#kinda got carried away with the A-listers
Text
Plaid (Newjeans Hanni)
Hanni Pham is just about the perfect student: consistently top of the class, perennial dean’s lister, well liked among her teachers and peers, an active participant for every co-curricular and extracurricular activity, and overall just a good person to be around.
And you? You’re the exact opposite. Slow, lazy, constantly in self-isolation—always cutting classes whenever you can, struggling with just about everything. You’re surprised you’re still even attending this university as is, despite the countless talks with your professors.
Which is why when she greets you a good morning as soon as you run into each other in the hallway, the books you’ve been carrying crumble like Jenga blocks.
She immediately jumps into action, picking up your dropped books in record fashion to hand them back to you. The cute, irresistible smile etched on her lips is icing on the cake.
“Here you go!”
Admittedly, you feel some type of way about Hanni. It’s conflicting, constantly changing. A little bit of jealousy because she’s the student you wished you were, but also a bit of allure because of how surprisingly attractive she is. You’ve never felt any kind of attraction towards anyone in college besides her. And she turns out to be an exchange student, and you’ve never seen anyone with the combination of cuteness and beauty before she came along.
You take a moment to look into her eyes. Those gentle, warm irises perfectly capture the kindness emanating from her—God, why is she so damn irresistible. It isn’t that you’ve been giving her the cold shoulder, but you’re merely apathetic and neutral with her. Outside of the same brief rote exchanges—good morning, what’s your lunch, what are you doing after class later—you and Hanni have been, for the most part, worlds apart.
The universe is doing its part to bring you two together, because you can feel it. Tension so thin, you can cut it with a knife.
She never lets up.
She wants to know you.
“I-uh, thanks,” you say, suddenly averting her gaze to your locker instead as you snatch your books back, then in the other direction. Anywhere but her eyes.
Fuck. She keeps staring, leaning her head forward with a lively smile, her hands behind her back, waiting for you to continue. She talks with childlike passion and energy, “We have an exam in accounting later, did you study for it?”
“N-no,” you say, almost stuttering through the simplest of responses, as though your tongue is wrapped up in itself. It should be embarrassing for you to act this awkwardly in front of a sweet girl like Hanni. Mentally punching yourself to be better. It never happens. “Not exactly, I kinda forgot.”
More like you willingly neglected your studies for a nightlong gaming session. It’s an addiction.
Her eyes widen with amusement, as if she sees through the lie. Does she? You don’t know. Maybe she does. There’s so many layers to her that you never bothered to uncover. That’s the price for your negligence and decision to be a lone-wolf.
Hanni reaches her hand into the pocket of her dress shirt and presents a folded up sheet of paper. “Then this with you. Just make sure to hide it underneath the test paper, got it?”
From bewilderment to amazement—your face goes through every emotion, unsure of what would perfectly suit the situation. She doesn’t know you well enough to casually entrust you with a cheat sheet, yet she’s perfectly fine handing it to you over her presumed friends, which includes members of the student council.
Initially, you hesitate, but she’s steadfast in her position, as if you receiving this paper is doing her a favor. You ultimately fold and accept it from her. She grins as you tuck the sheet away in your coat.
“See you later!” she says, before walking past you to her next class. You slowly turn around, watch her leave and rejoin with her friends, one of whom is the student council head. Alone with nothing but your thoughts, you put the strange encounter aside and get moving again.
—————
The next time you see Hanni again is during world history class, right before lunch. Your rather senile professor, who doesn’t give a shit that half the class is either fast asleep, on the verge of, or doing everything else apart from listening to his monotonous lecture, drones on about Napoleon’s European conquest for the second week in a row. Even the patient student that you are, you’ve grown tiresome of it, especially with the dreadful pacing. You’re way behind schedule. At the very least, he seems to be paid well, so there’s a little silver lining.
Looking at her, you wonder if the gods were in a good mood on the day they made her. She’s as enthusiastic about the topic as if it's her first time hearing it. Listening to every single word intently, taking down notes furiously, taking pictures of the presentation even though she has it projected on her laptop because why the fuck not—she was born to be the teacher’s pet. Compare that to half of the class: even the supposed top student in the class is barely struggling to stay awake, clinging to the edges of her seat out of fear she could collapse from sheer boredom. It’s a miracle, really, that there’s at least one student showing this much interest.
The notion creeps up in your mind: Hanni’s right over there, without a care except for the lecture at hand. Your phone rests on the edge of your chair. Her smile, her shine—you want to keep more than just a mental image of her. Something to actively remind you that someone like her exists. It’s creepy, but it doesn’t matter when no one’s looking, especially not her. Only you.
Little by little your hand crawls toward the phone. Then the moral compass inside you resists. You don’t know this girl—not in the slightest. Just because of a simple kind act doesn’t mean you’re completely smitten over her. Most importantly, you remember one important point about Hanni: she’s not from here. She’s an exchange student with a one year contract set to expire in—wait for it—two weeks. The semester ends before then, and it’s reasonable to assume she’ll be gone from your life just as quickly as she entered it once the page turns.
Right as the inner conflict inside your head reaches a fever pitch, the bell rings. On one side, you’re celebrating this moral victory; on the other, you’re punching a mental wall for not pulling the trigger. Before the professor even realizes the alarm already sounded off, all the students have filed out of the room in quick succession.
You briefly consider searching for Hanni in the sea of students making their way around the halls, but seeing that she’s disappeared into the crowd, you decide to let her go. Perhaps the logical side of your brain might be telling you the truth: that she will be a mere afterthought to you after today.
But then there’s the unshakeable, unceasing part of you that refuses to give in. Even as you eat lunch at the corner of the cafeteria, you’re still trying to single out Hanni to no avail. A hopeless situation gradually growing worse with each passing hour.
A not so subtle tap on your shoulder. Look to your side and there’s your angel, appearing at your hour of need. Hanni.
“Hey! Still have the cheat sheet I gave you earlier?” she asks. A few meters behind her is the student council president, Minji, and her secretary, Danielle, engaged in their own conversation, presumably accompanying their friend.
You scramble to find the folded piece of paper somewhere in your bag, forgetting that you’ve tucked the sheet away deep in your coat. Panicked, you jump from your seat to search within your clothes, still unable to detect its tiny presence hiding in your jacket. “Shit—”
“I can give you another copy if you lost it—”
“I’m sure it’s in here somewhere!” you interject, tonally desperate, repeatedly swiping your fingers on the same pockets with no success.
Eventually, you frisk the deepest pockets of your coat, feeling something rough on the edge of your fingertips. Reeling it out, you present a folded piece of paper in front of her. It should be a small win, but it’s an embarrassing loss, especially right in front of Hanni.
“Good to know you still have it!” she says, grinning from ear to ear. You’re certain she was trying to suppress her chuckle the entire time, and based on her toothy smile, it’s not very difficult to jump to that conclusion. “Even if you didn’t lose it, I still would have given you another copy if you wanted it.”
“Hanni.” You turn to face her, a complete juxtaposition from her jolly, outgoing personality. Your expression looks stern in searching for answers. “Why are you like this? We barely know each other.”
Surprised by your sudden change in attitude, she takes a step back, pausing to contemplate her answer. Her usually bright demeanor gradually changes to reflect yours. Her smile remains, except it's hiding a little gloom, a little concern. “I just wanted to be kind to you. I saw you were struggling in some of the classes we shared and thought you needed some help. It’s only right to do the right thing, you know?”
In that moment, you regret showing a bit of attitude. Hand to your chest, as guilt occupies your heart and mind. “Oh.” You pause, stare back into those wanting eyes. “I-I guess you were really being kind to me, huh?”
“I don’t make fake answer sheets, let alone give them to people I dislike.” She leans forward, causing you to stagger back, bumping your thighs against the cafeteria stool. “And I like you.”
Your mouth gradually opens, trying to figure out what to say, how to react. Only air and silent noises come out. You genuinely have no idea how to respond to this sudden revelation. It’s not like you’re a popular name among the student body, let alone the ladies; if anything, you were mostly a ghost, only coming into light when needed—and in most cases, when the professors would ask you questions about the topic at hand.
Blinking rapidly, you needed to do a double take. “Say that again?”
“I like you.” She repeats it for you. Twice. With increasing emphasis on those three words to drive the statement home. “I. Like. You.”
Let that sink in. You still don’t know what to say. “I—”
“We can talk about this later in the afternoon. Meet me at Room 204, okay? I’m in a rush and I just wanted to briefly check on you.” You watch her tone revert back to its beaming, bubbly self with each sentence. Before you even have an opportunity to say anything back, she rejoins her friends and walks away again, waving at you while shouting, “Remember what I told you about the cheat sheet!”
—————
Aside from accounting, where you followed Hanni’s advice down to the letter, the rest of the afternoon kept your thoughts mostly preoccupied with Hanni’s departing words. The two classes you shared with her during that period were opportunities to stare at her, watch her from a distance. Three simple words, and yet there’s layers upon layers to uncover. What did she mean when she said them? You barely interacted for most of the semester, yet she still considers you likable. During those long, painful hours of waiting, your curiosity and anticipation slowly built up.
And then, the bell rings at the top of the seventeenth hour. Time to find out.
While students file out in every direction, celebrating their regained freedom, you make your way through Room 204. Peeking from the outside, you see no one inside, not even Hanni. It looks about the same as when you left it—messy. You’re anxious, hesitant, cautious. There’s a part of you that believes she’s merely playing you in front of her friends, and that she might stand you up as a joke. And you have no reason to believe she genuinely likes you, apart from that one simple act of kindness from earlier.
For the next few minutes, in those crucial moments of waiting, all your thoughts and presumptions begin waging war inside your head. You have one foot on the door, with the other looking to go home. It’s not the first time you’ve been stood up; you can write an entire thesis report going over each terrible experience and the feeling of bitterness and pining that followed. At the very least, should push come to shove, this wouldn’t be the worst of them—not even bottom five.
So you pace back and forth in front of the designated room, look at your phone, followed by your watch. Again and again. Minutes, stretching to hours, into days, into a slow eternity. You’re starting to lose hope.
Which is why when she comes across you in the hallway, you feel like a kid finding love for the first time all over again. You’re not even trying to hide your excitement. The stunned and relieved expression etched on your lips, the growing shade of red across your face, the hitch in your arms as they reach out to her because you couldn’t believe she would follow through on her word—
And when she flashes her toothy smile, her mouth speaking words you end up missing—you just want to take her by the hand and run away with her.
She ends up calling your name. Twice, thrice, a dozen times—you’re not exactly sure, but you can definitely lose yourself to the sight of Hanni’s presence over and over. With a hand held on the door, she’s telling you to join her inside, saying she has something important to share with you. At least that’s the very gist of it.
At her request, you leave your bag on one of the vacant seats; you end up sharing the same chair. The tension is palpable. Hanni paces back and forth in front of the desk, quietly ruminating, hiding her concerned look away from your eyes. A wakeup call for you that this is a serious matter. You have a lot of unanswered questions, but seeing the gravity of the moment, you conclude that it’s better to keep them to yourself a little while longer—at least once all the heavy air has been cleared. You stand there awkwardly, waiting for her to make the first move.
“I just want to say,” she suddenly says, still turned away from you, long streaks of dark hair covering her eyes. What they can’t hide is the frown on her lips. “I’m going to miss this place. All the profs, all the activities, but most importantly, all the people. Including you.”
“Me?” You’re not surprised at that statement; you’ve assumed she wasn’t going to be here for the long haul, considering she’s an exchange student. What does confuse you, is how she specifically singled you out from everyone else. You barely know each other. At best, you only teamed up for two group projects, which she mostly did the carrying for. For you, the bar has been set very, very low. “How come me?”
Hanni finally faces you, using everything in her willpower not to cry. Her usually lively eyes twinkle with tears waiting to be shed, but she refuses. Not even the warmest of her smiles can hide the somber and pained expression she has looking at you. “Most of the boys here are—excuse my language—a bunch of fucking jackasses and perverts.”
Not exactly wrong; if you weren’t part of an athletics club or hanging out at bars after class, you were likely to be one of their victims. You know this because you are numb to their asshole behavior. The girls would usually retreat in a subtle manner once they knew their presence, which wasn’t difficult to pinpoint.
Rolling your eyes, you reply, “You’re right. I hate their guts too—”
“But you’ve been kind to me from the moment I introduced myself, you know?” Hanni begins to walk toward you, rendering you even more frozen in place. “Even our brief good mornings meant quite a lot. It made me feel welcome.”
You didn’t really think much of it, unaware that it would have this profound of an impact in someone else’s life. And why would you—it’s a habit you’ve been taught since when you were seven. For a moment, you’d think she was being very melodramatic, as if she were practicing theater.
“And—” she pauses, takes a deep breath, “Let’s be honest; I know you like me too.”
When she drops those final words, your eyes pop. Wide. Enough to stretch through your forehead and fly up. It leaves you completely paralyzed. A whole truth bomb dropped just like that. She cusps your hands with hers; you freely allow her. Whether it's from utter shock or the desire to hold her like this for so long, you don’t know, but you definitely want to let this moment linger.
“I-I—”
You can feel her hot breath against yours, her face inching closer, your bodies almost entangling into something passionate and warm. There’s nothing stopping you both from finally bridging the gap that’s been separating you for the longest time. Hanni, the charming, popular girl that everyone either wants to be friends with or to be her, seemingly knows you like a book read from left to right. More importantly, she likes you. Tells it straight to your face.
Her arms snake around your neck, leaving you even more suffocated. No longer in her grasp, you find your hands pressed around tiny, fit waist. Her glinting eyes encourage you to let those innermost desires run wild. The suppressed thoughts you’ve been hiding slowly pull you under their influence. You shouldn’t be doing this, yet they’re right there: those sweet, puckery, inviting lips, waiting to be marked, yours and yours alone.
Instead, you end up in a tight embrace. It’s not as romantic as you envisioned. If anything, it’s bittersweet. Deep down, this is her way of saying goodbye, and you’re only realizing what this is really all about. An opportunity to bid farewell on amicable terms. It’s almost cruel that your first substantial interaction outside of school-related activities has to be like this.
You hold on to her tighter. She does the same. You’re unwilling to let go. She doesn’t want to, either.
Resting her head on your shoulder, Hanni whispers in your ear the most calming and soothing tone, “I’m going to miss you.”
You don’t believe you’ve earned the right to say those words back. So the only thing you can do is hold on to her the best you can—for dear life.
Outside, the setting sun is gradually fading away, and so does the natural light it brings. You can stay here, from dusk to dawn, comfortable in this position if she wants to.
She opens her mouth again, and she continues to hum and speak melodies in your ear. “I have one thing I want to do before saying goodbye. Can you help me?”
Without an ounce of hesitation, you nod, saying, “Anything for you.”
Hanni breaks the bear hug then leads you along with her to the desk. With the other hand, she lifts it back to her waist, placing herself in a new and unexpected position: her back arched against the table, with one knee bent beside yours. Her eyes glinting with utter desire, she couldn’t be any more obvious.
Before the realization fully dawns on you, she does the unthinkable.
A simple irresistible kiss, pulling you down by the collar of your coat. Next thing you know, you have Hanni’s back crooked further against the edge of the desk, your lip-lock turning more and more passionate. Nothing overly dramatic and sentimental—only passionate love making.
She wants it. Deep down, you want it too.
“I can’t—” you mutter, drawing your breath, pulling your lips away. But not your hands. It’s in Hanni’s custody now. Your coat halfway down your arms, she sneakily tosses it aside. “Not here.”
Surprised by your sudden change of heart, she leans forward, her fingers now pulling at the hem of your sleeves. “What’s wrong?”
“I mean—look around, Hanni. We’re in a goddamn classroom.”
If only you could throw your arms around in protest to prove a point, but even that wouldn’t save you now.
“This is what I wanted from the start.” Hanni pulls you back in, her eyes hypnotic and irresistible, shining like gold. “You wanted this, too. Don’t play.”
“Hanni—”
She stops you right in your tracks with an impulsive peck on the lips. Curling them through the kiss to form a smile, she murmurs, “Don’t think, just do.”
And you do just that. Kiss her, make out with her as if your life depended on it.
Hanni’s lips taste like they’re meant for you. Sweet like honey. Divine. Heavenly. If it were possible, you’d want to choke on your own breath holding onto them for dear life. Not to mention the hums coming out of her mouth, those subdued mewls that she releases whenever you bite on her bottom lip—you can’t help but sink back in whenever you consider the thought of letting go.
There’s no reason not to; you have this pretty little thing, Hanni Pham, all to yourself. Even your body knows how rare of an opportunity this is. With one hand quietly slipping between her pencil skirt, you navigate your way to the depths of her heat without breaking the kiss. In a flash, she throws her head back, snapping her mouth wide at the new sensation. All that cool, calm expression, gone in an instant.
“Fuck—”
“God, Hanni. You’re so wet.”
She grabs your wrist—that mischievous hand newly buried in her pussy—and urges you further, “Keep doing that. That felt so good.”
And God, does everything about finger fucking her feel incredible. The satisfying squelch of her cunt as your digits press against her warmth, the continuous twisting of her features as she crumbles from the pleasure, leaving her neck exposed for your lips to newly conquer, adding to the overwhelming sensations coursing all over Hanni’s body. Seeing her, this usually larger than life figure, fall under your spell pushes you even further.
Like Hanni, you’re still young; there’s only pleasure and the thrill of moving too fast and reckless. One day you’ll end up regretting this, ruminating over memories that could ultimately end you before you even started, but you’d rather take this memento than leave with nothing at all.
You’re both already past the point of no return. Hanni’s underwear hangs casually between her ankles while they’re wrapped around your waist, her neck filled with bite marks and deep shades of red that no piece of fabric can hide. Her dress shirt is partially unbuttoned, revealing a white camisole desperately seeking to be removed, and if that wasn’t enough, she’s made the crucial decision not to wear a bra today.
Fuck, that bulging ache in your pants is so agitating—both physically and mentally.
“Wait,” you say, suddenly turning around and locking the door quickly, letting her panties fall freely to the floor. It proves to be a little struggle when you unknowingly use your slick-coated hand over your dry one.
“Should have done that first,” she playfully chides, chuckling at you.
Returning to her with your drenched fingers pointed in the direction of her pussy, you respond, “Should have chosen anywhere but the classroom.”
“You’re saying you’d rather do this during our Christmas party?” Hanni lifts an eyebrow, taunting.
“Only if they allowed it.”
“And all those cheat sheets I handed you, all that for nothing?”
“Shut up. Didn’t need them, anyway.”
Hanni can’t help but burst into boisterous laughter. There’s no use locking that door now.
Even with the little time spent together, there’s clearly magic between you, the signs of what should have been a beautiful relationship. If only you both knew that. But now’s not the time to go over what ifs—only what’s next.
She stops you right as you ready yourself, grabbing the top button of your shirt. Using only her expressive eyes for approval, you steadily watch on till they’re completely undone. You’re left with the job of removing your undershirt and helping her toss your clothes aside. On the other hand, you’re in no rush to undress her completely; she’s a perfect mess as is with her unbuttoned uniform, her panties somewhere between your feet, and her taut nipples poking through the fabric.
And Hanni wants it that way. You’ve barely entertained the idea of running your fingers through her skirt when she interrupts your train of thought.
“You haven’t done it yet,” she says looking at your greedy, grubby hands, directing them with hers underneath her garment. “Make me cum. Please.”
As if you had any other intention. Maybe with something better, but that’s usually saved later—and for good reason.
You’re trying so hard not to curse through gritted teeth. Fuck. This. Damned. Skirt. Admittedly, it’s cute and perfectly suits Hanni; it adds to the appeal of seeing this usually meek, well behaved student asking for something more than naughty—it’s downright criminal—but you need to see what makes her really tick. Hanni’s clicking her tongue, growing more frustrated by the second than you are, anxiously waiting for you to come through. Carefully, you push a finger into her, then another, moving in delicate and systemic motion.
Then, it all clicks in perfect harmony:
She releases this pent-up moan from the depths of her chest, as though it were a heave of relief. The initial plunge from earlier makes plunging between her slick folds so much easier. You take a moment to let the satisfying sound sink in: the wet slop of her cunt as it reflexes against your fingers, unable to keep yourself from moaning with delight before you slowly draw back, then in again.
From there, everything takes care of itself.
Hanni dissolves into a whimpering mess, under the hypnotic spell of your fingers fucking her pussy in tempered, intricate strokes, effortlessly and handily. Body shaking, desk quivering under the pressure of her weight, her hands struggling to find reprieve from the overwhelming sensations thundering all over her. She can barely breathe, let alone find the words to speak. Only quick curses. Each and every word so gratifying to hear.
“Fuck—fuck—its—its—so—good—more—”
You don’t give her any breathing room. In the brief moments when you lax, with your fingers either motionless deep within her cunt or pull back, leaving marks on her inner thighs with her own slick, you’re all over her, gently fondling her and kissing her. Half her uniform’s sleeve has fallen down her shoulder, giving you more of her body for you to claim as your own. With every little touch and thing you do, you continue to set her nerves ablaze with nothing to quench her lust.
It’s no wonder she’s such a teacher’s pet; she loves to follow along without any resistance or objection. A fact proven when you lift her undershirt to expose her taut nipples, and your free hand impulsively takes them. You give her left tit a twist, and from her needy lips comes a sharp whine.
“Do it again,” she says, panting, nodding her head wildly, visibly overwhelmed. She doesn’t know what hit her, but it feels fucking amazing.
Of course, you wouldn’t pass up the opportunity, even if she hadn’t asked. Hanni’s body, all yours for the taking. Not everyone can say they fucked the top girl in the class in the classroom of all places.
And you let your body do all the talking. No amount of words nor their depth can adequately describe the sensation of tasting and feeling her figure. First your free fingers, then your tongue—they make their mark on her chest while your other digits crawl to a lazy pace inside her cunt. Not that she minds—she’s too engrossed in the blissful sensation to remotely care. Her hands find their way around your neck and back, scratching and digging away at your skin in an attempt to pull you even closer.
It aches—but not as much as the ache in Hanni’s core. As you inch her closer to climax, you can feel her tremble, propping her head on your shoulder now as her outlet, whimpering, crying, mewling. “Almost—” she mumbles, before she’s caught up again in the sea of her own pleasure. Knowing this, the rest of your body moves like it’s second nature. Faster and deeper, you continue your endless assault on her body, until—
Suddenly, Hanni freezes up, moans over your ear as a moment of silent calm follows. In the succeeding moments, you both remain clung together as her orgasm hits. And by god, it hits her like lightning. Sharp and brutal. Fingers stuck deep in her core as she gushes, quivers all over them. It lingers, leaves you both incapacitated.
Minutes that could easily stretch into hours, stuck on a desk, basking in the afterglow of unadulterated bliss. Eventually, she lifts up her head and lets out a deep breath of relief. Her hands remain entangled with your hair as she pulls herself back. A scope down gives you a short but telling extent of the damage: copious amounts of slick dripping on the edge of the table, down to the floor. You’re a little terrified of what your fingers will look like.
Through half-lidded eyes, Hanni flashes you a smile as she slowly realizes the mess she has become. Cheeks flustered with embarrassment, she quickly pushes down her undershirt, but they can’t hide her nipples’ rigidness. You’re both grinning at each other like mischievous pranksters. Something tells you that despite everything, it’s not enough. The fire in her eyes and the confidence in her laugh says it all: she’s looking for more trouble, and one way or another, you’re gonna be her accomplice.
Before you can even utter a word, you both hear a knock on the door. Through the casted silhouette, you recognize that it’s a janitor. Spent energy be damned, you’re brought back to reality. You quickly turn to Hanni in a state of alarm, “Shit. I told you not told to do this in the classroom—”
Reaching out her hand, she replies, “It’s gonna be fine! Give me my bag and I’ll get us out of this.”
You immediately rush Hanni her bag, and while you hastily put yourself back in one piece, she grabs a pack of tissues to clear all evidence of your little escapade. In no time, you’ve somehow returned the place in nearly the same position you found it. Only one difference: her panties are left on the floor, and she hasn’t bothered to pick them up.
“Wait, your underwear—” you tell her as you pick them off the floor. She’s already on the edge of the classroom, opening up one of the windows to escape. It’s not a suicide jump; only someone with brittle bones could possibly break their legs doing the drop, and there’s really no other choice: run away with her or find yourself at the dean’s office on your first day back after the holidays.
“Keep it if you want.” Hanni shoots you a playful wink and a cheeky grin as she lifts one leg over the open window. “We don’t have much time, so unless you wanna explain yourself to the profs—”
“I’m already in trouble regardless,” you reply as you join her on the way out. You didn’t need to think about what to do. “Got eight missed phone calls from my fam. I’m fucked regardless. Might as well make the most of our time while we’re here.”
—————
A/N: Happy new year! I never thought I’d write something for NewJeans, but never say never. Hanni was easily the scene stealer for me at the Asia Artist Awards, she and the other members constantly waved at us from beginning to end, and they were killer performers! I can see why she’s so adored; she’s both talented and adorable. It’s been difficult getting back into writing after one month away, so this definitely is a feel-out attempt, but I hope it’s still good anyway. Here’s to the coming year and hopefully more to come. Thanks for reading!
P.S. I sincerely want to take this moment to apologize for my slow production. As previously mentioned, I got hit with a severe case of the flu, which kept me down for almost two weeks. Since recovering, I’ve been experiencing weird cases of brain fog, where sometimes my mind ‘isn’t there’ and it feels like my body’s been moving on autopilot. I’ve been getting healthier since then, but the so-called absentmindedness still remains. I’ve tried writing a few times since then, and it honestly feels like I’ve forgotten how to write. Hell, this fic was supposed to be out on Christmas day and I’ve struggled to put it together! It’s been very rough. I don’t wanna make promises because I’ll just end up breaking them, so I’ll just say that I’m trying my damned hardest to get back to that level I had been moving before my momentum stalled. I always want to deliver the best possible fic for you to enjoy. Thank you so much for being patient with me as always <3
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
Klance celebrity AU
prompt, not a fic, but kinda lengthy explanation of premise
Keith is lead guitar of a famous band with lead singer/2nd guitar Shiro, drummer Pidge, keyboardist Romelle, and bassist Allura. They sell out concerts and Keith can’t walk outside without a disguise or he’ll get recognized, and possibly swarmed.
He’s the musician who has the least to say in all interviews but as a result most of the fanbase is thirsty for him. He has the most followers on twitter even though he tweets maybe once a month.
While the other band members have had occasionally dates and relationships with fans, just shy of being groupies, Keith refuses. Any fan who hits on him is an instant turnoff. He’s walked away from signings and meet and greets because of these fans.
There’s a literal reddit devoted to collecting social media posts by disappointed fans telling their stories that got them snubbed by him. There’s so many.
The band and their agency knows too well that Keith can be “difficult” but it’s not unjustified. He hates being reduced to nothing but fame. He has principles and if someone violates them he’s done. He just wants to be treated like a human without being placed on a pedestal and objectified.
Keith’s so famous he’s almost numb to it at this point. He has a certain tolerance level for doe-eyed fangirls. As long as they don’t mention their crush, or make any sort of advances toward him, he can let it slide. He can tell instantly from their behavior if they’re into him. But if they try to pretend they’re not, then he pretends as well.
Keith is 26 and hasn’t been in any sort of relationship since the band’s early days, when he was 21. He was in a relationship that carried over from pre-fame to fame. And that transition is what broke them up. He’s had a date here or there, but his love life has been non existent for the most part.
Shiro is the only one who will still try to push him in that area, believing that some of Keith’s frustration stems from an absence of such a relationship. Every time Keith eventually snaps at him, and storms off. Allura, Romelle and Pidge gave up a long time ago and always excuse themselves from the room if Shiro brings up the topic to Keith.
Outside of time with his bandmates, Keith is always alone. And he thinks he prefers it that way.
Enter Lance.
Lance is an outgoing social butterfly who splits his time between teaching latin ballroom dances and flying helicopters for either news or police, depending on the day.
He knows the name of every pop music queen that ever existed from the 70s to today. Any musician outside that realm might as well be a stranger to him.
So that’s how Lance, pop celeb aficionado, can come face to face with A-lister Keith Kogane with a platinum record band, and have no clue that he’s anybody.
Keith frequents hole-in-the-wall bars that he thinks have the lowest chance of getting recognized, or if he is recognized, not being approached. It’s at one of these bars where Keith accidentally spills Lance’s drink on his lap, and receives an angry lecture.
Keith responds with a laugh of disbelief and asks the question he never asks when he wants anonymity: “Don’t you know who I am?”
Which doesn’t faze Lance who mocks him as a result saying he has snowflake syndrome and get over himself.
After a good 5 minute one sided conversation, Keith, also unfazed by Lance’s criticisms because he’s in disbelief that he wasn’t recognized, proceeds to buy Lance two more drinks to make up for the one he spilled.
Lance ever the easy to please immediately forgives him and they spend the rest of the night drinking and talking about stupid shit.
Keith hasn’t had a conversation like this in years, and it has his heart pounding in his chest and smiling every time he tells a story that makes Lance laugh. They drink and talk until the bar closes at 2am to which Lance insists Keith shouldn’t drive home, and spend the night at his place, just a few blocks away.
Keith agrees without hesitation, and back at Lance’s apartment they talk and drink for another hour on the couch. They only fall silent when they realize how close their faces are to each other, and lean in and kiss. It starts out slow and tender but Keith quickly becomes ravenous which Lance welcomes. Keith was painfully hot in his eyes and to be kissing him and under him lit his senses on fire.
Keith manages to keep his fame a secret from Lance for their first couple meetups. He’s just thoroughly enamored by this man who only knows him as a stranger from a bar. It feels real, and new and exciting.
#klance#vld#Voltron legendary defender#au#prompt#my prompt#sorry it's not a fic#but feel free to use the idea as you please#inspired by B/G web comic Comedown Machine
63 notes
·
View notes
Text
danny phantom 14-20 thoughts!! I finished up s1 :D these last few eps were actually really really good!!!
-did. did tucker really just say esperanto was a dead language only spoken as a secret code between geeks. google says around 100,000 people actively speak it. oh my god...it being an auxiliary language doesn't mean its 'just for geeks to speak in code' ...it helps bridge gaps between people who don't have a language in common...
-danny really isn't pulling punches when it comes to fighting the ghost-cop possessed people huh. like he SLAMMED KWAN INTO THE CONCRETE SO HARD. HE THREW PAULINA INTO A BILLBOARD. will that...I mean it WOULD carry over to their bodies non-possessed, right? like if the ghost piloting their bodies gets hurt?? itd be so upsetting to be possessed, lose time, then wake up covered in bruises (and possibly, broken bones??) real horror movie stuff im sure wont be addressed in any way
-tuckers parents seem nice! I like them :)
-WULF IS CUTE AND I FEEL BAD. im so glad the gang realized he was only causing trouble bc of the shock collar walker put on him and helped. also, him wearing that big hoodie with the hood on, and thinking its subtle. we can tell youre still a giant wolfie :) THEN GETTING SUCKED INTO THE PORTAL AAAAH :( anxiously waiting to see Him Again....
-DANNY BLASTING HIS PARENTS THINKING THEY WERE OVERSHADOWED LMFAO GET THEIR ASSES. maddie marking how many ghosts she gets with lipstick tallies on the side of her portal gun? kindaaa iconic tho. (ALSO, SHE WAS LIKE, 2 FT AWAY FROM HIM RIGHT AFTER SHE TRIED TO SHOOT HIM. HOW DO YOU NOT RECONINZE YOUR OWN SON??? like sure, he might have diff hair/eye colors. but like, if one of my family members dyed their hair, and was wearing contacts, its not like id be like 'wHO IS THIS STRANGER!!!' ...he still has all his facial features!! same everything!!! I hate it here)
-paulina being #1 girl realizing danny's a friendly ghost immediately. smart queen. lancer and kwan ran away right after he made this sweet baby face at them:
which is hilarious.
-ok. im not saying his bullying is JUSTIFIED, but. dash looked so pleased with the (cute!) poster he just painted, and danny comes thru the wall and spills paint on his nice letterman jacket. his anger is justified maybe 65% of the time so far...(not the way he handles it, but STILL.) at least lancer is stepping in!! and them making a silly little bet was...cute?? until dash pulled out his GROSS UNDERWEAR AND SAID DANNY WOULD HAVE TO EAT THEM???? WHAT THE FUCK MAN. TUCKER WAS SO RIGHT ITS FUCKING WEIRD TO CARRY THOSE AROUND EWWW. THIS KID IS UNWELL. lancer was right, his animatronic setup was SUPER IMPRESSIVE?? hes actually pretty creative. danny meanwhile is stealing the fright knight's design...I hope dash is taking art classes or smth with his sports
-fright knight is the most bestest ghost so far i LOVE THAT DESIGN. I am biased towards knights, and characters with swords, but he fucks so severely. and should sue danny for copyright infringement for stealing his design for his haunted house. if some 14 yr old broke into MY house and stole MY sword, id also be pissed. his evil winged unicorn rules too with its FANGS. and he just CAN SHOVE THE PORTAL OPEN WITH HIS HANDS??? is he the strongest ghost weve seen so far? idk but hes my fav. SOUL SHREDDER IS SUCH A COOL SWORD NAME TOO. ANY NAMED SWORD ALSO FUCKS. 'flaming bedsheets of DEATH' funny king. ALSO he was polite to dash and tucker when just asking for directions and telling tucker 'oh maybe, just a suggestion, maybe be nicer to me and be more respectful :)' I LOOOVE HIM.
-I noticed this in the Ember ep, but jazz has an electric guitar in her room!! talent musical queen!! its cool to see hobbies just in the bg.
-fright knight's murder castle reminds me of the booby trapped murder castle in zexal!! another supposedly 'for kids' show with murder/trap castles! we love that. if you are a dp fan reading this, give yugioh zexal a try. its also got 13-14 year old protags and involves (alien) ghosts. the cardgame is just a vessel for the plot, which is really good. (I just want more people to watch my fav yugioh, man)
-danny. with a SWORD.
-danny doesnt NEED TO WIN this contest, dash didnt STEAL HIS DESIGNS AND STEAL A SWORD. he also got excited to hear lancer got sent to a dimension with his worst fears too just so he could win the contest? DANNY WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU!!! BRO MAYBE YOURE 14 AND HAVENT FULLY DEVOLPED YOUR WHOLE BRAIN YET, BUT...THATS FUCKED. this kid casually says the most deranged things, I do worry for my spooky son. once again, therapy needed. that judo toss was great tho. I wonder if he actually did pick up some martial arts stuff from his mom?
-danny can fly 112 mph!!! thats so fast! I love the lil montage of him and his friends testing his abilities and stuff, very cute and a good way to showcase what he can do by now and how much more proficient he's gotten from ep 1!!! I'm sure he's going to get more abilities :)
-im glad...maddie's at least TRYING this ep. I do feel for her because her husband is a man baby. but the fact it took 16 episodes to get a kinda semblance of any kind of real concern or attempts at bonding. hmm. jack's 'BACK OFF SHES A MINOR' @ the ghost trying to attack jazz. also was very funny. and him wanting to make an action figure of her? are the parents redeeming themselves to me? slightly. they gotta Work Harder
-THE GHOST. IS FLYING. THE PLANE.
-fenton machete. but she doesnt carry a PHONE??? ???
-I mean I expected vlad when you namedrop him earlier in the ep, and also the title card picture, and dalv corp being fucking vlad backwards. but seeing him just pull up on a golf cart made me bust out laughing. WITH the gift baskets prepared. why wouldnt you at least be suspicious. also, if he wants danny to be his lil sonboy, why is he so fucking malicious?? dude you are going about this in such a bad way. stop it. get some help.
-maddie not even hesitating to drag danny out. fucking good. danny is so right, go on the internet to date. get a cat. how do you spend...how many years?? has it been since college?? at least 20, right, since the parents/vlad are in their 40s? hung up on ONE girl. my god, man. incel drama queen. her kung fu IS impressive, but dude. 'we both know hes a creep' SO right. it sucks but they do need a phone and shit being in the middle of NOWHERE. also, just stealing his helicopter was great. <3
-'you must be exhausted carrying the weight of that mistake you made years ago' 'well we all make mistakes. maybe I'll make one now!' WHY DID THIS EXHCHANGE SEND ME. AND VLAD WITH THE BREATH SPRAY EWWW BITCH. 'OLD BAIT BREATH' SOO RIGHT. both danny and his mom playing him HAHAH hes so dumb. or rather, I think he thinks with his emotions too too much and is...actually pretty gullible? lmao he believed danny was ready to give in SO fast. (which is sad hes that hopeful, like you have SO MUCH MONEY YOU COULD EASILY GET ANOTHER GIRL WHO HAS A KID. AND WOULD WANT TO BE WITH YOU AND BE SUPPORTED. GET OVER THIS (1) WOMAN ALREADY IM GETTING SECONDHAND EMBARRASSMENT AAAAH)
-GHOST BEAR GHOST BEAR GHOST BEAR. it was also in the title card, but I still got very excited. we love bears here
-SAM'S BAT SWIMSUIT COVERUP!!! her outfits are simply iconic.
-'i'd tell you to go to the mens room, but I don't think you qualify' top paulina transphobic moments. :( and him wearing a tanktop to the swim park? hmmm! (actually I think she was overshadowed by then, so, KITTY top 10 transphobic moments??)
-kitty just piloting paulina around makes me feel SO bad tho, paulina's gonna wake up and be like 'wtf do you mean I was dating this rando' like youre leading danny on to make johnny jealous, and also just POSSESSING POOR PAULINA. dude take your relationship problems ELSEWHERE. last time we saw them, they seemed like such a cute couple!! wtf johnny!! I mean, she sucks for trying to make him jealous, he sucks for looking at other girls...maybe they need a break, but Not Like This. or, you know, just. better communication...
-and the A-listers having a full packet and a stamp system. who organizes this. kwan fucking owning being the new danny though, this is hysterical. THE TUCKER/KWAN FLOWER FIELD TWIRL. UNIRONICALLY ADORABLE. and him giving it his all for the poetry slam. bless his HEARTTTT.
-Star owns. actually, all of the extra characters are shining this ep and I love it.
-INVISO-BILL??? NOOOO THEY DID HIM SOO DIRTY. DANNY SWEETIE IM SO SORRY.
-johnny and danny bein friends and staging a fake fight (which danny takes too seriously, once again this child has aggression he NEEDS TO WORK OUT) I hope these three stay friends, I said it before but danny needs more friendly ghosts to hang with.
-at this point, Danny's ghost enemies are a lot like, I dunno, batman's rouge gallery is the first thing that comes to mind. they all have their own gimmick and unique designs, but most of them are easy to beat after learning the Moral Lesson. I still get excited when any of them show up again, though. 18 is another valerie episode!!!! :D skulker really said you two will get along if I have to handcuff you together <3 and the gym teacher really said, youre married now, have a flour baby! ngl, I'm not really watching this show for the shipping stuff (which I am very scared to look at the fandom for after I finish this watch through- I feel like there's probably discourse/arguing about ships...) but. I'm gonna put my opinion out there. valerie/danny > sam/danny. maybe I just really love the enemies to lovers trope. And the secret identity stuff adds Extra Flavor.
-SKULKER JUST HAVING THE BOX GHOST AND DANGLING HIM BY A STRING. HILARIOUS. and him watching them with binoculars and making his silly little commentary. AND MAKING THE SACK BABY CRY. LMAO. THIS DUDE IS A BABY KIDNAPPER. skulker is super fun
-danny, you just...collapsed the water tower. and then attacked the nasty burger machine...mascot thingy...out of anger..I KEEP SAYING HE'S GOT ANGER ISSUES BUT. HE REALLY NEEDS A LESSON IN MANAGING COLLATERAL DAMAGE!!! So does valerie!! They're both pretty focused on each other. I mean it's good of Danny to say he's trying to make sure PEOPLE don't get hurt, but... (I mean I guess it's not something 14 year olds WOULD worry about, but as an adult im like, who's going to fix that? how much money will that take??)
-TUCKER MAKING BANK. and sam and tucker being super emotionally attached to their flour baby and being pretty good parents. that's cute...also him just straight kissing her and being like. WAIT. O_O JDSKAFHD. his mom baking them into cookies was the funniest possible result. tbh I dont feel like this is on tucker, if anything the other kid's shouldve been more responsible! He was just taking an opportunity to get that $$ which I respect
-Danny being more understanding of Valerie's situation in the end (helping her at her job, too, and trying to keep that a secret for her!!!) And seeing them work together this ep, and also her letting phantom get her out of the ghost zone...was very sweet. LOVE that. more valerie eps pls
-me when I realize vlad's big stupid house exploded because of his own carelessness with changing the ghost portal ectofiltrator or whatever: *pointing and laughing*
-me when I realize it means he's gonna go make danny's life hell for it somehow: >:(
-SCOOBY PARODY!!! I feel like there's gotta be some scooby doo/danny phantom crossover stuff, right? also, 'guys in white' men in black wishes
-'oh, that's right! dad married the love of your life! you're bitter and alone!' DANNNNNYY GET HIS ASS ONCE AGAIN WE ARE POINTING AND LAUGHING AT VLAD
-'jack, you captured the ghost boy!!' UMM. he did nothing <3 'we have a weapon's vault??' YOU HAVE A WEAPONS VAULT??? and jack didnt put a handle on the inside. of fucking course he didnt! why would you leave that to your son!! or expect him to clean YOUR LAB when its where you work with probably dangerous chemicals and weapons and hes 14!! give him normal chores, like, I dunno, vacuuming, laundry, dishes...CMON. I hate it here. But I'm glad Jack is more chill about danny while he's a ghost, and willing to work with him for this ep. AND. I DID ENJOY JACK PUNCHING VLAD IN THE FACE. AND GENERALLY JUST OWNING HIM. the ghost punchy fists are actually amazing. like yeah, just punch a ghost in the face. that rules.
-ep 20 opens with the coolest fucking ghost lady design. her tattoos can come off and fight. MA'AM. I like ur nose ring and your cape maam hello 👉👈😳
-sam's grandma is hilarious and the most valid member of her family and I love her. thats my grandma now. and tucker covering for sam by dressing as her. thats true friendship <3 also skipping school to go to a goth circus. just bestie things! sam's parents are haters but for all the wrong reasons.
-'my family has controlled ghosts with this for generations!' WAIT. WAIT FREAKSHOW /ISNT/ A GHOST? I didn't expect that...he's just a fucked up guy controlling ghosts? anyway watching danny shoot at police cars and rob banks while mind controlled. its like, the most stereotypical 'bad' things lmao. (tbh an evil ghost circus troupe is a sick concept)
this gives off big deviantart emo edit vibes
(I'm going to assume evil circus reaper danny has a lot of fan content. people love an edgy au, except this one is canon (even tho its via mind control...having the protag go evil otherwise might be hard, I guess?) but au where he stays with the troupe...that has to exist, right?)
ANYWAY. excited to start s2!! lowkey surprised by how many notes some of these posts have gotten. I've gone back and tagged them all with 'dp thoughts' so they're easier to find on my blog! ^^ and I will probably possibly do (more) fanart on my art blog after I finish the watch of the whole show, so like. @sanchoyodraws follow my art blog :)
15 notes
·
View notes
Note
if you do headcanons, can you write one for College!Levi pls? if not then you can ignore this <3
a/n: this is my first hc and idk if it’s obvious but i got kinda carried away wt it oof
idk why but he gives me business major vibes
tried on-campus dorming for like a semester before deciding that nope, he didn’t like it there, everything’s old and dusty and the concept of sharing his private space with a new stranger every year didn’t sit right with him.
ended up renting an apartment nearby and if he can’t afford the rent by himself then he’d probably make the offer to his friends (after a careful screening and asking himself if he can stomach seeing them everyday)
his pencil case is small and slim but it somehow has ALL the necessities (stapler, scissors, extra pencil lead— you get the jist.)
HE’S A DEANS LISTER. got there not bc he made it his primary goal but because he happens to genuinely like studying and working.
not one for useless knickknacks bUT has a soft spot for those cute lil themed tea bag holders
LOVES instant noodles. not those cheap cupped ones but the ones you have to cook on a stove. they’re tasty, easy to cook and easy to clean (and makes him feel productive). what’s not to like?
likes typing down notes on his laptop and uploading them to googledrive/one note/icloud so he can access them anywhere
still prints them out tho. he likes highlighting and writing things down, sue him.
times new roman, size 12, single-spaced, justified. don’t argue with me on this.
claims to not like anything too frivolous but has a shit ton of highlighters and uses them to color code his notes
has preferred brands for pens and highlighters. he’s v particular and likes the consistency.
not much for study groups but likes studying alone in quiet coffee shops. he’d be the type to send his notes to ppl who ask for it in their class group chat but other than that he likes to keep to himself.
everyone’s either eager to have him as their groupmate or terrified of it. he’s good at what he does and getting grouped with levi means a guaranteed good grade, but god does he intimidate them with his high standards and blunt opinions.
plus he doesn’t exactly have the patience for freeloaders. he’ll call you out and kick you out of the group if you try to leech off others’ works.
so yeah people have mad respect for him but not without a dash of also being healthily terrified
but he’s still a heartthrob lbr. he’s good looking, smart, and unattainable. even tho his friends tease him a lot about it, he absolutely hates the attention and having to constantly reject people when they ask him out.
overall he’s still a typical college student who’s sleep-deprived and overworked. bless him.
#i love this concept#just a tired college studentlevi#with a soft spot for weird tea-related knickknacks#god i love him#headcanon
90 notes
·
View notes
Text
So I wrote a short story about The Ark preforming at their old secondary school for an assembly on ‘why you should take up a musical instrument’. It’s kinda short but I had fun writing it so... here it is (under the cut) hope you like it :3
The Ark ~ School Performance
Lister’s smile wavered as he stared at the sheet of A4 paper, stained with his messy handwriting, nestled in the pillow of his bed. He had never been one for writing, but that didn’t matter. Rowan wrote all the band's music, and in school he was kind of known for never finishing any work. The writing he had done was quick, with no planning, jotting down whatever came to his mind. But this time it did matter. His reputation had changed a lot since school, and he wanted people to see him as the heart-throb drummer of the boy band ‘The Ark’, and not the messy, rule breaker, who spent every other day in isolation. He had got Rowan to help him a bit, and Jimmy was yet to properly read it over, but he had spent weeks writing this particular speech, and he thought it was at least kind of good.
They had been told about a month ago, by Cecily, that their old secondary school was to be hosting an assembly about why you should take up a musical instrument and, since the school had been where they had met, and had been one of the reasons (mostly the many music shows and competitions that were held) they had formed a band in the first place, they had agreed to the request of performing ‘Magic 18’ and a short speech on why they took up a music career. Besides, they couldn't have really said no.
It was three days before the performance, when Jimmy stumbled into Lister’s room. He looked kind of panicked, so Lister walked over to him, took him by the shoulders, and sat him on his bed. “You okay?” he smiled, and wrapped his arm around Jimmy. “Mmm” Lister ran his hand through Jimmy's soft brown hair, “scared for the school thing?” Jimmy looked up, his chestnut eyes deep and warm, “it’s just, what if I mess up or something? What if I say the wrong thing?” he trailed off, and looked away. Lister pulled him into a hug, “to be honest, I was thinking the same thing, I’ve never really done anything like this before, and I really don’t wanna mess it up… like, it’s like taking our English GCSE again!” Jimmy laughed, and reached over to Lister’s bedside table, picking up the sheet of paper, he smiled. “Let’s see how bad this really is.”
Lister, Jimmy and Rowan spent the next two and a half days running over Magic 18 chords and lyrics, and reciting scripts until they knew them by heart. Lister tried to make up a game to make it more fun, if he got anything wrong, he had to put on another piece of clothing, this carried on until he collapsed from overheating. Rowan had memorised his script within two hours of writing it, although he had locked himself in his room and put on noise-cancelling headphones to achieve it, and Jimmy had ended up making his into a song, so he could think of the tune whilst delivering it. It was basically as good as they could get it, and they weren't being paid, only, if they messed up, a few hundred kids would witness it, and put it on social media, no doubt. It was fine. It was going to be fine.
Monday rolled around, and, at ten thirty am, Lister, Jimmy and Rowan stepped out of their car and into the playground of their childhood school. Lister smiled, he hadn’t been here for ages, and it actually felt good. They had ten minutes until they were due to perform, so they decided to help with the setting up of their equipment. The school had said that they could provide instruments, but Jimmy and Rowan had their own guitars, and Lister hated using the school’s chewed up, broken drum sticks. So they hulled their equipment into the assembly room. As they passed a classroom, Lister heard a kid shout something, probably his name. He wanted to stop, but they were on a time frame, so he carried on, ignoring the cry.
Once they had their instruments on the stage, they sat in an empty classroom, until an over-excited year eleven came to usher them on stage. There was a burst of applause and a few cries of their names as they walked onto the stage. They were greeted by an older man, probably in his fifties, who Lister recognised from many detentions. He half expected the guy to grab him by his arm, and pull him away, but instead was met by a beaming smile, as they were introduced.
They muddled through the speeches, although hardly any kids were really paying attention - all they wanted was to sneak a photo of this famous boy band, in their free performance - until finally it was time to pick up their guitars and drum sticks, and perform Magic 18. Lister stepped over a lead and sunk into the soft fabric of the drum stool, he saw, from the corner of his eye, Jimmy pick up a microphone and hook a guitar strap over his back. Rowan lowered his bass over his shoulder, and played the opening chords.
Lister heard an excited mummer, then he heard his cue, and got lost in the beat of the music. He faintly heard Jimmy’s soft voice, and smiled to himself.
As usual, the song finished just as soon as it had started, Lister stood up to the screaming applause, as the head teacher walked over with an old camera. As if on instinct, Lister crouched down next to his band mates, as the head pressed the button. No doubt, that was going to leak on social media. The school would put it on their website, and that would be that. They would have every school in the country trying to get a free performance!
They got home at around seven pm-ish. The teachers had asked them to join them for a ‘staff meeting’ which was code for “biscuits, tea, and a good old chat!” It had actually been quite nice, to be honest. And Lister hadn't looked at his phone yet, he didn’t want to ruin the nice moment.
So... yeah! That’s it. Hope you enjoyed it :p
#alice oseman#osemanverse#iwbft#the ark#jimmy kaga ricci#lister bird#rowan omondi#bicci#iwbft AU#osemanverse AU#The Ark ~ School Performance#this took me kinda a long time#so I hope you enjoy it#:)
13 notes
·
View notes
Note
"Why are you helping me?" for the prompt.
This one got away from me length-wise again. I’m going to try to keep the next ones a bit short and sweet, but I’ll probably fail miserably.
(Dialogue prompts)
Kryten hummed to himself as he walked to the laundry room with a basket of dirty clothes tucked under one arm. The sound of the washing machine had moved on to the high-pitched whine that indicated the final spin cycle, and he estimated he had just under five minutes before he could take out the first load, pop it in the dryer, and get the next pile washing. Then, with Mr Lister’s dirty socks sloshing happily around the washing machine, he would be able to kick back and do something he really enjoyed: ironing.
At least, that was the plan. A plan that came to a grinding halt when he entered the laundry room to find somebody else already standing at the ironing board.
Kryten blinked, took a few nanoseconds to run a quick diagnostic on his visual acuity circuits, made sure that he hadn’t bypassed his sanity chip and started hallucinating, and finally, one at a time, removed his eyes and gave them a quick rub with a cloth before popping them back in.
He found, to his dismay, that the scene before him had not changed,
“Mr Lister?” he asked a little hesitantly, still not one hundred percent certain that he wasn’t suffering from some kind of malfunction.
Lister was unclothed from the waist up, meaning that either he had forgotten to get dressed, or there had been some kind of laundry disaster. He was standing behind the ironing board, iron in one hand, the other hand holding a shirt in place. He pushed the steam button on the iron and a cloud of water vapour hissed out into the garment below. Lister pressed the iron down hard and wobbled it from side to side as he erased a crease.
“Alright Kryten,” he said. “Don’t mind me, I’ll be out of your hair in a sec.”
As Kryten carefully placed the laundry basket on the floor next to the washing machine, Lister pushed the steam button again. Again. Twice in one minute. It was madness. “Sir,” he said. “Are you... helping me?”
Lister frowned, then shrugged and nodded. “Yeah, I guess so. Kind of.”
“But… Why are you helping me? You detest ironing, sir. In fact, I distinctly remember you telling me that there was no point in it because the creases always fall out anyway once you’ve worn something for a few hours.”
Lister shrugged. “I stand by that,” he said. “But I needed a shirt. And I mean, yeah, normally I’d just put it on. But I wanted this shirt, and it was so creased up that I just knew if you saw me, you’d make me take it off so you could iron it.”
Kryten looked at the shirt on the board. “Ah yes,” he said. “That was from the challenge pile.”
“The what?” asked Lister.
“Well sir,” Kryten said. “I love ironing, as you know. But even I have to admit that sometimes it gets a bit samey. So I decided to liven things up a bit.”
Lister pushed the steam button again. “Liven things up?” he repeated.
“Yes. By challenging myself. Every time I do laundry, I pick two or three items to screw up into a ball,” he said. “I really twist them, fold them at awkward angles and generally do everything I can to make sure they’re covered with deep creases, then I leave them to dry like that. It’s not good laundry practice, I’m afraid, but it ensures that ironing the creases out is a real challenge.”
Lister shook his head. “I guess that explains it,” he said. “Well, I wanted to wear it, and I figured if I did, you’d demand I strip down in the middle of breakfast so you could iron it. So I decided to spare myself that and help you out at the same time by just doing it myself.”
He pressed the steam button again, and Kryten flinched. “I see. Well, I’m here now sir. So would you be so kind as to stop helping me?”
Lister frowned. He put the iron down on the heat resistant pad at the end of the ironing board. “Why?” He pushed the steam button again, this time not even aiming downward. The steam escaped uselessly into the room.
“Please, sir,” Kryten begged. “You’re overdoing it. I love the steam button as much as the next droid; the soothing hiss of the steam forced out of the iron at pressure, the gurgle of the water inside as it moves to fill the space left behind, and best of all, the way even the most stubborn of creases surrender in the face of it. It is absolutely the best part of ironing, but this is too much.”
“If you hadn’t deliberately creased up my favourite shirt so much that even I couldn’t wear it, I wouldn’t have to,” Lister said.
Kryten edged slowly closer, feeling very tense. Ironing was his job. What if Lister decided that he liked it too? They would end up fighting over who got to do it, and as Kryten was programmed to defer to the will of a human, he knew that he would be the loser of that particular battle. “How about I take over now?” he said. “You don’t really like ironing, do you sir? And it’s so dangerous. Imagine if you got burned, I’d never forgive myself. And honestly, if you carry on like that you’ll wear that steam button out. Four times for the same garment? Goodness me, don’t you know that the iron releases steam anyway? Pushing the button is reserved for crease emergencies only.”
“Crease emergencies?” Lister shook his head. “Oh you mean like when you accidentally iron a crease into your clothes and it won’t come out? Yeah, it’s okay, you can relax Kryten, it was a crease emergency.”
“You ironed a…” Horrified, Kryten stepped closer still, hoping to put himself between Lister and the iron. “Sir, please. Step away from the iron. I’ll finish it for you.”
Lister shrugged, and to Kryten’s extreme relief, moved away from the ironing board. Like a negotiator that had finally talked a gunman into handing over his weapon, Kryten grabbed hold of the iron’s handle the second that he could. He allowed himself a moment to relax and enjoy the victory before he looked down at the shirt to assess the damage.
“You know, this is a little bit insulting Kryten,” Lister told him. “I mean, I kinda resent that you think I can’t iron a shirt. I know I normally don’t, but I could if I wanted to. I’m not a total idiot.”
Kryten let go of the iron and ran his hands over the shirt, checking for creases. There were none. Surprised, he turned it around and checked the back, then the arms, then finally the collar.
“See?” said Lister with a grin.
Kryten stared down at the shirt in horror. This was a disaster. If Mr Lister could iron his own shirts, then he could potentially do it at any time! Kryten could arrive to do some ironing that he had been looking forward to, and find it already done! No no no, this wouldn’t do at all.
He couldn’t lie, not to Mr Lister. Not convincingly, anyway. Mr Lister had taught him the skill, and he could always see right through him when he tried to use it. There was only one other answer; deception.
“It’s… not bad sir,” he said, “But… Oh look, what’s that over there?” He pointed at the other side of the room, where there was absolutely nothing of interest.
When Lister glanced briefly away, Kryten picked up the iron and quickly but carefully ironed in a crease. By the time Lister looked back at him, the iron was in the same position it had been in before, as though nothing had happened. “What?” Lister asked
“Oh, nothing,” Kryten said, then made a show of looking down at the shirt. “Oh, would you look at that,” he said. “A crease. Never mind, sir, I’ll take care of that for you.”
Lister folded his arms and watched as Kryten ironed out the crease.
“There we go sir, now it’s perfect,” Kryten told him. He handed him the shirt. “So, I think that definitively proves that I am the superior ironer. Maybe you should just leave it to the expert next time, sir. Can you imagine if you had put on the shirt with that giant crease? What would Mr Cat have thought?”
Lister rolled his eyes. “Yeah, you’re right Kryten. No more ironing for me. It’s probably for the best.”
Lister put on the shirt and walked away while still buttoning it up. Kryten allowed himself to indulge in smug mode for a moment in celebration of his completely convincing deception, until the washing machine finished. He hurried over, eager to get the new load in so that he could enjoy the rest of the ironing.
#red dwarf#red dwarf fanfic#my figures#dave lister#kryten#what? did I actually write something without Rimmer in it?#Surely not!
27 notes
·
View notes
Note
BRO your art and writing are both so good ajsbsjjs can I request a danny reveal to valerie? I would assume this would be a small drabble prompt but I'll let you choose how to do it and if you even want to do it in the first place whoops
ASDFGJHJK Thank you so much!
Omg, first off I am SO SO Sorry this took me so long to get back to you! It’s actually so bad... But I finally finished your request!! It took me a while to figure out how to phrase everything and get my head around it but I ended up getting a little carried away in the end, I’m sorry...
So here it is I suppose! I’ve also posted it to Ao3 here if you’d like to have a look, but it’s also under the cut if you want to read it on here!
Thank you so much for your patience, I only hope it was kind of worth it? Idk. I ended up writing a short story/one shot rather than a drabble haha, I just didn’t expect it to get so long! And thanks for the request idea!
- Fire and Water -
Valerie sometimes thought Danny was like water.
He was so perfectly clear somehow, an undisturbed lake shining in the moonlight. His iridescent blue eyes sometimes felt like they could see right through her, somehow sense exactly how she was feeling, understand her deepest secrets.
That eerie calmness rippled and cascaded through him, so clear and tranquil, yet so incredibly dangerous.
He had a depth that terrified her to no end, a feeling that if she dove down too deep he would overflow, drown her with his power. As if his little lake held all the fierce might of the sea.
(In which Danny has a secret to tell Valerie, but doesn't quite know how to go about it)
“Ugh, what am I supposed to do Tuck?” Danny groaned, resting his head on his elbows in the grimy corner booth.
Tucker shrugged, patting his back awkwardly in what he hoped was a comforting manner. “I don’t know man, I don’t have a murderous ghost-hunter for a girlfriend.”
Danny sighed, looking forlornly across the crowded restaurant of the Nasty Burger. Valerie was still standing by the till, laughing with some customer as she took their order. She was gorgeous even in the grease-stained yellow of the fast food uniform. Silently Danny watched as she tucked a stray strand of dark hair out of her eyes and looked away. He was such a loser.
“Hey… but then again, it’s not really our decision to make.” Sam’s voice cut through Danny’s musings and he looked up at her dolefully. “Whether or not you want to share it with her is up to you.” She took another slurp of her slushie and frowned. “I thought you had sworn not to. Why the sudden change?”
Danny looked away, straightening to peer out the window at the passers-by on the street. “I don’t know… I just feel… like it’s wrong to keep lying to her is all…” Danny could feel Sam and Tucker’s eyes on him as he sighed again, “Look, we’ve been going out for almost a year… That’s, like more than I’ve ever been in a relationship my whole life! Plus, even if she doesn’t know it, I know her secret, but she doesn’t know mine, I can’t help feeling like I’m cheating on her or something weird like that…”
“Danny…” Sam started but he continued.
“But at the same time, I’m terrified that if she finds out she’ll hate me y’know? Like… I don’t want to lose her in the process…”
“Look Danny, as the current female representative at the table.” Sam said, placing her drink firmly on the table to look at him in the eyes, “I can safely say that telling the truth is probably your best option. If she finds out and it’s not from you, it’ll probably hurt her a lot more than just coming clean.”
Tucker nodded, “You know, Sam’s right, if you really care about her what’s the worst that could happen?”
“The worst is that she’ll shoot an ecto-blast through my chest faster than I can say ‘Sorry’.” Danny moaned. “Or she’ll tell my parents or something… Then I’d really be dead meat.”
“And the best-case scenario is that she doesn’t mind.” Sam said with an eyebrow raised. “I’m sorry Danny, but if you guys really care about each other then keeping secrets probably shouldn’t be on the table. Valerie has a right to know if you’re hiding things from her, chances are she’ll figure it out sooner or later. Her aim’s getting better by the day.”
Danny winced, rubbing his upper forearm where the burn mark still stung.
Sam’s eyes softened and she reached over, taking his hand gently, “Danny I honestly think that anyone who knows you, the real you, won’t hate you no matter what you are. The real test is whether or not you think you can trust her enough to tell her and get away with it. She’s still the Red Huntress after all. I wouldn’t take this decision lightly.”
Danny nodded but smiled. “Would you guys mind though?”
Tucker blinked, “Dude, we’re your friends. If you want to date the most dangerous ghost-hunter in Amity Park we have your back. As Sam said, it’s you’re secret to share with whoever you want.”
Danny closed his eyes and stared at the ceiling, “Thanks guys…” he mumbled, glancing over to where Valerie was once again. It looks like she was packing up. “I think I’ll try and tell her tonight…”
At that Tucker’s eyes widened, “Wait, really? Like you don’t want to think about this a little more before you run in guns blazing?”
Danny blinked at him, “Well, I know it’s a little brash sure, but the sooner I do it the sooner I can sleep easy right? Whether she hates me or not I’ll at least know.”
Sam sat back, “You heard the man Tuck, if he’s stubborn enough he’ll do it.”
“Hey!” Danny said, sounding offended, “Okay maybe I’m not 100% on it, but I’ll feel better if I’m not lying to her. Besides…” He smiled slightly, “We’d kinda already had a date planned for tonight. I might as well make use of it…”
As if on cue Valerie walked over, she’d thrown a dark green jacket over the orange of her uniform that perfectly complimented her eyes. “Hey!” she said, arm raised and smiling, “You ready to go?”
“You bet!” Danny laughed, sliding past Tucker and leaving his money on the tray, “I’ll… talk to you guys later then?” He offered and Sam winked.
“Go get em’ tiger.”
Danny grinned, giving Valerie a quick peck on the cheek and the thumbs up to Tucker before the two of them walked out of the restaurant.
***
When they were gone Sam’s lips quirked into a smile, “He’s gonna die.” She chuckled, taking another slurp of her drink as she sat back in the booth.
“Wait what?” Tucker asked swinging his saucepan-sized eyes to her in disbelief, “What was all that about ‘accepting who you are’ then?”
Sam eyed him across the table, “You kidding? Valerie’s gonna stomp his heart into pieces with five-inch high stilettos, but even then, I doubt she’ll hate him for it.”
Tucker sighed and took another bite of his burger, “I don’t know. It’s just odd he has this sudden conviction to tell her everything. It’s a pretty big deal is all.”
Sam shrugged, “Yeah, but then again I guess it’s just a sign of how much she means to him. After all, he told us pretty soon after it y’know… happened…”
“Yeah but that’s different, we’re his best friends and you’re one of the main reasons he got his ghost powers in the first place. Plus, Valerie hated his guts on principle back then because she was still with the A-Listers… now she just hates him for different reasons…”
She scowled at him, but nodded, “Well then fine. Maybe he just wants to take their relationship up a notch. I don’t know why you’re having such a hard time with this Tucker, if Danny wants to go blabbering about his powers to people, he has his reasons for it. Despite appearances he’s not that much of an idiot to get caught by his parents or the GIW.”
“I know it’s just…”
“Ohhh,” Sam grinned, cutting Tucker off with a shit-eating grin. “Oh, I see, you’re jealous.”
“What!” Tucker shrieked, “Am not!”
“You’re jealous that Danny is opting to bring someone else in on the team, this was the same thing with Jazz! You’re too proud to admit that you like being a sidekick.”
“What!? Never. I’m Danny’s guy-in-the-chair! His wingman! His Q to his 007! It’s not like Valerie could—”
“Oh yeah totally, the Red Huntress with an arsenal of weapons and ghost-hunting experience would never take Tucker Foley’s precious slot as the guy-in-the-chair.”
“Fuck’s sake Sam.” Tucker spat, “I’m not jealous, and fine then, I don’t care who the hell Danny goes and talks to. Are you happy?”
“Ecstatically.”
“Fuck you.”
“Fuck me yourself coward.”
“I hate you so much…”
“I know. So… you down for Doomed later?”
He shrugged, standing up and throwing a few notes on the table, “Sure. I’ll catch you around 9.”
***
Danny hadn’t planned for this at all.
He mentally slapped himself as he and Valerie walked to the movie theatre, absentmindedly chatting as best he could about her day. The street was almost deserted at this time in the afternoon, couples walking to and from places, laughing as they held hands. Danny smiled. They were all so… alive.
Valerie said something and Danny watched her out of the corner of his eye. Her breath clouding in front of her face before hugging her jacket closer to her body and cupping frozen hands around a fresh cup of coffee to keep warm.
Amity Park in autumn was both beautiful and freezing with the golden brown and red of leaves staining the paths and parks like wounded soldiers on the fields of battle.
He would have shivered if he could.
As it was Danny looked away, the cold didn’t really seem to affect him in the same way anymore. A pang of guilt struck his chest as Valerie laughed at something, she sounded so happy. If only she knew who she was walking with…
After the movie, he vowed, after the movie I’ll tell her. She deserves to know.
“Hey! Are you even paying attention?” She asked and he blinked, startled out of his musings.
“Uh yeah, sure… what did you say again?”
She sighed throwing her hands up in exasperation, “Honestly, you can be so… distant sometimes. What the heck goes through your head anyways? Stuck in the stars again NASA boy?”
Danny laughed, “I guess you could say that…” Was he really that obvious?
“Well, I asked, what do you want to see?”
“Oh right!” Gazing up at the selection he paused, “I…” he bit his lip, his mind going blank, it didn’t feel right to choose… “I don’t mind, how about you pick?”
She looked at him sideways, “Man you’re acting jumpy today.” A gleam caught in her eye and Danny gulped, “How about a horror?”
“Uh well… if that’s…” Danny stumbled over his words.
“Great! Glad that’s decided. I want to get really scared tonight, two tickets to your most horrifying film my good sir!” She chimed to the guy behind the counter.
The guy looked them up and down but shrugged, “Cinema 5, have fun.”
***
Danny wasn’t really paying attention through the film.
Guilt was eating away at him, gnawing at the edges of his subconscious as Valerie laughed and jumped at the loud noises and crappy special effects that Hollywood perceived ghosts to be. Danny smiled absently, they really had no clue how wrong they were compared to the real thing.
She held his hand in the gentle darkness of the cinema, and Danny couldn’t help but look at her in the faint light from the screen. Her green eyes glistened with excitement and curiosity, taking in all she saw with such conviction.
He smiled, she was light, warm and comforting. Even as she gripped his ice-cold skin Danny couldn’t help but admire her. She laughed when she felt like it, got angry when she felt like it, smiled and danced in her own brilliant warmth. Danny’s eyes softened as he leaned into her touch, savouring this moment. Feeling her heartbeat through her skin.
She was dazzling.
Danny pulled away slightly, his eyes narrowing, but she was like fire to his ice. She melted him in ways she could never understand, but he was sure, he was frighteningly sure he was going to burn her irreversibly in the end.
But if that’s the way it had to be, then so be it.
“Hey Val?” He mumbled, leaning further into her shoulder in the gloom of the theatre, feeling her warmth against his cheek. She stopped gazing at the screen and turned to him, her eyes still dancing in that dull luminosity. Danny sighed, letting his dark hair fall into his eyes so she couldn’t see that he was on the verge of tears. “I’ve been… keeping something from you. For a long time now… I just… don’t know how to say it…”
He felt her shift under his weight, and he pulled away, looking in the opposite direction. She was looking at him, he could feel her green eyes taking him in and he felt his heart panged with annoyance. Annoyance at himself, at how weak he was.
“Danny…” Valerie started, and he looked at her, she was smiling softly in the light, “It’s okay, you don’t have to tell me anythi—”
“No, you deserve to know. But… maybe in a bit if that’s alright?” He grit his teeth and looked back up at the screen as the final scene began, he smiled sadly locking eyes with her. “I just… want this moment to last a little longer is all…”
***
Valerie sometimes thought Danny was like water.
He was so perfectly clear somehow, like an undisturbed lake shining in the moonlight. His iridescent blue eyes sometimes felt like they could see right through her, somehow sense exactly how she was feeling, understand her deepest secrets.
It was awe inspiring. Like Danny knew exactly where she went when she snuck out of class, knew her connection to ghosts and the other shadows of Amity Park. Knew who she really was.
But he never seemed to care. It was why, she supposed, she was so drawn to him in the first place. The eerie calmness that rippled and cascaded through him, so clear and tranquil, yet dangerously so. Pooling with something else.
A darkness. A depth that terrified her to no end, a feeling that if she dove too deep he would overflow, drown her with his power. As if his little lake held all the fierce might of the sea.
Why did that feeling surface now? That dread that crashed against the shoreline of her heart. Breaking the tension as Danny lead her out of the theatre and into the cool night air. What was this in her chest that felt like the pressure of being unable to breathe?
He laughed at something and Valerie felt a shift in the atmosphere as she looked at him in the light of the street, his blue eyes reflecting something she couldn’t see. Something beyond where they stood outside a bustling theatre.
“I want to show you something,” Danny said, there was a kind of relief to his words, like he’d been daring himself to say them. “But not here.”
He glanced at her and she felt that terrible drowning sense in her chest again as his clear-blue eyes softened in the moonlight. He looked… so sad, like this was somehow the last time she’d ever see him.
Danny stayed silent as they walked, weaving in and around the humdrum of pedestrians and life that flittered around them like moths to a flame.
She let him pull her along, feeling the familiar chill that buzzed between her fingertips of his skin brushing hers. He was so cold, so frozen in time. It gripped at her.
It was only now that she started to watch him in comparison to the people on the street. In his dark, navy jacket and worn jeans he stood out and blended in at the same time. Like he wasn’t meant to be there and was there all at once. It seemed unnatural somehow…
She shook her head, following him across the street to the park, letting the dull glow of the stars guide them along the cracked paths.
What was it he wanted to show her? And why did it feel like an ending and a beginning all at once? Her curiosity ate at her but if Danny was willing to show her, she would be patient.
The park seemed twisted at night time. The trees warped somehow in the dark, green grass glowing blue in the silver light of the moon.
Danny looked around and hurried on, pulling her up the hill to where a small crop of trees nestled between the undergrowth. There was no one around for miles but Danny seemed extra cautious, double and triple checking their surroundings to make sure they weren’t being followed.
“Danny, you’re scaring me you know that.” Valerie finally said, breaking the silence that had hung over them for so long.
He chuckled softly and came to sit next to her, looking out at the twinkling lights of the city spread out below them like a map. A perfect mirror for the stars above.
The throb of life buzzed about them, the shrieking of tyres, the chink of glasses and the laughter of people. The metropolis was a beating heart but here in this secluded tower, they watched it all in silence.
“I’m so sorry Val…” Danny finally said, and she looked at him as he laid back, staring upwards towards the sky. “I feel like I’ve been lying to you, from the very beginning.”
She wanted to interrupt, wanted to tell him what a mysterious jerk he was being and just to cut to the chase, but she said nothing, too entranced by the wandering lights that reflected in his irises.
“The truth is, that I…” Danny’s expression changed slightly, and his teeth gritted together. Whatever it was that he was trying to say to her, Valerie knew that it was probably something major.
“Danny… you don’t—”
“No, I do.” He said, pulling an arm across his eyes so that she couldn’t see him. “I have to tell you; cause otherwise you’re just going to find out from someone else and then I wouldn’t know what to do with myself.”
He sat up and turned to her, his dark hair framing his face as he gripped her shoulders. Her heart fluttered slightly in her chest; he was crying.
She watched as that perfectly clear water fell from his eyes, carving rivers in his pale skin. She felt something press against her lungs, that fear of drowning, and she opened her mouth to speak.
“I—”
“I love you…” Danny said, cutting her off, his head bowing as she blinked at his words, numbly they settled on her like falling snow as she felt her heart lighten. “I love you so much… That’s why it’s not fair to keep hiding myself, the real me, from you any longer.”
“Danny I—”
“No, Val, please, let me finish.” Danny looked at her and she felt a pang of guilt cross her chest. He smiled, such a sad smile, as he continued. “Val, I love you. I didn’t think I would fall for someone so hard as I do for you… you’re incredible you know that? You’re so strong and dazzling to look at it hurts my eyes.”
She felt her eyes widen but he continued, “Ever since I met you, you’ve shown me time and time again how great you really are. And quite frankly, I don’t think I deserve you. But I wanted to tell you that I love you. Let you know how much you truly mean to me so that you don’t lose sight of who I am.”
Danny looked at her, “I’m an idiot you know that? I’m such a complete and utter loser that I take so much of what I have for granted. Sam and Tucker have always told me so and that’s why I want to stop hiding from you Valerie. Because I care too much for you to continue acting, continue pretending that I’m alright.”
Danny began to shake as he spoke and she shifted closer to him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and pulling him in close to her as a smile lifted her face. “Hey. Look at me,” he lifted his eyes to hers and Valerie smiled, “You know, if you’re scared to tell me you don’t have to Danny. Cause…” She felt light, “Because I love you too.”
He blinked at her and smiled, “I was afraid of that…”
She laughed, “Oh yeah and why’s that wisecrack?”
He smiled but didn’t laugh. “Because of who… no that’s not right… because of what I am Val.”
She stopped laughing, he was dead serious, she gripped her chest, that tightness was suffocating now. The fun-loving idiot she had fallen for seemed to melt off him as his eyes narrowed, turning to her fully to look at her dead in the eyes. “Val, I don’t want you to think any less of me, I really and truly want us to continue being close, I want to hold your hand and laugh, go see movies and continue living like this with you for the rest of my life…”
Wait. What was he saying? What did he mean by…
“But, Valerie Grey. I can’t keep hiding forever. I brought you here tonight to tell you something about myself that I can’t share lightly with anyone. But you have to promise to trust me, promise me Val. Please promise me that you won’t think any less of me for it and that you won’t tell anyone else... please this is important.”
She felt the pressure in her lungs choking her now, but she nodded, why was she so scared? So utterly terrified that she might lose him? “I promise. I promise, whatever you want to tell me it’s okay Danny. It’s okay, you can tell me…”
Danny smiled and nodded, his shoulder’s sagging as he did so as if all the tension released from him in one motion. Like he had been waiting his whole life to hear those words. “Val… I…maybe it’s easier if I show you instead?”
She blinked but nodded, allowing him to let go of her as she sat back.
Danny looked at her, she was so perfect, sitting there patiently waiting for him to show her what he meant. He closed his eyes and looked to the stars, here goes nothing…
“Val, I’m so sorry…” he whispered, and triggered his transformation.
Valerie watched in mild horror as the light sparked around his mid-section, twin-rings expanding at his waist.
Wait what?
They broke and spilt, traveling over his body slowly as he stood there, changing him.
What’s happening?
Danny sighed at the feeling of relief, the cool sensation of weightlessness taking hold as the rings reached the base of his neck with a rush of adrenaline.
Valerie felt her hands fly to mouth to cover the shriek of shock as Phantom touched down lightly in front of her. His skin glowing in the eclipse of the moon, the black jumpsuit replacing the familiar jeans and jacket Valerie knew so well…
She stumbled, her mind racing a marathon as her heart banged so hard against her chest, she swore it was audible. No. No this couldn’t be right… Danny was… Danny was?
He looked at her with that same sad smile and she allowed herself to gasp. The clear blue of his eyes now glimmering green like emeralds against the sky.
He sunk to his knees and looked away; he’d ruined it hadn’t he? The curling white of his hair intermingling with the evening breeze. Looking down almost resentfully at the snow-white gloves that adorned his hands. “I’m so sorry…” His voice echoed across the space between them and Valerie inadvertently shivered. “I’m so sorry Val…”
Valerie just sat there, staring blankly at the scene in front of her as Phantom… no Danny, hung his head in his hands. She reached out, but paused, no this couldn’t be right… This was all a big misunderstanding, right? A joke?
She pulled her hand back, cupping it against her chest. But it felt so real, so obvious that she mentally cursed herself for being so stupid.
Danny Fenton, Danny Phantom, he’d barely even changed his name. She blinked, observing the shape of his face, the style of his hair, it was all the same, all exactly the same… But even then… Danny couldn’t be a ghost! Surely not… surely… and of all ghosts Phantom? The town hero? Her ultimate enemy? It couldn’t possibly be real; this couldn’t possibly be happening right now…
“You’re probably wondering what happened right?” Valerie snapped her attention towards him as he laughed dryly, the sound was grating, so completely alien to her, “That’s usually the first question I get asked…”
She nodded, she felt so numb.
“It was the Fenton Portal.” He smiled, the white of his hair playing on the breeze like snow, “Mum and Dad couldn’t get it working so I thought it was safe enough to look inside… I… it turned on while I was in there…”
Valerie shuddered, phantom screams of Danny being electrocuted rattling her skull as if she’d been there herself. That was how he’d died? Screaming and alone?
“I’m so sorry Val…” He said again, looking at her, she jolted at the green of his eyes, but he continued, “I’m so sorry you had to find out, but I couldn’t lie to you forever. I just couldn’t keep pretending it was all fine considering our… history…”
A sharp pain rippled through her heart as she realised that he did know. Of course he did. Phantom had known she was the Red Huntress from the beginning, and yet even after every fight they’d had, every insult and curse she’d flung his way… Danny still continued loving her, being around her even then. Even then…
She felt cheated slightly, like he’d known her deepest secret for so long that it wasn’t fair she didn’t know his in return. But she stopped, hadn’t that been the point though? What would she have done if she’d known earlier? What good would it have done to know?
She reached for him cautiously and he flinched as she touched his shoulder. He was so cold, so incredibly cold but she gripped him, feeling the static of ectoplasm under her fingertips as she turned him to her.
His eyes were wide, but she smiled slightly, pulling him down into her, drawing him into a hug.
He was like ice against her, buzzing with electricity and energy that was the only way he could survive. “You’re so stupid you know that?” She felt him twitch slightly against her but she smiled, “I can’t imagine what it was like… what you must go through every day Danny… knowing that there is this side to you that you can’t share with anyone…”
“You’re not scared? Or angry? You don’t hate me, do you?” He sounded so timid, like a frightened child.
She thought about it, sure, she was certainly angry. But not as much as she’d expected, she laughed slightly, she hadn’t planned on this when she finally had Phantom in her grasp.
“Danny… I… don’t think I do… You never told me the truth because I never gave you a reason for it. I was so completely bent on destroying you that I don’t know… I lost sight on what I was fighting… but I’m glad you waited until now to tell me…”
He pulled back from her slightly so she could see his face, “You mean that?”
She nodded, “If I had found out earlier, I might have blasted you to bits. But as it stands… I’m…” she grinned, “I’m really glad I got to know you, Danny Fenton.”
He blinked at her reaction, pulling back further so that they were at eye level. “I…” he started but she pushed a finger to his lips.
“Let me finish loverboy. I believed ghosts were… well monsters. Bent on destroying this world and everyone in it, senseless and unstoppable monsters and nothing more… I never let my guard down, never let anyone see me weak. Until you Danny. I let you in and now, you’ve let me in. And that means so much more than I think you realise. Don’t get me wrong, I’m pretty shocked, and it’s gonna take me a week to digest all of this… but I love you Danny. You, no matter what you are.”
His eyes widened and he laughed, the familiar sound tinkling against her making her smile.
Valerie didn’t exactly know how she found himself in the position she was in next, but all she felt was the soft press of lips against hers and she wrapped her arms tightly around Danny, feeling light as air. She slipped her hands from his waist to over his shoulders, pushing in for the kiss. Danny felt like his world had exploded into stars, she tasted like strawberries and sunlight mixed together in utter happiness. And Valerie smiled against him, he tasted like static but she didn’t care. Danny could’ve stayed like that forever, and he probably would’ve if Valerie didn’t slip her hands off of him and gently push away.
She smiled, the heavy fear had lifted from her chest and she sighed as it dispersed. The clear water moving in it’s wake.
“So what do we do now?” She asked and Danny blinked, smiling softly as he scratched the back of his neck sheepishly.
He looked to the stars, feeling lighter than ever, “I don’t know.”
“Well, Phantom, how about a truce to begin with.” She winked and Danny laughed, getting to his feet he took her hand and pulled her up with him.
“My my, the Red Huntress herself is offering a ceasefire? I never thought I’d see the day!”
“Oh hush, I can still shoot you.”
He gulped but nodded, a bright smile lighting up his face as he began to float slightly off the ground.
“Not for nothing,” she murmured, eying the space between his feet and the ground warily, “But how about you… uh… what’s the word you use? Switch back? Cause if you walk me home in that state, I think my dad’s gonna have to bring out a little heavier an artillery than a shotgun.”
Danny nodded, touching down without a word, feeling the rings of light split around his waist again as the world held weight once more.
Valerie gasped as Phantom fell away but regained her composure, “Somehow I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that…” she muttered, and he laughed, his blue eyes sparkling.
“Val… I’m… I’m really happy with how tonight went…” Danny grinned as they walked back towards the path, “But you’re sure that you’re okay with this whole… me being Phantom thing?”
She hummed in thought but nodded, “Yeah, but you’re going to have to answer a bunch of questions I have about yourself and the other ghosts. Plus,” she winked at him, “I still expect to be able to fight. Treat me as an equal ghost boy, I refuse to be your sidekick.”
Danny laughed but waved a hand, “Oh don’t worry, I think Tucker wouldn’t talk to me again if I let you have that role.”
“Then that’s settled then… shall we—”
Danny’s breath misted in front of his face and Valerie stiffened as a wave of static swept the park. “Oh no,” she mumbled, a sensor beeping quietly on her watch as she reached for her backpack, flicking the switch on the underside.
He speeder hit the ground and Valerie’s eyes narrowed as she pulled down her hood, snapping the butt of her ecto-gun against her palm as she whirled to Danny.
He was already in fighting mode, the human boy she’d fallen for melting away as the half-ghost hero Phantom stood by her side. Just as a massive, bloated figure rounded the corner ahead of them.
She looked at him a smile playing on her lips, “You ready ghost boy?”
He grinned, “You bet, partner.”
#dannyphantom#danny phantom#nikelodeon#fic#danny phantom fanfic#danny fenton#valerie grey#valerie#my writing#requests#thank you so much for the request#one shot#ao3
39 notes
·
View notes
Note
[1] Love your blog :) Reading about your GJ scene breakdowns, are there any scenes you really like that maybe you haven’t talked about because they don’t really involve the Ann(e)s. I have a few, which I decided on after I realized I couldn’t choose a favorite episode. Would love to hear your thoughts on them or any others. Besides all of the Ann(e) scenes (because obviously), the scenes I really like are:
athenaismyplace asked: [2] ep. 1, Anne in bed caressing Aunt Anne’s legs during the Dr. Kenny visit, love the caring and intimacy that showed. ep. 2, Vere being delighted to see Anne at her wedding, the idea that a real caring friendship came out of that heartbreak is nice. ep. 7, Marianna seeing Anne in that dress, her surprise and Anne’s “Really?” kill me. I think at that moment she was maybe caught off guard by the idea that Anne could be beautiful. ep 8, Anne’s face at that girl saying “Miss Lister likes trouble.”
hey :) hello! thank you so much! Like you I can’t choose a favorite episode, they’re all so good and it’s just impossible to pick a favorite. I love the scenes you picked that don’t involve the Ann(e)s, I’m gonna talk about them a little and then tell you what are my two favorite scenes that don’t involve the Ann(e)s :)
1. About the scene with aunt Anne in ep. 1, I totally agree with you. Right from the first ep. that little scene shows us how much Anne cares about her aunt and how much she worries about her health. And I love how she just stays there with her aunt like no one is in the room, talking and gossiping a little. Every single scene with just the two of them is so loving and warm but at the same time kinda nostalgic, it’s a strange mix but I love it.
2. One thing I love about the scene with Vere in episode 2, is Anne saying: “Our time on Earth is brief. And we should all strive to make the most of it. And be as happy as we can be.” – I love the fact that she’s saying it more to herself than to Vere. And I genuinely believe Vere when she says – “I’m sorry if I hurt you. I was always very fond of you. You must know that. I’m just… Not like that.” – I think she really was one of the few women who were not attracted to Anne but just appreciated her as a friend and nothing more.
3. The scene in episode 7: Mariana seeing Anne in a dress kinda breaks my heart. You can see that Anne doesn’t feel comfortable wearing that dress and the – “Really?” – is not of positive surprise but rather a “Why do you find me beautiful in this? I look ridiculous.” It was one of the most relatable scenes for me because every time someone is like “Oh god you should try on a dress, you’d look AMAZING” I’m like “???? what are you even talking about?”. The way Suranne showed discomfort in how she carried herself in that dress, and the fact that just putting that on made Anne Lister look not as confident, strong and attractive as she was with her regular clothes on, is A+ acting. That scene was not a: “Oh look how much more beautiful Anne would be if she just dressed in a more feminine way”, it was a: “Oh god look how wrong would that be if she dressed in a more feminine way” and I LOVED IT. It’s refreshing and it’s true to life. The fact that Mariana was surprised and thought that Anne looked beautiful in that dress breaks my heart because for me it shows that Mariana doesn’t really appreciate Anne for who she really is. I mean, Anne was visibly uncomfortable and yet Mariana didn’t even notice it.
4. I loved Sophie Ferrall so much lol not gonna lie.
Now, about my favorite scenes that don’t involve the Ann(e)s… The first one is the one in episode 2 between Ann Walker and Catherine Rawson. The way Ann firmly and passionately talks about Anne Lister and defends her shows us that she’s not some gullible, simple girl that can be easily manipulated. And I love it. – “No, I’ll tell you why they say it. Because she’s unusual and singular and clever, and because she doesn’t conform to the way people think a woman should look or think or be. That’s why. Miss Lister is one of the nicest, kindest, most clever and interesting people I have ever met, so you can tell that to your people.” – She has her own opinion, she’s strong in her own way, and she’s not gonna let people tell her what to think or do.
And of course I love Ann’s reaction when Catherine asks her – “So she’s never tried to– to touch you or anything?” – Ann says: “Don’t be absurd” – but her brain is like “Oh god, being touched by Anne Lister…touched how, where? everywhere? Oh god I might faint.”
Catherine asks: “Are you taking your drawing things and your watercolors?” – while a rated R movie is playing in AW’s head and her – “Yes, of course” – is so high pitched it cracks me up lol poor baby… in that moment she’s having an epiphany and her body is basically waking up but CR is RIGHT THERE so she tries to conceal, don’t feel, don’t let her knoooow!!!! But we know Ann, we know… It’s written all over your face that you’re thinking about Anne Lister touching you.
And, at the end of the scene, the way Ann looks at herself in the mirror is the cherry on top. Our little lesbian is on a mission from that moment on. Her expression is like: “I will do everything in my power to be kissed and touched by Anne Lister, I will make it happen!” (and, oh yes, she will make it happen, yes yes) and I love it.
And here we also have the metaphor of the mirror, the mirror that reflects truth, that shows the real you, your real desires, and makes you come to terms with who you really are and what you really want. I’m not gonna go into details about what the mirror symbolizes but, in Gentleman Jack, the mirror is an element that holds quite a lot of meaning. Just to name other interesting scenes where the mirror is used as a symbol to tell us more about what is happening: episode 7, AL looking in the mirror before going away and of course at the end of that same episode, both AL and AW looking in the mirror at the same time and feeling a sort of connection.
The other scene I love is also about Ann Walker. It’s the scene in episode 8 where she finally leaves her sister’s house. Again, I just really love seeing Ann taking control of her life and just telling people they don’t understand shit. That’s my favorite thing about her. When I watched it for the first time, the way she says – “I’ll deal with it!” – and then the way she speaks to Captain Sutherland got me screaming at my screen like “YAS!!! YOU GO GIRL” and then when she says – “Everything, from now on, when it comes to me, is my decision.” – I was like “YAS GO GET YOUR GIRL GO GET YOUR BEAUTIFUL GIRL WHO’S A MESS WITHOUT YOU!! GO, YOU LITTLE LESBIAN, GO!”.
Special mention goes to the scene of Ann at Shibden asking for AL’s address lol that scene is gold!!!! Marian cracks me up I love her she’s the best I just can’t with her. And then my fav part of that scene: “She isn’t in Copenhagen. She’s here.”
Ann’s little – “Here?” – kills me because till that moment she was like “Oh look at me being confident and bold, asking addresses, walking like I own the place” and then she goes into gay panic mode in one sec lol it’s sweet and yeah, I love it and I just really love Ann Walker…
One thing I absolutely love about Gentleman Jack, is how the show makes it clear that everything that was happening between the Ann(e)s was happening because Ann Walker really really wanted it to happen. Ann Walker’s scenes (the ones without Anne Lister) are fundamental, they leave no room for interpretation, they make it crystal clear that Ann Walker is not being manipulated and that Anne Lister is not being “predatory”. In this way GJ manages to kill all the stupid lesbian tropes not giving people the slightest chance to say stupid shit about the Ann(e)s’ dynamic being “toxic” or whatever.
#gentleman jack#anne lister#ann walker#anatomy of a scene: gentleman jack#me screaming about gentleman jack#ask#athenaismyplace
240 notes
·
View notes
Text
WORM 1.5 : In which we are saved by the bestest of good boys
You don’t properly appreciate what superhuman strength means until you see someone leap from the sidewalk to the second floor of a building on the far side of the street. He didn’t make it all the way to the roof, but he came to a point maybe three quarters of the way up. I wasn’t sure just how Lung kept from falling, but I could only guess that he just buried his fingertips into the building’s exterior.
Holy shit.
He just mega jumped to the building where Taylor is and is hanging on the outside wall by his claws!
You better come up with a way to escape or to do something, cause you seem preeetyy dead right now.
I heard scraping and crunching as he ascended, and looked to my only escape route. I didn’t harbor any delusions as far as my ability to get down the fire escape before Lung came over the top of the roof and deduced where I’d run off to. Worse, at that point he could probably just beat me to the street level by jumping off the roof, or even just shoot fire at me through the gaps in the metal while I was halfway down. The irony of the fire escape being anything but didn’t escape me.
Yeah that’s kind of a disadvantage of being in high-up places if you can’t fly or teleport or something. Pretty easy to get trapped.
I wished I could fly. My school offered the choice between Chemistry, Biology and Physics, with Basic Science for the underachievers. I hadn’t picked Physics, but I was still pretty sure that no matter how many I could gather together, jumping off the roof with a swarm of flying insects gripping me would be just as ineffective as the 9 year old superhero wannabes you heard about in the news, jumping off ledges with umbrellas and bedsheets.
I really don’t think they can carry your bodyweight, or even slow down your descent. You would splat on the floor like a, well, bug.
Also holy shit that is kinda dark and probably a likely consecuence of powers in our world. Poor kids.
For the time being, I was stuck where I was.
Home BuildingStuck
Reaching inside the convex armor that covered my spine, I ran my fingers over the things I had buckled in there. The EpiPens were meant to treat anaphylactic shock from allergic reactions to bee stings and the like, and likely wouldn’t do a thing to Lung, even if I could get close enough and find a point to inject. Worst case scenario, the injections would supercharge his power by prompting a surge of whatever hormones or endorphins fueled his power. Not useful, dangerous at best. I had a pouch of chalk dust that was meant for climbers and gymnasts, I had seen it in the sports store when I was buying the lenses for my mask. I had gloves and didn’t think I needed the dryness and extra traction, but I had gotten the idea that it could be useful to throw at an invisible enemy, and bought it on a whim. In retrospect, it had been kind of a dumb purchase, since my power let me find foes like that with my bugs. As a tool against Lung… I wasn’t sure if it would explode like regular dust could when exposed to flame, but fire didn’t hurt him anyways. Scratch that option.
...Fuck yes
I love characters that think about what they could do best in every situation with the resources they have. If Taylor is like this for the rest of the serial....God I’m gonna enjoy this.
The problem is that I don’t think she has many options at all
I tugged the little canister of pepper spray free from my armor. It was a black tube, three inches long, not much thicker around than a pen, with a trigger and a safety switch. It had been a gift from my dad, after I had started to go on my morning jogs for training. He had warned me to vary my route, and had given me the pepper spray for protection, along with a chain to clip it to my belt loop so it couldn’t be taken and used against me by an attacker. In costume, I had opted not to keep the chain for the sake of moving quietly. Using my thumb, I flicked the safety off and positioned the tube so I was ready to fire. I crouched to make myself a smaller target, and waited for him to show himself.
Hmmm could pepper spray work? Maybe if he doesn’t have his eyes or face fully armored...
Also I find the mental image of this possibly hilarious.
Lung’s hands, still on fire, were the first thing to show up, gripping the edge of the roof hard enough to bend the material that covered the roof’s raised lip. His hands were quickly followed by his head and torso as he hauled himself up. He looked like he was made of overlapping knives or spades, smouldering yellow-orange with the low temperature flame. There was no skin to be seen, and he was easily seven or eight feet tall, judging by the length of his arms and torso. His shoulders alone were three feet across at the very least. Even the one eye that he had open looked metallic, a glowing, almond shaped pool of liquid-hot metal.
He probably looks more like a daemon than a dragon now. At least he doesn’t seem to have wings...
Just a veritable inferno of molted metal and flame and a looot of anger
I aimed for the open eye, but the spray fired off at a sharp angle, just glancing off his shoulder. Where the spray grazed him, it ignited into a short lived fireball.
Taylor used improvised flamethrower against the fire demon! Doesn’t seem very effective...
Hopefully the spray doesn’t ignite before touching his face because I think a pyrokinetic can handle himself otherwise...
I swore under my breath and fumbled with the device. While he brought his leg over the edge, I adjusted my angle and shot again. This time – with a small tweak of my aim mid-shot – I hit him in the face. The ignited spray rolled off of him, but the contents still did the trick. He screamed, letting go of the roof with one hand, clutching the side of his face where his good eye was.
AAGH MY EYE! WHY IS IT ALWAYS THE GODDAMN EYE??!
Taylor could be an excellent markswoman, she seems to have a lot of precission and nuance in aiming.
It had been vain to hope that he would slip and fall. I just counted myself lucky that however metallic his face looked, there were still parts of it vulnerable to the spray.
At least for now...
Lung hauled himself over the edge of the roof. I had him hurting… I just couldn’t do anything about it. My bugs were officially useless, there was nothing left in my utility sheath, and I would hurt myself more than I hurt Lung if I attacked him. Making a mental note to pick myself up a concealable knife or baton if I managed to live through this, I bolted for the fire escape.
Time to use the Joestar’s secret technique then!
Also yeah some hand to hand weaponry could be useful for the future. Probably not with this warp-demon, but with regular joes, so that we can be less squishy wizard in our approach
“Muh… Motherfucker!” Lung screamed. With my back turned, there was no way to see it, but the roof was briefly illuminated before the wave of flame hit me from behind. Knocked off balance, I skidded on the gravel and hit the raised lip of the roof, just by the fire escape. Frantically, I patted myself down. My costume wasn’t on fire, but my hair – I hurriedly ran my hands over it to make sure it hadn’t been ignited.
Oh fuck!
Yeah the fact that the costume is not yet fully complete came back to bite you it seems. Let’s hope we don’t end up with too severe burns in our first night out, christ.
Small mercies, I thought, that there was no tar used on the roof. I could just imagine the flames igniting the rooftop, and just how little I’d be able to do if it happened.
That... would have been unfortunate. 100% fucked instead of the .... 87% we are at right now.
Lung stood, slowly, still covering part of his face with his hand. He walked with a slight limp as he approached me. Blindly, he lashed out with a broad wave of flame that rolled over half the roof. I covered my head with my hands and brought my knees to my chest as the hot air and flame rushed over me. My costume seemed to take the brunt of it, but it was still hot enough I had to bite my lip to stop from making a sound.
The costume seems to be fire resistant! Mostly.
Spider silk is fucking badass.
Lung stopped advancing, slowly turning his head from one side to another.
“Cock. Sucker,” he growled in his heavily accented voice, his cussing interrupted by his panting for breath, “Move. Give me something to aim for.”
Actual perfect recreation of trying to hunt a fly at 4 am in the morning when you can’t sleep, and aren’t a white hot metal terror.
I held my breath and stayed as still as possible. What could I do? I still had the pepper spray in my hand, but even if I got him again, I was running the risk that he would lash out and bake me alive before I could move. If I moved first, he would hear me and I would get knocked around by another blast of flame, probably before I could get to my feet.
Eeeh your options are...
1) Spray him in the face, get blasted
2) Stay quiet.... probably get blasted as well.
3)Try to get away, and get... I’m starting to see a pattern here
Lung moved his hand from his face. He blinked a few times, then looked around, then blinked a few more times. It was a matter of seconds before he could see well enough to make me out from the shadows. Wasn’t pepper spray supposed to put someone down for thirty minutes? How was this monster not an A-Lister?
Well ain’t that a fucking horrible thing to think about.
Either:
1) He’s way stronger than he should be and he’s basically content with being small-time thug, even with the potential he has in the larger world stage
or...
2) He’s a big fish in a small pond and the people out there make him look silly by comparison which is.... holy shit.
He suddenly moved, flames wreathing his hands, and I screwed my eyes shut.
At least he’s not saying feel the heat over and over
And also how the fuck will you get out of this one
When I heard the crackling whoosh of the flame and wasn’t burned alive, I opened my eyes again. Lung was firing streams of flame, aiming for the edge of the roof of the adjacent building, a three story apartment. I looked to see what he was aiming at, but couldn’t make anything out in the gloom or in the brief second of light Lung’s flames afforded.
!!!!!
Reinforcements!! Someone has come to help!! Or at least to fight AGAINST Lung!!
Yes!
With no warning, a massive shape landed atop Lung with an impact I could swear people heard at the other end of the street. The size of a van, the ‘massive object’ was animal rather than vehicle, resembling a cross between a lizard and a tiger, with tangles of muscle and bone where it ought to have skin, scales or fur. Lung was now on his knees, holding one of the beast’s sizable claws away from his face with his own clawed hand.
OH FUCK
A GIANT FUCKING METAL-LOOKING BONEY FERAL BEAST JUST FELL FROM NOWHERE AND IS FIGHTING AGAINST THE INFERNAL DRAGON MAN
Lung used his free hand to strike the creature across the snout. Even though he was smaller than the beast, the impact made it rear back. It took a few short steps back in reaction, and then rhino-charged him off the edge of the roof. They hit the street with an audible crash.
AND THE TWO BERSERKERS ARE HURLING THEMSELVES OFF OF THE BUILDING TO THE STREET BELOW
This is glorious.
I stood, aware I was shaking like a leaf. I was so unsteady on my feet, from the mixed relief and fear, that I almost fell over again as two more impacts shook the roof. Two more creatures, similar to the first in texture, but slightly different in size and shape, had arrived on the rooftop. These two each had a pair of riders. I watched as the people slid off the backs of the animals. There were two girls, a guy, and a fourth I identified as male only because of the height. The tall one approached me, while the others hurried to the edge of the roof to watch Lung and the creature duke it out.
THEY WERE JUST THE RIDES FOR THESE PEOPLE
What a fucking entrance
“You really saved us a lot of trouble,” he told me. His voice was deep, masculine, but muffled by the helmet he wore. He was dressed entirely in black, a costume I realized was basically motorcycle leathers and a motorcycle helmet. The only thing that made me think it was a costume was the visor of his helmet. The full-face visor was sculpted to look like a stylized skull, and was as black as the rest of his costume, with only the faint highlights of reflected light on the surface to give a sense of what it was. It was one of those costumes that people put together out of what they can scrounge up, and it wasn’t half bad if you didn’t look too close. He reached out a hand towards me, and I leaned away, wary.
Damn he looks cool. He’s giving me ghost rider vibes in his outfit, but without the flaming skull part. Just badass biker energy
I didn’t know what to say, so I stuck to my policy of not saying anything that could get me into a worse situation.
At least you are not on fire, even though mr black leather and his zombie behemoths aren’t really giving me heroic vibes
Withdrawing his hand, the man in black jerked his thumb over one shoulder, “When we got word Lung was aiming to come after us tonight, we were pretty freaked. We were arguing strategy for the better part of the day. We eventually decided, fuck it, we’d meet him halfway. Wing it. Not my usual way of doing things, but yeah.”
Oh! ooooohhhh.
So the “Killing kids” part wasn’t actually murdering random civilians for the evulz
It was probably a territorial dispute! Cause these are totally villains or anti-heroes/vigilantes. Either/or
Behind him, one of the girls whistled sharply and pointed down at the street. The two monsters the group had been riding on bounded across the roof and leaped down to the street to join the fight.
Seems like that one is the trainer.
The guy in black kept talking, “Wouldn’t you know, his flunky Lee is there with a half dozen guys, but Lung and the rest of his gang are nowhere to be found,” he laughed, a surprisingly normal sound for someone wearing a mask with a skull on it.
He doesn’t seem to consider us a threat at least so that’s a relief
So they fought his underling while our girl here, on her lonesome, straight up picked a fight with bossman.
“Lee’s no slouch in a fight, but there’s a reason he’s not leader of the ABB. He got spooked without his boss there and ran. I guess you’re responsible for that?” Skull-mask waited for a response from me. When I didn’t offer one, he ventured towards the edge of the roof and looked down, then spoke without turning to look at me, “Lung is getting creamed. The fuck you do to him?”
Oh shit the venoms or the eye-injuries are making a difference in helping the hell-mount win!
“Pepper spray, wasp and bee stings, fire ants and spider bites,” the second of the girls said, answering the question for me. She was dressed in a skintight outfit that combined black with a pale shade of blue or purple – I couldn’t tell in the dark – and her dark blond hair was long and windblown. The girl grinned as she added, “He’s not holding up too well. Gonna feel a helluvalot worse tomorrow.”
She can know all that with just a look??
Information-based powers!! Intuition? Clairvoyance? Omniscience? Those always seem crazy OP to me in terms of offering support!
The man in black suddenly turned to look at me, “Introductions. That’s Tattletale. I’m Grue. The girl with the dogs-” he pointed to the other girl, the one who had whistled and directed the monsters. She wasn’t in costume unless I counted a plaid skirt, army boots, a torn-up sleeveless T-shirt and a hard plastic, dollar-store rottweiler mask as a costume. “-We call her Bitch, her preference, but in the interests of being P.G., the good guys and media decided to call her Hellhound instead. Last and certainly least, we have Regent.”
Grue? Huh, I can’t really guess what he could do based on that. Isn’t it like an urban legend or fairytale monster?
Tattletale...so her power IS information based! I also like the simpleness of her costume which I hadn’t mentioned
Bitch (Hellhound think of the children! ) looks really butch and badass from what I can hear. She seems to be the one with the beast power, cue the “Bitch” in her name
Regent...hmmm, something nobility-related?
I finally caught up with what he was saying. Those monsters were dogs?
Abyssal doggos!!
“Fuck you, Grue,” Regent retorted, with a chuckle and a tone of voice that made it clear he wasn’t really that offended. He was wearing a white mask, not quite as decorative or made up as the ones I associated with the carnivals in Venice, but similar. He’d placed a silver coronet around his short black curls, and wore a ruffled white shirt with skintight leggings tucked into knee-high boots. The outfit was very renaissance faire. He had a build that made me think more of a dancer than a bodybuilder.
He looks really theatrical. I really like his aesthetics. I still wonder what his power is.
Introductions done, Grue looked at me for several long moments. After a few seconds, he asked me, “Hey, you okay? You hurt?”
“The reason she’s not introducing herself isn’t because she’s hurt,” Tattletale told him, as she continued to lean over the edge of the roof and watch whatever was going on at the street level, “It’s because she’s shy.”
Damn omniscients and their lack of privacy!!
Her power is actually scary though. No secrets with her around..
Tattletale turned around and it looked like she was going to say something else, but she stopped, turning her head. The smile she’d been wearing faded, “Heads up. We’ve gotta scram.”
Bitch nodded in response and whistled, one short whistle followed by two long ones. After a brief pause, the building was suddenly rattled by impacts. In just moments, the three creatures of hers leaped from the alleys to either side of the building and onto the roof.
Grue turned towards me. I was still standing on the opposite end of the roof, by the fire escape. “Hey, want a ride?”
What?? Oh god is someone else coming as well?? What now?
I looked at the creatures – dogs? They were bloodied, snarling creatures out of a nightmare. I shook my head. He shrugged.
The dogs look like something you would see on doom and it is amazing
“Hey,” Tattletale said to me, seating herself just behind Bitch, “What’s your name?”
I stared at her. My voice caught in my throat before I was able to get the words out, “I don’t… I haven’t picked one yet.”
“Well, Bug, a cape is gonna show up in less than a minute. You did us a solid by dealing with Lung, so take my advice. Someone from the Protectorate shows up, finds two bad guys duking it out, they’re not going to let one walk away. You should get out of here,” She said. She flashed me a smile. She had one of those vulpine grins that turned up at the corners. Behind her simple black domino style mask, her eyes were glittering with mischief. If she had red hair, she would have made me think of a fox. She kind of did, anyways.
It’s true she doesn’t have a name yet! I guess bug would suffice for now.
And yuup they were bad guys, I knew it. Seems they have mistaken Taylor for one!
Well when you take into account the possibly too-grimdark edgy-lite costume and what she fucking did to Lung with her bugs in his eyes.... yeah I could see how they can draw that conclusion
With that, they leaped over my head, one of the three beasts hitting or stepping on the fire escape on the way down, eliciting a screech of metal on metal.
When I realized what had just happened, I could have cried. It was easy enough to pin down Regent, Tattletale and Bitch as teenagers. It wasn’t much of an intuitive leap to guess that Grue had been one too. The ‘children’ Lung had mentioned, the ones I had gone to so much effort to save tonight, were bad guys. Not only that, but they had mistaken me for one, too.
Happy first day out as a hero, Taylor! Well done!
And it still might not be over yet, let’s see what happens with this hero arrival. Let’s hope they don’t reach the same conclusions this time.
But we will see that next time! See you in the next update!
22 notes
·
View notes
Text
Ectober 2018, Day 19: Mistakes
Helpless: Part 3 (Part 1 | Part 2)
The more Star looks, the more cracks and inconsistencies she sees in Danny’s story—not that that makes it much easier to fill in the blanks.
Now that she was watching for it, Star could see of a lot of things that didn’t add up where Danny Fenton was concerned.
It had been almost a week, and she still bore the telltale scratches and bruises from the ghost fight and her fall through the floor—or, more accurately, her landing and subsequent journey in the dark. But Danny, who had been fighting and dodging and slipping and ramming into desks, looked fine.
He always looked fine.
Even though Dash had shoved him into his locker three times this week.
She didn’t cheer Dash on anymore, but she hadn’t said anything to try to stop it, either. After her detention and with her appearance being what it was, she was on thin ice with the A-listers until she was blemish-free again. She’d seen what had happened to Valerie; she didn’t want to go through that herself if she could avoid it.
And if she stuck out her neck for Fenton now, he’d know something was up.
If preserving the status quo and actually learning the truth meant enduring the scowls of Danny’s loser friends who probably knew more of the story than she did, then so be it.
She kept a closer eye on him in the classes they shared together. Given how often he fell asleep in class, it was easy to believe he was up half the night helping Phantom fight ghosts. It was less easy to believe he managed that without his parents noticing anything, but she didn’t know Mr. and Mrs. Fenton very well, all things considered.
What she noted now, though, was the way Danny would abruptly sit up with a gasp before making up some excuse to leave class. Lancer knew it was only an excuse—he had to—but he usually let Danny go anyway. Eventually, if not immediately. Maybe in case it wasn’t just an excuse. Or because he knew Danny would run off anyway.
Shortly thereafter, there would be some signs of a ghost fight, and Phantom would be there.
Danny never was.
If Phantom was waking Danny up—if the shock of being touched by an invisible ghost was what had him gasping and inventing excuses—then what purpose did Danny play? Surely he wasn’t just the weapons supplier. If he were, he’d just need to keep a stockpile somewhere Phantom could get at it. She was pretty sure even the stuff that ghosts couldn’t phase through could still be phased out a locker.
There were a few times Danny came back with a limp or cradling an arm, but he always tried to brush it off. The one time it had looked more serious to Star’s eye, Sam and Tucker had watched him like hawks, and Danny had managed to avoid Dash that day. He’d favoured his leg in gym, but after that? He hadn’t been skipping home, but he hadn’t been limping, either.
She knew people who didn’t bruise very easily, but she didn’t know anyone else who could shake off an injury that fast. His parents were scientists, but she wasn’t convinced he trusted them enough to take experimental drugs, and she doubted they’d actually experiment on their kids. But how could Phantom help heal him? Ectoplasm helped ghosts regenerate because they were made of the stuff. Besides, as far as she understood, ectoplasm had to be incredibly concentrated or in extremely high levels to have any noticeable effect on humans.
Star closed her locker, and Valerie was there, waiting for her, as she had been every day. This time, Paulina wasn’t around to head her off; she’d slipped into the washroom to reapply her lipstick, making it quite clear that even if Star didn’t come with her, she was expected to wait.
Which made her a sitting duck for Valerie.
“You can’t avoid me forever,” Valerie hissed. “I know associating with me doesn’t do you any social favours, but the least you can do is fill me in. You can’t just change the subject whenever we talk on the phone.”
Valerie knew there had been a ghost fight. The entire school knew it. Valerie also knew Star had been in detention that day, and—coupled with her appearance now and at the Nasty Burger—would’ve put two and two together. Star had seen her trying to talk to Danny before, but Valerie clearly hadn’t been satisfied with his answers, which was why she kept coming back to Star.
“It was a ghost attack. Like always.” Star shifted her bag, wondering how long she could stall before Valerie would have to run to the Nasty Burger to start her shift. Probably not long enough. “It was some new ghost, an ice one. I hadn’t seen him before.”
“What’d it look like?”
“Like he could use a haircut. And a makeover.” Star managed not to smile at Valerie’s frown, but she really would be suspicious if Star didn’t spill some of the obvious details. “He wasn’t human, just humanoid. Kinda like that talking wolf, except he spoke English.”
“How did he fight?”
“Like a ghost.” Star really wasn’t sure what Valerie was asking—or why, for that matter. “Just…ice attacks, flying, phasing, that sort of thing. He was good. Thought he might get us before Phantom showed up to take care of him.”
Valerie couldn’t hide her scowl. “Danny said Phantom phased you guys out of the room.”
“He saved us. Every exit was frozen over. He’s the only reason we aren’t popsicles. I know you don’t like him, Valerie, but cut him some slack. He’s at least trying to make up for all the bad things he’s done, and I’m pretty sure the good outweighs the bad.”
“Not yet it doesn’t,” Valerie muttered.
Star decided not to poke the bear. She knew Valerie’s opinion of Phantom wasn’t going to change easily. “I lost my phone in the fight. Danny found it, but he didn’t stick around, and after everything was over, I didn’t know where he was. That’s why I needed your phone. Happy?”
“Not really. I’m not convinced you’re telling me everything, and I’m definitely not convinced you can take care of yourself if you’re in another fight. You’re still my friend. I don’t want to see a ghost get you. Phantom’s not always going to be pretending to be the good guy.”
“Maybe you’re right,” Star said, “but if that’s the case, wait till he makes a mistake to set your sights on him, okay? He’s helping now.”
“If you took some lessons and learned how to defend yourself—”
“Valerie, these are ghosts. If one of them wanted to, they could fly into me and take over my body right now. No training is going to help that.”
“Actually, mental—”
“I don’t want to have this conversation again,” Star interrupted. “I appreciate your concern, I do, but I’ve got other things to think about right now.”
Valerie rolled her eyes. “What you’re going to wear to Paulina’s party tomorrow doesn’t count.”
Star hadn’t forgotten about that—Paulina was talking about it too much for that to be possible—but it was one of the farthest things from her mind.
Best not to let Valerie realize that, though.
She said nothing, letting Valerie assume she’d caught her out.
“Just…promise me you’ll at least think about learning some self-defence? And maybe picking up one of the FentonWorks weapons? They had this laser lipstick thing at their last show—”
“Valerie, I’m more likely to forget I have something like a laser lipstick and accidentally fry half my face when I go to put it on than to actually use it well in a ghost fight. I mean, come on. I get that you’re interested in this stuff after what happened, but don’t pretend you’re an expert. You barely know more than I do when it comes to actual ghost hunting. It’s not like you’re carrying around a bag full of weapons right now, are you?”
Valerie winced. “Point taken,” she conceded at last, “but at least I’m educated.”
“Consider me warned,” Star said, “and we’ll work on educated and trained later.” She flicked her eyes over Valerie’s shoulder. “Paulina’s done. I’ve gotta go.”
“Okay, Star. Just…be careful. Don’t trust everyone so much, okay? Especially Phantom.”
Especially Phantom? What about especially Danny? If his sleep patterns were anything to go by, he’d been doing this while dating her. And since Val’s hatred of Phantom wasn’t exactly a secret, even if she tried not to let it get the better of her, Star sincerely doubted Danny had told her anything.
No wonder they hadn’t lasted.
“I know what I’m doing,” Star murmured as she walked past, “but thanks anyway.”
She hated being rude to Valerie, but Paulina was waiting for her now, and there was only so much Star could get away with. Valerie would know that, even if she wouldn’t like it. It was…hard, maintaining even this much of a friendship with a former A-lister. They were supposed to cut all ties when someone was dropped from the group, but Star had been that person, and she’d hated it. The balancing act she did now, walking the line and sometimes straddling two rungs of the social ladder—that’s about as adventurous as she got. Protection had never lain in rebellion with Star; she’d found surviving a lot easier when she fit in. When she blended in. When she wasn’t a target—from ghosts or other students.
Now, she was beginning to realize just how much she might have missed because of that.
Valerie didn’t have to hide her determination, her fierceness, her fire. She was a force to be reckoned with and everyone knew it, which had saved her from being a bottom feeder on the social food chain when she’d been dropped from the A-listers.
Danny? He apparently had a double life. He worked with Phantom, something that could win him instant social fame, but he didn’t take advantage of that.
She remembered how hard he and Tucker had tried to claw their way up, both before and after Manson had come to town. She remembered Danny’s horribly obvious crush on Paulina. Even after losing his pants while asking her out and otherwise making a huge fool of himself and becoming the laughing stock of the school, he could have saved everything. He could have used Phantom as leverage.
He hadn’t.
So why not?
He had never struck her as someone who thought long and hard about consequences of things like that. Manson? Sure. That girl was more aware than Foley or Fenton. She had some pull, even if the other two didn’t realize quite how much. But for Fenton to hold off on something that could give him what he wanted? For Foley to keep quiet about it when he had to know what was going on, when his association with Danny would win him favour if the truth about Danny and Phantom came out?
No.
This wasn’t just keeping something from Danny’s parents.
Especially not if they knew how his sister felt about Phantom and everything he was doing for this town.
They might not know how much Danny associated with ghosts, and they wouldn’t like the idea of Danny fighting with a ghost against other ghosts, but they’d be thrilled that he was hunting ghosts at all. They’d be training him, too. He wouldn’t need to sneak around and get training from ghosts in wherever the heck this Far Frozen place was supposed to be. He could get good training from them, use the opportunity to plead Phantom’s case, and maybe use his previous work with Phantom as evidence to bolster his case that Phantom wasn’t the bad guy. It might be rough, but they could find out what he was up to and things would turn out more or less all right.
So what really had him spooked?
Paulina was talking about tomorrow night’s party again, chattering enough for the two of them as they made their way to the Nasty Burger. Star paid only as much attention as necessary; she was too busy planning her reason to leave. Danny was in detention again—he hadn’t turned in his last assignment, so Lancer was making him do it under his watch—and Star planned to catch up with him when he got out.
His friends Sam and Tucker apparently had the same idea and had claimed their usual spot at the Nasty Burger.
This time, she didn’t assume their frequent glances out the window meant they hoped Danny might arrive early.
If he was involved in something, chances were very good that they were, too.
But if Phantom was going to pick allies, why them? Even if he wanted the insider info on all the FentonWorks weapons that Danny could provide, Jazz was likely the better source for that. And she was definitely less clumsy than her brother if Phantom actually needed help in the field. Even if her coordination wasn’t great off the start, it wouldn’t take her long to improve. So why Danny over Jazz? Or why not just go to the Fentons for information and nothing else?
If Phantom just wanted a fighter, why not enlist one of the jocks? Because he didn’t think they could keep a secret? Or because they were an obvious choice? Danny certainly wasn’t. But maybe that was why. He wasn’t the smartest kid in school or a star football player. He still had things to lose, but maybe it wasn’t as steep a trade. To be honest, Star couldn’t remember how good Danny’s grades had been before all this, but they’d slipped. He never used to get into this much trouble. Maybe Phantom hadn’t wanted someone with more to lose to risk it—not just for their sake, but for his.
Because Danny was less visible.
And the reasons for his sliding grades and truant behaviour could be explained in other ways; they already were.
He wasn’t just a convenient choice; he was a strategic one.
Star made her excuses to Paulina ten minutes before Danny was due to get out of detention. She’d missed him two days ago—she still wasn’t sure how—and had had cheerleading practice on the weekend ahead of yesterday’s game. Danny could be surprisingly difficult to find; even with all the information she’d managed to wheedle out of Valerie while trying to avoid giving away too much about the ghost attack, it felt like sometimes he just dropped off the face of the earth.
Not that she’d ever actually gone to his house.
That would instantly kill her chances to stay an A-lister for sure, since word was bound to get around even if there were no visible witnesses. (The ghosts had to be gossips.) And she couldn’t afford that. She just wanted information right now, and tracking Danny down at his house without a good reason wasn’t the way to get that. She wasn’t willing to commit social suicide for this. Not yet.
But try to get evidence of him working with Phantom? Sure. Except she still didn’t have anything concrete. She couldn’t even prove that it was Phantom contacting Danny during class.
Eavesdrop whenever possible? Definitely. She just rarely got the opportunity, since Paulina made a point of avoiding losers whenever possible. When she did overhear something, most of it didn’t make sense, and she typically couldn’t tell when Danny and his friends were talking about some video game and when they weren’t.
That’s why Star had decided to take another risk and straight up talk to Danny again. Not another demand for explanations—that still wouldn’t work—but a plea. She wanted an introduction. A meeting. She wanted to thank Phantom for saving her—and see what he said about the situation. It was an angle she hadn’t had a chance to explore, and she needed whatever she could get.
She was a block from the school when she heard the explosion, and as she rounded the corner, she saw the smoke.
Another ghost attack.
Which meant Danny would have been let out of detention early again, for his own safety.
Star groaned and started to run, not sure if there was even a chance that she could catch up to him now. He was probably long gone. Anyone smart would be. They wouldn’t be running towards a fight like she was!
Except that he said he did this on a regular basis. Just not out in the open where anyone—including his parents—could see him.
As she reached the front lawn of the school, Star’s foot came down on a loose clump of dirt, a remnant from a previous explosion. She twisted, instinct from cheerleading practice not quite enough to prevent pain from stabbing up her leg. She rolled to a stop and hissed out a breath as she touched her ankle. This wasn’t enough to take her out, but it would slow her down.
“Star, watch out!”
She turned at the call and could only stare at the stray missile rocketing towards her. She lurched forward—
--and her entire body went cold.
Weightless.
The missile exploded, and dirt flew through her.
It was just like before, except she wasn’t sinking into the ground beneath her feet. Instead of pushing her or letting her fall, Phantom had a death grip around her middle and was pulling her out of the blast zone. She knew he was flying—she could see the ground moving; they weren’t just hovering in one spot—but she couldn’t feel the wind.
Heaviness and warmth smothered her as Phantom released her. Her legs buckled despite her best efforts. When she looked back at him, he had his hands on his knees and was panting. “Run,” was all he said when he noticed her gaze. As if she could run very easily after what she’d done. “I’ll lead him the other way.”
Him.
Skulker.
Someone he’d taken down hundreds of times by now. What was different this time? Sure, sometimes Skulker’s suit went through various upgrades, but—
“You don’t have a thermos,” she blurted as realization struck. No thermos, no way of catching the ghost.
But wasn’t that what Danny was supposed to provide? Weapons? Support? I help Phantom, he’d said, but where was he now? He couldn’t just be used for information, not with how he’d moved. He’d been in more than the few ghost fights she’d seen; experience had been evident in his every move, every calculation.
Phantom didn’t stop, didn’t even glance back, and she wasn’t sure if he’d heard her. He yelled a taunt at Skulker instead, trying to get the other ghost to chase him. Trying to draw Skulker’s attention away from her, the newcomer who might otherwise be used to bait Phantom into a trap. Just like Danny had done with Icebreaker.
Star was on her feet, favouring one leg but still standing on two, when Skulker’s retort came: “Your pelt will be mine, whelp!”
Nothing she hadn’t heard before. Phantom’s response was equally predictable. She’d be more surprised that he knew her name than at what he said now if she didn’t know he worked with Danny.
But then Skulker growled, “A halfa pelt will be the prize of my collection,” following it all with another volley of missiles as he flew after Phantom, and Star’s breath caught in her throat.
Continued for Day 26
(see more fics)
#ectober 2018#danny phantom#fanfiction#ectober2018#phanfiction#dp fanfiction#star#valerie gray#my writing#ladylynse#snippets#dp snippet
140 notes
·
View notes
Text
In Too Deep
Chapter 4
Four months later
“Lexy ! Come into my office and shut the door behind you please.” I knew she meant business by the frown marks etched between her eyebrows and the way her eyes locked on mine the moment the lock snapped shut on the door. “Sit down and just take notes for a moment. We’ve got more work than sense coming in and we need to keep on top of all the requests before we drown,” she sighed, gazing at the piles of paperwork piled high on every work surface.
“I need you to take on extra work I’m afraid. We’ve lost Jerry and Adam over the past couple of months and they were my fucking go-to party planner boys. You know I can’t replace their contacts and I’m having to turn down work. I need you to step up for a few months until I can recruit some more talent Lexy.” The phone rang and she grabbed it, checking out the number. Not recognised.
Carrie hit the answer button: “Morning, Blue Sky Party Planners, how can we help?”
I zoned out for a moment, looking at all the Hollywood A-listers plastered over the walls, some drunk, others half-dressed, at parties Carrie had organised. I was half pleased that she’d asked me to help out, after all I’d only joined the team three months ago. But the other more shy and modest side of me was flustered, panicked and feeling slightly out of its depth.
After leaving LAX and saying my goodbyes to Shannon, I’d hardly had time to think of anything but finding my place in this sprawling city. Now here I was, facing a very steep learning curve.
Carrie’s voice brought me back down to earth with a crash. “Grab your purse!. We’re off for a coffee and a brief on your first job. You’ll need your notebook, pens, pencils and your phone,” she said, grabbing her bag while practically running out of the office.
I hurried in her wake, the waft of YSL trailing behind her. It was her trademark and I kinda liked it but not for myself. By the time we made it outside, I could feel the heat from the sidewalk hit me. “Jesus Lexy, we’re in the nearest coffee shop out of this bloody heat.” Our local was always waiting with a welcome espresso. We sat in a cool and quiet corner, away from the window and its distractions.
“So.....” I said. “What’s the job you have planned for me?” Our coffees arrived, halting the conversation for a moment, while we both breathed in the aroma and got our first caffeine hit of the day. “Well,” I said excitedly. “Let me know what you’ve got planned.” I know she could tell that under the excitement, there was a slight knot of dread building in the pit of my stomach.
“Lexy, you’ll be fine for Christ’s sake. Relax for once and believe in yourself, will you!” I smiled, cradling my espresso cup in my hands. “You know me Carrie, always worrying that I’ll mess up and disappoint you.”
“Well shut the fuck up and listen because this is a pretty good one to get your teeth into. And yes ... I’ll kill you if you fuck up!” she grinned, looking at the terror in my eyes. “Only joking, but seriously, this is a great party for you to kick off with. Get your pad out and I’ll give you the details.
I chewed the end of my pencil as she reeled off a list of things I needed to know:
Jared leto
Laurel Canyon,
Hollywood Hills
Military base
Birthday party
A-list guests
*BIG SECRET
Those caps were ordered by Carrie. “We’re sworn to secrecy on this one hun, so lips sealed! I’ve made an appointment for 5pm. Jared will meet you at his home and go through the finer details with you OK?”
“Yeah, sure. Do we know who the birthday party’s for?” I asked this while swirling my finger around my coffee cup, licking the creamy foam from my fingers. Bad habit, I know, and from the look on Carrie’s face she thought the same. “For Christ sake don’t do that in front of Jared ... and no, I have no idea who the party’s for. Just get your ass to his place and make it on time. He doesn’t suffer fools gladly, especially those who’re late for meetings.”
Now was not the time to voice similarities between Jared and my boss, so I bit my tongue. Nor was it the time to admit I’d never even heard of Jared Leto.
Thank God for satnav. This was definitely not my part of town; way, way out of my league. I smiled at the thought of the modest duplex I shared with my work colleague Jess, as I craned my neck to look at some of these amazing properties. I felt butterflies in my stomach as I made a mental check list of things to remember. I didn’t need a brain freeze on my first appointment.
Casting my eyes down to the screen, I could see I was just a minute from Jared’s house. There hadn’t been much time for homework, I admit, but I knew the bare bones: actor, musician, Gucci muse. If I’d had more time with Google, I’d have been better prepared ... but this was business and I had a list as long as my arm to work through with him.
The aircon in the car had lulled me. As I threw open the car door, the heat of the day burned into my skin as I took in the sheer size of the place.
“Hi I’m Emma!” I almost jumped out of my skin. I’d been too wrapped up in my party planning thoughts to notice the woman approaching me with a welcoming smile on her face.
“I’m Jared’s assistant. Come with me. He won’t be a moment. He’s just taking some calls and he’ll be with you. Can I get you some water or juice?”
She was really sweet and I could feel the tension melt away as I accepted a bottle of chilled water.
“How big is this place? It’s amazing!” I couldn’t help the words tumbling out.
“Believe me, it’s silly big,” Emma laughed, watching my eyes sweep across the space we were sat in. “It’s an old air force station. Not what you’d call a conventional family home. Anyway, Jared’s not what you’d call conventional, so it’s a perfect match.
“I’ll have to leave you now. I’ve got a mountain of work to get through,” she said apologetically. “Just give Jared another few minutes and he’ll be with you.” With that she was gone, lost in the hugeness of this house.
Without Emma, I felt lost again. I curled my legs underneath me on the sofa, opening my bag and pulling out my notes. I zoned out as I went through my check list, making sure I hadn’t forgotten anything. My phone vibrated, sending a jolt through my thighs and into my stomach.
CARRIE: Don’t submit to any of his charm offensive!!!!!!!!!
ME: WHAT??????
CARRIE: You obviously haven’t met him yet .....
I shoved my phone out of sight in my bag, flustered and wondering where the fuck he was. And I don’t use the word “fuck” lightly.
I gathered my papers into a pile on the sofa, unaware of footsteps approaching from behind.
“So you’re Lexy ....” the voice was dominant, yet soft, and made me jump, as I turned my body to face him.
Keep professional Lexy ... that’s all I could think. “Hi! Yes I’ve come to discuss your party plans. Shall we sit down somewhere and we can go through the details?” He was watching my every move, I could tell. He let my words fall into a void, waiting for a reaction to the silence between us. I felt a shiver run across me. “Shall we go and find somewhere then?” I took control of the situation, standing while smoothing the creases from my linen dress, an impossible task I know, but it distracted me for a moment.
“Of course Lexy. Let’s go to my office where it’s quiet and we can talk.” The spell was broken. I followed behind, watching his confident strides eating up the endless space of this house. He opened the door and gestured for me to sit on a corner sofa. His desk was cluttered with paper, a laptop and piles of other work. “So where do you want to begin?” I asked, pulling my notes together.
We must have spent the next three hours hammering out the details. Like Carrie's list earlier, I now had another list, this time from Jared:
Brother’s birthday party
Select guest list
Pool party
DJ
Fairy lights (hundreds!)
Catering
Coffee
Birthday present
*BIG SECRET
What else can he possibly want???? “What timescale are we looking at here Jared,” I said, rubbing the edge of my pen across my bottom lip. “When’s your brother’s birthday?”
“March 9. You have two weeks to pull this shit together,” he said laughing at the look of horror that must have been etched on my face. He reached over and playfully punched my arm. “We’ve nailed most of my party needs. Put your notes away and follow me,” he demanded.
“I need to get back to the office if I’m to stand any chance of meeting my deadline Jared!”
“All work and no play Lexy! Forget the party for a couple of hours and let’s get to know each other.”
I remembered Carrie’s text and tried breathing deeply. Before I could reply, I felt his hands tug me from the sofa, pressing into the pit of my back and guiding me out of the house and to the poolside.
We’d been working for so long that I’d lost track of time and was surprised to see the sun setting over the hills, turning the sky pinky red. I curled up on a huge outdoor sofa-type chair while Jared disappeared inside.
“Here, take this!” He handed me a glass of white wine, chilled to perfection. “Jared, I’m driving and I’m supposed to be working!”
“I can see you need to relax. Drink the wine, enjoy and we’ll get you home some way or other.” His blue eyes locked on mine, daring me to look away. He’d tied up his hair while inside, uncovering his cheekbones and firm jawline. “One drink Jared, one drink and then I’ll have to go,” I laughed, trying to break the spell.
“OK Miss! Shift over and let me sit down,” he said, gently moving my legs to one side as he curled up alongside me. “So Lexy, spill the beans of your life. I can tell you’re not from LA, so what’s brought you down here?”
I took a gulp of wine to steady my nerves before telling him my life story. As the words spilled out, helped by the alcohol, I could feel the emotion of the day building inside of me, as I told him about the death of my mother. My mind shifted, remembering the flight to LA and the comforting arms of Shannon.
We’d parted with a hug and kiss but no promise of anything else. And I hadn’t followed it up. But now, those memories clouded my thoughts.
“Hey babe, have I lost you?” I felt Jared’s hand cup my chin and lift my face to his. “You OK?” he asked.
“Sorry, I ummmm just was thinking....” I didn’t know what else to say. Those eyes were piercing and I could see he wanted a better explanation.
“Look Jared,” I said, gently removing his fingers from my face. Honesty is best here. “You’re making me nervous and talking about my mum brought back other memories, which are still a little painful for me to deal with. All these emotions and this wine,” I held up the frosted glass, “are making me feel a little vulnerable. I just need you to understand.”
The sun had fully set by now and our faces were illuminated by the pool lights and nothing else. “What can I do to help then?” He moved closer and put his arm around my shoulder. A tattoo caught my eye and stirred up some long-forgotten memory.
“How about giving me double the time to plan for this party,” I smiled, digging him playfully in the ribs and almost spilling my wine.
“You know that’s not going to happen, so what else can I do?” He smiled this time, his face cast in shadow, as he moved closer. Again my mind cast back to Carrie’s warning but it was becoming increasingly bloody hard to ignore this charm offensive. I ran my tongue over my bottom lip as the tension worked its way from thighs into the pit of my stomach, sending a throbbing ache into my core.
I felt his scruff graze across my cheek as pulled me in closer. The warmth from his body instantly relaxed me and I gave in, resting my head on his chest as his fingers massaged my neck and trailed across my shoulders. I could feel myself getting wet and that ache spreading across my body as his slender fingers worked their magic.
I hadn’t felt like this since I met Shannon and I felt a pang of guilt at not trying to contact him. I just remembered his words about a crazy life and not wanting me to get hurt.
The pool lights shimmered and the water rippled as a breeze caught the night air. Suddenly the tension was broken as I felt Jared’s phone vibrating in his pocket. I’d noticed it was always within reach. “Shit, I’m sorry,” he said, shifting his body so he could take the call. I sat there listening to the one-sided conversation.
“Hey! You OK?” I continued half listening to the casual chat, the other part of me trying to calm myself and work out my escape.
“My brother always calls at the worst possible moment,” Jared whispered, slipping his phone back into his pocket.
Thanks for all your likes and responses, If you want to be tagged, just let me know. And a big thanks to @spillinginkwithlove xx
Tag list @letojokerownsme
#shannon leto#shannon leto fan fic#jared leto#jared leto fan fic#30stm#30stm fanfiction#shannon leto 30stm#black fuel#jared leto 30stm
34 notes
·
View notes
Text
Ad-vengers in Babysitting
for @ifdragonscouldtalk ‘s challenge, Avenging comes in Small Packages.
“Hey, platypus,” Tony said, mock cheerfully. “You busy? I could use some backup here.”
Rhodey could always tell when Tony was fronting. It was a skill that Rhodey had developed out of sheer self-defense. “I’m not currently on duty,” he said, carefully. “What’s wrong?”
“Wrong, sour patch? Why would anything be wrong?”
“Aside from the use of the word backup, and also, the alarmingly there’s-nothing-wrong-here voice you’re using. Don’t bullshit me, Tones, just tell me what it is.”
“I… might need you to track down a bad guy for me and smack him around a little until he gives you his magic hourglass.”
“Uh… you might want to start at the beginning? And like, should I be taking notes, and where the hell is the rest of your actual team?”
“Right here, sugarlump,” Tony said. “They’re… uh… All about four to seven years old.”
“Okay, on my way,” Rhodey said. He shook his head and twisted the grey chased black bracelet that he wore all the time, even though it was against a dozen uniform violations. His suit was not -- and would never be -- as cool and responsive as the Iron Man armor, but that was because he couldn’t afford to be down on Tony’s lab every single day and letting Tony fuck with it. (Also, Rhodey had no intentions of going through the nanobot injections, he’d seen the scars Tony had from that, and no thank you.)
But the bracelet would notify his armor that he was on the way -- even with the prosthetics that Tony had rigged up for him, Rhodey just wasn’t as fast as he used to be -- and get everything ready.
“Stay in the suit,” Tony cautioned him. “This de-aging dust is pernicious.”
“Yeah? So how old are you right now?”
“‘Bout thirty, ish. Hard to tell, really,” Tony said. “I’m in the suit, which doesn’t exactly come with a rear-view mirror for me to admire my makeup in.”
“You put the suit on and it kept this from happening?”
“Well, I popped the faceplate and he got me with a little bit of the dust, so I think the sealed environment keeps it out.” Tony said. “I’m leaving the suit on because Bruce has temper tantrums and a five year old Hulk is destructive as shit. Just sayin’, kid’s got some anger management issues. And let me tell you, I need serious therapy for smacking a five year old around, even if he was a Hulk. Well, mostly I just sat on him, but still. This is not enhancing my calm at all.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s not what they mean by babysitting, Tony,” Rhodey said. He stripped out of his jacket, tie, and regulation shoes before letting War Machine close up around him. Ah, he loved being in the armor. Even after the fall, he still felt safe inside… like, if he died in the armor, it would be the best possible death.
“Boot me up, baby,” he told the suit as he stepped in.
“Good morning, Colonel Rhodes,” ROXY said, her voice fond. She was still a little stiff, not quite as expressive as Friday, or as JARVIS had been, but Rhodey loved her, too.
(more below the cut)
“Okay,” he said as soon as he kicked off from the ground. “Give me the sitrep.” He got a brief look at Tony in the HUD, face at least a decade younger, the lines eased around his eyes. Then someone -- probably FRIDAY, because Tony’s girl just had that sort of sense of humor -- gave Rhodey a pulled back shot from a security camera.
Iron Man was sitting awkwardly, metal legs in a criss-cross pattern, holding a tiny little tea cup in one enormous metal gauntlet. A princess tiara was perched precariously on top of the helmet and a fluttery, purple glitter cloak was thrown around his neck.
“Aren’t you precious?” Rhodey chirped, delighted. “Oh my god, I totally want like full-color photos of this. I might even get one of those life-sized cardboard cutouts, Mrs. Nesbit.”
“God, you’re an asshole,” Tony said.
“You need me,” Rhodey sing-songed. “So, tell me about this villain.”
“Um, totally cliche bullshit type of guy,” Tony said, and the HUD threw up several pictures of a skinny dude in a yellow spandex suit that looked homemade, along with a blue, shimmery cloak. He was carrying an hourglass that was almost two feet tall and probably weighed at least fifty pounds, based on the way Mr. Skinny was bowed over. “Calls himself Chronos.”
“Like the greek god of Time?”
“Linear time, at least,” Tony said. “Could be. He looked more like he was going for the Piers Anthony novel character. Anyway, he threw a handful of this dust out of that hourglass at Cap. We didn’t even realize anything was wrong for a while. Cap delivered the beat down on the guy’s minions--”
“He has minions?”
“Well, he did,” Tony said. “Cap busted ‘em up pretty good.”
“And you guys are all safe?”
“Relatively,” Tony said. “As long as I keep drinking tea, Nat’s happy, and if she’s happy, then Bruce is staying mostly not-green. I haven’t seen Clint in a while, and that’s worrisome even when he’s a grown up. Steve’s drawing pictures on the walls, that’s probably permanent marker -- oh, no, Cap, come on, can we keep the sketches to the walls and not on Thor?”
“Thor’s a baby, too?”
“Yeah, it’s both adorable and weirdly concerning,” Tony reported, “because he can still lift that stupid hammer of his. I swear, it’s a fingerprint, or DNA coded or something, because there is no way in the world that some three year old with a questionable vocabulary and the drinking habits of Howard Stark is worthy.”
“Baby Thor is swearing?”
“No, he’s threatening to wreak havoc,” Tony said. “Blood-thirsty little tyrant. I’ve got him snipe-hunting, at the moment, to prove his prowess.”
“You didn’t.”
“Oh, you bet your shiny metal ass I did,” Tony said. “Also, Wanda and Viz are missing, also worrisome, so, reinforcements on the babysitting end would be good, too.”
“Yeah, gonna give the baby avenger nanny job a miss. So, uh, what do you want me to do about the villain?” Rhodey asked. He checked his surroundings; damn he loved being able to just leave the driving to his AI, that was so handy. He knew Tony had sometimes used travel time to actually sleep, which was a little more than Rhodey wanted to do, but it was convenient to not have to worry about deployment.
“Find him, take the hourglass away from him, and go badger Strange into doing the bibbity bobbity boo schtick,” Tony said. “Wait, Nat, honey, can you get down from there, sweetie? Come on, just… yeah, there we go. What did I say about climbing on the furniture?”
“You think this is magic?”
“It sure as fuck isn’t science,” Tony said.
“Mis’er Tony,” a piping voice said, and the kids were all so young that Rhodey had no chance of identifying which one it was, “waz fuck mean?”
“Better wash your mouth out, Mr. Tony,” Rhodey said, in all seriousness. “You’ve got impressionable children around you.”
“Bite me, sugarbear,” Tony said. “Fuck is a bad word, and you shouldn’t say it where your Uncle Rhodey can hear you.”
“All right, Tones,” Rhodey reported. “I’m eleven minutes out. Don’t let the Spy Kids get you down.”
“Just hurry up,” Tony pleaded. “My rates for babysitting go up if I have to feed them.”
“Look at it this way,” Rhodey said, “at least none of them are in diapers, still.”
“Remind me when all this is over and I’ll tell you about Captain America and the Winter Soldier flooding the bathroom by trying to rescue one of the toys they ‘accidentally’ flushed down the toilet,” Tony grumbled.
Rhodey laughed. “You can’t say you don’t deserve this,” he said.
“I absolutely do not deserve-- stop laughing at me, honeybear,” Tony complained. “Ack, gotta run, Clint’s climbing up shit again.”
Rhodey grinned. “Record all this for me, Friday, you sweet thing, you,” he said.
“Already on it,” Friday reported.
“Good girl.”
“It’s not very often that the B-listers get to save the day,” Sam said. He’d been doing his thing down at the VA when the assemble call came in and decided that the team could handle it. Sometimes, comforting vets who were suffering from PTSD was way more important than busting up some third-rate knock off villain.
Apparently this had not been that time.
“I hardly consider myself a B-lister,” Dr. Strange said. He was doing that annoying, floating thing again, the damn showoff.
“It’s okay, man,” Sam told him, nudging Strange with his shoulder. “You’ll get your time to shine. I mean, you’re not quite as handsome as me, but you’ll make a really cute doll.”
The cloak that Strange always wore shoved Sam away. Sam had never been able to figure out if that cloak responded to Strange’s thoughts or if it had some sort of agenda of its own, but it hovered around the man like a velvet attack dog, and Sam had seen it do some pretty nifty tricks that a fancy bit of flannel should not manage.
“Your thinly disguised jealousy is an ugly thing, Mr. Wilson,” Strange said.
“What are we doing again, here, banter?” War Machine thudded across the street and dropped another one of the time-lord’s minions into the pile. “Also, they’re called action figures, Wilson,” Rhodes commented, turning his War Machine mask in Sam’s direction, which always made Sam a little nervous. It wasn’t Sam’s fault, exactly, that War Machine had taken a bad hit in the airport battle, but it kinda was, and guilt was a slippery subject.
“Just thought you needed a new story for the parties, Colonel,” Sam said. “The one with the tank is getting old.”
“This one begins to show some signs of regaining consciousness,” Strange said, and he did that weird… thing with his hands; glowing golden runes in moving, twisting circles appeared. The minion was wrenched to his feet by invisible hands. “Will it help if I threaten you first, or would you just like to tell us where we might find your boss?”
“Oh, just turn him inside out as an example for the rest of these assholes,” Rhodes suggested. “I’m tired, I’m bored, and I didn’t get coffee this morning, before Tony rousted me to come deal with his cleanup issues.”
Sam was pretty sure that War Machine without coffee was more terrifying than Strange, but each to their own.
The minion, on the other hand, just looked stubborn.
“They’re all a bunch of stupids,” a tiny little voice said.
Sam whirled around so fast he almost got whiplash. “Oh, hell no, what… no, no, this is not… Vision, what the-- how are you even a kid?”
Vision, a tiny purple toddler, was floating nearby. He was holding hands with an equally tiny Wanda Maximoff. “A question that concerns me as well. But it has, it seems, happened, and we must deal with it. Wanda and I have located Chronos, if we might be of some assistance.”
Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. “You know y’all ain’t supposed to be out running around when you’re toddlers, right?”
“Hey, Tones,” War Machine was already on the communicator with Stark, which was just as well, because Sam didn’t want to deal with telling an already stressed out Iron Man that they’d found two runaway mini-vengers. “We found your runaways. Flying preschoolers are hard to keep a hold of, I get it, man, I do, but…”
“Chronos left behind a unique radiation and trans dimensional signature. Between Wanda and I, we were able to follow it.”
Strange flicked his fingers in one of those convoluted patterns; he always looked more stiff and formal than Wanda, whose magic danced from knuckle to knuckle like she was listening to her own personal rave. Sam couldn’t always tell if that was a result of Strange’s injuries, or differences in their training, or something else entirely.
Lines of shimmering blue symbols extended from Strange’s hands and circled the two children, coiling around until--
“Leashes?” Sam blurted. “You made magical mommy leashes?”
“It seemed, somehow, appropriate, given the circumstances,” Strange said. “After all, toddlers are trouble on the best of days, and magical, flying toddlers likely to be more taxing than most.” He looped the glowing runes around his wrist. “This way, we should be able to keep track of them, at least.”
The two flying kids looked like surreal helium balloons more than anything else, but working together, Wanda and Vision managed a spell that drew a brilliant yellow, crackling line between the mind stone in the middle of Vision’s forehead all the way to wherever Chronos was.
“I gotta say, that’s a neat trick,” Sam commented. He kicked off from the ground to scout ahead. “Even if if looks like something out of a damn video game.”
“It is the traces of his effects on us that Wanda’s spell is able to detect, pointing in the direction of the source,” Vision said. He was always a bit pompous, sounding like Tony’s old AI, which in turn supposedly sounded like the Stark’s old butler, but hearing that voice and those tones from a tiny little purple gummy bear of a kid was super disconcerting.
The line was as the crow -- or, in this case, the Falcon -- flies, so Sam zipped along the line, hoping the guy hadn’t done something like gotten on an airplane in the meanwhile. “I don’t suppose you can tie them up outside on the corner lamppost or something, while we bash some baddies?”
“Mr. Wilson, that would be very irresponsible,” Strange said. “Maybe we should leave them in your tender care while the colonel and I deal with the situation.”
“No, I ain’t drawing straws to see who stays the kids,” Sam said. “I got nieces and nephews and I have done just as much uncle-duty babysitting as is mandated by the state of New York--”
“Perfectly qualified, great, thank you for volunteering,” Strange said.
“Man, shut the hell up.”
But, of course, he got stuck with watching after Viz and Wanda while Strange and War Machine went inside to kick ass. Taking names was optional; he’d heard a rumor that Strange had taken one man’s name permanently -- like the dude never remembered his name again. Even nicknames. It was weird and scary and petty as hell, but it did make one a little leary about going up against the Sorcerer Supreme.
Chronos didn’t seem to have gotten that memo, so Sam was stuck outside, entertaining two highly dangerous, low on patience, kidlets. The usual things that Sam did to keep his sister’s kids out of trouble did not go over well with Viz -- being a synthoid apparently kept playing video games on Sam’s smartphone from being quality entertainment.
“A’ight now, Wanda, is that a real tiger there, or are you puttin’ a whammy on me, because I don’t appreciate no whammies,” Sam said. He was pretty sure it wasn’t an actual tiger, like escaped from the zoo sort of critter, but it was entirely possible that Wanda had gotten bored and decided to import a tiger. Or grow one from an alley cat.
“Put that thing back where it came from, or so help me--” Viz started, and then they were both singing that stupid song from Monsters, Inc.
“It’s a work in progress,” Sam muttered as the tiger disappeared in a puff of scarlet mist. “Why is it that you even know Sully and Mike, Viz? I didn’t think you were big into cartoons.” He pressed one hand over his chest, willing himself to calm. Down. No tigers. There were no tigers here, damn it.
“I do have access to my… former self’s memory stores,” Viz explained. “And Mr. Stark was particularly fond of showing a wide variety cinema to Captain Rogers.”
Movie nights. Sam sighed. It’d been a while since the Avengers had had movie night. “Huh. Do you like that sort of thing? Like, when you’re a full sized synthoid and not a pint sized technological terror?”
“I am fond of popcorn,” Viz said, thoughtfully. “And hearing the thoughts of my companions about the movies, although I find most cinema to be… less than engaging.”
“Popcorn, popcorn, popcorn!” Wanda bellowed. She jumped up onto Viz’s back, wrapping her arms around his throat. “Gimme a biggy pack ride!”
“I’m quite certain what you meant was a piggy back ride,” Viz corrected her, gently, which was probably just a bad move, because no one appreciated that shit. And yeah, there went Wanda sticking her tongue in his ear and blowing a loud, wet raspberry.
“I know what I said!”
“That was truly unnecessary,” Viz complained, but nonetheless, he hooked his hands under Wanda’s knees and trotted her around in a circle. Which worked great as a distraction right up until Strange’s magical leashes got all tangled up around Sam, and the three of them ended up stuck together like the world’s most awkward slinky.
On the plus side, War Machine came out a few minutes later, carrying a huge hourglass. He turned it over, opened the -- Sam assumed, bottom -- and sprinkled a little bit of dust on each of the kids, like some sort of metal Tinkerbelle.
“Hey, watch it with that stuff,” Sam protested. “Don’t need to be any older than I already am.”
“With age comes wisdom,” Rhodey said.
“Yeah, I’m good man. Wise enough, thanks.”
There was no possible way that the War Machine’s faceplate could indicate sarcasm.
It did anyway.
Tony was sleeping.
Steve, probably the oldest of the de-aged Avengers, was playing an entirely age-inappropriate video game on the playstation while the Winter Soldier was poking someone’s smart phone, looking up cheat codes and walkthroughs. Apparently kid-savvy with tech outweighed both of their “I was an adult in the 30s, don’t expect me to care about your smartphone” stubbornness. Or, as Rhodey had often thought, privately, they were both perfectly fine with tech, the two of them just liked yanking Tony’s chain. A hobby that, most of the time, Rhodey could get behind.
On one side of Tony was curled a just-barely toddler Thor, Mjolnir in his arms like a teddy bear.
Peter Parker was the only infant, but still apparently sticky as velcro; he was clinging to the front of the Iron Man’s suit, napping, thumb shoved firmly in his mouth. There was drool dripping down his chin and onto the suit.
Black Widow was still having a tea party and had managed to talk Clint into wearing a purple princess dress and glitter flats and drink pretend tea out of little plastic cups while discussing the neighbor’s begonias. Hulk was a great, green toddler, nearly as tall as Tony was as an adult, but he was sitting, criss-cross, on the floor at Tony’s feet, petting a cat.
Where the hell had they gotten a cat from? Rhodey didn’t know if he wanted to know.
“KITTY,” Hulk bellowed, softly, as Rhodey tiptoed around the sleeping and resting avengerlettes.
“Yeah, I see that,” Rhodey said. “Hope Bruce likes cats.”
“PUNY BANNER LIKE KITTY!”
“Yeah, okay, so we have a Compound pet,” Sam said. “I’ll have Friday put in an order for litter and food. Or something.”
“Hey, Tones,” Rhodey said, shaking his shoulder gently. “Come on, wakey wakey, old man, time to give your kids back.”
Iron Man very gently wrapped one armor-clad arm around the sleeping Parker. “Shut up, sour patch. I just got them napping. ‘S everything okay?”
“Well, aside from the World War Twosome traumatizing themselves by playing Outlast 2,” Rhodey said, “we have a cure. And the baddie’s on his way to prison. And Strange is trying to figure out how to get the hourglass back to the person it belongs to, more power to him.”
“A cure,” Tony said. The facemask peeled back and a somewhat less aged Tony looked up at him. “Almost sorry to hear that. These kids are a lot of work, but--” he stared down at Peter, then smiled, a little dopey and sad. “I kinda like it.” Tony shifted a little until Thor was sleeping on the floor, still curled around his hammer.
“Yeah, thought you might,” Rhodey said. “You’ve always been Team Dad.”
Wanda was sprinkling the re-aging dust on various Avengers. Steve and Bucky suddenly growing back into their adult selves did not seem to keep them from fighting over the PS4 controller like rowdy teenagers.
“It was just… you know… nice,” Tony said.
Rhodey glanced around. “Kinda thought you might think that.” He handed Tony a pair of little ziplock baggies. “Save it for a special occasion.”
Tony’s eyebrows went way up.
“Just sayin’, Tones,” Rhodey said, “that it might be nice to spend an afternoon as kids again, don’t you think?”
Tony’s eyes softened. “Oh, yeah. Absolutely!”
#fic#tony stark#deaging avengers#tony is a good babysitter#sort of#bad ass Rhodey#War Machine#war machine rox
124 notes
·
View notes
Text
Let me break this down for you | Castor | Trial 1.5 | Re: Akio, Lister, Aurora, Cappy | ATTN: Akio, Nia?, Everyone
It takes Castor a bit to get his coughing under control, and he looks even more tired afterwards, though he makes a point of trying to stay aware of the trial. Despite the borderline accusation flung back at him from Akio among other revelations, Castor doesn’t seem off put by it in the slightest, simply raising an eyebrow as he listens.
“I guess I should address some of that, yeah? Let me do it in a rapid fire to save us all some time. So first, yeah I'll admit it, I'm sus as shit in this case with the way things played out. A wild coincidence, but you got a lotta of shit wrong too. Seems like you’re just tryin’ to distract shit from yourself right now, and respect, I get it, but I’ll give an answer anyways this time at least."
“First. Clover's phone was out when she died given we found it next to her, so she might have been sending it mid confrontation, after the first blow to the head made her reel but stay conscious or something. We made the signal to be what it was so it's quick and easy to send, if you don't have the time to type out a full text to a mentor.Maybe the killer even got the chance to get behind her While she was sending it instead if they did get noticed, who knows. I also asked Akira to text her to ask for her location, but no reply ever came from her for that, so things were probably already starting to move by then.
Second. Literally none of the evidence points towards it being from someone she trusted. Why would you bother to get a beanie and bandana to stealth disguise yourself if you're just gonna walk on up to say hi and try and win trust?
Third. The shoes and pants don't need to be a perfect match for body type, just reasonably wearable. There's a pretty big difference between Lister and Kei or Cappy being able to wear em, but I'm still willing to consider them for this. Still, if we wanna say it’s more likely for it to fit, than you’re looking hella sus for that. Mainly because you probably don't need to conceal the rest of your form in the dark when you don't wanna be seen anyways if the XXL hoodie's doing that work for you. Not to mention, the fact that they bothered to re-hide the clothes at all in the toilet back means they were probably hoping we wouldn't find it at all to be able to compare. I mean, if your group hadn’t found it, none of the rest of us probably would have, you know?
Fourth. I'm certain it was possible for more people than me and Kei to go into the rage room and just not mention it, especially if they were a killer. I was only ever in the rage room while Kei was also there, and she already confirmed that I didn't take two bats with me then, so there's no more reason to suspect me of taking the second bat than there would be anyone else.
And fifth. I don't think anything about the evidence we have implies there needs to have been two people thereeither. There was literally only a single outfit stored away in the bar bathroom, so meeting up to try and coordinate for that kind of shit just seems like more of a pain than anything. Not to mention the fact that Jun's offered to let me kill him so many times already that I woulda just made it easy on myself gone for him. Or, you know, You, since I've been carrying my lantern around with me everywhere and definitely would have seen you there. Kinda fucking weird that the killer just wouldn't have noticed you there while passing by, I'll be real. Not impossible though, I guess.”
He pauses, having been talking just slowly enough to hopefully help Akio be able to catch all of that, but if not then this next part was what he really wanted answered anyways.
“My turn for questions and comments back now, though. First, you didn’t answer me about if you take any pills for pain or otherwise, Akio. I really wouldn’t be surprised if you did, given even I do with way less fucked shit going on with me. Next, what are the dares you've done that you've hurt yourself doing exactly?
And, finally, you just spelled out a perfect motive for why you might have wanted to kill asap on the first night. Our culp really didn't waste time, not letting even 24 hours pass after all, so it does seem like they were in some kind of rush. If it’s not you, then sorry dude, but it’s sure as fuck not me either, so it’s gotta be someone out here.”
That said, Castor turns to Lister and his suggestion about Clover possibly just leaving if someone she didn’t like walked in with a raised eyebrow.
“Dude, Lister. The lights weren't on, she was probably distracted with making her creature model like Aurora said, the grass is quieter to walk on than hard flooring is, and the lantern isn't strong enough to light up a room as huge as the outdoor concert hall entirely. It's unlikely she would have been able to notice who it was approaching her or even that someone was at all until the last minute. Maybe she heard a noise from somewhere and got scared though, who knows. Either way, I don’t think it’s unlikely that Akio or you could have done this for that reason.”
Past that, Castor gives a nod of thanks to some of the others for their cooperation, only vaguely amused by Benny and El, though he does pause to correct something from Cappy.
“Nah, I don’t think that any of the clothes we found in the bag were from a personal collection, given everything in there was missing from the Scene Shop, size 42 shoes included. You’re right that you’re on the lower end of what I’d consider viable for the pants and shoes, but I didn’t wanna mark you off just in case, you feel me? I still think it’s likely that everything but the oversized hoodie was still at least close to the culp’s size though.”
“Though just in case, I’d recommend that Nia or whoever else also look closer at you and everyone else to make sure you aren’t disguising any wounds with makeup, yeah? Seems like you had time to do your face makeup before, so it’s not impossible. Just as a precaution, though. I think that it was Clover who stole the makeup missing from the bar’s backroom, but it’s not impossible someone else did too as well I guess. Good questions, though."
That said, he is clearly on the verge of passing the fuck out from talking that much. No energy for translation rn sorry-
0 notes
Text
Midnight Rendezvous - Short Story for Halloween
It’s hard to make a good living as an actor. Unless you’re an A-lister, chances are you’ve probably got a second job on the side to make ends meet while you try to live out your dreams. That used to be me, too: a plucky little kid eager to take on any role he could get. I was more than willing to bust my ass in the meantime if it meant getting to do what I love, knowing that all the long hours and back-breaking work would be worth it in the end. When I got my big break.
Life has done a great job of beating that enthusiasm out of me since then.
Now, I’m a graphic designer. The work is interesting, don’t get me wrong, and it puts bread on the table, but it was never my real passion. Ever since I was a little kid, all I ever wanted to do was play pretend, and it’d been my greatest goal since then to do it professionally - even though I hadn’t scored a real acting job since the Nineties.
That’s why, when in mid-October I was contacted by my old agent, Sean Harrell, for the first time in a decade, I didn’t hesitate to pick up the phone.
“Travis! You son of a bitch, you!” He said in the cheerful, endearing way only a talent agent could get away with calling someone a son of a bitch, “shit, what’s it been, eight years? God, it’s crazy how time flies.”
“What do you want, Sean? I didn’t even know I still had you on retainer.”
“Once your agent, always your agent, baby,” he said with a laugh, “if you’re wondering why I’m so chipper, it’s because I just got handed a big, juicy opportunity for you, my man.”
The last alleged “big, juicy opportunity” Sean had gotten me was a commercial for breath spray running on a few major networks back in the day. I couldn’t get a date for a few weeks afterwards, thanks to my newfound reputation as “Man With Halitosis Number 3.” Sean was one gift horse who was occasionally filled with bloodthirsty Trojan soldiers, so I’d learned to look at his offers with a healthy sense of scepticism.
“What’s this big opportunity?”
“You’ve been offered a guest spot on a major talk show,” he said, giddy as a kid on Christmas morning, “I’ve been speaking to the reps all morning, they’re practically begging to have you on.”
I scoffed and shook my head, though I knew Sean couldn’t see it. Even when I was acting, it was cult stuff - B-movies and little indie films where the work was varied but the pay was crap; none of them ever broke out of the indie circuit and made it big. In short, it was all nothing that Conan O'Brien or Jimmy Fallon would give two shits about.
“What talk show is this?” I asked.
“Midnight Rendezvous, with Julie Forrester. It goes out live to a few million people every week.”
“Never heard of it.”
“That’s funny,” he said, “because the reps told me that if I mentioned the name, you’d know it immediately.”
“Well,” I said, feeling irritated, “I guess they’ve got the wrong guy. Why would they want me, anyway? I don’t even act anymore, it’s not like I’ve got anything to promote.”
“Apparently,” Sean said, speaking uncharacteristically slowly, as though trying to choose his words extra carefully, “don’t get mad, but they want to talk about The Red Weekend.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah, I kinda figured you’d say that. They’re recording on the 31st.”
“Halloween? Oh, for fuck’s sakes, Sean. Could it get any tackier? Look, if they call again, tell them I don’t wanna talk about that stupid movie, and if that doesn’t get them to shut up, tell them they can take their offer, and shove it up their–”
“The pay, Travis. Let me tell you about the pay before you get all…heated.”
“What are they offering?” I grumbled.
“Fifteen thousand, for just a couple of hours on set. Still feeling crabby, Trav?”
Yes, I was, but I didn’t feel I could show it. Fifteen thousand for a few hours sitting on a couch in a studio, being asked questions about some stupid B-movie I starred in when I was in my twenties, seemed like a deal only a proud idiot would turn down. I may have been proud, perhaps unreasonably so, but I was no idiot.
“You sure these guys are legit?” I asked, not wanting to say yes right after hearing the number, “they’re not just gonna lure me out to some vacant lot, beat me over the head, and harvest my organs?”
Sean groaned into the phone. It was like we’d never stopped speaking. Truth be told, I’d missed the slimy bastard. At least he gave it all to you straight. When you spoke to Sean Harrell, you knew what you were in for.
“Look, Travis, there’s no way to ever really be sure they’re not organ traffickers - hell, I’m sure Kimmel fenced a kidney or two when he was starting out - but I can give you at least a strong 80% certainty that these guys are the real deal,” he said, “I spoke to the host for a little while, uh, Julie! She seems nice, you know, a personality. I’m sure you two will get along just fine.”
“You said the exact same thing about that Fairweather woman, but that fell through, too. How do I know this is gonna be any different to that?”
“Oh, come on, Trav, that’s not fair. You know the Fairweather thing couldn’t be helped. Besides, it was ten years ago. This? This is now, and now I’ve got this offer on the table for you and you only. Do you think I would have called if I thought this was just gonna be bullshit? Hell no. So, what’ll it be, buddy, you in or you out?”
I gave a reluctant sigh, before finally saying, “fuck it, why not. Sign me up.”
“Great! I’m so glad you said that, Travis, because truth be told I’d already said yes on your behalf.”
“Jesus Christ, Sean.”
“What? It’s my job to make decisions in the best interests of your career, even if you don’t. I’ll keep in touch and feed you the details in the next couple days. It’s shaping up to be a real happy Halloween, Mr. Norton.”
“Don’t push it. Speak to you later, Sean.”
“Later.”
He hung up after that, and I was left with nothing but silence and my thoughts.
The Red Weekend. It’d been a while since I’d heard that name, and that was no accident. It wasn’t an exaggeration to say that it was the movie that destroyed my credibility, and my acting career, so just thinking about it made my blood boil. Plot-wise, it was nothing special. Just a derivative 1985 monster movie cashing in on the slasher formula that was so popular at the time, with a few stolen shades of “Creature from The Black Lagoon.” A bunch of hapless teenagers decided to spend a weekend in a cabin on the edge of a lake, only to have their fun spoiled by a creature rising up and slaughtering all of them except one - who then goes on to turn the tables and slay the monster, avenging the fallen. Simple, cheap, and cheesy.
I played the creature from the lake, affectionately dubbed by the cast, crew, and all five-or-so fans of the movie as “The Bog Man.” If I took the role today (which, by the way, I wouldn’t) I’d have gone uncredited and collected my pay check, before moving on with my life. But I was star-struck, by the one person on the production team with what you might call genuine prestige.
Richard Upton Pavlović, the most iconic special effects artist you’ve never heard of. All the greats - Savini, Baker, Rambaldi, and a laundry list of others - all studied under Pavlović at one time or another, since he immigrated from Croatia in the forties. But he was a famously private man: nobody outside the business had ever heard of him; he was one of B-cinema’s best kept secrets. While the number of special effects artists who’d studied under him was vast, he only chose to work on a handful of different films personally: one of which, for reasons I doubt I’ll ever understand, was The Red Weekend.
The reason I took the role, and the reason I chose to be credited, was that in playing The Bog Man I’d be working one-on-one with Pavlović in the makeup room. It was my only chance to really interact with a living legend, before his death from a sudden heart attack back in 2007. Pavlović was a man with extraordinary vision. His one condition for working on a project was full creative control over creature designs, because he needed to be unstifled to truly work his magic. And it was magic: he could string together blood and gore with the best of them, sure, but when it came to monster design, Pavlović was the master.
When I met him in person for the first time, in a makeup trailer during a bitterly cold day in September, I was surprised by how small he was. Pavlović was a squat, wiry man with a silver horseshoe of hair and thick half-moon spectacles, looking like a cartoon shrew from a mid-30s Disney short. His design for The Bog Man was assembled in a thick stack of papers he carried in the crook of his arm, and started pinning around the makeup chair I was sitting on.
“Have you been under heavy prosthetics before?” He asked, with a soft, frail voice that still carried the echoes of a Croatian accent.
“No,” I said, “but I’m open to new experiences.”
Pavlović gave a quiet, good-hearted chuckle at my naïveté and continued pinning up his pictures. They were all hand-drawn pencil illustrations, some of parts of the creature, others of the entire thing. It was a huge amphibian, a little bigger than a human, with features somewhere between an axolotl and a triceratops, with the addition of a long, whipping tail. It was a hunched, slimy, pot-bellied creature with green skin and long arms ending in six thick claws. There was a strangely childlike nature to its head: wide and flat, largely smooth and featureless, with beady black eyes and three horns sprouting from either side of its head. In the illustrations with its mouth closed, it seemed more like a frog, with its lipless gob stretching from one set of horns to the other. When the mouth was open, it reminded me more of a shark, with multiple rows of switchblade fangs.
“What is this thing? I’ve never seen anything quite like it.”
“It is Rugoba,” Pavlović replied, gravely, “haunter of shadows, devourer of man.”
“Did you draw all these yourself?” I asked, “the detail is incredible.”
“Some I drew, yes,” he said, unpacking his equipment now, “others I inherited, from family members back in the old country. Creatures in the movies these days, they’re too tacky, too homogenised. I like to draw inspiration from older sources. It looks better, don’t you agree?”
I nodded in agreement, not knowing what else to do.
What followed was nothing short of gruelling. Seven hours in the makeup chair every morning and every night, and layer after layer of paint, putty, latex, slime, and false skin was packed onto me, until I felt like I’d been shrink-wrapped. Pavlović was a perfectionist, and I can’t imagine anyone ever felt that better than me. The head was a mixture of latex and animatronics that I wore like a helmet, with extremely limited visibility. My hands and feet were bound and fitted with claws, and a multi-jointed wire wrapped in latex became my whipping tail, that moved of its own accord.
For all the layers they’d packed onto me, it didn’t do anything to insulate. During the shoot - a lot of which I spent emerging from water and chasing down drunk, horny morons - it was a miracle I never came down with hypothermia. Day after day after day in Pavlović’s makeup chamber of horrors, all for a film I knew nobody was going to see. It was only when I got the chance to see the first proper cut of the film that I started to truly understand all the mythos behind Pavlović’s supposed mad genius: when I watched the film, waiting to see myself in a hokey monster costume, prancing through the woods, I never got what I wanted. When I was on screen, there was no recognising me, because I was not there. It was only the Rugoba, as if it’d been ripped straight from Pavlović’s nightmares and spat onto the screen, hunting its prey.
I remembered performing all the actions I’d see on screen, but I couldn’t - no matter how hard I tried - see myself doing it. Pavlović had turned me into his monster, and he’d done it flawlessly. The movie, as anticipated, was hot garbage, with plotting and characters as thin as wet toilet paper, unbearable dialogue, and thoroughly incompetent cinematography. But the Rugoba? That, I think I can say without a doubt, was the greatest, most realistic monster to ever grace the silver screen.
However, there was another element of the Pavlović legend which made him a little less desirable to work with. Actors, in one regard, are a lot like football players: they’re a superstitious bunch. The little superstition that Richard Pavlović carried around his neck was that he was cursed: any film he chose to work on was doomed to fail, and if you were unlucky, that failure would spread its tendrils out to the cast and crew as well.
Ian Barker, one of my co-stars, once told me in confidence that he felt the whole production just reeked of doom to him, like some invisible axe was hanging over all of our heads, just waiting for the right moment to drop. Thanks to being in full Rugoba makeup for almost my entire time on set, not many of the cast interacted with me - I was the amphibian social leper - but Ian was different. He was at least someone I felt like I could talk to, even if most of what we discussed was Pavlović’s curse.
To me, it was all stupid, baseless hokum, but towards the end of the shoot, I started getting worried. Maybe it was the fear that rattled me, but after The Red Weekend, I never nailed another audition: not for movies, not for TV, not for Broadway. Sean netted me a few commercials after that, but for all intents and purposes, my serious acting career was kaput. Looking back, I probably never had the nerve for stardom anyway, but just thinking about that movie had the power to leave a sour taste in my mouth.
And this Julie Forrester wanted me to talk about it on live TV. Part of me, honestly, was afraid of what I’d say, under pressure, and under the intensity of all those studio lights. My best guess for what they were trying to do was a Halloween retrospective on the life and work of Richard Pavlović, monster movie maestro, and seeing as I was the last actor to officially work with him, my experiences held some weight.
In the end, if I could take home fifteen grand for a talk show appearance a couple decades after my fifteen minutes of mild fame were up, who was I to complain?
Sean got back to me a few days later, saying a chauffeur paid by the studio would be taking me from my bungalow on the edge of L.A. to the studio. It all felt a little much, considering my credentials, but Sean just encouraged me to put my feet up and enjoy it. After all, I didn’t know when I’d get another experience like this, if I ever did. Might as well soak it in while I still could.
It was about eight at night, and trick-or-treaters were already prowling the streets, when a black BMW parked in front of my home and dimmed the lights. It felt less like a talk show valet and more like a mafia hitman, but I walked up to the car nonetheless, and the driver rolled down the window. It was a woman who looked to be in her mid-forties, wearing a classic chauffeur hat and a wide, inviting grin.
“You Travis Norton?” She asked.
I nodded.
“Hop on in, Sir. I’m Mary, I’m gonna drive you down to the studio.”
The car was comfortable, and there was a small bottle of champagne in a little icebox on the seat next to me, with a smiling jack-o-lantern painted onto it. The temptation was there, but I didn’t touch it - probably wasn’t wise to get loaded before a TV interview. Once I was belted up, Mary fired up the ignition and drove.
“Everything okay back there, Mr. Norton?” Mary said.
“Oh yeah,” I replied, “it’s wonderful. I feel bad for making you come out, I could have driven down myself.”
Mary laughed to herself in the front seat.
“Nonsense, Mr. Norton,” she said, “I’m honoured to have you in my car. I never thought that I’d be in the company of the star of The Red Weekend. If it’s not too unprofessional of me to ask, would I be able to have your autograph when we arrive? I’d just like to show my kids.”
“You let your kids watch The Red Weekend?” I asked, remembering its plethora of gory death scenes.
“Are you kidding?” Mary said with another hearty laugh, “it’s their favourite movie. They’re crazy for it.”
For the rest of the journey, I remained largely silent. Mary seemed nice at face value, but the more you spoke to her, the more you realised something was off about her. But it wasn’t just Mary that was a little odd: the car, upon closer, more sustained inspection, was strange too. The back windows were so tinted you could barely see out of them, and before I knew it, I was hopelessly lost. I’d lived in L.A. for most of my adult life, but the neighbourhoods Mary was driving us through felt totally alien to me.
The studio was like an anthill, pulsing with life, and dotted with more rictus pumpkins. Assistants and stagehands shuffled to and fro in steady streams, the pumping lifeblood of the whole big, complicated affair, as Mary pulled us into the parking lot. I got out of the car, gave a small, reluctant autograph in her pocket book - dedicated to her kids, of course - before being ushered away by another little detachment of stagehands. The place seemed to run with almost military efficiency, with everyone around me constantly checking their watches before moving at a quickened pace.
It was this aspect of a life in show-business that I never missed.
“Mr. Norton,” said a shrewd-looking studio rep who’d materialised from a crowd of scurrying assistants - he’d never be on camera, but his suit looked far nicer than mine, “I’m Michael. Splendid to see you accepted our offer. Please, follow me, I’ll see to it that you get to Miss Forrester.”
Ten years out of the media, and here, I was a babe in the woods. I blindly followed Michael further into the bowels of the studio, away from packed crowds of excited guests being corralled into queues. Most had won contests to be here, and the rest had probably paid their way in. They’d be the ones watching me, reminding me that I was being watched, not just by them, but by millions of others who’d all tune in to a show I’d never even heard of. It’d been a strange and eventful Halloween.
Before I knew it, in the haze of yelling directors and baking studio lights, I was backstage. They ushered me into a makeup room, where I was given the most minimal makeup job I’d ever seen, even more so considering my work on The Red Weekend for comparison. I was about half way through deciding whether it was a compliment when the door opened behind me, and a strange, kinetic energy seemed to fill the room, as though someone had just turned on a generator.
“Travis Norton,” said a shrill, excited voice coming from a shape I could only just catch in the corner of my mirror, “you have no idea how long I’ve waited for this. I feel like I need someone to pinch me.”
Julie Forrester, like most television hosts, was a font of untapped energy, constantly bubbling beneath the surface. She was a little shorter than me at about 5"8, decked out in a tasteful grey suit, with a broad smile that seemed to flash the majority of her paper-white, perfectly-aligned teeth. She’d been prepped and polished by countless stylists and makeup artists, because I couldn’t for the life of me tell you how old she was - you could peg me as a middle-aged bum at a glance, but Julie seemed to stand outside age, just looking in and smiling at the rest of us. Her hair - black, silky - was cut fashionably short.
“Hey Julie,” I said, with the awkward, feigned familiarity of meeting TV personalities, “thanks so much for having me on. I’m incredibly grateful for the opportunity.”
She gave an excited little squeak, like a teenager at a boyband concert. This was all feeling more and more like a big, sinister practical joke. Trick or god damn treat.
“Hearing you say my name is so surreal,” she said with a laugh - no, a giggle, “young me would have exploded at just the thought of it. You should know, I don’t normally do this, but with you I just couldn’t resist. You’ve been a hard man to track down, you know? Extraordinarily private, for a celebrity of your stature.”
I laughed back, acting like I was in on the gag.
“Yeah, well,” I said, “I have always been pretty low-key.”
“Are you a fan of the show?” She asked, clearly hoping the answer was yes. Julie reminded me of the kid in class who was always trying to impress the teacher - searching for some kind of validation from someone she perceived as an authority figure. You don’t get into this line of work unless validation is part of what drives you.
I’m ashamed to admit it, but I thought about lying, about humouring her. It was only when I realised there might be a follow-up question that I decided to give her my slightly-sanitised version of the truth.
“I’m sorry,” I said, “but I don’t really watch much TV. But Sean, my agent, he told me this show was excellent, so I jumped at the chance to be a guest.”
Julie’s face fell slightly, as though my words had wounded her, but she stayed positive. Outwardly, at least.
“In that case, Travis, you are in for a real treat tonight,” she said, “I’ve got some great questions lined up, there’ll be a brief Q&A with some audience members - don’t worry, it’s all screened, so there won’t be any curveballs - and we’ll have a few fun little segments mixed in to break stuff up. Is this your first time doing a live TV interview? My researchers couldn’t find much footage of you online.”
“No, uh, this is my first time. I’m a little nervous, actually.”
She gave a friendly, comforting chuckle and patted me on the shoulder.
“Don’t worry, you’ll be just fine. You can pretend it’s only you and me, if that helps, but everyone out there loves you, Travis. They’ll be hanging off your every word.”
“I never knew The Red Weekend had such an ardent fanbase.” I said, trying to play off all the uncomfortable praise that seemed to be bombarding me from every angle.
Julie laughed again, as though I’d said something funny and missed it.
“Don’t be so modest, Travis, everyone remembers their first time watching The Red Weekend, it’s a rite of passage,” she said, walking towards the door, “if you need to do any last-minute psyching yourself up, now’s the time. You’ll be on in ten.”
The sudden, strange realness of it all hit me like a haymaker as Julie closed the door behind her. What the hell was I doing? I wasn’t an actor, not anymore, I designed logos for small businesses and occasionally made a poster or two. The freakish contrast between the world I’d known for the last two decades and the world I was being pulled back into was jarring. It barely felt like I had time to blink, when Michael, the rep, was knocking on the dressing room door.
“We’re ready for you now, Mr. Norton, do come out and join me. Recording will begin soon.”
I gulped down my final misgivings like cheap scotch, and gave a long sigh. It was now or never, but truth be told, even for fifteen grand, “never” was looking more attractive.
The set was, in a word, generic. A large red couch sat across from a wide desk, bearing the title “MIDNIGHT RENDEZVOUS” in large but tasteful lettering. The background was the standard plywood fare covered in a large facsimile of the L.A. Skyline up in lights. Julie sat at her desk, beaming, while a skinny warmup comedian stood centre stage, making anodyne jokes about West Hollywood traffic to the softly-laughing studio audience. They sat in near-darkness, compared to the bleached whiteness of the set, but the longer you looked at them, the more you could make out all their shapes.
I took a seat across from Julie, not wanting to upstage the comedian, but the second I entered the view of the audience I felt a hundred pairs of eyes pierce me. For whatever reason, I was the centre of attention.
“This will be over soon, and we’ll get started,” Julie said with a wink, “this might be my most anticipated episode. No pressure, though, you’re gonna nail it.”
The warmup comedian was finishing his set, his brow now dotted with glistening beads of sweat, like the damp patches glaring through his cheap suit. None of his stuff was particularly funny - all broad observations and reheated takes, the TV dinner of comedy. Most of all, he just seemed surprised and giddy to be there.
“Thank you!” He said, “you’ve been a wonderful audience, but now I’m gonna hand you over to Julie and Travis, who I hear have got an excellent show for you tonight! Have a happy and safe Halloween, guys!”
He laughed as the crowd cheered, and then started to head for the exit, when Julie called to him.
“Josh!” She called, “you did a great job, really awesome stuff. Would you mind sticking around a few minutes longer? There’s a few last little things we need to do.”
Josh nodded politely and returned to centre stage, delivering a few more inoffensive little quips to the crowd, and receiving small bouts of friendly laughter in return. I didn’t notice at first, but Michael the rep had appeared at Julie’s side, and I caught the tail end of their conversation.
“Is the perimeter secure?” She asked him.
“Yes, ma'am,” he replied, “we should be all good to go, when you’re ready.”
She nodded, and Michael disappeared backstage. Seeming to just arbitrarily come and go was Michael’s whole thing, I gathered, but before I could think about it any longer, Julie stood up and joined Josh, centre stage.
“It’s looking like we have a beautiful audience tonight!” She said, with the practiced, theatrical flair of someone who’d said this a million times, “and how appropriate, because I think tonight we may have my favourite guest of all time. Do I even have to say his name, folks?”
There was a cheer from the crowd. I gave an awkward smile, and Josh just stood there dumbly, next to Julie.
“I have been informed by the producers that all the perimeters are secure now,” she said, “so, with that in mind, it’s time to change.”
It happened so quickly, but it felt like it took a million years. The hue of Julie’s skin began to change from a pale pink to a deep, murky green, as her shape began to shift, bloat, and elongate. But, it wasn’t just Julie: the camera men, the stagehands, and the audience began changing too, all slowly warping themselves out of humanity and into something else entirely. Six claws, those big amphibian faces, those long, whipping tails and terrible jaws full of thousands of teeth.
If I wasn’t almost entirely sure it was all fake to begin with, I would have screamed until my lungs burned up into prunes in my chest cavity, but as it was I couldn’t summon a single sound. The host, the crew, the studio audience: they weren’t human, not even close. They were Pavlović’s monster. They were the Rugoba.
All of them except Josh, who stood next to the seven-foot-tall monster that Julie had become - still somehow wearing that sleek grey suit over her freakish new body. He was quaking in terror, only letting out occasional whimpers of fear. Both were standing in front of me, so I couldn’t get a good look at their faces, but beyond them I saw a legion of grinning Rugoba filling the stands. All here to see me.
“But, before we get this show on the road,” Julie said, her voice startlingly similar to when she still seemed human, “some free concessions for the first few rows. Remember to share!”
With a huge, clawed hand, Julie gave the quaking Josh a push. He pitched forwards, screaming, into the midst of the studio audience, and they set upon him in an instant with claws and teeth. Ripping, tearing, devouring. Those panicked yells soon just become bloody gurgles, and then nothing but the sounds of feasting, and of Julie’s laughter. When Josh’s head came away from what was left of his body, several Rugoba seemed to fight over its contents.
Had I not have been desensitised by spending my young adult years working in crappy, exploitative horror movies, I’d have thrown up. Instead, I just sat and watched, feeling like someone was taking a weed whacker to my soul. Human beings weren’t meant to witness things like this, and now, I was the only one here.
“Settle down, folks,” Julie said with a good-natured chuckle, “we’ll have more snacks distributed throughout the show. Everyone ready to begin? If you are, give me a big cheer!”
And she got one. The creatures that’d eaten a man alive a few seconds before just took their places, all looking as excited as their inhuman faces seemed to allow. The better part of me knew that I should have tried to run - I wasn’t paralysed by fear or anything like that, no, I just knew that if they were eating Josh but sparing me, there had to be a reason.
A Rugoba director, wearing an abnormally large headset to fit around his horns, called lights, camera, action.
What I assumed must have been the theme tune began to play, as Julie turned to me, a look of confusion spread against her wide, froglike face.
“Why haven’t you changed, Travis?” She asked.
That’s when it all hit me: why I was here, what all this was about. Pavlović - that mad, genius son of a bitch - his makeup job wasn’t just good, it was utterly flawless, a perfect representation of a creature his family always knew truly existed. The costume was so good, it even fooled Julie and the others. For all these years, they genuinely thought I was one of them.
“I can’t.” I said, without thinking.
“Why?” She asked in a harsh whisper.
I could tell the theme song was drawing to a close, and I needed to spin good enough bullshit to not get eaten by a talk show host. It wasn’t my best work, in hindsight, but what I said was:
“I’m a method actor, and I’m playing a human in my next role. I don’t want to compromise the integrity of the character.”
What I expected was getting a face full of gnashing monster teeth, but no, Julie just laughed and smiled at me. As the theme song played its last few notes, I breathed a sigh of relief, knowing she’d bought it. And with the audience’s undivided attention, Julie began her little monologue.
“Welcome, welcome, welcome to the good people at home! You know me, I’m Julie Forrester, and this is Midnight Rendezvous - the most popular talk show on Rugoba TV!” She said, before presenting her middle claw to the camera, “so pogo on that, Morning Chitchat. And boy, do we have a special guest for you tonight, folks, a guest quite unlike any other. You know him, you love him, it’s the one and only Mr. Travis Norton!”
The studio audience exploded into deafening cheers and applause, like none I’d ever heard in my lifetime. The response was so overwhelming, I nearly forgot I’d just seen them all eat an innocent man alive.
Julie walked back and squeezed herself behind the desk, making it look comically child-sized now.
“Now, Travis, I’m thrilled to have you on.” She said, leaving a pause for me.
“I’m thrilled to be on,” I said, my voice quivering, “sorry, I’m not used to all this attention. It’s a little overwhelming.”
She laughed again, and said, “now, in many ways, you’re a guest that needs no introduction - but I’m gonna introduce you anyway, because that’s how I make my living.”
The crowd laughed, and I decided to join in. Slime was dripping in liberal dollops from Julie’s massive jaws, coating the top of the desk. It’s a miracle I didn’t relieve my bowels just looking at her.
“I know I’ve been a fan of you for a long, long time, Travis. Having a Rugoba celebrity on the show is nothing new, of course, we’ve had plenty here: Björk, Kanye West, Ryan Reynolds…but Travis, you, to this day, are the only Rugoba in living memory who’s had the guts to show their true form on film,” she said, a genuine note of pride in her voice, “and I think that deserves another round of applause, don’t you, folks?”
More applause, and I forced a smile. It was becoming clear to me that this whole thing was just a tightrope act: I was a folk hero to them for now, but the second they realised I wasn’t one of them, I’d be devoured, just like Josh. In that moment, I wished that Richard Upton Pavlović was alive again, so I could have a go at beating him to death myself.
“If you’re wondering why Travis is looking so tasty tonight, folks, it’s because - and this is a Midnight Rendezvous exclusive - he’s going to be starring in a new movie soon. How exciting?” Julie said, playing up every word for the eager crowd of monsters just beyond the edge of the set, “he’s a method actor, so he’s trying to stay in character. Can you tell us a little about the film, Travis?”
Great. I was on the spot again, one lie leading to another. A good piece of advice to take to heart is that when you’re already in a hole, it’s best to stop digging, but I was already half way to China.
“It’s called Mirrors: Reflecting,” I said, completely pulling it out of my ass, “it’s a comedy-drama about a has-been actor who ends up getting way in over his head in a situation he doesn’t understand. It’s in pre-production.”
“Oooooh,” Julie said, “sounds exciting. Now, I’ll start with the question I think we’ve all been thinking since we first saw The Red Weekend: how did you find the willpower to never eat any of your co-stars?”
The general rule seemed to be that anything I found morally repugnant would get a big laugh out of the crowd. The Rugoba sense of humour seemed to be mainly based around terrible things happening to humans, so I chose my words as carefully as I could, given the circumstances.
“It’s, uh, it’s all about self-control,” I said, “you’ve just gotta tell yourself to stay in the professional zone, and that you can’t eat any of them, because it’ll, uh, compromise the production.”
“God,” Julie said, “check out this guy here, making me feel like a slob. You’ve gotta give me the number of your dietician after this, Trav. I ate mine last week.”
I laughed out of politeness, but I genuinely wasn’t sure whether it was a joke or not. For my own sanity, I chose to believe the former. The crowd found it hilarious, either way.
“Did any of your co-stars know the truth? You know, about who you really are?” She asked.
“No,” I cut in, worrying that revealing the truth would be a secret death sentence, “those dumb humans believed it was all just makeup. You know what people are like, easy to trick.”
Julie slammed a claw down on the slimy desktop and gave an over-the-top laugh.
“So true, Travis, so true!” She cackled, “in fact, half of the folks at home are probably enjoying a trick or treater as we speak. Halloween, what a holiday, it’s like getting free home delivery - and they bring your dessert in a bag with them! So considerate - who says humans aren’t good for anything?”
How many of these things were there? How many facets of society had they invaded, if they had their own TV shows? Sean said this show went out live to millions of viewers, and surely not all of them would be watching. There must have been Rugoba everywhere.
“Now, a couple more serious questions, before we get to the fun stuff,” she said, licking the slobber off her fangs with a long, purple tongue, “your filmography has some strange gaps. You get plenty of work in the eighties, and a little going into the nineties, but then a huge episode of silence until now. Why the return to film?”
It probably shouldn’t have rattled me, given what was going on, but it did. Somehow, the fear of failure ran even deeper than the fear of monsters, and Julie had opened the floodgates.
“It’s not been for lack of trying,” I said with a laugh that undermined my sadness, “it’s hard to make a good living as an actor. Unless you’re an A-lister, chances are you’ve probably got a second job on the side to make ends meet while you try to live out your dreams. I’m a graphic designer in my spare time. Just lately, I got lucky, and was offered another big break. It wasn’t what I expected, but I’m trying to play it out as best I can.”
The crowd gave a sympathetic “awwww” that felt good in spite of them being a horde of carnivorous beasts. Julie seemed similarly sympathetic, looking at me with those big, black shark-eyes that somehow communicated a warm depth of compassion you couldn’t imagine coming from a creature like her.
“Well,” she said, trying to reclaim the room, “I’m sure I speak for everyone in this room when I say that we’re glad you’re getting work again, Travis, you’re a talent like no other. That’s why I thought I’d get you a fun little Halloween treat.”
All the lights around us began to dim, as several excited “oooooohs” issues forth from the crowd. I could hear sudden movement backstage, and the scraping of metal against metal.
“But,” Julie said with glee, standing up from her desk and trotting to centre stage, “one person’s treat is another person’s trick, quid pro quo, that’s the way the world goes. Travis isn’t the only special guest we’ve got tonight, courtesy of some fine work from our producers.”
A group of Rugoba in dark uniforms dragged a huddled, chained figure onto the stage. He’d been either beaten or drugged, but whatever the case, the guy was totally out of it. Half-naked, covered in scratches where his handlers had been too rough. It’d been so long, but after a moment or two, I recognised who it was.
Ian Barker, my old Red Weekend co-star.
“As you all know,” Julie said, addressing the crowd, “the one blemish marring the perfection of The Red Weekend is the downer ending. The rest of it is such an uplifting story of Rugoba conquering and devouring humankind, as nature intended, until the character played by our new guest Ian Barker here slays our champion!”
The crowd entered a state of vicious booing, all directed at Ian, who was too dazed to even respond. He remained on his knees, with a heavy metal collar bound around his neck.
“But, today, as a Midnight Rendezvous Halloween special, we’re going to right that wrong, folks!” She said with a laugh of shrill, sadistic excitement, “our dear friend of the show, Travis Norton, will devour Ian Barker live for you and the folks at home, and all the wrongs will be right again. Is everyone excited?”
As the volume of the cheering went up, my heart sank. Before I could even think to stop myself, or formulate a plan, I was up on my feet and charging towards Julie with an excuse.
“Julie, you don’t understand,” I pleaded, “I have to stay in character, I need to seem human.”
Julie scoffed and shook her head - more for the audience than me.
“What? Humans eat other humans all the time! Jeffrey Dahmer, Andrei Chikatilo, and a whole bunch of others,” she said, “you don’t even need to change back. The producers got you this handy little tool.”
A fourteen-pound framing hammer was forced into my hands, crushing my last attempt at an excuse. Everyone but Ian was looking at me, as I stood there with the hammer, all grinning and egging me on with their eyes.
“You only have to eat some of the brains, it’s the best part anyway,” Julie said, “I’d hate to break you too far from character.”
Then the chanting began: kill, kill, kill. I don’t know who started it, but now there was no stopping it, not until I’d made up my mind. I gripped the hammer, hard, and looked at the back of Ian’s head. If I fessed up, and told the truth, would they kill him and me anyway? Did it make more sense to just kill him and get it over with, then try to live with the guilt afterwards?
Maybe it did make more sense. But that’s not what I did.
“Stop! I yelled, the hammer clattering to the ground, "and please listen!”
The room fell silent, and Julie started looking at me like she knew something terrible was about to happen.
“I have a confession,” I said, “you’re not gonna like it, but you have to listen to me, and hear me out. I’m not one of you, okay? I’m not a Rugoba. I’m a human being, it was all a big god damn lie.”
Julie stared at me, devastated, and said “wait, Travis, what do you mean? The Red Weekend…”
“The Red Weekend is a shitty movie that ruined my life!” I blurted out without thinking, “it was all special effects makeup, none of it was real. The guy just knew about you, somehow, and you’re what he based his design on. I was never a Rugoba. I’m sorry for misleading you all like this, it’s just a huge misunderstanding.”
In an instant, the crowd devolved from low, worried murmurs to riotous shouting. Julie tried in vain to comfort the yelling crowd, to stop them baying for my blood, but it was too late. I’d taken one of their greatest living legends, and torn it apart in front of them. I’d gone from being a hero to the devil himself.
Running was the first thing on my mind, but before the thought even properly formed, something had struck the back of my head - and everything went black.
***
When I finally came to, I was staring out of thick, iron bars into the furious amphibian face of Julie Forrester. The room was dark, so I could barely see beyond her, staring into the cage and mugging at me. She’d lost her grey suit, and was wearing a white outfit with a skirt instead, her whipping tail protruding from the back, lashing at the air.
“I bet you feel really clever right now, Travis, well done,” she said, her voice devoid of the lightness and humour I’d known it for, “you made me look like an absolute clown on my own show. I trusted you, I invited you on, and you just humiliated me.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, my thoughts still returning in brief snatches, “I really am, Julie, I didn’t mean for it to happen like that. Aside from the whole ‘eating humans’ thing, I like you as a person. I wouldn’t want your credibility to take a hit.”
She ran her claws across the bars of the cage, and shook her head.
“Too little, too late, I’m afraid,” she said, “but you can still make it up to me, in other ways.”
“I want to, Julie, I really do.”
Julie pulled back from the bars a little and seemed to pace around the cage, her footsteps heavy and wet, but as regular as the ticking of a clock’s pendulum. It’d drive you mad if you listened for long enough.
“What you said earlier about the entertainment industry is true, Travis, even if the rest was all lies,” she said, her tone gravely seriously, “if you want to make a good living, one job won’t cut it. You need to be a real polymath to put bread on the table. Thankfully, I’m a Rugoba of all trades: Midnight Rendezvous is just one of the shows I host.”
“What’s the other one?” I asked, out of morbid curiosity.
She stopped, pressed her terrible amphibian face against the bars, and grinned.
“You’ll see,” she said, “you’ll see real soon, Travis. I’m gonna make you into something so much better…”
As Julie started to walk away from the cage, one by one the studio lights began to turn back on, cracking into life. The couch and L.A. backdrop was replaced by a homely-looking kitchen, fitted with a gorgeous array of utensils and hardware. Julie produced from the front pocket of the white apron she was wearing a long and magnificent chef’s hat, and placed it onto her huge, slimy head.
The words “COOKING WITH JULIE!” were emblazoned across the front of her kitchen unit.
My fear had already passed, all that remained now was that kind of dissonant, slaughterhouse calm that sets in when you already know you’re finished. All that’s left to do is wait. But, I took a strange comfort in knowing that this Halloween night The Red Weekend would finally be coming to an end.
I closed my eyes and exhaled, as the director called “lights, camera, action.”
7 notes
·
View notes
Text
From 'No Water Crisis' To Permanent Water Restrictions? Mayor Mullet Swims Upstream
The TCC has just announced revised but renewed water restrictions, without the decency of an explanation. Are they permanent? And if so, why, and will water rates be suitably reduced? Or are they just letting out water infrastructure settle down after the flood (ha!)?Another masterstroke from the council officially found to operate a culture of secrecy.
Also The Pie recently indulged himself with a small rant about police representatives so often turning the narrative to the trauma suffered by officers when they attended confronting events, and in some cases pushing the real victims into the background. Well, it would seem Bulletin iditor Jenna Cairney has taken a leaf out that playbook, giving her own staff hero status for simply doing their jobs. Now its got really embarrassing.
Also this week, a tiny overlooked flaw in the new stadium makes a mockery of the papers completely silly look into its future
And why didnt we think of it: the Popes obvious insight into the sinning of Cardinal Pell.
(Bentley is on a break this week.)
So first
As Nana Used To Say, Self Praise Is No Recommendation.
By tradition, print and online journalists have always sought the powerful but respected recognition of their work through by-lines, never unnecessarily inserting themselves into any scenario they are writing about, and generally they and their work used only to come in the public spotlight around Walkley time. Times have changed, and journalists are now players rather than observers, as perceived glamour and power infest newsroom and the minds of those undignified and egotistical enough not to know better.
Jenna Cairneys cliched gurgling about the Bulletin staffs reporting of the floods(indeed admirable if after the fact) has taken wing on a monsoon of congratulatory self-praise, which is bound to end in a crash landing. The Bulletins people certainly did their work under difficult circumstances, meriting an in-house herogram. But the self-congratulation, carrying the hidden agenda of regaining public trust, is reaching a nauseating stage.
But it was this excerpt from a two page AD for themselves that raised the hackles of some.
Jenna Cairneys particular take on the role of digital media is simply nonsense amply demonstrated by an angry reader below, reinforced by the utter tripe about the the nature of the Astonishers FIFO staff (bye bye, Clare Armstrong, leaving so soon, after what, 12-15 months?).
And one of those looking askance at that empty breast beating was a person very prominent in the fight for Townsville water security who sent this email into The Nest. She chooses to remain anonymous at this stage, obviously mindful of the albeit waning power of the paperand the propensity of News Corpse to bully people. She writes:
Oh Jenna.It goes without saying that the community is sad at the now widely publicised loss of your possessions and property damage during the flood. Its also sad that Bulletin journos (who were doing their job covering the event), came home to a stressful reality.Many people who were on duty and others who were simply volunteering that night, met with similar devastating scenes.
So why the need to raise your staffs salaried contribution above others in that two page essay? (Feb. 28th excerpt above).
The difference is, that in your role as a Newscorp editor, you can take out a free double page ad that more than hints that Bulletin staff were behaving altruistically. Its your job and theirs Jenna, to cover local events and to report the stories. Its what newspapers do.
As for breaking news, sorry, the reality is that the official sources and conventional media combined, did not provide as much timely information as they could have, either in the lead-up or now beyond the inundation. The lag time is well known and the nature of alternative news sources most people turn to now.
Social media was way ahead from the get-go with updates and locals were able to have real time conversations street by street. Twitter and other apps were abuzz. The online Bulletin discussion was comparatively quiet. A new FB group NQ Disaster Watch and Noticeboard was convened within hours and membership swelled to over 30,000 in a day or so. If mainstream media (MSM) like yourself were the go to source, thered have been no need or the huge momentum that saw this community group formed. Other social media groups connected so the updates were informed, continuous, and illustrated with live footage and heartbreaking images of the unfolding event. Many of these were subsequently used by MSM.
Beyond the critical hours, was the paper the first media source to warn and educate residents about the deadly likelihood of meliodosis? How about Ross River and Dengue fever? Instead, a freshwater croc up a gum tree was a major headline, so much so that it became a Newscorp icon nationally.
Will the Bulletin give other local groups a free column or page to boast about their contribution? How about the army, SES, police, charity groups, volunteers from near and far, neighbours helping each other, strangers risking their lives to rescue people and pets?
Further claims in your Feb. 28 essay are frankly unrelated. Helping to get funding for water infrastructure? The one-year-wonder fifo journo who first took credit for this, has moved on already, with this spurious claim on her CV. The paper always publishes the truth? Only local journos contribute? Paul Murray is local? While were at it who are real people?
This story hasnt come across as intended Ms. Cairney. At least there were only a few grammatical errors.
So take off the true blue Aussie hero cape wee Scottish lassie and stop telling the local community they area breed apart. That label is better reserved for some prominent individuals who spruik or are spruiked about in your small scale publication.
Whew, The Pie will be out of a job at this rate.
Jenna, the fact that you felt you had to say what youve said vulgar, condescending trite waffle while at the same time desperately pleading to be loved gives the lie to the fact that YOU KNOW the Bulletin lost any real touch with this community a long time ago, and you hoped this was an opportunity to re-establish this limping paper as part of the core of this community. Given the immediacy of your paean of praise, so soon after the crisis and is still an on-going emergency, readers (such as they are) can smell the desperation. And this embarrassing overkill in claiming some sort of achievement by your troops when they were simply doing the jobs they were trained for and are paid to do, has all but wiped out any goodwill the paper re-established through an outstanding effort of after the fact reporting one of the citys greatest disasters.
But Hey, Maybe Thats Your Idea Of A Welcome Mat
Wonder wholl be winging in for this one.
Hey, maybe the mayor will name and shame you if you dont choose a local to take the helm. Oh, wait a sec not likely, given that the mayor who took a wet lettuce leaf to smack insurance companies who might dare to use out-of-town tradies to fix up flood damage, appeared a tad hypocritical. Apart from buying her mayoral chariot (plus shipping costs to Townsville) out of revengeful spite in Brisbane, Jenny Hill chose not to buy local when she needed legal representation in her losing stoush against Clive Palmers defamation matter. Instead, this firm in Adelaide Street in Brisbane.
Forked tongue doesnt even start to describe it especially when she uses the VIP lounge of the airline she wanted us all to boycott Qantas.
The Chatterati At Full Pelt Over Clives Guest List
Speaking of Clive Palmer, perhaps more has been made of just who didnt attend his so aptly titled Titanic dinner, rather than who did. Plenty of Townsville C-lister desperates rolled up, and plenty named on the table plan were no shows. The standard reply when asked why they went along from some was curiosity (fair enough) and others for the feed and free booze (even more honest). Several said the tucker was terrific. Plenty of ice buckets too, one imagines.
Like everyone else, The Pie trolled through the list and had a quiet chortle at a few of the freeloaders, but read nothing into it, all pretty predictable.
Except one. Check out who was, apparently sitting next to our old mate, Tony Raggatt on Table 20.
One Andrew Crook, who presumably (if he turned up, and cant imagine he wouldnt have) flew in for the event from his Gold Coast base. Now The Pie wasnt there, and it turns out Australia has Andrew Crooks surplus to requirements, including a well regarded legal eagle. But the old birds money betting that it was this bloke, Clives former media adviser.
Hey Clive, if that is external lap band surgery for your tucker intake mate, it aint working.
Now Mr Crook is a kinda upfront guy, who for a couple of decades ran his own media company with the very upfront name Crook Media. Based, where else, on the Gold Coast. And it is Crooks good fortune that his old boss didnt have his Titantic knees-up off-shore, because, unless things have changed, Mr Crooks passport has been in the custody of the AFP wallopers for a few years now. This is why.
The matter return to court on a most appropriate date , April 1, where a trail date may finally be set.
Not wishing to pre-judge anything, but The Pie hopes that after Mr Raggatt shook hands with his dining neighbour, he counted his fingers.
When The Real News Goes Away
and Jenny and Lil Patty are back farting rainbows for the The Astonisher to print, wonder how long before the money sinkhole called our new stadium will be back centre stage. One would like to think that recent events might have caused some nervous reassessment of this foolhardy waste of public money.
Its the classic good news and bad news. The good is this, reported by Australian Leisure Management magazine:
The Queensland Department of Housing and Public Works, leading the delivery of the new stadium, has advised that while the site was affected by some water logging as a result of the extreme rainfall event it did not experience overland flooding.
The Department advised 100,000m3 of fill was used to raise the building platform above the Q100 flood level before construction commenced.
Which is as it should be, but while that is an accurate summation, its not good news at all for the short sighted, bull headed rush to built this white elephant.
A little while ago, we got this pants-wetting dopey glop from the Astonisher.
Bit late in the day to realise this snippet of the bleedin obvious, youd think, especially for a council and government who both love a good old, protracted jobs-for-the-boys business study followed by a feasibility study for as a trifling matter as what to do with some dilapidated tin sheds on Flinders Street West.
But in the hands of the nameless author of this inane bit of tub thumping (hi, Jenna, that you again, luvvie?) the blind idiocy reaches new heights when we read this:
Sure, perhaps it shouldve been: with a population one third again as large as Dunedin, and high profile footy team like the Cowboys, Townsville would be set to match that part. But The Astonisher yarn goes on
But there may be a teensy weensy problem with the entertainment ideas when compared with the Barr Stadium. Here, see if you can spot it heres the Forsyth Barr (just two rs, thanks, Jenna)
Forsyth Barr stadium, Dunedin
and heres what our new economic saviour is going to look like when finished.
Spot the difference? Yes, your right, ones GOT A BLOODY ROOF AND THE OTHER HASNT.
Bottom lime: our new stadium may be flood proof, but it certainly isnt rain proof for any entertainment ambitions. And entertainment business is risky enough, dont think that wont be noticed.
Once again, the vision of Mr Magoo infests our planning leadership.
Speaking Of Which, Two Questions
Have a look at this, then contemplate two questions:
If the staff at the counter in Walker Street can tell you what you want to know if you visited the Flinders Street office, why do we have extra staff to do that in a rented CBD premises (when its open)?Why open an office in this location anyway, the sadly true dead heart of Townsville, where there are bugger all people wandering about? Why not at say The Willows, Stockland, or Castletown? Or have they done that, lots of votes out that way, yknow?
This wouldnt an abortive attempt yet again for Mayor Mullet to use public money for her electoral campaigning? Nah, she wouldnt do that. Would she?
And Seems Another Magpie Prediction Is True
On more than one occasion, The Pie has suggested we need to change our approach to water usage in Townsville, and has been waiting for the well reasoned debate on the issue. Fat chance.
Thats not the way they do things down in the Hermit Kingdom in Walker Street. It is rule by fiat and stop whingeing and wanting a say in these matters, peasants. With the amount of water around at the moment, this TCC ad in the Astonisher yesterday phrased to make it sound like happy days are here again is apparently Mayor Mullets way of announcing water restrictions are here to stay.
This may indeed be a sensible and prudent forward looking move, but questions remain dangling in the face of the inundation that has just sucker-punched our city, isnt the almost comical announcement worthy of an explanation? But more importantly, will we keep paying for water we cant use? Will water rates be reduced? Wouldnt like to be in a dark room with George Pell waiting for an answer to that one.
Speaking Of His Un-Eminence, In Defence Of George Pell, By The Pope
The simplest undeniable defence that the kiddy-fiddling cardinal could have used came too late for him. No less than the Pope had the excuse for Pells abominable actions a few days ago in Rome Pell is, according to the Pontiff, a victim in all this. This from comments during the week.
The Magpie
February 27, 2019 at 12:32 am(Edit)
Can you believe it? The best the Pope can do is say child abuse was Satans doing in other words, THE DEVIL MADE HIM DO IT!!! There was a time when that wouldve been a few hail marys and off to another parish to prey on. Perhaps that has changed now, but not a skerrick of real responsibility, just the old fairytales that have always worked before.
They have either learnt nothing, or will continue to trust their evil style of infrastructure that invites nay, virtually guarantees abuses, and not just sexual ones, but emotional ones as well. The devil is indeed involved, but hes not at the gates, hes got the keys to the city. Vatican City, it would seem. (And all other religions, bar none).
But for all that, The Pie totally agrees with one conclusion of the Vatican meeting of the boys in their pretty dresses and helicopter caps they said something concrete must be done about the child abuse by the predatory priests.
Too right it must, and allow The Pie to suggest that this would be a the most effective CONCRETE idea
these should applied with great force to the offending anatomy to ALL paedophiles but make sure you keep your thumbs clear.
Its A Week Of Questions, So Heres Another from Comments
Well it is a hot air event, Canberras annual festival of Balloons. But there was a disgraceful excess of it before any flight lifted off.
So heres the question: How is this OK for public consumption, kiddies and adults alike
but this is not?
Answer: Because some disturbed PC drop kick judged that it looked like a golliwog, and thus had it banned from entering the event.
But what if it does look like a golliwog to some (it nowhere near does, anyway) maybe to black people, it might make them feel included? Did anyone ask?
And the swerve in eligibility is a bit late in the day, as this completely unremarked appearance in 2011 attests.
Think we need another pair of bricks.
When The Book Is Written, It Will Be Called Trump And Consequences
This weeks gallery from the world according to Trump, who it would appear, has met his match.
And Finally, Is Theresa Mays Brexit Rocket Finally About To Blast Off?
.
The world has survived another week, so look back and start working up your outrage and have a thunder in the comments, which run 24/7. As you know, this load of old cobblers is a labour of love (for Townsville) by The Pie, and it will always be free, but if you can help defray blog costs and the estimated five days it takes to put this weekly missive together, a donation is always appreciated and most helpful. The how-to-donate button is below.
http://www.townsvillemagpie.com.au/astonisher-iditor-jenna-cairney-does-a-sally-field-pitifully-wailing-you-like-me-you-really-like-me/
0 notes
Last Seen Blogs
excruciating-deth
Toby.
govind7896
Untitled
alifetimeaheadtoprovethat
Mike Stamford, I owe you so much.
crybaby-fanfics
Mixed fanfiction
feathertouchcollection
FeatherTouch