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nightingaelic · 3 years

Note

Companions react to the Courier doing the Infinite Money Glitch in casinos.

I had to look this up, OP, and then I had to conceptualize how this would even work in a storytelling context and write it, anyway I hope you're pleased with yourself because my brain feels like a stack of used sandpaper sheets

The courier had been saving up caps for a while, stashing them in odd places around the Lucky 38. Everywhere you looked there were bottle caps: Dresser drawers in the Presidential Suite, empty ice buckets in the cocktail lounge, in jars on every shelf in the penthouse. Saving up caps for big purchases was pretty common behavior in the Mojave wasteland for anyone, so no one batted an eye when the courier assembled all of the stashes on the carpeted floor of the casino and started counting them out, checking six times before stringing them together in batches of 50 and writing down the final total: 32,768.

No, no one so much as blinked when they lugged all 656 strings of caps out the door of the Lucky 38. No one, that is, except the lucky soul who went with them, saw them exchange all the caps for chips at The Tops Casino, then drop the chips in the back of The Aces theater during Bruce Isaac's set and return to the cashier to collect triple the amount of money they walked in with.

Arcade Gannon: Arcade cringed as the courier struggled to drag the haul of caps out the door of The Tops. The jingle of the cap strings was attracting the attention of just about everyone on the Strip, and someone across the street yelled "High roller!"

"This can't be legal," Arcade said.

"Since when..." the courier huffed and puffed, throwing cap strings over their shoulder carelessly, "... do you give a mole rat's ass about legality?"

"What is this?!?" Arcade hissed incredulously, gesturing to the jingling pile. "Is that cashier paying you off? Are those chips the currency for some wasteland tribe I've never heard of, but somehow have a better exchange rate than the NCR does? Did I just witness a payout for a hit on someone?"

The courier sighed and paused to pat the scientist on the shoulder. "Just don't think about it too hard, okay? Now help me out with this, we're going to Doctor Usanagi's to get me tricked out with as many implants as she has on hand."

Craig Boone: While the courier jingled their way across the Strip asphalt, Boone couldn't help noticing the number of eyes turning their way to stare at the enormous payout they were openly carrying. New Vegas was already a town that kept on trucking if its very creator was killed, that was certain: It wouldn't even pause if its latest mastermind was gunned down over a fortune in steel and aluminum crowns. Boone clutched his rifle close and met as many of the curious and envious stares as he could, his own eyes burning protectively behind his sunglasses.

They managed to get all the way back to the Lucky 38 before the courier stopped and spoke to him. "Nothing? Not even a guess about what this is from?"

Boone shrugged. "None of my business. Just don't carry it all at once again. Ever."

Lily Bowen: "Did you win, dearie?" Lily asked, confused. As far as she had noticed, the courier hadn't approached any of the blackjack tables, roulette wheels or slot machines.

"Yeah, Lily." The courier grinned and started handing her strings of caps to carry. "What do you want to spend your winnings on?"

"My winnings?" Lily shook her head. "Now now, pumpkin. You won fair and square, so you get to choose what you buy."

"My treat," the courier insisted. "Anything at all. We could go to the Gourmand for dinner, we could donate to the Followers in Freeside, we could get singing and dancing lessons from the King... what do you want?"

Lily thought for a moment, wracking her brains. "Brahmin for Jacobstown."

The courier looked at her quizzically. "Brahmin? Not bighorners?"

"Brahmin," Lily confirmed, shouldering the strings upon strings of caps. "Bighorners at Jacobstown will make more bighorners, but they have no brahmin. Brahmin are sweet, easier to handle. But no one will sell brahmin to nightkin."

"Okay." The courier nodded. "Then we have to go to the Gourmand for dinner anyway. I know a guy at the Ultra-Luxe who might help."

Raul Alfonso Tejada: "Dios mío," Raul muttered under his breath. "Who did you kill for the Chairmen? They finally paying you back for getting rid of Benny?"

"Pfft." The courier waved him off, dropping a few strings of caps as they did. "Whoops. Help me out here, and I'll buy you a drink."

"A drink?" Raul laughed. "Not the whole bar? You could probably convince the Garret twins to retire if you gave them half of this haul."

"And why the hell would I want to take over the Atomic Wrangler?" The courier shook their head as they loaded the old ghoul up with caps. "I already have one casino I'm incapable of running. The only customers I get are you and the other Mojave misfits."

Raul grinned. "Hey, you invited us in, amigo. We're just the only ones loco enough to ignore the robots and take you up on it."

Rose of Sharon Cassidy: "Oh, sweet squirrel stew." Cass' eyes were as big as the dinner plates in the casino's restaurant. "That's enough change to buy the Van Graffs out of business. That's enough change to tell Alice McLafferty to stick it where the sun don't shine, then back it up with enough muscle to scare her out of the Mojave."

The courier nodded and started handing her strings of caps. "It is also enough change to start funding her competitors and drive her out of New Vegas."

"Now you're talkin'." Cass smirked and accepted the extra weight. "So who're we gonna back? Far Go? The Water Merchants? Gun Runners?"

"Actually..." the courier smiled. "A little birdie told me that the Mojave Express is looking to expand its horizons. Start offering goods in addition to services. And you know me, I like to root for the home team when I can."

Cass laughed. "Well that's a surprise. You plannin' on playin' courier again? Get yourself shot in the head a second time?"

"Not if I can help it."

Veronica Santangelo: "Uhhhh, Six?" Veronica crossed her arms. "I thought we agreed we weren't going to stir up trouble for a bit after the adventure at the dam. This screams 'trouble' to me."

"Aw, lighten up Veronica." The courier winked at her and handed her a string of caps, like a consolation prize. "We're in a casino. The odds aren't in your favor, but at least you can have fun for a bit."

Veronica turned the offering down. "Math may not have been my strongest subject when I was in school, but I do know that 30,000 minus 30,000 does not equal 90,000, under any normal odds. What are you getting yourself- and more importantly, me- into?"

The courier sighed. "It's nothing. Just a little loophole I discovered when I was poking around after Benny's disappearance. I promise, we're not going to get knifed, unless we get waylaid in the street on the way home because I'm too weighed down to move."

Veronica narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "I don't trust this," she said after a few beats, "But I'm also not keen to see you try to fight off a mugger while buried under all those caps. Give me some of that."

ED-E: The eyebot beeped, confused, when the courier stopped it from picking up the chips again. Its beeps increased in volume and frequency as they loaded the little bot up with caps at the cashier's counter, until it was hanging low in the air and having trouble turning around from the increased weight. The courier patted its metal dome reassuringly and loaded up the rest of the haul on themselves, until each step they took sounded like a cascade of sleigh bells.

"Back to the Lucky 38," the courier said, pointing toward the casino door. "I've got a bet I need to settle with Raul."

Rex: Rex whined as the courier hung strings of caps off his back. He sniffed each new addition but stood tall on his metal legs, taking the extra weight admirably until he was virtually buried by the wasteland currency.

"Can you still walk, boy?" the courier asked, when they had lightened their own load.

Rex barked. Satisfied, the courier led the way to the exit, opening the casino door with a jingle and ignoring the strange looks they were getting. The two waddled their way to the Strip's main gate and down the main street of Freeside until they staggered into the King's School of Impersonation.

The King, who had been lounging inside the stage room, jumped up when he saw the pair. "Well ain't that some money, honey," he said, clearly delighted. "You actually went and did it."

"Yep." The courier dropped some strings of caps on the nearest table and leaned over it to rest. "There it is. Now, where do we get started on fixing up Freeside?"

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amillionmillionvoices · 3 years

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River/Doctor #7

river/12, kissing scars a bruise

It’s been over a day by the time he notices. A day of skirting around one another, of half-conversations, almost-apologies, broken declarations. She almost tells him what she’s been through, since Manhattan. He almost asks. She almost touches him, fingers ghosting across his arm before they fall away, and she turns her attention to something else. He almost stops her.

They’re still in the TARDIS, parked near the Towers now, and he thinks perhaps they’re both too scared to mention all the time laid out before them. He thinks maybe she doesn’t want it. Maybe she doesn’t trust him. He wouldn’t blame her, but it knots in his chest, every time she looks at him, like she’s just waiting for him to leave.

They’ve spent time together and argued about little things—the TARDIS’ bulb, where to put the swimming pool, whether Akorax V is better before or after the Fall of the Emperor. But everything they need to talk about—Amy and Rory, Manhattan, Darillium, Hydroflax, Ramone, the Doctor does not, and has never, loved me—they keep tucked away on their tongues.

He doesn’t know if it’s the weight of the unsaid, or just the last six months, but they’re bickering over where to order in from when he looks up, looks at her, and for the first time sees how exhausted she looks—there are circles under her eyes he swears weren’t there before, a heaviness to her shoulders, her smile wane.

He trails off, stares, and River arches an eyebrow. “What?”

He blinks, and frowns. “You look tired.”

“Thank you,” she says with a huff, rolling her eyes, but her hands drop from the menu they’ve been holding together, and she tries to stand straighter. For the first time, he notices her wince.

“When was the last time you slept?”

River glares. “When was the last time you slept?”

He can’t remember. He doesn’t feel tired—too anxious to be tired, too afraid, of losing her again before he’s had a chance to make things right. To do better by her, be better for her.

He doesn’t answer.

River shrugs him off, and he doesn’t press. They order food and sit in the kitchen and he doesn’t feel like eating. River barely touches her plate. He wants to call her on it, but knows she’d simply turn it back around on him. They pack most of it away in the fridge.

River disappears to shower, and he wants to follow her. Wants to run his hands over her skin and reassure himself that she’s alive and safe and really here, not a ghost, not a haunting. But she doesn’t invite him and he can’t summon the courage to ask, so he tinkers with the controls and folds and unfolds a newspaper he picked up, full of real estate ads.

There’s a little bungalow not far from the town nearest the towers. It has bay windows and a garden, or so the ad says. He should ask her about it. If she wants it. If she still wants him.

He supposes it’s a conversation they should have sooner rather than later.

Tucking the newspaper into his pocket, he takes his time moving toward their bedroom. Runs over in his mind what to say and how to say it. Practices under his breath being gentle. Being open. His voice still sounds too gruff, too irritated. He doesn’t want to sound like he doesn’t care. Not here, not now. Not with her. Not this time.

Their bedroom door is cracked open, and he can hear the shower running. Slips inside and stares at the bed they haven’t slept in together for years, still made up. Her clothes are in a pile on top of the comforter, her trowel on the desk in the corner. Her diary’s on the nightstand, her new screwdriver on top of it, and his stomach knots. He looks away, takes a seat on the edge of the bed facing the en-suite door, and fiddles with his ring.

He hasn’t told her why he wears it, that he wears it for her. Hasn’t told her he keeps his bow tie in his pocket at all times. Hasn’t told her how much he’s missed her, longed for her. Hasn’t told her how badly he wants to bury his face in her hair, how he wants to hold her and never let go.

He thinks of the aftermath of Manhattan, of the way she’d tried so hard to be strong for him. The way she wouldn’t break. The way he pushed and pushed until she left, taking the rest of his hearts with her.

The way he hadn’t gone after her, like she should have done.

He’s made so many mistakes, they make his chest ache, and he knows he doesn’t deserve this, deserve her, but he’s selfish and needs her and he’s so busy trying to come up with the right thing to say to make her realize he isn’t lying that he doesn’t notice the shower turn off, doesn’t hear her moving until the door opens and she’s standing there, hair wet against her neck, towel around her waist, staring at him.

“Doctor?”

Not sweetie, not darling.

He swallows. “We need to talk.”

It isn’t what he means to say, isn’t how he means to say it, and River tightens her grip on her towel. She looks down for a brief moment, and he hears her inhale; then she looks up, jaw tight, steeling herself.

“Talk, then,” she says, as if it doesn’t matter.

She crosses to the closet and picks out clothes and the Doctor stares at her legs, her back, her shoulders.

“I—“ he starts, and falters. There’s something on her neck that he can’t quite see. “Come here.”

River turns, frowning, clothes in her arms. He gestures, and she rolls her eyes, but comes closer, almost cautiously, eying him with too much suspicion. When she’s close enough, he reaches for her arm, nudging gently.

“Turn around.”

She huffs. “What are you—“

“Just turn.”

She glares, but does as he says, and he reaches a trembling hand out to move her hair aside. Her shoulder is purple, almost black in some places, worse up close, now that he can see the faint outline of large fingerprints. He hesitates, fingers ghosting over the outline of the bruise, and River flinches.

“Hydroflax?” he asks, remembers when they tried to escape, the way the robot dangled her off the floor by her shoulder. He hadn’t seen anything, hadn’t known—he supposes her spray is to thank for that, the longer sleeves she’s been wearing since.

“It’s fine,” River says, and makes to turn but he stills her.

“Stay here.”

He disappears into the en-suite, comes back with a bottle, a healing salve from some planet or other, he can’t remember. Knows only that it will help her pain.

“Sit.”

“I’m not a dog,” River snaps, finally, a hint of anger in her eyes, and it relieves him just a little, to see her spark.

He holds up the bottle. “Sit, please?”

River glowers, but sets down her clothes and perches on the edge of the bed, her back to him as he uncaps the bottle and pours a generous amount of salve into his hands.

“This might hurt,” he warns, but she merely nods, flinches slightly at the first, barely-there touch of his fingers on the bruise.

It’s wide and discolored and he hates that he didn’t notice, hates that she didn’t tell him, hates that he let it happen in the first place. That she was harmed. That anyone dared harm her. He clenches his jaw, but it doesn’t stop his words from spilling out, a muttered,

“Should have put him down the garbage disposal when I had the chance.”

River snorts.

“I’m serious.”

“Yes,” she says, too casually, “But then I’d never have known who you were.”

He stills a moment. “You think I wouldn’t have told you?”

She shrugs, and winces again. “You certainly took your time.”

Her voice is even, but he knows better now. Knows it isn’t a joke, and he swallows tightly.

“I tried,” he says, but they both know he didn’t try hard enough. “Not my fault you’re slow on the uptake.”

He regrets the words immediately, for the way River sighs quietly, says, “No, I suppose it isn’t.” It sounds too much like defeat, coming from her.

“River…”

“Just say it, Doctor.”

“Say what?”

“Whatever it is you think I don’t want to hear.”

She sounds exhausted, sounds wrung out, and he stares at her shoulder, wishes he could see her face, but he isn’t brave enough. And it helps, almost, to stare at the bruise when he says,

“I...don’t know…” he trails off, hesitates, reaches out and touches her spine, so gently. “...how to say it.”

There’s silence, long and dreadful, and River doesn’t turn, doesn’t move, barely looks like she’s breathing.

“Most people just say ‘goodbye.’”

The Doctor flinches. “Is that what you think I want?”

River shakes her head, but still refuses to look at him. “I don’t know what you want.”

Her words hit his chest, and he feels something inside him crack.

His River.

His wife.

And he’s done this to her, made her so uncertain, she won’t even face him. He’s made her so sure that his absence is the only thing she can count on. It forces the air from his lungs, makes him shudder. He closes his eyes against the rotating guilt, the grief he’s created for them both.

There’s so much he wants—needs—to tell her and he doesn’t know where or how to start. She’s stiff beneath his hand, waiting, he knows, for a dismissal. An excuse. A trite line or a lie.

He wants to ask her what she wants. What she needs. But he thinks, staring at the bruise he could so easily heal, that it isn’t good enough. Puts too much onus on her, to pretend the hurt never happened. That it’s easily fixed.

Swallowing down his nausea, his fear, he slides his hand over her skin to her arm, cradles her bicep gently, fingers whispering in Gallifreyan.

I’m sorry, he says.

River shudders, sighs, and moves to turn, away or toward he isn’t sure, but he doesn’t want her forgiveness, not yet.

Bending forward, he places a soft kiss to the bruise on her shoulder.

“Just you,” he whispers, and gathers his courage.

River doesn’t move, for a long moment, his lips pressed to her skin, his fingers drawing symbols on her arm for want and need and hope.

When she turns, finally, her eyes are bright with tears, and he lets his hand fall to hers, lifts her wrist to his lips and kisses that, too, the scar he’s never forgotten.

River stares at him, her eyes blown and he waits, brushes his thumb over the pulse in her wrist.

“Always you.”

River blinks and a tear falls and he catches it, cradles her cheek, relieved beyond all measure when she tilts into his touch.

“Sweetie—”

He kisses her quiet, so softly, and tastes salt.

#river song #river x twelve #river x doctor #drfic #catherine writes fic #THANK YOU BABE!#have some angst #mygalfriday

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shirophantomvox · 3 years

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A Night on the Town- Hisoka x Illumi (Hisoillu)

What’s up y’all? Per an anon request, here is a Hisoillu story. Hisoka and Illumi go to dinner at a fancy restaurant to talk about a business contract when a single phrase or word causes them to change the subject. This story will see how they stand on their relationship. Are they only meant to be “friends” or more than? “A night on the town” is a British phrase that simply means someone going to a club or hanging out all night long. Boujee is an abbreviation of the French "bourgeois." A critical term used to describe people, things, and places that are definitively high-class. I am going to try my best to keep this in character. They feel comfortable to joke around each other only. I use places like Earth, Mars, and the US because I assume Yorknew is another name for New York. Yes, I mentioned some Voltron elements too. I love crossovers! Enjoy! Feel free to inbox me. FYI, there’s nothing wrong with eating chicken fingers as an adult. I hate steak and haven’t eaten it in over 15 years. Onto the story!

Rain fell from the sky hard as ever. The sound of the raindrops hitting multiple surfaces sounded like quarters hitting metal. Thunder clapped what seemed like every 60 seconds followed by an alarming amount of lightning. The white and red LED lights lit up the sidewalk in front, casting heavenly shadows on just about everyone that made their way in. “La Lune” is a 5 star restaurant located in the heart of Yorknew City. Tons of celebrities have had dinner there! Madonna, Rihanna, Beyonce, and so many more had taken funny photos with the chef and his wife, creating a memorable moment for everyone involved. Many take the atmosphere of this restaurant as something romantic. The lights were dimmed and the tables were lit by candle light. It seemed like everyone was being serenaded by their lover, except for these two of course. Their occasion was something far from being romantic. Both gentlemen agreed to talk about a mission that would require both of their efforts because if one did not agree, the other would parish. This mission drove them mad. Hisoka lost a few days of sleep just thinking about it!

You see, one of the country’s best space explorers has been running rampant through the streets. These students attended the Galaxy Garrison, a space college and were launched into space. While trying to bring back samples from Kerberos, they were attacked by aliens (known as the Galra), kept in another dimension, and once they returned they began to inflict pain on Earthlings just like how the Galra did to them. These students must have been experimented on because they possessed power that no Nen user could defeat.

Both gentlemen walked to the hostess desk and waited for their attention. Hisoka’s hair was covering part of his eyes. Many people found him attractive; so attractive that people would nudge him on the arm and mimic a “call me” motion with their fingers. What was it about him that people would just swoon over? Illumi stood behind Hisoka with his hands in his pants pocket, impatiently waiting to be seated. You can’t discuss aliens and brats on an empty stomach.

“How may I help you?’” The hostess smiled big as she cupped her hands waiting for his response. Her teeth were pearly white, almost appearing to be fake. But one thing was off about this woman. She stared mighty hard at his face and continued to smile. She seemed robotic. A smile appeared on his face as well; he swore she was undressing him with her eyes.

“Reservation for Gittarackur~♠?” Hisoka nearly said Illumi’s name instead.

“Right this way.”

She led them through a series of staircases and made her way to the rooftop. This building wasn’t too tall, but it was high enough. The roof was decorated with red table umbrellas, glass tables, candles, and hanging LED lights.

This is a little too romantic, Illumi. What gives?

She handed them the menu and walked away. Illumi looked to his right and left to ensure no one was close enough to hear what he was going to say. But before he could say anything, Hisoka opened his mouth and began to make unnecessary comments that got under Illumi’s skin.

“You tend to pick the restaurants with a noticeable romantic atmosphere. Care to tell~♥.?”

Illumi pressed his lips together.

“I do not pay attention to the atmosphere. I pay attention to good ratings and decent prices.”

“Oh! So, you’re a cheap date~♠!”

“This isn’t a date, Hisoka. We are talking about a mission that if it gets out of control, the whole human race will cease to exist as we know it.”

A waitress came over, introduced herself, and offered them a bottle of wine.

Did you plan this, Illumi?

Of course they accepted! Rosé was Hisoka’s go-to. The wine mellowed him out, made him more relaxed and bearable. He placed his thin fingers and sharp nails around the wide-mouth glass and sipped his drink. He smiled as Illumi disclosed more details of the mission.

“What are you saying, Illumi? I’m afraid I do not understand~♠.”

“Listen carefully. These groups of young adults have been experimented on by the Galra. Since their return, they've been stealing, beating, and even killing innocent people. Their excuse for this is by saying that “those people were bad people” based on rumors they’ve heard. They’re a menace to society, not to mention extremely dangerous. For the first time in 22 years, I’m a little worried.”

The waitress came back to take their order. Hisoka had never tried a streak before, so that is what he ordered. Illumi, the picky eater on the other hand, ordered an adult size of chicken fingers and fries. Hisoka gave him the shittiest look of the century. He placed his large hand over his face as he humiliatingly closed his eyes. Illumi squinted trying to ignore Hisoka’s stupid reactions.

“What’s the matter?”

“You embarrass me, Illumi~♠.”

“How?! What did I do?”

“We’re at a nice, romantic restaurant and all you order is chicken fingers, fries, and ranch?! Ma’am could you give us a moment~♠?”

“Absolutely.” Poor girl. Why did she have to witness that?

“What’s your problem, Hisoka?”

“You could have at least ordered the steak, salad, or both! Look around you! You’re going to be the laughing stock of this town! Try strawberry vinaigrette~♠!”

“Well, excuse me, Mr. Boujee! Chicken fingers are delicious and anyone can order them! Why would I order salad when I have lettuce at home?”

“Because it’s good for you~♠!”

“Salad doesn’t fill me up and neither does strawberry vinaigrette!”

They began to talk about the mission again. Illumi hid his fear behind his resting bitch face, but he didn’t know if he truly wanted to go through with this mission or not.

“I’m feeling cautious.”

“What for? I’m sure you can handle it~♣.”

“I can’t. I don't even think my grandfather can beat them.”

“Why so?” Hisoka drank from his glass again. Illumi did not disclose much info because he knew how Hisoka becomes when he’s tipsy. He begins to laugh and talk too much.

“They have an ability that can wipe out a Nen user within seconds.”

“Oh~♥?”

“Yes. They can disappear in the blink of an eye, they have this purple electricity shooting from their hands, and these specific men I see with gray masks that remind me of a plague doctor. They have no faces and they’re purple. Once that electricity hits you, it’s game over. They have the ability to determine if it's fatal or not.”

“Ouch. What’s the plan~♣?”

“Someone that I used to know will infiltrate the base that they’re hiding in. It will be difficult because they guard it but that is when my needles will come in handy.”

“But you didn’t have to cut me off…~♣” Hisoka sang.

“What? What was that, that you did just then?” Illumi was serious. This was no time to be joking around.

“What? I just finished what you started~♣.”

“What did I start?”

“You said ‘someone that I used to know’ and I responded ‘but you didn’t have to cut me off’. Don’t tell me you’re not aware of that song~♣.”

Hisoka smiled something softer than usual and laughed at Illumi’s clueless look. This was something he adored about him; the carelessness made him laugh so hard that he forgot about his troubles...if he had any.

“I understand why you brought me here to talk about stopping the Galra, but let’s enjoy this moment. Just you and I~♥.”

“Why? They are dangerous. They could be planning on destroying us as we speak.”

“You worry too much. Besides, everyone knows of your talent and even if they seem more powerful, I’m sure they’re keeping their distance from you.”

“I thought you’d be overjoyed at this opportunity. You can finally put those chrome cards to play.”

“Who said I wasn’t? I am but I’ve learned to hide my arousal rather well~♥.”

“You didn’t hide it well just a few seconds ago.”

“Touché’. But I was not talking about fighting then, I was talking about you~♥.”

“Hmm.” Illumi didn’t know what to say but one thing is for sure. Many, many feelings and thoughts clouded his mind and body but he didn’t know how to respond to them. He has known Hisoka for some time now and he knew of his ways; if he would just tell him how he felt, he might be surprised by his reaction. Hisoka has flirted and with him several times but for some reason he felt like if he responded he may not get a desired response.

Hisoka began to chuckle, more of a tipsy chuckle. He couldn’t hold back his laughter as he noticed how Illumi’s attitude began to change. Illumi immediately placed his wine glass on the table and squinted in confusion.

“What’s so funny, now?” He sounded a bit irritated but deep inside he was happy he asked.

“You’re blushing~♥.”

“What?”

Damn.

Was it that noticeable?

Sure was.

“I’m good! I never thought that I could make the oldest son of the Zoldyck family blush from my passes. That’s an achievement for me. So tell me Illu, do you dream about me too~♥?”

“Be quiet, would you?”

The magician couldn’t help but to release a hearty laugh so loud that people began to glance in their direction. Illumi frowned and crouched low towards the table.

“Stop it. People are staring.”

“What? I love it when people stare. That means I look good~♥.”

Hisoka continued to laugh. To add to Illumi’s social demise, he stood up from his chair, took a photo on his phone and captioned it: “Best date ever♦”.

“Don’t send that!”

“Oops. Sorry not sorry,” Hisoka gloated covering his mouth. “Guess you’ll have to catch me~♥.”

He continued to laugh but his laughter slowly began to come to a halt and wired down. Now he laid his head on the table, slightly drooling. Illumi decided that he had enough excitement for the night, so he threw three pins in his right leg, which was conveniently under the table. Hisoka had hinted earlier that he would be fine if Illumi ever made that decision. Following behind him for his entire life would be to die for. Illumi smiled as he looked at the man before him, finally silent.

“This might actually work,” he whispered to himself.

The moonlight casted a shadow on him as he admired the star on the sleeping magician’s face.

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shes-an-oddbird · 3 years

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Merry Christmas to my Fitzsimmons Secret Santa giftee @springmagpies ironically started working on my Christmas at River’s End Mall fic a couple of weeks before I received your fantastic prompt: working at the mall during the holidays! It was a fun coincidence and it was nice to work on this as a stand alone fic that could exist in the same universe as that story.

I also wanted to make a moodboard to go with it since I’m so inspired by yours! I hope you enjoy it!

The Good & The Bad Of Seasonal Jobs

Summary: Leopold Fitz hates his seasonal job demoing the poorly made gadgets on the top of everyone's Christmas lists. Jemma Simmons loves her seasonal job wrapping those gifts. Together they make a a perfect team, even if they haven't officially met yet. Until Jemma is presented with a task that dampens her Christmas spirit and her and Fitz team up to get it back.

His expertise is being wasted.

Fitz is convinced they’ll be by to revoke his credentials any moment now.

If he sells one more shotty piece of home gadgetry with the promise that it will improve their customers everyday lives he might as well tear up his doctorate degree.

But he’s still short the cash he needs to get home for the holiday so here he is. Standing in a crowded mall, demoing cheaply made drones, remote control cars and robotic animals. Couldn’t one of these manufacturers create a monkey instead of the typical dog and cat? Are opposable thumbs that much of a challenge?

He knows the morning rush is starting to settle when he can hear the slightest jingling coming from the gift wrap kiosk across from him. A noise that would normally put him on edge has become a bright spot in his day. It came from the silver bell worn by the gift wrapper, Jemma, who worked the kiosk. She kept the bell tied around her neck on a long blue ribbon and with every move she made it rattled a cheery sound that added to the festive atmosphere in the mall.

He wasn’t much for Christmas cheer himself. He wasn’t a complete grinch, despite what Hunter might say, but if all of his income from the lab didn’t go straight to student loans, rent and food he definitely wouldn’t have bothered with the seasonal work at all.

Every time his spirits started to fall though, he’d glance over at Jemma to find her glancing back at him. No matter if it was irate customers or screaming children or an upset manager, she was close enough to hear and observe and would shoot him a supportive smile.

They had yet to actually speak to each other but they had found other ways to communicate. One of the most in demand drones of the season utilized a camera and messaging system. She had taken to writing notes on scraps of wrapping paper that he could read through the drone camera and he was able to send back messages to her.

He would love to talk to her in person but the more and more he learned about her from their notes the more and more nerve racking that prospect became. She was brilliant. A double PHD. She worked for a lab he interviewed at a while back but had ended up recruited for a project at another lab across town. He almost regrets taking the project now, the one she was in the middle of sounds fascinating and he thinks they’d make a good team.

But then again, that would involve talking directly to her.

Which would happen, eventually.

It’s early afternoon, kids not yet out of school but late enough that mall walkers and nannies with young ones were heading home. This was the time when they usually found a chance to “chat.” He readies the drone to fly it over to her station but stops when he sees she’s got a customer. A well-dressed man, expensive suit and a pair of matching jewelry boxes in his hands. He spends a moment talking to her, a charismatic smile on his face. She’s not impressed if he’s flirting. She nods curtly back at him as she takes the boxes and he leaves.

Fitz watches her shoulders sag and her demeanor change as she examines the boxes before setting them aside and turning to fetch some paper. Her bell jingles and she stops in her tracks. She removes the necklace and tosses it aside before returning to the task.

Fitz doesn’t know what it was the man said or did to ruin her day but after she’d done so much to improve his bad moods, he felt like he should do something. He quickly packs up the drone and waves to his manager that he’s going on his break.

****

Jemma couldn’t imagine a better holiday job.

When Daisy had told her she could probably get her the open gift wrapper position at the mall she had jumped at the opportunity. It wasn’t exactly science, although Daisy claimed she’d made an art out of it. Just because she liked her patterns to precisely line up and her ribbons to match, it wasn’t that special.

She does love the look in her customers eyes when they pick up their presents.

She also loves the light in the customers’ eyes when they hand her their gifts to be wrapped and she just knows they had found the perfect thing for their loved one. Sometimes the gifts would come along with a story, the hours they waited in line, the dozens of stores visited, the didn’t-plan-on-it-but-I-saw-it-and-thought-of-them. She loved that. It made her want to wrap each gift with just as much love and care.

She thinks that might also be why she maintains her Christmas cheer while Fitz, who works at the shop across from her station, is so grumpy all the time. Poor Fitz. He gets the customers before she does. When they are frustrated from having been on their feet all day with the end not in sight. Their kids tugging and pulling and screaming and begging for this and that. And a manger breathing down his neck, pushing him to sell drones that she knows he thinks are poor quality and will inevitably break.

He’s an engineer, she found out one day when he was messaging her about the poor controls on the drone after apologizing three or four times for nearly hitting her with it.

The day is starting to quiet down for the afternoon lull. She’s caught up on all of her work and is gathering up scraps to write her notes to Fitz on when there is a tap on the wooden counter. She looks up to see a tall well-dressed man waiting for assistance. He’s got just two matching boxes in his hands so she thinks she can knock them out quickly and still have plenty of time to chat with Fitz before the afterschool rush hits.

“Yes, how can I help you today.”

He grins down at her with a charming smile and an unconvincing look of innocence in his eyes.

“Yes, you certainly can, I’ve got a sort of special task.” He places the identical jewelry boxes down between them. “You see this one here, is for my wife,” he slides the first box forward, “and this one,” he places his hand on the other box, “this one if for, well not my wife.” Jemma narrows her eyes in confusion, “so you understand it’s important not to mix them up right?”

Then it hits her and her stomach fills with dread. She looks at the boxes again. They’re branded on the side with the logo of the expensive jewelry shop down at the other end of the mall. “May I?” She asks, reaching out for them. She opens the first to reveal a pretty gold bracelet with a woman’s name engraved in cursive and three sparkling charms. She opens the second box to find a second bracelet, exactly the same except for the name. “Um, they’re lovely.”

“So we don’t have a problem here?” He asks.

Did they? Could she refuse service to this guy because he was cheating on his wife and possibly misleading some other poor woman? Its certainly what she’d like to do.

“No, I suppose not.”

“Perfect, I’ll be back for them this evening, dinner with the girlfriend first, then dinner with the wife.” He taps the counter again. “Do them up real nice for me.”

Jemma nods and collects the boxes. She moves them to the back worktable and starts to select a wrapping paper when the bell on her necklace jingles and she stops. Her bell was tradition. She wore it all through the holiday season thinking the gentle sound was a pleasant way to spread holiday cheer. But now, now it was like it was mocking her.

She takes the bell, pulls the ribbon over her head and tosses it aside.

Maybe it’s a side effect of her frustration or maybe it’s her desire to give the woman being two-timed something individually beautiful; whichever it is she wraps the two bracelets exquisitely. The paper is elegant, the ribbon satin and she even takes the time to add little decorations like pine bristles and bells. She carefully inscribes the cards for the top and gently tucks them under the ribbons before placing them with the rest of the gifts ready for pick up.

It’s exhausting. She has an overwhelming desire to close-up for the day or call out early so that she doesn’t have to be here when he comes back for them. Fitz isn’t even at his usual post, ready to make her laugh.

Someone clears their throat behind her and she spins around on her stool. Fitz is standing at the front counter, two to-go cups in his hands. She’s unsure how to proceed for a moment. Her and Fitz hadn’t actually spoken in person since they started their seasonal worker comradery.

“Hi.”

“Hey.” He shifts back and forth unsure what to say either.

“Thirsty?” She asks, curious about the two cups. Maybe one for now and one for later?

“Oh, no, um one is for you, I hope hot chocolate is okay.” She feels a smile fight its way through her gloom. She can’t help it, hearing his voice for the first time is thrilling. He’s Scottish. Which she had learned from their messages, he was trying to earn money for the ticket home, but it still threw her off just a bit.

“Thanks, but why?” Why today, she really wants to ask.

“I don’t know, you’re always so positive and then that guy came by earlier and you looked upset, I just thought this might cheer you up.”

“Oh, thank you.” She except the cup and the warmth spreads through her chilly hands. She takes a sip and the warmth runs through the rest of her. She savors it for a moment then cringes. “Was is that obvious, that I was upset I mean, do you think he noticed?”

“I doubt it, seemed a bit self-absorbed to me.”

“He’s horrible, bought his wife and his girlfriend the same bracelet for Christmas and didn’t want me to mix them up.” She gestures to where the boxes sit on the very top of the pile.

Fitz face scrunches up in disgust. “What a wanker – sorry.”

She tries not to laugh. “Its okay, he really is, would you like to sit down, I’ve got a second stool back here.”

“Sure, I’ve got a little time.” Jemma excitedly sets aside her beverage and flips up the countertop so he can join her. They settle onto the stools and he swivels his back and forth nervously. “Its strange talkin’ to you in person.”

“Not bad strange, I hope.”

“No, no definitely not bad.”

She ends up asking him about how his work project is coming along and he tells her about the snags they've hit but that its really coming along. He thinks they could use a good biotech person to which she has to decline, being in the middle of her own project. Their conversation slows and Fitz chugs the last bit of hot chocolate before looking for a bin.

"Its under there." She points to the trash can next to the stacks of gifts. Fitz tosses the cup and examines the mountain of presents.

“So why not just switch the cards on these?” He asks as he grabs the bracelet boxes off the pile and places them in front of him.

Jemma frowns. “I can’t do that.”

“Why not?” Fitz asks as he traces the cards with his finger. “Its not like the guy doesn’t deserve whatever would come of it.”

“Well yes he would but it’s my job, I can’t just let my personal feelings effect how I do things, besides he could take it out on the mall if he wanted to, May shouldn’t have to deal with that.” She reasons.

“I think May would on your side.”

“I still can’t Fitz.” She insists as he slides free the tags.

“Fine.” He slips the cards back onto their respective boxes. “Still want to get back at him for ruining your day.”

“Fitz I promise, today is turning out to be pretty great, here – “ Jemma picks up her discarded silver bell necklace and carefully loops it around Fitz’s neck. Her fingers graze his neck, just above the collar of his work polo and she draws them back quickly.

“What um, what’s this for?” He asks reaches for the bell.

“It’s for spreading Christmas cheer, I think you’re doing a better job of that right now than I am.”

****

Fitz promises Jemma he’ll return her bell at the end of the day. They’re both working open to close and by nightfall the mall is bustling. Friday nights are always busy, usually with teenagers but now with everyone shopping for Christmas its wall to wall people. He’s out demoing drones again. They draw the biggest crowd into the store and the manager had convinced May to let them project the camera’s video feed on to the big screen downstairs at the mall’s Christmas set up.

It keeps him busy. Trying to find interesting things to focus in on. He does enjoy the opportunity to stray farther and farther from the shop. From the balcony he can swoop the drone down to the kids waiting in line for Santa. They wave excitedly and screech with joy when they see their faces up on the screen.

As he retreats the drone back to him there is an audible ‘aww’ of disappointment but if it gets too far away it’ll loose connection and he’ll have to go fetch it when it crash lands. As it comes back up over the railing he does a fancy little spin hoping Jemma is watching. The bit of trick flying always earns him a smile and an eyeroll but when he looks over he sees she busy.

The man from earlier is back to collect his packages. He wishes Jemma would have swapped the cards on them or that he had just done it for her. He knows he shouldn’t but he swings the drone around anyways, he’s a good distance from the guy but its enough to startle him when it wizzes past his head.

“Watch it with that thing!” He snaps.

“Sorry, shotty controls.” He apologizes and holds up the remote guiltily. Still scowling the man take just one of his packages and leaves in a huff.

“Fitz, that was dangerous.” She chides but doesn’t sound as cross as he suspects she could be about it.

“I wasn’t gonna hit him.” He lands the drone on Jemma’s workstation. She’s fiddling with the bow on the man’s other gift. “Why didn’t he take that one?”

“Dinner with his girlfriend, didn’t want to be caught with it.”

Fitz rolls his eyes before returning to the store.

Their long day continues on and the crowds slowly start to dwindle. There are a few stragglers getting in last minute purchases but most of the patrons are either waiting on restaurant reservations or letting out from the evening’s first seatings.

Fitz has just finished charging up the camera drone before locking it up for the night when Jemma rushes into the store.

“Okay, I can’t take it anymore I have to do something or say something.”

“What are you talking about?”

“That guy, that horrible, horrible man just kissed his girlfriend goodbye and marched right over here to get the bracelet for his wife who is waiting for him at the restaurant literally around the corner and I just can’t take it, he’s so arrogant and and awful and – “

“Okay, okay, calm down.” He places his hands on her shoulders gently hoping to sooth her frantic motions. “I thought your hands were tied, that you could do anything.”

“They are,” she stresses, “but it’s so unfair Fitz.”

“Okay well,” Fitz doesn’t know how to help in a way that doesn’t get them involved. He could march right up to the guy and confront him but he suspects that will end very badly. If there was away for them all to figure it out on their own maybe with just a push on their side.

“You said you saw the girlfriend?”

“Yes.”

“You think she’s still here?”

“Maybe, I saw her head downstairs, I assumed that she was leaving.” Fitz takes Jemma’s hand and rushes her over to the balcony. Her eyes scan the small crowd below. In a small seating area by the North Pole set up a woman has set down her things on an armchair and is pulling on her gloves, Fitz sees the shimmer of a bracelet on her wrist. “That’s her.”

“Okay, go try to keep her there.”

“But I can’t tell her, I can’t just delivery that sort of news she may not even believe me.” Fitz is already shaking his head at her protests.

“That’s the thing about Christmas isn’t it, adults don’t believe in Christmas spirit and Santa and all that because for them seeing is believing,” Fitz rushes back into the shop and grabs up the camera drone. “Let’s give them something to see.”

****

“Excuse me, Ma’am, excuse me.” Jemma races up to the pretty blonde woman who has just finished pulling on her coat and scarf. The woman looks at her startled.

“Yes, can I help you?”

Jemma froze. She didn’t want to be the one to pass along such horrible news. But she only needs to buy Fitz some time. “I, I – I’m sorry you don’t know me, my name is Jemma Simmons, I work upstairs at the gift wrap station, I actually wrapped that lovely bracelet you’ve got there.” She says, pointing to the piece of jewelry the woman is trying to free from her coat sleeve.

The woman smiles. “You did an incredible job, my boyfriend wanted to claim it was his own work, but I knew he could never manage anything like that, he can be such a slob.”

“Among other things.” Jemma mutters quietly but not enough that the woman misses it. Her eyes narrow suspiciously.

“Is there a problem?”

“Um, no, well yes you see – “

“Aww, check out the big screen.” Someone calls and both women turn to the large television. Jemma recognizes the feed from the drone immediately. The camera is trailing along a line of guests waiting to be seated at the restaurant upstairs. They wave cheerfully at the camera which comes to a stop on the man and his wife as he gifts her the bracelet and she excitedly rips open the package and throws herself towards him in gratitude.

Jemma worriedly turns to the woman who has lowered her attention from the screen back to the bracelet. One identical to the one on the screen. For a moment she looks terribly heartbroken.

“I’m so sorry, I feel like I’ve just ruined your holiday.” Jemma’s not even sure she hears her. She’s about to ask if she’s alright but then a look of determination crosses her face and she looks up at her with a smile.

“Thank you, um, you set this up?” She gestures to the screen.

Jemma nods cautiously.

“Prefect, can you make the feed go away, there are children here and they really don’t to see what’s about to happen to him.”

Jemma breathes a sigh of relief. “Consider it done.”

By the time she texts Fitz and returns to her kiosk he is already there looking rather pleased with himself. “You’re not even going to ask if it worked first?”

“Didn’t have too, heard the woman coming when I was clearing out of there.”

“Oh dear, I hope it doesn’t get out of hand, I still feel awful.” She says as she leans against the counter next to him.

Fitz nudged her shoulder with his. “Jemma they were being two-timed, if it was you you would have wanted to know right?”

“Yeah I guess so.”

“Then let it go, please, because I need you to go back to being the cheerful one, it’s too much work for me.” Jemma laughs and nudges his shoulder back. He slips the bell off from around his neck and carefully drapes it back around hers. She looks up at him, her whole body feeling jittery and her eyes land on his. She thinks, and blushes at the thought, that she would kill for a bit of mistletoe right now.

She aims for his cheek instead. Landing a thank you kiss on his scruffy jaw and watching happily as he turns a cute shade of pink.

“Um – “ He stutters out.

“Excuse me.” Jemma and Fitz step apart quickly. Standing a few feet away are the blonde woman from downstairs and a second woman who looks elegantly dressed and perhaps a little frazzled. “Sorry, we didn’t mean to interrupt, I was told I might owe you both a thank you?”

“Oh no, it was nothing – “

Fitz cuts her off. “No please thank her, she’s convinced she’s ruined your Christmases.”

“Well, its certainly taken a turn, but for the best in the long run.” The second woman says. She looks between the pair of them. “Actually, as a thank you, would you two like our reservations, someone should have a romantic date night.”

Jemma blushes and Fitz clears his throat. “Oh we’re not together and we should really be working actually –“

“Yes working, right.” Fitz scoops up the drone and hurries off.

Jemma watches him go before turning back to her company. “Thank you, that was very generous of you to offer.”

“Of course.” She says. “And please, don’t worry over this.”

“Yes, its our problem and its being delt with,” the blonde woman agrees. “Should have known something was up, all the time we were together, and he never once looked at me the way that man there looks at you.”

Jemma doesn’t know what to say in response. She looks back at Fitz who glances up at her at the same time and sends her a boyish smile.

“Have a good night Jemma, you’ve given us a lot to think about, maybe we’ve given you something to think about as well.” The women leave and Jemma is left standing at her gift wrapping kiosk, fiddling with the silver bell around her neck.

#fitzsimmons secret santa #fitzsimmons #leo fitz #jemma simmons #fitzsimmons fic

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argentangelhelps · 3 years

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CHEERS BROTHER : EPISODE 15 RP STARTERS

starter prompts from episode 15 of the cheers brother podcast! (some have been edited for clarity and roleplay-ability)

trigger warnings : swearing, drinking/alcohol, mentions of drug use

“we’re in funky town!” “i will pay you to stay here!” “this is kinda depressing but okay.” “she sent me money for a flight.” “what a homie” “was it a crazy experience?” “i think the plane just did a flip.” “i love turbulence, is that weird?” “i love roller coasters so its like the same thing, right?” “that’s a good coping mechanism.” “i’m waiting to face god.” “what am i gonna say to god right now.” “you think about that, i think about being at six flags.” “my two personality traits in one.” “i wanna be on a fucking toy story plane.” “you’re a fuckin trooper.” “i can’t think of one other person i’d get a middle seat for.” “there you go, baby.” “i’m clearly not ready to accept that i’m back here.” “the last place i want to be right now, is la.” “look at us all drinking!” “anyway, i’m drinking alcohol” “long distance, cheers!” “i can’t believe you’re taking a shot.” “i almost lost my life of the first one.” “what is that look you’re giving me?” “my hair is looking crusty these days.” “hey girl, i know our appointment’s at eleven, but could you come in at nine?” “i can’t fucking build a beat.” “come into my stu, let’s do some shit!” “9 am is creeping up.” “damn it was that bad.” “okay, one sheep, two sheep.” “it was in my stomach?” “i’m just so nervous, bro!” “you’re gonna be on the spot for a hot second.” “you have a cool job that people wanna hear about, i get it.” “a lot of people text me from high school, and i just don’t respond.” “i can’t dude, i can’t.” “she texted the other day and asked for money.” “it was eight years since i texted her number.” “i don’t know what i was more confused over, that you played soccer or that she asked you for money.” “he’s just a sweetheart. he’s misunderstood.” “not to be rude, but who are you?” “who are you and why are you here?” “he got straight to the point and i respect that.” “he’s like a sweet little teenage heart throb and he’s so humble and precious.” “i’m laying in my bed in the dark listening to my airpods.” “that spiraled real fast.” “did you respond?” “no, i blocked her.” “i was laying there counting sheep.” “like my stomach was pulsating, like there was a heart in my stomach.” “that rhymed bro.” “and then i woke up today at twelve thirty!” “i sprung out of bed like a spring chicken!” “oh bitch uh uh.” “i called five other bitches.” “oh you’re going on a road trip now.” “because i’m so traumatized from missing this morning, i’m pulling an all nighter.” “really bitch? how did you miss that?” “it’s a brand new day, get the fuck up!” “i went to school with a deaf girl and she has a bed that shakes.” “it’s this fuckin robot!” “my neighbors would hate me for that.” “it’s like kinda large so it would cause a ruckus.” “i was envisioning like a person robot.” “it just barks? that would be sick!” “i like think i’m happy with my life, but then she just spews things.” “i’ve invested a lot of money in this piece of paper.” “i pretty much got fired.” “ive met like a lot of cool people.” “were you like blackout?” “i was definitely drunk.” “it sounds so dramatic that a social media event put me in therapy.” “so is doctor phil in person like dead inside.” “i didn’t touch him because like pandemic, but like i wanted to.” “it’s gonna be something that’s like completely off the rails.” “so it’s like a cult?” “it’s in the middle of fucking nowhere.” “the only bad thing was that they put me in some questionable outfit choices.” “look at me on national television in skinny jeans.” “every time i go there, i rethink my whole life.” “i took shrooms while i was out there.” “i’m like scared to push my limits on that stuff.” “i haven’t been wanting [ muse name ] to do psychedelics, but . . .” “what is it? there’s like a performance right?” “let’s get a fucking coconut bra and shake our ass.” “it’s hot girl summer, baby.” “we were all sleeping in bunk bed and we almost burned the house down.” “after my experience, you to are on your own.” “either way nothing was gonna go well for me.” “fuckin david dobrik ass, filming our drama.” “we almost like invited boys over from tinder.” “it was a great outfit, i’ll give her that.” “full circle moment, baby!” “love you guys, imma go get drunk now.”

#rp memes #sentence memes #word prompts #word drabble #roleplay memes #roleplay prompts #ask prompts #rp starters #indie rp #*[ rp memes ]

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crawgluvr4 · 3 years

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(warnings: flashbacks of csa, physical abuse, and sexual abuse.)

ana invents the drift within a year of the start of the crisis, contracted by first the egyptian military and then the american, to help them chase a pipe dream.

something as big as the kaiju to defeat them. something out of a movie, a giant robot capable of safely dispatching the monsters. a familiar tale. they do not say why they need human pilots but it has a lot to do with human judgement and also propaganda. she obliges because the world is on the line.

ana invents the drift, allowing two people to share the neural load of piloting a machine hundreds of times their size. concurrently, the US government plows through five hundred disposable soldiers and get two worth using. she meets them once before the test and she is surprised at how immediately she finds herself caring about their wellbeing. she tells the doctors that the drift will not discriminate between current and past thought, that all memories and thoughts will be shared, and the two soldiers must be aware of this. it’s a huge risk to their health. the doctors nodded their heads and agreed with her and said of course and yes and they fully understand the risks. and she, young, foolishly trusted them to put empathy before efficiency. to put care before brute force.

neither man enters the drift knowing the burden of it, neither are prepared for the overwhelming surge of memories that will occur. telepathy is a vague concept. you tell a soldier desperate to save the world, one of two of five hundred that survived a procedure designed to make them untouchable - you tell him they’ve invented a telepathic method of controlling something capable of destroying the monsters decimating the world and he will go for it. they both do. no matter what, they would have agreed.

but it would have been nice to know what was coming.

gabriel takes right and jack takes left. the helmets have not been refined yet and the neural gel is sickening and it takes jack longer to learn to breathe in it than they would like. ana is as ever the only one concerned for them and uses all the threat she can muster to give them time to adjust. she knows if this is successful she will have much less weight because she legally will have to sign over her research, but they will still need her. for efficiency.

they’re both nervous but this is before they know anything, so gabriel comes across as cold and focused and jack comes across as confident and a bit arrogant. it's the surface personality each will maintain throughout the rest of their lives until the jaeger explodes in the mediterranean sea. gabriel does it because he wants people to trust his judgement, and jack does it because he wants people to believe in him. it's a roundabout method to the same goal; something they always manage to do.

jack gets used to breathing and gabriel cracks a smile through his otherwise stern facade, which makes jack nervous in a better way, because he’s not quite acknowledging that he’s basically in love with gabriel. which is fine, because in the past three months since their briefing on the jaeger mission he has been practicing deflecting his thoughts so gabriel wont read them, something he is now uncomfortably good at. this will later be a fatal flaw of his - deflection. not thinking about what needs to be thought about. when drifting becomes refined jack will immediately master the ability to deflect and wall off thoughts and memories, and as such become a template for an ideal drift partner. but for now he is twenty-one and still really truly believes that despite how the government has treated him in the past year that they are telling the truth right now.

ana's hands tremble as she sets up the machines for the handshake. she has no idea what is about to happen because she is nearly twenty-four and probably the most sensible person in the world right now but her mistrust is not yet enough either. she will regret ignoring the voice that tells her that, despite barely knowing these men, she should talk to them herself about the danger.

gabriel gives them the all clear. jack watches him and follows suit a moment after. ana inputs the command to initiate neural handshake and says “neural handshake initi-” and doesn’t get to finish it before the computers go wild.

when you enter the drift there is two seconds of silence as the minds sync. if two pilots are incompatible enough the drift will drop and nothing of importance will be shared, just a moment of disorienting silence. when pilots are compatible, this period is the calm before the storm. after the drift is developed properly people will be trained to think slowly. when overwatch scrabbles itself together years after its fall the training will be largely abandoned in lieu of efficiency and jack will think about the irony of this first and pass the thought onto gabriel. as it stands they have two seconds before jack suddenly thinks “what-” and the memories follow like the tail of a comet.

what happens is this; two decades of memories, of things neither had ever intended to share, of memories forgotten to their mind, are shared in the span of twenty seven excruciating seconds.

gabriel sees:

his father come in from the fields and he’s angry so angry because one of the machines broke down today and he won’t take it into town to fix it because he has some sense of pride or something and he knows by the look on his mothers face what his father is going to do, to vent his frustrations he takes a knife and starts cutting up the trees in the forest but then feels so bad he breaks down and cries. the way his fathers hands are only ever used to hurt to scar and to molest. the way the fields look like when it’s night and you stare from the crack of the barn door and try try as you can to leave your body and leave what is being done to you here. his sister’s silhouette on the porch. don’t forget to write.

which makes no sense because as long as he remembers gabriel has lived in the city.

jack sees:

a loving family that accepts their son when he comes out as their son and cannot understand why he tries to kill himself when he's sixteen, and when he leaves for the military they still dont understand but its the same thread. don't forget to write. he doesn’t write and he doesn’t talk about his relationship with the much older girl his mother was so fond of because she was so polite to her face despite the cruel things she would say to gabriel about her. about how nobody in his family was really there for him, just her, and when she tells him he’s so mature for his age and how good he is in bed for his age he can only take it as the compliment a child feels it is. and he can only blame himself so desperate he is for a different kind of validation and then the guilt of not finding his family’s support enough and seeking it elsewhere drives him off the edge and he can still feel it, the horrible drag of metal through skin and muscle and veins. the way his mother had held his hand and said please don’t die, and two years later the same words as he leaves california behind because how can he tell them he can’t bear to be around her?

which makes no sense because jack has never visited california and has never even seen the sea.

this is what the drift is. the holder of each memory loses ownership of it to the space between them, involuntary, unbidden, every scrap of pain they have ever felt flitting back and forth between them until they aren’t sure who started with what. in twenty seven seconds both receive the others lifetime of trauma imparted without will or consent, and unable to look away. and worst of all are the things that they had tucked away, forgotten long ago but still stored in some unreachable part of memory -

gabriel holds his mothers hand at his grandmother's funeral. in whispers he hears his uncle say: why is she here, she isn't even her real kid. and his mother stiffens and goes silent but gabriel is aware she is crying, quietly. but he is young and knows nothing and she is just mourning, after all, mourning her mother. he doesn't see that uncle aside from at big family gatherings and while he is ostracised loosely otherwise in this memory nobody disagrees with him just tuts and tells him to stop that it's not the time or place. his mother is the youngest child and always was the odd one out of her siblings.

jack remembers before his mother stopped caring and before his father turned to sexual abuse of them both; and they’re at some shopping centre he never did learn the name of and there’s a manmade river cutting through the the centre. there are swans with their babies and jack is holding his sister's hand very tightly and his mother has one hand on his shoulder and says honey you have to learn when to be gentle and when to be firm. know when you're hurting other people. and he loosens his grip and she does not tumble into the river and there are two cygnets and two parent swans and jack thinks what a happy family. the next day his father will push him up against the wall in anger because he is seven and forgot to tidy his room and his mother will argue with his father but also tell jack to try to behave more.

so what happens is: gabriel sees what jack saw, and jack sees what gabriel saw, and it takes twenty seven seconds before ana hits the emergency desync (because she does not understand what a random access brain impulse trigger is yet) during which time it feels like they are both reliving an entire lifetime.

jack's first coherent words once they desync are “please, i'm so sorry, please, please forgive me” although it takes a lot of effort for the medical staff to parse this.

gabriel understands immediately - because now he knows exactly how jack reacts after panic - and jack knows gabriel’s silence is not cruelty but dissociation and that he can't say anything when he is barely in his own body.

a week later gabriel will ask jack for his forgiveness as well. years later they will almost find it absurd. something to look back on as the start of something better, maybe, just handled so poorly its almost comedic. they understand then that neither of them needed to apologise to the other for what was done to them and that at least they learned good things too, at least they learned how to protect other people from ever experiencing that again.

but right now jack is retching and the medical staff are checking gabriel for brain hemorrhaging because it's the only real risk they know to check for. physically, he is fine, though pulse elevated and breathing somewhat shallow. the trauma is mental. ana is screaming at the chief medical officer who is fired on the spot despite receiving direct orders to push the pilot testing asap. ana will feel responsibility for this for the rest of her career, going above and beyond friendship for the two men whose trust she feels she irrevocably broke.

they don't even think about her, in this moment, all but alone despite the swarming medical and military staff. they are still thinking another man's thoughts. for twelve seconds after the end of the drift the psychic link remains, and though it's a messy swirl of disgust and panic and horror, there is one coherent thought: i'm so sorry you understand.

#reaper76 #hi r76 tag im back with pacrim au and trauma! hope u missed me #pacrim au compliant #you can really tell i was like Fuck structure i gotta do stream of consciousness right now immediately

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ruzek-halstead · 4 years

Text

someday

pairing: jay halstead x hailey upton

erin is back in town and asks jay out for drinks. hailey isn't sure how to feel about it and finds herself at molly's, throwing back shots with will halstead (he totally ships upstead).

“plus, why would he get back together with erin when he’s clearly in love with you?”

masterlist || ao3

warnings: swearing, fluffery, mentions of erin lindsay

the team is all at their desks, catching up on paperwork when jay’s phone starts ringing.

he glances at it quickly, almost as if he plans on letting it go to voicemail, but then doubles back as his eyes widen. he hesitates to grab it, but ultimately decides he probably should. so, he grabs his phone and quietly ducks out to the break room.

hailey is watching, because of course she is. she happens to look up as his phone starts ringing, just in case it was hers, and catches his reaction. he isn’t very subtle about it, but he probably isn’t thinking people are watching him either. he spends a few minutes in the break room and hailey would be lying if she said she isn’t glancing at the door every few seconds.

her curiosity is starting to get the best of her, so she grabs her near empty coffee mug and subtly enters the break room.

when she enters, jay is sitting at the table. his phone is on the table and his chin is in his hands; his eyes are blank and he’s staring off into space.

“hey, you alright?” she questions as she fills her mug up with fresh coffee. she tries to act nonchalant, like she isn’t dying to know.

jay doesn’t reply.

hailey raises an eyebrow and sits down across from him at the table; his eyes don’t flit to her.

“jay?”

his light eyes finally lift to glance at her and he looks confused, and slightly desperate. “that was erin on the phone.”

there are things hailey expects to hear on the daily; even extremely off things, given what they do for a living. however, this is definitely not one of those things.

she chokes on a sip of her coffee and curses when it dribbles down her chin. “i’m sorry, what?”

jay allows himself to chuckle, watching as she licks her lips free of coffee. she’s glad she can still provide him some amusement. “erin. she’s in town and wants to see me.”

“oh,” it’s the only thing hailey can say because she doesn’t want to overstep; jay raises an eyebrow. “sorry, i'm just surprised is all.”

jay runs a frustrated hand through his hair. “you're telling me,” he mumbles in response. “what should i do?”

hailey's eyes widen; she isn’t expecting him to ask her that. “well, you have to go, right?” she replies, “i mean, she clearly wants to see you.”

jay's facial expression stays blank. “right…”

the passivity on jay's face starts to make hailey nervous; she can’t read his expression and has no idea what he’s thinking. so, she starts to babble.

“maybe she has something important to tell you, like maybe she’s pregnant,” jay's eyes snap to look at her and hailey blanches. “not with you, obviously.” jay is still staring at her and she cringes; she’s absolutely butchering this conversation. “or maybe she wants to get back together.”

somehow, hailey’s brain has not connected to her vocal cords and she still continues to speak.

hailey frowns; by saying that, it’s put unwelcome thoughts in her own mind, and she doesn’t like it. she doesn’t want to picture jay and erin back together; why the hell would she even mention it?

jay is clearly confused as well; he’s finally showing some emotion, as he can’t fathom why hailey would say such awkward things. but she looks uncomfortable and she refuses to make eye contact and she’s inching out of her seat, as if preparing to make a run for it. so, he doesn’t press.

“i guess i’ll just have to meet her to find out.”

hailey hates that answer. she hates it because now she’s planted the seed of a relationship in his brain and she knows as soon as he sees his former flame, he’ll go all heart eyes and that will be that. she hates it.

“hey hails,” her attention lands on her new roommate, who’s peeking her head in the doorway with a gentle smile, “i have to meet with a CI; voight says to bring some backup. you want in?”

hailey stands so fast; she nearly topples over her chair. “oh god, yes,” the reply flies out of her mouth nearly as quickly and vanessa knits her eyebrows together. “i mean, yeah, of course i’ll go with you.”

hailey spares a glance over at Jay and is slightly pleased to see him smirking; maybe he isn’t as far gone as she thinks.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

that night, hailey finds herself at molly’s.

she has no idea where erin and jay plan on meeting up, but she prays that it isn’t molly's because she is in desperate need of shots.

the rest of her team isn’t here either. kim and adam went to dinner (honestly, can those two just get together already?) and surprisingly, vanessa is out with kevin, but she has no idea where. so, hailey sits at the bar by her lonesome, but it’s fine.

she downs another shot of tequila.

she’s fine.

her pity-party is interrupted when a stool is dragged next to her. she looks up to see the other halstead, nursing a beer and a smile. “hey herrmann, can we get another round please?” he asks the older fireman.

“you got it,” he replies and then glances at hailey, “i'll throw in another round of shots on the house. looks like this one needs it,” he drops his right eyelid in a wink.

hailey opens her mouth to object because this is absolutely mortifying but nothing comes out. “make it a double, please,” she says instead.

“oh no, what did he do now?” will asks in jest, gladly accepting the drinks herrmann is laying out for them.

hailey smirks. “who?” she asks innocently.

“you may be a detective, but i can also see through your bullshit,” will sasses with a raised eyebrow. “now tell me, what stupid thing did my brother do today?”

hailey laughs; she doesn’t usually spend much time with will, at least not without jay around. but it’s nice; his company is nice. “he didn’t do anything,” she replies, and she isn’t lying. but somehow it feels like she is.

“so, what’s the reason for all this?” he motions to the shots, which only spurs her to take another.

her face scrunches at the burn of the amber liquid and she turns to look at him. his face is blank, save for a little curiosity. but he’s there and he’s ready to listen and it just comes pouring out.

“erin is in town.”

will's jaw instantly drops, but he recovers quickly. he takes a hold of his own shot glass and holds it out to her, waiting. she brings their glasses together in cheers and throws it back.

“how did jay react to that?”

hailey nearly laughs. “like a robot. honestly, do you bottle up your emotions as much as he does?”

“i'm proud to say that no, i do not,” he chuckles. “i'm much more emotional than jay—don’t tell him that, though.”

hailey laughs and she’s so glad for the distraction. “he didn’t really say anything, and i couldn’t read him. so, i got nervous and maybe said some things i shouldn’t have.”

will raises an eyebrow in curiosity. “what kind of things?”

“like maybe she’s pregnant,” his eyes widen and he bursts out in laughter, “and then i just had to mention that maybe she wants to get back together,” she rolls her eyes, “honestly, he’s going to fold like a pancake as soon as he sees her.”

will is still laughing. “i'm not sure where the pancake reference is coming from, but i can assure you jay doesn’t want anything more than closure and a beer.”

“how do you know that?” hailey asks, pouting. then she straightens up and drops her facial expression because she’s a goddamn adult for fuck sakes.

“you know jay, but i know him better,” will explains, “he was devastated when she left. but that’s just it; she left. and she had no intention of coming back. he’s dumb and reckless sometimes, but he wouldn’t put himself through that again.”

“oh,” hailey exhales softly, suddenly feeling ridiculous for her overreaction. “i guess that makes sense.”

will smirks. “he's not the best with change. he had to adapt to her leaving and he can’t live in fear knowing that she might have to leave again; she didn’t even say goodbye.”

hailey remembers the first months of their partnership. he was stubborn and dark, and it took her a while to get through to him; it seems stupid but the first morning he brought her a coffee without having to ask her order beforehand, that’s when she knew things were going to change. and they did; look at them now.

“plus, why would he get back together with erin when he’s clearly in love with you?”

hailey's head whips around to stare at will with wide, worried eyes. but his gaze is locked on molly’s front doors where jay has just entered; he’s looking around, wondering if anyone from his unit is here (since no one replied to his texts in the group chat), but then he spots his brother’s wild red hair and his blonde partner beside him.

“i guess this is my cue to leave,” will says quickly as he rushes to finish the last of his beer.

hailey latches onto his arm, panicking. “what?” she hisses. “no, you can’t leave! not after saying something like that!”

“oh, do you hear that?” will says, standing and grabbing his coat. “i’m being paged. sorry hailey, but i have to go save lives,” he replies, smirking because clearly he is not being paged and hailey is livid.

hailey narrows her eyes. “okay halstead, play the doctor card; i see how it is,” she responds, but sharply adds, “i’ll remember this.”

“you’re a sassy woman, hailey,” will smiles, “i see why my brother likes you so much.”

this time he makes sure jay hears it as well and thoroughly enjoys watching hailey drown her embarrassment in her beer, while jay looks on, confused as hell.

“hey jay! sorry, i gotta run. busy doing doctor stuff, you know?”

will doesn’t wait for a response and he’s out the door before jay can even blink.

“he's such a loser,” jay snorts and vacates will's old spot. he orders a beer for himself and another one for hailey and herrmann obliges, holding back his smirk. “am i missing something here?”

hailey shakes her head quickly. “no, of course not,” she replies, “how’s erin?”

“she's good,” he replies casually. hailey continues to look at him and when he notices, she motions for him to go on. “oh, i don’t know. she's fine, i guess. came down for a case and wanted to check in. didn't call the rest of the unit because she’s leaving tomorrow and didn’t want to make a big deal.”

his answers are so vague and she’s getting frustrated.

“jay, she’s your ex-girlfriend. that's all?” hailey prods; she can’t help herself.

his green eyes zero in on her expression, wondering where this persistence is coming from. to some degree, he knows because he caught her nervousness earlier in the break room and clearly, there’s a reason for it. “yeah, that’s all. we had one drink, i gave her the rundown on all the changes within Intelligence and she told me a bit about her new job.”

“that's it?” hailey asks with hopeful eyes.

jay mirrors her expression but with confused eyes. “that's it.”

hailey visibly deflates and she takes another swig of her beer with elated ease. her actions cause a smirk to appear on jay's face, as he leans his body forward. “hailey,” she hums in response, “is there anything you’d like to tell me?”

the ease that hailey was feeling for two seconds is suddenly gone and replaced with stone cold anxiety.

“because earlier today, you were chatting my ear off about erin-related topics and you were clearly nervous. now that i’m telling you absolutely nothing happened, you’re looking very relieved. what am i missing?”

jay's eyes bore into hers and he can clearly see she’s nervous once again, but she tries to keep her expressions in check. “i'm just glad you’re okay. i didn’t want you to get hurt again.”

jay is 99% sure she’s lying, but it’s a damn good lie.

“and that’s all?” he asks with a raised eyebrow.

hailey snaps out of her trance and punches his shoulder; that certainly snaps him out as well as he groans. “i care about you, jay! i’m just looking out.”

he narrows his eyes at her, because she’s good, but she can’t lie to him.

“i know there’s more,” he says simply, standing and grabbing a few bills from his wallet. “and we’ll have that conversation someday.”

he grabs his jacket.

“jay,” hailey breathes and for a moment, she thinks she can do this; it’s time.

but she doesn’t say anything.

he sends her a soft smile. “goodnight, hailey.”

he leans down to press a kiss to her cheek. she inhales sharply.

she watches him walk out the door and can’t find it in herself to chase after him.

she lets him go.

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self-proclaimed-chaotic-good · 4 years

Text

Nothing’s Normal | Cliff Steele x Reader (Request)

Request: Hi can you do a imagine where the reader is the daughter of Bruce wayne and a meta and in a relationship with cliff Steele please and thank you

A/N: @rachelcarroll1819 Sorry it took me a while to get to this request because life and I keep forgetting to post it, so here it is. I know it’s supposed to be a simple imagine, but I got carried away because I love writing the dynamics between the Doom Patrol members. I hope this is what you asked for.

Warning: Doom Patrol-typical swearing, usual Doom Patrol shenanigans, some angst?, some fluff

Words: 3211 (lol idk what happened)

It had been almost a year since your adoptive father, Bruce Wayne, had sent you to regularly check up on Vic and the others at Doom Manor. He was made aware of this new team of metahumans through the young Cyborg and as Batman’s assistant, you were assigned to keep tabs on all of the Justice League members in case of emergencies.

One rule that he made sure you understood was that you’d go when Niles Caulder wasn’t around. You heard about that doctor and his work with the Bureau of Normalcy. Your father heard about them during one of his investigations into a series of missing persons cases, all showing signs of possessing some kind of power. Being aware of your own powers, you agreed with your father to stay away. That doesn’t mean you had to stay away with the Doom Patrol members, though.

You wiped your forehead as you finished fixing up their black painted bus. The team currently had the budget of a public high school in an expensive city, so there wasn’t much good material to work with, so you made as much adjustments as you could while giving room for some upgrades.

“Not exactly the Magic School Bus,” Cliff said, handing you a cloth to wipe your hands with.

“Well, Vic could always get some of that good juicy tech stuff from home so we could turn it into the Magic School Bus,” you said, raising an eyebrow at Cyborg.

Vic shrugged, stepping back to look at the small bus. “I think it looks fine. Maybe you could actually do more if you take off those gloves.”

You purse your lips and say nothing. He still doesn’t know the reason why you wore those gloves and you try your best to keep like that for as long as you could.

Rita walked over with Larry, placing her hands on her hips and sighed. “Are we looking at the same thing? It looks so dreary and… and… shabby,” she said.

“Hey, what’s wrong with my paint job, man?” Jane snapped.

Rita ignored her. “No one’s going to take us seriously as an actual superhero team.”

“No one takes us seriously anyways,” Larry pointed out.

“Yeah, but think of what (Y/n) could do with that cool tech, Vic,” Cliff exclaimed, grabbing Vic’s shoulder, “She worked on the fuckin’ Batmobile! I think after saving two towns and the world from the apocalypse, we deserve a Doom Mobile.”

Vic was slowly being swayed, agreeing that the team should have some kind of advanced mode of transportation instead of relying on Flit to emerge and teleport them to their destination. Vic rubbed his chin, then nodded.

“Yeah, I could try and-” He looked up to address you and Cliff when he realized that the two of you vanished, “Where did they go?”

They all shrugged.

“It’s not like they can fuck,” Jane said bluntly.

“Jane,” Rita scolded her. Jane rolled her eyes and made her way back to the manor. Rita looked over at Larry who shrugged.

“As long as they’re not getting into trouble, it’s none of our business,” he said before walking to his greenhouse.

Rita pouted, standing with only Vic to talk to. “I just want to know what my dear friends are up to, don’t you? Cliff seemed so… happy lately, hasn’t he?”

Vic nodded. “Yeah… you don’t think that Cliff… and… (Y/n)?” He frowned just thinking about it. How would that work?

Rita hummed. “Maybe we should… check if everything’s okay,” she said lamely.

“Yeah, maybe,” Vic said, getting curious. He knew you ever since he joined the Justice League and you didn’t seem the type to be in a relationship. Surely, you and Cliff were just friends.

“You think we could get the bus to go that fast?” you asked Cliff, nodding over to the TV in the corner of the Robotman’s room, playing a recording of an old NASCAR race. You leaned over the sketches of upgrades you’ve been meaning to add once you get the right tools and materials, your gloves tossed to the side.

“I mean the air resistance will be something that we have to compensate for,” Cliff said, “Race cars are slim as fuck, which is why they can flip the fuck out when we crash into each other.”

You wrote some notes down, then looked up at Cliff. “Why did you choose to be a racecar driver?”

Cliff shrugged. “I liked driving. I liked the rush. I liked the crowd. And I was really fuckin’ good at it, so I liked the winning, too.”

“At least you didn’t become an actor,” you teased, “Though you’d surely win a Raspberry award.”

“Hey!”

Cliff reached out to grab you on your sides. You shrieked, feeling the tips of his metal fingers nearing the most ticklish part of your body before you ran away. He chased you around the room, making you laugh as he bumped into the furniture when you’d dodge.

You ran out of breath from running and laughing too much, pausing for a moment, giving Cliff enough time to grab you. You huffed a laugh, gripping his metal arms and relishing in the cold touch as he carried you over to the couch and plopped you down.

Cliff was one of the very few people that you could touch without any gloves or clothing in the way. It wasn’t like skin, but at least you didn’t have to worry about your powers affecting him.

He looked down at you and sighed before sitting down. He held your hands and ran a metal thumb over them, having similar thoughts running through his head.

“I wish I could fuckin’ feel this,” he muttered, “You deserve someone who’s normal. Someone that can feel your skin, feel how soft your hair is, be able to kiss you, pop a fuckin’ boner. When you hug me, it’s just all bulky metal for you, and I can’t even feel how warm you are.”

You leaned against him and also sighed. “I could… I heard they’re developing these synths, they call it. Robots that look like humans with realistic hair, skin, everything. I could try and maybe look into it, if you want. If you’re comfortable with it,” you offered.

“What if it doesn’t work? Then you’re stuck with this,” Cliff gestured to his body.

You shook your head. “I just want you to be happy and I know how hard it is to not be able to touch anything. We can keep trying to find other ways, Cliff.”

“Even if I had my human body, just me, I still think you deserve better. I… I was a horrible person. I was a bad husband and a bad father. I’m learning from that and I feel myself getting better, but what if I relapse?”

There were so many things you wanted to tell him, that him having his human body back won’t change the fact that you still won’t be able to touch him, but you knew how hard it was for him to come to terms that all those human traits he had were gone. Everything except his brain.

“Your friends and I won’t let that happen to you,” you said firmly.

You ended up sleeping on Cliff’s lap after talking for a couple more hours. He carefully ran his metal fingers through your hair, mentally cursing when your hair almost got stuck in one of the joints. He slowly lifted you up and carried you over to one of the guest rooms next to his, setting you down on the bed and covered you with the duvet. He had the urge to kiss your forehead, but knew he couldn’t. When he turned to leave, Rita and Vic were standing there with knowing smirks. Cliff wanted to roll his eyes as he pushed past them.

“How long are you going to be gone this time?” Cliff whined as you packed up your duffel bag.

“Not sure,” you said, “but they said it was urgent, so Vic and I are both needed.”

“Can’t we come with you, go sightseeing around Gotham?” he asked, following you out of the room.

You snorted. “Not much to see around Gotham, unless you’re looking for criminal activities and corrupted cops.”

“Yeah, and Batman.”

“And dangerous criminals.”

“We defeated Mr. Nobody! We stopped the apocalypse!”

You sighed, stopping at the manor’s entrance. “Cliff, maybe next time. Right now I have to focus on the mission.”

“You ready?” Vic called out from the small plane that your father sent you.

You nodded, picking up your duffel bag. “I’ll call you,” you assured him.

Cliff nodded, his shoulders slumping. You beckoned for him to lean down and you pressed your forehead against his metal head, closing your eyes for a brief moment before pulling away. The chauffeur grabbed the bag from you as you climbed into the plane.

“So… why Cliff Steele?” Vic suddenly asked.

“How-”

“Rita and I saw you two.”

You leaned back in your seat and shrugged. “He makes me laugh.”

Vic nodded. “Fair enough, I guess.”

The two of you fell in silence for a moment. You picked at your gloves, before looking up at Vic. “But please don’t mention this to anyone, at all,” you pleaded, “No one has to know.”

“Alright, no problem, (Y/n/n).”

“Thank you.”

The rest of the flight was silent, with the both of you trying to get in touch with your respective fathers. Your father was reluctant to bring you into the mission, but your expertise and powers were needed for them to solve their investigation. You hated your powers and your father knew it, which is why he tried his best to avoid the situation from reaching that point, leaving you as the last resort.

“Half an hour until landing, miss Wayne,” one of the pilots announced.

“Thank you,” you called out, grabbing your duffel bag to change in the bathroom.

Cliff played with his mini racetrack for the hundredth time after standing around outside watching Jane paint and hanging around Larry in his greenhouse to understand why he loved watering plants so much. He tossed the remote control onto the couch and sighed. What is it that you do that you were needed on the mission? Every time he asked, you would shrug it off and say that you were a glorified secretary for the Justice League. Do they need paperwork to be filled out or some shit?

“And why are you telling me this?” Rita sighed as she brushed her hair in front of her large mirror, Cliff sitting on the floor behind her after unloading his thoughts onto her.

“You were the one that wanted to know about our relationship!” Cliff shouted.

“Okay, okay. Calm down, Cliff.” She set her brush down and turned in her seat. “So what is it that you want?”

“Uhhh.” Cliff tilted his head. “I feel like she’s hiding something from me.”

“Did you ask her?”

“What the fuck is she going to say? Yes, Cliff, I am hiding something from you. What is she going to say next, it was for my own good?”

“Cliff, we’ve known (Y/n) for a year. She doesn’t owe us everything about her life. I’m sure she has her reasons. She works for the Justice League for crying out loud. There’s a level of secrecy that she must have to keep as part of the job.”

Cliff groaned. “So we just wait, then?”

Rita gave a firm nod. “We will just wait.”

They sat there in silence. Cliff blinked, staring at the ceiling, then back at Rita. She shifted around in her seat, then cleared her throat.

“I never thought I’d be… itching to go and save the world,” she began, “I wonder what it’s like for the Justice League.”

“Don’t they usually battle some otherworldly being or each other?”

“I know, but I’m sure there was never a time where they were… self-conscious about going out there. They don’t have powers like we do, if you could call it that, where even the slightest of our emotions changing would affect us badly.”

Cliff waved a hand dismissively. “Nah, I’m sure it’s the same for them, just in fancy costumes.”

Rita sighed, then nodded in resolution. “You know, Cliff, you’re right. Maybe we could-”

“Who the fuck are you?!” They suddenly heard Jane shout, followed by a loud crash.

“Where’s Niles Caulder?” A deep male voice bellowed.

Cliff and Rita exchanged a look before rushing out of the room towards the entrance. Rita’s eyes widened as she saw Batman storming through the door, pushing past Hammerhead, with (Y/n) trying to stop your father while Superman was trying to calm Hammerhead down.

“What the hell is going on here?” Larry jogged over as Vic rushed in towards the group. “Vic, what’s going on?”

Vic let out a frustrated sigh, glancing back at Batman, before turning back to his friends. “Our mission uncovered some things linked to Niles and not in a nice way,” he said, not sure how much of the classified mission he was allowed to share with the people who were also victims and complicated friends of said Niles Caulder.

“And why are they here?” Rita pressed.

“Let go of me, you fuckin’ Ken doll in stupid ugly overcompensating tights!” Hammerhead growled as Superman wrapped his arms around her, preventing her from pouncing on him or Batman.

“Where’s Niles Caulder?” Batman demanded, glaring at the group.

Larry looked at the others, not sure what to say. Rita shook her head while Cliff nodded. (Y/n) stood in front of him and growled in frustration.

“Not until you calm down!” you snapped.

“He did this to you,” your father hissed.

“He did it to all of us,” you said, gesturing to the group, “With reason. There’s no excusing the shit he did, but you have to hear everything out before you carry out your justice. You've taught me this before. Now. Sit. Down.”

He clenched his jaw, looking back at Superman, who disappeared. “Where did they go?”

They heard an explosion from the front yard, followed by Superman’s voice. You all looked at each other and groaned, “Oh, no.”

Cliff was the first one out the door, already approaching Flaming Katy. You rushed forward, but Vic held you back.

“Cliff’s done this before,” Larry assured you.

“Come on, Jane. They’re not worth it. Think about it, they’re here for Niles. Think they’d smack him around, just a little, after what he’s done?” Cliff called out to the flaming figure. “Baby Doll, I can make those peanut butter jelly sandwiches you like, without the crust and everything. I’ll even watch those shitty nineties rom-coms with you, Karen.”

The figure slowly lowered, the flames gradually extinguishing until Jane emerged again. She glared at Superman, then at Cliff.

“Fuckin’ prick,” Jane muttered, not aiming it to anyone in particular, stomping back into the manor.

Cliff turned back to the others and gave a thumbs up. You sighed in relief, urging everyone to go back inside. As they filed back into the large living room, you lingered by the door until you and Cliff were the only ones in the parlor.

“Sorry about this,” you muttered.

Cliff shrugged. “Meh, I was actually talking about you anyways.” You raised an eyebrow, silently asking about what. Cliff shrugged again. “I just missed you.”

You gave a small smile. “I missed you, too.” You took off one glove and pressed your hand against his metal arm, letting the coolness seep into your skin.

You opened your mouth to speak, when you heard a familiar coughing. You pulled away, your cheeks heating up. Your father narrowed his eyes at Cliff before jerking his head over to the living room where everyone was sitting. You pressed your lips into a thin line and followed him in, Cliff trailing behind you.

Once everyone was seated, Rita cleared her throat. “So, let’s start from the beginning, shall we?” she said, taking charge in leading the conversation. “So, what was it that caused you to seek Niles Caulder out?”

Your father was still fuming in his seat, so Clark decided to speak. “We were following a trail of missing persons cases and stumbled upon an underground facility. The missing persons were subjected to countless experiments and many didn’t make it. From the files we found in their database, it was all initially headed by a Doctor Niles Caulder. The first few experiments had actually been cancelled, but a team continued to do so without his knowledge,” he said.

Everyone stared at him, entranced by his handsome face and his smooth voice. Clark looked around and frowned, wondering why they were looking at him weird.

“I’m sorry I tried to punch your sharp jaw,” Jane muttered.

“You would have been cut from it,” Larry told her.

Rita waved a hand to dismiss them. “You,” she pointed at your father, “Batman... person, you said that Niles did this to (Y/n)? Our (Y/n)?”

You sighed. “I was a part of the initial trials until my- until Batman saved me,” you said.

“What did they do to you?” Larry asked.

You hesitated, looking around the room. You spotted a dying flower, a plant that Larry had given Cliff to practice taking care of. You carried it over and set the small pot on the coffee table. Your palms were sweaty as they hovered over the wilting petals before you slowly lowered your finger. With a single touch on a petal, the flower was slowly revived, all color flooding back to its vibrant petals.

“That’s pretty cool,” Cliff said.

You shook your head, touching the petal again. The life from the flower slowly drained away until it was curled up and dry.

“Oh.”

“I can bring a living being back to life with a single touch, but… touch them again and they’re dead. Forever,” you said. “I wasn’t sure how long I’ve been in that lab. Some of the early records were gone by the time I was rescued, but if the aim is similar to what he’s done to all of you… I may be older than I look.”

“Well, I’m glad that our age difference isn’t weird anymore,” Cliff commented. You gave him an exasperated look until you remembered that you were sitting next to your father, making you freeze. The rest of the Doom Patrol members turned to Cliff and glared at him. “What? You guys were dying to know, and now that we’re talking about it… I’m just saying, people should stop thinking our relationship is extremely weird-”

“You’re still a robot, Cliff,” Larry reminded.

“So this is Cliff?” Clark asked you, ignoring the bickering.

You nodded. “Yeah…”

“Wait, you knew?” Your father turned to Clark. You closed your eyes and sighed.

“Well, it came up in a conversation…,” Clark tried to defend.

“Don’t you think I have the right to know who my daughter’s involved with?” Your father hissed.

“Wait a fuckin’ minute!” Cliff said, looking at you, then back at Batman, who was still in costume, then back at you. “What the fuck? Daughter? (Y/n)... What the fuck?”

#Cliff steele x reader #Doom patrol #Doom patrol imagine #cliff steele #Wayne!Reader #Meta!reader #got the idea for her powers from Pushing Daisies lol I love that show #request

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cursewoodrecap · 3 years

Text

Session 23: Medical Ethics

Y’all ever been to college?

Our new friend Vigdor has just pulled a pale, twitching human leg out of a poster tube, sheepishly admitting to Valeria that it’s his own.

Valeria blinks at it. “Well, it doesn’t appear to be bleeding demons, so that’s good?”

Shoshana sticks her head in the door, and has to pause to take in the sight. “Uh, bruh? Bruh? I have questions. Is that yours? I mean, like, yes, you HAVE it, but was it attached to-“

“That’s a bit tricky? It was amputated twice.”

“Twice?!”

“Once from me, and then, well, um. Once from an amalgam of sewn together body parts?”

(Gral and Shoshana pile into the room, because Oh, Lore?)

“When I was in the swamp, we were fighting a bunch of zombies led by this particularly nasty undead guy. We called it the Wailing Wight. At first it was just the usual undead hordes, but then a local leatherworker was found, torn apart and harpooned every which way, half his limbs torn off and stolen. After that, we started getting attacked by stitched together abominations cobbled together from human and animal pieces. I was there just trying to help the villagers, being a doctor and all. But that’s when I lost my actual limbs.”

“They got stolen, like the leatherworker’s?”

“I had to chop them off. Which, for the record, is not a fun time? The Wight’s harpoon has a kind of poison that rots everything it touches. So I had to amputate or, like, die. So I cut them off and his zombies, uh, stole them. And I managed to get one back? Kind of a long story. I don’t know how I recognized it, but – I guess I know my own leg like the back of my hand? Now I’m taking it back to Sturmhearst. There’s a weird fluid inside it; I want to study what’s going on with that so we can take care of the nastyboy in the swamp.”

“Well, I am generally against nastyboys,” says Shoshana, poking his foot in the ticklish bit. It squirms at her.

We’re headed to Sturmhearst anyway, so traveling together seems reasonable. We think about taking Fun Key Shortcuts, but that could backfire spectacularly, so we’ll play it safe and go the normal, boring way.

In the morning, we head downstairs. The inn is trashed. The stalwart barkeep Rene is not there; instead there’s a young elf sweeping out what debris he can. As we grab breakfast and the young fellow thanks us over and over for saving his friend’s life, Vigdor awkwardly wanders around casting Mending on chairs and tables that got a little too close to the tentacles and chainsaws. Shoshana doesn’t really do non-destructive magic, but she slips the barkeep some gold for repairs.

Vigdor’s too lopsided for a horse, so he’s gonna hop on in our cart. He’s very taken with the Eyegis, poking at it with fascination. “You can see the blood vessels in the eyes, despite no source for a blood supply! Do they have tear ducts? Have you ever seen the shield produce tears? Can you make it cry?”

Valeria gets very uncomfortable with this line of questioning and turns the eyes back into painted ones, put off by a Weird Stranger gettin’ all up in her business. Gral distracts him by asking about his fancy metal limbs.

Vigdor goes full technobabble on how the runes and machinery work. “Well, there’s three different kind of magical actuators on each joint, and they act as conduits for the dilithium crystals-” He knows the details secondhand from Bjork and none of us speak robotics, so if he ever needs serious repairs he’ll have to bring them back to Sturmhearst for the engineers to take a look at.

Valeria knows a bit about Jotunn runesmithing, but she’s never heard of it working to this degree of precision; before, she’d only heard of stuff like boats that row themselves, or a peg leg that has a little extra articulation. These are fully actuated limbs!

Val checks if the limbs are the same metal as our space wrench, but nope, they look like completely normal everyday metals. She’s not gonna inspect further, because she has RESPECT, unlike SOME people.

(“Hey, I didn’t try to pry the eyes open or anything!” Vigdor protests.)

She does notice one thing, though: Valeria recognizes runes from most magic systems even though she doesn’t know them well enough to use; her sister studied magic for a long time, so she knows what they look like. There’s one elaborate rune that appears on both Vigdor’s forearm and leg that is of no origin she’s ever seen.

“How long’d it take Bjork to build this thing?” Shoshana asks, squinting at Vigdor’s kneecap.

“Well, I was unconscious for a good bit of it so…between a week and 2 months? He was already working on it when I, uh, had to amputate.”

“…did you KNOW you were gonna wake up with those things on?”

“Oh! Yeah, yeah. It took a while ‘cause the original blueprints they found were for somebody, like…really short for a human or really tall for a halfling? Something in between. Bjork had to resize the whole model to fit a human.”

“He, uh, FOUND blueprints?

“I can’t imagine he’d have made blueprints for a person who didn’t exist? It was all proportioned very strangely. I don’t know too much about it, you’d have to ask Professor Bjork.”

(One of the players asks if the strange rune, perhaps, says ISTC in a language the characters don’t know. It DOES, and we’re all very pleased with ourselves for previous-campaign references.)

The long road stretches on before us, and we have plenty of time to talk as we spend a week or two heading north toward the coast. We fill Vigdor in on the four flavors of Curse and the concept of the Prisoners, and that we suspect there’s major Key nonsense going on up at the university. (Heh heh, “major key.”)

Vigdor and Shoshana bond over being locals. Why are foreigners so weird about trolls?

Vigdor really, really wants to look at Twombly’s glasses. We explain to him that the Key could take his desire for knowledge and turn him into a cackling, dimension-hopping madman with a few extra eyeballs. He still wants to play with the glasses. Valeria protectively hides the Key map, just in case, flashing her Hunt fangs at anyone who asks about it.

After like a week of pestering everybody, Vigdor gets to look at the glasses. Disappointingly, when not looking at the Key map, the colorful lenses just make everything look slightly more those colors. Maybe Gral’s lutestrings look weird, but that could be the placebo effect. He tries flipping around the many lenses in different combinations, and finds that all of them make him look absolutely ridiculous.

Eventually after many days of travel, we can smell the ocean and the distinctive stench of a large number of humans living in one place. Vigdor takes in the familiar sight of his college hometown. Shoshana is dumbfounded that this many people can live on top of each other, while Valeria thinks it’s a quaint little town.

Up to the west, Sturm Castle squats on a cliff above the city, like a big hippo of knowledge. It looks like it was once a reasonable castle shape, but it’s had new wings and towers built onto it haphazardly until it’s a weird sprawling network of jammed-together architecture. By the edge of the cliff, in one of the more sensibly-built sections, a majestic lighthouse beams out over the bay. In the city below, the largest building appears to be a grand temple, with its roof carved in the shape of an open book. The perimeter of the city is outlined by strange wooden and metal towers, two or three stories tall with conical brass roofs.

Eh. It’s only got one castle, so it can’t be that good of a city compared to Aurentium.

Our cart is briefly stopped for a quick examination at the gate by a friendly city guardsman. He’s flanked by two of the same enormous owl-masked guards we saw accompanying Quercus and Ulmus. “Hi, welcome to Sturmhearst, folks! What brings you here?”

We all awkwardly try not to look at Vigdor’s leg bag.

“I’m, uh, here to visit Dr. Emily Thorpe?” he tries.

“Oh, visiting the university. Don’t need yer life story. Where you stayin’? I can recommend some inns. Oh, and check out the Scholar’s Temple while yer here!” He hands us a brochure from the Sturmhearst Tourism Board and steps back. “ALL RIGHT BIG GUYS, LET EM THROUGH!”

The owl guards don’t move.

“Oh, uh, I mean –“ He fishes in his pocket and pulls out a whistle. “Lemme see if I can remember how the doc told me to do this.” He blows a few sharp notes on the whistle, and the owl guards promptly step off the road to let us through.

Huh.

Vigdor makes an investigation check on those guards, who definitely weren’t around back when he was in school. They’re pretty bulky for humans – no, honestly, they’d be bulky even for goliaths. He’d heard a story from Professor Bjork that the school was hiring goliath mercs and dressing them in owl masks, but the professor had sounded like he hadn’t believed it much. Supposedly they’re silent because they don’t speak the language, but Vigdor’s pretty sure Bjork speaks Jotunn, so that excuse doesn’t quite hold up.

Once we’re out of the guards’ earshot, Gral pulls a huddle. “Vigdor, the Key’s a more recent influence, so let us know about anything new or significantly more abundant – that’s where we’ll need to search.”

Vigdor hmms. “The big brass towers weren’t here before. And the owl guys didn’t used to be a thing.”

Gral cuts another glance back to the owl guards, considering. “…How much of a faux pas is it to remove a Sturmhearst person’s mask?”

“I mean, if you’re dealing with the plague, it’s kind of a dick move? And dangerous? But most people – it’s like, the same rudeness of grabbing someone’s hat or jacket. For some people it’s badge of honor or superiority, y’know, how amazing they were to get through the gauntlet of Sturmhearst. But mostly it’s a practical tool of the job. We’re not, like, afraid to show our faces.”

Gral nods. “So you wouldn’t have to duel them, then.”

“W-what?”

“Oh, with bards it’s like ‘you are not deserving of your title’ and you have to duel about it. You know, like, how dare you slander my name, I’ll have to fight you for my honor?”

“Oh, uh, no, nothing like that. The mask is proof of office, that’s all.”

Before we get investigating, though, it’s late and we should rest. Vigdor wasn’t a palling-around-town type, but he rolls a nat 20 and knows the best inn in the city – not one of those touristy places on the square; the best-kept-secret on a side street that only the locals and regulars know about.

We have a lovely night around the docks of Sturmhearst. Shoshana spends like fifteen minutes just staring out to sea, because they MAKE boats that big???? This much water even EXISTS????? There’s a dragonborn ship from Aurentium, a goliath ship from Jotunhein, a couple of Galwan freighters, and even a ship crewed by colorful macaw aarakocra. (History check: while the Aquilians mostly died out, some of the ground-based aarakocra cultures survived. Valeria’s met macaw traders before in Aurentium; they tell lots of stories and do GREAT impressions.)

Valeria, meanwhile, holies some ocean water. They say Galwan clerics swear by holy seawater; salt repels demons, right? It’s gross harbor water but, whatever, it’s holy now. She also beats a sea captain at Man-go, presumably dock style. The inn’s equipped for foreign travelers, so it’s got a whole bar of draconic and goblin spices!

Gral, meanwhile, discovers the inn is near a bath house and enjoys finding out what a sauna is.

Morning comes, and Sturmhearst U awaits. Vigdor knows the main campus has the colleges of Engineering, Science, and Medicine, while the satellite campus across the bay houses the college of Ethics, which includes humanities like economics and history.

Valeria rolls for Order of the Rose knowledge. The Order actually has an arrangement with Sturmhearst when they’re working in Valdia – whenever the Order is sent on disaster relief, some Sturmhearst ethicists are sent to help coordinate. Valeria’s never worked with them personally, but the impression she’s gotten from her fellow knights is Not Great. From what she’s heard, they’re supposed to do triage and help direct the knights, but it seems like they spend the whole time sitting around debating absolutely horrible things. “Hey, if we brewed up some necromancy, could we use the skeletons of plague victims to transport supplies without spreading the infection?” Apparently they just sit around in corners debating whether that kind of shit is kosher or not, without ever actually DOING anything.

Also ethicists wear white instead of black like most Sturmhearst scholars, which is just pretentious. We then poke fun at an Order of the Rose knight calling anyone else pretentious.

Vigdor studied at the College of Medicine; he’s a doctor. But that’s not where he’s taking the leg.

“Why not Medicine? I mean, it’s a human body part, innit?” Shoshana asks.

“It’s…I have some concerns…regarding the, um. So, along with this leg, my arm was stolen, right? Not long after the arm was stolen, the sewn-together amalgams got a lot, uh, cleaner.”

We stare at him.

“…as if whatever stitched them together had my medical training.”

…oh.

“I’m a little hesitant taking that info to the College of Medicine,” he admits.

“Why?”

“There’s a lot of ‘for the greater good’ stuff with the College of Medicine sometimes. The College of Ethics keeps them in check. Anyway, there’s actually this thaumochemist I want to take a look at it.”

(We’d know the discipline as alchemy, but she hates that. She’ll go on a whole tirade about it. Somebody yells “Full Metal Thaumochemist” and we accidentally take a commercial break. We’ll never get tired of that joke.)

More of those owl guards are at the door, supervised by a businesslike white-coated member of the College of Ethics. His mask is a bit more abstract than the ones we’re used to; not modeled after a bird face like the regular scholars’. He lets Vigdor in with no problem, though he’s a bit suspicious of the rest of us. We’re with a doctor, though, so he’ll let it slide. “Welcome to Sturmhearst, may your visit be enlightening.” He does the same whistle we heard before and the guards step aside. Gral’s a string guy, he can figure out the notes easily enough but he doesn’t whistle.

“Nothing goes on here without Ethics knowing about it, huh,” Gral observes.

More owl guards are stomping around, some carrying heavy objects. Vigdor knows where he’s going, but asks an owl guard for directions, as an experiment. The owl guard doesn’t even notice him. He steps in front of the guard, who just steps around him very politely.

The castle is a nightmare to navigate, like Hoeska, but we have an expert tour guide. “The old keep, the part that used to be a castle – that’s where all the 101 classes are and the whole working hospital. All the additions are laid out super weird, and then there’s the tunnels underneath. The Chem students had WILD parties down there, they brewed up all SORTS of stuff. The lighthouse is a real lighthouse, but it’s also where admin is, and the dean’s and headmaster’s offices. Oh! DO NOT cross the librarians. Each college has its own library? Like, theoretically they share the whole collection, but which college keeps which books is kind of a blood sport…”

Shoshana and Gral hang back, feeling out of place. “Bards don’t really have a college, exactly?” Gral explains. “It’s more of a pilgrimage. I met the elders of each village and they imparted wisdom upon me?”

Shosh feels like an uneducated hick even by that standard.

We take a hairpin turn in one of the Science buildings and run into Professor Quercus! Or at least someone with a bird mask and a similar voice, chatting with some other masked scholar. “Ah! Yes! We made a lot of excellent discoveries before we started to run into problems – you see, there hadn’t been an event in some time, but if we could get in there to the source, we could really – well, my goodness! These are the people I was telling you about, who gave me such wonderful notes!” Quercus turns to us, sounding rather delighted. “I certainly didn’t expect to see you here. Welcome to the world of knowledge! What brings you here? I thought you were having adventures and derring-do!”

“Well, it turns out our adventures led here!” Gral tells him.

Quercus nods enthusiastically. “I’d show you around, but I rather need to speak to the bursar! If you need anything, I’m sure you can find my offices without too much problem. And please, if you’ve encountered any interesting monsters, I’d love to hear details! Especially if you have samples!” Despite his keen excitement, Professor Quercus rolls a four and fails to notice our Shusva accessories.

“If you ever need a cup of tea and a biscuit, you’re welcome to stop by my office! I’d be more than happy to speak with you! And if you could do me a favor – well, I wouldn’t mind having you with me when I speak to the bursar! See, our expedition to Holzog has hit a bit of a snag. The events with that mist stopped happening, you see. Luckily, we managed to identify which house you were going to, and we were all set to investigate, but then the Baroness put a squadron of those damnable Condotierri to prevent us getting in – “

Gral shrugs, deliberately casual. “I don’t know why you’d go back; there’s not much to see besides what’s already in the notes.”

(Vigdor immediately rolls insight to see if Gral is lying. Unfortunately for him, bards are excellent liars.)

“Anyway. The bursar’s giving me an earful about continuing to fund the expedition. I’m considering withdrawing from Holzog and asking him to redirect the funds into a different project! For example, lots of interesting monsters have been seen around Barroch lately!”

Yes, definitely, we want him to go somewhere that’s not a Tempting Key Portal. Valeria and Gral tag-team Persuasion checks to sell him on interesting cases of monsters we’ve heard of around Barroch. If we’re fuzzy on the details – well, all the more reason to have someone get out there and take a closer look!

Quercus is rather taken by the idea. “If you would, Mr. Duu –“

“Um, actually, Duu is the tribe, my family’s name is-“

“-yes, if you could write me some letters, I might find it useful making the acquaintance of the locals while setting up camp. Sturmhearst hasn’t established an official relationship to your people yet’”

Gral agrees to write up a formal letter explaining the mission of Sturmhearst and the expedition to make introductions a bit smoother; the word of a bard will go a long way in gaining the cooperation of the orcs of Barroch. He’ll do a personal letter of introduction for Quercus, and a general letter to Shieldeater’s administration to explain who the heck these weird bird people are.

“Wonderful! Bring it by my office!” He gives us directions that make NO sense to anyone but Vigdor. We’re pretty sure several of those compass directions aren’t real words?

“Oh, and if you see an angry tall woman stomping around, tell her I’m not here! She’s mad at me for some reason I can’t discern. Good day!”

He scuttles off, presumably to hide.

We definitely want the gossip on that – Ulmus was mad at him about funding, and she definitely dissed his field of study. Is this what academia is like?

Vigdor confirms that the professors have all kind of weird beefs, interdepartmental politics, and personal feuds. “One of my professors gave me a B- in amputation – shows what he knows – purely because I was taking some classes outside the College of Medicine and he got all offended. It’s a lot of politics and bullshit, they’re all more concerned about their careers and publishing than actually important stuff.”

We find a door with a brass plaque: Dr Emily Thorpe, Thaumochemist. There’s a paper list tacked to her door with a list of courses: “Intro to Potion Brewing,” “Principles of Alchemy Thaumochemistry”

Vigdor knocks. “Yes, who’s there? Come in!” a voice calls.

“It’s Vigdor! Vigdor Gavril!”

“Ah, Vigdor!” A halfling woman in the requisite bird mask waves from behind a counter where she’s handling a set of proper Movie Science bubbling beakers and flasks. “Yes, you sent me that letter! You had something ‘interesting’ for me!”

“Yes, and you will see why I couldn’t be more detailed!”

She notices his metal arm as he starts pulling open his heavy waterproofed case. “Oh! I heard that Professor Bjork was giving you his prototype! How’s it working?”

“They’re loud and heavy and uncomfortable sometimes, but I have limbs! Can’t complain! But then I, uh, found one of my limbs again.”

He goes over to an open table and pulls out his entire-ass leg with a flourish, plus vials of hair and blood and strange unidentified liquids. Her eyes widen.

“Ah, this is yours!” She watches his toes wiggle. “Well, you don’t see that every day.”

“Yeah, I found it stitched to some kind of unholy undead abomination.”

“And that explains the Knight of the Rose. Hello, Kyr.”

“Kyr Valeria Argent, at your service!”

“Dr. Emily Thorpe, at your service as well, I guess? Pardon the mess in my lab, it’s not much but it’s home. Hand me that vial?” She pulls out a syringe and takes a sample of not blood, but oily black liquid, from the leg. “It will take some time, but I can write up a thaumaturgical profile without much difficulty. Do you mind if I keep it?”

“You can hang on to it. But I would appreciate discretion.”

“Yes, this will stay between me, your friends, and – oh, this is Hugo, he’s my teaching assistant. He’s been helping since the school was mobilized.” She turns to Vigdor’s clearly uneducated hick friends (not you, Valeria, you’re very fancy) and explains:

“In times of crisis, the University turns from education to innovation. Were this a disease, we’d be researching cures! If demonic, we’d be researching weapons or dimensional banishment. We haven’t really received direct orders this time, so everybody is doing their own thing, which I can’t say I mind. Mostly I’ve been helping other researchers with the practical application of their theorems.”

She scribbles out a hasty list. “Hugo, if you can go to the library and put these books on order? The Vigmar and the Auspelius especially would be useful, but don’t let the librarians kill anyone over them. And the Principles of Advanced Anatomy – tell them I won’t ask. But I do need it.” The grad student nods and hustles out of the room.

(Shoshana insights, out of paranoia. Hugo’s a good egg, though he might refer to thaumochemistry as alchemy.)

“Now, Dr. Gavril, do you want this leg back? How intact-“

“Want it back? Like, in the abstract, or on my body?”

She pulls out a vial of bubbling acid. “I’d like to put some of this on it and I’d like to see what happens.”

He blanches slightly. “Uh. Um. I have some proprietary-“

“Aw, no acid then,” she grumbles, stowing the acid with an audible sigh.

“Only do something you would do to living person’s leg. That they would survive!”

“How would I know? I’m a chemist, this is only, like, my second dead person!” She pauses. “…well, fifth.”

Shoshana starts looking around at all the alchemy equipment curiously. Everything here is clearly labeled with numbers, and letters that feel like numbers, and complex formulae, which hedgewitch potionery doesn’t really account for.

There’s a knock at the door. “Ah, that must be Hugo. Come in!”

Valeria instinctively body-blocks the leg from view.

It is not Hugo. In walk 3 white-clad ethicists. The gentleman at the front is in fancier robes – we suspect he’s the kind of fellow who has tenure – and he wears a powdered judge’s wig atop his mask. We immediately don’t like it. His two companions peer around the lab – one has a jeweler’s loupe built into the lens of his mask, and the other is carrying a big chime with runes carved into it, clearly a magic item of some sort.

“Dr Thorpe,” the leader intones.

“Sorbus,” she replies disdainfully.

“I see you have guests, is now a bad time?”

“Is it ever a good time?” Emily makes a point of tending to her samples and beakers busily.

“I suppose not. We have come to ask a few follow-up questions. Have you been visited at all by Professor Matthias Macker? Has he followed up on the project you were working on together?”

“I told you, no! I had no potions strong or precise enough for what he needed, and he’s never spoken to me since. That was months ago!”

“And no one has seen him since then. You understand why we need to know what you discussed.”

“Yeah, not since you quarantined the whole surgical wing!”

“That is not what I’m asking about. Has Macker’s assistant Greta Ruble visited you?”

“No. She’s a good kid, though, don’t hassle her.”

“We are simply making sure she is not a danger.”

Emily sputters angrily. “A danger to who?!”

“I cannot tell you that.” He turns to Valeria. “Kyr, it is always a pleasure to see a member of the Order here. I suppose if you’re here we can be assured nothing… unethical is happening,” he says, unpleasantly oily. “I am Professor Rigmor Sorbus of the College of Ethics; I lecture on legal and judicial ethics. These are my assistants, Charles and Pippin.”

Valeria bows with the precise degree of politeness required. “Kyr Valeria Argent, at your service.”

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance. In these times of mobilization, it falls to us as ethicists to supervise our colleagues’ noble efforts. Please, I implore you: if you see anything untoward or suspiciously unusual, I request you report it to the nearest representative of the College of Ethics.”

Emily butts in. “What happened to Eric Pelbort, his other assistant?”

“Mr. Pelbort has transferred to the College of Ethics and is assisting us with some research. We will let you know if that changes.” He tells her dismissively. “Kyr Argent, the College of Ethics has always been proud of our long association with the Order, and I would like to extend our deepest condolences for the tragedy of the Crusade. Should you have need of any assistance whatsoever, do not hesitate to ask. Our offices are on the satellite campus across the bay. If you were to visit, I’m sure many would love to speak to a paladin of the Order of the Rose.”

“We have business here, but I might be able to make time to stop by,” she equivocates.

“Very well. I will let you all get back to whatever it is you’re doing with that leg,” Sorbus says, turning neatly on his heel and taking his leave, his toadies hurrying in his wake.

(Yes, you guessed it: That was Professor Rowan, with his Tort Wig and his assistants Pip Loupe and Chime Charles.)

“Those guys give me the creeps,” Emily grumbles. “They used to be fine, but lately they’ve been doing this whole inquisitor act.”

Vigdor’s always known these guys as douchey blowhards. But now they’re douchey blowhards with AUTHORITY.

There’s always been a divide between Ethics and the other three colleges roughly the size of the harbor! The sciences don’t believe in debate, they believe in experimentation! Anyone who can spend an entire week talking without action is wasting time and breath. The College of Medicine thinks even less of them – they just get in the way of progress!

(IRL we all respect medical ethics, but Sturmhearst WAS founded on a fine tradition of graverobbing and leeches.)

Vigdor is primarily a surgeon, or he was, when he had two fully functional hands. (Two players at once: “HE GOT DR STRANGED!”) He had quite a few classes with Macker, the chair of the surgery department. Most people didn’t like the guy, except his surgical grad students who would defend him to the death. A bit of a hardass about proper procedure, but that’s probably not a bad quality for a surgeon. He was a local institution, so it’s pretty alarming he’s somehow gone rogue.

“His whole lab was quarantined?”

“The whole teaching wing, actually,” Emily tells us.

“Are there people in there? Some kind of sickness?”

“Not that I’ve heard. Ethics just put guards outside the labs and blocked everyone from going in. They’ve done it to a couple places around the school recently. The excuse is that someone was doing ‘unsafe experimentation’ that’s ‘poisoned the area’ or something?”

Wack. “How long have these quarantines lasted?”

“They don’t really end? A couple stopped after a few months, but some have been there for a year! Nobody goes in or out. Sometimes the white coats go in, but it’s pretty rare and they don’t stay long.”

“Is that what all the guards are for? Where’d they all come from?” Vigdor asks.

“Medicine used to be the ones, uh, hiring them.” (A quick insight roll notes that she hesitates on the phrase “hiring.”) “Lots of them still answer to whoever they were originally assigned to. But recently Dean Chidor from the College of Ethics took over that whole program, so a lot of the newer ones answer primarily to the ethicists. I mean, they all dress the same, so it’s kinda hard to tell? I haven’t asked a lot of questions, I’ve been trying to keep my head down since the whole thing with Macker.”

“What actually happened with him?”

“He’d been acting weird for a while,” she confides as she starts sticking pins in the leg and wiring them to a voltage generator. “He’d been working on something, some kind of extreme surgery – I think he was looking into a method of surgically removing Curse corruption. He was hitting roadblocks, though; he called in me and Alma Ulmus, who’s a College of Medicine bigwig.”

“Yeah, we met her in Bad Herzfeld!”

“I heard she’s here again, stalking around the halls complaining about funding. She knows more about his project than I do. Anyway, Macker sent me requirements for a healing potion he was gonna administer as part of some surgical procedure. I couldn’t get anything as powerful or precise as he needed. I’m a thaumochemist; I don’t know medicine that well. So it was beyond me to do that amount of gross tissue damage repair as controllably as they wanted it. I mean, I made some pretty nice innovations as far as the theory of potioncrafting, I’m hoping to get published as soon as it goes to peer review.

“But I couldn’t do what he needed, and eventually I got shut out of the project. Then one day he vanished. Alma set off for Bad Herzfeld and Macker stopped coming out of his lab. His assistants were still going in and out, but not long after that, the ethicists quarantined the place.”

“Has anyone else been quarantined?” Valeria asks.

“People from all three colleges got hit. I dunno about other ethicists, I haven’t heard about them quarantining anything of their own. But everyone else has. A group of engineering students were building a defense system to be deployed out to the Scar, and all of them got quarantined. Here in my department, Dr. Vilman – remember him? Stupid goatee, did a lot of stuff with crystals? – got shut down. Sometimes they quarantine the whole lab; sometimes they just shut down a project and everyone working on it gets a ‘guest lecture position’ over in Ethics. Sorbus said they got one of Macker’s assistants, Eric Pelbort. He had another one, Greta Ruble, but I guess she’s given them the slip.”

Emily’s got experiments to do on that leg, so we’ll let her get to it. As we head out, Gral asks one last question. “What’s up with those guards, by the way? Why do they only respond to those whistles?

“Uhhhh,” she says, as we fail our persuasion check. “They, er, don’t speak very good Valdian. Mostly foreigners, goliaths, the like. The whistles get their attention.”

Gral sighs and doesn’t push it. Vigdor’s already making plans to pickpocket a whistle. Valeria, since she has a direct invite to talk to the ethicists, considers the unheard-of paladin approach of Just Asking Them Directly.

First, though, Vigdor wants to check out the quarantine of Macker’s lab; he knew that professor well, and we’re all curious what’s been going down.

We walk on over to the surgical wing to case the joint. There’s a single owl guard blocking the hallway, presiding over a small barricade. A pleasant sandwich board sign states “Area quarantined by College of Ethics, apologies for the inconvenience.”

We try to walk in and the enormous guard holds out a hand to stop us. Shoshana tries to wiggle around him, like a cat trying to get at your dinner, but he impassively blocks her every move.

Gral tries a smoother approach. He begins with small talk; the guard doesn’t even twitch. He starts asking prying questions about the surgical ward. No response. Fine, then: he switches to Orcish, a sinister undertone weaving through his voice as he uses Words of Terror.

An insight roll reveals completely unchanged body language.

“Either they’re immune to fear or not a humanoid,” Gral reports back. “Not a single emotion. Definitely not goliath mercenaries.”

“Tryin’ to talk your way into the surgical wing?” says another chatty passerby. “Good luck. They got all the medical cadavers locked up in there and they won’t let us in.”

(Cadavers? Oh shit, we bet that’s the guard factory, theorize the players.)

“Oh, are you a med student?”

“Yeah. I work with Professor Herberts, or I used to, anyway. We needed a couple cadavers to do this comparison study about spleens; we got some weird ones from out in the wood, we compare spleens to see if place with thing don’t worry about it; need control spleen. And then these BIG DUMB IDIOTS wouldn’t let us in, and Herbert got transferred to the College of Ethics all of a sudden. He’s been gone a couple months.”

“How long do professors usually transfer for?” asks Gral.

“I mean, they usually pop over to give a lecture or two and come back by the end of the day.”

(Vigdor happens to remember that the College of Ethics also runs an asylum. They live in a big spooky castle and do dissections with guts and stuff, it can do a number on your head! Some of the ethicists have branched into the field of psychology. No reason to mention this when people are having extended stays on the ethics campus, of course…)

The student shrugs. “I gotta get to lecture. If you manage to get in there, any chance you can bring me back a couple spleens?”

We wave goodbye noncommittally, though Vigdor insists he can pop a spleen out of a corpse like a yolk from an egg. He’s a good surgeon!

Anyway, Vigdor went to school here, and the dice are on his side; he knows a side path through an old abandoned classroom into the surgical suite. He pops the lock on the door easily; all the undergrads used to go this way when slipping into lecture late, to get past the TA keeping track of tardies.

The guard is in earshot but facing the other direction, and he’s not even blinking, much less scanning around. Gral casts Silence on us and our very clanky party slips by easily.

Shosh sticks her head into the TA’s office. Nothing really stands out, but she swipes some interesting-looking notes from the desk drawers to look at later.

Meanwhile, Gral and Vigdor go into Macker’s office. The desk is an absolute mess, which is very unlike the guy Vigdor used to know. There are wheeled chalkboards crammed into the office, covered in scribbles and anatomical diagrams. Paging through the notes and glancing over the chalkboard, Vigdor makes a decent medicine check and can at least figure out what problem Macker was working on.

Based on what Dr. Emily told us, Macker’s trying to develop a surgical procedure. The issue is that whatever he’s doing would cause so much physical trauma that it’d kill the patient, and he’s looking for some way to prevent that. There are lists of healing options: formulas, spells, potions, nonmagical stabilization methods to keep the patient alive while various tissues are extracted from the body.

Gral’s unimpressed. Healing methods? That’s pretty tame for forbidden knowledge.

To Vigdor’s experienced eyes, this stuff looks mega-advanced and highly experimental, but Gral’s right – it’s not anything you’d scramble to censor.

Weirdly enough, the place doesn’t look ransacked, only disheveled and a little dusty. Macker’s notes haven’t been moved since he was here. Maybe this isn’t what the ethicists were after?

We head to cadaver storage while Valeria keeps watch. Cadaver storage is creepy as hell, but only because it’s, y’know, a room full of cadavers. A lot of the bodies, kept stable with Gentle Repose, appear to be Cursed, but that’s hardly weird. What’s so crazy they’d keep it hidden from everyone?

Vigdor opens the door to the dissection labs, Gral’s Silence deadening any ominous warning he might have had from the room beyond. Yes, the table here’s been recently used, and the bizarre symbols scrawled on the chalkboards have spilled onto the surrounding floor and walls, but Vigdor’s eyes are drawn to where the chalkboard peels away like skin to reveal a strange, multicolored, impossible space. The floor begins to take the shape of a stone hand that projects out into the shimmering void, joining a daisy-chain of enormous hands that form a walkway out to a marble platform floating in space.

Gral takes his Silence spell with him and runs to get Valeria.

Eyes starry, watching entire worlds and impossible shapes spinning through iridescent mists, Vigdor takes his first heady hit of Key taint.

As we cut session, Valeria considers that the ethicists may actually have a point.

#the cursewood #Session recap #sturmhearst university #gral omokk'duu #valeria argent #vigdor gavril #shoshana bat chaya #The key

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whumpupthejam · 4 years

Text

He’s Out There

//tw: kidnapping, home invasion, stalking

Marcus’s hands are still shaking. They need to stop shaking. He can’t get the key to fit into the lock of his apartment door. Damn it, that’s the wrong key. What’s wrong with him? The jingling of metal is too loud in the otherwise silent night as he attempts to find the right one.

Not being able to stop himself as his panic rises, he looks back at the parking lot, eyes scanning the rows of vehicles belonging to his neighbors. Every shadow seems to deepen and darken as his eyes dart back and forth. They catch movement and his breath hitches, but it’s only Mrs. Allret walking her chihuahua, Diane. Nothing strange. Nothing unexpected for a Thursday night. But he can feel the eyes on him, same as he had in the grocery store. His flesh hasn’t stopped crawling since he first noticed the man staring at him from the end of the bread aisle. Everywhere he went in the store, the man’s dark eyes had followed. Is it stupid to think that the man might’ve followed him home? Somehow, Marcus is certain that he did—that he’s still watching him right now from some shadowed place that he can’t see.

“Fuck, fuck!” Marcus growls when he drops his keys. He hasn’t been standing in front of his door for more than twenty seconds, but it feels like twenty minutes, grocery bags weighing heavily on his wrists. Crouching as best he can, he grabs the keys and finally unlocks the door, still in that position. He half-crawls through the door, kicking it shut behind him. The groceries remain on the floor as he spins around to re-lock the door as quickly as possible.

He stays there for a moment, kneeling just inside, panting. As he slaps himself lightly on the cheek to pull himself out of it, he chuckles. This whole reaction was enormously stupid. Sure, that guy at the store was a freaking creep, but why would he follow Marcus home? And anyway, even if he did, it would be pointless. Marcus has nothing worth stealing. His apartment is modest at best, and he doesn’t even have enough furniture to fill it—he doesn’t even have a couch! He’s a college dropout. He eats 99¢ noodles for almost every meal. The only reason he was able to go on a more substantial shopping trip tonight was that his cousin finally paid him for when he dog-sat for her three weeks ago.

No, the only thing worth stealing might be his TV, or his laptop. His TV, the man can have if he wants it. It’s old and the audio stopped working last week. The laptop isn’t in too bad of shape, but it’s hardly something that Marcus thinks would make him the target of theft. There are plenty of other people in his complex with much more to offer than he does.

And if the man doesn’t want to steal from him, then he hardly knows what other reason he would have to follow him home. He doesn’t have any enemies. He doesn’t think he owes anyone any money other than Caleb, and his best friend is hardly going to put out a hit on him for thirty bucks.

It’s completely stupid to be so scared of some guy who was probably just acting weird ‘cause he was high or something. He didn’t follow Marcus home. He would’ve had no reason to. Even so, as Marcus stands up and grabs the dropped bags from the floor, the prickly feeling in his stomach doesn’t go away.

He turns on some music as he puts away his food, and sings along, hoping it will put him at ease. It does. He almost forgets about the man from the store until he sees someone cross quickly in front of his living room window. It’s just a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye, but it was unmistakably a person. The blinds are drawn up like they always are. His building backs up to the woods, so there’s no reason anyone should be back there, especially at this time of night. He never feels the need to have the blinds down. Until now, that is.

He takes a shaky breath and turns to finish putting away his groceries. Maybe it was a late-night jogger after all—he doesn’t know that it’s a crazy man. As he puts the last item—a carton of eggs—in the fridge, there is a moment of silence as one song ends and another has not yet begun. Marcus can hear the sound of something moving in the bushes outside the window.

“Fuck,” he says, barely above a whisper.

He quickly shuts off the music and walks tentatively up to the glass. Nothing can be seen in the blackness except for the small bushes beneath the window, and the wall of trees a little ways off in front of him. He can’t get a very good view of the surrounding areas from behind the glass. Briefly, he wonders if he should step out onto the back porch, but quickly decides that that would be the most idiotic thing he could possibly do. Marcus is about to turn back to the kitchen when he notices something that makes his heart stop.

Just to the right of his window, obscured in shadow and almost hidden by the bushes, is the obvious shape of a person crouching down, watching him. He stumbles back as if he’s been shot in the chest, scrambling across the floor to hide behind the kitchen island. The shaking is back, and he can’t catch his breath. His heart is beating painfully against the inside of his chest.

He’s out there.

He doesn’t have to see the person clearly to know it’s him. He just knows.

With fingers that almost appear to be in spasm, he grabs his phone and begins typing out a message to his friend Jake, who happens to live in his building on the second floor.

>are ypy home?

>*you

Usually, Jake is pretty good about responding if he’s available, but two minutes pass and the message is still unread. Marcus presses the ‘call’ icon and puts the phone to his ear. It rings. It keeps ringing.

“Your call has been forwarde—” Marcus doesn’t let the robotic voice finish.

He tries again.

“Your call—”

He lets out a sound that’s somewhere between a whimper and a groan of frustration.

>pls man, tgeres someone outside

>you can call me a pussy I dont care. i’m scared.

>I think he followsd me home

He knows he’s making typos, but his hands are shaking so badly that he can’t do anything about it. Another couple of minutes passes. Marcus can’t bring himself to look around the corner of the island. He just sits with his back pressed against it, staring at his reflection in the oven door. He looks pathetic.

He almost jumps out of his skin when his phone buzzes. It’s Jake.

<Sorry, bud. out with Kass and her friends. pretty wasted. won’t be home tonight.

What? That’s it?

He presses the ‘call’ icon again. It rings.

“Hello?” Jake sounds mildly pissed as he answers. He also, admittedly, does sound wasted. Marcus can hear it in his voice.

“Jake, I’m sorry, but I’m telling you, some guy followed me home from the store, and I think he’s watching me through my window right now.”

“So? Close the window.”

“Jake!”

“Sorry. Sure you’re not seeing things, Marc? Hell, I see things all the time,” Jake slurs, chuckling slightly.

Marcus shakes his head in aggravation. “Dude, stop being an ass, you know I don’t make a big deal about this stuff.” He can’t keep his voice from wobbling. “Please, Jake, help me.”

The line is silent for a minute. “Sorry, Marc. I can tell you’re actually scared, and I’m being a dick. I wish I could help you out right now, but I’m across town and I can’t drive.”

Marcus squeezes his eyes shut. He’s out there right now. He keeps thinking. He’s out there.

“Have you called the police?” Jake asks when Marcus doesn’t respond.

“No.”

“I think you should. Hang up with me and call them right now.” Jake sounds so levelheaded when he says that. Almost like he’s not drunk at all.

“Ok, I will.” Marcus rubs his eyes.

“Call me or text me after you do.”

“I—” Marcus is cut off by a sound from the bedroom. He is frozen as he strains his ears.

It sounds... it sounds like a window sliding open.

Shit, shit, shit, fuck. He opened that window earlier. Did he forget to lock it when he closed it?

Marcus can’t move. He can’t breathe. His eyes are wide, his body trembling.

There are footsteps, causing the hardwood to creak.

He’s inside.

“Marc? Y’ok? Marc?” Jake’s voice on the phone sounds like it’s coming from miles away.

It’s strange, Marcus thinks, to hear someone moving around in the apartment so carefreely, as if they’re supposed to be there. When they’re not.

What should he do? Should he try to sneak away? Should he stand up and confront him—tell him to get the fuck out? Should he just wait to be found? What will happen? What does the man want?

Marcus hears the man enter the living room and he holds his breath. Jake is still trying to talk to him on the phone. He hangs up. There’s silence for a second. The man must just be standing in the middle of the room. Doing what? Looking for him? Listening?

A shiver runs downs Marcus’s already trembling spine and he shifts unintentionally. The wood creaks softly. Apparently that was what the man was waiting for. His footsteps are quick and loud as he crosses the distance to the kitchen island. Marcus doesn’t have time to think before his leg is yanked, his body forcefully dragged out from behind the counter so that he’s on his back staring up at his attacker, who straddles his hips in a flash.

Marcus has always felt too small, too weak. Even when he finally reached a height in high school that was declared by his doctor to be “completely average,” he never felt like his body mass was anywhere near proportional. His recent diet hasn’t helped matters.

This makes it nearly impossible for him to fight back against this man, who seems to be about 250 pounds of pure muscle, and who is painfully crushing his hips under his body. That doesn’t stop him from trying, though. He pushes with all his strength against the man’s arms which are trying to come down to his face. He doesn’t know what the man is trying to do, he just knows that he can’t let him do it. They struggle for a moment before the man gets a good grip on Marcus’s wrists, and holds them out of the way long enough to deliver a shocking blow to Marcus’s face with the back of his hand. The boy’s head snaps to the side with the force of it. It dazes him.

Marcus blinks, groaning softly as a cloth is pressed over his nose and mouth. The last thing he’s aware of is a sweet scent that at once feels both familiar and foreign. It’s something like a mix between chlorine and red wine, he thinks. His eyes grow too heavy, and he falls asleep.

~~~~~

Shit, Marcus thinks as he wakes up, I shouldn’t have drunk so much last night.

His head is killing him, and he can’t even remember the details of the previous evening, so he knows it must have been wild. Jake must’ve convinced him to come out.

Wait.

He did talk to Jake last night, but it was on the phone, wasn’t it? He called him about something.

Marcus rubs his eyes and finally opens them. Then it all hits him. The store. The man. The window. The phone call. The struggle.

Panic sets in as he realizes that he is not in his room. He is not in his bed as he had assumed when he first woke up. As he squints in the dark, he can see that the room he is in is rather small and made up entirely of concrete, with only a single metallic door on the far wall. The “bed” he is on is nothing more than a dirty mattress. His hands are shackled to a chain, which tethers him to the wall and gives him almost no slack to be able to move.

He’s trapped. The man took him. Why? What the fuck is happening?

The door opens suddenly and the shock of the light sends daggers into his eyes. He shields them as best he can in his shoulder.

When he is finally able to squint back at the person who just entered, he realizes that it’s him. The man is tall and buff, and he has his arms crossed over his chest. Marcus can really only see his silhouette, and it bothers him that he can’t see his face. He can’t see those dark eyes, can’t see what they’re intending.

“It’s so nice to see you awake,” The man says. His voice is low, but not quite as low as Marcus had expected. “Does your head hurt?”

After a moment of hesitation, Marcus nods uncertainly. As his eyes adjust to the light, he sees the man smile, nodding his head as well. It disconcerts Marcus and he shifts slightly on the mattress.

“You did very well, much better than I was expecting,” The man says as he walks forward casually. He notices the look of confusion on Marcus’s face and smiles again. “Last night. Yes, you struggled a bit, but I enjoyed that. It was just enough to be exciting. And you calmed right down when I hit you.” The man crouches down in front of Marcus, and reaches out to press on the bruise caused by his hand the night before.

Marcus twists, pulling his face away as much as possible. “You drugged me!” he defends. It made his stomach twist to hear the man say that he “calmed right down,” as if it was a conscious decision.

The man ignores his statement, his dark eyes studying the boy’s face intently. “Did your father used to hit you?” He suddenly asks.

Marcus’s eyebrows furrow. The man just chuckles.

“I think you are going to be one of my most entertaining projects yet,” he muses, standing up.

“Projects?” Marcus is disturbed by the word. The man looks at him for a moment, smiling slightly, but he says nothing. It becomes too much. “What do you want from me? Why did you do this?” Marcus bursts. “Money? I have none. Neither does my family, if that’s what you’re hoping. You saw my apartment, I have nothing. I think you must have the wrong person.” he surprises himself with how much he’s able to get out before he becomes too nervous again.

He is surprised further by the man letting out a hearty laugh. “Yes, I suppose I do have the wrong person, in a way. And yet, in another way, I don’t.” Marcus must look confused again. “Ah, well, I suppose before this really gets started I can give you some answers. It’ll be better, really. This did, in fact, start out being about money. You see, an acquaintance of mine is also an acquaintance of a friend of yours, Jacob Settler. He lives in your building.”

Marcus’s eyes go wide. Jake? What does he have to do with this?

“Your friend Jacob owes my acquaintance quite a bit of money. I’m blurry on the details, but it seems he borrowed money for surgery for his sister, or something of that nature.”

Jake did tell him about having a sister who had been sick, but Marcus thought that was years ago.

“Well, the arrangement was that dear Jacob would pay my acquaintance back with interest. No documents were signed, of course. My acquaintance... well, let’s just say not everything he does is above table. Obviously.” On that word, he grins widely. It makes Marcus uncomfortable again.

“When the time came for Jacob to pay up, he was nowhere to be found. He’d skipped town, and his family had gone as well. Well, as you can imagine, this made my acquaintance very distressed. He had trusted Jacob, he had been nothing but gracious to him, and what did he get in return? He got stabbed in the back. So, he contacted me. You see, I am a man of many hats, but my primary occupation is that for a reasonable fee, I will track down those who have stabbed my clients in the back and... well... stab them back,” he chuckles. “If at all possible, I get the payment my clients are due, and if not, I send a message that will not be easily forgotten.” He pauses, again simply staring at Marcus.

“I don’t understand,” Marcus finally says. “What does this have to do with me?”

The corners of the man’s lips quirk. “Absolutely nothing. I tracked down your friend easily, he is not really very skilled in the art of evasion. I’m surprised my acquaintance couldn’t find him on his own, but that’s neither here nor there. I haven’t followed through with my task quite yet because as I began to observe Jacob, I encountered something unexpected that I wanted to be able to take my time with. You.” A sickening chill settles in Marcus’s stomach as the man speaks. “Something you should know about me is that I tend to focus too much on my work. I told you I have many different hats, and that tends to mean that I am always working on something, pouring my all into it, and absolutely draining myself. I enjoy my work, but it does take a toll. There is one thing that I do that is totally for myself. A sort of hobby. A release, if you will. That is my projects. I don’t recall when I first realized my fascination with pushing creatures to their physical and emotional limits, nor my knack for it. It absolutely thrills me. There is always something new to be learned from each person and creature I study, because each one is so different. You are different, Marcus. You mystify me. On the outside, forgive me, you look very unassuming. Very sweet. You’re weaker than most young men your age, and you know it. Physically, it shouldn’t be too difficult for me to break you. But inside you have this drive—this passion to fight for a better life for yourself, not according to other people’s standards, but your own. It’s why you dropped out of school last year. Not because you were too lazy or too stupid. You were doing very well. It was because you decided that it wasn’t what you wanted. It wasn’t what would make your life the best that you thought it could be.”

Marcus is openly shocked. His eyes are wide, shining with an excess of moisture. His lips are slightly parted. This man is absolutely horrifying. And he knows absolutely everything about Marcus.

“I’ve been observing you for quite some time, Marcus. I’ve seen how you interact with the world around you. You never seem to be truly phased by any stumbling blocks in your path. What you lack in physical strength, you make up for in strength of spirit. Others come to you for support and guidance, and you readily give it, never seeming to waiver.” He crouches down in front of Marcus and reaches out to him again, taking the boy’s face between his hands almost tenderly. This time, Marcus is too shocked to move away. When the man speaks again, it is almost a whisper. “It’s important that you know that there is absolutely nothing that can stop what is about to happen to you. I’m going to see just how long it takes for you to be totally destroyed, to become totally malleable in my hands. And I really think I’m going to enjoy it.”

#whump #whump drabble #my writing #creepy whumper #I’m finally posting an actual drabble eeeeee #this literally came out of nowhere #i honestly dont know #my ocs #stalking #kidnapping #home invasion

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agoodsfpage · 3 years

Text

“This is Morgan Winters, Barely Alive on GLNS News!” - Part 1

Hey! Posted this here and on the forum. Those of you who know me there will know this will not be the first time I've posted the first part of a story, promised to deliver more, and then abandoned the project within, like, an hour, but trust me, guys... I'm going to finish this one this time. I can feel it in my bones.

Anyway, something about the concept of a news reporter catching a cold has been weighing on my brain for just the longest time so I bring you this first part, in which our news reporters does *not*, in fact, catch a cold yet.

There is a little bit of sneezing and illness stuff at the end, but this is mostly about setting the scene, establishing some characters. I feel like actually having some kind of plot is a nice minimal standard to achieve with storytelling, but this might be why I'm always too lazy to finish telling them. If I do fail to post the second part of this one, my next story will just be called 'woman with a cold who is sneezing' and will just be about someone, like, going to various places.

With that in mind, do feel free to remind me to pick this up if you actually really want to see where this story (kind of inevitably) ends up going.

And, excuse the poor formatting. It is not my strong suit.

"...and despite facing calls to resign, the counselor has confirmed he'll remain in his post. From GLNS, this is Morgan Winters, back to you Alex."

Morgan yanked the earpiece out from her ear as quickly as she could, and ran a hand through her long black hair.

"How was that?" she asked Derek, from behind the camera, who gave a simple thumbs up in response. "Good," she said. "Now get me out of here. It's fucking freezing, and these old government buildings never seem to have any heating" "We got a taxi waiting for you outside to get you back to the studio" he replied, as he rewound the footage. "Think we're going to end up back in the van, though, if you ask me. Molly just took a phone call from the boss. Suspect she's going to be looking for you any minute now"

Morgan rolled her eyes and sighed. "Of course she is. What now? World's tallest scarecrow just collapsed? Local teen gets tongue frozen to lampost? Or are we going to interview the mayor's husband again, and hope he's sober enough to string together a full sentence this time?"

Derek shrugged. "I don't commission 'em, Morgan, I just film 'em. You'll have to ask her." "I'll have to avoid her, more like. I'm going to the office. I have a mountain of work to catch up on. I don't have time to do some twee interview with Farmer Dan about Potatofest '22, or whatever they want from me." "You do what you want. Taxi's that way, though. Next to the van" Derek replied, smirking, pointing to the east side of the building, and not taking his eyes off of the footage.

Morgan sighed and made her way to the city hall car park. She spied her taxi from across the road and started to walk towards it when she heard her name in an all-too-familiar and all-too-cheerful tone of voice.

"Slow down, Morgan" Molly called out, from behind her. Morgan closed her eyes, silently cursed her luck, and turned around to face Molly, who was dressed in a garnet-red beret, that (in Morgan's humble and, admittedly, uninformed opinion) badly compliment her curly, silver-blonde hair.

"I am so sorry, Molly, I almost forgot to wait for you," she said, forcing herself to smile. "That's alright, I'd just disappeared to make a quick phone call" Molly replied. "From the station," she said after a slightly uncomfortable pause. "Oh, they're always bothering us while we're busy. Well, I best be going, I need to get back to the--" "Could you do me a favor, Morgan?"

Morgan gritted her teeth, her green eyes lightly glazing over as Molly carried on.

"You see," Molly continued barely registering Morgan's expression, "the public health department just got in touch. It's that time of year when colds and such things are going around, you see. So, the department was wondering if we could send a reporter down to a local physician's to do a quick cold and flu safety report"

Morgan shook her head. "No, Molly, no, absolutely not. I told you, I'm done with these... nothing reports. I'm a serious journalist, alright? I have a degree-- two degrees! Two degrees, I have a Bachelors in Communication, and a Masters in Media and Journalism, okay? I should be covering far more serious topics than this. Health- public health isn't even something I know anything about. Can't you ask Alice to do it?" "We did ask Alice to do it!" Molly replied. "And?" "She can't" "Why not?" "Caught a cold."

Morgan rolled her eyes. "Well, what about Steve or Michael? They should be grateful for any work at this point, to be honest" "No, look, the department wants *you*. They've seen you! They think you have a really down-to-earth personality and a great presentation style. Perfect for delivering this kind of message."

Morgan paused. "They asked for me?" "Yes" "...and they think I have a great presentation style?" "Absolutely" "And a down-to-earth personality?" "Yeah, maybe. Anyway, look, if you do this, there's sure to be some more work coming your way. Good work, too. Not these fluff pieces, not these interviews with outraged retirees. You get to do what you want." Morgan really thought about it. "...No more local food and culture festivals?" "No more anything, just pure you." "...Fine. Fuck you, but... fine." Morgan replied. "When do they want me?" Molly looked at her watch and looked back up at Morgan. "Half an hour ago."

--------

It was not often that Morgan got to visit the more affluent side of town. She lived pretty far from here, and the people who did live here were wealthy enough to keep the cameras away from their neighborhood. While she wasn't thrilled about this assignment, she couldn't help but gawp at the mini-mansions, and luxury restaurants that lined the streets.

Still, all the money and lawyers in the world couldn't keep out the common cold. Almost every face she could spot from the van, was adorned with a red nose, or a tissue pressed tightly against it. Morgan shifted uncomfortably in her seat, as she turned her head towards her phone. She was really starting to regret this.

After a short drive, in which Molly had to negotiate with an incredibly congested toll-booth operator, the van pulled up outside the district's medical center. Derek scrambled out of the van to get the equipment ready, while Morgan and Molly went inside to meet the nurse they were going to be interviewing.

"Hey," Morgan said approaching the receptionist at the front desk, who was busy scribbling some notes into a pad. "Morgan Winters, I'm with GLNS news. This is Molly, I was told you both spoke on the phone about an interview?"

The receptionist looked up from her notepad and something instantly struck Morgan about her appearance. The long, wavy red hair, Morgan had already noticed from a distance. The bright blue eyes were distinctive but didn't immediately catch her notice. No, Morgan's attention was right away drawn to the sore, red rim that ran around the woman's nostrils, that was accentuated by the sudden and thick sniffle she gave.

"One moment..." she muttered, barely managing those precious m's and n's that would have lent clarity to what she said. She casually reached over a small PA system on her desk. "Ndurse Halloway? GLNS are here" she muttered, or something to that effect, at least. Some tinny, staticky voice gave a robotic reply, and the receptionist looked back up to Morgan. "Just take a seat with the oh-others... ih-ISHIEW!"

Morgan was grateful that the receptionist was able to grab a tissue. Still, she would have liked it all the more if the receptionist had actually managed to bring it to her nose, some time before letting out the surprising sneeze.

"Ugh... 'scuse mbe" she mumbled, using the barely touched tissue to blow her already sore nose. "Was the last one standing up until I came in this m-mordi-ih...it'SHIEW!" she sneezed again, clearly an aftershock from the previous sneeze, but this time, thankfully, with the tissue ready to catch it.

'Last one standing...' Morgan mentally repeated with a degree of exasperation, before directing Molly to sit beside her in the waiting room.

"We better make this quick, alright? I'm already regretting every second of this..." she whispered to her assistant, as the woman beside her, blew her nose for the fourteenth time. "Why, what's wrong?" she asked "What do you mean, what's wrong? This place is gross. I feel gross. I want to go back to the office, where it's... I mean still gross, but less gross than this" "Oh, hush. Don't worry about it, it's just a quick interview, bit of filming of... doctor-y things, and we can do the V/O back at the studio" "I don't know how you can be so calm about this" Morgan snapped, as the man next to Molly launched into a coughing fit. Molly simply shrugged. "I'm not bothered. I had my flu shot" she said, confidently. "Do flu shots protect against colds?" asked Morgan Molly paused for a moment. "I mean, yeah, of course, they do. They're basically the same thing. Wouldn't be much point in a flu vaccine if you're just going to get a cold anyway, surely!"

Morgan was skeptical, but before she could open her mouth to object, she heard her name called from the reception.

"Ms. Widters?" the receptionist asked, holding a tissue to her nose as she spoke. "Ndurse Halloway will see you both dow..." she managed, before sneezing three more times into the tissue. As she pulled it away, Morgan winced at how sore and red her nose was starting to look. At that point, Morgan realized that there was nothing she could do to protect herself. From the moment she walked into the health center, she was a dead woman walking.

#snz #snz kink

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cordonia · 4 years

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Ethan + MC: “PUSHING DAISIES” AU: P2

[Read Part 1]

Summary: Ethan Ramsey made the rash decision to bring his best friend back to life after she was attacked. But one person who doesn’t know of his gift watched Mariana die, and her future has been completely derailed by his choice to revive her.

Warnings: This is less lighthearted than the show. Death, mention of physical attack and injuries. Also Pushing Daisies (2007-2009) is one of the best shows ever so this is your warning to watch it.

Word Count: 2700

The laws of reviving the dead had seemed quite simple to Ethan Ramsey, once upon a time.

A life for a life, always equal in consequence.

One touch after bringing them back, and they are dead for good.

The patient revived is not alive nor dead, but simply exists in between.

Never tell anyone they were dead to begin with.

The revived can die again, steer clear of danger.

There had been two instances in his entire life when those rules had become glaringly apparent to him, like a trial run to his own gift. The first pet he ever owned was a boxer that he called Jenner who met an untimely fate at two years old. Before life had introduced Ethan Ramsey to coping with death, he met his own ability to reverse it.

Jenner was twenty seven years old and didn’t look a day over two, the most loyal companion he would ever have. Animals were far brighter than humans, and Jenner had never come physically close to Ethan in all of those years. It was a level of intelligence he believed most humans lacked.

He knew objectively that one day he would feel Jenner’s fur against his fingertips again, but it never felt like the right time. His furry friend was still happy and quite strange after all of that time, who was Ethan to take that all away from him?

The second instance where he was faced with those rules was the night his mother left. She had packed her bags and booked a flight to the city where her parents still lived. Ethan followed her outside, hoping to beg her to come home again, and instead watched a Honda Civic barrel into her as she crossed the street.

He knew he could bring her back, and he did, but just like Jenner had run off after being revived, his mother followed suit. Jenner came home to him one day and had never left again; his mother did not. He knew that she was out there somewhere without having aged a day since she left, and probably not a single clue why. It terrified him, but she had never reached out and he wasn’t sure she ever would.

In present time, Ethan didn’t feel as though the rules were quite simple anymore. Mariana was supposed to be dead, Bryce Lahela had watched her die. But he couldn’t submit her breathing body to the morgue for an autopsy, and he couldn’t quite send her home. Other than his mother, he’d never kept another human being alive like that.

“I’m going to look like a sleep deprived resident for the rest of my life.”

The statement came after a lot of silence and a few questions that Ethan answered almost robotically. For something he never talked about with other people, nor fully understood, he still felt like a walking pamphlet.

Mariana sat cross legged in a chair in Ethan’s office, bandaging her own head as Ethan stood behind her to make sure she was successful. She was wearing clean scrubs and had tried to brush out some of the blood matted to her hair. Ethan had to get her out of the hospital with as few people noticing as possible, but not before he convinced June to stitch her head.

She would heal, he just didn’t know how fast or what she would feel the longer that she was back. She seemed to be numb for the time being, but if Jenner could yelp when rounding a corner too quickly, a hole in Mariana’s head would eventually catch up to her.

“Technically speaking, you don’t have a life. You have as long as you can keep yourself out of harms way, and yes, you will appear to be twenty-eight.” If he were not himself, perhaps someone even funny, he would have remarked that most people would kill to look her age forever.

“I would ask if I’m going to be alive for eternity, but I couldn’t even keep myself breathing long enough to turn twenty-nine.”

“I’ll keep you safe,” he blurted out, not a promise but the base for one. He would do everything in his power to take care of her, he just didn’t know what that meant, yet. Technically speaking, she could be killed again, by more than just his touch.

“I know I can’t go back to Boston, I need to stay and find who wanted to hurt me. But if I don’t age... I ever really can’t go back, can I?”

“If you went back, you would stay for maybe five years before your appearance would be noticeable to those close to you. Another five years after that and I’d assume people would start asking serious questions you’d have to run away from.”

“And if I stay here?”

Ethan didn’t know what to say, he only knew what he wanted to say. She couldn’t stay anywhere for too long, and he didn’t know how easily he could jump around the map with her. If she even wanted him to follow her; he couldn’t stop thinking about the lonely life he had set up for her. He was responsible for the situation she was in, she hadn’t asked for it. Though, as any would expect, she hadn’t asked him to take it back either.

“You could finish your residency at Delarosa, experience being a fellow even. But eventually... You’ll have to lay low, change your appearance some and maybe you could find another hospital to work at before--”

“Before I’ll never get to be a doctor again.”

“I don’t know what’s possible until we cross that bridge.”

When June finally snuck into his office, she didn’t bother to look at him, avoiding speaking to him completely. She didn’t ask for an apology because there was nothing Ethan could say that would make up for risking her life. She was used to him stressing her out, but she hadn’t seen him take risks. Not like that.

“You can’t feel anything?” June questioned, pulling on a fresh pair of gloves. Mariana nodded with a small shrug. She began examining Mariana’s head, grimacing at the damage. “This is so not my job,” she whispered to herself.

Ethan sat back on his desk and watched his friend’s face, searching for any hint of pain even knowing that she was okay. Whatever okay meant.

“I’m sorry you have to be a part of this.” Mariana looked genuinely sorry, and Ethan only felt guilty knowing the blame was his to bear.

“There’s not much else to do here,” June replied. “So, I heard you’ve been working for Edenbrook? I worked there up until four years ago, I remember you starting your internship here in Delarosa. I envied you, I shouldn’t have left.”

It was no secret that June wasn’t challenged enough in Delarosa, but she did like her life there and Ethan knew it. He had the same complaints, the same desires to leave and never come back. But the partnership they’d created together was something to be proud of. They had left six anonymous tips in the last year that had led to arrests.

It was a mostly crime-free town, a community with few people who sought to wreak havoc. Every community had outliers though, and Mariana was proof of what they were capable of.

“I like it there, but my best friend is switching to Mass Kenmore and I don’t have anyone else there anymore. My only other friend tried to sabotage me and if I wasn’t so lonely, I wouldn’t have caught him before it was too late. I was just trying to finish my residency before I came back here.”

Ethan didn’t know things like that, they had spoken so rarely since she left. Of course she had come home a few times and they’d gotten coffee or tried to fit in time for a movie. It became difficult after they kissed, the more they talked, the more he felt the distance between them. At the time, he couldn’t have left and or asked her to reverse the life decisions she had made for herself.

For a long time Ethan would have done almost anything to have her come back home. There had been a few times where he even dreamt of it and it only left him under a spell of depression for days. All of those times he wished something would bring her back, he never considered it would happen this way.

If it were possible to go back and wash himself of every wish and dream, he would. What if he had hoped so fiercely that the universe traded her beating heart for it? Irrational, yet anyone who knew of his power would say rationality was subjective.

“I got offered a whole department to leave Edenbrook, and two years later they took it from me. I guess I have a different department now, but I miss the city.” June had told everyone that story to remind people that she could have been anywhere, and yet she chose to go to their hospital.

“The city is exciting, but there’s something nice about the pace here. My neighbourhood is my family, there was always someone to have my back.” She looked up at Ethan and smiled halfheartedly, a glossy look to her dark eyes. He knew she was trying not to cry, and he wanted so badly to reach out for her hand.

“Did you and Ethan meet through the hospital then?”

“No,” Ethan said gruffly, but June didn’t look up to acknowledge him.

“I was applying for med school at the library, just sitting in one of the comfortable chairs. He kept glaring at me from a table, so I finally asked him what his problem was.”

“You took my chair, Mariana,” Ethan interrupted.

“That’s exactly what he said to me, too. We only lived a few streets apart so I’d seen him around but he lives in the whitest part of Delarosa so I didn’t actually know him. It turns out that before I was born, our mothers had been best friends.”

“How in the world did he wind up as a friend and not someone who makes you want to cross the street when you see them?”

Mariana laughed, and Ethan was more grateful for June than she would ever know.

“I asked him to help me pick what schools to apply to. I never would have gone to Westley, I thought it was too close to home. But the stories he had... he made me want it badly enough that I went. He helped me with every single exam, and we watched every medical documentary known to man.”

“Don’t forget about the sharks,” Ethan reminded her.

She smiled and he knew she was thinking of the same memories. How could anyone forget three hours of a shark live feed? He could still feel the pillow hit his head, thrown with no warning when he had asked why all hammerhead sharks are “actually baby”. Her response was just as unhelpful as he had expected and the pillow was thrown twice.

“He must be a different person outside of work, because here, he makes a habit of ruining my day.”

“At least I’m consistent,” Ethan retorted quickly. Not that he had a right to argue.

“He’s not different, it’s just all circumstance. If you saw him at an awkward dinner party, you’d see him brought down a notch.”

“Do you have proof?” June looked suddenly amused.

“The stories speak for themselves. My parents have gatherings with their friends and I finally had dragged Ethan to one. He tried to keep up and my cousin Isaac wouldn’t stop correcting his Spanish.”

“Who raised a seven year old to be so judgemental?” It took everything in his power not to roll his eyes. Ethan Ramsey did not roll his eyes, but Mariana’s cousin reminded him of how persistent he had been at that age. Worthy of the annoyance.

“Have you not noticed that the population of Delarosa is prominently Puerto Rican? You’ve lived around here your entire life and a seven year old was embarrassed for you.” June didn’t hesitate to interject.

“He’s better than I’m giving him credit for,” Mariana said with a grin. “I don’t know entirely how to speak it either, just far better than he can.”

“Does my father look like the kind of person who teaches his son Spanish? I had to teach myself through full time university.”

“I’ve tasted your father’s cooking; I’ll wait to hear it from his own mouth that he didn’t offer you lessons.”

She could genuinely die and still frustrate him all within five hours.

June finished cleaning and stitching the wound before Ethan could defend himself again.

“I don’t know how this works, but your head will hold together for now. I should probably look at it again soon. I brought discharge papers, saying you insisted on leaving despite the severity of your injuries.”

“Have the cops arrived yet?”

“I told them she was unconscious, they’re going to come tomorrow and find her gone. The first place they’re going to go is her family’s house.” June gathered all of her supplies and handed Ethan the papers. “So come up with a story of how she miraculously survived or take her somewhere until you do.”

“I’m not sure what to do about Lahela, I don’t think he’ll believe some story. He’s a better doctor than that and he already works around us enough as it is.”

“Bryce? Why was he anywhere near Trauma? He was a surgical intern when we started here.” Mariana’s interest peaked at the name of an old friend, it was clear as day on her face.

“Dr. Lahela is where the excitement is, this hospital is more flexible than Edenbrook,” June explained, followed by a long sigh that didn’t even begin to convey the extent of her exhaustion. “I’ll talk to him, but you should get out of here soon. If anyone sees her walking around, they’re going to think we’re either incompetent doctors or that she wasn’t attacked at all.”

After she left, Ethan and Mariana attempted to plan their escape with little idea of where they were even headed. Every solution was unbearably temporary, and Ethan was putting her at risk no matter what option they chose.

“I think it’s best you stay in my spare room and tell your parents I’m taking care of you while you heal. I know they’ll want to see you, but not until you’ve taken a reasonable time to repair. If anyone thinks you’re okay the day after being attacked like that, the police won’t investigate at all.”

They hadn’t spoken about her being attacked yet, all he knew was that she never saw who hit her. How many times? With what kind of weapon? How much did she feel? Some part of him that believed in good things happening to good people would disintegrate if she answered those questions.

“Will you have to come right back here?”

He was convinced he could hear her heartbeat quicken, she looked petrified at the idea of being left alone. It wouldn’t look ethical if he broke a seriously injured person out of the hospital and then took a few days off. ‘Ethical’ was often a grey area for him when he had the ability to revive dead bodies. Fuck it.

“I’ll be there with you, I promise. I’ll grab you a cap and a mask, and then we need to leave before my replacement questions why I’m still here.”

“I wish I could hug you right now.”

Ethan gripped the doorknob tightly, the cool metal almost numbing his skin. The second he opened it, he was officially facing the most reckless scenario he had ever put himself into. It seemed tragically fitting it was all for her. How did they go from sharks to a flood of devastation?

He looked back at her and reminded himself that the fact that she was even standing was against many, many odds. However, he would let every seven year old in the world bully him for a chance to hug her.

“Welcome home, Mariana.”

Note: I know it’s probably boring for me to develop a whole story here but the next chapter will be from our MC’s point of view and should be sweeter and a fresh perspective for the story...

Tagging: @ethandaddyramsey @binny1985 @openheart12 @bellcat2010 @edith-eggs1 @missmiimiie @queenofspades6 @schnitzelbutterfingers @longneckramsey @queencarb @kaavyaethanramsey @ethxnrxmsey @jooous @blazerina @choices-lurker @itsgoingnuts @lilyvalentine @aworldoffandoms @choices-love-affair @nooruleman @junehiratas @mrsdrakewalkerblog @perriwinklenerdie @edgiestwinter @togetherwearerapture @dl-thewriterperson @interobanginyourmom

#open heart #open heart fanfiction #ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey x mc #choices: stories you play #open heart fanfic #open heart edit #my fanfic #my edit #ethan ramsey fanfiction

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princesstadashi · 4 years

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Big Hero 6/OUAT AU

Okay guys--so I worked this whole big AU up in my head while I was at work today, inspired by @honeyxmonkey ‘s Tangled the series OUAT AU and @greensword101 ‘s accompanying ask to me about Fred finding Hiro and giving him a hug once the curse was broken! Now, sadly I think I accidentally left my page of notes at work, or else they’re just lost somewhere in my bag, but I’m going to type of everything that I remember and hope for the best--here we go!

Backstory of how everyone got dragged into the curse: So I’m not even going to try to go into weird multi-versey type shit and try to be detailed with this but what you need to know is that Fred/Tadashi and Honey Lemon/Gogo are the main ships here, and Fred’s mom/Gogo’s parents are not happy about this, like at all. I have this headcanon that Gogo’s parents, while not as wealthy as Fred’s parents, are pretty well off (business owners? doctors? I’ll leave it up to your imagination) and are not at all happy with Gogo’s lifestyle choices/were probably emotionally and psychologically if not physically abusive to her, which is why as soon as she could she ran away to live with Honey Lemon’s family, and she and Honey Lemon eventually got together. Definitely not the match her parents wanted for her and they’re still mad that she wasn’t this perfect feminine daughter that they wanted. Fred’s mom is kind of the same way but mostly she’s just homophobic as shit and also wanted to marry Fred off to some rich girl like her and Fred’s dad’s parents did to the two of them. When it came down to choosing, Fred’s dad chose his son over her and divorced her, so she’s pissed because of that.

Moving forward before this gets too long: Long story short, Gogo’s parents and Fred’s mom kind of knew each other from moving in the same social circles and when they somehow find out about the curse (which wasn’t going to hit most of San Fransokyo, if at all) they either go to Regina or (more likely) Rumpelstiltskin and make a deal so that they can get not only themselves and their families pulled into this other world where they can have the lives that they wanted, but also pull in the friends and other people who encouraged Gogo and Fred to be themselves and “punish” them for what they did.

Characters Involved and Their Lives After the Curse:

Fred (new name: George): Engaged to Gogo (a match set up by his mom and Gogo’s parents), his dad in the cursed world doesn’t even fight his mom on things so he had no one to teach him to fight for himself and so he’s just sort of letting life get away from him and hiding in his fantasy stories and comics to escape reality.

Gogo (Edith): Engaged to Fred, never actually rebelled and never ran away from home so while she’s still got her fighting spirit on the inside it’s mostly been stamped out and she spends her days going to social events she hates and acting like she’s the perfect daughter she isn’t.

Honey Lemon (Heather): Works in an overly busy dress shop trying to earn money for college but is so underpaid she barely makes rent, let alone being able to save anything. She does all the tailoring on Gogo’s dresses and other clothes, including working on the wedding dress (which Gogo’s mom is never happy with, she’s probably made fifty dresses by now.) She and Gogo are secretly having a bit of a relationship (fitting rooms = closed doors and privacy with limited clothes for at least a short period of time) but no one can know. (More on the relationship below.)

Wasabi (Darnell): Honey Lemon’s roommate. Also trying to earn money for college (also failing at it), he works cleaning Fred’s family’s house--he’s great at the job because he’s so detail and cleanliness oriented, but he hates being around any germs, and the biggest part of the curse for him is having to clean Fred’s room.

Hiro (Nico): Hiro is a foster kid being “raised” by a horrible man named Montel (a.k.a. Yama) who forces Hiro into stealing things for him to “pay his keep” (and Hiro has the scars to show what happens if he disappoints him.)

Aunt Cass (Rachel): Works as the cook of Fred’s family, Fred’s mother delights in ordering her to make ridiculously elaborate and detailed meals, whether they have company or not, and then criticizing every part of them. Rachel would probably leave except she has a young son, Max, to look after and she can’t afford losing a job and having him taken away from her. (Red herring name alert: Max is actually a human version of Mochi, but if I ever turn this into an actual story it will be fun to throw people a bit off the trail! Also the reason Fred’s mom pulled Aunt Cass into this is because she felt Aunt Cass encouraged Tadashi and Fred to get together, being bi herself, and so she has an especial and very misplaced hatred for her.)

Tadashi (Shiro): Tadashi was found on the outskirts of town unconscious and covered in horrific burn scars. No one new his name except a few letters on a very decayed medical alert bracelet that looked a bit like Shiro (Tadashi Hamada--the “H” and “a” were pretty smeared kind of looked like “r” and “o”, the rest were completely illegible, so they guessed a bit on his name.) He was put in the hospital and put into a medically induced coma while he continued healing. When Emma came to town and time started moving again, Tadashi recovered enough for them to wake him up, but he has no memory of who he was or who his family was, and as his burns were still very severe and had gotten infected he’s still in the hospital for a very long time. (Explanation for Tadashi being alive: back in BH 6 world Fred’s dad, being a superhero, rescued Tadashi but since Tadashi was in such bad condition was still trying to get him back to being stable before letting anyone know that he was alive in case he didn’t make it. Fred’s mom did not count on this being a factor when she made the deal!)

Baymax (Mike): Baymax is a nurse in the hospital where Tadashi is being kept--in Once Upon a Time fashion, he did become human once in our world (I imagine his appearance being a lot like Aziraphale’s, only his irises are dark brown/almost black.) Another glitch in the curse (this time a literal one): even though Baymax’s memories were changed/rewritten for the curse, as a robot his system had backup storage for his memories. Robot brain being combined with a human brain was not quite compatible, so Baymax still talks/moves a bit like a robot which means a lot of people make fun of him for that, but more importantly, while he doesn’t remember everything, Baymax does have flashes of memories from the other world, and somewhat remembers being a robot. Of course anyone he tries to explain this to acts like he’s crazy so he’s learned to keep it to himself, but needless to say he feels a very strong connection to his patient, Shiro (who he at least on some level realizes is probably Tadashi), and is very, very protective of him.

(This started getting long so actual story development below the cut!)

Story Ideas:

-Fred and Gogo, while resigned to their eventual marriage,are still both incredibly gay in spite of being forced into the closet, so their general secret arrangement is that they’ll be married for their parents’ sake but both are free to privately have lovers or partners (as long as their parents don’t find out about it.) Gogo’s first choice, of course, is Honey Lemon. Honey Lemon is totally in love with Gogo, but she’s torn as to whether she’d truly be happy spending her life as someone’s mistress and not truly married to someone she loves.

-Fred and Hiro meet for the first time when Fred catches Hiro breaking into his room, having been sent by Yama to loot the house. Fred almost calls security, but he sees how skinny Hiro is and how beat up he is and takes pity on him. He wants to call CPS but Hiro begs him not to, afraid of being sent to an even worse home (he has curse memories of being in even worse homes to keep him from ever leaving Yama.) Fred would gladly try to take Hiro in himself but he’s too afraid of what his mother would say. So instead he and Hiro make a deal--any time that Hiro wants to, he can come by the house, and Fred will provide him with money or whatever else he needs to take back to Yama to avoid getting in trouble, and then Hiro gets to secretly spend a few hours with Fred, playing video games, reading comics, doing all the fun kid stuff he never gets to do at home--and of course Aunt Cass makes it her mission to make sure that Hiro always gets at least one good meal while he’s there, even though she doesn’t understand why it hurts so much to see this teenager she doesn’t even know leave to go back to his foster home.

-Hiro and Baymax meet when Hiro’s class goes to the hospital to help decorate it for the patients (remember when Henry went and met “John Doe”? Same visit, even though Hiro is of course in a different, older class and also probably in a different wing of the hospital.) Baymax sees Hiro and, with his glitchy memories of the other world, remembers Hiro, but unfortunately Hiro is only freaked out by this stranger calling him Hiro (”My name is Niko!”) and acting like he knows him. Finally Baymax has to give up on that. Still, he “conveniently” sends Hiro to decorate the room of a sleeping patient in the burn unit. Hiro is grumbling about how stupid all of this is, how decorating a room won’t really help anyone, when he hears a voice saying, “No act of kindness, no matter how small, is a waste.” He turns around to realize that the sleeping patient has woken up.

The patient introduces himself as Shiro, and even though Hiro feels weird talking to this guy who’s mostly covered in bandages, somehow they end up talking all the same, and Hiro finds himself spilling his whole life story to Shiro, who turns out to be a great listener. When Hiro’s teacher tells him it’s time to leave, Hiro finds he actually doesn’t want to go! But Tadashi asks him to wait for a moment, and then pulls a small bag of gummy bears out from a bag by his bed, saying, “Here. My nurse brought these for me and I was saving them for later, but I think you need them more than me.” Which almost makes Hiro cry because he loves gummy bears but he can’t even remember the last time that he had them. (A.K.A. Hasn’t had them since being sent here by the curse.) He promises to come back to visit Tadashi as soon as he can, and he makes good on that promise. He and Tadashi can’t do a lot for each other, but they always find ways to do small things, like how Tadashi will always save the desserts from his meals to share with (or more often give to) Hiro, and Hiro will check out books from the library that he thinks Tadashi would like and reads to him. “No act of kindness, no matter how small, is a waste” becomes their motto.

-Hiro, spending time with both Fred and Tadashi, and having started seeing both of them as older brother/almost dad figures, plus eventually finding out that they’re both gay, starts dreaming of a life where Tadashi heals enough to leave the hospital, then meets and gets together with Fred, and the two of them adopt Hiro and they all live their happily ever after together. Hiro never manages to get Fred to physically come to the hospital with him, but somehow convinces him to become pen pals with a “lonely guy with no family or loved ones to look after him (he totally pulls out the puppy dog eyes guilt trip) and somehow despite anyone’s best efforts to keep it from happening, Tadashi and Fred start to fall in love all over again :)

The Curse Breaks (a,k.a. the one part of the story I actually wrote):

Hiro races towards the center of town, running as fast as he possibly could. He’d through that Montel was evil--he’d never imagined that things could possibly get worse, but when Yama’s memories had returned Hiro was pretty sure it was only the delayed shock of getting all his memories back at once that had let Hiro get away with little more than a bloody nose (and his life.) Hiro had no idea what the hell was happening--how he was here, in some town called Storybrooke and not in San Fransokyo, and how he had these two completely different lives and memories living in his head and currently at war with each other--but all he really knew is that he needed to get somewhere safe. Somewhere that Yama couldn’t find him and hurt him.

“Hiro!” Hiro almost kept running when he heard someone shouting his name, too terrified of Yama catching up with him if he stopped, but then he suddenly felt arms wrapping around him and, after a moment of struggling, he realizes that he knew the person holding him.

“F-Fred?” Hiro gasps, looking up at the older man.

“Yeah, Hiro--it’s me,” Fred answers, a look of relief in his eyes as he smiles down at Hiro.

“Y-You remember?” Hiro cries, glad that this was at least some sort of proof that he hadn’t gone completely crazy.

“Of course I do.” Fred hugs him tighter. “I-I’m so glad that you remember too, I was afraid that you might not--”

“No, I remember.” Hiro shakes his head before adding with a shiver, “A-And Yama does too...”

“Yama?” Fred repeats only to gasp after a moment. “Holy shit! I-Is that who you’ve been living with this whole time?”

“I think the answer is obvious,” Hiro answers, pulling away and gesturing to his bloody nose.

“Oh my God.... Oh my God, Hiro I am so, so sorry,” Fred whispers, his voice full of horror. “I can’t believe-- I-I should have gotten you out of there a long, long time ago, but the curse...”

“Curse?” Hiro repeats in confusion. “What curse?”

“Apparently that’s what’s gotten us all here--a curse that took us from home and put us here, and gave us fake memories and made sure that we’d all be as miserable as possible. And it’s not just people from San Fransokyo, you won’t even believe who some of the people living in this town really are...” Fred answers before adding quickly, “But I can explain more on the way--all of our family and friends are back at my house, apparently my mom and Gogo’s parents have something to do with all of us getting wrapped up in this.”

“So everyone’s there?” Hiro asks hopefully. “Aunt Cass, Wasabi, Honey Lemon?” He’d have asked about Gogo too but Fred had already mentioned her so he could only assume that she was.

“Yes, everyone--even Mochi, can you believe that he’s actually Max?” Fred laughs.

“Whoa... That is pretty crazy,” Hiro says, shaking his head, trying to wrap his head around the idea that Aunt Cass’ cat had somehow become a human child.

It was as he was thinking this over that another thought occurred to him.

“Wait, Max...” he says slowly, and then gasps as the realization fully hits him. “Holy fuck, Baymax!”

“Hiro, I-I’m sorry, I don’t know where Baymax is yet, everyone coming out of the curse has everyone pretty scrambled up...” Fred starts to say apologetically, but Hiro cuts him off.

“No! I mean, I think I know where Baymax is!” Hiro cries, tugging on Fred’s hand. “C’mon, we have to go get him!”

“...The others can wait,” Fred after agrees after only a moment’s hesitation. “Let’s go get Baymax!”

A few minutes later, both of them rush into the hospital--things were in such a disarray that they didn’t even bother to stop at the nurse’s desk, Hiro leading the way up the stairs to the burn unit where he hoped that he’d find...

“Baymax!” Hiro lets out a huge sigh of relief when he sees the man in his standard white scrubs--it was still incredibly weird to think of the marshmallow-esque robot that Tadashi had made was somehow human, but all that really mattered that he was here and that he was safe.

“Hiro!” The man turns to Hiro, a bright smile on his face, quickly putting to rest any fears that Hiro might have had that this wasn’t actually Baymax.

“Wait, that’s Baymax?” Fred cries in surprise.

“Fred, hello!” Baymax answers cheerfully, waving to him.

“I... Uh... Hi?” Fred waves a bit awkwardly.

“I’m so glad that you’re okay,” Hiro says gratefully, hurrying into Baymax’s open arms and giving him a tight hug.

“I am very well, thank you,” Baymax answers, hugging him back, before letting him go and continuing, “There is someone else here who would like to see you!”

“Someone else?” Hiro repeats in confusion. Who else could be here that he knew?

“Hiro!”

That’s when Hiro hears a voice--a voice that, even before the curse, he’d given up on ever hearing again. No. No, it couldn’t possibly be--!

That’s when he sees Shiro, sitting in a wheelchair next to his hospital bed--the burn scars had greatly changed his appearance, it was true, and his hair was a bit longer than it had been before. But there was no mistaking those eyes, or that smile.

“T-Tadashi?” Hiro whispers, tears welling up in his eyes before he could even fully process what was happening. “I-Is it really you?”

“It’s me,” Tadashi answers, looking a bit teary eyed himself, and, without even thinking about the consequences, Hiro launches himself at Tadashi, landing in his lap and wrapping his arms tightly around him, never wanting to let him go, only to find his hands wandering over Tadashi’s features--his arms, his hands, his face--trying to prove to himself that this was real, that Tadashi was really here with him. Tadashi was doing much the same, half laughing, half crying, stroking Hiro’s hair and kissing away the tears as they fell down his cheeks.

“H-How?” Hiro whispers. “How are you here? “

“I don’t know,” Tadashi admits, shaking his head.”I-I don’t remember anything that happened to me after the fire... But I’m here, and I’m with you, and that’s all that matters.”

Hiro decides that questions can wait for later--all that mattered was that he had Tadashi back.

“D-Dashi?”

Hiro suddenly remembers that he wasn’t the only one here who had a very good reason to be glad that Tadashi was alive.

“Fred?” Tadashi cries, looking up at Fred with what could only be described as joy in his eyes, and Hiro wisely chooses to move out of the way just in time to avoid being caught in the middle as Fred pulls Tadashi into a deep, passionate kiss. Maybe back in San Fransokyo his old self would have found this gross or made a joke out of it. But not anymore. This was something he’d been trying to get to happen for months, and it felt like his dream was finally coming true. Shiro and George--no, Fred and Tadashi!--were finally a couple, and maybe with this stupid curse gone, they could get married and adopt him so he could finally be away from Yama!

But wait. No, that wasn’t right! Hiro shakes his head. That was Niko’s dream, when he was stuck here, not Hiro’s dream! Hiro never would have dreamed of his older brother and his brother’s best friend getting married and adopting him! ...Would he have? More to the point, though: if a curse had somehow sent them here (and he couldn’t think of a more logical explanation at the moment), and it had indeed been broken--shouldn’t they be back in San Fransokyo? Shouldn’t they have gone back home?

Hiro feels a cold shiver pass through him. What exactly was going on here? And who would have the answers?

“I have heard that there is a relief center being set up for those who are trying to find loved ones or who have questions about the curse,” Baymax pipes up, in the uncanny way that he had of almost reading Hiro’s thoughts.

“Well, that sounds exactly like that place we should go,” Tadashi says, turning towards them, with Fred’s hand firmly wrapped around his own.

“It does--maybe then we can bring some more information back to the others,” Fred agrees.

“Dashi, is it okay for you to leave the hospital, though?” Hiro asks a bit worriedly--he knew that Tadashi had been recovering, but he hadn’t left the hospital since being here!

“I can come with to monitor his condition,” Baymax offers.

“That would be great, thank you, Baymax.” Tadashi grins up at the other man.

“You are welcome!” Baymax replies, looking pleased to be of assistance.

“Well... If Baymax is coming with us, then I guess it should be okay,” Hiro finally relents.

“So, are we ready to go?” Tadashi asks, looking first to Fred and then to Hiro.

“Yeah,” Hiro agrees, taking Tadashi’s free hand as Fred continues to hold the other and Baymax begins pushing the chair forward. “I think we are.”

As long as he had his family and friends by his side, he was ready for whatever the future had in store for them.

((Random future story bit: The group running into Yama and Baymax giving him a good punch in the nose since Tadashi can’t stand to do it himself. “I no longer have programming, so I am no longer prevented from injuring a human being :)” (Protective Baymax is SCARY AF and also totally awesome!)))

#big hero 6 #once upon a time #ouat #big hero 6/ouat crossover #big hero 6/once upon a time crossover #fredashi #honeygogo

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wheretfisbucky · 4 years

Text

Scholastic Aptitude- part I

(aka the Starker fic I’ve been working on since the beginning of time) Warnings: there’s a lil bit of smut in this part

Also on ao3

He doesn’t want to ask her. Since May lost her job, he’s already had to ask her for money for a new backpack and supplies for his robotics project. May’s been driving Uber and frantically searching for a new job, but she can’t seem to stay ahead of the rent. He doesn’t want to ask her, but he isn’t sure what else to do.

“Why don’t you just whore yourself out?” asks MJ at lunch.

Peter looks up from where he’s been discussing it privately with Ned. MJ is sitting far too close to them, as usual. “Can you, like… stop eavesdropping?”

MJ shrugs her shoulders, rolling her eyes in that weird way she does. “I mean, I’m just sayin’, the SAT only costs like 80 bucks. There’s plenty of weird old men who would give someone as pretty as you way more than that to be their ‘sugar baby’ or whatever.”

Peter cringes at the term ‘sugar baby’. Ned is chuckling into his palm. MJ goes back to her sandwich.

“Ned!” Peter says, hitting him on the arm. “What am I gonna do?”

“I don’t know, man, why don’t you just let me lend you the $80?”

“Because you’re my friend, and you wouldn’t let me pay you back.”

“Yes I-”

“Ned.”

Ned lowers his head in defeat. “You’re right.”

“I know I am.” Peter smirks, the matter at hand momentarily forgotten.

Ned bursts out laughing again. “Wait, did MJ just call you pretty?”

Peter turns beet red, but quickly begins giggling as well. “I dunno, man. Ew.”

______________

Peter wants to get a job, to help out with the bills. He has for years now. But May won’t let him. She says he needs to be focusing on his schoolwork and besides, they don’t have money for bus tickets. Peter counters that she can just drop him off at his job, he’ll find one that’s close. But she always insists that it’s ridiculous, and he should drop it.

Peter doesn’t even want to go to college that badly. Sure, he’s a brilliant student and would do fantastically, but he knows how the system works. Institutions of higher education are all set up to send people into debt. They’re for-profit. Once Peter takes the SAT, he’ll still have to pay for college applications, and once he’s accepted into a university, he’ll have to pay tuition. And for books. And for furniture for his room and for school supplies. Peter would rather not. He can learn all sorts of new things about science from the public library, which he has free access to. Fuck the system, in his opinion.

Unfortunately, May thinks a little differently. Like the rest of the brainwashed general population, she believes that college is integral to Peter’s future success. Which means that she’s making Peter take the SAT. And apply to colleges. “I want you to have an easier time than I’m having.” May is still in school, getting her associate’s degree. Meanwhile she’s getting tossed from one receptionist position to the next.

Peter stares down at his phone, where he’s currently downloading an app called Sugar. It’s not serious; MJ’s comment just made him curious. He laughs to himself at the thought of banging some old man for cash. No fucking way. He knows he’s better than that.

The app finally loads. It’s bright, all pastel pinks and glitter. Handsome men float before his eyes underneath a bright purple button encouraging him to ‘SIGN UP NOW!’

“Hey Pete,” says May as she comes in the door, kicking off her flats. Peter jolts, nearly dropping his phone, fumbling to grab it out of the air before it can fall. He quickly tries to regain his composure.

“Oh, hey May,” Peter answers, trying- and failing- to sound nonchalant.

May huffs out a laugh, writing it off as typical teenage hormonal awkwardness, and heads into the kitchen. “Brought pizza,” she announces. Peter takes a moment to close the app and lock his phone, leaving it on the coffee table and bounding into the kitchen to grab dinner.

“How’s school, Peter?” May asks around a mouthful of pizza. Peter understands. She’s had a hard day at work, and she’s starving.

“It’s fine,” he says simply.

“And that robotics project?”

“It’s coming along well.”

“Well, good.”

The rest of dinner is mostly quiet, and afterwards Peter makes his way to his room, phone in hand. When he unlocks it the first thing notices is the brightly colored Sugar app. He thinks he should definitely delete this before May actually catches him on it.

But first he opens it one last time.

He can’t be blamed, honestly. There were plenty of hot guys on that app and he’s been single since, like, forever. Of course he wants to look at them.

Some of the men- or ‘sugar daddies’- are in their 70s, extremely wealthy, and look like their faces were created on a randomizer app. But every few swipes a younger, handsome stud catches Peter’s eye.

He swipes through three guys named 'Dave’ before someone catches his eye and he absolutely chokes on air. “That’s- that’s Tony Stark.” He can’t help but to say it aloud. His eyes are bulging. “That’s the CEO of Stark Industries. That’s Tony fucking Stark!”

Peter knows enough about robotics to know that it’s definitely him posing shirtless on a yacht above a caption that says “looking for a pretty young thing to spend time with while my husband is away.”

He’s so handsome, Peter can’t help but think. And fuck if his cheeks don’t heat up because he’s dreamed and fantasized about meeting Tony fucking Stark.

So maybe he doesn’t delete the app. Maybe he swipes up on Tony fucking Stark’s profile and sends him a message. It’s not as if Mr. Stark will ever see it. He just couldn’t help himself.

Before Peter goes to bed he comes over his fist, groaning “Mr. Stark!” into his pillow.

*******

Stephen’s eyes roll back into his head and he sighs in pleasure. “Christ, Tony.”

His husband is above him, panting as he rocks into Stephen in slow, deep thrusts. Stephen’s on his belly, hands clutching at the sheets.

“You oughta let me top more often, huh?”

Stephen’s gasping, but he catches his breath long enough to laugh. “Oh, absolutely not. You give it to me good, but I give it to you much better.”

The room is mostly quiet for a few moments- with the exception of the steady slaps of skin against skin and breathing in the form of gasps and pants. Stephen is thinking he’s made his point when suddenly his head is pulled back and he lets out a grunt.

Tony is fucking him much, much faster, and he’s yanking on Stephen’s hair. Tony knows that’s his husband’s weakness and it’s not long before he’s moaning and coming, eyes shiny with tears he refuses to shed. Tony rolls him over, though, his cum mixing with Stephen’s on the latter’s stomach, and he laughs heartily as he gently wipes Stephen’s eyes. “Any bold statements you wanna retract, Strange?”

Stephen shakes his head. “Not in the slightest. And I’d demonstrate, but I’m exhausted.” He yawns, and Tony giggles.

“I love you, Stephen,” he says as he nuzzles his husband’s neck.

“I love you too, Tones.” Stephen sighs contentedly, but Tony starts to squirm.

When he speaks, there’s a whine to his voice. “I don’ want you to go tomorrow, Stevie.”

His husband sighs, stroking up and down Tony’s back. “I don’t want to leave you either, Tony, but this is an incredible opportunity. You have to understand, I’m going to learn so much from this doctor, she’s using techniques no one else has ever-”

“I know, I know.” Tony cuts him off. “I know Stephen. You’ve said that a million times, but it doesn’t mean I’m happy about it.”

“Why don’t you find yourself a little plaything for while I’m gone, hmm?”

Tony doesn’t reply. Not being exclusive is nothing new between the two of them; neither man is insecure in their relationship, and sometimes they just need things they can’t give each other. Like when Stephen is out of town at one of his surgery conferences, or his trip to China, on which he’ll be leaving in the morning. But while Stephen tends to satisfy himself by screwing other guys when he’s away, none of the countless guys and girls Tony’s been through has been able to stop him thinking and worrying and wanting his husband.

Stephen senses his hesitation, starts massaging Tony’s scalp. “It’s not that long, I promise I’ll be back before you know it.”

Tony just nods, basking in the sensation and not thinking about how miserable he’ll be without his Stephen.

*******

The next day Tony wakes around noon. He insisted on driving Stephen to the airport for his redeye even though Stephen argued he could just get a cab. Maybe he blew him in the parking lot, clutching his thighs tightly and trying not to cry because he hates it so much when Stephen leaves. But now his phone is buzzing, and he unlocks it with a grunt to find a message on that Sugar app Stephen had made him re-activate.

Hi Mr. Stark ;)

That’s interesting, because Tony’s page doesn’t say his regular name. It says Anthony Strange, though legally he’s still Tony Stark. Still, for someone to know his last name was Stark, they’d have to know him, or know of him.

With a smirk, Tony clicks on the page. The boy’s name is Peter Parker, and Tony certainly isn’t disappointed in what he sees. He reads through his list of interests. Biophysics, biochemistry, mechanical engineering. The good stuff. So this kid must know him from his company, Stark Industries, the most innovative operation in their field. This could certainly get interesting very quickly, he thinks.

Tony types out a reply. Hi Peter ;)

He’s not sure whether to be surprised or not when the response is instant.

Wow, I didn’t think you’d answer me!

Exclamation points. That’s cute. How old are you?

18.

Wow, that’s young. But he has to wonder if this is fate. What are the odds a stunning young scientist messages him only a few hours after Stephen leaves?

So you’re a budding young scientist, huh? Tell me about that?

What was previously a choppy and odd conversation launches into a passionate dialogue as Peter describes a project he’s been working on for his school’s science fair. He’s won it the past three years of high school, and he intends to win it again. Tony doesn’t tell Peter how much that reminds him of himself, lest that make it weird. Instead he just tells him how endearing he finds it and invites him over to the penthouse. He texts Stephen, of course.

I think I actually found someone to keep me busy Stevie, he types excitedly.

Surprisingly, Stephen replies almost instantly. I’m so glad, Tony. Have fun ;)

What are you doing right now? Tony types. It’s the first time Stephen’s texted him back all day. He wonders if he’s managed to sneak away for some free time.

I’m eating my lunch.

Are you alone?

Yeah.

And ohhh, Tony wants so badly to play with his husband, to send him pictures and rile him up, but just as he manages to set up the perfect shot, FRIDAY calls out to him. “Boss, there’s a young boy at the door requesting entrance to the penthouse.”

“He’s not a boy, FRIDAY, he’s 18. Stop judging me and let him up.” Tony quickly composes himself. He texts Stephen that he’s here and heads out into the living room, and out of the elevator steps the cutest thing he’s ever laid his eyes on, except maybe his Stephen.

This is gonna be fun.

I started this so long ago y'all don’t even understand. I hope you like it! There’s definitely gonna be a party 2 and probably a part 3 as well, I’ll link them when they’re up. :)

#starker fic #starkerstrange #ironstrange #this took so long y'all I'm sorry #part 2 soon!

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cutegirlmayra · 4 years

Note

Could you please do a Boom prompt about after an intense battle Sonic is too exhausted (not necessarily injured) to go on adventures for at least a couple of weeks so the team finds a replacement leader (a Boom version of Gadget) that everyone welcomes with open arms but as time passes Sonic becomes worried and paranoid about this temporary substitute possibly becoming permanent?

I’ll do my best!

PROMPTS ARE ON SHUTDOWN! I have the right now to simply delete your ask if you send any while they are still on shutdown! I have a few more to go, patience is a virtue, my dear Cuties! (Followers)

Prompt:

“Ow! Yikes! That hurts! Ahh…” After a painful few turns of the nurse’s adjustments, Sonic relaxed on the couch and she nodded that her work was done.

“Well, he’ll be good as a springy ol’dandelion in no time.” The young, southern nurse wiped her hands with a few sliding claps and then turned to Sonic’s team. “Ohh, but the young man will need plenty of rest. Best to not do anything too dangerous or risky for a while, I’d reckon.” she began to pick up her black Doctor’s purse as Tails gripped his head in panic.

“Why don’t you just say ‘no fun allowed’ and kill us with boredom!”

“Tails, mind your manners.” Amy lightly scolded before turning to the Doc, “Thank you so much for your help. We’ll make sure he stays well-rested.” she bent her body a bit, rubbing her hands together as she escorted the Doc out the door.

“Oh, well, thank you. What a kind young woman you are-”

She then slammed the door and her eyes widened, “What are we gonna do without Sonic!?”

Sticks also leaped up onto the couch, looking down at Sonic with her boomerang behind her, “I told you not to go stepping on tinfoil laid over a mossy bank with a pine needle pointing south to southwest!”

“What does that even mean?” Sonic groaned, leaning his head up. “It’s over. We can’t disband the team, but that also means we can’t go adventuring till I heal from this mess…” he flopped his head back into the pillow of Amy’s couch, as the rest of the gang looked to one another, not sure how to break it to him.

“Weeeeellll….” Amy began, as Tails took over.

“It’s not like we have to have you in order to have fun…”

“Hey! No, no, no! This sound like a mutiny! Traitors! Every last one of ya!” Sonic, currently laying on his stomach, tried to turn around and shake his fist at them, but something in his back popped unexpectantly. “Yeouch..!” he froze in place before Sticks suddenly grabbed him and kicked him back into place with her foot, letting once again another howl escape from Sonic’s mouth.

“Hmm… I know! We’ll put an ad up!” Knuckles brought out a wrinkly newspaper and straightened it out with a quick whip of its long pages. “I might not know how to read, but thankfully, the job section has big pretty pictures to show you what they want from ya!”

He showed the gang, but Amy tilted her head, “Knuckles, these are for buying old or used items.”

“Oh, guess I’m color-blind.”

“What? It’s in black and white!” Tails gestured.

“Oh, guess I can read between the lines then.”

He folded the paper as the two just stared, but Amy sighed and continued, “Maybe Knuckles has a point.”

“He does!?” Tails turned incredulously over to Amy.

“No, no. Not like that. I mean about posting an ad. Just… a temporary replacement leader so we all have a sense of direction on how to have the most dangerous amount of fun as possible.” She jumped and held her hands in a fighting stance, leaping to her coffee table and then carefully dismounting with one foot fall at a time, she then held a cute stance.

“Huh, you may be on to something Knuckles.” Tails scratched his chin, as Sticks continued to perform a weird chiropractic catastrophy while they weren’t looking, forming Sonic’s limps and twisting his cartoonish body into a work of art…

“I’m game. As long as I can help my friends.” She suddenly nudged him and his whole body contorted back into his original structure.

“Ouch…” He muttered, muffled by the pillow.

It wasn’t long before a silent but resourceful ‘replacement hero’ joined the team. Named “Gadget” lovingly by the team for his kind and helpful spirit but amazing tools, they set out and had a ton of fun together. Not only doing dangerous feats and stunts but also taking on Eggman.

Sonic, watching the news, noticed everyone having fun and pulled himself off the couch, jealousy and worry about being replaced motivating him to do something about it.

Tails fell by Gadget’s side, “Offph!” but Gadget bent down and helped him up, giving him a thumbs up and fist bump. “Alright, you’re the best buddy to have onboard, Gadget!”

Sonic, still a bit hurt, suddenly made a face like his heart was spiked and growled, racing by the two. “He’s still my best friend!” He grabbed Tails and ran off to find the others.

Gadget, shrugging, ziplined over to Knuckles and took out a few robots on the way as he knocked into them. “Hey, that was awesome!” Knuckles cheered, also giving a fist bump to him and thumbs up. “You’re one cool dude, Gadget!”

“I’m still the coolest!” Sonic zoomed into Knuckles, now carrying him along for the ride as well as Knuckles let out a ‘Ye-Ohffph!’ as he was rammed into.

Gadget looked a bit confused but swung down on his line to Amy which had hooked right beside her. He took her hand and she threw her hammer to have the building collapse on the robots that were trapping her from below.

She looked up to him, her eyes shining as Gadget winked to her.

When he put her down, he went for a fist bump which she giggled at and gave shyly back. “My hero~”

“Still you’re only hero!” Sonic, right on cue, also raced into her as Gadget scratched his head before Sticks hopped down and gave him a hug from behind.

“Aww~ Does this mean you’re all mine?”

There was a moment where Gadget just looked to her, and the two half-expected Sonic to come out… but he didn’t.

“HEY!” Sticks, offended, looked around and let go of Gadget, “You tellin’ me I’m not worth being insecure over!?”

“I’m not insecure!” Sonic, like a bullet-train, finally caught up and zipped into the screen, also plucking her from her spot.

At this point, Gadget just rolled his eyes and smiled with kind eyes. He seemed to understand now.

Sonic, still looking a bit hurt, placed his friends down and heaved a bit, pushing up from his bent knees to talk to the gang.

“I can do it! I can save the day! Me! And the rest of you! Ha…Ha… My… Friends?” he was clearly not doing well, but the gang was touched by his sentiment.

“Of course we’re still friends, Sonic.” Tails got up and held him steady.

“Yeah, we would never forget about you.” Amy also held him up from the other side.

“But… But you were all having such a fun time with Gadget… I-I-I thought…” Looking to his two friends, he seemed stunned to hear them say that.

“Now, Sonic. Just because I buy a fancy new toaster doesn’t mean I want my toast any different.” Knuckles patted his head, but Sonic and the gang still looked a bit confused by the metaphor.

“In other words, the big bloke is saying that just because we have a new friend now, doesn’t mean we don’t want the friendships we’ve already got.” She smiled to Knuckles who looked down at her, a bit confused.

“No, I was talking about how I bought a new toaster from that newspaper ad, but all my toast comes out differently and with Sonic’s face on it.”

“Wait, my face is where?” Sonic was momentarily distracted but Eggman began herding all the citizens together, having a ray-gun that would brainwash them into being his mindless slaves.

Gadget came over to the gang, gesturing that the citizens needed help.

“What’s that Gadget? Little Timmy fell in the well?” Tails tried to understand but Gadget shook his head.

“Hmm… Oh, I got this.” Tails pulled out UT.

But because he wasn’t making sound, UT was useless.

“Hmm… I guess I do kinda miss your sassy jokes and puns, Sonic.” Tails turned back to Sonic who proudly took that comment as Gadget hunched forward, exhausted from the statement made.

The town was soon saved and the gang grew a bit jealous, all watching Sonic and Gadget becomes really good friends before they finally kicked him out and went back to being a team.

However, each of them did hang out with Gadget every now and then, but watch as the kettle calls the pot black!

End

Just noticed you said "not necessarily injured) lol my bad! But if Sonic pulled an all-nighter or has been running errands for everyone and wants a break, I still could use this structure lol the beginning would and could be altered tho!

#sonic boom #cutegirlmayra #sonic boom prompt #gadget #sonic forces #sonic forces prompt #gadget prompt #sonic forces original character #sonic prompt

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