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callsign-swan · 1 month ago

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Alone Together

For the last few years, Tony's daughter has been living out in the tower basement. She doesn't realise when Valentina buys the tower, not until she's being choked out by Sentry (turns out Sentry is a really sweet guy called Bob, who knew?)

Warnings: Slight thunderbolts spoilers

The last few years had been... content.

Everybody thought she disappeared, off the grid once her dad died. Some people tried to look; Happy, Pepper, some guy she was sure she knew but couldn't remember.

They didn't find her, she made sure of that. Wiped her name from every record, lived off of the small fortune her father had left her.

She wasn't a great engineer like her father, didn't spend her time making useful stuff like he did. She still made stuff, it just wasn't useful.

Spare parts, the basement was full of them. Scraps her father disregarded, that he didn't need. She was desperately trying to turn the scraps into something useful, but it wasn’t that easy.

So far, she'd built a computer. Well, she more rebuilt an old computer and used scrap metal to hide the wires. It was one of her proudest accomplishments.

Nobody knew she was in the basement. But it didn’t matter, since the old Avengers Tower had been vacant. If someone bought, she would have known.

(No, she didn't know that the tower had been bought. She didn't know that Valentina was moving in).

All of her details were still in the tower system; it was easy enough to hack into the intercom. She didn't do much with it, isolated it to the basement to play her music while she worked.

It was hard, trying to live up to greatness. It was even harder knowing you'll never be able to achieve it.

Rarely did she travel to other floors. If she did, she would have known about Valentina. If she did, she would have been arrested on the spot.

No daddy to bail her out this time. And Pepper wouldn't bother, she thought.

Maybe if she knew, she would have stayed in the basement, gathered up her things and moved out. She wouldn't have gotten in the elevator to get parts out of the floor. Parts her dad used to make machines to take off the Iron Man suite the second he stepped into the building.

Stepping into the elevator with an empty box in her hand and a screwdriver in her pocket, she pressed the necessary button. The doors slid closed and she began travelling up.

So many floors, but it took no time at all. That was her dad's doing. This entire place was her dad's doing. (Maybe that's why she couldn't leave it behind).

The elevator doors should have slid open to reveal nothing. An empty floor, exactly how the Avengers had left it. The bar her dad left nearly fully stocked before they moved to the compound.

But that wasn't the sight that greeted her.

People in the tower. There shouldn't have been people in the tower. Oh, she had fucked up.

They were mid fight, that much was obvious. The blonde guy in the ridiculous suit held Bucky's fist in his hand like he wasn't fighting a super soldier with a vibranium arm.

But the fight had stopped as everybody in the room stared at her. Goldilocks, discount Steve Rogers, blonde bombshell, soviet santa, mystery person and Bucky.

"You've got to be kidding me."

It was Bucky that said it, pulling his fist out of Goldilock's grip. In the moment of confusion, Goldilocks let him go, his gaze on her.

She resisted the urge to step back into the elevator. "I..." But she couldn't find the words. "What're you doing in my house?"

"Your house?"

She hadn't noticed the woman until now. Dark hair, grey in the front so pretty that it looked silver. Definitely dyed, but it looked good.

"I don't know who the hell you think you are, but I bought this property and you are trespassing."

Her eyes went wide, grip on her empty cardboard box growing tighter. "Oh," she said, the air in the room becoming uncomfortable. But then she furrowed her brows. "Really? Because I've been living here for a while."

The woman's mouth dropped open. "How long- You know what? I don't care." She snapped her fingers. "Sentry."

Suddenly, she was moving through the air. Not of her own volition, she had no sort of power. In less than seconds, she was in front of Goldilocks, his fingers wrapping around her neck.

In her struggle, she gripped his wrist, tried to get out of his grip. But he was impossibly, terrifyingly strong.

There was something in his blue gaze that was soft. Suddenly, he let go of her. Her feet hit the floor and he stepped away from her. "Sorry, I... you don't deserve this," he mumbled.

Her hand found her own neck. He didn't have her in a strong grip, but it still hurt so damn much.

But she couldn't stop staring at him. Sentry. She had no doubt he had the potential to look terrifying, but he didn't in that moment. Regret shined in his blue eyes.

A hand grabbed her, pulling her back. She, along with Bucky, Discount Steve Rogers, Mystery Person, Blonde Bombshell, and Soviet Santa, ran towards the elevator.

They squeezed in and travelled down.

"What the fuck?" Bucky called as he pulled her out of the building. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

She pulled her hand out of Bucky's grip. "I've been living here, Barnes," she called back, shoving her hands into her pockets. The screwdriver still sat there, the cardboard box back in the tower.

"Why aren't you with Pepper?"

A scoff left her lips, sounding more like a child than the adult she actually was. But that was one of the reasons she was in the tower in the first place, because she was sick of everyone treating her like a kid.

She released a breath and looked back towards the tower. "What the hell was that?" She asked, completely changing the subject.

Bucky let her. He didn't have it in himself to argue. But he wasn't going to answer her.

"That was Bob," came a new voice.

Her eyebrows went up. "Bob?"

"Bob."

She swallowed thickly. "What the hell is Bob?"

***

The New Avengers.

The name had her stomach rolling. The world didn't need the Avengers, did it? The only reason they'd needed the New Avengers was Valentina's own doing.

But here they were, in the Avengers - no - Watchtower. Bucky let her stay. He gave her conditions to her stay, but he didn't kick her out, didn't drag her kicking and screaming back to Pepper.

As long as she pulled her weight. As long as she worked, did the necessary repairs when they were needed. Sure, she was nothing like her father, but she had her own skills.

Bob was just Bob. Hair now brown, soft sweaters, books. No more blonde hair, no more shadow monster man (yes, she knew Sentry is more than that, but that was her way of referring to it. That was of referring to it sometimes pulled a smile from Bob).

No super soldier serum, no specialised training, no... whatever Ava was. Sure, he had incredibly strong powers, but they were safely tucked away and Bob was happy.

The two didn't immediately find themselves drawn to each other. She was curious, sure, but Bob didn't remember. He didn't have the answers for her.

But they found themselves left behind during missions. There was nothing wrong with that - how were they supposed to help the team?

The first few times, they kept to themselves. She didn't mind the isolation, that was how she lives when the tower was empty. But she watched Bob. Just what he was doing, how he entertained himself. His life had been full of tragedy, just like hers had been. Individual tragedies, but it made her curious about him.

On the teams third mission, their third time alone in the Watchtower together, she sat beside Bob.

"Whatcha reading?" She asked as she toed off her shoes and tucked her legs beneath her body.

Bob showed her the cover of his book, his finger slipped between the pages.

She patted her thighs, her fingers drumming against her skin. "Is it good?" She asked and Bob gave a nod.

Bob was a quiet guy. She'd learnt this through their limited interactions. But he wasn't usually this quiet. He at least had an answer for her.

So, she kept talking.

"You know, I lived here as a kid," she mumbled, laying back. Everything was different now it was the Watchtower. The bar her father so lovingly put in place was gone (but that was definitely a good thing).

Bob closed his book. "You're Tony Starks kid, right?" Her asked, one leg folded beneath the other, the other hanging off the edge of the sofa.

She gave a nod. "Yeah, grew up around the first round of Avengers," she mumbled.

Turning his head slightly, Bob let his hand rest in his wrist. He'd had a haircut since everything happened, him and Yelena in the bathroom with a pair of scissors. His hair was still a little bit wild, but it suited him.

"Why'd you live in the basement?"

Not the question she was expecting, but she didn't shy away from it. "Spent a lot of time in there as a kid," she answered. "Just felt right being in there."

It was more than that, clearly more than that, but Bob didn't pry.

He stood up. "Hungry?" He asked, watching as her eyebrows went up.

"You cook?" She couldn't help but ask.

Bob went to nod, but he stopped himself. "How hard can it be?" He tried, releasing a breath that suggested he didn't think it was going to be very easy at all.

She pushed herself up from the sofa. "I'll help," she said and went to follow him into the kitchen.

But Bob didn't move. "You cook?" He parroted.

A grin came across her face. "How hard can it be?"

Turns out, pretty fucking hard. Neither of them knew what they were cooking, and that was the first issue. The both of them were just pulling things out of the fridge and trying to decide what to do with it.

Chicken in a pan (plain and neither of them quite knew how to flavour it), spaghetti in boiling water (neither of them knew what to do for sauce), and a garlic bread pizza in the oven (the only promising part of the meal).

Bob pulled salt from the cupboard and seasoned the spaghetti.

"Fuck," she suddenly cried, fridge door open.

Bob raised his head, eyes wide as he looked at her. "What?" He asked, panicking slightly.

"This is John's boring chicken," she said, pushing the fridge door shut. Like she could hide the evidence if she just shut the fridge door.

"Shit," Bob replied as he turned it in the pan (one side finally looked cooked, but both of them knew not to trust it. Just a few more minutes and they'd check the inside).

"He's gonna kill us."

Bob nodded. "We're gonna die."

But then, they laughed. "If John really does try and kill us, you gotta protect me, okay?" She muttered, stirring the spaghetti in the boiling water. "All I got is this." She pulled the screwdriver from her pocket. She was never seen without it now.

"I'll protect you," he assured her, "I'll keep you safe."

Fear of John Walker was a great foundation for a friendship, as it turned out.

part one maybe?

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cellythefloshie · 4 months ago

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;; Moments of Care by cellythefloshie

Summary: Overcome with worry when you didn't arrive for a date, Quinn went to your apartment and found you in a time of need. Kinks & TW: Hurt/Comfort (Migraines). No Smut. Undefined relationship. Word Count: 2k+

Pale light from his phone screen flickered across Quinn’s face as he sat parked outside your apartment, squinting into the darkness. Two hours had passed since you were supposed to meet him for dinner, three since your last message. If this had been a first date—or even the third—he might have shrugged it off. But after four months, it didn’t sit right.

You weren’t just some girl who vanished after a whirlwind weekend. You were—well. While neither of you had put a name to whatever this was, long stretches of road trips had made defining things complicated. And maybe—probably—he wasn’t sure if you had been treating him with the same exclusivity he found himself giving you. But Quinn liked to think that, for all intents and purposes, you were his.

It was the very reason he was sitting outside your apartment in the middle of the night, telling himself that he was crazy for driving across the city – but he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. He could feel the rhythmic racing of his pulse against his neck as he looked down at the message you had sent him.

I’ll meet you there.

With a sigh, Quinn leaned across the passenger seat and looked up at the apartment building you called home. He looked over each window, trying to remember just which one was yours when he saw them; Your curtains. He could see the faint flutter of the fabric and the wind blew in through an open window and it was highlighted by the amber glow of the street lights outside. Beyond them, he could see nothing, only darkness.

A knot tightened in his chest. He had to check on you. Had to knock on the door, hear your voice—see you, even if it was just to have you tell him to fuck off. As long as he knew you were okay.

Getting in, however, was another matter. He didn’t have a key.

There was an intercom at the front door, one that he had used the handful of times he had visited you at your apartment. He approached it quickly, the collar of his jacket popped to block out the chill of the wind. And as soon as he had pressed your suite number into the system, his hands delved into his coat pockets. It let out its droning ring, over and over again, begging to be answered only to disconnect when you didn’t answer.

“Fuck.” His breath came in a mist as he exhaled sharply, raising both hands to his lips, rubbing warmth back into his fingers. He didn’t know anyone else in the building, and from what you’d told him, you barely knew your neighbors either. But he was desperate.

Reaching out, Quinn punched in the number of the suite next to yours. Declined.

The one across the hall. Ignored.

Then, just as the last ring of the suite beneath yours faded into silence, the lock on the front door released. No words exchanged. No questions asked. Either someone was expecting a visitor, or they simply didn’t care who they let inside. He didn’t hesitate.

Quinn ran through the hallway and to the stairs with complete disregard for the elevator. He took them two at a time until he reached your floor, and moved down the hallway until he came to your door. He froze there for a moment, fixing his scarf and finding his composure with a steady breath.

He knocked.

Nothing.

In an instant, it felt like his scarf was constricting around his throat, and without thinking, he reached down for the door handle and twisted it slowly. He expected it to be locked, but to his surprise, it clicked open.

Quinn peaked his head in first, before slowly entering your apartment that was cloaked in darkness. He welcomed himself in with caution steps, worried that he might run into a pair of shoes or furniture he wasn’t familiar with by the door. The last thing he wanted to do was startle you as he stood in the entryway, unannounced and uninvited.

He hesitated, then spoke your name softly.

For a moment, there was only silence. Then, as if he had imagined it, a low muffled groan.

Your name left his lips again, louder this time, weighted with concern. Caution vanished in an instant. Quinn tore off his coat, striding toward the source of the sound. The bathroom.

His hand skimmed the wall, fumbling for the light switch. A harsh glow flooded the space, spilling into the hallway, casting his shadow long across the floor.

The light had barely settled before your soft, broken plea cut through the air.

“Turn it off, please. I can’t— It’s too bright.”

*“Sorry,” Quinn said quickly, his voice barely above a whisper as he reached back out for the light switch. The room fell back into darkness, the only light the amber glow of the street light that had greeted him outside. He swallowed back a lump that formed in the back of his throat. Quinn had his answer. You were safe at home, but you weren’t okay – and suddenly Quinn felt useless.

You were laying on the bathroom floor, unmoving. The light was off, but Quinn could still see the pained expression on your pale face and the glassiness of your eyes as they fought back tears. And in the silence, he could hear your ever uneven breath that was so close to becoming a cry.

It was on your third date, when you had to cut it short because of a headache, that you told Quinn that you were prone to migraines. He hadn’t thought much of it at the time. He had seen so many injuries in his career–concussions that would rob players of their careers, bruises that would linger for weeks and breaks that would only mend with a little help of titanium or steel–that he was convinced that a headache with no clear cause couldn’t be so severe.

He was wrong.

Yours seemed worse than any he’s ever had, or witnessed, before.

“Just,” Quinn reached a hand up, raking his fingers through his hair, “Just tell me what you need, please. I’ll do anything.”

You didn’t move. You didn’t even look up at him as you sighed. “There’s nothing anyone can do,” you told him, your tone sending Quinn’s heart sinking into the depths of his chest. He knew that tone all too well. Defeat.

“I’ve taken pain killers, I’ve seen countless doctors and-” you cut yourself off, and Quinn could feel your hand reaching out to him, your finger tips grazing over the hem of his pant legs. “How did you even get in here Quinn? I-” you started to stutter, “I was going to meet you at the restaurant.”

“That was two hours ago,” Quinn sighed softly as he dropped down to his knees on the floor.

Carefully, he reached out through the darkness, his hands finding your shoulders and drawing you in. Quinn hugged you to him, face burying into your hair as he took in a deep breath. “I was worried when you stopped messaging me back. I thought–” he placed a kiss to your scalp slowly, “I thought something happened.”

“I’m okay,” your words were a hot breath felt against his arm before you placed a careful kiss there.

Quinn almost smiled as you nuzzled into the crook of his arm, but then he felt the hot wetness of tears that had been silently streaming down your cheeks in the cover of the darkness. An almost successful deceit.

He said your name in a slow hum before continuing, “you’re not okay. You’ve been laying on the bathroom floor. Let me help, please.”

“I was trying to get into the bathtub,” you explain slowly, weakly. “The hot water. It helps, but whenever I tried to stand up, my head would pound.”

“Okay,” Quinn sighed, “that’s something I can help with.”

Slowly, he eased you up off the floor just enough to lean you back against the strength of his chest. Quinn let you rest there a moment, making sure you were steady before his hands began to gather your hair. You had done it before the migraine struck, he was sure of it. Each tendril was soft and silken between his fingers, but tangled from the mess it became from laying on the floor. He gathered it carefully, securing it up and away from your face. It wasn’t perfect, but at the very least it was out of the way.

“Do you trust me?” Quinn asked you in a whisper.

He felt you nod slowly against his chest silently.

Slowly, Quinn’s hand found the hem of your shirt, pausing just long enough for you to lift your arms up over your head. His knuckles dragged against your stomach as he eased the fabric up over your head before it was lost on the floor. He traded it for his own shirt as a veil of modesty. It was a simple white t-shirt that was too big for your frame. It swallowed you up as he worked it onto you, hanging loosely off your shoulders the way all his clothes did on you.

Then, without a word, you reached behind yourself, unclasping your bra, and let it drop to the floor.

Quinn’s breath hitched. He hadn’t expected that.

His eyes flickered down to the button of your jeans, then back up. The glow of the amber lights sent your face a glow. Your eyes were shut and your skin glistening with tears or sweat – something that looked more like glitter in the night. And there was a calmness in your features, one he didn’t know how you found when in such pain.

“Can I…?” He started, his tongue seemingly swelling up in his mouth.

This wasn’t the first time he had helped you out of your clothes, but this time was different. There was no rush to feel your skin against his. No desperate need to fuck – no, it was more intimate than that.

When you nodded again, Quinn reached down with a careful touch and loosened the waistband. He felt you shimmy and slipped down his chest as you struggled to push them down with him seated behind you and instead of letting you struggle, he helped. Quinn moved slowly, easing you off his chest into a sitting position before he moved to kneel in front of you. There, he carefully tugged the denim down your legs, his hands steady and gentle as he held his breath, forcing himself to remain focused.

“Almost done,” he promised you as he pushed up from the floor and arched over the side of the bathtub. He turned on the water and remained there, his hand hovering over one faucet then the other as he debated: Hotter? No, colder. Bubbles? No bubbles? He had no idea what he was doing, but not once did you complain as you waited with your head in your hands.

When the tub was filled up just right, Quinn kicked off his shoes and reached down to the waist of his own pants and worked them down to his ankles. He kicked them out of the way before kicking his socks off with them.

“What are you doing? Quinn!” Your question became a soft yelp as he scooped you into his arms.

“We’re getting in the tub,” he told you simply, stepping in first before settling down with you between his legs and against his chest.

The hot water lapped against his skin as he helped you, the fabric of his t-shirt floating weightlessly around you. His hands moved slowly through the water, scooping it up and letting the water trickle down over your shoulders and neck.

“Is this helping?” He whispered against your temple, pressing the faintest kiss there.

You didn’t speak, answering him with nothing but a nod again.

Then, you almost startled him, as your hand found his beneath the water. They laced together slowly, your touch drawing his hand to your chest and hugging it there. You relaxed against him, the tension melting away in the heat of the water as you whispered, “Thank you, Quinn.”

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luciathcv · 1 year ago

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positive - jjk

summary: you take a test in which the results will completely change your life || warnings: idk reader is pregnant? || genre: fluff, established relationship, pregnancy au || word count: approximately 1100

I sat on the couch, trying my best to be patient and just wait for Jungkook to get home since he was bound to be any minute now. I was stressing and worried because, there was a chance that I could be pregnant.

I’m startled when I hear the sound of the front door unlocking. I glance over at the electronic intercom system on the wall and see Jungkook on the screen of it, opening the door and walking inside. I then look over and see the hallway light turn on.

I get up from the couch and walk down the hall, wanting to get there before my boyfriend took his shoes off. When I got to the end of the hall, I’d gotten there just in time as he was about to start untying his shoelaces.

“Jungkook.” I say and he looks up at me, giving me a small smile.

“Hey, princess.” He greets me.

“Can we go to the store?” I ask.

“Uh, okay. Come on.” Jungkook says without questioning anything at first. He stands up and we walk out of the apartment, going down the elevator and heading to the parking garage.

We get in the car and Jungkook starts it up, backing out of the parking spot. “So, what do you need, princess? Did you finally get your period? Do you need tampons/pads?” He asks as he starts to drive out of the parking garage.

“Well,” I think for a moment, “it’s kind of the opposite. I still haven’t gotten my period and I just, felt like I should get a pregnancy test just to make sure because usually my periods are never a week late.” I tell him.

He takes in what I said for a moment before nodding, “Okay, then let’s go to CVS and get a pregnancy test.” Jungkook says. I look at him, trying to analyze how he was feeling but I honestly couldn't tell.

Jungkook pulled into a parking spot and shut the car off. He unbuckled his seatbelt and I did the same as we got out of the car. We walked into the store and I made my way to the aisle that had the pregnancy tests, plan b, and all of that stuff.

I look at the pregnancy tests and pick out one, getting two of them just to be sure. Jungkook and I go to the counter to pay and I awkwardly hand the tests to the cashier. I mean, we're grown, there was no reason for me to be embarrassed but I was. Jungkook pulls out his card and pays for them.

"Good luck." The cashier says as she hands Jungkook the small bag with the two tests and the receipt.

He just gives her a small smile as he puts his hand on the small of my back and leads me away and out of the store. He opens my car door for me and I get inside, buckling my seatbelt before he hands me the small bag and shuts the door, going to the drivers seat.

At first, it's silent as Jungkook starts driving us home but eventually, he breaks the silence. "You know that no matter the result, I'll be here for you." He reassures me.

"I know." I say, nodding.

"I just, if you were pregnant, it's not like we couldn't support the baby. Well, if you wanted to keep the baby. That's your choice, I'm just.. I'm just saying." Jungkook tells me.

"I would.. I would want to keep the baby, if I was pregnant." I shyly respond.

"Oh," is Jungkook's only response. "I would like that." He tells me before connecting his hand with mine that rested in my lap, intertwining our fingers together as he handled the wheel with his other hand.

Truth be told, we were both kind of getting ahead of ourselves. I mean, I hadn't even taken the test yet, it's not like it was definite that I was pregnant. I guess we both kind of had a feeling that, that was the case though but neither of us would say that.

When we arrived at home, I walked over to the bathroom, the small bag in my hand. Jungkook stood in front of me, a little nervous but it wasn't obvious, as he leaned down and kissed me. I kissed him back for a few moments before we both pulled away and I made my way into the bathroom, shutting the door behind me.

After I'd peed on the sticks, I'd put them on counter and set a timer on my phone for three minutes. I didn't know this but Jungkook was sat with his back against the door, anxiously waiting for me.

Those three minutes were the longest three minutes of my life but finally, the timer went off and the results were ready. Jungkook had gotten up off of the floor and stood outside, ready to hear the results. I sighed as I stopped the timer and anxiously checked the tests.

Positive. Both tests were positive. I was pregnant. I was actually pregnant.

"You okay, baby?" I heard Jungkook ask from outside the door.

I grabbed the tests and walked over to the door, opening it. Jungkook looked into my eyes and without even having to look down, he could tell what the results were just from the way I looked up at him. He looked down anyway, just to make sure that his answer was right, and well, the tests confirmed his thoughts.

I burst into tears, I didn't know why. It was frankly just overwhelming. All of it. Jungkook immediately took the tests from my hand, putting it on the counter again before he engulfed me into a hug. Moments later, Jungkook was also crying. We stayed like that for a while.

Jungkook ended up calming down before me but once I did, Jungkook pulled away a little, still holding me as he comfortingly patted my head.

"How do you feel?" Jungkook asked, just wanting to be there for me.

"Anxious but excited but just.. scared. I'm scared." I tell him.

"I know, princess. I'm scared too." Jungkook tells me. "But it'll be okay, right? We'll work through this, all of this, together." He says and I can't help but smile.

"You're going to be a dad." I softly say.

He smiles back at me, "And you're going to be a mom." He says before leaning down and giving a long and loving kiss on the lips. Although he was scared, he was ready to go through this journey with you and to be there for you. And, well, your future child.

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hotchswifey · 2 years ago

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a little bit shy - rafael barba x reader smut

i wrote this like a year ago and never posted it???????? oml i kept thinking it was unfinished but like it’s 2700 words 😭 😭 😭 😭

anyways i’m not rewriting it or even rereading it so!!! anyways, this is shitty but it’s mine so it’s fine

warnings: shy!reader, smut, vaginal fingering, reader is a virgin (par hand stuff she’s done with rafael), reader owns a bookstore/cafe, written with an age gap in mind (rafael is like ?? 40?? 45??? reader is like 23/24), rafael is a babe and i love him, your honour, also rafael is a brief man and nobody can convince me otherwise, also like the office spoilers ig??? but nothing major, daddy/papi kink, the reader may have a slight humiliation kink (it’s self-projection babes), also the translation is through google so sorry if it is incorrect!

(word count: 2740)

---------------------------------------------------

You sat on the counter of your café, reading one of Stephen King’s books. You had closed up at 19:00 like you did every day (par Sundays where you closed up at 17:00); however, you had stayed behind in your store, deciding that you would leave when the rain cleared up - which, it hadn’t. You looked at the grandfather clock standing up against the wall - quarter past nine. The time had flown by as you were too engrossed in your book to notice the world outside and join the world written on the pages. You sighed as you jumped off the counter, folding the corner of (what was now) your personal copy of Doctor Sleep, realising that the weather would not get better anytime soon. Grabbing your hoodie (while cursing your past self for not bringing a coat to work), you turned off the lights, ensuring the ovens and such were also turned off. You grabbed your keys, preparing for the harsh weather, before stepping outside (albeit reluctantly). The rain hit your face harshly, the wind almost making breathing impossible, as you made your way quickly (or as quick as the wind would let your body move) down the sidewalk. You should have probably just called an Uber as you got to the corner of the street. But, then again, you had money to return to the shop. You halted on the corner, debating it but rejecting the idea. You were already soaking from being outside for a few minutes, so what were another... 20... to your apartment. It took you about ten seconds to go to Rafael’s apartment. You had only been dating for a couple months, but his place was, at most, ten minutes away from your shop, and you were freezing. You rushed down the sidewalk until you got to his building, standing underneath a roof; you quickly texted him with trembling fingers, asking if he could let you in, figuring he wouldn’t hear your voice on the intercom system due to the wind. The door buzzed open within seconds, which you were highly thankful for, and you made your way to the elevator, which you took to the top floor. Rafael answered the door after you knocked, still in his suit (confirming your suspicion that he had not stopped working even now; you were pretty surprised he was even home, as he was usually spending all his free time in his office). His eyes went wide immediately, taking in your wet form. “Hermosa, wha-” he cut himself off (something you didn’t know he was even capable of doing) as he opened the door wider for you to come in. “You’re soaking,” he said as he reached for the zipper of your hoodie. “Really? I hadn’t noticed,” you quipped back as you slapped his hands away, grabbing the zipper to try to pull it down, but you couldn’t quite do it with your trembling hands (which were a dangerously dark red). Rafael grabbed it again, slapping your hands away this time, pulling the zipper down and peeling the fabric off your skin as it stuck to you. “What were you thinking?” he looked down at you sternly, causing you to roll your eyes. “Calm down, I’m fine-” “You’re going to get ill,” he interrupted, taking your phone from you and placing it on the coffee table face down (which seemed to be his way of telling you I’m taking this because you are almost vibrating from how cold you are, not because I’m going to look through your phone, Hermosa). “you need a shower.” “I’m fine!” you argued, and Rafael looked at you with a deadpan look. You stared at each other for about ten seconds before you gave in, mumbling quickly, “Fine.” He walked you towards the bathroom as if you didn’t know where it was and opened the door for you. A quick “thank you” later, and you were peeling off the rest of your clothes before figuring out how to turn on the shower. After about a minute (which felt like an eternity, considering you were feeling hypothermic), you grabbed a towel before heading back out to find Rafael putting your hoodie in a washing basket. “Rafael?” he turned around at that, his eyebrows furrowing - he was cute when he was overly concerned. You suddenly became aware that you were naked and blushed heavily, “How- how do you, um, turn the... shower on?” Once he showed you and left the room, you basked in the water, feeling your previously numb fingers returning to life. You were highly aware of how long you were in the shower, not wanting to waste water or heat or anything. As well as the fact that you couldn’t stop thinking about how you were only one wall away from Rafael - totally naked. You took his (very expensive looking) shampoo and soap, cleaning yourself and your hair, before turning off the shower and leaving. Only then did you realise that you had no clothes - unless you would put on cold, wet ones. You wrapped the same towel around yourself before sheepishly entering the bathroom. Rafael smiled at you from his seat on his couch, his work abandoned on the dining table, his suit jacket on the back of one of the chairs and his tie looser than when he had answered the door, and a glass of scotch in one hand and the tv playing Netflix. “I don’t- um, I- I don’t have any... clothes,” you stuttered, looking down at your feet and fiddling with the towel. “You can borrow one of my shirts,” he said, as if it was the most casual thing ever, like you two always did this. he got up, pausing (in what looked like) the office (which you had convinced him to watch after it came to your knowledge that he had never watched it), and began to pull out a shirt from his drawer in his bedroom, handing it to you, which you thanked him for, still blushing from your current predicament. He went to leave before you spoke again. “I- I don’t have any-” you stopped talking, blushing too much before you could say ‘panties’. “You don’t mind wearing mine, would you? Because, you see, I don’t have any panties,” You blushed at his bluntness but shook your head to say, “No, I don’t mind. When, in actuality, you did mind, but only because the thought made you feel hot. Like everything else had once you had made your way into his apartment. You were naked. And, now, you were going to wear Rafael’s clothes. He left for you to get dressed; you shut the door, making sure it was locked, before you dropped the towel, pulling on his briefs and shirt. His shirt was white, and as you looked in the mirror, you realised that, yes, he could definitely see your nipples through the shirt. You buttoned three buttons before turning around and checking how much of your ass it covered. Thankfully, it fell to your mid-thigh, and even more, it smelt like him. You exited the bedroom, turning to close the door behind you softly to not disturb Rafael’s Netflix. What you didn’t see, with your back turned, was Rafael staring at you (specifically, your ass) and licking his lips. As you turned back around, you saw him sit forward and place his free hand (the one without scotch in it) on his knee - unbeknownst to you, he was trying to hide his growing member. You smiled at him, which he returned, and joined him on the couch, sitting about a foot away. You were right when you thought he was watching the office. He was currently watching Jim fax Dwight messages from future Dwight. You brought your legs up to your chest, sitting back on the couch. I watched as Jan told Michael that the branch was closing. “Would you like a drink, cariño?” he asked, making his way (very quickly, you noticed) behind the couch, as you watched the TV. You looked up at him, smiling, asking him for some coffee. He kissed you on the forehead, causing you to giggle, and then started on your coffee. But you swore as he turned around that he was... hard? Your eyes widened, and your cheeks grew hot as your head flew forward to stare at the TV. A smile grew on your face, and you tried to hide it multiple times, but you just couldn’t; it was... cute. Rafael was unbelievably cute right now - plus, his ears were pink, which made him look... well, adorable. You made sure he couldn’t see your face as you smiled widely, but you realised you were failing when he said; “What’s happening?” “What?” you turned to him, still smiling. “In Scranton,” he said, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world, which it was, but you weren’t focused on the TV. You were focused on what was going on behind the kitchen counter he was standing behind. “Oh, right, there,” you said, although you were sure you sounded teasing, which you must have because Rafael’s eyebrows furrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean, ángel?” he asked, coming back to join you on the couch, handing you the coffee. He sat closer to you than you had previously sat next to him, not that you minded - you wanted to sit on his lap, not next to him, but you’d settle for this. “Nothing,” you smirked as you glanced at him - his trousers were still tight. Your eyes went wide momentarily, but it was enough for Rafael to notice. “What?” “What?” you sipped your coffee, covering your smile as you looked at him. he narrowed his eyes at you before putting his arm around you, bringing you into his chest. He put the coffee on the table for you, looking down at you as you turned your head completely to look him in the eye. “You’re hiding something.” “Am I, counsellor?” You moved your legs over him, and he pulled you onto his lap, causing you to yelp and him to chuckle, burying his face in your neck, nipping and kissing at your skin. Your cheeks began to burn again as your smile and teasing attitude disappeared, replaced with whimpers and gripping onto the hem of your (or, rather, his) shirt. You did notice, however, that you weren’t exactly on his lap but on his legs. Which meant he thought you hadn’t noticed his... situation. “What are you hiding, cariño?” he began to kiss further down, kissing at your collarbone. You reached down to palm at his slacks, the office still playing in the background. You heard his breath hitch, and his head flew up to look you in the eye. “What are you hiding, counsellor?” you grinned at him, blinking through your lashes. His ears burned, as well as his cheeks, and he looked pretty shocked, too. However, he quickly recovered. He smirked at you, gripping your wrist, causing you to pout. His lips found yours, and you whimpered into his mouth, causing him to smirk again. “I’m not hiding a thing, cariño,” he said against your mouth, moving your hand back down to his bulge. He hummed against your mouth as you squeezed him lightly. His hand gripped your thigh, the other resting on your cheek as he deepened the kiss. You whined into his lips, putting your hand, not playing with his bulge, on top of the one on your thigh. “Please, Rafael,” you whimpered. His hand on your thigh began to creep up your leg, coming up to the waistband of your briefs before slipping inside. That was new. Sure, you had done things with Raf before, but he was always very... slow. He just wanted to ensure you were completely comfortable with what was happening, but now? Seeing you in his shirt? His fingers teased your entrance momentarily before he gathered your slick and began rubbing at your clit with steady circles. Your hand immediately gripped his wrist, your fingers not even managing to close around his arm. Your back arched, your tits pressed against him, and pathetic whines fell from your lips. His lips were attacking your neck and collarbone, marking you. “Oh, god,” you whimpered out, his fingers beginning to speed up, his other arm wrapped around your waist to keep you against him. Your fingers, the ones not around his arm, gripped his waistcoat. His rubbing sent impulses up and down your body, your vocal cords working on their own accord and your limbs twitching. “Please, oh, god,” his fingers and mouth were the only things you could focus on, and the rest of the world fell away. You were becoming incoherent with your words, that much you were aware of, as you mumbled out, ‘please’s and ‘fuck’s. You were pretty amazed you had stayed coherent for that long, considering that you were usually a mumbling mess of a woman who couldn’t make eye contact or stop blushing when he touched any part of your skin. You brought his face up from your neck, wanting to kiss his scotch-flavoured lips. The passionate kiss did not stop you from whimpering against him or prevent you from moving his hand away from your clit and towards your entrance. "estás tan necesitado, ¿no es así, cariño?" his tone was teasing, though you had no idea what he was saying. You moaned as his fingers edged around your entrance, and you dropped your head into his neck to hide the growing blush, your eyes fluttering shut. Your hips bucked as best they could in the position you were in. You whined when he took his fingers away from you; however, after he had moved you onto his lap (and, therefore, on top of his hard-on), his fingers continued their previous actions. He sunk one finger into your heat, causing your hold on his vest to tighten and your other to clench as you lifted it, trying to decide what to do. Your legs fell wider as Rafael curled his fingers into your sweet spot (and, of course, he knew exactly where that was, despite only having done this a couple of times). “Please, Rafael,” your voice was heavily muffled by the fact that you were pressing your face against his neck. Still, he must have heard you because he added another finger into you, rubbing against your sweet spot with two fingers whilst his palm ground against your clit. “please, papi,” you mumbled out, causing Rafael to stutter in his pleasing ministrations and his cock to twitch. You immediately seized up, your eyes flying open against his neck. However, Rafael’s fingers continued without hesitation, his other hand moving to your ass and squeezing it, pulling you more towards him. He hummed against the side of your head. “Papi, cariño?” your cheeks flushed, the embarrassment of the situation catching up on you. Your hold on his vest tightened, and you were sure you were seconds away from tearing it. You whimpered against his skin, the humiliation only contributing to your impending orgasm. Rafael smirked down at you, loving how you looked, squirming and whimpering on his lap. he loved that you were shy. You were adorable when you were blushing and stumbling over your words whilst you looked everywhere but him. When you called him Papa? he almost groaned aloud. He could feel you pulsing around his fingers, your legs spasming and back arching. Taking his hand away from your ass (and slightly lifting one of his legs to not make you fall), he unbuttoned your shirt, kneading one of your breasts. Your whimpers turned into moans, gradually increasing in volume and frequency. “That’s it, Hermosa, cum on papi’s fingers."

#rafael barba x reader #rafael barba #law and order svu #svu #rafael barba smut

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27dragons · 3 months ago

Note

For FFWF: any deleted scenes from the Sandbridge verse that you can tell us about? ❤️ (for purely selfish remix sequel motivation reasons 😅)

ACTUALLY, yes! Though I don't know how useful it's going to be for your remix sequel (which I am ardently looking forward to!)

In Chapter 4 of My Three Dads, Tony and Bucky are at a gala in New York with Maria, and Tony gets cornered by Ty, who says some very surprising things and suggests that Tony come over the next day to collect some things he'd left behind.

Tisfan and I actually wrote that scene, but when we got to the editing stage, it just... didn't fit quite right. So we threw in a quick reference to it at the beginning of Chapter 5 and cut it.

But I did actually LIKE the scene. And I'd filed it away in my "clips and cuts" folder. So here you go, the Deleted Scene of the last time Tony ever talks to Ty:

[Fair warning, this is 100% unedited.]

The neighborhood had gotten nicer; several renovation projects had updated the older shops in the area with brighter, cleaner ones. Tony noticed with amusement that these post-modern stores were catering to an “old fashioned” hipster feel, even though they were much cleaner, with better lighting, than the previous places had been.

The high rise where Tony had once lived was both strange and familiar. He hadn’t thought about this place in years, hadn’t missed it once those first few months of living in Virginia had passed. But everything was so very familiar; he even remembered the dips in the front stairs. The stylised elephant statues had been replaced at some point with elegant stone cranes, but the brass numbers on the front of the building were the same, as was the fading green linoleum tile in the entryway near the rack of mailboxes.

Tony stared around the little entryway like he was seeing ghosts. He was grateful for Bucky’s presence at his back, strong and certain, more grateful than he could ever say. It took an effort of will to walk over to the intercom system and punch in the apartment number. “It’s us,” he said when it crackled to life. “For my stuff.”

“Come on up,” Ty said, cheerfully, buzzing them through the door.

Bucky was looking around with a wary sort of curiosity, and his hand was on the security door when it buzzed. The last few times they’d been in New York City, everyone either had their own home, or rented in a building with a doorman, but he pulled the door open as soon as it clicked and ushered Tony through. “It’s okay, baby,” Bucky said, putting his hand on the small of Tony’s back as they stepped into the building’s aging elevator. “Worst comes to worst, Happy can come back us up.” They’d borrowed Maria’s car while the girls were playing with the oversized dollhouse that Maria kept at her house, just for special granddaughter visits.

(Well, Billie was playing. Olivia was cruising around the table it sat on, and probably occasionally trying to eat the furniture.)

“If he’s even a little bit of an asshole to you,” Tony said, not for the first time, “we’re leaving. I don’t care about any stuff enough to put up with whatever he thinks he can get away with.” He thumbed the floor button on the elevator and leaned into Bucky’s side. “Maybe this was a dumb idea.”

“Could be,” Bucky said, “but we’ve come this far, and I don’t reckon Stone wants t’ be arrested any more than I do. So we’ll try an’ keep the punching to a nice round number, like zero. It’ll be okay. Everyone saw him talkin’ with you last night, big fancy party. People he needs to impress. Your mom’s still got pull with those people -- or has it back, leastways. He’s not gonna waste that on petty revenge.”

“This is Ty we’re talking about,” Tony muttered, but the elevator stuttered to a halt and let out a sad ding as the doors slid open. Tony took a breath. It was going to be okay. They were going to get his stuff, and then leave, and everyone was going to pretend to be polite. For the sake of... something. Right? Right.

Ty had repainted the door to the apartment, added an art-deco style geometric border. Tony knocked, and didn’t let himself fidget.

When the door opened, Tony wasn’t sure what to expect, but Zeke Stane standing there with Tony’s engineering kit in one hand was not it. Not ever, not even a little bit, not even if the moon turned into bleu cheese and crashed into the ocean. “Hey Tony,” he said. “James. Good to see you. We weren’t sure you’d come. Ty… Ty thought if this was too weird for you, you can take your kit and just go, now. Or… you can come inside?”

Ty thought that? Ty had bothered to think about someone else’s comfort? Or maybe that was Zeke projecting, but Zeke had never rated very high on empathy, either.

Why was Zeke Stane in Ty’s apartment, saying we like he and Ty were...

Oh, god.

“You’re together?” he blurted. He pushed past Zeke into the apartment, looking for Ty. “That whole thing last night, that was you trying to stall me so I couldn’t get between Mom and Obie,” he gritted. “Was any of it real?”

“Of course we were trying to stall you,” Ty said. He had a mug of coffee in one hand and was waiting for the machine to pour a second cup. “I can’t… politically it would be a very bad move to end up on my soon-to-be father-in-law’s bad side right now. Your mom handled it. I admit, I was impressed.”

“You’re not a bad sort,” Zeke added, “but I don’t want you as a step-brother, Tony. We had a back-up plan, if we needed one. But Dad has to think I’m doing what he wants. You know how that is, right?”

There were the rest of Tony’s things, in boxes, neatly labeled. “I know, it looks bad,” Ty said. “And this… if things had gone south, we… well, we thought it would be best if you and I could come to some sort of peace. If we were going to end up being family.”

That thought made Tony’s brain stutter to a halt. He turned to look at Bucky. “Yyyeah,” he managed after a moment. “Probably for the best that’s not happening.” Resolutely, he turned to the stack of boxes. “I... appreciate this,” he said, grudgingly.

Bucky was looking back and forth between Zeke and Ty like he was getting whiplash. “How… how did you two even meet? I thought Ty didn’t run with th’ big players, up this way.”

“Rude,” Ty muttered.

“It’s cliche,” Zeke admitted. “We met at Howard’s funeral, few years back. Look, James, gimme a hand with these, yeah? I’ll help you take them down to your car. Bear’s got a few things he wants to say. And then it’ll be done, okay?” He glanced at Tony. “Yeah?”

Childishly, Tony didn’t want to hear anything from Ty. Not a single fucking word. Not even if he was going to actually apologize for once. But they’d come up with the intention of pretending to be polite and nice, and anyway, Ty couldn’t do anything to hurt him, not anymore. He took a breath, blew it out hard. “Yeah,” he said, looking to Bucky for confirmation. “It’ll be okay.” He hoped that came out as a statement and not a question.

There was a threat and a promise on Bucky’s face as he glanced between Ty and then Zeke. It might as well have been written on Bucky’s forehead -- you touch him, and don’t forget who’s with me. Tony had never been on the wrong side of that look. Nonetheless, it was chilling, and a reminder that Bucky could be violent, if the situation called for it. The situation wasn’t going to call for it. Tony had to believe that, or he wasn’t going to get through this.

“I’ll be right back,” Bucky said.

“Stick to the plan, Bear,” Zeke told Ty, seriously. “You can get through this.”

And the two of them grabbed the remainder of Tony’s stuff, aside from the tool kit that was still in Tony’s stunned hands, and headed down the elevator.

Tony tightened his grip on the tool kit. It was real and solid. Something he could hold onto. He lifted his chin and met Ty’s pale gaze. “Go on.”

“You were right to go,” Ty said. He kept his gaze on Tony’s face, even though he looked like he’d really rather be doing anything else. “I’m not… I’m not going to apologize. You wouldn’t believe me and I don’t think it would help either of us. What I did… that goes beyond the ability for an apology to fix. I was wrong. I hurt you. Intentionally, maliciously, and for my own ends. I can’t make up for that.”

Tony nodded, and hoped he didn’t look as poleaxed as he felt. “Yeah, you did. You took away everything that made me who I was. It’s. It’s good to hear you acknowledge it.”

“He was right,” Ty said, jerking his chin in the direction that Bucky had vanished. “I kept telling myself I didn’t mean it, that I’d make it up to you. But it wasn’t an accident. I was careless with your affection and I abused your trust. I used you to quiet my own inadequacy.” He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. That’s… uh, that’s what I needed to say. I’ll. Let you get on with your life now, and I wish you the best.”

The sun might have turned to blue, outside the wide picture window, and Tony wouldn’t have noticed. The whole world had turned upside down: Ty had apologized, and it even seemed sincere. Tony scrambled after thought, and words. “I... hope you mean that,” he said. “I hope you’re getting better. If you mean it, then I hope you have a good life, and that you’re able to make him happy. Really happy, not...” He was going to start babbling. He clenched his jaw. “Yeah. You know. I’m... I’m just going to go, before I say something stupid.”

He hesitated, though, trying to read Ty’s expression, trying to see the truth of things in those clear blue eyes. He’d never been able to read Ty before, though, and he couldn’t trust the apparent sincerity there now. Tony swallowed. He couldn’t quite forgive Ty, but for whatever it was worth... “Apology accepted.” He walked out the door and waited for it to close behind him before he stopped and leaned against the wall, shaking.

The elevator dinged and two sets of footsteps came out, a rapid patter, and then Bucky was there, one hand on Tony’s arm. “Baby, you--” He broke off and snapped, “no, just you keep right on walkin’. You both done just about enough for one day.”

“Tony,” Zeke said, and Bucky was right there, in Zeke Stane’s face.

“Go. Inside. You don’t get t’ touch him, or apologize or excuse your boyfriend or whatever. You done enough.”

Zeke shrugged and went into the apartment.

“Baby?”

“I’m okay,” Tony said. He reached out and pulled Bucky to him, tucking his face into the curve of Bucky’s neck. “I’m okay,” he repeated, and if it wasn’t quite the truth, it would be, soon. “It’s all done.”

“Bastards,” Bucky spat, glaring at the door. “Come on, come on, honey, let’s get the fuck out of here. God damnit, I’m sorry. I shouldn’ta…” Bucky had his arm around Tony’s shoulders, reaching across himself to take Tony’s hand. Once Bucky had Tony in the elevator, private. “Do I even want to know what he said, or should I just go back and kick his ass for you?”

Tony laced his fingers through Bucky’s, keeping him close. “He apologized, actually. No ass-kicking needed. I’m just kind of... stunned.”

Tugging Tony closer, Bucky kissed his hair and forehead several times, as if reassuring himself that Tony was okay. “Doesn’t matter,” he said, finally. “Doesn’t change anything. He’s a bastard, an’ I’m going to make sure you never, ever have to see him again.” He heaved out a great breath. “Zeke spent th’ whole time we were loadin’ the car tellin’ me how Ty needed to do this. For them. For their relationship. God, what a selfish bastard.”

“They’re well matched, then,” Tony said. “And I have no intention of ever seeing them ever again, not if I don’t have to.” He wrapped his arm around Bucky’s waist as the elevator slowed to a stop. “C’mon, let’s go home. I feel like taking the girls out for ice cream. Wanna see how much of a mess Livvy can make if we let her have her own?”

“Oh, my god, your mother will have a coronary,” Bucky said. “We should definitely do that. Absolutely.”

Fanfic Writer Friday!

#backchat #ffwf #weethreequarter #my writing #also tisfan's writing #sandbridge #winteriron

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bearcina · 4 months ago

Text

Rum and Nuka-Cola

An explicit Yes Man/Courier Six fanfic.

(AO3)

(Prev) (Next)

Finally, a day where she can drink and have all the chems she needed to forget all about her messy feelings. A few drinks, a night out at the Atomic Wrangler, and finishing off the evening with more liquor and all the chems she wanted.

Elisavet sat alone at the bar in the cocktail lounge of the Lucky 38, sipping a shallow glass of lukewarm whiskey over the better part of the past hour. She rested her elbows on the cool counter, trying to work up the courage to leave the casino. She sat back up and took a deep swig of the burning liquid, finishing off the last of the glass. Eugh. Maybe she shouldn’t have just grabbed the cheapest bottle from that caravan last week.

She uncorked her bottle again, poured another shallow drink of the shitty whiskey. She took a sip of it, holding back a sigh. She had to go, before she ended up drunk, trying to play blackjack against Yes Man and attempting to write code and flirt with him through the footnotes. A favorite pastime… but not one she needed now.

Elisavet checked the clock, and the evening was still young. She clicked on her radio, and picked up her heavy leather duster. She slipped it on, downed the last of her drink...

Like a warm blanket settling around her shoulders, the thick leather brought her a false comfort. It was fine, everything was fine. She was Courier Six, lady luck, the ruler of the Strip.

And just like that, she slipped right back into being the Courier Six she was before Hoover Dam. Before she realized she loved him. Before they went to war to protect the future of New Vegas. The future they had together.

She forced up a smile, and looked at Yes Man's camera in the room.

Elisavet took a deep breath and finally spoke, "I'm going out to the Atomic Wrangler, I'll be back in a few hours. May as well go check on the Garrett twins and mingle with the locals." Her own voice felt foreign to her as it fell from her lips. The careful, practiced line, feeling nothing more than that. A line she had to deliver to her partner, to obviously skim the details out of the way, a thin facade of words to keep the barrier between them.

Yes Man came in over the intercom just a moment later, with his typical line right in tow.

"Of course! Don't have too much fun with Beatrix!" Yes Man chimed, unusually chipper to hear she was leaving. Their typical exchange… but he continued, "I've got some very minor updates to do tonight, and you've got that dinner at the Ultra-Luxe tomorrow! Go relax and recharge!"

Elisavet faltered, her steady persona falling from her and leaving her mind reeling like she had gotten zapped. She nodded after a moment.

"Oh! Well, good luck with the update... I won't stay out long, then." She said, absently, responding before her mind caught up. She called the elevator and rode it down to the casino floor. She waved goodbye at the cameras inside, then slipped out the door.

They had backup security systems that ran independently of the mainframe. Yes Man wouldn't take a major risk without her. She wouldn't stay out too long. It would be fine.

Something twisted in her stomach as she quickly started down the steps to the road… she didn't like leaving while he was updating, and he knew that… but… he seemed happy that she was going out for once, and didn't ask any questions. She briskly walked past the Securitrons at the bottom, and past the many rolling around on patrols.

…Maybe she was just overthinking. She wouldn’t be gone long enough for someone to find out where she really was and overthrow their place while they were both busy… Right?

Elisavet held her breath as she walked through the Strip, passing between the Securutrons on patrol. It sent a cold chill down her metallic spine, the once comforting presence of their cameras now shameful as she walked towards Freeside.

She passed through the security checkpoint without any trouble, the group of Securitrons letting her pass through the gates as soon as she stopped in front of them.

She felt a little exposed without him at her side. They usually left together.

She palmed her side to check for her plasma defender nervously. The last time she went out to the Wrangler alone was a mess. She was ambushed while she was passing through Freeside… a thug sneaked up on her, pressing a dirty machete to her throat and dragging her into a back alley, then into the back of a rusted mail van once the Securitrons started looking.

A whole mess once Yes Man figured out she wasn’t returning on schedule. It was a very… inspiring… show of strength from him.

She never knew that a Securitron could rip a guy limb-from-limb until she saw it with her own two eyes. Quite a lot of blood, especially considering how small the group was.

She walked silently through Freeside, a mix of dread and an eager anxiety pooling in her stomach. She glanced left and right, weaving through stragglers walking towards her haven, and the robots protecting it all.

There was always the chance of getting caught. She hated that it was something she needed to worry about.

Elisavet shoved that thought to the back of her mind as she passed through the door to the busy casino. She walked up to the bar, and took her favorite seat at the end closest to the door. James was working tonight, thankfully. She won’t be heckled or watched, then. She smiled a little tensely, setting her shoulders and adjusting her posture. Letting Six slip back over her, just like she did every time she had to do something so nerve-wracking like this.

“Ah, evenin’, James…” Elisavet greeted bashfully. “How about a few shots of that mid-shelf whiskey I like?” She asked politely, trying to keep calm and act smooth. James nodded, with a quiet chuckle. He pulled out a clean shot glass, and an almost-empty bottle of whiskey off a high shelf behind him.

“‘Evening, Elisavet. You look nervous, take too much psycho again?” He asked her with a teasing smile, setting the small glass and the bottle on the bar between them.

Elisavet chuckled, “No, not yet. Just been a little heavy-handed at pouring my drinks at home.” She rolled her eyes, leaning against the bar. The male Garrett twin laughed, pouring her up a shot of the expensive liquor.

“Ah, guess that’s why you could walk in here in a mostly straight line, then!” He laughed as he teased her, sliding over the shot glass and setting the bottle down. “Go ahead and have the rest of this,” he slid the mostly-empty bottle towards her, “It’s not much, but you look like you need it.”

Elisavet nodded, her smile threatening to drop.

“Yeah, I do. Can't stand drinking at home like this.” She said quietly, grimly. She was still going to pay generously for the few shots left in the bottle, and leave a hefty tip. “It’s been a busy week, business has been really booming. Can’t seem to get my paperwork in order.” She said, groaning at the thought of all the paperwork she still had to do when she got home. She quickly downed her shot, and quietly set the glass back on the bar, nudging it back to the space between them. James nodded, and half-shrugged.

“Lots of people have been coming through Freeside recently, there’s been a lot of customers because of it.” He said, pouring Elisavet another shot. “Some of them have even been making good use of our joint investments.”

Elisavet sighed in relief, relaxing a little at the good news. Business for them meant more business to the Strip later… they never seem to stop at just the Wrangler if they come all this way.

“The Strip is absolutely packed with visitors at all hours of the day and night now.” Elisavet groaned. “I can hardly find any time to relax and take a break from the paperwork and meetings.” She picked up the shot and downed it almost as quickly as the first one. It was a really nice aged whiskey, smooth, and didn't burn too much on the way down. Would’ve paired well with a cold soda if she was back home in the cocktail lounge. She scanned the room, trying to take stock of all the people in the building. It was very busy tonight.

The ghoul on stage still joked with the crowd eagerly, with nearly every table packed. In the gaming hall, she could see the busy tables. No room at the blackjack tables for her, nor at the roulette tables… and she didn't want to see a show. Perfect atmosphere to slip away unnoticed.

“Ahh… I don’t have a lot of time before I have to get back to work, so how much for the whiskey?” Elisavet asked, already reaching for her bag of caps.

“For you? Twenty caps.” James answered, shrugging. “You bring in plenty of business, so I'll let you have that aged whiskey at the same price as your usual, twenty caps for it all.”

Elisavet counted out the aforementioned twenty caps, then another ten. She handed it all over, trying to keep her face set in a neutral expression, to not betray the butterflies in her stomach and the anxiety pooling alongside it.

“Elisavet, just twenty is fine.” James chuckled, taking the first twenty, leaving most of the ten extra remaining in the middle of the bar between them. Elisavet shook her head, and nudged the caps closer to him. She smiled tensely, and gave him a wink. “Don’t worry about it, just take the caps. You're always listening to my worries, I just want to show some of my appreciation.” She said quietly, quickly, nudging them the final distance to him, and quickly getting up from her seat. She downed the last drops of expensive liquor in the bottle, and tucked the empty bottle in her pocket.

James gave her a somewhat kind, knowing smile as she slipped away from the bar after her customary few shots of whiskey and small talk about business. She mustered up a wink for him, the only person in the entirety of the two cities combined who knew anything about her unusual preference in lovers.

Elisavet cleaned up and redressed after a very short nap to regain some of the feeling in her legs, then fixed her hair. She took a deep drink of water from her canteen, and left the Wrangler soon after without more than a half-smile and a wave to James as she walked out the front door.

As she passed back into the Strip silently in the late night, her legs somehow still numb and quivering, she felt somewhat satisfied. Mostly guilt, though.

Securitrons turned to watch her walk through the busy road. She weaved through drunken gamblers and tourists in the neon light, her gait unsteady and mind just as distracted as those around her. He was watching. Waiting for her to return. The pool of twisted feelings fermented in the pit of her stomach. She was disappointing him, running away from her feelings to come shamefully shuffling back late in the night to drink it all away again.

Elisavet stopped outside the casino door, avoiding looking at the security cameras and Securitrons. Guilt pooled in her stomach and tears pricked at the corners of her eyes as she lingered there in front of the doors. Her hand on the heavy handle, lost in her own mind again.

She needed to run away from it all. Run from those messy, complicated feelings that weighed in her gut like a lead ball. You can’t run from love.

She really, really, needed another drink. And some chems.

She can’t run away from love, but she can sure as hell try to drown and smother it out with all the alcohol and chems her caps can buy. She pulled open the heavy metal door to the 38 wordlessly, and quickly ducked into the familiar safe haven.

As the door slides shut behind her and engulfs her in the silence and darkness of the unused casino floor, she can’t possibly bring herself to say anything to her watching companion. She slowly took the few steps up to the elevator in the center of the casino, and softly clicked the button to go up, feeling every camera in the room turn and follow her on her walk of shame up to the cocktail lounge.

She couldn't say anything, not even a quip or a lie about the time she was gone. Elisavet kept her head down during the ride up to the lounge, leaning awkwardly against the metal of the elevator. Her legs were still weak, and getting weaker with the anxiety building up in her stomach.

She heard an awkward burst of static come over the intercom when she reached her destination. Did Yes Man want to say anything? Greet her?

Nothing was said.

Hopefully he just hadn’t finished updating. He just had to still be offline. He couldn’t see her like this.

Elisavet hastily reached into her pocket and pulled out her dented tin of mentats. She popped one into her mouth, her mouth set into a tight frown as it fizzed and dissolved in her mouth. Her stomach started to calm, the fermenting dread and anxiety starting to return to a state she could continue to ignore.

The elevator doors shuddered open with a quiet ding!

Elisavet held in a shudder of her own as she passed into the dark lounge, not bothering to turn on the overhead lights-- just illuminated from the Vegas lights outside the windows and the faint amber glow of the Pip-Boy strapped to her arm.

Still silent. The only noise in the room was the hum of electricity and electronics, and the rushing wind outside the windows. She lingered in the short hallway between the elevator and the room, listening to the ambiance of it all. The familiar noise of the cocktail lounge. Quiet. Alone. Peaceful.

Elisavet first went behind the bar, and picked a pretty green glass cup from the shelf built into the back wall. Next, Alcohol.

Whatever alcohol she could put her hands on first sounded like a good drink. She fumbled blindly under the bar and grabbed the first bottle her hand touched. A long, cold glass bottle, very heavy, felt completely full. She pulled it out and put it on the counter beside the cup, and hummed appreciatively at the worn, dusty label. Very expensive rum. That was much more than fine. She wanted to forget that the whole day had even happened. Nothing better to do it with than the best of House’s old liquor stash. She took a few steps farther behind the counter towards a humming fridge, and opened it up to find a few of her stashed Nuka-Colas-- there was even a new bottle of Nuka-Cola Victory there, with a note taped to it. Eliavet reached out and slowly peeled the note from the glass bottle, turning to hold it in the light of the fridge.

Hi there!

Thought you might like these cold, it's not often you pick up such a rare Nuka-Cola here!

Love,

Yes Man

Elisavet chuckled, her heart skipping a beat at the tender sign-off, a bittersweet thing. He was always doing the little things she appreciated the most. She didn’t even know she had a Nuka-Cola Victory, and here it was at her favorite drinking spot, ice-cold and dripping condensation. He had even signed the note with a sweet “Love, Yes Man.” He was the only robot she knew that ever signed off letters to her like that.

He was always doing little things for her. Making sure she had a cold Nuka-Cola hiding somewhere, printing out little reminders for her, making sure she eats at least once a day… and that was just the little stuff.

Elisavet smiled fondly. She folded the note into squares and put it in her breast pocket where she usually kept the Platinum Chip. She took the ice-cold vaguely-glowing red-orange soda, then shut the fridge with a soft click. She popped the cap off the bottle with a quick flick, dropped it in her pocket, and slowly made her way around the bar to scope out a perfect seat for people-watching. She walked around the circular room leisurely, peering through the expansive floor-to-ceiling windows at the wasteland beyond. Eventually, she found her favorite seat with the best view of the Strip.

Elisavet set her bottles down on the counter and fixed a drink. Rum and Nuka, with a side of mentats. She walked to her seat facing the window and made herself somewhat comfortable, quickly taking off her beloved leather duster and tossing it haphazardly onto the seat beside her... And she set herself to consuming her alcohol.

She sipped the first drink for what felt like forever, listening to the wind pound against the windows. She eventually finished what she had poured herself, and stood up to make another.

She stumbled on the few steps back to where she left the rum and half a bottle of Nuka on the countertop, then returned to her perch and empty cup. She poured another drink, and contemplated if it was even a good idea. She had already had quite a few drinks today; some before leaving, more while she was gone, and now she was drinking again after coming back. Add to that two mentats now…

Didn't really matter at this point anyway, did it?

She squeezed her eyes shut and sighed deeply. She opened her eyes and sipped her drink, then clicked on the radio to break the crushing silence. Mr. New Vegas was leading into a song… and it felt just alright.

She leaned back into the couch and watched the Strip. Patrons just as drunk as she was littered the street. Securitrons patrolled, nudging the drunk bystanders towards the gates or towards an accommodating casino... Many of them being ushered to places where she would reap some of the reward.

Elisavet sipped her drink again, watching a drunkard fall over and get tripped over by their group of friends. She gripped her glass tightly, her leather gloves creaking against the glass. She felt alone. More alone than she had felt in a while.

But… was she really alone? Yes Man was technically always there now.

…He was only a word away. They could talk, play some cards, and just… enjoy eachothers company.

But she couldn't do it.

She couldn't stand to think of it. He would have to see her all fucked out and drunk like this... Which couldn't have been worse than any of the times he found her naked and chemmed out of her mind, admittedly. She took a long drink and closed her eyes and sighed again. Wondering if she should say anything about it.

Maybe get it on out there. Might make them both feel better-- ease his worries, and soothe her all-consuming guilt.

No, no she shouldn’t. She shouldn’t say anything about any of it.

She really didn’t want to confront those messy feelings right now.

Elisavet opened her eyes again, and took a swig of her cocktail. She set her cup down on the small table in front of her, wondering if she could do anything to feel any more… normal. Less like she was going to break from all the emotions churning in her. Another drink? Another Mentat? Maybe some Jet?

Another Mentat would help. Even if it wouldn’t do anything but make her feel smarter and giggly.

She fumbled with the metal tin again, pulled out another small, off-white, chalky tablet. She popped it in her mouth, and washed it away with a sip of her sweet cocktail before the bitter medicine could touch her tongue. She put the tin down with the rest of the bottle on the table, leaving it open so she could grab another later.

Elisavet hummed to the radio, a good song starting up. She shut her eyes, sipping her drink again. She was alone after all… what would it matter if she started singing to the radio? She smiled, chuckling as the words started to spill from her mouth.

Blue Moon was playing on the radio, Sinatra’s voice a soothing balm to her frayed nerves.

“Blue Moon… You saw me standing alone…”

She frowned, she was still alone. Wasn’t she? She hadn’t had anyone but herself and her gun since she had been pulled from her grave, and everything before that was a painful blurry mess that she didn’t have the courage to pursue. She didn’t want to, either. She wanted what she had now, even if that had come painfully, and with side effects that she still felt every day.

Elisavet sipped her drink.

Alone. Without a dream, without love. Without that fuzzy memory of a redheaded girl. “Without a dream in my heart… Without a love of my own…” She quietly vocalized to the song, her heart singing along.

She was alive. The platinum chip was secure and in her possession, she had a safe home with electricity and heating in the winter, and a… a friend. But, still, her dreams had been achieved, and she didn’t know what to do but seek out what little happiness she could find. Gambling. Liquor. Chems. Bounty hunting.

She chuckled at her bittersweet fortune as Mr. New Vegas broke over the radio again, a quick witty one-liner about the next set of songs to break her from her spiraling thoughts.

She kept sipping her drink, humming along to the instrumental. Well.. maybe she could sing the next one, just singing that one line had felt nice. Somehow, it let out some of that building pressure of stress in her soul.

Before long, the song ended and Elisavet noticed her cup was empty again, and sighed. She poured another two shots into her cup, and the last of her soda over the top.

“How lucky can one guy be?” Elisavet sang quietly, just barely loud enough for her to hear herself over the radio on her arm, “I kissed her and she kissed me…” She continued, letting her head loll back and rest on the back of her seat.

“Like the fella once said… ‘ain’t that a kick in the head?’”

She continued to sing to the song, her voice slowly getting louder and more confident the longer she did.

One song became two, then two became three… Song after song, drink after drink, she continued to sing and watch the Strip below, her worries finally melting away as she relaxed for the first time in a long time. Eventually, her eyes slipped shut, and the last line fell from her lips before sleep claimed her.

“Blue moon… Now I’m no longer alone…”

The unforgiving darkness crept into her and she fell asleep on the couch, her body relaxing and forcing her to rest after quite a few too many drinks and drunken songs.

Cold metal wrapped around her upper torso, lifting her from her uncomfortable position. The world shifted, and with it her stomach... Elisavet groaned weakly, her eyes pinching shut, ready for the bout of vertigo to pass. Did she even have anything in her stomach to throw up?

…urk… Better not think of food.

Elisavet groaned again, much quieter though. Her stomach churned violently as the world spun around her. She reached out clumsily to find the ground, but didn’t find anything but air and quite a lot of metal, and some glass.

…metal? Glass?? Were those buttons?

Warmth pressed against her entire right side, and a faint fuzz tickled her neck and face. She hummed appreciatively, nuzzling into the source of the warmth. It was unwavering, steady, keeping her anchored as her senses swam. Definitely metal and glass. Like a…

“Mmgh…” She moaned weakly, pained, nauseous. “Yessie?” She asked quietly, trying to crack open just one eye a fraction just to try and see what was happening. No, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t open her eyes. She frowned, but pressed deeper against the unrelenting metal, finding it to be comfortingly warm. It had to be him. That just-barely-off clicking of a failing drive…

“I promise… I’ll… find a new drive. Soon.” She muttered, fumbling to pat him, but.. It must have been more of a weak pet than a pat because she didn’t get a response. “I… ‘magine that doesn’t feel right. Bet it’s…”

She yawned, losing her thought. Warmer, again. He was getting warmer. Was that his fans turning on higher? Elisavet smiled, and nuzzled into the soft fuzzy feeling. Her nose met glass, and she smiled more as warmth spread across her cheeks.

“Heheh… Your fans turned up higher…” she giggled to herself. She pressed deeper into the glass, smiling and giggly. She was still being held tightly, being moved to somewhere. It would be somewhere safe, it always was.

Time was passing strangely. It shouldn’t take long to go to any of her rooms in the building, but it felt like she was being held for a long time. It was comfortable, though. Warm, unyielding. The sound of his drives clicking was hypnotizing, lulling her in and out of a light sleep for what felt like hours.

#yes man fnv #courier six #yes man #fnv #fnv fanfic #elisavet #my fanfics #bear babbles

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queerponcho · 1 year ago

Text

Transfixed | part 4

previous part | part 5

collage made by me with pictured from pinterest

moonknight!system x female!reader

a/n: I can't even begin to tell yall how cool i feel to have people reading what i write lmao. last week was super busy- i worked six days straight but i am so happy to finally post another chapter!! hope you like/ comment/ reblog if you enjoy(≧∇≦)ﾉ

Warnings: no use of Y/N, fluff, NOT beta read, gushing about the moonboys, flustered awkward dorks, plot-twists, Jake being a menace, Marc simping HARD, Steven being a cutie as always, spanish (without translations), if I missed anything or made any spelling mistakes pls don't hesitate to tell me!

Summary: finally ya'll get to read about the DATE!! Steven can barily hold it together and Marc stands on the side lines...at least that was the plan, but we all know that plans are made to be ignored. So Steven will unfortunately be interrupted by his brothers...more than once

4,800 words

‘He's here’ you mutter to yourself, running to the door making sure it's him and pushing the button to the intercom. ‘Yes, hello?’

The sweet voice rips him from his worry that he might’ve rang the wrong door despite checking the name and address for the millionth time. ‘..hello?’ you repeat unsurely into the intercom. ‘YES- uh i- yes hello, it’s Steven?’ he almost slaps himself mentally at his awkwardness but doesn't, when he hears your lively giggle easing him out of self-doubt. You buzz him in and he quickly pushes the door open. Making his way into the older looking building and going in the elevator. You quickly check your reflection in the hall mirror and apply the last layer of your favourite lipgloss when you hear the elevator doors creak open at the end of the hall. ‘You can do this- just be yourself!’ your reflection cringes at the self-pep-talk and you turn away from the mirror finally opening the door. You peek your head out the door and see Steven cautiously walking down the hall looking at all the nametags on the Apartments, before finally spotting you waiting at your entrance. He hurries towards you, you smile warmly at him and he returns the gesture with a flushed boyish grin. You stand in front of each other and you decide to break the silence ‘are these for me?’ you point to the flowers in his right hand. They were beautiful white flowers with red edges. ‘Yes, I- they’re carnations. I hope you like them’ he makes swift eye contact and rests his eyes back on the flowers, almost making you melt at his shy smile. ‘I love them, thank you Steven. Come in! I’ll quickly put them in a Vase before we leave.’ you step back into your apartment and wait for him to come in to close the door behind him.

He steps in and is immediately enveloped in your sweet scent. The Lighting is a warm yellow-y tone, the apartment is definitely not modern and looked rather old, but your personal furniture and decor gave it a youthful and warm ambience. All of it was very you. He loved it. ‘Did you have a hard time finding the apartment? I remember how I used to get lost easily in the first few weeks after I'd moved here.’ you ask him while picking out a vase from the cupboard. ‘Oh no, it was fairly easy to find- I think I've actually passed through here a few times before.’ he says pensively, still standing by the door not really knowing where to move. ‘I really like your home’ Steven says while looking around your open-plan apartment. He could even catch a glance of your bedroom from here, he wondered what it looked like in there…if he would ever get to see it personally…before he can fall down that rabbit hole he hears you answer. ‘Oh, um- thanks’ he catches you smiling and notices how you bite the inside of your bottom lip. He tries to not get caught up in the way you look while flustered like this- it was definitely doing something to him…he just wasn't sure what exactly, or rather he didn’t want to think about it too hard right now. Maybe later when he was back home…’So! Is the restaurant within walking distance or do we have to take the bus? Cuz if we have to take the bus I'll bring my bus-card.’ Steven blankly stares at you with a shocked expression ‘oh bugger, i totally forgot to tell you’ he mutters and avoids eye-contact but continues ‘all the restaurants are closed tonight-’ ‘oh-’ he sees your face fall but continues ‘yeah, I-i noticed a few hours ago and totally forgot to mention it to you since I was so busy buying and preparing the dinner, I am so sorry love- I- i understand if you don’t feel comfortable with going to my place-’ Stevens rambling is interrupted by your hands grasping his left hand, which had been resting on the countertop. Steven just stares at his hand enveloped in yours ‘you cooked for me?’ He snaps his head up and sees your soft smile and warm eyes. He can almost feel his knees give out at the sight in front of him, just now noticing what you're wearing and how beautiful you look in that too-big sweater. ‘Well…yes. Admittedly it might not be amazing but i-’ ‘I’m sure it's great steven, I can't wait to try it.’ you let go of his hand and he watches you grab your long coat and bag. You both head out the door and make your way out the building, on the way down he notices how his hand had somehow ended up back in yours, he feels his brain going fuzzy at the feeling of your hand enveloping his.

Your POV

Okay well yes, going to a guys place on the first date was something you wouldn't do on a usual date. But this isn't a usual date, is it? This is Steven, and well; Marc and Jake…can't really compare this to a regular dinner with some stranger. In the elevator you catch him looking at you from the corner of your eye. He notices you looking and turns a pretty shade of red, immediately moving his glance back towards the door. You have to bite back a giggle and make a move to take his hand back in yours. as soon as your fingers touch you feel your fingers tingle again. Just like when you were in the kitchen you get this tingling sensation and feel his heartbeat in your palm. As if you were holding his heart in your hand. As cheesy as it sounds, it's almost like you’ve felt this in another lifetime or like this has happened before…

You opt to walk to his place and stroll along the busy London street and talk about casual things like his work in the museum. Apparently he just got a job as a tour-guide in the museum of history and did tours of the different exhibits. His favourite being the Egyptian one. He seems fascinated by your interest in Egyptology and immediately basks in your attention, explaining tons of things to you and almost exploding with energy anytime you ask a question. Answering with “that's such an interesting question-“ or “many historians have speculated and cant seem to agree but I think-“. You can’t help but be almost entranced by his huge urge to teach you about something he clearly loves so much. You have hyper-fixations of your own so you feel very lucky that he's comfortable enough to indulge in his, so freely.

He slows you both down and steers you towards an old looking apartment building in an okay part of town. It's very central but has the older charm just like your place. you let go of his hand and watch him fumble with his keys. He seems distracted and you hear him mumbling something. You assume he’s talking to Marc and don't feel like it’s your place to butt into their quick exchange. You head in and he closes the door behind you walking you toward the elevator. ‘My favourite god? Oh well that's a hard one-’ ‘Steven, you haven't asked her shit about her interests, shut up for a minute and let her talk!’ ‘bollocks, you’re right- so um, ‘nough about me…you like drawing, eh?’

flustered at the sudden switch of topic you answer quickly ‘yes- I-I love drawing, have loved to draw all my life basically’ ‘oh so you’re a proper artist then! I’d love to see some of your work’ Steven smiles eyes shining with interest ‘well- you’ve seen some before…remember?’ you say and giggle when you notice Stevens face change from fascinated and sweet to shock and somehow…blushing fear? His mouth agape, while staring into your eyes ‘how could I forget’ standing very close once again, you'd moved really close during the too-long elevator ride. Standing toe to toe, staring longingly into eachothers eyes. Marc is pretty sure Steven has never kept eye-contact for this long consecutively.

But the spell breaks when the old elevator doors creak open and a dim ‘ding’ is emitted from the lift speaker. Steven clears his throat, the first to break the tension and turns away from you walking ahead to his apartment. You manage to unstick your feet from the floor and follow him.

You walk towards a deep navy blue door with the number 502 on it in gold metal letters. Even just the door looks homey and perfectly favours Stevens characteristics. The dark blue representing his shy nature but abundance in knowledge and love to give, the latter you haven't experienced first hand but you’ve felt it each time you touched him and held his hands.

The gold letters shining like his intense passionate nature, the one he exhibited when he told you all about egypt and the ennead. You may have known a lot of what he told you already, but it was so much nicer to hear it in his voice than it was to read it in those dusty forgotten books in the library.

‘Here we are, welcome to my humble abode’ Steven chuckles and opens the door for you. You return his remark with a roll of your eyes accompanied by a stifled giggle and walk in. If the door of the apartment already told you so much about him, his flat was as if you’d held up a mirror in front of his mind.

It looked exactly like what you’d expect- except for the tidiness…with the little information you’ve gathered on Steven, he certainly didn't seem like a very organised guy. Even just the way he holds a conversation can be all over the place (which admittedly you kinda love), you just assumed his place would reflect that. You leave that thought and look over to Steven, only to realise he’d finished taking the dish out of the oven and had been watching you. He looks back down at the dish quickly,

‘I- well we made a lasagna, well two actually- one vegan and one with meat. Realised I never asked ya which you prefer so we made both’ he says while taking out the meat lasagna out of the oven and placing it on the wooden counter. You can't believe he made two lasagnas instead of just calling and asking. He doesnt stop being adorable and that makes you crave his closeness even more. Once again your mind is reeling with the question you keep asking yourself…”why do i feel so connected to him…” Jake you understand…then again, even he had you in a trance much too quickly. You aren't one to fall in love or even find many non-ficitonal people attractive and captivating. Recognising their beauty, yes. You are an artist so of course you can appreciate someone's beauty, but getting up to follow someone through the library, that was definitely a one-time thing you did only with Jake. He- well they had like a pulling energy around them that felt like it was tugging you closer to them.

You realise that you might’ve been staring at Steven for a bit too long since he started shifting and fidgeting uncomfortably. His face, a deep shade of red. ‘I-is there something wrong?- d’do you not like lasagna? I-I could ask Marc to whip up something el-’ Steven is already cursing himself out mentally for not asking you what you like to eat when he feels your hand around his arm. You tug him closer and pull him into a hug, squeezing him close as if he were to disappear in the next few seconds. You thread your fingers into his curls and tug him even closer. Hearing his breath hitch you feel him melt into your touch and nuzzle his nose into the crook of your neck, calming down by your touch once again. You feel his heartbeat but this time it resonates through your entire body, your hearts beating in unison.

He takes a deep breath and you blush at his content sighing. You hear him mumble something into your shoulder. ‘Hmm?’ ‘So the lasagna is okay then?’ you laugh and keep petting his head softly ‘I love lasagna’ you both pull back and you look into his eyes teasingly ‘and I'd love to try both of em’ you part from your hug completely and shoot him a wink. He blushes and he continues setting everything up while you take a stroll through his open-plan flat.

You hear clanking in the kitchen and low mumbling, you’re sure Marc and Steven are discussing the previous moment. You give them their space and blend out the noise while looking through the impressive book collection. You assume it’s Stevens with all the egyptology and history titles, you find a few Greek mythology books that you’ve also read yourself before, you love to take a dive into that world regularly and can’t wait to discuss it with Steven. Just at the thought of him, you can feel his heartbeat against your ribcage again, it feels so calming and almost entrancing.

You continue walking along the bookshelf, when you walk past a large fish-tank. It was pretty much situated in the middle of the open flat. In it were two goldfish swimming calmly, merely floating peacefully in the water. In the reflection of the glass you could see Steven zooming from one side to the other gathering the last few things to complete the dinner “presentation”. A fond smile graces your lips when you notice the postcards and quotes around the tank. Some were handwritten post-it notes with french phrases written on them. You move on and keep wandering through the apartment.

You are brought back from your thoughts, when you step into…sand? You notice a ring of sand around Stevens bed, this reminds you once again of the fact that no one knows of your location or these boys. You are in the midst of contemplating a text to your friends when you hear Steven shout- ‘Love, dinner is ready!’ You quickly put your phone back into your bag. You shuffle towards the living room table and try not to fold over at the domestic image before you. Steven is wearing a cute white apron with red strawberries printed on it. In one hand he is holding a bottle of wine, you bite back a smile when you notice he is trying to open the bottle and is visibly struggling.

It’s probably because he forgot to take off the right oven-mitt and the corkscrew keeps slipping out between the fabric. You make your way over to him and envelope his mitt-covered hand with yours slipping the corkscrew out of his limp hand easily. After opening the bottle you sniff at it, checking for the scent and humming at the familiar smell of red wine. ‘Next time, maybe try it without the oven-mitts’ you say with a teasing lilt in your voice and look up at him.

You’d taken off your shoes when you had entered the flat, leaving you in only your wool socks. You have to slightly look up at him only to see him…gazing. He looks at you with a content and loving expression, his eyes shiny and his cheeks flushed. He is breathing steadily and you can feel the warmth radiating off of him and you want to reach out again and smother him in affection that is definitely too early to be giving at this point of your relationship.

You’d moved between him and the table, leaving you wedged in between. You feel yourself getting lost in his eyes, the never ending deep essence in them seemingly carrying so much weight. The eyes, surrounded by tired and reddened skin, made him look that much more vulnerable, making your heart flutter even further for him. You break your eye-contact when you look down at the bottle, and move to hold it up to Steven. ‘Will you do the honours?’ you say with a cheeky smile. ‘Oh, it would be my absolute pleasure darling.’ he says while taking the bottle out of your hand, lingering more than necessary, making the tingle in your fingertips return once again. You keep watching him as he fills up both of your glasses.

‘Alright, I think everything is ready. Take a seat.’ Steven takes off the apron, gestures at the chair in front of him and pulls it out for you, motioning at you to take a seat. You hate how much the gentleman spiel is working on you, but there is a reason why it was established so long ago isn’t there. People doing things specifically to make your life easier, to protect and to impress you has got to be one of the hottest things anyone could ever do. You give in and take a seat on the comfy wooden chair and place the napkin on your lap, watching Steven as he makes his way around the table to take a seat himself. It's a small round table, it has a white table-cloth on it and two candles on a little plate placed at the centre of it. You even hear faint music playing in the back, they had clearly put effort into impressing you and it made your heart almost beat out of your chest.

‘Thank you both so much for cooking, I’m so excited to try this.’ you offer them a thankful smile and Steven returns it with a quick blush and nervous gaze. You look down at your portion of lasagna, Steven had served you half a piece of each dish so you could try them both simultaneously. You pick up your fork and dig in and it's- delicious ‘mhh this is so good omg’ you all but moan at the flavours collecting and mingling in your mouth. You look up when you don't hear any response or even soft acknowledgement toward your statement. You see Steven sitting there in front of his barely eaten vegan lasagna, staring nervously onto the plate. ‘Steven?’

Before Marc can stop it, he is teleported into fronting. It's been a long time since he was so quickly shoved into control and can’t help but feel bad for Steven for being stuck in the back in such an anticipated moment. Before he can even try and apologise to him he makes note of his surroundings realising quickly what the trigger must’ve been. Steven had taken but one bite of the vegan lasagna and had probably remembered the taste of the lasagna their dad made Marc for his birthday…the one before…before Marc can think any further about his troubling childhood memories, he hears you. ‘Steven?’ you say cautiously. shit - this is so awkward, he has to save himself and he tries to do it in the only way that comes to mind; pretending to be Steven. ‘I-i am olroight luv-oll good’ he puts on an uncomfortable grin and is admittedly kind of impressed with himself. He had previously pretended to be Steven when he used to work in the gift-shop. No-one used to talk to him there though so he just had to continue working to save face. He continues eating and pretends to take a sip of wine, trying to behave and move like Steven does.

You’re a bit confused… Just moments before, Steven seemed really happy and comfortable, now he kinda looked all stiff and was acting really strange. You wonder if they might’ve switched again because he seemed so abruptly different, or maybe one of the other guys had said something to make him nervous. Trying to take his mind off it, you distract him with friendly and curious conversation. ‘So Steven, what made you choose the lasagna as the perfect dish for tonight?’ you ask genuinely curious, already almost finished with your plate. ‘It’s an old famly recepey- o-our dad um I mean father used to make it..’ too focused on the switch of emotion in his eyes, you forget to keep looking for anything that might lead to an explanation to his strange behaviour. He looked kind of sentimental and you feel him wanting to hold things back, before you can tell him that he doesn’t have to tell you anything he’s uncomfortable with, he continues. ‘It’s one of the best memories I have with him, making this lasagna for my birthday…back when everything felt so…right…’ you sit there awestruck by the raw emotion on his face. The warm candle-light reflecting in his tear-welled eyes and casting beautiful shadows on his face, you’re mesmerised. He huffs out a deep breath and clears his throat, lifting his head back up to meet your gaze, smiling at you softly. ‘It’s basically the only thing I know how to make properly’. You don’t notice his accent changing from a bad british, to a chicagen one and instead compliment him on the great job he did. ‘Well, it’s very delicious.’ you say contentedly and faintly see his face turn a soft pink at your praise.

‘Oi! So you’re allowed to tell her all about our business but I'm not? That’s very rich of you Marc, you...you hypocrite!’ Steven exclaims into Marc's consciousness, entirely pissed at the fact that Marc basically stole his date from him. ‘Shut up, Steven-’ Marc says through gritted teeth, trying to hide his slip up with a badly timed fake cough. Despite Marc's effort, you hear him, finally putting all the pieces together and notice that you might be facing Marc right now and not Steven. You feel a sense of excitement at meeting this new alter and can’t wait to find out more about him. It did bug you a little that he was trying to pretend to be Steven instead of just telling you, but still, you understood his apprehension since this wasn’t a regular situation for either of you. You hear Marc clear his throat and bring your attention back to him. ‘I’m so glad you loike it dahrlin we really did ouah behst’ now that you had connected the dots to this man being Marc, you had a really hard time trying to ignore the terrible british accent. You hold your breath slightly, keeping back a bubble of laughter and continue eating after smiling at him politely. ‘Marc you’re making me sound like a complete knobhead. I’m an academic for christs-sake, you could at least pretend to have some semblance of respect for me.’ Steven is a petty man, entirely unhappy with his situation, he finds it in his right to make Marc's life a bit harder right now. Another cough is heard from Marc when you hear him mutter something into his napkin. ‘Are you okay? Would you like some water?’

‘hmm?? No no alls good, sweets’ he quickly disputes. Now, that you can’t ignore. Despite your biggest efforts you burst into laughter, your stomach hurting from it. You feel tears forming at the corners of your eyes and see Marc gradually joining you, surely laughing just as hard as you, pressing his palms into his eye-sockets. ‘Sweets??? Really?? Steven has never called me sweets- ever’ you trail off into another fit of laughter. Marc calms down and catches his breath.

‘Dammit- I really thought i’ve heard him say that one before’ you’re laughter dying down, you look at each other, the smiles still glued to your faces and they don’t seem to diminish even after a few minutes. ‘So…what gave me away?’ he asks curiously. ‘You have by far the worst english accent i have ever heard.’ ‘what! That was my best performance by far!’ He puts up an offended act, making you giggle and you try your best to look serious. ‘I'm so sorry to telly you, but you were terrible’ you can't keep a straight face and once again the laughter returns into the room and you wipe your eyes. He extends his hand across the table and you reach out and shake it.

‘I’m Marc’ He says, looking relieved to be able to speak in his own voice and accent once more. You introduce yourself to him and eventually, you both continue eating the lasagna and move into casual conversation. Marc tells you about how he reminded Steven of the fact that every restaurant was closed and how turbulent their day had been. How he cleaned up the apartment and tried to organise Stevens books only to give up after 2 hours and just shoving them under the bed. Cooking for you and making sure that they looked presentable, forcing Steven to use a hair-product and to put on a proper, nice shirt. At the mention of his shirt, you trail your eyes over him. Noticing how comfortable he looked. He had folded his sleeves up to his elbow, exposing his forearms. He looked so good like this, you felt your mouth watering at the sight of him. You’d stopped listening and at some point he had stopped talking, looking at you smugly and analysing your reaction towards him. He slightly moved his hand, clenching and unclenching it. He sees you biting the inside of your lip and hears Steven in his head ‘Gods she is so beautiful like this’ ‘mmhm, she is…’

the sound of Marc's gravelly voice rips you out of your daydreams, feeling your ears heating up violently. ‘You havin’ fun there, sweetheart?’ Marc says while raising his left eyebrow and crossing his arms over his chest, making them look even thicker. ‘I-oh heh…sorry’ you scratch an invisible itch on the side of your neck, and look away from him, averting your gaze from his playful smirk. You felt his gaze staying on you and can’t keep yourself from turning your head back towards him and feeling your entire body buzzing with electricity. Marc was much more intense than Steven, looked intimidating, in the best way.

He looked like he could protect anyone from anything, like he’d do anything for those he loved. His gaze, steady and confident, sure of himself but also guarded, like he wasn’t gonna show you everything right away. He wasn’t Steven afterall, who was the exception, the only man to expose himself completely to everyone without even trying to hide his genuine feelings and intentions. They were so different, all of them so unique and so unlike the other. You feel warmth spread through your body like a warm current passing from your head to your toes. ‘Nono, don’t apologise’ he leans on the table and reaches for your other hand resting on the table, holding it gingerly in his, making circles with his thumb over your hand.

You watch the movement and look at his hand caressing yours, revelling in the returning fuzzy feeling in your mind and the tingles emitting from his touch. You feel his heartbeat again, slow and steady, like a confident but soft stomp. You feel his calloused thumb making soothing circles and close your eyes at the different sensations, humming contentedly. ‘Hmm’ you humm with the familiar song playing in the back, it was a track from Natalia Lafourcade ‘Caminar bonito, my favourite-’ before you can finish the thought, you hear the chair before you slide backwards over the floor. You look up and see Marc, standing next to you and he tugs you upwards to stand with you.

Now you’re both standing and he tugs you towards the open space in front of the huge archway that they had made into Stevens' bookcase. You’re standing flush against him, chests close together and he takes your left hand in his, intertwining your fingers and moves his other hand to your waist.

His thumb continues soothing you and you place your other hand on his shoulder. You start swaying to the beat of the song, easing into each other's movements. You rest your head on his shoulder and he moves his hand, which was resting on your waist, to the middle of your lower back. You move your intertwined hands closer to you, hugging them towards you and move your other hand from his shoulder to the nape of his neck, softly petting his grown out locks at the back of his neck. Gently swaying from side to side you continue humming to the record. Several minutes later you look up at him and see him already looking at you. Feeling and hearing your heart-beats synced up and the soft beat of the music was making your vision almost blurry. Both of you softly sway to the music, pattering your sock-covered feet on the hardwood floor. He untangles your fingers and holds your hand in his, you feel his hand on your lower back lead you to make a twirl. You both smile and you successfully make the twirl and end up that much closer to him. Your noses brushing and his, grazing your left cheek.

You let out a soft wavering breath and you look into his eyes. They were darker than before, you would recognise that look from any distance and you know that this wasn’t Marc nor was it Steven, you were certain of it.

He speaks up, only confirming your suspicion. ‘¿Me dejas besarte, hermosa?’

a/n: This one is alot longer lmao but i promised the date so here it issss. In the next part Jake ensures that you get home safely and drives you back in his pretty car. Get ready for a cliche rain-kiss and a mysterious cliffhanger ;)

The lovely people in my taglist: @lilladyblink14 @lemongirl5910

please notify me if you want to be added/ removed from the Taglist<3

#ponchosworks<3 #moon knight #steven grant #steven grant x reader #marc spector #marc spector x reader #jake lockley #jake lockley x reader #Spotify #transfixedseries

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snazzy-suit · 11 months ago

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Luigi: Liaison of Ghosts Chapter 9 Snippet (Electric Boogaloo)

Have another sneak-peek at the next installment; this time, before the viOlEnCe!

For context, Luigi, Mario, Gooigi, and King Boo are in an underground portion of E. Gadd’s lab that’s specifically designed to keep ghosts/spirits contained. The room is bisected by a barrier. On one side stands Luigi, Mario, and Gooigi. On the other, is King Boo. The professor is watching the following events from the safety of an observation room. He communicates through an intercom system.

Currently, Luigi is informing King Boo of his mediating work with spectral entities...

_____________________

“Mediator? Contacts?” King Boo mutters. “I don’t understand. You hunt ghosts and spirits—you fear them!”

Luigi quirks a brow incredulously. “You were spying on me as I recovered all the elevator buttons at the Last Resort. After everything you saw then, and what you’re witnessing now, do you honestly still believe that?”

King Boo scowls in place of an answer. “You still capture them,” he hisses.

“I do,” Luigi agrees with reluctance, “but only when I’m given no other choice. Nowadays, I mediate conflicts between specters and mortals. Finding a peaceful resolution is my top priority, not capture.”

King Boo clicks their tongue in disbelief. “I do believe Professor E. Gag has a gallery lined with portraits and canisters full of ghosts that says otherwise.”

“…about that,” Luigi replies slowly. He presses his hands together, fingers splayed as he takes a deep breath. “We… set all of them free.”

{“Quite a while ago, actually,”} E. Gadd adds. {“In fact, you’re the last one to go!”}

Luigi closes his eyes with a grimace. “Thank you, professor,” he sighs.

“Right, of course. The mad scientist just let you release his entire collection of prized specimens,” the monarch scoffs. “Now I know you’re lying.”

“No, really!” Luigi says earnestly. “It’s been a long process, but everyone has been set free and safely reintegrated into society.” He reaches into one of the pockets of his overalls and pulls out a collection of business cards. “Madame Clairvoya has a fortune telling business, Van Gore has his own art studio, Neville started a book club, Melody gives piano lessons…” He flips through the cards, showing each one off as he goes. “Johnny Deepend is a fitness instructor at our local gym, Dr. Potter runs a plant nursery, Soulfflé has a cooking show, Morty directs movies and teaches filmography on the side—”

“Alright, enough! You’ve made you’re point!” King Boo snaps. Their irritation shifts into a more thoughtful look. “Is that why I was moved to a separate canister? To keep me in the dark?”

“Eh… partially?” Luigi says, tilting his hand in a so-so gesture. “Mostly it was for security reasons.” He pauses, silently weighing the pros and cons of full disclosure. “We also thought it would be best to separate you and Hellen Gravely—for both of your sakes.”

King Boo grimaces upon hearing the name of his old partner in crime. He glances about uneasily, as if the mere act of acknowledging the haughty entrepreneur would summon her from the very shadows. Luigi would find the normally unflappable monarch’s alarm funny if he didn’t share similar sentiments regarding the hotel owner.

“Ah… so Gravely has been moved elsewhere.” King Boo comments, attempting to sound nonchalant, but failing rather miserably. “You’re keeping her in another lab. Somewhere… secure?”

{“Ms. Gravely isn’t being kept anywhere,”} E. Gadd replies. {“She’s staying in her suite at the Last Resort; free as everyone else.”}

“You let her go as well?!” King Boo cries in disbelief.

“Unfortunately,” Mario grumbles. It speaks volumes of his own opinion of Hellen that he doesn’t take the opportunity to revel in King Boo’s distress.

“Yeah, but don’t worry,” Gooigi adds, “we filed for a restraining order on your behalf.”

“…with magic enforcement?”

“The strongest in all the known kingdoms.”

King Boo heaves a relieved sigh. They school their expression into something more regal and raise a nubby arm as if taking an oath. “For your act of service, I vow that when the time comes to strike you all down, I will make it quick and painless.” They pause with a hum. “…mostly.”

“How gracious of you,” Luigi says wryly.

“It’s just one of my many virtues,” King Boo agrees. “There’s a reason why my subjects address me as ‘your grace’.”

“No one calls you that.”

“And how would you know?”

“Because I’ve spoken to a lot of your followers,” Luigi says, giving the monarch a flat look, “and I’ve never heard them refer to you that way.”

The revelation seems to take King Boo aback. “…you’ve spoken to my Boos?” they ask incredulously, eyes narrowed. “What a bold thing to say. Care to back up your outrageous claim with some names?”

Gooigi waves urgently at Luigi to get his attention. “Don’t tell him!” He signs. “Snitches get cursed by witches!”

“That’s not how that saying goes,” Luigi corrects the ectomorph, tone tinted with amusement, “But I agree that it’s not my place to say.”

“My, my, how convenient,” the monarch drawls. “Do you want to make any other baseless declarations while you’re at it? The floor is open.”

Luigi frowns in consideration. It might be best to just drop the matter and move on to presenting the actual offer they’ve long since digressed from. This could, however, be a good opportunity to further prove his integrity. Which of King Boo’s followers can he call upon without potentially putting them at odds with their king?

“…Boolossus.”

The monarch’s smug grin drops. “What?”

“I had a long talk with Boolossus when I set them free,” Luigi continues. “I won’t claim we’re on amicable terms, but we managed to come to an understanding before parting ways.”

“Liar,” King Boo snarls. “Boolossus would never have left this lackluster lab without me; not of their own free will. Their loyalty runs deeper than the filthy sewers you call home.”

Luigi squints at the fuming monarch. Do they think plumbers live in sewers? Or just Mario and Luigi in particular? King Boo’s rather poor understanding of mortals sometimes makes it difficult to tell whether they sincerely believe a falsehood or are cracking a joke. Luigi shakes his head, quietly electing not to ask.

“You’re not wrong about their loyalty,” Luigi affirms. “Boolossus was… resistant to the idea of leaving you behind—”

{“Resistant?”} the professor huffs. {“They just about destroyed half my lab!”}

“—but I gave them my word that you would be freed next.” Luigi raises his hand when the monarch opens their mouth to dismiss him. “Before you say anything, no, they didn’t believe me. I don’t think there’s anything I could have said or done that would have convinced Boolossus of my sincerity, and I anticipated that. Which is why I brought along a trustworthy Boo to vouch for me.”

King Boo laughs condescendingly. “There’s not another Boo on this mortal plane that could pull the sway you would have needed.”

“Oh, I can think of one,” Mario smirks.

King Boo sneers at Mario’s smug expression. “And just who would that be?”

“Lady Bow.”

_____________________

Before you get too excited, no, Lady Bow will not be in this installment (unfortunately).

But that's all I have for now! Everything in this snippet is susceptible to change, so we'll just have to see how it all turns out in the completed work. Until then~

#Luigi #Mario #Gooigi #King Boo #Professor E. Gadd #luigi's mansion #luigi's mansion au #fanfic #snippet #LLoG AU #suit speaks

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personamorph · 12 days ago

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Joshler rp request.

Hello! First time poster here (kinda super nervous to post on this platform), but I’m DESPERATELY in the search of a Joshler RP partner. I normally main Tyler. I am semi literate - literate. I’ve been a fan for over a decade and I’ve role-played for 10+ years now. I request that you be 18+, and can write more than a few lines in response to my replies. I have really no triggers at all.

If you’re interested you can DM me on here I have a discord!

I do have a starter ready to go, I’ll include that as well. We can change whatever you see fit! We do not have to do that though I’m up for ANYTHING

(This starter is apart of a fanfic I am working on. If you want to read it it’s included) https://docs.google.com/document/d/12ToNvmuQEdAeKYgLaUt1fy3CXb-u0zc-XosxFFae3YI/edit?usp=drivesdk

Starter:

The air in Dema always smelled faintly of concrete dust and forgotten rain.

Each morning, the city stirred like a machine forced into motion grey towers casting long, oppressive shadows over narrow streets lined with identical buildings. The walls never crumbled, but they never breathed either. The sky above Dema had no color. Not blue, not black. Just... blank. As though even the sun was unwelcome.

No laughter echoed here, no music hummed from open windows. Only the static hum of the Intercom System, ever-present, ever-watchful.

At the heart of it all were the Nine Bishops, the silent architects of order. Clad in dark ceremonial robes, each bore a name whispered with reverence and fear: Andre, Lisden, Nills, Listo, Keons, Reisdro, Vetomo, Sacarver, and the most feared - Nico. Each oversaw a district. Each claimed devotion to stability, purity, obedience, and ruled a certain district within Dema.

But beneath the immaculate grid of Dema’s streets and the polished sermons of its rulers, something simmered. Quietly. Desperately.

It began with chalk.

On the outer edge of District Keons, near the border walls where the Watchers rarely passed, a child drew a yellow circle on the concrete. Then a line. Then another. A symbol.

The Bishop of Five would call it vandalism. But to the ones who remembered the legends—to the ones who still felt it was a signal.

Clancy woke up to the sound of the Intercom crackling to life, the voice of Bishop Nico bleeding through the static like oil on water.

"Rise in purpose. Wake in gratitude. The Glorious Gone watches with favor."

Clancy stared at the ceiling, unmoved.

The grey above him looked exactly the same as it had every morning of his nineteen years. He could trace every crack in the concrete from memory. But something about the cracks had always felt wrong. Too deliberate. Too symmetrical. Like they weren’t fractures at all just part of the design.

He sat up slowly, not out of reverence, but routine. He slid on his standard-issue jacket, the hem stitched with his district’s insignia Keons, under Bishop Keons. A pale symbol over his heart that had never meant anything to him. Not really.

They called it Vialism the path to purity through obedience and submission. They preached of The Glorious Gone, a promised state of elevation where the soul is released from burden, delivered by the Bishops through loyal servitude. But Clancy couldn’t help but notice that no one ever returned from being “delivered.” They just... disappeared.

He never questioned it aloud. Not here. Not with the Watchers on every street corner, with their emotionless masks and the faint yellow light that blinked from behind their visors.

But in his dreams, the world cracked open.

Vibrant colors bled through the grey. Fields that breathed, skies that moved, music that echoed through trees he’d never seen in real life. In those dreams, Clancy ran barefoot through soil instead of concrete. He heard voices strange and free and felt something he didn’t have a word for. Maybe hope.

Sometimes he woke up crying, but he didn’t know why.

Something inside him whispered that he wasn’t supposed to be here. That the city, with all its rigid symmetry and obedient silence, was a lie.

Last night’s dream lingered like smoke: a symbol drawn in yellow chalk, smeared by a rushing footstep. A voice real this time, he was certain had whispered two words:

"Don’t stop."

Clancy didn’t know where the words came from. But he knew he would follow them.

By day, Clancy worked as a Neon Grave Digger. It was a title that sounded more poetic than it was.

There were no songs in Dema.

Music was considered a relic of the Before, a dangerous indulgence that fed emotion, unruly thought, and disobedience. Vialism taught that melody was noise, and noise was chaos and chaos was the seed of rebellion.

But Clancy sang anyway.

Only in his room, and only when the Intercom had gone dead for the night when the walls of Dema fell into their uneasy hush, and the Watchers retreated to their black towers to recharge their yellow eyes.

That was when Clancy would sit on the floor beside his cot, press his back to the cold wall, and let the sound leave his throat like smoke from a smothered fire.

The songs had no name. He didn’t even remember where they came from, just scattered notes that wove themselves into lullabies of resistance, pieces of melody born in dreams, buried in his chest all day and exhaled in trembling whispers at night.

Sometimes they were sad. Sometimes they were angry. But they were his, and that alone was rebellion.

He never sang loud. The walls had ears. And the Bishops punished music with reeducation, a word that never meant what it sounded like. Clancy had seen what came back from those chambers, when something came back at all.

But still he sang. Because the silence hurt more.

District Keons specialized in reclamation. He spent hours in the field outside the southern wall—an old sector of Dema long since collapsed under time and neglect. A wasteland of twisted steel and cracked stone, where the ground pulsed faintly with embedded neon veins—remnants of the city’s ancient energy grid.

Clancy and the others were ordered to dig through it, extract the glowing cables like roots from a corpse, and feed them into the city’s refueling chambers. The Bishops said it was sacred work: reclaiming the past to sustain the Present.

But Clancy always felt like he was burying something instead of retrieving it.

The glow would sometimes stick to his skin, staining his gloves with a ghostly hue that reminded him of the yellow chalk from his dreams. He kept one coil, once a small, frayed strand of dying neon blue that hummed when he held it too long. It sat hidden beneath his floorboard, curled like a question mark.

Today, the sky over Dema was a deeper grey than usual. Ominous. Still.

As Clancy shoveled earth and twisted wires, his eyes caught something strange etched into the rusted side of a collapsed pylon. A smear of yellow chalk. A line, a curve, unfinished.

His heart stuttered.

It wasn’t just in his dreams.

Those masked wanderers outside the wall were real. And they were leaving messages.

“Don’t stop.” That same voice rang through his ears once more, seething with that word hope again, but where was it coming from?

Clancy wiped his gloves clean, glancing around. No Watchers. No vultures. Just the wind breathing secrets through broken concrete.

Tonight, he would sing again.

But tomorrow?

Tomorrow, he might start looking for the way out.

For the next three days, Clancy moved through Dema like a ghost.

He worked his hours, digging neon bones from the earth like nothing had changed. He answered questions with short nods. He avoided eye contact. But inside, his mind was burning.

Every moment off the clock, he ventured into the abandoned edges of District Keons past the decommissioned railways and crumbling walkways that once hummed with life before the Bishops declared them "unfit for Glorious Function." These places were too broken to be useful, and so, like everything deemed obsolete in Dema, they were simply forgotten.

But not empty.

In the shell of an old administrative building, behind a collapsed shelf of rusted data chips and mold-rotted uniforms, Clancy found the library.

It wasn't large, just a few shelves mostly warped by time and weather. But the books were still there. Real paper. Smelling like dust and fire. No catalog system. No Intercom surveillance. Just words. And those words opened something in Clancy that the Bishops never prepared him for.

One book detailed ancient cities with trees taller than buildings and skies that changed color blue, red, violet. Another spoke of "oceans", massive bodies of water so wide they swallowed the horizon. He found journals from people who questioned, who felt things beyond duty and silence. He read about music being a tool of resistance, a weapon against oppression. Songs were once used to unite, to remember, to fight.

The books weren't just archives.

They were instructions.

Almost like someone had left them behind on purpose. For someone like him.

On the fourth night, the voice returned.

Clancy had barely fallen asleep, his fingers still stained with dust from the pages he’d poured over. His room was silent, save for the soft hum of the city’s power grid vibrating in the floor below him.

Then the whisper came. Soft. Urgent. Just like before.

"Their compass lies..."

Clancy jolted upright, breath caught in his throat.

"East is up."

He sat frozen for a moment, the words echoing in his mind like a chorus. It made no sense. And yet something in his chest recognized it.

The next morning, he pulled out a stolen map of Dema, one he'd found tucked in the back of a book labeled Topography of Order. It was printed in grayscale, with the nine districts laid out in perfect symmetry. The compass rose was marked at the bottom corner: north, south, east, west.

But when he lined it up with the sun what little of it could be seen the map was wrong. Intentionally reversed.

The city had lied.

East wasn’t east.

But it was up.

Not just directionally. Elevation.

Clancy thought of the old watchtowers beyond the southern ruins—half-buried by time, but taller than anything else near the border. Forbidden zones, deemed “unstable” and sealed by orders of the Bishops.

They weren’t unstable.

They were a way out.

And someone—something—wanted him to find it.

Clancy stared at the glowing coil of blue neon beneath his floorboard, pulsing like a heartbeat.

Tomorrow, he would go back to the towers.

And maybe... he wouldn’t come back.

The city was silent when Clancy left.

He waited until the Intercom’s last nightly decree Bishop Andreus’s voice flat and cold, preaching stillness and surrender then counted out one hundred breaths, just like the books suggested. The streets of District Keons grew quiet afterward, as they always did, the Watchers slipping into dormancy mode unless movement was detected.

Clancy moved like a shadow between buildings. He had memorized the blind spots between surveillance nodes, watched for days from rooftops, and timed his path to the second. His boots made no sound on the cracked pavement. Only the wind seemed to follow him, curious.

The southern ruins were different at night. The glow from the neon veins cast strange shadows, pulsing like blood beneath the concrete skin of the earth. He slipped through a breach in the old containment fence and crossed into the Exclusion Zone.

No one was supposed to come here.

No one wanted to.

Except him.

The towers loomed in the distance like broken teeth, half-swallowed by time and covered in creeping vines that Dema refused to acknowledge even existed. Their jagged tops scraped the blank sky like accusations.

At first glance, there was no way in—no doors, no ladders, just rusted metal and sealed panels.

But Clancy had learned not to trust appearances.

He circled the base of the tallest tower, eyes scanning every crack, every discolored patch of stone.

Then he saw it.

A thin yellow chalk line, almost invisible under the layers of grime and age, curled along the wall like a serpent. It dipped beneath a pile of rubble near the foundation an unnatural curve in the otherwise perfect geometry of Dema.

Clancy crouched and pushed the debris aside. Beneath it: a seam.

A door.

Old and mechanical, it creaked open with a hiss, revealing a narrow shaft that dropped into the earth. He slipped through, heart pounding in his chest like war drums.

He descended a rusted ladder, every step taking him deeper under the city. The further he went, the less the hum of Dema reached him. Soon, there was only silence and the steady drip of water echoing off stone.

At the bottom, a tunnel opened before him. Not just a pipe or service crawlspace this was deliberate, engineered. Curved walls reinforced with metal, markings along the edges too faded to read. The tunnel was dark but dry, and just ahead, he saw it:

Another yellow chalk line.

A path.

Clancy followed it for what felt like hours. The air grew lighter. Warmer. He heard things he had no words for birds, maybe. Wind, real wind, not the filtered breeze of air filtration units. His steps quickened.

And then—

Light.

Real, golden light.

He reached the tunnel’s mouth and blinked into the sudden brilliance. The ceiling opened above him like a shattering dome, and the world spilled in.

Not concrete.

Not grey.

But green.

Rolling hills blanketed in grass, vibrant and wild. Trees, tall and swaying. The sky above was not blank, but endless, painted in warm hues of dawn. A bright and defiant sun rose from the horizon.

He stumbled forward, out of the tunnel and into the open, the grass soft beneath his boots. The scent of earth hit him like a memory he never had.

He dropped to his knees, overcome, and looked back one last time at the tunnel that led from Dema.

Then ahead.

A valley stretched before him. Still in awe he studied the map of Dema, once he pulled it free from his pocket. He was in Trench. A place he has dreamed of for so long without actually knowing it was real, almost like the very grass he was kneeling on, was calling out to him.

He had made it to Trench.

Clancy wandered through Trench like a man set loose in a dream—but dreams had no maps.

For nearly a week, he staggered through rolling green hills, slipping between rocky ridges and thick groves of wild trees. The air was warm and soft, but loneliness gnawed at his edges like frost. The songs he used to whisper in his room now echoed aloud across the open fields, unanswered.

He had no direction, only the desperate instinct to get as far from Dema as possible.

Food was scarce. He found rusted cans near an old firepit, ancient and hollow. Rain pooled in bent metal cups scattered near the remnants of what once looked like a Bandito outpost. He drank from them despite the rust, and once, he cut his lip on a jagged edge. The blood tasted real. It reminded him he was still here, still alive, though barely.

But on the fifth day, the wilderness changed.

The air grew tense. The wind quieted. Birds stopped singing.

Then came the sound of hooves.

Clancy turned too late.

From the rise of a nearby hill came a blur of blinding white a tall figure astride a pale horse, its mane braided in silver thread. The rider wore ceremonial red robe, polished and cruel, his face hidden beneath a hood, his face pale down to his nose which was black:

Nico

One of the Nine Bishops.

Clancy turned to run, but the horse moved too fast gliding over grass like a shadow unbound by weight. Nico reached him within seconds, Clancy couldn’t help but let fear lock him in place. His mind was screaming, no pleading for him to move.. Run.. but all he could do was look Nico in the eyes as the bishop walked to him, reached out and touched his neck.

It burned like shame, like silence, like Dema.

Nicos eyes glistened as a black ink crawled —alive—as if the ink had a will of its own. It curled around his skin like a collar. Clancy gasped, clawing at his throat, but the mark didn’t move.

“You don’t belong here,” Nico whispered, his voice like stone grinding against steel. “None of you do.”

Almost in a trance Clancy followed closely behind Nico and his horse, each step he took the smear of black on his neck darkened, slowly losing hope. He had been captured.

Then the sky shifted.

From atop a distant mountain in Trench, a figure appeared—cloaked in green and yellow, face hidden by a tattered bandanna. They stood motionless for a breathless second, then raised a hand.

And tossed something into the wind.

Yellow petals.

Dozens. Hundreds. They caught the breeze and spiraled down like golden rain. Nico was confused as to why the white horse screamed a shrill, unnatural sound, and bucked violently, forcing Nico to grip the reins.

A fire, that is what Clancy felt swell from within him as he saw the figures, hope began to form again causing the smear and Nico control to fade.

Clancy didn’t wait.

He ran.

Down the cavern, through thorns and tangled roots, away from the screeching bishop and the cursed ink burning on his skin.

Behind him, Nico cursed in a tongue Clancy didn’t know.

But above him—above him—the yellow petals danced on the wind, leading him deeper into Trench, deeper into freedom.

And somewhere in his mind, a voice returned, softer now, but clear:

"Keep going. You're not alone."

You cannot outrun salvation, Nico’s voice whispered in his skull, a psychic remnant of the vile communion that all citizens of Dema endured. But Clancy didn’t stop. He couldn’t. Not now not when the words had finally meant something.

He could still remember them, etched in red across the stolen scraps of parchment he had hoarded under his cot:

“The torches will guide you. Follow the flicker. Look to the fire.”

Subliminal at first. A lyric on repeat. A symbol drawn in ash on his wall. And then a name whispered through Morse code by a rebel radio frequency Torchbearer.

Clancy stumbled through the last of the forest, and the world exploded into amber: a camp nestled in the valley below, scattered tents and old war-painted freight cars surrounding a massive bonfire. Figures moved like shadows with purpose, their faces obscured but not hidden Banditos. Free souls…

#twenty øne piløts #twenty one pilots roleplay #Joshler #roleplay request #semi literate rp #literate rp #joshler roleplay #angst prompts #tyler joseph #josh dun #roleplay wanted #Joshler rp

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republicsecurity · 27 days ago

Text

Be All You Can Be

As the training session began, Cadet 80LKU felt a surge of nervous excitement. This was his first time fully suited up, helmet and all. The sleek, black armor enveloped him like a second skin, its servos humming softly with every movement. He felt an unfamiliar weight on his shoulders, the suit's systems adjusting to his body's nuances. He flexed his fingers, feeling the resistance in the gauntlets, then clenched them into fists.

The visor of his helmet slid down with a soft hiss, sealing him off from the outside world. The HUD flickered to life, displaying a myriad of information: his vitals, suit status, and an array of icons he had yet to fully understand. He took a deep breath, the filtered air cool against his face.

"Initiating sensory calibration," a voice echoed in his ear—one of the instructors.

Suddenly, the familiar training maze around him began to shift and morph. The walls stretched, the floor seemed to undulate, and his sense of direction was thrown into chaos. It felt as though the ground beneath his feet was tilting, though he knew it wasn't. His heart raced, and he could feel the suit's systems compensating, adjusting to his rising adrenaline levels.

"Stay calm, cadet. This is part of the training," the instructor's voice reminded him through the helmet’s speakers. Easier said than done, he thought.

The overlay on his visor distorted his perception. What was once a simple corridor now appeared as a winding path through a dense jungle, complete with swaying trees and the sounds of unseen creatures. He stumbled, his feet struggling to find purchase on the seemingly uneven ground.

Gradually, the environment stabilized. The jungle transformed back into the familiar maze, but with added obstacles and enhancements. The walls were higher, the turns sharper, and new holographic threats appeared at random intervals.

As he navigated the altered maze, he encountered another cadet. The HUD identified him as 70CCD. The cadet's vitals appeared on 80LKU's display: elevated heart rate, but otherwise stable. Relief washed over him. He wasn't alone in this.

"70CCD, it's 80LKU," he said through the helmet's intercom. "Let's stick together."

"Got it," 70CCD responded, his voice tinged with the same mix of excitement and nerves.

They moved through the maze as a team, their suits syncing with each other. The HUD provided real-time updates on their surroundings, highlighting potential threats and navigation markers. The suit's sensory controls heightened their awareness, amplifying sounds and sharpening visual details.

At one point, a simulated enemy appeared, a holographic figure that moved with startling realism. 80LKU's suit responded instantly, servos kicking into high gear to enhance his reaction time. He ducked and rolled, feeling the suit guide his movements with precise efficiency. Together, he and 70CCD neutralized the threat, their suits working in perfect harmony.

"Nice move," 70CCD said, his voice breathless.

"Thanks. This suit makes everything feel... different," 80LKU replied, marveling at the suit's capabilities.

As they continued, the overlay adjusted again, now presenting the maze as a high-tech facility with metallic walls and electronic doors. The transition was seamless, almost convincing enough to make him forget where he actually was.

He approached what looked like a fallen tree but knew it was actually one of the hurdles in the maze. The suit’s sensors detected his proximity and adjusted the feedback in his limbs, making it feel as though he was stepping over rough, uneven bark. He hesitated, then leaped, feeling the servos in his legs amplify his strength, propelling him over the obstacle with ease.

As he landed, the ground seemed to shift beneath him. The suit’s remote control kicked in subtly, correcting his balance and guiding his movements. It was a strange sensation—half his own effort, half the suit’s automated assistance. He felt a moment of disorientation, as though his body was both his own and not his own.

"Keep moving, cadet," the voice urged, "you’re doing well."

He pressed on, weaving through the maze that now felt like a living, breathing environment. At one point, the HUD highlighted a hidden target among the foliage. He raised his arm, the gauntlet servos locking into place to stabilize his aim, and fired a simulated shot. The target exploded in a shower of sparks and digital leaves, the feedback vibrating through his arm.

As he continued, he felt the suit’s sensory control intensify. The visor displayed warnings of incoming "dangers"—simulated enemies and traps that he had to avoid or neutralize. His heart pounded, not just from the physical exertion but from the sheer immersion. It was easy to forget he was still in the training maze, surrounded by the controlled environment of the academy.

Suddenly, the ground gave way beneath him, and he fell into what looked like a pit of quicksand. In reality, it was a cushioned drop designed to test his reaction time. The suit’s feedback system kicked in, making his muscles strain as though he was fighting to stay afloat. He could hear his breathing, rapid and shallow, echoing inside the helmet.

"Stay calm, cadet," the instructor's voice was steady, "use your suit's strength."

He activated the suit’s enhanced power mode, feeling the servos in his limbs surge with energy. With a monumental effort, he pushed himself out of the pit, the suit’s resistance making every movement a grueling test of endurance.

Finally, he reached the end of the maze. His visor lifted, and the digital overlay disappeared, leaving him standing in the familiar training room once more. The disorientation was immediate, his senses struggling to reconcile the abrupt shift from the jungle back to reality.

The instructor approached, his own helmet under his arm. "Well done, 80LKU. How do you feel?"

"Exhausted," he admitted, his voice sounding strange in his own ears after the immersive simulation. "But... also powerful."

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krikeymate · 2 years ago

Note

I love your double whammies so

prompt:

Tara gets her wisdom teeth out and Sam has to get her back to the apartment and in bed as she’s coming off of the laughing gas. Chaos ensues.

I gave the inverse to Tee :)

Catch the mirrorverse over here. Take your bets, which one of us is the evil twin?

“Sam.”

“Yes, love?”

“NO! I want Sam!”

Tara struggles, unsuccessfully, in the taller girl’s arms.

After damn near half a year of suffering, mostly in silence, Sam had gotten the truth out of her about her sister’s grumpy mood and poor appetite, and made a dentist appointment. A short hour later, and $300 poorer, Tara was down two wisdom teeth, and Sam was making the difficult trek home with her unsteady little sister.

“I am Sam, dummy.”

“Nu-uh!”

God Sam wishes she was filming this.

For posterity.

And payback.

It would make such good payback next time Tara decides to be a little shit.

Alas.

“Ok then,” she struggles to say beneath the laughter bubbling up in her throat and the elbow she catches in the stomach, “who am I then?”

The question seems to stump her little sister, taking up all the brain power she has access to, giving Sam a blissful four minutes where Tara is quiet and complacent.

“A kidnapper,” she eventually blurts out with a matter-of-fact tone more concerned with being right than about what she’s actually suggesting.

“A kidnapper?”

Sam hums in delight.

This is what life is about, she thinks.

This, this, right here, is something she could have never imagined in her wildest dreams when she was younger. Heck, even a couple of years ago, holding her sister’s hand in an ambulance, promising never to let go… she never could have foreseen where it would take them.

Tara in her arms, high as a kite, and calling for Sam. Out of her mind and all she wants is her sister.

She’s never felt so loved.

Tara always manages to show her in the funniest of ways.

But then again, they’ve never been a normal family. Why should the way they love be any different?

“I’shud warn you,” Tara says, tripping over her own feet as they turn the final corner before home. “My sister is gonna kick your ass.”

“Oh yeah?” Sam mutters absent-mindedly as she keeps her girl from face-planting the floor.

“Yup,” Tara continues, unaware of her near-brush with the pavement. “She’s real good with a knife, an’ she doesn’t like it when people touch me. She’ll cut your hands off!”

Sam snorts at the declaration.

“Damn, better get you home then.”

She wrestles with the door to the apartment block, catching Tara’s hand just a moment too late to stop her swiping every button on the buzzer box.

“Shit,” she mutters under her breath, grabbing Tara around the waist and lifting her into the air. ‘The walk home will sober her up’, my ass, she muses, as her sister whines in her hold.

Sam walks them quickly the elevator, Tara perched on her hip like they’re a decade younger and haven’t been through unspeakable horrors, before anyone thinks to investigate the asshole messing with the intercom system. She really doesn’t need the neighbours to hate them any more than they already do.

A couple of murders happen one time and they hold it against you forever!

It wasn’t their fault.

But what do they care, judgemental busy-bodies with nothing better to do.

Speaking of, there she is, Mrs Shepherd, glaring beneath her glasses, heavy on the judgement. Lingering in her doorway, as always.

“I was kidnapped,” Tara whispers, loudly, over Sam’s shoulder as she hurries to unlock the door.

Oh jesus.

“She wasn’t–” Sam’s quick to correct, spinning on her heels… door across the way now closed and hallway empty.

“Aaand she’s gone. Thanks Tara.”

“You’re welcome,” she chirps back.

The apartment gossip mill will be thriving tonight.

Sam shakes her head, unable to hold back a smile. She can’t bring herself to care. “Home sweet home,” she declares, pushing the apartment door open with her foot.

“Sammy,” Tara whines, head pillowed on Sam’s shoulder and nudging at her jaw.

“Yes, love?” Sam murmurs, nudging the door shut and eyeing the locks for a moment.

“Feel sick.”

More pressing matters first.

“Let’s get you to bed, you can lie down for a while.”

They’re safe, the locks can wait.

It’s something Sam’s been working on. Feeling safe.

The suggestion to leave the door unlocked during the day when they’re home had been a stupid one if you ask Sam.

She wouldn’t entertain it at all if the suggestion hadn’t been made in their joint therapy session.

If Sam were a paranoid person, and she is, she’d almost think that their therapists were colluding together. Why else would the most suspicious of advice be set out in their joint sessions, where Sam has no choice but to follow the homework set if she wants to provide a good example for her sister.

God she fucking hates therapy.

How many years, and how much progress?

Shit.

“Tara honey, you have to let go,” she murmurs as she tries to deposit Tara on her bed.

“Stay with me,” she whines, clinging tighter. “Don’t want you to go.”

Sam sighs. Inside her, a silent war wages, as always.

“I’m not going anywhere, darling.”

It was never a choice.

“Good, the kidnapper might come back, always safe with you here.”

“Oh my god.”

#/mp #ask box #samcscreams #Scream #Sam Carpenter #Tara Carpenter #my writing tag

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crystalninjaphoenix · 11 months ago

Text

Breakthroughs and Breakouts

A JSE Fanfic

SepticHeroes AU: Part 32

First Part | Previous Part | Read on AO3 at CrystalNinjaPhoenix

I almost called this chapter "Jackie's Bad Day" but then I realized that, as funny as it is, it doesn't encompass everything in this chapter. I'll just get right to the summary. Jackie goes to check on Dr. McLoughlin, to see if the other's suspicions have any weight. While there, McLoughlin tells him about his accident. Afterwards, Schneep gathers everyone up to ask for their help. And yeah. Enjoy the chapter! ^-^

===============

Something had been bothering Jackie lately.

Alright, several things had been bothering Jackie lately. The situation with JJ and the Vault, the visit from Kinetics yesterday, the daily stress of being a Hero—even though no major villains had popped up since he defeated the Puppeteer, petty crime would never fully stop—there was a lot to be bothered by. But something that was nagging at him beyond the heavy anxiety of the more serious problems... was Dr. McLoughlin.

Why did McLoughlin have those modified SAMs? If he didn’t make them, why were they in a hidden room in his lab? Marvin’s insistence that McLoughlin was shady kept running through Jackie’s mind... was it true? He couldn’t deny that McLoughlin had several suspicious things surrounding him. The scans of the Puppeteer mask being different than they should be, the way Anti-Virus targeted SepTech, his company, and now this. Maybe... maybe he really was working with Anti-Virus?

But Jackie refused to jump to conclusions. If his recent experiences had taught him anything, it’s that people were more than how they appeared. He should at least give McLoughlin the benefit of the doubt. He should at least check it out on his own.

He walked into the North SepTech location with some slight nerves, but McLoughlin had said Windstorm could visit whenever he wanted. Surely he wouldn’t have a problem with Jackie stopping by now. He let the front desk know he was there, just to be polite, and then headed down the hall to the elevator to the lab.

This was the third time he’d been in here, and it looked the same as it did the last couple times. The conveyor belts, the robotic arms, the monitors everywhere. Everything seemed so close together despite the high ceilings of the large room. “Dr. McLoughlin?” Jackie called. “I know you can hear me! You have cameras and stuff!” He paused. “Are you here?”

After a moment, a nearby monitor turned on and showed the words INTERCOM SYSTEM ACTIVATED—just like last time Jackie was here. “Hey Windstorm!” McLoughlin’s voice came from the speakers. “Come on in! I’m in the middle of the lab.”

“Thanks.” Jackie jumped into the air to get a good look at everything. Once he spotted McLoughlin he flew down, landing next to him.

“Good to see you again!” McLoughlin looked up at Jackie and smiled. He was sitting at a table, with various mechanical parts spread out in front of him. Jackie recognized the spherical exterior of a SAM, cracked open like a coconut with one half to the left and the other to the right.

“Yeah, good to be here again,” Jackie said, putting a smile on his face as well. “What are you doing? Fixing a SAM? Isn’t that uh... a bit beneath you?”

“What? Beneath me?” McLoughlin laughed. “What d’you mean?”

“Well you own the company and designed the SAMs yourself, it seems like you’d have people to fix the individual Machines,” Jackie explained.

McLoughlin pulled his hands out of the parts, brushing them against each other. “Well I’m not fixing it in the first place. I’m looking to see if there’s anything I can do to improve things. There’s always room for improvement, they say.” He pointed to a nearby cluster of monitors, all of which were showing various blueprints. “I can’t just work on stuff in writing, I need to be able to dig into things and mess around with them physically.”

Jackie nodded slowly. “Do you... work on a lot of SAMs in here?” he asked.

“Sometimes,” McLoughlin said casually. “I also tend to mess around with stuff while I’m doing something else. Heh, sometimes I have SAM here project the blueprints so I can watch something on the monitors.” He stood up from the swivel chair he was sitting in. “Anyway. Anything I can do for you?”

“Oh, uh... I just wanted to get more familiar with your lab,” Jackie said. “Could you give me a tour?”

“A tour?” McLoughlin brightened—but then dimmed again, looking a bit hesitant. “Um... there’s not much to explore, really, I-I’m sure it would bore you.”

“I’m sure it wouldn’t. I mean, I might not understand a lot of what you say, but I’ll be happy to hear about it,” Jackie said.

“You sure?” McLoughlin asked. “I mean, I don’t even know what’s going on here half the time. I have a million things that I started and then didn’t stop, and so much shit in the storage rooms that I just put away and let the computer keep in the database forever.”

Jackie chuckled. “I’m sure. Just walk me through what you have, I’d appreciate any of it.”

McLoughlin nodded slowly. “Alright. Well, um... to start with, uh, a lot of these conveyor belts move things around—uh, obviously they do, that’s what conveyor belts are designed for.” He laughed nervously. “But I mean, there are a lot of parts involved in stuff and sometimes it’s easier for me to let the robot arms do stuff in one location then send it over to me in another...”

They started walking around the lab, going in a zigzag pattern towards the back. McLoughlin explained what each of the robot arms do—some of them are general purpose while others are designed for more specific things, like the ones that have devices on the end to screw things in, or even a couple that have blowtorches on the end! He started explaining the various projects he’d made in the lab. Finding unusual ways to construct computer towers, designing hologram projectors, creating hoverboards—the longer he talked, the stranger his accomplishments became. And the more excited he became about them, until he was absolutely gushing about how he came up with the idea for the SAMs.

“It was so hard to propose that to the board, let me tell you that,” McLoughlin said. “They usually can’t justify the cost of a lot of my designs. But I figured that if I combine all of my favorite ideas together, then market these as assistants, then the board would go for it. And I was right, haha!”

“So... when did you decide to sell them to the League?” Jackie asked.

“Well I figured that if anyone needed an assistant, it would be Heroes, right?” McLoughlin said. “I was willing to give them for free, but the board insisted. They’re all about profit, you know.” He shrugged. “But I don’t mind. I can’t work on everything all the time, even if I want to. I couldn’t build all the SAMs myself, or even supervise everything. I automate a lot of stuff.” He frowned. “Which... might’ve been a bad idea. After all, maybe if I’d been more, uh, hands-on, our systems wouldn’t have been hacked.”

“It’s not your fault,” Jackie assured him. “I’m sure you have a great firewall. One you didn’t expect would ever be breached.”

McLoughlin sighed. “I guess... but still.” He paused. “I did think that nothing would be able to defeat the—”

“New camera installation completed,” a robotic voice said.

“Gah!” McLoughlin jumped in surprise, then sighed and leaned against the nearest conveyor belt. “Whaddafuk?”

“New camera installation completed,” the voice repeated.

Jackie frowned. “You... didn’t know you were... installing new cameras?”

“I, uh... forgot, I... I guess.” McLoughlin let out a breath. He rubbed his eyes, then reached into his lab coat pocket and pulled out that remote with the single button. “When did I request the infrared cameras?” he asked into it.

“Yesterday at 11:29 am, after the motion detection at 2:01 am two nights ago,” the robotic voice said.

“Ohhh.” McLoughlin nodded. “Yeah, I would do that. Honestly I probably should’ve put in new cameras a long time ago.”

Jackie stiffened. Didn’t Schneep say he snuck into SepTech recently. “So, uh... what motion detection?” he asked, trying to sound casual.

“Oh, the system woke me up at 2 am recently because of a supposed intruder,” McLoughlin explained. “I have a little bed area set up in Storage Room 18, you know cause I practically live here.” He chuckled. “And there’s a camera in there, you know, for security. The system is set up so that it alerts me of suspicious movement.”

“Was there someone in your room?!” Jackie said, alarmed. Did Schneep really sneak into McLoughlin’s bedroom?! Well, not bedroom, but still, it’s similar, isn’t it? It felt like a breach of privacy.

“Nah,” McLoughlin dismissed. “I toss and turn a lot when sleeping, so I have a blind spot set up over my bed for the motion detection. I must’ve just passed out of the blind spot and triggered the alarm.” He shuddered. “God. What a fucking way to wake up, though. I hate the alarm sound.”

“Well, uh... th-that must be—that must mean it’s working, then.” Jackie forced out a laugh, trying not to think about Schneep possibly breaking into a room while someone was sleeping.

McLoughlin frowned. “I... I guess. It just... brings up... bad memories.”

Jackie blinked. “Bad... memories?”

McLoughlin glanced at him. “Um... you know what? Come over here.” He turned and walked to the side, going around tables and robot arms. Confused, and slightly concerned, Jackie followed him.

They reached the corner of the room, where a bunch of control panels on counters were pushed against the walls, along with four large monitors. At first glance, it didn’t look too different from anywhere else in the lab... but then Jackie saw something. The walls around these counters were stained black. He’d seen patterns like this before. Sooty impact lines. There had been a fire here. Maybe even an explosion. “What’s this?” he asked.

McLoughlin pulled a swivel chair over and sat in it. “Why did you decide to become a Hero?”

Jackie started. What did this have to do with anything? “Uh well... I-I wanted to help people.”

“Why?”

Jackie gave a little laugh. But McLoughin’s usually relaxed expression was different now. Serious and intense in a way the scientist had never been before. “Well... Why does anyone want to help people?” He sighed. “Sorry, that’s not an answer.” Leaning back against the counter, he thought about what to say. “Well if I have to boil it down to one thing, it’s that... It’s just that I don’t want people to be hurt. And when you can do something to help people, you should.”

“What if helping others gets yourself hurt?” McLoughin asked.

Jackie blinked. “Well, it depends on the stakes and how much you’d get hurt. I’ve like, broken bones and twisted ankles and stuff. It sucks but it heals. But if it’s something like... getting shot and dying to some random criminals stealing jewelry or something... then I’d really prefer if that didn’t happen. At least let me die doing something cool like saving the world.” He laughed. The sound slowly fades as he looked back towards McLoughlin. “Why d’you ask?”

“I wanted to figure out how much you’d get what I’m about to say,” McLoughlin explained. “Cause like... I think if you can really change the world, it’s worth it, y’know?”

Jackie nodded slowly. He was beginning to suspect something. “Is this about the accident you were in?”

“Yeah. Yeah it is.” McLoughlin rolled his head back, resting it on the back of the chair as he looked up to the ceiling. “I really like working with robots, but something that’s always annoyed me is the programming side of things. The software and stuff. Doesn’t matter how fucking sweet your robot is, if the computer in its brain has some variables crossed, it can’t do anything with its design.”

“Makes sense,” Jackie said.

McLoughlin grinned. “About three and a half years ago, maybe closer to four now, I was working on this really intense programming project. Something I was sure would help people. It’s kind of hard to explain—and it failed anyway so it doesn’t really matter what it was, I think. But I really think it would’ve helped people. It would’ve made programming things in the future so much easier, we could’ve used it in software to help detect cancer a-and launch space probes and—and so much!”

Jackie raises an eyebrow. “There’s really some program that could’ve done that?”

“Well it was more like a bunch of programs all working together in a big super program, but yeah. I think so.”

“...how does something like that lead to an accident that cost you an eye and an arm?” Jackie asked.

McLoughlin raised his head and turned his chair towards Jackie. “Cause a project that intense takes a lot of computing power. Like a lot. Like... this whole corner here was just walls and walls of hard drives.” He laughed. “I think the power I was using single-handedly caused a couple rolling blackouts. Don’t tell the board I said that. They’d be so mad about the bad PR. Anyway, I kept trying to shrink the program and increase my computing power. The project wouldn’t be any good if it took a whole city power grid to run. For months, it was just that. Shrink the program, boost the power. Shrink the program, boost the power. Shrink the program, boost the—you get the point. Going back and forth making adjustments for like half a year.”

Jackie whistled. “That... sounds like a lot of work.”

“Oh it was. But it was worth it... or at least, that’s what I thought.” McLoughlin sighed. “Then, right when I was on the brink of getting something sustainable... The constrictor burst. And everything just—” He made an explosion sound with his mouth, moving his hands outward to indicate something blowing up. “I was right in the middle of it. I was lucky that I just lost my arm, eye, and all that surface stuff.”

“Holy shit,” Jackie whispered.

“Tell me about it,” McLoughlin said. “But see here’s the thing. I could have left sooner. But I was busy trying to salvage what I had programmed, so it wouldn’t disappear when the hard drives blew up. Transferred it to an external drive. Standing in the middle of everything, hearing that alarm go off around me while I waited for the transfer.. .” He shuddered. “Bad memories. I hate that alarm sound.”

“Yeah I don’t blame you, fucking hell.” Jackie shook his head. “That was really worth risking your life for? Worth losing your arm and eye for?”

“Well... I thought so at the time,” McLoughlin said slowly. “But, uh... what I got away with wasn’t really what I wanted.” He shrugged. “Still, it worked out in the end, I think. I used some of the code from that project for a lot of other stuff, like the SAMs. And I do like what I came away with in the end.”

“What you... came away with?” Jackie asked slowly.

McLoughlin didn’t answer right away, facing away from Jackie. Then he snapped out of whatever trance he was in and turned back to him. “My cool cybernetics,” he said, grinning.

Jackie laughed. “You’re happy about that?”

“Fuck yeah I am. I mean, it really sucked to get them. I...” His smile slipped. “I don’t think I’ll ever be in so much pain... ever again...” Then it returned. “But these are basically the same thing. The synthetic skin even feels stuff. It was real fucking hard to get the artificial neurons to work right. Don’t get me started on the eye—it’s basically a camera but it was so hard to hook up, I had to turn everything upside down. But at least the vocal synthesizer was easy. All the pieces were already in place.”

“Vocal synthesizer?” Jackie repeated, standing up straight.

“Oh yeah, my vocal cords got shredded,” McLoughlin said casually. “I know, I don’t sound like a robot, do I? I already had voice samples to work with. I basically sound the same as before.”

“So, like... you work with voice synthesizers a lot, then?” Jackie asked. “You’re really familiar with them?”

McLoughlin tilted his head. “Uh, I guess, yeah. Why do you ask?”

“I was just thinking... about the Puppeteer mask,” Jackie said slowly.

“Huh? You mean the synthesizer the Puppeteer used to speak?”

Jackie nodded.

McLoughlin stared at him. He stood up. “Do you think I should’ve recognized that there was a synthesizer in there?” He sighed. “They’re really small, Windstorm. It’s hard to identify anything inside that mask with just your eye. It’s why I let the computer scan it. Besides, it was inserted behind the plastiglass surface and hidden from view. Yeah, maybe if someone hadn’t messed with the scans, I could’ve recognized it. But they did.”

Jackie nodded. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you or anything.”

“Offend me?” McLoughlin looked confused.

“I don’t know, you might’ve thought I was implying something.”

McLoughlin paused for a moment more, then his eyes widened. “Oh! You mean—oh.” He laughed. “No, I mean—I would suspect me of something too, if I was in your shoes. No worries.” He shrugged. “Besides, if I was really working with the Puppeteer and this Anti-Virus guy, I would’ve given them a better synthesizer. One that didn’t make him sound so robotic.”

Jackie laughed. “I guess. If you could sound like a real person, why wouldn’t you?” That all made sense to him. But... remembering the modified SAMs Schneep had seen, he stayed a bit cautious. He wanted to ask more about McLoughlin’s project that led to his accident. But he had to remember what he was here for. “Hey, can we keep looking around? Or is the mood ruined?”

“We can keep going,” McLoughlin said. “But we’ve been here for a while now. Is there anything, like, specific you want to see?”

“Uh, I think you mentioned storage rooms?” Jackie said. “What’s in there?”

“A bunch of stuff, really. I don’t even know what I’ve shoved into those rooms.” McLoughlin laughed. “We can check it out together. C’mon.”

The two of them walked to the edge of the room, where the doors lined the walls. McLoughlin explained that there were twenty rooms on each side, adding up to a total of forty rooms. Hearing that made the task of checking all of them seem daunting, but he had to do it, didn’t he? So he went with McLoughlin as they checked the rooms one by one

“Oh. Huh.” After a while, McLoughlin pulled at the handle of one door—Storage Room 10. “This one’s locked.” He pulled out his remote and spoke into it. “What’s in Storage Room 10?”

“Spare parts for the production of computer towers,” the computer replied. “Including graphic cards, fans, water cooling—”

“Okay thank you,” McLoughlin said quickly.

Jackie frowned. “Is it... normal to have locked storage rooms?”

“Oh yeah, all the time. I think Rooms 30-40 are always locked.” McLoughlin shrugged. “You don’t need stuff from there all the time, you know?”

“Hmm...” Jackie thought about it. “Can we go in anyway?”

“Huh? You sure?” McLoughlin looked doubtful. “I mean... there’s not much exciting stuff in the Storage Rooms in general. You want to look at a bunch of spare computer parts?”

“Just... humor me on this?”

“Uh, sure.” McLoughlin gave him an odd look, but then spoke into the remote. “Unlock the door to Storage Room 10.”

“Unlocked,” said the robotic voice.

Jackie reached for the door and tried to pull it open—but it didn’t move. He tried to push it, but it still didn’t move. He tried to slide it. Same result. “It’s not unlocked.”

“...weird,” McLoughlin muttered, confused. He spoke into the remote again. “Unlock the door to Storage Room 10.”

“Unlocked.”

Jackie tried again. Still nothing. “No dice.”

“Really weird,” McLoughlin said. He spoke into the remote once more. “Uh, hello? Storage Room 10 is not unlocked. Why are you saying it is?”

“Unlocking Storage Room 10 now. Unlocked.”

“Is something wrong with this?” McLoughlin shook the remote, then turned it over and over to examine it.

Jackie’s superhero instincts were going crazy. This could be a weird glitch with McLoughlin’s remote—or it could be a cover-up of some kind. “Which way does this door open?” he asked. “Inward or outward?”

“Inward, why?”

“Stand back.” Jackie walked backwards, making sure he had a clear path to the door.

McLoughlin’s eyes widened. “Wait, what are you—”

With a yell, Jackie ran forward, the wind pushing him to speed up. He concentrated all his force in the point of his shoulder, and sprinted into the door.

WHAM!

He bounced backwards, shoulder smarting with pain that ran into his neck too. “Owowowow! Son of a bitch!” Jackie cursed. The door hadn’t even jiggled a bit.

“Holy shit, Windstorm!” McLoughlin gaped at him, shocked. “You don’t need to get in there that badly!”

“Dr. McLoughlin, trust me when I say that I do,” Jackie insisted.

“Alright, fine, let’s find some other way to open it then, fucking hell,” McLoughlin grumbled. “SAM?” The custom SAM of his, which had been following them this whole time, darted off. McLoughlin’s fake eye shifted color, going from a normal greenish to a glowing, acidic green instead. “I’m looking around for some tool or something... do you think a screwdriver would help?”

“Hmm.” Jackie examined the door. “What, are you saying we should take off the doorknob? I guess that might work. These screws are cross-shaped.”

McLoughlin looked at the screws on the doorknob. “Yeah... I think this will fit.”

“So you can see through the camera on your SAM?” Jackie asked, impressed.

“Yep. It really comes in handy. But I don’t recommend it all the time. You get a bit motion sick.”

The SAM flew back over, its peripheral wrapped around a small screwdriver with a gray handle. Jackie took it and started trying to unscrew the doorknob. McLoughlin stood by the side and watched silently. It took an infuriating few minutes, but eventually, Jackie had the doorknob in pieces, dangling on either side of the metal door. He tried to push the door open again. It felt stuck, but this time, he could tell there was some give. So he gritted his teeth and shoved it hard. With a few seconds of effort, the door flew open, and Jackie stumbled inside.

He looked up... and his jaw dropped. The room was full of deconstructed SAMs, many with their attachments out. He’d been in this hero business long enough to recognize guns and other weapons when he saw them. They were piled on tables and shelves, in the middle of being constructed. Slowly, Jackie turned back around, looking at McLoughlin. “...care to explain this?” he said quietly.

“Huh?” McLoughlin stepped up, looking into the room. “Oh... That’s not computer parts.”

“Yeah no shit!” Jackie said. “What is this all doing here?!”

“I guess I mislabeled the SAM parts,” McLoughlin said.

“Not the SAMs! Well, not just the SAMs! All the—the fucking weapons?!”

“The what?!” McLoughlin pushed past Jackie into the room, head spinning around. His face drained of color. “Wh-what the fuck? When did—why—wh-what are—Weapons?!”

“Are you saying you don’t know what these are doing in here?!” Jackie demanded.

“Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m saying!” McLoughlin said. “I don’t—I don’t even remember the last time I checked this room! Ohhhh fuck. Oh god.” He rubbed his face. “Why the fuck is it always me?”

“You have to know how this looks,” Jackie said, glaring and crossing his arms.

“Yeah of fucking course I know how it looks! Shit!” McLoughlin shook his head. “Windstorm, I swear I didn’t know anything about this. I-I swear on my life. On—on every SAM we’ve created! I don’t know why there’s a room full of weapons in my lab, but I have nothing to do with it!”

“Okay, so how did they get in here, then?” Jackie asked. “Did someone sneak them in?”

“I—I guess? I-I don’t know how, since... this is my lab...” McLoughlin trailed off. “I, uh... I usually keep the doors locked while I’m not in here. But some people in the building have the clearance to unlock it. Maybe they came in while I was out? Oh!” His eyes widened. “Or maybe—maybe that motion detection thing wasn’t a false alarm! Maybe someone—someone with superpowers or something, maybe they’ve been working on the SAMs in here secretly!”

Jackie shifted on his feet. That “false alarm” was Schneep, it wasn’t someone sneaking SAMs into McLoughlin’s lab. But still, didn’t it open up the possibility? If Schneep was able to break in, what if some other superperson could? But... “The problem is, why would someone break into your lab to secretly put weapons on SAMs?” Jackie asked.

“Maybe they need the equipment? I don’t know.” McLoughlin shook his head. “But I promise you, Windstorm, I swear on everything I have, I didn’t know anything about anything in this room.”

Jackie scanned McLoughlin’s face. He didn’t see any malice or general shiftyness in his expression. But that didn’t mean anything. McLoughlin could simply be very good at deception, at hiding his true feelings. He seemed like an open person, but was that a facade? Even so... Jackie couldn’t jump to conclusions. He couldn’t. He had to give everyone the benefit of the doubt. But this was so, so, so, SO suspicious. “You know I’ll have to tell the League about this, right?” he asked.

McLoughlin nodded. “Of course, of course.”

“You’ll probably be put under some sort of watch. You know that?”

“Makes sense.” He laughed. “Though I don’t really go anywhere interesting for people to watch.”

“All these SAMs will be taken away.”

“Oh fuck, yeah, take them. I’ll start moving them out right now, if you want.” McLoughlin took out his remote and pressed the button again. “Can we begin clearing out Storage Room 10?”

“Yes, Dr. McLoughlin,” said the robotic voice. Some of the arms started whirling to life, moving along tracks above and reaching down. Inside the room, more robotic arms pop out of the walls and start grabbing SAMs, passing them to each other, taking them out of the room and into the main lab.

“Oh!” Jackie started in surprise. “That’s... pretty elaborate. Why not just get some workers down here? Surely SepTech has employees for that.”

“Yeah, but why make people do it when you could build robots?” McLoughlin grinned. Then his smile fell. “I’ll fully cooperate with any investigation into this, you know. I... I-I want to know who would do this. This isn’t what the SAMs were meant for. It’s... not at all what they were meant for.” His voice became quiet at the end, his expression softening into a vague sadness.

Jackie nodded slowly. “I’ll call the League right now to get advice on that.” He started backing away, reaching into the pocket of his suit.

“You do that.” McLoughlin turned away, watching the robotic arms work.

After a moment of hesitation, Jackie turned and walked some distance away, out of earshot but somewhere he could still see McLoughlin. He jumped into the air, hovering about six feet off the ground, and took out the Red Line... and then something buzzed in his pocket. Jackie took that out, as well, checking the screen. A text from Schneep. Can we meet at Neun Park today?

A chill went down Jackie’s spine. He wasn’t sure if it was caused by fear, or anticipation, or something else entirely. He glanced around; there were definitely cameras in here, even if he couldn’t see them. Cameras that Anti-Virus could hack... if hacking was even necessary. Perhaps Anti-Virus always had access to cameras in SepTech. Anyway, the point was he’d have to wait until he was outside to answer that. For now, he put his phone back into his pocket.

===============

It was a while before the group could meet up. Jackie wanted to stick around to make sure that all the SAMs got moved out of McLoughlin’s lab. They did, and then they went into a different storage room up on another floor. Which wasn’t a perfect solution, since they were still within easy access for anyone who could get into SepTech, but at least it was out of McLoughlin’s lab. And even if Jackie wasn’t busy supervising all that, Chase had work for most of the day. So they had to wait for him to be done. By the time everyone arrived in Neun Park, it was starting to get dark.

“Stupid early sunsets,” Marvin grumbled. “I always hated them.”

“Yeah, it sucks,” Chase agreed.

“Can we get to business quickly?” Schneep asked, unusually nervous.

“Yeah, of course.” Jackie bounced on his feet. He’d just pulled his street clothes on over his supersuit, as he was planning on going back out on patrol once this was done. His patrols had been really lacking lately, as he’d been concerned with the whole... JJ in jail and Anti-Virus running amok thing. “Why’d you call us out here, Schneep?”

“Well, ah, Marvin has something to say first,” Schneep said.

Marvin nodded. “You know that van that took Dahlia away? My contacts found out what happened to it.”

Jackie stood up straight. “What? What happened to it?”

“Well I don’t know for sure, but I talked to someone who talked to someone,” Marvin said. “The van was purchased on the black market and modified at a client’s request. It was then picked up by a man in a mask and hood. About three days later, it was returned, along with a promise of more money if the modifier sold it somewhere out of the city. The modifier did so, and a packet of money ended up at their place of work the next day.”

“Hmm.” Jackie frowned. “I’m guessing the modifier doesn’t remember who the client was, or what the man in the mask looked like.”

“No, it was all done anonymously, over emails and phone,” Marvin said.

“Digital stuff, then,” Chase summed up. “And if it was sold out of the city... does that mean... that Anti-Virus is in the city?”

“I was thinking the same thing!” Jackie nodded vigorously. “Or at least—he was in the city at the time. If he wanted it out of here, then it probably means he wanted it as far from him as possible.” He paused. “I mean... it’s not... much of a lead. I was kinda assuming Anti-Virus was in the city anyway. And that... Dahlia was here, too. But it’s a lead!”

Marvin nodded. “I can ask for more, but I wanted to bring that up before Schneep said whatever he was going to—”

“We are going to break JJ out of jail,” Schneep blurted.

Silence.

“I’m sorry, what the fuck?!” Chase blurted. “Isn’t that—isn’t that fucking—illegal?”

Schneep laughed. “Why yes, yes it is.”

“Henrik!” Marvin hissed. “I didn’t agree to telling them!”

“Well I knew you would never agree,” Schneep said. “So I decided to go ahead.”

“You didn’t know that! You can’t just do this!”

“We need your help, Jackie,” Schneep continued.

“Don’t ignore me!” Marvin stepped in front of Schneep. “You can’t just tell him that! I didn’t agree to that! You can’t just steamroll me without talking about it!”

Schneep bristled—and then took a deep breath. “I suppose I... should not have... been so blunt. I am sorry. I just—I could not—w-we really need Jackie’s help, and I didn’t... I-I could not stand dancing around the subject any more, debating if we should or should not ask him.”

Marvin sighed. He looked at Jackie. “...well? How do you feel about that? About... breaking someone out of the Vault?”

The conversation had seemed distant until that question. Like it was happening at the end of the tunnel. But as Marvin directly addressed Jackie, he snapped back to the world, fully immersed in it again. “I... I just... why?” he whispered.

“Why do we want to break him out?” Schneep asked. He barked out a laugh. “You agree that he does not deserve to be there! It is injustice. He is being blackmailed, and they will keep him in there just because his powers are supposedly dangerous. They will not help him. They will not protect him. Because it is easier to have him stay there than do their jobs.” He shook his head. “It is not fair. If they will not do their jobs, then they do not get to keep him there. In that place. You know they keep the prisoners there injected with neutrinalin? Despite the side effects?” He swallowed a lump in his throat. “I... I know JJ will be reluctant to leave. H-he will be worried about Dahlia. But if we can keep this under wraps enough, if we can execute an operation so smoothly that the League decides not to cause a fuss, then things will be easier. And Jackie... the best way to do that is to have you help. You are a Hero. You could have information that the rest of us cannot.” He looked Jackie straight in the eyes. “Please... I know you would not stand for this, either.”

Jackie nodded slowly. “I... I’m a Hero...” he said quietly.

“Knew you would say that,” Marvin muttered.

Normally Jackie would’ve snapped at that, but he didn’t have the energy to. His mind was scrambling, his thoughts and emotions moving too fast for him to even identify. He took a deep breath, turning and walking away. He stared at the strange abstract statue for a moment, putting his hands behind his head as he thought. Everyone had been very blunt about JJ’s chances. He was a Hero. He couldn’t break the law. But he also couldn’t let someone innocent stay in jail, could he?

Then, after a moment, he turned right around and came back. “I can’t be directly involved in this,” he said in a low voice, pulling the three guys together. “I can get you information somehow, but I can’t do anything in the actual breakout part. If something goes wrong and I get caught, you lose your guy on the inside. In fact, try to keep me in the dark as best you can. Do you guys understand this?”

Marvin’s eyes widened in shock. Schneep nodded seriously, and after a moment, Marvin did too.

“So we’re really gonna do this?” Chase asked.

“You do not have to, Chase,” Schneep said.

“Well I... I know that I probably won’t be able to do much, but... if there’s anything I can do, I-I want to,” Chase said. “JJ’s still my friend.”

“I’m... sure he’d... appreciate that, Chase,” Marvin said awkwardly.

“We will see how things go,” Schneep said. “In the planning. Let us know what you can do, Chase.”

Chase nodded.

“Also, we can’t like... house JJ at any of our homes,” Jackie said. “We all have a bunch of electronic stuff that Anti-Virus can hack. He absolutely cannot know JJ is out. If he does find out somehow, he can’t know where he was. JJ needs to be somewhere without anything that connects to the Internet.”

“Kanchana can help with that,” Marvin said. “She has safe houses all over.”

“She huh?” Jackie blinked. “Why?”

“It’s for henches,” Marvin said.

“...henchpeople hiding from the police?” Chase asked.

“Sometimes, but usually it’s henches hiding from villains,” Marvin explained. “Sometimes a hench works for a particularly heinous villain, and they need to be protected while Kanchana gets HUAC ready to go after them. I’m sure she has something that can meet our needs.”

Jackie nodded. “That’s perfect.” He paused. “Uh... Schneep? What did you mean about... neutrinalin side effects?”

“I didn’t know, either,” Marvin muttered darkly. “Apparently if you have neutrinalin in your system for a couple days you start getting headaches and nausea. The League told SDER departments about this, but not Heroes, apparently.”

“...ah.” Jackie blinked. “I... Putting aside the... injecting harmful chemicals into people thing—”

“A big thing to put aside,” Chase said, looking alarmed.

“—why wouldn’t the League tell Heroes that? What if a villain kept injecting them with neutrinalin?”

“It does not make sense,” Schneep agreed. “There have been situations like that. Why not warn Heroes about that?”

“And they know about the side effects and keep putting it in the villains at the Vault!” Marvin said. “Surely there are better ways to restrain a super! Ones that don’t involve side effects! Fuck, the League makes me so angry.”

“Honestly, I... I see where you’re coming from,” Jackie whispered.

Marvin looked at him. He nodded. “Thanks,” he said simply.

“Now... we need to talk about what to do about the breakout,” Schneep said. “While we are here. Oh, but do either of you have anything to say?” He looked at Jackie and Chase.

“Nah, bro, of course not.” Chase laughed.

Jackie hesitated. He remembered everything that happened earlier that day. Everything with McLoughlin. But... he couldn’t bring it up. He wasn’t sure why. He just... he knew how the others would react. They would insist that McLoughlin was suspicious, but he knew that! He knew what he was doing. He wouldn’t be taken in, he would remain cautious, but he would not say that McLoughlin was, for sure, Anti-Virus. Even if he was doing something wrong, there was no proof of the Anti-Virus link. He would not accuse someone unrelated, even if they had committed a crime. He would not do what they had done to JJ.

“No, I don’t have anything else,” Jackie said. “Let’s talk about what to do now.”

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