#also good god i want to see this man in a pair of coveralls
Text
Taking Care of a Tired Sukuna
Sukuna has had a long day.
Well, night.
Morning.
Fuck.
Working construction had been twisting up his sleeping schedule. At this point, Sukuna was starting to feel it in his body; in the strain in his muscle, and the aches and pains that randomly gripped him.
They had him working on a new project that could only be done at night, while the public was off the main roads, and that meant his new work hours were starting from sometime in the middle of the evening and ending in the morning or the mid-afternoon. Being nocturnal wouldn't be so bad if his commute home wasn't during rush hour. The traffic was always worse when he just wanted to crawl onto his couch and fall asleep there. And when he does come home at the end of the day - he's aching, exhausted, and every bone in his body is vibrating with the noise from a jackhammer or the hum of a forklift.
Sukuna has always liked something that keeps him busy, interested, something that tests his strengths. So, he can't say that he hates the job, but he does wish that it wouldn't occupy so much of his time. He's wont to forget things when he's so wrapped up in a new task.
Like today, for example, when he finally swings his truck around the front of his apartment building, barely making it off the freeway without murdering someone, and he spots your car parked there in his spot.
He starts a bit, his sleep deprived brain suddenly spinning as memory serves him.
That's right. You were supposed to come over today after he got off of work and spend the night- and he didn't plan a damn thing. There's no flowers in the backseat, he didn't stop to grab lunch for the two of you, he doesn't even have anything in his fridge for dinner tonight, besides a few forgotten beers tucked away in the side door.
As Sukuna searches for a parking spot much further down the street, he knows he should be disappointed with himself, but he can't help the touch of excitement that's suddenly dissolving the exhaustion from his muscles. Sometimes, Sukuna resents the fact that you manage to reduce him to this. He hates that he can't control that his heart skips a beat at the thought of seeing you again, like he's in some sappy romance novel.
But it was the hold you had on him, and he was starting to accept it.
~
You got to Sukuna's apartment about two hours before he was scheduled to be home. It was a day off for you, and you woke up with butterflies fluttering around in your chest.
You were giddy to see him. You always were. And not a single butterfly has died in your heart-space for him since the moment you met Sukuna, around two years ago. He has tended to each of them since then with his gentle but stubborn touch, although, he would never admit it.
You adored him for that.
It's still early in the morning when you use the key he had made for you to unlock his front door. Immediately upon stepping in, you're hit with how dark his studio is. The sun had risen over the horizon hours ago, and yet, the only hint of its light came from a small gap in Sukuna's blackout curtains. When you pull them back, you turn around and wince at the room behind you.
Yep, he's working too hard.
There's construction tools all over the house; sitting on the counter, in the sink, on his bed-stand, there's even a huge oil covered machine beside the front door that you nearly trip on in your trek over to the curtain. His coveralls and work clothes are strewn across the living room like he's been too exhausted to even make it to his bed at the end of his days, which is not very far from the couch. Meanwhile, his bedroom and the kitchen look nearly immaculate, telling you he hasn't cooked in days and confirming your suspicions about his sleeping arrangements. You wander over to his fridge and pop it open, sighing hopelessly when you're greeted with nothing inside.
Good thing he has you.
~
By the time he makes it home, it's around one in the afternoon. You've got his laundry hanging on the clothesline outside, more in the washing machine, and all of his tools and odds and ends have been sorted and dusted clean. You've opened every window he has, and cool, fresh air sweeps away the oppressed darkness his apartment held before. Everything was back in equilibrium.
When his keys jingle outside the door, you're just finishing up the last of folding his laundry. Sukuna steps inside, and your heart aches at how drained he looks despite the way his eyes widen as he peers around the room in surprise. His clothes are covered in dust from the construction site, and there's a smear of dirt on his cheek that makes him look like a chimney sweep. There's a tool in his hand that looks rather heavy, straining the muscles in his arm, but he seems to have momentarily forgotten to put it down. Half moon circles are embedded under his eyes, but they only bring out the intensity of his gaze.
"Hi 'Kuna?" You chime, calling his attention to rest on you.
He blinks, taking a moment to process the situation. You don't recognize the glimmer in his eyes then, and part of you starts to sweat at the thought of him taking this all wrong. Sukuna had never been particularly picky with you, but vice versa, you had never done something like this for him before. He never gave you the opportunity, after all. Out of the two of you, Sukuna was usually the one who was always effortlessly put together.
"You... cleaned..." He notes.
You swallow, "I did but I didn't move things around though. Just tried to put things back. Your laundry is right outside and I got you some groceries-" Sukuna drops the tool in his hand without warning, and you start talking faster, your voice raising a pitch as he starts towards you. "Okay, thinking back, I guess I should have asked. Maybe texted- no, you hate texting. Maybe called-"
“Did you clean the paint specks off of my air compressor?” He was standing in front of the machine beside the front door, which you painstakingly made sure not to ruin in your cleansing, despite having no idea what it was.
When he looks at you for an answer, continuing to close the distance between the two of you. You swallow the rock in your throat. “Too much?”
He’s made his way across the room and his surprised expression finally settles into a familiar hungry grin. He grabs you by the hem of your jeans, yanking you roughly towards him. You catch yourself on his chest, making a small noise of surprise. When you look up to scold him, Sukuna is an inch away from your face, his lips almost brushing yours, save for half a centimeter of space between them. He smells like sawdust and menthol, you can taste it in the close proximity as he greedily takes your breath away.
“Off. Now.” He growls, but his fingers are already undoing the button clasped in the front of your pants. “I’m about to fuckin’ eat you, sweet thing.”
~
You end up skipping lunch, but you're well satisfied a few hours later. A certain hunger: satiated. Sukuna is resting peacefully beside you. You can hear his even breathing against the sound of the cicadas outside, screaming in through the windows. Seeing him so content, sets your heart at ease and you release a sigh of relief.
Now, to end the night, it was time to slip out of bed without him noticing to finish folding his laundry.
Or so you thought.
As you carefully peel back the blankets and try to sneak off the side of the mattress, a warm pair of fingers loop themselves around your panty line, effectively preventing you from going anywhere. Guiltily, you peek over your shoulder to see Sukuna glaring at you with half of his face still smushed into his pillow, genuinely disgruntled with the fact that you were trying to leave his bed. You can't help but chuckle.
"I'm just gonna go grab your laundry." You reassure him, brushing a tousled tuft of his hair out of his eyes. The knot between his brows deepens.
"Let me do that later. C'mere. " He tugs on your panty line, confident that you'll be submissive for him.
The sun outside was casting tall shadows on the walls of his bedroom and the glow was now deep and rich, telling you that it was preparing to set. You didn't want Sukuna's laundry on the balcony all night, which is what you were sure would happen if you didn't go and grab it now.
You hear a thread rip in your panty line interrupting your contemplation and, quickly, you grab his wrist, squeezing it as a signal for him to let go.
He continues to hold fast, his brow cocking in a silent dare.
"'Kuna, come on." You try, "Lemme take care of you-"
"You've been doing nothing but take care of me all day." He scoffs, like the idea of it is absurd to him. Rarely does Sukuna allow you the opportunity to show him as much care and adoration as you have today. Being doted on was not typically something he enjoyed. You knew that, and that's how you also knew that he was exhausted to his bones that day. "Get your ass back here."
There's a tug again, and another thread snaps somewhere. You pout at him, already having the foresight that this pair of panties wasn't going to last you long either. Your partner had the tendency to rip them off of you, and this wouldn't be the first pair to become a shred of what they once were. To be fair, he was also known for giving you his credit card and telling you to go buy "some things for him to see you in", so it would be at no cost to you. But, you happened to like this pair.
Sukuna watches you consider your options silently, unrelenting in his hold on your lace. When you peek up at his gaze, testing one more time, you know you've already lost.
"Don't make me chase after you." He warns, the promise of your inevitable surrender is evident in the predatory glint of his eyes. If Sukuna had a tail at that moment, it would be swaying back and forth, preparing for a pounce. "It's been a while since the last time I had you tied up. I do miss those sweet little bruises we left on your wrists."
You feel the hair on the back of your neck stand at attention upon his recollection. The last time Sukuna had you in ropes, you had to call off of work the next day. Your backside stings with the memory, but half of you can't help but ache for it too. Tied up in Sukuna's bed while he was forced to care for the boneless pile that was his girlfriend, drunk off of his lovemaking? That wasn't the worst place to be.
But, on the other hand, you could tell how exhausted he was with the new construction project at his job. You have a flashback of showering with him at the end of the night and scrubbing sawdust out of his hair. Having to gently prod and kiss him awake as he fell asleep standing up in front of you. You were adamant that you weren't going to do anything to tire him further tonight.
Before you can properly give in, Sukuna must have decided that you were taking much too long to obey him.
His other hand reaches over and winds around your lower waist, pulling you backwards into the soft cushion of the pillows and easily flipping the two of you so that he’s mounted above you. In your surprised stupor, he collects both of your wrists in one of his hands and pins them above your head.
"You've forgotten how to follow directions again, kitten." His murmur is like velvet against your ear. His teeth graze over his favorite spot on the nape of your neck, where he’s already tortured it with his teeth and hickies. You didn’t realize how raw the skin was until he bites you there, drawing a whimper from your throat.
"Let's remind you."
#jjk#sukuna#sukuna x reader#sukuna x you#jjk x you#jujutsu kaisen#fluff#just love the idea of Sukuna coming home filthy#I'd eat it up personally#also good god i want to see this man in a pair of coveralls#my writing
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
Rocky Mountain Skies
So I live in the 719 (CO) and I have been DYING to write about it so here’s this hot ass mess Also it’s my first multipart story on tumblr so bear with me (I’ll do a part two because omg)
Christmas is a magical time of year where families get together and revisit the political opinions of the past month but turn around and gift each other things. For the (L/N) family it was no different.
(Y/n) waltzed through the bullpen, coffee in one hand, phone in the other.
“Yes mom I’ll be home for Christmas,” she set her things down and sat at her desk, “No mom I already requested the two weeks off, I’ll be fine,” her sigh caught a few peoples attentions.
“Mom seriously, I get into Denver Sunday at 11, papa already said he’d come pick me up. . . yes mom I know how old he is but you don’t have time remember, besides it’ll be nice to see him. . . Mom I gotta go I have a meet- yes mom I’ll let you know when I get to the airport. . . Mom I have to go byeee” She clicked her phone and leaned back, letting out a long groan.
“Mom troubles?” Derek smirked.
“You have NO idea, I love her but she needs to chill,” she smiled.
“Well I think it’s sweet,” he toys.
“Of course you do, go to work,” she shook her head teasingly.
“All right, all right,” he laughed and walked off. (Y/n) stayed seated at her desk for a majority of the day, skipping lunch to finish files. People stopped by to make small talk while she worked, which she happily sat through. As the day continued on people started packing up their things to head home. It was quiet, the only people left were (Y/n), Spencer, JJ, and Hotch.
(Y/n) Stretched, popping her back, before getting up and walking around the desks. She set her hand on a chair and spun it so the messy haired man was facing her. She smiled at him brightly.
“Hey Spence”
“Hi, uh, is something wrong?”
“No I just wanted to talk to you is all,” she sat on his desk.
“About?” he looked at her curiously. He watched the way her hair set on her shoulders and framed her face, the way her waist dipped and hips bulged slightly, the way her thighs squished when she sat. He forced his eyes beack up to her and felt his face go a little warm.
“You know in the past three years I’ve been here I don’t think I’ve seen you take a vacation, and it’s none of my business if you save it or whatever but I was curious, why?” her face twisted in thought. He sat for a second and thought.
“Well I mean I go “home” occasionally, but I guess I’ve just never had a desire to go anywhere,” he shrugged, “I mean all we do is travel for work so I guess it never really crossed my mind” he smiled at her.
“Well, I uh, look I have an extra plane ticket back home. My ex was supposed to go with me but we broke things off a few months ago. So I guess I’m trying to say if you want to, you could come with me. I mean you totally dont have to and I mean-”
“To Colorado?” he quirked his eyebrow.
“I mean, yes? but only if you want to, I mean you’re my best friend, and closest one so I figured I’d ask before getting a refund,” she twisted her foot into the ground.
“Do I get a cowboy hat?”
She looked up surprised and laughed, “Duh”
“Then I’ll go”
The two weaved through the airport traffic. The building was loud and crowded and both were getting antsy. (Y/n) clutched her bag tight as they maneuvered through the crowds of people. Finally making it outside, the cold mountain air bit at their skin. A old man stood at the end of a row of cars holding a huge sign
‘(Y/N) (L/N)’ written in huge letters decorated the sign.
“Papa!” she cried and dropped her bags, getting swallowed into a hug that itself felt like home. Spencer stood awkwardly by watching the two.
“Where are my manners, My Name is Jim (L/N) but you can call me Papa. You must be Spencer?” The man, Jim introduced himself. He was only about 5′10″ and was clad in a red and white pearl snap with stained coveralls over top. His face was covered mostly by a long Beard and Mustache and he had a pair of glasses perched on top of his head.
“Oh, uh yes sir I’m Spencer,” He smiled at the man who held his hand out. Spencer shook it gladly.
“Well we need to get you kids home. Granny is making soup for dinner,” he bent down and picked up (Y/n)’s bag and rolled it to a old pick up truck, may be ten years old Spencer guessed. He stared at the backseat for a second, his stomach turned, maybe this wasn’t the best idea, maybe he shouldn’t have came, I mean I’m being so awkward an-
“Spence what are you waiting for?, hop in,” (Y/n) called from the back seat. He blinked a few times at her before jumping in and closing the door. She leaned over to him, “I didn’t want you to be alone back here,” she pulled back and smiled.
“Thank you,” he breathed a sigh of relief. As close as they were he had never met her family. He had spent countless nights sitting on her couch easting Chinese food while they finished files or watched bad movies but he still felt nervous being around her like this.
“So Spencer, where are you from?”
“I’m from Vegas,” he replied meekly.
“A gambler huh?” The old man grinned at him in the rear view, “you any good?”
Spencer laughed and shook his head, “I guess we’ll have to see,” he teased back. Jim laughed and smiled at his granddaughter.
“i like this one”
“You like him just because you’re bad at Texas Hold em” she playfully rolled her eyes.
“Hey whatever gets the money,” he laughed again. It was a laugh that filled you with joy. Spencer finally understood where (Y/n) got hers from.
“So Spencer, I know a feller like you can’t be single, so do you have a lady back in D.C.?”
“PAPA!” (Y/n) shrieked, “Don’t go running him off already, good god” she shook her head.
“What I’m curious, he’s a handsome man,” Jim grinned. Spencer was full on burning at this point.
“No sir, I’m single,” He almost mumbled out.
“You know who else is single. (Y/n),” Jim wiggled his eyebrows. (Y/n) glowed the same red that the poor man next to her did.
“Papa oh good god. Stick to breaking horses not my love life, and besides you’re gonna make him regret coming here before he even sees the ranch,” she rolled her eyes. Spencer actually laughed. The two of them were obviously close, it was . . . nice. It was a nice break from what they deal with every day.
The rest of the car ride went by semi fast, (Y/n) explained all of her plans for the two of them while they were here. She was almost glowing with excitement. The wooden fence that stretched along the property line came into view as the truck began up the drive. A gorgeous two story log cabin came into view behind a row of evergreens. The wood was a beautiful light brown, and towered over the yard. A old lady was standing on the porch dressed in a fleece nightgown and brown slippers. She waved as the truck stopped. The group jumped out and began grabbing bags.
“There’s my baby girl,” the woman hugged (Y/n) tightly. She had her same eyes. The woman stood maybe 5′2′ and had a pink and white fleeced nightgown on. Her grey hair fell in neat curls down her back. Her face was wrinkled and warm, the kind that you know showed so much joy in her younger years.
“And this must be Spencer, You’re even more handsome in person,” she cood at him.
“grandma!”
“It’s alright. Yes ma’am I’m Spencer,” he smiled at her, “It’s a pleasure to meet you both,” he grinned.
“Oh where are my manners, lets get you babies inside and warm,” she ushered everyone in. “(Y/n) baby your room is all set up, but um there’s been a change of plans,” The lady frowned.
“What Dawn is trying to say is that your mom and your stepdad are staying in the last guest room, and your cousin Rita is in the other”
“WHAT!” (Y/n) yelled. “Mom said her the Stepdouch were staying home for Christmas! I was promised to get you two to myself. And Rita!” she was fuming. Spencer set his hand on her shoulder, trying to bring her back to earth.
“We know baby but she insisted that you wouldn’t go see her if she stayed,”
“Of course not, not after what she did!”
“And Rita is your cousin, at least try to play nice,” Jim begged.
“No, Not after what they did!” (Y/n) was breathing ragged, anger radiating off of her body.
“Hey, uh why don’t you help me to my room?” Spencer forced her to look at him. She sighed and grabbed her bag.
“Okay” she grabbed his hand and began through the living room up the stairs. Spencer admired the “family” room on the balcony overlooking the living room. (Y/n) led him around the bend and over to the room. She popped the door open and let him inside. She followed and closed the door after her.
“So since my cousin Rita took the guest room we’ll have to share this one, I’m really sorry. I have an air mattress that I can sleep on and you can have the bed. This isn’t how I wanted this to go, I’m sorry,” she spoke almost in tears.
“Hey you didn’t know and I’m kicking you out of your bed, I’ll sleep on the air mattress, besides we can always still do everything you planned. We’ll be okay,” he smiled and held her face. She let a tear fall.
“I know but this was supposed to be a fun trip for you,”
“It will be, what’s more fun than two weeks without work,” he smiled and pushed her hair behind her ear.
“It’s only like one, so would you show me the property?” he smiled.
“Sure, but we need to get you a new wardrobe,” she laughed.
“Hey what’s wrong with my clothes?” he spun for her.
“Well for starters you’re in loafers and there’s snow on the ground, and second I do owe you a cowboy hat,” she grinned. “Come on lets play dress up”
The two of them sat in the attic surrounded by boxes of old clothes. She held up a nice quilt lined coat, identical to the light brown one she had on.
“That should fit, he was about your size,” she smiled and handed him the coat.
“Who?” he asked and examined the inside of the coat when it stared him right in the face.
‘Merry christmas daddy, (Y/n)’ stitched on the tag. his heart stopped.
“(Y/n) I can’t accept these, these meant the world to you I-”
“Spencer please, I’d rather you have daddy’s stuff than any of those other brats,” she sneered. “It’s the only other thing I got from him when he passed. He would’ve liked you,” she smiled and pulled a bunch of pearl snaps out. Spencer's heart leapt. We slid the Carhart on, it sat nicely against his body. She looked up from the boxes.
“Whoa” she gasped. “Spencer you look, just wow” she grinned.
“Wait I have one more thing,” she rushed off to the back of the attic. She returned with a box wrapped in red wrapping paper she smiled and handed it to him. He pulled the top of the box off. Inside sat a nice dark brown felt hat with a brown leather strap around it. It was adorned with a small gun charm on the leather strap.
“(Y/n) this is, this is way too much,” he looked up at her.
“I bought it for you last year, I remember you saying you wanted to be a cowboy so I figured I’d buy it but I forgot it last time so there,” she beamed at him.
“Well, try it on,” she ushered He set the hat on his head, a perfect fit.
“Well?” he spun
“You look like a true cowboy Spence,”
They walked the property talking for hours. The air grew cold and bit at their cheeks.
“Hey do you want to see my favorite spot?” she asked
“Of course,” he grinned. They walked out into the woods behind the house before coming to a clearing. The sun was beginning to set. The mountains had a purple haze but the sky was bright blue. Golden streaks danced across the clouds. The clearing was full of dry grass and thistles that would become tumbleweeds when it got windy.
“(Y/n) this is amazing,” he breathed the fresh mountain air.
“This is my favorite part of being home, the Rocky Mountain Skies. They seem to dance with color. I forget how pretty they are when I leave,” she smiled and watched the clouds float by.
“Why did you leave?” Spencer asked. He turned to look at the girl next to him. She looked small in her coat and her hair was messy from the light wind.
“After my dad died. My mom got with my Stepdouch a month later, the will had been “lost” the will that would have granted my this ranch. The only reason I got it was Papa and grandma claimed they needed a place to live so I mean it’s theirs. My mom got mad because she wanted to sell it. and my cousin Rita wanted all of my dads horses, thousands of dollars worth of horses that she and my mom fought over and split the money on. That wasn’t dads vision, they never cared about this place. Mom moved us into town, So when I turned 18 I left,” she shrugged.
“I’m so sorry (Y/n)” he hugged her.
“It’s okay. So why did you want to be a cowboy?” She teased.
“Well I mean every little boy wants to be a cowboy, I wanted to catch the outlaws, or maybe be them I’m not sure,” he laughed.
“(Y/N), SPENCER, DINNER!” Dawn yelled to them.
“Race you there” she smacked his chest and took off.
“No fair!” he called after her.
106 notes
·
View notes
Text
My Invincible Hero
(Just a experiment to see if these two properties work together for a crossover.)
The new dorms at U.A. Heights were a real change of pace for Mako, he had moved to Japan when he was so young that he barely remembered what it was like back in America. And they had always lived in their house since moving here that living at a dorm was.....ironically, alien to him. Not that it wasn’t bad or anything! Class 1A living together under one roof was, as he expected a blast, case in point the first night they all showed off their own rooms.
Still can’t believe Izuku still has all that All Might Merch......well not like I’m one to talk. he thought, leaning out from his desk chair to look at the bookshelf beside his door containing his massive comic book collection. His room was, in his eyes, very comfortable, he and his mom found a nice table set with comfortable cushions to sit down on that easily slid under his bed. Though he didn’t have a mini kitchen setup like Sato, no wonder he won their little room coemption.
Thank god we didn’t look in Mineta’s room.....uggghhhh. he thought with a sour expression. Looking over his completed homework, he stood up from his desk and looked outside the balcony window to his room. It was turning to dusk now but for Mako it might have well have been afternoon, he could easily towards the west until it was afternoon over in America if he wanted.
Looking over at his door, he saw his costume hanging up on a hook, the black, yellow, and blue costume hung up on a hook with his mask also looped around it, his gloves and boots were kicked off to the side after a long day doing some work for the GDA. After his dad.......left.....someone needed to fill in for him, and bypassing a hero license with Global Defense Agency’s license was easy for someone like the head of the organization. But it was nice to get back to school life for a few days.
Before the hero licensing exams that is, I’m still not sure why I need to take it considering I’ve been doing that sort of work for little over a year now. he thought as he walked out of his room. Just in time to see Kaminari rush by, “Hey man, what’s up?” he asked the electric user as he lifted up off the ground a few inches and floated after him.
“Oh! Hey Mako! You wouldn’t happen to have some popcorn would you?” he asked.
“Uhhh.....no? Why?” he asked in confusion as they stopped in front of the elevator.
The static user gave him a look, “Dude it’s movie night!” he reminded the fellow student. Mako wanted to kick himself, it was Friday night, of course it was movie night!! He was the one who suggested it in the first place! And it was also his turn to pick a movie!!! “Crap! Sorry, right. Yeah, um....no, don’t have any. But I’m gonna fly out, I can pick some up while I’m out.” he offered.
The spikey haired blonde clapped his hands together and bowed his head in thanks, “Your a lifesaver man!” he said, turning back the way he came as the doors to the elevator opened and Izuku walked and smiled to him in greeting.
“Hey Mako, I was about to do some training real quick, want to join me?” he offered.
When Izuku’s quirk finally kicked in, Mako was probably up there with his friend with how excited he was for him. It took a while....and some broken bones, before he could actually train with Mako, but as soon as he could he was more then happy to. “Sorry, I gotta fly home, grab a movie and some popcorn for movie night. I totally forgot it was my turn this week.” he admitted.
The green haired inheritor have him a understanding look, “It’s ok, we can some other time.” he said acceptingly, making Mako let out a breath. “Um....are you ok?” he asked.
He nodded, “Yeah, yeah just......the whole move here kinda screwed with my whole.....thing. That make sense?” he asked as they both entered the elevator.
Midoriya nodded in understanding, out of all of their class, Mako was probably the most busy outside of school. “Well, if you need any help, you know that I’m ready to help!” he said with a smile of encouragement. Mako flashed him one back, whenever his role as Invincible interfered with his schoolwork, Izuku had been there to help him out.
“Thanks man. Any recommendations for movies?” he asked as the doors opened to the lobby area and the two friends walked out through the lobby. While not exactly a rule, it was recommended that a couple movies be presented as possibilities, so that way they had multiple options in case it was voted down. This was mainly due to Mineta wanting to recommend a movie that was most likely a skin flick from the title.
Izuku rubbed the back of his head unsurely, “Hmm, I don’t know....maybe a mystery movie?” he suggested.
Mako shrugged as they walked towards the doors of the dorm, as Izuku walked off towards the lawn to start training, Mako walked down the path towards the school for a few feet before courching down and launching himself into the air, flying a good ten stories up before adjusting his course and flying towards home.
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
After swinging by home, saying hi to his mom and grabbing some movies that he and his dad used to watch. Mako swung by a convience store to get some popcorn before flying back to U.A.
Wind blowing through his hair, he coasted through the sky as he let his momentum carry him. Contrary to what most people thought for people who flew without the use of some mutant type quirk, flying could tire you out, something Mako had learned early on when his powers started manifesting. If h wanted to he could be back to the school within a minute but decided to take his time and just relax.
That lasted for about then seconds before he heard a scream down from the ground.
Looking down he saw a gigantic man chase after a more norml sized one down the street, the giant man was three times the size of a normal person with viens all over his arms, chest, and neck popping out. Reminds me of guy Izuku fought at the training camp. he thought as he flew down towards the steeet, tossing his bag onto a rooftop before landing in font of the man, “Alright buddy what’s-” he started before the man’s arm reeled back.
“Uh pal I woudln’t-!” he started before he swung his arm and punched the side of Mako’s face with a loud crack.
It wasn’t from Mako.
“GAHHH!!!” The villain shouted as he clutched his now broken hand.
“Dude I tried telling you.” Mako replied, “Look I don’t know why your chasing that guy but I can’t let you hurt him.” he said as the large man held his hand.
“Why are you after me! That guy robbed my store!!” he explained. Mako turned down the street and saw the man, who mark noticed had a duffle bag in his hand, was running across a four lane intersection.
“Oh crap! Hang on.” he said before zooming over across the ground, grabbing the man by the bck of his shirt and flying back over to the muscle man.
“Hey! Let me go!” the smaller man shouted, he looked a little older then Mako, maybe his early twenties at most.
The muscular bald man pointed at him, “You stole from my safe you little punk! I oughta-” he started as he raised his unbroken hand.
Mako pulled him back, and raised a hand to try and calm him down, “Woah, woah, let’s calm down a second. Have you called the police?” he asked. The man nodded, “Ok then we can just wait for them to arrive to sort this mess out.” he reasoned. The man took a deep breath before raising his hands, “Why’d you punch me by the way?” he asked.
“Well I thought you were with him, I mean your around the same age so I thought you were his partner or something.” he explained.
Mako nodded in understanding, he could see ho he came to that conclusion.
“Hey you better let me go! I’ll report you for using your quirk illegally!!” The thief threatened.
“Dude I’m a hero.” Mako replied bluntly.
“What?! No your not! Your a normal guy!” he replied.
“I left my costume at my dorm, what do you think I wear it every time I go out? It’s not comfortable wearing something under normal clothes.” he replied before hearing a siren pull around the corner. After the patrolmen arrived, Mako showed them both his license and they promptly arrested the thief, as they put him in the back of the cruiser, Mako flew up to the roof where he tossed his bag before shooting across the sky back to U.A.
As he flew over the wall surrounding U.A. he started his decent when he noticed someone sitting down on one of the path benches. She had long blonde hair that went down her back and a pair of glasses over her light blue eyes that were looking down at the ground. She wore a coverall that was the same shade as her eyes with her name across the left lapel, Melissa Shield, the newest student of U.A.
“Hey!” he called out, she looked up in surprised and smiled as he flew down from the sky. Touching down gently on the ground, he smiled at her.
“Hey Mako, nice to see you again.” she greeted welcomingly, however he noticed the dour tone her voice had.
Melissa had begun attending U.A. after the I-Island incident, her old school was sad to see her go, but the blonde girl felt that U.A. was a good change after what happened with her father. She had met Mako and the others at the I-Island Expo, she started attending U.A. after All Might pushed for her to get a role in the support course, since her father was currently.....indisposed, All Might was her legal Guardian.
“You......doing ok?” he asked politely.
The american girl let out a sigh, “I’m.....managing.” he admitted. He gesuted to the seat beside her on the bench and she nodded.
“Well, if you want to rant or just talk, I’m here.” he offered jokingly.
She giggled at his offer, “No, it’s not that. Everyone here has been really welcoming to me. It’s just......a lot.” she admitted. “Moving from America to here was......well I know everyone is still adjusting to the dorms, but it’s.....well it’s a little more challenging then I thought it would be.” she told him.
Mako frowned, he had been thrown off balance by moving here but it was just a matter of time until he recovered. Melissa though, she had to move halfway across the world to be here, and that was after her father turned her world upside down. Man and here I am saying how rough I have it. My mom is just a short flight away. he thought scoldingly to himself.
“Yeah.....look, you know that all of us in Class 1A are here for you right? If you ever want to talk or something....” he offered, knowing that she got along well with all of the classmates she met at the I-Island expo.
The turned to him and gave him a confident smile, “Oh I know! It’s just....I don’t want to be a burden to anyone else by having them listen to my problems.” she explained.
He smiled, he could understood that. With all the crap he’s had to deal with the past year, keeping it to himself seemed like the best for a while. “Well hey, listening to problems is what a hero does. Hell earlier when I was coming back I had to listen to a couple problems before I could help.” he said, abridging the events of what happened. The blonde girl smiled softly at him, and Mako felt his stomach flutter from it.
“Thank you Mako......oh! I’m not keeping you am I?” she asked, realizing he was carrying something in his bag.
He shook his head, “Nah, we’re having a movie night and I needed to grab some flicks from my home.” he said, opening the bag and showing her the selection he picked.
Her eyes widened in excitement as she picked one out, “Oh I know this one!” she said, showing him the Dawn of the Dead movie he picked out.
She watched his face turn somber for a second, “Yeah. Me and my dad would watch that every year on my birthday.....” he said before smiling a little at the memory. Melissa felt a pang of guilt, what her fther had done for Uncle Might had been questionable at best, everyone knew what Mako’s father ahd done had been horrifying. But it was still HIS dad, she knew that as well as anyone. “Um....do you want to join us?” he offered.
Melissa was surpised by the offer but quickly smiled, “Of course! You don’t mind?” she asked.
He shook his head, “Nah, no one will. We’re starting at 9:30, be sure to be at the dorm by then.” he said as they both got up.
Melissa smiled and nodded, “I’ll be there!” she said ecitedly as she walked away, “And....thanks for listening Mako.”
He shrugged his shoulders, “Anytime.” he said before taking off into the sky and arching over to his dorm.
As he walked up to the door he felt his phone go of in his pocket. Pullig it out as he entered, he saw the caller I.D. and frowned, answering it, he flew up the stairs to his room. “Hey boss, what’s the problem.”
‘You remember the Elephant?’
Mako paused as he opened and closed the door to his room, “Uhhh.....no?” he said unsurely.
‘Big guy, dresses up like....well-’
“Oh! Oh yeah that guy, man I always forget about him.” Mako admitted as he tossed off his shirt and pants and slipped his costume on. It was mostly black with the shoulders and upper torso being covered with a light blue that curved around his pectorals and upper back but ended on a sharp end on his shoulders. on his chest and over the blue was a yellow block that went down from his pectoals and tapered off to a point towards the navel.
‘Yeah everyone does, anyway the transport containing him on the way to Tartarus was hit. Heroes are on the way with Endevor leading them, but I don’t want them getting away. So you go as backup.’
Mako pulled on the knee high boots that were the same blue as his costume, along with the yellow fingerless gloves. “Gotcha, is he the only one? I mean it’s the Elephant so I can’t imagine you need a full transport for him.” he explained.
‘Yeah, you’d be right. Some new baddie who just popped up. Don’t know who he is, but we can’t ahve a loss right now after All Might retired.’
Mako grabbed his mask, a yellow head sock that had an opening for his hair around his head and coverd his eyes with white goggles. It also streched around his neck and the top of his shoulders, making a ‘i’ on the front of his costume. Opening his balcony, he cracked his neck before taking off into the air. “I read you.”
‘Thanks Mako, you sure your up for this I can call someone else if you still need some time to recover.’
Mako smiled to himself.
“Don’t worry Boss, you know me. I’m-”
10 notes
·
View notes
Text
under cover of darkness
summary: a 24-hour convenience store, the night shift, and the man who gets you through day.
a commission for @lovelycarose
pairing: eliot spencer x reader
words: 5510
trigger warnings: mentions of a break-in with canon-level violence, fluff, mentions of an unspecified chronic pain disorder
ask box / masterlist / commission info / ko-fi
There are some good things about the night shift. It’s easier to balance classes and your precarious mental health, plus the pay wasn’t terrible – a few extra bucks per hour were thrown your way after eleven and before five.
So you kept with it, one earbud in so you could listen to music while the hours ticked by at a pace so slow it felt like some supervillain had not only completely frozen time – but was also determined to thaw is at room temperature.
That was another thing about the night shift – the customers. It was mostly regulars, or tourists who forgot something at home but didn’t want to spend airport prices for a travel sized container of deodorant. None of them really stick out, none interesting enough to stick in your brain for long as you mindlessly pack their various items into white plastic bags.
That is, until he starts coming in. Tall and impossible big – it’s hard not to marvel at him as if he was a breathtaking skyscraper, like you had never seen something so magnificent. His flowing dark brown hair, his tight jeans…it’s all nearly too much for eleven-at-night-you. (Also for “I haven’t had sex in so long and I think I’ve eroded the ridges on my vibrator from using it so often and holy shit I would do anything to have that man under/above me” you, a you only made stronger and more desperate by how late it was and tired you were.)
He walks around with the confidence not often seen in newcomers, your eye used to college students too drunk to stand up perfectly straight. You’re used to people stumbling around with eyes-half closed, rubbing their temples as the bright white lights feel like cheese graters shaped like ice picks against their already hurting brains. You’re used to watching them stumble around, using some Neolithic instinct to find the cool fridges where they’ll rest their faces against the glass for an oddly long amount of time before opening it up to grab as many Gatorades as they could hold before attempting to grab one or two (or five) frozen pizzas, never able to access the higher order thinking necessary to understand that maybe grabbing one of the baskets by the entrance is important.
Or, on the other end of the spectrum you’ve come to know as normal: soccer moms searching for alcohol for their husband’s post-game barbecue. Moms with large dark circles under their eyes who probably read (and watched) the Fifty Shades movie unironically but still feels weird when their husbands suggest having sex in any position besides missionary with the lights off. Moms who went to college just to meet some mediocre-looking frat boy who votes Republican just because his father did and thinks thirty seconds of oral is enough foreplay.
They don’t spend as much time in the store as the drunk/high students, but it’s still just as entertaining watching them grab the food and drink – but not before lingering in the makeup aisle, staring at bold shades of red and waterproof mascara and the bright hair dye whose advertisements have terribly applied photoshop.
No matter the type – no matter the customer – they were nothing like the man who stood on the other side of the store, staring intently at your soft drink selection. None of them were beefy men with crumpled grocery lists, permanently furrowed brows, and the most beautiful five o’clock shadow you’ve ever seen. None of them wear thick black work boots that make not a single sound as they walk around the store, none of them wear jeans that are so criminally tight around a perfect ass.
Not even a perfect ass – the perfect ass. It’s symmetrical, looking as if it was drawn by a pin-up artist in the 50’s whose specialty involves drawing super buff men in poses meant for petite, slender women with perfect curves. As he walks you half expect sparks to form on his backside as if you were in some kind of Anime, or for each individual cheek to bounce up and down on their own asynchronous accord. Normally you’d be terrified of being caught staring – of him turning around and catching your eye and mocking someone like you for having the nerve to be attracted to him.
But that doesn’t happen, because for once in your life the universe is kind to you. For once in your life you’re allowed to listen to music and stare dreamily at the hot guy who checks the ingredients on every snack dip option you have available before choosing three different ones with a small, disappointed huff.
You watch him with that same silent intensity as he fills the bright red carrier he grabbed without a sound when he first strutted in, the packaging of the items crinkling being the only way to track his location when he steps out of your eyeline. If your boss wasn’t the one on security cameras you’d be angling all of them to follow him around the store, your eyes hungry for another look at him at whatever angle and whichever quality you could get. You feel like a fangirl obsessed with some boyband, your heart rate determined by the amount of the mountain of a man you can see between displays of holiday-themed candy and cheap make up.
You’re not sure how long it is before he’s approaching your counter (time appears to have lost all meaning the second he stepped into the store), but whether it had been five minutes or five years, he still takes your breath away. As he steps closer you realize he’s fucking massive – something your grandmother (a wonderful woman, but one lacking when social situations called for, among other things, any kind of brain-to-mouth filter) would call a “shit brickhouse.” He doesn’t even need one of the baskets as he prowls the aisles – scanning every item like a lion watches the Sahara through tall grass. It’s hard to look away, to go back to the book you’ve been trying to read the same page from since long before the little automated bell above the door had announced the man’s arrival – but the only distraction before had been the tiny, exhausted voice in the back of your mind that was shaming at you for not sleeping before the night’s shift.
Now, though, the voice has quieted to allow your tired eyes to follow him, pupils tracing along every inch of him.
The man checks out without a word; shaking his head when you ask if he has a rewards card and paying in cash. When you give him $7.26 in change, your hands touch for a brief moment and you nearly stop breathing – lungs suddenly void of their capacity to hold air as sparks fly from his callous fingertips to the bottom of your spine. He pulls away, eventually, because he has to – depositing the totality of the meager amount of money you’d just handed him into the donation box plastered with facts about victims of domestic violence right next to your register.
The box is made of an opaque deep purple plastic, the coins making a loud clink sound as they crash into the near-empty container. The man stares at it for a moment, swallowing an apparent lump in his throat as his eyes go blank for a fraction of a second before he digs into his pockets and fishes out a thick wad of perfectly folded five dollar bills before stuffing them into the hastily cut slot at the top.
Neither of you say anything as he does so, you too stunned by his generosity and him too occupied with making sure he had no more money hidden in his pockets to try and muster some vague capacity for speech. Still, as he turns and leaves, you cough to clear your throat and call out a loud and slightly hoarse “thank you!” to which he just turns and gives you a small smile in return.
The moment between the pair of you is fleeting but still makes your heart beat rapidly in your chest, swelling until your lungs feel tight against your ribs as you struggle to breathe. Fuck, you think. You haven’t felt like this since middle school when Jamie told you that your Katniss braid was adorable and you followed him around for two weeks until he agreed to take you on a “date” during lunch. You don’t even know this man’s name and you’re fawning over him as if you have another girlhood crush.
God, you need to learn his name.
Luckily, you find out the next time that his name is Eliot, even though the name embroidered in red above the right pocket of his dirtied coveralls says “Evan” in a fancy looped script (whatever, you don’t question it. You regularly wore your roommate’s sweatshirt from her alma mater even though you didn’t attend the university – must be the same thing, right?). That time all he buys is hair ties and chapstick – lots of hair ties and chapstick, just another thing you don’t question – but stays to talk with you about the Robert Frost poem you were annotating.
“Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening?” he reads aloud, smiling a little as he does so. “Is that for class, or…”
“It’s for class, but I’m liking it a lot more than the other obligatory readings for my degree,” you tell him a small laugh. “Do you enjoy poetry?”
Eliot shrugs as he grabs the full bags. “Oh, ya know. Just the occasional piece. You have a good day now.”
You smile as he walks toward the exit, butterflies pounding in your stomach once more. “You too!”
God, you think as he disappears from eyeshot. You’ve got it bad, girl.
He comes in again, irregular in each way except for the fact he arrives. Sometimes he’s clean cut, standing straight as he takes his sweet time wandering the store – as if he has nowhere to be, no need to rush around.
On those days, he buys a lot of things. Duct tape, orange soda, hair ties, sour candy in all shapes and colors. He makes conversation, asking about the book you’re reading or what you’re listening to, asking about your classes when you wear a jacket embroidered with your university’s logo on the front. On those days, he waits a little – even when all his items are bagged and there’s no real reason for him to stay – picking up on anything that would give him another thread of conversation to pull at.
“Something new?” he asks when you dogear one of the first few pages of a poetry book your friend had lent you.
“Yup!” you perk up just at the sight of him, cheery now more than you had been the entirety of the day now that he’s arrived. “Told a friend of mine about the assignment I was working on the last time you were here, and she shoved this anthology into my hands.”
You like those days – you look forward to them each time you step through the large door marked “EMPLOYEES ONLY” in large white letters that stand out against the incredibly depressing brown that’s been peeling since the day you interviewed here, spots covered sparsely by the maintenance guy who you’ve never seen. Those days are good, fun – they make you smile hours after he leaves and occupy your thoughts until you go to bed, sometimes even making it into the margins of your notebook when you’re zoning out in class.
Sometimes, though, he comes in nearly limping – at least one eye blackened and dark navy baseball cap pulled as far down his forehead as he can.
It scared you the first time, watching as he grunted with each step, every item he grabs from the shelves seeming like it pained him, his face scrunching into a wince each time he raises an arm above his ribs. You checked his items (bandages, ice packs, gauze, antifungal cream, a few first aid kits) with bated breath, terrified of making his mood worse.
It isn’t until you tell him the total, until you finally look up from your hands – that you finally look him in the eyes. They’re always warm like plate of freshly baked macaroni and cheese (and always make you feel just as gooey), but now appear to be clouded with a type of pain you can’t pin down. He doesn’t say much – or anything – as you bag his items, placing them gingerly into the paper bag as if it was an extension of him.
You try to keep a happy face throughout the entire ordeal, not wanting to push him in case what happened was particularly bad. Eliot gives you a similarly small, but earnest one in return – even if he barely hides the wince in his side as he does so.
But that was the first time things seemed a little off – your first time, specifically – and the others get easier as time passes.
At first, “easier” meant a return to days similar to the good ones – telling him things about your day as you ring up all his first-aid related items. He doesn’t respond with as much enthusiasm, doesn’t have the same witty banter – but gives you a small smile that you recognize nonetheless. But then, as the weeks bleed into months, you learn how to handle both the terrible days, the bad days, and the good days all the same.
It’s on one of the good days that he buys tampons, a piece of every kind of chocolate item you sell, and enough Acetaminophen to knock out a horse.
“Your girlfriend is very lucky,” you tell him, blushing as you bag the items. For a minute you think you’ve embarrassed him, crossed some line as a sickening silence grows between you two like mold on two-week old leftovers in a fridge that was turned off. It’s just as disgusting, too, which is why you’re so happy that he still gives you a small smile when you dare look up from where your scanner’s red line centers on the barcode of one of the tampon boxes.
“Nah, just,” Eliot’s plump lips look so kissable it makes your heart pick up. “A roommate, uh. She needs this. Her boyfriend is doing some game night thing and couldn’t pick it up. So I, uh. I got drafted.”
You give a little snort as you grab the receipt, smiling wide as you place it in the bag. “Well, your roommate is very lucky to have you.”
Eliot laughs as he grabs his stuff, cheeks heating up as he blushes. “Can I kidnap you for a little while so you can come remind her of that?”
In a rare moment of confidence, you lean forward and grin. “Is it kidnapping if I want it?”
The blush rages as he sputters a response, eyes downcast as he turns to leave. You get no witty response back, but the way he turns to wink at you as the automatic doors part is enough of a rebuttal for you to feel satisfied with your quip.
No matter what kind of mood Eliot is in, you look forward to his visits, watching and talking with him. Each evening you get ready for work you wondered if he would come in that night, if you would be able to tell him about the dumb thing this guy in one of your seminars said, or how you won an argument during bar crawl over the weekend using some of the random things he had taught you during the very conversations you now wish to have with him. It’s nice, the nicest thing you have in a long time – and somehow that doesn’t scare you, and somehow that makes you feel even better each time you see him.
But then “The Day” happens, and it changes everything.
The evening of “The Day” you woke up from your pre-work nap with this unexplainable feeling that something was going to go wrong. This feeling deep in the bottom of your stomach that you can’t quite place, one that makes the back of your knees sweat and where your ribs feel just a little tighter. Each and every sound – the cars that drive way too fast down your street, the creaking in your house, the dogs that bark obnoxiously – seem loudly, harsher than usual. When you sit up in bed when your alarm goes off it’s like you can feel the muscles in your back contract, feel the bones in your joints grind against each other. There’s some electricity in the air like when it’s right before a storm – only the sky is clear and your weather app doesn’t predict any rain until next week (and, even then, it’s only a drizzle).
At first you think it’s just a bad pain day; not bad enough to keep you home, or make you forget even the idea of doing anything besides groaning in pain in your bed and taking as many pain medications as your doctor says you’re able to. Still, it’s quite noticeable, and occupies your thoughts as you go through each part of your pre-work routine. Even as you shower, turn on your coffee pot, do the minimal make up required to make it look like you didn’t just roll out of bed or are some Victorian orphan plagued by tuberculosis and possibly a deep sadness embodied by the terrible weather that crashes outside their overcrowded London orphanage – you can’t seem to get rid of the proverbial dark cloud that settles itself between your brain and skull, clouding your thoughts and making your stomach hurt just a little.
It doesn’t get better when you get into work, either. There’s a tenseness in the air you can practically taste – electricity in the air that settles over your skin and makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up straighter than the carefully constructed sales display of some B-list celebrity’s nail polish collection, the one you spent hours fussing over during one of your very rare day shifts. It somehow only gets worse when Eliot arrives, whistling some tune that normally would be wistful and happy, but given the context sounds like something straight from a horror movie trailer that invades your otherwise-sweet daydreams for weeks to come; one of those songs that everyone knows but no one knows the name of that sounds really creepy when played slowly over a clip of some old, beat-up doll being held by an adorable little blonde girl with black-out contacts in.
You don’t tell him to stop, but the tune does slow when he notices your tense state when he passes to get to the soft drink aisle. When he gives you a questioning look you just shrug, hoping he forgets (or finds it in himself not to ask) about it by the time he finds what he needs. Judging by the song, lack of list, and spring in his step – it’s a good day, one where he intends to meander around the store and grab whatever it is catches his attention. Today that appears to be anything with sugar, most notably soda in every color but orange.
At some point he finds his way closer to you – more specifically he finds his way to the chocolate aisle, which faces your register – and strikes up a conversation. It’s just small talk, and doesn’t do much to distract you from the twisting in your gut, but you appreciate his efforts nonetheless. The small talk just feels like a dead-end – a polite road to nowhere that feels pointless to engage in. Still, it’s Eliot, so you give half-hearted answers and ask half-hearted questions and hope he doesn’t press you too hard on your slightly-sour mood.
And, because it’s Eliot, he draws a few small laughs and a couple of tiny smiles and it’s…nice. It’s not the usual “Good Day,” but it’s not a bad one, either.
But then it happens. And it happens quick – all of it.
Three men, dressed head to toe in black, enter guns a blazing as if they own the place. They’re wearing masks over everywhere but their eyes, the thick, black material likely silencing their voices if they weren’t screaming at the top of their lungs.
They enter in an oddly-triangular formation – one you’d describe akin to the Charlie’s Angel’s post if you weren’t scared out of your fucking mind. One of them runs to the aisle where you keep cold medicine, the other ransacking the liquor aisle and shoving heavy glass bottles of your most expensive bottles of alcohol into the black duffel bag slung around his shoulder. The last one – the one you think is the leader – keeps his eye on you as he steps closer to where you are at the register.
It’s the scariest fucking thing to ever happen to you, and what occurs next happens too fast for you to describe.
You blink once and find that you’re staring down the barrel of a handgun that’s definitely loaded and definitely has the safety off. The end shakes just a little, as if the robber is nervous, and you wonder why he’s the one scared. Both of your hands are up in the air, elbow bent at a ninety-degree angle while sweat pools at your brow and your bottom lip trembles. It’s the most terrified you’ve ever been in your entire life, and if you had enough in your stomach you throw up, you totally would’ve.
But then – Eliot.
You’re screaming at him to stop, to get away and hide and what are you doing? They’ve got a gun! Get away! You could be hurt! Eliot!
But then you realize that, holy shit, he’s actually taking the guy down. Holy shit, Eliot just punched that dude in the face. Holy shit, Eliot just punched that dude in the gut. Holy shit, Eliot just disarmed that dude while punching him.
It’s only when the guy that targeted you is screaming in pain from a dislocated shoulder that the other two realize something’s up and come rushing towards the man that stands just in front of your register. You’d scream if you weren’t stunned – eyes not sure where to look as Eliot disarms them with the grace of a professional ballet dancer at the same fucking time. He’s fierce but controlled – not breaking any bones but definitely leaving some bruises as he knocks them to the ground and kicks their guns across the carpet.
It’s then – when the inferior robbers are writhing in pain on the ground – that he grabs the leader by the collar of his black hoodie and pulls the teenager’s wincing face close to Eliot’s raging one.
“I will give you one warning,” he hisses, teeth bared like an angered wolf as he spits. “one warning to leave this place and never come back. If this,” his left hand raises to gesture to you in all your petrified glory. “Nice lady tells me that you have returned to so much as buy a single stick of gum, I will track you down and find you and make sure you pay for the damage you’ve done here today. You got that?”
The still-masked teenager immediately nods furiously, eyes wide with terror and legs already kicking at the ground to leave.
Eliot gives a small, faux smile, and shoves the kid back down onto the ground with enough force to knock the wind out of him. “Good, now get the Hell out of here and don’t come back.”
Without hesitation, the would-be robbers scatter as fast as their damaged legs can carry them, clutching their bags to their chests as they rush to their crappy getaway van.
If you weren’t scared shitless you’d admit you’re a little turned on at the feat, especially as Eliot flips his hair from his face as he watches them speed away.
Your boss appears a few seconds later, apparently one more to watch from his safe room in the back than to interfere. Thank Heavens Eliot was here, you think. Facing those three kids on your own – even if they were, indeed, kids – makes your blood pressure spike once more.
“Should I call the cops?” he asks, looking at the wreckage around the store. The only silent alarm is located under the counter where the register is and, given your petrified state, you weren’t one to trip it.
Eliot just sighs and shakes his head, kicking a broken bottle of whiskey that for sure was going to stain the carpet. “No, they can’t do much – those kids probably don’t have a record and I don’t think you’ll get much out of ‘em if they do find the bastards. They’re young, broke, and I don’t know how much priority your case will be given.”
Your boss sighs, rubbing his face. It’s not as if they stole more than a few hundred dollars’ worth of merchandise, but being the victim of a robbery is still both tiring and rage-inducing – especially when someone like him has gone so long without incident. “But, I, what am I supposed to do? I just-“
Eliot grabs his wallet from his back pocket, reaching into it to fish out a small, professional-looking business card that he hands to your boss. “Call the number there come sun rise and tell them Eliot referred you. They’ll help you out with whatever you need.”
The man who signs your paychecks furrows his brow and reads the block print allowed. “Leverage, Incorporated? They can help me replace what I lost?”
Eliot nods, placing a comforting hand on your boss’ shoulder. “Everything.”
Immediately the man nods and steps away to go out the back exit, leaving you and Eliot in the center of it all.
It’s then – just as you’re alone – where the sun’s just coming up and the large windows in the shop allow its warm light to bath the both of you in a beautiful soft orange. There are no other customers there, and with your boss preoccupied with calming himself down, it really does feel like it’s just you and Eliot – just the two of you with the whole world still asleep around you. It’s nice, perfect.
He’s the one to break the silence, voice gruff as he flashes you a small, shy grin. “So, uh…you want to go for coffee?”
Your heart rams in your chest even louder than when you were staring the possibility of a gunshot wound to the face, the poor organ exhausted as your brain screams at you to accept his generous offer. It takes what feels like an eternity to muster up the courage to do so, but before you can Eliot’s already speaking once more.
“Not that you, uh,” he clears his throat. “Not that you should feel, uh, pressured, or anything. I just mean like, hey, you worked all night and just went through a pretty rough event, and you’re probably tired, and probably pretty hungry as well, and a coffee place just opened up a street away that I’ve heard good things about. I’ve wanted to try it out, for a while actually, and I wanted to, uh, see if I’d have the honor of you joining me…”
“Eliot,” you laugh as you step closer, placing your hand on his face to guide his eyes to yours. “Don’t be stupid. I’d love to go with you,” he smiles and it warms every bit of you. “Just let me grab my bag and clock out, I’ll meet you outside in a moment.”
He sputters through an “okay, sure, yeah,” before you both turn to leave – him out the front doors and you behind the large one your boss had just been hidden behind. Your hands shake just a little as you insert the little card into the dinosaur of a machine, the loud noise and sputtering sound it makes now white noise as you grab your purse and rejoin him outside.
When you arrive at the coffee shop (aptly named “The Bean Spot”) you order a caramel latte with a cheese Danish, Eliot getting a simple black coffee with cream along with a walnut muffin. You wait for your breakfast in relative silence, neither you nor Eliot sure what to say after such an event. When the food and drink are handed over to you, you find a spot tucked in the back with an excellent view of the whole place.
The coffee shop is nearly empty since it’s still so early in the morning – the only patrons coming in, getting their coffee, and zipping off to the next part of their day. It’s nice to be the only inert thing, the movements of the people around you providing a nice cover as they zip past, locking you and Eliot in your own little world as the world stretches its arms and prepares for another day of hustle and bustle.
By contrast, you and Eliot are wide awake, laughing as you swap horrible roommate stories and whatever else comes to mind. He asks about your degree but has enough class not to ask you about your graduation year (a rare feature of conversations these days), talking to you about all the books you’ve read and professors you’ve liked.
It’s odd – not bad, per say – but odd nonetheless, to be able to talk freely and openly and having him in front of you, within arm’s length as your knees barely touch under the small table. Seeing him in this space, a space more conducive to conversation and watching his hands as they pick at his blueberry scone and watching his mouth as the corners of his lips twist into a smile every so often and watching –
You blush at your own serial-killer-like thoughts, trying to suppress them with another sip of way too expensive but totally worth it coffee.
Eliot notices, because of course he does. “Hey, you alright?”
You nod, trying to calm your racing heartbeat. “Y-yeah, just-“
He smiles warmly, one hand moving to cradle your chin – to guide your downcast eyes to his. “It’s weird, seeing me in a new place, isn’t it?”
Once again, you nod. “It’s not that I don’t-“
“It’s okay,” his smile widens even as he now avoids your gaze, his hands moving to his lap as he fiddles with them. “It’s…I understand. Trust me, I get it.”
You exhale deeply, your shoulders falling a little. “I’ve thought a lot about this moment for, like, since you walked into the store for the first time…to have you here,” you gestured vaguely to the rest of the coffee shop, to the very few customers and baristas chatting about something you can’t hear and don’t care to pay attention to. “It’s…I don’t know. It’s not as if you’ve fallen short of expectations-“
Eliot gives a little chuckle, mumbling an “I sure hope so” with a glimmer in his eye that makes you want to jump on his lap and kiss him right there. Somehow, you find it in you to continue.
“It’s just super, super weird,” you tell him honestly. “And I don’t like it.”
The man in front of you leans forward, placing a hand over yours to calm you down.
“How about we get out of here,” Eliot murmurs, voice warm and thick like the caramel drizzle over your latte. “I have an espresso machine at my place, and could make you homemade baked goods a million times better than whatever you bought, and we can continue this in a space where the baristas don’t misspell my name on overpriced coffee.”
He gestures to the cup labeled Elliott, wincing as he does so. It makes you laugh, and you nod in agreement. Together you down the coffee and throw the empty cups along with the wrapping for your pastry away. It’s natural – the way the two of you move – as if you’ve known each other for a millennia, as if whatever it is between you two that’s formed is already as strong and sturdy as an oak tree.
Eliot places one of his large hands on the small of your back as you exit the cafe, thumbing at the fabric of your sweater as you wait to cross the street. It’s comforting – just a flash of the fire that he started for you back at the store a mere hours earlier, heat warming your blood from your toes and up your spine. As he guides you to his apartment his hand finds yours, his fingers fitting neatly next to yours as he points out parts of the city you’ve never slowed down enough to see.
You may not have known Eliot for very long, but even within that short amount of time (and even shorter conversations) he had become a safe house for you, one that you could easily make a home.
And, unbeknownst to the other person, the both of you intended on doing just that.
#eliot spencer x reader#eliot spencer/reader#eliot spencer fanfiction#eliot spencer#leverage#lukis does commissions#lukis writes stuff
85 notes
·
View notes
Text
Tumblr Exclusive!!!!
For @anybodihearme....
QuarantinEdd
They were supposed to be quarantined.
But they were essential employees, so off to work they went, Edd to the hospital and Kevin to the town’s only mechanic’s garage.
Edd going to work made sense. He was an ER nurse and desperately needed in the midst of a pandemic, but Kevin wondered if the governor had lost his mind by letting businesses like his remain open.
He had enough money to pay everyone for ninety days and if he got a small business loan to help offset any losses from the pandemic, he could afford to pay everyone for another ninety more. Not to mention being able to pay for a decent cleaning crew to make sure everything would be safe once the people smarter than him said it was safe to open.
But people were still out driving for small gig jobs like online food deliveries, off and out of work parents were taking the time to teach their now homeschooled kids to drive, and for some reason, the number of fender benders repairs thanks to speeders quadrupled.
And that was in the first sixty days.
It was now day 132 and Kevin’s numb.
He’s down to a third of his crew because someone had either caught the virus or has been in close contact with someone who has, customers that have been coming in for decades were taking their business elsewhere because they just couldn’t deal with his simple requests to keep their facial coverings on and to stay at least six feet from each other in the shop’s oversized lobby, parts were taking forever to come in because they weren’t essential items so they were low shipping priority, and he can’t remember the last time he’s seen Edd.
Video calls are verboten in the hospital because of HIPPA, but he hasn’t even gotten a meme from the man in a week.
Stepping out of the hottest shower he can bare to take, he checks his phone.
There were the usual texts from his mother, Nazz, Rolf, and he thinks his baby grandson has gotten a hold of his mother’s phone again, or his daughter in law has had a stroke.
Quickly opening the last text, he saw the baby had sent him a seven second video of himself running with said phone and his mother screaming at his father to catch him while his sister declared that he had to come with her if he wanted to live.
His chuckle turned into a high pitched scream not unlike that of the lead starlet in many of the B List horror films The Eds watched when they were kids when the bathroom door swung open.
Edd fell to the floor with a cackle, holding his sides as he rocked side to side and laughed til he cried as Kevin stormed out of the bathroom, quickly donned his housecoat, and threw an old quilt some great aunt from Ireland made his father when he was a baby over his head.
“YOU SCARED ME!” He screamed at his husband as he went to stand over the man still tittering on the floor.
“You look ri-ridiculous,” Edd snickered as he sat up and did his best to catch his breath.
“How dare you?!” He huffed, arms crossed, looking rather ridiculous considering his usual immodesty of just walking around naked when no one but Edd was in the house. “And what are you doing here anyways?!”
“I live here?” Edd shrugged and Kevin finally got a good look at him.
His hair was wet and he only had on an old tshirt and shorts he had made out of an old pair of sweatpants.
“You’re home?” Kevin asked softly, a bit disbelieving what he was seeing.
“As of today,” Edd answered as he looked at his smartwatch before taking it off and placing it on the charger on his nightstand, “I get the next two weeks off, pending the results of my latest round of tests.”
“What happens next?”
Edd looked the worried man in his weary face and tried to be as honest but as gentle as possible.
“If I’m not sick, I go back. If I’m sick, I stay home til I get worse and then I go back because I’m dying.”
And for some strange reason, Kevin thinks he can fight Death.
“You won’t die,” he said, voice low, the quilt hitting the floor and his housecoat quickly followed.
Edd had to admire his moxie, even if he was being a bit ridiculous.
“You gonna fight a novel virus for me?” He smirked as he walked over the naked man in front of their dresser, arms crossed defiantly.
HIs back hitting the bed and his shorts hitting the floor was his answer.
But then Kevin realized that if Edd was in the house, so were the germs.
“Where did you shower?” He asked as he straddled him, arms crossed but his dick was getting harder by the second and Edd is about to die.
“Main bathroom in the hall,” Edd groaned, batting at his chest to get him to get back to business.
“Clothes?”
“Washer downstairs? Your stuff is still in the one in the garage.”
The great thing about the house was that the first owners put the washer and dryer in the garage, the next family built a laundry room addition off the kitchen for some reason, but it was awesome because Kevin could always use the old set in the garage for his heavy, greasy coveralls, while the laundry room was used for their everyday clothes.
But before Edd got stuck at the hospital for the last way too long in Kevin’s mind, they both had been using the garage for laundry to keep from bringing the germs the CDC was only now getting an inkling of an understanding of, in the house.
If he used the sanitize cycle on the fancy set in the laundry room, they’d be ok.
“Sanitize?”
“I’ll roast you in it myself if you don’t blow me.”
“But I don’t want to die, Eddward!” Kevin pouted, feeling randy, confused, and oh, so frustrated.
Edd sat up and pulled his shirt off to bring Kevin’s warming body closer to his burning own.
“I’m ok,” he whispered lovingly. “I got the clothes washed and I took a shower, just like you. We can clean the cars tomorrow. It’ll be fine.”
“Fuck that, I’m having Jimmy’s cleaning crew over here first thing to do it,” he said matter of factly as he wiggled himself off Edd and grabbed his legs to pull him to the edge of the bed so he wouldn’t be roasted in the fancy washing machine.
Tears pricked the edges of Edd’s eyes as Kevin swallowed him whole and his hands lost themselves in sunset red locks.
Never had he been able to hold onto him like this and he distantly thinks of suggesting him never cutting his hair again because -
“OH GOD!” He screams as he pushes him away, embarrassed that he was to the edge so quickly.
“You like that, huh?” Kevin snickered at him as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and waggled his brows at him.
“I hate you,” Edd huffed back but his body had other plans.
It was a bit like riding a bike.
But it was also almost like going through the motions, though.
Kevin’s mouth nipping at his neck as he grabbed the lube off his nightstand.
Them trading kisses between trading the lube between themselves; Kevin coating his hand and Edd coating Kevin’s dick.
Then Kevin’s first knuckle dropped inside.
Edd hissed in the back of his throat as he quickly squeezed the dick in his lap before he tossed his head back with a groan.
He knew he wouldn’t last long, but this was gonna take a bit.
“Just breathe for me, Babe,” Kevin huffed, trying to set his mind right.
If he was this tight on his hand, he’s gonna lose his damn mind once he gets inside of him.
Edd took a breath and Kevin wiggled his finger as gently as he could. The stretch lasted for only a moment before Edd picked up his hips for a bit more, but Kevin stayed him with a hand on his stomach.
“Breathe,” he ordered as he slipped down off Edd’s torso and Edd’s breath is gone as quickly as he took it because his dick is in Kevin’s mouth again, naturally.
He relaxes into the bed, taking everything in.
The softness of the sheets, the spicy musk of the air freshener plugged into the wall, the soft dampness of Kevin’s hair in his hands, the soaking warmth of his mouth.
When his head hits the pillow, it’s like he’s been wrapped up in something.
He gasps as another finger is added to Kevin’s ministrations and when he tosses his head to the side he realizes that Kevin’s been using his pillow.
Dear Lort…
The man has his head between his legs, two, no, three fingers up his ass, and his pillow smells like him.
Kevin wouldn’t be mad if he came this instant, but he’d rather he fuck him like he wants to do his pillow right about now.
“Kevin, please.”
The way he spoke was just so urgent that Kevin didn’t argue.
He just moved.
He grabbed the lube as he came off of him, squeezing some quickly into his hand and then giving himself a couple of strokes as he got into position. Resting on his knees, he pulled Edd into his lap and said, “You do it, ok?”
Edd nodded because they both knew if Edd could control the motion, he’d be less likely to be hurt.
No one wants a trip to the hospital in a pandemic over something like this!
Bracing his hands onto Kevin’s sides and Kevin doing likewise, he slowly worked his hips back and forth til he was fully hilted, his head falling onto Kevin’s shoulder with a thunk.
Neither moved for a few, long, tense moments.
When Edd finally brought his head up, Kevin whispered, “I’m...I’m not gonna last long.”
“Me, either,” Edd sighed as he placed a chaste kiss to Kevin’s lips and moved a bit.
Kevin groaned into the soft movement, his hands falling onto Edd’s hips, and his mouth searching for those soft lips again.
His gut whirled tight when Edd pushed their mouths together and his brain shorted out when the needy man in his lap started sucking on his tongue like he would his dick.
He moaned into the kiss and Edd’s hips picked up speed.
Lean arms around his neck made his hips jerk up, but he dug his knees into the bed to anchor himself down when Edd wrapped his legs around him.
Hands explored every inch of skin they could touch and they kissed each other breathless as Edd drove himself up and down on his dick as fast and hard as he could.
“Fuck, I missed you,” Edd whined before kissing him again.
But it was harder this time and his hips weren’t moving in any sort of rhythm anymore.
Kevin brought him closer with one arm, the other slipped between them and started to stroke Edd’s throbbing cock.
Kevin couldn’t wait to get his mouth on it again, but for now, he’d suck Edd’s tongue in his mouth to give him a taste of what he wanted to do to him, with him, and just for him for the next two weeks.
The hand on his cock and the mouth on his tongue made his hips jerk.
HARD.
And Kevin’s dick hit a spot in him that hadn’t been touched in weeks.
He could barely scream as he fell apart, his ass squeezing the hard dick inside him as his whole body begged for more.
Long, thick, milky white strips of cum bursts between them as a roar came out of Kevin.
Strong hands grabbed lithe hips and Edd’s gone.
Release like he hadn’t known in far too long coursed through his whole being as Kevin came as hard as he did.
Once the room stopped spinning, Edd realized that they had fallen backwards, their heads at the feet of the bed.
“You need a haircut,” Kevin grinned affectionately at him, running a weak hand through dark, thick, wavy locks.
“And If you ever cut your hair again, I’ll kill you,” Edd absolutely purred, relishing the gentle touch.
“So noted,” Kevin chuckled as he willed himself up.
“Where ya goin now?” Edd whined.
“Bathroom,” Kevin grinned as he snatched the lube up from where it had fallen on his pillow and made his way to the bathroom.
Edd scrambled as best he could on his baby deer legs to follow him.
Kevin didn’t go back to work and Johnny’s cleaning crew didn’t come for two weeks.
Kevin and Edd shrugged it off and said they were busy catching up on projects at home.
#tumblr exclusive#kevedd#kevedd fanfic#kevedd fanfiction#reg!kevedd#reg!kev#reg!edd#kevin barr#eddward vincent#vincent-barr
73 notes
·
View notes
Text
Battle Cries Chapter 5
TITLE: Battle Cries
CHAPTER NUMBER: Chapter 5/?
AUTHOR: Cinderella1181
WHICH Henry/CHARACTER: AU Henry Cavill /Juniper Denholm
GENRE: Romance/Comedy
FIC SUMMARY: Henry Cavill is the fourth son of the Lord and Lady of St. Helier. He is also now 37 still living at home and has no plans to move out. His father, recently retired, is forcing Henry to live on his own. Set up nicely, by his parents Henry has to find his place in the world and find real love for the first time with a girl he didn’t necessarily think he would even like.
PREVIOUS: Chapter 4
RATING: M (sex, language)
WARNINGS: Um, nothing yet.
AUTHORS NOTES: Juniper fought me tooth and nail for this. I did take some liberties with the brothers job, but...fiction.
Tags: @omgkatinka @sobeautifullyobsessed @losille2000
Juniper sat next to Marianne and watched Henry out of the corner of her eye across the expanse of the table. She was glad that he had come back to sit with them, and almost felt bad at the teasing that she had given to him, but the way he had been carrying on since he had returned was enough to give that feeling up.
Marianne turned to her in between songs. “Juniper is such a lovely name, but so different. How did you come by it?”
“My mum was a student abroad one year here at Oxford. She is the Birkenstock, long flowy dress hippie.” She smiled. “My dad was a lecturer, and they had a brief affair. My mum went home to America and found out a month or so later she was pregnant with me.”
Marianne smiled. “Sounds kinda romantic.”
“I mean, I guess ultimately it was. My dad was still married to his first wife, but he was absolutely besotted with my mum and pretty much from the moment that she left, he started the process of trying to get divorced. The marriage was ending anyway, so they got divorced, my dad went to America to get my mum, and they have lived happily ever after since then.” She laughed. “I am their only child, but they make it work.”
She smiled. “Is your father a hippie, too?”
“Oh god no, he’d wear tweed to bed if mum allowed him. They are the very definition of opposites attract.” Juniper laughed. “They are so different but to watch them together is amazing. I was lucky. I grew up in a house with a lot of love, a lot of freedom of expression and a lot of being able to choose who I want to be.”
“I had hoped we did that for the boys.” She smiled. “Henry is the fourth of five boys.” Marianne motioned to him. “And he is the one, from the moment he was born, that I worried about.”
Juniper raised her eyebrow. “Why?”
“He wasn’t going to take over the title like Piers, Niki joined the Marines, Simon went on to university where he teaches and Charlie went into finance,” she said quietly. “Henry was always so lost.”
Juniper looked over him and caught him looking at her. He quickly averted his eyes. “He seems to have found a spot here.”
“Only because his father forced him.” She sighed. She leaned in to Juniper. “Frankly, I don’t think that Anya being here is a happy coincidence. I think my eldest son and daughter-in-law are trying to rekindle that relationship.”
Juniper looked over at Anya who had her hand possessively on Henry’s back. “She seems to think it’s going well.”
She sighed. “I wish it wasn’t. The last time they were together, it was nothing but ugliness and heartbreak. He may look big and imposing but underneath all of that is a sweet soft boy.” She smiled. “He is kind-hearted and fiercely loyal.”
Juniper nodded her head. “I’ve gathered as much, in the short time I’ve known him.”
Marian looked at her. “Maybe you two should give it a go.”
Juniper looked at the older woman. “Are you out of your mind?” She shook her head. “Oh no, Henry is nothing like any of the men I have ever dated, he is most definitely not my type at all.” She shook her head. “No.”
Marianne smiled a little. “Then why do you keep staring at him?”
#####
Juniper sat in her garden and thought about the events of the night before. She had actually enjoyed herself. Henry, after the initial few moments, had left her mostly alone. Just the occasional, ‘Can you’ statement. She wasn’t sure why she was so mad about the fact that he had been like that.
There was nothing between them, yet every time she saw him, something in her wanted to hear his voice. It was completely irrational. He was not the type of man she went for, or even had dated in the past. But there was something about him that was endearing. And the suggestion from his mother made her even more upset.
She made a noise in her disgust and took a drink of her coffee. She couldn’t spend another week thinking about him. She could hardly believe that she had spent most of the last week thinking about his annoyingly handsome face. She sighed and stood up, heading into the house. Her mobile phone was going off; it was Madeleine. She smiled and picked it up, putting it to her ear.
“Morning, you're up early for the morning after a show,” she said.
“Well, when your boyfriend wakes up and wants to fool around, you oblige him.” She laughed. “Now that he is sated, wanna get breakfast?”
“Okay, honestly Mad, we have had the ‘I do not need any details about your sex life’ discussion.” Juniper pulled a face, laughing a little. “Breakfast sounds good. The usual spot?”
“Absolutely, I will see you in twenty,” Madeleine replied.
Juniper stood up, heading into the house and up the stairs to her bedroom. She threw on a pair of coveralls and a cute shirt underneath, and headed down and out to the street. She would just walk to the small cafe that was about halfway between the two houses. She was happy to get out and exercise her legs.
She walked into the cafe and headed to the counter. The girl behind it looked up and smiled. “Madeleine coming?” the server asked. “Are you going to want the usual, Juniper?”
She nodded. “Yes, thank you Kate, I’m going to get us a table outside.”
“I’ll bring it out.” She called back to her.
Juniper threw a thumbs up at the girl and headed out to sit at their usual table outside. She looked around and watched as people came and went. Soon she saw Madeleine walking up. She sat down across from Juniper and smiled. “Ordered already?”
“Of course. Kate is working, so we can be sure it’ll be correct,” she replied.
Madeleine sat in her seat and smiled. “So, did you have fun last night? I know you don’t usually stay as long as you did.”
She smiled. “I did have fun. All things considered.” She shrugged. “I think it would have been more fun if certain people had not been there.”
“Juniper, he wasn’t that bad.” Madeleine looked at her, her eyebrow raised.
“What makes you think I was talking about him?” Juniper replied. “He was tolerable last night. Once I took the piss out of him, he honestly hardly talked.”
“Oh, then Anya?” Madeleine asked. Juniper shot her a look. “I am a little confused. If you want nothing to do with Hen, then why are you worried about the girl?”
Juniper sighed deeply and didn’t answer. She was saved by the arrival of coffee and food, which gave her even more time to think. Finally she spoke. “She’s just not right for him. You could tell how uncomfortable he was around her. Marianne said that she had broken his heart.”
Madeline looked at her, a small smile on her lips. “You suddenly care about his feelings?”
“Yes, in so much that he is a person.”Juniper answered quickly. “Don’t read too much into this, Maddy. I am not in any way, shape, or form attracted to Henry.”
Madeleine sat back and took a drink of her coffee and looked at her best friend. “Then why has every conversation we have had in the last week somehow going back to a certain Mr. Cavill?”
Juniper glared at her. “Not every conversation.”
“No, not every one, but most of them. Juniper, there is nothing wrong with admitting that you find him attractive and that you are attracted to him. My god, Joey and I both are attracted to him. It’s not a terrible thing.”
“It may not be a terrible thing, but it is not something that I even...ugh, you know what I don’t want to talk about him any more,” she said. “Let’s talk about anything else.”
Madeleine laughed a little and nodded. “Okay, but this whole conversation isn’t over.”
“Yes, it is, I don’t want to hear about him any more,” Juniper replied. “I am done.”
9 notes
·
View notes
Text
Taron Fic - Working Title (Chapter Six)
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Authors Note:
I-am-so-damn-sorry-this-took-so-long.
I have no excuse, nothing was coming and then last night and today…BOOM it hit. This is a slightly angsty filler chapter. I hope you like it.
It was 8 am and Adelaide was timidly walking into the Rocketman production office at Bray Studios, dragging her 2 make-up suitcases with her. It had been a few days since her fight with Taron. She had written at least 50 texts to him in hopes of somehow explaining herself, but nothing sounded right so they all went unsent. How could she even begin to explain herself?
She needed to give Taron time.
Today though, she was going to have to fight off her urge to stay hidden because today she would have to face him…literally. Filming was to start next week, and David, Dexter, and Matthew wanted to see a run-through of the first few looks and to do some blocking. Adelaide was also going to be shown around the lot, shown her make-up and hair trailer, meet her team and get situated.
Taron was already there when she walked in, he and David Furnish were in hushed conversation. They stopped abruptly when they realized they were no longer alone.
“Hi” Adelaide awkwardly waved.
Taron gave a tight smile but turned back to David.
“David, this is Adelaide DeFay, she is the new head of make-up that just signed on.” He explained. “Adelaide, this is David Furnish, he is one of the executive producers on Rocketman and also as you know Elton’s husband”
“Yes, Adelaide! It is so nice to finally meet you” David had such a warm and welcoming smile. He made his way over to her, kissing both her cheeks “I am so happy you were able to sign on and join our little family so quick. Tilly and Taron have spoken so highly of you and your work. Always great to have old friends working together.” He paused as his phone began to ring.
“Hold on a second darling, it is the boss man. I will be right back” He began walking out of the room “Hello my love, are you on your way?- Taron why don’t you start the tour for us, show Adelaide around and where the make-up trailer is, I believe the core make-up team is here today- okay love I am back” David walked out of the room, leaving the two in awkward silence.
Neither of them knew what to say, but the building tension could be felt. Something needed to be said, they can fight all they want outside of work but the two of them were going to have to learn to be adults and put their feelings aside for the film.
“Thank you for-”
“I’m sorry about-”
They couldn’t help the small laugh that bubbled up.
“Go ahead” Taron gestured.
“Oh um, thank you for putting in a good word for me. You didn’t have to but it means a lot”
Taron waved it off “Well it’s true. I have always told you how talented you are” He flashed a small smile her way. She never knew she could miss a smile so much.
“And you?” she asked
“Oh right, yeah” he paused, running his hand over the back of his neck “I am sorry for the other night”
“Don’t be. I deserved it” She shrugged her shoulders.
“No, you didn’t. No one deserves to be talked to like that.” He paused, trying to find his wording
“I talked to mum about it the other day. After I left Grans I kind of drove straight to Aberystwyth and stayed a couple of nights. I just needed to clear my head”
Adelaide nodded in understanding but stayed quiet.
“She’s not mad at you by the way. She wants to see you. She feels hurt but she said from the single mom perspective and what runs through a person’s mind when that stick says positive, she said she can understand the fear.” Adelaide let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding when Taron finished.
“I want to see her too” She couldn’t help the watery smile.
“Well, let’s get this tour started.” Taron clapped his hands together, taking ahold of one of the suitcases already knowing what was in them, Adelaide took them on every gig. He moved toward a back door in the corner of the room, it led out onto a spacious back porch that overlooked the lot.
“It’s not too big but the sound stage is huge, there is an open lot next door too, we’re doing the carnival scene in there in a few weeks.”
The two made their way around the lot, Taron showed her the sound stage, the crew was in working on what looked to be the Troubadour. He showed her where craft services was, both of them grabbing a quick snack to take with them as they walked. The tour concluded outside the make-up trailer.
Tilly was sitting on the steps leading up to the trailer.
“And this is your palace, it comes with your very own Tilly” Taron jokes, giving his best Vanna White impersonation as they stood outside the trailer, Tilly throwing up her best jazz hand to add to it.
“I am going to see if Dex or any of the guys are here. You get settled and we’ll be back to run through looks. Tilly can show you around inside and the wardrobe trailer” He leaned in, leaving a kiss on Adelaide’s cheek, awkwardly stalling for a second when he realized what he was doing.
“Right” He cleared his throat “See you soon” And he was off.
Tilly made her way over to Adelaide when she didn’t move right away.
“Looks like you two are trying to bury the hatchet?” Tilly questioned.
Adelaide shrugged “I have no idea. This is the first we talked since the fight the other night”
“Oh yeah, the fight that happened when Taron came over at 3 am the other morning. Not booty call hours or anything” Tilly teased; Adelaide rolled her eyes.
“How many times do I have to tell you, nothing happened, He came over, we talked fo-”
“Yeah yeah, you talked for a little bit, nothing too detailed, then you went to sleep, the two of you in your bed and then woke up sometime later and fought. You already plead your case and since I have no other evidence or witnesses to go off, I will just have to take your word for it” Tilly looked at her accusingly. Adelaide rolled her eyes.
“Can we just get in the trailer? I want to get my stuff set up before they come in for the run through” Adelaide gave Tilly an annoyed look and started making her way inside.
Adelaide had just finished rolling out her makeup brushes when there was a knock on her trailer door, a second later Taron walked in with Jamie and Richard, followed by Dexter, Matthew, David, and lastly Elton himself. In all the commotion of the last week, with emphasis on the last few days, Adelaide hadn’t even put any thought into meeting Sir Elton John and yet here she stood just feet away from a man that had been an idol of hers for as long as she can remember.
“Adelaide!” Dexter tossed his hands in the air before making his way over to her for a hug.
“Have you had a chance to meet your team?” Adelaide nodded at the question.
Tilly had introduced her to her team of 10 amazing make-up artists and hairstylist, a few she had meet at the mixer a few nights before. There was a much larger team that would come in for the dancers and extras make-up but these core people would be working on the main cast.
“Good, let’s get the rest of the introductions done” With a small wave to Jamie and Richard, Dexter introduced Adelaide to the 3 men she hasn’t met yet, she smiled politely, said ‘Hello, nice to meet you” and shook their hand, that is until they got to Elton.
“And lastly, Adelaide, this is Elton. Elton, this is Adelaide” instead of being a normal person and shaking his hand, her body instantly went into a curtsy without any help from her. She instantly stood straight up, eyes wide and face as red as could be.
“Oh my god, did I just curtsy?” She covered her mouth with her hand as she started to laugh “I am so sorry” Everyone laughed with her.
“Darling, I have been greeted in far stranger ways, I can promise you” Elton reached out and shook her hand. She smiled, still red-faced.
“Well let’s get started, shall we?” Dexter clapped his hands together.
An hour later and the group was standing around staring at Taron as he stood on a slightly raised platform in white coveralls over a tight navy blue, three-quarter sleeve shirt and 4-inch platform heels.
“I don’t think that flipper is going to work, I think it is going to hinder his singing” Dexter commented in reference to the false teeth Adelaide just had Taron put in “Everything else looks great but that flipper needs to go”
“But Dex I think we need to have that gap, it’s apart of the look. It’s apart of Elton” Taron tried to argue but he was only proving Dex right when he struggled around a few of the vowels and make Elton sound like Oton. After Dex gave Taron a ‘see what I am talking about’ look, he turned to Adelaide.
“Any other ideas for the gap?” Adelaide thought or a moment.
“Give me some time, we’ll figure it out”
They moved on, Taron went in to change into the next costume and Jamie in a pair of bellbottom jeans over a pair of brown cowboy boots, a brown leather belt with an oval buckle and a green plaid shirt tucked in.
“We need a different shirt color” Tilly commented from next to Adelaide.
“Agreed” Dex nodded.
“Maybe lighter?” David added “something blue”
Tilly walked over to one of the many racks of clothes, this one labeled ‘Jamie’ and flipped through the selection, as she did Richard made his way out of the dressing room in a coal colored pinstriped suit. A slight heel in the black boots, a tie, and handkerchief. He was struggling to do up the gold watch, Adelaide walked over and helped him fasten the watch before stepping back to take in the look. His hair was very full and dark brown.
“Dex” Adelaide called his attention as she walked back up to Richard, she had him step off the platform as she stood upon it and began messing with his curly locks, “I think we need to go darker on the hair” she looked over to the John Reid imageboard “His brown is too light, I think we need to do black” She looked at Richard who was still taller than her without the platform.
“Would you want me to dye it or talk with the wig-master?” Adelaide asked her friend.
“I would rather dye it then deal with wigs each day this summer, already gonna be sweatin’ my bloody balls off in the suits” he joked.
The day continued on like that for a few hours, only breaking for a much-needed lunch. The boys tried on their first few outfits, only a few alterations needed to be made. Adelaide had made plans with Richard to get his hair dyed in a couple of days. Right now, she found herself in almost the same position she had this morning. Just her and Taron, the rest of the group had calls they needed to make about the production, lines they needed to run and alterations they claimed they were going to start tonight, the last one running out of the make-up trailer at a suspicious speed.
Adelaide currently had her fingers deep in Taron’s locks, Taron giving an overexaggerated groan each time she pulled a little hard.
“Oh hush, the wig glue does not hurt that bad coming off” she commented after a particularly loud groan.
“It does when it’s pulling baby hairs” he hissed, she shook her head at him.
They found themselves falling back into a comfortable silence. They were good at being quiet together, they would sit for hours sometimes, the two of them reading, Adelaide would be painting while Taron memorized lines, they like the silence.
A sudden giggle from Taron ended that.
“What?” She questioned.
“You curtsied for Elton” the sentence didn’t even get fully out before he was doubling over with laughter.
“Like-” laughing “like full-on-“ laughing “oh god, full-on curtsy”
Adelaide stared daggers at the back of his head before giving one last hard tug that may have had some hair attached to it. Taron yelped but continued laughing.
“Oh god, and your face when you realized. Oh Doll, I wish I had been filming.” He had actual tears in his eyes at this point. “Oh it made my whole day so thank you” he wheezed out another laugh before he began to calm down.
“I really don’t like you right now” she pinned the wig to the mannequin and pulled the nude-colored cap off Taron’s head.
As she throws face soap and a make-up remover towel at him her phone began to ring on the counter. She quicked a look at it and saw a picture of her mom and Elea flash on the screen alerting an incoming facetime.
She quickly grabbed the phone, hoping Taron didn’t notice but seeing as how the phone was directly in front of him, she knew it wasn’t missed once she felt the tension come flooding back.
“Um, wash your face. I’ll be back in just a second” she excused herself to the other room. She clicked accept and a way to close-up view of Eleanor’s teeth came into view.
“Hi mommy!” She smiled wide.
“Hi Little Bird!” Adelaide laughed “why don’t you pull the phone away a bit so mommy can see all of your pretty face?” Eleanor did just that.
“There’s my pretty girl”
Taron stood for a second, looking at the door Adelaide just disappeared behind, he wanted so badly to be apart of that conversation. He shifted uncomfortably before he went to the sink in the corner and began washing off the lite make-up that had been put on. His eyes kept looking to the door when he would hear what sounded to be a child’s laugh or excited voice.
As he dried his face he slowly walked toward the door.
“Mama, Grandma said we get to come be with you in 3 weeks” a tiny voice said excitedly. The voice sounded just like his little sister Rosie.
“That is right Little Bird” he couldn’t help the smile that pulled at his lips when he heard Adelaide use the nickname she had hoped to pass on to her child one day.
Her child...their child.
He needed fresh air.
The large make-up trailer suddenly felt like it was shrinking in on him. He grabbed his messenger bag off the couch, made sure he had his phone, wallet, and keys. He had changed back into his clothes after they had finished pinning what needed to be altered. Once he was ready he hastily made his way out of the trailer, taking a deep breath as he walked out into the late-afternoon sun.
He knew he needed to get a hold on himself before he went back in. His anger was starting to bubble over again and he refused to let himself explode like he did the other night. The intruding smell of cigarettes caught his attention. He looked up to see Richard walking his way, a smoke hanging from his lips as he walked, his fingers free to type away on his phone.
“Hey, Dicky!” Taron called out “Bum a smoke off you?” he asked when Richard looked up.
“Course, thought you quit though?” he asked as he handed the cigarette over.
“Yeah, just need to calm my nerves” he explained as he lit the smoke.
“Yeah, been meaning to ask you, just didn’t want to ruffle anything up. You good mate?”
At that moment both boys looked up at the sound of a trailer door opening, Adelaide took a step out, she looked around the lot, her eyes stopping on the boys as they stood in a small plume of smoke.
“Got time for a pint?” Taron asked, his eyes still locked with Adelaide’s.
“Yeah Mate, where you thinking?”
“Anywhere, just need a drink and an ear” He nodded to Adelaide but followed Richard to the main office to get their stuff before they left.
Chapter Seven
--------------------------------------------------------
So my original post got swiped somehow but I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter. I know it was a bit of a filler. I will do what I can to have the next one up soon. Stick with me guys!
PS. Let me know if you want to be tagged in updates!
@xceaf @sarahegerton96 @primaba11erina @hcfavoritegal @shereighties @aberystwythboy
20 notes
·
View notes
Text
Stella and the Wolf - Chapter 11
You can read it here on AO3, or check out the Tumblr Chapter Index here.
Stiles knows one thing for certain. He knows that if he and Stella get into the SUV, they’re not getting out again. He also knows that you don’t argue with a person with a gun, however much she’s smiling.
“Okay,” he says, hating the way his voice cracks on that simple word. “Okay, we’re getting in.”
Stella makes a small frightened sound beside him.
He steps forward and opens the back door of the SUV. There’s nobody in the backseat. Good.
The open door gives them a few seconds maybe, where the woman thinks he’s obeying her. And a few seconds where it obscures her vision of them. A few seconds, but he has to use them.
“Run,” he mouths to Stella, and shoves her. And says, aloud, “Okay, we’re getting in.”
A few seconds, and then he’s turning, and running, keeping himself between Stella and the woman. Keeping himself in her line of fire.
“Back up!” the woman yells at the driver. “Back up!”
And the tires of the SUV screech, and the open back door wobbles back and forth like a loose tooth as the SUV spins around in a speedy three-point turn to face them.
“Help!” Stella screams as she runs, and how does she have any breath left in the lungs at all? “Help! Help us!”
Her shoes slap on the pavement as they bolt back toward Deaton’s.
Stella hammers on the glass front door, and Stiles hems her in as the SUV closes on them.
Oh God. They’re sitting ducks now, aren’t they? Stiles shields Stella—tells himself to fall forward to cover her when he’s hit—and then he is falling, but if he’s hurt he can’t feel it, and there’s a strange popping sound, and the SUV is speeding off back into the night.
It takes Stiles a moment to figure out what happened.
It helps that he’s lying on the floor on top of Stella, and Deaton is staring down at them, eyebrows raised.
He opened the door, Stiles figures, and they both tumbled through like skittles.
Deaton isn’t their only audience though.
A man wearing coveralls with the name of the tire place across the street is hurrying toward them too.
“What the hell’s going on?” he asks. “Shit. Is that a bullet hole in your window, Alan?” And he holds up his cell phone. “I called the cops.”
Stiles should panic about that, he thinks, but at the moment he’s way too relieved to actually be alive.
***
Dad turns up, lights and sirens heralding his approach. Well, first Tara turns up, but the second she sees who’s involved, she calls Dad, and Stiles knows there’s no use telling her that it’s not necessary. It’s a lie anyway, because the moment Dad turns up, Stiles goes weak at the knees, and can barely hold himself up long enough for Stella to get her hug before he’s stumbling into Dad’s embrace as well. He’s shaking, and he can’t stop, and Dad rubs his back and makes angry, growling kind of shushing noises that fall somewhere between ‘You’re okay, son’ and ‘I’m gonna kill a motherfucker.’ Stiles finds both sentiments equally comforting, to be honest.
“Heard the little girl yellin’ as she ran down the street,” the guy from the tire place is telling Tara. “By the time I got over here, Alan had already got them inside.”
Stiles inhales heavily. Dad smells of coffee and aftershave.
Dad peels Stiles off him gently. “Talk me through it, kid.”
Stiles sucks in a breath. “We were, we were leaving the clinic, and the black SUV pulled in behind us. I didn’t get the license plate. And the woman in the passenger seat asked if we wanted a ride. I said no, and…” He shudders.
“She pointed a gun at us!” Stella exclaims, sounding more outraged than upset. “So Stiles pretended we were getting in the car, and we ran back here instead.”
“You ever seen this woman before?”
“No,” Stiles says, but he’s got a pretty good idea who it was. “She was blonde. Maybe in her thirties? White. Slim build, I guess. She was wearing a dark jacket, and I didn’t get a look at the driver. I think it was a guy.”
It’s paltry, really, the language used to describe suspects. The woman’s face is burned onto his retinas, but his ability to translate it into words is almost non-existent.
“She had a necklace,” Stella says, and Stiles doesn’t even remember a necklace. “It was silver. It had a dog on it.”
Not a dog, Stiles is suddenly sure. A wolf.
There’s no doubt in his mind the woman was Kate Argent, and he’s going to trawl Allison’s Facebook later to made certain.
“And the license plate started with a six,” Stella adds. “I didn’t see the other numbers or letters through.”
Dad looks to Deaton.
“I’m sorry,” Deaton says. “By the time I got the door open, I only saw their tail lights.”
Stiles watches as Dad’s gaze is drawn to the bullet hole in Deaton’s window.
Attempted abductions are rare, Stiles knows. And so are attempted abductions that end in attempted murder. Sooner or later Dad’s going to have to give voice to what must be a growing suspicion that Stiles and Stella are mixed up in something weird, and that they both know more than they’re telling him.
Stiles hopes it’s later.
“But what were you kids even doing here?” Dad asks, shaking his head helplessly. “I thought you were at home.”
“We, um…” And Stiles has no idea where to go with that.
“They brought me a stray kitten,” Deaton says, rescuing him unexpectedly.
“You found a kitten?” Dad asks, his forehead creasing.
Stiles nods.
“It was lost and sad,” Stella says, making her eyes go big. “We couldn’t just let it go hungry, Dad! I’m calling it Matilda, and can we keep it, please?”
***
Matilda, thank god, is not an imaginary kitten, and Deaton is able to produce it from out the back. It is, however, a boy kitten. A little orange tabby boy. Stella sits on the floor and pets him and coos over him while Dad and Tara go over everything with Stiles and Deaton and the guy from the tire place again.
Despite Stella’s insistence on immediately adopting Matilda, Deaton tells her he’s not quite big enough to go home with anyone yet, but that if Dad is okay with it then they can come and collect him in a week or two.
Dad, Stiles thinks, would agree to absolutely anything at this point. Stiles can tell he’s shaken at how close his kids came to being seriously hurt—or worse—tonight.
He drives them home in the back of his cruiser, and Tara drives Stiles’s Jeep.
“If there’s anything you need to tell me,” Dad begins, and then shakes his head and stops, like he can’t quite bring himself to ask. Like he can’t accuse his kids of lying, even though it’s got to be at least starting to point to that for him now.
Stiles swallows down his guilt, and plays dumb.
***
Dad heads back to work, because one thing about being the Sheriff, Stiles knows, is that it never stops. His kids were almost abducted tonight, but Peter Hale and his nurse are also missing, so Dad doesn’t get to stay home. There’s always something. And lately, in Beacon Hills, all those little somethings have been snowballing into bigger somethings. It’ll be an avalanche in a minute, Stiles thinks wildly as he locks the door behind Dad. An avalanche, and Stiles only hopes that the people he cares about aren’t caught in its path.
Who is he kidding though, really?
The avalanche has already begun, and theres’s no escaping it now.
***
Derek doesn’t answer any of his texts of phone calls. Not even when Stiles tells him that Kate Argent (thanks, Allison’s Facebook!) threatened him and Stella with a gun. Stiles tries not to feel the sting of betrayal.
Maybe Derek’s lost his phone.
Maybe Derek’s dead.
Okay, so Stiles would definitely prefer the first option to the second one, but he can’t deny the fact that the second option would also fully explain why Derek hasn’t answered. And Derek’s not exactly the guy with the best luck in the universe, is he? Who would be surprised if he was dead?
Stiles ignores the jab of pain in his gut that comes with even entertaining that possibility.
But it’s there.
He doesn’t sleep much that night.
***
Dad works through the night, and stops in for breakfast before heading out to work again.
“You go to school,” he says firmly. “You pick Stella up, and come straight back here afterwards. No going out for takeout, or trips to the mall, or kitten rescues, or anything.” He sighs, and rubs a hand over his forehead. “You’re not grounded, kiddo. This isn’t a punishment, okay? I’d just feel a hell of a lot better if I knew you kids were home, instead of gallivanting off around town.”
“That’s us,” Stiles says. “Pair of gallivanters.”
Stella snorts.
“We’ll come straight home,” Stiles says, and means it too. “No more running around town, I promise.”
“Well, except tonight,” Dad says.
Stiles goes completely blank.
“The dance, kiddo,” Dad reminds him. “You’re dropping Stella off with Melissa, remember? And you and Scott are going to the dance.”
Right.
Right, somewhere out there teenagers are having normal werewolf-less lives. Stiles used to be one of them, not that long ago. He even entertained ideas of asking Lydia to the dance—and constructed vivid fantasies where she actually said yes—and somehow he’d completely forgotten it was tonight.
“Oh,” he says, because he is not at all prepared. “Oh, shit.”
“I got your suit cleaned last week,” Dad tells him. “Also, language.”
“Mrs. McCall is going to show me how to make a blanket out of scrap material,” Stella says. “We were going to make it for my bear, but now we can get a basket and put it in it, so we’re ready for when we can bring Matilda home.”
“It’s a boy cat,” Dad says.
Stella looks at him expectantly.
Dad raises his eyebrows. “Matilda is a girl’s name.”
“Well, he doesn’t know that,” Stella points out. “He’s a cat.”
Dad considers that for a moment. “You know what? That’s a fair call, kiddo.”
Stella looks pleased.
“Be good at school,” Dad says to both of them. “Stay safe.”
He says that a lot, but there’s usually not such weight behind the words.
Stiles and Stella both stay in Dad’s hugs for a little longer than usual, and Stiles locks the door after he leaves.
“Are you really going to the dance tonight?” Stella asks once the coast is clear.
“I guess,” Stiles says. “Like, we’ll act normal, right? And sooner or later everything will all blow over?”
Stella’s eight, and the look she gives him tells him that even she thinks that’s bullshit.
“We act normal,” Stiles says, as though repeating it will make it true. “And we just hope that Derek’s okay.”
“And Peter,” Stella says.
“What?”
“We hope that Peter’s okay too.”
“Peter has a body count, Stella.”
She shrugs. “But we’re not on it.”
Like that makes any difference.
Except maybe… maybe it does? Because Peter Hale could have killed them both back in that hospital room, but he didn’t, because they didn’t fit the pattern.
Neither did Laura Hale though, right?
Or maybe Stiles has just been looking at the wrong pattern this whole time.
41 notes
·
View notes
Text
200 subscribers! (actually 208)
I’ve pondered long and hard what to do, and came to the realization that I did not have time to write anything since I am right now working on book two. But, I wanted to give you a bit of fun, so I went back through my archives and found some outtakes. You remember when I said that Fallen Hero was originally meant to be a novel? Well, I thought I’d share some scenes from there that hasn’t made it into the game (yet). Be warned, this is from 2011, first person, Cyrus and Yasmin, a male Ortega and Dr. Mortus (not Mortum) and in no way canon anymore. Also a lot more swearing.
Snippets under the cut:
1: Yasmin runs into problems (cut from book one)
I am insane. It’s not the first time I have thought that in the last year, and it will probably not be the last. How did I ever imagine that I could pull this off? My mind is fire and ice as I face the gun aimed at my face, but Yasmin’s lips simply curls in a smile. “This is a mistake” I assure the gun, and the masked man behind it, my voice a honeyed mumble.
“No mistake bitch” the man with the gun replies, a faceless goon with high-tech weapons that rings bells I can’t quite make sense of. In Yasmin’s body I can’t read thoughts, only the body language of a man that really doesn’t care whether I live or die. “Word has it that you were the one that made off with the Aipherion, and I’ve been hired to retrieve it.”
The gun beckons, and I take a step towards it, flirts with death and pain as I let my eyes widen a little, confusion vying with worry on my face. “I had nothing to do with that” I lie, because stealing from heroes was one thing, but the mystical gem called the Aipherion had belonged to Lord Modius, and one did not play games with him. Who had talked? Dr Mortus? It seems unlikely, if he had I would be dead already and the gem returned to its owner.
“I am sad to hear that” the goon replies, the gun never wavering from my face. It’s large, imposing, and like all guns overtly phallic. “Because my sources all point to you being involved.”
I am growing annoyed at the presence of the gun by now, so I do the only thing I can. I take a step forward and lick the tip of it, whispering into the barrel “Listen, I don’t know what magic eightball you’ve shook to have my name come up, but you are barking up the wrong tree. I’m a tech-girl; the mystical is wasted on me.” As if to prove the point I wrap my lips around the barrel and is rewarded with a shiver I can feel through my lips. I pull my head away, glistening strands of saliva still connecting me to his weapon. My smile has turned sensual, as I slide my tongue down the gun, softly stepping even closer as I nudge the weapon to the side. Sucker.
“My sources…” he starts, voice distracted, and this is the chance I need. The gun was aimed past my head now, not at it, and I move fast as a rattler as I grab his hand and punch his elbow hard enough to almost dislocate it. His words turn to a scream and the gun drops from dead fingers.
“Fuck your sources” I swear, driving my fist into his stomach as hard as I can, but he’s a big man and well armoured, and doesn’t fold like I want him to. Damn. This could be bad.
“Bitch” he growls, left hand snatching out and grabbing my hair. I should have seen that coming, but I’m not Sidestep now, I’m Yasmin. I can’t see what people will do; I am no longer three steps ahead. I am caught, and he has longer reach and is stronger than me. I am fucked. He knows it. I know it. His knee catches me in the stomach and I fold, gasping for air. “You will pay for that” he snaps, and I don’t doubt his word.
“Wait” I manage to get out before his next kick drives what air remains from my lungs. I curl up on the ground, trying to protect my face. But he leans in and traps me against the ground with a knee, slaps my face a few times hard enough to make my ears ring. He doesn’t even take fighting me seriously, and the shame of that makes my cheeks burn from embarrassment as much as pain. I feel more helpless than I’ve felt since the farm, and I want to run and hide, withdraw and leave an empty doll for him to play with. But if I do, I can’t be sure if I would find my way back to her. I would have to give up two years of plans so very close to fruition. I need her, I need my Yasmin.
“Did you have anything to say to me?” He has me pinned down now, captured beneath his weight. I don’t need my telepathy to see that he is enjoying this. That he is enjoying my swollen lip and tearful eyes. He has me now, and he knows it, his gloved left hand caressing my bruised cheek.
“I’m telling the truth” I sob, deciding to play up the fear if I can’t escape it. “I don’t have it. But I can find out. People tell me things…” it is my final gamble, to play the girl to the end. To not be important, to be pretty and smart, but never dangerous. I was not the threat; I was a norm, a tool, like his gun. A sexy girl employed by somebody, just like he was. I did not know now, but I could find out.
“I’m sorry hon, that just ain’t good enough.” He backhands me again, and I taste blood and metal as bright spots distort my vision. “Can’t take the chance of you running off to Dr Mortus for help. I don’t care what the pair of you is cooking up together, but my instructions were clear.” He reaches down and grabs my dress, my breasts spilling out as the fabric rips in his hand. The sight distracts him momentarily, and I know I won’t get another shot at this.
I yelp and move up an arm to shield my nakedness, but the moment he reaches out to grab my wrist I lash out with my other arm and jab a piece of broken bottle into the side of his thigh. It doesn’t penetrate deeply through the coveralls, but it makes him shift his weight enough for me to crawl away as he struggles to pull it out. I crawl fast, on knees and elbows with the tattered remains of my Ungaro around my waist. I don’t get far before I feel his hand around my ankle, pulling me back. I didn’t get far, but I got far enough and oh God how I enjoy the look of terrified surprise on his face when I roll over on my back and shove the gun he dropped back in his mouth. I know I should say something witty in the line of ‘suck on this’ if I want to have a future in this profession, but my hands are shaking with rage so I simply pull the trigger and nearly deafen myself at the roar the gun makes in the narrow alley. Idiot. He didn’t even have a silencer.
I lay there on the ground, his bleeding corpse draped over me, ruptured head leaking brains over the remains of my dress. I should reach for my phone and call the police; I am clearly the victim here. But that would mean more exposure than I would like. Instead I swallow my pride and calls Dr Mortus. Let the man earn his keep and damn my dignity.
2: Yasmin and Ortega at the bar (Might happen in book two)
The bar is filled with the muted hum of drunken conversation, unrecognizable through the rockabilly blare of the speakers. The green velvet seats in the booth are greasy from decades of the unwashed and uncaring, and the light that filters down, does so through a haze of cigarette smoke. In a corner two men in purple suits are having a pantomime argument, while the hunched bear of a man at the bar hides his gang colors under an oversized trench coat. I don’t even want to know what else he has under there.
I shouldn’t throw stones.
We must be quite a sight where we sit in our booth. A bedraggled young woman in ill-fitting lab clothes and messy hair, and a middle-aged hispanic man in blue coveralls and stolen wellingtons. Honestly, it’s a miracle that we’re sitting here at all; I didn’t expect to escape from Dr. Mortus lab this easily. Granted, Liz had told me that he was gone for a few days, but in the back of my mind I expected him to pop up behind us with a plasma cannon just as we were getting out of there. He probably didn’t think I would try to escape. Maybe I was wrong about him. Maybe he trusted me. Maybe he really wanted to help. Or maybe we were lucky. Maybe it doesn’t matter. Ortega keeps staring at me in silence, and I keep the gun aimed at him under the table.
In front of us, both our beers remain untouched.
Not that anybody cares to take a closer look at us. That is the reason I dragged Ortega here at gunpoint. It is one of the many villain bars I combed through before settling on Joe’s as my favored haunt. This one, aptly named Garage Sale, always felt too low-brow. The people I wanted to meet didn’t go here; this is a place for the down and out, for the upwardly mobile henchmen and supervillains on the skids. In here, nobody cares and nobody smiles. Neither do we.
“All I have to do is make one phone call and you’ll be safe.” Ortega does his best to sound calm and convincing, but he just doesn’t look he part right now. His age has caught up to him and weights heavy on his brow, black rings shadow his eyes and he’s mottled with bruises where he had been hooked up to Dr. Mortus generator. That is the only reason I’m able to threaten him at all, his powers still hadn’t recharged, and for the moment he’s just as ordinary as I am.
But I have the gun.
“I won’t go back to jail,” I reply, my voice as cold as my face. I have no idea what I am supposed to do now, my brain has locked itself into a death spiral, and I don’t know how to get out of it. The crash seems inevitable, and the ground is painted with prison bars. That’s why we ended up in this bar; I needed someplace safe and neutral, somewhere where nobody would care or ask questions. And Cyrus would never come here. At least I hope that whoever stole his body still has an interest in keeping up the charade that he is a good guy. It’s too valuable to waste. I hope.
“It was a hospital, not a jail,” Ortega tries, raising the beer to his lips for the first time since we got here. As he moves he makes me tense up and I clench the gun harder, which makes him tense up, and the beer shivers a moment before he puts it down again. Very gently.
“It would have been. Once I’d recovered and given up whatever information I had. I’m not stupid, I know how this works.”
“Why do you still protect him? You said it yourself, the Annihilist threatened you, and you had no choice.” I almost feel sorry for Ortega, it is obvious that he wants to believe that so badly.
“It’s… complicated,” I sigh, the gun heavy in my hand. Part of me wants to let it go, wants to just confess and ask for help. I think I need it. But I know it’s never that easy. If I told Ortega about Cyrus, about who I am and what I did, would he believe me? Even if he did, he would be disgusted. I am not a victim, I’m a villain, and my acts are conscious choices. Nobody holds a gun to my head.
“Life is complicated,” Ortega finally admits, looking into my eyes. “I don’t believe you are an evil woman. You didn’t have to rescue me; you could just as easily have left me there.”
I could just as easily have killed him too. That would have simplified things. The thought nauseates me, so I distract myself with words. “It’s just that…” I have lowered the gun now, but he doesn’t know that. “It’s not loyalty, but you’re asking me to give up my life and my freedom. You can’t stop him, I’ll either end up in jail for what I’ve done, or I’ll end up dead. I don’t think he’d let me live through a plea bargain.”
“And what if you go back to him? Do you think he would ever trust you again?” His words hit too close to home, even if it is for the wrong reasons. I hope it doesn’t show. Because he is right, I can never return to what I was. Not without a means to get my body back. And to pull that off I need contacts and friends. I just crossed Dr. Mortus of the rapidly shrinking list. Ortega is about the only one left. The one bridge I’m finding it hard to burn.
“I can’t go back, but I can’t go to jail either,” I repeat, as if words would somehow fix the world. The situation is rapidly turning into one of those nightmares where it’s just too hard to continue to struggle. It’s much easier to just go limp, roll over, pretend to be unconscious and accept what is coming to you. But in this nightmare, I am the one holding the gun. I am still in control.
Things change so quickly.
“Hey, isn’t that Charge?” Words strike like a lightning bolt from a clear sky, and suddenly all eyes are on us.
“I always said you were an idiot for not wearing a mask,” I snap without thinking. Cyrus’ words from Yasmin’s lips, but there is no time for more than a confused look on Ortega’s face. I’m on my feet with the gun pointed at the men that spotted us, but a well aimed bottle from the bar knocks it out of my hand.
All hell breaks loose.
Ortega is on his feet and we’re back to back against the surging bar. It’s late enough for most of the patrons to be desperately drunk, trying to escape from the drudgery of their existence. But they are many, and I’m just happy that Ortega holds his own, because giving up is not an option. I knee a CerberUS henchman in the groin, slipping sideways as he crumbles. Ortega matches my step; moving into the spot that I left. I had forgotten how good it felt to have someone watch your back.
Someone you trust.
I am no longer a telepath, but apparently my reflexes are not gone. A movement in the corner of my eye makes me turn; reaching up to grab the descending arm before I even register what happened. His lack of balance makes it easy to turn his punch into a throw that sends him flying over a table. Bottles crash like firework.
I had forgotten how much I missed this.
I break into a smile as I break someone’s nose, the bottle splintering in my hand. People back away from my broken bottle, and I laugh in their faces, bolstered by the feeling of Ortega behind me, his back against mine. Then a sense of fearsome urgency hits me.
I’m not sure what it is that makes me push back hard enough to topple us both, but we hit the floor a moment before the blast hits the spot we just left. Suddenly the booth is on fire, the air aglow in freakish colors and I’m crawling for my life beneath the tables. The gloves have come off and the powers brought out, and if you shouldn’t drive drunk you probably shouldn’t wield biogenic flame or solid light constructs while wasted either. People are screaming, someone is on fire, the fight is escalating and it’s everyone against everyone.
At least until someone remembers that this wasn’t just about venting their frustrations, it’s about kicking a hero when he’s down and they can reach him. I watch Ortega disappear under a pile of has-beens wishing for a starring role in the story of Charge’s defeat. I don’t think I screamed his name out loud, and even if I did, nobody heard me amidst the chaos. I scramble free from the broken table I’d been hiding under just in time to dodge and shield my eyes as every single light in the bar explodes in a shower of sparks and glass. The mob around Ortega falls away, twitching and screaming as if they’d just pissed on the third rail. I am probably imagining the ozone, there’s no way that could ever overpower the stench of cheap alcohol, unwashed bodies and voided bowels.
Ortega untangles himself, pale blue lightning arcing between his body and the now empty sockets. The room is dark, but his eyes are throwing sparks. He’s shed the guise that he belonged here, another has-been slumming with the losers. Suddenly nobody seems eager to continue the fight.
“I think we will be leaving now,” he says, gesturing in my direction. Nobody protests. I straighten my back and walks out with Ortega, my hair alive with static electricity. My skin tingles from his aura, but I don’t bat an eyelash until we’re well outside the door.
And gone.
Two blocks of frantic running later we’re both out of breath, and Ortega looks less than imposing as he leans against a dumpster.
“Would you please accept my invitation and stay in my apartment at least? I’ve had enough excitement for one night,” he gasps.
“Not one night. Weeks. Technically you’ve been a captive for a couple of weeks,” I say, because I realized he had probably no idea how much time that had passed. My hair is tangled and sticking to my face so I wipe it back with a look of disgust.
“Weeks. Right. That’s good to know.” Ortega takes a step back from the dumpster; the smell coming from it is not pleasant now that he had regained his breath.
“Your powers. How long has it been since they recharged?” I’m through resisting the inevitable, but I need to know.
“On the way to the bar. I borrowed a jolt from a badly insulated lamppost.” Ortega looks sheepish, as if he was a bit ashamed of his subterfuge.
“So you could have taken the gun from me at any point?”
“You… looked like you needed it. I didn’t want to push you into doing something rash.”
I nod, defeated. “That was probably very smart. I meant what I said; I won’t go back to jail.”
“It won’t be jail. It’s just my apartment. You can leave at any time, but I really wish you wouldn’t. You’re too interesting to end up just another statistic.”
“Thanks. I think. Just don’t tell anybody I’m there.” It sounds more like begging than an order, even though the ‘please’ remains unsaid, sticking in my throat. “I need time to think. Time to make my own choices.”
“I won’t tell anybody. I promise. I respect that you need time. Do we have a deal then?” He holds out his hand, battered and bleeding from the fight.
The sad thing is, I believe him. I know how this works, the sympathetic ear, the understanding friend. You catch more flies with honey and all that. But it doesn’t matter. I’ve let him save me enough time in the past that one more time won’t make a difference. It’s the least painful of my choices, so I sigh “deal,” then grabs his hand and shakes it.
Probably a little too manly again, because he gives me another look.
This won’t end well.
54 notes
·
View notes
Text
Halloween 2020 - Extra - The Stand (1994) - Episode 3 The Betrayal
Betraaaaayal! Betrayal! Betrayed me!
This thing has a real habit of immediately bringing you back down to earth at the start of each new episode, episode 3 opens with Redman performing some impromptu surgery on a straggler their group has picked up along the way, only for the guy to die on the table. I mean, Stu was a mechanic so that’s like a surgeon for a car, right? No licensed music this time though.
Stu is a busy man though as he is also making moves on Molly Ringwald’s Fran, much to her friendzoned buddy Harold’s chagrin. Absolutely massive nerd this guy, like if you were to Google the word nerd it would pretty much be him that comes up on the image search results; thick glasses, slicked hair, rampant acne. He tries to play it off like he’s not bothered by this sudden development between the two, even though Stu downplayed his own interest in Fran when they first met and Harold feared he was being cockblocked. Inside though Harold is stewing.
Molly Ringwald looks very different in this, she has this dark hair in a bob cut that really looks like a wig. I don’t know if that was just her general look at the time or a stylistic choice by the production team but it makes me think it’s a choice by her to almost reinvent herself. Apparently in the early 90’s she moved to Paris for a time so maybe if this was something of a reintroduction to American audiences for her, she was trying to shed that famous image of her with the red hair?
I feel like Harold tries too hard, when Stu and Fran break the news of their budding romance to him he pretty much cuts them off to congratulate them and act like he isn’t bothered in the slightest. In his image as well, they’re using motorcycles to travel on (I guess it helps to weave between all the abandoned cars) so he rocks up in this full leather getup. Like not just a jacket but the chaps and everything. It’s like he’s trying to project this more macho image for himself in light of this competition, not it’s doing him much good. Then he just mostly goes off on his own, pouting and brooding.
Much like Nick and Tom were the breakout pair of episode 2, the stars of the show here are Harold and Nadine. Nadine popped up in New York City along with the singer Larry, there was something very off about her that was underlined when it was revealed that she was having strong visions of Flagg and they seem to have this romantic link, only she’s not entirely into it? I dunno if it’s like a split personality thing or if part of her is trying to fight it, there are times when she tries to walk back toward the path of righteousness but she keeps being led astray. Her hair has massively turned grey as well in whatever span of time has passed between episodes, probably only days or weeks tops. Possibly some after effect of her visions with Flagg?
The acting from these two borders on comically over the top at times, like there’s a scene where a bunch of newcomers are introducing themselves to Mother Abigail and Nadine almost floats through the crown like she’s In a trance. She approaches Abbie with her back turned and this usually quiet, jovial old woman leaps up with finger outstretched bellowing “WHO IS THIS WOMAN THAT GOES THERE?!” and Nadine introduces herself with this smile and slight head tilt that gives off this massive degree of faux coyness and sweetness. Abigail is always so warm and welcoming to newcomers but she’s noticeably shaken by Nadine’s arrival, who in turn almost seems to be toying with Abigail. It’s like whoever was in charge of this scene wanted everyone to dial it up to 11 to really get the point across that Nadine is shifty but that seems pretty pointless considering we already know she is considering her relationship with Flagg. And it’s not asif it’s to plant the idea in Abigail’s mind or anyone else around as it never comes up again.
The best part though is Nadine being rejected by Larry, who has since moved on and found a new woman in his life, and is told by Flagg to go to Harold where she seeks to manipulate him and talk him into acting out against the people who have wronged him like Stu and Fran. I don’t know if they were playing this up for laughs or if it’s just a byproduct of the world it takes place in but there’s this whole seduction scene where Harold comes home to find his door ajar and a sexily dressed Nadine inside. She’s kinda like if you mixed Sindel from Mortal Kombat and Elizabeth Hurley in Bedazzled. This whole thing plays out against his backdrop of a post apocalyptic world so you’ve got Nadine seducing a man dressed in coveralls and smelling of God knows what considering he’s spent the entire day cleaning up dead bodies from the town. Luckily she prepared two jugs of wash water that she’s left on the back porch and after that she’s prepared a fancy meal of tinned beef. It’s all shot really weird as well, all dutch angles and she’s partially obscured in shadow, sunlight streaking across her face but broken up by the shadow of the blinds on the windows.
Then, now that Harold has finally gotten some action, it’s like it instills him with copious amounts of dickbag confidence as he keeps telling her to keep her yap shut and suddenly the power in this relationship has shifted entirely, now she acts like she’s some poor put upon little housewife who needs to have her man’s dinner on the table when he gets home or else she’ll be sorry. I suppose it worked out in the long run though considering he’s following through on his plan to blow up Stu, Fran and the other town committee members that he feels he was shunned from.
Not that they’re without fault, as pretty much the first thing they do is decide to recruit spies to send over to Las Vegas where Flagg and his followers are hanging out in order to work out what he’s plotting for them. Or, as Larry puts it, “We’ve been in charge less than a day and we’ve already re-invented the CIA”. Which makes perfect sense, even if they do acknowledge they may be sending people off to their deaths. Only, it comes across a lot worse when they chose Tom as one of the potential spies, or ‘scouts’ as they prefer to call them. I get why they’d pick him in the sense of him being mentally challenged so Flagg and his followers might not suspect him of any nefarious intentions. But to do this they hypnotise him which I don’t fully get, I guess it’s like they’re deeply imbedding it in his head so it’s instinctive for him. It gets pretty uncomfortable though when Stu tells him that if anyone tries to stop him, if it’s two or more people then he needs to run but if it’s just one person he needs to kill them. Bloody hell, I thought this was a peaceful new world utopia you guys were building here? And if anyone asks him why he’s here? Well, as Stu puts it, “They drove me out of the free zone because of my feeble mind. They were worried I might have a woman who would give birth to idiot children.’ Or as Tom repeats it back “You were worried I might have a woman and I might fill her belly with a retard like me.”. He has this sort of twitch when he’s receiving the instruction, almost as if it bothers him on some level. Maybe that’s what the hypnotism is for, maybe they were worried he might not understand that this excuse is just an act and take it seriously? If they get past the conscious mind that would see it that way and implant it in the subconscious, almost like a sleeper agent sort of thing? Or maybe it would strip away all the emotional language and only take in the direction intention of the plan. Fran actually asks him during the hypnosis if he’s the same Tom that Nick met, which he answers yes before hesitating and saying no, he’s God’s Tom, so maybe on that basic level he will act for what is good for his fellow man even if it’s detrimental to his own personal well being?
It comes across as a little cold given that Stu doesn’t try to qualify the questionable things like the murder or the feebled mind excuse. He doesn’t seem entirely comfortable with it himself though, hesitating at times or having noticeable changes in his facial expressions. Everyone else in the room seems more sympathetic to Tom in the moment though, asking Stu to finish up whilst Stu pushes on a question or two more. Between this and an earlier scene where the scout idea is first floated though, he seems to have settled on a very pragmatic approach, the ends justifying the means.
There is a moment with Tom that underlines one of my favourite little things involving Flagg which is that given that people are travelling to see Mother Abbie from all over the United States, each new character in each new location seems to have a different way of referring to Flagg. Tom mentions two names himself; ‘The Hard Case’ and ‘The Walking Dude’. It adds to the scope of the situation, people from totally different areas are having near enough the exact same dreams but without that shared initial way to discuss these dreams, they’ve all come up with their own names for the people within them. Kinda ties back to that idea of people interpreting the dreams differently as well.
With all the scouting stuff though, it never seems to occur to them that if they can think of this idea, what’s to say Flagg hasn’t already thought of it too? Which is why they never see Harold’s plan coming when he has Nadine leave a nice little shoe box full of dynamite in Stu’s house, ready to detonate the next time they have one of their big meetings. Regular Guy Fawkes this guy. Only, he actually gets to set his off, albeit he doesn’t get his main targets. Nick wasn’t so lucky…damn.
And so we’re finally reaching the big crescendo as Mother Abbie’s dying words are a new instruction laid down from on high; that four of our great leaders of the free zone are to head out into the wilderness alone in order to face off against Flagg. Bring it on!
0 notes
Text
she’s a blue star
With the recent news in the dragon ball community, in the words of another space princess, i “took my broken heart and turned it into art”. It’s a little sappy, but I like it just the same. I hope y’all do too.
@riskpig prompted: “the kids are grown up, so it's time for a space adventure, for just the two of them.”
__
Vegeta watched from the doorway of his wife's lab as Bulma fiddled with a large metal contraption. He crossed his arms leaning against the door frame, and just watched as she held a smaller metal box in her hands, testing the wiring of her newest spaceship. Vegeta himself was fairly familiar with spacecraft, given how long he had been in space with, but space pods and their care was more in his wheel-house, so to speak, than the rather monstrous thing his wife was working on.
He watched as she flited about the lab, her short blue hair tied back and her lab coat long abandoned on the other side of the room. She had at least remembered to change from her nice ceo dress into a pair of coveralls, although it did nothing to save her face from oil and whatever else he could see smeared and smudged on her face. Vegeta could see a determined glint in her eyes the small box showed her whatever readings she was looking for, and heard her little cry of joy as she found just what it was.
"Score!" She giggled, wiping yet more unknown debris across her forehead.
Sighing, Vegeta pushed off from his perch, and made his way closer to his wife, picking up a fairly clean, discarded towel as he went.
"Wife," he called, stepping closer, "What have you done to your face?"
"Hello to you too, ass." She smiled, and something inside Vegeta eased at the sight. She might not look like she once did when they had first met on that long ago, far off planet, but Bulma's smile remained the same through the years, and there was a... comfort to it, he had long discovered.
"Here," He rolled his eyes, handing her the towel.
"Y'know," Bulma whispered, her eyes serious and her tone even, "I really don't know if just a towel will really be able to fix all this," She waved a hand around her face. Vegeta knew she was joking; Bulma was very proud of her looks, and took great means to ensure them... But he also knew that there were some things no money or treatment could fix, like the lines on the corners of her eyes, or the bit of gray in her hair if she didn't keep up with the dye.
Vegeta was never one to care for looks; after all, what good were looks when every day you had to fight to survive? What good were looks in a battle? But Vegeta knew his own face as well as Bulma's, and he knew that if she looked for them on him, she wouldn't find those crow's feet or a single gray.
It was the same with Kakarott and would have been true for Napa and Raditz as well. Bulma might not mention it now, but Vegeta knew.
Heaving yet another sigh, Vegeta ignored his wife, instead taking her chin with one hand, and using the other to towel her face clean.
"Have you thought about where you want to go?" He murmured, locking his eyes on one stubborn stain on her cheek.
"...Not really," Bulma replied, her eyes staring at her latest machine, "We could go visit Tarble or Tights... but I'm sure they'd want to see Trunks and Bra as well, but they're off enjoying. And they earned it. I'm sure they don't wanna go off into space with just Mom and Dad to visit their aunt or uncle."
"... We could go to New Namek," Vegeta suggested, "Or even just float in space," Most of that stubborn stain was gone, but a dry towel just wasn't cutting it. Vegeta leaned forward, licking a long stripe up Bulma's face.
"Ew, gross!" She laughed, trying to push his hand off her chin, "Do you really wanna be kissing an old lady like me, young man?"
Smirking, Vegeta was struck by inspiration. He moved to her ear, and crooned, "Oh, there's so much more I want to do with you than just kissing."
Giggling in full force now, Bulma smacked his chest, "God, when did you become such a dirty old man?"
"When did you become such a prude?"
Bulma reared her head back, turning wide blue eyes at her husband.
Eyes that held galaxies he could lose himself in...
"Is that a challenge?" She snapped, her brows knitted with defiance.
"If it is?" A feral grin split his face.
"Meet you in the space ship." Bulma deadpanned, reaching up to the zipper of her coveralls and winking before zipping past her husband, "If you can catch me!"
"Wife!" He snapped, turning to follow her. As he always would.
44 notes
·
View notes
Photo
Degrees of Freedom
Pairing: Mohamed “Mo” Lundy x Reader
Part 2
Gif Credit: @maurawrites, she makes amazing gifs! Thank you for letting me use these gifs.
A/N: I could never find any stories for this character and honestly, it’s one of my favorites. And you know me, if I can’t find what I’m looking for, I try to create it. So here it is. It follows a similar concept as the movie. I really liked the movie concept, but it doesn’t follow the movie exactly. Also I like to add kids with Boyd apparently. I always imagine he’s great with them. I don’t know... You’ll have to take that one up with my ovaries lol.
Any questions, just ask. And hey, if you like it, let a girl know :) Gracias!
You follow the paved road, gravel lining the sides, grass growing wild just beyond that. Your eyes flick to the GPS on your phone as it guides you before your gaze returns to the road.
“Are we there yet?” Your daughter calls from the backseat, swinging her doll around by the hair as she searches for your gaze in the rearview mirror.
At four, a two-hour drive can feel like forever, but she’s been really good about it. Kind and gentle at heart, your baby girl has never been one to give you much trouble. She’s the light in your otherwise often dark life.
“Almost there, baby,” You answer back as you spot your destination just up the road.
An unobtrusive looking building, surrounded by a chain-link fence, tucked back along the trees and overgrowth. A sign by the road reading, Second Hope Animal Shelter.
Slowing down the car, you pull onto the dirt road, passing the open gate, you move into the lot. You drive until you see an opening and other vehicles before pulling yours to a stop.
“We’re here, baby.” You tell your little girl, spotting the big smile that covers her face through the rearview mirror.
“I want a doggie, mommy.” She tells you for the twentieth time since you told her where you guys were going today.
“Now remember, we’re only here to look at them, ok?” You remind her, trying to avoid a situation where your daughter insistently asks you for a dog for the rest of the day.
While also trying to keep the details as why you took this two hour long drive scarce.
Ella’s smart, too smart for her own good sometimes and the last thing either of you need is her accidentally slipping word to her daddy where you all were this afternoon.
You knew it was risky coming out here, if Billy found out there would be a hell to pay, but after catching Martin’s story on the local news, you knew you couldn’t stay away.
Climbing out of your car, you go around to get your daughter. She has her buckle off her booster seat and is ready to go before you even open the door.
Flashing you a quick smile of excitement, she hops out of the car, her curly locks jumping as she goes.
Taking her hand, you walk up to the wide opening. A woman seated at a desk spots you coming and rises to greet you, leaving behind the pen and paperwork she was working on.
You notice she has gentle eyes that set you ease instantly as she approaches.
“Can I help you?” She asks.
Finally there, your heart starts to beat a little faster and you become accurately aware of the humidity thick in the air.
“Yeah… I was hoping Martin might be here… Martin Lundy.” You ease out, keeping your breath as even as you can despite the continued thumping of your heart.
Her softness changes, not disappearing, but shifts ever so slightly with your answer. Her eyes scan over you and your little girl before she meets your gaze again.
“Whatcha want with, Mo?” She inquires, her tone even, but cautious. You can tell she wants to make sure you’re not here to cause trouble.
“I’m an old friend,” You answer, forcing a smile, hoping she can’t see how nervous you really are.
Giving you and your little girl one more quick once over, she turns toward the swinging doors.
“Mo, you got visitors!” She calls, her voice carrying. She gives a polite smile and a quick nod before moving back to her desk, but her eyes never leave you all.
Giving your little girl’s hand a quick squeeze, you send a reassuring smile down at her as she gazes up at you.
The sight of your baby girl easing your nerves a bit as your gaze lifts back up to the swinging doors in anticipation.
It’s been five long years since you last saw him. You don’t have to wait long before he comes through those doors.
The sight of him makes your heart starts to hammer hard in your chest, your palms growing sweaty.
He’s in work boots and dirty tan coveralls, rolled up at the sleeves, unbuttoned at the top.
Your eyes find his face, he looks older, but you can still find traces of the boy you grew up with. A short beard lines his jaw, mustache over his lip. His brown hair is short and choppy, but his eyes…
His eyes you’d know anywhere. Same gentle, beautiful blue eyes you had loved since you were just a kid. Eyes you thought he lost behind bars, and seeing their beauty again nearly takes your breath.
The look in his eyes tells you he’s surprised to see you. You’re probably the last person he thought would come. He seems a little nervous maybe as he takes the sight of you in.
“Hey stranger,” You breath out with a welcoming grin.
“Hey” He answers back, his voice deep and gritty like listening to the blues on the radio.
A shuttered breath slips past your lips and you can’t hold back the feelings bursting in your chest any longer as you let go of your baby girl’s hand and step to him.
Wrapping your arms around his neck, clutching him tight. Your arms trembling as you bury your face against his neck, breathing him in, hardly able to believe he’s really there.
You feel him stiffen beneath you and you worry you’ve over stepped your bounds and made him uncomfortable until you feel his arms slowly, cautiously wrap around you. His hold feels light as if he’s unsure this is ok. As if he’s unsure how to touch you now.
Tears fill your eyes as a ragged breath escapes your throat, vibrating against his skin before you feel his arms grip you tighter. Fifteen fucking years they stole from him. Fifteen years he spent rotting away.
You still remember the first time you went to see him after turning eighteen. His mama and sister had already cut off contact, moved away. Your mama told you not to go. Everyone had given up on him, but not you.
You knew in your heart what kind of person he was. You never believed what they said he did. All those years you had written to him when you could. Waitin till the day you were old enough to visit.
He’d never been one for trouble before. Always keeping to himself, he had been close to you through his sister, and you couldn’t bare to give up on him like everyone else.
Seated across from Martin at a cold metal table. Covered in prison blues, you had seen death in his eyes, but not the ones they put him away for. No this was the death of him, of his innocence.
He looked harder than you could have ever imagined seeing him. Something lethal in his stare.
You had been a little afraid when he first came out and sat with you. He was big and strong, and ominous as all hell.
The visit had been tense at first. You almost regretted coming, but as he leaned over to you, staring deep into your eyes, you knew Martin was still somewhere in there.
That boy who use to spend the night at your house with his sister so he didn’t have to go home and you’d talk all night till the sun came up.
“I didn’t do it.” You remember him saying. His eyes imploring you, begging you to believe him. “I didn’t kill those little girls. I didn’t even know-“
“I know,” You cut him off, reassuring him quick. Not an ounce of doubt on your breath as you snatched up his hand from where it rested on the table. “I know.”
Squeezing his hand, you remember thinking how rough his palm had become as your thumb dragged across it.
You remember seeing a guard staring at you both, his gaze hard, stepping off the wall toward you as if he saw something he didn’t like before Martin swiftly pulled his hand back and the guard relaxed.
You couldn’t help but feel as Martin pulled away… This place was soul crushing.
You visited him when you could, which wasn’t as often as you’d have liked, but once you met Ella’s dad, he demanded you stop seeing another man, and your hands were tied, but you never forgot about him.
You let yourself get lost in Martin’s arms for a second longer before you release him and pull back.
Wiping the tears that had stubbornly fallen, you smile up at him and take your daughter’s hand once again.
“God it’s good to see you. You look good, Martin.” You say almost breathless, hardly able to believe he’s standing before you, a fee man.
“It’s Mohamed now… or Mo.” He explained, a nervousness still lingering on him. You can feel it. You figure it’s to be expected after all the time he spent away.
You nod with understanding.
“Well how are you doing, Mo? When I saw you on the news I knew I had to come see you.” You explain, your eyes glued on him as a smile stretches wide on your face.
God it was good to see him again. Just having him close filled your heart with an easy sort of joy.
Mo nodded slowly. “I’m alright,” He answered, his gaze diverting from you.
You can feel he’s holding back, you can feel he’s unsure, but you get the sense it’s not about you, but more all of this and everything that comes with it. He’s been away for a long time.
“Mommy, I want to see the doggies,” Ella speaks up impatiently, tugging on your hand.
You watch Mo’s eyes glance down at your little girl as if really noticing her for the first time before returning to meet your gaze. Something you can’t quite read hangs in his eyes, but you think he’s surprised to see you’re a mom.
“Ella this is Mo. Mo this my daughter Ella.” You explain, finally giving a proper introduction as you smile down at your baby girl. Letting her know you heard her.
“Hi Mo,” Her high little voice calls.
You glance over at Mo as he squats down low to the ground in front of your little girl.
“Hi Miss Ella, you like dogs?” He asks, speaking right to her, meeting her on her level.
You watch your little girl’s face light up. “I love doggies and kitties and horsies, and dolphins and-“
She continues as Mo lets out a deep chuckle, the sound of it reaching deep inside you.
“You wanna go see some dogs?” He asks her, giving her the first real smile you’ve gotten out of him. A smile Ella doesn’t know makes her mom weak in the knees.
“I want to take one home.” She nods eagerly.
“Ella Mae we talked about this. Daddy would not be happy if we brought a dog home.” You remind her.
You spot Mo’s eyes glancing up at you briefly with the mention of her dad, before his gaze returns to Ella.
“How about we just go say hi?” He suggests.
“Ok,” She nods, moving toward the swinging doors before Mo can even rise to his feet, trying to drag you with her.
“I guess she’s gonna lead,” You laugh, flashing him a smile as he extends his arm out to hold the swinging door as you slip past him.
Mo shows you and your little girl a few cages where Ella happily introduces herself to the dogs inside.
Your baby girl has always loved animals and they seem to share in the love affair. You’ve always felt they sense her gentle spirit.
Next Mo takes you both to a cage with an especially sweet looking dog. Mostly all black with patches of all different colors on its coat and the sweetest eyes that instantly make you feel safe with it around Ella.
Calling the dog over, Mo leans down to pet it through the fence as Ella follows his lead. Little bursts of laughter rip from her lips and echo through the kennel as the dog licks at her hand.
Your eyes catch Mo’s as his smiling face flashes up to you with the sound of your little girl’s giggles. There’s still so much light in his eyes, it makes your heart beat a little faster.
And god, if he isn’t handsome. Still built solid and strong like you remember from visiting him in prison, unlike the skinny teenager who went inside, but he’s got none of the bite that use to emanate off him when you’d visit. No more anger.
As the older brother of your childhood best friend, he was the first boy you ever had a crush on and looking at him now, you’re afraid to admit, much hasn’t changed for you.
His looks have grown into something rough but sexy without trying while still holding such depth in his eyes.
“I’m so glad they got you out.” You tell him before his eyes drop from yours.
Standing to his full height, Mo doesn’t meet your gaze, you noticed he seems to struggle with that, as he slowly nods.
“Yeah, me too… I guess.” He admits honestly on a rich gritty breath, his gaze back on the sweet dog making your baby girl laugh.
You catch a look in his eye and you think that maybe you understand. You get use to a place after so long, get use to living a certain way, you miss it, even if it was poison.
You reach for his hand at his side, lacing yours together. Drawing his eyes back to you. “Just takes time.”
Letting out a long breath, Mo nods, giving your hand a quick squeeze before letting go. The air between you grows quiet.
You want to tell him you still have all the letters he wrote you hidden somewhere only you know. That you still read them during your darkest hours.
Holding onto the connection he gave you. Holding onto the way he could make you feel.
Somewhere deep inside of you, you had known you didn’t just come here to see if he was alright. You needed to see him.
From the moment you caught that news report that he had been exonerated and released a few towns over, you knew you had to go.
You had moved on years ago, your life kept going after he was sent away, but standing beside him now, you realized some things never change.
“I’m so sorry I stopped coming to visit. Stopped writing. After I got with Billy and got pregnant, He just- he wasn’t having it. But I never stopped thinking of you, I never stopped caring.” You confess on a heavy burdened breath as tears you can’t hold back well up into your eyes. A few slipping down before you can stop them.
You’d always felt so guilty about him. Everyone had given up on him and the thought that he would think you had done the same broke your heart.
Glancing back at you, a deep softness fills Mo’s eyes with the sight of your tears.
You watch as he reaches out toward your face, but stops before he ever touches you. You can see in his eyes, his heart’s conflicted.
“It’s ok to touch me.” You tell him, giving him a reassuring smile as you wipe away your tears.
Mo holds your gaze as you speak before quickly dropping his eyes and hand.
“I don’t know if your husband would think so.” He explains.
There’s that side of him again, a side you don’t recognize. A side you wonder has something to do with why he changed his name. A different man with a different set of values.
Your smile cracks wider as a small laugh escapes you.
“That’ll be the day… I’m not married, Mo. Billy’s not exactly what you call the marrying type, kid or not.”
Billy made it clear to you when you got pregnant he’d stand by you, but he wasn’t going to be tied down. He also wasn’t exactly who you planned to get saddled with either, but then again, you weren’t planning to get pregnant.
Everyone pressured you to make it work for the baby. So you did. Your relationship was complicated, messy to say the least, but Ella meant everything to you, so you tried to make it work.
Mo’s eyes glance up at you briefly and you swear you see surprise before his eyes drift over to the kennel.
“Then he’s a fool.” You hear him say low on his breath, more to himself than even you.
Your heart starts to beat faster with Mo’s admission. Wondering what he means by that. Wondering how he feels about you after all these years.
But then a buzzing in your back pocket catches your attention and steals the moment. You fish your phone out and see you’ve got a message. Speak of the devil, It’s Billy. Quickly swiping the screen, the text appears.
-WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU
Your heart instantly starts to pound, you throat tightens as you glance up quick to make sure Mo didn’t see it.
Seeing his attention is back on Ella and the dog, you close the message and shove the phone back in your pocket.
An urgency sweeps through your veins.
“We gotta go baby,” You tell Ella, reaching for her hand.
“No, not yet mommy.” Ella begs, but as you shoot her a glance she knows means business the little girl quiets down with a pout on her lips.
Your mind scrambles, you gotta go, you gotta get back. Trying to figure out what excuse you can give Billy.
He’d be furious if he knew you came out here, especially with Ella. And the last place you want to be is on Billy’s bad side, but he wasn’t supposed to be home yet and you’re still two hours away.
Sucking in a deep breath to compose yourself, you pick up your little girl as Mo leads you back out to the front.
Moving through the swinging doors, Mo stops and turns to you.
His eyes searching yours in a way you worry means he senses your anxiety. You pray he doesn’t, but he always was good at picking up on things.
“Can we come see you again some time?” You ask, before he can ask you something you can’t answer.
Forcing a smile, you hope he can’t see the fear building inside you.
He isn’t the only one who’s had to live under lock and key. You’ve had to learn the hard way prisons come in many shapes and sizes.
“Yeah,” Mo nods easy.
Reaching over to the desk where the lady you assume is his boss is still seated at, he scribbles something down before handing it to you.
“Here’s my address and phone number. Your welcome anytime.” He tells you, gazing at you in a way that makes you wonder if even after all this time he can still read you like a book.
Leaning over, you wrap him in a brief side hug. Placing a quick kiss on his cheek, the hairs tickling your lips.
As you pull away, your eyes meet and lock. His piercing blue eyes sucking you in and for a brief moment you wish you could just stay.
You feel his gaze reaching into you, somewhere deep within you, the way he could even when you were just kids.
But you’ve both made your bed in this life, ain’t nothing to do but lie down in it.
Mo flashes Ella a quick smile and a goodbye as you go, your heart racing.
Climbing into your car, you move quick. Mind scrambling as you reach for your phone.
Nona called- needed me to run a few errands for her. Didn’t want to disturb you at work. I’ll be home as soon as I can.
You send back to Billy, blowing out a shaky breath, you pray there won’t be hell to pay when you get home.
#boyd holbrook#boyd holbrook imagine#the free world#the free world imagine#mohamed lundy#mohamed lundy imagine#donald pierce
63 notes
·
View notes
Text
New Moon of the Dark Kingdom Chapter Hundred and Seven - Cursed
Zoisite and Kunzite have found true love, but when some old friends, a vengeful god, and a pair of evil twins are gunning for the Shitennou all at once, life is not going to be easy
[Scene: The interdimensional void supernatural beings travel through to teleport. Zoi is headed for Metalia's lair in Washington DC, but is stopped short by a blast that knocks him skidding across the marble floor of a hotel lobby.]
Death Phantom: You think, I, Wiseman, an Incarnation of Chaos can be thwarted so easily? You forget I am a GOD.
[The Death Phantom rises his arms. The lobby darkens as walls, furnishing, pretty much everything is blown apart]
[Zoi is flung against a marble pillar, where chains of dark energy snake around him pinning him into place.
Death Phantom: There is no use groveling. My patience with you has reached its limit.
[The chains begin to constrict with crushing force]
Death Phantom: I should have kept to my original plan to torture and kill you to avenge the deaths of my followers, but at least now I have your mother as a consolation prize.
Zoi: YOU LEAVE MY MOTHER ALONE!
Death Phantom: Irreverent to your last breath. I accept now that your mind can not be molded, not through natural means, nor supernatural. How ironic it is that the very gift that make you attractive as a slave also render you completely unsuitable.
[As the chains crush him Zoi notices a column of purple light forming behind the Death Phantom]
Death Phantom: No matter. I will retrieve your mother from the corpses of your loved ones. Unlike you, she is beyond the first blush of youth, but as a human she is better suited for breeding in captivity. Once she is thawed and her womb has been vacated, it will be easy to create another like you, maybe more, before I dispose of her as well.
[A man appears from the column of light, swinging a huge poleaxe right at the Death Phantom. The blade passes through him harmlessly, and the Death Phantom turns to confront the newcomer]
Death Phantom: Nephrite. You really think that axe is going to harm me?
Neffy: [sweating profusely] No, I do not. But I can't just stand here and do nothing. [swings again with the same result]
Death Phantom: Oh? Why can't you?
[Neffy fights with the skill of a master gladiator, but it does no good against an enemy who has dematerialized like a wraith]
Neffy: [sweating intensifies, still swinging] Because, he's family, goddamnit.
Death Phantom: No. That is not right. Allow me to probe your mind for your true motives.
Neffy: [Still fighting] Please. Just let him go.
Death Phantom: [chuckles] How fascinating. So your elder brother Kunzite had tricked you into placing a curse upon yourself, forcing you to protect Zoisite at all costs, even if it means your own life.
Zoi: WHAT?
Death Phantom: Oh, you didn't know about that...? Of course you wouldn't. It would be kinder for you to think he was protecting because he bore you some hidden affection or had a glimmer of goodness in his heart...Shall we test the limits of this curse?
[The Death Phantom Raises his arms and all the smashed wood in the lobby is drawn to Zoi's feet as if by a magnet. The Death Phantom holds out one finger and Zoi's legs are engulfed in greenish flames.]
[Neffy stares with a sickened look on his face until Zoi starts screaming in pain. He drops the axe and rushes to Zoi, pulling at the chains.]
[The Death Phantom chuckles as Zoi passes out. Although it is clear Neffy is being burned just as badly as Zoi, he makes no sound and shows no sign of retreating as he fights vainly to rescue Zoi.]
Death Phantom: I've seen enough.
[The flames vanish, leaving Zoi slumped unconscious and badly burned. Neffy stares at the Death Phantom with loathing, but still works on freeing Zoi.]
[The Death Phantom waves his arm and Neffy's burns are miraculously healed.]
Death Phantom: Listen carefully. I will give you one chance to save his life. A very slight chance, but it is a chance, the only way to save him. [to Zoi] Wake up. I'm not finished with you.
[Zoi's eyes pop open, and his breathing is labored but his injuries remain]
Death Phantom: [to Neffy] Gather your brothers. Kunzite and Jadeite. Bring them here. Right now. Tell them whatever lie you want, but neither they, nor Metalia, nor anyone else must suspect you are luring them to their deaths. Do this. Assist me in torturing and killing you and your brother Shitennou, and there is a very slight chance I will let this one live. Hurry...those burns look serious. He might die from his injuries alone if you tarry for even a moment.
Neffy: [teleporting away] God damn you.
[Zoi stares at the Death Phantom. Breathing hard in the smoke filled chamber, with pain and hate]
Death Phantom: The poor fool. He knows I am lying, but he has no choice but to obey. I did lie, of course. You will die... Or maybe not? Are you as willing to sacrifice your beloved Kunzite as you were your beloved humans? Those trapped in the flames, with no way to safety. They are probably dead already.
Zoi: [through pain clenched teeth] Go to hell.
Death Phantom: Haven't you accepted by now that I cannot be killed? And since I cannot be killed, I cannot be defeated.
Zoi: Metalia can defeat you.
Death Phantom: What good will that do her? She can't kill me and it won't bring her sons back after I have slaughtered them. All it will do is take up her time. Time that would be better spent cultivating suitable replacements...You know, I think I will let Kunzite live a while. To humiliate him. A fool as proud as him might find glory in Death. But in the degradation that comes with the lowest forms of enslavement? Yes, I think I will make you watch-
Voice: *Ahem*
[They turn and see a pair of shapes emerging from the smoke in mylar coveralls. The two peel back their hood and goggles, before crossing their arms and giving the Death Phantom an admonishing look.]
El: Would you mind keeping it down in here? We are trying to work.
2 notes
·
View notes
Text
How many second chances do you get?
It was day six of a seven-day VFR cross-country trip over 2800 miles and nine states. We could make it home, but it was going to be late. It was February 2017, and this was the longest trip I had ever flown in my 39 years of flying: 15,500 feet MSL and yet only 1500 feet above the ground at times, many snow-covered mountain peaks that came up to greet us the first few days.
We thought our most exciting memories were behind us. Everything was going great; the sun was about to set and, in an instant, we lost everything but the motor. No radios. No lights. No electrical instruments. And no ideas – yet. We got through the checklist and decided we had lost our alternator. We could make it home, but the smart money was on getting to an airport that could fix our problem and get us back in the air safely again.
We both had no place to be for a week and no reason to push it or take any chances. My copilot was an Air Force vet, and he was missing his wife, but feared an onboard fire so he wanted to be on the ground now.
It was cold and dark in Salina, Kansas, but it felt good to be on the ground.
We saw Salina, Kansas, ahead to the left, an old military base. We had ForeFlight on my iPad so we had all we needed to get to the airport. By the time we reached Salina, it was still VFR, but a dark, cold, moonless night. We were there first, but we had no way to inform anyone of our location or our problem. My first thought was, we lost power so we have the right-of-way as we lined up for a straight in shot to runway 35.
My copilot had a strong flashlight and was trying to signal the twin on base leg to the same runway. It was clear he didn’t see us so we peeled off to the left, clear of his flight path. We then saw two other single-engine planes about to enter the pattern. We created our own holding pattern waiting for everyone to land.
I felt I needed to let the tower know we were there, but the only way I knew how to do that was to buzz the tower in the dark. We did and it got his attention – but not in a good way. We landed in the dark – no landing light, no lights for gauges, and no electric gyro – so just basic seat-of-your-pants flying. However, this was one of my better night landings.
One important point: a strong flashlight in the cockpit is of no help as it takes time for your eyes to adjust back to the darkness and you are going to need your eyes to land in the dark.
We taxied right under the tower to the FBO, and out came the lineman asking us if we’d seen the idiot out there flying with no lights and buzzing the tower as they wanted his N-number to turn the fool into the FAA.
I turned and pointed to my plane and read him my N-number. “This is that plane, and I’m that idiot,” I told him. He instructed me to call the tower and explain my actions at once.
This was the coldest night in recorded history for Salina – well, at least it felt like that to us. One of the linemen was a linewoman, and she had on two pairs of insulated coveralls and a coat and a lot more under that so she could hardly put her arms down. She also had on two pair of gloves and two stocking hats. All I could see was her face – she looked like the female version of the Pillsbury Doughboy.
She was sure we were in big trouble and wanted to be there when I called the tower. She was sure they had caught their man and I was going to spend the night in jail, or at least be grounded. She had already found me guilty before hearing all the facts so I made sure she was close by as I phoned the tower with my explanation.
The tower told me the Paul Harvey version of a few college students who were buzzing the tower at night with no lights on. So, he never gave me any light gun signals, and I don’t remember many of them anyway so I was glad he didn’t. At that point, he felt bad for assuming I was part of their problem, not someone with a problem.
When he said he was sorry, I made sure the two-pair-of-everything linewoman could hear him. He then told me who to call and they would get to work on my airplane first thing in the morning. I was glad to hear that.
After hanging up the phone, I heard, “Oh my God, you were in real danger not just big trouble.”
“No,” I said. “We were never in danger or trouble. We just lost our alternator and landed here to get it fixed. We need to spend the night somewhere, but I prefer a nice warm motel if you can help us get a car, and you can fuel my plane tonight or in the morning.”
The Mooney, during happier times.
When I looked outside, my airplane was fueled and already being towed to the shop. The linewoman wanted to know more and offered to drive us to a motel and even picked us up in the morning. She was very kind and very helpful.
“How do you know your airplane will be fixed in the morning?” she asked.
“All we need is the battery charged, and we can make it home in the daylight,” I said. She was not so sure.
That night, my copilot and I started doing all the “what ifs” we could think of from renting a car to drive home to flying back on a good battery. I had been to many flight safety meetings and heard a number of times that it is not the first thing that goes wrong that kills you, but what happens next, so getting on the ground to get the bird looked at was the wise choice.
Salina was very friendly – a few days here could not be all bad, but my copilot was missing his wife even if it did take her three days to notice he wasn’t home. She called me to ask if I knew where he was three days ago, as his phone was dead. I wasn’t sure what to say at first, and I thought she knew our plans and saw a golden opportunity to play a trick on both of them.
However, it was now bitter cold outside, and these two were like teenagers: every minute apart was like a year. I had one love-sick puppy on my hands. We were one vote away from renting a car that night and driving four hours, 180 miles on icy roads, to get him home so she could kill him for not telling her where he went or how long he was going to be gone.
The next morning, we went to the shop where they were working on my plane. Of course, the double-everything linewoman wanted to go along. She was on top of everything. What she didn’t know, she wanted to know. I was very impressed even if she did think I was either wrong or guilty from the moment we met.
When I talked to the shop foreman, he had a small brass bushing in his hand. He said that fell out of my airplane and didn’t advise flying it till it was fixed. I own a boat repair shop so I knew what he was trying to do. A little fear and visual aid can go a long way to opening a pocketbook. I asked where he found the part, and he showed me under my starter.
It was the nose bushing to my starter, and I asked for a hammer. I now had everyone’s attention. My copilot said, “You can’t just pound it back in.”
I said, “No, I’m going to tap it back in as it only has to work one more time. It is not a vital moving part of the plane once it starts and, if it won’t start, then I’m not flying anyway so it is worth a try.”
For some reason, it went right in, like I had done it a million times before. When I turned around, everyone was looking at me like I just shot the president. The linewoman looked at me and said, “You are not going to fly that now, are you? I would never fly in that plane till it was fixed right.”
At this point, my love-sick copilot was ready to fly, drive, or walk home. Everyone looked at the shop foreman for his OK. “If it starts, he can make it home,” he said.
They had the battery charged up overnight and we had a good plan. I called my friend in the tower. It was a different guy, but he knew the entire story. We may have even made the local news. For sure, we made the coffee shop grapevine.
I told the tower if the plane started, I was going to Squawk 7600 and fly home with everything shut off but my transponder. I called home to inform the FBO if I had no radios, I would buzz the office and make LH traffic for Runway 31 so they could inform any planes in the area we had no radio or lights.
The “first second chance” happened before the author was even three.
Cozad, Nebraska, is my homebase. I consider everyone there a good friend, and they need to know ahead of time what is going on. They are like family: when I first landed my “new to me” Mooney there, the FBO owner’s wife called me the moment I landed. I hadn’t even got to the hangar yet. She asked me to call or text her every time I landed just to be sure I was safe.
It was a very clear VFR flight and we did not have one problem all the way home. We had plenty of power for the radio when we entered the Cozad airspace. I was impressed when we landed, as Flight Service called the FBO to make sure we landed safely.
Allison is the second-generation manager of the FBO at my homebase of Cozad. Flying is in her blood. I like to tease her by saying I have been flying longer than she has been alive. She was a huge help in getting my second bird, and getting me back into flying. I have told her many times what a positive effect she has made on an old man’s life, giving me a second chance at my love of flying. Thank you, Allison!
A postscript about second chances:
One of my first memories in life was my first second chance. It was the day before my third birthday when my mother stopped the car on a railroad track and we were hit by a freight train that dragged us for almost a city block. By the time I learned to drive I had already been in 12 car accidents. I added a few more in my bulletproof years. I have no idea why some of us get so many second chances and some never get even one. I feel every second chance makes it likely you will get another second chance because of the knowledge you were just given. Second chances are a massive gift; don’t take them lightly.
You still have a lot of living to do and a second chance to follow your dreams.
The post How many second chances do you get? appeared first on Air Facts Journal.
from Engineering Blog https://airfactsjournal.com/2019/10/how-many-second-chances-do-you-get/
0 notes
Last Seen Blogs
cleaversandblood-a
* 𝐂 𝐔 𝐑 𝐒 𝐄 𝐃 .
everyspnlady
every spn lady
tgc6699
Untitled
603bbw
Untitled
herbiwh0re
華道