#let something nice happen WITHOUT - i must add - either ripping it away or making something WORSE happen shortly to immediately afterward

[krysmcscience]

So, uh...it turns out that over $2500 worth of solar power stations was stolen from the inside of my locked cargo trailer, which was supposed to be a makeshift camper for me to live in if my general situation went too far south. The thief just switched out the locks so I wouldn't notice anything amiss whenever I passed by. And...I cannot afford to replace those stations, by any stretch of the imagination.

Which means that, once again, my commissions are open. If the prices are a bit too painful for your wallet, just sharing the word would do wonders to help me out. I also offer Timed Drawings, where I spend two minutes drawing for every dollar spent - and I can do more with that time than you might expect, so you can get a nice quick sketch for just a dollar!

I will not ask for donations, meanwhile, but if you're willing and able to spare a little change, I would be ever so grateful to you!

✨Thanks in advance!✨

Meanwhile, to everyone who steals from poor people, enjoy these two whole middle fingers and shared custody of my reliably shitty luck! :D

[fleur-de-violette]

And I’ll look into your eyes to find out if I’m real

A3O Summary: Bruce wants a lot of things. A bath. Seeing his family. Not having been missing for a whole year.

He wants Dick to wake up and realize he’s not a hallucination.

Whumptober 2020 day 6 – Stop, please. Note: Have you seen that the whumptober 2021 prompts are out? They’re super cool and I didn’t finish the 2020 so it’s safe to say I won’t do them. Still, I’m excited for it.

Back to the fic, warning for hallucination, lots of crying and pretty much general angst. Enjoy!

-

Bruce wants a bath.

He wants a lot of things. One of them is a bath. He never considered himself too dependent on the luxuries that came with his civilian identity, but right now, he really wants to be in clean, warm water with a nice scent, maybe a few candles, and some relaxing music.

It isn’t as much about the bath itself, because he had the time to clean himself, warm up and relax his aching muscles in the shower, it’s the idea of it. He wants to be in a moment where he could allow himself to lose time without feeling guilty about the next crisis. These moments are too rare, if not nonexistent, in his life. And now isn’t one of these moments.

Bruce wants a lot of things.

He wants Alfred not to look so tired. He wants to see Tim smile, really smile. He wants to take the next flight to Hong Kong just so he can hug Cassandra. He wants to solve a case with Steph, watch that smart spark in her eyes and find out how much she grew up. He wants to go to Crime Alley and check on Jason. He wants to shake Gordon’s hand and to kiss Barbara’s hair. He wants to feel Selina’s body against his. He wants to understand Damian. He wants to see Dick’s eyes.

He hasn’t seen Dick’s eyes since he came back from time. Batman’s white lenses had left his son’s face sometime between the moment he passed out next to Damian and the moment a neurosurgeon removed a bullet from the inside of his skull. Dick had yet to wake up.

And Bruce hadn’t seen Dick’s eyes in a year.

It’s something that hasn’t happened since that fateful night at Haly’s Circus. Even when they weren’t talking, he always took the time to check on his ward. His son.

He never wanted things to go this way. He has all the money anyone could wish for and more, a position of power, both in one of the biggest companies on earth and in the most famous superhero team in the universe. He’d been trained by the best of the best.

And yet.

And yet he can’t stop his family from ripping to shreds.

The Joker is still loose. He’s got a dozen missed calls on his phone, mostly from Clark. He doesn’t care. Right now, he doesn’t care. He’s tired.

Dick must be tired too. Bruce tries to tell himself that this is the reason he hadn’t woken up yet. He’d been assured by several doctors that the surgery went well. Dick should wake up anytime now, and the confusion and pain will decrease within the next few weeks, leaving only a scar on the back of his head, until that, too, will be hidden behind the thick black hair Bruce hadn’t ruffled affectionately in ages.

Bruce’s hands hover over his son’s unconscious body, as if afraid of touching him. Of breaking him more than he already did. Not for the first time, he wonders what would have happened if he had ensured that the young boy from the circus found a good foster family and left him there. If he hadn’t, with all the vanity of a twenty-four-year-old millionaire, thought he was the only one who could take care of him.

He sighs. He lowers his head once again toward Dick’s face and sees two cloudy blue eyes looking back at him.

He blinks. Tries to control the avalanche of emotions falling upon him. “Hey,” he says, choking on his own voice.

He’s not really expecting an answer, so he’s surprised when Dick opens his dry lips and lets out a small, “Hey. Long time, no see.”

A tear Bruce knows Dick doesn’t even notice forms itself in his son’s eye. Bruce wipes it away gently. “Are you in any pain?” he asks.

“I’m okay,” Dick lies. Bruce doesn’t call him out on it.

“Do you remember what happened?”

Dick goes to shake his head but aborts the movement with a pained jerk. “No,” he says instead.

“Do you want me to tell you?”

Dick lets out a small laugh. “How would you know? You’re a figment of my imagination.”

Bruce suddenly feels very cold. He takes in both the knowledge that Dick doesn’t think he’s real and the implication that hallucinating him is something he’s familiar with.

His hand presses a little more on his son’s face. “I’m here,” he says. “I’m real.”

Dick closes his eyes and another tear escapes one of them. “Don’t. Please.”

“Talk to me. What can I do to convince you?” Bruce feels a pressure building behind his own eyes.

“Please, stop,” Dick repeats. “I can’t. I can’t believe you.”

Bruce takes a deep breath. “Okay, we’ll take all the time you need. You don’t have to believe me now, but you need to calm down.”

Dick is close to hyperventilating now, and Bruce wonders if he should just leave the room and let Alfred take care of him. But that seems too much like running away for his liking, and he’s been away long enough.

“I can’t believe you’re real,” Dick continues, not caring, or perhaps not registering what Bruce said. “I can’t, you’re not. I can’t hope, because what if I wake up and you’re gone? Again?”

Bruce feels his heart shattering into pieces, but he can’t let himself break down. “Breathe, Robin,” he says, immediately wincing when the name passes his lips.

Calling him by a title he hadn’t worn in years probably won’t help Dick’s grip with reality, but he can’t help it. Right now, he can only see a distressed child in front of him. A child who always responded well to this name.

And it seems that some things can’t be erased by time, because Dick gasps and takes a few more deep breaths, calming down. Bruce thinks the worst of it is over. He thinks maybe Dick will fall back asleep, and wake up again in a few hours, less confused this time.

He’s wrong.

Because not a minute later, Dick opens his eyes again, and says, “The real you would be much angrier than that.”

Bruce feels the mass in his throat, the one that appeared at the beginning of the conversation, start to grow again. “What? No, why would I be angry?”

“Let you down,” Dick answers in a way that makes Bruce wish he had never asked. “Disrespected your will. Let Gotham become a mess. Destroyed Batman’s name.”

“You didn’t,” Bruce murmurs. “You didn’t.” When Dick doesn’t seem to calm down, he adds, “You’re a better Batman than I’ll ever be.”

Because this is true. He doesn’t need Alfred of Gordon to tell him what he always knew. Dick is the essence of what Batman should be. He’s the Batman Gotham needs, even if she doesn’t deserve him. And for that reason, Dick shouldn’t have been Batman. He’s perfect, and he’s destroying himself.

Batman had never been a title to pass on, let alone to Dick. Sure, he trusted his son and first sidekick to take the mantle if he was unable to, but he never had wanted him to be Batman. No one but him was supposed to be Batman. Cassandra was the closest to the title, but she wasn’t ready, and he couldn’t let that burden fall on her.

Still, he hadn’t wanted it to fall on Dick, either.

“Why are you saying that?” Dick asks. Bruce can practically see the gears turning in his head. Good. He knows firsthand that Dick is a damn good detective. He will figure this out. “This is not something I believe or fear or want to hear. Why are you saying that?”

“I’m real,” Bruce repeats, and Dick lets out a sob.

“You’re not,” he protests, but Bruce can see his resolve weakening. “You’re not. Tim said, but you…”

He stops. Blinks. A few more tears fall out of his eyes, and Bruce knows his own aren’t dry either. “You’re real. You’re… please, be real.”

Bruce bites the inside of his cheek to keep himself from breaking down. “I’m real,” he chokes. “I promise.”

Dick’s eyes go wide. “What about Damian?” he asks. “Aren’t you angry?”

Bruce sighs. What about Damian? This is a whole different question. The kid is sleeping in his room right now, having finally listened to Alfred, leaving his Batman’s side. He had barely said a word to Bruce.

Bruce has been gone for a year, not by choice, sure, but gone nonetheless, and now he doesn’t know where he fits, between his son in blood and his son in everything else.

Batman and Robin, a bond that can’t be broken. A bond that still exists, he hopes, between himself and Dick.

“I will talk with him,” he says because his relationship with Damian, his complicated feelings about the mere existence of Damian and his anxiety about having to work with him as a Robin, aren’t Dick’s responsibility. They never should have been. “I’m not angry with you.”

Dick blinks again. “My head hurts,” he finally admits.

Bruce’s hand hovers over the morphine drip. “Do you want more painkillers?”

“If I sleep,” Dick asks, “Will you still be there when I wake up?”

Bruce bends down, leaves a kiss on his son’s forehead. “I promise.”

“I don’t believe you,” Dick says. “But thank you, for being here.”

Still, he closes his eyes and his body relaxes a little. Probably as much as it is possible while recovering from brain surgery.

Bruce stays there a long time, his hand still on Dick’s face. He’s broken a lot of promises. But he’s sure of one thing.

He will be here when Dick wakes up again.

He will still be real.

Ending Note: Hope you enjoyed the fic! Many thanks to @ohmytoddhewitt for beta reading!

[curvynerdfan]

Danny Zuko would never

Hey y’all! I am so sorry I haven’t posted in so long. Life drug me down into a routine of chaos to be quite honest. I can’t remember if this was inspired by a request or not so I apologize if I have forgotten to tag you. 

Jax x Reader 

Friends to Lovers, Sandy level makeover 

Warnings: cursing, mentions of addiction

Y/N was having a blast! Her and Gemma decided to drive into San Jose to shop for new clothes. Y/N worked with a non-profit medical assistance center in the pediatrics wing. She was off for the next four days and tomorrow was the Charming Fall Festival. Gemma had been really struggling lately, with her and Clay’s breakup and worrying about Jax now that he was President. 

Y/N was so happy Gemma asked her to join in on the shopping trip. The club mom had a habit of pushing the young nurse out of her comfort zone. Y/N was almost always in scrubs, jeans and oversized clothes. Not that it was a bad wardrobe, it worked for her purposes. But Y/N wanted to be daring and dress up a bit. Honestly she just wanted to catch Jax’s eye. Maybe even have a Sandra Dee at the Summer Carnival moment. 

Gemma said that Jax and Y/N were a pair of idiots, perfect for each other. Neither one realized they were interested in each other. No matter how much the people around them pointed it out the two remained oblivious. So when Y/N told Gemma that she was ready to do something bold, Gemma was over the moon with excitement. 

Y/N had never been the one to go over the top. Especially with her looks, but at this point she didn’t know what else to do to get Jax’s attention. She had money to burn and was ready to up her wardrobe. Gemma said if she wanted to get the title of Old Lady that they were gonna go all out. 

Y/N was suddenly very grateful that Jax insisted on sending Tig and Happy with them because she was not going to want to drive after the day Gemma planned out. Tig as Gemma’s go-to bodyguard and Happy as Y/N’s, all piled up into a Teller-Morrow rental. 

Gemma said that meant Jax already thought of her as his Old Lady, “Sending an enforcer, only happens for the President’s girl.” 

“Then why doesn’t he ask me out or claim me as his, huh? If he really thought that way then he’d do something!” Y/N protested 

“He cares for you and sent Happy! Make him step up and prove himself.” Gemma lectured.

Tig chimed in, “Sorry hun, Gem is right. Sgt. at Arms never gets sent with a random chick for a girls day, no matter how good a friend she is.” 

Happy let out a resounding hum in affirmation. Y/N gawked at the first shop they pulled up to at Gemma’s demand. It was a very nice vintage clothing and accessory store.

“I’ll buy you the first ten pieces of jewelry you find that fit a president’s Old Lady.” Gemma paused to laugh at Y/N’s shocked expression, “Move it or lose it sweet cheeks, offer ends in thirty minutes!” 

Y/N squealed and grabbed Happy’s arm tugging him along. While he was a man of few words, Y/N had a knack for deciphering his gruff responses and gestures. She knew he’d be great at helping her pick out some goodies. She’d hold a pair of earrings up to her face or model a chunky bracelet and depending on Happy’s response she’d add it to her basket or throw it away. 

By the time she met Gemma and Tig at the register she had collected a skull ring, a chain belt, crow studded earrings, a crescent moon necklace, a crow skull ring, an obsidian oval faced ring, a snake necklace, a pair of silver hoops, diamond stud earrings, and black dangle earrings. Gemma pried over the basket in judgement before giving a sharp nod and motioning Y/N to hand the items to the cashier. 

Y/N was happy to see that Gemma had found a few items to purchase for herself as well. While they were checking out Y/N saw several studded belts, a new mirror for her vanity, some vintage ashtrays and a gorgeous green glass vase. Gemma demanded that the boys load the car with her new purchases and locked arms with Y/N before strutting out of the shop. 

Next was a gigantic department store. Gemma dragged her through the store and repeatedly threw clothes at Happy and Tig to carry to a dressing room. By the time Gemma was done each woman had fifty or so items to try on and there were even a few things for the men to try on as well. 

They would all try on a complete outfit, step outside of the room, do a little spin or strut(stand and pout in Happy’s case), receive critiques or hype and then repeat. The boys ran out quickly and ended up lounging on a couch and offering opinions when asked. Gemma told Y/N that the goal was sophisticated grunge. She still wasn’t sure she understood, but she did feel very hot in everything they decided to buy. 

Next was shoes.Y/N decided to only buy four pairs and let everyone have a say.  Happy found Y/N the best pair of riding boots for women, Tig picked out some dagger-like heels, Gemma picked a pair of knee high heeled boots and Y/N picked white sneakers that matched the ones she bought Jax a few years ago. 

Last stop was a nail salon. Gemma sent Y/N straight to the back room to get waxed. When Y/N gave her a look and squawked at her, Gemma just twirled her finger and said to “do what needs to be done”. When Y/N stumbled back out of the room, Gemma had a mimosa waiting for her. 

Y/N couldn’t commit to long nails or a dark color due to her job but it was still nice to be pampered after such a long and challenging day. While getting their nails done, the girls talked through what Y/N should wear the next night for the carnival. The three pros of MC life gave Y/N a few pointers on how to own being an old lady. This still made Y/N scoff and worry that everyone was wrong. 

----------------------- 

The carnival was finally here and Jax was excited for some much needed time off with his family and friends. Gemma wanted to watch Abel for the night. This meant he could really relax and let loose tonight. No worries about staying out too late for his little man or limiting his alcohol or weed. It was gonna be great. 

At least, til he saw Y/N walking up, “What the hell are you wearing?” 

Y/N looked different, that’s for sure. She knew she didn’t look bad though. She had on a tight black wrap-around long-sleeve crop top, ripped jeans with fishnets underneath and the white sneakers she picked out. She even threw on some of the goodies that Gemma bought her. She cinched her waist in with the chain belt, the crow studs and skull ring added to the alure. Her hair was curled and she did her makeup, highlighting her sparkling eyes with black eyeliner and her plump lips with a deep red lipstick. 

“What do you mean?” Y/N asked, holding back remorse for dressing up. 

“You look like a, shit, who are you dressed up for?” Jax questioned. 

“Why does it have to be for someone? Can’t I look hot without it being for someone,” Y/N put a hand on her hip, beginning to get pissed. 

“You look like you’re trying to lock a member down! Got your eyes set on one of the guys huh? You’ve been hanging around Happy a lot lately, trying to be his old lady?” He prodded. 

“Dammit Jax! I had my eyes set on you but I guess I can’t be your old lady unless I am pining desperately for you to rescue me! Maybe I need a stalker or some form of addiction for you to realize I like you” Y/N screamed, stomping off. 

Y/N knew that was uncalled for but her anger got the better of her but not even Danny Zuko would pull this kind of douche move. It definitely wasn’t going the way she thought it would. While she didn’t necessarily believe the others when they said Jax was interested, it hurt that he was so offended by her looks. Her eyes began to sting as she pondered why she even considered making a move. 

Jax lost his breath when Y/N yelled at him. He quickly got it back when a ringed had slammed into the back of his head. When he whipped his head around he saw a pissed off Gemma staring him down. 

“Remember how you sent Happy and Tig with us yesterday? She spent the entire buying stuff because she wanted to look like an old lady. She did that for you. We all encouraged her because everyone here sees how y’all feel about each other except the two of you. If you don’t wanna be with her, cut it off now and stay at the table. But if you want her to be your old lady like we know you do, you better chase after her.”, his mom said, matter-of-factly. 

Jax stared at her with his mouth open. He was still in shock. He always saw Y/N as his but didn’t think she would want to be with him. When she left for college, he thought he lost his chance. She came back and he was with Wendy. She dated some uppity guys here and there, he assumed that was her type and she was ready to settle down. So when Tara decided to stay in Charming and he saw Y/N out on another date, he chose to go back to Tara. 

To think that he and Y/N could have been together for years now was making his head run circles around his heart. The fact that she did all of this to be with him permanently seemed ridiculous to him. She could have just told him, but looking back she must have been trying for years. The dedication to him and the club wasn’t out of friendship but love. 

“Fuck”, Jax let slip from his lips as he hopped off of the table he was sitting on. 

He marched off on a mission, searching for Y/N. He stomped through the happy crowd and scanned the flashing neon lights with his eyes. He was pissed at himself. He knew his mom was right too, if he didn’t show his feelings now he and Y/N didn’t have a chance in hell. He just hoped he could find her. 

Y/N stopped at the ferris wheel. Her eyes were still stinging but she refused to cry, especially in front of all these people. She would either get up in the air and cry or calm down. She was losing it on the inside. Every single person she talked to said Jax felt the same way, but Jackson’s reaction was the opposite of what was expected. 

Y/N was at the front of the line when Jax finally tracked her down. Jax picked up his pace and managed to get to the ticketer as she got in on her own. Jax shoved a handful of cash into the operators hands when he protested and hopped in with her and shut the door behind him. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing Jackson?” Y/N huffed

Jax flinched at the use of his full name, “I fucked up. Can we talk?” 

“It doesn’t matter, you trapped me with you. You got one loop to convince me to stay on the ride with you”, she demanded. 

Y/N was pissed. First, Jax insulted her and asked her if she was trying to nail one of his guys and now he wouldn’t even let her cry it out on her own. She was waiting for him to pull the “let her down easy” lines she knew the man had memorized. Except with Y/N it was going to be… 

“We have been friends for as long as I remember. I didn’t realize that you felt that way about me.” 

Y/N cut Jax off, “Look, we don’t have to do this. I’m trying to keep my shit together but I’d rather not do this right now.” 

Confusion graced Jax’s face, “No, I, I’m trying to explain. It’s not what you think.” 

“I’m pretty sure it is, Jax. You made your point earlier, if I want to be an old lady I should look to Happy and or another member.”, Y/N ranted, this last thing she wanted was to dig into why Jax didn’t want to be with her. 

“Dammit Y/N! I am trying to tell you that I love you, too!” Jax shouted, losing it for a moment. 

He pulled Y/N in for a kiss, one had cupped her face and the other pulled Y/N onto his lap. Y/N was shocked at Jax’s announcement and even more so at his lips on hers. 

By the time Jax and Y/N had finished a loop, she was happy to stay on the ferris wheel with him. By the time the ride had ended they had become a couple and managed to mark their claims on each other. By the time the duo made it back to the crew’s table, the group began to hoop and holler. Y/N felt her cheeks heat up and ducked her head into Jax’s arm while he received high fives and slaps on the back in congratulations. 

“Let me know when to expect another grandbaby!”, Gemma said with glee as she walked past the happy couple with a sleepy Abel in her arms. 

To say the least, Momma Gemma is the best

Taglist: @justahopelessssromantic

[caroline-nighthunter]

The Ending Of The 3rd Arc

I said I would go on and rant about it, didn’t I?

Now, even though this is a kids game (13+ may I add) the 3rd arc especially touches on some heavy topics and if you’re not comfortable with that I’d advice to skip this one. Otherwise, let’s take this ending apart, shall we?

The Backstory

Ok so first things first, lets talk about the backstory that let to the happenings of arc three.

I.

KI really thought they could get away with this, huh? And they nearly did.

The Spirals lore was retconned to fit the dispute between Spider and Raven. Bold move KI, bold move.

You see, at the beginning of the game it was established that Bartleby sang the Titans into the world. Not Spider or Raven.

The titans were Bartleby’s children, but I guess the writers of the 3rd arc forgot about that.

II.

Retconning aside, let us look at the reason of the dispute between Raven and Spider.

The core issue of the dispute is that the Titans, who were “the children” of Raven and Spider, destroyed the first world by fighting against each other.

Raven blamed Spider for the happenings, due to his “chaotic influence” on the Titans. She began a bitter fight with Spider and ended it by locking him away in the black hole in Khrysalis.

The first world still lied in shambles, but out of ashes there must rise something new. So she and Bartleby created the Spiral or tried to. 

Yet without chaos there cannot be order and thus the spiral couldn’t properly exist. Raven realized that and therefore stole Spiders heart to ensure the stability of the Spiral.

This puts Raven in a questionable light, because it’s never fully told what the cause of the fight between the titans is and we cannot trust Ravens narrative, for she does not tell the story in a neutral standing.

The Ending

So, after centuries of being heartbroken and bottled up hatred, Spider is finally at the point of regaining his stolen heart again and destroy the Spiral. Until the Wizard and his (not so) merry band and Raven come along to stop him, but then the Storm Titan appears and crashes the party, just to get kicked by the Wizard. After that there is some talking between Spider, Raven and Bartleby and suddenly Raven and Spider are a couple and everyone gets their nice Happy Ending.

(Video if you want to see that ending for yourself: Link)

And yeah if I sound a little pissed, that is because I am.

You can’t tell me that this:

Is an acceptable apology after all that Raven did to Spider.

And I don’t think that the writers were aware of how wrong this sounds:

If you look at it from a different angle.

What angle you ask? Let’s find out in the next part.

If You Take It, You Gotta Take It All

KI always made their stories have dark and mature undertones, while wrapping it up in some lighthearted dark humor, but as you venture into the dark realm, you also gotta prepare for it or you’ll end up in unfavorable places.

Malistaire’s story was the one of a person who went mad because he couldn’t handle the grief of losing his wife.

Morganthe’s story was the one of an overly ambitious person, who didn’t know to have boundaries and lost everything to her blindness.

And Spider was the story of someone who got subjected to abuse and decided to take revenge.

Now I know abuse is a very touchy subject, where the lines aren't cut so clear, but locking someone you "love" up and ripping their heart out for your own convenience is pretty much abuse? Or at least a hardly forgiveable offence. And something that should take more this:

To be forgiven.

The Problem Of The Implication

With the abuse in mind the ending of Empyrea is something hard to cheer about. I don’t think that the writers intended the ending to have this undertone, because I believe that higher ups went down to the writing department and said: “Guys, you gotta end the arc, we’re going to have a different story for the next one, oh and Grandmother Raven is not a bad guy! And you have a week for it.” (Now I’m not sure if it was only a week, but they definitely hadn’t enough time for proper proof reading, otherwise I don’t think we would be here today.) Just like they probably did with Pirate’s book 15.

My problem is, that in my opinion, Spiders suffering gets brushed under the rug with this ending. He suffered for centuries under Ravens hand and somehow he forgets it all, just because he saw her again. I don’t want to say that it’s unbelievable writing, in fact I do understand his decision too good. 

He loves her too much to actually hate her, even if it the betrayal was crippling, he cannot get over her. Deep down he wishes that things were back to old times, when everything was “right”, so when Raven gives him the offer, he takes it. And that’s the thing, he shouldn’t take it. Because nothing is what it was anymore, you can’t erase what has happened. And would you really want to spend the rest of your days with someone who tried to kill you? The answer is no.

On top of that the ending tries to forcefully paint a good picture onto Raven, weakly justifying her actions, by guilt tripping the audience that it was “for the sake of the Spiral”, like Bartleby somehow said, even though she tried to kill him too:

My man, as your scion can I have a personal word with you?

Not to mention her last words:

It seems as if the writers knew that people would not buy into it...

An Alternative

Of course we cannot have Spider destroying the Spiral either. Not only would that mean that you fail to be the saviour of the Spiral, it would also mean that he would lose his fight against Raven in another way. He’d let the bitterness consume him and maybe, just maybe regret what he has done.

So, what would be the best ending?

To me the best ending would be the middle path. Let Spider and Raven settle their disputes without terminal outcome, but let them go parted ways after it. Spider could go and travel the spiral and take it in as something more than the creation of Raven. (This could make a nice questline too you know, showing him around everywhere.) While Raven continues to deal with the matters of the Arcanum and the impending dooms of the spiral and try to make up with Mellori, after all she kinda owes her that.

[starman-john-tracy]

Radiation Poisoning | Chapter Eleven

by @starman-john-tracy and @asteria-star

In which John Tracy gets exposed to uranium and nearly dies, The Hood is evil, and Star generally freaks out a lot.  

Chapters: [One] [Two] [Three] [Four] [Five] [Six] [Seven] [Eight] [Nine] [Ten] [Twelve]

Once it becomes very clear that John is asleep - and not about to wake up and catch them talking about him - Star slumps. One hand grips the edge of the bed until her knuckles are bleached white and the other snaps up to clamp over her mouth, cutting off a ragged, slightly hysterical laugh.

“Ooh my god, I think I’m going to be sick… I can’t believe that worked, oh thank god.” When she pulls her hand away, still grey faced, she’s grinning at Virgil. “I didn’t think I was going to be a match.” 

“Me neither.” Virgil huffs, deeply worn down by all the anxiety he’s been through recently, “Geez…”

“Well, that’s one good thing at least,” Star says. Virgil opens his mouth to remind her it's a choice, that she doesn’t have to do this, but Star’s already shaking her head. “Don’t start: of course I’m going to do it. There’s no way I wouldn't.”

Virgil just flashes her a tired, grateful smile, the words for just how incredibly grateful he is escaping him for the moment.

Star unclips the monitor from her finger, tosses it to the side, and eases back until she’s lying down on the bed with her head in her hands. She already knows the next words out of her mouth are about to start an argument, and they haven’t even told the other brothers yet.

“I feel fine, Virgil, so when can we get started?” 

She peeks through her fingers, and to say Virgil doesn’t look convinced is an understatement. 

“As soon as your blood work starts coming back clean.” He narrows his eyes at her, she might be able to bluster and bluff her way through how she feels, but the statistics don’t lie. “And that’s not just for your benefit, John needs the healthiest stem cells he can get, to reduce the risk of them being rejected.”

He pushes his hands hard against his knees, bones crunching back into alignment as he gets to his feet and stretches his arms above his head with a groan. Star knows it’s the truth, but she can’t help but feel like she’s being played, and that it was a low blow anyway. 

“I need you to eat your vegetables, take your tablets and get a lot of good quality sleep.” 

“Jesus,” She groans, pulling a face at Virgil. “Now I know how annoying I must sound to John.” 

Virgil just pats a hand the size of a dinner plate down on her shoulder. 

“I know it’s frustrating to wait, but in the long term, this is the best thing for him. Gordon’ll be down for his shift soon.” He adds, his eyes flicking over to John to check he’s still sleeping soundly. “Are you alright to keep an eye on John while I go up and update the boys with his treatment plan. They all need to be aware of what’s going on, so we can keep the Island as clean as possible.”

It doesn’t escape Star’s notice that Virgil wants to tell the other brothers their developments without her there, but she can’t quite bring herself to care mind. He doesn’t mean to intentionally exclude her, he just needs someone down here on babysitting duty.

Even with the tiny chance of a match, they should have tested her first, gone down by age or something, at least then Gordon and Alan would have been spared; even if that wouldn’t have kept Virgil off the table, and even though Gordon would have complained endlessly about the handful of days separating their birthdays. Sure, she might not have been the one to take off John’s helmet, and John looks set to spend an hour lecturing her if she mentions what happened on the station being her fault again, but she can’t help but think about how it is her job to keep John safe. That was what her freedom was spared for, and he’s her best friend, and they keep ending up in these messes.

“Yeah, I can watch him. Not like he’s going to be causing any problems,” Her eyes dart to John’s sleeping face. “Touch wood. And can you ask Fish Sticks to bring me a snack when he comes?” 

“Yeah, will do, anything in particular you fancy?” Virgil looks, somehow, even more tired than John. It’s starting to worry her, even though Virgil is usually one of the Tracy’s most likely to take care of themselves instead of working themselves until they drop- looking at you, John. 

“Come here,” she gestures at him until he complies with a sigh, grabbing his shirt once he’s within arms reach. No matter how compliant and relaxed Virgil tends to be, Star is pretty sure she’s about to get a resounding no. “Can you please take a nap? Or something? I’m worried about you, Virg, I think you need to take a break.”

“Hmm.” It’s hardly an agreement as he folds his arms around her shoulders and pulls her in close for a good, firm hug. “I’ve got a lot of work to do.” He lets what he thinks is a good point hang heavy in the air between them, “John’s health is just so delicate right now, and the family needs updating and…”

Star sighs, thoroughly frustrated by the damned Tracy stubbornness, as if unaware she herself possesses a similar trait. She lets Virgil have his hug without complaint, even if it isn’t entirely what she meant. Her arms come up to wrap around his middle and giving him a squeeze, careful of the still sore biopsy site. 

“Let Brains do something, or delegate. I’m sure even Alan can manage to disinfect the house, even though his room is a biohazard.” She rubs a hand between his shoulder blades. “Hell, set me to work. It’s what I’m here for. Just stop doing this all yourself, like this is all your responsibility, or I will make you take a break.” 

He sighs again, hot and heavy, into the top of her head, where he’s rested his mouth against her crown.

“...I’ll get something to eat and catch a few hours, but the hard time I’m having is nothing compared to what he’s facing,” He tilts his head a John, still sound asleep, “I can’t let him down.”

“Yeah, and he’s got all of us looking out for him,” Star murmurs in response, all traces of the underlying danger in tone usually, in place for anyone but John, gone from her voice. “This is me looking out for you too.”

She pulls back a little so she can see him, unsure how he’s going to respond. Virgil is so very different from John, and Star spends so much time with John alone, she’s nervous she’s going to overstep boundaries she’s forgotten are there. 

But Virgil just smiles warmly at her, the expression soft and fond.

"Now you really sound like part of the family." He points out, a little teasing but mostly incredibly sincere, as if he's really, truly pleased to fit her into the mad, chaotic family dynamic they've got going on down here on Tracy Island. Of course, he could just be grateful that she's offering her blood to save his brother's life but… there's a look in the young man's eyes that makes it very clear that it's more than that. "Thanks, Star." He reaches a hand out to give her shoulder another warm squeeze - the man is far more tactile than his sleeping brother, and it's a nice change to not have to chase him for it. "Just you look after him, like you always do." His fingers chuck her under her chin, as if she really is his little sister, "I'll be alright for a couple more hours on my feet, then I'll head to bed, alright?"

“Yeah, yeah,” Star grumbles, only half joking and shoving him away by his arm, a light grin on her face. “Off you go there, rip off the band aid, take the bull by its horns, all of that. Call me if you need backup, I may be able to call in some favours if you need to hide from the law.” 

Virgil is smiling at her, a fond tug on the corners of his lips that must run in the family, because Star is ever so in love with the expression on John. Virgil bids her farewell, still limping and tired but happier than he had been with four negative tests, and Star is alone with John. 

She sighs, rolling to her side on what she is sure is about to become her bed, to gaze across the room at the sleeping astronaut. 

There’s something we can do for him, she tells herself, when her eyes snag on IVs and monitors and bruises littering his skin. We’re not done for yet.

Very little happens until the next morning. The grim but hopeful news gets delivered with no problems and a little circle of avidly listening Tracy’s. There’s a lot of questions but Virgil is nothing if not diligent in his explanations, and he seems happy to try and reassure them all as much as is possible, in the situation. John sleeps peacefully through the night, fighting the radiation poisoning in his cells with good old-fashioned R&R. Scott finds Virgil passed out where he’d collapsed on the sofa, just as sound asleep as his brother downstairs, and had found a pillow and a blanket to fling over him, quietly thankful that Virgil isn’t as tall as he or John are, as if either of them had tried the same thing, they’d have a crick in their back for days. Gordon pops in to take over the shift from Star, bringing her a couple of roughly made ham sandwiches (he must have put them together himself), a packet of crisps and a warm, slightly flat lemonade - just in case her stomach needs settling after. 

The morning dawns altogether too bright and cheerful, the sun like a big, fat tangerine lazing on the horizon, and it brings Scott down to the beach for his daily jog, only to find Alan sat out by the tide - staring miserably into the sea and chucking in small pebbles, letting them to be nibbled up by the lapping waves. Ever the perceptive big brother, he takes the kid to see John, and so his and Star’s morning starts with a slightly rude awakening as John gets a warm ball of Alan Tracy bundled up against his side.

“Come on Allie, don’t wake him!” Scott hisses, but it’s altogether too late for that, and John strokes his fingers sleepily through his little brother’s hair. All in all, it’s not the worst way he’s ever woken up.

“Jesus Christ,” Star grumbles before her eyes are even open, woken by the sound hissed ‘whispers’ that are too loud for that time of morning. She’s ditched the sweater at some point, leaving her in a tank top and sweatpants, and one bare arm snakes out from beneath the sheets to scrub at her face. Bleary blue eyes peer out from her bird's nest of lank hair, landing on the gaggle of Tracy’s across the room. “Oh my god.”

John is smiling sleepily at his brothers, then at Star, looking none the worse for wear for his rude awakening, especially compared to yesterday. Star is more than happy to keep up slightly grumpy appearances on his behalf. She manages to push herself into a crumpled sitting position in the centre of her bed, frowning sleepily at the clock, and then them. Her skin crawls, like she’s intruding, which might have something to do with the frosty not-look Scott gives her.

John gives her a breathless chuckle.

“Good morning.” 

Star scowls, not heat behind it for him.

“This isn’t morning, this is the ars-“

“Language,” Scott scolds, looking meaningfully at Alan. “Please.” 

Star raises an eyebrow. Alan finds it hilarious.

“You good there, Johnny?” Star asks, clambering out of the bed and stumbling over to where he’s nodding sleepily. She runs a hand through his hair, pressing a kiss to his forehead and murmurs, “I’m going to take a shower before Virgil considers me a biohazard, and probably steal some coffee. You alright here with Alan?” 

He nods again. 

“Alright. I’ll be back.” 

Star tries not to be too obvious about the stiffening of her shoulders when she hears Scott move to follow her out of the room, or the way she tracks his movement. 

“I… uh… owe you an apology.” Well that’s not exactly what she’d been expecting to follow her up the corridor. Scott Tracy is loitering, stiff and awkward and thoroughly unused to apologising, a little way behind her - as if he thinks she might lash out at him and he wants to be well out of range. “For my behaviour, uh, you know, earlier.” It’s very vague, as if to prevent him from having to come out and explain, like a toddler, what the bad thing he did was and why it was bad. “Virgil explained what happened better and, um, what’s happening now,” Now that she’s the key to saving their brother’s life. “So, uhhh, I’m sorry. I guess….” His nose is all scrunched up, like that was hard. “Um, you know, I’ve been on a lot of rescues,” Scott doesn’t exactly laugh, but it’s clear he’s trying to make the conversation lighter. “Gotta admit, the two of you have been up there with some of the most… scared, when it comes to each other.” 

Star nods slowly, chewing on her lip.

“I mean, he’s… I’d do anything for him. I quite literally love him more than life itself.” Scott looks distinctly uncomfortable about that declaration, “But it’s also… different. Up there, I mean. If an alarm goes off down here or someone is hurt, you’re more likely to find them than not, and you can get them help. Up there, an alarm goes off and you don’t find whoever you’re with quickly, there’s a good chance you’ll never see them again. Hell, if there’s a hull breach or a leak or some kind of glitch… there's just never a lot of time, or help. It’s just us, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, not that we really have days either.”

“I… yeah.” Scott seems to be struggling with all-the-ways-his-brothers-could-die-in-space, but to his credit, he shakes it off pretty quick. “Sorry, I should let you go, I just… wanted to make sure you were ok.” And that might be the most honest thing he’s said to her since touchdown. The Ex-airforce pilot might have a terrible quick temper and a fierce overprotectiveness when it comes to his siblings, but he can see when he’s wrong about someone and maybe Carmen Daines isn’t all as bad as her paperwork had made her seem. Not that he’s been snooping on her GDF file because he… yeah ok he definitely has. But it was for John’s benefit really, so he doesn’t feel all too bad about that.

He’s read some pretty… grim things in that should-have-been-confidential file.

But the girl in the too-big jumper with wild brown hair and knobbly knees in front of him has just offered up her own bone marrow to save his brother’s life.

So she can’t be all bad.

“Uh, I should leave you to your shower, Carmen.” He waves a hand around airily, a lopsided half-smile on his face like he’s just done a great thing, and righted all the wrongs in the world with his apology, “Take care up th….”

Star is almost about to accept it, until that one, pesky little word came up. It stopped her in her tracks, a physical jolt like electricity that didn't come when it was spoken by John, and no one else knew or dared try. 

The name.

“I’m sorry,” Star smiled sweetly, words dripping venom. “Apology… almost accepted. But call me by that name again and I’ll break your nose.” 

Scott blanches white at that. She means that very literally and he’s not the kind of man to assume that just because she’s a girl doesn’t mean she hits hard. Both of his hands shoot up, defensive. 

“Ah!, Uh, sorry. Star?” He tries again, tentative, wondering if he dares ask why no one uses her real name. It seems like a nice, solid name to him at least. “Doesn’t John call you, um, that?” He points out, confused and, if he doesn’t lie to himself, a little afraid of a girl half his size. 

Star smiles slightly at him, like somewhere in the back of her mind she regrets the threat, but still wouldn’t take it back if she could. Part of her, the part that doesn’t feel entirely real, like she’s a name on a page and not a real person, wants to tell him everything for the sake of being known. It would bring the total number up to four, if you counted Colonel Casey, which seemed ridiculously low considering the infamy that had followed her around in the life before this one. 

“John’s allowed to, because he knows better than to call me that around other people… at least I thought he was, but he can be forgiven for the odd slip.” She eyes Scott off, eyes raking up and down from where she stood on the staircase, a handful of steps above him. “There’s a reason I don’t use it. That name belongs to someone you would be killed for knowing, and not by me. There are very dangerous people in the world who are hoping I am dead, but still sleep with one eye open just in case I’m not. Because-” There’s a thickness to her voice that surprises Star herself, and she has to look away from Scott’s wide-eyed staring. “-they ruined- they ruined the life that I had, and they know I could do the same to them. So it’s safer for everyone involved if we all just pretend the owner of that name doesn’t exist.” 

Star isn’t sure what Scott had been expecting, but she’s pretty sure it wasn't that. His face alone says that when she turns back to him, and she has to snort. His eyebrows have practically disappeared up into his receding hairline.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt anyone,” she slouches against the banister, looking down at the man. “But I am going to ask why you know that name. Because I know why Virgil knows it, and I know why John knows it, but I don’t know why you do.”

“Uh.” Says Scott again, very eloquently, as if suddenly realising he’s probably in big trouble. “It got, um, mentioned once.” He rolls his shoulders through a shrug, lying through his teeth because god forbid she finds out he’d been snooping where he shouldn't. Evidently though, he missed a lot back then. “Might have been John… in his sleep?” He offers, sounding like he can’t quite remember, when really, he’s making it up as he goes along. The idea that John might have been calling out for her in his sleep, while she was snoozing, is a heart wrenching one. Especially as it’s a downright lie.

Scott Tracy has bluffed some of the best councils in the world, for IR and for Tracy Enterprises. His power to lie is one he wield much, much lighter than his brothers ever would.

Must be a corporate thing.

“Speaking of John, I should probably get back and see what Alan’s up to…” He waves his hands around dramatically, excusing himself, “Enjoy your, um, shower?”

There is no good scenario Star can conjure up in her mind as to why John would be mentioning the name Carmen in his sleep, and the idea is tangled up with the speed with which Scott threw his hands up. She can’t stop thinking about it, not digging through John’s clothes for a clean sweater to wear with her own pants, not in the shower, not when she’s braiding her damp hair back again in the hopes of keeping the mess it was this morning from happening again. 

To her, and anyone else who knows, she supposes, the name Carmen is something violent and wild and so terrifying she hates it. But John uses that name like its synonymous with Star, like it’s something soft and precious to him to have the privilege, so does that mean-

Virgil is slouched at the breakfast bar when Star wanders past the kitchen, falling asleep over his mug of coffee. She considers him for a moment, picking a loose thread on her sleeve, before deciding to just bite the damn bullet.

“Hey, Virgil?” She asks softly, but he jumps at her arrival anyway. “Can I ask you something?” 

He grunts something that might have been a yes. 

“Do I scare people? Do I scare you and… John?”

Virgil moves his face from where it’s smushed against the hand propping it up, and raises an eyebrow, running his fingers backwards through sleep-mussed hair.

“No?” He sounds tentative about that, like he’s worried he might not be awake enough right now to say the right thing. A fist scrubs sleep from his eyes, “Where have you got that idea from?”

He gives her an appraising look, up and down, taking in the baggy sweater (emblazoned with a NASA logo in a way that strongly hints it’s been stolen) and her pale face and damp hair. 

“Are you alright?” The eyebrows crinkle, and he pats a big hand down on the bar stool beside him. “Hop up, I’ll make you a coffee.” She looks like she needs one, “Or, uh, a tea?” He seems suddenly uncertain, “What would you prefer?” 

Star raises an eyebrow at the offer, and the fact he’s told her no earlier. “Am I allowed coffee?”

She hauls herself up onto the offered seat, watching Virgil blink tiredly on his way around the kitchen. 

“John’s not, and it’d be best if you keep off the caffeine the day or so before the transfusion, but your heart rate was looking good last test, so there’s no reason that today you can't have something, if you want. No offense, but you look like you could do with it. There’s fruit tea or a milkshake if you’d rather though.”

He potters around the kitchenette, collecting mugs and filling Grandma’s old electric kettle. The coffee he’d made for himself had long gone cold during his snooze and it gets dumped unceremoniously down the sink so he can replace it with a fresh, hot cup.

“Now, what’s got you all worried about how scary you are?” He asks, distracted, but listening all the same. John’s not the only Tracy who's a great multitasker.

“I think I scare Scott,” she tells him in a way of explanation. “He was apologising and it was almost going well for him, and I really didn’t mean to tell him I’d break his nose but-“

She takes a breath, mostly in awe of the complete and utter dazed confusion on the brunette's face. 

“Scott knows my real name. Did you tell him it?” She doesn’t sound angry, just… wondering.

“No?” Virgil’s eyebrows go through a violent wiggle of emotion, leaving them high on his forehead. “I make a point of calling you Star, I don’t want you to be uncomfortable… or to threaten to break my nose.” She gets a look with that comment, “But I even document your medical records under your pseudonym, it’s just what we all know you as, so I don’t think Scott would have picked it up from me.... I can’t imagine John would have told him either though,” Virgil frowns, “unless he overheard you guys.”

“John doesn’t use it often enough…” Star muses, counting back all the times she’d heard him say it, most of which occurred on Thunderbird Five, and rest when they were alone. Virgil slides the hot mug across the table, and Star wraps her cool fingers around the warmth. “I suppose it doesn’t matter, was just curious.”

She sits in silence for a moment, gazing into the dark brew like it might be convinced to give up all of life’s secrets. Eventually she gives up, in favour of peering up at Virgil.

“Still strikes me as odd.” He comments, considering.

Star chews on her lip. With Virgil’s confirmation of confidentiality, she knows how Scott knows her name, and she’s not sure how bothered to be by it, or what else he saw.

 “So how are things looking? Does a normal heart rate mean we can… get started?” 

Virgil continues frowning, but it drops away as he’s distracted by her eagerness to get stabbed with big needles. He laughs, all teeth.

“Not quite yet.” He reaches out and pinches her skinny arm, making a point that she needs to get some nutrients in her first, “I got some more tests that still need to come back clean, there’s more than your heart I’m worried about.” He looks ever so apologetic. 

“And anyway, John got to start on the chemo conditioning first.” Virgil runs his fingers through his hair again - she’s starting to notice he does that a lot when he’s stressed. “I’m reluctant to begin when he’s already so ill, but it’s the sooner the better, in the long term. We’ll probably give him the first transfusion later today. I want to get him back to his own room first though, so he’s more comfortable. It’s a horrible process and it’s going to be a really stressful time, so the less he has to see that medical room the better, I think...” He takes a long swig of hot coffee, eyelashes fluttering as the caffeine hits his system.

“Grandma’s up there deep cleaning his room for us.” He smiles wearily at Star. “Once she’s done, do you want to help me get John up there?” Virgil wants to preserve his brother’s independence while he can, and won’t force him to use a wheelchair while he can still walk, but John’s balance has always been a tricky thing, so an extra pair of hands on his side would definitely help.

Star nods absently, staring in the deep dark depths of her coffee like it holds the answers to all of life’s questions. It won’t be the first time she’s hauled John around, whether from lack or sleep or food or injury; but being arguably good at it doesn’t mean she likes it any better. The image of sick John in his room makes her chest give a savage squeeze of anxiety. That’s not where he’s supposed to be, maybe when he’s had a little too much gravity or a handful of stitches, but not when he’s dying.

But she knows John would prefer it, and whatever makes him happy wins.

She takes a long drag of her coffee, and tells Virgil, “yeah, of course I do.” 

She pushes the half empty mug of coffee across the table and stands, only wobbly the tiniest amount. “I take it there’s going to be a lot to bring with him, and I think they’re having a party down there, so we should probably-“ she makes an awkward gesture in the direction of the stairs, as if looking for permission, “-go?”

Virgil laughs at her keenness; it warms the cold, tired parts of him that, though he’d never admit it to anyone, just want to give up and go to bed. He downs the rest of his coffee in one, enjoying the burn. There’s a heavy, satisfied sigh as he slams the big mug back down on the tabletop. 

“Alright, you win.” He smiles, flicking open his Comm. “Grandma?” They both watch the little holographic representation of the woman startle as John’s bedside holocomm flashes on, “Are you ready for us up there?” She’s got big yellow rubber gloves on and a pinafore over her purple jumpsuit, the wispy grey strands of her hair all twisted up in pin curls.

“Virgil!” Her voice is full of scolding, but it softens when the idea of John being brought up comes into the mix. “Yes dear, everything is dusted and disinfected.” She sounds very proud of the accomplishment. She’s had to put a lot of his things into storage boxes though, just to keep the amount of objects that could be holding germs to the minimum, and she feels a sort of weary melancholy about it. It makes it feel almost like he’s already gone, and she’s having to pack up his things. Ruth shakes her head, forcing those thoughts out. “John won’t even recognise how clean it is up here!” It’s a joke, but her voice wobbles at the end in a way that makes Virgil’s heart clench.

“I’m sure he will, Grandma.” He says, very soft, but he knows that with the amount of time John spends in space, his bedroom is probably as unfamiliar to him as the med room is anyway. Maybe he won’t even notice the changes she’s made. “Thanks for this. Give us ten minutes and we’ll be up there with Johnny boy.”

There’s a warm FAB on the other end, and her mop-armed figure flickers out. Virgil slings an arm around Star’s shoulders.

“You need anything to eat before we go down?”

The answer should probably be yes, but Star shakes her head anyway, loose strands of her fringe brushing up against Virgil’s chest from where she’s pinned beneath his arm. Her stomach is tying itself in knots at everything, and she honestly doesn’t think she’d keep anything down if she had to eat and then move John… which is unlikely to be an entirely pleasant experience. She feels very small standing next to him, in a way she doesn’t next to John, even though he’s almost a good head taller than his younger brother. Leading the way to the stairs means Virgil can’t protest, so that's what she does, taking them back the way she had only just come from, following the sound of voices. 

Both Scott and Alan are still there, and miraculously John is still awake, smiling lazily around the room and whatever Alan was chewing his ear off about. When he sees her, she smiles back. 

“I’m here to perform a prison break,” she tells him, “how about it?” 

[nightmarenoise]

Some thoughts on TMNT 2012

I finished watching the entirety of the TMNT 2012 series a while ago and boy, do I have some thoughts™. First of all though, the following is going to be my opinions and you’re free to disagree with them. If you feel like attacking me for expressing these opinions though, I’m just going to have to ask you to take a minute and consider that you are about to be a bitch online over an eight year old children’s animated show, and that maybe you should find something else to base your entire identity around. Secondly, I don’t hate the show, not by any means. It was fine. It was fine. It was fine, you guys. I wouldn’t have watched it otherwise. I watched usually about half a season per day because I have too much time on my hands but if I do more than 13 episodes, my puny brain will implode. That being said, I understand that the binge watching might have affected my judgement, because having to wait for a new episode to air each week hits different, I know. Still, I came home after work each day, cozied up in bed and watched 13 episodes of turtle shenanigans before going to sleep and my sleep schedule has never been better. But I digress. Also, I will compare 2012 to Rise, because that’s the only other TMNT show I’ve seen and because this is my post and I want to and it’s only initially.

I feel like the main difference between Rise and 2012 is that Rise is a character-driven show, while 2012 is ultimately plot-driven.

Why do things in Rise happen? Because a character wants something (the boys want to buy their dad a nw robe, April wants to spend a normal day with her new friend, etc, those are just from the top of my head). The motivations are ultimately mundane, and then the story goes from there.

Why do things in 2012 happen? Because the plot said so. Sure, the characters grow and change, but they’re ultimately vehicles for the plot. We don’t really take a minute to let the characters breathe. Usually, things happen because the Turtles saw something on patrol and they’re on patrol because they know the plot is waiting out there to get them.

The show starts with April’s dad being kidnapped by the Krang (/Kraang? It’s unclear) and April herself being spared this presumably gruesome fate because Donnie saved her at the last second. She then goes on to live with an aunt we never see.

We also don’t see much of how this affects April at first. Sure, she is shown to be sad and wanting to get her father back, but the episode ends on the Turtles leaving her at her aunt’s place and then we’re done for the day. Hell, the next time we see April, she just casually drops by their place to show Mikey how to make online friends.

Maybe that’s just me being overly criticial, but I could have done with more time between those moments, showing her coming to terms with things, her normal day-to-day live, or heck, even just going to the lair for the first time.

But we don’t get that because plot has to happen.

April isn’t the only character who suffers from that, but I feel like it affects her the most.

The writers seem to have learned their lesson, because when April loses her dad for the second time, to mutation this time around, she blames the Turtles (which isn’t wrong) and then doesn’t talk to them for a month while presumably going back to her aunt, who I suppose never asks any questions. She only goes back to talking to them when Casey tells her a similar story and she realizes something something, hurting someone without meaning to. Which is fine, but it’s also not really, because it implies April being rightfully upset isn’t valid, because the Turtles didn’t mean to mutate her dad and it was an accident, but it feels like it tone polices someone for experiencing a loss and not letting her take some time for herself to come to terms with that.

But y'know we need her, in part because she’s The Special, but most importantly, so one of the most tedious love subplots can happen.

I know they explained April’s specialness as her being a human/Krang mutant and the Krang needing her unique brain to mutate the entire planet because …reasons. Except for when they later attack New Yok and then don’t need her for that anymore. On that note, I do not understand Krang’s plan at all. Time passes faster in their dimension and they’re kind of at war with the Triceratons and have trouble with the Utrom, so they want to leave (even though the Triceratons are clearly also in our universe, so why not pick a different dimension to take over entirely? There’s established to be ten) and mutate a planet to take over. This is all well and good, except they’ve been at it for about seven million years? Krang takes credit for creating the first humans with mutagen and it’s been mentioned that they steered human evolution to the point where they could create a human/Krang hybrid, such as April. But why did they only have one? They lost track of her when her dad and her fled to New York City, wouldn’t it have been more convenient to have more mutants to do their vague mutant stuff they require by the plot to take over the planet?

Even if we assume that this first mutation means that the first humans didn’t surface between seven and five million years ago, humans haven’t evolved that much in the last couple thousand years. Why wait so long? It must have been billions of years for the Krang.

I know it’s a cartoon and stuff, but they could have easily removed that problem by cutting the line about Krang taking credit for human evolution and for the Krang having been with us for thousands of years. It just creates problems.

Speaking of problematic, the romantic subplots. So, Leo wants to bang his sister, Donnie is creepily obsessed with the first human girl he’s ever met and Mikey is such a good boy, he gets two love interests, because one isn’t enough for all the love and goodness contained in orange boy. I still think it’s weird because all of these love interests are humans, but I gradually got over that. I managed to think about this without physically convulsing for ten whole minutes, for starts.

Okay, so Donnie/April is just bad. The writing and the execution are bad. The characters are fine, I love Donnie, even though he focuses way too much of his time and attention on obsessing over April, but I can let that go on account of him being a teen dealing with his very first ever crush. April though  is frequently made to be a callous bitch who knows of his feelings and leads him on when she wants something, but pushes him away at all other times. I vividly remember the time New York was overrun by Krang and April helped Donnie bandage his injured arm and he was about to confess his feelings to her and she pulled too tight to get him to stop. Instead of being up front about it or just telling him that she either liked him or not or that now just wasn’t the time to focus on romance - all of which super valid in their own right. Rip the bandaid off, girl. None of them look especially good coming out of this.

It gets worse considering that after seasons of back and forth and even introducing Casey to give us a love triangle, everyone’s favorite thing in media and April redeeming herself by also being That Way to Casey and by redeeming I mean informing us that she just isn’t really fit for a relationship because she is very toxic in handling them, the whole thing is just kind of dropped forever. There’s no payoff. We spent so much time watching Donnie agonize over this, get worse, then get over his stalker-ish tendencies and get rewarded with a kiss and then nothing ever happens. They don’t even have a conversation about their feelings. The show tries to make it seem like there’s a special connection between April and Donnie because she kills him and then feels bad and brings him back, but, no. That’s not how any of that works. Ultimately this whole thing feels like a huge and infuriating waste of time. Fourth place. And that’s a kindness.

Leo and Karai get third place, mainly because of the incest. Neither of them is as toxic over this subplot and it also has the common decency of not taking up that much time, but it’s still weird. I don’t have much to say here. I guess it was dropped in the end, but maybe also not, but at least there weren’t 30 episodes about Leo agonizing over Karai while she was being weird and also she had her own thing going on and felt like a more fleshed out character than April despite getting less screen time. Third place.

Mikey gets silver because while he’s flirting with two human girls, they both seem to be exclusively into it and also he’s much more mature about dealing with it than his supposedly intelligent brother. Get this. Mikey, being mature at something. None of these ships are confirmed, but it’s a nice change of pace.

Raph takes gold because he fell in love with a girl after she beat the crap out of him and nothing is more valid than that.

Okay, the plot feels kind of rushed, in that they’re confessing undying love after kissing twice, but one, they’re teens and two, this is just the best we’re going to get out of this show.

Casey, well.

Casey exists. He doesn’t add all that much to the story. He has a delightful dynamic with Raph, coming in just after Slash confronted him with his worst traits and then reinforcing the “be a vigilante and do good”-angle and that’s nice. Outside of that though, he tries to hit on April, he hits things with his hockey sticks and I guess he has a family he cares about that we never see. Oops.

I’m very ambivalent about Splinter. I do get him and he’s a good sensei, but kind of a lousy father? Sure, his entire life went up in flames quite spectacularly, but as soon as he realizes his daughter is alive, he often seems to prioritize getting her back over the lives of the four sons he actually raised and spent the last fifteen years with? Also, he’s a dick to Mikey? He gets better later and then he dies. Hm.

Mikey wasn’t as annoying as I feared, going in. He was still stupid, but he had his moments. I also didn’t find him as funny as some of the writers probably hoped, but he was fine. He’s a good boy who deserved better every step of the way, but his brothers and Splinter are kind of not nice to him despite him being just as capable as his brothers. Neither is the show, often making him the butt of a joke or downplaying his achievements (producing super-retro mutagen, saving all his brothers from parasite wasps and the one time he saved the city from cannibal pizza it was treated like a “it was all a dream or was it” and nobody believed him). He doesn’t get a lot of development, but he’s the goodest boy.

Raph again surprised me. He arguably underwent the most development, dealing with his many demons and getting a grip on his temper. This was especially apparent in the Northampton arc when he did chores without complaint and helped Leo train.

Leo on the other hand, started as the leader of the team and ended the story as the de-facto leader of the family and also he was stronger now. I don’t know. Being a leader was his defining trait from start to finish and while he agonized over that, he wasn’t allowed much development outside of that. His first meeting with Karai introduced this subplot about him wanting to be irresponsible and do his own thing, but that was quickly dropped and never brought up again. I liked him best when he was being a dork over his favorite TV show or that time he went to space and on his first outing tried to hit on an alien lady. I would have liked to see more of that Leo, because that Leo was actually interesting.

Donnie, I don’t know. Most of his time was poured into the world’s worst romantic subplot and outside of that he had some traits, but he was mostly there so he could analyze things, develop antivenoms at the drop of a hat, finally create a retromutagen and build 152 vehicles. I like Donnie, but there isn’t much to talk about that isn’t directly tied to April. Except maybe how he promised to turn Timothy back into a human and then never did, even though we keep seeing his frozen remains in the back of the lab. For shame, Donnie. For shame.

To the show’s credit, a lot of the mutants looked horrifying and creepy. They had a tight grip on that horror vibe and it was great. They maintained a balance of comedy and horror and while it wasn’t great, it was a nice reprieve.

I hated Shredder and I know I was supposed to, but I will never get over what a petty bitch he was.

The thing that hit me the hardest was probably the destruction of Earth at the end of season 3. I was legitimately upset about that, so that’s probably a good thing. But when five minutes into the next episode Scrooge McDoctor Who did some timey whimey bullshit to reverse it, I was not any less upset. Make of that what you will. (No, I’ll explain, I felt cheated and it was cheap and annoying. Just when you think the show has some balls, it pulls a “sike” and then flips back to the status quo, usually). The space arc was simultaneously interesting and also not, with a lot of predictable plot threads, but at least we got more locations  than the same two nocturnal New York streets all the time.

The ending though was super weird. The other turtles then went into space and probably died or some shit, because they never show up again and also the Fugitoid’s head is alive in orbit, but whatever, no time for that because we have to go back, for the 50th time, to the Foot!

The plot has no time to unfold because the plot needs to happen.

Do you ever think the writers squabbled a lot? It kind of feels like a lot of them wanted to do their own thing and then someone else meddled with that and then we got a patchwork of unconnected threads, left loose and dangling.

I was surprised when we got some buildup to April’s growing dependence on her alien crystal and even one episode dealing with its powers before we got to the episode dealing with the crystal’s effects on her. That sort of nuanced pacing was new. I was also initially very sure that this subplot would only find its payoff in the season finale or half season finale, like most other plot threads usually did, but no, it got its own separate episode.

Yes, they went all Dark Phoenix, but the ending was super anticlimactic, because April killed Donnie and then someone reminded her of it and she felt bad, so she stopped being possessed by evil. They fucked up on the home stretch, but they tried.

I never liked the time travel episodes with Renet much, they felt weirdly intrusive and adding nothing new to the plot. It felt like the first one only happened so we could meet Tang Shen before she died and that didn’t add a whole lot of anything. It confirmed things we already knew and introduced Mikey’s love interest and that was that.

The show tried to do a thing about anti-mutant racism once, but it sure is a good thing that the only people racist against mutants were the mafia, so we don’t have to worry about making a nuanced take here. They could have done something really interesting, but then went for simple black-and-white-morality instead.

My favorite episode was when the boys played Dungeons and Dragons with a sparrow mutant.

The worst part of the show though was its fifth season. First it seemed like it would just continue from where the fourth season had left off with Shredder being revived - because like a good villain, or herpes, Shredder always comes back - by the worst looking dragon I have ever seen in my entire life, but then that arc surprisingly ended after four episodes, shocking me to my core. Almost as shocking as Donnie almost killing a guy, but then deciding not do at the very last second. Again, feels like they could have done more here, but then they didn’t.

The fifth season started with two arcs that seemed to tie up loose plot threads, like Shredder’s revival and the bug alien guy I could have sworn died when he was yeeted out of an airlock coming back to enact his grim revenge, all so Raph’s girlfriend could live on the same planet as him and then never appear on the show ever again. Also Mikey died and his brothers were sad for five seconds before going about their business and then he came back with superpowers and then he conveniently lost them at the end of the episode, because the plot doesn’t have time for things that are emotional or interesting. Then there was that time the writers were like “What if we made Yojimbo, but with anthropromorphic animals and also the turtles are there” and it existed and the Turtles added very few things to the story and then went back to their dimension and never talked about it ever again. Or the time they said “what if we made Mad Max and also everything was terrible” and so they did and Leo became a hulked up war criminal but everyone forgave him because he wasn’t himself but immediately snapped out of it after seeing his brothers and Raphael was on steroids and Donnie became a robot in what I assume was a reference to the comics where he died and became a robot and also Donnie ended up being the only one whose body died, but considering what became of his brothers, he was probably the best off? And Raph had amnesia just so he could say he had amnesia and it didn’t actually factor into the plot once because he immediately recognized Mikey. I don’t know, I hated that special.

But at least it gave me emotions. The best part of the “that time travel demon is back and trying to monster mash” arc was when I remembered that I could browse tumblr on my phone while it was on and then I didn’t bore myself to death and also didn’t miss anything of value.

The series finale was fine. Nothing to write home about, but perfectly fine, even though the show threw an awful lot of shade at the 1987 version.

I feel like the most jarring thing about the fifth season was that the show spent four seasons going out of its way to present itself as something with a cohesive narrative and a plot that goes on and on and then we get these disjointed stories, some of which have absolutely nothing to do with the story at all. Just the writers throwing some idea at a wall to see what sticks because they either didn’t have any ideas anymore, or too many, but the end result wasn’t great and I’ll recommend newcomers to stop after the fourth season, because for real.

Tiger Claw existed and he was infuriatingly capable and powerful and then his sister chopped off his arm and then he got a robot arm and that was it forever. I don’t know, some episodes felt more pointless than others, but some managed to be fun or interesting and some just added something they thought was fun and it ended up never mattering again. 

Some characters disappeared randomly, like the dove guy and I don’t care enough to ask what happened there.

Karai’s mutation being reversed off-screen was super bizarre. Sure, her being able to change at will as metal as heck, but it felt weird and incomplete and like I missed an episode. Maybe I did. It was also infuriating how her venom was a plot point in one episode and never brought up again after that.

Outside of that, I don’t have much insight to offer. Other people already exlained how the fight scenes, while nice, are not very accurate, especially the bo staff moves, or how the show is very dark, not in tone, but in actual absence of light and lots of greyscales or how most characters have singular traits rather than fleshed out personalities, especially the supporting cast. How there isn’t a lot of diversity in the human characters and how figure-hugging a lot of April’s and Karai’s clothing is (shoutout to April’s yellow shirt, it’s uncomfortable to look at, cheers) or how the female characters are frequently damselled.

I liked when the animation added personality to the characters because the writing sure didn’t think it had time for that.

All in all, it’s a mixed bag for me. It’s a fine show to watch if you have the time and it’s not all bad and I can see why people enjoy it, but it’s not for me. I liked some episodes enough to watch again, but I feel like in nine out of ten cases, I’ll opt to rewatch Rise instead because it has more of what I personally like, but I won’t think less of you if you enjoyed this version of the show. I’m not telling people that one version of the Turtles is superior to the other, just that I think it’s important to take off those rose-colored glasses and be critical of the things you consume every now and again.

But if you prefer plot-driven shows that can be surprisingly dark, you might enjoy this. Or you could watch Avatar, because it has that as well as three-dimensional characters and better worldbuilding.

Thank you for reading my way-too-long thoughts about an animated kid’s show.

[lifeofclonewars]

Nu Kyr'adyc, Shi Taab'echaaj'la

*rushes to post this before the month is up* Happy Halloween! This is my contribution to Clonetober! I used the prompts Fives, Cutup, Droidbait, tears, and haunt (because apparently I love writing Force Ghosts lol). Title is Mando'a for "Not gone, merely marching far away." Hehehehe have fun 

Ao3 link below, like always

Summary:

Hevy appears beside them before the base finishes exploding.

Cutup punches the gunner in a move that probably hurts his knuckles more than Hevy’s plastoid-covered shoulder before tackling him in a hug. “You self-sacrificing di’kut!”

Droidbait quickly joins the hug. He really doesn’t want to let his batchers out of his sight again. Even if that now means watching over the twins and keeping Hevy and Cutup by him and not what he had originally thought. Kriff, that’s the second time the plan had to be adjusted and doesn’t that just hurt.

His brother squeezes them tight. “I did what I had to,” he says, voice muffled from where he’s buried his head in Cutup’s shoulder.

“We know, Hevy. We understand.”

-

"Not gone, merely marching far away." But what if that marching on was actually...relatively close?

----

Droidbait is the first of Domino to die. One second, agonizing pain wracks through his torso, the next, his vision goes dark. He blinks and here he is, standing above his own body, Nub, CT-327, and Sergeant O’Niner surrounding him.

He blinks again. “Uh...what?”

The Sergeant gives a half-hearted smile. “We’re marching on. Apparently, that includes watching over our brothers.”

“I, uh...huh.” Droidbait has only heard that term a few times in passing, but he knows enough to gather what his CO means. It’s probably a lot more popular of a term out on the frontlines, even with how early into this war they were. 

“So, are we going to follow them, or are we just going to watch the droids take the base?” Nub asks, spurring them into motion. Said droids — the same droids that killed him and Nub, he realizes with a start — are chasing the survivors out of the base and taking it over.

They trail behind his batchmates, somehow able to pass through the closed grate, however odd it felt. Down and down and down they crawl, the tunnels never seeming to end. They crawl for what feels like hours but is probably only ten minutes until the light starts to get more grey and less black. Hevy kicks open the other grate and they jump out one by one. 

“What do we do without the Sarge?” Fives asks as they start down the path.

“The reg manual says the next—”

“Wait, wait!” Hevy interrupts Echo, holding a hand up and halting. “Did you hear that?” 

The four turn consecutively and Droidbait snorts at the irony of how it looks like a domino effect. Straining his ears, he listens for what Hevy pointed out. A faint hissing makes itself known from somewhere close, but he can’t pin it.

“It doesn’t sound like droids,” Cutup adds. 

They’re scanning the rock in front of them. The droids had landed somewhere close, hadn’t they? Could they possibly have reinforcements waiting outside for them? Droidbait didn’t know. He never made it to the front lines and the thirty seconds before what just happened surely didn’t count.

The heavy gunner raises a hand. “Don’t forget about those giant eels.” Ah, yes, the eels Echo talked about whenever someone suggested they try to sneak outside.

Fives tilts his helmet in a way Droidbait knows he’s likely rolling his eyes. “Yeah, I’ve…” Something moves over his head and he tunes out his brother, glancing up. 

It’s an eel. And it’s headed right for Cutup. 

It snatches him off the ground, screams ringing through the air as it bites down on him. “Cutup!” Droidbait finds himself shouting in unison with his batchmates.

Someone starts shooting and he squeezes his eyes shut, hoping he doesn’t have to see his closest brother ripped in half. The blaster fire resonates in his ears over the screaming and his head swims. So much is happening, has already happened today, and they’re not even in an official battle. He fights to focus again, clenching his fists. When he’s able to open his eyes, Nub’s hand is on his shoulder and the eel is gone. His ears ring for a few more moments.

“Ugh, poor Cutup,” he catches once they decide to work again. 

That’s it? That’s all they’re going to do? Say only that and move on? A sob chokes the back of his throat. He gets that they had to move on — sithspit, they didn’t even get to do anything about him, as far as he’d seen — but it feels so unfair. Maybe it was a good thing he never made it to the front lines if this is what it entails. 

Nub gives him a little nudge and he manages to shuffle along as they follow the remaining three. Cutup hasn’t appeared next to them, so he must still be alive. In agonizing pain, trapped between an eel’s jaw and— 

He needs to think about something else. 

Glancing ahead, Echo is tapping around on his vambrace. When had they stopped again? After a minute or so, he stops. “It’s no good, their comlinks are on a different scramble set."

Their…? Right, the inspection team. He wants to hope that means these three get off this blasted rock safely, but just fifteen minutes ago he thought Cutup would’ve been included in that, too.

“I’ll signal them with this flare,” Hevy states, holding it up. Droidbait does a double-take. Where had that come from? Granted, it was Hevy, but Droidbait has no clue as to when he could’ve picked up when they were escaping. Which meant the heavy gunner already had it on him, while watching the scope earlier. He sighs, which draws a laugh out of 327, for some reason. 

Hevy lights it up and they hold their breaths. He positioned it well, Commander Cody should be able to see it clearly. Within seconds, more blaster fire sounds out from above. He looks up: the landing platform is almost directly above them. An explosion rocks the ground for a second and debris falls, missing the group by mere meters. As soon as it stops, the final three Dominos pick their way around it. This time, he finds his feet moving on their own. 

Two clones stand across from them, in orange and blue armor. Commander Cody and Captain Rex, guns raised and pointed at them. 

“Hands above your heads.” His brothers’ hands shoot into the air promptly. “Take your sunbonnets off. Take them off. Now!” While Droidbait questions the Captain’s word choice (sunbonnets? really?), his brothers comply. 

The second they come off, the ground shakes. Another eel emerges from the rock near them, a growl escaping it that makes his hair stand on end. Captain Rex fires off a shot faster than anyone in Domino has ever seen, hitting it in the eye. With one last growl, the eel falls to the ground, life seeping out of it. Everyone braces themselves as the impact shakes their footing once more.

Wandering over to the eel, Captain Rex kneels by the eye he hit and takes off his helmet. Droidbait blinks when he sees blond hair. He’d known about the Captain, yes, but that wasn’t a detail that made its way through Kamino-centric gossip (and for good reason).

“Nice shot,” Hevy compliments. The shock and amazement on his brothers’ faces are amusing, but he has a feeling his face looks the same. Even the Sergeant looks impressed.

“The name’s Rex,” the Captain responds, reaching out and touching the eel’s blood. Ew. “But you’ll call me ‘Captain’ or ‘sir.’”

“Sir, yes, sir!” his batchmates call out, standing at attention as Captain Rex stands. When Sergeant O’Niner snorts, Droidbait registers that he, Nub, and 327 all straightened to attention as well, even unseen as they were.

“I’m Commander Cody, your new boss,” the other man introduces himself, taking off his helmet. 

Fives talks first. “My designation is trooper two-seven dash five-five-five-five, sir.”

“Wow, did Mr. ‘The-Name-is-Fives’ just say his whole CT number out loud?”

Droidbait spins, nearly knocking himself over in his haste. Cutup now stands to his left, helmet off, a semblance of a smile on his face. Faintly, Droidbait realizes he has no idea where anyone’s helmets have gone in death, his own included. Rather, an overwhelming rush of emotion hits him, making him pause for a second before acting. He’s here! Which means he’s not in pain anymore, but means he died, too. The other three couldn’t go back for him later.

“Bait?”

Flinging himself forward, he wraps his brother in a hug. Arms immediately wrap around his own torso. Plastoid armor makes it clunkier than he’d like, but it still soothes him. The two stand there, reveling in the comforting touch. Ignoring whatever their batchers are talking about, they hold onto each other like a lifeline they technically no longer need. Did that make it a deathline, then? Did that even make sense? Either way, Droidbait never wanted to let his batchers out of sight again. The Sergeant said something earlier… ‘marching on includes watching over our brothers’ or something like that. Yeah, he’ll do that, with both Cutup and his living batchmates.

Cutup and Droidbait stay standing there until Nub taps them on the shoulder and alerts them to the others moving out. They’re going to try and retake the base from the droids, and the Sergeant wants to know if they want to follow behind. Nodding their heads, they set off to observe and support them.

They watch the living troopers take back the base through an odd plan courtesy of the Captain. They watch as Fives gets hit by a blaster bolt in the arm. They watch as a Separatist fleet lands on the moon. They watch as Hevy excitedly picks up a rotary cannon once more. They watch as the handset doesn’t link up with the detonator. They follow after the group while Hevy stays behind to fix it before leaving himself. They rush back up to the base when Hevy doesn’t follow, not caring if the Sergeant and the other two are behind them or not. 

Hevy appears beside them before the base finishes exploding.

Cutup punches the gunner in a move that probably hurts his knuckles more than Hevy’s plastoid-covered shoulder before tackling him in a hug. “You self-sacrificing di’kut!” 

Droidbait quickly joins the hug. He really doesn’t want to let his batchers out of his sight again. Even if that now means watching over the twins and keeping Hevy and Cutup by him and not what he had originally thought. Kriff, that’s the second time the plan had to be adjusted and doesn’t that just hurt.

His brother squeezes them tight. “I did what I had to,” he says, voice muffled from where he’s buried his head in Cutup’s shoulder.

“We know, Hevy. We understand.”

“Love you, vod. Please don’t do that again.” 

Hevy responds by pulling them impossibly closer into the hug. They cling to each other, reflecting on what happened and avoiding those thoughts all the same. And if they all break down crying once the adrenaline wears off, well, that’s not really anyone else’s business.

----

Following the explosion, Domino decides to follow their two remaining batchmates around, who had gotten themselves inducted into the 501st Legion. It was, after all, the logical next step. Sergeant O’Niner, Nub, and 327 all leave, having their own living batchmates to look after. 

Fives and Echo get to paint their armor shortly after arriving on the cruiser. “You’re definitely not shinies anymore,” Captain Rex reiterates, handing them the buckets and paintbrushes. They thank him and take their supplies to a quiet corner in the barracks near the bunks they were assigned. 

They take off their armor and set it on the ground, sitting beside it, Echo to Fives’ right like always. Echo’s looks more organized than Fives’, but Cutup knew Fives likely had a better understanding of where he set which piece. The paint sits in front and between the two of them, lid now on the ground and paintbrushes at the ready. There’s a minuscule portion of red paint on the lid one of them must’ve managed to steal from the medics, along with some grey, black, and, surprisingly, white. Where they got that, he has no clue.

“Any bets on what they’re gonna do?” Cutup asks.

“I have no idea,” Droidbait responds.

The twins stare at the armor for a few moments before looking at each other. “Any ideas?” Fives asks Echo.

He tilts his head to the side. “A few. It’s, uh, easier to think about armor designs than anything else right now.”

Fives nods and rests his hand on Echo’s knee. They sit in silence for a few more moments. “Alright, well, I have this idea, but I’m going to need your help executing it.”

They start with the standard 501st stripes down the arms and cuisses, chatting softly to one another. Except, not quite. Fives leaves white stripes in the paint of his left cuisse: three grouped on top and two closer to his knee.

Hevy narrows his eyes at the armor, abruptly jolting, almost falling off the bunk he sat on. 

“You good?” Droidbait asks.

He blinks a few times. “I think the stripes are for us.”

“What?”

“Look at it again.”

Cutup does. Three… and two. Five stripes, five Dominos. Droidbait, himself, Hevy; Fives and Echo. Oh. Fives. His eyes sting and he blinks to clear it. 

The blinking works and he continues to watch as they continue to paint more of their armor. They take turns putting a handprint on Echo’s chest plate to match the mark Captain Rex had left. Then, they paint the indented cheeks of the helmets blue to match each other. After that comes the top of the helmets. Echo paints two matching stripes on either side of the fin and then the fin itself. Fives watches as he does this. Once done, Echo pulls out a utensil of some sort and scoots closer. They bend over the helmet together, working on an outline. Handing the helmet back, Fives goes to begin painting while Echo produces a piece of flimsi and begins to sketch. 

Most of whatever they designed is blue, starting at the front of the helmet and framing the fin all the way back. Finally, the red is used, forming two small dots and something that, at first glance, he thinks is a triangle. The little point on the short side proves otherwise. 

Fives sets the helmet down to dry after that. Cutup’s breath catches in his throat when he sees the full pattern for the first time. It’s a Rishi eel. Not only did he do the stripes, but Fives also painted a clear reminder of what happened to Cutup. Everyone can see it this way. He and Echo are likely to be the only living people who recognize the full significance of it, but that’s something he wants everyone to see and himself to see as a tribute and reminder.

He doesn’t bother trying to blink back the tears this time.

Droidbait shuffles over and sits by him, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. “Bait—” he starts, leaning into his brother’s side.

“Shh. It’s okay, I get it.” He looks close to tears himself.

Meanwhile, Fives and Echo begin to take whatever Echo sketched out and paint it onto their armor. They place it in different spots: Echo on his left cuisse, close to where Fives had painted the three stripes on his, Fives on his right pauldron. This uses up the black, grey, and white, but none of the red. Some of the blue is even mixed together with the white to make a lighter blue they use to frame something.

They set down the pieces to dry, and suddenly, Hevy has tears starting to fall. The armor has a rotary cannon, Hevy’s specialty weapon, framed in a circle. Underneath the circle is a small box, painted white over the blue. In Aurebesh within the box reads, “For Hevy.”

Droidbait stands up and drags Hevy over to where Cutup sits, hugging both of them. They accept it gladly, watching as the twins start painting on the armor connected to the back of their gloves. Hmm, from what they had seen around the ship so far, most brothers didn’t paint that part, and if they did, it was an extension of the stripes. 

Instead, they paint a series of circles inside each other. There’s only one thing it could be: a target. Droidbait starts crying, too, and the three of them hold tight to each other as they watch their living brothers finish up and start packing up the supplies. 

“Do you think they’d like what we did?” Fives asks, low enough Cutup has to focus to make out the words.

“I think so. They deserve to be remembered. They deserve to be painting their own armor right now,” Echo responds, choking up near the end. Fives pulls him into a hug. They cling to each other for a few moments, not unlike the rest of the squad was doing, before pulling away and standing up to clean off the brushes and give the can back.

If only they could see them now.

----

Coming back to Kamino alive would’ve been interesting. Coming back while dead is straight-up strange. Everything and nothing has changed since they last wandered these blinding white halls. Cadets go about as normal, yet Domino Squad has been irrevocably changed. What are you supposed to think when you watch your two living batchmates wander an area that must remind themselves of you everywhere they look?

Then the battle starts. Droidbait has found that he’s picked up on the Mando’a spoken by the infantry troopers just as fast as Fives and Echo in their time in the 501st. It’s a nice thing, being able to understand their brothers more than just the handful of words that get spread through Kamino. Unfortunately, that makes the battle harder to watch, curses and shouts and pleas being thrown around and yelled as soldiers die and watch their friends die. 

Echo and Fives perform wonderfully, as always. From being personally requested to snipe by Commander Havoc to helping 99 to protecting the cadets and even getting the cadets a little battle experience of their own. Cutup fails at holding back a laugh when Fives gives his little inspirational speech, Droidbait almost following suit. Not because it was bad, or anything, but because his vod seemed to be unconsciously crouching to get closer in height with the verd’ikase. 

Then… then 99 died. He had, miraculously, appeared right next to them. Hevy still has his arms around him, talking his ears off. Cutup and Droidbait somehow managed to get a hug from him, too, even without Hevy letting go. Now, they watch as the twins chat out near one of the landing pads, helmets off somewhere and the sun shining for once.

Echo, gesticulating with both arms, recites a story from the squad’s cadet days Cutup’s not sure he’s not just making up as he goes. Fives — equally amused and skeptical, if the set of his eyebrows says anything — stands there with his arms crossed. 

“That doesn’t sound like anything cadet-you would’ve done,” he comments.

Echo scowls slightly. “Yeah, because I never had any sort of fun with you guys while we were here.”  He sets his right hand on his hip, an indignant set to his brow.

“I’m just saying, even if you did it, you probably did a lot more complaining than you’re telling me,” Fives responds, lifting his hand off his arm momentarily. 

“I didn’t complain that much!”

“All you did was complain about us not following the rules!”

“That’s...only mostly true.”

Hevy snorts. When Droidbait turns and looks at him, he shrugs his shoulders. “The story’s true, but Fives is right about him complaining more than he’s saying. I was there, I’d know.” 99 nods in agreement.

“Echo, Fives,” Commander Cody says as he and Captain Rex approach the duo, who fall into attention at his words. Droidbait perks up at his voice and turns back to face them completely. What could the Commander have for them next? “You both really stepped up in the heat of battle.”

“We did what we had to do, sir—” 

“ —what any clone would’ve done,” Echo, then Fives, says, completing the sentence like it’s no big deal, just like Domino Squad got used to them doing. It was odd to others outside their batch how often the duo seemed to be on the same wavelengths, but they’d been doing it for so long, Droidbait almost stopped noticing when it happened.

Captain Rex steps forward and moves in front of them. “Both of you showed valor out there, real courage. Remind me of me, actually.” At that, Cutup chuckles a little. Droidbait rolls his eyes.

Commander Cody looks at them, a twinkle in his eye. “Echo, Fives, you’re both officially being made ARC troopers.”

Dead-Domino Squad cheers loudly and proudly as the twins look at each other in shock. Everyone on this section of the platform, dead and alive, sports a grin at the words. 

“I don’t think the Separatists will be coming back here anytime soon,” Rex states, drawing the attention back to him. “But if they do, Kamino will be lucky to have clones like you defending it. Good job, men.”

The officers salute, Fives and Echo doing their own only seconds later. 

Droidbait finds himself standing on the platform with Hevy, Cutup, and 99 long after the officers and their batchers have walked off. They’re celebrating, outwardly excited in a way the twins won’t be able to until they’re in their barracks later. He’s smiling so wide still, his cheeks are starting to hurt. He can’t find it in himself to care. 

“They did it! They’re going to be ARCs!” Cutup exclaims again, laughing. “Holy kriff, they really did it! I’m so karking proud of them right now!”

“I knew they could,” 99 says softly. “All of you have that potential. I’ve known since you were the littlest of cadets.” 

Hevy hugs him tighter and Droidbait gives him another one while Cutup’s grin grows impossibly wider. 

They chat and celebrate for a few more moments, sharing memories and telling 99 of the good times before the disaster on Rishi before Cutup stops halfway through a rambling story he had of some cadet-aged shenanigans Force knew how long ago. His eyes widen.

“Guys, I just realized something!”

“Wow, you can think?”

Cutup punches Hevy in the arm— carefully enough to avoid 99, but hard enough to at least try and make it hurt — and continues. “If we’re already on Kamino, then the 501st is kinda leavin’ them here when they ship out again. And they’ll be here for the next few months, too.”

“Oh.” Droidbait finds himself saying in unison with Hevy. “Oh,” again, with grins splitting across their faces. They have months to figure out how to haunt Bric. This will be fun.

----

Fives has been sitting in the corner of the closest empty room to the hanger since he got off the ship, feet planted on the ground, elbows resting on his knees and hands clasping the back of his head, a vacant stare focused on the ground. The only bit of armor he’s taken off is his helmet, which slipped from his fingers without him noticing, now lying by the door. He hasn't talked in hours and, quite frankly, Cutup is starting to get worried, even if the rest of Domino has been almost as quiet for just as long. 

The three dead brothers have situated themselves around him, a protective barrier no one can see. If only they could actually do something for him, anything: talk to him, hug him, just be seen by him.

But they can’t. 

It’s quite literally impossible.

In lieu of getting to touch Fives, Cutup found himself wrapped in Droidbait’s arms again. Hevy had paced the room, fuming, until about 2 minutes ago, when he slumped against the wall adjacent to Fives, resting his head against the cool surface, staring at the ceiling. The world feels muffled and Cutup can hardly imagine what Fives is experiencing right now.

He wonders how much longer before one of the 501st comes looking for Fives. He hasn't debriefed yet, nor shown up to the barracks. Someone should have noticed by now.

Maybe they're giving him space. But Cutup doesn't think his vod needs space right now; he needs someone to hold onto him and let him, help him, grieve.

He still can't believe what happened. Another death, that's one thing, especially when they'd expected him to appear right away like Hevy did. But he didn't, so they thought it might take a bit longer like Cutup did. And yet, as much agony dying slowly put him through, he'd rather it have been that than what seems to have happened. 

He hasn't appeared. 

It's been hours. Too many hours. He's still alive. Fives has no way of knowing. They have no way of telling. And Cutup can't help but feel like this might be a fate worse than death because nobody will know to go back. Nobody will be able to save him from whatever the Separatists plan to do. So instead of dying slowly over minutes, hours, days, he'll be slowly dying over years. 

He just wishes Fives would move, show that he's still alive, too, right now. He hasn't moved for at least 10 minutes and his legs are bound to be numb by now. Not that he probably notices.

Why hasn't anyone found him yet?

Droidbait shudders and presses closer into his side. Hevy is now staring at his fingers as he flexes and unflexes them. Fives still won't move. They don't know what to do. 

Force, they're going to have to tell 99 what happened. Their ori'vod hadn't gone with them. He's been alternating his time between Kamino, the 501st, and another group of brothers he apparently watched over when they were cadets. Not just what happened, but the aftermath, too, because he will undoubtedly want to hear about how Fives is doing. He always does, but even more so once he finds out. 

The door finally slides open. There stands Captain Rex, the top half of his armor off, a few things in his hands. He steps into the room and walks over to Fives, somehow avoiding them even though they're in the way and not visible. 

Fives doesn't look up, doesn't acknowledge he notices the Captain in any way. He very well might not, after all.

With the lack of response, Rex crouches down, gets himself to Fives' eye level. "Hey, vod'ika," he murmurs. 

Fives glances up and Cutup lets out a small breath of relief. Pain has seeped into his gaze, no longer vacant. Seeing it twists the knife in Cutup’s chest further in, the small amount of relief gone. He has to steel himself for the conversation about to happen; it’s going to hurt.

“Can you talk?” 

Don’t know. Don’t want to. Fives signs choppily, left hand still clutching at his hair. That’s good, that’s a response of some sort. That’s still good, right? Force.

“Okay, we can work with that. I’m going to sit next to you, is that okay?” Fives nods, a harsh, quick jerk of his head. Rex does so, setting himself to Fives’ left. (Not the right, nobody else got to be to his right.) He sets the things he brought with him to the side.

Suddenly, Fives’ breath speeds up and he starts tugging on his left vambrace, clawing at the plastoid, trying to get it off. He looks so fragile, all Cutup wants to do is curl up and cry with him. 

Rex grabs his hand, stopping the movement. He takes the hand off the armor and keeps it in his grasp. “I’ve got it. I’ve got you, vod’ika.” 

Fives breath hitches, not quite a sob, not yet. He signs a small thank you, holds out his left arm, and lets the Captain carefully take off the plastoid and stack it to the side. He buries his head in his right arm, having had to let go to let the armor come off. 

Working quickly and only speaking to tell Fives what he’s doing next, Rex takes off the top half of Fives’ armor. Everything from pauldrons to the gloves comes off, leaving the duo only in their blacks, leg armor, and kamas. He reaches back over to the things he brought with and picks up a square. Unfurling it, Cutup realizes that it’s a blanket from the barracks. He drapes it over Fives’ back, tucking him into his side with his arms around him, getting to do exactly what Cutup wants to do.

Hevy — wait a tick, when did he move — throws his arms around him and Droidbait. He knows what the heavy gunner is thinking, what they’re all thinking. If they can’t comfort Fives or tell him what they know, at least he has Rex.

Then, the tears start. 

Not just from the ARC, though mostly from him. No, all of Domino Squad breaks down. The situation is hopeless, from either group’s point of view. It’s been building for hours now, but seeing Fives break is the tipping point. They’d been a lifeline for each other, motivating and pushing and being there for each other every step of the way. From decantation through forever. Now that’s gone, torn away by a kriffing extraction mission. 

The twins may have spent less time with the 501st recently because of their ARC missions, but Cutup can’t help but be glad that that is where they got their start, who they teamed up with for this last mission. Right now is hard enough. He can’t imagine how much more it would tear at them if they weren’t on the Resolute, weren’t near other brothers Fives knew well.

He just hopes they give Fives more time than normal before his next mission, let him stay surrounded by these brothers he needs by him. Based on how Cutup feels himself, and that’s nothing compared to the ARC right now, he’ll need all the time they give him and more.

Fives buries his head in his brother’s shoulder, clinging to him. “He’s gone. He-he can’t. He can’t be. Rex- I— ” He finally speaks for the first time since the mission, voice cracking, breaking off into more sobs. The Captain holds him tighter, rubbing soothing circles on his back, eyes shining himself. 

Why can’t there be a way for them to tell them? 

Di’kutla, shabla kyr’am. 

----

Fives is starting to understand why General Skywalker hates sand solely from the number of times he’s been on Tatooine. Umbara is quickly becoming that for him, this dark planet full of creatures and plants killing his brothers. Felucia was bad — this is worse. At least on Felucia, they had Jedi who cared about how many men were dying. At least on Felucia, Echo was alive and by his side.

At least they had a general who led from the front, then, not hiding in the back. At least they had a general who didn’t seem to be going out of his way to create tactics to create the most casualties. At least they had a general who, while reckless, they could trust.

Yet said general had been called away again by the Chancellor (why did the Chancellor always need him at the worst times?) and they were stuck with this hut’uun.

They have barely had any battles under him and Fives will count it too soon if he never has to again after this campaign. What a karking disaster.

Blasterfire and crawler tanks and rocket launchers and the HUD having to adjust how dark this planet is and brothers dying left, right and center. Rex wouldn’t listen to him and the General has to hate clones with how he’s insisting they continue even after all of this. The medics are all stressing and overwhelmed by injuries, Kix especially. It doesn’t help that these giant plants seem to be more in the way than proper cover against these tanks.

Felucia was ten times easier than this campaign and they’re still early into it.

He stands his ground, shooting at the tanks with both pistols. Maybe, just maybe, if he's lucky enough, his ARC training will shine through and reward him with a crippling hit to one of them. Not that that has happened yet.

Someone shoves him to the ground seconds before blasterfire flies from an angle he didn’t expect. Right where his head was. He hadn’t noticed anyone or anything over there. Do karking better, trooper. You know better. Especially for the middle of a battle.

“Thanks, vod,��� he says to whoever pushed him. He picks himself up quickly. 

But there’s nobody near him. Nobody close enough to have shoved him, and it definitely wasn’t the joke of a Jedi that was still hiding in the back of the troops. What the kriff. 

He can’t stand and contemplate, though. One oddity hasn’t changed the fact that he’s in an active war zone. Blasterfire continues to be aimed at him and he needs to return it. 

Following through with that line of thought, Fives turns back to the battle and files the moment away for later. Later, when, you know, he wasn’t actively trying to not die. 

True to his thoughts, Fives finds himself reflecting on the moment as they settle into the airbase. 

“You good, Fives?” Hardcase asks as they finish gathering tools to decrypt the hardware on the Umbaran fighters.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.” Whatever face he must be making doesn’t convince him and his brother raises an eyebrow. “I’m doing better than Kix?” he offers.

Hardcase scoffs. “That’s really not that hard post-battle. What’s on your mind?”

He shrugs. “Oh, it’s nothing really. Just… do you ever feel like you’ve got some brothers who are marching on that are watching over you, even during battles?”

A sorrowful half-smile makes its way across Case’s face. Fives wonders who he’s remembering, if it’s a batchmate or close friend or even a recent squadmate. “Especially during battles.”  

He shares his own smile. “It’s just one of those moments, that’s all.” No need to elaborate.

“Ah, gotcha.”

Someone calls for Hardcase in the distance. Fives gestures toward where it came from. “Sounds like someone needs you. Better leave, might be that excuse for a general. I’ve got the rest of this.”

The heavy gunner takes a step away, then turns back around. “You’re absolutely sure?”

“I’m sure, Hardcase. I’ll be fine. Hopefully, I’ll be done decrypting it by the time you come back around.” 

With a nod, he puts on his bucket and leaves. Fives takes in the tools and the fighter. He could think over things on his own as he works on it. Provided the decryption doesn’t require his full attention. Nothing like a little mechanics to help, right?

Fives doesn’t get the chance to think about the odd shove until after the campaign. By then, it’s the least of his worries and things occupying his mind. Karking Umbara and Krell.

----

Fives is smothered in hugs before he can register what just happened. He had been lying on the ground, in the most pain he has ever felt, Rex pleading with him, mind clouding even worse than whatever that kriffing kaminii did to him. Now, three sets of arms squeeze him, chattering reaching his ears but not registering. He grunts.

"Oh, kriff, he needs to breathe.”

Immediately, the arms loosen but don't back off. He shakes his head, taking in his surroundings. It's his batchmates that are hugging him. "Hevy?"

His vod nods, half a smile on his face. Droidbait and Cutup share their own when he looks at them, too. Hevy, Droidbait, Cutup. They were dead, so he must be, too. Finally marching on after all these years as the last Domino. The realization is half a relief, half a distress. Is Rex going to listen to him? Who’s going to do anything about the chips?

“You sure are hard to keep alive, did you know that?”

“Huh?”

“That one dark planet… I can’t recall the name right now—” for the better, Fives can’t but help think at the mention of it—  “but we saved your life then! Well, I did that time. Anyway, we did a few times.”

He remembers a push in the midst of tanks and blaster bolts and no brother being there. His eyes widen. “That was you?”

“Sure was!” Hevy exclaims. “And Ninety-nine, he helped a bit. Oh, he’s going to be happy to be able to hug you and talk to you again. Mostly, uh, because of the whole, you know. That’s not the point I was making. We saw the bolt while you were distracted and pushed you. Other times, it was placing your helmet by you, startling some animals to create a distraction for the enemy, kicking abandoned blasters near you, stuff like that. For some reason, we could only touch stuff when it directly related to your survival. Isn’t that odd? We tried for years but it didn’t change.”

Cutup shoves the heavy gunner’s shoulder. “Force, vod, let the man think.”

“Right, right, sorry.”

Fives finds himself blinking at his brothers, sludging through the last dredges of fog clinging to his mind. “Ninety-nine?”

“Yeah!” Droidbait responds enthusiastically. “He’s not here right now; he’s watching over the cadets on Kamino. So actually, he saw you kind of recently, he just stayed while we followed you to Coruscant.”

He startles as he realizes they aren’t in the warehouse or anywhere on Coruscant. Rather, they’re in some sort of void that looks like the inside of a star destroyer if he focuses. What.

Despite the revelation, breathing is coming easier. Thinking doesn’t hurt as much. He scans his eyes over his batchmates. Droidbait, always the hugger out of them, still presses closest to his left side. Cutup’s to Droidbait’s left, where he has backed off a bit but keeps his hands on Fives’ pauldrons. Hevy’s on his right, one arm looping around the back of his shoulders, the other around Cutup’s back. 

But wait, where was...? His brow furrows.

Hevy catches his eye. "Something wrong, vod?" A pause. "Besides the obvious?"

He takes a breath and gulps. "Where's Echo?” 

They don’t answer, glancing at each other. His stomach drops. No. He knows what they’re going to say before they say it. 

“Fives,” Droidbait says gently, “Echo hasn’t died yet.”

His knees buckle without his permission and Droidbait tightens his arms further, keeping him up.

He left him behind. They had promised each other they wouldn’t leave each other, desperate to cling to their last remaining batchmate. He had thought Echo had broken the promise by dying, but it was really him who broke it. He wasn’t the one left behind like he had thought after the Citadel. No, it was the other way around. He left Echo behind. His fellow ARC, best friend, twin. 

His hands shake as he reaches up and rests his head in his hands. Dampness hits his palms and he realizes he’s crying. It’s hard to breathe again. Someone rubs circles on his back, the familiar but long-missing-finally-returned feeling of the other three still around him. 

His head spins, the fog that was finally leaving stubbornly staying. He hunches forward, glad to be sitting already.

When did he sit down?

“We’ve got you Fives.” He can only tell who whispers it because of Cutup’s accent. It comes from the same direction as the hands resting on his shins. They must’ve not changed spots, only sat down. 

“I left him.” 

It’s all he can say, his throat refusing to form anything other than sobs. He broke rule number one. The tiny logical part of his brain tells him that it’s not his fault, it was the Separatist’s for blowing up the shuttle and driving them away, but it gets drowned in the wave of thoughts and jumbled emotions that encompass the rest. 

His brothers offer comforting words, soft and quiet. They sit and guard and comfort him as he breaks down. Light touches on his back and shins and side paired with whispers and reassurances and somehow refutes to the thoughts racing through his mind. They get it, too, he realizes. They just had the luxury of finding out a lot sooner.

They sit with him until he exhausts himself. Even then, they make no haste to go anywhere. 

He missed this, having his batchers by his side. Even with Echo still alive, this is something he hasn’t been able to experience since the Citadel. Since Rishi, if he wanted to be more literal about it. A silver lining in it all. Slowly but surely, they help Fives put himself back together.

Domino Squad and 99, months later, watch as Rex and the Bad Batch find Echo. They get to watch Echo fight and struggle and work his way back to some semblance of normal. The last Domino standing stays strong, just like they expect him to. Soon enough, he’ll be comfortable with his prosthetics and the Bad Batch and all the new variables in his life, they discuss with 99.

But it doesn’t come. Something much more sinister takes the place of the expected normal. All Fives can do is grip onto Hevy, Cutup, Droidbait, and watch as his twin lives to fight another day and wait.

And wait.

--

Mando’a Translations:

Di’kut: Idiot

Vod: Brother

Verd’ikase:  Private (military rank), can also be used literally as "little soldier" (plural)

Ori’vod: Older brother

Vod’ika: Dear brother

Di'kutla: useless, stupid, worthless; Shabla: screwed up (impolite); Kyr'am: Death

Hut’uun: Coward (worst possible insult)

Kaminii: Kaminoan

Thanks for reading! Feel free to yell at me in the tags, comments, or in my ask box. Happy Halloween! 

[lilyofthesword-writes]

Robotic Friendship - Chapter 13

Summary: The Autobots get a super virus on their computer system. Raf's oldest sister is brought in to help.

Pairing: Ratchet x OC (platonic), Soundwave x OC (platonic)

Word Count: 1364

Warnings/Disclaimers: Injury agitation/pain. Knockout not knowing how to play nice with a human. :U

Masterlist

She thought she could go home. She wanted to go home. She knew there was no promise to return but, in the beginning, she had hope. Now that hope had dwindled exponentially. Nikki lost count some time ago of the hours, possibly days, she had spent on the Nemesis. She was laying on her stomach, poking at the data pad. Her left hand was completely stiff, little blue salt-like crystals spreading slowly across her fingers.

Without any warning, Soundwave stepped out of the room, leaving her there alone. Now what was she supposed to do? He hadn’t given her a new project to keep busy. Although she had been tapping the data pad, it had been out of boredom. The pad itself was blank.

Nikki sat up. This could be her chance to look over her cut without anyone creeping over her shoulder. Her hand shouldn't be like this. The burning had finally stopped, or maybe it was still there, and her hand was just numb. Crossing her legs, she hunched over and massaged the bandage. It was now or never. She picked at it gingerly to not cause any more damage to her skin. The bandage had grown hard and stiff like her hand. The more she picked, the more it crumbled. With most of the chunks on the panel where she had been placed, she ran her fingers across the wound. Near the middle of the cut were larger Energon crystals. They seemed to be growing and even pulsating with her blood flow. The crystals gradually shrank the farther away from the incision they were. She pushed on one of the growths to see if breaking it off would help. It felt like a white-hot poker shot through her hand. Having yelped and doubled over, Nikki tried to focus on her breathing versus the pain. It was like nerve endings had attached themselves to the crystals, sending electrical pulses to her nerves and making a superficial connection with her body.

Nikki tried to rationalize any and all theories as to why and how but at the same time she just wanted the pain to go away. At this point, she could feel sweat leaking through her skin all over and bile rising in her throat. Curling up even more, her forehead rested on her fists as a tear slid down her cheek. It was at that moment the door swished open with Megatron entering the room, followed by Soundwave and Knockout.

-

Raf lurched forward. “You what?”

Bumblebee beeped in confusion while the rest of the Autobots stared blankly, waiting for an explanation.

The medic's servos fell to his sides, too excited to understand why no one followed him. His grin faded, but his optics glowed a little brighter. “Well, the theory is we can find her using the shard that cut her. We are able to track Energon signals relatively easily. Now since her DNA was on the shard, we might be able to find her coordinates but searching for the Energon signature that was formed!”

Everyone wondered the same things. Had Ratchet finally cracked? What was this insane theory? Is it even possible? How could this even work?

Optimus stepped forward. “My friend, I think it's time you rest.”

Now Ratchet was just angry. Yes, he had played the mad scientist before, but this was for a much better cause. He knew this would work. It was what the humans called a “gut feeling”. He moved towards Optimus with his chest plate pushed out. “Puh-lease. Do you remember when Raf and Bumblebee were hit with Megatron's Dark Energon blast?” He paused. Of course, they remembered. Raf almost died. “The energy integrated with his system as did the regular Energon.”

Another one of Ratchet's crazy ideas that worked: Within the human body, Dark Energon could be cancelled out by Energon. They knew that but they were still confused.

“So...” Raf started in with a worried look, “You think she has Energon running through her like I had with Dark Energon before?”

“More or less, yes.” Ratchet's grin began to return. Someone finally got it.

“And if you do find her signal... What does that mean for Nikki?”

Ratchet's faceplate went blank. He hadn't thought about that. Together, the Energons neutralize each other. But... Either one alone is toxic to human biology.

-

Knockout slid to the front of the group and strolled over to Nikki. She did not realize anyone else was there until the red mech poked her shoulder with a clawed digit.

“Hmph. The little insect is homesick, I bet.” A sickening smirk was spread across his faceplate.

She clutched her crystalizing hand and froze. Soundwave came forward, shaking his helm with Megatron observing quietly. He knew Soundwave would not waste his time. With a tendril, Nikki was gently removed from the panel and hung in the air before Megatron. With another, he pulled her hand out into the open. The Decepticon Lord and medic stared.

Knockout smirked, “What an interesting little development.” It pleased him even more to see her pain triple with her being so close to his master.

As for Megatron, he merely frowned. “Knockout,” he said sternly.

“Yes, my Liege?”

“You are to take the human now.”

Soundwave titled his helm quickly. Nikki was not paying attention to the conversation. She just ripped her hand away, pulling herself into as much of a tiny ball as she could. She whimpered as a few larger crystals sprang from the cut.

“Sir?”

“Do whatever you want with it. Experiment on it. Dispose of it. Your choice.” His hissed out the last bit.

Knockout smirked and bowed. “As you command, sire~”

He roughly snatched Nikki from Soundwave's tendril, causing her to yelp loudly, and took his leave to the Med Bay. Megatron stepped out as well, leaving Soundwave alone in the room. He stood there for a moment before pulling his tendrils back. He gazed at the door before turning back to his work.

-

Wheeljack, trying to smooth out the atmosphere, spoke up with, “So that signal... Did you find it yet?”

“I am about to add it to the system,” Ratchet shook his helm.

“Well, what're you waiting for? Let's get this show on the road.”

The other Autobots looked at each other nervously and Raf nervously stared at his own feet. Could she have survived this long with Energon coursing through her veins?

Ratchet gladly added the sample he had melted down to the database and began the signal search, an anxious energy settling in the room. So far there was nothing but at least it wasn't getting mixed up with normal Energon output. They waited a few more minutes, hoping that something would happen.

“Mmm... She might still be onboard the Nemesis. It must be shielding the signal,” Ratchet though aloud.

“Then we're back at square one,” Arcee replied, knocking Ratchet out of his train of thought.

Bulkhead stretched. “Time to search again. You comin', Jackie?”

Wheeljack watched Ratchet, reluctant to leave when the medic had tried so hard and no one had faith in him. “...Yeah. Where're we headed to?”

He turned to Bulkhead as Optimus approached Ratchet who placed a servo on is friend's shoulder. “You should recharge for now.”

-

Knockout swung Nikki about haphazardly as he strode towards his lab. “Hmm... What to do with the fleshie thing...”

Nikki gritted her teeth so she wouldn't bite her tongue. And to think Soundwave pulling her hand out hurt. Now she was debating which was worse: Soundwave moving her close to Megatron or Knockout swinging her about all willy nilly. She barely noticed the automatic doors to the Med Bay whisk open.

Now Knockout, being his normal charismatic self, tossed Nikki onto a lab table, causing her to blackout. He certainly hadn't been gentle about it. As he was about to turn away, he noticed she was not moving. He smirked. “Well, I guess my name is appropriate for more than just my looks,” chuckled to himself. For the moment, he left her alone and moved onto to more important business. He'd rather do the experiment while she was fully conscious anyways.

[stratus-skye07]

Suga Craze [Four] | Suga

[Three] [Masterlist]

I bought what I needed from the convenient store and Jungkook drove us back to the penthouse. Once I got home I immediately went looking for Yoongi. I ran into Namjoon as I made my way towards his office.

“Whoa, Y/N where’s the fire?” He asks.

“Um, I’m just looking for Yoongi. Is he in his office?” I ask but end up going in that direction without waiting for a response.

He nods, “Yeah, I don’t think he’s busy right now.”

“Okay, thanks.”

I rushed past him to enter Yoongi’s office. He’s on the phone when I enter so I take my time in closing the door behind me. He quickly rushes the call when he sees me enter.

Once he ends the call he looks at me with a smile, “Hey, how was your visit with your dad?”

I don’t answer right away and when he notices my hands holding the plastic bag from the convenient store shaking, he approaches me with a worried look.

“What’s wrong?”

“Yoongi,” I say in a hushed tone, “do you have some time to spare?”

That’s pretty much how we ended up at the hospital to see Jin. Yoongi held onto my hand as Jin returned. I begin to squeeze Yoongi’s hand to prepare myself for whatever he might tell me.

“So? What’s the verdict, Doc?” Yoongi asks.

“I ran the tests numerous times just to be sure but they all came out the same.” Jin semi-smiles, “Congratulations, you’re pregnant.”

Hearing what I already suspected, I managed to breath. The notification on my phone was for my period tracker app. One of the tools of the app is to alert you when your period is late especially when you note the dates you’ve been intimate. I bought a pregnancy test to make sure that it was true. Yoongi and I sat on the bathroom floor waiting for the test to show the results. It came out positive but we wanted to be sure so we called Jin.

Yoongi was lost in his own happy world as he smiles, “Really?”

Jin nods, “You’re about a few weeks along so it’s still in the early stages.”

I begin to think about my temper and cravings, “So these mood swings were most likely caused by the pregnancy?”

“Yeah, I’m sure at some point you’ll begin to have morning sickness as well.”

Oh joy.

“What about what I’ve been seeing?” I want to know if this is what’s been triggering my seeing Hyung-Sik everywhere. The hormone imbalance caused me more worries than were actually happening.

Yoongi stares at Jin for an answer to what’s been going on, “There’s no sure answer that you being pregnant is the cause of seeing things. I’m sorry I can’t be more helpful about that.”

Shortly after going over the plans of what’s to come with the pregnancy, Yoongi and I return to the penthouse to give the news to Bangtan. They were more excited than I was at the surprise.

“Noona, you’re having a baby?” Jimin lifts me up in a hug.

Namjoon shakes Yoongi’s hand, “Congrats but I’m not surprised that you would get her knocked up this early.”

J-Hope nods, “Yeah and V owes me a hundred bucks.”

“I was so close. If only you could’ve waited another month.” V hands J-Hope a bill from his wallet as he huffs back to where he was sitting.

“We should throw a party.” Jimin suggests with excitement in his voice like he was going to be a big brother.

Yoongi shakes his head, “No, this news stays between us.”

“What?” J-Hope exclaims.

“We still don’t know who’s been terrorizing Y/N and this would only give them more ammunition to hurt us, so just between everyone in this room and no one else. We can’t risk someone we know being behind all this.”

“I understand what you’re saying but it’s gonna be pretty hard to keep this secret when she starts growing a belly.” Namjoon adds.

Yoongi nods, “I know, hopefully we can get rid of the threat before the baby’s born. I’m counting on you guys to put a stop to this person.”

Namjoon nods his head, “We won’t let you down.”

As soon as the meeting is over, all the members disperse to get to work. I stay looking out the window. A million thoughts going through my head while I look out into the city lights like what happens now? How will this child be born when their mother is losing her mind? Am I even ready to have a child?

I’m taken out of my thoughts when Yoongi’s arms wrap around me. He leans his chin on my shoulder while his hands begin to stroke my stomach. Images of my stomach growing start flashing in my head.

“What are you thinking about?” He whispers in my ear.

I sigh, “Nothing and everything my mind wants to think of.”

He asks, “Are you happy about this at least?”

“Of course I am. It’s just I’m scared of everything that might happen to our baby before and after they’re born.”

Yoongi turns me around to face him, “Nothing is going to happen to you, okay? I won’t let anyone hurt you or our child. They’re gonna have to go through Jungkook, V, Jimin, RM, J-Hope, Jin, and lastly me.” He brushes my hair behind my ear. “It doesn’t matter who it is. If it’s Hyung-Sik, I’ll kill him all over again.”

I nod leaning my head into his shoulder and the worries slowly settle in my mind. We had gotten through what I thought was the worst but now involving our unborn child tops that.

“Suga,” Jungkook calls from the hall, “CL is here to see you.”

Yoongi looks over his shoulder and nods, “Let her in.”

I stayed in Yoongi’s embrace when CL came walking into the living room. She looks more casual than when I saw her at the party with a white button up shirt that was tucked in her ripped jeans.

“Is it a bad time?” She asks when she sees us.

Yoongi shakes his head, “Just a second.” He pulls me away to look down at me, “Can you give us a minute?”

“Actually,” CL interjects, “the reason for my visit isn’t to talk to business. I came to see if Y/N had some time to spare for a little girls day.”

I’m surprised to hear that CL had come to the penthouse just to spend time with me, someone she just met recently. Although, I have been interested in knowing more about her since I know that Yoongi will only sugar coat his past with her.

Yoongi, who’s equally surprised, turns his attention back to me, “You feel up for it?”

I nod, “A change of scenery would be nice.”

I don’t know what kind of person CL is but if Yoongi trusts her that much then she must be an honorable ally. Plus, it’s pretty difficult to have a girl friend to talk to. I’ve been close to Taeyeon but she’s a civilian that doesn’t think twice that I’m a mafia leader's wife, let alone has had associations with the underground lifestyle. With CL, at least we have one thing in common, that being a daughter of a mafia leader.

I head upstairs to change my clothes when I hear Yoongi talk with CL. “Have her back before it gets dark out. She’s been on edge lately.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll have my best men watching us so you don’t have to be worried. She’s in good hands.”

CL really meant what she said about having a girls day. She took me to a salon where we got our nails and hair done, along with a spa treatment. I’ve never taken time like this for myself before but I can’t say that I didn’t enjoy it.

After the spa, she took me to a fancy restaurant to get something to eat. The place had indoor and outdoor seating. CL thought it would be better if we sat outside to keep the fresh air flowing. Of course, she had her guards standing close by. 

“I really appreciate you doing all this, CL.”

She smiles waving me off, “Don’t worry about it. We may be a part of the mafia but us girls still need time to ourselves.”

“I’ve never really had a friend of any kind in the mafia before. My dad felt it would be better to have me go to school and away from it all. I knew that no one at school would understand me so I never bothered getting close to anyone.”

“Yeah, it’s not easy making and keeping them for girls like us. Besides, Suga mentioned that you’ve been stressing lately so I figured what are friends for. Don’t get mad at him for telling me but I could sense when I was talking to him over the phone that something was wrong. If you’ve been friends as long as we have, you have a sixth sense for it.”

The curiosity gets to me as I ask, “So how did you meet Yoongi?”

She smiles thinking for a moment, “I met him when I was about a year into inheriting 21 Mafia. I’d run into him while I was doing a job. We had the same objective. If I had met him now, I would’ve killed him right then and there but I was naive back then. He asked for my help in becoming a mafia leader.”

I looked at her in surprise, “He asked you to take him in?”

CL nods, “I told him no at first because, having grown up in the business like you and I, this isn’t a life I would curse anyone with.”

“How did he convince you?”

She chuckles, “He said he had something to fight for. There was someone he owed a huge debt to, that he wanted to repay and he was willing to give up a normal life to make it up to her. Hearing how passionate he was, I agreed to help him and Bangtan. I taught him a lot of the stuff he knows now. Some other things he learned on his own. All of it for you.”

“Sometimes I wish he hadn’t joined our world. I saved him that day because I wanted to help him live a peaceful life later on.”

“I understand how you feel. I feel the same way at times when he got hurt. I felt even worse once he started getting better at it. It sometimes feels like I created a monster.”

“We both helped him become who he is today. At least he didn’t turn out like Hyung-Sik or else I would’ve never married him.”

“Don’t feel too guilty, Y/N. Suga loves you and for people like us it’s hard to find someone that genuinely cares like that. He made his way up the mafia ladder for you and he won’t hesitate to jump off it for you either.”

It’s true. I never once doubted Yoongi’s love for me and now with a baby coming into the picture I know that he will do everything in his power to protect him/her.

I reach out to raise my teacup to her, “To being the princesses of the underworld.”

She raises her drink to clink with mine, “Princesses of the underworld.”

I drink the entire cup of tea in one gulp, raising my head like it’s a shot. I place the cup down on the table to look up at CL. Looking past her, my eyes catch something strange off in the distance. Seeing him stand there with that cocky smirk sends shivers up my spine, Hyung-Sik waves playfully at me from the other end of the crosswalk.

“Y/N, are you okay?” CL asks.

Not taking my eyes off the figure I whisper to CL, “There’s a man standing on the corner watching us.”

CL straightens her back and pretends to fix her hair so she can strategically look over her shoulder. Finally, she turns completely to look across the way where Hyung-Sik remained to stand.

She turns back around at me with a calm face, “There’s no one there.”

My heart drops once she says that. I rub my eyes and look back to find that he was gone once again. 

“You know what?” I chuckle, “I think that spa relaxed me so much that I’m starting to get really tired.”

She nods, “Yeah, it’s getting late anyways. Let’s get you home.”

Could this really be because of the pregnancy or am I just losing my mind?

Since the events of yesterday have been playing over and over again in my head, I take the opportunity to sleep in. I didn’t tell Yoongi about it because I didn’t want to worry him any more to the point where he wouldn’t let me out of the house again. Now with a baby involved, it would just make matters worse.

Of course sleeping in didn’t last long once I started to hear a lot of movement going on in the hallway. I finally give up trying to sleep and decide to investigate the noises. I find Jimin and Jungkook carrying some furniture out of the extra room from down the hall down the stairs. I head into the room where Yoongi is with Namjoon. V and J-Hope were on the other side of the room painting the walls a creamy color.

“Yoongi?” I call out to him.

He turns his attention towards me, “Y/N, did we wake you?”

I go past the question to ask, “What are you doing to the spare room?”

He gives me the widest smile, “I was just getting a head start on the nursery.”

“Nursery?” I repeat.

“Yeah, we’ll have to wait to start getting baby stuff but I’m getting a head start with the color. Since we don’t know whether it’s gonna be a boy or a girl, RM thought it would be a good idea to go for neutral colors.”

Namjoon points at the paint cans, “White and gold is the color scheme we’re going for. Of course when you find out, it’s up to you if you wanna change it.”

“A hundred bucks says it’s gonna be a girl.” V declares.

J-Hope shakes his hand, “I say it’s gonna be a boy.”

“Yoongi, it’s a little early to be starting the nursery. I mean we just found out about it yesterday.”

“I know, we’re just planning ahead. For now, it’s just the basic furniture. Once we get everything under control then we can bring in the baby stuff.”

I can tell that he’s extremely looking forward to having this baby more than I am right now, mostly because of the things I’ve been seeing. As long as he’s distracted by this I can deal with what’s going on in my head and he won't have to be worried about me as much.

Yoongi snaps his fingers, “Speaking of babies, I was thinking we should at least tell your dad about the pregnancy since he was the one that was looking the most forward to it.”

I nod at the idea, “I called him yesterday but he said he wasn’t feeling well so I let him rest. I’ll call him back later.”

“Well why don’t we go visit him today? I’m sure the surprise will be better in person anyway.” He says squeezing my hands.

I nod, “Yeah, why not?”

We set out to give my dad the good news that he would be a grandpa soon. Growing up, I never pictured myself having a child, only because things were never going to be easy. With my dad encouraging us to have kids makes me think that if he has so much faith that it’ll be okay to start a family then I should be confident in the future and have our baby with peace and at ease.

Yoongi and I exit the car followed by the rest of Bangtan. Yoongi was carrying a box of those horrible chocolates my dad loves so much as a gift. It’d be less extravagant than a whole lot of balloons to get anyone suspicious of the occasion.

Entering the house, we came across my dad’s assistant.

“We’re here to see dad, is he busy?” I ask him.

He smiles and points towards his office, “He’s in his study. You may go on in.”

I squeezed Yoongi’s hand at how nervous I was to tell him the surprise, “Dad?” I knock lightly on his door before opening in completely.

He was standing in front of his window with his drink in hand like he would usually do when he was in the middle of thinking of future attack plans.

I call out to him, “Hey dad, it’s me and Yoongi.”

Dad turns to face us. His face looks pale and his other hand clutching his chest.

“Dad, are you okay?” He drops his drink on the floor causing it to shatter on the wooden floor.

He begins to lean against his desk as I run towards him to check on him. He pushes me back as he coughs up blood right in front of me then collapses on the floor. I manage to catch him but with his weight I end up falling to the ground with him.

“DAD!”

I turn to Yoongi for help which he yells out to Namjoon, “Call Doc!” 

I do my best to keep my emotions under control while helping him survive, “Dad, I need you to tell me what's wrong?”

He reaches out for my hand and pulls me down to his level as he whispers in my ear, “Don’t...trust...don’t...believe...it.” He barely manages to spit out.

“What? Don’t trust who?”

Yoongi kneels down beside me, “Just hang in there. Jin is on his way.”

Dad looks up at Yoongi and nods then turns his eyes back to me, “Yoongi will protect you.”

My eyes begin to blur as the tears begin to form, “No, dad. You’re gonna be fine. I just need you to hold on until help gets here. You have to live to see your grandchild. I’m pregnant. You’re going to be a grandpa.”

He cups my cheek, “A beautiful mother you’ll be.” His grip on my hands goes completely limp.

I gasp as I begin screaming my heart out, “DAD!” Thinking of anything that could work, I start performing CPR on him.

Yoongi begins pulling me by the shoulders but I continue to push down on my dad’s chest. I check his pulse again and again but it never comes back.

“Dad?” I called him in hopes that he would somehow wake up again, “Daddy?”

I finally realize when there’s nothing more anyone could do. I reach up to kiss my father’s head one last time. Yoongi pulls me away from his body and embraces me into a hug where I just start crying in his chest.

[Five]

[29-pieces]

Whumptober day 23 - Good Omens

Day 23: Sleep Deprivation Fandom/setting: Good Omens - pre-Apocalypse, shortly after Crowley wakes up from the century he decided to snooze through Read on AO3 Read on FF.net

~*~

The pain was more than he could stand, a coursing, biting, stinging, agonizing pain. Crowley slumped forward in the chair he was bound to, wrists tugging desperately at ropes that had been secured by a duke of Hell and therefore weren't going to come loose no matter how much he struggled. Blood dripped from a dozen different cuts across his face, chest, and limbs... he'd lost so much of it already, it was a wonder his body didn't discorporate...

A dagger flashed, taking another slice out of his cheek. Crowley cried out with pain and it was too much, it was all too much, the relentless torment. As the blood flowed, his vision started going grey at the edges, then darker grey, then black... Somewhere in the distance, a nasty voice was saying nasty things, but Crowley lost all sense of it as he dipped at last into blessed, merciful, beautiful unconsciousness.

ZAP!

Crowley heard himself screaming as the electric current tore through every muscle in his body, the heat burning his throat where the collar made contact with skin. Jolted back awake, he straightened in the chair and panted, trying to breathe through the sobs.

"Ah-ah," Hastur said, crouching down in front of Crowley and patting his cheek. "Best stay awake if you don't want that to happen again." He grinned, though, jagged teeth showing that he very much wanted that to happen again.

Crowley trembled as the electric current slowly dissipated, then looked up at his tormentor.

"Come on, fellas," he wheezed plaintively, watching Hastur stand and start to stalk around him, while Ligur lounged nearby with a grin. "I got it, okay? I learned my lesson, we- we don't have to keep doing this-"

"Beelzebub thinks otherwise," Ligur reminded him. "Hastur and I got the whole year off just to keep this up and make sure the lesson sinks in. It's only been... what's it been, Hastur?"

"A week," Hastur replied. The toad on top of his head croaked delightedly. "So get used to pain for a while, Crowley. You got fifty-one more to go."

"Can't- can't we talk about this? I swear I'll do better-"

"A century, Crowley. A century of temptations and spreading evil and potential souls for our side, gone to waste."

Crowley leaned away from the dagger hovering over one of his snake eyes, still shaking. "I already said I was sorry-"

"You're here to do a job, not sleep."

"I told you, I was recovering, my angel nemesis had-"

"You got a boo-boo and decided to have a nice lie-in? For a hundred years? And thought that was going to go over well?" Hastur tsk-ed. "And you claim to be so clever. Well, you had your nice little century long nap, so do you know what you'll be doing for the next century?" Hastur pressed the dagger into Crowley's cheek, letting the snake demon's blood drip down the blade as he flashed his teeth again. "Not sleeping."

"Your new little collar will see to that," Ligur tittered. "Every time you fall asleep..." He punched a fist into his palm. "Zap!"

"For a hundred years." Hastur pulled the dagger away, then plunged it hilt-deep into Crowley's abdomen.

Crowley had spent the first two days trying not to give them any satisfaction, but that had quickly gone out the window under Hastur's skillful hands: he threw his head back and screamed. This, of course, only ignited the bloodlust in Hastur's eyes. The toad croaked again as Hastur withdrew the dagger and then stabbed it in once more several inches away. Crowley choked on blood, feeling the hot liquid dribbling from his mouth. The edges of his vision were going dark again, the pain too much to tolerate even as he frantically tried to stay awake to avoid the jolt of electricity that would be following soon.

He couldn't stop... he was slipping...

...

...

ZAP!

Crowley screamed again and sobbed, writhing in his chair as he rode through yet another wave of the electricity. A year of this?! Hastur wasn't going to get bored and leave him alone, Crowley was really going to spend the entire year tied to this chair in unending torment. They'd already warned him they had pre-filed the paperwork to fast-track his recorporation in case he died, which meant there was no mercy coming. Hot tears slid down Crowley's face, hating that it had only taken a week for them to break him of any pride.

"Let's start again," Hastur beamed. "Ligur, you want a turn?"

Crowley shrank back as much as he could in the chair, but of course he was helpless...

The door to the shack burst in suddenly, blown off its hinges. Crowley had just enough time to see a blinding ring of heavenly light, his befuddled mind whispering "angel", before a concussive whomp knocked him senseless.

...ZAP!

Crowley shrieked as the electric current ran right over the pathways it had just burned through his muscles before he'd had the slightest chance to heal, only multiplying the pain. He writhed and shook, his own body no longer under his control, while somewhere beside him he heard a horrified, frantic voice calling his name. Then he was pitching forward, wrists free of their bonds, straight into something soft and sturdy.

"Crowley, oh Crowley, my poor boy, what in Heaven's name have they done to you? What- what is that thing?"

Hands at his throat, ripping the shock collar off his neck, and Crowley trembled with relief.

"Angel," he whispered hoarsely. Weakly, he smiled up at his savior, meeting Aziraphale's stricken eyes. "Good timing..."

"Why are they hurting you?" the angel cried. "I haven't seen you in... must be a hundred years, at least..." He blanched, then gasped, "You haven't been here that whole time?"

Crowley shook his head in reassurance, rubbing his shredded wrists painfully. "Week," he murmured. "They- they weren't happy with me..." He looked around Aziraphale to see Hastur and Ligur unconscious on the floor. Pity they didn't have a demonic shock collar to wake them, he thought resentfully.

The angel rumbled with displeasure, then quietly offered, "Let me heal you."

He reached for Crowley, but the demon pulled away. "Best not," he said mournfully. "Be hard enough to find a convincing lie for Beelzebub what happened here... an angel bursts in and the one demon who's already down for the count is rescued and healed?"

Aziraphale slumped but nodded, then tensed. "I- I suppose I should... kill them," he said doubtfully. "I came investigating because of all the demonic energy coming from this place..."

As much as the idea genuinely appealed to Crowley, he shook his head with regret. "Can't do that, either," he decided. "Be even more suspicious, wouldn't it? That you killed two dukes but I escaped."

This did bring a conundrum, the more he thought about it. Even if he did "miraculously escape" the angel, he hadn't finished his punishment from Beelzebub. Crowley trembled with the idea of enduring the remainder of the year like this, and another 99 without the ability to sleep. He couldn't do it. But... Crowley's mind began to race as the beginnings of a plan came together. He looked up at Aziraphale and grimly smiled. ~*~

Aziraphale tried not to pace, but really his nerves were shot. Crowley had sworn he would come back up as soon as he'd checked in with Beelzebub, but until he did so, the angel had no way of knowing if Crowley's clever tongue was going to be enough this time. It sounded like he'd been in dreadful trouble, now he was walking straight back into Hell? Then again, what else could he do short of running away and being hunted forever? Aziraphale wrung his hands, already toying with the idea of how he might justify to Heaven that he simply had to go and rescue a demon from Hell...

The door opened and Aziraphale spun around, then nearly sagged with relief to see Crowley trudging in, clearly exhausted and still covered in horrible wounds, but still very much alive.

"It worked?" he asked anxiously, hurrying to meet his friend.

Crowley nodded, managing a smile. "Beelzebub bought it," he said with a shrug. "I just said that collar woke me up after you knocked us all out, and that you decided to brutally torture me for information-"

Aziraphale squeaked in dismay, even though he knew of course this had always been part of the plan, and that of course he hadn't actually done so. But, just, the thought...

Ignoring him, Crowley went on, "And I had to use all my wiles to trick you into believing false information, that Hastur and Ligur were considering turning traitor. So of course you spared their lives, not wanting to kill potential future informants."

"And Beelzebub believed that?" Aziraphale couldn't help but repeat incredulously.

Crowley shrugged. "S'not like Hastur or Ligur can dispute it, being unconscious for the whole thing and all. Told them you'd decided to let me go afterward as payment for the 'information', then I brought the dukes down to safety. Saved their miserable lives, I did. Two dukes, and I out-wiled a principality to boot. Beelzebub commuted the rest of my sentence for it."

Aziraphale shook his head, watching the snake demon with pure admiration. "I must say, you have quite the clever mind, my dear. Now then... I understand you can't be sleeping a whole century through again, but mightn't it be prudent to rest for a little while and let your body heal from that horrid Hastur? You... you can stay here at my place, if you like," he added, feeling a touch of heat on his cheeks. He hurried to add, "I mean, no demon is going to think of checking up on you here, especially now that I'm the, er... brutally torturing principality. You might even let me have a look at those wounds now?"

Crowley glanced down and raised a noncommittal shoulder. "Er... yeah, alright," he said. "Not sure I could even get back home, to be honest. So exhausted..."

"Then it's settled," Aziraphale decided decisively. "You make yourself at home, I'm going to put some water on to boil. You're safe here, Crowley."

The demon nodded, a wan smile crossing his face. "Erm... you know..."

He trailed off, but he didn't need to finish. Aziraphale smiled back, then hurried to fetch the water.

You're welcome, he silently replied.

[onepdumpsterfire]

Maelstrom

Reader . Straw Hat crew

Word count: 6623

Trigger warning: Death. Gore, I suppose. (spoiler: the reader dies then comes back to life)

if there are any triggers that you need specifically tagged, please feel free to tell me.

Summary: Reader was betrayed by their past comrades and left in a cage for the rest of eternity. straw hats stumble upon them and  decide to help them.

Nami’s pov.

A harsh current pulled at The Sunny, dragging us closer and closer to the raging whirlpool behind us. 

We raced around on The Sunny, trying to get her to move away from it, but its claws took hold of us before we could even take control from the waters. Roughly pulling at The Sunny one last time, it sucked her into its glistening wrath.

“Not like this, Sunny,”  Franky yelled at his most prized creation, “You will not go down like this.” He pulled on the helm, hoping to salvage any form of power.

But the current was too strong, and before we knew it, the whirlpool took us from its lip down to its pit; swallowing our screams with its ear-splitting roar up to the very end.

-

We should be dead. The raging waters should have destroyed our ship and drowned us for trying to defy the sea’s fury; but it calmed at the apex of the whirlpool, making the Sunny swirl to a dizzying stop before it started moving in the same lazy path of the current at the whirlpool’s center. “. . .What . . . just happened?” I’m amazed at our continued death-defying luck, and it seems most of the crew did too. They either stood incredulous at the events or celebrated our, once again, unbelievable escape of danger.

As are many of the moments here, it didn’t last long before our captain decided to do something stupid.

“Hey! there’s an island!” Luffy pointed towards the very center of the whirlpool that caged us in. “Franky, turn The Sunny! We’re stopping at the island!” He shouted over his shoulder as he stretched out his arms on the railing. “Gomu gomu-no...”

I should have known that he would think very little about the situation we’ve gotten into. Walking over to him, I try to take hold of him before he can launch himself. “Oh, no you don’t. You are going to help-” Without a care in the world, our reckless captain slingshotted himself off The Sunny, yelling about finding a good restaurant on the island before I could finish my sentence. 

“That idiot captain.” A vein practically burst out of my forehead as I shook a menacing fist at the spot where he once stood. “When I get my hands on-” taking in a long breath, I calmed myself. There’s no point in getting mad at that idiot captain right now. Let’s just anchor the ship somewhere secluded so that I can RIP HIM A NEW ONE.

Soon after, my anger towards Luffy’s rash personality dissipated and began to get replaced with a crawling sense of dread. Even before we anchored the ship, I felt there was something wrong.

The island seemed so still. So… quiet, besides the constant cascading water surrounding us there weren’t any sounds of bugs or birds or ANY animals. It’s getting hard to believe that this island was inhabited by anything, let alone humans.

To add to the ominous feeling the island gave off, the beach ended as soon as it began. The small strip of sand that surrounded the island like a halo turned into stone more than a yard in, and the few plant life that was here miraculously thrived from between the cracks on the rocky floor. No grass, no trees, just bushes, weeds, and a tall rugged mountain that seemed to be too steep to even be called that. It appeared to be more of a tower that onlooked the rest of the island. Looming over everything like a guardian that promised safety only to backhand you with its cracked and coarse hand.

Few of the bushes seemed to have some food to eat, but all of it were poor excuses for berries. Too small to carry any nutrients and too little to sate any hunger. I’m sure that even if you collected all the berries in this place it wouldn’t even be enough to constitute as a meal.

Without even looking I knew that the water surrounding us would be the same. Devoid of all life, plant, and animal alike. Had we really survived? Or do we await a less abrupt ending? One where we prolong our inevitable doom by scrounging up any food we can find or starve.

Looking over to the thrashing water that surrounded us, tumbling over itself to create an impenetrable gate, it seemed to be harsher than what we’d crossed to get in here. Was it even possible to get back out? With the way things looked if we even tried we’d get ripped to shreds. I don’t think The Sunny can survive that.

My concerns were interrupted when Luffy came running back to us yelling that he hadn’t found a town or village on the small island. “Of course not! Do you not see how deserted the island looks?”

“That’s right, Luffy!” Usopp joins in my scolding, “we should worry about how we’re gonna get out! Or what we’re gonna eat! Our food won’t last forever!” At least there’s one person here that’s reliable. I can always count on Usopp to be grounded!

“We can just eat fish-” I quiet the thundering dumbass with a hit to the head, “obviously not! There are no fish here!” With a huff, I look over to our cook, “Sanji-kun, can you ration out the food?”

“Yes, Nami-swan!” Hearts practically bulge out of his eyes as he praises my genius. disregarding that one, I need to make sure the whining resident glutton of the ship gets the message.

Glaring, I grab the scruff of Luffy’s vest, “EVERYONE’S on a diet until we get out or miraculously find food on this godforsaken rock.”

“Bᵤₜ ₙaaaₘᵢᵢᵢᵢ”

“No buts.”

“Bᵤₜ ₙaa-” Giving him another hard knock to the head, I dish out the rest of the orders.

Zoro is gonna go scout the island more thoroughly, taking Chopper with him because he wanted to see if there were any herbs he could use for medicine in between all of the weeds. Robin went to go check out the stone tower mountain with Franky and Luffy, who would have gone anyway even if I had told him otherwise. Usopp and Brook took charge of seeing if the sea was really as barren as the rest of this place in the Mini Marry. Lastly, I’m gonna go explore the island, map it out, and try and find any clues that explain why this place is so lifeless.

-

After an hour of looking around, I've come to the conclusion that this place makes no sense! If an underwater volcano erupted and created the island not so long ago then maybe it would make sense but by the looks of the untamed, patchy shrubs this place has been here for much longer. Not to mention, after an eruption, the first life that forms is lichen that slowly breaks away at the rock that formed; but it’s as if a sheet of rock landed on top of this island, killing everything that couldn’t claw its way out through the cracks. More so, it looks like it’s sealing everything beneath it so that no other life passes. It’s purposefully trying to keep any vegetation from growing.

The longer I walk around the island the more off it becomes. I should get back and tell the others what I found. Hopefully, Robin was luckier and found better clues about this place in the tower.

-

As I approach The Sunny, I can see that all of them are back and… there’s someone with them.

So there was life here?

How is that even possible?

Either way, I have a piece of my mind to give to this person about the island.

“Look who we found in the tower.” Robin gestures towards the new person in the group, “this is Y/n.”

“Thank you, Robin. I can always count on you.”

“Luffy and I were there too, y’know!” Franky yells at me.

“Yeah, yeah. Anyway, Y/n-”

“Don’t ignore me!” 

“- how long have you been here? How did you manage to survive? Is there anything that’s edible here, other than the barries?” I give them a look like they’re our saving grace. Maybe, just maybe, there could be hope for us after all.

Reader’s pov.

They’d introduced themselves already; the black-haired woman that initially found me in my safe haven had done the courtesy, even going as far as telling me what each of the people on the crew did. That includes the redhead that approached us with a worried expression that soon turned to absolute bliss as she laid eyes on me. She must think I can get them out of here or find them some supplies, but she will soon be disappointed.

After a small one-sided exchange from the redhead and… Franky… she bombards me with questions.

“... no, sorry. There is no food here…” The life practically saps out of her eyes as she deflates into a feeble state of worry. “You all should leave if you can. This is no place to live.”

“Says you!” the long nose speaks up. Usopp, was it? “You live here don’t you? If you’d fallen in after us Brook and I would have seen you when we were searching around the island and we didn’t see any boats or wrecks!”

“Plus, you’re all alone here. What happened to your crew?” Chopper the tanuki braves his fear and speaks from behind Zoro. Well, not quite. He’s more hiding his face than his body.

“Maybe they ate their crew.” Usopp and Chopper scream in terror at Robin’s attempt at humor. “Don’t say that, Robin! They wouldn’t... R-r-right, Y/n-san.” Stuttering, Usopp tries to give me the benefit of the doubt so as to land a better standing with me. “W-we’re all friends here right, Y/n-san?”

“Maybe I did.” Usopp ashened at my words while Chopper yelled that I’d be restrained.

Such a lively crew. It's been a while since I’ve had such a nice interaction with… Well, anyone. Looking off to the side, I make note of the time of day. It’s nearly sunset, they should get out while there’s still light, if they even can. At the very least they should die trying. What this place is… What this place becomes after dark. They won’t survive for long if they stay here.

“All jokes aside,” admitting that I was only joking seemed to calm the scaredy cats, though what I’m about to say will raise their anxiety once more. Poor them, thrown one thing after another. “It’s getting dark. There are things on this island that come out during the night-”

“The caves dug into the floor Chopper and I saw, there was something inside,” Zoro steps forward, already knowing the answer to his upcoming question. “I felt something was in there, that’s what you’re talking about, right?”

“Yes, there are creatures here who burrowed down into the rock of this island,” turning behind me, I face the tower again, “they won’t go into the tower, so if you need it, you can stay there for tonight.”

“But take anything you want from your ship, those creatures will ravage everything on it.” I raise a hand to stop their upcoming complaints, “it would be best to leave right now so that the ship has a better chance to make it over the whirlpool, but there is no helping it if you have no idea how to cross it yet.”

Letting them finally say what’s on their minds they hurl a flurry of complaints at me.

Luffy: can that thing even hold up? When we went to go see it, it looked like it was about to fall over!

Franky: I’m not leaving my baby alone with whatever those things are!

Usopp: What are those things?!?!?!?! Do they only come out at night?! Am I the only one worried about them?!!

Zoro: I’ll cut them all down.

Sanji: Nami-swan, Robin-chwan! Your prince will protect you!

Nami: Thank you Sanji-kun

Chopper: I wasn’t aware there even was an entrance to the tower.

Robin: I hope we don’t get eaten…

Brook: Same here, I doubt I’m any good. I’m all bones yohohohoho

Taking a deep breath, I try to answer whatever questions or complaints they have. The tower will probably hold. No guarantee, though. It’s the safest bet to make it through the night.

The things leave when daylight hits.

They can’t just sail around the island until those things are gone in the morning because they are a type of magical creature that learns and evolves. (The creatures would struggle to swim at first but soon enough they would become exceptional at it and catch up.)

You can’t just cut them down because they’re immortal beings that re-generate.

“Well, not quite beings, considering that they were made from magic to mindlessly attack whatever is in the cage.” I corrected myself, gaining more inquiries. “Magic? Cage? Is that what the whirlpool is? What is it keeping inside, if not those creatures?” Robin seems to be one of the more inquisitive people on the ship, considering how gung-ho the others appear to be, I’m glad they have someone that they can count on. Such loyalty and trust from comrades is one thing that I miss most from the outside world.

“Hahaha those are good questions, maybe I’ll answer that some other time,” I turn on my heel, not really caring if they take my advice or not. “It’s a long story and it’s about to get dark. We should head inside.”

I’m not gonna stay out here to be live bait to those THINGS.

Suddenly a warm, cream-colored thing snakes around my abdomen before yanking me back, full force. Nearly making me spit out my heart, may I add. What the ABSOLUTE FUCK?

Flying past the ship’s railing, I land on the hard mast, knocking the wind right out of myself. “Ah, sorry. Sorry, shishishishi.” Luffy stands above me, laughing at my expense. That stupid face makes me want to throw him into the ocean. A devil fruit user huh? I hope he sinks, bastard! I prepare to scold him, but he cuts me off, “you’re coming with us, right?”

“I- wa- No! I can’t ‘come with you’!”

“Huh? But why not?”

“Because the cage won’t let me! Believe me, I’ve tried! It just drags me right back… I can’t… I can’t leave.” Pushing past Luffy, I try to jump ship but it seems they have other ideas. His arm now tightly secured to my waist he tells me they won’t let those things hurt me. That I can leave with them. To the outside world.

His words and the full confidence looks his crew gives us almost makes me fall to my knees. How can they believe so blindly in someone? Putting so much faith in someone can only lead to betrayal. They can’t be serious. This isn’t real.

I try to worm myself out of his grasp. Pulling and pushing at Luffy’s skin, kneading away at his arm but his hold only tightens. “We’ll get out, Y/n. Don’t worry.” He isn’t looking at me, rather choosing to stare as the last sliver of light vanishing and a tidal wave of misformed creatures rushing towards the departing ship.

They were all butched, they looked like the person who made them once intended them to look human only to change their mind at the last moment. Some of the creatures looked sickly, with stick-like bodies that clashed with bulbous limbs. Dried out, pale skin that cracked under their every jagged movement, spilling blood with every jerk of their body. Their faces so sunken and hollow you could barely tell there were eyes in the black sockets that reflected back the murky color of the dim moonlight.

Others had random limbs that were too long for them; elongated further than they should have to contradict the rest of their proportions. Their skin sagged on their forms and their orifices oozed a dark and coagulated purge liquid that slopped down with their every step.

They crawled at an alarming speed with their spidery appendages, falling over each other’s tangling limbs. They pulled on each other to get to us. Gnarled limbs clawing, biting, ripping each other open to get farther ahead.

Their dark gray blood painted the stone beneath them as they healed themselves then tried to get past again. Shoving, piercing, and sinking their teeth into one another turned to push each other underwater when they got to the sea.

They took no breaths between the waves that pulled them or the body pushed them under; they didn’t even look like they cared that they were drowning themselves.

They had one objective.

Destroy the occupants of the cage at any cost. 

“Oh, god! What are they doing?!” Usopp yelled from the stern, firing off a few rounds with his slingshot, kabuto. Zoro, Sanji, and Chopper stood beside him observing the horrific sight. “Stop firing at them! It’s useless, that won’t make them stop!” I yell back at him, finally managing to free myself from Luffy’s arm. Whether they heard me or not didn’t show, all four of them began to throw any attack they could at the creatures.

“Have a little faith, Y/n shishishi,” Luffy smiled at me, “we’re gonna get out of here.”

Rolling my eyes, I walk over to the railing. “If you guys wanna take your chances with the cage that’s fine, but leave me out of it.” I prepare to leap over the railing only to be pulled back again. “Are you crazy?! Those things will rip you to shreds if you go into the water!”

“No, crazy would be staying here, and at the very least it’ll give you some time to try and go through to the other side! Look!” I pointed back to the mass of bodies that dived down before springing out of the water, almost taking out Usopp when they collectively reached out for him. “I told you those things learn, it’s just a matter of time before they manage to get on board!” 

I pleaded with them to just let me buy them some time. I can’t leave but at the very least I can do that! I can do one nice thing to the only people that I’ve seen in centuries! To the people that tried to save me with their stupid blind faith.

But Luffy stubbornly refused to just let me go. No matter how many times I told them I’d be fine.

The waters sped up as we neared the edge of the whirlpool, leaving the creatures to get pulled under. “There isn’t much time before they resurface, or until the curse... I need to leave. I can buy you time! Please!” I am practically on my knees begging, but they won’t even listen to me.

“Luffy! We only have enough Cola reserves to make a small coup de burst,” Franky shouted over the white noise of the gushing water, “The wind that’s surrounding the whirlpool is being sucked in from the outside. If we don’t time it right we might end up being engulfed by the waters!”

“Alright, Franky! I’m counting on you!”

“Aye, captain! I’ll do it at the last possible moment to ensure we make it through!”

Panic sets in the pit of my stomach, “no, I can’t. I can’t!” I pull and punch at Luffy,  “I won’t make it! Let go of me so you won’t be left behind with me, Luffy!”

“No.”

“Luf- Lu.” I nearly choked on my own words when I got a glimpse of the wide horizon line.

I thought I’d never be able to see such a beautiful eternity again. I’ve never made it this far, the water would only get more aggressive no matter how hard I tried with whatever unlucky ship was dragged down here. It would always drag me down under or pull me back to the island.

 We’re getting closer and closer, the boys in the back are holding themselves against the creatures and Luffy isn’t letting go.

Can I… Can I actually leave this place?

Can I be free?

Tears distort my vision before falling freely down my face, “can I leave? I can be free?” I look up at Luffy for confirmation. Light seemed to radiate off of him. Could you be my savior? 

“Of course, Y/n! Shishishishi!” Luffy lets me go, now satisfied knowing that I won’t try to jump off. I look out into the ocean that I haven’t seen In lifetimes and I can’t help the hope that swells in my heart.

I can see the outside again. 

I’m gonna be free

I am gonna be FREE

All too suddenly the familiar weight on my neck constricts my airway.

No. I’m so close. no. No. NO! 

The chain that binds me to the island finally shows itself. Shortening the closer we get to freedom.

How cruel to have me believe I could actually be free. 

The chain pulled me back with such a crushing force that it immediately snapped my neck. 

Sanji’s pov.

We were so close. So close to leaving this hell hole and then a chain appeared around Y/n neck. It pulled them back into the water and dragged them all the way back to land. All of the creatures that pursued us stopped immediately, taking more interest in Y/n’s body that flopped in and out of the water with the dragging force of the chain. The creatures jumped on to them, injecting their claws into their soft skin to secure their hold on them.

“Stop! Turn around! Y/n fell off!” Luffy yelled up at Franky. 

I agree with Luffy, we may have just met Y/n but I heard about how they were willing to jump into the water to give us time to escape. There’s no way we can leave them behind after that!

“As the navigator, I’ll make sure to keep the ship safe, captain.” With an unshaken voice, Nami assured Luffy, “Go to the island and get Y/n back. We’ll keep The Sunny going around to keep her safe until you get back!”

“D-don’t worry c-captain. I’m a b-brave warrior of the sea! I’ll protect the ship!” Shakily Usopp raised a thumbs up to Luffy.

“Yes! Leave it to us, Captain!” Brook chimed in, soul solid at the ready.

“Oi, Captain. Don’t keep all the fun to yourself. We’re coming too.” Zoro and I stood resolute on our decision. 

“Shishishi alright! Let’s go! Gomu gomu-no!” Luffy stretched his arm over the railing, while the other wrapped itself around us. “No! Wait! Luffyyyyyyyy!!” Our idiot captain wants to kill us! Launching us straight into a rocky shore, this ASS!

“Stop throwing us everywhere, Luffy!” I raise my hand to give him a hard knock to the head, the moss head agrees with me by giving him one too. “Sorry, sorry.”

Sorry, my ass. Grumbling I take out the cigarette box before fishing in my pocket for a lighter. “Alright, Y/n was dragged off somewhere near the tower thing, so let’s head there to look for them first.”

“Yosh! Let’s go!” without a second thought, this reckless idiot rushes straight in, leaving us to catch up.

It didn’t even take long to reach the tower, the island was small. Which is why it surprised me how many of those things there were. How far had they burrowed under the island for there to be this many?

The mass practically moved as one when they noticed us. Descending on us with such ferocity that it would have left a weaker man feeling helpless.

“Sit back and watch, marimo! I’ll take them all out.”

“Big words for such a small man, curly.”

“You shitty- Watch me!” I ran in yelling the name of my starting attack ‘Joue Shoot’ hitting my mark right in the face and sending it, along with every creature behind it, flying.

We aren’t making any headway! Every time we push forward we are pushed back with the same strength. One after another, every enemy we took down bounced right back up, better and stronger than before.

The ones I was fighting got tougher, callused skin and became resistant to the fire from my ‘Hell Memories’ attack; and to make matters worse, those things have started learning my attacks, and a quick glance can confirm that the others are having the same luck. Luffy’s creatures are doubling their speed, increasing their bulging muscles so that they look like Luffy’s Kong Gun. Zoro’s opponents broke their arms, shanking their bones through their skin to make imitation swords.

These things are fucking monsters. They don’t seem to be able to feel any of the pain we’re inflicting. We can’t keep the same mindless pace they do! We take a hit and keep all damage from it!

“Luffy, this isn’t gonna work, we need to retreat for now!”

“Oi, shit-cook! You think these things are just gonna let us retreat!”

“Fuck off, pea-brain!” I kick one of the creatures over at Zoro, “Let’s make them chase us-” the stupid marimo threw on back in retaliation, “obviously they’re gonna chase us no matter what, ero-cook!”

“Just listen, dick head! We make them chase us around the tower; when they leave an opening we can just grab Y/n and run!” There’s no time to fight over this! I sky walk over to Luffy, “Let’s go! Now!”

“Come on, Zoro!” finally taking the hint, Luffy rushes off behind me. 

The monsters bolted with us to the right, but they were smarter than what I’d anticipated. While most of them did follow, there was still a large group guarding the entrance to the tower. They knew what we came for and won’t let us take Y/n so easily. We circled around the tower. Once. Twice. Three times, and still those things didn’t give us an opening. I can’t stand this! We’re just chasing our own tails here!

Impatience at away at us, but the first one to act on it was Luffy.

“They’ll never leave the tower alone! So if they won’t give us an opening we’ll make one!” Luffy threw his arms at me, a silent command that I understood all too well. “Armée de L’Air,” I positioned myself to throw Luffy, “Gomu Shot!” Launching Luffy off with a kick, he rocketed himself straight to the center of the tower.

The tower collapsed almost entirely on itself. Luffy would have just gone straight through it if he hadn’t reached back to hold on to the base and sent himself back in a rebound, effectively clearing the rest of the tower.

Rubble and ash covered the creatures as they all rushed back to the tower. “C’mon!” The moss-head shouted over to me, having seen the opening just as well as me.

. . .There’s something wrong.

The creatures surrounded the tower but weren’t fighting back when we attacked them to get past. They weren’t even moving. Just staring straight ahead to where Luffy should be. As odd as it is, I won’t slow down just because those freaks stopped. I need to get to-

I wasn’t prepared for this. It’s not…. It can’t.

No.

Luffy had a dark shadow casted over his face as he kneeled next to a bloody and gored out Y/n. Their neck was broken by the chain that pulled them away. Skin shredded off and placed in piles around the both of them. Their bones were broken. Protruding. Piercing through in white splayed out spikes from the pink muscles, slathered in blood. Their abdomen slashed open and organs ripped out.

Had the monsters been eating them?

Their arm missed its hand. The leg was torn off. A stray foot laid across from them, mangled. Bitten. 

If those things wanted to eat them they had done it already. They had plenty of time!

But they didn’t.

Looking into the horde of creatures. They all stood still, watching us. Grotesque faces with gnarled teeth bared at us…. Smiling. They're smiling at us.

"Damn it all! Those things were just toying with us."

The creatures went wild at my words. Screeching and shoving each other, but never passing the remaining debris of the pillar that still circled around us. They’re waiting for us to get out of here.

“We can’t stay here,” Zoro pointed at the back of the throng, “some of them have already left. Probably towards The Sunny.”

“Luffy, we can’t bring Y/n with us. They’ll be safe if we leave them inside the circle. In the morning we can bury them but for now, we need to head back the ship.”

-

No words were exchanged on the trip back. All three of us fought as much as we could against the wave of creatures that pursued us, eventually making it back to the ship by sunrise.

 The creatures hissed and hollered in pain when the soft rays of the sun became too much for them to handle. Their gray skin almost seemed transparent in the growing light.

Those thing’s bodies looked like luminescent meat bags carrying distorted skeletons inside. Too warped and bent to look anything like the humans they were initially mirrored after. The things clawed at their eyes, blinding themselves as they rushed back to hide in their caves.

After the last of the nocturnal creatures retreated, we docked the ship again.

Then the dreaded question came.

Nami asked if we’d managed to retrieve Y/n but she was only met with grim looks that turned the exhilaration of having won another breath of life sour. 

“It’s not fair! Y/n just wanted to be free… they just wanted...” Luffy trailed off, glancing back to where their body should be laid. “We should take them with us and bury them out of here.”

“It won’t be that easy, Luffy.” Zoro tried to reason with him.

“We can’t just leave them in this cage!”

“We don’t even have a coffin! Are we supposed to just stuff them in a box and keep them in the freezer until we can find the next island?!”

As much as I’d like to take them with us, Zoro does have a point. We can’t just carry around a brutalized body with us. “Luffy, we don’t know when we’ll reach the next island. It could be weeks! We can’t-”

“Yo,” A voice greets us from beside me.

“Hey,” I give them a quick glance before getting back to what I was saying. “Anyways, we can’t t-”

Was that?

.  .  .

“You’re supposed to be dead!” 

“Oh, shit. Am I?” Y/n’s tone was light, as if they hadn’t just been mauled to death by beasts. “The hell do you mean ‘am I’!?” 

Reader’s pov.

After being magically resurrected, one would think that people would be surprised, confused, or maybe astonished? But curly over here seemed pissed.

“Thanks for the warm welcome, bud.” Putting on the saddest looking face I turned around, “guess I’ll just crawl into a cave and die again...” 

“N-no, that’s not what I-” Sanji reached his hand out to stop me.

“Ahahaha I know, I know. Don’t worry about it….. Though I suppose I do owe you guys an explanation for this.” 

It’s been so long since I had to explain to someone what happened that day… 

No. 

It wasn't just that day. Things were off since before that, but I didn’t pay attention to the signs. God, why didn't I? 

I keep asking myself that.

Why didn't I back out when I had the chance? Why couldn't I just let sleeping dogs lie? 

Either way, on that day, everything went wrong.

-

Long ago, when the world was in a time of mystic and wonder, the practice of magic was common throughout the four blues. Most things that could be done with magic were done with magic. Magic was so common that even the most secluded tribes used some form of it. And so, as with any type of power, people began to abuse it. People began to use dark magic to rule and terrorize. 

Don’t get me wrong, magic isn’t inherently evil, but neither is it good. Magic is a form of science. It follows its principles and has its limits. People’s intentions, though, can be either-or.

Order had to be put in place. A council of the noblest, wisest, and strongest magic users was made. They became the authority; their rule was final. And in an act of democracy, they input a system that would not let them become all-powerful.

That’s where the seven covens come in.

The seven covens (separately) ruled over the four seas, the new world, the grand line, and the calm belts. The members of the covens were chosen by the people and, unfortunately, that’s where it started.

After magic regulation rules and laws came into place, people were angry that they couldn’t use it freely and unchecked as they did before. When the ones who were strong stood on top of those who lacked it. They couldn’t rule over people as tyrants or terrorize others for their amusement and gain; but it also meant magic couldn’t be used to ease everyday life either. Magic was monitored, you had to seek permission from a coven to use stronger types of magic for your work and some forms of magic were even banned.

Curious people that tried to see how far they could push the boundaries of magic were furious when their research was trashed. With magic now limited, underground organizations began to arise. I was part of one.

Since magic is a natural part of the world like waterfalls or clouds, that’s why I wanted to explore all of its nooks and crannies! It’s the same as when man first evolved enough to wonder what was beyond the island we were born into. 

We wanted to explore the whole world back then! And this should have been the same as that. It’s normal to want to know our extent of power and knowledge. I just wanted to explore magic’s limits and push past them. It should be like training to sword fight or lifting weights. It should have been the same.

We could have used our findings for so many wonderful things!

But I was naive.

Banning together with a group of people whom I thought shared the same passion for the unexplored and unknown….

In the shadows, we did our research and found so many new ways to use magic! So many new types! We were doing so good.

We wanted to find a way to bring what we’d found to the world.

We wanted this.

We…

I wanted this. 

As much as I want to believe otherwise, the signs were there from the beginning. But they were my colleagues. . . my friends. I gave them the benefit of the doubt at first.

We came up with a plan to get ourselves elected for the coven. We wormed our way in like maggots then ate our way up. 

We were going to instill new rules. Be more lenient towards magic usage for businesses. Introduce a research team for magic that would take us out of the underground. Slowly release our findings.

That was as far as I would go. They left me in charge of the research team while they went behind my back and found new dangerous and unstable magic. They used it to hurt people and to gain authority. 

They’d cart away lost civilians, people who were so forgotten from society that if they were to disappear no one would notice.

They breed them to keep their human supply going. Then they’d used them as guinea pigs.

Eventually, I did find out what they were doing, but by then it was too late. The plan had gone too well and now they were inside all of the covens except for the ones in east and west blue.

I tried warning the council, but my old comrades found out before I could.

They branded me a traitor and punished me with never-ending torment. Sealing me away in a whirlpool that would cancel my powers, where as long as I was inside I would never age. I would never die.

They put me on this island that would never bear enough fruit but would always have enough to have me desperate for scraps. Lastly, they added those things so that I’d fear their wrath and power for the rest of eternity.

Between slowly dying of hunger or dehydration over and over again and being mauled to death, the thing that hurt most was them branding ME as the traitor. They betrayed ME.

They USED me.

The people I thought of as friends.

-

Taking a deep breath, I finished off my story. 

“...Y/n… that was a really sad story and all, but what do you mean magic?” Out of all the questions, I didn’t expect Usopp to ask that one. 

“... what do YOU mean?” I shared a look with all the members of the crew. How could they not know about magic? It’s everywhere??? “Y’know magic. Like what brought me back to life and is keeping me from leaving this place.”

“Like witches, with wands and brooms?” As much as it worries me that they don’t know about magic, I have an even bigger question, “what the fuck do brooms have to do with this?” 

“Ah, well witches fly around... on them…” With every passing word, Usopp’s face got redder and redder, a telltale sign of his growing embarrassment under my judgmental gaze. “Of all things someone could make fly, why a broom?”

“I uh… I don’t know…”

  The conversation carried on until finally, they told me about the outside world. Apparently, the most magical thing that there was out there were the devil fruits that granted their users powers, like Luffy’s rubber body. 

In a way, I was kind of glad that almost all traces of magic were gone. That meant that my comrades from back then failed.

My guess is that after their reckless abuse of power, magic was banned; or at the very least only used by those of the highest standing.

In time, magic must have dwindled, little by little until it just disappeared. 

With so much time passed and with how things turned out, it’s hard to believe that any of my former friends survived.

That must mean that they tethered my cell to an object. If whatever the object is gets destroyed... I could have a chance of leaving this place.

“... Luffy… do you… do you still want to help me escape?”

Luffy’s voice didn't waver.

He said it as if it was the most obvious thing.

No hesitation. No doubt.

At that moment, I swear, the sun shone brighter than it ever had in this cage full of torment. His bright gaze made it feel like every horrid year I had spent trapped had somehow vanished. It gave me something that I hadn’t had in a long time.

He gave me such a knee-bending sense of hope that I could have cried. He had such conviction that it made me believe that I would soon see the outside once more.

In the evening, after I gave them some information that could help them find the object that kept this cage alive, the straw hats tempted the ferocious waters again and this time I wasn't on the ship.

Before they left they made me a promise.

One day, they will be back.

They will set me free and we’ll explore this new world together.

I’ll keep waiting.

No matter how long it takes, until that day.

[beca-mitchell]

i took your matches before fire could catch me (1/1)

Summary: Beca and Chloe will always cross paths—the first year after the USO tour. Beca-centric. Rated M for like...one huge smut scene in the second half.

Word count: 8325

A/N: Title from Taylor Swift’s “Dear John”. This was a very different story when I first started working on it at the beginning of this year. I'm not sure I like where it ended up going, but I wanted to share it anyway. 

All mistakes are mine.

Happy NYE!

Read below or on AO3.

January

The first time they see each other again, Chloe is in Los Angeles for a weekend and Beca had agreed to meet for coffee.

The first few months after the USO tour, they had been busy with moving, with starting school, with starting a new album, so it had been easier to avoid each other.

But Beca misses Chloe and she knows Chloe feels some of the same emptiness or she wouldn’t have agreed to meet Beca for coffee. Or so Beca tells herself.

It had been awkward at the beginning, but Beca found herself becoming more comfortable as the hours passed and before she knew it, she was standing quickly as Chloe gathered her bag and phone, looking ready to leave.

Chloe smiles at Beca then. It is not quite forced, but Beca sees some strain in it—some desperation. “I hope we stay friends,” she says softly. Beca feels sick and her throat tightens around the emotions that well up inside her. And to make it worse, Chloe continues: “I care about you.”

Heat and moisture spike alarmingly quick beneath Beca’s eyelids. “Friends,” she repeats, tasting the word on her tongue.

(Friends, like how she and Chloe had started; friends, like how they had been just before the depth of their feelings for each other slipped into something more; friends, like they had been when Beca had grabbed Chloe’s jacket and kissed her with everything she had.)

“Yeah, obviously,” Beca says quickly when she realizes Chloe is still staring at her. “Of course. Why couldn’t we be? Friends, I mean. We were before. We still are.”

It is uncommonly cool in Los Angeles, even for January standards, so Beca attributes the shiver that rushes through her body when Chloe’s hand brushes her own to the weather and nothing more.

 — — — — — — — — — — 

(So they should probably talk about that kiss. The kiss that shouldn’t have happened, but Beca, in a fit of possession and jealousy upon seeing Chicago smiling at Chloe, had grabbed Chloe’s jacket and pulled her in for a kiss.

The shock in Chloe’s eyes had been reflected in Beca’s, but neither of them knew what else to do or say.

Not many more words were exchanged, even when Beca had led Chloe back up to her hotel room and the door had clicked shut behind them.)

 — — — — — — — — — —

February

Beca isn't a jealous person. Not at all. Not one bit.

Besides, she really shouldn't be, she tells herself derisively. They were never really friends, even when they technically were. Even when they were co-captains. Even when they shared a house for three years. There was always some complicated underlying attraction to each other and the pressure to perform and put on a show—both in their personal lives and on stage—which translated into a consistently-strained relationship. 

And God, it’s Valentine’s Day for fuck’s sake. Beca hadn’t been expecting to see Chloe in Los Angeles of all places, considering how hard it seemed for Chloe to have made the trip in the past few weeks whenever Beca had suggested a visit.

Beca attempts to let some bitterness seep out of her.

Chloe looks...beautiful. Stunning. Radiant. All the things Beca loves about Chloe shine through tonight. Beca spots her nearly immediately when she walks in and tunes out of the company she held within her perch in the VIP booth. Chloe is wearing her favourite ripped jeans and a pretty white top that just screams for something to be spilt on it. And yet, she dances without a care in the world. Her right palm is open, dying to be held. Her left hand clutches a wine glass, liquid precariously licking up the edges. Wine, of all things, in an upscale club in downtown Los Angeles.

Chloe spots her fairly quickly. The surprise in her eyes must be reflected in Beca’s own, but Beca makes no move to get out of her booth for the time being. It’s then that she notices Chloe can’t stop staring at her. It is only a product of the way Beca can’t keep her eyes off Chloe, but the way Chloe’s piercing blue gaze always seems to meet her gaze in return indicates that it’s a mutual sensation.

Finally, it is Chloe who musters up the courage to say hello first. Soft and quiet, unexpectedly appearing by Beca’s shoulder as she stands by the bar, finally escaping the sanctuary of her cordoned-off area.

“Hey,” Chloe’s voice sounds excitedly near her ear. "Beca, hi!"

Beca startles, nearly dropping her drink. “Chloe. Hey.”

“Letting loose tonight?”

Beca laughs, short and mildly acerbic. It is both comforting and unsettling how easy it is to fall into old habits with Chloe—how easy it is to want to open up to Chloe and trust her and love her all at once. “No,” she responds. “Just kind of scoping out the venue.” She takes a quick gulp of her drink for courage. “Are you here alone? Why are you here?”

“There was a conference in town,” Chloe explains, quicker than Beca expects. “A bunch of us took the night off.”

“Oh, that’s good,” Beca says. Or at least, she tries to say because she is cut off by an excited voice calling Chloe’s name and a large, male body appearing by her side. Beca swallows and tries to look anywhere else but the way his hand curls around Chloe’s hip with familiarity.

“Beca,” Chloe says questioningly when she notices that Beca is trying to inch away.

“It was nice to see you, Chloe.” I’m so glad we’re friends , Beca adds as an afterthought in her mind. She swallows back the sharp taste of her drink and looks instead for the closest pair of interested eyes.

“Hey, wait a second,” Chloe calls and before Beca realizes what is happening and before she can really dwell on anybody, Chloe’s hand is wrapping gently around her wrist. “Can we talk?”

“We’re talking now.”

Chloe scowls and shoots a glance over her shoulder at Nondescript Jock #5 before she is pushing Beca towards the women’s bathroom. 

“What are you doing?” Beca demands.

“Why are you being like this?”

“Like what?”

Chloe frowns. “Extra Beca-like.”

“I don’t know what that means.” 

“Of course you don’t—you never do, do you?”

“I really don’t know what that means.”

They’re breathing heavily, both of them standing toe to toe. Around them, the bass pounds and the percussion line is strong, but Beca only feels the pounding of her own heart. This feels too raw—too much like how they had separated after Europe, only this is just a continuation of that ugliness.

(“So you’re just walking away. Again.”

“Don’t make this harder than it needs to be, Chloe.”

“I’m not the one being difficult. You’re the one who’s afraid.” )

She hates how much she wants to kiss Chloe.

Beca sighs, some of the fight leaving her. “I just wasn’t expecting to see you. Here. When you’re supposed to be in Philadelphia.” 

“I honestly wasn’t expecting to see you here either. I'm not trying to...” Chloe's mouth twists unhappily. "Not trying to stalk you or anything. I'm just happy we ran into each other because we need to—"

“—maybe we should just pretend we never saw each other.”

Hurt flashes across Chloe’s eyes.

“Beca, wait—”

 — — — — — — — — — —

March

i didn't mean it, i'm sorry, Beca writes and rewrites in her phone. Over and over. It's like a ritual.

Nothing really works anymore.

When Beca falls asleep, it’s the same dream, the one she had almost every night for months after she moved to L.A.. Chloe is waiting for her when she gets in the door.

She smiles.

She kisses Beca.

She says, “Welcome home.”

Beca shakes off the fantasy, anger and hurt coursing through her. Screw you, Mitchell.

They haven’t really spoken for weeks. Beca is more comfortable at this distance, content on muting Chloe’s social media profiles and pretending like Chloe isn’t totally seeing that guy that she claims to not be seeing.

And the thing is, there isn't really a reason for Chloe to lie to her (even if Beca hasn't really given any concrete reason for Chloe to stay), but the sting of seeing Chloe flirt with Chicago incessantly is still sharp in Beca's memory, so she does the completely grown-up thing and rage-likes a bunch of Chloe’s Instagram and Facebook posts and sends petty emoji-reactions to some of Chloe’s Instagram stories. She hates the flash of vindication that rushes through her when Chloe texts her not too long after.

Hey, how are you?

It’s what she wanted, but she feels gross and petty and not at all like the adult her legal documents claim she is. Beca groans at the still unanswered text message. It’s dumb how jealous she is—how upset she is over something that might or might not be true. She’s trying her best to move on and to stay friends with Chloe because it’s what Chloe wanted .

It’s what they both wanted.

Before Beca has a chance to say anything, bubbles appear again, indicating that Chloe is typing.

i’m sorry if things are weird, the text reads. is everything okay with us?

Then, beca, please

Beca slowly blinks at the series of words. She feels nothing but tiredness within her. Her eyes are dry. 

She falls asleep with her phone in her hand.

— — — — — — — — — —

Aubrey is an unexpected confidante. It does feel a little self-sabotaging considering Aubrey’s relationship with Chloe.

“For what it’s worth, Chloe has told me some things,” Aubrey says carefully. “So I’m not completely in the dark, even if it surprises me that you’re calling me at all.”

“I think that we can be friends,” Beca replies. “We just need some time. Everything is too raw right now.”

Aubrey sighs. “You’re both fools.”

“It’s just...hard to get over her,” Beca admits.

“Why do you have to do that at all?”

The truth is, she doesn't. She's just so used to running—all her life, she only ever ran. Only a select handful of people were willing to give chase.

— — — — — — — — — —

She gives it another week—just a few more days to gather her wits.

Chloe sounds so relieved to hear her voice. It makes Beca feel all kinds of horrible, but Chloe never dwells on that.

And like her body is enjoying playing cruel tricks on her, she dreams of Chloe that night—dreams and remembers what it had been like to hold Chloe close, to kiss her that fateful night before her mind and her heart decided to do the stupid thing and fall in love.

(But that happened long ago, nothing Beca could really do about it now.)

 — — — — — — — — — —

April

Being in frequent contact with Chloe again means that Beca knows she’s not really dating anybody even if there is some guy who hangs around her a lot. It’s “super casual” (Chloe’s words) but apparently, he’s a “complete buffoon” (Aubrey’s words), so Beca isn’t quite sure whether she ought to be more supportive or discouraging. In the same vein, through similar channels, Beca knows when the guy isn't really in the picture anymore and she hates how easy it is for her to breathe again.

But Chloe seems happy in general. And coming to terms with the fact that she will always have some unresolved feelings for Chloe Beale...it’s kind of a difficult predicament to be in.

It's not that Beca hasn't been casually seeing people too—she's been on a few dates and only one real hook-up in the past few months, but she hadn't felt much for that person. For any of them really. And she hadn't told Chloe about them, only Amy in passing. Not even Aubrey whom she knows would just pass it on to Chloe.

A part of her almost wants to let Chloe know that she's happy to move on, but it was never really communicated between them that there was anything really to hold on to—at least, not verbally, Beca tells herself.

Beca is just so used to people leaving, it's almost easier to let people realize that she's not worth the trouble than to have them realize it when she's grown too attached. It's fucking depressing, in all honesty, but Beca hates the thought of being left behind. She hates distance and pining and all those things attached to relationships that never end up working out.

Like her parents.

She clenches her fist and attempts to refocus on the track she's meant to be listening to. It's not much of a lead single if it sucks.

"Well?" Jason, her favorite sound engineer asks. "Thoughts? Comments? Concerns?"

Beca glances down at her phone, seeing that a new notification from Chloe is waiting for her.

She forces her thoughts away and shoves her phone into her bag. "Again," she requests. "Play it back."

 — — — — — — — — — —

Thought of you today, she writes to Chloe later. This new artist on my label wouldn't shut up about acapella. really took me back. 

Chloe's reply is quick. i can be pretty unforgettable like that.

Beca can just see the smile on her face.

 — — — — — — — — — —

May

“Are we okay?” Chloe asks.

Phone calls are more regular now. Hearing Chloe's voice is less painful, but it only makes Beca fall for Chloe more with each interaction.

Beca heaves a sigh. “We are,” she answers honestly. “I promise, Chlo.” 

"Well, then tell me about your day."

"Tell me about yours," Beca challenges.

And just like that, they're okay again.

It's not the easiest, talking to Chloe like everything's okay, but relearning how to be Chloe's friend above all is Beca's priority and she finds that being in love with Chloe and being her friend don't necessarily have to be at odds with each other.

"I'm happy for you," Beca tells her when Chloe finishes a story. She means it.

 — — — — — — — — — —

June

It is amidst a small rant about koalas that Chloe casually drops her birthday plans over the phone to Beca.

“You’re throwing a party?” 

“A gathering,” Chloe explains. “For my birthday.”

“So a party.”

“Beca,” Chloe whines.

“Chloe, that’s-” great, wonderful, exciting .

“I was hoping you’d come,” Chloe says before Beca can say anything else like she’s afraid Beca will decline pre-emptively. It’s almost frightening how well Chloe knows Beca, but Beca is a little hurt that Chloe immediately would have jumped to that conclusion. 

“Chloe.”

“It would mean a lot to me if you were there,” Chloe continues. Her voice is strained, but soft around the edges.

“Of course I’ll come,” Beca says with a small smile, even if Chloe can’t see it. “Where will it be?”

Chloe clears her throat. “New York. Because it’s easier for me and the girls are pretty close by. And Amy already offered her space.”

Beca tries not to think about what happened the last time she and Chloe were in New York. “That sounds nice.” She hates how it’s not a complete lie. “Send me the details.”

Chloe makes some kind of excited squealing sound that nearly deafens Beca, but she can't help but smile.

 — — — — — — — — — —

Her hands are pushed against Chloe’s chest, desperate to hold onto something—similar to how she had kissed Chloe in France. Chloe’s arms are around Beca’s waist and she thinks maybe Chloe has picked her up off the floor, just slightly, but Beca cannot feel much else than the sensation of Chloe’s lips moving against hers and how tightly she is pressed against Chloe's body.

But that is only for a moment. Hands start pulling at Beca’s shirt and suddenly Chloe’s fingers are tracing the skin of her lower back. She whimpers against Chloe’s mouth.

They were supposed to be cleaning up.

This feeling is painfully familiar: Chloe’s kisses send surges of electricity and passion through Beca’s whole body.

It is as if every interaction they’ve had the past year has been leading to this. This—this is everything and Beca feels as if every fragmented piece of her being can finally relax; like every piece of her soul is where it’s meant to be. 

“Beca,” Chloe breathes out. She is still kissing her, so it suddenly tastes like tears between their lips and Beca’s not sure which one of them has started to cry, but she can’t stop kissing, can’t stop pulling Chloe closer, always closer.

"I don't know how to be without you," Chloe whispers. "Stop pushing me away." That alone causes a surge of emotion to rise up in Beca's chest and she pushes forward again, this time almost capturing Chloe's mouth, unable to resist even if they're both somehow still crying amidst a small pile of solo cups and garbage bags. 

"We're drunk," Beca whispers back. They're not.

"We're not," Chloe murmurs, but she steps back anyway, respectful of Beca's space.

It is when Chloe turns back around, clearly intent on finishing their task that Beca grabs her wrist and pulls her, reminiscent of how Chloe had pulled her all those years ago, into her orbit; how Chloe had pulled her all those months ago into the bathroom into the club. 

Chloe's mouth is opening against her own before Beca realizes what she's doing, but she is too powerless to resist.

"I'll stop if you want to stop," Chloe murmurs, her hands already dipping beneath the waistband of Beca's pants. 

"We should stop," Beca admits with a broken tone.

 — — — — — — — — — —

Chloe has to catch a fairly early train back to Philadelphia, so Beca feigns sleep for a bit, even though she knows it is a fruitless attempt at avoidance. Still, they spent the night together—totally innocent—and Beca didn't combust on the spot, so she considers that a success.

"You're not allowed to avoid me," Chloe whispers, pressing a kiss to Beca's forehead. "I'm calling you the moment I reach my dorm." 

 — — — — — — — — — —

July

Fourth of July in New York—it is Aubrey’s bright idea and Amy willingly hosts. She somehow now owns two apartments in a nice walk-up. Beca is only mildly envious.

She isn’t really expecting Chloe to gravitate right towards her, but she has been thinking of that kiss (and almost-something-more) at Chloe’s birthday party for the past month . And she’s sure Chloe has as well if the furtive glances she continues to shoot towards Beca are any indication.

(Their phone conversations have been strained, but Chloe is an attentive friend and cares about Beca's wellbeing above all, so she never pushes—has never pushed since they last had a hard conversation after the tour.)

But still, neither makes a move. Beca can see Aubrey glaring at her from across the room.

It isn’t that she and Chloe have been totally distant from each other. Their texts have become more frequent and increasingly flirty in ways that Beca had missed. After the USO tour, she wasn’t sure she’d ever interact like that with Chloe again.

But their lives have kind of evened out. Chloe is pretty much done with the first year of veterinary school and Beca’s almost done with her album. It’s weird to see her face on magazine covers and to have to engage in interviews, but it’s pretty worthwhile having Chloe send her excited text messages and photos of magazines whenever she spots Beca’s face.

The miss yous and heart emojis are a nice touch.

Beca nearly drops her phone when she hears the unmistakable clang of somebody climbing down the fire-escape steps. Glancing up, she catches the barest hint of familiar red hair and torn jeans.

Briefly, Beca wonders who she pissed off in a past life.

“There you are,” Chloe says brightly, once her feet touch the ground. She sways a little and Beca immediately stands to help her right herself, lest she topple right over the edge of the railing. Chloe heaves a breath and smiles gratefully at Beca.

Beca frowns, taking in the flush on Chloe’s face and the way her eyes shine brightly.

“Can you just...be careful? What if you hurt yourself?” Beca asks before she can stop herself. She sighs, running her hand over her face as Chloe makes herself comfortable. 

“I was looking for you,” Chloe replies, a little petulantly. She pushes her forehead against Beca’s shoulder in an attempt to nudge her. The touch alone makes Beca nearly recoil completely. “Why have you been avoiding me?” Chloe continues, voice muffled against Beca’s jacket. Whether she means over the past few hours or over the past four weeks, she doesn’t clarify, so Beca doesn’t offer a response.

Beca wants to laugh, however. Her brain isn’t working quite at full speed at the moment, because of the double hit of intoxication - both alcohol and Chloe Beale have similar effects on her. Willing herself not to snap at Chloe, she inhales sharply, trying to ignore the way Chloe’s breath feels against her neck. How Chloe’s breath smells a little like her favourite red wine. 

Speaking of–

Beca glances at the wine bottle in Chloe’s hand. “You swiped that from the party?”

Chloe seems to brighten upon noticing that Beca is engaging with her in conversation. “Yeah! Want some?”

It is somehow so familiar and so devastatingly Chloe that Beca’s chest aches for a few moments as she takes in the graceful tilt of Chloe’s neck and the high flush on her cheeks.

The attraction reverberates through Beca like a persistent ache.

She isn’t sure what she is meant to say to Chloe. Not when all this air hangs in between them. The air is thick, rife with all the things that remain unspoken.

This uncharted territory is anxiety-inducing for Beca – perhaps for them both. Chloe for all her confidence and charm is surprisingly shy and insecure – a fact Beca came to know with time during their romance and even further back, their friendship. So now, Beca is keenly aware of how Chloe’s foot taps out a nervous little rhythm from where she sits beside Beca, both of them leaning back as comfortably as they can.

“Why have you been avoiding me?” Chloe asks again, softer and less accusatory. “And not just now . Since—” her voice wavers. “Since Europe. The tour. Since my birthday. Since always.”

“Chloe,” Beca says, sharper than she originally intends. She leans back, resting her head against brick. Good, she thinks, hoping against hope that her brain connects with her mouth and leaves her heart out of the equation. Beca takes the chance to look at Chloe then, wondering if there are parts of Chloe that she doesn’t know—if there are things that Chloe holds close to herself, like secrets that Beca will never get the chance to know.

Chloe looks like she might say something, so Beca holds her breath, waiting for the onslaught of ash and tainted air. Instead, Chloe’s brow furrows and she takes another swig of wine straight from the bottle—a long one—before she offers the bottle to Beca, eyebrow raised expectantly.

Beca accepts.

 — — — — — — — — — —

It doesn’t take long at all. Chloe’s is hot against her neck, from where Chloe has turned her face and her lips brush ever so slightly against Beca’s skin. July in New York means the weather is hot, but that is nothing compared to the heat that spreads from the wet, open-mouthed kiss Chloe places against Beca’s neck.

Beca turns more fully to face Chloe—to question her, really—but she finds her own body automatically reacting to Chloe’s proximity. Her hands are cupping Chloe’s cheeks before she realizes what is happening.

“Please,” Chloe murmurs against her mouth.

Beca was always rotten at saying no to Chloe.

And like clockwork, Beca’s heart pounds erratically when Chloe’s eyes fix on her—when Chloe locks her gaze on Beca with intent and purpose.

“Fuck it,” Beca mumbles.

 — — — — — — — — — —

Beca thinks she whispers “I love you” into Chloe’s ear.

She thinks it might be between orgasms - between their attempt to move to the bed and Chloe shoving her against the door of Amy's guest bedroom. Together, they maneuvered past countless bodies, ignoring anybody who tried to speak to them. Give me this one night, Beca thinks desperately.

She feels it so deeply and knows it to be so true and honest - the fact that she loves Chloe Beale with everything in her even if the way they’re fucking each other might kill them both.

She loves Chloe and she can’t hide it because it hurts too much. She never should have tried to hide it.

All at once, memories from the year before come crashing back, slamming down walls Beca thought she fortified.

 — — — — — — — — — —

“Do you know how long I’ve wanted this?” Beca asks. Demands. She feels hot and angry and upset all at once, watching Chloe make her way slowly across the room. Away from her. Defensiveness is her go-to in moments like this because it feels like too much at once.

At that, Chloe turns around, her own eyes alight with something almost unrecognizable. “Do you know how long I wanted this from you, Beca? How long I waited and waited until it—”

Beca’s heart pounds. “Until what,” she repeats, a little hollowly. “You waited until the last possible second?”

“Ask me to stay,” Chloe says instead. “Tell me you want me to stay and you want me. That you’ll still want me while you’re in L.A. and I’m holed up in Philly. I’ll stay with you. Wherever you go.” 

“You can’t stay,” Beca says weakly even though what Chloe asks of her isn't completely off-base. “Chloe, what the fu—Chlo,” she tries desperately. “I would never ask you to stay. I would never stop you from…” she gestures vaguely. “Vet school,” she says half-heartedly.

“That’s crap and you know it. Tell me to stay.”

She doesn't. She can't.

 — — — — — — — — — —

She doesn't tell Chloe to stay, but it isn't her fault, not entirely. It's kind of hard with Aubrey banging on the door and demanding that they make themselves available for fireworks.

Beca catches a hint of a smile on Chloe's face.

(It ends up being the inspiration she needs to really finish up her album. She doesn't want to dwell on the past.)

 — — — — — — — — — —

August

It’s Amy’s birthday (supposedly), so Beca can’t really find an excuse not to come. She’s trying to be a better friend and all.

And Chloe is Chloe, so she’s one of the first people to hit “attending”.

It is inevitable that their paths would cross again, sharing the same friend group. It takes everything in Beca to muster up the willpower to drag herself out of her temporary New York apartment—her new summer digs and all—and over to Amy’s apartment, which happens to be in the same building. Walking up a couple flights of stairs has never been a more nerve-wracking activity.

Beca immediately makes her way over to the laptop in the corner, taking in the songs Amy has lined up on her playlist. She fiddles with the order a little, glancing up a few times to take stock of the room.

“She’s not here yet,” comes Amy’s clear voice.

Beca jumps, nearly knocking the laptop clean off the shelf. “Amy,” she greets. “I was uh…looking for you. Happy birthday!” she exclaims, injecting real cheer in her voice before pulling Amy in for a hug.

“Thank you,” Amy replies brightly, though her tone does nothing to belie the suspicion. Beca tries to ignore the suspicion in Amy’s eyes. Most of the Bellas know that Beca and Chloe had a falling out, but they don’t know the extent, which, well…Beca supposes that’s the whole point of a secret fling.

Beca swallows and steadies herself before she manages to lift her eyes to look at Amy once more. “Drinks?” she requests finally, hoping the rasp in her voice stays out.

“Sure, right this way, my little DJ.” Amy wraps a firm arm around her and suddenly Beca is being very nearly hoisted through the crowd. “You got the playlist I sent you right?”

“Yes, I’m confused as to why you sent to me though.”

“Aren’t you DJ-ing my party?” Amy asks, mild confusion coloring her tone.

“I guess I am now,” Beca says after a moment. She’s not exactly going to pass up the opportunity to drink in the corner while staring at a long list of music and shuffling songs out of order.

“Not too famous yet, huh?” Amy jokes.

“Nope,” Beca says quickly, refocusing on Amy’s laptop.

Especially when the alternative is to stare at a certain somebody from across the room with incomparable longing.

 — — — — — — — — — —

Chloe’s eyes meet hers from across the room and like a sharp bolt of lightning, Beca finds herself as stiff as a board because Chloe still has that effect on her. Especially with the sharp, vivid memory of Chloe’s lips against her own; Chloe’s hands on her body. Her body tenses even more when she realizes Chloe is making her way towards her. Beca attempts to pretend as if she hadn’t been staring at Chloe for the better part of the evening.

Beca has zero idea how Chloe plans to manage their newfound friendship now with all their history between them. Even now, with Chloe looking at her with bright blue eyes—open and filled with emotion—Beca can’t help but have very…decidedly not friendly thoughts about the woman standing in front of her. Philadelphia has evidently been kind to Chloe, kinder than Chloe’s social media posts have let on. Her hair is longer and her cheeks are just a bit rosier, but eyes are the brightest Beca has ever seen.

So she makes her way out onto the fire escape and climbs down to her own apartment, breathing a sigh of relief at the instant solitude she feels.

“Hi,” Chloe greets from above, having followed Beca like she anticipated.

Beca glances up quickly. "Hey," she replies, willing her racing heart to calm down. Chloe makes quick work of the steps and is soon standing next to Beca.

Chloe looks like she is about to step forward into Beca’s space for a quick moment—a quick moment like so many before—and Beca’s body just reacts . Her skin starts to tingle, her lips part and her mouth dries, and every single body seems to light aflame. Her hands twitch by her sides because every last instinct wants her to move forward; wants her to push into Chloe’s body; wants her to put their lips together.

It feels like a craving at least—a desperate need to fill something that has remained empty for too long. Her emotional reserves are plentiful and her body aches to remind both herself and Chloe of what they had.

(One month apart is entirely too long.)

From the way Chloe continues to gaze at her as the silence expands between them, Beca thinks maybe kissing her wouldn’t be a completely horrible idea.

The clang of the bottle against the fire escape startles Beca but before she can say anything or ask Chloe anything, Chloe all but has her pressed against the hard brick exterior of the building and her lips are sliding sloppily against Beca’s like the last few weeks never happened—like they spent no time apart at all. 

Beca’s hands automatically grip Chloe’s hips as best as she can, twisting her body to face Chloe more fully. Chloe hums quietly into their kiss - a sound Beca has missed so terribly. It sends both a jolt of sadness and arousal through Beca, forcing her to tighten her grip in the fabric of Chloe’s shirt. 

A part of her desperately believes they should stop—that this is wholly inappropriate considering the delicate balance of emotions they’ve struck up between them since that last night in France. Since that last night in June. All the months before.

(But in France, that first time will always remain a pivotal moment—Beca slides her hand down Chloe’s side reverently, wonder in her eyes. She memorizes and memorizes, in awe of each touch and each sound. Everything is new and passionate, burning brightly like the embers of what could be a new love.

And she knows Chloe feels the same.) 

But Beca craves this from Chloe - the affection, the touch - the passion.

Leaning further into the kiss, Beca can taste the alcohol on Chloe’s tongue - a hint of tequila and lime, red wine, and perhaps more. Beca wonders what her own tongue tastes like - wonders if Chloe likes the way she tastes still.

Assaulted by the myriad of thoughts that threaten to overtake her, Beca is overwhelmed simultaneously by Chloe’s tongue and her hands roaming freely across Beca’s body. 

It’s quick, the way Chloe’s fingers deftly unbutton Beca’s jeans. Beca is suddenly conscious with the rough brick behind her head.

“Should we…” Beca clears her throat and tries to focus because Chloe’s lips are molten against her skin. 

“Should we…” Chloe echoes softly, tilting her head back up to press her nose against Beca’s jaw. “I want you,” she whispers, reassurance in her voice, like she worried briefly that Beca was concerned at all about whether Chloe still desired her. 

...she had been a little concerned, maybe.

Beca can only nod against the onslaught of feelings and sensation, opting to chase Chloe’s mouth with her own. She soaks through her underwear at the feeling of Chloe’s fingers skimming along the skin of her hip. 

Chloe touches her surely and boldly, even though Beca thinks they absolutely shouldn’t be doing this in full view of a public street. Yet, for once, the streets are quiet and only the sounds of Amy’s party echo from above them. Everybody is involved in their own lives—their their own parties. Nobody is looking up. All Beca knows—all she can feel is the sure, steady glide of Chloe’s fingers against the front of her underwear. She barely resists from taking Chloe’s hand and shoving it straight into her underwear, but even if she wanted to do so, her body is rendered immobile for the time being. 

Chloe has that effect on her: the effect of being rendered completely helpless because all she wants to do is give herself to Chloe over and over again, even if her heart cries out for some relief.

Beca thinks she curses or at least that something escapes her, but Chloe’s fingers are persistently rubbing at her clit through her underwear and her mouth is latched onto Beca’s jaw. 

It’s hard to think, not while Chloe’s fingers hold no rhythm of their own. They bump and push at Beca’s clit in time with the hot pulse between her legs – like Chloe knows enough about Beca’s body to intuitively feel out how close Beca is to her orgasm already.

(Kissing Chloe always was enough to bring her simultaneous ecstasy and joy.)

Chloe’s breath catches occasionally, when her fingers slip down – down to slowly rub and drag Beca’s ruined underwear between her distinctly swollen folds. Her hips buck up and she briefly wonders what would happen if they happened to fall to their death.

She can’t process much else because she’s clamping her own hand between her legs, stilling Chloe’s hand. She just needs Chloe to stay – to stop for a moment because it feels too good and she wants it to last –

Beca’s not sure how long the ache between her legs lasts, but before long she’s coming apart in Chloe’s arms, eyes nearly crossing from the white-hot pleasure that rushes through her. Her clit throbs and licks against the fabric of her now embarrassingly damp underwear.

“I— fuck ,” she breathes out, trying to get something articulate to leave her lips, but Chloe’s hand, still warm and wet, finds its way to her jaw and grips it tightly enough that Beca’s eyes fly open, only to see the fresh desire in Chloe’s eyes. 

“I want you,” Chloe mumbles again, leaning in to kiss Beca so thoroughly and steadily that Beca almost forgets they’re drunk. Almost forgets that they’re on the fire escape of her shoddy rented New York apartment because she lives there (because she had jumped at the chance to live there because it brought her thousands of miles closer to Chloe Beale) with her pants partway down her thighs. Almost forgets how uncomfortably wet her underwear is. She jolts, her thigh brushing against the cold leather of couch. “So much,” Chloe continues, voice strained and desperate.

“I want you, too,” Beca chokes out, between kisses. Chloe’s death grip on her jaw loosens and they’re collapsing back into each other, a collision of alcohol-warmed bodies, fuelled by the pain of missing each other to the point of devastating heartbreak.

It’s not a lie. She wants Chloe to the point of frustration. Frustration with herself, frustration with everything about their situation.

And yet, she can’t help herself from sinking into Chloe’s kiss, her familiar touch, her familiar nips and bites across her skin.

“In-inside,” Beca manages to say between Chloe’s increasingly frenzied kisses. “We should go-“ She barely manages to halt Chloe’s hand from sliding back between her legs. Instead, she intertwines their fingers, tries to slow down. “We should go inside,” she manages to clarify. 

Chloe pants out against her mouth and nods so slightly that Beca almost misses it. She only feels the barest brush of Chloe’s lips against her own - the marker of Chloe’s nod - before she’s drunkenly pulling Chloe inside the room. Chloe has the sense of mind to grab the mostly empty wine bottle. She drops it on one of Beca’s side tables and they barely make it over the couch before they’re a mess of limbs and badly-aimed kisses. Beca’s back hits the couch, but only barely and they’re both kind of collapsing onto the ground with soft thumps.

Beca fumbles with Chloe’s hair and clothes in a scramble to push up off the ground. “Bed,” she tries to say, but Chloe’s lips are forceful and passionate. Instead, Beca’s sure she only manages to make some kind of garbled moan because Chloe’s fingers are pinching insistently at her nipple and Chloe’s lips are latched onto her neck.

Before Beca can do much else, Chloe is pushing herself off Beca’s upper body, breathing heavily. Beca can make out the desire in Chloe’s eyes. She can also make out the smudge of Chloe’s lipstick and the swell of her lips. She opens her mouth to tell Chloe how pretty she is, but she halts, watching Chloe’s hands tremble as they pull her pretty blue shirt over her head. Beca swallows, leaning up on her elbow to watch Chloe’s progress. Chloe pulls her jeans down, lifting off Beca momentarily to do so. It’s less graceful than either of them anticipates because she very nearly rolls off Beca to do so, kicking at her legs in a desperate attempt to remove her clothing. 

Beca reaches (eagerly) for the elastic of Chloe’s underwear, desperate to see all of her again - desperate to relearn Chloe’s body. To her surprise, Chloe bats her hands away and moves to pull down Beca’s already unbuttoned pants all the way. Beca bites her lip and sits up further to help Chloe by pulling off her own t-shirt, tossing it somewhere behind her. She doesn’t remember taking off her jacket, but she’s sure she had it on earlier. Nothing matters, however, because Chloe is draping herself back over Beca’s body, tangling one hand firmly into Beca’s hair and letting the other grip Beca’s hip with almost bruising pressure. 

Beca wonders if there’s anything new about Chloe’s body – if there’s anything new about the curves and lines and everything in between – based on the time they’ve spent apart. 

Beca moans into the kiss, desperate to feel more of Chloe. She fumbles under Chloe’s bra, trying to find purchase on Chloe’s breasts, squeezing the flesh as best as she can. Chloe’s nipples are hard against her palm and she presses, almost giddy of the familiar feeling (and of the knowledge that she fully manages to incite this reaction in Chloe Beale, still. She craves the feeling of skin against skin, but before she can do anything (not that she could say anything with Chloe’s tongue in her mouth), Chloe is grabbing her wrists and unceremoniously shoving her arms above her head.

“Me first,” Chloe mumbles, eyes nearly crossing as she leans back down towards Beca’s face. Their eyes meet; their breaths intertwine.

Beca can only nod.

 — — — — — — — — — —

The rest of the night passes in a series of heated, passionate moments.

Chloe’s thumb is perfectly pressed against Beca’s clit through her underwear, while the rest of  her hand is splayed out against the front of the lace. Occasionally her nails scratch at the lace, but Beca can barely feel all of that compared to the sensation of how wet Chloe is against her thigh. Chloe bites her lip, grinding down hard against Beca’s thigh while also using her own thigh to press against Beca through her underwear. With her other hand holding Beca’s thigh up and helping her leg wrap around her hip, Beca can very nearly almost feel Chloe’s pussy grinding against hers, with each upwards brush.

“Please,” she chokes out. “Chlo-”

Chloe’s eyes flash and suddenly she disappears. Beca cries out at the loss and tries to sit up.

In her haze—her Chloe-induced haze—she briefly registers the loss of warmth, before her legs are being pushed apart and suddenly Chloe is staring back at her from between her legs. The sight makes Beca collapse back and she only just drapes her arm over her eyes when Chloe licks her right through the goddamned ruined lace. 

It’s a special brand of torture, feeling Chloe’s tongue nudge and prod at her through the lace. She’s soaking through the underwear anyway - she’s sure it clings to her like a second skin. The lace is rough against her – so rough and persistent. She swells with pleasure, trying to squirm up against Chloe’s mouth. Trying to get Chloe to slip beneath her underwear. 

She just wants Chloe’s tongue inside her - she just wants Chloe to fuck her like she did before, that night when everything screamed of potential and before Beca had been too scared and wasted it all away.

Instead, Chloe is sucking her clit through the lace, the duality of how wet the material feels and yet how distinct it feels makes Beca’s entire body buck up and into Chloe’s face again . Every sensation renews the sheer lust she feels, building and building until she can’t stand it any longer.  She immediately yanks on Chloe’s hair, unsure of when her hands even found their way into Chloe’s hair.

Chloe concedes and lifts herself back up. Her body covers Beca with heat and endlessly soft skin while Beca awaits the return of Chloe’s lips to her own.

When presented with Chloe’s mouth, she holds Chloe’s face close and licks her tongue into Chloe’s mouth as best as she can, tasting the bits of herself that she left behind.

In her haze – somewhere between alcohol and lust – she thinks she hears Chloe’s moan; she thinks she feels the way it reverberates through her body and settles somewhere at the back of her mind. She desperately tries to cling on to each memory as it passes through her with each swipe of Chloe’s tongue; with each harsh suck.

Then, a sigh against her inner thigh and Chloe's ministrations are slowing to stop. "I love you," she whispers, so softly that Beca nearly misses it. 

But then she can't do much else than gasp for breath and stare at the plain, white ceiling.

I love you, too.

— — — — — — — — — —

"Stay," Beca murmurs, pulling Chloe's arm as she moves to leave the warmth of her bed. "You can stay for one more night, right?"

Chloe pauses and turns, her eyes the softest Beca has ever seen them. "I can stay as long as you want me to."

Beca smiles, her vision blurry with unexpected tears. "I've only ever wanted you to stay with me. I was just stupid about it for too long."

"I can do that," Chloe promises. She cups Beca's cheek, but makes no move to wipe away her tears. "I'll do that for as long as you need."

And that means the world, for there was a time where Beca thought she had exhausted all of Chloe's time. But, as with most things, Beca learns how wrong she was.

 — — — — — — — — — —

September

Beca is mildly uncomfortable when she wakes up.

...For many reasons, though she assesses that the primary reason appears to be that she’s sleeping on a cheap mattress and her arm is trapped under Chloe’s body. Grimacing, she attempts to roll her shoulders a bit, but winces when that action causes a twinge of pain.

Twisting her head, she catches sight of a tangle of red curls and the smooth, gently freckled back she had come to know so intimately. 

Her heart thuds in her chest, as she twists her body in an attempt to gently extricate her arm from under Chloe’s side. Chloe is breathing steadily and slowly, an indication that she is still asleep. 

She wonders if Chloe dreams of her still, like Beca does; if Chloe dreams of all the things they could do in the future– 

(How close that all came to being could have done; how close that came to being would have done. )

Beca pauses in her maneuvering to reach out with her free hand to trace the gentle red lines across Chloe’s back - the remaining marks of Beca’s fingers scratching down the smooth expanse of skin the previous night. The echo of Chloe’s breath hot against her ear and the grip she had maintained on Beca’s thighs rise to the surface, but Beca tamps them down, almost lazily.

She just wants to be.

Sighing, Beca turns to cuddle into Chloe’s back fully, basking in the warmth she receives from how close she feels to Chloe at that moment. She tucks herself close, brings her arms up against the smooth skin of Chloe’s back. 

Warmth finally fills her chest.

 — — — — — — — — — —

When Beca wakes up again, her lips are pressed loosely to Chloe’s shoulder, both of them still in the same position, though this time Chloe has Beca’s hand in a death-grip and pressed tightly against her chest as she slumbers.

Tentatively, Beca curls her fingers, blinking awake when their fingers neatly intertwine, settling against each other neatly and perfectly.

Without thinking, she kisses a trail up Chloe’s shoulder and leans up so she can press a gentle kiss against Chloe’s neck, warm from the ray of sunshine that comes through Beca’s window. It must be mid-day or at least late morning.

Chloe’s body stiffens as she awakens, but Beca isn’t afraid. “Mm,” Chloe moans out. “It’s too early, baby. Go back to sleep and stay in bed with me.”

Beca smiles into the curve of Chloe’s shoulder. “Gladly.”

 — — — — — — — — — —

October

“Do we need to book a ticket for your girlfriend?” Theo asks her offhandedly while they’re planning her agenda for the next few months until the end of the year. 

Beca is startled. “Girlfriend,” she echoes.

“Yeah. Chloe, right? Red hair. Taller than you, but not by much.”

“Yeah, no—that’s her. It’s just.” A slow smile spreads across Beca’s face. “She is my girlfriend, huh?”

Theo doesn’t bother responding to that. “Okay so I’m just gonna set aside a ticket for her and she can call me to set up flight details if she wants. You can call me later.”

Beca hangs up with a smile on her face.

Chloe exists her ensuite bathroom, drying her hair. “Who was that?”

Beca stands, reaching out to take Chloe’s towel so she can dry her hair for her. “Just Theo being nosy and asking questions about my girlfriend.”

Chloe grins. "And who might that be?"

"Maybe the person who bought these ridiculous matching costumes for a party we really don't have to go to."

 — — — — — — — — — —

November

"My dad's like...super happy I'm dating you," Beca says, going for casual. "So would you like to spend Thanksgiving with my family this year?"

The way Chloe tears up and nods enthusiastically is anything but casual.

 — — — — — — — — — —

December

They’re snowed in, but Beca isn’t complaining.

“What if you’d met somebody last year?” Chloe asks. “And then we tried that whole being friends thing. Which totally didn’t work, by the way.” She kisses Beca’s neck. “You’re still one of my best friends though.”

"There was like one person," Beca murmurs. "But nothing."

Beca had thought about from time to time. There would be people who caught her eye during that period when she and Chloe weren’t really anything. Before they’d kissed again. She imagined having to tell Chloe she was seeing somebody, the same way Chloe had kind of told her about that kind-of-sort-of-not fling. She wondered what it would have felt like—to be able to have another option. “I guess you wouldn’t have been trying to kiss me all the time,” Beca sighs.

Chloe sighs as well, with some amount of exaggeration. “Bummer.”

“I'd feel bad for them, though,” Beca says, keeping a straight face.

Chloe looks up, alarmed. “Why?”

“Because they’d have to compete with you,” Beca says and she finally cracks a smile. But she isn't laughing or making light of the situation. Just amazed that she's there at all, with Chloe tucked into her side.

Chloe doesn’t reply, but she does gently tilt her head up and kiss Beca’s chin, before maneuvering ever so slightly so she can reach Beca’s lips.

It relaxes all the muscles in Beca’s body and she lets herself get pushed back into their pillows, the solid weight of Chloe’s body gently covering her own.

Beca relishes in the strong pull of Chloe’s fingers and the confidence of her lips as they work their way down Beca’s body with stark familiarity.

Their conversation is forgotten as together, they ring in the new year.

fin.

[royallyprincesslilly]

Title: Convince Me To Go {2}

AU Chris Evans x Reader

Warning: Mild Cursing, Slow Burn

Words: 2.3k

Summary: When we run away, we’re usually running from something. This time you may have run toward it instead.

Note: Welp. 🤷🏾‍♀️  I hope you enjoy this.

***Loosely Edited/Proofread***

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

“So, what’ll it be?” The bartender asked just as you and your knight in shining armor got situated.

 “Lemon water and a napkin if you have, please.”

 “Lemon water?”

 “Yeah, lemon is a good antiseptic, you know for his—” You motioned to his face. The woman nodded and wrote it down.

 “And to drink? This ain’t urgent care.”

“Three rounds of Gin for me, and for the lady?”

 He looked at you with both eyebrows raised.

“Coconut rum please.”

 “Three rounds of coconut rum. All right.”

 The bartender nodded and walked away to gather your order.

 “I did not peg you as a rum woman.”

 “No? white wine, or chardonnay maybe?” He smiled and shook his head.

 “As I said, you know nothing about me.”

 “All right let’s start with your name. What’s your name?”

 You thought about it. If he knew your name, he could easily search you across social media. You didn’t want that happening. “No names.”

 His eyebrows shot up again. “No names. Huh, kinky.”

 You laughed and shook your head.

 “So, what do I call you?”

You shrugged. “You pick.”

 He gave an exaggerated facial expression that said he was thinking extra hard. He looked goofy, but through the goofiness, he was still cute.

 “You know what, I think I’ll stick with fancy.”

 You rolled your eyes.

 “Not so fancy anymore, my shoes are ruined, stockings ripped, I’m a mess.”

 “Clothes don’t make the woman fancy. The woman makes the woman.”

 You leaned closer to him and looked into his eyes. “Are you concussed?”

 He snorted and laughed heartily and slapped his hand across his chest. He threw his head back and gave you a good view of his perfect teeth. You couldn’t help but smile a little too. The bartender returned with a tray full of drinks and the lemon water.

 “Also found a first aid kit behind the bar.”

 “Thank you.”

She walked off again and you opened the kit and surveilled the items inside. You took out a Band-Aid, some ointment, everything else was absent. When you looked back to him his eyes were glued to you.

 “What?”

 “Nothing. All right fancy nurse, do your worst.”

 You smiled and scooted closer to him as he leaned over the table. You dipped the napkin into the lemon water and dabbed his eyebrow. He barely flinched as you wiped the superficial wound.

 “Good news, it doesn’t look deep enough that you’ll need stitches,” you announced.

 “Yay.”

 “No stitches mean barely a scar which means your pretty face will remain intact.”

 “You think I have a pretty face?” Your eyes met as your hands stilled.

 “uh—well, um, I didn’t mean it literal. It’s a thing you say.”

 “I’ve never heard anyone say that thing unless it was meant that way,” he contested.

 “Well, now you have.”

 You dropped your hands and examined the wound on his cheekbone then proceeded to clean it as well. This you did in silence. After a few moments, you decided the band-aid would be better for his cheekbone rather than his eyebrow due to the hair.

 “All right, all done. You may have to clean that eyebrow once more, but it’ll be fine.”

 “What no kiss for the boo-boo?”

You smirked and gave him a small eye roll. “You’ll live.”

He smiled and nodded his head. “Thank you.” You nodded as you wiped your hands.

 “It’s the least I could do. I should be thanking you.”

 “Let’s call it even. A toast?” he held up one of his glasses of Gin. You mirrored him with your rum.

 “To muggers, brawls in the snow and drinks with beautiful women.” You crinkled your eyebrow.

 “That is a horrible toast.”

 He shrugged and knocked the drink back. You took your time with a sip.

 “So, what’s your story Fancy?”

 “Fancy, so that’s the name you’re sticking with?”

 He nodded. “Maybe you should pick yours.”

 “Anything I want?”

 “Anything you want,” he repeated.

 You rubbed your chin and thought about it purposefully.

 “Hmm, decisions, decisions.”

 “Maybe I can give you a few suggestions. What about valiant, you know like Prince Valiant who charged into a sword battle with six captors all for his fair maiden.”

 “Nope.”

 “All right, what about Phillip, like Prince Phillip who won Aurora’s heart and helped her save the kingdom.”

 “Uh—hard pass.”

 “Well, then it has to be Triton, like King Triton the king of the seas, he who has the power to control it?”

 “I thought that was Poseidon.”

 “No one cares about Poseidon, it’s King Triton.”

 “Again, nah. I got it. Ready?”

 “Let’s hear what’s better than all my fantastic suggestions.

 You smiled so ready to dash all his hopes. “Puppy.”

 Any humor on his face immediately fell.

 “Puppy? As in an animal?”

 “Yes, why not.  Puppies are energetic, humorous, defensive, always there to help, they pop up out of nowhere are ready for treats.

“How is that me?”

 “You’re clearly energetic, it’s after two in the morning and you’re awake, you seem to think you’re funny with how you always try to read me, you just showed your defensiveness by fighting off my mugger, which also ticks off there to help,” you explained.

 “What about ready for a treat and pops up from nowhere?”

 “Dude you came out of nowhere just now, and as soon as the task was finished your first suggestion was me buying you a drink, hence a treat. I think it sums you up quite well.”

 He didn’t look amused which made you even more amused.

 “So, you skip over all the princes to puppy?”

 “I mean I can add prince in there, prince puppy. Has a nice ring to it.”

 He snorted and shook his head. “Ya know what, whatever you want fancy.”

 “Puppies are always eager to please too.”

 He nodded and took another of his drinks and downed it. you smiled to yourself as you drank your own drink.

 “So we’ve established you’re not from Boston, you’re from New York. What’re you doing in Boston?”

 You didn’t answer right away, you continued to sip your drink not sure you wanted to open this can.

 “Sightseeing.”

 “In Boston? What sights exactly?”

 “Oh you know, Fenway Park.”

 “Uh-huh, what else?”

 “You know the home of coffee; you know bean town.”

 “You know nothing about Boston huh?”

 “Nope.”

He laughed again and shook his head.

 “No one comes to Boston dressed like that to sightsee. Look, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t wanna. I’m not trying to get your life story. Just making conversation.”

 “Are you from here?”

 “Born and raised. I left for a few years but I’m back now.”

 “Where did you go off to?”

 “New York.” He knocked back the third glass and stood. “See, Boston always welcomes the runaways.” He walked away to the bar and you looked after him.

 Maybe he was a semi-good reader of people. Your phone rang again, and you sighed. When you took it out this time the name on the screen was your father. No doubt your mother had gotten him into things. Your father could ride the slippery slope between good cop and coerced bad cop very well. You didn’t know if he were calling as that genuinely good cop or the coerced bad cop. You didn’t want to chance it, you tapped dismiss.

 “Either that is your actual daddy or you’re one of those women who call their paramours daddy.”

 He slipped back into his seat with hands filled with six new glasses. You dropped your phone back into your purse and took your last drink and knocked it back. “Wouldn’t you like to know.” He smiled and shrugged.

 “Every woman is a mystery until you unravel the thread.”

 “Why did you leave New York?”

 “When you tell me why you did, I’ll tell you why I did.”

 The two of you stared each other down. Neither of you wanted to back out.

 “What do you do in New York?”

 “I work in real estate.”

 He nodded again. “Ah, a baby tycoon living the real life of Monopoly.”

 You scoffed. If he only knew how right he was.

 “Do you like real estate?”

“It’s all right. It’s what I’m good at I guess.”

 “I’m sure you’re good at plenty of things,” he theorized.

 “Not plenty. I know I do a few things really well. I can negotiate a contract well, I have a good eye for understanding what is trending and what will trend, and I am good at inciting a bidding war to puff a final offer. I’m also good at being the perfect daughter. That I excel at with flying colors.” You knocked back one of the glasses he’d placed on the table and grimaced when you tasted it was Gin.

 “Uuugh, that’s disgusting.”

 “You get used to it.” He drank from one of the glasses and bobbed his head from side to side.

 “That’s fruity and very sweet. I see why you like it.”

 You drank another in silence, you could feel his eyes on you.

 “That can’t be the only thing you’re good at. What about hobbies, things you do for fun outside of closing deals and starting wars.”

 You smiled and shrugged. You really didn’t have time to do many things that were fun. You always had responsibilities. Either you had to be here or there for the image of the family or you were on someone’s arm for the benefit of another. It was exhausting.

 “Come on. Cook?”

 “I’m a horrible cook. I burned boiled eggs once.”

 “That is very sad. Moving on, drawing?”

 “Do stick figures count?”

 “Appalling. Maybe athletic stuff, running, bench pressing, squats?”

 “I see we’re lowering the bar now. Nope, never been into the whole athletic thing. I can run pretty far in heels though. Oh, I have also been given first prize in the Westchester Beauty Pageant four years in a row.”

 “Well, all right that’s something. You must have been good at it four years is impressive.”

 You smiled and he hit your glass before he guzzled it empty. You did the same and knocked back another.

“If you mix it, it’s not half bad.”

 “What else are you good at?”

 “Nothing. My mother said she was happy I was born pretty because then I wouldn’t have to be good at anything to make it far in life. She said my beauty was all I needed to master. So I mastered it. My body is—an Egyptian temple of paradise, my face without a scar. My mother is a very vain woman.”

 He didn’t know what to say. That seemed like something deeply personal but also sad. You were right, you were beautiful. He’d noticed you within seconds of you walking into the bar. It was hard not to. He also sensed there was a lot more to you than just your looks, there had to be.

 “What about you? What are you good at?”

 “Everything. I’m a skilled conversationalist, Fantastic son, brother, and uncle, I volunteer, donate and pay my taxes and I am an unbelievable lover. So there check, check, check.”

 “Oh wow. All of that?”

 He nodded and leaned back. “What can I say?”

 “And an unbelievable lover? Wow, what makes you so unbelievable?”

 “Ah, I can’t tell my secrets. Plus, it’s not something I can tell, these skills have to be shown.”

 Again, your eyes met and remained on each other. A phone rang and he sighed out before he dug in his pocket and looked at his screen. He looked stressed for a few moments before he tapped a button and put the phone back in his pocket.

 “Sorry about that.”

 “A better way to avoid them is to turn it off completely. They’ll get the message loud and clear.”

 He smiled and nodded, hearing his own words come back to him.

 “You know what. You’re right.” He took back out his phone and turned it off showing you the proof of it powering down. “Your turn.”

 You scoffed but didn’t move. You didn’t want to talk to anyone, but you didn’t know if you wanted to be unreachable. Plus, you didn’t know this man, he could kidnap you.

 “I won’t kidnap you.”

 You smirked and shook your head and dug into your purse.

 “This is insane.”

 “Let’s be insane together.”

 You pressed the power off button, and he smiled as he saw it power down. You dropped it back into your purse and smiled.

 “Plus, we both know you weren’t going to answer any of those calls anyway. We can both worry about it tomorrow.”

 “Tomorrow?”

 “Yeah, we have—” He looked at his watch and bobbed his head from side to side. “Five and a half, six hours until a new day begins, I am free for the night, you’re in town with nowhere to go. Whattaya say?”

 “What do I say to what?”

 “Wanna spend the night with me in a completely nonpredator, non-sleazy way?”

 You studied him. He was serious about this.

 “We’re complete strangers. That’s nuts.”

 “No more nuts than first dates where you do the exact same thing. Oftentimes while you’re wishing you were somewhere else. At least we both know we have nowhere else to be and are doing it willingly.”

 “So this is a first date now?”

 “I’m turning over a new leaf and I’m not into labels. I call it two like-minded adults enjoying each other’s company. I can guarantee that by the time we say goodbye you’ll have found something you’re good at.”

 “That’s a hefty promise there prince puppy.”

 “It is one I am completely comfortable making, fancy.”

 You smiled and looked down at your left hand and leaned back in your chair.

 “Come on, don’t make this a big deal. It’s not.”

 “Fine.”

 He smiled again and it made you smile along with him. It was a beautiful smile, one you liked seeing. He then finished the remaining two drinks on the table and stood.

 “Our adventure awaits.” He dropped a hundred-dollar bill onto the table and held out his arm for you. You locked yours with his and the two of you walked out into the snowy cold night.

~~~~~~~~~

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[sprnklersplashes]

heart of stone (18/?)

AO3

The sky is grey as Cady crosses the front yard to school, a dark, dusty kind of grey. She pulls her jacket tighter around her body; the air gets colder every day. She doesn’t hate winter, but she doesn’t love it either. She tilts her head up to the sky, a heavy weight in her heart as she misses the sun and the blue sky and fluffy white clouds. The world feels so small when the weather is like this.

She rubs her hand over her face, a low groan escaping her lips of its own accord. It’s not just the cold that makes her wish she was still in her bed; she doesn’t think she’s been this tired before, ever. The kind of low-battery, foggy-brained, running on fumes kind of tired. She blinks heavily and shakes her head, her exhaustion settling into her bones as the day ahead stretches out before her.

Last night hadn’t been ideal.

Sleep hadn’t come easily. Every time she got under the covers she was up again not five minutes later, her body feeling like there was a live current running through it. She gave up fairly quickly, instead distracting herself the best way she knew she could; by opening her textbook and working through the pages until she found she had finished the chapter. And so she turned it over and started the next one. They hadn’t covered that yet, but it was fine. She knew that she could teach it to herself, and that’s exactly what she did. Time melted away, just her and her pen and what became pages of notes that must have been legible that one point but blurred and distorted and turned into black scribbles that were one degree away from senseless.

She had her phone too. She keeps it on all night now. Just in case she had told herself, but it’s not like anything came from it. Not at that hour of the night. Not that there had been anything earlier either. Not a text, not a phone call. No posts from her either.

Three days. That had been how long it had been since she last heard from her in any capacity.

Cady shakes her head, cursing at herself under her breath. She rubs her eyes, debating whether or not she has time to run to the shop at the end of the road and buy breakfast. She had ended up crashing out some time after 2 am only to be woken up by her mom what felt like minutes later, hysterically telling her she was late for school. And her overtired, overworked brain took a minute to compute it before she jumped off the bed and before she knew it she was running down the stairs and thanking God for her dad being able to give her a ride there. If it isn’t cool for a senior to be driven to school by her parents, she really, really couldn’t care less.

She takes a deep breath and reaches into her pocket. She feels herself becoming more centred, her feet once again planted on the ground, and she realises that in her haste this morning, she’d forgotten to check her phone. Not like it’s a necessity for her, but it’s nice to keep up with the rest of the world and she won’t get a chance to check it properly for a few hours. Just in case there’s something important there that she can’t miss.

So she takes her phone out and pauses for a minute before turning on her data. Duh, Cady, what else would you do? Not like you can use the WiFi way out here. And she waits and she watches. Watches as her calendar reminds her she has a tutoring session after school today, watches the Mathlete groupchat pile up, watches as people like her tweet. She sorts through each like, and her heart falls a little more each time. She tenses when she gets a message and deflates when she sees it’s from Taylor, asking to borrow her biology notes. She goes through her apps and her messages one by one, checking every icon that pops up, some twice, before she finally nods and accepts it.

Nothing from Janis.

She adjusts her bag on her shoulder. She honestly doesn’t know if she’s allowed to feel this way. Whatever she’s feeling. Just… three days without talking to her girlfriend is harder than a lot of people might think it is. Maybe she’s just being dramatic. She probably is. After all, Janis seemed fine the last time she saw her. She just misses her, misses her presence, misses holding her hand and doing nothing with her. And at least-

Bam!

Pain bursts across her cheek, her cold skin turning hot in its wake as something smacks her in the face. She stumbles and almost falls, her balance failing her until the last possible moment. She closes her eyes tightly until the world feels steady again and she catches her breath. When she opens them, there’s a soccer ball rolling across the ground.

“Hey… are you okay?” There’s a hand on her shoulder and she turns around, finding herself facing a couple of awkward-looking freshman boys, all with zipped-up jackets and glad in gloves and beanies. She blinks at them, words catching in her throat. Whatever they asked her, it had faded away the moment they said it.

“We’re sorry,” one of them says. “We didn’t mean to. He-he just doesn’t know how hard he can kick.”

“It’s…. it’s fine,” she manages. She clears her throat again and straightens up. “It’s really fine. I’m fine.” She is. It’s just a soccer ball, no matter how hard it gets kicked. They didn’t mean it, and the pain is next to nothing now, a slightly warm flush to her cheek the only indication that it even happened. She’s okay. It didn’t even hurt that much.

Then why is she crying?

She backs away from them, away from their wide eyes and confused worry, as the yard begins to spin. She covers her mouth just as another sob wrecks through her body and this one is so loud that everyone hears it.

She sees herself turn away from them, sees the school get closer and closer and then she’s tearing through the halls, her head down and her hair falling past it. Hands come on her shoulder and fall away in the next second. She doesn’t know where she’s headed, why she’s running, all that she knows is that she can’t be where she is now.

She falls into a bathroom stall and pulls the lock over it, securing her in. She presses her back against the wall and pulls her knees against her chest. Her chest hurts, her throat, her head. Hurts from holding it back and shoving it down. This is the worst place she could be, confined in four walls all so close to her and the door bolted, even if that was her own choice. And who knows who else out there, listening to her.

She wishes she were on the roof staring at the sky, or in the park, or better still, back in Kenya, standing atop a cliff with no-one looking at her. Where she could scream until her throat is torn apart and cry until there was nothing left in her. If she was there she could let her voice mix with the wind and be carried away by the wind, let out everything she’s kept locked up inside. But instead she’s in here instead, and she has class, so all she can do is swallow her feelings and cry into her knees until the bell rings. It helps, but not by much.

Damian doesn’t say anything when she sits next to him. But he does hold her hand tighter than he ever has before.

                                                                                               *****

If Cady was exhausted that morning, she stumbles through her door eight and a half hours later a complete corpse. Not a figure of speech; she catches sight of herself in the mirror and flinches at what she sees. Her skin is paple and dark smudges stand out under her eyes, her hair is tangled and messy and falling out of the ponytail-bun she put it in at lunch. She leans against the wall and leans her head against the wall as a long rush of breath escapes her lungs. She keeps her eyes open only because she feels if she closes them, she’ll pass out right here.

At least she’ll probably fall asleep easier tonight.

She pushes herself off the wall and heads to the kitchen. Her lunchbox is still mostly full; she wasn’t really hungry today. Maybe she’ll reuse it tomorrow, she thinks. Her hand is on the doorknob and she’s two seconds away from turning it until she hears a voice that’s familiar but doesn’t belong in her house.

“And you’ve seen them work before?”

“Oh they worked wonders on the kids in Africa,” her mom says. “And we don’t need them here. You take as many as you need, Lauren.”

Cady’s eyes go wide. Janis’ mom? In her house? She presses a hand to her mouth and slowly lifts her hand from the doorknob. She presses herself against the wall and freezes, all her attention focussed on what’s on the other side of the door.

“Thanks so much,” Laura sighs. “I mean when Janis mentioned these, I know she wasn’t thinking about herself, but you know, I think they’ll be perfect for her.” She chuckles, but it doesn’t sound right. Too dark. “That is, if she’ll agree to eat them.”

“Well we have ones with little chocolate chips in them,” her mom adds. But Cady knows that isn’t what Laura meant, and her mom must know it too. “And the kids back in Kenya all liked them. As did Cady’s friend last year. Besides, they just take up space here now.” Kalteen bars, Cady realises, and among the prick of guilt, she puts the pieces together and feels sick at what it must mean. “If nothing else, it’s worth a try.”

“It is,” she agrees. “Probably healthier than bulk buying her donuts and letting her rip into them.”

“You do not.”

“Last week Alex came in with a whole box,” Laura says. “Her doctor doesn’t disapprove. Anything to keep her weight up, he says. Everything else goes out the window.”

Cady closes her eyes, her nails digging into her cheeks as she pictures Janis, her Janis, and how thin she is now. Her collarbone poking out of her skin, how loose her bracelets are on her wrists now. How when she holds their hand, Cady feels like she might crush her if they hold too tightly. She never told her she was worried about it, but she can never ignore it either. She just didn’t know if it was something to worry about.

Well, guess she has an answer now.

“She’s digging her heels in about the meat thing though,” she goes on. “I can’t count how many times she and Alex have had that talk. She swears she’ll wither away before she eats an animal.”

That’s my girl Cady thinks, pride blooming in their chest.  

“Well, she’s stubborn,” Cady’s mom says with a note of admiration. “You couldn’t shake that out of her.”

“I know,” Laura sighs. “Kind of wish I could though.” Cady takes a step backwards at that. She feels as though she’s crossed a line just by listening. That this isn’t any of her business, even if it is about Janis. Not every detail of her girlfriend’s life is about her. “Anyway, thanks for these, Rachel.”

“Oh, any time Laura.” Cady pauses. She doesn’t think her and Janis’ moms have ever exchanged more than a few words with each other. Not hostile, but not friendly either. Just casual, polite, formal conversations while one waited for their daughter to be ready. Heck, one day she and Janis had actually tried to quote “parent trap our parents” (Janis’ choice of words) and try to force them into being best friends. Cady had been cautiously optimistic, but gave up before Janis did, reminding her that they can’t force their moms to bond. If it happened, it’ll happen.

Who knew that when it did, it would be over Kalteen bars?

“And… Cady?” Laura asks, and she jumps at it, looking over her shoulder like she’s about to be caught. “How’s she holding up?”

“Oh she’s… she’s holding,” her mom says. “Tough as nails that one.” There’s a pause, and then, “I’m so glad they found Janis. You know, I never thought I’d see Cady as happy as they were when we first moved here, but then I see them with Janis and it’s just…” She sighs. “You know.”

“Yeah. Janis is the same,” Laura says. “You know… oh she’ll kill me if I tell you this. But sometimes when Janis is on painkillers at the hospital… she’ll just start babbling on about Cady.” She laughs, and her mom does too. Cady doesn’t, but her cheeks glow pink. “I’m just so glad she’s got Cady. I mean she’s always had Damian, but still. I think Cady’s keeping her sane, you know?”

Cady gasps a little. She her eyes are wet, but unlike this morning, she’s not hurt. She’s never doubted that Janis likes her. She’s wondered why sometimes, but she’s not really doubted it before. She just never thought she meant that much to her either. And dare she say it… it feels good.

Cady hears the scraping of chairs and jumps from the wall, running over to the door and opening it. When the kitchen door opens, she’s just stepping through it, twirling her keychain around her finger.

“Mrs Sarkisian,” they greet. “Um, Laura. Hey, what are you doing here?”

“Oh, I just came round for coffee,” she explains. She shifts her large shopping bag behind her. “How was school?”

“Oh you know,” they say. “Same old, same old.”

“So your mom tells me that you’ve applied to Carnegie Mellon,” she says. “That’s a great school. You’re applying for math, right?”

“Yep, that’s right,” she replies. “Uh, it’s mathematical sciences, so it’s tough, but it’s everything I love, so…” She tugs on the straps of her backpack, the tension visible only to her. “So… how’s Janis doing?”

“You know,” Laura says. “Powering through it. She misses you.”

“I miss her too.” Her hands tighten on the straps. “Would you tell her for me?” Laura’s face softens at her request.

“Of course I will, kid.” Laura pats her shoulder, a fond smile on her face before turning to Cady’s mom. Cady’s eyes are drawn to Laura’s bag, where the boxes of Kalteen bars are sitting. They seem to burn through the fabric and fill the room with smoke. They hold Cady’s attention to tightly that she doesn’t even notice Laura leaving until the door is closing behind her and her car starts up in the driveway.

“So… how was school?” her mom asks.  

“Fine,” she says.

“And how was your tutoring?”

“Hm?”

“Your tutoring,” she says again. “After school, you said you were tutoring.”

“Oh yeah, that was fine,” she says. She folds her arms tightly over her chest. There’s a phantom sting on her cheek from where the ball hit her this morning, even if the redness has long since faded. As have the tears, but the worry never does. She can see the Kalteen bar in her mind’s eye, sitting on Janis’ table, and wonders if she’ll ever tell her.

“I’m going to go start my homework,” she mutters, and she’s running up the stairs before her mom can say anything else.

                                                                                               *****

Cady jolts awake, a yelp emitting from her throat and a high-pitched ringing in her ears. She pushes herself, her hair a tangled mess in front of her face and blinks until her eyes can stay open on their own. Her room doesn’t feel familiar at first, her bed not her own. She waits, panting heavily like she’s finished running, until the ringing dies down and the ground beneath her starts to feel solid. She drags a hand over her face and shakes her head, her mind feeling rusty and lagging like an old car engine.

It takes her a minute to register another sound, not in her head, and another minute still for her to put two and two together and reach under her pillow to grab her phone and turn off the alarm.

She does know it’s wrong for her to sleep with her phone under her pillow like that. It’s a fairly recent decision, taken after one day when the impossible happened and Janis texted her when she was asleep. It’s not the best plan, the health risks alone would kill her poor father if he found out, but it’s fine. She’s made it this far without something happening to her, and it’ll only be another two months. And besides, it wakes her up.

She pushes herself off the bed and wobbles as she rises, her legs unsteady. She stretches out her back, her spine creaking like an old rocking chair. Damian has made jokes about his body feeling like an old man’s, and while she’s laughed, she’s never understood it until now.

When she turns around, she’s greeted with the sight of her textbooks and notes strewn across the bed and around the floor, mostly sprawled open and all tossed haphazardly. She rubs the back of her neck, embarrassed even if she’s alone. The sight of her books treated so carelessly unsettles her, almost making her guilty. She’s used to treating her school things with respect, or at least being gentle with them. Her friends call her type A, or a nerd, but she knows how lucky she is to have books like these. Since her first day in North Shore, she’s treated them with the care they deserve.

She makes up for her misstep by picking them up carefully, smoothing out the bent spines and creased pages. She realises she doesn’t actually remember “going” to bed last night, other than moving her studying from the desk to the bed. As she picks up her notes she finds highlighters and pens as well, hiding in the folds of her duvet. It comes back to her, sitting up with the pages against her legs as she worked, and then a fuzzy image of her lying down comes to mind. She’s pretty sure the light was still on when she did, as she told herself it was just for a minute.

“Famous last words, Cady,” she whispers to herself. Satisfied with how her bed looks, she slides her phone out of the waistband of her jeans, having almost forgotten to check it. Like she ever could, really. It was a habit she picked up in her plastic days and has hardened in the last months, and one she pays for with headaches and itchy eyes. She honestly wishes that she could stop, but she keeps going anyway, her one excuse is that it’ll end once this is all back to normal.

And sometimes, it pays off, like today, when at the top of the screen is a message from Janis, and her heart does a flip. It’s a long one too, two actually because it’s Janis and of course she did that. One hand types in her passcode while the other dances and fidgets at her side.

‘Hi babe,’ she says. ‘I’m sorry, I know it’s been a hot minute. I’ve just felt pretty out of it these past few days. Nothing I can’t handle. Anyway, miss ur face a lot. And the rest of u. So what’s happening on ur end?’

Cady presses her hand to her mouth to keep the squeal inside. In amongst the delight and the ecstasy of it, there’s this immense feeling of relief washing over her, coming from too many places for her to pin down. But it doesn’t matter. Janis is texting her, and that means she’s fine, and that’s all that matters.

‘I really am sorry it’s been so long. I wasn’t like, really sick or anything, I was just really tired a lot of the time and I didn’t want to text you when I wasn’t physically capable of holding a conversation. And I know you’re busy with school and Mathletes and stuff. Anyway, yeah, still miss ur face. Text me when u can???’

Cady sits down on the desk, pressing her thumb into the wood as she reads the messages again, once for joy and the second because well…. Janis was tired, she says. That’s not abnormal, she’s tired most of the time. So it shouldn’t bother her like it does.

She takes a deep breath and replies, telling her that it’s fine that she’s been quiet (it is) and that she misses her too (she does) and that she’s been seriously busy (she wishes that weren’t true) and then finishes it off with a reminder that she misses her (because it’s seriously, seriously true). She hovers for a minute, waiting for a reply that doesn’t come. Of course, she thinks. She’s probably on a round right now.

She’s downstairs when it hits her that Janis didn’t mention the Kalteen bars at all, and she doesn’t know how she feels about that.

                                                                                               ******

“You doing okay?” Damian asks her. They’re standing at his locker; the hallway mostly empty which is a miracle in itself. This one time on this one day is one of the few times the two of them can run to their lockers without being swamped, and the added bonus is that they can hang out for a few minutes too. Right now, Damian is looking at them through narrowed eyes, seemingly searching for an answer. They just shrug at him and tug on the straps of their backpack.

“Yeah. Why?”

“You just seem a little bit… on edge today,” he says. “Something happen?”

“No, no.” They shake their head firmly, their ponytail swinging with the momentum. It’s only now that they realise they’re tossing their phone between their hands. They turn it on quickly before making a point of shoving it in their pocket. They shake their hands out, ignoring they feel without it. “Nothing like that, really. In fact, I’m great.” He raises an eyebrow, which translates to a rather sarcastic-sounding really?

Cady has to wonder if it’s a good thing or a bad thing that she can now understand Damian’s eyebrow movements.

“Well, I got a text from Janis this morning,” they say, folding their arms for emphasis. “So yeah, I’m doing pretty good.”

“Oh,” he says, and his lips curl into a smirk and then to a smile, his face growing soft. Something in the air shifts, the tension fading as the few people in the hallway fade away and he says gently, “I’m glad she’s back.”

“Yeah,” they whisper as he closes his locker. “Same here.”

It’s more than just having her back; they think as Damian slings his arm around their shoulders and walks them down the hall. Yes, they missed her, but it’s more a confirmation than anything else; that she’s okay, despite everything, that mentally and physically she’s doing what she needs to be doing. That she’s on the right track, and soon they’ll all be back to normal.

They wonder if Damian feels the same, if he has a similar prick of anxiety every time his phone buzzes. He seems to be handling this far better than they are, dancing along where they’re stumbling. Not that he isn’t worried, he’s just handling it better than they are. They’re glad of it and they sure as hell hope

Damian leaves them off at their history class. He gives them a friendly pat on their head, but his smile doesn’t quite meet his eyes, a look on his face that if they didn’t know any better, they’d call worried.

“You take care of yourself, okay?” he asks, his voice all gentle and soft.

“Sure,” they say, although they don’t quite get what he means. The question came out of the blue. “Um… you too.” He nods and pats her shoulder again, that look of parental concern staying in his eyes. There’s an awkward pause, and Cady’s about to turn to go into the class before he pulls them into a quick, tight hug. He squeezes their shoulder one last time before he finally walks away, the ghosts of his arms still lingering around her body.

Cady stands and watches him go, waving to some people, chatting to others. He looks the same as he always has, just Damian, bundle of laughs, giver of hugs, human teddy bear Damian. And they feel immensely stupid. This whole time they’ve been assuming that Damian is handling this thing pretty well, better than they are anyway. They guessed it helped that he comes equipped with a sunny outlook on life, and so believed he was fine. All it took was a hug to prove them wrong, and he probably didn’t even know he was doing it.

They turn and head into the classroom, a feeling of helplessness clinging to their back.

The history lesson is interestingly enough. History isn’t a particular strong suit of Cady’s, but they don’t hate it either. It’s kind of fascinating, learning about the past, there’s just so much information to consume and regurgitate. And reading, so much reading, cherry picking the ‘important parts’. Unlike math, where everything is important. Janis likes it though. She’s even said that even if she’s planning on doing art next year, she might apply for history as a back-up. Cady doesn’t quite understand the appeal of it, and while it’s usually interesting enough to keep their brain engaged, today they’re far too distracted to pay attention.

About halfway through the class, when Ms Winters is still getting to the point about the industrial revolution, Cady feels their phone vibrating against their leg. They almost drop their pencil in shock, their eyes bulging wide. As they look around, they can see no-one else heard it, although they also feel the weight of more than a few looks on them, their expressions half-concern, half-pity. Like ‘oh poor Cady whose girlfriend has cancer’.

Their cheeks flame red, but they slide their phone out of their pocket anyway, eyes trained in front of them until the last possible minute. Another trick from their plastic days. Their fingers swipe across the screen as though guided by invisible hands and when the moment is right, when Ms Winters’ back is turned completely, their eyes move downwards.

They’ve barely started replying to Janis before their name is called and they actually leave the seat for a moment when they jump. When they look back up, they’re met with the sympathetic eyes of their classmates and the irritated gaze of their teacher, stopped in the middle of writing. The word “legislation” is half written on the whiteboard.

“Something you’d like to share, Cady?” she asks.

“No.” They swallow and their throat feels like sandpaper. They clear their throat and try again, louder this time. “No ma’am.”

“Mm-hm.” Ms Winters steps over in their direction. “And what’s on your lap, Cady?”

“Nothing.” They turn the phone over and attempt to press it between their legs, knowing putting it in their pocket is too much of a risk. Ms Winter’s eyes harden and Cady’s stomach drops.

“I’m not an idiot, Cady,” she says. “And I’ve been teaching a long time. I’ve found out people far more subtle than you are right now.” She holds out her hand and Cady bites back a scream. “Hand it over.”

“No.” They aren’t sure they actually said it at first, convinced it was just something in their head, until they see the disbelieved expression on Ms Winters’ face.

Around them there are two types of people. Those who watch on with concern and those who watch like it’s the latest episode of their favourite drama.

“I’m sorry?” she asks.

“Sorry,” they mumble. “I just-I can’t. I can’t give you it.”

“And why is that?”

“Because-” It sticks in their throat. There are words in their mind, true as true can be. But when they open their mouth, nothing comes out, but their grip on their phone grows tighter. Anxiety builds and builds inside them and they’re just left stuttering, their face growing hotter and Ms Winters getting more impatient. Eventually they look up at her through blurred eyes and whisper “Please.”

“Nice try, Cady,” she says, not unkind but not kind. “But you know the rules. Hand it over and you can have it back later.”

Cady looks around as if someone will help her, but no-one does. Of course no-one does, what can they do except look upset and mouth ‘I’m sorry’ at them.

Slowly, they hand their phone over, the air feeling more like mud that they drag their arm through. Ms Winters takes their phone and they let out a little squeak when it’s taken away. Like she’s taken away a limb instead of a phone.

They can’t pay attention for the rest of the class. They can’t even work up the effort to pick up their pen. They can only sit there with their dry eyes and empty chest, their mind spiralling as they watch the minutes crawl slowly by.

When the bell rings, they make a beeline for the desk.

“Ms Winters?” Their voice sounds so far away. Ms Winters looks up at them, a flicker of annoyance behind her glasses, and Cady clenches their fist at their side. That’s not what’s needed here. “Can I have my phone back? Please?”

“Cady,” she sighs. She looks away from her computer and leans on her desk. “I know you’re a good student. And I know you have some exceptional circumstances this year. But” she emphasises. “I can’t be seen giving out special treatment to students. You know the rules and you know my class policy on phones.” She turns her attention back to her screen and waves Cady dismissively. “You can come back and get it at the end of the day.”

“No!” They sound so strong now, strong enough to shake the trees outside. Now it’s Ms Winters’ turn to jump. “Look I’m sorry, but you can’t take away my phone. Okay I’m begging you. Give me detention, make me do lines, make me do all your marking, I don’t care. Just give me my freaking phone!” They’re so worked up they just about remember to slip in a “Please.”

“Cady-”

“Yes, your policy,” they interrupt. “I know you have a policy on phones, but you haven’t had to enact it on me yet. Come on I’ve had a great record this year. So just give me my damn phone.” Their hands are shaking, tears running down their face. It’s only through sheer willpower they don’t drop their knees. “Come on!”

“I don’t like your tone much,” she says.

“Frankly, I don’t care!” Cady snaps. “I don’t care how you feel about my tone or anything. All I care about is you giving me my damn property back, you cow!”

Ms Winters hears the words before Cady hears them themselves. The ringing in Cady’s hears starts to clear and they hear what they said echoed back at them at double the volume, and their hands fly to their mouth.

That isn’t them. That’s not how they talk to people, to anyone, let alone teachers. Not even when they were plastic. It’s like they set off a bomb in the middle of the classroom and now they’re standing in the debris, watching the smoke clear and being shocked when they see the match in their hand.

It’s then that they realise they didn’t say cow, they in fact said something else, and they feel sick.

Ms Winters splutters at first, but then her face hardens and Cady gulps.

“Well,” she begins. “In all my years of teaching, I don’t think I have ever been spoken to by a student like that,” she whispers. Cady opens their mouth to apologise, but all that comes out is a squeak. “I’ll give a call to Mr Duvall. And see what your parents think of this.”

Cady lets out a gasp and it turns into a sob. It doesn’t feel real, nothing from the past half an hour does. It shouldn’t be, they’re not this kind of person, they know they aren’t. They’ve spent every day making sure they don’t become this. It’s like they’re standing outside watching this happen.

They turn around and head out the door, not daring to ask for their phone this time.

After school, they head down to Mr Duvall’s office. According to his secretary, their parents are on their way. Just the words your parents makes their stomach turn. Maybe the people passing will think they’re sick, pale as they are. They suspect the secretary must think that too, because she moved the trash can closer to them and asked them if they wanted some water.

Ms Winters stalks past them, giving them no more than a sideways glance before heading into the office and for the first time since history class, Cady feels angry. Ms Norbury would never treat them like this. And as out of line as they were, they like to think they might have earned a little bit of sympathy.

“Cady!”

They turn to their mother’s voice, equal parts angry and worried. Their dad is with her, looking bewildered. They shrink into the seat like a little kid and pick at their nails, tearing them off their hands. Their parents take seats on either side of them and they’ve never felt so claustrophobic.

“What happened kid?”

“Didn’t Mr Duvall tell you?” they ask. “I yelled at a teacher.”

“He told us, yes,” their mom says. “But we want to hear your version of events, Cady.” Her hand is on their shoulder and all they can think is how they don’t deserve it. “What happened?”

“She-she took my phone off me.” They realise how pathetic they sound when they say it. “She wouldn’t give it back and I-” Their breath hitches in their throat and their dad wipes their tears before they can.

“And… why were you on your phone in class, Cady?” he asks softly. He reaches over and squeezes their hand. “Or should we guess?”

“I-” They shake their head, the voice in their head urging them to keep it inside. Because if they start now they might never stop. But on the other hand, this weight hurts so much.

They have to take three deep breaths before they can say it.

“I was texting Janis.” Her mom hums in agreement, her hand on their back. “And… I don’t know. I’ve missed her so much.” They look straight ahead at the wall. It’s the truth, but not the real one. “And I…. I keep thinking what if something happens and she calls me and I’m not there to pick up the phone.”

“Something good or something bad?” her mom asks.

“I don’t know,” they confess. “Bad, I guess. I don’t know. I just keep thinking what if there’s some massive development and I don’t know about it. What if-” They almost can’t bear to say it. “I keep thinking what if she’s suffering or she’s really, really sick and I don’t know about it?” They bury their face in their hands. “I’m so scared that next time I see the text from her that it’ll be bad news.” They let out a shuddering breath. “And what if she’s sitting waiting for me to reply and feeling like I don’t care? What if the last thing she saw me say was something stupid?” They press their hands against their mouth. “I can’t… I just can’t-” They choke on something and the last defence comes tumbling down. “And I’m worried all the time. I’m worried about her losing weight and I’m worried about her being sick and about her being tired and I’m just so worried all the freaking time! And I’m tired of it!”

They fall silent after that, slumped forward, exhausted from telling them, from living it. On some level they must have known it, but it feels like they’re realising most of it for the first time. Their head spins with it, Pandora’s Box opened and all that darkness swirling around her mind, threatening to sweep them up and let them get lost in it.

“Oh, Binti,” their mom sighs. “I’m so sorry. Why didn’t you tell us about this?”

“Guess I thought I had it under control,” they mumble. They sniffle. “I was wrong.”

“And that’s okay,” their mom says. “It’s okay that you were wrong. What’s important is how you move forward.”

How they move forward? They can’t see forward. They can’t even see right now.

“Mom,” they say quietly. “I know about the Kalteen bars.” Their mom freezes beside them, fingers curling in their hair.

“Oh,” is all she says. Then her arm is around their shoulders and squeezing tightly.

“I… I don’t know how to handle this,” they confess in a broken voice. “I don’t know what to do anymore.!

“That’s what we’re here for,” their dad says. “Okay? We’ll go home, we’ll figure all this out. We’ll make this okay.” He rubs his hand on their leg. “We’ll fix this Cady. Have a big, long talk about it.” He rubs her cheek. “Get all those nasty emotions out. Then we’ll work out what to do, okay?” He strokes her hair. “You aren’t doing this alone, sweetheart.” They feel, more than see, their parents’ eyes meeting over their head. “You shouldn’t have had to. But now we’ll fix it.”

It sounds nice. And even better than that, it sounds doable.

“Okay,” they whisper. “Okay, that sounds good.”

“Great,” their mom says. Just then, the door creaks open, and Mr Duvall asks if they’d like to come in. Ms Winters is already on the other side of the glass and Cady tenses.

“All right.” Their mom stands up and straightens their dress, hitching their purse on their shoulder. “Now, I’ve got a few choice words for this teacher of yours.”

[selfships-in-spanish]

UH YES HI HELLO CAN I GET ALL THREE ROBO BOYS AND ONA GETTING IT ON BC CONNOR, 60, AND RICHARD ?? WITH ONA ? FUCK YES, BRING ON ALL THE ROBO DICKS - filth anon 🍆

JFORGHFASD FILTH ANON!! I MISSED YOU AROUND HERE MY FELLOW SINNER. WELCOME BACK MY FRIEND!!!! But jesus fucking Christ, Ona is about to get thoroughly fucked by three very horny robots. RIP her pussy.

Also MILLION APOLOGIES for taking this long but the horny braincell didn’t want to cooperate. AT LAST! IT IS HERE! :D also a bazillion thanks to @tinmiss1939 for being such a sweetheart and helping me out when english also didn’t want to cooperate. I love you girl ❤️

But this is filth. Pure, unadulterated smut for your reading eyes :D enjoy!

 Whoever had the idea of making a field day for the police station as a fundraising with activities and such, was both a genius and a sadist. Especially in summer.

It was hot, you could hear the bugs chirping and people seeking the shadow of trees and tents if they were not engaging in any activity, cool drinks in hand. The water-gun fight was a godsend, helping those who were battling to cool down under the unforgiving sun.

But Connor thought it was absolute torture to be involved in the water-gun fight. Not for the fight per se, he actually loved spraying water directly into Detective Reed’s face, but because he had to fight against Detective Boix.

Detective Boix who is a complete drenched mess.

She’s laughing, ducking behind a barrel while another officer tries to soak her even more. Connor cannot remember the name, and right now he couldn’t care less. All his processing power is currently occupied with preconstructions about sneaking behind her, aim with an unmatched precision, soak that patch that is resisting so bravely, making her turn around so he can add even more water to her front and–

“If you continue with that train of thought, you’re going to self-combust.” Richard, the RK900 that was found, awakened and deployed on the DPD, spoke behind him. He was close too, and judging by his red LED, he wasn’t fairing better.

“The same could apply to you.”

“I still have more processing power.”

“All that mighty power goes south when dear Detective Boix is near.” another voice identical to Connor spoke on their left side. This was the RK800-60, the version generated to confront Connor at cyberlife tower. He liked going by the name of Killian, trying to distance himself from his double and his upgraded model. It gave him a sense of self.

Richard looked at him with a raised eyebrow and a glare that clearly indicated “that is utter bullshit and you’re not immune either”. He would never admit to his bratty predecessor that he, indeed, had certain malfunctions when the detective was near. He was designed to be superior than them, faster, stronger, more resilient…

Killian and Richard heard Connor produce some sort of noise, a mix between a whimper and grinding metal. They looked at him, a little bit concerned, and then at Connor’s hands gripping tightly the gun. If he added a little bit more pressure, he would break it. His eyes were glued ahead, watching Ona squealing and then laughing again when Tina aimed right at her butt.

Ona was wearing shorts that hugged her… assets rather nicely. Her legs were on display, honey skin glistening with water. If the three RK prototypes focused on the freckles and cute moles sprayed on them like constellations, nobody could blame them for that.

The sound of footsteps alerted them, but they were more focused at the view in front of them. Ona ducked another water spray and aimed her water gun, hitting Tina right on her stomach. The droplets moved down her skin, their eyes following the paths and even preconstructing where would they end up. The RKs knew the footsteps belonged to a male, judging by the way the person moved, and as their processors detected, they belonged to a coworker. A young male.

Without looking away, the three androids raised their water guns and with deadly accuracy, sprayed the poor soul who thought they could sneak on them. They heard a yell and colourful curses, their victim stomping away.

“Fuck you, you plastic pricks!” Gavin shook the water off his face, blinking rapidly as Richard’s jet hit him right in his eyes. Connor hit his torso, while Killian soaked the front of his jeans, leaving Gavin to feel very uncomfortable every time he took a step.

“That’s what you get for sneaking behind three state of the art androids, you fool.” Hank laughed while making his addition to the soaked mess that was Gavin. He aimed to his shoes, knowing they would do squeaky noises until they dried. He walked over the three androids, chuckling to himself. “I know better than to try to soak you three, but I must tell you that you look creepy as fuck right now. I suggest moving your asses and join the battle and stop ogling our darling detective over there.”

Connor gasped, slightly offended. “I am not ogling!” At least he had the decency to slightly blush.

“We are merely assuring Detective Boix is alright, should she need reinforcements.” Richard knew Hank was staring at him with his bushy brow raised and giving him the “oh really?” face. He had to try.

“Oh yeah? Then why not assist her now? She clearly needs help.” Hank nodded in Ona’s direction.

Ona ran away from the combined power of Chris and Tina, laughing and blindly shooting jets of water. Somehow, Chris managed to get a Super-Soaker model with way more water capacity; he could drench you in seconds.

“I guess I’ll have to be her knight in shi–” Killian took a few steps forward until Connor shoved past him, Richard sprinting behind him. He cursed and ran after them two, not wanting to be the last to arrive.

Hank looked at the three of them, crossing his arms and chuckling. “State of the art my ass.” He went back to the forgiving shade of a tree where Fowler and her wife and kids were chatting with Ben, who was being victim of the kid’s water guns. Hank saved him and sprayed them lightly, making them squeal.

Meanwhile, Ona managed to escape from Chris and Tina and took this opportunity to go refill her gun and take a breather. It had been a long time since the entire precinct had a good time. With the whole android revolution mess, the changes that came after and everything… it had been chaos, stressful. Everyone was on edge, everyone was confused and trying their best, so this was truly an opportunity to wind down and forget about the stress for a while.

She entered the visitors locker room behind the courtyard where they were having their fight.

Detroit’s high-school lended their facilities, the trackfield and locker rooms too, to the DPD’s fundraiser. Even the kids helped with some decorations and they proudly showed the artwork, making sure no jets of water hit the decorative paper garlands and banners. Richard would make sure the murals survived, he still didn’t know how to react with the fact that some kids decided to draw him, but he would protect it.

Ona hoped nobody was there; she just needed a little bit of quiet. She sighed blissfully, smiling as she felt the cool air caress her wet skin, and walked to one of the multiple sinks while opening the water-guns’s refill chamber. The sound of water splashing inside the empty plastic filled the locker room, the sounds of children giggling and screaming muffled and in the distance. She looked at herself in the mirror, letting out a soft laugh at her appearance. Her t-shirt was completely drenched and her white curls were glued to her forehead and face, some droplets falling down. She thanked whatever deity that was there that she decided to wear a bikini, knowing Chris and Tina had a massive competitive streak and would absolutely target Ona.

She did not hear the door of the visitors locker room opening and closing, too busy thinking about strategies to fight back against Chris and Tina. Once the water-gun was filled to the brim, Ona closed it and left it on top of the sink, stretching her arms and back like a cat, even letting out a sigh when some parts popped into place. She was suddenly hit by an ice-cold water jet on the last dry spot on her back.

Ona let out a loud shriek, jumping and bumping her hip on the sink. Colourful curses followed while she went for her water-gun, turning around to see Connor, Killian and Richard standing right there with Connor’s water-gun raised. He had the decency to look a little bit guilty about it. Ona left the gun back on the sink.

“Me cago en la leche, you scared me!” She had her hand on her chest, feeling her heart beating wildly while the other one cradled her bruised hip.

“Sorry Detective.” Connor lowered his arm and kicked at an imaginary stone. Ona marvelled at the completely human reactions he had sometimes.

“You are not sorry at all, Connor.” Killian crossed his arms, smugly smiling at Connot for being scolded.

Ona sighed, ignoring Killian and Connor’s guilty face for a second and noticing Richard way more silent than he already was.

“Everything okay there, Richard?”

He stood into attention, nodding, but all he could process was ‘wet shirt, bikini top, wet skin, freckles, wet translucent shirt…’.

“Yes Detective Boix, everything is functioning at its optimal—“

“He’s about to fry his CPU.” Killian stopped Richard mid sentence, trying to stifle a laugh at Richard’s murderous expression thrown at him.

“What?” Ona gasped, stopping whatever action Richard may have done. She ran to his side, carefully grasping his uniform jacket. “Oh my God Richard, did something happen? Did water get in someway? Do we need to take you to a Cyberlife technician? If it’s this bad we need to take you to one.” Ona went on and on, alarmed at the led spinning violently red.

The three androids internally cooed at her, her distress making them feel appreciated. Richard tried to say something but all his processing power was focused on to not accidentally overheat and the wet white t-shirt that clung to her snugly, not leaving anything to the imagination. Now that she was closer, he could see her glistening skin, feel the warmth of her body, and he honestly was only a good little android trying so hard to be a good little android.

Killian wasn’t a good little boy scout like Connor or Richard. He was a handsome devil and he knew it. He approached them and stood right behind Ona. Grinning, he let his lips brush her ear as he spoke.

“This is solely because Mr. ‘Faster, Stronger and more Resilient’ is having his processing power go south.”

Killian made Ona jump and gasp as he tugged her t-shirt back, tightening and gluing itself on her body. Her bikini top pattern became more apparent and Richard let out a soft frustrated sound, raising his hands but not daring to touch yet. Killian chuckled, sending pleasant shivers down Ona’s spine.

“You have been a bad girl, Detective,” Killian sneaked a hand around her body, exploring her belly and toying with the hem of her shorts. “A bad, bad girl, teasing us three with such indecorous clothing.” Killian knew it was a very cheesy line, but Ona’s sharp intake of air made him grin, knowing she was getting on with the program.

On the corner of his eye, Killian saw Connor silently move, walking to the visitors locker room entrance and locking the front door. The click of the lock felt as if a rubber band snapped. Richard dropped the plastic gun to the floor and grasped her face in his big hands, pulling her to his lips. Ona’s little moans were engulfed by Richard, her hands desperately holding onto him on his passionate onslaught.

Richard knew humans needed to breathe and Ona was not an exception. He let go of her lips, feeling her pants on his wet ones. Killian wasted no time, he let go of her to turn her head to him, crashing his lips into hers hard. He was demanding, hungry, needy, desperate, and Ona couldn’t help but be consumed by the pure lust he emanated.

Her moans fueled him further, his hands touching and grabbing all the flesh he could. Ona felt Richard go to his knees, his warmth disappearing momentarily. He unfastened her trousers and pulled them down, looking up in time to see Killian give her a moment to breathe. She looked down and whimpered, her blown pupils swallowing her green irises. Richard was a sight to behold, all disheveled and visibly affected, opposite to his usual composed and perfect self.

Connor sat down on the bench close to them, enjoying the show in front of him, for now. Killian was always impatient, wanting to go quick and dirty, while Richard wanted to take all the time in the world to make sure Ona wouldn’t be able to even lift a finger. He was patient, alright, but her heaving chest and arched back was bewitching him.

Maybe he accidentally projected some of that eagerness to join in the fun, because Killian looked right at him while leaving a sloppy trail of kisses on her neck, perfect teeth nipping the soft skin. Connor frowned, not entirely happy with that.

“Don’t leave marks, Killian. At least not on visible places.” Killian groaned, upset that Connor discovered his intentions. He loved to mark her up and let everyone know she was his, to see her flesh react to his actions. It was such a treat to hear her sweet moans.

“Party pooper…” Ona could feel Killian’s whispered words on her neck, his tongue following after.

Richard busied himself with her thighs, kissing the droplets away and following the pattern of freckles on her skin. He took one of her legs and lifted it gently, placing it down on his shoulder. He left a trail of more kisses and soft brushing of lips, raising goosebumps on its wake. Richard’s hands traveled up until he found the strings of the bikini bottoms, toying with them. He decided to leave them on, for now.

Ona’s leg trembled, followed by a whimper, and Richard decided it was time to do what every single biocomponent was begging him to. Slowly he traced a finger on the bikini hem, travelling up and down until he hooked it and pulled the fabric to the side, just enough for him to see what he was looking for.

She was a soaked mess, her juices dripping out of her. Richard licked his lips in anticipation.

A soft mewl tore itself out of Ona’s mouth, her hands going immediately to Richard’s head and gripping his hair tightly, the moment Richard’s tongue shyly lapped her up. He gave kitten licks, enjoying her squirming and trembling thighs, and pleasedly sighed when he buried his face between her legs. He loved to be surrounded by her warmth, her scent, her taste… and to pull the most lovely sounds from her lips. Richard decided he could be bolder, lick a stripe up and busy himself with her clit that was begging him for attention. The response was immediate. Ona moaned loudly, a curse following after as the hands tightened their hold and pressed him even closer to her.

Connor loved watching Ona get eaten out by Richard. He was meticulous, he always gave everything to it and left Ona an absolute mess. But her fucked out expression was a treat. He could feel himself constricted in his clothes, his biocomponents begging for fresh, cold air. He could wait. Okay, scratch that, he couldn’t, her moan made that patience fly out the window.

The sound of Connor’s belt buckle being undone made Ona look to the side, letting out a soft mewl when she saw Connor touching himself while focusing all his attention on her. It felt exhilarating, to have these three gorgeous, brilliant men (who happened to be the most advanced prototype androids ever made) having their way with her and enjoying every damn second of it. Killian didn’t like how her attention was on Connor, and he made sure she knew by biting her exposed neck. Connor’s growl made Ona wetter, which in turn made Richard let out a pleased groan at the feel of her juices coating his mouth and chin.

“I said no visible marks, Killian.”

“Oh c’mon, don’t deny how much it turns you on to see everyone look at you green with envy.”

“I don’t like to cause distress to the Detective.” Connor stopped his hand, a cutting edge on his words.

Richard had enough of his predecessors’ bickering. With regret, he tore himself apart from her sopping wet cunt and smoothly stood up. He could hear Ona mutter a breathy curse at the sight of his glistening mouth, his tongue unconsciously swiping over his lips. Killian knew he got himself in trouble judging by the angry frown the RK900 unit sported. Richard shoved him away, making him release the detective’s body so he could sit her next to Connor. Reaching behind him, he took out his issued handcuffs.

“You are being a brat,” Richard grabbed him by his shirt and shoved him to the bench behind them. “On the floor. Now.” One would be wise to not question Richard, even less when he was horny.

Killian thought about spitting a retort, but Richard’s angry scowl made him rethink his life choices. He obeyed, sitting down.

“Hands behind your back.” Killian put them and pitifully whined when Richard blocked his perfect view of Connor making Ona sit on his lap after getting rid of Ona’s shorts. He had the beautiful sight of her ass in front of him, full and plump.

Connor knew how much he liked it, so after Richard finished cuffing him to the iron bench leg, Connor grabbed a handful and squeezed, making her whimper. Killian groaned, really wanting to do that himself.

“Don’t you dare break them.” Richard warned him as he went next to Ona and Connor.

Connor busied himself with peppering her neck with soft kisses as he played with her ass, grabbing her with both hands so he could grind his cock up at the same time he pushed her down. Ona wrapped her arms around his neck and began moving on her own, pressing down desperately, needing more. But Connor wasn’t going to move along soon, loving the feel of her bikini bottom’s fabric on his cock, so she had to take matters into her hands. Literally. With an annoyed grunt, Ona unglued herself from Connor and grabbed his cock, positioning it right where she wanted it. With her other hand she pushed aside the slippery fabric of her bikini and sank herself down. Connor moaned out loud, his cock twitching at the burning sensation engulfing him.

The three androids loved when Ona rode them. She took what she wanted, riding them with wild abandon. And right now Connor let himself be used. She had been played with by them, teased, edged, and now she really, really needed to have her brains fucked out. Connor helped her when he was able to gather his wits, thrusting up at the same time she went down. That made her moan out loud, a breathy “fuck yes” whispered out right after.

The sight was maddening for Killian. He had the most perfect view right in front of him, he could see the jiggle of her ass as Connor pounded into her, Connor’s cock disappear in that wonderful tight heat… he felt himself throb inside his trousers, probably staining the front of his dark jeans. Ona let Connor take the pace now, falling to his chest and taking what he had to offer. She turned her head, hair plastered on her forehead, to Richard. Her coy smile invited him to join them both. And he couldn’t refuse, not when that mouth was so tempting and open, letting the three of them know how much she was enjoying it.

Richard unbuckled his belt and lowered his trousers enough to free his aching cock. Ona was both surprised and pleased that Richard decided to forgo underwear today. Richard stood astride the bench, feeling Ona’s warm breath on the exposed tip. She let her tongue playfully lick the tip, using the rocking motion of Connor’s hips to let her tongue taste more of him.

Connor decided to slow down a bit, to grab her hips and pull her down so he could slowly grind up to her. Ona moaned softly, closing her eyes at the feel of Connor hitting all the right places. The feel of her plush lips kissing and and brushing along Richard’s cock made him mutter a curse, biting his lips and using all his willpower to not thrust into her mouth. Ona liked to tease, the three of them knew it all too well, and now it was Richard’s time to suffer it. She slowly wrapped her lips around the tip, applying the lightest of suctions, while her tongue shyly curled around it. Connor kept moving, watching enraptured as Ona took more of Richard’s cock inside her mouth. Richard was made to be bigger, more intimidating, and their designers made sure every part of him matched. So it was always a wonder how Ona managed to take him all in.

Killian’s fingers twitched, itching to just break the handcuffs and join them. He would show them. He would teach them how to thoroughly debauch her and—

“Don’t you even think about it, RK800-60”. Richard’s growl made him freeze, like a deer in headlights.

Connor’s eyes had a dangerous glint too, watching Killian like a hawk. But while Richard was distracted, Connor took that opportunity to tear Ona away from Richard’s cock with a wet pop and take off her soaked t-shirt. He was hypnotized by the way her breasts bounced, and he needed to see them without any clothing in the way. Connor pushed aside the bikini top, and he cursed when he saw the perky nipples begging him for attention. But what made him lose it was the visible tan line. It fascinated the three androids, but it was Connor’s weakness.

A hand on Ona’s back of the head reminded her of the aching need in front of her, and while Connor was still distracted, she inched closer to take Richard back inside her mouth. She tore away one of her hands holding her in place to grab whatever was closest to her hand and urge Richard to take what he wanted. She could take it, and right now? She needed it.

Richard could never deny her anything, and he began moving his hips to a comfortable rhythm until her hand tugged at him again. Connor regained his senses and started moving again, bouncing her on his lap while his hands squeezed her breasts. But his hands weren’t enough, he needed more, so he bent until his lips brushed her skin, kissing and nipping the tan line until his mouth engulfed a nipple. Ona moaned around Richard’s cock, and Connor could feel her walls tightening on his. By the mess Ona was making between her legs, Connor knew she was close, and judging by the way Richard’s hips stuttered on his perfect rhythm, he needed more than her mouth. Connor sneaked a hand between them, his thumb rubbing her slippery clit. The reaction was immediate.

Ona arched her back, making Richard’s cock slip out of her mouth. She moaned without a care, rocking her hips. Connor kept playing with her nipples and found himself with a mouth full of it, making him groan pleasedly, when Ona wrapped her arms around his neck and tugged him closer, lost in the onslaught of pleasure Connor’s thumb was making her feel. Thank God he didn’t need to breathe.

Connor kept snapping his hips up, but he was losing his perfect rhythm as he felt his own orgasm approaching. It felt as if every single biocomponent was on fire, burning with electricity that pooled down his groin. Connor chased that euphoric sensation, the slapping of skin against skin echoing inside the locker room and only arousing him more. Ona kept moaning his name as she felt herself be close, bouncing on his lap. Connor knew by the way Ona said his name, breathless and as if she was devoting herself to him, that he could not stop now.

Ona cried out one last time, her nails digging into Connor’s skin as she went still, feeling herself dissolve into a pleasured puddle. Connor followed her, letting go of her nipple and groaning into her feverish skin, feeling her squeeze his cock and milking him dry as he buried himself deep inside her, moaning a mixture of curse words and her name. Their panting felt loud in the now quiet locker room. Connor searched for her lips, whispering a soft “I love you” just before he kissed her reply away, a content and sated feeling washing over him at her “I love you too”.

Killian softly cursed at the mess that trickled down her thighs, the sight right in front of him, as Richard helped her get up after letting her bask in the afterglow on Connor’s arms. Still dazed, Ona let herself be guided by Richard’s hands, using him as support as her legs were threatening to give out. Richard softly kissed her lips, so sweetly at first, just a chaste press where he enjoyed the velvety feel of her lips on his. He kept kissing her slowly, taking her breath away by the passion behind every swipe of his tongue, every nibble. The hand that was on her back slowly made its way down, caressing the naked flesh until Richard squeezed her buttock, making her giggle and prompting her to lift her leg up. Richard’s hand caressed her flesh and held the leg in place while he kept kissing her.

“You are just plain cruel. Both of you.” Killian kept staring, hypnotised. He licked his lips, squeezing his bound fists in frustration. Richard made sure Killian could perfectly see the globs of cum trailing down Ona’s thigh, and like the saucy little minx she was, Ona spread her cheek further, knowing it would only drive Killian up the wall even more. He could see her pleased smirk. “So fucking cruel.”

“You deserve it for being a brat.” Connor spoke from the bench, already tidying himself up and tucking his now soft cock inside his pants. He got up and sat down on the bench Killian was cuffed to. “And for that, you only get to watch.”

“Oh, c’mon! You have to be kidding me!” in his frustration he tugged against Richard’s handcuffs again, which made Connor lean in and coldly warn him.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. If this is cruel for you, we haven’t even started then.”

Killian swallowed hard at Connor’s phrasing—he didn’t need to swallow at all he was an android for fuck’s sake! But Connor’s angry frown, the freezing cold stare he gave him… Richard was down right terrifying, but Connor knew how to exactly exploit your weaknesses, and right now Killian was his target. Connor distracted him long enough so Killian didn’t see Richard hauling Ona up and walking them to the nearest locker, resting her back on the cold metal. Her pleased groan as Richard filled her echoed around the locker room. Richard chose to undo a few buttons of his shirt earlier and Ona took that opportunity to sneak one of her hands under the layers of clothing Richard wore like armor.

Richard set a fast pace, already too pent up to take it slow. Killian could only watch and listen. The absolutely filthy but arousing squelching sounds of her filled up cunt only served to rile him up further. Ona opened her eyes, her gaze fixed on Killian’s one as she rested her head against Richard’s neck, panting against his exposed skin and sending pleasured shivers down his spine. Killian unconsciously mimicked her, opening slightly his mouth too to help his biocomponents cool down as he panted. After a perfectly spot on thrust from Richard, Ona’s eyes closed as she moaned loudly, biting his skin to quiet herself down. She kissed the abused flesh, apologising for being harsh, but it spurred Richard on, pressing her harder against the locker and thrusting into her with wild abandon. Ona’s legs squeezed his body, a dead give-away of how she was close again. The three androids always made sure to take advantage of Ona being multiorgasmic, and right now it wasn’t an exception. Richard kept pistoning in and out, whispering to her ear all the praises he could think of, and letting gravity help him in filling Ona up. Richard sneaked a hand between them, much like Connor did earlier, and rubbed his fingers against her clit in the same rhythm his hips were snapping into her.

“Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck– I’m so close, so close!” Ona was feeling light-headed, drunk with pleasure. Her nails dug into his jacket hard enough for Richard’s sensors to feel the pressure, mewling softly into his skin, as her other hand gripped his short hair and tugged. That made Richard let out a pleasured grunt as he shoved harder his hips against hers.

Richard jerked his hips a few more times until he went completely still, pressing her body against the locker with his body. He let out a low groan, his big hands squeezing her heated flesh, as Ona came around him, crying out his name. She could feel Richard’s cock pulse inside her, filling her up to the brim and adding more to the mess left by Connor. It was sinfully perfect.

Ona sighed, content and sated. Richard carefully let her down, not missing his chance to run his hands up her legs and caress her ass, holding her close to him when her legs trembled. She couldn’t help but to snicker, resting her sweaty face on Richard’s chest, not believing they sneaked off to have some sort of a sex-marathon in the middle of work hours.

Honestly, it wasn’t the first time it happened. But it still made Ona feel a little bit guilty. Just a little bit.

“Are you alright?” Richard whispered in her ear, kissing her neck as he still held her in his arms.

“My legs feel like jello. And I’m sticky.” Ona didn’t want to look down. “And I need to clean up ASAP.”

Connor and Richard looked at each other, an idea already forming in their heads. They both glanced at Killian, who stared at them back. That wasn’t going to end well for Killian and he knew it. When those two played masterminds and he was the victim, it wasn’t fun. Usually.

“I think someone may be able to help you with the cleaning.” Connor stood up, dusting off his clothes.

“After all, you have been obedient. You deserve a reward.” Richard kept kissing her shoulders, following the trails of freckles.

“Let’s put that tongue to good use, shall we?”

Richard helped Ona walk over Killian, who was eagerly awaiting her with his mouth slightly open and eyes glued to Richard’s cum trickling down her thighs. Killian licked his lips, ready to blow her mind with his devilish tongue. He unconsciously tugged at the handcuffs.

He’d never say it out loud but he fucking loved this.

When Hank finds them later, going on their merry way to join the water-gun fight once again, he completely ignores the red mark on Ona’s neck, having an idea of why they disappeared for so long. Also, Richard forgot to button up the last button of his shirt.

Hank snorted, taking a sip of his beer. Kids. Let them have their fun.

[sandersstudies]

Quirky - Chapter 6

A High School Superhero AU - Sanders Sides

(Will add tag list in a reblog! If I miss you, please let me know ASAP - As always, asks, comments, messages, reblogs, and keysmashes are more than welcome.)

Chapter Seven ->

<- Chapter Five

<<- Chapter One

You can now also find the fic with the same username and title on AO3 :) Fell free to stop by and leave kudos!

***

Logan leaned over the edge of the guardrail to gaze into the ruined city below. He squinted, but without his glasses he couldn’t see much more than the blurry shapes of the buildings. Virgil and Roman were just smudges on the ground, and both vanished from sight as they walked under overhanging beams.

A moment later there was a faint groaning from below which rose suddenly to a roar as one of the massive beams began to slide to one side. Logan felt a cry rising in his throat just as the beam suddenly froze in its path and went lumbering through the air in the other direction and smashing against a building, where it broke and fell to the ground as rubble. A cloud of dust and debris rose so wide that Virgil and Roman were totally hidden from view. Logan turned to look for Mx. Stokes and Mr. Picani, but several other students were already screaming for them

Logan squinted, but there was no chance of seeing to the ground. He started down the stairs as quickly as he could. It was difficult to see where each step ended, so he ran with a guess. He tripped once, but caught himself with a wild flailing of his arms. He could hear the teachers trying to restore calm, and hoped they weren’t watching him. Without his glasses even his quirk was weak. Well, even weaker than usual.

The dust was beginning to settle when Logan reached the bottom of the steps, but it didn’t help much with his blurry vision. The beam had made a depression in one of the buildings, but the other damage was minor. Logan resisted a cough.

“Virgil? Roman?”

A sudden blast of light emerged from the buildings, and Logan saw Virgil’s silhouette (too short to be Roman’s) illuminated for a moment before Roman followed his glowing hand into the open. He was using one arm to shield his mouth and nose, and the other to light his way; he seemed otherwise unharmed.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” he yelled through his arm after two throat-clearing coughs. The dust was settling, and Logan could see Virgil standing between him and Roman. Both boys were so dirty from the settling dust that their blue uniform jackets were now khaki in color. “What the hell did you do?” Roman insisted. He dropped his arm and even through his blurry vision Logan could tell that the other boy looked vaguely shell-shocked.

Virgil was shaking wildly as he tried to gesticulate an answer. “You..you hit the buildi— you knocked down the beam.”

“Knocked down?” Roman yelled. “That thing went flying through the air, you maniac! You could have killed somebody!”

“I saw it,” Logan said.

“Oh, so you’re here now,” Roman said, noticing Logan for the first time. “You didn’t see jack shit without these.” He chucked a blob at Logan, who caught it and looked down to recognize his glasses inside a sphere of Kai’s polypeptide gel. The durable nature of the material made it difficult to break into, but the glasses seemed unharmed

“Logan, what did you see?” Virgil asked.

Logan tried to break through the outer layer of gel to his glasses. “Unfortunately, not much. I was at a height of multiple stories and without my usual lenses. The beam did certainly behave outside the law of gravity. It began to slide downward, and then suddenly jerked upward and into that building.”

“Mess up halfway through trying to crush me, huh?” Roman growled. “The hell kind of quirk do you have?” He was very near Virgil, and had one finger raised as if to jab him.

Virgil was bristling. “Shut up, lightbulb,” he said, still unsteady but no longer stuttering. “I just saved your stupid life.”

“You just better stay out of my way, pipsqueak,” Roman said. “And you.” He reversed his finger to point to Logan. “Don’t lose your damn glasses again, okay?”

Logan didn’t have a moment to come up with a response before he was interrupted by a shout from above. Mr. Picani was almost falling down the stairs, and came to the base out of breath.

“You boys okay?” he asked, hands extended as if prepared to shield them. “Mx. Stokes said that all the safety settings are still in operation, no idea what happened.”

“We’re fi-,” Virgil said.

“We don’t know what happened either,” Roman said over Virgil. “But we got the glasses back. Sir.”

“All that matters is that everybody’s fine,” Mr. Picani insisted, ushering them toward the stairs. “We can replace glasses, but we can’t replace our students.”

Virgil and Roman didn’t speak on the trek back up the stairs, but even without his glasses Logan could see the tension between the two.

“Are you really all right?” he asked Virgil once they’d come out of the building and Roman had jogged a few steps ahead. Mx. Stokes has quelled the students’ panic and was escorting them onto the bus.

“Fine,” Virgil said. “Just real sick of Roman.”

“I can tell you don’t like him very much,” Logan said. He finally ripped his glasses free of their gooey prison and then leaned down in a confidential whisper. “To be completely frank, I share your sentiments.”

Virgil stifled a laugh. “Thanks.”

Mx. Stokes repeated Mr. Picani’s concerns as they got to the bus, and then smiled broadly once they confirmed they were all right.

“You kids will get to play in the zones soon enough,” Mx. Stokes promised, brushing dust off of Virgil’s shoulder. “But I don’t need you guys down there without training.” They checked the boys off their checklist and gave a friendly wave. “Last thing we need is another UA accident!”

Mr. Picani paused outside the bus to say something to the other teacher as Logan and Virgil climbed on. There was only one empty pair of seats left near the front of the bus, and Logan stepped aside in the aisle. Virgil paused, and then slid in first.

“You don’t want the window?” he asked.

“You didn’t seem to like the aisle on the ride here,” Logan said. “Would you like to switch?”

“No, that’s fine.” Virgil shrunk a little and stared out the window. Logan hoped he wasn’t offended. He glanced out the door of the bus. Mx. Stokes was patting Mr. Picani on the shoulder, and the two parted as the bus’ engine started.

Logan wasn’t sure if the other students thought the same, but it was nice to see two professional heros with such a friendship. In the media heroes were often in hot competition, or at the best participated in work-required teams. In the real world, however, Logan had now seen the great Glass pat Mesmerman on the shoulder like an old friend.

He settled against his seat as the bus pulled away. He was tempted to ask Virgil more about what had happened in the Ruins Zone, but wasn’t sure how to begin, so they rode in silence for several minutes as the students behind them babbled about the visit.

“Hey,” Virgil said after a while.

Logan glanced up.

“You have…” Virgil tapped his temple. “Some goo on your glasses, still.”

***

Despite the unanticipated loss of Logan’s glasses and collapse in the Ruins Zone, the class arrived back at UA just as lunch was beginning, and Logan and Virgil were joined by Remigius, who offered them sticks of gum which they refused before he popped three into his own mouth.

“Pretty wild what happened down there,” he said. “I saw that beam go flying. You got your glasses back though, I see.” This last part was to Logan, who nodded. Remy blew a bubble, and there was a moment of pause before it popped. “You must have some quirk, little dude,” he said to Virgil. “Because I know that wasn’t Ro’s handiwork by a long shot.”

Virgil shrunk and laughed stiffly.

“Let’s get in the line before it gets too long,” Logan suggested, and Virgil followed. Remigius had a paper bag in one hand, and split off to seat himself at a table.

“You don’t seem to like Remigius asking too many questions,” Logan said as they waited.

“He’s a fine guy,” Virgil said. “Just...yeah.”

“I understand.”

“Thanks.”

When they filed back into the classroom after lunch, Mr. Picani was writing in large strokes on the board: UA SPORTS FESTIVAL. A few students oohed and ahhed.

“Before you begin your final classes of the day,” Mr. Picani said, “I wanted to remind you all that next week begins the annual sports festival here at UA. I’m sure you’re all familiar with it, but we’ll be going over a few details today and discussing it in more length in your Hero Studies classes this week.”

The UA Sports Festival was televised every year; with the most prestigious hero program in the country, it was hardly surprising that so many people tuned in. Professional heroes and scouts often contacted the school following the festival with early offers for apprenticeships and nominations to high-ranking students.

“Preliminaries will be after lunch on Monday,” Mr. Picani said. “The top forty-two students to complete the preliminaries will pass into the main festival rounds. Remember that not only hero students, but also students in your grade from the support, management, and general courses will be participating. Therefore, no hero suits will be permitted on the field.” Several hands had flown into the air. “Hold your questions for now, as we’re a little short on time,” Mr. Picani said. “But begin thinking about your plans for the festival; as first-year students, you’ll be presented as heroes-in-training to the public for the first time.” He underlined the words he’d written on the board. “I’ll get out of the way of Mx. Talyn for your science class now.”

Logan found that even he had trouble focusing on biology while thinking about the sports festival. He stared at a Bunsen burner on the windowsill and began drawing its component parts absentmindedly in his notebook. He began making lines to start labeling the drawing, and realized that they looked like a sports bracket. He turned the page. He usually enjoyed Mx. Talyn’s lessons, but now he could only hear a vague chattering in the background as he drew a full bracket, beginning with sixteen contenders. Of the forty-two entrants to the first round, only sixteen proceeded on to the one-on-one rounds. Those would be the students to receive the most media attention.

The hero course was divided into two sections, 1-A and 1-B, with 1-A being Logan’s class and both classes containing twenty students. The support, management, and general classes were of the same size and almost equally prestigious, but didn’t focus on hero techniques or quirk use. There were occasionally dramatic underdog stories, like a strong-quirked general student making it into the semifinals, but usually the other classes were trumped by the hero students. Logan tapped his pen against his desk. If classes 1-C through 1-K contained twenty students each as well, then there was a total of 220 students attending UA, and only forty-two slots in the festival.

“Putnett squares are an excellent display for genetic odds,” Mx. Talyn said, drawing a two-by-two chart on the board. “We can see how likely an outcome is using this visual.”

If we’re going to talk odds… Removing other benefits and deficiencies, any individual student had a 19% chance to conquer the preliminaries, and a 7% chance to enter the one-on-one rounds. Logan tried to remember previous years. Hero students were far more likely to pass the preliminaries, but that was no guarantee. He also had no idea about the quality of the second hero class, 1-B, who had the benefit of not losing their homeroom teacher in the first week of the school year. Logan wished he had the previous years’ data in front of him. Making it to the festival would be an excellent initial promotion into his hero career.

Of course, Logan mused, every other student would be thinking the same thing. Virgil was splaying pencil spirals in his notebook, and Roman had spaced out in the direction of the board. Kai’s nose was running again. Logan sporadically took off his glasses to clean them against his shirt.

The rest of the school day was much the same. Students were quiet but unfocused in class, and loud and with a single goal between classes. Roman’s posse sans Roman were an especial contributor.

“My mom remembers seeing Mr. Picani at the festival when I was a baby!” Rafaela announced. “She told me as soon as she heard he was one of our teachers.”

“That’s crazy, Mr. Picani and the other teachers were just like us not so long ago,” Kenny responded.

“That was the year the villain Spite threatened the city,” Kai said. “That was what first made Multiman famous.”

“He’d only just graduated, too,” Rafaela said.

Virgil turned in his seat to stare at Logan. “Sports festival, huh?”

“It’s a great opportunity,” Logan said. “What are you thinking?”

“Thinking I’ll be lucky to make it past the preliminaries.” He swung his feet back and forth under the desk and swiveled to look at the empty seat behind him. “Too bad Terrence is sick, he won’t hear about it.”

“We’ll fill him in tomorrow,” Logan said. “He and I are from the same neighborhood. We walk home together and I can tell him about it.”

“So you won’t be walking with him today, then,” Virgil said.

“Not today, I’ll miss him.”

“Well...I wouldn’t want to replace Terrence or anything, but I’ll walk with you. If you want.”

Logan blinked. It was a kind offer, but Virgil always left the school in the opposite direction; they weren’t from the same neighborhood. “Don’t you go west when school ends?

“Right, nevermind, sorry,” Virgil said. “I was just thinking I could walk you home and then...turn around and go back. It’s silly.”

Logan suspected the arrangement was not for Virgil’s convenience, and supposed that the only alternative motivation was that Virgil enjoyed spending time with Logan. It would be rude to crush his suggestion. “You can’t live too far from school,” he said. “Are you near West Midoriya Hospital?”

“Just a few blocks from there,” Virgil said.

“My mother’s studio is near there,” Logan said. “We could walk to your house and she could come to get me when she leaves work.”

“Oh, you don’t want to come to my place,” Virgil raised his hands defensively.

“Well, you wanted to come to mine.”

“Isn’t that a little out of your way?”

“Not as far out of the way as your walking me home and turning around would be.”

“You got me.”

***

Logan didn’t walk often on the west side of town, so he tried to take in the route Virgil walked by rote, in case he ever needed to find his way again. A text from his mother confirmed she could pick him up at five, so he only regretted he hadn’t put a snack in his backpack in the morning.

He and Virgil had plenty to talk about with the upcoming sports festival, so the subject of the strange event in the Ruins Zone did not come up again, and the walk — longer than Logan’s usual one — did not seem long at all, and they soon arrived at a small brick apartment building. Logan followed Virgil through the lobby and up a flight of stairs, where Virgil let himself into apartment 208.

There were many photos on the walls of the apartment, most of them of Virgil and a women Logan assumed was Virgil’s mother. One recent picture, of Virgil’s middle school graduation, was placed prominently near the front door. The other photos stretched back through Virgil’s childhood. There was one of him staring grumpily at the camera in corduroy overalls and a fresh haircut on his first day of kindergarten, and a photo of the haircut itself; young Virgil’s eyes squinted at the clippers as they sheared off several inches of his dark hair and left behind buzzed sides. There was a photo of his first birthday, his mother crouched over his shoulder to blow out the candle of a cupcake for him. Baby Virgil’s eyes were wide in admiration of the tiny flame, the same color as his lacey birthday dress.

“Ugh, ignore those,” the teenage version of Virgil said to Logan. “My mom sure likes taking photos.” Virgil’s mother looked a lot like her son, with dark hair and a thin but lively face.

“They’re nice,” Logan said. “Thanks again for having me over.”

“It’s no big deal.” Virgil slumped his backpack off next to a coat rack before wandering toward the kitchen. “Do you want, uh...soda?”

“Sure,” Logan said, following. The kitchen connected to a small living room and held a two-chair table with folded leaves. There were two doors across the room, one slightly ajar to reveal part of a bathroom sink and mirror. More photos were on the wall, some of a younger version of Virgil���s mother sans Virgil. Her hair had been longer back then. There were also some of Virgil’s childhood drawings in frames and two pride flags pinned on the closed door, one bisexual and one, smaller and newer, trans.

“Sorry, I don’t host much,” Virgil said. “That’s the bedroom over there, and I sleep on the foldout. That’s about it. Do you want a cream soda or a Hero-Cola?” He squatted in front of the fridge.

“Cream soda,” Logan said. “Thank you.” He glanced back at the photos on the wall, trying to think how to continue the conversation. “What’s your mother like?”

“She’s cool,” Virgil said, getting a Hero-Cola for himself. “She’s just busy. She went back to school and all a couple years ago, so now she studies and writes her management thesis every night after work.” He snapped his soda open with a satisfying crack. “She wants to build a better life for us and all, you know?”

Logan nodded. “She sounds very nice.” He fumbled again for a way to continue the conversation. “My mother is a photographer too.”

“That’s cool,” Virgil said as he sunk into one of the two chair seats. “Do you want to…”

“Sure,” Logan was already moving to sit, and set his backpack on the floor. “Um...is that one yours?” He pointed at the bisexual flag.

“My mom’s,” Virgil said.

“Oh.” Logan’s brief playground romance with Corbin meant he’d never “come out” to his middle school friends, but besides Terrence he wasn’t sure how many of his A-1 classmates had taken the hint yet.

“I’m actually gay,” Virgil said suddenly, shattering Logan’s mental image of strutting into UA wearing a rainbow flag as a cape.

“Oh!” Logan said, so loud that Virgil flinched. “No, that’s great! No, no, I mean, me too!”

“Oh,” Virgil said, quieter and longer than Logan had.

Logan felt heat rising in his ears. “So, about the festival, I think you said you taped last year’s competition?”

“Yeah,” Virgil said, leaping onto this new topic. “On a VHS, can you believe it? Surprised the machine even still works. Want to watch it?”

“I was just thinking today how helpful it would be for my notes if I could analyze previous competitions.” Logan reached into his backpack and fumbled for a minute. “I was running the numbers today and — oh here it is.” He produced the notebook and flipped a few pages. “Any individual student has a 19% chance to pass the preliminaries, but as hero students, I’m almost certain the chance is much higher, but I just don’t have the data.”

“Eleven years ago, only seven non-hero students passed, and only two made it to the one-on-one,” Virgil mused.

“Eleven years ago?”

Virgil rolled his eyes as he stood to cross into the living room. “My mom taped that one for me when I was little. I watched it so many times the tape broke, but I remember every detail. Picani was in his final year then, you know. He’s only twenty-nine now.” He knelt down and shuffled DVDs under the TV. “Here’s the one from last year.” Virgil glanced over his shoulder. “We can watch it for uh...your notes.”

“That would be excellent.”