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blackmagickwolf · 3 months

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in honor of the new LiS game coming out i think it's time for me to actually yell into the void my LiS Amphibia AU idea, bc fuck yes

okay so, it WOULD be easy to place Marcy in Max's place bc she moves away and Sasha in Chloe's bc rebel punk and all that... but we're NOT DOING THAT

HERE we're placing Marcy in Chloe's place, having been the one "left behind" and Anne being the one that moves away. That leaves us with Sasha. Sasha here is... (drumroll) Rachel Amber. DUN DUN DUN

SHE DOESN'T DIE THO! NOT IN THIS AU SHE DOESN'T!! NOBODY DIES!! (just some people that do need to die, but not our main girlies)

these dynamics would be SO tasty to explore mostly bc we have an angry, spiteful, defiant, punk-rock Marcy. instead of Joyce and David it would be Olivia and Yunan, and they're at their wits end (lmao) bc even tho Marcy's... behavioural issues are at the forefront of things with her most of the time, she actually never stopped appliying herself with school. if that, she actually became more applied (her escapism here is of course still her games and books, but also her schoolwork, bc then it means she gets to leave, and if Anne ever comes back and she's not there? well, it wasn't her fault now, was it?). in Blackwell Academy she would be focusing on digital art, for her webcomic.

Sasha as Rachel Amber i feel it doesn't really need to be changed a lot lmao. her dad is rich and her mom walked out and that ofc gave her ✨issues✨, and so one day she finds Marcy, maybe at the junkyard while they're both separetly trying to do some mischif (Sasha doing graffiti, Marcy chucking things into a fire) and they bond over her woes and the like. at Blackwell she would be focusing on music, writing and composition.

Now for Anne! i feel like she would want to go to Blackwell mostly so she could see Marcy again. those years she spent away she did make friends, but those friends weren't Marcy. she started to take up photografy bc she "wanted to show Marcy all the new things and places they could go when/if Marcy visited", and obviously that never happened but she ended up liking the hobby enough that she started to go pro, tho she likes using analog cameras the most. she's like her show self in the way that she's just adrift in life, her only real goal being seeing Marcy again, so she tells her parents she want's to study photografy and of course Blackwell is the best choise.

everyone is like their S1 selves personality wise at the beginning, but the inminent threat of the end of the world and time and space just fucking collapsing make them have their character arcs in speedrun lmao.

IT'S SASHANNARCY!!! and it's such a clusterfuck 💖

Marcanne love eachother v much but Marcy has now abandonment and anger issues to deal with while also wanting to hold Anne and never letting her go again, and Anne just feels so guitly for practically ghosting her childhood best friend, so they're walking on eggshels the most of the time.

Sasharcy truly try to bring the best in eachother, but end up bringing up the worst most of the time. they enable eachother a lot, but sometimes (just some) they do get the emotional mature brain cell enought to not just fall to pieces bc they love eachother so much they'd to several legally and morally questinable things for the other.

Sashanne, oof. Sasha wants to hate Anne. that's the person that caused Marcy so much hurt! but she just... can't. she is absolutely smitten and whipped for Anne (for Marcy too, but in a different way) and feels guilty about it bc she feels like she's betraying Marcy by not hating her. and Anne for her part at first feels jelous and intimidated by how strong of a bond Sasharcy have, and kinda doesn't like Sasha for her Head Bitch In Charge attitude/persona she puts at school, but THEN she sees her defending Kate (she's staying there as a character) from Victoria (she's also staying as a character), and sees her in a different light.

Sasha and Anne would see eachother more frecuently at first bc they're both in the dorms and Marcy isn't (but she stays over visits so much she might as well be. the dorm sign says SASHA in big bold letters and at the bottom theres a little "and Mar-Mar" added), but they all meet for the first time (as in Sasha and Anne meet eachother and Marcy and Anne see eachother again after years) in the dorms a few days before classes start, and just a couple of days after the move-in day (i feel i need to disclose that i am not a USA citizen so i have 0 idea how dorms work) enough that everyone is fresh in the dorm but Anne's parents are not there anymore.

I just have such the strong visuals of Sasha lounging on her bed either reading or on her phone, the door is open, Marcy is sitting like a gremlin on the little desk chair (you know, the ones with lil wheels) playing some game on her switch and she wants to show Sasha something, so she kicks the chair around so it moves and turns so she can show her something on the screen.

meanwhile Anne started to hang out with some of the girls and maybe Kate invites her out for tea or someone else invites her out of the dorm, and on her way almost out she passes by an open door and just hears

"Sashy!! look! godamnit you GOTTA look at this!!" followed by someone else's laugh

and she goes COLD. bc she knows that voice. it's been years and she will never forget that voice. so she literally backpedals and sees Marcy and a blonde girl she doesn't know. and can only say

"...Marcy?" still as a fucking statue and almost in shock

and Marcy, who was mid leaning in the chair trying to show some horny character design (she was playing Hades in her switch, i have just decided) to Sasha for them to joke about, just fucking freezes and as consequense just crashes in the fucking chair. Sasha catches her before she hits the ground tho, and is so focused on Marcy that doesn't even notice some is at her door until Marcy speaks

"...Anne??" and she sounds so incredulous that Anne is kinda hurt. Marcy for her part, thinks she's got a concussion, bc there is no way that Anne Boonchuy is right there, in Arcadia Bay and more importantly in Blackwell Academy.

at the moment of the fall anne also reacted but a bit slower than Sasha, so she's left with literally just a foot at the door and an arm mid reach motion. Sasha is confused as fuck and looking between Marcy and Anne as she connects the dots, dawning realisation making a tension so thick like a boba pear stuck on a straw. Anne then is about to talk when

"Anne! hurry or we'll miss the bus!" and the tension is broken. Anne backtracks out of the room and turns to the person calling and to Marcy in quick succession

"I-?... you??...gonna- later!" and runs away, following the calling friend "I'm coming!!"

Marcy proceeds to have a slight breakdown and ends up falling asleep with Sasha hugging her. that's the first time she stays the night in Sasha's dorm (the first of many)

by the time Anne comes back to the dorms, the door is closed.

#amphibia #anne boonchuy #marcy wu #sasha waybright #marcanne #sashannarcy #sasharcy #life is strange #oh i went insane insane here #i apologize #tho not really #i took my adhd meds and what did i do? my hw? no #i did this lmao #anyways as always i am happy to talk about this more #not like imma write this but its good to be able to just #puke my brainworms into the void

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ewzzy · 2 years

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I just typed up a HUGE profile on Marcy Kane, an obscure character from Peter Parker's past. Let's do a shotgun run of some more blink and you'll miss them Spidey women.

Up there is Dawn Starr, she was one of Pete's students when he taught part time at ESU. He knew it was wrong to get involved with her, did it anyway, then got super self righteous when he found out she was using him to cheat. The sexual politics of it ain't great!

Next is Sandy Jones who works in editorial for the Daily Globe. She's in 2 issues and she's gone.

Here's Desiree Vaughn-Pope who looks exactly like Yvonne Strahovski to me. She's a just a red herring for the identity of Belladonna.

Turns out Belladonna is really Desiree's sister Narda Ravanna.

NARDA RAVANNA

Here we go with Mia Carrera. She only ever had 4 ever appearances, but Spidey felt strong enough about to give her the key to his apartment. (how was your identity ever a secret?)

In Amazing Spider-Man #213 who is so hot that Pete's brain turns to pudding. Just a complete meltdown. He doesn't even ask her name.

After their apartment building get's blown up the city moves them to a new one (???) and she comes over to watch TV. Still no name.

PETE! YOU SHOULD ASK GIRLS THEIR NAMES! YOU IDIOT!

"Surely by NOW you have at least guessed--" Babe, you shut off the one brain cell Pete had. He didn't guess shit.

#spider-man #peter parker #narda ravonna #dawn starr #llyra morris #mia carrera #desiree vaughn-pope #sandy jones #marvel comcis

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pheonixrainbow15 · 3 years

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3 GEMS AND A PORTAL

In the literal beginning: Anne, Marcy, and Sasha get transported to Amphibia.

When they are in Amphibia, we see their eyes glow when they're in fighting mode. Which are powers they got from the music box when they used it to transport from earth to amphibia.

When the 3 used the music box to travel to Amphibia, they got their powers. The gem powers went into their bodies during that ride.

So when Sasha and Marcy find themselves back in the human world, thats when they get the gem powers again.

It's (part of the reason) why Andrias didn't want her to go through the portal. Its why he didn't want the 3 girls to leave just yet, even though it wouldn't affect the invasion if they did go back.

But wait, you may ask, why are you so confident that it will be Sasha and Marcy who get those powers, instead of the first person who walks through the portal??

Well, that where the temple shit comes in. After many who failed the 1st temple, it was Marcy Wu who made it through with the power of losing for her friends. Sasha is probably one of the very few people who could even handle the dryness and heat of the 3rd temple, and the only one to beat it by defying gravity.

And quote Valeriana on Anne's speech in the 2nd temple:

"We've been waiting for someone like you for such a long time."

These gem powers don't go to just anyone. Which is why Anne, Marcy, and Sasha are so special. If the gems were able to tell which goes where when they first got transported in the beginning, then they can definitely tell who is strength and who wit.

This is where the core's weakness lies. It needs the music box's gem powers to carry out its plans of invasion. If these humans take the powers, then the army will be weakened, the gadgets and weapons won't work, and the whole plan with crash and fail. They've already lost some gem power cause of Anne, it can't risk losing the rest. So it has to keep Marcy and Sasha in Amphibia; it cannot let them travel back via the box.

And one of them has already been taken care of.

Now they have to keep Sasha from going back.

Season 3b is gonna be crazy

#amphibia #amphibia speculation #amphibia theory #I was just thinking in math class then this thought came into my mind #and its really interesting too cause the idea plays into the show well #Sasha has to go through the portal to get her powers #if she goes through any portal #like the portal Anne and the others are building #it wouldn't have the same effect as it does when going through the music box portal #and darcy will try not to walk through a portal #but if they do #it would have calamity powers?#and if anne goes back through the music box #would it take her powers away?#and she would be the one who needs to use their human portal??#idk #this is the only time my brain cells will decide I have to be a smart ass for the whole year #anne amphibia #anne boonchuy #marcy amphibia #marcy wu #sasha waybright #sasha amphibia #i purposefully chose weird frames for this #amphibia angst #marcanne #sashannarcy #amphibia headcanons #amphibia analysis #amphibia season 3

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peterman-spideyparker · 2 years

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happy 2k my love <3

[ APPROACHED ] our muses haven’t been intimate yet and sender finally broaches the subject to receiver // with matt murdock.

Okay, but not me blushing over here for the first of many smutty requests👀👀 Love you, Rhi💜🥰💜🥰💜🥰

Embrace it (Matt Murdock x Reader)

“This, this is why you are my favorite,” Matt says as he opens the door for you.

“Not for the late night patch ups or the melodic sound of my voice?” you tease before he places a hand on your waist and pulls you in for a kiss.

“Those are perks, too,” he smirks before his hand gently guides you into his place, closing the door behind him as you toe off your shoes.

“All I have to say is is that everything would have been warmer if you had told me your late night was at your place instead of the office. We’re gonna have to pop this in the microwave.” You help Matt unpack the takeaway in the kitchen and potion it out into plates, your movements comfortable around one another as you warm up the food. “Hey, how come it is just you working on this case tonight? Isn’t it a big one?”

“Yeah, but it’s Foggy and Marci’s anniversary tonight, and Karen has to meet her deadline at the Bulletin.”

“Well, at least now you’re not alone,” you say with a soft smile, one that Matt always seems to know how to meet and return. “Do you think you can take a break for a little? We can have us our own little date night. I can say something that makes something clink in your brain and then I basically win your case for you. You know, like in movies.”

“Because this is clearly a movie.”

“Okay,” you say, dragging out the vowel. “Or, I just get to sit and chat with my boyfriend.”

“I like that,” Matt says with a smile, leaning in for a kiss while one of his hands opens the microwave door before it can beep. Once your dinners are warmed up, we make your way to his couch, situating your bodies to face one another while you eat and talk about anything and everything you can think of.

“You’ve gotta be shitting me,” Matt says, taking a swig of his beer.

“I only wish,” you sigh with a dramatic flop of your head. “I don’t even know how the cat go in the vent! It looked like something out of an NBC comedy when it fell down on the conference table. I actually kinda wish that they didn’t take it to the shelter—don’t you guys still have that mice problem?”

“Firstly, it was rats—.”

“That’s not any better, babe.”

“—secondly, we’ve been seven months since our last incident—.”

“That’s not terribly reassuring.”

“—and thirdly,” he chuckles. “Foggy is allergic to cats.”

“That’s what allergy shots are for!” you laugh.

“I think you missed your calling as a lawyer, angel.”

“Trust me, you wouldn’t want that to be a reality.” Putting down your plate, you take a sip of your own drink, your action being halted halfway through by your cell. Picking up the phone, you see Foggy’s name light up on the screen. But Matt said he was on an anniversary date . . .?

“Hell—aah!” you screech as you pick up and immediately hang up, throwing your phone across the living room.

“Were they—?” Matt asks, his super hearing clearly having picked up on what Foggy and Marci were doing on the other end.

“Uh huh,” you say, covering your face in your hands, mortified. “I need to go cut off my ear and boil it in bleach.”

Matt laughs as you cover your face in embarrassment at what you just heard. As you begin to calm down, your brain decides to wander a bit. Matt and you have been together for a while now—why haven’t you taken the next step? You know he has had a reputation in the past for being a little more on the promiscuous side, but he’s never tried to take it any further with you.

“You okay, angel?” Matt asks, putting a hand on your forearm.

“Oh, um, yeah,” you manage, running your hand down your face, trying to regain your composure.

“You know I can tell when you’re lying.” He moves to put his plate down and gives his attention fully to you. “What’s on your mind?”

“Well,” you start, not entirely sure how to phrase this. “We’ve been together for a while, and I’m the happiest I’ve ever been.” A big, soft, tender smile pulls at his lips, making his eyes crinkle in the corners and your heart skip a beat. “I just . . . I mean, well, w-we haven’t um . . .” Why can’t you just say it? Why haven’t we had sex yet? It’s not that hard to say! You shouldn’t be embarrassed to say it. “We haven’t been . . . intimate yet,” you finish, your cheeks burning hot with embarrassment that you even brought it up.

“Oh,” Matt says softly, clearly not expecting that.

“No, I shouldn’t have brought it up—.”

“(Y/N)—.”

“No, i-it’s fine, I—.”

“I-I want to,” Matt sputters out, the tips of his ears matching the same rosy hue that graces his cheeks. “I do, I just . . .”

His words falter on his tongue, suddenly unsure of how to say what is on his mind. You take his hand in yours, gently rubbing your thumb back and forth over one of the only unbruised knuckles on his hand.

“(Y/N), I really, really care about you, and you deserve the world.” He swallows hard, and you can see his Adam’s apple bob under the stubble that trails down his neck. “If I . . . if we cross that line and something happens to me out there—.”

“Matt, hey, c’mere,” you breathe as you pull him in tightly for a hug, relishing in the feeling of his chest against yours as your fingers run through his hair to soothe him. You mentally chastise yourself. He constantly puts himself on the line, and with such a big heart, of course he’s worried about how that could affect the two of you. “It’s okay. Don’t think like that.”

“But I have to,” he whispers into your neck, his voice small.

Pulling back, you move just enough so you can rest your forehead on his, letting him feel you.

“You are the bravest, smartest, most caring man that I know,” you tell him softly. “You know what to do in the courtroom, and you know what to do out there at night. And every night, I know you’re gonna return And I will always be here waiting for you. Don’t live in that fear, Matt. That’s not living. Embrace what you have, and don't look back.”

Matt brushes his nose against your own before he slowly moves his lips to yours. His soft lips are still against yours for a moment, but they begin to move when he wraps his arms around you and holds you close. Matt lets out a soft groan as he presses a kiss deeper against your lips. His strong, calloused hands carefully move down your back, leaving goosebumps in their wake. Through all the sensations that he brings to your body, you have to break the kiss, letting out quick shutters of pure euphoria against his mouth. Matt bunches up the fabric of your shirt at the hem, silently begging permission to do what you have waited so long for him to attempt. You give Matt a series of short, quick nods, knowing that he can pick up on the affirmative motions. The fabric soon leaves your body, your arms raising above your head as soon as you feel him pull it up.

Once tossed aside, Matt holds you incredibly close to his body, forgetting about his paperwork and your dinners as he lifts you from the couch and into his bedroom. Once he lays you down, you become a prisoner in a divine cell, his silk sheets below you and his warm, hard body up above. Matt pulls his pink, swollen lips from yours, pressing a smattering of kisses along your neck and chest like a beautiful assortment of freckles. You move your hands to unbutton his shirt, and Matt quickly assists, harshly tearing the cotton-blend open and sending buttons across the floor. Your hands slide over his exposed skin like it’s second nature, taking time to feel the dips and curves of his muscles and scars. Even though you’ve felt his chest before when patching him up, there’s something about the way yours hands move against him that is so incredibly different and absolutely divine.

“Tell me what you need, angel,” he says breathlessly, his lips infatuated with your body as his rough, calloused fingers move along the seam of your underwear. “Tell me what you need.”

“Please, Matt,” you breathe as you press kisses down his chest. Fuck, he looks like an angel in the neon light that streams in from the giant billboard outside of his apartment. “I just need to feel you. I just need you.”

Before Matt can work to rid your body of the rest of its clothes, he get up off from the mattress and makes quick work of his slacks and boxers. He then leans forward to his bedside table, rummaging around.

“Hey, hey,” you breathe as you gently take hold of his wrist, moving his hand to caress your face. “I just want you.”

“But—.”

“Birth control,” you explain.

Matt just stands, his chest panting up and down, his pupils blown so wide you can hardly see the his beautiful irises.

“I just want to feel you, Matt,” you say softly.

He licks his lips and swallows before moving back over you, kissing you deeply as his hands wrap around your back and his hard cock presses against your folds. Matt’s deft fingers quickly remove the remaining soft fabric of your bra, flinging it behind him.

“Are you sure, angel?” he whispers in your ear, pressing a kiss just below on the juncture of your neck while his hands smooth down your hair.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything, Matt,” you assure him.

With a big smile, he brings his lips back to yours once more, discarding your panties before he slowly pushes into you. You whine as you work to stretch around him, but Matt’s tender pace maximizes every ounce of pleasure, emphasizing the love in your bodily interaction. Your soft moans fill the room in perfect harmony, your fingers lacing together as he bottoms out. He remains still inside of you, letting you get used to his size and bask in your embrace. Matt smatters kisses all over your face, the lingering embraces following your bone structure.

“You feel like heaven, angel,” he breathes into your hair as you move down to kiss his shoulder.

“Matty,” you breathe, your brain hazy with nothing but him. “I-I need you to move. Please.”

He kisses your face a few more times before you feel the slow drag of his hips. Your eyes flutter shut as you feel him virtually pull all of the way out, except for the tip. A moan falls from your lips as he pushes back in, the absolutely profuse wetness between your legs adding a new layer to your erotic soundtrack.

“You feel so good for me,” he grunts as he continues his ministrations, his nose tracing yours as he presses soft kisses to your lips. “So good for me.”

“Matt,” you breathe. “Oh, fu—Just like that, just like that.”

Matt works to keep a steady pace, hitting exactly where you need him. Once you hook a leg around his waist, it spurs him on, encouraging him to go faster at a deeper angle. Your moans become more frequent with your altered position and his fastened pace, the bliss he brings you only increased by the way his lips begin to worship the supple flesh of your breasts and the hand that snakes between your bodies.

Your whines become needy, begging him to keep on working you in every delicious way that he can.

“Oh, God,” Matt breathes as he picks up his pace even more, his hands tangling at the roots of your hair. “Angel, you’re so fucking good for me.”

“Matty,” you moan, burying your face into his neck while his pounds into you. “R-Right there. Oh, Matty, ooh.”

“I know, angel, I know you’re close. You’re doing so good for me.”

You swallow hard, pushing your head back into the soft pillow and arching your body into his, desperately trying to chase the feeling.

“Good girl,” Matt breathes. “Oh, such a good girl for me.” He removes his hand from your core, the slap of his hips against yours more than making up for the momentary loss in friction. “Cum for me, angel.”

Your eyes pinch shut and you cry out as your nails dig into Matt’s soft skin, decorating his beautiful flesh with little crescents. Matt holds onto you like his life depends on it, cumming not long after you begin to squeeze him like a vice. His grunts are muffled in your skin as he works through his high, his hips moving ever so slightly in with each pulse of his hot seed in you.

Matt’s lips meet yours in a state of pure bliss, letting you know with no words at all just how much he cares about you. You reciprocate, wrapping your arms around him and holding him close.

“I love you, (Y/N),” he murmurs.

A big smile pulls against your lips. “I love you too, Matt.”

With a few more lazy kisses, Matt slowly pulls out of you with a moan, and let out a breath at the emptiness that you now feel. To make up for it, you curl into the warmth of Matt’s chest.

“Let me clean you up, angel,” he mutters into your hair as he rests his lips on your head.

“Mm, not yet, Matty,” you hum as you snuggle down on him, listening to the inner workings of his body.

He lets out a low chuckle, pulling the blankets up and wrapping his arms around you to hold you securely to his chest, your legs tangled together. You press one more kiss into his soft skin, right above his heart, before you both drift off in each other’s embrace.

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borkthemork · 3 years

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Jumping on the Marcy has an older sister bandwagon, I also theorize that Marcy's sister used to babysit Anne when she was younger and often brought Marcy over, which could be how Anne and Marcy became friends.

Ally remembered the addressed succinctly in her mind. After doing this job for a long time, it made sense to know where to go, doing the job like clockwork — walking the same streets and corners amid tired North LA.

Where she lugged her backpack on her aching shoulders and held Marcy's hand as the Boonchuy household came into view.

With its structure all sleepy and outlined in nighttime haze, she and Marcy hopped the stone paths as if they were surrounded by lava, and knocked on the door with two solid taps.

All for the sake of saying hello. All for the sake of being hugged by the warm family living inside.

She didn't recall how far back she started babysitting. Maybe thirteen, twelve? The least she could remember was how the Boonchuys were really nice, that they gave her a surprising wad of cash for a fourteen-year-old, and their daughter had the boundless energy that tuckered her out more than school ever could.

For better or worse, Al couldn't tell. Usually, Anne never asked for too much. She ran around, liked kicking soccer balls at the backyard fence, and punched wayyy too much during play fighting.

Ally didn’t care about that. Anne was a sweet kid; she never became a pain in her side, asked a lot of questions over the robots in her bag, and was knocked out immediately when her energy went full stop.

If there were still hours to be had, they cooked leftovers and watched Starzgate until the sun went down. All relaxed, chill, nothing to worry about except for the one-hundred dollars in Al's leather wallet when she finally left.

And she'd be welcomed by the same faces, the same smiles, the same hugs by the same three people.

It became a blessing to be there. A sanctuary if one would. And Marcy believed it too when she started coming along with her, especially when those two kids finally hugged on the porch and sped off to Anne's bedroom, leaving Ally to kick her shoes off at the door, gathering the school bags to the dining table.

These were good moments. Good moments she wished she could've been more serious about — more involved in.

If only.

"Sweetie, are you alright? You don't look so good."

Mrs. Boonchuy had finished washing her hands at the sink. With all the textbooks splayed out like reading screens, Ally didn't know whether to focus on them or the worried expression fraught on Mrs. B's face.

"Oh yeah, I'm great. Very peachy." Ally pulled her robotics engineering textbook toward her, rubbing the heaviness from her eyes. With the night already settled and the coffee easing off, she hoped she had enough brain cells to finish studying for tonight. That, and finishing the job she committed to. "I'll give the girls a peak every once in a while, and if you need my cell you know which numbers to call."

The woman continued to scrutinize her, forehead creased, nose ridged with uncertainty. Really, it was like being stared down by her dad, except a lot different. She didn't know why.

"You know,” she started. “My husband and I usually alternate restaurant shifts. I can ask him to stay here for tonight. I don't mind working on my ow—."

"Really, you don't have to," Ally laughed. The notion seemed ridiculous. "You guys have been working your butts off, after all, and you paid me to take care of your daughter. You don’t have to.”

"Yes. But you're a guest here," she frowned. Oh. Oh not again. Before Ally could argue more, Mrs. Boonchuy strode out of the kitchen, grabbing the phone along the way. "I'm going to call him. The guest room's down the hall."

Guest room? Oh heck no! "But Mrs. B, all I need is coffee, honest! At least keep your money!"

She didn't. Even when a few hours passed and the Wus waved goodbye, Ally still had one-hundred-fifty bunched in her wallet, all clipped with a thank you note for her hard work.

Marcy held her hand as they went down the streets, happily noting that they didn't trip on the sidewalk cracks this time.

And Ally blamed it on the guest bed.

#amphibia #Marcy's Sister theory #fanfic #asks #Anonymous

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magicman111 · 3 years

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You’re Home

Mr. Boonchuy had been trying desperately to get through to his daughter for thirty minutes now.

His beloved daughter who disappeared on her birthday several months ago alongside her friends. His sweet Anne whom he and his wife until last night were grieving as most likely dead when a government suit knocked on their door.

It felt absolutely surreal that she was sitting there right in front of him in this undisclosed FBI building, even though he could certainly feel his hands placed firmly on her shoulders.

She did not look up at him. She hadn’t spoken a word since he’d entered the room.

“Annie... please,” he begged her, knelt down, trying to make eye contact. “You need to focus. Marcy and Sasha’s parents need to know where they are. Can you remember where you last saw them?”

How could he understand what his daughter had been through? His brain could just barely comprehend the forlorn-looking anthropomorphic frogs sitting across the table from them. If he only knew what she’d experienced in the last 24 hours alone... he’d be more at a loss than he was already.

Inside Anne’s head, a series of horrific flashbacks had been playing on an endless loop since her return to Earth. She could see it, hear it all so vividly. The Toad Invasion, Sasha’s betrayal, Adrias’ betrayal, Marcy’s betrayal... an endless barrage of backstabbing.

Then came the big one. The one she was in a silent war to surpress with every brain cell.

Andrias’ flaming sword. Impaled straight into Marcy’s chest. Burning her chest plate.

That look in Marcy’s dilating eyes. Her last gasp before he knees face way.

“I-I’m sorry... for everything.”

Anne broke down. An Olympic swimming pool’s worth of tears burst from her eyes. Her chest began to violently heave. Her wails ran up and down the white walls like the sounds of a dying animal.

It was a hideous, infantile kind of crying. The kind she hadn’t experienced since she was a toddler.

Mr. Boonchuy can only watch his daughter’s meltdown unfold, transfixed. His gaze moved from her to the frogs as if silently pleading with them what he should do. The young-looking red one made the move to try and put his arms around her, a childlike compulsion for mutual comfort, but Anne only batted him away and cried louder and harder.

She began to regress into a semi-curled up ball on the chair, burying her sopping wet face in her hands. Like she wanted nothing more than for the last several months to have been the world’s longest nightmare. That she would wake up and it would be her 13th birthday again.

Mr. Boonchuy did the only thing his basic instincts as a parent propelled him to do.

He pulled her hands down from her face, but he did not force her to look at him. He just allowed her to cry into his shirt, only gingerly coiling his arms around her back, his embrace softened by a father’s love.

“It’s alright, Annie.... It's alright,” he whispered into her ear. “You’re home now. You’re safe.”

#amphibia #anne boonchuy #fanfic #true colors #amphibia fanfic #marcy wu #Anne is traumatised #There isn’t enough therapy in the universe for what Anne’s been through #Mr. Boonchuy #PTSD #Trauma #amphibia disney #disney amphibia #post true colors #amphibia true colors #amphibia spoilers #true colors spoilers #Disney's Amphibia

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avocado-frog · 2 years

Text

In which I make a WIP intro seven chapters in

Hey hey hello my name is Isaac and I am here to tell you about this thing I wrote. Under the cut so that I don't make you read the whole thing if you don't want.

So the story itself is called Forget me not, after the flower that symbolizes respect, remembrance (obviously) and a connection that endures all challenges and measure of time.

There is also the literal meaning being that all three of the narrators have some form of amnesia.

The narrator for the first ten chapters (part one) is a sixteen year old girl named Leonie, or just Leo, who will steal your money, your car, and your house. She holds no regard for the safety or well-being of anyone who isn't herself, or her sister, Cass, but even that is rare.

Leo finds a photograph one night, of herself, her sister, and a woman with three children. Things escalate from there, as she realizes that she can't remember anything from before the age of nine.

The narrator for the next ten chapters, or part two, is a fourteen year old boy named Jaxon. After an accident when he was eleven, he was left with minor brain damage, the concentration skills of a gnat, and frequent migraines, as well as holes in his memory. He knows he grew up in a lab, he escaped, and he knows that who he lives with now are his siblings.

The third narrator for the last ten chapters is a ten year old boy named Elliot. Or so he assumes, it's what everyone seems to call him. Elliot can't remember what happened, he was only five, but he knows that his mother is dead and that he is missing an eye and that he hates his brothers. With a passion.

Maybe Leo was destined to go to the library the same day as Jaxon, and maybe he was supposed to have met Leo's childhood friends, maybe they were destined to save Elliot from the same place they grew up in, that neither of them can remember. Maybe Elliot was destined to die.

---

Genre: I don't know, sort of mystery-ish in the first ten chapters, and sort of horror, but really light horror. Fantasy, but grounded in reality (main characters are magic, takes place in the real world)

Rating: T. Contains some mature themes, (listed below) but all of it happened in the past, and isn't described in too much detail. Not until the end

Content warnings: Child neglect, child abuse, lab/medical whump I guess, depression, attempted suicide, and overall a bad time (look at the ao3 link its the pinned post)

Characters (in age order otherwise I'll forget one of them)

Logan- 22 year old college student. Everyone's older brother.

Leo- 16 years old. Thievery and crimes. Accidentally gets found family troped

Cass- 16 years old. Leo's twin. Does not do thievery and does not do crimes. Accidentally gets dragged into crimes anyways. Also gets found family troped

Kai- 15 years old. The twin's cousin. The brain cell

Lily- 15 years old. One of Leo's childhood friends. They were close as kids but do not like each other now, for actually no reason, they just sort of don't

Jaxon- 14 years old. Trans. ADHD rat child. Is actually very good around small children, despite being quite possibly the worst influence (besides Leo)

Marcy- 14 years old. Lily with black hair. She will also do crimes and is an enabler for Leo

Dylan- 11 years old. Non binary. Went deaf after an accident related to Jaxon's brain damage

Ryan- 10 years old. Oldest triplet. Autistic, special interest in marine biology. Related to the loss of Elliot's eye

Sam- 10 years old. Middle sibling. Also has ADHD. He's related to Elliot's trauma around staircases

Elliot- 10 years old. Youngest triplet and the youngest character overall. He has PTSD, depression, schizophrenia, dissociative identity disorder, and dissociative amnesia

Update schedule:

Updates twice every week, on Wednesday and Saturday, so far I've posted seven out of thirty chapters, and I have drafted a second book, and I'm making plans for a third.

If you want you can look at the voice headcanons I have for each character here

I also post a lot of things about the characters (headcanons and incorrect quotes and all that)

I am looking through other peoples wip intros so I know what I'm doing so uh... tag list! If you want to be added or removed (probably added given that I did not have a tag list until today) let me know by reblogging or commenting that you wanna be added. Have a good day friends

#wip intro #writing #original work #original characters #writeblr #writers #writeblr community #original fiction #isaac says things related to his writing again

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atqh16 · 4 years

Text

Take My Hand (Say You Need Me Still)

A Daredevil Fic (Matt/Foggy, Girl!Foggy. Pre-Slash)

Summary : Look, getting shot is just the New York experience. You haven’t lived unless you’ve been held at gunpoint at least once. And if you save someone doing it? Hey, bonus!

AO3

Foggy will very openly admit that it was actually a really stupid thing to do. Matt will be downright furious when he finds out. If she makes it out of this alive she’s not keen on facing down the utterly hypocritical wrath of her best friend. She’s pretty sure Karen would defend her which is a nice thought to dwell on.

After Karen had told her about what happened with Wesley, it was like a wall had broken down between them. Suddenly she was so much more relaxed, open. She didn’t look like she was going to throw up every time Foggy talked about how ridiculously admirable albeit stupid she was to insist on constantly putting her life in danger to chase a good story (Lois Lane would be proud).

You’d think Foggy would get a break with having to deal with only one dangerously reckless best friend but apparently life felt that she deserved to handle two

She wouldn’t change a thing.

Though she feels that its incredibly ironic how she finds herself to be the one bleeding out from a bullet wound at the Police Precinct after daring to step in front of a mook with a gun. In her defense it was either her or the 8 month old pregnant lady and really was that much of a choice?

Marci would be really pissed at her too if she ever found out about this even if they've split up for almost 6 months now. That is if she ever found out from where she’s staying in Los Angeles. Knowing how much of a tattle tale Matt is, she’d probably find out. No Foggy Bear this time. Probably just an ass whooping in the form of a chilling reprimand that only serves to remind Foggy how much Marci really cares. Especially since this is the third time she’s gotten hurt in almost 5 years. Must be a record.

Maybe this is the universes way of helping her make up for the fact that she can't be out there in the thick of danger the same way her partners are. She’s not planning on making it a habit because this fucking hurts and the pregnant lady clumsily putting too much pressure on her stomach isn’t helping with that. She bites back a laugh at a sudden random thought that maybe her abdominal fat played a useful role for once and managed to absorb most of the bullets impact as opposed to her vital organs

She’s not brave she knows. Not in the same way Karen and Matt are. She can't even manage to take a bullet without crying because again, it fucking burns. But at the very least she’s comforted knowing neither Matt nor Karen are the ones bleeding out this time.

It’s a soothing thought and it helps that she’s starting to feel numb. There's a faint troubling nudge at the edge of her mine that she's sure is panic at this. Something about how it might be because she’s losing too much blood, she's going into shock. But the feeling is such a welcome compared to the overwhelming sting from before.

Charlotte -the pregnant lady- is saying something. Mouth moving, loud enough that Foggy can register the sound but her brain is filled with too much fuzz to actually tell what she’s saying.

Either way it doesn’t seem to matter. She’s just surprised she doesn’t feel more scared than she is. Her last thought is maybe that’s a cause for concern but really she can’t find it in herself to care. It occurs to her maybe that’s worse

“What the hell were you thinking Foggy?”

Foggy raises her eyebrows, actually impressed. Matt managed to hold off his furious outburst for five days after she woke up from her short induced coma – “It was two days Matt. Relax”, “You were intubated Foggy. You were in the ICU. Don’t tell me to calm down” – and really it’s a full five days more than she’d expected.

“I’m confused. Was I supposed to let the guy put a bullet through our very nice pregnant client?”

“You were supposed to let the police do their job”

“Right, the very understaffed policemen on duty at the station that included the guy who put me in the cell with our client in the first place”

“Why were you arrested again?”, Karen interjected and Foggy doesn’t miss how it was a cautious attempt to drain the heat out of the conversation.

“Obstruction of justice, or so the very hot headed rookie claimed. I wouldn’t let him do an extensive drug search on my lovely cellmate and told him to get a female cop to do it.”

“Where was Brett?”

“He was at the drug bust at the pier with me. I called him there”, it’s Matt’s turn to explain. There's a hint of guilt in his voice and while Foggy doesn’t agree for it to be there, she finds it the perfect moment to throw in another excuse.

“To be fair, I did call both of you to bail me out.”

Karen looks a bit red in the face. Coughing loudly before she says, “I was under cover. At the Irish Parlor”

The angry flush in Matt’s cheeks seem to redden even more “The Parlor Mob ?! Karen….”

“I was with Jessica! Relax, Matt.”

There’s a short moment where Matt seems to have more to protest but instead, “At least one of you has some common sense”

“OK, now you’re just being a hypocritical asshole”, Foggy retorts, rolling her eyes.

“You should’ve waited for back up! For Brett or even me-“

“And what? I don’t think you understand when I say this guy had a gun aimed at our pregnant client and was ready to shoot her point blank any second. God knows why”

“I Don’t… Its just… I.. “, words seem to have tied his tongue into a knot and Karen immediately understands it as her cue to leave.

“I think I’m gonna get some coffee. Have to talk to Jess. She actually asked about you Foggy”, Karen says. Providing an entertained smirk.

“Yeah well after all the times I kept her out of Jail I hope she does”, Foggy replies but there's no heat in it. Only a fondness that surprises even her.

“Tell her I said Hi, and tell her she still owes me my retainer”

Karen lets out a laugh but she doesn’t say anything else. She gives a soft peck on the side of Foggy's head before leaving. The sole of her sneakers pad softly on the linoleum floor until she probably turns a corner after which Matt seems to be satisfied that she’s properly out of earshot.

Foggy raises an eyebrow that she knows Matt can’t see but she trusts her tone conveys her expectation for Matt to continue,“You were saying?”, she prods. Curt.

Matt’s hands are on his hips. A classic Murdock stance the few times he finds his clever tongue has failed him. Shuffling back and forth before taking a deep breath and - “You’re not suppose to get hurt. I know-“ He raises a palm to qualm his best friends protest “- it’s hypocritical of me. I know. But you’re meant to be safe Fog. Karen… I can’t stop her. No matter what I do. I’ve accepted that-“

“Like I’ve accepted the same thing about you?”

“It’s different fog!”, Matts voice is weighted with frustration and he’s gritting his teeth the way he always does when he’s trying to hold back from snapping.

"Matt, breath. I promise I'm not gonna make a habit out of this. I don't think my health insurance can take it. It's going to be hell to get them to cover my third hospital visit in 5 years. I'm pretty sure they're thinking about cancelling my contract at this very moment"

"Leave that to me", there's a challenging snarl in the undertone of Matt's voice - glad to have something else to direct his frustration at - that has something balloon all warm in Foggy's chest.

It's not that Matt has never showed off his protective streak before. She remembers how he reduced one of their classmates to tears in a debate when he found out they'd called her a fat fag at a party a few days before. Which frankly is not the worse she's been called and is just insultingly unoriginal. But it still makes something flutter fondly inside her at the unofficial confirmation of how much Matt still cares.

There hasn't been a lot of that going around lately what with Matt being stretched thin with Daredevil and a new gang trying to claim the territory Fisk had left behind. There hadn't been anything else that could take priority. Which, Foggy truly doesn't begrudge.

But she lost her best friend for months. Thought he was dead. She just got him back. Is it selfish for her to want him for herself for once?

He hasn't just been hers for a very long time now. Which, again, understandable. Matt's a fully independent adult, not an object to own. But she used to be able to hold his attention a lot more than she does now. A part of her knows its not because of her, but years of high school bullying have buried a vindictive voice in her head, constantly trying to convince her that its because she's just not important. Not enough.

Which again is so self-absorbed that she internally cringes every time it comes up. Still, to admit that it doesn't gnaw at her self-esteem would be a lie. Which is why she absolutely refused to raise the issue with her walking, talking lie-detector of a best friend.

She distracted herself with their workload. Both hers and Matts because she hadn't suggested they reopen their firm without knowing exactly what to expect. Not that Matt hadn't pulled his weight. The info he'd gotten for some of their cases as Daredevil was invaluable which is sort of important when their rinky dink little firm absolutely did not have the budget for a private investigator. There's only so many times Foggy can call Jess in for a favor before risking her busting his door down and throwing their office phone out the window.

Which, ok yeah that's not fair. Jess is a drunk asshole but she's not a bitch. Big difference. There would definitely be some empty threats and cussing colourful enough to make a sailor blush. But nothing worse.

So Foggy had done what she could and carried what she could. Which is why when their most recent client had called her from jail in a tearful panic, Foggy hadn't hesitated to rub the lethargy out of her eyes before making her way down to the precinct.

How could she have known that a cop - their clients ex, she'd been told - would pull out a gun on them both? She'd done her best to distract and try to diffuse the situation till one of the other cups could tackle the maniac. But he'd been a lot more trigger happy than any of them expected. Pushing their client out of the way had been instinct. It's not like she had purposely let the bullet hit her. She was just slow. Sue her. Her reflexes aren't that great.

But is it bad that she was having fun basking in Matt's attention right now? Matt mother henning her, from adjusting the position of her bed to chiding her into drinking more water (This is the third glass Matt. Anymore and my bladder is going to burst") to even fluffing her pillow.

Unfortunately she doesn't get to enjoy it for long because despite what waking up from a very long sleep would suggest, she still feels exhausted. The pain-killers are weighing her limbs down and the filter between her brain and her mouth has turned from a sieve to a funnel and she doesn't really want to say anything she's going to regret. Not anything bitter or sharp. Just thoughts. Feelings. Things that she's not ready to face, let alone voice.

But she can't stop the warmth rising in her cheeks when Matt lifts a hand to her temple to push some stray strands behind her ear ("It's growing out", "I like it. It's more you", "Not very professional though", "Avocados don't follow society's idea of professionalism", "Well you got me there"). Or from curling her fingers around his hand when he grips hers between both of his, brought up to his lips as if in prayer.

Matt has never been able properly look at her of course. Hello! Blind! But even with his radar senses, the lack of use of his eyes and the presence of his glasses make it so that he never really bothers to adjust his pupils to give the illusion of eye contact. It took some effort and time but after a while she managed to learn how to read her best friend from his body language and the simple way he moved to communicate what he couldn't or wouldn't say.

From the difference between a fake laugh and a genuine one to the way he tilts his head when you had his full attention. How he stiffens when he's annoyed or pissed. The disparity of a toothy smile and a open lipped snarl.

Foggy knows her best friend. Has spent 10 years collecting bits and pieces of him and while Matt might disagree with the image Foggy has formed of him in her mind, Foggy refuses to budge on it. Matt insists that he's built with the devil under his skin and a fury that burns with it. Contrary to Matt's belief, Foggy has always seen and known that part of Matt existed. Its just, to Foggy, they didn't hide what laid underneath. The empathy and kindness that curled like roots from which all Matt's actions rose from. From pushing an old man out of the way of a speeding truck to starting a firm that barely earned pennies for the sake of helping the innocent to even his need to stalk the night with nothing but a cotton shirt protecting him from harm.

So foggy knows. She knows how Matt acts when he's around his friends. When he's around potential hook ups and even when he was with Elektra. Loath as Foggy was to see it.

But right here, right now, there's something different in the way Matt is moving. Something tender. His thumb swirling circles on the back of her hand. His lips brush over her knuckles. Chapped and rough but the kiss he leaves on them is lingering and hot from his breath.

Even as her eyes droop, Foggy's heart drums a furious beat that threatens to burst through her ribs.

"Matty?", Foggy barely manages to get his name out. So tired, blackness already easing her away from him. She feels more then see's one of Matt's hands gliding down to clasp her wrist while the other pulls hers closer to rest his cheek on the back of it.

"Sleep Foggy. We'll talk when you wake up"

She does and this time, nothing hurts.

#Daredevil #matt murdock #foggy nelson #Matt/foggy #My writing #my fic stuff #whump #angst

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ammonitetheseaserpent · 3 years

Note

I HAVE QUESTIONS ABT THE DOUBLE AGENT MARCY AU!!!!!

Does Andrias not keep in touch with her??? How long is Marcy supposed to be in the Boiling Isles???? Why does Belos just invite and accept her into his ranks???? Does he know she is human??? If not, what does he think she is??? If he does, why is he so chill with that and not figuring out how she got there???? Why is the Owl crew so trusting??? Like there is doubt but they accept her kind of fast. Will Marcy be telling them about Amphibia??? Why she was sent there??? The coming invasion??? What happened to her??? What she did??? If she does, how do they take it??? If she doesn’t, how do they learn all that??? How do they take it???

O.O Ogosh, this caught me off guard - I’m really glad you’re interested in these AUs! These are all really good questions, and I’ll definitely keep these in mind when it comes to refining this story. Let’s see here…

1. My original thought is that Andrias does implement some sort of way to contact her and keep them under his thumb, but it ends up getting destroyed in some way.

2. She gets there a few weeks before the events of Agony Of A Witch, and from that point, it follows the same timeframe as the original episodes do.

3. I had an idea that something went wrong with the whole Grimwalker project, so Belos needs to find a new coven head on short notice. His coven have been keeping a close eye on Marcy, noting that, though she seems fairly new to the Isles, she also seems to have a lot of potential. This catches Belos’s interest, figuring that, since Marcy’s new here, they won’t be to hard to sway toward his point of view.

4. Marcy tries to keep her ears hidden as much as possible, and once they get their Marsh Mystic outfit, she ties their hood securely over her ears. Belos is led to believe that she’s some sort of demon or creature not from the Isles.

5. That’s a good question! I originally figured Luz would be more sympathetic (and a lot more curious) towards Marcy after finding out that they’re human like her. I also think that, after the events of Eclipse Lake, once Amity realizes that one of the core problems is that Marcy doesn’t believe they can get away from Belos (added to the people-pleasing student ideal/complex they have), getting in the way of their actual intentions, she’d communicate this in some way to Eda, King and Luz - as well as the fact that she outright offered to let Amity keep as much Titan’s blood as she needed. I figure this would make them more willing to help Marcy out. I’m definitely gonna explore this arc more that you’ve brought it to my attention. 👍

6. I wanted to explore Marcy’s potentially doubling down on not wanting to dwell on or talk about her past, due to their experience with opening up about those elements of her life - so, even when they do reveal things about her past, it takes a while to get to that point, and they have a tendency towards vagueing. She ends up telling Luz that she was in a dimension different from the demon realm at some point, but only to give context about Joe and their axolotl features.

7. Andrias stabs her and puts her in a tank so he can add axolotl features to them and do a little strategic memory tweaking. He wants to use her as a scout/test dummy of sorts, to scope out the other worlds he takes in conquering - a chunk of this AU’s premise is admittedly just my crossover brain taking the “I will not just rule this world, but all worlds” line and running with it. The axolotl DNA is for the stem cells, to heal Marcy’s physical wounds, and give them other benefits such as gills - all to make her more resilient and effective at what he intends to use her for.

Thanks for the questions - this was really fun and insightful! 👍

#askeroonis #amphibia #amphibia marcy #marcy wu #tidesoul sunbeam #amphibia au #marsh mystic/double agent marcy au #long post #moot fren people

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gemder · 5 years

Text

a bubbline wip, featuring a dissociative episode by our fave punk rock vamp. set shortly after Stakes.

She doesn't know how long she's been hovering over the couch like this, with her gaze trained on the bumps and dips on the ceiling and her bass planted in her arms. How many times has she sung that old song, so old and resilient it survived the death and rebirth of the world (and the both of hers twice over, now) just by hiding in the corner of her mind she doesn't like to visit? She can't see the sun or moon rise through the entrance to her hideaway from this part of the house, and the cave-imposed darkness tells her nothing of the time or how much of it has passed.

She doesn't dare budge from her spot. She's been turned twice now; she knows from experience that any sudden action, anything to startle her base thought process, could spark that bloodlust from last time. That was some ugly biz, if she remembers correctly. It's been a while, but something like an uncontrollable urge to drain the lifeforce of every living creature within 30 miles sticks to you. She's just going to have to wait it out, until the itch in the back of her throat dies down and she doesn't worry it'll become an insatiable burning for hot blood, no matter how long it takes.

Marceline has had an excessive amount of time to learn how to be alone; 1003 years, in fact. So why does it never get any easier? Why does being left never hurt any less? Why does she seem to be so completely destined for eternal loneliness? What asshat decided she deserved to spend the entirety of her neverending life without a single constant presence?

Mom went out with promises of keeping safe and finding food and I love you so much, sweetie, that alone is strong enough to bring me back to you. It took two weeks before little Marcy came to the conclusion that her mom wasn't coming back with food or supplies, or even returning empty handed. Simon let a stupid magical crown take over every single cell of his brain and wrote a bunch of scattered letters about it while it happened instead of, you know, telling the frightened 7 year old she was going to be left soon. Dad just up and left to go back to running the Nightosphere after a few weeks, with nary a parting word nor any notice. Her post-apocalyptic comrades had no choice but to flee from an otherwise inevitable extinction. Bonnie had to go and grow up, and in the process decide that her 900-something year old girlfriend wasn't mature enough.

(She checked that old, busted up camper as often as she could over the following months. There was never another life in that thing after she hopped down the little steps and let the screen door slam back with the carelessness of a 6 year old.)

(She found a decomposed corpse months later that just happened to be wearing some torn up rags that looked like her mom’s old sweater and jeans. It must have just been a coincidence, though; there were a lot of recently dead back then, and even more moth-eaten sweaters in the world.)

(“I’m trying to save you, but who's going to save me?” ‘I don't know, old man, maybe you could have saved yourself? You could have not purposely used the magical relic that was making you go bananas?’ If a 7 year old could make it through the apocalypse without magic then so could a fully grown man.)

(He left her to survive on her own in the name of being executive manager of hell and he still wonders why she wants nothing to do with him, why she used to have such a hard time so much as calling him “dad” when he’s never been anything like what she was lead to believe dads were supposed to be like.)

(She’s 1000 years old, how in the name of the nightosphere could she not be mature enough?)

(Over the years she’s replaced the world “hell” with “Nightosphere” the same way the being once referred to as “God,” back when even she was young, is now called by their proper name of Glob. The Nightosphere really is hell, so it fits.)

(Sometimes she takes the time to think about how she's the heir apparent to the actual, literal, real life hell, and how she's one of the oldest beings around these days, maybe the oldest to still really be sane, but still a messed up teen.)

(She doesn't know how old she was when she was turned; years and months and all that are hard to keep track of when the species that invented it is all but extinct. Is she old enough to drive? Probably. She does and can regardless, because screw the old ways. Old enough to drink, smoke, vote? Debatable. The point is that she’s 1000 years old but actually, like, 18. What the fuck.)

She drifts, both mentally and physically. She's had plenty of time and isolation to ponder the Big Things about life and the world and why and how things happened the way they did, and what it means. She will have an abundance of opportunities in the future to think about these things, too. Some day she'll reflect on this part of her life in the far away, nostalgia-filtered sepia tones she currently thinks of her childhood and adolescence. She'll remember when Finn and Jake were the heroes of Ooo, when Simon used to chase after princesses who will have long since passed, when she couldn't get over her ex-girlfriend who happened to be sentient candy. It will be distant and she will miss it terribly, the same way she misses her mother, and Simon when he was Simon, and fries in a long-abandoned diner. But it will be a wound long since closed and numbed, like the deep scar she got on her calf sometime in her early teens that still exists today, preserved in her immortality and a sentimentality that prevented her from insta-healing it away, sting and blood long gone.

She has forever to reminisce, but only right now to live in the present. She makes mental patterns in the bumps on the ceiling, and slowly loses grip on her body. She is a million miles upwards, where the sky holds no oxygen and the stars are still pinpricks in a sea of indigo construction paper. Like a kid poking holes in the top of a jar of lightning bugs, equipped with a fork and enthusiasm at being able to destroy something for the sake of encapturing something else. She is, at the same time, hovering above her uncomfortably hard couch. One of her hands slips from its place atop her bass, and Shwabl licks it from his spot next to her on the dusty carpet.

She doesn't hear the knock at the door. She is right there, but she is centuries back and in a different part of the continent entirely. She doesn't hear Bonnie getting increasingly agitated, trying and failing not to raise her voice at her through the door. She doesn't notice when Bonnie lets herself in regardless of Marceline’s lack of response, or when Shwabl jumps up to attention at the guest.

It's the “Marceline, what -” that breaks her dissociative spell. That tone of exasperation in that particular voice is a very familiar one, especially within the last decade. She comes to to find that there are fresh tears in the corner of one eye and the words to a song as old as her youth on her lips.

“Oh, hey Bombòn. How goes it girl?” Marceline has had a millennium to convince the world that she's chill and totally not a big mess, and it shows in the lilt to her voice that screams ‘I'm just chillin’’ and not ‘I've been dissociating and crying and probably singing for who-knows-how-long and I'm really messed up’. She still doesn't dare move from her spot, because moving around could still trigger what she's trying to wait out.

“It's been three weeks, Marcy. Three weeks, and all that heavy biz, and no one's heard from you since. Doesn't that seem even a little bit irresponsible to you? Didn't you think people would worry? Or even wonder ‘hey, what happened to that girl who saved all our butts and got revampified?’”

“Dude, I've just been chilling. You know how it is; jams, games, pets, it keeps a girl busy. It’s cool. Ice cold, in fact.”

Bonnie sighs. Marceline has heard that sigh a million and three times over by now, and she's learned to like that particular sound from the pink girl; it's the one thing about herself that she can't manage to sweeten to the point of oversaturation, until it (like the rest of her) is practically dripping sugar. Marceline likes to deal with the authentic rather than the idealized versions of people, because the latter rarely ever means anything good is coming her way.

(She rationalizes that the Ice King component of Simon, while not idealized, is not authentic in the least; the products of full humans getting mixed up with magic seldom are. The authentic Simon Petrikov is the one who found a 6 year old girl in the ruins of a suburban New Mexico town and still had enough selflessness in the aftermath of the apocalypse to comfort her and take care of her.)

The sigh doesn't lead to the reprimanding the vampire expects. Instead, she watches as Bonnie leans down in her peripheral vision to pet Shwabl, expression focused intently on the dog. She's doing that same schooled neutrality shit she used to do during those globawful trade meetings - the ones Marcy used to steal her away from the go gallivanting through the rock candy mines.

“What kind of sweet tunes have you whipped up, then? Lay it on me girl.”

Marceline lets her face adopt a smirk - the expression has become a reflexive habit after centuries of being a bitter undead loner - even as something in her stomach drops. Bonnie rarely asks about her music because she knows so much of it is personal, and that which isn't is vulgar or morbid and prone to being shared regardless, not to mention the fact that Bonnie’s interests definitely don't lie in the arts, or punk rock music, or most of the uglier parts of Marceline.

“You know my latest album is the epitome of personal mush, Bons. It's so personal I'd have to kill you if you heard any of it. But, I do have a new demo about a fisherman.”

Bonnibel definitely wants something out of her; she has that smile she reserves for Cinnamon Bun and Finn when he's going on about dumb 13 year old boy things, the one that's polite and reservedly encouraging, the one that Marcy has always found to be condescending although it always looks as sweet as its wearer who is literally made out of candy, almost as sweet as the girl’s public persona.

The thing about being 1000 years old and also a teenage girl is that you spend forever being a socially-minded person on some level or another, because back in the day that's how girls were socialized to be - social-driven creatures who cared more about what Allyson wore on Tuesday or what Theresa said about Serena in math class than anything practical. So Marceline has had a long time to notice the tells and ticks of the select few she surrounds herself with often enough to care about. PB smiles like her kindergarten teacher used to on particularly trying days when she thinks the people she's with are idiots but can't call them out for it. Her eyebrows droop when she's so tired that sheer willpower will no longer keep them up. She plays with her hands when she's nervous. She used to chew on her hair when she was younger and in the process of creating her kingdom, when stress was a new feeling she hadn't yet made a feedback loop out of.

This is totally, completely because of the sexist socialization of the old world, and nothing else. Totally not because they dated for a good chunk of time, or because one or the other might, maybe be having rose-coloured thoughts about the other again.

“Everyone and their granny has heard that one, Marcy. If you've had all this time to do nothing but groove and game then I wanna hear some tunes! Don't be a butt about it.” She's trying to gode the older girl, but Marceline is itching to get out of this particular conversation. Somewhere in her cursed, mostly re-dried blood she knows this is a test.

“I don't bust into your lab and start interrogating you about your experiments - can you just lay off, man?” she says it more harshly than she had meant to, but being yanked back to reality and immediately questioned over every move will do that to a person. “Tell me what's been going on in Candyland. You finally get all the earwax off of your junk?”

“You know if you did ask about my science experiments I would be happy to tell you all about them - well, the ones that aren't classified. It's called caring, Marce, it's a thing that friends do.”

A tense silence follows as Marceline thinks of something biting (but not petty!) to throw back at her.

“And yeah, actually, I did. The dingus left a huge mess but there's nothing my purple cleaner can't get rid of.”

Bonnie can't leave a single box unticked, can she?

“Glob, that stuff is nasty. The fumes make me gag, and I don't even need to breathe!”

The princess raises a brow at her. The queen furrows both of hers in frustration and fixes her gaze back on the bumps on the ceiling. When she was younger she used to make images out of the dips and dots in the kindergarten room ceiling; the RV’s was smoothed and didn't allow that particular part of her imagination to play around.

“And I think the expression you're looking for is sharing is caring, Bubs. It's a thing they used to say waaaaaaaay back in the day whenever the old people got tired of little kids fighting over toys.”

*******

this was gonna be a longfic feat. mutual pining by our fave disaster gays and more references to marcy’s life pre- and during the apocalypse bc i have a lot of feelings about Stakes. might come back to it, who knows!!!

#ash talks #ash writes #bubbline #bubbline fanfic #writing wip

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thephantomofthe-internet · 6 years

Text

Homeward Bound : Chapter 10

Steve Harrington x Henderson!Reader, Billy Hargrove x Henderson!Reader

Chapter Summary: It’s like the Breakfast Club! But lamer...

Word Count: 3,739

Warnings: Swearing, awkwardness, THE BABIES ARE HERE!!!

Author’s Note: Gotta keep up with Amanda, don’t I? 😉

Permanent Tag: @hotstuffhargrove @denimjacketkisses @hargrovesgoldilocks @lilmissperfectlyimperfect @hipsmcgee @thatchickvic

Series Tag: @baebee35 @moonstruckhargrove @kurt-nightcrawler @supernatural-pants @thoughstofaredhead @bby-becca @fear-the-reaper115 @estheflowergirl

You looked up with a grimace. Steve Harrington was standing over you in all his fluffy haired glory, being an absolute dick, as per usual.

“I highly disagree.” You snapped, pulling his arm off you “What the hell are you doing here anyway, what you got an APB out on me now?”

Steve’s demeanour deflated instantly, stepping back, hands finding their way into his front pockets, shoulders hunching slightly. “It’s the last day of school, somebody has to do the annual ‘threaten kids into not being assholes’ speech.” He explained.

“They still do that?” you asked, letting your guard down just for a second.

“Unfortunately, and apparently it’s a rite of passage to do the speech. Which means this year I got spit balls shot at me and paper balls lobed at my head by snot nose kids.” He replied.

“Oh the irony, you used to do that all through high school, especially when it was Callahan doing the talking.” Nancy said, knocking her shoulder into his. Steve smiled, pulling her into a tight hug.

“Hey, Steve.” She said softly into his shoulder. They both looked highly emotional, a strange sight for you. You remembered when she couldn’t stand being in a room with him and he was still just trying to prove that he wasn’t still in love with her, to no avail. And while that went away with time, they never seemed exactly close.

“I didn’t know you were coming in today, I thought it was tomorrow.” He replied, pushing her back slightly by the shoulders, looking her over “How’s Sybs?”

“Good, thank you again for the gift for her, you’re two months early, but she looks adorable in the bunny suit and it’s the only thing she’ll stay asleep in now.” Nancy replied with a smile.

“Good, I’m glad.” He replied. “Your mother must love the attention and the full house again, how’s she getting along with Jonathan? Or did he end up staying back?”

“Jonathan is visiting with his mom; he’ll come down with them later in the week.” She replied easily.

“They still hate each other?” you asked, popping a stick of white chewing gum into your mouth, grinning cheekily at her.

Steve rolled his eyes “You’re just gonna ask that like it isn’t rude, huh? He asked disappointedly “’Cause you know, it doesn’t really matter anymore. They’re married and Karen’s just gonna to deal. Besides, they can’t be that petty as to-”

“They absolutely hate each other. Jonathan wouldn’t come down with me to stay with her; he’s still trying to find a way to not have to stay with her when he gets here.” Nancy replied breezily with a shrug.

“Ha! I knew it!” you cried, grinning like a fool.

“You always gotta be right, Y/N?” Steve asked. You turned to look at him, ready to retort with sass and anger. But he wasn’t cocky or annoyed, he was trying to hold back a grin; his eyes shining with mirth. Nothing about him was confrontational and the need to fight back drained from your body.

“When you’re around, Harrington, I’m always right.” You replied, a small smirk slipping onto your lips. And looking at you, relaxed and bright and joking again, Steve felt his whole body warm and glow. He didn’t release how cold and uncomfortable he was until you smiled; your body language could change his whole disposition and your smile could light up a whole room.

“So wait what are we doing here? Just wandering? ‘Cause I have no one here I need to see, except Mike but I’m not gonna pull him out of class, you know?” Nancy asked.

“Well, I’m hiding from Hargrove. I can’t get caught by him without Dustin or else I’ll get dragged into his truck.” You replied.

“He’s following you around?” Steve asked, tone hostile and worrisome, his whole body lifting to appear more physically opposing.

“No more than you are.” You replied, watching him deflate like a popped balloon. “He just saw me outside the school and decided that he had the time to try to get me in his truck. Probably not something he should be doing while on the clock.”

“He’s definitely got the time, since he’s on probation.” he replied. You cocked your brow, utterly lost, expecting clarification. “Powell caught him driving around drunk a couple months ago, Mr. Sherman put him on probation since it was in the truck. Powell never booked him on it because, according to him, the lost wages should be more than enough punishment. He’s got another week of forced time off before he’s back in.” Steve explained.

Nancy furrowed her brow “Why not just fire him then?” she asked.

“We’re short on mechanics. Usually we get a couple kids from the trade school Milton, but they opened a new shop in Carmel and so we didn’t get many kids up here. Mr. Sherman’s short a man and without Billy, he’ll be down to just him and George Burns.” Steve replied.

You hummed “Billy didn’t mention that…” you said, not really to them but more to yourself.

Billy was never the most honest guy on the block, but he owned up to his fuck ups fairly quickly, usually without being pressed or even asked. He owned up to still not getting along with Max and Susan, his dislike still very apparent. He owned up to not going home in part because he was scared. Hell, he owned up to supposedly still being in love with you! But this, this almost expected thing was hidden from you. You wondered what else he was hiding.

“I don’t know, I mean its Hargrove, he’s not much of a talker.” Nancy said reasonably, smiling sympathetically at you.

“Besides, he probably didn’t want to be doing much talker. Or have the time, I should say.” Steve said, his tone forcefully light and more than a little bitter.

Nancy gasped “You told him?!?” she cried, earning an awkward chuckle from Steve and an eye roll from you.

“He picked me up this morning. I had to tell someone or else I would explode from shame, embarrassment, and the giddiness of a secret.” You replied.

“He picked you up?” Nancy asked “And you didn’t tell me?”

“What exactly is there to tell, Nance? He picked me up, we had breakfast, and then he drove me home. Not exactly rocket science.” You replied, watching her carefully.

“Right, right of course…” she said, nodding quickly, her mind obviously running through a million scenarios. “So…how’d it go? You have fun?” she asked, a little twitchy and excited, far too excited for the subject at hand.

“It was fine. Like I said nothing major, right Steve?” you said, making Nancy jump. She’d forgotten he was there. Steve muffled a laugh, watching her curiously.

“Yeah,” he said, a tiny giggle popping out at the end of the word, forcing him to swallow his giggles, finding a stern face. “Yeah, fine. Are you alright, Nance, you’re really jumpy.”

“Fucking hormones man…I have the memory and foresight of a fucking goldfish…” she muttered, shaking her head wearily.

You giggled, wrapping an arm around her shoulders “Ah, Mrs. Nancy Byers-Wheeler, you are too fun to bug. Truly, you should be pregnant all the time, it makes it more fun for me. I get to be the smart one.” You said.

“I am still the smarter of the two of us, even with a baby stealing my brain cells.” Nancy frowned, annoyance evident in the heavy line creasing the centre of her forehead.

“I know, my dearest darling, I know.” You replied, making her smile again and sharing it with her.

“Hey! What the hell are you doing?” Steve called at a flock of teenagers in the hall a few feet away. You almost didn’t recognize them.

Max, Lucas, Mike, Dustin, and a girl you could only label as Marcy were all ahead of you, loitering around as the girl you’d labelled Marcy scratched something into the wall.

Mike, significantly taller but somehow not the tallest of the group, turned to find the sound and, without registering the whole of your little band, turned back to his friends and yelled “Scatter!”

You stepped forward, holding Steve back as you replied “Chill, Wheeler, nobody’s gonna tell on you.” Max turned back to look at you, roll her eyes as she grabbed Mike by the back of the shirt collar.

“Chill, dipshit, it’s just Steve and…is that you, Henderson? Jesus you turned into a hippie.” She said, earning a collective sigh from the group.

I haven’t had time to cut it, been busy.” You replied, walking over to the group to muffle her red hair, chopped almost completely off into a red pixie cut, mirroring Mia Farrow from Rosemary’s Baby. “Ugh, don’t mess with it, it took morning to get it to look this good.” She moaned, pushing your hand

“And it still looks like shit.” Lucas joked. Overall, he’d changed the most. While Mike had gotten taller, he still looked a little like an elf and was still too pale, and Max was still freckled and tiny, boyish save for her well done makeup, clearly a way to remind the world that she was still in fact a girl. Lucas was the most mature looking-the tallest of the group and the strongest. Dustin had said he’d taken up the helm of being the group’s sports star, captaining the basketball team in Steve’s place. His hair was still cropped short and his smile was still kind, but awkward. Underneath it all, he still seemed to be the little, awkward, logical boy you’d left in Hawkins with bad clothes and a worse relationship with his little sister, now a eighth grader.

“That’s not what you said earlier.” Max replied, eyeing him up. You cringed at their little routine, still virgining in their attempts at adulthood.

Mike was looking at you all, gobsmacked to see everyone all at once. “Nancy?” he asked, finding his sister in the group. “Jesus Christ what’re you doing here? Mom’s gonna kill you and the baby.”

“Language, Mike! Sybil is picking up on words now!” she cried.

“She’s not here now, is she?” he shot back and the two fell into a stream of bickering.

“Yeah well…it looked better then…” Lucas tried, awkward and strained.

“Y/N! What’re you doing here?” Dustin asked, pushing his way to the front of the group, clearly embarrassed.

“We were bored, decided to loiter inside the school instead of outside.” You replied with a shrug.

“And you are?” a female voice asked, high and tight. The supposed Marcy had stepped forward, hands on her hips and chest stuck out. If you were her age, this would turn into a girl fight, forcing strained seduction and quick backhanded acts of kindness.

“Hey, I’m Y/N,” you said, sticking out a hand for her to shake, which she looked at with a scowl. “I’m Dustin’s older sister.” You added. Quickly, her demeanour changed; she deflated, looking away with a sort of embarrassed inward cringe, shaking her head.

She huffed out a sigh, taking your hand and shaking it weakly “Hi…I’m Marcy, Dustin’s friend.” She said.

“I thought as much, I’ve heard a lot about you.” You replied with an easy smile, trying to urge her on. She looked uncomfortable, feigning toughness in dark clothes and a scowl painted dark purple, emphasizing the thickness of her lips. It all looked like what your mother would call an attempt to muffle your beauty, a form of dazzle camouflage that was meant to distract and scare away, not invite in. You understood her, you were her when you were her age.

“Really?” she asked, a small smile pulling at the corners of her pursed mouth, trying in vain not to smile.

“Yeah, you pop up in more letters than anyone else, well maybe anyone except Steve over here, he takes first place.” You replied, watching both Steve and Dustin cower away, watching you horrified and nervous.

“Y/N, that’s enough.” Dustin said, eyes flicking between you and Marcy, too nervous to look at either of you fully. You tried to sympathize; you didn’t want to be like your mother and embarrass him, but if it’s that easy to embarrass him then you didn’t know how to really communicate with this poor girl.

“That’s cool.” Marcy announced, the evidence of a smile on her eyes and cheeks, her mouth still holding firm despite the lilt in her voice.

“So, what does he say about me?” Steve asked nervously, shifting his weight between feet. Dustin looked at him curiously and a silent look was exchanged; Dustin confused and Steve trying to seem calm as his mind raced with possibilities.

“I mean…nothing major, he mostly just mentions you every time he talks about friends or hanging out.” You replied with a shrug, not registering his tense body language he was displaying.

“Really? Nothing else?” he asked, eyes darting around the hall.

“Not really, I mean, I didn’t even know you were a cop, remember? He’s not great with details.” You replied, watching him curiously. Steve seemed to be calming down, though his nerves were still ragged and raw and now very obvious to you. “You know, if this questioning is going to continue, I’m going to need a lawyer.” You said with a smile, nudging his shoulder. He smiled, though the twitchy energy wasn’t fading.

“Guys,” Marcy called, having gone back to examine her work, her scratchy letters spelling out ‘fuck school’ surely to be cover by paint or simply more scratches before the beginning of the school year. “I gotta get going, Andy’s gonna be here soon, I’ll catch you around, yeah?”

“Yeah, you still looking for a job in town?” Dustin asked, picking up her bag off the floor.

“Got an interview at Darlene’s Dress Shop at the mall, if all goes to plan I won’t be looking by Monday!” She replied, running down the hall without another word. Max rolled her eyes, sending her a half hearted wave.

“Bye Marce…” She muttered, a scowl making lines around her mouth. Lucas rubbed her shoulder gently, shaking his head.

“She’s not worth it, M&M…” he said, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

“Guys! She had our hall passes! We gotta go!” Mike cried, trying to run off again, only to be grabbed by Nancy, forcing him back.

“It’s the last day of school, exams start Wednesday. Relax, you won’t get detention.” Nancy said softly. Mike nodded, his breathing shaky. Mike seemed to have gotten the worst of the anxiety, or at least the most obvious. Dustin had mentioned he’d turned into a bit of a square but you didn’t see it. He just seemed stressed out, a nervous twinge to his movement, a dart in his eyes. Hawkins obviously wasn’t helping him.

“And besides, if they even tried we’d come and break you out. They can’t hold you here, you’re graduating in a week!” Dustin added, wrapping a careful arm around the lanky boy’s shoulders, squeezing him too tight.

“That’s not encouraging, dude.” Mike replied, his face scrunching from the uncomfortable squeeze, pushing away.

“Well, how about then we get out of here? Can’t get detention if you aren’t in the building.” You offered.

“Yes, you can. We tried that, they just call home.” Mike retorted, crossing his skinny arms over his chest.

“Anybody else?” You asked, turning your attention to the others, already grabbing their bags off the floor. They nodded, heading down the hall. You motioned for Steve and Nancy to follow them, leaving Mike behind.

“Aw Jesus Christ wait up you assholes!” Mike cried, running to catch up with the rest of you. As it turns out, peer pressure and a bit of motherly coaxing still worked on him. You restrained yourself from laughing at him, his shaggy hair bouncing with every bound.

“Where are we even going?” He whined, eyes darting around for some mythical hall monitor or camera waiting to catch him.

“Well, I only have one request for you all, and then you can go wherever you want.” You replied with a shrug.

“We’re going to Scoops after this, its tradition, dumbass.” Max added, brushing her bangs off her face and holding out her palm to you, silently asking for gum. You complied easily, digging around in your purse for the pack and a pen as you found your way back into the front hall and in front of that mural.

You pulled the visitor pass from your pocket and handed it to Steve, motioning for Nancy to do the same. “Go and return these for us and keep Rhonda busy for a minute, okay?” you asked.

“What, why?” he countered, taking the polyester lanyards.

“Because I’m about to get the kids to commit a minor criminal offence and you’re a cop. So go away. You heard nothing.” You replied, pushing him towards the office door. Steve complied, heading into the office like a child forced to say hello to their kissy aunt.

“Alright,” you announced with a clap of your hands “Before you leave this place forever, I think it’s important to leave behind a legacy. Yearbooks get forgotten, photos get switched out, but with a single act of defiance we can leave a message that might last a bit longer.” You pulled the small card from the mess of school spirit themed messages.

“This has been up since I graduated, they never change this board and so you’re message will last as long as the board does.” You explained, showing them the card, the back of which gave the old guidance counsellor’s information for parent use, handed to you with a worried expression that same day.

You wrote the message out of defiance and anger.

Mrs. Donaldson had declared that you should return to high school for a year, do the victory lap to make you truly ready for college life. The idea that you weren’t ready made your blood boil; you were ready as you could ever be. She didn’t understand-after what you’d seen you could handle anything.

“I just think, after the year you’ve had, you deserve a redo.” She said, folding her hands neatly in the centre of the desk, her giant square rimmed glasses slipping down her nose.

“Do I have the marks for college?” you asked boredly, eyeing the teen psychology posters lining the walls with a grimace.

“Well yes, but after Heather’s-” she began, watching anxiously as your bored expression switched into an angry one. She silently braced herself for the explosion.

“What the hell does Heather have to do with me going to college?” you snapped.

“I just think that after Heather’s death you-” Mrs. Donaldson tried, but the cause was lost and you were already on your feet, throwing your half-empty bag on your shoulder, forcing the chair back up to the desk.

“I think Heather’s death has nothing to do with my success and that you trying to use it to keep me here is bullshit. I know who you’re working for and I know that all of this is some sort of scheme to get me. I’m going to college and that’s final.” You snapped.

Mrs, Donaldson sighed, pulling off her glasses and rubbing the bridge of her nose “Just take the card, Y/N.” she said, sliding the neatly printing card across the desk. And, for some reason, you took it.

You had planned to just throw it out and move on with your life. But as you sat on one of the cool metal benches outside the office, an idea slowly revealed itself.

You only had one pen on you, the purple gel pen that always left huge ink blots on everything, but you had to try. The message was clear in your head and came out easily, the pen never splotching. In that brief moment, you believed in fate and magic. It was probably just chance, but you were in the position to believe in such things because the world around you had changed so much that believing in something like fate or luck made as much sense as everything else happening around you.

You let your eyes flick to the head secretary, who was thankfully preoccupied with a magazine and carton of chocolates. You stood from the bench, trying to move as casually as you could over to the bulletin board, pretending to examine its worn news clippings and Polaroid’s. You chose the largest spot of white, up in the right hand corner and, snatching out a snapshot of Heather herself, replaced the photo with note.

‘Don’t let them make you forget things for their benefit. Remember pain. Remember embarrassment. Remember Heather Macpherson.’

“I think it’s only fitting that the third generation of fucked up kids leave theirs behind. Now, this has to be done carefully as to not draw attention to it, you can’t just write in on the bottom of a photo, okay? Do it together, write in on something, and leave your mark.” You told them. You made it feel like another mission, but the way they smiled and looked to one another. They huddled together and whispered wildly, just like they did as children. It would’ve been sweet if the context of all those huddles weren’t tattooed to your mind.

Mike had ripped off a piece of manila envelope and handed it to Lucas, who you assumed had the best handwriting. Dustin seemed to be the only one with a pen and Max was used as a makeshift desk. The note, when finished, was pinned up with a collection of very old yellowed photos. You herded them off and nodded to Steve, who headed out of the office, leaving Rhonda with her whole face lit up.

You remained at the board, wondering how long their note would last. Steve came up behind you, though this time it didn’t startle you this time.

“What they write?” he asked, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. You pointed out the tiny note.

The Russian girl lives.

“I mean, not entirely incorrect…” Steve said, a trying smile on his face, looking for something positive to say.

“It’s stupid.” You said, laughing just a little. Steve looked at you, taking in your easy smile and relaxed posture.

“Yeah…yeah it is. Come on, before they realize you’re laughing at them.” He replied, grabbing your hand and pulling you out the door, giggling like school children.

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bluraaven · 6 years

Text

Smoke and Mirrors

Chapter 6

[[ AN: story-relevant tags apply. You can find those here ]]

"We got him!"

Guyot's grin practically stretched from ear to ear, and his enthusiasm, which was usually infectious, only moved Reynauld to respond with a twitch that did not resemble a valiant attempt at a smile so much as it did him suddenly suffering a stroke.

Guyot was right though. Dismas was under lock and key in one of the holding cells, and in theory today's work was done and the operation a full success. They had gotten their target, and as the leading officer in charge, Reynauld should be celebrating his victory.

But the truth was that instead of receiving back-pats and congratulations from the whole department, Reynauld would much rather have spent the night in someone else's arms.

Guyot had driven the van on their way back from the hotel, and that at least had left Reynauld to slump in the passenger seat, too out of it to do more than watch the city lights speed past them. Once they had arrived, he had been able to hold it together long enough to escort Dismas to the prison, and then he had promptly fled to his office under the pretext of having to write reports.

That had been an hour ago. He hadn't even fired up the computer yet. Instead, he had chosen to wallow in alcohol-fortified self-pity. With his arms crossed on his desk, and his head resting upon them, Reynauld passed the time by watching his office sway gently, as if it were inside a boat that was floating on a relatively calm sea. His right hand had slipped from the wooden surface of his desk, and back then it had seemed like too much of a bother to lift it back up.

Only when somebody knocked at his door did Reynauld look up, but as soon as it turned out to be Guyot, he lowered his head again. And because Guyot was Guyot, he was brimming with energy and joy, the combination as loathsome to Reynauld at this very moment, as sunshine and music were to the hungover. But he was still Reynauld's best friend, and so Reynauld had greeted him with a limp flap of his hand that could mean anything really, but which Guyot interpreted as an invitation to come in and sit down.

"Yeah," Reynauld sighed, because some manner of verbal answer was necessary, lest his friend call the paramedics on him. "We did."

"This don't work on me, ya know?" Guyot said and dipped his head so that he could look Rey in the eyes.

Reynauld, in turn, could verify that that infuriating smile was still in place. He didn't like how Guyot could look through him. Not that he had been putting any kind of effort into pretending that everything was fine and dandy, but still. He guessed that was the price you had to pay for having friends you have known since you both had been in diapers. They cared enough to make you miserable to make you feel better.

The thought struck, wrapping itself around Reynauld's brain like a python, writhing and constricting, and after a moment he wasn't even sure what he'd meant by thinking that. It hurt to think. And because he was hurting enough already, he stopped. Thinking, not being in pain. If Reynauld had been able to something about the latter, he already would have.

"Come on," Guyot cajoled in a sweet, patient voice. "What's wrong?"

Reynauld shook his head, something that required major effort, since it still rested upon his arms. He could hear the sigh float over him like a raincloud.

"Rey?"

"You were right," Reynauld finally replied and nodded. A moment later he couldn't tell whether his head was still moving, or whether his office was accelerating. He swallowed, closed his eyes, and muttered, "This was a terrible idea."

A moment of silence followed. Then,

"Look, I'm sorry ya had to put up with that sleazebag," Guyot began tentatively, but– .

"What?" Reynauld blurted out. He had meant moving, but slowly the meaning of Guyot's words wormed its way through to his brain.

"Remember when I said it couldn't be worse than my last date?" Reynauld said slowly.

"Yeah?" Guyot sounded confused.

Reynauld had a hunch that if he'd been sober this conversation would not be happening, at least not like this.

"Well, was it?" his friend finally asked, when he forgot to continue.

"No." Reynauld remembered the way Dismas' thigh had pressed against his in the bar, how it had felt to hold him close on the ride to the hotel. All the little sounds he'd made when Reynauld had kissed him breathless. "Wasn't the second worst either," he mumbled. "Wasn't bad at all."

"Rey?"

"It was the best date I've ever had." Reynauld looked at Guyot in accusation, as if he were to blame for the unfairness of it all. It had to be the drink. It was to blame for turning him maudlin, and erasing that invaluable filter between his brain and his mouth.

"Oh no," he heard, Guyot sigh, before the warm comforting weight of a hand landed on his shoulder. His friend gave him a little shake that Reynauld did not respond to. "I'm sure Para has something that could cheer you up," Guyot said, making an attempt at levity.

"Fuck off," Reynauld muttered, suddenly on the verge of tears. He was tired, drunk, and his best friend was being an ass, all of which amounted to him feeling like a steaming pile of shit.

"That bad, huh?" Guyot asked, and with a deep breath he wrapped an arm around Reynauld. "C'mere."

Reynauld leaned into the offered embrace like a tree being felled. Guyot caught him, held him, and rubbed large, soothing circles into his back. It felt good. Safe and familiar. Guyot smelled like coffee and industrial detergent and Reynauld didn't know how long he ended up sniffing into his friend's collar while the world wavered between warm and fuzzy, and being a cold hopeless place.

"I'm drunk," Reynauld eventually confessed in a whisper.

"I can tell," Guyot replied, his voice thick with amusement. "Good thing I didn't let you drive."

"I didn't mean to get drunk," Reynauld complained. But Dismas had been company, and he'd lost count of the drinks they'd had. Finally he'd found what he had been looking for, something – someone fun and exciting, and now they were gonna take him away, and he had no one to blame but himself.

"So, just how much did ya drink?" Guyot wanted to know.

"I don't remember," Reynauld answered in a low murmur, slightly embarrassed. He had not felt nearly as drunk in the hotel room, but it had gradually gotten worse, over time. Some of the stronger booze had to be hitting him late.

"Well, that's one too much for sure," Guyot chuckled, and gave Reynauld's arm a sympathetic pat. Why don't ya get some sleep? Things'll look brighter in the morning, I promise ya."

Reynauld didn't want to go back to an empty home. His wife was gone, his kid wasn't there either, and his almost-lover of half a night was behind bars. His eyes began to burn again.

This was why he didn't drink in first place.

It was not the first time he had decided to save himself the train ride home, and Guyot helped him set up with the emergency camping kit that consisted of a therm-a-rest mat, a small blow up pillow, a sheet and some blankets. Guyot even got him a bottle of water, which became just half of one within seconds of meeting Reynauld.

Reynauld brushed his teeth in one of the nearby bathrooms and undressed back in his room, folding his clothes as neatly as he could manage on his desk. Then, he laid down on the mattress.

The air escaped with a noise like a fart, and he groaned, an unhappy little sound, unwitnessed by anything but the floorboards. It was a show of iron self-control when Reynauld got up again to let the mat refill before he twisted the little air vent to screw it shut. Tomorrow he could take a shower downstairs, get a clean uniform, and be as good as new.

Today, he was allowed to be as miserable as he wanted to be. And because he was already on his feet, Reynauld remembered to lock his office. The last thing he wanted was for one of his superiors to encounter him in his briefs, drooling on the floor.

Morning did eventually arrive after a much too short night that Reynauld had thankfully managed to sleep through. With the sun shining through the window everything was literally brighter, just as Guyot had promised, although Reynauld wasn't so sure about whether he felt better or worse. It would take approximately half a galleon coffee for him to find out, so he decided to get an early start on that front.

He dressed and cleaned himself up, then brewed a pot, immediately consumed half of it, and headed downstairs to see who was already in. Guyot wasn't going to arrive until midday, and most of his team were off-duty until much later in the day. After a brief chat with Barristan, Reynauld headed back to his office to catch up on paperwork which he had neglected yesterday.

Once finished, he stretched, and called for Marci to take the reports to the Chief.

"Oh, but he's got a conference outta town," Marci said apologetically. "Neville told me, when I mentioned I thought I'd seen his car earlier. Anyway, I guess that means Mal's in charge."

She would be; and Reynauld had Marci take the folders to her instead.

Her reply came soon enough.

If he'd had a moderately crappy night, Dismas' must have been quite a ways further up on the Scale of Suck. Reynauld wasn't sure why a couple of hours later he tormented himself with personally escorting the prisoner when he could have sent anybody else to do the job.

Maybe it was an inherent streak of masochism, or maybe it was guilt – but either way, he found himself in front of Dismas' cell. Dismas, who actually looked marginally relieved to see him again.

Judging by the dark circles under his eyes, Dismas had not been able to rest at all, and Reynauld would have been surprised if he had. The holding cells were meant to make the stay in them as unpleasant as possible, and the regular visits from the forensics team did not make matters any better. Dismas was probably right in that half of what went on in that tract was against the law.

Not that anybody would know from how operations were being run topside.

Mallory was the epitome of professionalism, and Reynauld had to sit through a very uncomfortable hour in which Dismas' defences were one by one pulled down until defeated, he agreed to cooperate.

It took roughly another hour for Reynauld to read and explain all the legal paperwork, and for Dismas to sign all the forms before Reynauld could escort him back to a cell – this time, a more adequate one for long-term detention.

They rounded the corner, but they were not the only ones, and what happened did so too fast for Reynauld to intervene. A surprised gasp was followed by a shout of pain, coffee cups went sailing and Marci stared at them in wide-eyed shock, the tablet still clutched in her hands. Reynauld was spared the torrent of brown liquid, but Dismas caught the brunt of it and he let out a litany of curses while trying to tug the sodden and undoubtedly scalding shirt away from his chest.

"I'm so sorry–"

"Feckin' shite– !"

"I didn't see you– "

"Fuck this cunt piece of a day with a splintering two by four!"

"Marci," Reynauld said, trying to keep his calm. It wasn't her fault. It wasn't anybody's fault. It was a stupid accident. Those happened sometimes.

"I'm so sorry!" Marci stammered, the tablet shaking in her hands so much, she threatened to spill more coffee. "I'm so sorry, Rey."

"What am I, chopped liver?" Dismas muttered darkly.

"Guyot sent me for some coffee; he's interrogating the other guy, and I didn't see you around the corner– ,"

"What other guy?" Dismas asked, but Marci was still stuttering apologies, so Reynauld hushed her and ordered her to get a mop and wipe the floor while he would take care of Dismas.

Reynauld half expected a little puff of dust to rise from how quickly Marci made a dash for it, undoubtedly relieved that he wasn't upset or going to shout at her in the middle of the office and not willing to hang around in case he changed his mind.

"Well, this is great," Dismas bit out through clenched teeth a moment later. "This whole fucking mess is just. Fantastic. You get to be my babysitter and I'm fucked six ways to Sunday if anybody ever finds out I talked."

"Did she burn you?" Reynauld asked, trying to be patient, calm, professional. To channel a little bit of Mallory.

"No," Dismas grunted.

"I mean it. I can take you to the medical wing," Reynauld offered.

"M'fine," Dismas said in a tone that made Reynauld feel slightly uncomfortable because of how familiar it sounded.

So that's what it was like to be on the receiving end of that. "If you say so," Reynauld agreed, not believing it for a second and feeling a twinge of sympathy for Guyot.

"Are you gonna get me out of this, or do I have to smell like cafeteria from now on?" Dismas asked, once more tugging on the clothes he had been given upon his arrival at the PD. Both the shirt and sweatpants were marred by large, brown coffee stains.

"You'll get clean clothes," Reynauld assured him.

"Good."

For a moment, Reynauld thought that Dismas sounded slightly mollified, but apparently he had just been getting ready to throw the next punch.

"I wouldn't want you pigs all over me like strays over a bitch in heat."

"No danger there," Reynauld choked out, once he was done picking his jaw off the floor. What the hell?

"Just you then, huh?" Dismas asked in a mock sweet tone. "You know, you should receive an award for that act.

"Don't." Reynauld bit out. He understood the other man's anger. He did not deserve it, not after going out of his way to make sure Dismas wouldn't look like an illiterate idiot in front of Mallory, but he understood it. That did not mean he was willing to put up with everything Dismas threw his way.

"Why not?" Dismas cocked a brow. "Should be proud o'yerself. Had me fooled, ya know?"

"I'm not– ," Reynauld near-shouted.

"Will you mention it in your report?" Dismas continued, his voice rising in volume too, but his tone had soured, had become spiteful. "What it was like to kiss me? Or how you were hard for me?"

Reynauld's eyes narrowed, but Dismas took no heed. "And today I almost though ya were the Good Cop."

"I very much hope that I am a good cop," Reynauld finally cut him short, stepping in front of Dismas and blocking his further way. From their encounter at Jubert's, Reynauld already knew Dismas wasn't intimidated by thugs larger than he was, but he wasn't some bar-brawling punk and if Dismas wanted some, he could say whatever he wanted to get it right here, right now. If he had the balls.

Anybody who might have passed by in that moment, would be greeted by an interesting sight; a silent standoff between a man in cuffs and ruined clothes, and one officer in slightly rumpled uniform.

Dismas was the first to look away.

Reynauld shook his head, and pushed Dismas in the direction of the nearest showers that also happened to contain his locker. He should follow protocol and take him back to the prison tract, but the faster he got this job done, the faster he could hand off Dismas to somebody else, and take his mounting frustration out on the dummies in the gym rather than on the prisoner next to him.

"Mind the stairs – ," Reynauld barked, one-finger-punching the light switch with more force than it deserved.

"F– !"

Dismas pitched forward and Reynauld reacted instantly, catching him under the arm. Having a kid had honed his reflexes of catching smaller people from busting their skulls on the floor. Dismas counted, because he only came up to Reynauld's nose.

Reynauld expected another tirade, but when he turned to face Dismas, he could see that Dismas' brows had drawn together, and up.

"Why?" Dismas asked the sound of his voice brittle.

"Why what?" Reynauld repeated, confused and unsure of what had just happened.

"If I were you," Dismas explained, as if he were talking to a child, "I would have kicked myself down those stairs."

"Too much paperwork," Reynauld replied before he could think of any better reply.

Dismas blinked and then he failed at fighting off a smile, which resulted in the corners of his mouth being tugged in different directions.

"Rey– ," Dismas said, exasperated.

"Yeah?"

Dismas' brows drew up in surprise. "So that really is your name?"

"It is," Reynauld confirmed.

"You're the guy who arrested me. I don't want to like you," Dismas said, and instantly looked like he would have rather bitten off his own tongue.

"... but you do?" Reynauld dared to ask, and he was met with a pained look.

He had never apologized a to a crook before. (But then he had also never arrested one during foreplay.) Yet this seemed important, somehow.

"I told you, I'm sorry," Reynauld began. "I mean it. And I know it's not much, but I was after a criminal. My job was to catch the Grave Robber. I didn't mean to hurt... you."

A muscle on the side of Dismas' jaw twitched, and he gave Reynauld a curt nod.

"I like you too," Reynauld admitted softly and watched the furrows on Dismas' brow and between his eyes deepen.

Dismas took a deep breath, and it appeared as if he wanted to say something, because his mouth worked, but in the end, couldn't. A couple of tries later, he finally managed to croak, "You're alright. An' a good cop, I guess."

Reynauld sensed that he'd have a crick in his neck if he suffered any more whiplash, but he appreciated the sentiment. This was better than being an outlet for the other man's anger. Much better.

"Thank you."

There. They'd talked. Things had been said. In the low light, Dismas' eyes looked nearly black. Reynauld wished he had something more to add, or that Dismas would make a joke, say something clever. He didn't.

Rey did. "Hey."

Dismas looked up, and the sane part of Reynauld watched with detached terror as he stroked a hand over Dismas cheek, before leaning down and kissing him.

Reynauld realized he might have made a mistake when Dismas' teeth closed on his lip with enough force to hold him in place and do some serious damage if he bit down.

"Ain't you lucky I never hurt a lover," Dismas murmured, and, as if the arrest had never happened, he pulled himself into the kiss, open-mouthed and soothing the sting in Reynauld's lip by sucking on it.

Reynauld wrapped his arms around the smaller man's frame. Why did this have to feel so good? Why did Dismas' rugged looks and snarky remarks rouse something in him that none of his 'respectable' dates ever had? He licked over Dismas' lips, who opened right up and ran his tongue over Reynauld's. Reynauld thought that his chest might burst if that bubble of happiness inside it swelled any more.

Dismas' cuffed hands ran over his stomach, stroking, petting, groping. "See? Told ya 'bout the coffee stains," Dismas mumbled between kisses.

Reynauld's laughter was muffled, and he reached under Dismas' shirt and pulled it over the other man's head. There was no way to get it past the handcuffs and off completely, so Reynauld simply made Dismas lift his arms over his head where they were in no danger of coming close to his belt again. Dismas didn't seem to mind. He held Reynauld's head with both hands and tongue kissed him like there was no tomorrow.

Reynauld grabbed Dismas by the hips, and began to walk them towards the showers. Small steps, one leg between Dismas', it was almost like a slow dance. One that ended once they were on the tiled floor on the other side of the room.

Dismas was alternatively running his hands through Reynauld's hair, and cupping his jaw. The handcuffs barely seemed to hinder him.

Reynauld broke off their kiss only when he shoved down Dismas' sweats and briefs in one go, kneeling to get them down around Dismas' ankles. He felt Dismas' weight as the other man braced himself on his shoulder.

Reynauld thought that as he came up, he caught a flash of disappointment, but then Dismas stepped out of his pants, kicked them off, and wiggled his brows. He was only half-hard, but that changed quickly when Reynauld's hand wrapped around his cock, giving him a few good tugs from base to tip.

"Ah, fuck!"

Dismas' arms tightened around Reynauld's neck. Reynauld could see that his pupils were blown wide, and he leaned in again, claiming Dismas' mouth with his own. His own pants were tight, but he could wait. First he wanted to enjoy Dismas' cock in his hand, the weight and feel of it once it filled out. Its heat, the softness of skin.

He wanted to hear the noises Dismas was making against his lips when Reynauld pulled on him, slow and hard, or how his breathing stopped and picked up again with how he thumbed the sensitive head. Dismas twitched in his hand, and after only a few passes, he was leaking slick.

Reynauld grinned and ignored the growl and the nip of teeth against his neck as he let go of Dismas to run his hands over the other man's backside, kneading his firm buttocks. If this were another time and place, he might have done more than just trace Dismas' crack with his index finger before brushing past it. Or he would have paid more attention to Dismas' balls.

But time was one of the things they were short on, and with only the mildest pangs of regret, Reynauld returned his attention to Dismas' cock, running the backs of his knuckles lightly over its underside.

Dismas nudged Reynauld's nose with his own, to get some attention.

"You too," he panted. "C'mon."

Reynauld could not take off his pants without also losing his belt, and that was actually a whole lot more complicated than it sounded. He just unzipped his fly, tugged his underwear to the side, and pulled out his own prick.

They barely touched like this, the position not allowing for proper contact, and Dismas grunted in frustration. Reynauld picked up one of Dismas' legs, and lifted it so that the crook of the other man's knee was right over that of his elbow. Unbalanced, Dismas pitched backwards, and hit one of the shower knobs. Cold water sprayed them both.

They gasped, then laughed, and then Dismas' low moan was the only sound to be heard for a long time as Reynauld began to grind against him.

"Yeah. Fuck, yes."

Dismas bit the lobe of Reynauld's ear, pulled on it and then mouthed along his neck. Despite his limited options of movement, Dismas was rutting back as much as he could.

The water turned from icy to warm quickly, and their new position allowed Reynauld to stoke them both in tandem. His back and the backs of his thighs were burning, but it was only a mild inconvenience at this point, because Dismas was panting against Reynauld's lips, open-mouthed and with a look of intense concentration on his face. A couple of tugs later and he swallowed, opening his eyes briefly, and then squeezed them shut again, hips bucking wildly.

Reynauld stroked himself faster. He could feel Dismas come and the additional weight as the other man let himself be held up. Reynauld rested his forehead against Dismas' and tightened his hold until the dark bathroom was suddenly lit up by a shower of bright sparks, the water instantly sluicing away any evidence of their tryst.

Dismas let him catch his breath on his own time, his fingers massaging the back of Reynauld's neck. His nose was buried in his cheek, and he drew back slightly as Reynauld came down from his high. Dismas placed a tender, almost shy kiss on his cheek before withdrawing completely.

The position they were in was becoming more and more uncomfortable. Reynauld let go of Dismas' leg, who took a second to find his balance. They didn't look at each other. Reynauld reached over Dismas' shoulder to turn off the water. As soon as it was cut off, so was the magic of the moment.

Dismas was nearly naked and started to shiver while Reynauld's uniform was soaked right down to his socks. They let go of each other, and stepped back. Reynauld undid Dismas' handcuffs long enough for him to dry himself off and get dressed, before he closed them again and changed into a new uniform himself.

All the time, the rush of his own blood in his ears was still the only thing Reynauld could hear, along with a curious ringing. It nicely balanced out the feeling of having swallowed a black hole.

What had he just done? He must be insane. This could have cost him his work, it still could. Anybody could have come down, could have seen–

"Your friend," Dismas said suddenly, interrupting Reynauld's inner meltdown.

"What? Who?" Reynauld stammered, confused. This was not the right time to bring up any of his friends. Merely thinking about how they would react if they knew was enough mortification for a lifetime.

Dismas huffed. "The soulless wannabe maxillofacial surgeon," he explained.

Reynauld had an inkling that Dismas meant Guyot, but no idea why he would want to talk about the other police officer. Still... "Soulless?"

"Yeah. Ain't that what they say about redheads?"

"You don't really believe that," Reynauld said.

"It don't matter what I believe," Dismas said with a slight trace of annoyance. "Thing is, " he added, and Reynauld perceived something in his voice he recognized instantly.

It was urgency.

"He's the one interrogating Louet, ain't he?" Dismas asked. "I was wondrin' if ya'd let me talk ta him. Louet, not yer friend. He's a dick."

"Why?" Reyauld wanted to know, wary of where this was going. He did not rise to the bait. Just by how Dismas' accent thickened, Reynauld could tell that the other man was much more nervous about this request than he was letting on. Probably because it was important to him.

"Cause he might tell me something he won't tell you," Dismas retorted, as if Reynauld was an idiot for not thinking of the possibility.

"I doubt that," Reynauld replied. "Besides, you could just as well mean to silence him."

"Because he sold me out?" Dismas asked with raised brows. The grin he shot Reynauld looked strained, and his tone just missed his usual cocky drawl. "Eh, thought by now ya'd know there's no honour amongst thieves. 'S all water under the bridge."

"We made him an offer," Reynauld said. "The same we did you. Can you blame him?"

"I don't blame 'im," Dismas said, and sighed, shoulders slumping. Sensing that this approach was not going to work, he appeared to briefly war with himself, before he straightened again and looked Reynauld in the eye. "I just wanna talk. And I fucking hate asking for favours, but please. Just let me talk ta 'im. M' in cuffs anyway, and I know you're gonna be listening, might learn somethin' new that way. I just... c'mon Rey. Louet and I, we go way back. Waddya got to lose?"

What did he have to lose? Reynauld weighted his options. Dismas wouldn't be able to attack Louet physically. If he just wanted to grab the opportunity to fling some profanities his way well, that wasn't gonna harm the other prisoner. Anything they said would be on record, and even if they had some code – that could be broken. But this way at least they would find out about its existence, which was still better than nothing.

"I'm pulling you out if that conversation takes a turn I don't like," Reynauld said, after arriving at a conclusion.

"Sounds fair," Dismas sighed, and Reynauld realized that he had not expected to be granted this wish. "Thanks." It sounded like Dismas had developed a sudden toothache.

The awkwardness of what they had done hung heavily over them until Reynauld cleared his throat. They had both finished dressing, and he had stuffed his soaked uniform in a bag to take home at the end of the day. "Let's go, shall we?"

Dismas nodded without saying another word, and trudged along Reynauld as he led them both through the building, back to the interrogation rooms. Either Dismas was too lost in thought, or too tired for his usual witticism, and the walk passed in uncomfortable, although not-quite tense silence.

Until they went by the cafeteria, where he stopped as if rooted to the ground.

"Is that a cattle prod? Why is there a cattle prod next to the coffee machine?" Dismas looked from said item back to Reynauld.

"To keep away forensics and interns," Reynauld sighed. "You should know why, since you already met the former. This way." He tugged on Dismas' arm, and the other man stumbled along, his eyes still glued to the coffee machine.

But if Dismas wanted his chance of talking to Louet, he better hurry up. It wasn't everyday that the Chief was gone and Reynauld was willing to bend the rules... a lot, actually.

Louet had already agreed to work with the police. He was afforded special status in exchange for what information he might have, the extraction of which was Guyot's job. And if they were lucky, the two still had not finished.

They met Guyot halfway to the cells. He had just gotten himself some fresh coffee, and after Reynauld called out, he waited for them to catch up.

"Have you seen Marci?" Guyot asked in greeting. "I told her to get me some coffee, but it seems she forgot."

Reynauld noticed how Dismas tensed next to him, but before he could explain, Guyot remarked,

"Hey, why is your hair all wet?"

Dismas snorted and Reynauld suddenly felt like somebody had upended a bucketful of ice water over him. In his mind, he saw Dismas wrapped around him, soaked clothes clinging to their forms as they rutted in the department showers, where everybody could have walked in on them. Light help him, that had to be the stupidest thing he had ever done in his life, and he'd certainly had a thousand times more luck than brains to get away with it.

He needed a distraction, and fast. As luck would have it, Dismas had provided him with one.

"I was wondering if Dismas could talk to your guy?" Reynauld asked without offering an answer, and tried to convey everything else that he could not say out loud via telepathy.

Thankfully, Guyot's psychic abilities proved to be infallible. "Sure," the redhead replied with a shrug. "Just make sure to chain him out of reach."

Well, that had been easier than anticipated. Reynauld gave Dismas an encouraging nod and smile, while Guyot swept the key card through the lock system which emitted a low buzzing sound. After a second, the red light flashed briefly before turning to green.

"Weird," Guyot said, and raised the coffee cup to take a loud, slurping sip. He sighed in contentment, licking his lips.

Dismas watched him without bothering to conceal his disgust, and Reynauld tapped his foot impatiently.

The light went out, and the doors finally opened.

Louet was still sitting in the same chair, at the very table he had been handcuffed to. He would have appeared to have nodded off, if not for the blood. It pooled around his chair, filled the gaps of the tiled floor, giving off a sweet, thick odour. Somebody had slit Louet's throat with enough force to lay open half his neck, and even stain the walls.

#blu's corner #blu's tag: fanfiction #darkest dungeon #reynauld #dismas #reymas

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sciencespies · 4 years

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Lighting the path for cells

https://sciencespies.com/news/lighting-the-path-for-cells/

Lighting the path for cells

Highly complex organisms can arise from a single cell, which is one of the true miracles of nature. Substances known as morphogens have an important role in this development, namely by signalling to cells where they should go and what they should do. These signal molecules guide biological processes such as the formation of body axes or the wiring of the brain. To investigate such processes in more detail, researchers have to be able to position the signal molecules among living cells in three-dimensional space. This was made possible by a new method developed by Nicolas Broguiere and his colleagues in the research group headed by Marcy Zenobi-Wong. Their work is being published today in the journal Advanced Materials.

Drawing with light

“Our approach makes it possible to distribute bioactive molecules in a hydrogel with a high degree of precision,” says Zenobi-Wong, Professor of Tissue Engineering and Biofabrication in the Department of Health Sciences and Technology at ETH Zürich. When living cells are encapsulated in the hydrogel, they can detect these biochemical signals. One such signal, nerve growth factor, determines the direction in which nerve fibres grow. In a method called two-photon patterning, the researchers used a laser to draw a 3D pattern of this molecule in the hydrogel.

“Wherever the light is focused in the material, it triggers a chemical reaction that anchors the nerve growth factor to the hydrogel,” Broguiere explains. “We carefully optimised the design of the photosensitive hydrogel so that the signal molecules attach only in the areas exposed to the laser – and nowhere else.” Their new approach can create “paintings” of morphogens with details one thousand times smaller than a millimetre – the size of a single nerve fibre. The researchers could then observe through a microscope how the neurons follow the mapped-out pattern. “With this new method, we can now guide neurons effectively in 3D, using their own biochemical language,” Broguiere says.

When nerve fibres tear

Many biologists have long dreamt of instructing cells to grow in a particular direction. The new approach developed by the ETH research group brings them one step closer to fulfilling that dream. Zenobi-Wong and Broguiere believe their innovation also offers potential benefits for medicine – for example, if a nerve is severed during an accident, the reconnection happens haphazardly and full function is not restored. “I don’t want to give the impression that we’re ready to start treating patients with this method,” Zenobi-Wong says, “but in the future, a refined version of our approach could help show neurons the right path directly in the body, thereby improving recovery from neural injuries.”

#News

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steverogersbrooklynbabe · 7 years

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National anthem 2/?

Summary: (Y/N) is a talented girl who is currently under Hollywood spotlight after winning the Grammy Award for Best New Artist. She is invited to sing the national anthem at the White House for Fourth of July’s celebration which is also a celebration of the great national hero, Steve Rogers which results in her singing “Happy birthday” to him revealing her secret relationship with the hero of another time and a famous singer? Is the spotlight the right thing for them or their wrecking ball?

“Maybe you are used to all the attention because of your career but this is ten times worse sometimes. Not to scare you (Y/N) but now your life is all about Steve Rogers, what are you wearing, what are you going, who are you. Life as Tony’s girlfriend is sometimes a bit chaotic because everyone was expecting him to cheat, to become crazy and they don’t believe that he has changed. But you (Y/N)… you have American’s golden boy heart in your hands and I think that is even bigger than my role” As Pepper’s words sink in me I turn around to see a glimpse of my boyfriend who was talking with the president of the United States. He was shaking hands and having a laugh with the fucking president of the United States and I was here… just being another star who everyone thinks that doesn’t have a brain and only cares about her looks.

Was Steve right? Maybe we were better being a secret…

“Oh but hey please don’t be scared by my words! I’m sure Steve hasn't chosen a weak woman as his couple.I’m so happy to have a girl friend considering I’m surrounded by men. Oh (Y/N) you need to meet Natasha and Maria! They are going to be so happy that Steve has someone by his side now” I keep on the talk with Pepper until my boyfriend and Tony arrived claiming that they got busy with the president.

“I think we are going to call it off for the night” Steve told Pepper and Tony who were sitting in front of us.

“Oh c’mon grandpa! It’s not even twelve and it’s your birthday! What are you like 100 years old?” I chuckled

“98″ Steve stood up giving me his hand for support “I prefer to celebrate the end of my birthday with my favorite girl in a place more private” I knew exactly what he meant, he wanted to unwrap his birthday gift, and I was the birthday gift.

“Damn Capsicle, who would think you had this naughty side on you? Take care of him, darling, we need him tomorrow at the Avengers quarters at 2 p.m so give him a break okay?”

“I don’t know Tony, maybe we won’t be able to leave the bed” The four of us laughed as we said our goodbyes.

As we were walking hand in hand on our way to the backstage where we were going to exit without no one noticing I visualize a bunch of paparazzi trying to have a peek of the presidential party and of course the new American couple.

“Shit, I forgot we needed to give some declarations” Steve sigh at my words but gave me a kiss on my forehead

“Can we just, try to leave and answer a few questions in a vague way as we leave?” I knew that Marcy wanted me to give some declarations in order to increase my popularity but it was my love life, I have the right to keep it private even if we told all the public that we were together. As I turn around to see my boyfriend I can see that he is struggling with this situation. He has never been a fan of giving public declarations, always leaving Tony with that part of the work even in the Avengers and one of the reasons we were a secret all these months. I guess nothing bad is going to happen if I agree with him.

“Yes honey, it’s your birthday and we need to keep on celebrating. We are just going to leave and answer a few questions without really answering okay? Let me just call the security” He immediately smiles at me

“You know that you are the best girlfriend ever?” He moves one hair strand that was loose and then bends to give me a delicate kiss. I enter my dressing room to grab my purse where I had my cell phone sending a message to Quarell, the head of my security team.

“All ready, they will be waiting for us at the other side of the door and a van is waiting for us at the end. Do you want to drive or do you want the driver to do it?”

“I can drive doll don’t worry” I nod as he takes my hand preparing for the leave. “We can do this doll, just stay by my side” I nod and he opens the door making all the flashes go crazy

“How long have you been dating?” “What it’s like to date a superhero (Y/N)?” “Are you aware of the age-difference?” “Captain Rogers! We thought you were dating Natasha Romanoff what happened?” “Are you pregnant (Y/N)?” Were just a few of the questions that were thrown at the both of us as we keep on walking to the end of the hall. Steve turned around to look at me curious of why I wasn’t speaking but with the look, I told him that I preferred to be quiet. As we arrived at the van Steve opened the door for me as the gentleman he is and he even helps me with my long gown to take a sit correctly.

“Is everything alright doll?”

“Yeah is just that, I realized that I didn’t want to tell nothing. It’s our relationship not them” He smiled at me

“If we weren't being surrounded by a bunch of paparazzi, believe me, I would be kissing you” I laugh taking his hand

“So Captain, you better start driving so we can do even more than kissing”

“Mine or yours?” Most of the times we met at my house because his friends didn’t know about us so I decided that it was time to be at his place considering now everyone will know and tomorrow will be a chance of meeting all my boyfriend’s friend’s who were also the Avengers that lived in the same tower as him. “So mine’s”

“Floor 17 please F.R.I.D.A.Y, Miss (Y/N) will stay with me tonight” Steve talked to the AL as we entered the elevator. I remember the first time Steve bring me to his place almost two months ago when he was left behind from a mission because of an injury so I stay with him and took care of him. Since then Steve lied when the missions were little ones that didn’t need his help so he told the team that he had a big headache, stomachache or the flu.

Even if it was not the first time of me here I keep on being amazed by the great technology of the tower and the great view Steve had from his quarter considering it was a whole floor for him.

“Do you want me to deactivate the cameras Mr. Captain? Go uncover?” The AL responded

“Don’t worry F.R.I.D.A.Y, Miss (Y/N) and I are no longer a secret” I turn around to smile at him

“Congratulations Captain and Miss (Y/N). We have arrived, have a great night” The doors opened and Steve took me in his big arms making me scream by the surprise

“You don’t know how long I have waited to have you all for myself darling” As I looked into his eyes I realized that the color has changed, the watery eyes that always make my legs weak are now a deeper ocean blue meaning he is full of lust right now and as I can sense as he pulls me closer to him bringing me in a passionate kiss he is very excited.

“Come unwrap your present Captain” At that exact moment the fireworks started signaling it was 12:00 o’clock. As he looks to the great window to look at them I run to his room

“I’m coming to unwrap it doll!”

“Are you ready for another round doll?” I laughed as I turn around to wrap my arms around Steve’s torso trying to gain my breath again.

“Geez Captain, we have been on it since twelve and it’s almost five in the morning! Are you never tired because I’m sure I am” His lips left a little giggle as he also surrounds me with his arm

“I’m a super soldier baby I don’t know if you remember”

“Maybe after too many orgasms my mind is too tired to remember things”

“Then maybe we can sleep a little while” I stand up to take one of Steve's shirt from the drawer

“Hey! Why the clothes?”

“What if someone decides to enter in the morning? I can’t meet your friends naked!” He laughs again opening his arms for me to crawl back to them but as I turn around I can see that his other drawer has the doors opened but it was empty “What happened with your clothes love?” He turns to see the drawer

“Oh nothing, they are arranged in the other room. I decided to clean it up considering you will be moving and you need to bring clothes but don’t worry I know that you have a lot of clothes and shoes so one of Tony’s architects will be coming in the week to build you a walk in closet in the room next-door and it will be connected to the room” What? What is he talking about? We have never spoken about me moving in. I have my own house, and I don’t even know his friends that live with him

“And when did you ask me to move in? Hell, when did I agree to it?” I couldn’t help to sound angry because I was. He was ruining a perfect night and why?

“I think we agreed on it when you told the world we were dating (Y/N). I told you it was going to be dangerous for you and I will protect you so this is the natural thing to protect you”

“Yes, and I thought that I am going to hire more security or have more cameras in my house not to move in with you in a tower of 70 floors where the only person I know is you” He sighs

“You also know Tony and Pepper.(Y/N) tomorrow we’ll talk okay? I’m tired”

“Oh so for this you are tired but five minutes ago you weren’t Steve!” He took one pillow and pulled into his head “No you hear me! Steven Grant Rogers, moving in is a big step for a couple and we have been dating for just six months what would everyone think?”

“Oh C'mon (Y/N) don’t be a hypocrite! Today you established that you don’t care what everyone thinks! Like you said it’s our relationship not them but this matter is not in the discussion. You will move in with me or I will move in with you so choose now”

@avengemenugget @theonethingforyouu

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers angst #steve rogers writing

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trexrambling · 7 years

Text

Falls Apart

This was written for @hannahindie and @pinknerdpanda‘s follower milestone challenge! Congrats to both of you lovely ladies :) You two are amazing authors and people - blessed to have you both in my life!

I chose the song Sincerely Yours by Hit the Lights. I didn’t go with the feel of the song as much as I went with the lyrics, which I bolded throughout the fic. I’m terrible at song challenges - breakin’ all the rules over here. Forgive me.

Characters: Reader, Sam, Dean, Castiel

Warnings: Mild language. Angst. So much angst. I’d say I’m sorry, but I’m not.

Word Count (including lyrics): 1,764

A/N: Thanks to @wheresthekillswitch for being my letter checker and confirming me in my monsterness. Love you, sole sister of mine ;)

Dean ran his hands through his hair to get rid of as much excess blood as he could before climbing into the driver’s seat and closing the Impala’s door. Sam fell into the passenger seat with a small groan, doing his best to keep as much pressure as he could on the cut that ran along his left side. They were both covered in blood, guts, and dirt. A plethora of cuts, bruises, and scrapes adorned every few inches of their skin.

“I can honestly say that I did not see that one coming,” Dean stated, wincing at the effort it took to even turn the keys in the ignition, “I feel like I’ve been run through a blender set to puree.”

Sam grunted his agreement as he rummaged through the glove box, finally withdrawing his cell phone. He checked the few notifications on the screen. “Hey, Y/N called us.” He clicked the voicemail notification and held his phone to his ear.

“I’m really wishing I was the one with the flu right now,” Dean mumbled. Sam waved a hand to shush him as the message started to play.

Sam! Damn, I was hoping you’d have your phone on you. I’ve been looking some more into the case you guys are on. I don’t think it’s a werewolf. I’m pretty sure you might be looking at a Qarin. Remember that case back in February? Yeah. Call me back if you get this. I hope you guys are ok. Miss you both.

“Well?” Dean asked as Sam set his phone back down.

“She figured it out before we did,” Sam said with a small smile, “I really wish she would have been here.”

“You and me both,” Dean grumbled.

Sam picked up Dean’s phone from the dash and handed it to him, “Looks like she called you, too.”

Just then, the phone screen lit up as it vibrated to signal an incoming call. Dean checked the caller ID, then showed it to Sam, who shrugged. Dean answered the call and held it to his ear, “Hello?”

“Hi. This is Marcy calling from Memorial Hospital hospital in Seward, Nebraska. Is this Dean Winchester?”

“Yes,” Dean managed to say. His blood started to run cold.

“Mr. Winchester, you’re listed as Y/N Y/LN’s emergency contact based on the personal records we were able to pull up. We’re calling to inform you that she’s been in an accident and was brought here for treatment.”

“An…an accident? What do you mean, an accident?” his tone was harsher than he’d intended it to be, but the panic rising in his gut wasn’t leaving any room for a calm response. Sam was looking at him in a way that prompted Dean to put the phone on speaker.

“There was a collision on I-80 headed towards Lincoln. Ms. Y/LN was involved and is currently in intensive care. As her emergency contact, will you be able to come in to give your consent for any medical procedures?”

Dean opened his mouth, but no words came out. Sam glanced up at him before speaking, “Hi. Um, yes. This is Y/N’s…brother. Sam. We can be there.” He scrambled to find some paper and a pen. “Can you tell me the name of the hospital again, please?”

Marcy gave him the information and he thanked her before reaching out to end the call. “Dean. We’ve got to go. Now.”

Dean nodded wordlessly and put the car into drive, his eyes watching the speedometer while the needle steadily climbed as he pushed the gas pedal to the floor.

Dean practically ran into the hospital, Sam close on his heels. “Where’s Y/N Y/LN’s room?” he asked, his hands gripping the edges of the front counter so hard that his knuckles turned white.

The receptionist clacked her fingers across the keyboard. She read the screen over her glasses and looked up at him, her eyes carrying an emotion that Dean hated instantly. “She’s on the second floor, but only family can –“

“We are her family,” Dean snapped back, immediately making his way to the stairs rather than choosing to wait for an elevator.

But now this broken soul of a boy Falls in pieces with no choice

Dean paced the small waiting room, his head snapping up to the doors whenever a nurse or doctor would walk through and falling again when they weren’t there to deliver information about Y/N. “What’s taking so long?” Dean growled. “I already called Cas. He’s still almost an hour out.”

Sam didn’t respond. He was hunched over in one of the cheap plastic chairs, rubbing an old scar on his hand. He kept hearing Y/N’s words on his voicemail, like a haunting echo in his mind, and the recollection made his composure fall apart – I hope you guys are ok. Miss you both.

At the sound of her voice He falls apart

Dean finally fell into a chair in the corner, his hands going to rub down his face in frustration. He pulled his phone from his pocket and stared down at the screen. Y/N’s voicemail notification still sat there, and with shaky fingers he slowly clicked it and held the phone to his ear. Her voice played over the line, and at the sound of it he took a deep, shaky breath and closed his eyes.

Hey Dean. I couldn’t get a hold of Sam, so I figured I’d try you. I’m pretty sure you guys are hunting a Qarin, and if that’s the case you’re going to want some back up. I’ve downed some cough syrup I found at the bunker and I’m headed your guy’s way. I might have taken the mustang from the garage… damn if she doesn’t ride as smooth as I always thought she would. Anyway, I’ll be there before midnight. Hopefully you guys aren’t already being side blinded by the thing, but I brought a first aid kit just in case. Oh! I stopped and got those mini pie things we found at that one gas station a few weeks back. We’ll see if I save you one or not. Love you both!

The voicemail ended, and Dean was left clutching his phone tightly in his hands as if it were the only thing tethering him to the ground.

“Cas.”

Dean looked up at Sam’s voice, his eyes immediately going to the trench coated man that had swept into the room.

“Dean. Sam. I came as soon as you called. Where is she?”

“Somewhere back there,” Dean gestured wildly at the green double doors, “They won’t let us see her.”

Castiel strode with determination for the doors, only to be halted abruptly when they swung open as a short man wearing scrubs and glasses pushed his way through.

“Dean Winchester?”

“That’s me,” Dean said, quickly walking over to the doctor, “Can we see her now? No one’s told us a thing. We’re all family.”

The doctor’s face conveyed the same emotion that the receptionist’s had earlier. “I – I’m so sorry, Mr. Winchester. We did all we could do.”

Everything faded to a blur around him as the doctor continued to talk.

Internal bleeding.

Two hours of surgery.

Blood leaked into the brain.

Nothing we could do.

“Dean! DEAN!”

Sam’s voice brought him back to the room. Dean was clutching the front of the doctor’s shirt, and he looked down to see fear in the short man’s eyes.

“I’m sorry for your loss, Mr. Winchester. We did everything we could to save her,” the man spluttered out, his words laced with practiced sincerity.

Sam’s hand gripped Dean’s shoulder, but he shook him off as he released his hold on the doctor. Dean spun away from them both, using his momentum to drive his fist into the wall beside him. The drywall caved in, and he felt a sharp pain shoot from his fingers up to his forearm. He brought his hand back, his knuckles already starting to swell, and met the doctor’s shocked gaze.

“Where is she?” Dean’s voice was hollow. Y/N’s voice resounded in his brain, and the walls he’d built around himself cracked and fell apart – Love you both!

But now this broken soul of a boy Falls in pieces with no choice

Castiel watched from the doorframe as the brother’s stood over Y/N’s still form. Her pale features were still caked in blood, her legs were bent at unnatural angles, and the IV shunt from her surgery was still sticking out of her arm. Tears were freely flowing down Sam’s face as he sank to his knees beside the bed, picking up Y/N’s cold hand in his and holding it to his face. Dean’s eyes were red from his unshed tears, and Castiel watched as one slipped through the wall and trickled slowly down his cheek.

The pain radiating throughout the room made Castiel’s chest grow tight, and his knees threatened to buckle under the weight of it all. It was suffocating, and he slowly backed the rest of the way out until his back hit the wall behind him. He clutched his phone in his hands as he stared down at the two missed calls and the voicemail notification beneath them. He looked at Y/N’s still body again before bringing the device to his ear.

Cas. H-hey. I really wish you had your wings right now, man. It just…it just hurts, Cas. I didn’t want to call Dean or Sam. Not like this. I’d hoped you would pick up… I’m scared, Cas. This feels like it might be it. That car came out of nowhere. You’ve always criticized my driving… I promise it wasn’t me this time. Dean’s going to be so mad about the mustang… Man, it’s really folded up like an accordion right now. I should have taken my clunker of a truck… …Cas… Tell them I’m sorry. I think I’m going to leave them. They’re going to need someone. Promise me you’ll look out for them. Don’t let Dean do anything stupid. Don’t let Sam disappear… I love them both so much… so much… ...Cas… Thanks for always being there for me. I wish you were here now… I’m just scared… It’s cold, Cas… I think…I think I hear sirens…Maybe….maybe I’ll make it… Cas…

Her voice faded out. Sirens filled the speaker. The line went dead. And Castiel felt himself fall apart.

At the sound of her voice He falls apart He falls apart He falls apart

My Forever Lovelies: @wheresthekillswitch @pinknerdpanda @emilywritesaboutdean @arryn-nyxx @hannahindie @ruprecht0420 @jotink78 @hiimaprofessionalfangirl @super-not-naturall @aiaranradnay @percywinchester27 @rosie-winchester @nanie5 @feelmyroarrrr @mogaruke @escabell @mrswhozeewhatsis @katymacsupernatural @deanssweetheart23

#HanPan Punk's Not Dead Challenge #spn fanfic #dean winchester #sam winchester #castiel #reader insert

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