Kisses Drabble Challenge! [Requested: Number 3 + Minho and then Number 32 + Jisung]

Number 3: A breathy demand: “Kiss me” - and what the other person does to respond.

Number 32: A kiss so passionate, so perfect - that after they part, neither person can open their eyes for a few moments afterwards

A/N: I’m still writing ch. 8 of Scintilla, but I promised to write a drabble after posting ch. 7, so here are two new drabbles for the 50 Kisses collection! Will continue writing ch. 8 now :)

[Target Sighted - Agent!Minho]

Your bare back felt cold against the white marbled wall, but it was a nice contrast to the warmth that slid down your throat as you sipped your champagne. Sharp eyes darted from person to person in a subtle manner, and before you knew it, you could already tell who your target was. Perhaps being in this whole “secret agent business” for quite a while has already honed your skills to a certain max.

Then again, movies never did justice to your job. You never felt as debonair-ish as 007, and you never felt bold like Ethan Hunt, but maybe those would just have to do for now.

A young man approaches you, speaking to you in a foreign language – French, of course – asking if you wanted to dance. You had to hold back a little scoff; all the high-class socialites in this little gala only cared about three things tonight: expensive drinks, building connections, and a chance to flaunt their wealth with attractive men or women.

You respond back in French, gently turning the man down. “I’m waiting for someone, my apologies.” you tell him, and even though technically you were here on a solo flight, the man believes you, scurrying away with a jolly laugh.

Your eyes slowly trail to your target who is now mingling with a few ladies, probably talking about the antique chandelier hanging above your heads. Minutes later, he has strolled over to the bar area, chatting it up even more with those fake smiles.

“You know, now would be a perfect time to make your move on the target.”

A husky whisper and feathery breath tickles the skin of your neck, and instantly, you recognize who the person in question is. You turn around with an ambiguous smile, “HQ will never let me do my job on my own, will they, Agent Lee?”

Lee Minho chuckles, taking your hand and leading you to the center of the room to blend in with the other couples dancing. You don’t protest and simply follow his lead, as usual. “Oh, they are, y/n, but they sent me just in case you needed back up.”

“I am fully capable of carrying this mission out.” you argue, “I have accomplished every mission to date.”

“No one is doubting that.” Minho smiles, and you suddenly get hit by the urge to press your lipstick-covered lips to his.

Instead, you bite your lip and huff at the male, “Then let me do my job, Minho.”

“Hey, I’m not stopping you.” he laughs lightly, “I just told you to start making your move on him or you’ll end up losing the chance to get the data from him.”

You hear his words, and yes, he has a point. Though honestly speaking, you were about to approach your target when Minho came into the scene. You don’t tell him that, however, because you suddenly lose yourself in his deep eyes, brain short-circuiting as you feel his hand gently squeezing your waist. You shouldn’t be distracted. He shouldn’t be distracting you, yet here you were, letting him do so unconsciously.

Minho’s eyes are staring back into your own as he leans close to whisper, “Or did you have too much champagne already?”

“I’m not drunk.” you hiss immediately, eyebrows furrowing as if he just insulted your alcohol tolerance.

All the other couples were still swaying in dance, but you and Minho had stopped in the middle of it all. Only now do you realize that you both probably look very sketchy, huddled close together in the middle of the dance floor while whispering as your facial expressions contorted with anxiety and nervousness. Your eyes quickly glance around, and so does Minho’s. You both notice how several men – probably two or three bodyguards – are looking at your direction suspiciously.

Minho’s eyes are still scanning the area – typical for a highly trained agent – when you snap your head back to him and take a deep breath. What you were about to say was practically going to kill you inside, but you had no other choice…right?

“Minho, kiss me.” you suddenly whisper and pull his tie, eyes wide and heart pounding.

The male brings his attention back to you, eyebrow raised at the rather daring request you had made. “Come again, y/n?”

“I said,” you breathe out, whispering against his lips, “kiss me.”

Of course. Minho knew that by doing so, they’d be at least a little less suspicious of two hormonal individuals kissing in the middle of the room, right?

With a dark and rather enticing chuckle, Minho complies with your demand. You throw your arms around his neck as soon as his lips connect with yours. His hands travel back and forth from the small of your back to your waist several times before they find their place on your hips. He tugs you forward, pulling you flush against him. The action causes you to let out a little gasp, and Minho grabs the opportunity to deepen the kiss, exploring every inch of your mouth at a tantalizingly slow speed, eliciting a soft sigh from you.

One of his hands travels down to your thigh, skirting around the slit of your dress. You don’t react when his fingers brush along the skin, much too preoccupied with how his lips felt delicious against yours. Before the moment could heat up any further, Minho grabs the gun strapped to your leg and aims it over your shoulder. With it aimed at two bodyguards behind you, he pulls away from the kiss to whisper against the side of your head, “Show time’s over, y/n.”

“Aww.” you slyly chuckle, pulling out the gun from Minho’s suit jacket to aim it similarly at the men behind him, “My plan failed.”

Minho smirks, ready to pull the trigger. “Well, it was worth a shot. Better luck next time, Agent y/l/n.”

Your lipstick-smudged lips pull up quirkily into a smile as you let go of the male, “I suppose, Agent Lee.”

With that, you both pull the trigger at your respective targets. Maybe you were feeling a bit 007-like tonight.

[5:51 - Ravenclaw!Jisung]

“Jisung, this is why I told you not to prank the Slytherins!” you exclaim as Jisung pulls you along the corridors, sprinting like there was no tomorrow.

Han Jisung broke the whole “Ravenclaws are nerdy intellectuals” stereotype and proved that people as playful and cheerful as him could still be intelligent students. Though, a huge part of his playfulness was attributed to playing pranks, quite specifically on Slytherin’s head boy and prefect, Lee Minho.

And this recent prank of his got Minho riled up, so now the Slytherin was chasing Jisung down the hall. Of course, being his girlfriend, he just had to drag you along as he passed you in the hallway, arguing that “he needed your help with something urgent”.

After dodging and deflecting a few of Minho’s spells, and a certain Gryffindor – Bang Chan – stopping him, you and Jisung finally make it back to your common room in one piece. “Seungmin, you here?” you call out, but the young male doesn’t reply.

“He’s probably studying with Jeongin.” Jisung breathes out, catching his breath from all the running.

You throw your robe onto the couch nearby and place your hands on your hips, demanding an answer from the male, “What did you do this time?”

“Oh you know.” Jisung grins, “I turned Minho’s cat into a frog.”

“You heartless – ” you sigh before shaking your head, “You know how much Minho loves his cat.”

Jisung laughs at the memory, doubling over on the floor, “Relax, y/n. He can always ask Woojin or Chan to turn her back into a cat.”

“Yeah, but he’s going to hold this over your head for a while.” you point out, lips slightly tugging into a mischievous smirk.

“He won’t. He loves me, his best friend, too much.” the male proudly states, getting up from the floor.

“Of course he does.” you chuckle, moving closer to your boyfriend to help him dust off his dusty robe.

Jisung reaches for your hands, gently lacing his fingers with yours, “And what about you?”

“What about me?” you shrug nonchalantly, raising an eyebrow at his inquiry.

The setting skies paints your common room hues of pink, lavender, and orange. The contrasting blue curtains sway along with the wind entering the room; one of the perks of Ravenclaw’s common room being in a tower was that it was always breezy, and that made everything feel fresher. The wind dances along the room, teasing your hair as it whirls around.

“Do you love me?” Jisung grins, pressing his forehead against yours as his fingers tuck strands of hair behind your ear.

You place a soft peck on his lips before giggling, “Care to find out?”

Before Jisung can ask what you meant, you cradle his face in your hands, pulling him closer. Your lips meet his in a soft, velvety kiss. One arm snakes around your waist as his other hand reaches for your chin, tilting your head up just a little. This deepens the kiss to his liking, but you find yourself going along with him anyway. Your lips dance along with his in a perfect harmony like classically trained dancers, not a single movement out of beat. It’s a bit of a push-and-pull thing, but Jisung is sure to balance the passion and tenderness out. You eventually feel the familiar rush of sparks bursting underneath your skin with each kiss, so when Jisung finally pulls away, both your eyes remain closed for a few seconds. You shyly grin at each other, little flustered chuckles and giggles escaping your lips.

“I do love you.” you quietly say, earning a quick peck on the lips from the male.

“I know.” Jisung chuckles, pulling you into his arms for a bear hug.

“Can you not make out in the common room?” Seungmin deadpans, pushing past to get to the bookshelf at the other side of the room. “It’s a common room, not a bedroom.”

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prevdustinhendrsn · 5 years

Text

under that starry summer sky

lucas sinclair/max mayfield 2.9k - read on ao3 requested by anonymous from this list: 86. ‘I’ll walk you home.’

a/n: hello and welcome to my summer of ‘85 lumax one-shot, composed entirely of fluff, milkshake mustache kisses, lucas ‘holy shit max mayfield is my girlfriend’ sinclair, and my all-time favorite trope that I’ll use in every single fic until the day I die: the big ‘I love you’ revelation.

The party’s lazy day in Mike’s air-conditioned basement ends when Will, sprawled on the carpet, lets out the first yawn.

“I need to get home,” he sighs, dropping the colored pencil in his hand. Lucas eyes his sketchpad. The topmost drawing is only half-finished, but it looks suspiciously like the midsummer carnival’s Ferris wheel, bright rainbow lights and all. The carnival isn’t for another month – how does he even remember that much detail?

“Yeah, me too. Gotta feed my frogs ‘cause my mom isn’t gonna remember,” Dustin says, stretched out on the couch with an arm slung over his eyes. Across from him lies El, face screwed up in concentration as she works on the puzzle floating several feet above her face, several tissues stuck up one nostril. All the pieces are scattered in the air around the portion of puzzle that she’s completed already; she sorts through, finds, and attaches the pieces she needs all without lifting a finger. It’s unbelievable, yet here she is, forcing them all to believe.

“Do we have plans tomorrow, Mike?” Lucas asks. He’s sat at the rickety old table in the middle of the basement along with Max, who’s tipping dangerously on the back legs of her chair just to see how far she can go by balance alone, and Mike, who’s hunched over a spread of papers for D&D, pencil rapidly spinning between his fingers.

“Up to you guys,” he says absently, chewing his lip.

“Let’s go to the pool,” El suggests. Dustin groans, swinging off the couch and onto his feet.

“We’ve been to the pool like four times this week.”

“It’s a million degrees outside,” Will interjects. “We can’t not go to the pool at least four times a week. We’ll melt.”

“Grow up,” Max drawls, eyes closed. “This is normal California weather in, like, April.” Her tongue sticks out between her teeth as she concentrates on not falling over; Lucas thinks it’s adorable.

“Hey, Max?” Dustin says, his voice suddenly too sickly-sweet to mean anything good.

“Yeah?”

He crosses the room and sticks his foot under one of the suspended chair legs, promptly shoving it up and sending Max crashing to the ground. He doubles over in cackling laughter and Mike snorts as she gapes at him from the ground, sputtering out swears.

“You fucking asshole! I swear one day I’m going to throw you off the goddamn quarry –“

“It was funny!” he yells in protest, grinning wide. Max flips him off, but Lucas can see the telltale curve of a reluctant smile on her lips.

“Sorry, Max, but it was kind of funny,” Will says light-heartedly, collecting his art supplies. Lucas gets to his feet and holds out a hand to his defeated girlfriend.

“I didn’t think it was funny,” he says loyally, hauling her up. She rolls her eyes.

“Sure you didn’t. Are we leaving too?”

“Let me know if you guys want to do something tomorrow,” Mike says, his gaze still focused on his game planning.

“El, are we taking you home?” Will asks. El shakes her head.

“Hopper is picking me up later. See you tomorrow!”

After a chorus of goodbyes, the four of them are out the door. The evening is humid and clingy, just as it’s been all summer; streaks of indigo paint the orange sky, the sunset a hazy golden mirage on the horizon.

“Goddamn summer, man,” Dustin huffs as they head up to yard to the street. “Eight-thirty and it’s barely even dark.”

“I like it,” Max says, hoisting her skateboard under her arm. A fond smile crosses her face. “California summers always last forever. They’re great.”

Lucas looks over at her. Her hair blazes in the glow of the sunset, the sharp planes of her face illuminated in fire. Radiant, beautiful, always.

“See you guys tomorrow?” Will asks, pulling his bike up from the lawn.

“I’ll radio after breakfast,” Dustin says as he adjusts his walkie-talkie mic. “El wants to go swimming so that’s probably what we’ll do, knowing Mike.”

“Ten-four. Night, guys.” Lucas salutes and Dustin copies with a laugh, and then he and Will take off down the street.

Max idly spins one of the wheels on her skateboard, looking up at Lucas. “What now?”

“Whatever you want. Meg’s is still open, or I’ll walk you home?”

He always walks her home after days like these, despite the fact that she lives half a mile away and he’s just two houses down. At first she had adamantly refused, saying it wasn’t logical for him to go all that way and honestly, I can take care of myself just fine, thanks. Lucas couldn’t help but laugh. Believe me, Max, all of Hawkins knows you can take care of yourself, he had said. I just like spending time with you. Much to his delight, she relented, and each walk home – or sometimes bike-slash-skateboard ride – is a valued memory of his.

Now, though, she hesitates, eyes dropping to her shoes, and Lucas recognizes what’s going on immediately.

“Or you can stay at my house tonight, if you want,” he adds. She sighs.

“I’m sorry, Lucas, I just – it’s been bad, the last few days, and I wouldn’t ask if –“

“Max.” Lucas plants his hands on her shoulders and she wearily looks up at him, her expression somewhere between hope and reluctance. “It’s okay. I get it, dude. It’s not a problem. You know you’re always welcome at my house. My family loves you.”

She takes a deep breath, and with her nod comes a smile. “Yeah. Okay. Thanks, Lucas.”

He smiles back at her, because how can he not? “Anytime. Milkshakes?”

“Milkshakes,” she agrees.

She discards her skateboard in the Wheelers’ lawn, to be picked up on their way back, and takes Lucas’ hand. He tries not to smile too wide.

Hawkins is tranquil and undisturbed on this sticky summer night. As the sky darkens, the streetlamps flicker to life, dotting the street with patches of dim yellow halogen. The occasional rustling of trees is accompanied by the scuffle of Max’s and Lucas’ shoes on the asphalt, and with their hands swinging between them, Lucas feels a warm sense of peace drift through him.

They discuss whatever comes to mind as they walk (mostly the new video games that the arcade is getting next week) and it doesn’t take long before they get to Meg’s, the closest thing to a diner Hawkins has after Benny’s Burgers shut down. A rush of cool air greets them as they step inside, the entire restaurant lit up in neon purples and pinks. After ordering a chocolate milkshake for Max, a strawberry one for Lucas, and a large side of fries because they’re both sad suckers for the comfort food combination of both, they take a booth near the window.

“Do you think El will be able to come to school this year?” Max asks offhandedly as they wait for their food, drumming her nails on the checkered tabletop. The neon lights cast a soft purple glow over her sun-kissed face and dye her hair a bright magenta.

Lucas shrugs. “Maybe. Mike said she and Hopper have been fighting nonstop about it. Technically her safety year isn’t up until December, so…Hopper’s just looking out for her.”

Max nods, leaning back in the booth. “Why does she have to hide so much anyways? I thought the lab was closed for good.”

“There could be more labs, I guess. More experiments that would want to find her.”

“I can’t believe she’s our friend.” Max shakes her head. “She’s so cool.”

Lucas grins. Despite Max’s constant no-shits-given attitude, she really looks up to El and he can see how highly she thinks of their telekinetic friend. “Yeah, she is. I didn’t always think that, back when we first met her.”

“Really?”

He shakes his head. “I thought she was against us, sabotaging us and keeping us from finding Will. But I was way, way wrong. She’s a good person. She’s been through a lot.”

Max pulls her lip between her teeth, eyeing him. “Mike loves her.” It isn’t a question – how could it be, to anyone who has eyes?

“Well, yeah. She’s everything to him.”

Max grins, presumably at the blush Lucas can feel rising in his cheeks. “You’re such a sap, dude.” He rolls his eyes.

“You brought it up!”

She starts to say something but then their food arrives and she changes tack at warp speed. “Oh my God, that looks amazing. It smells amazing. Am I drooling? I have to be. Save me, Lucas.”

He snorts, picking up some fries at the same time that she grabs for them with some kind of freaky animalistic instinct. He watches amusedly as she crams them into her mouth, giving a moan that’s way too obscene for a diner.

“Don’t choke, man,” he says, wincing. “Don’t you want some ketchup or something? Max, seriously, when was the last time you ate –“

“’M ffn,” she mumbles in a highly protestant tone, completely incomprehensible because of the absurd amount of food in her mouth. Lucas laughs, unsure whether to stop her for her own good or just let her go.

“Here.” He tears the paper off a straw and dunks it in her milkshake, sliding it across the table to her. “Drink this before you suffocate.”

She rolls her eyes but the overall effect is diminished by her bulging chipmunk-cheeks. She finally gets a breath and takes a huge gulp of the milkshake.

“Better?”

“Those fries are the best fries I’ve ever had,” she says with a heavy sigh, gazing at the basket longingly. “I love these fries. I’d marry these fries.”

Lucas smiles, unwrapping another straw. “Date them instead, then. Who needs poor pitiful me when you’ve got potatoes?”

“Damn right,” she says with a grin, watching him take a drink of his milkshake. When he sets the glass down her expression shifts to amusement, laughter bubbling up in her voice. “You, um, you got something there.”

He already knows – he can feel the cold foam across his upper lip – but he forces himself to keep a straight face as he looks at her innocently. “Hm?”

Max’s mouth twitches, a glint in her eyes, and then before he can move she leans across the table and kisses the entire strawberry milkshake moustache right off him. All of his brain processes freeze up and he gapes at her, eyes wide as she sits back, looking extremely smug despite the slight reddening of her ears.

He’s straight up malfunctioning as a human being. “Did you – did you just –“

She nods, clearly pleased with herself. “I did. Not bad, right?”

He blinks, his fingers absently ghosting across his lips before he breaks into an incredulous grin. This girl. “That was the cheesiest thing I’ve ever seen. And pretty awesome. You’re crazy.”

She beams. “You were asking for it.” She pops another fry in her mouth, scrutinizing him, and when she finishes she says, “Kiss me again?”

Despite the sun having fully set and the clock nearing ten by the time they leave the diner, the air outside is just as sultry and hot as it was before. The streets stretch out before them, empty and quiet, trees rustling in the dark distance beyond the edges of the concrete. Max swings a plastic sack from her hand as they walk; it’s filled with more fries that she had ordered before they left. Her other hand is loosely interlaced with Lucas’.

“Do you want to go see a movie or something this weekend?” Lucas asks. “Just us?”

“D’aw, are you asking me on a date?”

“I mean, only if you want to –“

She swerves into his side, playfully nudging him with her elbow. “Yes, Stalker. I want to go to a movie. Just us. Not that I don’t enjoy doubling up with Mike and El, but…”

Lucas blows out a breath. “Yeah. Their level of PDA and a dark theater isn’t a good mix for anyone who wants to keep their popcorn down.”

“Exactly. Hey, hold this.”

She hands him the sack of fries and steps behind him. Before he can figure out what she’s doing she leaps up onto his back, arms around his neck and legs around his waist. Her whole body rumbles against him as she laughs while he staggers under the sudden weight, tipping back and forth on the street. After a second he regains his balance, squeezing her thighs against his sides.

“Shit, Max,” he laughs, starting forward again at a much slower rate. She keeps on laughing, her hair swinging back and forth and tickling his face. Something deep in his bones tugs at him then, swelling his heart with a surge of happy emotions. It’s just the two of them in the wind, carefree, and Lucas realizes the emotion that’s pressing outwards against his skin, threatening to burst through in a spectrum of light, is probably love.

Love? I love Max?

It’s the first time he’s thought it, but it doesn’t feel out of place. It feels like a truth that was there all along finally being brought back into the light where it belongs.

“Earth to Sinclair. What are you thinking about?” Max says, pushing her knee into his side to get his attention. He refocuses on the street ahead of him, brushing away his thoughts.

“Just you.”

“Typical. Everyone’s always thinking about me, Mad Max Mayfield, coolest person in town. Just out of curiosity though, not because I care, what about me?”

Making sure his pace is steady and he’s not about to trip over a rock, he risks craning his head back to look at her. Her features are relaxed, her smile soft, fondness in her eyes despite her tone.

Yeah. Probably love.

He’s screwed.

“Trying to decide just how pissed you’ll be if I dump you off my back right now.”

“You wouldn’t.”

He smiles, that warm something filling up his lungs. “No, I wouldn’t.”

“Why do we have to be so sneaky?” Max hisses as they tiptoe through Lucas’ kitchen.

“Because my parents are asleep, and if Erica sees us, she’ll never shut up,” he whispers, depositing the bag of fries on the island counter for their breakfast. He gestures back down the hall and they start making their way up the carpeted stairs.

“She doesn’t shut up. I mean I love her, but.”

“See?”

They manage to make it into Lucas’ room without running into any loud-mouthed sisters and as soon as he shuts the door, Max kicks off her shoes, drops her skateboard, and collapses on his bed with a luxurious sigh.

“I don’t wanna sound weird, but I love your bed. It’s awesome.”

He nods approvingly, pushing open the closet door. “It definitely is. Do you want your stuff?”

She started spending nights at his house earlier this spring, him on the floor and her on the bed, and they both came to an unspoken agreement that it was just easier for her to keep her essential stuff here in one of Lucas’ old backpacks in the corner of his closet. Pajamas, a toothbrush, an extra change of clothes, stuff like that.

“Not yet. Just…lay with me for a minute?” she asks quietly.

“Oh. Yeah, okay.”

He tugs off his shoes and climbs up next to her, leaving what he hopes is a respectable amount of distance between them. She rolls onto her side, back pressed against the wall below the window. Her hand reaches out to tug on his shirt.

“You can get closer than that. I’m not gonna stick my fangs in your neck.”

“Yet,” Lucas mumbles, shifting closer all the same until she tangles their legs together.

And then it’s just her and her soft breathing, her eyes that glitter in the dark and her warm presence. Everything that makes her Max, all right here with him. Sometimes it’s hard for him to believe. Max.

“Thanks for letting me stay,” she whispers.

“Anytime. I like it when you’re here.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I like you.”

“That’s a relief,” she says with the smallest hint of a laugh. He smiles even though it’s too dark to see. Time slips and slides, their eyelids getting heavier and heavier with each moment.

“Max?”

“Present.”

“I’m glad I met you. I know the circumstances kind of sucked, but…”

For a moment he’s afraid he said the wrong thing – he didn’t exactly think it through – but then her fingertips press into his chest, his shoulder, searching, until they trace down his arm and fold into his hand.

“I’m glad I met you too.” She leans forward, gently pressing her lips to his. It’s warm and sweet and fills him with a kind of joy only Max seems to be able to create. A few moments pass before she pulls away, her voice slightly more tired and slurred this time. “I’m falling asleep.”

“Me too.”

She pulls their hands up to rest on the bed between their chests. “You don’t have to sleep on the floor.”

“Do you want me to?”

“Not really.”

“Okay.”

“Cool.”

He squeezes her hand, and she squeezes back, and the sweet summer night slides by until they fall asleep side by side.

let me know if you’d like to be added/removed from my taglist!

@calpurnias @she-who-the-river-could-not-hold @michael-hearteyes-wheeler @summer-in-hawkins @sadiesinkt @you-wont-lose-me @caseyk112 @fatechica @elizabthturner @mikewheeler

#summaries?? i don't know her #also #this is my very first time writing lumax??? i didn't think so but then i looked through my fics and realized yes indeed it is #unless you count that smidge of them in my sfs fic which i DON'T #anyways #i'm really happy with how it turned out #stranger things #lumax #lucas sinclair #max mayfield #anna puts words together

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potter-imagines · 7 years

Text

First Impressions - Peter Parker

Prompt: Y/n Stark is left alone for the weekend as the Avengers are out of town. Her dad decides to send a good friend of his over to spend the day with his daughter although forgets to mention anything to Y/n about it leading her to find an intruder in her kitchen. Not all first impressions are great.

Words: 5,391

Warnings: Maybe three swear words

Rain kissed the filthy sidewalks of Manhattan in a baptizing fashion. The water droplets rid the city of it’s sin by simply showering over head. Y/n Stark watched the mesmerizing scenery from her bedroom window seat, in awe of the beauty. An old throw blanket was snuggled to her body as she leaded her head on the wood of the sill capturing the view below. The rain picturfully had no effect of the daily life of the city goers as they all continued rushing around, the only change was the addition of umbrellas. Most were black, few clear and a rare bit of yellow. The color of the tarps pulled Y/n in allowing her to calculate the amount of vibrant souls and those unlike the rest.

For the moment being she could see thirty or so dark coverings, three rainbow patterns, one red with black polka dots, a child umbrella resembling a frog, and two summer sky blue umbrellas.

With squinted eyes rain boots were still not visible but that was alright. This was her favorite weather and Y/n Stark had the intention of watching the show all day. Well that was until her stomach growled in agony.

Home alone meant freedom to most but to Y/n, it was loneliness. No one around for days, no conversation, no laughter, no smiling faces, no sassy comments, and no family. Defeated, Y/n peeled the blanket back and escaped from the material walking to her bedroom door.

She peeked out the frame, basking for a moment in the tranquility of the compound. Bucky and Sam weren’t bickering, Nat wasn’t causing mayhem alongside Clint, Steve wasn’t scolding, Wanda wasn’t helping Vision cook, Tony and Bruce weren’t helping Y/n with her lab assignments, and Pepper wasn’t lecturing Y/n on her weekend plans. For once, it was nice.

Pepper was gone on a business trip which meant Y/n had no mom either for the short lived weekend. Of course tomorrow was a school day so there wasn’t much room for trouble to be caused. Either way the young girl followed the path towards the kitchen in search of food to fulfil her needs.

School was a month away from being released and finding herself drained from endless studying, Y/n was not fully aware of her surroundings as she strolled into the highly equipped kitchen.

Her mouth opened largely as an unladylike noise erupted mirroring some type of a yawn. Thankfully with the Avengers off on some type of ‘bonding mission’ to try and rebuild burnt bridges, Y/n Stark could make whatever noise she wanted too and also had no worries on her appearance, not that she ever did when they were around. Clint would tease her for her ‘homeless’ look but that was as bad as it got.

She wondered for a moment if the new recruit her dad picked up had joined the team for their small task. From what she hear and what she saw from videos, he was pretty cool. He called himself Spider-Man, or Spider-Boy, Y/n couldn’t recall. Anyways he was around her age from what she inferred but there wasn’t much to go off of.

His real name was Peter Parker and without much knowledge he had managed to steal the girl’s attention and she was sure he didn’t even know her first name. There was some element to him that intrigued her despite the lack of information she had on him.

The two, born only months apart, had never once shared a conversation. They were never properly introduced, never crossed paths, never brought into topic of discussion and never seen.

The ambitious Stark was determined to get to know the only other person in the compound her age and made an effort daily. She pretended to be working in Tony’s lab in hopes of the pair, or just Peter, to waltz in. Then her dad, having no other choice unless extremely awkward, would have to introduce them. Y/n trained extra hours in the gym pushing her body to the brink of over exhaustion just to open up her window more to his arrival but he was never there. For crying out loud she had no idea what he even looked like, all she heard was conversations about him and that was enough to further her interest.

For a while she wondered if he was purposefully ignoring her, maybe Tony had warded him off or possibly Steve did. She had no idea but told herself they were bound to run into each other eventually.

Padding around the freshly swept floor Y/n opened up the cupboard harboring her favorite cereal, Lucky Charms. She smiled in delight and closed the door knowing her dad was bluffing. He tried to replace all the seemingly unhealthy breakfast items with whole wheat only products but Y/n agreed that no one was capable of that level of evil. She was sure Thor threatened him as he tried to throw out the sugary poptarts.

Snatching a clear glass bowl from the cabinet and the cold milk from the fridge Y/n pictured her cozy spot on the couch spending the day peacefully there. Although as she turned around the sight before her eyes was not one she expected. Behind her, entirely starstruck, was a blushing teenage boy. He was sat as quiet as a mouse at the kitchen counter digging in to a bowl of Lucky Charms himself. A cup of orange juice was to the left of his bowl and his brightly lit phone on the right.

Neither spoke, instead staring suspiciously at one another. The bowl in her hands suddenly felt heavy and the milk was set aside on the marble top. She carefully placed the bowl and cereal down on the table watching the boy’s every move though it wasn’t much. Y/n wondered how she had missed him when she entered the room. Had she really been too tired to miss the other presence? What was he even doing here?

He looked harmless for the most part though that didn’t stop Y/n from dissecting him. A loose fitting light navy blue sweatshirt cascaded down his front. She scanned the logo trying to place it but nothing came. ‘Midtown School of Science & Technology’. That didn’t sound like any college she had toured. The print resembled an atom reading an establishment year of 1962 below. Who was this kid?

The boy on the other hand was in complete awe at the sight before him. Never in his life had he seen such a picture perfect view. The girl was roughly his age, maybe a year older but her looks told a story of its own. Her natural features were breathtaking and the shine from the light above her head casted down perfectly created a sort of stage light around her making her appear even more angelic than first seen. Small parade of freckles were sparkled around her nose and cheeks like someone had blown a handful of glitter in her face and it stuck.

She seemed sharp despite her lack of words. The teenager already saw the Stark in her from the second her laid eyes on her. He had money riding on her being brilliant beyond her years and far more witty than most. Her voice was sure to sound like a soothing lullaby, sweet like honey. Lost in her trance the boy let his guard down and found himself stuck on her.

Not in the mood to take any chances Y/n quickly formed a plan of action. Her e/c eyes darted to his unlocked Iphone then back at him. He followed her gaze, unsure of her thoughts. Now was her slot.

Lunging forward Y/n swiped the cellphone from the smudgeless counter and bolted to the nearest room containing a lock. That happened to be the bathroom. Before she found herself in safety the intruder placed his hand around her wrist lightly tugging her backwards. She heard him talking though paid no mind to his words.

Without hesitation Y/n spun around and gave him a swift uppercut roundhouse kick to his jaw. The teen crumbled in pain releasing her and aiding to his wound. She swung the door open in panic and locked in behind her shoving anything she could in front of the door to barricade it.

Jumping from the window wasn’t an option seeing as she was on the seventh floor and the fall was sure to create damage. Instead she resulted to hiding in the shower for the time being and concentrating on the phone in her possession. Her fingers rapidly typed in the all too familiar number- and no not the emergency line which was logical. The image of her father popped up the second she hit the call button and confusion flooded. She took in the other title of ‘speed dial 2’ under Mr. Stark and almost dropped the device. A voice came from the other end of the line making Y/n snap back to reality. Bringing the phone up to her ear she heard the exasperated sound of her dad’s voice.

“What do you need Spider-boy, I’m sort of in the middle of something.”

“Spider-boy… dad it’s me! It’s Y/n! I need you to come home right away, there’s someone in the house please!” Her brows were furrowed together at his words. Tony Stark didn’t even question who was calling. Had he already saved the contact? That would’ve meant he was familiar with the owner. She ignored it and instead focused on the importance of saving her life.

“Woah, woah, slow down. Who is in the house? Y/n where are you?” His panic was evident as Tony separated himself from the team who were currently in the middle of a staged rescue.

“I’m hiding in the bathroom and I don’t know who it is! He has brown hair and brown eyes. He’s wearing a shirt and it says Midtown High or something like that! I stole his phone and- dad why are you on his speed dial?” The million dollar question was shared across the line earning a chuckle from Tony. Y/n checked the phone again just to be sure she wasn’t hallucinating and there it was. A handful of the Avengers approached Tony, curious to see what was going on. They sensed his fear from the first word he spoke and stood idly by.

“The kid has me on speed dial, how cute.” The group of Avengers sigh in relief, happy the situation was of no harm. They dispersed back to the original task expect Bruce, Thor, Nat and Steve who waited in the background. In order to complete the task they needed Tony’s help.

On the other end of the phone Y/n was left in the dark and still buzzing with freight. “What? You know him?”

“Oh yeah, that’s Peter Parker. I sent him over to check on you and keep you company, guessing I probably should’ve warned you.” Y/n’s mouth hit the floor. Not only had she just made a fool out of herself in front of her unidentified crush, she ran away from him and stole his phone!

“You think?” She huffed in annoyance. Her back was placed flat up against the bathroom door trying to hear for the boy outside. Abruptly Y/n pushed herself to standing straight and let out a yelp. “Oh my god.”

The opposite end of the line spoke up upon the escalated tone of the caller. Tony signalled for his team to hold their conversations and motioned towards the jet already deciding his daughter needed saving. Banner and Thor were already one step ahead practically sprinting towards their homebound journey. Rolling his eyes at his partner's actions Tony stated his concern as the rest of the group listened in.

“What, are you alright? Talk to me, sweetheart. What’s going on?” Natasha stepped forward waiting for his call. She was ready to rush back to the compound in your rescue. Steve Rogers was close behind her and glanced around for the rest of his team knowing if you were in legitimate danger they needed to act quick. Just as the super soldier went to search for the other’s he caught word of the billionaire’s young daughter’s humiliated tone.

“Dad, I kicked him in the face.” She groaned. Out of all the things to do when a handsome boy is in your kitchen and she attempted to knock him out cold! In her defence she was unaware of his arrival so she viewed him only as an intruder but still! Tony’s eyes widened in surprise- clearly not expecting your confession but he was pleased with it nonetheless.

“That’s my girl.”

A proud smile laced Black Widow’s face and made sure to remember to congratulate you when she arrived. Tony gave a large smirk and waved the two lethal Avengers off, silently telling them everything was fine and to continue on with the bonding. Steve nodded once and vanished to Bruce and Thor figuring he should tell them to stand down. Tony chuckled at Y/n’s ranting self, finding the situation extremely amusing.

“This isn’t funny! What do I do?”

“First, get out of the bathroom. You’re a Stark and you can kick anyone’s ass. Secondly, apologize to the poor kid. He’s probably scared out of his mind and in pain. Believe me if you kick anywhere near as hard as you punch, he’s gonna be hurting. I should know.”

Mr. Stark had been on the wrong end of his child’s powerful blow far too many times. From simple training sessions to releasing her anger of being denied a night out with friends, Tony had taken it all. Alongside a handful of icing and heating pad dates. All he could imagine was his unbiological prodgie having a near death panic attack in his million dollar living room all because he raised his daughter in an enviornment where everyone wanted her as some kind of leverage to use against him- and for the fact he forgot to mention the guest to her.

Y/n nodded to herself and placed her hand on the crystal door knob. Her heart felt like a small humminbird as it pounded ruthlessly in her chest. Working up the courage she twisted the handle and pulled it open an inch, peeking out. Seeing the coast was clear she decided to fill her father in on her future actions seeking approval.

“Okay, I’m gonna go see if he’s alright.”

Tony Stark smiled faintly at her voice. For a girl who appeared as innocent as a field of lilies, she was a force to be reckoned with. She contained the strength of a warrior and a heart of gold.

“Sounds good, sweetheart. Call me if anything else comes up, love you.”

Y/n released the heavy air she had trapped inside and bobbed her head, trying to reassure herself all was fine.

“Love you too, dad.” She pulled the phone from her ear awaiting the clink to cut off the line but once she went to press the red button a voice stopped her.

“Oh and Y/n?” Tony added on. The girl brought the device back to its former position against her ear and replied,

“Yeah?” The line grew quiet for a moment or two before Tony finished his thought. She was assuming it was bound to be a light scolding although she was pleasantly taken aback at the outcome.

“Don’t tell your mom this but I’m proud of you.” After that the beep came and the phone returned to its previous stage of the default background photo. Y/n’s heart warmed at her father’s words. Tony Stark wasn’t much for the mushy parenting gig. Sure he passed out hugs on occasions and ‘I love yous’ didn’t come rare, Y/n was sure she had yet to hear those words come from his mouth. It was an unexplainable feeling to describe when she processed it.

‘Proud of her’... Tony prided himself on the most lenient level of tough love for his daughter. No he didn’t go to the extremes as he had experienced himself- he didn’t dare. But it was important to Tony that Y/n learned how to work for things, to earn what she strived for. He didn’t let her leave her room until all her homework was done because he refused to let MIT and Harvard accept her based solely on her last name.

Both Tony and Pepper agreed on a curfew of eight for school nights and eleven on the weekends. Y/n had thrown a fit to herself in her room on this rule more than once but sadly she understood their reasoning. They taught their daughter that even though her image was entirely her choice, it didn’t hurt to be smart about it. She had a lot riding on her and a huge weight thrown on her shoulders, if Tony being strict was what she needed to feel like some of that was lifted off, then he would gladly do so.

Y/n allowed herself an up and down full body scan of her attire before exiting her shelter. Her hair was tossed up in a messy bun, a majority of it collapsing on her left side. She looked like she was carrying the Leaning Tower of Pisa on her head.

Pulling the band out of her hair with a yank Y/n combed through her main and managed to fix most of the disaster. Luckily her outfit wasn’t a huge mess. Sure sporting a pair of red and black warm flannel pants was no first pick, it could’ve been a lot worse. At least she had pants on. Her trusty old grey and red Boston College t-shirt provided a bit of comfort easing her into the confrontation.

Finally she stepped out of hiding and started wandering around the floor in search of the new comer. The kitchen was empty as well as the hall so she resorted to calling out his name instead.

“Peter? Peter Parker?” She poked her head around the corner towards the elevator and sure enough there he was.

“Hey uh, hi- um yeah that’s me. I… think I’m gonna head back uh, figured you’d want to be alone, y’know?” He mumbled awkwardly. The elevator door hinged open and Y/n’s heart sank in disappointment. She tried to speak up and ask him to stay but her mouth refused to operate. Instead she shook her head and hoped that would settle for enough. Peter’s eyes shifted from the metal box to the girl in front of him and before he could make up his mind the two door slid close and the elevator carried on its route. He was confused by her actions. It wasn’t everyday he took a foot to the face.

Y/n Stark stepped towards the boy who hesitantly stumbled back. Guilt erupted and a terrible taste consumed her mouth. He feared she was ready to unleash all sorts of hell on him. The last thing he wanted was to get screamed at by a Stark for being an idiot. Although she shocked him as she gave an apologetic smile and sincere eyes.

“Peter I am so sorry for kicking you. I didn’t know who you were and you scared me so I acted on instincts. I hope your okay.” She explained hoping that her words could mend the event. His moon like orbs traveled down to her hand then to her stare again. Y/n examined her grasp and sighed, “Oh, and sorry for stealing your phone, here.” Extending her hand forward Y/n watched as Peter accepted her offering and let his phone fall into the pocket of his blue jeans. A boyish grin perched his face as he looked up at Y/n.

“No, no, no. Don’t worry about it, that was my fault. I probably shouldn’t sit in someone’s kitchen and not introduce myself. I had just assumed your dad told you I was coming over, I didn’t know so sorry about that.” To say he felt like a total creeper slash stalker was highly an understatement. All he could think of was how her forever impression of him was to be him sitting in her kitchen staring at her like a lovestruck puppy.

But was he really to blame for his reaction! She was gorgeous beyond compare to any girl Peter had ever laid eyes on. He was bashful to admit he had search the girl more than once on social media but nothing obsessive. She was Tony Stark’s daughter for crying out loud! For a while Peter was sure she was fake, it didn’t seem possible for someone to hold that much pure beauty inside and out. Y/n Stark appeared to be perfect.

Peter was snagged to reality as he watched the radiating girl run a hand through her h/l locks. She seemed stressed and he couldn’t help but feel responsible.

“Don’t be sorry, Peter. This is all my fault.” She said. The hall was empty besides the pair which she was thankful for. Peter’s posture was a bit more relaxed and not as gated which made Y/n ease up.

Peter dug his hands into the front of his jean pockets trying to play it cool or rather mask his shakiness. All Starks had a similar intimidating affect to them but Y/n’s differed immensely from her father’s. She had no cocky demeanor, no self obsessed conceitedness rather so a positive alluring personality that made one feel as if they had been close acquaintances with her for years when they had only just met.

Running a hand over his burning jaw Peter shrugged his shoulders and laughed.

“No it’s not, really. You’ve got killer instincts though, it’s pretty impressive.” His comment earned a flash flood of redness across the delicate skin of Y/n’s cheeks. She was flustered by his compliment.

“Thanks.” Meeting his eyes she allowed herself to examine the mark she had made and spending a mere second overlooking it made her see the pain she inflicted. “Holy shit, your jaw! Peter I’m so sorry, come with me I’ll grab some ice!”Her hand wrapped around his palm dragging him in toll. She rounded the corner and they entered the cause of the contusion. Y/n led Peter to the high tops forcing him onto his bottom by placing force on his shoulder. He leaned into the cushion due to her hand pushing him away so she could get a better look.

A gloss flashed across her e/c eyes as she raced to the freezer. There she dug out a whole line up of frozen packets. Some were gel packs, other’s authentic ice and the last few looked to be vegetables used for purposes other than cooking, coming in handy after training. It wasn’t hard to picture to whole team of Avengers scattered around the living room icing their entire bodies with frozen corn and peas.

Peter accepted the first ice pack hoping to please the distressed teen. She wasn’t satisfied enough as she turned back and scoped out the bone chilling freezer for another pack and whatever else would be useful. Not wanting to watch the girl tear her own fridge apart because of him, Peter took the ice off of his tingling jaw and held it up. He showcased his liveliness and motioned towards Y/n.

“I’m fine really-”

“No you’re not and it’s okay to admit it. I can’t believe I did that!” She cried out. Her sorrow took effect on Peter as he didn’t want her blame herself for a natural reaction. He was Spider-Man! One kick- one thunderous kick, shouldn’t have the power to take him out. Peter wrapped his hand around her arm, catching her as she went to go find supplies in the medical cabinet. His lips curved into a friendly smile trying to reassure her he was okay.

“It hardly even hurts.” Even if that was true there was close to nothing anyone could do for a bruise. Peter prayed it for all the pain he got from it that the mark would at least look cool. Y/n narrowed her gaze and struck a finger in his face.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a terrible liar, cause you are.”

Peter’s head moved to the side trying to convince her of his lie but she saw right through him. So instead of arguing she played along and decided to test out his theory. In lightning speed she reached her slim finger out and gave the nasty bruise a light tap. His reaction was all she needed for an answer. He nearly fell out of his chair, cradling his jaw in the palm of his hands. A childlike yelp sounded and he shot Y/n a confused stare. She held a smug feature as if taunting him for lying. Peter huffed and threw his hands in the air,

“Yeah it hurts like hell. How the hell did you even move that fast? I swear I didn’t even see it coming like one second I was up then the suddenly your foot kicked me into next year and I was down for good.”

“How can I make this up to you?” Lacking intention she rested her hand slightly above his knee. A wave of uncontrollable shivers shook Peter’s body and his eyes snapped to her position. Y/n muttered a small apology and removed her grasp making Peter’s insides unclench. Cursing himself for letting it show he was fazed Peter stared at the floor waiting for an answer. He wondered if it would be too forward to suggest a date. Why would a girl like her ever want to go out with a nerd like him? Before his brain was done processing the results Peter shot his question,

“Do you like hot chocolate?”

“Huh?” Hot chocolate? What did that have to do with any of this? Sure she loved the warm homey liquid- especially on days like today although the relevance was confusing. Y/n tilted her head at the doe eyed boy and gave a small shrug. Peter sat the ice pack down on the sleek coffee table forgetting about it all together. Y/n previewed the red marks the chilling pad left of the underside of his jaw and creeping along his neck. A blossoming flower of purple and yellow was already blooming as the bruise settled in. Her heart twisted in guilt at the sight.

Peter caught her stare and shivered under the soften eyes. The regret was on display and he was eager to distract her, as well as himself, from the pain. Peter stood up from his spot on and threw his arms up with a smile.

“Hot chocolate? C’mon I know you’re a Stark but your parents had to have made you hot cocoa when you were a kid, right?” He teased her playfully hoping she would take the bait and change the topic, and she did. Although her hand grabbed the frozen package backup and reached up on her tippy toes to hold it against Peter’s jaw. She giggled loudly and nodded her head,

“Of course they did! I love it.” Their eyes met for a brief moment, though it felt like a lifetime. Peter felt her warm radiating off of his body and hold his breath in fear of it staggering. His hand clasped over her own, silenting letting her know he was able to handle the task. Y/n retreated to her normal flat footed state and waited for the conversation to pick back up. The brown haired teen finally released the air he was hiding away and informed her on his idea.

“Okay well there’s a coffee house a block down the street and they claim to have the best cup of hot chocolate, maybe we could test it out and see for ourselves?”

Her brow quirked at his suggestion and her insides went warm with fuz. Feeding off his boost of confidence she made her own,

“Do you like pizza? Cause there’s a pizza place right next to it and I for one am a sucker for pizza and hot chocolate with a cute boy on a rainy day. Maybe throw some movies int0 the mix too when we get back.” The words hadn’t registered entirely. Y/n stepped away wondering if she had made up the extra add on to the end in her head. Her mouth moved faster than her brain. Maybe he hadn’t heard her, or maybe if she moved fast enough she’d get to her room in time to avoid the uncomfortable let down.

Turning in the direction of her room Y/n brushed back the loose strands of her hair that framed her face. She was drowning in a downfall of negative apprehension doubtful if he kind boy had heard her that he’d present a response she liked.

Pondering her wanting to change outfits had been successful as he watched her dismiss herself to her room. Peter chuckled at her idea of a day and stood up from his spot. His feet carried him to the corridor leading to the elevator as their exit.

“Pizza for breakfast? I’m in.” Y/n smiled over her shoulder at him about to enter her room that was until he registered her slip. “Wait did you call me cute?”

As if her day was bound to get any worse. Y/n’s head pressed against her bedroom door as the building anxiety bursted as one giant bubble. Screwing her orbs closed she shuffled her way through lies and cover ups but none fit the situation. Refusing to take a gape at him Y/n nodded her head shamefully.

“Uh, yeah… sorry it kind of slipped I meant-” Footsteps cut her off as the handsome teen appeared by her side. Peter hastily, nervous as well, reach for her hand picking it up from her side and squeezed it gently. His face was brightly lit by a one of a kind smile that she had yet to see on a human being. She was sure her hand was shaking but he didn’t seem to care.

“I can’t ever say I’ve taken a beautiful girl out for pizza and hot chocolate with the promise of movies afterwards so I’m not letting her back down from this offer.” A comfortable silence took over and Y/n found herself smiling like a schoolgirl. Peter had lost his shy bashful ways and seemed a bit more assured, which was good seeing as Y/n had not. She barely managed to get out her response as it was above a whisper but Peter still heard.

“I’ll go get changed then.” A scarlet blush graced her cheek as she jabbed her thumb to her french cut door. Y/n was already searching and scanning for the perfect outfit to go with her favorite pair of sunflower rain boots. By the looks of Peter’s attire she noted to grab him a umbrella as well.

The boy unlaced their hands leaving a cold and loneliness to both of them. The grin had yet to wipe away from his face as he pointed towards the ground.

“I’ll wait here.”

Y/n giggled happily and approved as she tucked away into her room. The moment she closed to door behind her she found herself pressing her hand to her mouth letting out a masked squeal of delight. She planned on getting all of her giddiness out before their date to keep from embarrassing herself further. Her excitement was flooding overboard and she darted to her closet in search of the perfect outfit.

Little did she know outside her door Peter was dong a celebration dance of his own. He had no idea how he scored a date with the most beautiful girl in the world but he vowed not to waste it.

Their first impressions of each other may have started off on the wrong of the wrong foot but it was sure to end better than either of them had planned. Who knew taking a kick to the face would be so worth it?

- Daizy xx

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lumberwoods · 7 years

Text

SNAKE LORE OF AUSTRALIA.

*** THE HOOP SNAKE. (March 15, 1890)

The following question, says a correspondent of the Scientific American, in still being asked: “Is there such a thing as a hoop snake, and has anybody ever seen one, or a specimen of one?” The way the hoop snake is said to move about is thus: It takes its tail in its month, coils itself in an ellipse, and moves around like a hoop. There are many persons who uphold the existence of the hoop snake, yet all reports and declarations that have been advanced in its favour have all proved to be totally unreliable. The anatomy of a snake alone is sufficient to prove that hoop like progression is impossible. The hoop snake has never been described by any naturalist in any standard work on reptiles, and no museum nor collection in the world contains a specimen of it. It exists only in the minds of the ignorant and unscientific, and it must be classed with ghosts, mermaids, winged snakes, sea serpents, and fishhooked-tailed fishing snakes. *** COW MILIKING SNAKES. (October 2, 1910)

An old country belief, usually called a superstition, has been justified by a very curious experience near Chipping Norton. A Mrs. Rice, residing near the village of Oddington, Gloucestershire, keeps two cows, which, although in perfect condition, were recently not giving a proper supply of milk. Her cowman, going into the meadow one day, found one of the cows lying down quite contentedly, while two large grass snakes were sucking at her udders. *** SOME SNAKE YARN. (August 13, 1921)

Putting all jokes aside, did you ever hear of a hoop snake? Drovers [livestock drivers] and other overlanders in the early days often spent hours at the entrance to the old Cloncurry suspension bridge, when Coppermine Creek was a banker [river that reaches to the top of the banks], watching the antics of these reptiles. Averaging a length of nearly 5ft, the hoop snake originally received its name on account of its peculiar methods of propulsion. By, inserting its tail in its mouth, and wriggling to a perpendicular attitude in the form of a hoop, it is enabled to cover the ground with no little velocity. As above stated, the drovers coming down from the Gulf and Territory country generally found the time lag very heavily on their hands after the usual initial “spree,” writes J.T.K. in the Brisbane “Courier.” Squatting on their haunches near the entrance of the bridge, few, if any of them, were averse to “backing their fancy” [placing a bet] as the various hoop snakes endeavored to negotiate the swinging spans of the bridge. Money passed hands very freely, and curses were loud and deep when one of the leading snakes, possessing more velocity than sense, rolled from the bridge and hit the water below. These races were quite a regular feature of the 'Curry in the good old days, but I am since given to understand that snake racing has has been banned by the local Council, at the instance of a representative body of churchmen, who held that such an amusement was nothing more or less than a pastime of the devil. *** SNAKES THAT FLY IN THE NIGHT. (January 27, 1917)

Recent paragraphs in The Observer about the discovery of what was at first thought to be a winged snake, have called forth from our Green’s Plains correspondent the following effusion:—Some diversity of opinion has recently been expressed among correspondents of The Observer whether another correspondent really killed a winged snake, as he asserted, or was merely the victim of an optical illusion with a lizard. Now, although not for one moment doubting that it was either a snake or a lizard that was killed, or maybe both, I would like to say right here and now, that the first correspondent, unless his veracity has been of long standing and firmly established, made a serious mistake in killing the reptile off his own bat, without having first shown it to a friend, or friends, whose testimony might have been very useful just now. This shows how very careful one should be. There cannot be the slightest doubt about this having been a belated specimen of the winged snake aerial fleet. These reptiles were very numerous and popular in the early days of the province, when distances were largely marked by distant grog shanties, and events simply by what happened—those far-away days when the native cat and the locust were sworn enemies of the pioneer, and sought his blood or crop by day or night. It was then in the gloaming that he listened for the whirl of the white-winged serpents, as they came in flocks to chase the marauders back into the gathering night, for these fireless flying serpents were very partial to locust and wild catty. And yet they were generally understood to be labelled “not dangerous” unless they hit something. There was, of course, an occasional overgrown specimen which might not be quite so handy or harmless about the place. For instance, there is the backblocker [one who lives in the outback], who, coming home in the dusk, saw and fired at, what he took to be a wild turkey flying low, and found when it landed almost in the door of his little grey home in the bush that it was a broken-winged and very indignant snake. They both spent a wildly wakeful night. Another early pioneer, gun in hand, in broad daylight, saw rapidly approaching overhead, and mostly all head, some remarkable monster, which he would have mistaken for an aeroplane had those innovations been about in those days. As the whirring wings passed overhead, he shut his eyes and fired, and brought down a most fearsome-looking creature with the head of a shark and the slimy winged body of a snake, which on closer inspection it proved to be. The serpent had evidently undertaken—for a wager maybe, or maybe only for a meal—to swallow a full-grown lizard of the Jewish persuasion, and had succeeded in getting the brute down all but the head, which was unusually large, and ornamented with frills and whiskers, some of which had apparently caught in the snake’s teeth, and so in all probability saved both their heads. And this is the only authentic local instance of a lizard flying, although there is not the slightest doubt that they could do so if they wanted to. The lizard is, how ever, more of a ground bird, and seems quite content to make haste slowly; and as in the case mentioned, only flies by compulsion. But there can be no doubt that now, as in the days of old, there are and were flying serpents, and The Observer correspondent who made the discovery, or rediscovery, need not be in the least discouraged, as it is a highly creditable one, and must prove interesting to science and other denominations. *** A FEARSOME REPTILE. (October 28, 1909) The Whip Snake of North America.

One of the most terrifying reptiles in the whole world is the “whip” or “hoop” snake (genus Masticophis), found in North America. An account of it reads like a piece of clever fiction, but, nevertheless, the whip snake is very real, and one of the earth's most real dangers— that is, to one whose lot it happens to be in life to live in a portion of the country where there are deep swamps or thick woods or wild rough hillsides. This is the whip snake’s choice of a world to live in, and there he is peaceable enough. If you happen to invade it, he will creep away, if possible, and fight only as a last resort. He will even lie so snug that you may step over him scatheless a dozen times— if only you do not step on him. You may see him sometimes basking on a log or bare rock, blinking at the sun, and looking as inert and harmless as a fallen twig. He is long and slim, rarely under four or over six feet in length. His back is dull dead brown, his belly reddish ocher, with brown lights. He has a mouthful of sharp teeth, but no fangs; but at the tip of the tail you see a suspicious-looking horny spur, for all the world like a cock’s spur, but somewhat sharper. So he creeps and blinks away the spring and early summer, feeding on frogs, mice, berries, and small birds and their eggs. Nobody sees him unless they hunt him, and then only by rare good luck. By-and-by, however, midsummer arrives, and dries up the marshes and woodland pools, the hill streams run low or fail altogether, and the negroes and hunters begin to say apprehensively : “Better be keerful ; time for hoop snake to come whirling out de water, an’ crazy mad at that.” Soon you hear weird tales indeed. In this midsummer madness the creature curls itself till the horned tail rests just on the back of its head, and then with a terrific jerk flings itself into the country road or open woodland. A succession of these vicious springs are its mode of progression, and woe betide whatsoever may cross its path. The name whip snake, hoop snake, or cartwheel snake, as it is called in different localities, comes from its habit of locomotion on these mad midsummer forages. Vision is impossible, yet in some way the creature immediately discerns a living presence, and strikes madly at it, fling its barbed tail almost its own length in front of its head. There is a poison gland at the root of the spur, full of venom so swift, so subtle, that it has no antidote. A horse struck by it falls shivering and groaning, bathed in cold sweat, and dies within the hour. Near cattle either run bellowing into the nearest thicket in foaming frenzy, or drop in their tracks as though shot. A dog dies with the quick rigours of strychnine poisoning, then fall into merciful insensibility that runs rapidly into death. Luckily, however, the snake misses oftener than it strikes. In that case it makes no second attack, but whirls away in search of new victims. It cannot strike sideways, but is so full of fight it will turn squarely on its course to deliver a straight-out blow. Few things are more awesome than on a lonesome moonlit country road to encounter one of these wheels of vengeance. The full moon of August is the whip snake’s usual season for its mad frolic ; but sometimes it runs amuck by daylight. Once a group in front of a roadside smithy were horror-struck at sight of a tremendous fellow whirling down hill at them with a speed and force of a thunderbolt. They were three men, with a tethered horse, in the midst, of them. Almost before they could drew breath the snake was upon them. It struck madly at the animal, which reared, plunged backwards, and broke rein just in time. Instead of it, the snake struck the sapling to which it had been tied, and with such force that the horn penetrated the bark and held the reptile prisoner. The smith immediately smashed its head with a blow of his hammer, flung it away, and set about putting a shoe on the lucky beast which had had so narrow an escape. By the time the shoe was in place the sapling began to wilt. By morning it was as black and dead as though hard frost had touched it. In fact, whenever a tree suddenly and unaccountably dies, the countryfolk will tell you that it has been stung by a whip snake; — “Spare Moments.” From— The Week (Brisbane, Qld. : 1876 - 1934) 15 March 1890, The Sunday Sun (Sydney, NSW : 1903 - 1910) 2 October 1910, The Shoalhaven News and South Coast Districts Advertiser (Shoalhaven, New South Wales, Australia) 13 August 1921, Observer (Adelaide, SA : 1905 - 1931) 27 January 1917 & Cobram Courier (Vic. : 1888 - 1954) 28 October 1909. Trove. National Library of Australia.

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chibiwitch98 · 7 years

Text

A business trip to remember

Pairing: England x France (Hetalia)

Part(s): 9/?

Brief synopsis: England goes to Paris to talk business. (I don’t want to ruin too much)

PLEASE DO NOT RE POST WITHOUT MY PERMISSION I’M WORKING HARD ON THIS!!

To Arthur’s surprise he awoke to find the softest snow white cat perched on his chest. Sound asleep, just as he had been yet moments before he was woken by a gentle melody and the gorgeous aroma of breakfast.

As tempted as he was to get up and discover the source, he couldn’t help but fawn over the cat. Gushing over the adorable creature, he ran his slender fingers through its long fur.

“So soft…”

Then he scratched its chin, listening to the sweet rumbling purr that followed.

“So cute…”

The paws were next. No cat lover could resist playing with those perfect pink paws.

“Little toe beans…”

He giggled like a child as he held the cat at arm’s length above him, as if brandishing a trophy. Covering its nose in kisses, he listened to the singing growing ever louder from the kitchen:

…mais boum

Quand notre cœur fait boum Tout avec lui dit boum Et c'est l'amour qui s'éveille

Boum Il chante "Love in Bloom" Au rythme de ce boum Qui redit boum à l'oreille

The sound of Francis singing his heartfelt classics make something stir in his chest. He hadn’t heard him sing in so long. He almost forgot how much of an angelic voice he had.

Once Francis’ creativity had ceased so had his melodic voice. He became suddenly aware of the absence of his companion’s raucous snores and realised it would be best to keep his music to a minimum. He didn’t want to worsen Arthur’s certain headache.

He stepped into the living room, leading with the freshly prepared crêpes piled on a plate.

“I didn’t think you would be awake already.”

“Yet you made breakfast? How touching!”

Francis rolled his eyes.

“How are you feeling?” He said.

“Well my head is banging like a shithouse door in a gale… but I’ll survive I guess.”

For a few seconds there was an awkward silence. Francis simply stared at Arthur, who reciprocated his actions, albeit with a contorted brow.

“That song… what was it about?”

“You heard me?”

“So what if I did? You still haven’t answered my question!”

Francis grinned.

“It’s about how we see the world… more specifically when we’re in love how this changes… It’s hard to explain to you. I guess you wouldn’t understand…”

“I’ve been in love before Francis,” Arthur said, “I may be British but I still have feelings.”

“Désolé.”

Arthur just sighed deeply.

“It’s fine. You’re forgiven.”

With this, Arthur propped himself up, dragging the plate of crêpes towards him. By now they had cooled a little, but he was certain it wouldn’t degrade the taste, after all, usually he dealt with charred crumpets for a breakfast, slathered with butter. It was such a relieve to be finally enjoying a decent breakfast.

“I can’t believe you’ve actually been in love before, I’ve always imagined you as a lonely old man with 50 cats—”

“—Oi! There’s no need to be rude!” Arthur said, gesturing with his fork, “Besides, who’s to say I’m not still in love…” He added in a tone barely above a whisper.

His eyes fixed to the elegant patterning on the plate for a little while. Hopefully Francis hadn’t heard that. How stupid, could he still not stop that awful automatic link between mind and mouth? Once again he dug his fork into the crêpe, choosing to focus on food.

“You never cease to surprise me Monsieur Kirkland.”

Arthur frowned.

“So what is she like?” Francis said, hugging his knees by the sofa.

“He’s… kinda hard to describe actually. A bit of an entity…”

“He? Ok. Why?”

“Why he?”

“No of course not that! Why is he an entity?”

“Oh. Well he stuns me because he has this incredible beauty about him but sometimes he can be the biggest twat…”

Arthur shovelled another forkful of crêpe into his mouth.

“Why?”

“He’s just a bit annoying sometimes. Probably not even his fault. Maybe he was born a bit of a twat. Who knows?”

“What does he look like?”

“Pardon?”

“You said he was an incredible beauty?”

“Not quite what I said mate but sure, I guess that works too. I remember back when we first met, I was really young so things were confusing for me. I was dealing with a lot of new and tough things and every now and then he would suddenly be there. I used to think, ‘wow, he looks like an angel’. ‘What is an angel doing here?’”

Francis grinned, blue eyes glittering as they fixed to the brit’s profile.

“An angel, huh?”

“Did I say that? Shit.”

“It doesn’t matter Arthur. I find it interesting how you see him so highly. To regard someone as a higher being… that’s a strong love you are feeling mon ami.”

“Really?”

Francis nodded.

“He’s lucky, to have someone love him so much…”

Arthur ignored Francis’ comment for a while, lost in thought. He would never date Arthur. He wouldn’t risk his precious heart for someone so drab. Francis was right: his crush was lucky.

It didn’t take long for the steely silence between the two of them for Francis to realise he might have struck a nerve. He didn’t like that hurt look.

“Arthur…”

“What is it frog? I feel like I’m in a bloody interrogation…”

“Does he love you?”

“How the bloody hell would I know that?” He snapped. “If he did it would be a miracle… he’s leagues away from me…”

“Nonsense!”

“’scuse me?”

“Nonsense! I mean I can see a couple of things that would initially put someone off…”

Francis tailed off, gaze shifting to a pair of insanely thick brows.

“Piss off!”

He stifled a giggle.

“Seriously, there’s a chance he may be just as worried as you are.”

“I doubt it. That man has enough confidence for an entire population.”

“Maybe on the outside.”

Arthur paused, eyeing Francis suspiciously. Had he given away too much? Why was he even sharing so much? Why were those infuriating butterflies back?

“Maybe he’s been waiting for someone to dig a bit deeper then what’s on the outside…”

Arthur cocked his head.

“Are you ok?”

“Arthur.”

“Yes?”

“Close your eyes.”

“Why?”

“Please. For me. I think I’ve worked it out.”

He obeyed, eyelids flickering shut. Francis lingered for a moment, held back once again by hesitation: was he right? What if he wasn’t? Was this too much of a risk?

The more he studied Arthur’s impatient expression, the more his nerves settled. The way his eyebrows hinted at confusion, his feathery lashes, lightly freckled nose and inviting lips. Where they smooth? Like the rose petals that grew in the gardens he so adored? Or rough like the harsh British winters just passed?

Francis leaned towards him, their faces so close the tips of their noses almost brushed. Come on. If the most romantic man on the planet couldn’t do just this, what a disgrace he would be! Mere talk! He couldn’t have that. Needing no further persuasion, he captured Arthur’s lips in a tender kiss.

Arthur’s breath hitched slightly, caught off guard by the Frenchman’s sudden kiss. It was in a sweet, innocent way that he captured his lips. Filled with the love he had craved for decades, it was no surprise at all that such a kiss was rapidly reciprocated.

After stretched out seconds they broke apart, one gentleman’s eyes still clamped shut in fear that he would wake up. Alone. Disappointed. As always pining for the man he couldn’t have.

“Arthur…?”

The gentle near whispering of his name caused his eyes to dare to open, slowly but surely to admire the man inches from him.

“It’s me isn’t it?”

He said nothing, still overwhelmed, before something took over. Delicately taking Francis’ hand in his own, he placed the palm flat on his chest. His pulse quickened, racing with nerves, excitement, embarrassment. A concoction of feelings.

“There’s your answer love.” He said. “Please… can we try that again?”

#fruk #aph france #aph england #hetalia #part 9 #unfinished #work in progress

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unicyclehippo · 7 years

Note

more supercorp please! it's so good!

part one, part two, part three, part four, part five, part six, part seven, part eight, part nine, part ten, part eleven, part twelve, part thirteen, read on ao3

normally, kara isn’t all that fond of her sun bed. forget that she’s usually shoved into it whenever she gets so much as a scratch—that has to be like, some pavlovian response or something, right? that she associates the bed with being hurt and in danger—but on top of that it’s also cramped and uncomfortable and no matter how well scientists think they’ve perfectly reproduced the effects of sunlight, it doesn’t feel the same.

this morning, there’s something different about the whole thing.

it’s, like, three in the morning and alex has taken the video recording of kara’s interrogation-interview thing with him and she’s gone back to work but not before frog marching her little sister to the room adjoining the medical bay and basically tucking her in.

“you know i still have my powers and that i’m fine, right?”

“humour me,” alex grumbles and she pulls off kara’s boots. she lays a hand on her ankle and squeezes. opens her mouth to say something and, when she hesitates, kara beams at her.

“i know, alex. look, i’m resting.” she shuts her eyes tight and turns onto her side, pillows her hands under her cheek and fakes a quiet snore. when alex laughs, kara peeks over at her, shoulders, hands, body relaxing into the bed and into the warmth the heat lamps provide. it’s not the same as the sun, not even close, but it is kind of nice. “hey, alex?”

she doesn’t look up from her tablet, swipes the overhead lights down until they’re a soft haze instead of clinically bright. she gives her sister a quiet “mhm” as she works.

“i’m, i am sorry,” kara tells her quietly. “for, you know. getting blown up and stuff. without you.” she knows alex understands what she means—not that she would ever want her sister in close proximity with a bomb. ever. but that she knows that alex worries about her, and more now that she’s supergirl, and more when supergirl flies off to do incredibly dangerous things without even telling her. “and thank you.”

alex looks over at her, dark eyes curious. “for what?”

kara shrugs. her smile turns a little shy and she rummages her feet around inside her blanket, pulling the corners out from under the bed to wrap around her legs. when she’s done getting comfortable she shrugs again. “you know. being my sister.” helping her protect lena. knowing what lena means to her. helping her. trusting her.

she gets a look—complete with narrowed eyes and a head tilt and a slow tap of alex’s index finger against the desk—and then alex makes her way over and shoves kara backwards and lays on the bed next to her. kara’s heart sinks the tiniest bit because she’s not getting under the covers which means she’s not going to stay for long but alex wraps an arm around her shoulders and leans her head against kara’s.

“your big heart is gonna get you into trouble one of these days,” alex sighs, and kara grins because alex sounds a tiny bit annoyed and mostly resigned but there’s this edge—this soft edge to her tone that’s just so enormously fond and proud and she leans into her sister’s side and smiles.

“yeah. but that’s what i’ve got you for.”

kara sleeps fitfully for a time—her interrogation keeps replaying over and over in her head, and she can’t stop wondering whether lena is awake and worrying too, and the DEO is never really the most quiet place for sleeping, and she wonders whether lena has called or messaged her but alex stole her phone to “make sure she got a proper rest”, and she wonders if she still has a job as a reporter after this week—and then she is saved.

a highly suspicious looking winn rolls a screen into her room. it’s a really big screen that he probably—almost definitely—doesn’t have any business touching let alone hooking up so they can watch netflix on it. he’s brought pillow too and “no blankets, that would be totally unprofessional obviously, kara” but he takes one half of the blanket she has twisted around her legs when she offers.

they push her bed back against the wall and lower the blinds so there’s no glare on the screen and make a little nest for themselves. kara sits, lamps on her left side only because she’s pretty sure winn doesn’t want a tan but she knows alex expects her to have her lamps on for a few more hours yet. winn crosses his legs and wraps his arms around a pillow and looks at her expectantly.

“we’re missing something,” he says thoughtfully.

“we are?”

“we are.” winn almost falls sideways to grab his bag off the floor and kara laughs when he pulls out seven microwave packets of popcorn. “am i a genius or what?” he crows and he grins, flushes only a tiny bit, when he’s treated to a no holds barred, ear-to-ear beaming kara danvers smile.

she pops two of the packets with a quick burst of heat vision and winn hands her the television remote with a flourish.

winn casts sideways glances at her every now and again, when she doesn’t laugh as generously at a joke as she usually might, and she knows he sees the way she feels a tiny bit distant but he says nothing and just offers her another packet of popcorn once she’s munched through the first and yeah. it’s good.

she cuddles a pillow and lets her worry fall away, just for a little while. the bed still isn’t really comfortable and the sunlight doesn’t feel right but it’s warm and she’s with her best friend who has gone out of his way to make her more comfortable and he’s picked a show that will make them laugh so…it’s good? really good. the perfect way to end this shit storm of a week.

“i can’t believe you watched this without me.”

“i can’t believe that you’re complaining after you got to bunk up with a super hot genius millionaire for a week.” kara pauses, handful of popcorn halfway to her lips, and she cuts a glance sideways at her friend. “what?”

“are you okay with it?”

“i—pftt,” winn laughs her comment away, flailing a hand dismissively in the air. “of course, why wouldn’t i be?” before she can suggest anything, he continues. “i mean sure, i kissed you. but you don’t like me so it’s like,” he brings his hands together before miming an explosion, complete with sound effects.

“a bomb?”

“what? no, that’s not a bo—no, i meant, like, incompatible. like, two stable agents that meet and the reaction is unstable—you know what,” winn shakes his head, “i just mean we don’t work and so i’m totally cool with you getting the girl.”

kara grins and nudges his knee with her own. “cool.”

winn purses his lips and then, with a cheeky grin, he pauses their show. “so, you’re going to tell me everything then? were you scared? was she scared? did you get to see any of her experiments? was she nice? what was the safe house like?”

“uh.” kara laughs and holds up a hand. she thinks about his questions for a moment, taking the time to tie her hair back. “i was scared, she was…” she squints into the distance, thoughtful and unable to resist the gentle way she remembers lena. “tough.”

“i’ll bet.”

“i didn’t see any experiments but she told me about something she was doing with plastic. she wants to save the world,” she breathes out, slumping back against the wall.

“so you’re both superheroes. only, she has genius level IQ and lots of money and you’ve got laser eyes and can fly.”

she laughs and grins over at him. it’s a little disconcerting when his own smile shifts and a sliver of concern embeds itself in kara’s chest. she can feel it shift and prick with each of her breaths.

“what is it?”

“it’s just…the line between superhero and—“

“winn, no,”

“i have to say it,” he tells her quietly. “you know i do. the line between hero and villain is dangerously thin. just…do you think she’s one of those luthor’s?"

“no,” she tells him, firm and a little bit sharp. “i don’t.”

“okay then.” he taps the remote against his leg and nods. “right.” they’re silent for a bit and then he’s looking at her like he wants to keep talking about it, and kara doesn’t. this isn’t a conversation she wants to have because she wants winn to like lena, and she doesn’t want to push this mistrust into a wider gap—she really doesn’t want to do that. lena doesn’t deserve that—she never has but she’s been subjected to it for so long and the least kara can do is make sure that her people aren’t going to continue that—so she takes the remote from him and presses play once more. winn settles back against the wall in a silent agreement that that is the end of that.

“and hey,” she says after a little while, “we do work, winn. as friends. and as partners,” kara says softly. she nudges him and he nudges her back. “really well.”

“duh. brains and brawn, baby! brains and brawn.” he holds up his hands at the look on her face. “don’t call you baby. got it.” they watch their show silently for a while longer. and then he says, “i’ve got your back, kara.”

“i know.”

he looks like he wants to say something more—the intent shows in his eyes and the very slight intake of breath—but instead, he scratches at his chin and turns back to the screen.

j’onn gets a handful of popcorn to the face when he walks in on them. it’s early morning—kara imagines she can feel the sun unfurling in her chest as it rises—and they moved on from funny shows to horror movies and even though they’re all enormously tacky and very lame and not nearly as scary as almost every single day being supergirl, a door opening unexpectedly sends them both into quick hysterics and j’onn is two seconds away from being hit with the popcorn bowl before he catches it.

he takes in the whole set up—kara and sitting sitting on her bed side by side, shoulder to shoulder, pillow behind their backs and over their laps, both pairs of boots kicked off onto the floor. winn’s knees are up to his chest, kara’s legs kicked out and crossed at the ankles, and they’re clutching at one another. he crosses his arms, raises his eyebrows at them. kara looks around at what he must see and sheepishly lets go of winn.

“hi, j’onn,” she says, like they aren’t using the DEO as a sleepover/movie marathon

“we didn’t think you were a murderer,” winn blurts out, and he rubs at his arm where kara slaps him. “what?”

“shh!”

“i think he knows what we’re doing,” he hisses back at her. “and did you forget he can read minds?”

j’onn continues to stare at the pair for a good long minute more before he says, to kara, “i’ve been informed that you’re supposed to be resting.”

“i am resting. look!” she gestures down to herself. “legs up.”

“legs up,” winn agrees.

“pillows fluffed.”

“expertly fluffed.”

“sunlamps on.”

“and working at top efficiency.”

“eating nutritious food,” she adds breezily. winn scrunches up his nose, not disagreeing with her exactly, not out aloud, but he gives her a disbelieving glance and only nods emphatically when she nudges him. hard.

“oh yeah, definitely. nutritious.”

“see? i’m resting.” kara shrugs, shoots j’onn a sweet, winning smile.

“resting includes sleep.”

kara frowns, a little confused. “are you giving me a bed time?”

“of course not,” he scoffs, and kara shares a sly little grin with winn. it fades when j’onn adds, “but alex might. and she’s headed this way.”

kara shrugs. with bravado she doesn’t feel, she says, “let her find me.”

“and you, agent schott?”

winn clears his throat, tugs at the tie he loosened hours ago and gives his boss a slight smile. “i’m looking after our prime consultant. vip treatment, sir.”

“right.” j’onn breathes out for a long time, a breath that just tips over into a sigh. then he turns away. “agent danvers,” he calls. “won’t you come with me to the armoury? surprise spot check.”

there’s a brief silence and, at winn’s urging, kara looks through the wall for her sister. she winces— “oh boy, it’s bad,” she whispers. “she’s got her hands on her hips.”

“oh no.”

“she’s coming this way,” kara tells him. “j’onn stopped her.”

“and?” winn asks.

“what are they doing in there?” alex sighs, and kara snorts. she laughs properly when j’onn lays a hand on her shoulder and turns her away, urges her down the hall.

“i believe they called it...resting.”

alex laughs and walks with him, shakes her head. “fine. but kara, if you’re still being stupid with winn when i get back in an hour, i’m shutting your little operation down. got it?”

she repeats the threat to winn who shrugs, waves a hand. “ah, she’s a pushover,” he tells her with the slightest quaver to his voice that means he’s one hundred per cent lying. “let’s keep watching.”

they make it to the end of the movie—it’s utterly cliche and not really gory at all. winn laughs when the bad guy is slain and kara smiles, yawning. the warmth of her sun lamps has really got to her, seeped into her, and she’s very relaxed and comfortable. she slips down the wall a little, curls into one of her pillows with another yawn.

distantly, she’s aware that winn turns off the screen. she can hear him walking around for a little while, a little louder after he tugs his boots back on, and then she feels the heavy material of her cape being draped over her. she noses her pillow, grips onto the red cloth.

later still, there’s a familiar smell. faintly floral shampoo and gunpowder and boot polish and antiseptic wash and the faintest hint of cigarettes. she smiles when alex lays a hand on her shoulder, smoothes her hair back. she thinks alex might be talking to her, mumbles something back. something soft and adoring, probably insensible. she smiles again when a thumb strokes over her temple and alex keeps a hand on her head for a moment longer. just long enough for kara to drift off, comfortable in the knowledge that she and everyone she cares for are safe.

she’s woken by a voice. not particularly loud, but it’s sharp and angry and she knows it. it’s gone before she can fully pull herself from sleep and she’s still a little foggy but she’s pretty sure, well, she’s pretty sure it came from several floors away. the garage, maybe? she comes slowly more awake as she stretches out her senses. she’s warm and doesn’t want to leave her bed, or pillow, but lena sounds upset and, when she finds her heartbeat, kara thinks she might be afraid too.

kara rolls off her bed. she floats a foot or so above the floor when her bare feet touch cool tiles and she briefly considers pulling her boots on but...she’s sleepy. and impervious to harm? and she can fly. so whatever, she doesn’t want to and she doesn’t have to. instead, she changes into the training sweats left at the end of the bed and tugs on the socks from her kara outfit—baby blue, with little dogs on them, very cute and she loves them—and she grabs her cape from where it’s pooled on the floor.

dressed, she floats out the door.

the agents in black don’t pay her any mind at all, not past quick nods. except for one, who offers her a water bottle when she settles in the centre of the command room and cocks her head to the side to listen for lena and alex.

“agent danvers said you should stay hydrated, ma’am.”

“thanks peter.” she takes it, cradles it. she rubs at her eyes with two fingers to get the sleep dust out. “do you know where she is?”

“uh, escorting a witness to a briefing room three, ma’am.”

“okay. thanks again, peter.”

she steps into the air and climbs a few levels up, to a nice interview room with the best couch in the whole of the DEO. and she should know. she’s tried all of them.

“she knows my name,” she hears peter tell one of the other agents with an excited pat and she smiles, hopping over the railing into the room. the agents mostly use it when they need a bit of shut-eye between shifts—the blinds come right down to the floor and mostly block out the sun which is good for daytime breaks. she’s going to be the most unliked person around for this but she picks up the couch and carries it down to the main floor and into briefing room three.

it’s easy enough to reposition the couch near the whiteboard—it’s not so easy to keep from falling back to sleep.

kara curls up on the couch. for a second she considers getting a coffee for lena but decides not to. it’s early, almost six am she thinks, and lena will no doubt go straight to work after whatever this is. but that doesn’t mean kara can’t try to urge her into a nap. which will be easier if she’s not jacked up on caffeine.

when winn and alex march lena into the room, lena isn’t yelling anymore—she does look angry, in a very reserved, furious kind of way that’s pretty scary, and she looks pale and tired and her hand closes tight over the straps of her purse, but she’s not yelling.

alex closes the door firmly behind her and steps around lena, crossing her arms. her back is to the couch, to kara, and kara can only just make out lena’s face over alex’s shoulder from her position.

she wants to sit up and announce herself, but a small thought occurs to her and, for reasons she can’t fully explain, she stays where she is. tucked into the couch, red cape mostly covering her on the red couch, and she sits as still as possible.

alex looks very serious and so too—perhaps for the first time ever—does winn.

none of them see her.

lena speaks first, harsh words with that lovely voice of hers.

“what the hell are you thinking, sending agents to follow me, agent danvers? hacking me?” she bites out, looking at winn who nods down to his shoes. “treating me like a criminal when i am the one who has been under attack—is that common practice, or are you just grossly lacking in anything like reasonable doubt when it’s a luthor involved?” neither of them speak and if anything, lena grows whiter and more furious. “forgive me then for thinking i had earned some small degree of trust.”

“it’s not a matter of trust. it’s a matter of proof.”

lena presses her lips tight together and kara wants to cross the room. she wants to take lena’s hand, urge her fingers open from where they dig into her palm. she wants to hold her. but her legs feel leaden and her head feels so heavy and so she lays her head more comfortably on the arm of the couch and watches her, hoping that lena can feel that kind gaze, at least.

“if you’re trying hard enough, it won’t take any great mind to twist my work into some villainous scheme. i’m all in pinpricks waiting to see what you find,” she sneers.

“miss luthor,”

“actually, i changed my mind. i have zero interest in being polite or slow about this. tell me now why i was being followed or i will tap into all that my luthor name can provide and see to it that you are shut down.”

alex tilts her head just a little and, after a beat, her crossed arms open and fall to her sides. she shakes her head a little. “you don’t mean that.”

“just try me.”

“fine. i don’t trust you,” alex admits. “yet. but kara does. you’re not going to do anything to hurt her,” she says in a masterful combination of confidence and subtle threat. “but fine. i had my agents follow you to protect you. not to spy on you.” lena stares at her for a long moment and then her chin tilts up and her eyes narrow. “i’ll swear on whatever you want,” she continues, almost gentle, “but i’d like it if you trusted when i say that kara thinks and,” she sucks in a breath before admitting, “and i do too, that you deserve protection for a little while longer. maybe even need it. she’d do it herself in a heartbeat, of course, but she’s sleeping. so i stepped in. least i can do for someone who means so much to my sister.” lena glances across at winn, who hasn’t looked up from his shoes yet, and alex nods. “he knows.”

“me?” winn glances up, looks between them. “not as much as he would like to know because someone keeps dashing off into danger before she can finish updating me but yeah, i know.”

“oh.” lena looks uncomfortable when she shifts. her flash of anger neatly diverted, she looks drained. she makes herself go on. “they weren’t spying?”

“no, miss luthor. they were for protection. if we were spying on you,” she says, and her voice warms into something almost teasing. it keeps it’s edge, though. “you would never know about it.”

lena stares at her with faintly pursed lips and careful, careful eyes. one finger draws straight, quick lines on the side of her bag where she grips at it. “and the hacking?” she asks them.

“oh that, er,” winn raises his hand. “yeah that was me. i didn’t take anything, i just wanted to check that you didn’t pay for your own assassin.” he trails off, a litle uncomfortable with that cool, intent gaze on him.

it takes a moment for his words to hit but when they do, lena flinches so minutely it’s not hard to mistake it for another sneer. “why on earth would i have done that?” she bites out in a tone so furious, the words come out clipped and her mouth is white around her lips, she’s pressing them so tight together.

“we found a transaction from a mystery money man called T. H. ROUL.”

lena considers that for a second before rolling her eyes. “how charming. and utterly stupid.”

winn nods. he steps forward—not close to lena but a little closer and she narrows her eyes at the move. “for what it’s worth, i didn’t think you had. but i had orders.”

“you didn’t.”

“no. kara made a very convincing argument.”

“she did,” lena says, just as flat. kara imagines she hears the curiosity in it still, and winn must as well because he nods.

“yeah. i asked her if you were like, that kind of luthor and she said absolutely not.”

“that’s it?” lena asks him. “she says no, and you just...believe her.”

“basically. she’s trusting, to an extreme,” winn tells her, quiet and firm, “but she’s usually right. and you’re right. you’ve earned some trust. and a chance.”

kara feels like crying. his words close around her heart like a hand squeezing, and she nods down onto the fabric of the couch in an effort to keep her tears inside. she can so easily see the openness in alex and in winn, the sincerity, and maybe even a little bit of genuine trust from both of them, maybe a little remorse for making lena thinking the worst. and better, kara knows how smart lena is. she doesn’t think lena could miss seeing it too.

“i...understand,” lena says. the words are a little cool, but they’re enough to make winn’s shoulders droop in relief. alex doesn’t show quite so much reaction as that, but she does nod to lena.

“well hey, okay, let me get kara,” winn offers, “and i can show you all what i’ve set up to get this show on the road.”

“no need,” kara interjects, quietly, and all face her wide-eyed. “good morning.”

“ex-cuse me?” alex snaps. “you’re supposed to be in bed.”

“you’re not the boss of me,” kara shoots back, and she shuffles her feet out from under her cape and, reluctantly, sets them on the cool floor. she makes her way over to lena and lays a gentle hand on her arm, just above her elbow. lena’s grip loosens on her bag and she leans into the touch, just a little. “good morning,” she says again, to lena alone. she takes her hand away, drags her fingers lightly down her arm.

“good morning.”

kara wants to hug lena—kiss her too, and maybe other tender things like hold her, like tell her she’s sorry she was scared, like wipe the eyelash from her cheek. but lena still looks stormy so kara turns instead and lifts her chin to her sister and friend.

“what have you got?”

still frowning, alex moves with winn to get everything set up on his whiteboard. kara watches for exactly two seconds before she freezes at the feel of a hand slipping into hers. lena takes a small step closer to her. the bottom of her red coat brushes against kara’s calf. she wavers closer to lena in response, incapable of stopping herself.

“you should be asleep,” lena murmurs.

“so should you.” kara drags her thumb, wonderingly, over the back of lena’s hand. when lena tilts her head toward her, kara looks over at her and is met by the most gentle smile. “w-what is it?”

“you’ve got sleep lines. i hadn’t really thought about it but i guess i didn’t think you would.” lena reaches up, strokes along one line, and kara feels her skin flush. she wants to lean in, move closer again. she holds still instead, stops her eyes from fluttering closed too. instead, she contents herself with examining lena in turn. tired, yes, and worried. and kara can still make out beyond those, some faint touch of fondness. for her. it eases a great deal of worry that has been building in kara’s chest, that look of fondness—lena is looking right at her and her eyes are dark, yes, but warm and kara imagines that she looks less worried, less afraid, now that kara is standing with her.

“you two done over there?” alex asks them, hands on hips. winn isn’t looking at them but the back of his neck is flushed. “winn is going to put up a list of suspects. no suprise, but you may recognise a couple of them.”

when the list flashes up, literally all luthor’s, lena stares blankly at alex for a time before her lips quirk up into a small smile. “funny.”

“yeah,” kara rolls her eyes. “real funny. you could be a comedian, alex.”

“i know. but seriously,” alex continues, “we’d appreciate any insight you could give us, miss luthor.”

“lena, please,” she tells alex, and kara feels the lack when lena’s hand drops from her face. “let us begin, shall we?”

“okay, so i’ve decided to go low-tech,” winn tells them, and spins the board to show print outs of thirty small faces. he brandishes three whiteboard markers. “for privacy,” he clarifies, with a quick look lena’s way. “now. we have lena.” he taps a marker on her picture and circles her face with a black marker.

“still under suspicion?” she wonders. “that’s novel.”

“what? no. we only have red and black markers because someone—and i’m not naming any names but it was kara—let all the other colours dry out.”

“i plead the tenth,” kara says primly, and crosses her arms. when winn and lena just stare at her, she rolls her eyes. “a little alien humour? you all suck.”

lena’s lips curl upwards and her eyes brighten, just a touch. “only if you ask nicely. and maybe for a few other exceptions,” she murmurs.

“uh. um.” heat rushes up kara’s neck and cheeks and she notices that winn rolls his eyes and turns away from them both.

“i’m going to finish naming all the rest of these. you two, just,” he flicks his fingers at them in a dismissal.

kara scowls at him and nods to the table, where an agent has brought in coffee and sandwiches. lena practically falls on the coffee and, when she sends kara a cautious look, kara laughs.

“i’m not going to take it from you.” she smirks. “it looks like you need it.”

“oh harsh, kara danvers. would you like some?”

“no, i’ll just drink the milk. coffee makes me jittery.” she takes the jug after lena pours the tiniest amount into her drink. “thanks.”

“of course. agent danvers, would you like a coffee?”

“huh?” alex looks up from her phone. “yeah, thanks. winn?”

“busy.”

they sit in silence for a time, and then lena lays a gentle hand on kara’s wrist. “can i ask you something?” it doesn’t sound like a question to kara’s ears—it sounds to her like lena is going to ask it no matter what and that she needs an answer. she nods. “the man you caught. what did he say?”

kara frowns. “you mean about you, right?” lena nods. “nothing. not really. and even if he had,” she tells her firmly, “i wouldn’t believe him. i wouldn’t act on that. not everyone is out to get you, lena.” she waits until lena relaxes, and then she laughs. “well, i mean, he was. he definitely was. but most people aren’t. and i’m definitely not.”

“if he didn’t say anything about me, what did he say?”

“uh, well, the usual stuff i suppose. aliens are bad, i’m going to monologue for a minute, supers are bad, humans are morally superior. that kind of thing.”

“sounds boring,” lena rolls her eyes. “i hope he didn’t do that for long.”

“it was almost refreshing, actually. to have someone be upfront about hating aliens.” kara knows she should probably flat out ask lena how she feels about aliens instead of passively skirting around the issue—because she really likes lena and she thinks it’ll probably suck massively if lena doesn’t feel the same. but in the same thought, she wants lena to know that she trusts her. and she does. about lena, well, about lena not wanting to kill her. but there’s a small gap between not wanting her dead and actively liking her. just a little one.

lena sips at her coffee delicately. kara offers her a nervous smile and lena drinks again, and lays a hand over kara’s.

“still, i’m sorry you had to listen to such a pile of drivel.”

“worth it,” kara tells her, flipping her hand up to tangle their fingers. she traces the back of lena’s hand with her other. “to make sure you’re safe.”

“alright sweet talker,” winn interrupts, clapping his hands down onto kara’s shoulders. “back to business. lena—can i call you lena?” he beams when she nods. “great. lena, i definitely confirmed that it was a luthor who made the transaction but all the finances i...absolutely had legal access to...were really entangled.”

“we’re a family,” lena tells him. “very interested in keeping our prospects alive. and to use anything just short of fraud to grow our considerable fortune.” he gulps and she smiles a sliver of a smile. “how about i help you?”

“yes. yes! okay, so i wrote down everyone’s names,” he tells them, and displays the whiteboard with a flourish. “you know every luthor’s name starts with an l?”

“tradition.”

“it’s creepy. no offense but borderline villainous.”

kara crosses her arms and scowls at her friend. “you have the exact same name as your evil dad.”

winn hesitates, before pointing at her. “you have a point.”

“and you have a very good set up here,” lena tells him, standing and making her way to the board. “may i have your pen?” he pops it into her hand and she makes a few quick marks, dashing through names. she talks as she goes. “uncles lois and luke are quite infirm, and their wives and mistresses like to spend money on themselves not on my demise. forget about them.” winn nods, shadowing her as she moves. “lisa,” she points, dashes through the name. “she’s been living out of my mother’s pocket for years. no money to speak of. cousins lisa and luc and leia are very distant, haven’t spoken in years. they never even RSVP to anything. very protective of their money too. it’s not them.”

“luc and leia?” winn laughs. “really?”

lena shrugs. “yes. i think they had an affair too.”

“really?”

“god no, but the joke never gets old.”

she dashes through their names and doesn’t seem to notice when winn turns to face kara and mouths, delighted, ‘she’s funny!’

“sorry i couldn’t help more,” lena tells them when they run out of leads. “i wish i could have helped.”

“don’t worry,” kara tells her, and she lays a hand at the small of lena’s back. “we’ll find them. i promise.” lena nods and turns into her, wraps her arms around her neck. “ready to go, then?” kara asks, just to be sure, and lena nods. “winn, alex, i’ll be back soon.”

she wraps her arms securely around lena and walks her to the main window. “you mind if we fly from here?”

“no. that’s alright. home?”

“to your apartment,” kara agrees. “unless—somewhere else?”

“can—” lena shakes her head. “my apartment is just fine. i think i’ll call jess. tell her she doesn’t have to come into work today.” kara beams and lena rolls her eyes. “yes you’ve...rubbed off on me.” it’s lena’s turn to smile then when kara falters, falls an inch in the air and holds her a little more tightly.

“lena,” kara laughs.

“yes, kara?” she murmurs, and she moves very slightly. an accident, of course, when her nose nudges gently against kara’s jawline.

“i think you’re teasing me,” she says, a little shakily, and when lena laughs against her collarbone, kara feels dizzy and hot all over and very, very happy. she floats down to lena’s balcony and lets her go, takes two quick steps backward. “i should go.”

“must you?”

“i, i think so,” kara nods. “i need to get back. make sure this is all over.” she shakes herself out of her dizzy spell and smiles shyly over at lena. “i want you safe, in a rather selfish way.”

“selfish? you?” lena lifts her eyebrows. “i’m intrigued,” she tells her, steps forward to curl her fingers around kara’s wrist, stroke her fingers.

kara fights to keep her head clear. “very selfish.” she can’t quite meet lena’s eyes as she admits, as quietly as she can with lena still able to hear her, “i’m, i like you a lot, lena. i want you safe.”

stillness, still fingers and a heart stilling in lena’s chest, is not the reaction kara expected, exactly. but it happens.

“you don’t have to say anything back.”

“no, no. thank you, kara,” lena says, and she drags her fingers away and smiles warmly at her. kara tries not to feel like there’s something missing from that smile, right at the centre of things. “i’m tired,”

“yes. rest. jess will have my head if i tire you out too much.”

“oh, i don’t share those kinds of details with my personal assistant,” lena laughs, and she laughs again when kara flushes. “you be safe too,” she insists, and kara nods.

she flies low and slow until she reaches the DEO. winn and alex are waiting for her when she returns and she slumps into a chair in front of the whiteboard and folds her arms. alex joins her, scoots her chair right up close.

“so.”

“so,” winn nods. “you know who lena left out, right?”

“yes,” kara bites. “do you really think she could?”

all three stare at the board for a while longer before winn sighs. “why are we even hesitating? my dad is a literal mass murderer. i think we all know that family doesn’t mean all that much when someone is...like that.”

alex hauls herself to her feet, lays a hand on winn’s shoulder. “so we’re in agreement?”

“well, i have to prove it first,” winn argues. “which could take a while.”

“and she knows we’re on her trail so she’ll be careful,” alex adds.

“but yes,” kara finishes. “we’re in agreement.” she stares at the last face on the board and sighs. “lillian luthor.”

#boom answered #tagging my stories #supercorp #Anonymous

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whatevernevermind · 6 years

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readbookywooks · 7 years

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A Pearl Worth Ten Million

NIGHT FELL. I went to bed. I slept pretty poorly. Man-eaters played a major role in my dreams. And I found it more or less appropriate that the French word for shark, requin, has its linguistic roots in the word requiem. The next day at four o'clock in the morning, I was awakened by the steward whom Captain Nemo had placed expressly at my service. I got up quickly, dressed, and went into the lounge. Captain Nemo was waiting for me. "Professor Aronnax," he said to me, "are you ready to start?" "I'm ready." "Kindly follow me." "What about my companions, captain?" "They've been alerted and are waiting for us." "Aren't we going to put on our diving suits?" I asked. "Not yet. I haven't let the Nautilus pull too near the coast, and we're fairly well out from the Mannar oysterbank. But I have the skiff ready, and it will take us to the exact spot where we'll disembark, which will save us a pretty long trek. It's carrying our diving equipment, and we'll suit up just before we begin our underwater exploring." Captain Nemo took me to the central companionway whose steps led to the platform. Ned and Conseil were there, enraptured with the "pleasure trip" getting under way. Oars in position, five of the Nautilus's sailors were waiting for us aboard the skiff, which was moored alongside. The night was still dark. Layers of clouds cloaked the sky and left only a few stars in view. My eyes flew to the side where land lay, but I saw only a blurred line covering three-quarters of the horizon from southwest to northwest. Going up Ceylon's west coast during the night, the Nautilus lay west of the bay, or rather that gulf formed by the mainland and Mannar Island. Under these dark waters there stretched the bank of shellfish, an inexhaustible field of pearls more than twenty miles long. Captain Nemo, Conseil, Ned Land, and I found seats in the stern of the skiff. The longboat's coxswain took the tiller; his four companions leaned into their oars; the moorings were cast off and we pulled clear. The skiff headed southward. The oarsmen took their time. I watched their strokes vigorously catch the water, and they always waited ten seconds before rowing again, following the practice used in most navies. While the longboat coasted, drops of liquid flicked from the oars and hit the dark troughs of the waves, pitter-pattering like splashes of molten lead. Coming from well out, a mild swell made the skiff roll gently, and a few cresting billows lapped at its bow. We were silent. What was Captain Nemo thinking? Perhaps that this approaching shore was too close for comfort, contrary to the Canadian's views in which it still seemed too far away. As for Conseil, he had come along out of simple curiosity. Near 5:30 the first glimmers of light on the horizon defined the upper lines of the coast with greater distinctness. Fairly flat to the east, it swelled a little toward the south. Five miles still separated it from us, and its beach merged with the misty waters. Between us and the shore, the sea was deserted. Not a boat, not a diver. Profound solitude reigned over this gathering place of pearl fishermen. As Captain Nemo had commented, we were arriving in these waterways a month too soon. At six o'clock the day broke suddenly, with that speed unique to tropical regions, which experience no real dawn or dusk. The sun's rays pierced the cloud curtain gathered on the easterly horizon, and the radiant orb rose swiftly. I could clearly see the shore, which featured a few sparse trees here and there. The skiff advanced toward Mannar Island, which curved to the south. Captain Nemo stood up from his thwart and studied the sea. At his signal the anchor was lowered, but its chain barely ran because the bottom lay no more than a meter down, and this locality was one of the shallowest spots near the bank of shellfish. Instantly the skiff wheeled around under the ebb tide's outbound thrust. "Here we are, Professor Aronnax," Captain Nemo then said. "You observe this confined bay? A month from now in this very place, the numerous fishing boats of the harvesters will gather, and these are the waters their divers will ransack so daringly. This bay is felicitously laid out for their type of fishing. It's sheltered from the strongest winds, and the sea is never very turbulent here, highly favorable conditions for diving work. Now let's put on our underwater suits, and we'll begin our stroll." I didn't reply, and while staring at these suspicious waves, I began to put on my heavy aquatic clothes, helped by the longboat's sailors. Captain Nemo and my two companions suited up as well. None of the Nautilus's men were to go with us on this new excursion. Soon we were imprisoned up to the neck in india-rubber clothing, and straps fastened the air devices onto our backs. As for the Ruhmkorff device, it didn't seem to be in the picture. Before inserting my head into its copper capsule, I commented on this to the captain. "Our lighting equipment would be useless to us," the captain answered me. "We won't be going very deep, and the sun's rays will be sufficient to light our way. Besides, it's unwise to carry electric lanterns under these waves. Their brightness might unexpectedly attract certain dangerous occupants of these waterways." As Captain Nemo pronounced these words, I turned to Conseil and Ned Land. But my two friends had already encased their craniums in their metal headgear, and they could neither hear nor reply. I had one question left to address to Captain Nemo. "What about our weapons?" I asked him. "Our rifles?" "Rifles! What for? Don't your mountaineers attack bears dagger in hand? And isn't steel surer than lead? Here's a sturdy blade. Slip it under your belt and let's be off." I stared at my companions. They were armed in the same fashion, and Ned Land was also brandishing an enormous harpoon he had stowed in the skiff before leaving the Nautilus. Then, following the captain's example, I let myself be crowned with my heavy copper sphere, and our air tanks immediately went into action. An instant later, the longboat's sailors helped us overboard one after the other, and we set foot on level sand in a meter and a half of water. Captain Nemo gave us a hand signal. We followed him down a gentle slope and disappeared under the waves. There the obsessive fears in my brain left me. I became surprisingly calm again. The ease with which I could move increased my confidence, and the many strange sights captivated my imagination. The sun was already sending sufficient light under these waves. The tiniest objects remained visible. After ten minutes of walking, we were in five meters of water, and the terrain had become almost flat. Like a covey of snipe over a marsh, there rose underfoot schools of unusual fish from the genus Monopterus, whose members have no fin but their tail. I recognized the Javanese eel, a genuine eight-decimeter serpent with a bluish gray belly, which, without the gold lines over its flanks, could easily be confused with the conger eel. From the butterfish genus, whose oval bodies are very flat, I observed several adorned in brilliant colors and sporting a dorsal fin like a sickle, edible fish that, when dried and marinated, make an excellent dish known by the name "karawade"; then some sea poachers, fish belonging to the genus Aspidophoroides, whose bodies are covered with scaly armor divided into eight lengthwise sections. Meanwhile, as the sun got progressively higher, it lit up the watery mass more and more. The seafloor changed little by little. Its fine-grained sand was followed by a genuine causeway of smooth crags covered by a carpet of mollusks and zoophytes. Among other specimens in these two branches, I noted some windowpane oysters with thin valves of unequal size, a type of ostracod unique to the Red Sea and the Indian Ocean, then orange-hued lucina with circular shells, awl-shaped auger shells, some of those Persian murex snails that supply the Nautilus with such wonderful dye, spiky periwinkles fifteen centimeters long that rose under the waves like hands ready to grab you, turban snails with shells made of horn and bristling all over with spines, lamp shells, edible duck clams that feed the Hindu marketplace, subtly luminous jellyfish of the species Pelagia panopyra, and finally some wonderful Oculina flabelliforma, magnificent sea fans that fashion one of the most luxuriant tree forms in this ocean. In the midst of this moving vegetation, under arbors of water plants, there raced legions of clumsy articulates, in particular some fanged frog crabs whose carapaces form a slightly rounded triangle, robber crabs exclusive to these waterways, and horrible parthenope crabs whose appearance was repulsive to the eye. One animal no less hideous, which I encountered several times, was the enormous crab that Mr. Darwin observed, to which nature has given the instinct and requisite strength to eat coconuts; it scrambles up trees on the beach and sends the coconuts tumbling; they fracture in their fall and are opened by its powerful pincers. Here, under these clear waves, this crab raced around with matchless agility, while green turtles from the species frequenting the Malabar coast moved sluggishly among the crumbling rocks. Near seven o'clock we finally surveyed the bank of shellfish, where pearl oysters reproduce by the millions. These valuable mollusks stick to rocks, where they're strongly attached by a mass of brown filaments that forbids their moving about. In this respect oysters are inferior even to mussels, to whom nature has not denied all talent for locomotion. The shellfish Meleagrina, that womb for pearls whose valves are nearly equal in size, has the shape of a round shell with thick walls and a very rough exterior. Some of these shells were furrowed with flaky, greenish bands that radiated down from the top. These were the young oysters. The others had rugged black surfaces, measured up to fifteen centimeters in width, and were ten or more years old. Captain Nemo pointed to this prodigious heap of shellfish, and I saw that these mines were genuinely inexhaustible, since nature's creative powers are greater than man's destructive instincts. True to those instincts, Ned Land greedily stuffed the finest of these mollusks into a net he carried at his side. But we couldn't stop. We had to follow the captain, who headed down trails seemingly known only to himself. The seafloor rose noticeably, and when I lifted my arms, sometimes they would pass above the surface of the sea. Then the level of the oysterbank would lower unpredictably. Often we went around tall, pointed rocks rising like pyramids. In their dark crevices huge crustaceans, aiming their long legs like heavy artillery, watched us with unblinking eyes, while underfoot there crept millipedes, bloodworms, aricia worms, and annelid worms, whose antennas and tubular tentacles were incredibly long. Just then a huge cave opened up in our path, hollowed from a picturesque pile of rocks whose smooth heights were completely hung with underwater flora. At first this cave looked pitch-black to me. Inside, the sun's rays seemed to diminish by degrees. Their hazy transparency was nothing more than drowned light. Captain Nemo went in. We followed him. My eyes soon grew accustomed to this comparative gloom. I distinguished the unpredictably contoured springings of a vault, supported by natural pillars firmly based on a granite foundation, like the weighty columns of Tuscan architecture. Why had our incomprehensible guide taken us into the depths of this underwater crypt? I would soon find out. After going down a fairly steep slope, our feet trod the floor of a sort of circular pit. There Captain Nemo stopped, and his hand indicated an object that I hadn't yet noticed. It was an oyster of extraordinary dimensions, a titanic giant clam, a holy-water font that could have held a whole lake, a basin more than two meters wide, hence even bigger than the one adorning the Nautilus's lounge. I approached this phenomenal mollusk. Its mass of filaments attached it to a table of granite, and there it grew by itself in the midst of the cave's calm waters. I estimated the weight of this giant clam at 300 kilograms. Hence such an oyster held fifteen kilos of meat, and you'd need the stomach of King Gargantua to eat a couple dozen. Captain Nemo was obviously familiar with this bivalve's existence. This wasn't the first time he'd paid it a visit, and I thought his sole reason for leading us to this locality was to show us a natural curiosity. I was mistaken. Captain Nemo had an explicit personal interest in checking on the current condition of this giant clam. The mollusk's two valves were partly open. The captain approached and stuck his dagger vertically between the shells to discourage any ideas about closing; then with his hands he raised the fringed, membrane-filled tunic that made up the animal's mantle. There, between its leaflike folds, I saw a loose pearl as big as a coconut. Its globular shape, perfect clarity, and wonderful orient made it a jewel of incalculable value. Carried away by curiosity, I stretched out my hand to take it, weigh it, fondle it! But the captain stopped me, signaled no, removed his dagger in one swift motion, and let the two valves snap shut. I then understood Captain Nemo's intent. By leaving the pearl buried beneath the giant clam's mantle, he allowed it to grow imperceptibly. With each passing year the mollusk's secretions added new concentric layers. The captain alone was familiar with the cave where this wonderful fruit of nature was "ripening"; he alone reared it, so to speak, in order to transfer it one day to his dearly beloved museum. Perhaps, following the examples of oyster farmers in China and India, he had even predetermined the creation of this pearl by sticking under the mollusk's folds some piece of glass or metal that was gradually covered with mother-of-pearl. In any case, comparing this pearl to others I already knew about, and to those shimmering in the captain's collection, I estimated that it was worth at least 10,000,000 francs. It was a superb natural curiosity rather than a luxurious piece of jewelry, because I don't know of any female ear that could handle it. Our visit to this opulent giant clam came to an end. Captain Nemo left the cave, and we climbed back up the bank of shellfish in the midst of these clear waters not yet disturbed by divers at work. We walked by ourselves, genuine loiterers stopping or straying as our fancies dictated. For my part, I was no longer worried about those dangers my imagination had so ridiculously exaggerated. The shallows drew noticeably closer to the surface of the sea, and soon, walking in only a meter of water, my head passed well above the level of the ocean. Conseil rejoined me, and gluing his huge copper capsule to mine, his eyes gave me a friendly greeting. But this lofty plateau measured only a few fathoms, and soon we reentered Our Element. I think I've now earned the right to dub it that. Ten minutes later, Captain Nemo stopped suddenly. I thought he'd called a halt so that we could turn and start back. No. With a gesture he ordered us to crouch beside him at the foot of a wide crevice. His hand motioned toward a spot within the liquid mass, and I looked carefully. Five meters away a shadow appeared and dropped to the seafloor. The alarming idea of sharks crossed my mind. But I was mistaken, and once again we didn't have to deal with monsters of the deep. It was a man, a living man, a black Indian fisherman, a poor devil who no doubt had come to gather what he could before harvest time. I saw the bottom of his dinghy, moored a few feet above his head. He would dive and go back up in quick succession. A stone cut in the shape of a sugar loaf, which he gripped between his feet while a rope connected it to his boat, served to lower him more quickly to the ocean floor. This was the extent of his equipment. Arriving on the seafloor at a depth of about five meters, he fell to his knees and stuffed his sack with shellfish gathered at random. Then he went back up, emptied his sack, pulled up his stone, and started all over again, the whole process lasting only thirty seconds. This diver didn't see us. A shadow cast by our crag hid us from his view. And besides, how could this poor Indian ever have guessed that human beings, creatures like himself, were near him under the waters, eavesdropping on his movements, not missing a single detail of his fishing! So he went up and down several times. He gathered only about ten shellfish per dive, because he had to tear them from the banks where each clung with its tough mass of filaments. And how many of these oysters for which he risked his life would have no pearl in them! I observed him with great care. His movements were systematically executed, and for half an hour no danger seemed to threaten him. So I had gotten used to the sight of this fascinating fishing when all at once, just as the Indian was kneeling on the seafloor, I saw him make a frightened gesture, stand, and gather himself to spring back to the surface of the waves. I understood his fear. A gigantic shadow appeared above the poor diver. It was a shark of huge size, moving in diagonally, eyes ablaze, jaws wide open! I was speechless with horror, unable to make a single movement. With one vigorous stroke of its fins, the voracious animal shot toward the Indian, who jumped aside and avoided the shark's bite but not the thrashing of its tail, because that tail struck him across the chest and stretched him out on the seafloor. This scene lasted barely a few seconds. The shark returned, rolled over on its back, and was getting ready to cut the Indian in half, when Captain Nemo, who was stationed beside me, suddenly stood up. Then he strode right toward the monster, dagger in hand, ready to fight it at close quarters. Just as it was about to snap up the poor fisherman, the man-eater saw its new adversary, repositioned itself on its belly, and headed swiftly toward him. I can see Captain Nemo's bearing to this day. Bracing himself, he waited for the fearsome man-eater with wonderful composure, and when the latter rushed at him, the captain leaped aside with prodigious quickness, avoided a collision, and sank his dagger into its belly. But that wasn't the end of the story. A dreadful battle was joined. The shark bellowed, so to speak. Blood was pouring into the waves from its wounds. The sea was dyed red, and through this opaque liquid I could see nothing else. Nothing else until the moment when, through a rift in the clouds, I saw the daring captain clinging to one of the animal's fins, fighting the monster at close quarters, belaboring his enemy's belly with stabs of the dagger yet unable to deliver the deciding thrust, in other words, a direct hit to the heart. In its struggles the man-eater churned the watery mass so furiously, its eddies threatened to knock me over. I wanted to run to the captain's rescue. But I was transfixed with horror, unable to move. I stared, wild-eyed. I saw the fight enter a new phase. The captain fell to the seafloor, toppled by the enormous mass weighing him down. Then the shark's jaws opened astoundingly wide, like a pair of industrial shears, and that would have been the finish of Captain Nemo had not Ned Land, quick as thought, rushed forward with his harpoon and driven its dreadful point into the shark's underside. The waves were saturated with masses of blood. The waters shook with the movements of the man-eater, which thrashed about with indescribable fury. Ned Land hadn't missed his target. This was the monster's death rattle. Pierced to the heart, it was struggling with dreadful spasms whose aftershocks knocked Conseil off his feet. Meanwhile Ned Land pulled the captain clear. Uninjured, the latter stood up, went right to the Indian, quickly cut the rope binding the man to his stone, took the fellow in his arms, and with a vigorous kick of the heel, rose to the surface of the sea. The three of us followed him, and a few moments later, miraculously safe, we reached the fisherman's longboat. Captain Nemo's first concern was to revive this unfortunate man. I wasn't sure he would succeed. I hoped so, since the poor devil hadn't been under very long. But that stroke from the shark's tail could have been his deathblow. Fortunately, after vigorous massaging by Conseil and the captain, I saw the nearly drowned man regain consciousness little by little. He opened his eyes. How startled he must have felt, how frightened even, at seeing four huge, copper craniums leaning over him! And above all, what must he have thought when Captain Nemo pulled a bag of pearls from a pocket in his diving suit and placed it in the fisherman's hands? This magnificent benefaction from the Man of the Waters to the poor Indian from Ceylon was accepted by the latter with trembling hands. His bewildered eyes indicated that he didn't know to what superhuman creatures he owed both his life and his fortune. At the captain's signal we returned to the bank of shellfish, and retracing our steps, we walked for half an hour until we encountered the anchor connecting the seafloor with the Nautilus's skiff. Back on board, the sailors helped divest us of our heavy copper carapaces. Captain Nemo's first words were spoken to the Canadian. "Thank you, Mr. Land," he told him. "Tit for tat, captain," Ned Land replied. "I owed it to you." The ghost of a smile glided across the captain's lips, and that was all. "To the Nautilus," he said. The longboat flew over the waves. A few minutes later we encountered the shark's corpse again, floating. From the black markings on the tips of its fins, I recognized the dreadful Squalus melanopterus from the seas of the East Indies, a variety in the species of sharks proper. It was more than twenty-five feet long; its enormous mouth occupied a third of its body. It was an adult, as could be seen from the six rows of teeth forming an isosceles triangle in its upper jaw. Conseil looked at it with purely scientific fascination, and I'm sure he placed it, not without good reason, in the class of cartilaginous fish, order Chondropterygia with fixed gills, family Selacia, genus Squalus. While I was contemplating this inert mass, suddenly a dozen of these voracious melanoptera appeared around our longboat; but, paying no attention to us, they pounced on the corpse and quarreled over every scrap of it. By 8:30 we were back on board the Nautilus. There I fell to thinking about the incidents that marked our excursion over the Mannar oysterbank. Two impressions inevitably stood out. One concerned Captain Nemo's matchless bravery, the other his devotion to a human being, a representative of that race from which he had fled beneath the seas. In spite of everything, this strange man hadn't yet succeeded in completely stifling his heart. When I shared these impressions with him, he answered me in a tone touched with emotion: "That Indian, professor, lives in the land of the oppressed, and I am to this day, and will be until my last breath, a native of that same land!"

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