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deryuj · 1 year

Text

Follow the curves

You wish you could focus on your case but truth be told, Connor is far too distracting.

(Or Connor is helping you with your case while you sketch him in your notebook instead)

Rating: General audience

Ship: Connor x gn!reader

I started my summer job and realized I have a lot of free time so I actually wrote a fanfic because I was bored. Enjoy!

p.s. Last time i wrote a fanfic was in 2017 and english isn't my first language, lol.

It's been three hours since you stepped your foot into the squeaky clean department. Also, it's been two hours and fifty-five minutes (minus ten minutes you spent making yourself a coffee and five minutes you took for a bathroom break, which was an excuse to just get up from your workspace and do something different) since you made yourself comfortable by your desk and started working again with the weird writings and drawings you found last night at the apartment, left by what you suspected was a deviant. Looking at the same set of lines for hours turned them into uncomprehensive scribbles and doodles at this point so you couldn't make anything out of them anyway. You needed to do something else rather than stare absent-mindedly at the same page for the next five hours until your shift is done.

You wish you could say you were going in circles with this investigation but honestly, there was no circle you could even walk in in the first place.

How frustrating.

With a soft sigh, you turned your gaze to your right where Connor sat way before you even arrived, his blue LED shining and flickering as his brown eyes stayed glued to the screen. It was funny that for an android he insisted to use computers to scroll through information like the rest of the DPD did. He didn't have to, it was probably more time-consuming and less efficient to do so, but somehow it was so endearing that he makes sure to act as human as possible and blend with the rest of his coworkers.

You haven't really spoken to him today though, he was assigned to you strictly because of the notes you discovered, it was the longest you have been in his presence, which is a bummer. Usually, you would see him casually follow Hank like a puppy, hand folded behind him, long legs easily matching his anger, quick steps, and a soft smile that was always plastered on his face. You weren't sure if he was designed to always smile or chose to do so, but you decided to believe that he wants it that way. Now though you could see that soft smile and adorable chocolate cowlick up close with him working mere centimeters away from you and you couldn't help but smile yourself.

Cyberlife sure did a great job designing him.

Connor was the newest addition to the team, assigned to help the lieutenant in his cases, which definitely did not make him happy since he oh so loved his broody and lone wolf reputation. You were pleased though, you never had a chance to work with an android (and you kinda never exactly did until now). You liked Connor, maybe more than you'd like to admit, and you found yourself doubting the whole 'friendship' if you could even call it that. Yes, he was an android and he definitely wasn't programmed to like everyone (based on his previous interactions with Gavin) but somehow you found yourself hoping that after all the small conversations you shared he, at least, considered you a friend because he liked you, not because his program told him so. Were you even making sense at this point?

You let out a soft sigh, reaching out to grab a half-empty cup of stale coffee before your eyes glided back to working Connor. He hasn't moved from his stiff position since morning, his warm eyes fixated on the computer screen, subtle nose twitches, jaw tightened, smooth hand gripping the notes you wrote down yesterday as he silently analyzed the same set of information written in your handwriting over and over again before looking up at the computer screen, trying to find some kind of clue on what exactly the deviant was trying to write down or show.

As if it was that easy to understand the maniacal scribbles they left behind before running away.

He looked so focused, so eager to prove himself and his skills to everyone that he completely shut himself off from the whole department and new information from his surroundings for now so nothing will take him out of the process of decoding the messages. You were almost curious if by any chance he knows you're watching him so shamelessly or if he even realized that you joined him by your desk to help almost three hours ago.

He was cute, really cute, and in some way you felt a little weird with choosing this word to describe a grown man, or more specifically someone designed to hunt down deviants and do it without any hesitation.

You'd rather keep your observations to yourself rather than get embarrassed though that's what you told yourself with your inner voice.

You comfortably leaned against your palm, letting your gaze dance across all the soft and sharp edges of his profile. His small, pretty nose, freckled artificial skin, pursed, plush lips, and extremely long lashes. Someone put all these details down into this single design just to make fun of you and your silly little crush on an android, that you were almost sure has no algorithm that could by any chance make him like you back. It was stupid, really, but God was he too pretty to not like.

Never mind your earlier praises, you hated Cyberlife for this design.

You felt your cheeks heat up just from thinking about this, definitely not your smartest thought of the day.

You tilted your head to the side, your hair moving with your move as you glanced at him from a slightly different angle. Still pretty. Dang.

One line, second line, join these two with another line.

Without thinking much your hand danced across your handy notebook, your pen leaving gentle lines and curves as you tried to memorize his pretty features. You weren't an amazing artist but you could at least make it resemble him. That's all you needed to do. You needed to convey his pretty profile somewhere where it won't disappear, somewhere you'll be able to look at whenever you'd feel like it, and not when Hank would get up from his desk to go to your communal kitchen with his partner in hand.

You poked the thin paper with the tip of your pen, spreading small, inked dots across his sketched cheek, dragged curled lines from his eye down to his cheek to mimic his long curtain of eyelashes, and made sure that the curve of his lips was the curviest, kissable line you ever drew on paper.

Your silly attempts caused you to let out a quiet snort. I mean the sketch wasn't bad… it's just that you finally caught up with what you were doing that caused you to realize that you were acting like a lovestruck teen if not worse than that.

Stupid- said your more sober side.

You still proudly looked down at the small sketch of Connor that popped up in the corner of your notebook, it was no longer accurate though since the model decided to finally rise his honey-filled eyes away from the screen and face you instead, clearly curious about what made you laugh during a long, boring investigation.

"What's wrong detective?" Your eyes snapped back up at his seeking expression, right in the middle of him tilting his head to the side as he would usually do whenever asking a question and being actually curious about it.

Now what?

"Ah" passed your lips before you could catch yourself. What exactly are you going to tell him and make it sound not weird?

"You draw a lot?" He took your silence as an answer and leaned in to trail his eyes along all the sketched lines, his lips curling into a soft smile to your dismay, a soft whir erupting from his chest.

You silently flipped your notebook to the next page, lips pursed as you turned your face away from him to hopefully regain your ability to say something smart rather than babble while looking at his handsome face. And yet he still watched you, or more like observed you, analyzing your mouth twitch, gaze shift, and muscle tense. Clearly, he was getting what we would call 'nervous' at his seemingly failed attempt at making a small talk and you couldn't help but feel a little guilty.

"Sometimes, helps me think or get myself to reboot" He could somehow understand the concept, maybe because you used a techy word he had some experience with.

He hummed in response, shifting comfortably in his seat, almost like he could feel his muscles sore from staying in one position, and looked down at the blank page, as if the drawing was still there and he was still taking in every single stroke of your pen.

"You are quite talented" He seemed honest, maybe there was a hint of something else, and you couldn't help but chuckle. There was something so innocent behind his words, he almost sounded excited to face a new quirk humans had.

He always liked those. The quirks. Things that made people unique and so interesting.

"I guess once I retire I'll move out somewhere quiet and spend the rest of my life painting landscapes" You mumbled sarcastically, your eyes rolling as you tried to get Connor off his path to compliment you more. He would always be painfully nice to get people to like him and accept him in the department. It worked, sure but you don't need him to get you flustered at work where people can see. Especially where that asshole Gavin can see and use it to make you annoyed.

He let out another soft, vibrating hum at your small joke, leaning down to comfortably lean against his smooth hand. He was thinking, processing and rinsing your words to find a suitable answer to your lighthearted response and hopefully match your tone.

"That sounds nice, I'm glad that for now, I can enjoy your work here at the department." He replied and you let your lips form a smile at his response. I mean you could interpret it as if he wanted to work with you more. You wouldn't complain, your work quality would suffer though. Or maybe you're looking too hard into it.

"Have you tried drawing Hank before?" You let out a sharp exhale from your mouth, your laugh stuck somewhere in your throat, safe from being let out to the world. You weren't sure if it was a joke or not, if it was it was funny, if it wasn't then it was cute but still, you don't want him to feel bad for laughing at him.

Connor didn't mind, in return, his plushy lips quirked up into a bigger smile, doe eyes narrowing as the smile finally reached them while he happily watched you light up after working with papers.

"Don't know, I guess I'll ask him if he wants to model, sounds like a cute date" You wanted to continue the banter, it was somehow of an anomaly to see Connor try to joke like this, hopefully, you weren't expecting too much of him. On the other hand, hopefully, Hank didn't hear that because even though you two are friends he'll scold you for joking around at his expense and giving 'the android weird ideas'.

In return he let out a quick, soft chuckle before clearing his throat to get back to his professional self, his pale cheeks dusted with a soft, blueish color. Seems like he doesn't want to make you feel bad for laughing at you as well.

"Sounds like a lovely evening" He admitted before falling silent once again, his brown, gooey eyes now staring deep into yours, analyzing you. In moments like this, you were always envious of how he can pretty much see through you and see what you think while you're left with his pretty face and zero ideas on what might be going on through his head.

"Let's… check the notes again and work through it together" You finally suggested, trying to put the awkward conversation (on your part) behind the door and focus back again on your actual job. You let Connor shift closer to you, his shoulder bumping against yours as you flipped pages back onto the one with your infamous little drawing.

Seeing the real deal up this close made you realize how much longer his lashes actually are, how his lips are far more softer than what you left on the paper and how many freckles you haven't even put down on your drawing.

You should probably try again, maybe at home.

Maybe with him in your apartment.

#connor rk800 #detroit become human #connor dbh #connor detroit become human #connor detroit: bh #connor x reader #connor x y/n #connor x you #dbh #detroit: bh #dbh fanfic #dbh rk800 #rk800 x reader #other #fanfic #dbh x reader

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 3 years

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Wedding crashing, please: Trey stealing the bride (because maybe he was a dense idiot before, idk), with the help of Rook and Tweels.

***Mild spoilers for Trey’s Lab Coat personal stories, and the Ghost Marriage and Wish Upon a Star events!***

“I object to this wedding...!”

Pre-Wedding Jitters

Trey has never understood all the “love” stuff that people gush about, or the heights that it drives them to. You can’t exactly add “love” as an ingredient in cake, and isn’t “love” the whole reason why a ghost bride slapped him? Needless to say, he’s not well-versed in the ways of romance.

As his childhood friend, you’ve always known him to be like this: level-headed and practical. You really look up to him a a big brother figure, someone always keeping you straight-laced and out of trouble.

He was the one that wiped your tears when you scraped your knee while playing, the one that made mud cakes with you after a heavy rainfall, the one you split your profits with after running a lemonade stand for the afternoon. Your best friend, always by your side.

Even when Trey went off to NRC, he’d always keep in touch and make time to visit you on his breaks, a few pastries in hand and a smile to greet you with. You’d lounge under blue skies for hours on end, sharing stories in a field of clovers.

Oftentimes, your stories involve your long term S/O, or how serious your relationship is getting. “I think he might propose soon,” you confide in Trey. He’d respond jokingly with, “That so? Then I’d recommend the Clover bakery to do your wedding cake.”

He graduates and moves back to the Rose Kingdom, taking on a more active position at his family’s business--and suddenly, you’re seeing each other almost all the time again. Your stories become all the more real to him, and you bring your S/O to the bakery a few times.

“This is Trey, my childhood friend. My best friend, in fact! Trey, this is my fiancé.”

“Your... fiancé? When was this? This is the first I’ve heard about it.”

“Oh, you know... Things happened,” you respond with a dreamy blush. “We’re actually here today to order our wedding cake. You always suggested using the Clover bakery for it, right?”

“Right...” (Trey takes your order, but he isn’t smiling about it.)

Later on, he receives an invitation in the mail--an invitation to your wedding. That gnawing sense of unease continues to grow and eat away at him with each passing day.

Finally, Trey can’t take it and ends up venting his frustrations to one of his old classmates and Science Club companion, Rook, over the phone. “I don’t get what’s wrong with me. I should be happy for my friend. Instead, I feel like I just ate Lilia’s... ‘cooking’. It’s strange.”

“Ah, mon amie... It is not strange at all. What you are experiencing is nothing short of love!”

“... Beg pardon?”

Rook talks Trey’s ear off long into the night, pointing out the various little things Trey had never noticed before--how his heart races when he’s with you, how he feels terrible knowing he has grown distant from you, all the time spent together that he cherishes. By the time Rook is done psychoanalyzing him, it’s 5 am, and Trey’s in a daze.

“Okay, okay, you... you’re probably right, but... what good does knowing that do for me now? I’ve realized too late, Rook. The wedding date is already set.”

Trey can’t see the wide smile that unfurls on Rook’s face over the phone. The huntsman only asks for the date and time of the wedding, and for Trey to show up a few hours earlier than its start. “I shall be your marraine fée, Trey-kun!” Rook reassures his friend. “And you, my Cendrillon...! Mark my words, I will see to it that you arrive at the ball at your finest.”

The Crashing

It’s the day of the wedding, and Trey shows up early just as Rook told him to. He’s not sure what he expected, but he certainly didn’t expect to be accosted by Jade and Floyd. Together, the tweels drag him to a spa and dump him into a bath, where Trey is scrubbed and polished until his skin glows.

His flour-dusted apron is exchanged for a beautiful suit and tie, and his makeup is expertly painted on by Rook himself. As the huntsman goes about his work, the twins stand by, snickering to one another as they watch Trey twist in confusion.

“Uh, what’s all of this for?” Trey asks, but Rook tuts and tells him to keep still, or else the eyeliner will apply crooked.

“You must look your best for the wedding crashing, non?”

“Wedding crashing?! Isn’t that a little too extreme of a solution--” He ends up having a coughing fit, for Rook hits his face with a powder puff. “And why are Jade and Floyd here too?!”

“We heard from Umineko-kun that he needed some help busting a party~ Plus, it just seemed like fun!”

“Fufufu... Yes, just as Floyd said, it seemed like fun. That, and... It pains me to see you in such a sorry state, Trey-san. Please, do allow me and my brother to play a role in your happily ever after.”

To Trey’s left is a huntsman in love with the idea of love, and to his right are murderous eels only there to amuse themselves. His stomach lurches, knowing that nothing good can be in store with this formula.

They finish a little late because of their bickering. It’s a race against the clock--the vows have begun, and there’s only so much time left to stop them from being sealed.

When security guards try to stop them from entering late, things get... more aggressive that Trey would have liked. No one dies, but it’s safe to say plenty of guards get squeezed knocked out.

The group bursts into the ceremony with a BAM! (thanks to the twins kicking down the door), drawing all heads to them. Trey mumbles an apology, but he’s cut off by Rook loudly introducing him.

“May I present... Trey Clover.” The huntsman pushes Trey forward, making him stumble towards you.

Your fiancé makes a move to protest, but Jade and Floyd are quick to restrain them (”to keep them from interrupting the ‘romantic’ moment”). Rook stuffs an apple in their mouth to make them quiet.

You stare up at Trey in shock. This was not how you had been hoping to see your best friend on your wedding day.

The Aftermath

“Er... here,” Trey mutters, offering a cherry red food processor to you. “You’re meant to give gifts at a wedding, so I brought you this--even though I’m not here as a guest. This wasn’t exactly my idea, but I got dragged into it anyway.”

You awkwardly take the food processor and ask why he’s here, doing all of this.

He scratches the back of his head and averts his eyes. “... To be honest, I didn’t understand ‘love’ for a long time. I probably still don’t understand it entirely. But if there’s one thing that I do know, it’s that ‘love’ can make even level-headed people do and say crazy things. That’s why I’m here now, crashing this wedding.”

A glance to Rook (giving him two double thumbs up, mouthing, “beauté!”) and the tweels (who seem to be having a little too much fun restraining your groom). Then back to you.

“Oh, and sorry about them. They got... too enthusiastic.”

He shuffles his feet. “I guess what I’m trying to say is... I love you. Your eyes could be grapes, and your veil could be a dish rag, but I’d still love you. That’s what I’m feeling--I was just too dense to realize it before.”

“So... I know this is really late, but...”

Suddenly, you feel yourself being lifted into a princess-carry. You yelp, and instinctively cling onto Trey for support.

“Sorry, but I’m stealing the bride,” Trey announces to the stunned hall of wedding guests. Gone is his usual smile, replaced instead with a cocky smirk.

“Marvelous!” Rook nearly sheds a tear at the beautiful display.

Floyd lets out a whoop of support. “Ahahah! Umigame-kun’s getting with the program now~” Beside him, Jade chuckles. “My, what a surprising turn of events. We should not have underestimated Trey-san.” (He drives the apple Rook had shoved into the groom’s mouth in even harder, smiling pleasantly as he does so.)

Thanks to that, the groom passes out, which sends the guests into a panic. Some start to move to block the door, others shout for security (which does nothing, since the twins already took them out).

Jade, Rook, and Floyd collectively work to clear the way for Trey (... sometimes having to rough up particularly feisty guests).

And so, the wedding closes with Trey marching out with you in his arms... and a trail of unconscious bodies in his wake.

#twst #twisted wonderland #twst x Trey Clover #Floyd Leech #Jade Leech #Rook Hunt #Trey Clover #twst x reader #Reader #self insert #wedding crashing #disney twisted wonderland #spoilers #Tweels #twisted wonderland headcanons

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valdomarx · 3 years

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Lost in Translation

McShep + fake relationship, for @lamberts <3

John glances around warily. The people of this planet seem friendly enough, but with Teyla and Ronon off visiting another village, he feels acutely vulnerable.

“Will others be joining you?” The village elder gives him a inquiring look.

“Just McKay. He’s my scientist.”

The elder frowns. “What is scientist? We do not know this word.”

“Oh.” He looks around the mud hut and contemplates how to explain it. They clearly don’t have a frame of reference for astrophysics or computer programming here. “He’s part of my team. He travels with us and, you know, gets us out of difficult situations. Opens doors. Fixes things when they break. That sort of thing.”

“Ahh.” The elder smiles beatifically. “This we know. He is your chap’tah.”

“Sure, I guess.”

“It is good for one who travels to have a chap’tah.”

John grins. “He has his uses.”

Some of the villagers raise their eyebrows at that, but it’s soon forgotten as they move onto the trade negotiations.

“I brought you food.” One of the village women smiles at him shyly as she hands over some kind of bread and fruit. “Should I bring more for you to give to your chap’tah as well?”

“Thank you.” John waves her off. “But don’t worry about McKay. I’m sure he’ll track down the food himself soon enough.”

The woman draws back in horror. “You do not feed him?”

“What? No?” John boggles. “I mean. He’s allowed to eat. Does so a whole lot, actually. But I don’t typically oversee that personally.”

“In our culture, we honor our chap’tahs by providing them with food. Is it not so where you are from?”

“It’s not.” John thinks about the last time the Daedalus came by to restock Atlantis and the frankly incredible volume of snacks that were distributed among the scientists. “Not officially, anyway.”

“Perhaps you should try it.”

He thinks about the way Rodney’s face lights up when he brings donuts to the lab. “Perhaps I should.”

“We have prepared a hut for you and your chap’tah.”

“Great.” John isn’t crazy about staying the night here, but the gate is a long hike away and they clearly aren’t in any immediate danger.

The villager, a young man with broad shoulders, leads him to a hut on the edge of the central meeting place. “We hope you will be comfortable.”

John sticks his head inside. It is exceedingly small, barely enough space for one person. It was going to be cramped as hell with both him and Rodney in there.

But they are guests, and he doesn’t want to be rude. “Lovely. Thank you.”

The young man gives him a knowing wink. “We know that a man likes to keep his chap’tah close.”

And that was… weird. But okay, having a scientist close at hand was pretty useful.

Rodney storms up to him and John laughs so hard he nearly chokes. He’s wearing some kind of elaborately tied white tunic and has flowers woven into his hair. His face has turned a furious puce color and he is fuming.

“Fun day?” John asks when he’s regained enough breath to speak.

“They insisted on dressing me like this and it’s all your fault.” He waves a finger in John’s face.

“How’s that?”

“They said I had to be presented handsomely. As if my usual attire is anything but! And the more I argued, the more they insisted I had to because of you. ‘When one is chap’tah, one must be at one’s most agreeable.’” Rodney does a mean impression of one of the village elders. “What the hell did you tell them?”

“Honestly, nothing! Just that you were my team scientist. Maybe they really love celebrating science here?”

“Oh, right, because this is a bastion of forward-looking experimental thinking!” Rodney gestures wildly around the village. “I feel so celebrated.”

John suppresses a smile. “I think you look very nice. White suits you.”

He keeps a straight face for all of two seconds before Rodney tries to throttle him.

That night, there’s a celebration in honor of their new trade alliance. The villagers build an enormous bonfire and smoke meats and vegetables over it like the galaxy’s biggest barbecue. After the food, they hand around gourds full of sweet mead which leaves sugar on John’s lips and tingling in his throat. And then the dancing begins.

Dancing has a long tradition in this culture, he learns: dances in the hope of a good harvest, dances to give thanks, dances to celebrate births and to commemorate deaths. Every family seems to own a drum or pipe of some kind, and they bring them out to play relentless, rhythmic music to which they twirl around the fire.

The mead must have been stronger than he thought, because when one of the villagers invites him to dance he takes her up on the offer, letting her show him the steps. He catches sight of Rodney watching him from the other side of the fire with a frown, and he’s compelled to pull him to his feet and to wipe that frown away.

Neither of them have the elegance and agility of the others, but that doesn’t seem to matter. John does his best to show him the footwork, but they mostly end up bumping into each other and laughing. At one point they collide so hard that Rodney nearly goes sprawling, and John catches him around the waist to hold him upright.

The firelight paints them both in hues of orange, and a red flush is spreading across the tops of his cheeks, the way it always does after more than one drink. John longs to trace it with his fingertips.

If I kissed him now, he catches himself thinking, he'd taste of honey and wood smoke.

They make it until dawn before staggering back to their hut. The villagers are still dancing, and they fall asleep to the sound of drumming.

John wakes up far too hot, with something fluffy tickling his nose and something soft and appealing pressed up against him.

He blinks, stretches, and realizes the tickling thing is Rodney's hair, which his face is buried in, and the heavy weight is Rodney's ass, which he's grinding up against.

Erm.

“Jesus, Sheppard, you could at least buy me dinner first.”

John stills, embarrassed. Though Rodney sounds bleary but not exactly adverse to the idea.

Interesting.

"How about once we get back?"

"Huh?" Rodney is not at his sharpest first thing in the morning.

"Dinner. You. Me. Atlantis."

"Oh." Rodney snuggles back into him. "Yeah, alright."

Nice. "Okay. Good "

There's a quiet moment, and John enjoys the warmth of his arms around Rodney.

Rodney never could appreciate quiet though. "Why did you stop?" He sounds almost petulant. It's kind of cute. "With the -" he gestures vaguely, "- you know."

"Technically I didn't buy you dinner yet."

"Ehh, I'm pretty easy. I'll put out for a potential dinner."

Really nice.

He smiles into Rodney's hair. "If you insist."

It’s several hours later that Teyla arrives. John is sat on a muddy bank playing a game involving balancing piles of sticks with some of the local kids, and Rodney has been hustled off to have more flowers braided into his hair. When the village women tugged him out of the hut, giggling and waving flowers, he’d thrown his hands up and barely even complained, so he must be in a truly good mood.

“John,” Teyla gives him a polite nod as she approaches, flanked by two of the villagers. “Caton and Sar’ai tell me that negotiations went well.”

He stretches lazily. “They did. I think we can get enough food to keep Atlantis stocked for several months.”

“Good. Well done.” She comes and sits by him on the bank. “They also told me that you were here with your husband.”

He blinks at her.

She’s hiding a smile. “Is there something you would like to tell me?”

“Erm.” John thinks back over the last day. The chap’tah. The food. The flowers. The shared hut.

Ahh.

“There seems to have been a misunderstanding about me and McKay. Though, on reflection, I can perhaps see how they might have got the wrong impression.”

Teyla nods sagely. “It would be best if you, how shall we say, play along for the rest of the visit? No need to risk a diplomatic incident.”

Very well. If he must, he must.

When Rodney comes back, this time dressed in a fetching blue sheet with violet flowers tucked behind his ears, John pulls him close and kisses him. Rodney makes a happy humming noise and none of the villagers seem perturbed, so he’s going to count that as a win.

As they collect their gear and begin the walk back to the gate, John takes Rodney’s hand in his own.

Teyla inclines her head knowingly. “I am glad your mission was successful,” she says.

"Just doing my part,” he replies, giving Rodney’s hand a little squeeze, “in the spirit of intergalactic understanding."

#mcshep #stargate atlantis #lamberts #my writing #avia this was so much fun to write #i love this prompt thank you :D

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heliads · 3 years

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Radio Silence Chapter One: On the Other End

Poe Dameron has been assigned to work as an intel receiver to Acer, a Resistance recon agent. They’ve only ever talked through the comms, so when she’s captured by First Order troops he assumes she’s lost forever. When Poe accidentally rescues the absolutely infuriating Resistance spy Y/N L/N from a First Order Star Destroyer, he knows she’s got nothing do with with Acer. Right?

series masterlist / next

Poe Dameron slides into a seat in front of a gleaming array of navicomputers and tech displays. He considers the many buttons and levers in front of him, then methodically enters a series of commands into a console. He waits one second, two, then it beeps at him. Correct password- well, he’d hope so. He’s done this so many times that he could enter in the digits in his sleep.

After that, it only takes a couple of seconds to call up the secure communications channel. There have only ever been two people with access to this channel: one sender and one receiver. Poe is the receiver, as always, recovering data sent to him by the Resistance recon agent they’ve got stationed out somewhere in the Outer Rim or the Unknown Regions. He doesn’t know anything about her, that’s stated in the Resistance regulations- no sharing information that could get your spies killed. That’s a must.

At exactly twenty standard hours, it is time for Poe to flip on the radio channel and receive the latest intel from his sender. He waits for a minute or two in silence, brow furrowing as he spends more time in solitude, and then his ears are greeted by the reassuringly familiar crackle of static across the console speakers. Poe grins. “Acer, that you?” He can practically hear her smile across the radio channel. “Who else would it be?”

Poe leans back in his chair, finally able to relax. “You were three minutes late, you know. That’s against protocol.” Acer sighs dramatically. “Oh come on, Bravo. You going to report me to the General for overwhelming tardiness in the line of duty?” Poe rolls his eyes. “I might, now that you mention it.” Acer laughs. “I’m sure you will. Honestly, I just think this means you care about me. Were you worried for me?”

Poe taps a few buttons on his console, adjusting the sound for perfect quality. “I’m not going to answer that. You got anything good for me?” He can hear the sound of Acer’s navicomputer as she loads in the data filed for transmission. “I don’t know, Bravo. I’m not sure it’s anything major.” A sudden whir from the console catches Poe’s attention, and he waits as the data files finish sending. There’s a final ding of completion and Poe grabs the readouts from a dataport.

He whistles as he takes in the preview on his console. “You got troop lists? How’d you manage that?” Poe can’t see her face, but he’s fairly sure Acer’s smirking. “I figured that if I was going to peek through the transparisteel to see the bucketheads shine their shoes, I might as well tally them down as well.” Poe shakes his head in disbelief. “That’s amazing. I don’t know how you manage it.”

Acer speaks through a slight flash of static. “Well, I’m not going to act like it was easy. My hands are still shaking.” Poe clicks his tongue. “Hey, that’s personal information. I’m not supposed to know about that.” Acer’s worried tone breaks up into laughter. “What, that I have hands? Did you think I was a droid?” Poe grins, pleased with himself for making her smile. “I wasn’t about to assume anything. You could be a very human-sounding droid.” Acer groans. “If you thought I was a droid throughout all of this, then I think I understand why the General doesn’t have you as a spy.”

Poe’s mouth drops open. “Are you insulting me, Acer? After all we’ve been through?” Her laugh sounds musical, even through the crackles of a radio line. “I don’t know. It might not be in my programming.” They chat for a while longer before Acer’s voice drops off. “It’s time already. The minutes fly by, don’t they? Well, that’s all the data I’ve got for today.” Poe smiles ruefully. “Well, there ain’t nobody like you. Bravo, over and out.” Acer calls out the same goodbye code before her end of the line goes dark. Poe waits a few minutes, as according to radio procedure, then shuts off the encrypted line.

It’s strange to think that at the end of the day, Poe doesn’t know anything more about Acer than he would a First Order lieutenant. Can you consider someone a friend if you’ve never seen them before? Whenever Poe’s sent on a mission to some planet under First Order command, he can’t help scanning the crowds of people as if he thinks he’ll see her somewhere. It makes no sense- he has no idea what Acer looks like, and she only knows him as Bravo, the voice across the air. Yet he still looks around as if hoping she’ll show up, like he’ll see someone and just intuitively know that they are the spy he’s been speaking to for so long.

Poe can still remember when he was first given the assignment. At first, he had chafed at the idea of being confined to a desk when he could be out in his X-Wing, taking down TIE fighters and rescuing Resistance officers like always. He’d plunked himself down at his assigned station, an empty room in a distant corner of the base. Poe had turned on the encrypted channel, readying himself for a boring half hour of talking to some dry business-as-usual intel agent. Yet instead of being forced to share comms with a watery old recon officer, he’d been greeted by Acer. Wild, laughing, ruthlessly clever Acer. He’d want no one else.

They’d become friends soon after that, it was practically inevitable. Poe doesn’t know much about the other spies the Resistance sent out, but he does know that Acer is one of the best there is. Poe feels some extension of pride whenever he gets to deliver the newly recovered data files to the General, like he had just as much of a role in their transmission as Acer. To be fair, he has talked her through a couple of bad scenarios, like when a First Order intercomms agent demanded to see her radio or when a shady Knights of Ren sympathizer nearly found her out. No matter how bad it got, they’d always found some way to make it through. They were a team, weren’t they? Acer and Bravo, the two ends of the comms.

Poe finds that he’s actually come to rely on his daily check-ins with Acer like he would a chat with a friend. He has no idea how it feels to be in her position, stuck in the middle of First Order space with nothing but a fragile lie to protect you. Sometimes, he can hear it in her voice- the fear, the knowledge that at any moment she could be found out and shipped off to a distant cell where she would rot for the rest of her days. Spies are risky operators, and oftentimes the Resistance can’t afford to bring them back, not if it would compromise the rest of their intel rings.

Poe remembers the instance when he was captured by the First Order and tortured on board their ship. He had known even then that the likelihood of him being brought back to the Resistance was low, almost negligible, yet he’d been fortunate enough to have been rescued by Finn. Renegade stormtroopers with hearts of gold, however, were hard to come by, and so Acer wouldn’t even be able to rely on that. It twists Poe’s stomach to think of her on her bad days, when she’s surrounded by the fear that she would disappear on those backwater city planets and never be found again. He’d look for her, he promises himself, but even Poe knows that one radio operator wouldn’t be enough to find Acer if she went missing. All he can do is hope that it won’t come to that.

A couple of weeks later, Poe is on the line with Acer again when he first hears something in the background. It’s a quiet noise, barely there, yet something about it feels strange. He speaks up. “Hey, Ace, you got a roommate there? I thought I heard something behind you.” There’s quiet for a moment, and then when Acer speaks again her voice is strained with panic. “I live alone. There should be nobody here with me.” Both of them stay silent for a moment as they realize the implications of this. If Acer should be alone, but somebody is there, then that means-

The explosions go off about half a second later. Distantly, Poe can hear the draw of a blaster from a holster and repeated fire. Acer bends close to the radio, speaking quietly so the attackers won’t hear. “There are First Order troops in my quarters. I repeat, there are First Order troops here. This is Acer, I am requesting sendoff. Bravo, do you copy?” Poe’s blood feels like ice in his veins. The sendoff code is one that he had hoped to never hear. It means that Acer is outnumbered, that she’s about to be captured. It means that the Resistance has to make a choice whether to save her or to damn her to end the rest of her life in First Order cells.

This is Poe’s greatest fear. When he speaks again, he has to force his voice to stay calm and never waver. If he sounds nervous, then it will only enhance her own fear. “This is Bravo, affirmative. I verify your sendoff.” He can hear a quiet sound, like a half-sob almost hidden in the din of the blaster fire. Poe feels sick to his stomach. He can’t do this, can’t abandon Acer like this. He knows in this moment that if he doesn’t do something he will never forgive himself, but what is there to do? It’s not like he can help fight the stormtroopers. He feels their separation like a knife. She is cut off from him in all ways but the radio, but what good can a comms channel do in a firefight?

Desperate, Poe clicks on his mic once more. “Acer, can you read me? Can you send your location?” This is his last hope- if she can send even a couple of coordinates they might be able to track her down, might be able to save her from the cells. Acer’s voice comes back over the air, and Poe feels his heart drop at her words. “That’s a negative, Bravo. I can’t risk any more transmissions.” Her voice breaks off, but it doesn’t sound like a tech difficulty. When she speaks once more, her voice is leaden, and it chills Poe to the bone.

“I’m not making it out, Bravo. It’s been good to know you. See you in the fall.” Poe’s jaw tightens when he hears the last phrase. ‘See you in the fall’ is a joke they have between them, that someday there will be a day when he and Acer will be able to leave their stations and find each other at the end of all of this- at the fall of the First Order, of the war and resistance effort itself, when everything is finally over. If she’s saying this, then she knows- Acer isn’t making it back.

Poe’s voice is seconds away from breaking. “I’ll see you in the fall, Acer. I promise.” He can hear her slight smile over the line, and it nearly kills him. Even now, she’s forcing herself to stay strong. “You have to end the channel, Bravo. Otherwise they’ll find you.” Poe shakes his head before forgetting that she can’t see him. “Don’t make me leave. I know I’m not here, but I can’t-” Poe forces himself to remain calm. He has to do this, it is his last job. He owes her this, at least. He owes it to her that the mission not fail completely.

Poe takes a moment to steady himself before continuing. “Affirmative, Acer. This is Bravo, over and out.” Poe drags his hand over to the buttons lining his console and robotically types in the command to permanently end the channel before the First Order can find them through it. Just before he severs the line, he hears her voice one last time. “I read you, Bravo. Acer, over and out.” Then there’s one last flurry of static, and everything goes quiet.

Poe sits for a second in the silence. His ears are ringing with the last remnants of the blasterfire. He stares at his hands, still hovering over the controls. Just like that, his friend is gone. Acer has been captured, and she knows that there’s no hope of her return. Poe has been fighting in the Resistance for a long time now, and he’s seen many friends and allies fall. This loss, however, is the hardest he has felt in a long time.

Poe’s footsteps echo through the halls until he comes to a stop in front of General Organa. She turns to him, expecting a proffered data file, but her smile fades when she sees the haunted look on his face. Poe’s voice registers dully in the room. “Recon Operator Acer has been cleared for sendoff.” And just like that, Poe has lost one of the best things in the fight.

#poe dameron #poe dameron imagines #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron series #star wars #star wars imagines #star wars x reader #star wars series #poe #poe imagines #poe x reader #poe series #star wars poe #star wars poe imagines #star wars poe x reader #star wars poe series

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terrm9 · 3 years

Text

Father’s Day

Ethan makes sure to celebrate the Father’s Day with his daughter. (Ethan X Chiara X Matilda)

Words count: 4 000

Warnings: two swear words, fluff

Author’s note: I don’t know what happened here guys. I am so sorry, this fic lacks plot and point, depth, quality, this truly is one fluffy piece of shit. I had a good feeling about it when the idea appeared in my brain and then I started to write and nothing seemed right. And I just kept telling myself ‘just keep writing and it will start making sense. It will get better’... and suddenly the fic is finished and it still doesn’t make sense. I was so close to not posting it, but then I thought that sometimes mindless fluff can make my mood better and so maybe it can do some good to you too. Love you all and I promise I won’t be angry or hurt if you hate this:D

Also Ethan is ~47 in this fic, if you thought I wouldn't mention his graying hair, I am sorry but I did

Also also, I didn't find the strength needed for a proof reading this and so I didn't proof read it. If you see a mistake, please pretend you don't see it

The sun was long set at the time Ethan stepped into the apartment and even though he rationally knew that it was late, he couldn’t quite give up on his hope that maybe Matilda was still up. On the days like this, when more patients came in than out of the hospital and there was so much of a paperwork that he has to bring it home with him, there is nothing Ethan loved more than to put his daughter to sleep and then spend a nice quiet evening with Chiara.

But of course, Matilda was fast asleep – judging by the silence filling the whole apartment – and so Ethan was looking forward to skipping to the part of sharing an evening with his wife.

Chiara didn’t notice him as he stepped into the living room, her nose slightly crinkled as she was filling some papers spread on the dining table, white earpods in her ears.

Looks like I am not the only one to bring work home with me today.

Ethan stopped in his tracks for a moment, just inhaling the familiar scent of Chiara and home and absorbing the picture in front of him. Even after alsmot ten years since he met her for the first time, even though she was his wife now, someone he woke up next to every morning, Chiara still – always – managed to knock the air out of his lungs. How her smile only gained more brightness through the years and how she looked almost like a girl with her hair braided on one side.

Had he been an artist, he would call her his muse.

But he was just a man, a doctor with any artistic words stuck in his throat and so he just kept staring at Chiara and thought, inspiration, that’s what she was, because even the most rational of men could get inspired.

„I can feel you standing there,“ Chiara exclaimed suddenly, putting the earpods off and turning to him with that bright smile.

„My apologies,“ he smiled faintly and crossed the distance between them to give her, what Chiara called ‚a proper greeting‘. He kissed her softly and it only took the feeling of Chiara’s warm body under his hands to ease the tension in him almost completely.

„Matilda missed you tonight,“ Chiara murmured into his chest, not willing to break their embrance.

„As I missed her,“ Ethan sighed. „Did you have an eventful afternoon?“

Chiara chuckled at that, parting from him at last to switch her phone off and leave the work on the dining table.

„Just the usual. The teacher asked them to draw themselves in the future and she couldn’t decide which version of that future she should draw because she wants to be everything.“

Ethan could imagine the conversation very well. Matilda, at the age of five, knew exactly what she didn't want to become when she grows up - a doctor. She kept shifting between wishing to be a travel blogger like her aunt Kyra or a photographer like aunt Alicia. After a weekend spent in Providence, she proclaimed that she could also imagine being a cable repairwoman like grandpa, because grandpa has the coolest coworkers that came over and let her eat chocolate cookies and watch football with them. And if by any unfortunate coincidence she should become a doctor after all, she would definitely be a surgeon like uncle Bryce, because he actually cuts people and that's much more interesting than her parents' job. All they do is talk about the patients.

„I promised her you would take her to school tomorrow. You have rounds in the morning but I can taker over,“ which would only be a service for you, she thought to herself. „That would certainly make her feel better.“

„Was she that sad that I didn’t come home earlier?“

"Oh, she was more sad about the Father's Day program at her school – you know, the one where kids and their dads go together - but I explained her why you had to miss it."

Ethan furrowed his brows, confused for a while.

"Why do I have to miss it?" he asked as he picked Matilda's stuffed llama from the floor.

"It's the Wednesday when you are at the conference in Seattle."

Ethan put the toy on the couch next to Til's favourite blanket and sat down before responding, his voice carrying no sign of hesitation.

"If there's a Father's Day program at her school and she wants me to be there, I'll be there."

Ethan knew all too well why he was so persistent on being there.

He wished he didn’t know, but he did.

Because he knew what it felt like to spend so many of his Mother’s Days programms with his teeth gritted, wishing it could all just end.

He could still remember the first Mother’s Day without Luise, how his teacher walked into the class and told them that they would create nice postcards for their moms and how Ethan’s classmate pointed his finger at him and said: „And what is Ramsey going to do? It’s not fair that he doesn’t need to do anything for the whole hour.“

It was the first time Ethan punched someone.

There was no way, no way, that he would allow his daughter to feel any of those feelings.

His thoughts were interrupted by Chiara, now sitting right next to him, a soft concern visible on her features.

„Alan and Naveen would go with her, you know. She wouldn’t be alone.“

„I am her father.“

„And you are also an author of the study this whole conference is going to be about.“

Ethan knew Chiara was right, just as he knew that she was doing this not because she didn’t want him to attend the programm, rather because she respected and supported his career.

But her arguments were of no use. Ethan’s mind was made up and he only wondered if this is what it felt like, all those years ago, when he pushed Chiara away in order to support her career. The idea of putting career first was making him uncomfortable and all he could do was to think, how did Chiara see it all those years ago?

Or rather, how did he not see it back then?

He had no answers, only his gratitude that she stayed and showed him the world through her eyes.

„Aurora is just as much of an author as me. She can handle the conference without me just fine. You can go with her.“

„Me?“ Chiara asked incredulously.

„Sure. They don’t really care which Dr. Ramsey will come.“

Ethan aged well. More wrinkles circled the corners of his eyes and the grey hair on his temples were not an optical illusion anymore (and Chiara has never found him more handsome than now) and his gaze changed too, the cold blue of his eyes almost forgotten, as his eyes were warm and soft almost all the time he was with his family.

Ethan aged and changed and yet there was a thing that didn’t change in the slightest in these last years. His insufferable stubborness.

And so Chiara knew that he won’t change his mind and that there was no point in trying to and while it warmed her heart to see how in love with Matilda Ethan was, the study was important to him.

Obviously not important enough, however, and Chiara decided not to push him any further. Instead, she asked curiously.

„And what are you going to perform? What if Matilda wants to do something crazy?" Chiara raised an eyebrow.

"Of course she won't want anything crazy. What if it were my father and Naveen taking her?"

Chiara laughed wholeheartedly at his question, because for someone so brilliant, sometimes Ethan was desperately clueless when it came to people around him - and what they were willing to do for their daughter.

"Please, this is Naveen and Alan you are talking about. Matilda could say she wants to sing Hakuna Matata and they would come dressed as Timon and Pumba."

"Ah," Ethan exhaled, obviously only now realizing that Chiara was, indeed, right. And singing - or dancing, for God's sake - was not part of his plan. "Well, she can play some basic compound on the piano, she has learned some already. And I could accompany her on the cello."

Chiara choked on the water she was just drinking, turning to look at Ethan so swiftly, his brows furrowed in a concern for her neck.

"On a what now?"

“A cello. I thought you knew that I used to play the cello as a kid.”

“Of course, but the as a kid part is important. I mean, I played a piano as a kid and now I couldn’t play Twinkle Twinkle Little Star if my life depended on it.”

Ethan laughed, wrapping his arm around Chiara in a half-hug and had to bite his tongue not to tell her that maybe Matilda could teach her, as she already could play Twinkle Twinkle Little Star exceptionally well.

“I might have stopped playing actively when I was ten, but I found a certain sense of serenity in music – and playing – for a long time after that. I-,” Ethan stopped himself, mulling over his next words. It was not like he didn’t want to tell Chiara anything, but talking about his years at med school was not something he did often. “I befriended a music shop’s owner back in Baltimore. He was a nice guy, barely older than me and so very different. He had musical instruments for sale there and as we became closer, he let me borrow the cello and play a little in the back of the shop. It became a thing that helped me clear my head when school became too stressful and it also helped me not to forget how to play. I think Matilda’s level on the piano is very close to what I can remember with the cello.”

Now all he had to do was to find someone who would borrow him the cello.

*** *** ***

Ethan always found it amusing, how his mornings with Matilda differed compared to Matilda’s mornings with Chiara.

He made sure to wake her up earlier than usual, so that they could cook breakfast together and have some time to spare.

Chiara – the person that hated mornings more than eggplants – did all she could to stay in bed for as long as possible. She would rather prepare Matilda’s breakfast in the evening and run to the school than wake up before 6 AM.

And it seemed like Matilda realized this difference quite soon, for all the times Ethan came to wake her up, she knew she could ask him to join her in bed for a few minutes.

"Hey, little Rookie," Ethan whispered, softly stroking Matilda's curls out of her forehead so that he could press a gentle kiss on it. "Time to wake up. We don't want to be late for school."

The little Rookie nickname was first used when Til was perhaps one year old and it made her giggle so hard Ethan kept using it. Chiara found it extremely funny, always pointing out that Matilda was nothing if not Ethan’s exact copy – and she was right. With her big blue eyes and long curly dark hair, there was no doubt that she was Ethan’s daughter. Not that the similarities ended in her physical appearence – she was phenomenally subborn for a five year old (to which Ethan always argued that she could as well inherit that from Chiara) and sarcasm was her second language. She also might have used ‚fuck‘ once or twice and Ethan knew it’s not Chiara she heard that from.

You should call her little Terminator, Chiara always teased and partly, she was right.

But there were many traits and marks of Chiara in their daughter, marks not so visible but unmistakely hers. How Matilda’s smile was always bright and warm and sincere, something only Chiara could pass on. How she came home one day from school and asked Ethan if he could make cupcakes with her, because her classmate loves cupcakes but his parents are too busy to make them for him and so she would love to bring him some to school. How she appreciated the most common of things, like sun shining because it makes her skin warm and also rain falling because she can jump in the puddles. Her genuine curiosity and open heart and just her general need to make people around her feel good.

That was all Chiara’s mark and Ethan loved his two girls so much it sometimes still surprised him. That he was capable of such love.

It also made him want more sometimes. More people to love that much.

„Snuggle time, please?“ Matilda smiled, her eyes still closed and Ethan was prepared, he knew this request would come and so he didn’t even need to check the watch to know that he could lay down next to her, the tiny bed making his position rather awkward.

He snuggled Matilda from behind and between her slow stirs as she began to wake up and his soft kisses put on the back of her head, he whispered how excited he was to attend the Father’s Day program with her.

*** *** ***

Ethan didn’t even need to try hard to persuade Matilda that a piano-cello duet would be better to perform than a dance. She liked the idea from the beginning and after going through her music sheets with Chiara, she happily exclaimed that they could try to learn Hedwig’s Theme together. Her eyes were bright and full of excitement and Ethan knew the decision was already made, because he couldn’t resist that face.

And so they performed and for a girl who was five and her father, who was almost fifty, they did a great job. Seeing Matilda’s pure, unadultered joy and excitement and so much gratitude that her dad could be there with here, was something Ethan would consider one of the best moments of his life forever.

Tillie was almost jumping up and down with the happiness as they watched her classmates and their fathers or grandfathers or mothers in some cases or maybe even uncles perform their numbers. She was clapping hard after every single one and she kept waving at everyone, her smile so wide Ethan thought for a while that she resembled Bryce more than anyone. The thought made him chuckle, because Matilda would love to hear that, as Bryce was her hero and possibly the best person she could spend her sleepovers at.

Ethan could hardly say that he enjoyed being surrounded by so many people, but he sincerely did enjoy spending the day with his kid. He didn’t regret choosing making a fool out of himself in front of bunch of kids instead of the conference. He almost forgot about the conference altogether until Aurora’s call interrupted the bustle full of laughter around them.

She only called him to let him know that all went well and she was off to have a lunch with other diagnosticians that helped with the study.

"Yes, alright. I'll see you on Monday. Good job, Aurora," Ethan put the phone back into his pocket and turned to Matilda.

"I am sorry you missed the conference because of me, dad."

Ethan knelt down so that he could face his daughter, the very same blue eyes he knew from mirrors, looking back at him, wide and curious.

He smiled softly, kissing Matilda's forehead before responding.

"I am not. No conference is that important, and just between the two of us," Ethan lowered his voice and put his best serious face on, causing the mischievous sparks ignite in Tillie's eyes "Conferences are so boring. You saved me from a torture."

She giggled and threw her arms around Ethan's neck, squeezing him as hard as a five years old could.

"Now let's go, I think there's an ice cream that needs to be eaten."

"But daddy you said ice creams are sugar bomb!"

Ethan chuckled at her shocked expression - not sure is it was a genuine one or an act - and took her little hand into his.

"I'll pretend I don't see you eating it."

Matilda squealed and before her ‚no sugar in this house‘ dad could change his mind, she stormed off in the direction of the ice cream truck.

Before she could reach her destination, however, she stopped in her tracks and tugged on Ethan’s sleeve, pointing at the little girl sitting under one of the trees – alone.

„That’s Dorothy! She is my best friend.“

Yes, Ethan remembered Matilda mentioning Dorsey, her best friend, quite often, but he never got a chance to meet her before. The girl was tiny, much smaller than Matilda – which inherited Ethan’s significant height, too – her hair almost white and her eyes similar to Matilda’s, big and blue but not even close to being as bright.

„She doesn’t have a dad,“ Matilda added, her voice much less excited now. „She didn’t want to come here but her mom has to be at work.“

Ethan’s heart tightened at her words, the description of Dorothy’s situation reminding him of his own when he was a kid way too much.

„Why don’t you go and ask her to join us for an ice cream?“ Ethan smiled at Matilda faintly.

Before he could as much as blink, Matilda was gone and in the very next moment, both girls were back, smiling up at him, his own kid widely and Dorothy very shyly.

„Hello, Dorothy,“ Ethan knelt down and smiled at her encouragingly. „I am Ethan. It is my pleasure to meet you, Matilda talks about you a lot.“

„Hello,“ Dorothy muttered, not meeting his eyes and Ethan noticed she was holding Matilda’s hand.

Without any other word, he stood up and led both girls to find an ice cream truck, only half-listening to what they were talking about – enough to recognize that Dorothy was much more open when talking to Matilda, but not enough to register particular words.

Maybe that’s why Matilda’s next question took him off the guard.

„Right, daddy? I was just telling Dorsey that you could be her dad, right? And I would be her sister!“

Ethan’s eyes widened and before he could find the right words – gentle but also firm enough to explain that that’s not exactly how these things work, Matilda spoke again.

„She could come over anytime and we could have sleepovers like the ones I have with uncle Bryce or grandpa and we would play together and I could borrow her my toys, right?“

Ethan nodded and smiled, of course Dorothy is always welcome to stay at our place, and let the topic go, because there was nothing wrong about his daughter having best friend that would come over.

Thirty minutes later, all three of them sat at the grass and ate their ice creams and it was easy to forget the previous converstaions.

*** *** ***

Until he came into his office, a week after the Father’s Day and found Chiara waiting for him, her arms crossed at her chest and her expression unusually stoic.

Before he could ask what was wrong, Chiara spoke.

„Matilda’s teacher just called.“

„What?“ Ethan stepped closer, automatically reaching into his pocket to make sure his phone, wallet and car keys are there and he is ready to leave and pick up Matilda at any moment. „Is something wrong? Is she in trouble? Sick?“

„She is absolutely alright,“ Chiara shook her head sligthly, her face unreadable – something that scared Ethan more than her visible anger. „She just called me to let me know about the rumors going around Matilda’s class these past few days. She thought it would be better if I found out from her rather than from other parents.“

„Rumors?“ Ethan asked, utterly lost and confused.

It took all the willpower Chiara had not to let her facade slip and keep her expression neutral. But teasing Ethan was one of her main hobbies, even after ten years, and so she tried her best.

„Apparently, Matilda and Dorothy Wilkins told everyone that they are in fact sisters. They have different mommies but the same dad – no other than the famous Dr. Ramsey,“ now, it was really hard not to laugh. Ethan’s whole face paled and the confusion was quickly replaced by recognition. „The other kids shared the news with their parents and now those parents talk.“

Ethan didn’t know that Matilda told Chiara about her idea of Ethan becoming Dorothy’s dad the very same evening she shared it with Ethan himself and even though Chiara tried to explain why that idea is not going to work the way the wished it would, Matilda was stubborn. Meaning, Matilda adopted Dorothy as her sister anyway and didn’t mind sharing her dad with her.

„Fuck,“ Ethan whispered, pacing around the office, not really looking up at Chiara.

If he did, he would catch her grinning.

She cleared her throat quickly and added: „Some of the parents came to tell the poor teacher that they appreciate how civil the mothers of Matilda and Dorothy are about the whole thing and that it must’ve taken much strength of our spirits to put out kids into same school.“

She couldn’t anymore. The first chuckle escaped her and when Ethan’s eyes met hers, the mischievous sparks were dancing on full display in her irises, her smile wide and so amused.

Ethan exhaled a sigh full of relief and rolled his eyes and when he looked at Chiara again, she was laughing softly, badly trying to cover her laugh with the hand over her mouth.

The bizarreness of the whole situation and his wife’s reaction made Ethan laugh too and he slumped down on the couch, pulling Chiara with him.

„We should give some kind of explanation, right?“ he whispered when they both calmed down.

„Oh, I don’t know. I am the civil one,“ Chiara smirked smugly. „And with a strong spirit!“

Ethan laughed again at that, thinking about how any kind of rumors about him and Chiara startled him in the beginning of their relationship and how over the years, Chiara managed to teach him to just let people talk.

„She really wants that sibling, huh?“ Chiara broke the silence, poking his side softly.

„Yes, she does,“ Ethan nodded.

„And you would...want that too, right?“ Chiara asked again, this time much more seriousness in her voice.

Both Chiara and Ethan were decided to adopt a child back in the days they believed they would never have their own. After Matilda was born, they didn’t really talk about it anymore – they felt too blessed, too lucky that they’ve gotten her and they were happy.

But the thoughts of adoption never truly left their heads and Chiara knew that especially Ethan considered the option often. She could see him talking to Matilda when she asked for a sister or a brother for her birthday, she saw the dreamy smile as they spoke about little kids.

And it was not like she was against the idea of adopting a child – quite the opposite. She grew up with two siblings and her brother and sister were one of the best parts of her childhood. She wished she could give Matilda the same feeling, the same love she recieved at her age. She just felt like she would be asking for too much, like it would be selfish to want another little human that would make them happy, when they already had one.

Those thoughts were not rational, but they were there and they slowed her decisions down.

„Yes, I would,“ Ethan nodded after a long while, looking straight into Chiara’s eyes.

He would never push her. But he wouldn’t lie either.

Chiara nodded and leaned in to press a soft kiss on Ethan’s mouth, pouring her emotions into it, her excitement with the idea just as strong as her anxiety.

Deep down, she knew that the decision has just been made. That no matter how openly they talked about it or expressed themselves, all three Ramseys wished to share their love and happiness with another soul.

#open heart #open heart choices #open heart fanfiction #ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey x mc #ethan x matilda

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benlaksana · 3 years

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2021

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It's been roughly a year and a half since the start of the Covid-19 pandemic here in Indonesia, and I've recently been trying to understand where I'm at. Not physically, as in physical space, but mentally and probably existentially. What is the state of my mind? I am aware that I've become somewhat bitter, my late nights are sometimes riddled with anxiety for what the next day may bring and reoccurring personal-collective grief has at times, and recently more often than I would like to admit, numbed me.

This may probably be my mind's automatic coping mechanism seeing all this death mainly as a result of how my government has failed us, its citizens, especially during a time of crises. And I really need to stress this point: how my government has failed us Indonesians during the times we need it the most and I very much believe that it is because of this why many of us Indonesians are in constant misery and haunted by that feeling of despair. If chronic physical pain causes constant daily anguish, I am not surprised if chronic physical and mental pain caused by structural violence causes persistent misery as well.

I'm somewhat fortunate in this regard, I'm grateful that I've learned ways to keep my sanity in check. My contemplative practice is key for me. Honestly, I wouldn't have gotten far in life without it. I have many people to thank, but Art Buehler especially, my former professor in esoteric contemplative/meditative practices who reminded me and pointed a certain possible direction of where I should head when I sense a lost in my life's direction, is one those I should thank the most. I know this seems like an individualized response to structural oppression, and I don't intend to paint such a picture, but I do believe we need some kind of mental stability to keep on going. To survive if not thrive.

Art sadly passed away in 2019. I received an email about his passing. And come to think of it I never really did allow myself to properly grieve for his passing. I don't know why. To be told through a short concise email that someone you cared for died, without having the opportunity to properly say goodbye feels like that person never really passed away. It is horrible way to end relationships. A sudden cut, nothing finalized, and since goodbyes are relational, now nothing can really ever be concluded. I have to make amends with myself and only with myself. If I said goodbye yesterday, or if I say goodbye today or perhaps tomorrow, will it ever be enough for me?

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Life is individual yet also relational. It's good to have friends, family, people that care for you or the odd mix of all three to get you through life. So although I have these array of tools to possibly help get me through life but if the people whom you look for some kind direction is no longer present, I'm just not sure for how long I can maintain it if I'm doing all this by myself. Will a breaking point come to me?

The mind is a fickle thing, and the mind is as strong as its habits. Bad habits, bad mind. Good habits, good healthy mind (no habits, no mind?). They also say that things that might happen, will indeed happen. It is just a matter of time. If so, how will I break? To what extent? For how long? What will change? What will I lose? Will there be something renewed? Will I come out the same person? Will I come out changed but for the worst?

This is one of the things that worries me. That certainty of uncertainty. The certainty of breaking, the uncertainty of when and of its form. Will I explode in sudden exasperation, engulfed in madness? Will it be a quick balloon pop yet a slow descend into meaninglessness? An unabashed diatribe rant towards someone I care? Something that's just a twitter post away from me on actually doing it. Will this be an opening, an opportunity for 'satori', a sudden lift of the 'veil', bringing about comprehension and understanding of the true nature of things? Questions, questions, questions, not much when it comes to answers, is all I have for now. To be hopeful is hard these days and with the wavering hope, very much coming and going like waves, it has become incredibly hard to even retain any semblance of kindness. That is something I do not want to actively become a habit of. Without hope, comes the cold embrace of fatalism that many on the 'left' are guilty of. Clutched by fatalism, empathy becomes harder to come by. I've seen it, and I have felt it.

I know that my eroding sense of hope is connected to my personal dreams. Specifically how it has become very hard to actualize it. Rara and I never really planned on staying in Indonesia for long. I was confident enough, a bit too confident come to think of it, that we will be out of Indonesia by 2021 the latest. A mere 2 1/2 years after our last stay in New Zealand. The plan was for me to continue my studies, getting into a Ph.D. program and of course a scholarship. That was our ticket out. Hoping that we'll be back to our old routine in Wellington, in and out the university's library, my head in books, loving our 'flatwhites' while regretting having too much of it, the usual stint doing some university tutoring, community organizing stuff, lazy gardening, out and about on the weekends tramping around Wellington and if Covid did not happen or/and maybe if my government handled things much, much better I think that would've been the case. Or at least I constantly would like to imagine that would be the case.

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Yet here we are still in Indonesia, me struggling to do my Ph.D. through this wretched distant learning, initially in the comfort of my home yet steadily devolving into cabin fever. And Rara with her own struggles trying her best to get back on her feet as an aspiring musician. None of it is going as well as we had hoped for. All this while juggling trying our best to keep ourselves safe and our families and friends safe. Both of us have become direct witnesses how challenging this has been, physically and mentally. Both of us slowly grappling with the continual kick in the gut, the never ending structural absurdity, violently absurd.

That slow grueling realization of how fragile our lives are. Not just existentially. It is existentially precarious yet at the same time understanding that precariousness in many of its aspects is structurally and politically maintained. It is this political construction of precarity, which Isabell Lorey elaborates in her book State of Insecurity: Government of the Precarious, that angers and saddens us the most.

Lorey provides a nuanced approach in unpacking and differentiating this thing called being 'precarious'. The three dimensions of being precarious: precariousness, precarity and then precarization. On precariousness, Lorey draw's on Judith Butler's conceptualization of precariousness which she sees as existential, relational and inevitable. I'll insert my existential philosophy and Buddhist values here, to help me see and more importantly accept the transient nature of life and that impermanence or change is the only constant. Our lives, our bodies are destined to die and wither away. We humans are fragile mortal beings. The loss of life, the loss of one's identity, the loss of everything that makes us, us is unavoidable. It's also a 'relational' thing, as in it is also a shared experience. Everyone will experience it. It is the great equalizer some say.

Then we have precarity. Yes everyone dies, but the process of dying or even the process of grieving someone's death is dependent on what Lorey see as the “effects of different political, social and legal compensations of a general precariousness”. Some die at young age due to starvation, riddled with poverty and disease and have nothing or no one to ease their pain, others die surrounded by family and friends in a well-cared for hospital. Some have days or weeks to grieve, others have to go back to work the next day as she or he have no luxury to stop working even just for a moment and simply grieve. To stop working even for a day draws some closer to the possibility of death for the person or those dependent on the person working. This is the inequality of dying and grieving due to our social hierarchies. How fragile we are, is dependent on those social hierarchies.

And last we have Lorey's third dimension, governmental precarization which is the instrumentalization of insecurity by the government. In other words, the government using the idea and the reality of insecurity as a tool or device to control its citizens. The calculated, deliberate attempt by the government in destabilizing our lives in order for us to be easily governed. Insecurity, be it real or due to perceived constructed fear of insecurity is an effective governing tool. The fear of being labeled "useless and lacking in contribution to the nation-state". The genuine insecurity of not being able to get a job due to the false understanding that it is simply a result of an individual's laziness rather than due to systematic government policies. The deliberate attempt in making our lives constantly insecure, constantly on the edge, without us initially knowing it and when we do come to understand, the blame is on us. It is normalized and it is internalized.

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This is not simply a social issue, it is a deeply existential one as well. We Indonesians have very little to make us feel safe at the moment. Covid and the government's response to it has severely limited our movements and it's not simply physical immobility, but also an existential one, the inability to even have the imagination that our lives are actually "going somewhere", towards a forward direction. Perhaps some sort of minute incremental progress, but progress nonetheless. This imagined mobility is what Ghassan Hage calls as "existential mobility" and this immobility suffered by many of us is what he also calls as "stuckedness".

Turning an often momentary or the ephemeral nature of a crisis into something prolonged and perhaps even permanent is another part of the strategy of governmental precarization. Our lives or jobs are always on the line and again coupled with the sick prevailing idea that we only have ourselves to find the solution. The crisis is permanent, we don't know why but we've been told that way, if we fail to overcome it is because of our personal inabilities thus proliferating and intensifying this sense of stuckedness.

Forcing us to accept whatever solution the government-messiah presents us with in order to relieve us from this suffering. From labour laws that normalizes precariousness even more, to oppressive new laws that limits our desire and ability to dissent, to including who or how our enemies are defined, easily accepting who is to blame for all this insecurity we are all suffering.

Be it the long dead Indonesian communists, the Chinese Indonesians and the racist perception of them being "selfish and greedy", the Indonesian Islamists - the kadruns and their conservatism, the "foreign forces" whomever they may be constantly trying to take over Indonesia, anyone or anything is to blame. Anyone but the Indonesian government and its affluent patrons. Insecurity and the fear that rises from it renders many of us easily governable and compliant.

This governmental precarization and this 'stuckedness', which Hage sees no longer as a possibility that may or may not happen but an "inevitable pathological state which has to be endured" is how Rara and I feel at the moment.

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Rara and I feel our lives are going nowhere. We feel that our lives are stuck, constantly rotating in a hamster wheel trying our best to overcome our precariousness. No progress, no forward movement, no growth, just trying our best to survive from this sustained uncertainty. It's an awful feeling, paving way to existential dread. We are very much looking forward to moving back to New Zealand as soon as possible but with the conditions right now, that is something I can't even dare to imagine.

And although I am grateful that the weave of our privilege with at many times just pure sheer luck has kept us alive and physically well for the time being, we both now realize that we have hit a proverbial concrete wall here. Adding to the already precarious nature of life here in Indonesia, our line of work as a fledgling social science academic and aspiring artist and what Rara and I aspire to do socially, what we aspire to become, easily ends in stagnation if we intend to continue to live our lives in Indonesia. (I want to direct you to Social Science and Power edited by Vedi Hadiz and Daniel Dhakkidae to get the gist of what I'm trying to get at here.)

This is a hard pill to swallow, harder to write and even more so to act upon. I am existentially tied to Indonesia, my family and friends are here, my father is buried here and so will my mother. Memories of the distant past, the colloquial language when shitposting on social media, my mind and body have been shaped by Indonesia in ways I possibly do not even fully realize. This is why I oscillate between guilt towards others and guilt towards the self. I feel guilty for simply having an exit strategy when many others don't, I have the luxury of choice. Yet I also I feel guilty for feeling guilty about this, as it means I am also neglecting the well-being of myself, now and in the future. I need to work on this and find my bearings, being stuck in a guilty limbo won't get me anywhere.

And the future is far from stable, I wonder what is on the other end of surviving this pandemic? There is so much collective grief, collective anger and of course personal anger. All this will amount to something, I'm sure of that. Although I don't know what exactly, I'm not entirely confident this something will be good. John Keane's new book 'The New Despotism' comes into mind.

What do I personally do with all this anger? I’ve noticed how anger, especially when it is on the verge of hatred, morphs itself and easily descends into madness, into aggression and often showing itself, unawaringly to us, when the act of expressing anger happens. Your mind becomes instantly clouded, ending in mindless action. This inability to have control over oneself terrifies me. I already have so very little semblance of control over life in general at the moment, if I truly have no control over myself whatsoever, what then do I have?

And I wonder if it is a waste of time asking these pseudo-intellectual questions? I don't know, yet I do know I live in a society where it hones aggression and hostility, whether it be in physical and digital spaces, and I would like to draw myself away from all this at the moment before I transform myself into something I do not wish to be. Anger I can fully understand, and it is needed and useful. Yet to actively transform it into deep blinding hatred and sustain it daily, is something I feel psychologically destructive for me and I'm trying my best not to go on that path.

I rarely update this blog I know, but this blog has always been used as a personal chronicle of how much I have progressed, digressed or both. And I needed to write all this, because I've never been this least sure of what my life should be like and where it should go. I know I am not alone at this. This pandemic has destroyed the lives of many, our futures, our dreams, our sources of love and I hope that anyone of you reading this finds a way to get through it, doing anything you can do day in, day out.

I'm not sure it if amounts to anything. Maybe it won't, maybe it will, or maybe it has but maybe we just can't see it. All I can personally do for now, is to hold on to these 'maybes', and maybe, just maybe I'll get through this too.

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“Where must we go...

We who wonder this Wasteland

in search of our better selves?”

- The First History Man, George Miller

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my-writings-and-musings · 4 years

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MTMTE Headcannon Prompt

Enemy forces hack the Lost Light and deactivate the atmospheric controls, leading to a slow loss of oxygen in the hopes the damage to the ship's "pet" will give them an edge. While the rest of the crew struggles to fight off their attackers and restore these critical systems, the bot(s) you've come to love stays by your side as a guard while begging you to remain conscious, growing ever more panicked as you begin to fade... Until you're saved just in time, and then they're left grappling with the fact they nearly lost you.

(A lot more dramatic than my first prompt certainly, and way more involved so I can only do two bots per post... But I'll get to them all!)

Part One: You're Here!

Part Two: Here!

Part Three: Here!

Part Four: Here!

Part Five: Here!

Part Six: Here!

Part Seven: Here!

Part Eight: Here!

Part Nine: Here!

Part Ten: Here!

Part Eleven: Here!

Part Twelve: Here!

Rodimus

·You're chilling on the mess of blankets he uses as extra insulation in the berth, debating which movie you'll watch with him when he returns, when the ship gives a rumble. At the lack of emergency signals that follow, you assume something has just bumped against the shields, which happens so frequently you only shrug.

·Elsewhere on the bridge, Rodimus receives a taunting message from the enemy ambush, bragging about how impossibly easy it was to crash key programs on the Lost Light, like the air filtration system... which will make things awfully difficult for his pet as oxygen has started to leak. He goes from aggressive bantering to obvious horror, putting the pieces together just as a loud series of distant rumblings marks the deactivation of the filters providing the oxygen you need to survive.

·For once his commanding officers all know what to expect in unison, allowing them to take over the bridge when he abandons it in a desperate rush to your location, his pounding pedes leaving tire marks in his wake as he stumbles into a frantic transformation to cross the distance as fast possible.

·Unable to reach you on any channel, he loses all focus of his surroundings before skidding to a tumbling halt before your shared quarters, calling out your name and activating his scanner as he registers dangerously low and still dropping oxygen levels across the ship.

·You're unaware of anything amiss as you continue to relax, but that's mostly due to a growing fog of confusion settling over your thoughts and senses. It's so dense that it has already made you incapable of noticing that the air is unusually stale, and your befuddlement only grows when he barges in like the place is burning down, moreso than usual.

·Scooping you into his arms, his relief at seeing you alive and conscious turns to terror when he realizes you've already begun to suffer the effects, as your bleary smile and dizzy demeanor make clear. He doesn't need to be a human doctor to know you're already in a bad way.

·Just as he is halfway through an explanation you barely understand, he receives a communication through restored channels from the other commanding officers warning that the ship has been boarded by enemy forces, at which point he resolutely declares that nothing will reach you so long as his spark has so much as a flicker left. In your inability to grasp the danger his steadfast vigilance is heartwarming.

·A defensive unit is posted outside for your safety, but as the battle rages through the ship and oxygen levels continue to fall, he stops focusing on the invasion. Instead he cradles you and encourages you to be still and quiet while he tries to keep up a one sided conversation to keep you distracted, knowing that what oxygen remains must be rationed.

·For the first time in his life he can't fake a smile no matter how badly he tries, the sight of your increasingly strained breaths and fading eyes drawing tears to his optics and eventually forcing him to his knees as his meandering words turn to soft pleading, his voice cracking as he alternates between begging you to stay with him and apologizing for being unable to save you.

·As you hover over a warm blackness you're far too disoriented to be as afraid as you should be, and instead you offer comfort at the sight of the bot you've come to adore so readily, murmuring your love even as he gently shushes you and tears begin to fall down his face without reservation.

·Though the battle turns in favor of the crew and the room you're in is spared attack, the atmospheric systems remain inoperable for what he knows is too long, and the ticking seconds match the fluttering of your eyes as they try not to shut.

·You know he wants you awake, but you're so incredibly tired and he's so impossibly comfortable, why can't he just let you have a nap? It's not like you won't be able to see each other after, so why does he look so sad? You wish you could tell him not to be sad.

·When you inevitably slip into unconsciousness he's beside himself, panicking but doing everything he can to gently wake you up, tenderly rubbing his thumb over your cheek to encourage you to stir. The crushing grief just beginning to take hold is so great he actually doesn't notice he has a message until it forces itself through.

·He's barely able to recollect the conversation he has with Ratchet, save the order to get you to the medical bay, where they've restored just enough functionality to produce oxygen on a one human scale. The bots who saw him running afterwards said there was little more visible than a fiery blur with you in his arms.

·Cybertronian engineering combined with carefully studied earth medicine provides you with the air you need just in time, dredging you up slowly from deep unconsciousness to the sterile taste of a ventilation mask over your face. Your discomfort mattered precious little when you behold Rodimus at your side, servo cupping your body as his face still shines with tears.

·It takes moments for him to break when you're left alone together, his shoulders shaking as the helplessness continues to haunt him, and his apologies blend together in an endless tangle of self depreciation.

·As you've come to do when he's overwhelmed, you encourage him to come closer, hugging his helm to your smaller body as if he's laying it in your lap. The oxygen mask limits you, but you don't let it stop your quiet shushes as you stroke his crests. ·Without delay you slow his tears, reassuring him that everything is well until exhaustion claims him and he falls asleep at your bedside.

·The experience doesn't leave him for some time. Both in public and in private you catch him paying close attention to you, and you know he's double checking your breathing, still worrying that such a simple thing could steal you away so quickly.

· Finally, you take him aside and pull his hand to your chest, indicating the rythym of your body and how you know it better than anyone. If he can't trust the world, then he should at least trust you, and with that newfound perspective he starts to heal as well. Because he trusts you more than anything.

Magnus/Minimus

·You're in the berthroom the two of you share, distracted by preparations for what you hope will be a simple but relaxing night in. In the well protected room it's impossible to hear much going on outside, especially with you focused so intently on making everything just the way he likes it.

·He's in his office and armor completely focused on some important paperwork when he receives an urgent warning; they're being boarded, and the attackers have already managed to offline several key atmospheric regulators and security systems. The thought initially only spurs him to begin defensive measures, but the moment he sees that oxygen levels are starting to drop, protocol ceases to exist.

·In battle he's always been a foe to be reckoned with, but now he's like a force of nature barreling through the ship, and the single unit of enemies that tries to confront him becomes little more than scattered body parts before they can let off a single shot. His fury is so overwhelming even his allies flinch when he tears past them to reach your shared quarters. He can't contact you by communicator, and he's uncertain if it's due to downed channels, or something he can't bring himself to consider.

·The door stands little hope when he tears it open in rage that's quickly evolving into panic, shouting your name as a flood of terrifying possibilities torture him with all the ways you could already be suffering. He has no idea how much or how little oxygen you need, and for all he knows the deprivation is already killing you, making you suffer...

·It takes all of his incredible self control not to embrace you when you stumble into view, dizzy and weak as well as quite confused, and he realizes things are far from okay when you lean on his offered hand to prevent yourself from falling. You actually laugh thanks to the delirium, finding it adorable to see the big tough bot diving to catch you.

·He can't bring himself to be mad at you not taking this seriously, but he's certainly frustrated at himself for being absolutely helpless to assist you, even if there's nothing he can do in the midst of the chaos with no communication options in working order.

·Ever the tactician, he barricades the two of you as effectively as he can, knowing that you're vulnerable enough now that moving you through combat could be fatal. The entire time he's multitasking on a million fronts; trying to keep you still on the berth to conserve energy, working to reestablish communication with anyone, and internally punishing himself for not having prepared some kind of protocol for this situation.

·Due to his personality you're quite accustomed to seeing him worry, but you're hardly comfortable with it, and on reflex you keep trying to comfort and reassure him despite your weakening state. His insistence you stay resting makes as little sense as his explanations, all you know is he needs help.

·Every minute drags by like an eternity, yet his skill at spotting details makes it impossible for him to miss the toll each one takes in real time. Your breaths are growing more strained, your body is settling down onto the berth with less resistance, and your eyes are meeting his with increasing dullness.

·When you can't even sit up a part of him simply... snaps. All but throwing off his armor, he brings you into his arms in his base form, not admitting but knowing that if he can't save you, he wants this to be the last way you see him.

·In a pleasant haze of fading consciousness, you initially smile at the sight, having always preferred to see him as his true self as often as possible. You'd playfully pointed out how he still towered over you in this form so many times...

·With no traces of battle growing close, or of help arriving before it's too late, he can't help but lose sight of the world around him in its entirety. What does the universe matter if you won't be in it? What good are his abilities if he can't save you from something so apparently benign?

·Never before has he cried in the presence of anyone, so to see tears in those beautiful red optics gives you considerable pause, even as your vision grows dark around you. Something must have been terribly wrong for him to cry, but you care far more about comforting him than finding out what.

·Despite the weight in your limbs, you reach up as he holds you close to weakly cup his face, shushing him with a promise he'll be okay before slipping into darkness.

·It's a stroke of fortune that Ratchet arrives when he does, catching the smaller mech holding your limp form tight as his shoulders shake in silent sobs, as the broken bot would have never allowed your loss to go unpunished. He's bordering on incoherent himself when the medic explains that the attack has been stopped, and that while communications are still down, he was able to isolate a portable supply of oxygen for you.

·It's almost too much for him to believe when the mask is laid over your face and life returns to your peaceful form. The medic confirms you'll survive, and while there will be a road to recovery, you shouldn't suffer any ill effects from the close call. He's torn between relief and still further worry.

·Had you not been saved, he's certain he would have donned his armor and annihilated each attacker personally, with little intention of living to fight another day... But as you recover in the aftermath, he instead throws himself into crafting regulations, trying to come up with a series of safeguards and rules to ensure this can't happen again. He drafts it all at your bedside.

·When you wake up he's effusive in his apologies. How could he not have predicted this? It's such an obvious possibility! He takes your tiny hand in his as he alternates between admonishing his tactical failure and begging forgiveness, forcing you to interrupt and quiet him down before he can say anything else against himself.

·You remind him that it's not his purpose in life to protect you, as he should know better than anyone your size doesn't mean you need constant protection. All you need is for him to be there, just as he is, which is what he's done.

·Only a few tears fall this time, and you're eternally grateful to confirm that they're from blissful relief. He doesn't know how you manage to always remove the weight of the world from his shoulders, but you do, and he'll treasure that more completely from now on.

#transformers #maccadam #mtmte #more than meets the eye #lost light #idw #tf #transformers headcanon #my writing #rodimus x reader #minimus x reader #minimus ambus #rodimus prime #human reader #self insert

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sheerfreesia007 · 3 years

Text

Finding Love In Legacy Oaks pt. 11

Title: Finding Love In Legacy Oaks pt. 11

Fandom: Kingsman

Pairing: Agent Whiskey x OFC

Author: @sheerfreesia007

Words: 7,484

Warnings: Mention of injury

Permanent Tag List: @paintballkid711, @fioccodineveautunnale, @phoenixhalliwell, @linkpk88, @weirdowithnobeardo

Author Notes: So Bunny’s life isn’t all rainbow and sunshine, I’m just trying to write relatable things into this story and loved the idea of this happening to Bunny. There’s a method to madness for putting Bunny through a little bit of pain. Jack opens up a little bit about his family finally! We get a bit of family history from both Bunny and Jack. I can’t wait to show you how I draw these two idiots closer together! Hope you enjoy!

Gif Credit: Google

Blinking her eyes rapidly Bunny sighed softly and rubbed at them feeling how strained and tired they were. Quickly saving her work on her laptop she closes down the web design program and powers down her laptop closing the lid. She turns in her desk chair and spots Butter sleeping in the plush dog bed that she keeps in her office, his tongue as always hanging out of his mouth as he lays on his back with his feet in the air. She chuckled softly, shaking her head as she heard him snore loudly from his comfortable spot. Just then her cellphone began ringing and she saw that Jack was calling her. Furrowing her eyebrows she answered the call and pressed the phone to her ear.

“Hey Jack, everything alright?” she greeted him and heard his soft warm chuckle on the other side of the phone.

“Hey Bunny, everything’s good. Just got a few moments to kill, you got time to just chat?” he asks warmly and Bunny can feel a warmth start to develop in her chest at the idea that he just wanted to call her to talk. Brining one foot up to rest on the desk chair she leans back and gets comfortable in the chair.

“Of course, you’ve got impeccable timing Jack.” Bunny replied with a soft chuckle.

“Work dragging you down?” he asked curiously and Bunny could hear shifting in the background on his end of the call, he was probably getting comfortable himself.

“Not dragging me down, but I’ve been staring at my laptop screen for the last few hours and it’s starting to do a number on my eyes. Thankfully I was able to get a good chunk of this project planned and mapped out.” She explained easily as she snuggled further into her desk feeling the cushions sink and surround her.

“Does that normally take a long time to get done?” Jack asks and Bunny is was pleasantly surprised at his questions, normally people didn’t really care to learn about the process of designing a website.

“Depending on what the client actually wants it could take a few hours to code the links and pages to open the right way. But normally it takes about half a day to plan and map out the website.” Bunny explained in layman terms so that she wouldn’t confuse him.

“And what’s the next step after that?” Jack asked curiously. Bunny smiled as she thought about the next part of the project that she would have to work on, it was her favorite part.

“Designing the face of the website. See the planning and mapping of the website is the background work, it’s how the website is coded to work. If you click on a link and it brings you to another page that’s the mapping part of it. The design is how it looks to the client. I can make it look a certain way based on what the client has requested.” Bunny explained passionately as she started getting even more comfortable in the conversation about her work.

“What was the most outlandish website you’ve been asked to design?” Jack asks with a soft chuckle and Bunny sits for a minute to think.

“I had a client come to me and request a website be made for his young daughter. Apparently she wanted a place to be able to post all about her latest obsessions. But there was no rhyme or reason to the website, random music played on different pages and the mouse would be different shapes for different pages. And it would randomly have sparkles falling like snow on the pages. Think of that Myspace era and dial it up to thousand percent. That project gave me so many headaches I think I invested in the aspirin companies.” Bunny explained with a groan and Jack laughed loudly on the other end of the phone call.

“Oh goodness, I remember those fads. They were horrible now that we’re well past them. I’m lucky that Es wasn’t old enough for that back then otherwise I’d be tortured by all of that. What was your favorite website design?” he said as he still chuckled.

“Oh yeah she’d have loved all of that stuff. What with her love of sparkle I’m surprised she hasn’t gotten you just let her glitter her whole room.” Bunny laughed happily and Jack scoffed softly.

“Don’t you dare give her that idea! She’s already tried to convince me to let her get more sparkly items for her room. I think my eyes are constantly blinded whenever I have to walk into or even past it. Bunny, too much sparkle.” Jack bemoaned to her and Bunny burst into laughter.

“Alright, alright I won’t mention glitter to her.” Bunny conceded as she laughed delightedly. She grinned as a lull in the conversation happened naturally and they both calmed a little.

“So favorite project?” Jack asked again. And Bunny grinned as she remembered her favorite project that she worked on.

“I have an annual client who comes to me to design her family reunion website. Nice elderly lady with a very large family, I’m talking like the last reunion two years ago had I think twenty grandkids. She normally contacts me in the beginning of spring to start designing the website so that it’s ready for early summer and their reunion is towards the end of the summer. It’s a week-long event for them where they go to the family lake cabin and just spend the week doing boating activities, there’s competitions between each branch of the family and there’s nightly outdoor movies and bonfires. It’s a lovely affair and all their pictures are so funny to see when she sends them to me to place on the website. It’s my favorite project because she’s such a sweet woman and I love listening to all her stories she tells me.” Bunny said warmly as she leaned further into her desk fondly remembering all the conversations she’s had with the woman.

“Have you ever met her in person?” Jack asks curiously and Bunny’s smile falters a little bit. “I only ask because you sound like she’s gotten close to you after being a client for a while.”

“Yes, I’ve worked with her for about five years now and have met with her in person every year while working with her on the websites. We usually go out to a long lunch and just spend the day talking about life and how we’ve been and also about the project. She’s truly a wonderful woman and she’s become kind of like a surrogate mom to me since mine lives so far away. But her family reunions are always fun to hear about and all the crazy adventures they get into.” Bunny says wistfully.

“You like the outdoors Bunny?” Jack asked warmly and Bunny grins widely at the question.

“I do, my family was always big on camping when I was growing up and while I don’t get to go as much now I still love to go camping and hiking. Butter and I have done a few mountain hiking trails together.” Bunny said fondly as she remembers her adventures with Butter.

“No way! Butter can hike? I’m surprised that little sausage roll can make it up your steps every day.” Jack teases and Bunny laughs into the phone.

“It’s all fur, don't let that fiend fool you.” Bunny said in a quiet confession and Jack laughed happily.

“Do you like outdoor activities?” Bunny asked curiously and Jack’s laughter faded in her ear.

“I do but it’s a little different than your idea of outdoors. My family back in Kentucky owns a large farm and I grew up there. Worked on the farm until I went to college and whenever I had a break I would come back home and help out when I could. Unfortunately when I started my career in security I wasn’t able to come home as often and help out. But the family still has the farm and it’s prospering so they’re all doing well for themselves.” Jack explained easily and Bunny nodded her head loving that he was actually sharing some information about himself with her. “We used to go out into the pasture a lot during the summers and sleep under the stars with a small campfire. It’s one of my favorite memories about the farm and my siblings.” Jack confessed warmly and Bunny felt that warmth that had started to grow in her chest began to spread and consume her body as she listened to Jack talk about his family’s farm.

“Do you have a lot of siblings?” Bunny asked, wanting to keep the conversation going and gather as much information about Jack as she was able to. He was still a mystery to her and while she knew he was a good man and cared greatly for his daughter she still didn’t know much about him. She wanted to begin a friendship that could hopefully turn into something so much more. And while they had begun flirting and teasing each other Bunny was ready to wait to see how this relationship blossomed. After the hell that she had been put through by her ex-husband Bunny was more than happy to wait and see how a relationship now panned out.

“I’ve got two sisters, one older that’s Rebecca or Becca. She's I think a year or two older than me. Then there’s Amelia, she’s the younger one, she’s five years younger. And finally there’s the baby of the family Will, he’s the youngest but don’t tell him that sometimes he acts like the oldest out of the four of us.” Jack replied easily and Bunny could hear the affection full in his tone over the phone. She could easily tell that he loved and cared deeply for his siblings. She smiled softly as she nodded her head. “What about you? Is it just you and your sister?” Jack asked.

“Actually I’ve got three siblings. There’s Sasha that you know about, she was adopted when I was eight and she’s two years younger than me, she’s the only one of us who’s got kids. Then there’s Jake, he was adopted when I was eleven he’s three years younger. And Freddie is five years younger than me and he was adopted when I was sixteen.” Bunny said smiling as she thought back to when her siblings were adopted and the parties that were thrown.

“So you’ve been through the adoption process?” Jack asks curiously and Bunny has to stomp down the urge and desire to be Esme’s mom that she had the other night at the sleepover.

“Yeah it was a bit hectic as a kid because my parents fostered a lot of kids while growing up and it was both good and bad. The kids that we were fostering, some had some serious mental health issues, like Sasha she has horrendous panic attacks and anxiety attacks all throughout her foster life with us. She still gets it sometimes but they’re not as severe she’s told me. And Freddie has bipolar disorder that he’s managing with a team of doctors, he’s got his good days and then he’s got some really bad days. I check up on him a couple times a month just to see how he’s doing and if he needs anything.” Bunny explained feeling a dull achy pain in her chest as she talked about her siblings’ mental issues. She hated seeing them troubled and if she could take away their pain she would in a heartbeat, Sasha and Freddie were the best type of people and the fact that they had to deal with these issues pained Bunny. She knew they were dealt a hard life but she hoped that by joining her family they had found some sort of peace, and while they had told her this before she hoped it was true.

“Wow, I didn’t realize that the foster kids your parents helped were dealing with those types of issues.” Jack said solemnly.

“Yeah there were others who needed more help than my parents could offer or give and those were the ones that were either placed with another foster family or the state government eventually took custody of them. They became a ward of the state.” Bunny explained softly.

“Well I’m hoping they got the necessary care they needed wherever they ended up.” Jack said in a calm, easing voice.

“I do too.” Bunny replied easily before her mind turned back to Esme once more and the sleepover fiasco was in the forefront of her brain again. “Hey while we’re talking about this stuff. I-uh wanted to let you know that Es had a run in with Cynthia and it wasn’t pretty.” Bunny began to explain. She took a breath in and heard absolute silence on the other end of the call and for a moment she thought the call had dropped. She began to move the phone away from her ear to check when she heard Jack’s deadly calm voice speak up.

“What did Cynthia do to Esme?” he asked in such a harsh cold tone that Bunny physically shivered in her seat.

“Es got caught up in all the excitement with the other girls at the sleepover and called me Mom in front of everyone. Cynthia heard and was a bit of a nasty witch to her and to be honest I can’t remember the exact words because I only saw red and ripped her a new one for her shit talking, but anyway she said something about needing to talk to you about her hanging out with me too much that she was thinking I was her mom.” Bunny explained in a rush as she felt the white hot blind rage she felt after Cynthia snapped at Esme.

“Easy Bunny, easy.” Jack said softly and Bunny took in a deep breath before letting it out slowly. “Es called you mom?” Jack asked quietly and Bunny felt her heart clench suddenly at his question.

“She did. And Jack I don’t mind one bit. She just got caught up in the chaotic energy the girls were causing and it was just a slip of the tongue. Honest.” Bunny said quickly to try and ease him if he was having second thoughts of her being around Esme so much. “And I talked to Es about it. Told her it’s no big deal and that I’d be lucky to have her as a kid. But I told her what Cynthia said was uncalled for and that she didn’t have to listen to her since she was mean to Es.”

Bunny felt uneasy as if she was rambling as she tried to explain to Jack what had happened the other night and as the silence fell over the phone conversation she felt her anxiety skyrocket inside her. She tried to wait patiently for Jack to say something but when he didn’t say anything after a while she sighed softly, figuring that he’d want to put a stop to them spending so much time together.

“I understand if you don’t want me watching her anymore or taking her to yoga.” Bunny said softly and dejectedly.

“Now hang on.” Jack said suddenly and confidently. “That’s not at all what I want.” Bunny heard his firm words and she felt hope unfurl in her chest making her breath catch silently. “You have been the best thing that has happened to both Esme and myself. You’ve helped me out so much with watching her for me. And Esme has had a rough time making friends in her new neighborhood and school but you’ve done wonders for her confidence that she now has a few friends. Bunny you not being in our lives is the last thing I would want.” Jack stated vehemently and Bunny felt tears prick at her eyes. “I’m more upset that Cynthia had the nerve to say something to Es about calling you mom. I can’t believe that woman.” He said honestly and Bunny sighed softly as she nodded her head.

“Yeah Cynthia I think has it in her head that the two of you are becoming a hot item.” Bunny said thoughtfully and Jack scoffed over the phone.

“She’s married Bunny.” Jack lamented softly to her and Bunny nodded her head at his words.

“I know that, but I don’t think she cares. Ever since I’ve met her she’s always been looking for the next best thing for herself.” Bunny said truthfully.

“She’s always been like this? It’s not just because of me?” Jack asked seriously and Bunny smirked softly, seeing an opportunity for her.

“You’re handsome Jack but you’re no Mark Strong.” Bunny teased him as she grinned widely.

“Oh ho! So you dig the older men huh Bunny?” Jack teased right back and Bunny blushed deeply.

“What can I say, he's dreamy.” Bunny said dismissively and Jack laughed softly.

“Well now I know who my competition is then.” Jack said sultrily and Bunny felt desire jolt down her spine making her gasp softly.

“C-competition?” she stuttered out softly before she heard muffled talking in the background on Jack’s end of the phone call. She could hear Jack responding to whoever was with him distantly as her mind began to race with the thought that Jack was competing for her affection.

“Hey listen Bunny I’ve got to get goin’. Thanks for taking my call and chattin’ with me. Tell Es I’ll give her a call at dinner time alright?” Jack said and Bunny let out her breath slowly through her nose.

“Yeah of course. I’ll let her know. I’ve gotta start getting ready to go get her from the bus stop anyway. We’ll talk to you then.” Bunny began to quickly ramble and she cringed softly as she heard his soft chuckle.

“And yes competition. Can’t let a Brit git one over the good ol’ American boy. Talk to you later Bunny.” Jack said in a low gravelly tone that made Bunny suddenly tense with arousal as she heard his tone and words. And then the line was hung up.

Huffing softly she slouched in her chair and pulled the phone from her ear slowly. Setting it down on the desk gently she turned and saw Butter was still passed out in his bed. Running a hand through her hair Bunny sighed softly.

“That man’s got a seductive tongue.” She said softly to the quiet office and Butter huffed in his sleep making her chuckle softly. “You said it Butter.”

*-*-*-*

As soon as Esme walked down the bus steps Bunny could tell that she was feeling down. Tilting her head to the side she watched as Esme walked down the sidewalk towards. The two older girls from the last bullying instance were walking behind her giggling and whispering to each other and Bunny felt rage rush her body with red hot anger. The girls looked up from Esme’s back and both instantly stopped talking as they spotted Bunny glaring at them.

“Girls.” Bunny said stiffly as Esme came to a stop next to her and the girls both gulped silently before one hesitantly let out a smile before the two made a dash for their houses. Bunny sighed softly and looked down at Esme who was dejectedly scuffing her sneakers on the sidewalk. “Bad day at school?” Bunny asked softly.

Esme shrugged her shoulders and continued to scuff her sneakers on the sidewalk. Butter looked up at Esme curiously before head-butting her calf with his head. Esme moved a little bit before stepping to the side to avoid Butter doing that again.

“Yep, bad day at school. Why don’t we go for a walk and if you wanna talk I’m all ears. If not, it's no big deal.” Bunny said softly as she looked down at Esme. Esme shrugged her shoulders once more and Bunny nodded her head before gently holding out her hand for Esme. The little girl took a hold of it after a moment's pause and Bunny began leading her and Butter towards the main park area of the community.

The three of them walked in silence and Bunny kept her head held high not wanting to constantly look down at Esme. She was worried it’d upset the little girl more if she constantly tried to check in with her. As the three of them finish crossing the street to the park area Esme starts to slowly perk up.

“Hey Bunny?” she asks suddenly and Bunny hides her smile as much as she possibly can and looks down at the little girl at her side.

“What’s up Es?” Bunny answers in a question and Esme smiles softly at her.

“Have you ever called someone Mom who wasn’t your mom?” Esme asks softly and Bunny nods her head adamantly.

“Oh yeah! So many women.” Bunny said with wide eyes and Esme giggled softly. “I’ve called a bunch of my teachers in school Mom. Let’s see who else, oh! I called Molly’s mom that once and she wouldn’t let me live it down. Wouldn’t stop insisting she was my mom now. And then there was that time that I accidentally called Mr. Quinten dad and it was a whole big thing with him.” Bunny confessed as she sighed and rolled her eyes. Esme giggled brightly as she walked next to Bunny as she began to skip alongside her. “Look Es, there’s nothing wrong with calling someone Mom. It happens all the time.” Bunny stressed earnestly as she stopped walking and bent down to Esme’s level.

“Really?” asked the little girl as she looked at Bunny with a lost expression on her face.

“Yep. Sometimes we just forget where we are and the name just comes out. Other times we see the person we called Mom as a mother figure. It just means that you see that person as someone who you can trust and go to for anything. And I’ll let you in on a secret, come here.” Bunny said surreptitiously as she gestured Esme closer to her. “It means so much to me that you could think of me like that. And I will do my best to be there for you no matter what, understand? You’re stuck with me kiddo.” She said fondly as she nudged Esme under her chin making her giggle. Just then Esme launched herself against Bunny and Bunny caught her easily in her arms holding her close to her.

“Thanks Bunny.” Esme whispered softly.

“Any time kiddo. Any time.” Bunny said softly into the little girl’s hair. “Now what do you say to go for a walk and just hang out before we crack down on homework and then dinner?” Bunny asked hopefully that the little girl was feeling a little bit better.

“Yeah! Oh can we roll down that hill over there?” Esme asked, suddenly excited as she pointed to the medium sized hill that obscured the soccer field from view. Bunny shrugged her shoulders before grinning at Esme and taking off with Butter running besides her.

“Beat you to the top!” Bunny called and Esme shrieked with indignation as she began running as quickly as her little legs could carry her after Bunny.

“You cheated!” Esme cried as she began chasing after Bunny.

“Only if I win!” Bunny called over her shoulder laughing heartily before she began huffing dramatically as Esme caught up to her. Esme giggled as Butter barked chaotically at Bunny’s side as if he was trying to get her to pick up her pace. Once Bunny saw Esme pass her she began to overtly huff and puff as she chased the little girl up the hill.

“I win!” called Esme and began to dance in celebration as she reached the top before Bunny. Bunny made a show of bending over and gasping for breath which made Esme laugh harder. Butter hopped around Bunny barking at her and Bunny laughed softly at the dog as he did his best impression of an angry coach. “Ok, ok. Let’s do this!” cried Esme happily as she threw her back pack to the ground and began to lower herself down to the ground at the top of the hill.

“Alright you go first and then when you come up I’ll go.” Bunny instructed and Esme looked up at her gleefully. “What? You thought I wouldn’t roll down a hill? I’ll have you know I’m an expert roller.” Bunny said self-importantly and Esme burst into happy laughter before she shook her head.

“Bunny!” The little girl drew out the name in an exasperated tone and Bunny laughed softly before gesturing for Esme to go. Butter began to bark excitedly and was jumping around Bunny’s legs as Esme prepped herself to roll down the hill.

“Alright I’m gonna time ya. On your mark!�� Bunny called happily and Butter began to jump more furiously around her. “Get set!” was the next call out and Esme prepared to begin rolling as Butter began barking like crazy. “Go!” called Bunny and instantly realized her mistake as Esme began rolling down the hill at a moderate speed.

Suddenly Bunny’s legs were knocked out from underneath herself as Butter took off down the hill dragging Bunny along after him. Shrieking in surprise Bunny heard a distinct crack and felt the back of her head bounce on the ground when she met the ground. Groaning in pain she raised her hand to her head before feeling her arm being jerked after Butter as he dashed down the hill after Esme. Bunny felt every hit with the ground as Butter dragged her down the hill and she moaned softly as he finally came to a stop at the base of the hill.

“Bunny!” cried Esme worriedly and Bunny peeked one eye open to stare over at the little girl as she got up and rushed over to her. Bunny could feel the aches in her body from when she had collided with the ground. Gritting her teeth and hissing softly as she shifted on the ground trying to sit up.

“I’m okay Es. Butter just got a little too excited.” Bunny began to reassure Esme as she saw the little girl’s face filled with worry and concern. Bunny set her hand down on the ground and moved to sit up on the grass. Hissing in pain Bunny quickly pulled her wrist up to her chest and clutched it there for a moment feeling the sharp pain coursing through her wrist. She laid there for a moment with her eyes shut clutching her aching wrist to her chest trying to breathe through the pain.

“Bunny?” Esme asked softly and Bunny opened her eyes to see Esme now kneeling next to her body as Butter crawled along the ground towards the two of them.

“I should be okay just banged up.” Bunny reassured her and sat up completely still keeping her wrist close to her body to limit the chance of irritating it further. Shifting on the ground to get into a better sitting position she felt a sharp twinge coming from her right ankle. Moaning softly her right hand fell to her ankle to try and steady it as pain jolted quickly up her leg making her muscles seize. “Nope, nope. Not okay. Let me just see if I can stand up for a second. Hey Es, can you come hold Butter’s leash for me?”

Es stood quickly from her kneeling spot and gently unwound Butter’s leash that was wrapped around Bunny’s left wrist and arm. She led Butter a step or two away from Bunny as she stood there watching silently with worried eyes.

Bunny rolled onto her knees and gritted her teeth as she felt the pain in her ankle begin to throb. Slowly blowing out a breath through her mouth Bunny used her left leg to push up from the ground. Taking in a few quick breaths Bunny stood on her left leg and tentatively placed her right foot down flush with the ground. Placing a little more weight on it she felt it suddenly give out and she collapsed to the ground on her knees groaning in pain at the impact.

“Definitely not okay.” she said softly and felt tears prick her eyes as the pain consumed her suddenly. Quickly blinking the tears away she looked over and saw Esme shifting on her feet with watery eyes. “Hey it’s okay. We just need to go to the hospital. I'm pretty sure I broke my ankle.”

“Oh Bunny!” Esme cried softly and Bunny shook her head as she settled back onto the ground.

“Es do you see my phone anywhere? I need to call an ambulance, I can’t stand on my right leg.” Bunny said as she began patting down her pockets not feeling her phone. Esme looked around the ground in the area that they had landed before darting over to the side where the phone laid in the grass. Bunny grimaced as she shifted on the ground and grunted softly in pain as her ankle was jostled before turning to see Esme already holding her phone to her ear. Bunny watched in surprise as Esme effortlessly called 911 for her.

“Hi, I need an ambulance to Legacy Oaks community. My babysitter fell down a hill and she can’t stand on her right leg and her left hand hurts.” Esme explained easily and Bunny tilted her head slightly at how calm Esme was as she talked to the 911 operator. “Yes she’s breathing and sitting up. We are at the main field area by the soccer field. Closest intersection is Main Street and West Legacy Boulevard. Ok hold on.” Esme relayed easily before moving closer to Bunny and holding out her phone to her. “They want to ask you some medical questions.” Esme said hurriedly as she came to Bunny’s side and handed over her phone.

“Hello?” Bunny asked, still in shock at Esme’s behavior as she watched the little girl take a seat next to her and began to coo at Butter.

“Yes ma’am, we have an ambulance on their way to you and I just need to ask a few more questions.” Said the operator and Bunny nodded her head slightly.

“Of course.” She replied as her eyes stayed glued to Esme who was sitting there rubbing Butter’s back letting her fingers drag through his fur.

“So it’s your right ankle that is injured?” asked the operator and Bunny could hear keyboard keys clacking in the background and other voices relaying information about other calls.

“I can’t put any pressure on my right ankle, my leg gives out when I try to. And my left wrist is throbbing with pain whenever I move it.” Bunny relayed to the operator and heard the clicking of the keyboard as she talked.

“Ok, I’ve already let the ambulance crew know and they are on their way. Is there any special directions for them on how to find you?” asked the operator.

“No, we’re the only ones here in the main park area. They’ll be able to see us.” Bunny said and watched as Esme looked over at her silently.

“Ok, if anything changes, call us back but the ambulance should be there shortly.” Said the operator and Bunny thanked him before hanging up the phone.

“I have to call Jeremy and see if he could come grab Butter before the ambulance gets here. Are you okay?” Bunny explained as she looked down to her cracked phone screen and pulled up Jeremy’s contact info with a little difficulty before she looked up at Esme. Placing the phone at her ear she watched Esme look at her with slightly teary eyes and a worried face.

“Hey Bun-Bun!” cheered Jeremy happily as he answered the phone after two rings.

“Hey Jer, I have to go to the hospital. I’m okay but I think I broke or sprained my ankle and wrist really badly. Es and I are at the main park with Butter, would you be able to come get Butter before the ambulance gets here?” she quickly relayed to him hoping he’d be able to help her out.

“Of course, I’m just getting ready for work so I can swing by now and grab him. No problem. Are you sure you’re okay? Is Esme okay?” he responded easily before asking about the well-being of her and Esme.

“We’re okay, I think just a little shaken up is all.” Bunny said softly as she watched Esme sniffle softly and swipe her hand under her nose.

“Okay, I’m on my way. I'll be there in two minutes.” Jeremy said quickly and Bunny said goodbye before hanging up the phone.

“Are you okay sweetheart?” Bunny asked softly as she focused fully on Esme. The little girl looked at her with such saddened eyes that Bunny felt such a severe urge to pull her close and reassure her, but when her body shifted to move closer to Esme she gritted her teeth as pain shot up her leg and arm. “C’mere.” She cooed softly to Esme and the little girl moved closer to her side and pressed gently into it resting her head on Bunny’s right shoulder. “I promise I’m okay. Just probably broken bones. No big deal, okay?” she reassured the little girl as she gently wrapped her right arm low around Esme’s lower back.

“It’s my fault.” Esme said sorrowfully in a low tone and Bunny immediately shook her head at the girl’s words.

“No it’s not sweetheart. Accidents happen and it’s more my fault.” Bunny said easily as she kept shaking her head. Esme turned to look up at her confused. “I said ready, set, go and Butter knows those are play words. So I should have known better. It’s not your fault Es. Don’t think that it is because that’s the farthest from the truth.” Bunny said adamantly as she watched Esme closely.

“But if I didn’t want to roll down the hill then this wouldn’t have happened.” Esme said softly in such a heartbroken tone that Bunny felt her heart clench in response.

“Uh if you recall I also wanted to roll down the hill missy.” Bunny teased softly and Esme scoffed softly as her shoulders slumped forward. “Hey, I’m serious. It’s not your fault that I got hurt. It was just something that happened, it’s really no one’s fault.”

“But Bunny!” Esme cried indignantly as she tried to convince Bunny once more that it was her fault.

“Look, you couldn’t have predicted that this would have happened. And it’s not like you wanted me to get hurt when we decided to roll down the hill, right? And you didn’t push me. So it is not your fault. Accidents happen, we just have to deal with them and move on. Okay?” Bunny said firmly as she stared down at Esme. “Trust me I’m not mad or upset. My bones will heal and maybe if it’s broken I’ll get a cool cast and you can draw and sign it for me.”

“But-“ Esme began again and Bunny quickly shook her head as interrupted the little girl.

“Nope. No buts. It’s no one’s fault. I won’t hear anything else about it.” Bunny insisted as she shook her head at the little girl.

“Fine, but I still feel bad.” Esme huffed out softly and Bunny smiled warmly at her.

“You can feel bad for me all you want. It’ll help me lay it on thick to Jeremy and your Dad to help me out if it’s broken.” Bunny said, nodding her head eagerly and Esme giggled softly.

“I can help you too.” Esme said cheerily and Bunny nodded exaggeratedly making Esme giggle again.

“Uh duh. You’re definitely gonna be my number one helper.” Bunny said fondly and Esme nodded her head confidently as she watched Bunny determinedly. “Oh reminds me I should call your Dad and let him know what’s going on.” She said absentmindedly when suddenly Jeremy’s bright yellow jeep pulled up to the curb and Butter started barking excitedly as he recognized the car.

Bunny sat next to Esme as the two of them watched as Jeremy hopped out of the jeep in his security guard uniform and rushed over to them. He had a concerned expression on his face as he walked over to them and his eyes were darting first around Esme and then landed on Bunny.

“Are you okay?” he asked worriedly and Bunny nodded her head as she gritted her teeth when her wrist protested with her shifting movement on the ground.

“Yeah, just banged up. Took a tumble down the hill that’s all.” Bunny said as Jeremy came to a stop standing in front of her splayed legs. He looked down at her with a soft fond look in his eyes after he heard her explanation.

“You’re always getting up to something aren’t you?” he teased softly and Bunny stuck her tongue out at him making Esme giggle softly.

“First time it’s because I wanted to roll down a hill.” Bunny retorted and Jeremy scoffed softly.

“First time for everything trouble maker.” He quipped back and Bunny laughed as she shook her head at him.

“Whatever man.” She bemoaned to him as she shifted again on the ground and gritted her teeth as pain coursed through her again.

“So what hurts and how can I help?” he asked kindly and Bunny smiled in thanks to him.

“My right ankle and leg are in a lot of pain whenever I move it and I can’t put pressure on it. And my left wrist is in a lot of pain too. Not sure but I might have a concussion too, banged my head a few times on the ground as I came down.” Bunny relayed to him and Jeremy whistled low, Bunny nodded her head in response to his whistle and gritted her teeth as a dull ache began to form in her brain.

“Man you know how to fall hard when you do huh?” Jeremy asked teasingly and Bunny chuckled at him.

“What can I say? Gotta do it right the first time right?” she asked and Jeremy shook his head at her. Just as Jeremy was moving closer to her and Esme they all spotted the ambulance driving down the street. Jeremy turned and waved them down as Bunny shifted again and felt Esme lean slightly closer to her. “I’m okay. It’s gonna be okay, I promise.” Bunny reassured her softly as the paramedics parked the ambulance and hopped out.

“Hey guys, she’s over here.” Jeremy said easily as he directed the paramedics to Bunny.

“Are you her husband?” asked the male paramedic as he looked from Jeremy over to Bunny and Bunny grinned as she fluttered her eyelashes at Jeremy who laughed at Bunny’s antics.

“No, just my best friend.” Jeremy said fondly as he walked over with the paramedic.

“So what happened miss?” asked the younger female paramedic who was now kneeling down at Bunny’s other side with the medical bag set on the ground next to her. Bunny watched as she looked across Bunny to Esme and smiled softly at her. “Don’t worry honey, we're going to take good care of your babysitter.”

“Got knocked down the hill by my overly excited dog.” Bunny said as she gestured with her chin to Butter who was now rolling in the grass on his back trying to get the paramedics’ attention. Both paramedics laughed at Butter and Jeremy just shook his head as Esme giggled softly. “Banged my head a couple of times on the ground, did something to my left wrist, it's throbbing in pain, and my right ankle is in a lot of pain too. Can’t put any weight on the right leg either, tried to stand up and my leg gave out.” She explained as they all looked at her and Esme who was still cuddled into her side.

“Ok, well I suggest we take you to the hospital to get your wrist and ankle checked out to see if you just sprained them or broke them. Also if you choose to let us take you we’ll check for concussion in the ambulance. We can’t force you but that’s what I suggest.” Said the female and male nodded as he stood next to Jeremy.

“Yeah, let's go to the hospital.” Bunny said, nodding her head.

“Okay, Chase, can you grab the stretcher while I start her paperwork?” the female asked as picked up her metal clipboard and began filling out the paperwork with Bunny right there. “Do you want us to take her in the ambulance as well or will your friend be taking her?” the woman asked as she nodded her head at Esme. Bunny felt Esme’s hands come up to clutch at her bicep and she leaned closer to her silently.

“She’s gonna go with me if that’s alright with you guys.” She replied and felt Esme relax against her a little bit. The woman nodded her head and winked at Esme who smiled softly and relaxed further against Bunny.

“No problem with us.” She answered with a smile and finished filling out the paperwork. Bunny’s eyes darted over to Jeremy who was walking with Chase as he wheeled the stretcher over towards them. Once it was lowered to the ground Bunny looked over at Jeremy for some help which he gladly stepped over.

“I’m gonna just lift her up onto the stretcher. It’ll be easier.” Jeremy explained as he squatted down next to Bunny and Esme. “Hey Es, do me a favor and just hold onto Butter for me while I put Bunny on the stretcher okay. Once I’m done and they load her up in the ambulance you’ll be able to get in with her.” Jeremy said softly and kindly to the little girl who was still pressed up against Bunny’s side. Bunny could see the worry flash across Esme’s face and Bunny nodded her head at her.

“Don’t worry, I won’t let them leave without you. You’re coming with me.” Bunny reassured her and Esme looked up at her with concern. “Here take my phone that way you know for sure you’re coming with me since we still gotta call your Dad and let him know what’s up.” Bunny said as she handed over her phone to Esme who quickly took it and Butter’s leash leading him a few steps away from the stretcher.

“Alright c’mon lady let’s get you up on that stretcher.” Jeremy said as he slid his arms underneath Bunny’s knees and behind her back before standing up with her cradled in his arms. Bunny gritted her teeth lightly when her ankle fell with gravity as Jeremy lifted her. “I got you sorry.” Jeremy apologized and Bunny shook her head at him.

“No worries, it's okay.” Bunny said softly as he set her down on the stretcher and Chase lifted it up gently.

“Hey call me if you guys need anything and when you get done with everything and I’ll come pick you two up. That way you won’t have to worry about anything okay?” Jeremy said as Chase began to wheel you towards the ambulance.

“Okay. You sure? I’m sure I could call a taxi or something.” Bunny said as they all began walking towards the ambulance behind her.

“Yeah, call me and I’ll come pick you up. You’re already gonna have a lot going on so just call me.” Jeremy insisted and Bunny nodded her head as she watched him turn to Esme and held his hand out for the leash. “C’mon sweetheart let’s let them get her loaded up and then I’ll help you up there.”

“Thanks Jeremy.” Esme said softly as she hung back with Jeremy as the paramedics loaded Bunny into the back of the ambulance. Once they were done Bunny looked out at Esme and gestured her up once the female paramedic got situated in the back with her.

“Alright honey you’re gonna come sit on the bench over here okay?” she said as pointed to the bench seat next to Bunny’s stretcher on her left side. Bunny watched quietly as Esme climbed into the back with Jeremy’s help and came to sit down on the bench. When she was finally settled in her seat she gripped onto the stretcher railing and watched anxiously as the woman began to get a blood pressure cuff secured on Bunny.

“Alright we’re good to go. We’ll be heading to Three Sisters’ Hospital.” Chase said easily to everyone as he began to close the back of the ambulance. Bunny smiled at Jeremy as he nodded at her and then turned to Esme trying to ease her as they began their trek to the hospital.

#kingsman the golden circle #agent whiskey x ofc #agent whiskey #FLILO #my writing

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mintseesaw · 4 years

Text

harana | jjk

translation: n. the act of wooing/courting someone by serenading him/her

pairing: jungkook x reader

genre: fluff, f2l au, drabble

word count: 3.5k

warning: none // rating: pg-13

requested by bebe athena @rookiegukie. Im sorry it took a while, but i hope you like it hun! You may still submit your requests for the drabble game Paraluman Playlist until the end of August. ✨

note: this didnt turn out as initially planned changing after jk released his latest cover so i highly rec u to listen to 10,000 hours by jjk (cover) while reading it hjfjgdjdkgm also it’s a first for me to delve into f2l trope ljggdhd yall forgive me if it’s too cliche bwahaha

“Hyung! ______-noona is here!” A kid who opened the door for you announced your arrival rather loudly, recognizing him as one of Jungkook’s cousins. You pushed through inside the nostalgic interior of the Jeon’s household. Nothing much has changed in the past two years.

Soon after, Jungkook appeared from the doorway you remember as the door leading to the kitchen. He’s decently dressed and when you say decent, you meant he’s not in his usual attire of anything black and over-sized. Nonetheless, he’s handsome as ever. You’re not gonna deny the fact.

“Hey!” He greets, face lighting up at the sight of you, biting back a smirk as he skims the length of you adorning a cute, yellow dress. He glances down at your hand holding a gift-wrapped present for his mom before draping an arm over your shoulders.

He feigns a frown, “You shouldn’t have bothered. Mom will appreciate you making it on her birthday.”

“Well, unlike someone I know, I’m thoughtful enough to prepare something for Auntie.” You tease, knowing he possibly bought nothing for his mom.

He scoffs, only proving your assumption right. “Yah! Don’t sound too enthusiastic, I’m the son here.”

“So what? I’m your mom’s favorite!” You retorted back.

“No you aren’t!” He snapped, while his mouth unconsciously juts forward in defeat.

Your eyebrow arches. “Is that a challenge I hear?”

Jungkook nonchalantly shrugged his shoulders. “Forget the competition. We’re here to make my mom happy.” He quickly dismisses, distracting you as he leads you straight to the garden area which you could already see where the guests are gathered through the glass doors.

As expected, the said small party looks simply classic with a touch of Mrs. Jeon’s sophisticated taste. Average-sized square wooden tables are neatly scattered in the expanse of the garden with uniform vintage table setting that coordinates well with the floral decorations in the vicinity. In front, a makeshift platform was made behind a decorated linen with pinned letters “Happy Birthday Mom!” Behind all the tables is where the buffet table was placed.

You’re actually relieved that your simple puff sleeve dress matches with the theme of the party, forgetting the guilt of having to wear the dress without borrowing it from your sister.

Mrs. Jeon was happily chatting with her guests but when the sliding door breaks open revealing you tucked under Jungkook’s arm, the present smile on her face stretches wide and immediately shuffled towards you and Jungkook’s way.

Mrs. Jeon audibly gushes just as you handed your gift and welcomed you with a warm, tight hug. “Thank you, dear.”

Jungkook took it as his cue to leave you two for a second.

When she draws back, she appreciatively give you a once over. “Oh, you look so lovely on your dress!” Mrs. Jeon clapped her hands. You smiled shyly in return.

“Thank you for coming, dear. It’s been ages since the last time I’ve seen you. Come here and get some food.” She says.

It’s true. After you’ve been in college two years ago, you’ve hardly stayed in your hometown for more than two weeks, hence, you couldn’t squeeze your time here to pay the Jeons a visit. Mrs. Jeon became your guardian whenever your parents were in business trips back in the days, and during the times of your stay at their house, you’ve grown much closer to her just like your second mom.

By the time you reach the buffet table, Mrs. Jeon caught Jungkook in the act of getting a piece of sushi straight from the chafing dish, and his poor soon right away earned a whack on his arm from his mom.

“Use the tongs!” She reproaches which made him flinches dramatically.

Such a baby.

You bit back a chuckle as Mrs. Jeon went on with “Go to the kitchen and refill the dispenser!” Jungkook pouts but obeys his mom without complaining. However, he made sure to shoot a fake glare at you before he disappears from the doorway.

Mrs. Jeon then handed you an empty plate. “Here, ______. I know you like pasta.”

Your eyes widened a little. Perhaps, you have not recovered from the surprise painted on your expression, hearing it come from her that she caught a glimpse of your slight shock state. Why should you be surprised when Jungkook knows it as well? He might have told her or something.

“Oh don’t be surprised, dear. My boy always asks me to cook pasta whenever you come around.”

Isn’t it his favorite food? “It’s… his favorite... right?” You began but ended up questioning the validity of your knowledge.

She laughs, “You know he could eat anything edible but cannot live without his portion of meat every day.”

“Oh.” It was only that moment it registered to you. His mom is right. He’d always make it a point to consume all your stocks of meat whenever he shows up in your dorm in the most unexpected days. His university is not too far away from yours. Yet, this guy thinks it’s worth the two-hour drive just to get to your dorm and pester the shit out of you.

“I’m so happy you’re able to make it on my birthday. Will you stay in town for the rest of your break?”

“Uhh… I was supposed to focus on saving up through my part time jobs this summer but my mom threatened to disown me if I don’t stay here during summer break.”

“Oh she’s being reasonable, honey. Believe me, I’d do the same thing if Jungkook refuses to go home at least once a month, unless of course, if he runs off with you.” She remarks in a teasing manner, earning a profuse blush to appear on your cheeks so abruptly.

Since you left home for uni, you actually believe Mrs. Jeon had forgotten about your shared interactions back then. Yet, here she is, still having faith that his son has actual feelings for you. She told you many times that she’d want a daughter like you or, at least, be her in-law. She always regarded it in a playful tone so you used to get mixed signals whether she was really serious or not. But then, you’d say the overused line: “we’re only friends”. She would then give you a knowing look and insisted that she knows her son well. Fortunately for you, she made it a point to only tease you whenever Jungkook was out of earshot.

By the time Jungkook came back a few moments later, you’re already seated in a vacant table at the farthest back. Jungkook occupied the seat next to yours, taking notice of the half-finished food on your plate.

“What time are you leaving?” He asks the moment he plopped down the chair. Your head cocked to the side to meet his gaze.

“Are you trying to make me leave early?” You prompted suspiciously.

He rolls his eyes. “I’m gonna drive you home, idiot.”

“Well, you don’t have to. I can… walk.”

“It’s not like I have a choice.” He mutters under his breath.

Your eyebrows quirked but you spoke no more. He lifted his shoulders in a nonchalant shrug. Did he mean his mom will force him to drop you off at your house just like the old times?

As the night progresses, the small celebration has pumped up with lively cheers from their relatives, incited by the impromptu program prepared by Jungkook’s cousins which was mostly filled with fun games. At some point of the said program, a small commotion on the side of the makeshift platform started to build up. The next thing you know, his cousin, the mastermind behind the entertainment portion of the party, caught yours and Jungkook’s attention when she announced his sudden participation in the program through a performance.

“Our boy Kookie here recently recorded a cover and he’s here to perform the live version and showcase his talent to our dear guests. Everyone, let’s welcome our very own Jeon Jungkook onto the stage!” His cousin enthusiastically says through the microphone. On cue, everyone in the garden, particularly his cousins, roared in earsplitting screams of cheer.

He blinks, completely perplexed. He was not given a heads up prior, much less told that he would perform a song in front of an audience. Hesitant due to his nerves, he backed away subtly just as he reaches the side of the supposed stage. However, his cousin caught up with his attempt and pushed him not too gently toward the platform, and even placed the microphone stand in front of him, giving him no room to say no. The expectant look of his relatives left him no choice but to just— his eyes suddenly caught your figure at the back when you stood up and went to the buffet table.

His heart thuds so hard against his rib cage that he’s afraid everyone can hear it through the mic, including you. He’s sure he’s as white as a paper by now more so that his nerves are getting the worst of him.

That song is not just any song he simply did a cover of. It was the song he meant to sing for you when the right time has come, when he’s ready to pour his heart out to you.

He sucked a deep breath once more, and slowly breathed out once more. Instinctively, his eyes fluttered closed when he heard the music began playing.

Ready or not, it’s now or never.

Do you love the rain? Does it make you dance

When you're drunk with your friends at a party?

At the sound of his voice filling the air of the summer night, you spun back around to face him. That’s how he missed the look on your face just as how you missed the chaotic cheering of his cousins as they piled up to the side of the platform.

What's your favorite song? Does it make you smile?

Do you think of me?

Hearing the beautiful lyrics wholeheartedly sang by Jungkook, the same one who stole your heart a long time ago, you couldn’t control your heart as it started racing so wildly, tiny specs of heat slowly spreading in your chest. Thoughts began to swirl in your mind – giving you the anticipation. The possibility. The potential love affair. That the friendship would develop into something more.

Before the next verse comes, Jungkook peeled his eyes open, however, he didn’t expect to see you awestruck there across his line of vision from the back, and meeting your expressive eyes. If he didn’t know better, he would have mistaken the glint in your eyes for something else.

Maybe just… maybe you like him too.

When you close your eyes

Tell me what are you dreaming?

Everything, I wanna know it all

You look so beautiful. That the thought of you alone could easily make his heartstrings twist so cruelly in his chest. Oh how he wishes you’d let him spoil you the way he’s been dying to. He’d be the luckiest man to ever live to have you as his girlfriend.

Jungkook didn’t know how he managed to put up the courage to return your gaze, never have you looked at him the way your pretty eyes are staring back at him now with the genuine fondness in them. Somehow, as he gets lost to his emotions, he suddenly couldn’t find the strength in him to take his eyes off of you.

I'd spend 10,000 hours and 10,000 more

Oh, if that's what it takes to learn that sweet heart of yours

Butterflies erupt crazily in your stomach, goosebumps start to appear on your skin and your cheeks heat up as he held you captive under his wistful stare. The longingness and the passion they hold, the twinkle of his orbs as his doe-like eyes are digging straight to your soul, what it is all for?

And I might never get there but I'm gonna try

If it's 10,000 hours or the rest of my life

I'm gonna love you

He’s always been a constant figure in your life since the moment you two became friends. He didn’t miss any important celebrations that involves you since then. And even though Jungkook has been vocal about being overprotective of you dating guys he didn’t know, none of you ever tried to address anything remotely related to romantic love. It gave you the temporary relief, because you’ve been pushing your feelings back in the depths of your heart since the moment you realized you’ve fallen in love with him.

You never had the guts to test the theory, but leaving wondering what if… When have you visited the thought, again? You have long disregarded the possibility because you believed he loves you like his sister. Nevertheless, you’re lucky to have met him and be the only constant in your life.

Do you miss the road that you grew up on?

Did you get your middle name from your grandma?

When you think about your forever now

Do you think of me?

Jungkook’s face stretches in a subtle smile, forgetting about his nerves, his sweaty palms and the guests who kept looking back and forth between him and you in curiosity while he seems magnetized at his view. You.

When you close your eyes

Tell me what are you dreaming?

Everything, I wanna know it all

You smiled, recalling the times you two were inseparable. The times he let you cry on his shoulder, when he used to help you sneak out in the middle of the night, be your chaperone, witnessed you getting drunk for the first time in your life and even that one time a senior stole your first kiss. It was the first time you saw Jungkook that angry, beating the shit out of a poor guy two years ahead of us over a single peck. Your memories with him didnt end in high school for he didn’t stop making efforts to see you, regularly visiting you frequent enough that he’d made himself home at your place.

Ooh, want the good and the bad

Everything in between

Ooh, gotta cure my curiosity

In the midst of serenading you, he recollects the memories he shared with you. The day you two were introduced to each other was still as good as new in his memory bank, or the times that you encouraged him to push through to audition to his dream role that you even learned to play his audition piece just so he could practice with you every day after school. His basketball games with you as his personal cheerleader, the times that he couldn’t hide his jealousy when you dated someone else, the immature fights that always led him to drink his heart out as if you two had broken up, and you nursing him back to sobriety. When you two were separated in college, he’d always make a way to bother you whenever he’s drunk and you’d end up going to his place and ceaselessly irk him while he rotted from hangover.

His angelic voice singing the rest of the song lulls you further into your thoughts, gathering each memory like a missing piece in the puzzle. Why didn’t you see all the signs back then? Were you blinded by your then-infatuation over him that you failed to hint his own feelings? He never gave you a reason to make you think he likes you more than a friend nor tried to hide anything from you, right?

Shortly afterwards, you were pulled back into the reality when you hear the cheers of the guests, signaling the end of Jungkook’s performance. Your eyes silently follow him as he sheepishly walk out of the platform, going onto the same path he took before.

Jungkook didn’t meet your gaze as he strutted toward the ice cooler on the side of the buffet table to get a bottle of alcohol which is just a few steps away from you. Twisting open its cap with such urgency, he took a long swig from the bottle to calm his traitor nerves, then pretends to busy himself on the variety of food laid on the table while feeling the weight of your stare on his back. Nervous that you understood the purpose behind his impromptu performance and that your silence was your hint of your rejection to his feelings, he didn’t try to talk it out to you the entire night. Yet, he feigned indifference when he sat on the same chair in the table next to you.

As the rest of the night rolls, the tension undeniably grows in between you two. Yet bearable enough to have you two stay glued on your seats despite the countless times you caught him staring at you, or you at him all throughout the night.

None of you dared break the silence and somehow, along the way, the tension has particularly become unbearable inside the car while he drove you home. Your house was just two blocks away and you bet it would take him faster to get there should he not intentionally slow down his driving with only a hand on a steering wheel while the other rested on the open window of his door as his fingers anxiously pinch his lips.

You chose to break the tension, feeling the need to speak up before your heart bursts out of your chest. And the moment you did, Jungkook coincidentally started to talk too.

“So…”

“About that…”

You met his eyes when your head jerked to the side to peer at him.

“What?” You immediately ask, curious to know what he would want to say after that, his heartfelt singing.

“Uh—“ He drawls, suddenly losing the words he was supposed to utter the second he made an eye contact with you. He shifts his eyes back to the road, feeling himself cower under the weight of your stare.

He clears his throat, putting up a pretense of a courage. “What do you think of... my performance?”

There was a moment of dead air inside before you manage to form an answer. “It was beautiful… I like it. You know I’m in love with y-you– I mean your voice. I love your voice.” You laugh awkwardly, while you’re incoherently screaming in your head at your almost slipped up.

Jungkook’s face flushes and he could already visualize the sudden boost of serotonin in his system hearing the validation he needs the most, the one coming from you. “Thank you.” He mumbles shyly.

It was that moment when the car arrives in front of your house. You shoot him a look, said your thanks and bid him goodbye before you climbed out of the car. You couldn’t deny the disappointment that was rushing so abruptly into you while you pad the distance across the gate of the house. For the nth time, you have hoped for something that was not even real to begin with.

However, your heart jumped out of almost joy when you heard Jungkook’s voice call your name out just as you’re about to close the fence gate.

“What’s up?”

“Okay before I tell you something, do you promise to remain best friends with me if… if you don’t… if somehow… oh god whatever— just promise me!” He panics, making you frown in return.

“I-I promise?” You say in an uncertain tone.

Jungkook held his pinky out.

“Pinky swear?” He prompts. You raise an eyebrow but let him hook your pinky finger with his to seal the promise of a lifetime friendship.

“What is it?” You say in the most gentle way possible. If this is the moment you’ve been dreaming to happen since you were in high school, you have to encourage him to talk before you could stop yourself from advancing to his personal space just to kiss him without any further ado.

“_____I-I tried my best not to… n-not to see you in a different way. But god you’re always making it difficult for me to forget about it when you keep giving me reasons to want things I shouldn’t have–”

“Jungkook–”

“Please, let me finish before my legs give out.”

You chuckle all the while your vision blurs from the moisture in your eyes. The anxiety on his face gradually dissolves into relief when he saw the smile creeping into your face.

“I can’t keep dating anyone and pretending they’re better than you. I’m an idiot, I know. But it’s always been you, ______. It’s you that I want and I can’t possibly live this life without you–“ You didn’t let him finish when he finally said the words you have longed to hear for years. You lean in to touch his soft, inviting lips with your own.

Jungkook staggered back at the suddenness of your move. Once he had recovered from shock, he cupped your jaw to deepen the kiss. He sighed against your supple lips. And for the first time since he has nurtured his feelings for you, the weight in his chest has been lifted off, replacing it with warmth and relief that only you could bring in his longing heart.

*unedited

#jungkook x reader #jungkook fluff #bayanihanboost #paralumanplaylist #btsguild #goldenclosetnet #btswritingcafe #bangtanarmynet #btsbookclub #cypherwritersnet #jungkook imagines #jungkook scenarios #jungkook fanfic #jungkook drabble #friends to lovers trope

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beclynn-herondale · 3 years

Note

Heyy can I PLEASE request a Celine and Jace fic? With some clace? Please? *puppy doe eyes* 🥺

Yup, I want to write stuff for them so bad, and you gave me an excuse to do it 😉

Jace and Clary were on a mission together and they stepped through a doorway that took them to a space between worlds Jace supposed, all he knew for sure was that they weren't in their world anymore. Clary was drawing something out, trying to figure out what happened and hoping she could get them out of here.

"I don't know what happened, this is so weird," Clary said with frustrating.

"well hopefully the gang will figure out we are missing, unless this is the kinda place where time doesn't pass back home, and even though it could be weeks for us it could just be a couple hours for them, and–"

"honey your spiraling," Clary interrupted.

"oh," Jace let out.

"Maybe I can figure out some rune to help us out, so Angel now would be great!" Clary said

Jace was starting to realize he was actually anxious, he didn't know why, he was usually pretty calm in these situations, and besides they'd been to hell twice so why was this making him so anxious? Maybe because Magnus wasn't here, Magnus always fix everything and they really owe him for it.

He looked over at Clary who had some paper and a piece of charcoal out, she always carried those two items with her, it was something that made him love her even more, she seemed to be concentrated on a rune, but by the look of her face she isn't having much luck.

"honey," Clary said at Jace

"yes, Clar-bear?"

"what if we don't figure out a way out of here?" Clary said with a worried look

"we will my love, I promise," Jace said reassuringly

"I hope so cause there's something I need to tell you when we get back," Clary told him

"oh, what's that?"

"well if I told you then it wouldn't be a surprise," she teased

"ah, I see," he said with amusement

They decided to explore a little while Clary was waiting for a rune or something to come

It looked like some kind of house or manor that they were in, they were walking around when they heard a faint sound of a piano coming from a room, Jace being in love with piano music was drawn to it, it also felt so welcoming.

Jace found the room where the music was coming from and saw there was a girl with honey blonde hair playing the piano, she seemed vary concentrated on it and consumed into her playing, she also had brown-tan skin like Jace did himself, and in am odd way she seemed so familiar and unfamiliar at the same time.

"I've been waiting to finally meet you, Jace," the woman said

And Jace jumped, rare for him, he must have just zoned out a little

"wh who are you?" He said with anxiety plain in his voice and he cursed himself, "and how do you know who I am?"

"a mother always knows who her child is," she answered, "and I have heard much about you from Robert," she said

"Robert?" Clary said from the doorway, looking very pale

"yes, I know this is weird and strange, but you two crossed between the dead and the living, you will have to go back to the living side soon," she said

"oh, and I am, Celine, by the way, your mother Jace," she said, "I know this is a lot and you don't have to say anything, I just want you to know," Celine finished

"my– my mom?," Jace said with a mix of feelings in his voice

"your Celine Herondale?" Clary asked

"yes, I am, and you are Clary Fairchild, the girl who has loved and taken care of my precious boy, and who is very skilled and saved the shadow world," Celine said with a smile that said thank you, thank you, thank you.

"I– I don't know what to say, but thank you," Clary said back

"and Jace, I want you to know, it was never my intention to leave you, I wanted to give you all the love I never got as a child from my parents, I wanted you to know nothing but love and goodness, but when Valentine did what he did my last thought was that I would never get to meet this angel I had been waiting for for 8 months already. I did nothing but impatiently wait for you to come, I had so many things I wanted to tell you and teach you, and the last thing I wanted was for you to have to have a similar childhood that I did," Celine said with her voice breaking and tears running down her face. "Your father wanted you to be loved and taken care of as well, he had mixed feelings about you at first but after a couple months of me being pregnant, he started talking to you, and even though I know he never loved me in the way I wanted him to, that we both shared the love for this little human inside me," Celine said.

"I'm sorry, this is too much for you, and I am just rambling on," she said anxiously

"no," Jace said as he sat down on the floor, Clary doing the same beside him, "keep telling me," he said. As hard as it was knowing he would never have the chance to actually meet his parents and he still wasn't sure if he wanted to, but there was something about her voice that put him at ease.

"well, I know that you have had it hard and if I could take it away I would, I would take it all, but I can't, and you are who you are, but the person you are is so amazing and so worth it, I am so proud of you and I love you so much my sunshine," Celine said as more tears started streaming down her face.

And Jace noticed something wet dripping onto his hand and realized he was crying too, it was strange for him but he let himself cry, Clary was so silent and he was wondering why.

"Celine, I want you to know that I will take care of Jace always, I will love him and I will remind him everyday that he is loved and worth it, I will make sure he is safe, and make sure he will know nothing but love the rest of his life," Clary said

And Jace start crying more, he loved Clary so much it hurt and she made him more love them she knew.

"thank you Clary, you are so lovely and I wish I could know you, I wish I could be there but I can't, and the can'ts and what ifs in life hurt the most," Celine said with so much regret and pain in her voice that Jace felt a lump in his throat

"but I know my son is in good hands with you and the Lightwoods, I wish I could tell Maryse thank you as well for raising my boy, but I don't think she liked me much and I think she may already know in a way," said Celine

"I think Maryse liked you," said Jace, "whenever she does mention you on the rare occasion, she talks about with a look in her that says respect, maybe respect as a fellow good Shadowhunter but that's still something," Jace finished

"thank you for reassuring me, my love," Celine said to Jace.

Jace felt warmth at her saying that, a mother's love he would never fully know, he thought about the little boy who shut his true self away to please a parent who would never be pleased and how he would have loved this woman as his parent and he would have been a sun in her life

"also, I want you to know that me and Clary have started a program for Shadowhunters with mental health issues and we hope that it will help many, part of me wanted to start because of you, because no one ever got you help when you needed it and you never got to live your life like you deserved, I wish you could have and I wish you could have gotten the help you needed, you deserved so much more Celine and I wish I could have given you the love of a son and made you feel loved," Jace said with the realization that he just let go of all self control and spoke completely from the heart, he didn't do that very often

Celine walked over and hugged him, as well as give him a kiss on the forehead, she pulled Clary into the hug as well, Clary was now also crying and they had one big hug.

"it's time for you two to go, before your loved ones notice you are gone, but promise me something Jace," Celine said, "promise me you will continue to play the piano and never give it up for anything, and remember that you are so very loved by so many, and that you have and always will be enough, my sunshine," Celine finished.

"I will," Jace answered

"and Clary, thank you again for loving and taking care of my boy, you are lovely and perfect for him," Celine told Clary.

"you're welcome and I will continue to do it till I die," Clary told her, and they both shared a look of understanding.

"the angel told me to give you this, Clary," Celine gave Clary a piece of paper with a new rune on it.

Clary beamed at the new rune, that was his Clary and the nerd she was, Jace wished he could stay and talk with his mom more, but I guess we don't always get what we want he thought to himself.

Celine gave them both a hug and a kiss on the forehead before she disappeared and said 'i love you Jace, I swear to you I do, and I'll be waiting here when your time has come, but don't come to soon, live your life my sunshine,'

And with that she was gone, Clary drew the rune on paper and then they went back to where they came and she drew on the doorway and there was new york, they stepped through and Jace felt the familiar smells of home

"hey honey, let's go home and go to the greenhouse so I can tell you about that surprise and then we can call it a day and take time to process all of this," Clary said, "usually I would wait but this surprise can't wait," she finished.

Jace was now very curious as to what the surprise was but his mind was also thinking about everything that happened in that space between worlds, he wasn't sure he would ever really tell anyone and maybe by the morning it would all fade away but for the moment he was gonna hold onto the memories of his mom and how he looked like her in many ways.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They made it back to the institute and apparently they had only been gone a few hours for the others, they both got changed and cleaned up.

And when they say on a bench in the greenhouse Clary looked excited and nervous for what she was gonna tell Jace.

"so as you know, we have been talking about having a family," she said

And the first thought that went through Jace's head was that Clary was pregnant, but he let her finish, he would give Clary this.

She took his hand and placed it on her lower abdomen and said "and I hope you are ready for it to start getting bigger cause I am pregnant," she said with tears in her eyes, happy tears

"I am Clar-bear, I am," he said with tears making their way down his face and he felt the tension leave Clary's body as he hugged her tight and kissed her head.

They we're gonna be parents.

"Clar-bear, if it's a girl what do you think of naming the baby Celine? We could call her CeCe for short," Jace said.

"I think that is a perfect name," Clary said.

And they stayed there in each other's embrace and cried tears of joy over the fact that there was about to be more love and light in their lives.

I hope you like this anon, it's a miss but it represents my writing very well 🤣

I enjoyed this and almost couldn't stop writing it and there is a lot to take in in this but I like that it's packed, hopefully you like it and I hope you have a wonderful day 🧡💛🧡💛

#clary fray #clary fairchild #jace herondale #jace lightwood herondale #clace #celine herondale #celine montclaire #jace week #tsc #the shadowhunter chronicles #tmi #the mortal instruments #tmi gang #tmi fam

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my-watch-begins · 3 years

Text

Drawing.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Reader.

Warnings: strong language, mentions of intrusive thoughts, pre-FATWS.

Words: 3.1 k.

a/n: had to get this idea out of my head.

Gif not mine! Credits to the author.

This is new for me.

Everything was new for Bucky, not only the clothes, the mannerisms, the people, the food, the neighborhood... Ever since his stay in Wakanda, his pardon and his current stay in his beloved Brooklyn, he was having trouble with basic human interactions. He'd been told he stared at people too much, he had a severe case of resting bitch face, and not only sometimes he couldn't be bothered with people's bullshit, people didn't put any effort in relationships these days.

He could count with one hand the amount of people that weren't on their phone as they had a coffee or "brunch" whatever that was. Even kids, three years old had their eyes glued to a screen that was already prog... No, don't think of that word.

He shakes his head to get rid of the train of thoughts he's sure it's coming, gloved fingers run through his hair and he sighs.

Programed, brainwashed, controlled, fuck.

He's about to storm the cafeteria, he's feeling his heart swell up in his chest. He's suddenly forgotten every single piece of advice his therapist has given him in order to keep his intrusive thoughts away. He's going to leave his cup of coffee only touched once, but in an effort to look around for the exit, his eyes land on something different, a person on the table in front of him.

The woman sitting just at the edge of a booth, in front of her is a notepad tilted in front of her, he watches mesmerized as she glides the pencil from one side of the sheet to the other, then a few more followed.

He feels his breathing start to wind down, his eyes moving with the pencil and he sees the headshot of a person come through.

His eyes leave the paper just enough to look up at her, her profile peaking from a curtain of hair. He watches as she carefully tucks her hair behind her ear, revealing a pair of headphones latched to her ear.

She sighs and purses her lip, now Bucky's eyes drop down to the drawing as she erases a few things off. He's so entranced with the way her fingers hold the pencil he felt something shiver in his body when she grabbed a fountain pen and scribbled down a signature at the bottom.

Now he sits behind her almost every day, his arms are crossed on the table as he watches her draw portrait after portrait of the patrons in the café. Sometimes she gives them the drawings, he notices she spends too much time on so many lively details, her talent amazes him. The ones she doesn't give away she stores in a notebook.

The notebook she has used to be a simple one, now it's covered in colors, stickers, and it's so thick it doesn't close completely, things stick out of it in all directions, he can see different textures of papers, ribbons, photos. He's seen her close it as she stores the drawings that aren't of people, and he's seen her stroke the front of it at the spot where a picture has been taped to the cover.

He also saw when one day she bolted after receiving a message, leaving the notebook laying in the seat of the booth next to where she used to be.

He picked it up and walked in quick strides to catch up with her and give it back, but she was lost in the sea of people before he could.

Bucky took it back to his place, fighting an internal battle to not open it and peak throught it, a battle he lost after hours of staring at it.

It was incredible how much a simple book could tell about someone's personality. He'd learned her name, your name, drawing was just a hobby, you actually had a job and friends you hung out with, several polaroids of the lot of you were kept between the pages, some of them thrown in there haphazardly, some stapled to not get lost.

The notebook was actually an agenda, had days numbered, to-do lists, schedules, mundane things, but also mementos to remember events, little post-it notes scribbled with things like "was praised at work, celebrate with some chocolate", and at the beginning of the week you'd write things you were grateful for. He felt a little something when he saw you'd written "my boyfriend" on the list to be grateful for, but was surprised when he saw a full page had been cleared up and written with a red marker across the page celebrating your break-up with said boyfriend. From there onwards the pages were fuller, you'd gotten a promotion, had more nights out, had a vacation. Whoever this ex boyfriend of yours was, he was definitely holding you back, then the drawings started. You would also write down some thoughts and feelings about the day that had passed, but he didn't linger too much on those notes.

He felt his chest tighten when he saw one of your pencil portraits of Steve's face in his helmet on the page that was the fourth of july, you'd written a long appreciation letter to Steve... Well, to Captain America really.

He couldn't keep going after that. He closed it and left it on the island counter.

Bucky didn't arrive before you the next day, he was hoping he at least got a few minutes to himself to figure out how he was going to approach you, but as soon as he walked in he saw you in your usual booth, head low, your fingers tracing the sides of the coffee mug in front of you. He scanned your face, noticing your puffed up eyes and red nose, your head hanging low and cheek propped against your closed fist.

The lost of the journal had definitely taken your sleep that night, he didn't want to accentuate your grief any longer, so he walked decided until he was standing next to you.

"Excuse me" he said, the journal clutched by one of his hands and pressed to his chest.

You lifted your gaze, your eyes scanning his quickly before they fell to your precious notebook.

Your face dropped in realitization and moved your legs to the side to stand up.

"You dropped it yesterday".

You stared at it dumbfounded, he thrusted it forwards and you instantly took it, your fingers going through the pages.

He smiled to the side when he saw your shoulders drop along with a heavy sigh of relief. You clutched the journal to your chest and bit your lower lip.

"Oh my god" you sighed as you looked up at him "thank you so much for picking it up"

"It's no problem" he dismissed with a wave of his hand.

"At least let me buy you a coffee" you turned around to grab your bag and swung it to your shoulder.

"You don't have to"

"Yes, I do" you pressed your hand to his bicep and lead him to the empty counter, one of the baristas approached you quickly and gave you two a smile "what are you having?" You beckoned him with a motion to the barista.

He definitely didn't plan to have breakfast with you that morning, but there he was, drinking some insipid tasting coffee and looking at you cut an obnoxiously big pastry you'd bought to share.

"What's this thing called?" He asked, looking at the swirl of pastry and something's brown in between, he saw you eat it peeling the external layers of it, your mouth forming a little smirk as you glanced at him.

"It's a cinnamon roll"

He grabbed it and inspected it, taking a big bite out of if.

You smiled and shook your head, your fingers finding your notebook and storing it safely in your purse.

"I hope you don't mind, I peaked through it last night" he admitted, you purses your lower lip forward and shook your head, peeling another layer of roll to eat.

"I don't mind, there's nothing interesting in it"

"There's some art" you chuckled suddenly, your eyebrows twisting.

"That's a strong word, I wouldn't consider it art"

"I would, I've seen you draw, you're very talented"

"You've seen me draw?" You inquired, tilting your head up and pulling a smirk when Bucky dodged your gaze and stammered.

"I- well" he joined his hands on too of the tale and intertwined his fingers, kicking himself for having blurted out something that made him look like a creep "yeah, once"

He reluctantly turned to look at you again, finding you staring back at him with little smile.

"I'll draw you, as a thank you gift" he saw you fish your notepad and a little pencil case.

"You don't have to" you gave him a little smile and your eyes narrowed, taking one pencil out of your case.

"It would be my pleasure" you lifted your pencil next to you, Bucky looked at it and gave you a good angle to start.

You began drawing the same starting point for every portrait you did, but you could instantly read some discomfort in his face, so once you had a good base you stood from your seat and walked to his side of the booth, motioning at him with your hand.

"Scoot". Bucky obliged, moving on the booth enough to let you sit comfortably next to him.

"I don't think you can draw me like this"

He saw you eyebrow twitch upwards and a little smile sneaked from your lips.

"You'll be surprised" you began by the general shape of his face, your own head tilting to the sides as you traced the lines of his jaw "I didn't want you to feel observed" you explained "I know what it's like to be on the other side of someone's notebook"

"Yeah, well, at least you're not judging" it was his turn to murmur in a complaining manner.

You continued, only stealing glances of him when you needed to double check if you were getting things right. During your time drawing you'd hiked up your leg on the seat and spent so much time getting every single twist and turn of his forehead, the creases of his eyes. You'd also felt him inch closer and closer as time went by, his arm propped up on the back of the booth and just on the back of your head.

"You spend so much time of little details" he mentioned. You didn't know if it was a comment or a complaint.

You glanced at him unsure of how to answer.

"Well, I'm usually listening to music and getting carried away by things like-" you motioned at the side of his face "that scar you've got there and how you got it and-" you continued, tracing one by one his eyelashes "the story behind the creases of your eyes and who made you frown so much that now you've got this permanent furrow in between your eyebrows"

"I have annoying friends" you smiled at the answer, giving finishing strokes to the little hairs that stubbornly fell from his clean haircut.

You left your pad on the table and moved around it to grab the bag you'd left on your previous side, revolving it's insides to find a stack of color pencils tied with an elastic band.

"You're going to color it?" He asked, seeing you pull out only three colors.

"No, just your eyes" you sat back and took the pad. Flipping the drawing back to reveal a fresh white page, you sampled one color, then glanced at him, directly at his eyes.

"Why just my eyes?" He inquired, feeling a scrutinizing gaze on his iris.

"Because they're a challenge to get right"

You lifted the pad to match the colored side to his eye, you repeated the process five time, Bucky scanning your facial gestures and watching them range from confusion, to distaste until you finally pulled a winning smile.

Content you'd actually gotten his eye color right, you shaded carefully, going back and forth between colors to get the right shade blended in. When you were finished you held it forwards to look at it completed.

"If I hadn't seen you draw it I wouldn't believe something like that was possible"

You smiled, unconsciously dropping your head at the compliment.

"What's your name again?" You asked, fishing your fountain pen and storing your pencil in the case.

"James"

He stared as you grounded the side of your hand and pinky finger on the paper, your other fingers moving the pen gracefully at the bottom of the page to write "For James, from-" and your name, all in cursive.

You carefully detached the page from the block and handed it to him, noticing just now that he had leather gloves on his hands. He studied it, giving you a tiny smile as he looked at you.

"Thank you" he nods at you, you nod back and flash him a bigger smile.

"You're welcome"

You stored the block and the pencil case in the bag, standing up and getting ready to leave.

"I have to go"

Bucky stood up and motioned at you to go before him, he opened the door of the cafeteria just as you reached it, your hands snuck into the pockets of your cardigan and you turned on your heels to meet with him for a final goodbye.

"Thank you for this" he had rolled the drawing enough to grasp it in his hand but not enough to crease it completely.

"Thank you for keeping my journal safe" you nodded, reminding him the reason why you'd gifted him the drawing "I post a few things that I draw on my Instagram" you offered, he shook his head with a little frown and snuck his hand into his jacket pocket to pull out a flip phone.

"My phone is kinda boring" you stared at it with a half confused, half surprised gape of your mouth "I mean, it doesn't have your number on it, so-"

Your mouth fell agape in even more surprised for a second then you bit your lower lip, lunging forwards to grab his phone from his hand.

"That was a good one" you praised, your fingers moving on the buttons of the phone, a smirk is painted on your lips as you finish saving your number, then return him his phone. "Bye James" you salute, containing the urge to but your lower lip at the sight of him again.

He salutes back, a goodbye accompanied with your name falling purposely from his lips as he stores the phone back in his pocket.

It takes a few days for him to get the courage to send the message. If anything, he's learned that people avoided phonecalls like the plague, people called and hung up just so make you aware that you hadn't answered the message they sent, it was really impersonal buy this time he preferred it. He spent an stupid amount of time writing the message to ask you out, all until he psyched himself to do it. He had always been a ladies man, he'd proven to himself that he still could get a girls number, he'd made you blush. Worst case scenario, you'll leave him on read.

You don't though, you answer his short "Hey, it's James, are you busy this weekend?" With a: "Hey James! I'm free all week" and what he later discovered was a winking face made out of a semicolon and a closed round bracket.

He meets up with you in downtown Brooklyn, he's surprised to see you in clothes that hug themselves to the natural curves of your body, and you're surprised when he hands you a single flower wrapped in a pretty foil arrangement.

You smile fully as you take it, leaning to catch it's scent and feeling your cheeks redden.

"I've never been gifted flowers before"

"Sounds like they've missed an opportunity" you smile again, your head tilting slightly to your shoulder.

"What do you have in mind?" You asked, changing the subject, Bucky motions behind him with his hand as he steps to the side.

"There's a bowling alley not to far from here"

Bucky found it easy to speak to you, he could talk about what he still remembered, he could tell you his favorite books or songs and you wouldn't do anything else other than smile or twist your eyebrows in surprise. He found himself talking about anything and everything and stop only to notice that you'd leaned over to table or your arm has propped your head on a closed fist as you listened to him talk.

You'd crushed him at bowling, had shared a pizza and had stayed chatting in the bar until the noise of the employees cleaning up had caught up to you.

Bucky walked you to your apartment complex a little way off the center off the city, he even enjoyed the comfortable silence between the two until you made a comment and sparked up in conversation again.

Bucky knew that times had changed, that the dating world wasn't as he remembered, and he also knew that because of how the night had gone, he could steal a kiss from you and you wouldn't mind.

What he didn't know was that you'd made up your mind about him the second the handed you the flower, so as soon as you reached your apartment building and he turned on his heels to meet face to face with you, you climbed to your tiptoes and kissed him. You heard his sharp intake of breath as you moved your lips on his, and you definitely felt his hand crawl to the back of your neck and press you to his body.

You couldn't contain a smile when he hummed in satisfaction, your tongue running along his lower lip teasingly.

You stopped, smiling and looking up at him just as he opened his eyes. Bucky felt time stop and slow down as you moved your face side to side, your nose touching his back and forth, each feather touch leaving him more breathless. The only thing in his mind when you pulled away and walked to the apartment door was holy shit, when are we doing this again?

You turn on your side as you hold the door open.

"Goodnight James" you salute, the sight of him bitting his lower lip makes you smile.

"You can call me Bucky if you want" he replies, his hands hiding in the pockets of his jacket.

You turn even more, the weight of your body changing from one leg to the other as you study his face and his request.

"I can call you Bucky if you want" you accentuate. There's a little something in his eyes, you pick up it's amusement at your answer, surprise. He only nods, making you nod in agreement as well. "Goodnight Bucky" you correct, the corner of his mouth turning upwards in a small smirk.

"Goodnight gorgeous"

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes reader insert #sebastian stan #fanfic #pre-FATWS

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swaps55 · 4 years

Text

You Just Might

For @jedirangerpenguin

The N program hadn’t covered teenagers.

David Anderson has only been alone with the kid for an hour, and he already has a new respect for the parenting skills of Daniel Shepard. He’s not sure a dreadnought would be a big enough space to contain Sam, and here they are stuck in the cramped passenger compartment of an Alliance shuttle with two hours to go before they reach Ares Station.

This is who Hannah Shepard wants to turn into a biotic soldier. The kid can’t sit still. Sam is like a walking, talking action figure, in a perpetual state of motion with no sense of his own body. According to Daniel he’d just hit a growth spurt, shot up to over 175 cm in the space of a month, and it shows. It’s like watching a puppy try to figure out what to do with four feet, and the Alliance is shipping him off to learn how to play with dark energy.

No wonder Daniel had called him. Without someone to keep an eye on him, this string bean of a kid might take out the whole system.

“Do you think snapping my fingers’ll trigger it?” The kid has the most earnest eyes Anderson has ever seen. The kind that see right through you. Just like Hannah.

“I’m assuming you’ve tried that,” Anderson replies. A hundred times, no doubt.

“Yeah, but maybe I’m doing it wrong. I can’t snap for shit.”

“I think that’s the whole point of learning. Figuring out how to control it without breaking your arm.”

Sam shrugs, rubbing his left arm. According to Daniel he’d hidden the fracture for three days before finally confessing to his father. “Sure, I guess.”

Anderson isn’t sure what’s more troubling, that Sam has already broken enough bones to have an aversion to bone knitters, or that he’d apparently spent those three days trying to replicate the lash of dark energy that had broken the arm in the first place.

The kid kicks his feet, squirming in his seat. Aside from the constant kinetic energy, everything about him screams Hannah Shepard. Except for the ears. He’s got Daniel’s ears. The grin favors him, too. But everything else belongs to Hannah.

“I hear biotics can fry people’s brains,” Sam says.

Heaven help them all. “Having been tossed around by a biotic a time or two, no, that’s not how it works.”

The kicking stops, and Sam’s eyes widen. “You’ve fought biotics?”

Anderson straightens, oddly pleased to suddenly have the kid’s undivided attention. “Fought a lot of things. But yes, biotics.”

“When? Where? How many? What was it like?”

“Which time?” he asks with a smirk.

Is he really trying to impress a fourteen-year-old?

“All of them,” Sam says, with a reverence that makes him wish he had kids of his own.

Apparently Anderson is indeed trying to impress the fourteen-year-old.

Why not share a few stories? Would be nice to have a captive audience for once. Someone who hadn’t heard the rumors about Dah'tan and already made up their mind.

So he tells a few. It’s the closest Sam comes to being still, though he constantly interrupts to ask questions. Apparently Sam can be either still or quiet, but not both.

The questions are unnervingly shrewd, too. Anderson tells those stories with some spectacle – why not, he’s earned it – but Sam never once gets lost in it. Instead he wants to know how biotics interact with kinetic shields. Asks about squad formations. Even interrogates him about the layout of that shipping plant on Ilium, to figure out how Aesir Fina’s mercs had managed to flank him. The kid is tactical. The gears turn in his head as he digests every answer. You can see it.

When there’s a lull in the conversation, Sam points to the red stripe on the right arm of Anderson’s shirt. He’s been eyeing it the entire trip. “You’re an N7.”

“The first N7,” Anderson replies, not without pride.

Sam tilts his head, and for a moment he looks just like Daniel, not Hannah. It’s not the only mannerism they share. The occasional twist of frustration in his lips. The lilt in his voice. That’s where Daniel lives in his son.

“I want to do that.”

“Never had a biotic N7,” Anderson says, thoughtfully. He can only imagine what ICT would do to someone with the caloric needs of a biotic.

“Good. I’ll be the first,” Sam says, smug smile on his face that belongs to neither of his parents.

“It’s not easy,” Anderson cautions him. “Lot of hard work, especially for someone used to temperature controlled environments. Planets aren’t nearly as comfortable as ships, and ICT’ll put your face right in the mud.”

He scowls and crosses his arms over his chest. “I’ll figure it out.”

You know what, you just might.

Sam toys with a thread on his sleeve. Anderson has no doubt that if you left him in an empty room he’d be naked standing in a pile of thread before long. “So how do you know my dad, anyway?”

The sudden moodiness in his voice takes Anderson off guard. The kid hadn’t had any trouble looking him in the eye a moment ago.

“We go way back. Boot camp. Officer candidacy training. I know your dad well, actually.”

Sam’s expression turns skeptical. “My dad. Buddies with an N7.”

“Why is that so hard to believe?”

Sam shrugs one shoulder, eyes fixed on the loose string. It’s definitely longer, now. “Mom flies a ship, dad rides a desk.”

Anderson exhales through his nose. You’ve got no idea, do you? Does he even know his father is N1? It would be like Daniel not to tell him. Accolades have never mattered to Daniel the way they matter to Hannah. The way they matter to Anderson.

Hannah had wanted her career. Daniel had wanted Sam. Simple as that.

“Don’t sell your dad short,” Anderson tells him. “His proficiency scores were better than mine.”

Sam snorts. “Bullshit.”

“Suit yourself.” Anderson leans his head back against the headrest and closes his eyes. What are the odds he could get a nap in before they arrive?

Not good. That stare is like a directed energy weapon. Forget the biotics, the kid could fry Anderson’s brain with just that stare. He cracks one eye open. “Anyone ever tell you you’re a pain in the ass?”

“Yep.”

Anderson doesn’t doubt it. They eye each other for a while. Sam starts tapping the arm rest. First with his left hand, then the right.

“You still have model ships?” Anderson asks. Every time he’d seen Sam as a child he’d had some kind of ship in his hand, and a wide array of sound effects to accompany it. Usually a model of whatever cruiser Hannah was doing a tour on.

“Nah, that stuff’s for kids.”

“Nothing wrong with being a kid,” Anderson says.

“Then you go do it.”

He puts a fist to his mouth to stifle a chuckle. “Fair enough.”

After a few more minutes of tapping Anderson sighs. “So why do you want to be an N7?”

“To be the best.” Sam goes back to kicking the seat. Could be a good interrogation tactic to suggest. Stick a suspect in a room with Sam Shepard and see who breaks first. Safe bet it won’t be Sam.

“And why is it so important to be the best?” Every now and then, Anderson wishes someone had asked Hannah that question. He wonders what the answer would be.

Sam shrugs again. That moody look is back. He pops out of his seat and strolls to the shutter. “Think we can see it yet?”

“No. And you’re deflecting the question.”

“So?”

“If you want to join up, better get used to orders, son.”

That gets him. He abandons the window, squares his shoulders and trades the moodiness for defiance. “Because someone’s got to be.”

Anderson hums. Big talk for a fourteen-year-old. That has to be Hannah’s influence. It’s a wonder Sam got to be a kid at all.

Sam returns to his seat and draws his knees to his chest. It makes him look…young. Far too young for where he’s headed. “Think mom’ll come see me at all?”

Well, shit. Shouldn’t be Anderson answering that question. Daniel said she’d been on tour for four months, either couldn’t get leave to see Sam off or chose not to. Even sent him a pre-recorded message for his birthday a few weeks ago. She hit the lottery with you, kid, and did nothing to earn it. But it’s not his place to get involved in family politics. Daniel decided a long time ago he wasn’t going to do anything to tarnish her name in his eyes.

“She can’t, Sam. Classified facility. She doesn’t have clearance.”

For the first time all trip, he’s both silent and still. “But you do.”

Anderson taps the N7 logo on his chest. “Yeah. I do.”

Sam nods. His brow furrows. He opens his mouth to say something, then closes it, turns that directed energy stare at the shutter and rests his chin in his hand.

Damnit.

Daniel had only asked him to take the kid to Ares. He doesn’t know anything about whatever insane plan the Alliance has to train biotic kids after cratering BAaTT. But looking at those hunched shoulders, the long legs he hasn’t grown into, the shoulders he hasn’t filled out yet…he’s a kid, damnit, out here alone with no one to look out for him.

He’s not your kid. But someone’s got to do it, and he’s the only one here.

Hell with it. He’s got plenty of leave stored up. The Alliance can spare him for a week or so. Just to get him settled in.

He leans back in his seat and props a foot on his knee. “Think I’ll stick around a few days. Never been to Ares station.”

Sam picks his head up. There’s something hopeful in his eyes, and if Anderson had any reservations about staying they’re gone now.

“Yeah?”

“Sure. Besides, if I’m going to recommend you to ICT one day, need to see what you’ve got.”

There’s Daniel again, in the tilt of his chin. “You’d do that?”

“If you earn it.”

Sam straightens. “I’ll earn it.”

Anderson smiles. He’s got some growing up to do first, in more ways than one. But there’s a glimmer in his eye that could take him a long way, if he lets it. If someone sticks around long enough to help him figure it all out. And if he does manage to put it all together? Hell, you know what, kid? You just might.

#mass effect #david anderson #my fic #opus!verse #jedirangerpenguin

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amoveablejake · 3 years

Text

One Year Later

And here we are.

Exactly one year ago today A Moveable Jake was created and the first post, that introduction to the blog, was drawn up and posted. Since then this little blog of mine has continued to sail along with three pieces released every week. The first being an album of the week followed by a photograph I have taken and then rounding off the week with a longer thought piece. I thought for today’s one year special I would write about what we’ve learned from the blog over the past three hundred and sixty five days. So, shall we see if anything stayed in our heads afterall.

What have we learned from the past fifty two album of the week pieces. Well, for starters I have learned that the albums of the week often bleed into the long form pieces and the photographic ones too. Music seems to be one of the central pillars of A Moveable Jake and I hope the blog is all the better for it. The past year has charted a wide array of blogs as we travel from down tempo jazz from the masters to Brazilian samba music to Vapourwave and ofcourse those Peanuts soundtracks. This really wouldn’t be A Moveable Jake piece without mentioning Vince Guaraldi and what I’ve learned this past year is not only that I can seemingly write about Guaraldi’s work again and again but that also he is such an integral part of my day to day and the ideas of hygge that my life revovles around. Guaraldi keeps coming up as he ties in so perfectly to ideas of hygge yes and as an extension from that peace, gentleness and stillness. Again and again over the past year we have seen pieces revolving around those ideas appear and I don’t see any chance of that letting up as they are so truly key to me as a person. Needless to say they bleed into the album of the week choices and so I’m sure we will continue to get cosy album choices from here on outwith the occasional trip down to South America.

I think its pretty clear from the photographs that I’ve chosen to share from my archives over the past year is that Paris is always on my mind and in my daydreams. We have learned that like writing about Vince Guaraldi I keep coming back to Paris and with it my visions of quietly wandering through the streets soaking the city in. But Paris hasn’t been the only usual suspect although it definitely has been the most prominent. Berlin, well Germany as a whole, has featured quite a few times particularly over the autumn and winter months. The same actually can be said for Copenhagen and ofcourse that won’t come as a shock considering that hygge is so central to most of the pieces. As the weather has gotten warmer the photographs too have moved into warmer climates as visions of Spain have started to appear. And what we’ve learned aswell through the photographs is that aswell as my constant dreams of Paris I’m also always thinking about driving through the mountains in British Columbia and seeing seamlessly endless forests stretch out beyond the clouds that envelope the road ahead. Perhaps the most prominent lesson that has arisen from my photograph choices is that I do seem to always be daydreaming about something and as I write I often take a beat and gaze out of my window to fully lose myself in those visions.

Now, I don’t even know where to begin with what we have learned from the longer weekend pieces from the past year. We have covered a great deal of subjects so lets see what we can remember. We’ve learned that if you were to see me out in the wild chances are I’ll be wearing a fairisle nordic jumper or a plain t-shirt and always, always with a cap. We have also learned that apparently I think I can review the rain and seasons as a whole. We have learned some of my desert island discs aswell and in 2021 we have been learning what my songs of the month are each month. We have learned that the weekend piece has the potential to be about anything but that it is quite often about football hopefully in a more narrative and considered way. We have learned that I should never write a piece before a final because that team always goes on to lose. We have learned what we can draw from those losses and how to move on to the next match. We have learned what football means to me and that Diego Maradona whilst being far from perfect really deserves his status as being a Saint. And really that has to explain why he reached out with the hand of God.

For a moment, if I may, I would like to touch on what I have learned from writing a Moveable Jake this past year. I have learned that writing these pieces every week have quickly become staples in my calendar and offer me a chance to reflect on the subject at hand and to help formulate my feelings about it which often extend to other aspects which I don’t include in the piece. As an extension from the blog I have also started to keep a diary, lets call it a journal actually, over the past few months and this really helps me aswell. Keeping a to do list and a journal, hell just scribbling your thoughts down on a scrap piece of paper I believe is truly beneficial to your way of thinking and allows you to breathe and take a moment with your thoughts. Not to mention how hygge the activity of keeping a notebook is and that building a record of your thoughts and days will be a wonderful thing to look back on down the line. Which really, is what this blog is. The past year has all been recorded in a Moveable Jake, some in more subtle ways than others but it is all here. As I sit here now, typically gazing out of my window as I write, I will admit I am rather proud of keeping a Moveable Jake going over the past year and that I don’t have any intention to break from our regularly scheduled programming now. I suppose all that is left to say is thank you for reading and I hope that you continue to stick with the blog.

As always,

Jake, a man didn’t actually start doing these sign offs until the 13th of August last year so is now thinking do they deserve their own anniversary piece, 18/07/2021

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captainseaweedbrains · 4 years

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The Dance of the Color Guard, Op.64 Chapter 1

Katniss and Peeta used to be best friends when they were kids, but now in high school, they're barely on speaking terms. It isn't until they are forced together as the titular star-crossed lovers for their marching band's field show that they will have to face their past mistakes and try to get along if they ever hope of defeating the notorious Capitol Height's Imperial Marching Crusaders in competition.

It's all about winning and if that means pretending to be in love with Peeta Mellark, so be it.

But a lot can happen in six months.

Tumblr: x

Ao3: x x

April—Six Months Earlier

“Don’t be so obvious,” her music stand partner Leevy whispered in amusement, “but Peeta Mellark is staring at you again.”

“What?” Katniss looked straight up, not even pretending to be subtle, and locked eyes with the first chair trumpet player sitting directly across the room from her. His eyes widened for a moment, probably assuming she wouldn’t catch his stare with the clarinet section in front of him, but instead of looking away like a normal person would after being caught, Peeta Mellark smiled at her, his right eyebrow raising suggestively in question. Katniss gripped her flute and pointedly turned back to her music, knowing her section would be criticized next on their sloppy runs.

He liked to do that every so often during rehearsal, look at her like she was some kind of joke that amused him. Get her all flustered with those stupid eyebrows and smiles. Leevy enjoyed pointing it out all the time, drawing kissy faces with their initials in hearts on their shared music that Katniss would then furiously erase because what if someone saw that? People in band were gossipy enough with who was dating whom and who broke up with whom.

She didn’t want anyone thinking she had a crush on Peeta Mellark.

Mr. Abernathy, their band director, stepped between them on his podium, breaking any eye contact Peeta could make on her, and tapped his baton on his stand to grab everyone’s attention. “Okay, listen up, ya mangy teens! A few announcements before you all age me once more with your apparent lack of practicing. First being, next season’s field show—”

“Oh, can I say it?” Miss Trinket, their assistant director, asked, already pushing Mr. Abernathy off the podium. Miss Trinket was a small wispy woman, her height mainly due to the massive heels she sported no matter the season, but despite her title and small stature, it was clear to anyone with eyes who was in charge of any decision making for the band program.

Miss Trinket cleared her throat, smiling brightly as the room waited with anticipation.

Marching season was one of the biggest things they did in the school year. Everyone looked forward to it and a strong field show could finally mean getting Athens Ridge High’s Marching Gladiators to finals and beating the crap out of their arch rivals: the rich snooty Capitol Heights Academy’s Imperial Marching Crusaders.

Every year they always came so close to beating them, but Capitol Heights had the money for large expensive props and Athens Ridge did not. They were lucky enough to have been able to afford new marching uniforms a few years back, replacing the threadbare grey ones with sleek black and gold. Mr. Abernathy always reminded everyone that he didn’t care about winning, nor did he give a rat’s ass about Capitol Heights and all their achievements. All he cared about was that they performed to the best of their ability and marched off the field with pride, but Katniss wanted their band to be the best. Everyone in the Athens Ridge band did.

“Can I get a drumroll, please?” Miss Trinket asked, looking pointedly to Gale in the back.

Gale rolled his eyes, but started the roll on his snare drum.

“This year’s marching show is…” Another dramatic pause.

“Will you just tell them, woman? This ain’t the Oscars,” Mr. Abernathy snapped, sick of all her flairs and dramatics. “We’re doing Romeo & Juliet. There. Now get off my podium.”

Miss Trinket held her ground, her pale features brightening under her anger, making her purple-streaked hair stand out more than usual. “Haymitch—!”

Everyone watched, entertained by yet another round of the two directors going at it once more. Katniss turned to look back at Gale, the head keeper of the betting pool, and he signed another two months before their directors would go at it like rabbits. She shook her head, laughing quietly to herself, and turned back to watch as the directors duked it out.

“I’ve heard the music to this field show,” Leevy said after practice, cleaning out her flute. “It’s really pretty. I can see why Miss Trinket picked it.”

Katniss carefully tucked her flute back in its case, giving it one final shine before locking it shut. “You think Miss Trinket picked it?”

Leevy laughed and threw a pointed look over to where Mr. Abernathy sat slunk in his chair, stained coffee mug in hand as he scowled at some piece of paper. “I highly doubt Mr. Abernathy would choose a show like Romeo & Juliet without some heavy outside persuasion.”

She had a point there.

As they waited by the door, ready to book it the second the bell rang, Katniss and Leevy rolled their eyes at the chaos in front of them. Thresh Armstrong, a tuba player known for sneaking in toys from home, had brought out a foam football and had tossed it over to Johanna Mason, one of the smart ass percussionists, who almost crashed into the chimes trying to catch it. She held the ball up in victory and the guys around her hooted and hollered in applause. With a dramatic bow, she tossed it to Gale behind her, who caught it and called out for his girlfriend Madge to catch. Madge squealed in shock when the ball hit her in the back of the head, throwing the ball back at him in protest.

“You’d think Abernathy would put a stop to that,” Leevy commented, laughing despite herself when the ball nailed Marvel Baxter in the face. “People can get hurt.”

“Maybe he wants to see assholes like Marvel get hit in the face, too,” Katniss snorted, glad she got to witness it. “Do you think we’ll get to see Cato get hit in the face?” she asked, eyeing the bulky blond in the far corner with interest.

“Doubt it.” Cato Martin was that stereotypical asshole who thought he walked on water and expected everyone to treat him as thus. And the sickening part was that people did. The school’s star quarterback was praised constantly in their school paper for his dedication to both the school’s athletic department and music department, despite being last chair in Symphonic Band and always being hounded for how bad he played by Mr. Abernathy. Despite his assholery, though, he always had a gaggle of followers around him, probably praising him for breathing.

Katniss hated him so much, and it wasn’t just because they were locker neighbors and she was constantly having to shove him and whatever girl he was making out with off her own locker to squeeze in. Or that, since the 7th grade, he’s only referred to her as “Katnips Everslip” after a very unfortunate wardrobe malfunction at the community pool. Or even that time he taped rubber baby bottle nipples all over her locker sophomore year and only received a slap on the wrist by their dean, Mr. Flickerman, because he didn’t realize how offensive it was and he was so so sorry. Yeah, Cato sucked and she hated him for all those things and more, but she hated him most because Cato Martin was that entitled ass who just expected things to be given to him. He never faced any consequences and those were the worst kind of people.

Laughing at Marvel and his botched up nose, her eyes briefly caught Peeta’s and the amusement she felt seeing Marvel get nailed in the face vanished instantly. Every bully had that one lackey who wasn’t really an asshole, but was kind of one by association because he just went along with anything the bully did. Yeah, that lackey was Peeta Mellark. Which somehow made it even worse. She knew Peeta. Used to be friends with him in elementary school, back when your neighborhood friends were your whole world and nothing could come between you. Now he was just one of Cato’s goons who blindly followed whatever Golden Ass commanded.

“Are you auditioning for color guard again?” Leevy asked, snapping Katniss’s attention back to her friend.

“Huh?”

Leevy’s eyes followed where hers had been and Katniss pretended not to notice the knowing smirk on her friend’s face, picking at a loose thread on her sleeve instead. “Are you trying out for color guard this year?” she asked again.

“Of course.” Katniss flushed at her sure answer, but she always did color guard. It was kind of her thing, especially since Miss Trinket had singled her out freshman year, snatching 14-year-old Katniss off the practice field where she had been marching with her fellow flute players. “You’ve got the perfect arms,” Miss Trinket had told her and she’d been part of color guard ever since.

“I’m hoping for captain, actually,” Katniss admitted, looking down at her beat-up sneakers. She hadn’t told anyone but Prim that, afraid she’d jinx it by putting it out in the universe too much, but going into senior year next season, she’d be the most experienced one auditioning. The odds were definitely in her favor, but the universe also had a tendency of fucking things up when she least expected it and she didn’t want to chance it.

Leevy sighed. “I wish you’d stay with the flutes. Maybe then I wouldn’t have to deal with that”—she pointed at the giggly flute players who were now fawning over Cato like lovesick puppies—"all by myself.”

Katniss gave her friend a sympathetic pat on the arm. “I’d rather shoot myself in the eye than have to deal with Golden Ass’ fan club. Why don’t you try out? You’re small, like me. I bet Miss Trinket would love that.” Their assistant director would be beside herself with joy at having another petite person in guard she could have tossed around. Miss Trinket was always complaining how there were too many tall girls nowadays and that it limited her “vision.”

Leevy shook her head. “Oh, no. No, I don’t think I could ever do what you all do. Who would trust me to throw something in the air and expect me to catch it? And the way you did those handsprings for last year’s show?” She shook her head again in amazement. “I can’t even balance on one foot without falling. I’m nowhere near as talented as you.”

Katniss’ cheeks darkened again at Leevy’s appraisal. Those handsprings were a bitch to grasp, she remembered, and the only reason she was the one doing them wasn’t because Trinket saw her as some talented goddess. No, it was just because everyone else was too afraid of doing them without any type of mat underneath them and Katniss wasn’t. She was about to tell her friend this—that yeah, she was pretty good with a flag and rifle, but all that can be taught and Leevy’s lack of gymnastic talent shouldn’t stop her from auditioning—when the foam football smacked her hard on the side of her head.

“What the hell?” She scanned the chaotic room for the culprit, rubbing at the spot where the ball hit. “Who threw that?”

The culprit in question raised his hand apologetically and jogged over to pick the blue ball off the ground. Her hands balled into fists.

Peeta Mellark.

Of course.

“My bad!” he apologized, smiling down at her in that totally non-assery way that just pissed her off more. “I was trying to throw the ball to Glimmer and—” he started to explain, casually pointing behind him with his thumb.

“Your aim sucks that much?” she fumed, interrupting him. Glimmer was clear across the room by the other French horn players, far from where she and Leevy stood. “That could have hit my eye!”

There was a time, long ago, when she was once taller than him. She used to jokingly lean on Peeta while they waited in lines at school or the grocery store, calling him squirt and messing up his curly blond hair like his dad did, laughing when he’d scowl and pull away, hating that nickname. He always vowed he’d reach his growth spurt someday soon, just like his brothers, and she’d be sorry she ever called him squirt. Peeta stood almost a foot taller than her now, but she stood her ground. Glaring up at him, she considered using the old nickname, just to see if it rattled him

There was no way his aim was that bad. They’d had the same gym class for almost six years now and she knew he wasn’t terrible. Peeta was one of those guys things just came naturally to, especially sports. For years she has watched as he made the winning pass in basketball, smacked a volleyball down to score like nobody’s business, swiped the puck in during hockey. She smelled bullshit.

This was probably some stupid dare Cato or Marvel put him up to. She eyed Marvel off to the side, still rubbing his nose. He was probably pissed at her for laughing at him and thought it’d be funny watching her get nailed in the face, too. Let’s see how hard the ball can bounce off Katnips Everslip’s tiny head! she could hear the idiots snickering. Marvel always did have a small ego. And of course, like always, Peeta just went along with it because that’s what Peeta did. Just go along with anything his friends suggested, even if meant injuring an innocent bystander.

“So why’d you throw it at me?” she point-blank asked, crossing her arms. “Did Marvel put you up to it? Cato?”

His face quickly went from apologetic smiles to annoyance, rolling his eyes at her sneer. “You know, Katniss, believe it or not, accidents do happen.”

“Accident? Please,” she scoffed. “I know you, Peeta. You don’t do accidents. Everything you do is strategically planned and executed with exact precision. So who dared you? It was Marvel, wasn’t it?”

He looked back at his buddies and laughed, shaking his head incredulously. “I’m touched that you think I’m so robotic, Katniss, truly, but believe whatever the fuck you want. I said it was an accident because it was an accident.”

“Just answer the question.”

“I already did.” He leaned toward her, his dark blue eyes mocking, and tapped the football on her nose with a smug smile, walking back over to his friends. Some of the guys made kissy faces at his return, laughing when Peeta shoved them to quit it, but he was laughing along with them.

Katniss’ nails dug into her palms as she watched them, briefly wondering if someone could be glared to death. God, they were the worst.

“Wow,” Leevy breathed, watching the trumpet players, too. “The sexual tension is strong today. Felt like I was in a movie just now.”

She turned to her friend, incredulous. “Sexual tension? With Peeta Mellark?” She gagged at the thought. “Did you not just see him be a complete ass to me? He hit me with a football!”

“Yeah and apologized for it.” Katniss rolled her eyes at the low standard bar Leevy had for apologies. Peeta’s apology was obviously fake and what about that annoying ball tap to the nose? Did she not see how condescending that was? “You two are so going to bone by the end of this year.”

The bell rang before Katniss could choke out a rebuttal.

#Everlark fanfiction #The Hunger Games fanfiction #Everlark fanfic #Everlark #The Hunger Games #My writing #Marching band fic #The Dance of the Color Guard Op. 64 #I hope you all enjoy #Let me know what you think!#:)

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mychemicalxmen · 4 years

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The Umbrella Academy College Theatre Kid AU Plot

Alright bitches, ask and ye shall receive.

Here’s the 6k summary of this ten-chapter monstrosity I almost wrote a year ago and just now attempted to flesh out.

Canon divergence from the point of their birth onward. The Commission doesn’t exist here, it would just make everything a little too complicated. No Luther/Allison either, personal preference. If anyone would want to try writing or drawing a scene from this universe, I would be over the heckin moon, please feel free to do w/e if any part of this inspires anyone. And if anyone just wants to shoot hc, pop off!

But yeah. This is a crack concept treated dead seriously. Buckle up.

Chapter One - “Overture”

-I wrote this chapter, but it’s Really Not Good. I had just watched the show and hadn’t written fic in a Hot Minute.

-Welcome to Umbrella University, a top-tier school with a sacrilegiously large budget for the fine arts!

-They’re all freshman atm.

-Basically, all of our kiddos (except Five, we’ll get there) are cleaning the theater between shows in the fall season. Allison is acting House Crew Chief and is overseeing the whole thing. The others are on House Crew for various reasons - tech class credit, volunteer hours, etc. No one is actually studying theatre for their major except Allison, who’s double-majoring in acting and something else

-They’re essentially strangers (except Ben and Klaus, who are assigned roommates). They’re all aware of their own powers, but not any of the others’.

-As they clean, the host on the radio is going on about the one-year anniversary of his favorite “Hargreeves Five” (the current Academy, made up of different kids from the 43, and definitely not based on the ASBO Five) battle, apprehending a robber named Erick Webber in New York City. He was a starving actor who stole from large donation funds that were supposed to be distributed to other starving artists. The battle got violent, and fire got involved. What a spectacle!

-Vanya, who has accidentally skipped her meds that day, sees a rat and screams, prompting Luther to drop the lighting equipment he’s working on. Loud sound. Telekinetic energy starts going.

-There is a comically convenient chain reaction in which all of the siblings’ powers are triggered at once - Diego throws something, Klaus levitates, the Horror has to hold up the light rig, Allison has to rumor to memory-wipe the witnesses, etc.

-Once they have the situation under control, they realize it’s… weird. The odds are absolutely astronomical. How the hell did they all end up in the same place??

-There’s no reason to believe anyone brought them together on purpose, except maybe fate, or whatever Mysterious Space Magic caused their birth in the first place. They have a private House Crew meeting with a lot of freaking out and questions and bonding.

Chapter Two - “God I Hope I Get It”

-Fast forward to junior year. Since that fateful day, the theater has become the siblings’ home base. Luther is the shop foreman this year, Allison is seated at the right hand of the theatre department director (a sharp middle-aged woman who directs half of the shows), Diego knows his way around lights, and Klaus frequently builds and paints in the scene shop. Allison’s the only one of them who actually performs.

-The fall season includes Hair and Othello, and the joint audition for both is quickly approaching.

-Vanya, however, has been drifting away from it all for some reason. Allison finds her in the quad one day and encourages her to audition for Othello. Apparently, the theatre director has observed Vanya’s love of reading plays from afar and asked for her specifically. Vanya doesn’t want to go anywhere near the theater, but she’s touched by Allison’s belief in her and reluctantly says she’ll think about it.

-Diego is going through his classes and can’t help but feel like there’s this one freshman that’s just… following him. Looking at him funny. Keeps showing up in all his usual spots. Must be one of those obnoxious wiz kids - there’s no way in hell that he’s eighteen years old.

-Vanya has a monologue in her back pocket, her favorite from Winter’s Tale, ready to go. But when the day of the audition comes, she walks into the theater for the first time in months, and she breaks down and runs to the bathroom. Allison is too busy helping the director to console her, so she sends Klaus to check on her.

-Klaus talks to her through the door and tries to hype her up for the audition. Ghost!Ben tells him to reel it in.

-Vanya eventually admits that she drifted away from the theater because it was always a special place for the six of them, but after Ben died in a car crash in sophomore year, thinking about it just broke her heart all over again.

-Klaus doesn’t quite have the tact of language to bring her comfort, but Ben does. Without revealing he can see Ben, Klaus just echoes his words. Saying that Ben would still want her to be happy here. Saying that it’s okay to take time to work through all those feelings. He stays there until Vanya’s calm enough to come out of the bathroom, hug him for a really long time, and then go into her audition.

-The cast lists go out, and all the siblings run to see the one for Othello. Allison is the stage manager, to the surprise of no one, and has already seen that she’ll be playing Dionne in Hair. The headmaster’s kid (who I never gave a name, so let’s just call him Ollie) is playing Othello, some guy named Leonard is playing Roderigo, and Vanya is playing Desdemona. While they’re leaving to celebrate, Diego sees The Weird Freshman sign his initial on the cast list, confirming his role. He takes a peek at it later and wonders how this five-foot-six gremlin was cast as Iago, and what kind of a name is Five, anyway?

Chapter Three - “Good Morning Starshine”

-Production on Hair has begun.

-Diego is still a vigilante, but like, specifically for the college’s organization for fighting sexual harassment. Make no mistake, he is not endorsed by the club in any way, shape, or form. But when fellow criminal justice major Eudora Patch gets catcalled on a late night walk home from the library, a fraternity douchebag gets his hoodie pinned to the wall with a knife and receives an extremely harsh talking-to.

-Eudora just sighs into the darkness like “Diego was that really necessary” and keeps walking and Diego runs up to meet her like “yes??”

-Insert exposition here about how they’re exes but there’s still that Tension and fond bickering from the show. Eudora thinks he should get involved in other things on campus, but he immediately rejects it. No. Nope. Nothing else going on. Just lights. And Batman.

-Luther and Allison often hang out in one of the hallways of the theater for lunch. Allison complains that she’s in charge of a lot of little projects in the program, and it’s hard to get people to listen to her. Luther complains that Diego hasn’t been showing up to help in the shop lately. Even though Diego’s not officially on set crew, it’s a little suspicious that he hasn’t been around.

-The mainstage theater has been going through a very fancy refurbishment, and a new chandelier just came in. How the department has the money for a chandelier, no one has any idea. There’s an inside joke that the theatre director must be having a scandalous lesbian affair with the headmaster.

-After a while, Luther enlists Klaus to help him to figure out what Diego’s hiding. With their single shared braincell, it takes them a little too long to realize that Diego’s name is on the Hair cast list. But that can’t possibly be right.

-Luther and Klaus sneak into the blackbox (a smaller, more intimate theater) in the middle of a Hair rehearsal and, sure enough, holy shit, Diego is actually onstage as one of the tribe people, lowkey having the time of his life.

-Enter UT Dallas transfer David Katz in the role of Claude. And it’s just. On sight. Klaus is down for the goddamn count.

-“Who is that??” “I know, right? Like, that’s our brother.” “No, no, not him. The really pretty one.”

-At the end of whatever song they’re doing, Diego locks eyes with Luther and almost dies of embarrassment right then and there.

-Cue big long childish argument of “why didn’t you tell us you had any interest in being in the musical?” and “I didn’t know I had any interest either oKAY you weren’t supposed to find out” “how wouldn’t we have found out you IDIOT we LIVE HERE.”

-At the end of rehearsal, Diego is feeling entirely beaten down. As is Allison, up to her eyeballs in responsibility. They sit on the loading dock and Diego admits he didn't want to make a big deal out of the fact that he was in Hair. But he’s actually really digging the songs and the messages and the comradery. Even though musical theatre is dumb. Allison assures him it’s nothing to be embarrassed about.

Chapter Four - “What’s the Buzz?”

-Production on Othello has begun.

-Fluffy opening that’s just a montage of Disaster Klaus repeatedly trying to justify sitting in on Hair rehearsal. “Sure, Allison, let me cut out those gels.” “Sure, Dance Captain, I can record the choreography.” “Shut up, Ben, I’m just really into American military history.”

-Meanwhile he’s just…… watching the show, listening to Dave sing, waiting for the right moment to strike up a Totally Casual Conversation with him.

-And it happens! Eventually.

-Diego meets Eudora on the loading dock and comes clean to her about the fact that he’s in the musical. Eudora is shocked and amused and teases him a little for it, but she’s ultimately supportive. And endeared. Cute bickering.

-When she leaves for her next class, Five is six feet away sipping coffee like “Oh, you’re both the same major? Aww that’s adorable.”

-Diego finally confronts him and asks him what his deal is and Five says something cryptic about “Reggie’s bastards”. Diego grabs him by the arm and drags him to the empty dressing room and interrogates him on everything he knows.

-Five is somewhere in his thirties, he can teleport, his body’s been screwed up by time travel complications, he knows about all the others, and he’s “played a game of hopscotch with an unsympathetic god”. When asked why he came back to this time in particular, he dodges the question with some snarky reply of how he’s not sure he made the right call.

-They decide not to tell everyone else all at once, until they hear faint movement. They find Klaus buried under a throw blanket on The Couch that every theater has, a little stoned, stirring from a midday dressing room nap.

-”I’m a BOY in LOVE, leave me aLONE.”

Chapter Five - “No One is Alone”

-Once again, Allison is overwhelmed. She had rumored her way into the double major when she didn’t actually have the high school credits necessary to graduate on time, but since meeting the other siblings, she’d sworn off using her power. If she was caught, it could start a breadcrumb trail to the others and expose all of them. And like, they just want to get out of here with their degrees, man.

-The theatre department director has had to assign her the most incompetent freshmen in the world to manage with assorted housekeeping tasks. They have an attitude, they don’t know how anything works, and Allison simply doesn’t have the time to lead them. She comes to the theatre director to explain this.

-And for the first time in a long while, the director expresses sternness to her. And it hurts.

-”Come on, Allison, we both know you’re good with people. You can be very persuasive when you want to be. You will work this out.”

-It’s very pointed. She will work this out. There is no other option.

-And. Not to be self-centered, but the spring musical is going to be Cabaret, and Allison has been convinced she had Sally Bowles in the bag. But if she gets on the director’s bad side halfway through junior year…

-It’s a particularly tense day, ten minutes before she has to sign in for Hair rehearsal. Some poor freshman is organizing the costume closet and just doesn’t get it and doesn’t want to be here and the director demands that this is done by the end of the day.

-So. It’s just one. It’s no big deal. She just heard the oddest little rumor that the student could make the closet perfectly tidy within the hour.

-Five and Vanya are at rehearsal for Othello. Now that he’s actually talked to Diego and Klaus, he feels a little more at ease being in this place and time. The two have plenty of time to chat while on breaks. And because Vanya is such a chill, calming force compared to the stubborn and impulsive Diego, it goes a lot smoother.

-Neither of them can stand Ollie, the headmasters’ pretentious son who’s playing Othello, going on and on about his actor step-brother in New York. Whatever. He likes to creep around the scene shop, too. Like he’s judging the tech. I’d like to see YOU pick up a drill, sir.

-He’s also really close to the theatre director. No one’s ever heard them interact, but they’ve sure seen them together. And he’s not even putting in all the hours for her that Allison is.

-Vanya and Five probably get coffee before rehearsal. Run lines. Five rambles about the flaws in Shakespeare’s philosophies over an americano. And they eventually tell each other their stories.

-Pogo had gone with Sir Reginald to examine the children and their potential prior to adoption. Reginald’s technology sensed great power in Vanya, even as an infant. After Vanya’s mother refused to sell, Pogo went behind Reginald’s back and made contact with the mother, advising her on how to suppress Vanya’s powers (but not emotions) with medication whenever they couldn’t be internally controlled. Vanya was good at self-control for much of her childhood, but the adjustment to college and grief of losing Ben put her back in a risky zone, so she’s been leaning a little more heavily on her medicine these days. She knows the adrenaline she gets onstage is good and natural, but it makes her nervous about forgetting a dose again.

-Five’s mother was quite a character. The name came from the fact that, during birth, Five first hit the air at exactly 12:00:05.

-Five had practiced his time jumps all through his childhood. (With none of the spite and rush he had in canon, he had no need to leap years right away, so he took it slow.) Sometimes he would get stuck in a place for a while, but his mom was cool and understood this. He would adapt to the new environment, anywhere between hours and weeks, and jump right back when he got enough rest to use his power again. There were some bugs, some problems with exact accuracy of destination, but he was always working on it. He was very lonely, though, never getting to meet with any of the other 43 and being discouraged from doing so by his mother.

-There was a portion of the future he got stuck in as a teenager in which the nation was governed by a tyrannical organization called “The Macbeth Enterprise”.

-Vanya immediately tries to shush him at this point in the story because he said the Bad Theatre Word. The director is very superstitious. She takes it deadly seriously and has threatened to actually penalty anyone who says it in the theater. Five just chuckles.

-And luckily, they’re rehearsing in the blackbox today, so even if the director could hear, it’s not “in the theater”.

-The future he saw was a century ahead of them, far beyond their lifetime. He was able to glean a little information about the origins of the Enterprise, but he shares none of this with Vanya. Firstly, those in power had high-tech augmentation that gave them a perfect replica of the kind of superpowers the 43 had - mind manipulation, immortality, etc. And secondly, they were credited with destroying the Hargreeves Five. As if the Hargreeves Five were a danger to society.

-What he does tell Vanya is that he’d never made any attempt to change the timeline before, but that’s just what he decided to do. With what little information he had, the only thing he could think of was to ruin the Enterprise’s namesake.

-Five spent literal years of his life, traveling from city to city across centuries, dooming various productions of Macbeth with Commission-level pragmatism until the name of the play itself became the taboo we know irl today.

-Vanya’s laughing. Five is too, honestly. It’s crazy.

-But he didn’t do what he did out of a ridiculous dare to himself. He did it out of desperation to not only to save the country, but to save his family as well. The family he’d never known. The kids all across the globe who went through the same strange hell of differentness that he had since birth. The Hargreeves Five, of course, needed to survive, as they’re responsible for maintaining peace on earth anyway. But if the Hargreeves Five were hunted down, why would the Enterprise stop there? Wouldn’t all 43 of them be in danger? Would all their gifts be harvested from them, and would they then be thrown away?

-But who knows if Five actually made a difference? He prays that it did. But the years of isolation in his personal mission convinced him of one thing - he should know his family. He had no idea when the country would start falling to shit - if it still would - but he could keep an eye on it alongside people who understood him. And with his foresight, maybe they could rise against the evil together.

-And maybe he was just so tired of being alone.

-So, digging was done through the Internet and several libraries in several eras. He found his insertion point at the University. He knew he’d have to look a little younger to fit in.

-But naturally, he got some equations wrong.

-Eventually, Five is formally introduced to Luther and Allison, who welcome him with slight skepticism, followed by a strong bear hug. Five’s not sure how to take the physical affection. He nods, which is a completely normal response to a hug, wraps his arms back around them, and tries to keep his eyes from leaking.

Chapter Six - “Whispering”

-It’s tech week of Hair, and because he’s been blowing his voice out in rehearsal from underdeveloped technique, Diego is on vocal rest.

-Most of this chapter is Diego Is On Vocal Rest and Everyone Gives Him Shit About It in a Loving Way.

-“Everyone” includes Eudora. She just bought her tickets for opening night.

-One early afternoon, Luther and Klaus are back in the scene shop together - Luther’s moving some lumber around and Klaus is carefully painting a setting onto a flat - and Luther vents that he’s not looking forward to running spotlight on Othello. He knows he can do it, but he wishes the theatre director would trust him with more authority and let him be Technical Director.

-Ben is eternally rolling his eyes and bitching about how entitled Luther sounds. He’s already the goddamn shop foreman. Klaus tries not to laugh at how annoyed Ben is about this.

-“But Diego could totally go back to lights for Othello! Hair will be over by then! He’s the pro! If I were TD I’d put him back on in an instant!”

-Dave wanders into the shop and says “hey” and Klaus nearly drops his wet paint brush onto the floor.

-After the brief succession of clumsy attempts Klaus had made to connect with Dave, Dave is actually bothering to return the effort.

-Luther is oblivious as hell while he’s toting the lumber around just like “Oh hi! Welcome! You’re new right? I’m Luther. I’m the shop foreman. You ever been on a tech crew before?” and this whole cringey spiel of small talk he usually gives to new students.

-About a minute into the small talk Luther finally sees how awkward Dave feels and how tense Klaus looks and he’s just like ohhhhh.

-He moves his task about eight feet further away to give them some space to talk. Even though that’s definitely not where the lumber is supposed to go. He just doesn’t want to make it weirder.

-Anyway. Insert fluff that isn’t obscenely flirtatious but is like… flirting with flirtatious.

-Later on that day, Leonard is tapped by the headmaster to join Student Government. Must’ve been one hell of a GPA. The new commitment forces him to give up the part of Roderigo in Othello.

-Leonard tells Allison this. Shit. Just what she needed today. She turns to her assistant stage manager and murmurs, shrugging off the guilt as she says it: “I heard a rumor you broke the news to our director as gently as possible.”

-After an eternity of assembling, dusting, and re-dusting, the Umbrella University theater chandelier is finally risen, ready for the first show of the season.

Chapter Seven - “The Life of the Party”

-After a hurried round of reviewing the audition tapes from the beginning of the year, Dave has been cast to fill the part of Roderigo.

-The technical director of Othello quit. No one’s really sure why. He was solid. But Luther’s been asked to step up, and he’s been trusted to pick anyone he wants to fill his previous spot on lights.

-Cue super petty conversation about how they both know Diego’s bomb at lights but they still annoy each other just by existing. Nonetheless, Diego agrees to hop onto Othello crew.

-Guess what, y’all, it’s opening night of Hair.

-Hard cut to Eudora, Luther, and Klaus, standing awkwardly together in the theater lobby, holding bouquets of various sizes and colors, convincing themselves that it’s a totally platonic gift to give to an actor.

-The show goes great. At the end of opening weekend, the cast and crew and friends go out to celebrate at the local bar and grill.

-At some point, the drinks are on Ollie, and everyone knows he and his mom are loaded. So. More drinks are had than ought to be had.

-ESPECIALLY by Five. He starts rambling about this girl named Delores in his quantum physics class and how he’s not sure if he’s allowed to find her attractive because of how complicated his age is.

-Vanya needed to get drunk. She deserved it. Now she’s yelling about this girl named Sissy in her chamber orchestra. What is happening.

-I’m not saying that Klaus and Dave had their first kiss while buzzed and behind the TUA equivalent of an Applebee’s, but I’m not not saying it.

-Luther has like two beers and starts getting emotional about how pretty the moon is.

-In classes the next morning, everyone’s hungover as shit.

-Except Allison, who was the extra careful Mom Friend and made sure her siblings made it home safe.

-Except Klaus. Who. Y’know. Didn’t really make it home. Ben goes to his 8 AM and takes Ghost Notes for him.

-Sometime that week, Luther comes into the director’s office with a question and sees her finishing a phone call, looking distraught.

-He asks if she’s okay. She doesn’t want to explain, but it eventually comes out that her son was in an accident of sorts three years ago. It’s almost the anniversary. He just got another treatment for the burn scars across half of his face. The director is still grieving the fact that it’s highly unlikely he’ll find success in his dream to be a Broadway actor.

-Luther warns Allison that the director might be in a worse mood this week. So that’s great.

-At an Othello rehearsal, Allison is calling cues from her promptbook. She pretty much has them memorized. But apparently, as the theatre director tells her, she keeps getting them wrong today?

-Allison could swear that last time she was at rehearsal, her book was different. What she’s reading is unfamiliar - lefts instead of rights, blue-outs instead of black-outs, etc. So she’s stumbling.

-On break, the theatre director expresses her frustration to Allison. We’re almost in tech week, for God’s sake. Allison apologizes and promises it won’t happen in the run.

-Allison blames her screw-ups on the stress of her overcommitments. Vanya sees she’s a little upset after the exchange and invites her to hang with her and Five after rehearsal.

-Vanya and Five have actually opened a pretty decent dialogue on mental health as it relates to their abilities, with Five’s powers damaging his psychological state and Vanya’s mood being an element of her telekinesis. Vanya reminds Allison that she’s got a lot on her plate, so she should try to take it easy where she can.

-Vanya still has anxiety, and it tends to flare at the part in the play where Othello smothers Desdemona with a pillow. They had worked out a safe plan in rehearsal. The pillow is thin and held at an angle so Vanya can still breathe, and it is only going to be held for a count of twelve. No longer, no shorter.

-Vanya and her siblings also take some more time to bitch about Ollie, too. Did you hear him accidentally call the director “mom” the other day? How embarrassing. What a dork.

-Hair closes and Othello tech week begins.

-A new batch of freshman House Crew members are cleaning up the theater one day with the radio on.

-It’s now the three year anniversary of the host’s favorite Hargreeves Five battle, a showdown against aspiring actor and convicted robber Erick Webber that went up in flames.

Chapter Eight - “Brush Up Your Shakespeare”

-The twelve-hour cue-to-cue tech rehearsal for Othello is a nightmare. But aren’t all cue-to-cues nightmares?

-They are.

-There might be some fluffy sibling stuff here, but nothing important. Luther, Diego, and Allison are speaking on headset with each other (“on com”). The channel also includes the assistant stage manager and assistant tech director.

-About five hours in, Luther and Diego get real sick of each other. Luther is redundant with his directions. Diego knows what to do. Diego keeps jumping the gun on cues. Passive aggression ensues.

-Allison has had it up to HERE and says “Look, if you’re gonna be children, can you please do it on a different channel?”

-And they do. They dedicate a whole other radio channel to Luther and Diego arguing where the rest of the crew can’t hear it.

-It’s during the cue-to-cue that Allison screws up the calls one too many times - is someone editing her promptbook when she’s not around? - and gets one more comment from the director. It’s worded like encouragement but spoken like a threat.

-“Allison, you were doing so well with the freshman. Just tell yourself you can do this. You’ll be perfect.”

-At lunch break, she wants to collapse. She goes to the bathroom, locks the door, and looks into the mirror.

-“I heard a rumor that you followed that promptbook perfectly.”

-The day after cue-to-cue, Vanya realizes she’s lost her meds. They have to be in the theater somewhere, but she can’t find them. Her siblings assure her that being in the show has improved her overall confidence, and they’ll all come running if she starts to have a meltdown for any reason. She’ll be able to control her emotions until she can get a refill. This warms her lil heart.

-The final dress rehearsals come to pass. Vanya continues to flourish. Five continues to impress and confound. Allison is flawless. Luther and Diego get over themselves. Klaus and Eudora get front row seats for opening night. It’s going to be a packed house. The local news are coming and filming segments to promote the program. As if the program needs any more support. The chandelier still boggles the mind.

-Opening night. The show is going spectacularly until Act V, when Ollie starts pressing the pillow over Vanya’s face.

-This is always the hard part. But it’s just a count of twelve, underscored by two bars of music.

-Until it isn’t.

-Ollie keeps pressing. This wasn’t what we rehearsed.

-Allison sees this from the booth and almost feels like they should call a hold, but her rumor kicks in and she can’t help but keep calling the show as normal.

-Vanya starts to hear the music amplified in her ears and starts to lose control of her power.

-Luther and Diego are both in Allison’s headset as the building starts to shake. “Allison, you need to call hold. Right now. Call hold!”

-Panicking, Vanya sends a pulse of energy out, knocking Ollie halfway across the stage, sending the flats crashing down, and shattering a row of stage lights. When she stands up, Ollie is smiling.

-The news crew caught it on tape. The audience is freaking out. Most of them try to flee but are trapped inside at the back of the house.

-Allison’s next call is the newest and strangest unauthorized edit she’s seen in her promptbook. It’s for the wrong play.

-“Spot B to Macbeth.”

-At the first time that its trigger phrase has ever been uttered in the building, the chandelier starts to glow and expand. Then, it drops, lower and lower, until it is right in front of the stage.

-It was never just a chandelier. It’s a piece of extra-terrestrial technology. Standing on the shelf on top of it are the director and the headmaster.

Chapter Nine - “The Point of No Return”

-I don’t know exactly how I’d reveal all of this, but here’s the gist.

-By the way, this is them coming out as extra-as-hell supervillains. So the way this is revealed is probably extra as hell.

-The director’s son is Erick Webber, a starving artist who resorted to a life of crime to pay his bills and got himself tangled with the Hargreeves Five, who are responsible for half of his face burning in the heat of battle.

-The director and the headmaster actually have been romantically involved for a few years, all but legally married.

-When the directors’ son was forever barred from the career of his dreams, the director and very wealthy headmaster first got together. The headmaster got her a job at the school.

-They wanted revenge for their son. But they also deduced that the Hargreeves Five were too immature for their powers and potential to ruin lives. They were just dumb kids. Their powers must be taken from them and placed into more capable hands.

-The couple had done extensive research, learned about the power potential in the 43, tracked down as many of them as they could find - preferably those already living in America - and hired all sorts of people and services to promote Umbrella University to them. They offered each one of them a sizable scholarship.

-They got seven of them.

-And they arranged meetings with characters that Hargreeves had done some shady deals with so they could acquire the otherworldly technology needed to set their plan into motion.

-And Macbeth was the trigger word for the invention - the story of an old celebrated king slain to make room for the rightful leader, as plotted by an empowered and bloodthirsty woman - so they had to put it in a theater. They had to ensure the trigger wasn’t spoken in the room until the correct time.

-Five realizes at this point that the efforts he made to change the past didn’t stop the Macbeth Enterprise, it just gave them a way more convenient origin. God dammit.

-The siblings realize Ollie was in on the whole thing. He had to make sure all seven of the kids were in the theater at the right time, so he snooped around and reported back to the Evil Moms. They let Luther be TD so Diego could cover lights. They cast Five, made Allison recruit Vanya, and made Allison SM. They took out Leonard and cast Dave to ensure Klaus and Ben would be there for opening. Ollie hid Vanya’s pills during the cue-to-cue.

-Allison realizes the director knew about her power all along and really was suggesting that she use it. Allison had done exactly what they wanted her to. They must’ve had someone re-do the promptbook each day and everything.

-The point is, there’s now news footage of a girl with unpredictably dangerous powers ruining a perfectly good school play and two women making a solid case that these children can’t be trusted with their gifts. The chandelier machinery revs up to perform its task - stripping all of their powers away.

-Five knows it won’t end there - the powers will be turned against the Hargreeves Five. Their abilities will be harvested too. And the hands that they’ll all end up in will be military-minded and will seize control of the nation, ruling by fear.

-There’s an extensive fight scene here. One that, again, I have no idea how I would write. It’s something that involves a level of family teamwork that they would not have if the theatre program didn’t bring them so close together in the first place. So it’s pretty ironic and kinda sweet.

-We find out that Dave and Eudora are absolutely ride-or-die for their idiot boyfriends that they just found out have terrifying superpowers, and they each have a moment where they contribute to the takedown.

-Ben is summoned because he legally has to be. The Horror can do some serious damage to the machine, and he finds he’s unaffected by its drainage because he’s dead as hell.

-Vanya grabs a violin from the pit where the underscoring was being played and shreds away at it to channel her power.

-The fight has heavy parallels to the prologue scene, where everyone’s powers went berserk because Vanya saw a rat and freaked out. Except there’s obviously a lot more at stake and a lot more direction in it.

-All of that gets resolved, somehow. Any of their power that gets drained gets returned to them once they get the machine shut down. Luther effortlessly snaps the tape of evidence in half.

-Allison uses her last rumor of junior year to memory-wipe and send away the cameramen and the witnesses.

-Except Eudora and Dave, who are surprisingly chill about this and promise to keep it all secret.

-The gang has no idea how to explain all the damage to the authorities, but the Criminal Justice Duo knows how to detain the bad guys in the costume closet and highlight some evidence to draw the focus to the less-than-legal dealings they made to set up their plot in the first place.

-Corruption? In college administration?? Pssshhh noooooooo never.

-The story embedded in the rumor is that the chandelier overheated and combusted, so everyone ran out. The police will discover the alien tech and go from there.

-Still, the superpower squad realizes they should lay low. Play dumb if interviewed. Skip class for a couple days and stay far away from the theatre department.

-Diego is up on the catwalk - the walkway above the audience where they maneuver the spotlights - collecting his stuff. He hears some footsteps on the ladder and sees Eudora climbing up to meet him.

-Diego starts to say something snarky and casual and Eudora’s like “No. Shut up. Just. Please. Shut up.” and kisses him.

-After weeks of pretending not to care as much as they really did and a solid half hour of having no idea if the other would live or die, here they are, standing over the decimated theater, finally at ease in each other’s arms

Chapter Ten - “Curtain Call”

-And that’s… it. When the siblings start coming back to classes, no one comes after them for whatever happened.

-Needless to say, the rest of the run of Othello has been cancelled. All theatre classes will be moved online or converted to classroom formats until repairs can be made to the building. There’s a new interim headmaster and theatre department director.

-It’s going to take forever for them to fix the damage done to the theater, and even when they do, it doesn’t feel right to keep that as their home base. So, where to now? How are they gonna fill the rest of their electives?

-All of the fine arts buildings are stacked close together. Music major Vanya has an idea.

-Second semester, Diego takes beginning percussion. Luther joins the marching band (and far exceeds the athletic demands for it). Klaus picks guitar back up. Allison ventures into vocal jazz. Five is a natural at composition.

-Sharing practice rooms. Cramming for theory exams. The entire works. They’re music kids now!

-They’re thrilled when they find out that all of their respective ensembles will be featured in the spring concert.

-But does the conductor of Vanya’s chamber orchestra seem a little… eccentric to you?

...

im a broken woman from this. god dammit.

#tua #the umbrella academy #what the hell else to tag this as #diedora #klave #Reginald They're Thespians #the chapter titles are semi-relevant names of show songs ha get it??

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teacherintransition · 3 years

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The Ugly American...who? Me?

My wife an I have become avid travelers and the closing of countries due to Covid-19 has hit us in the heart...

The time at home has given me chance to read about travel and given me pause to re-evaluate my behavior while abroad in the past and for the future...

The Ugly American, a novel written in the late 1950’s and which was a The New York Times Best Seller, was written by political scientist Eugene Burdick and writer and former U.S. Navy captain William Lederer. The book took a much needed look at the behavior of Americans traveling abroad; from the rugged backpacker hiking India to the field State Department personnel actually presenting the “official face” of our country in the international community. Prior to World War 1, most international travel by Americans was done by the wealthy elite among society. The “common” man through the tribulations of war, was given the opportunity to experience European culture and a yearning for seeing the world was fostered. If fact, there was a saying after WWI, “how you gonna keep Johnny on the farm after he’s seen Paree (Paris)?” The travel bug... wanderlust was born in the hearts of the middle class and gave rise to this phenomenon in film and in books written by Jack Kerouac, Cheryl Strayed, Ernest Hemingway up to contemporary writers like Anthony Bourdain, Andrew Sean Greer and Elizabeth Gilbert. Even Rick Steves who has become a knowledgeable source of traveling information with his travel guide series, has presented an informative open minded view of travel abroad.

All of these written treasures of traveling the world unveils to readers the magic that is to be found by stepping out your front door. The Ugly American presents a scathing look at how the “American” while overseas, displays an arrogant , intolerant, dismissive view of cultures far older and in many cases, more refined than ours. Burdick and Lederer’s book is set within the intrigues of international diplomacy and how that uniquely American view creates failure in the establishment of effective foreign policy. The authors listed and many more besides, instruct their readers to varying degrees to take more note of the intricate nuances a traveler should pay attention to and to show respect and admiration for the centuries of history and culture that exists all around us and that is not American. There is a common thread throughout all their works about what is missed when we stand outside and dismiss the uniqueness of every nation we might visit, instead of immersing oneself and appreciating it in a culture not our own. The “ugly American” has become a mythos of how Americans respond critically to anything that is not “MURICAN!”

Several other factors besides short sighted American foreign policy have contributed to the yoke placed on Americans traveling: cutthroat business practices while dealing with European, Asian and African countries; missionaries whose demonstrate a dismissive view of spiritual practices that have existed for millennia and, quite honestly, the behavior of tourists while abroad. Many experienced travelers draw a clear distinction between the tourist and the traveler. Kathryn Walsh differentiates the two in the following way:

Tourists

It's usually easy for locals to spot a tourist among them. A tourist may carry a camera, guidebook and map at all times and wear the same clothing he'd wear at home. Tourists tend to stay in their comfort zones a bit; they may speak only English instead of trying to learn phrases in the local language; stick to major cities instead of venturing to smaller towns or off-the-beaten-path locales; and stay in areas where the amenities are similar to what they have at home.

Travelers

Generally speaking, someone who considers himself a traveler will try to immerse himself in the local culture rather than standing out. If you're a traveler, you may try to explore the less-traveled areas and explore locations where tourism doesn't drive the economy. You'll interact with locals. Your goals for a trip will be to learn and experience new things, rather than to take a relaxing break from everyday life. A traveler may consider a trip a journey rather than a vacation.

The traveler presents a deferential, respectful and admiring view of the nations they are visiting and adopt the wise phrase from antiquity: “when in Rome do as the Romans.”

There is nothing wrong with being a tourist, often it is the less expensive approach to travel, unless you become the arrogant American tourist then perhaps you need to reassess. Travel is a big part of my retirement plans and goals, but you know what they say about the best laid plans. Two highly anticipated trips with two years involved in planning were rescheduled due to the Covid-19 pandemic, a disappointment we shared with thousands of tourists and travelers alike; and further postponements may continue to confront us. Perspective is needed in such a situation as being denied travel is far below other struggles this event has presented all of us. That being said, it has been a terrible disappointment down to my bones. We’ve missed much needed fellowship time with great friends, the excitement of seeing new places, the immersion in the culture and history of the locales, and, for me personally, our yearly travels have been my muse and inspiration for so much of my art. It’s akin to being very thirsty and having only a few drops to suffice. Introspection is the course of action when hopefully contemplating the possibility of the trips occurring.

To satiate the urge, we’ve read and watched travel programs in the interim and have evaluated our connection to the Ugly American concept? Are we ...them? In our past travels, have we appeared at all dismissive of the people and practices of the places we’ve visited? My wife and I have always been in awe of our travel destinations, so I feel fairly confident that we have not displayed the aforementioned arrogance of many American travelers. The thought that then arises is how much we have not allowed ourselves to be immersed in the culture; which, in the long run, is a detriment to us more than anyone. Our minds are open and willing to become part of the places we visit, but if we eliminate the brusque nature of so many Americans while overseas, what is the stumbling block that draws such distinctions when traveling? I fully concede that most Americans feel they have little to learn from many places on this planet, more is the pity, and there is much flawed thinking that goes into this mindset; but what fundamental differences exist between the cultures? I came across a very enlightening blog article written by Alain Veilell that was spot on in identifying the differences. Veilell simply observed that we run on different clocks. Not literal clocks but a “clock” obsessed with structure and deadline.... hello Americans! Veilell notes that Europeans start late and end late, while American and many Asian cultures start early and end early. Americans tend to view the un-regimented approach as being akin to laziness. I coached soccer and baseball for many years and many of my Latino players would not be as punctual as my other players. They were as talented and competitive, but their homes weren’t ruled by the seconds on a clock. Dinner started later, lasted longer, the dishes could wait... the priority was the quality of interaction with the people your with... ah, there it is ... sort of.

The average American meal last twenty minutes, while the average meal in Spain, for example, lasts two hours. They certainly don’t eat as much as Americans so why all the extra time? Why should time even be a factor so often? It’s the conversation and fellowship that is the priority not timing. While without question, the structured regimentation is a contributing factor to the American commitment to financial success, it also contributes to hypertension, stress, anxiety, depression and conflict that might be avoided with having an extra glass of wine and talking and not worrying if dinner is on schedule. Taking a little more time, enjoying the moment, letting serendipity reign may not be part and parcel of the Puritan work ethic; but it plays a helluva big part in realizing “La Dolce Vita.” This perception of time throws the rhythm off for many American tourists and makes us the ones to call the front desk complaining that the folks in room 210 are just too loud at 9:30 pm. The local population may just be getting ready to start dinner at that time. Remember, “when in Rome do as the Romans?”

While traveling, often American tourists view differences as a personal affront. “ I have to ask for ice?’ “What, no air conditioner?’ “They call the restroom the toilet?’ “Ugh how vulgar ... and a bidet? You must be kidding?” Truth to tell, Americans also suffer from mischaracterization from travelers from abroad as well. If I had a nickel for ever foreign exchange student who thought that all of Texas was a giant ranch with everyone riding horses and wearing cowboy hats. I think though that visitors to our country more often than not allow themselves to be pleasantly surprised than to have their feathers ruffled. It seems that we allow the “ours is better than yours” mentality to outweigh the magic of the unknown and the different. Every spiritual guiding ethos advocates living in the moment, treasure what is happening right now, greet the unknown with hope not hostility. The ugly American leaves no room for such an upbeat approach. Superiority mentality leave very little to treasure in this magnificent world other than what is yours and that limits learning, excitement, growth and just the pure joy that comes from trekking this world.

Is this assessment of mine a blanket judgement? No, not at all but there is some truth to it and there is something to be learned. As I self analyze, I found that I may harbor some of these traits and it’s good that I have time to stand back and look ...to learn. The worthy goal of being an affirming member of this global community is a purpose that I seek; and the rewards are far beyond just being intrinsic but rewards the cultures you visit with an admiration and respect they deserve. As these thoughts have been put down, it reignites the hopes that the planned journeys come to realization with the anticipation of more to follow. No more ugly Americans, British, Japanese or what have you, just eager travelers wanting to see and experience all that this world has to offer. Happy travels my friends.

Burdick, Eugene Lederer, William; The Ugly American ; Norton Publications; 1958

Veilel, Alain; “Why don’t Europeans Travel to Cancun?;” Quora; October 8, 2020

Walsh, Kathryn. "Differences Between a Tourist and a Traveller" traveltips.usatoday.com, https://traveltips.usatoday.com/differences-between-tourist-traveller-103756.html. 5 April 2021.

Photo from https://www.myheritage.com/

Photo from https://openlibrary.org/authors/OL13640A/Ernest_Hemingway

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