#acab cough

[wlwmoviebracket]

round 1

[hailsatanacab]

i have to know

is it hail satan a cab or hail satan acab

if its the second wtf does acab mean

I’ve had this url for yeeaarrrss and when I first thought of it “hail satan” was a meme here, for some reason?? I’d thrown in “a cab” as just a cute little phrase that made me laugh

ACAB - All Cops Are Bastards - is just a fun coincidence that I hadn’t noticed at the time but I’m owning it now, so the answer is both!!

Hail Satan. ACAB. beep beep!

[penis-essay]

Went to school robotripping and the cops interviewed me for smth and I started crying and shit. The visuals were pretty sick tho

[zialinart]

the worst part about my tendinitis is that I can’t make dragon age comics when that’s all I wanna do right now

[stxalq]

it'd be nice if the DEA would kindly shut the fuck up while i'm looking dxm and cough medicine. no one asked, please get out of my search results

[rdr2stories]

"If it isn't spicy, it doesn't have any taste" a jovier fanfiction.

A short fanfiction about John trying Mexican food.

“How are you?” John asked again, for like fourteens time in the time that they had been riding and Javier was starting to grow real tired of it, of John's compassion, something he had never thought he would feel tired of, but oh well he had been wrong, turned out it could be very, very annoying.

“I told you, I am fine,” Javier replied and nudged Boaz forwards into a gallop to avoid John asking the same question again and again and again… Even though maybe if he did Javier would tell the truth.

It was strange being back in that area, he hadn’t been there for years, many years. To be honest he had avoided it because the home he had left behind was just on the other side of the creek and from time to time he could glance over at the country he loved and had fought his heart out for. He didn’t have fond memories of the borderland but right now it was the closest he could get to home and to his culture that had crossed over into the land he was now trapped in. It was one of the new places he could get a taste of home without risking his family’s life.

Some parts of the area around Tumbleweed looked so much like Mexico that he began to wonder if he had accidentally crossed the border. Even though he logically knew he hadn’t, those small momentary pangs of fear for his family were enough for him to jump out of his skin, that was why John was there, to ground him, though he didn’t know that… Or maybe he did.

Asking John to join him on his ride down to Tumbleweed had been hard and scary but John had said yes immediately, Javier feared that he had seen straight through him.

“So where exactly are we going?” John asked as he rode up next to Javier, suddenly breaking out in a cough at the dust kicked up into the air by the galloping hooves on the ground.

“Don’t die now,” Javier let out a short laugh and pulled back to a slow canter. “We are going up past Tumbleweed and out towards the tip of the land, there is a small house there, back when I lived in Mexico it was known as a meeting place.”

John raised a brow. “For what? Gangs?”

Javier shrugged. “Mostly, but not only gangs, for any Mexican who couldn’t cross the border but still wanted a piece of home. I didn’t go there when I first ran because I was scared to run into someone who might know me, but now? I miss home, all the time, and since we are camping up near Blackwater we are closer than I have been in years so I wanted to take the chance and at least get a good meal in. No offense to Pearson but his food is quite boring.”

John snorted slightly. “Yeah, it is, am I gonna be allowed to go into that place though?”

“Nah, but I got an idea.” Javier’s eyes narrowed and he pulled down into a walk as a rider came down towards them on the road with a wide grin on his face. “John.”

“I know,” John replied as he prepared himself for whatever mischief this fella was out for as he placed his horse across the road, making it impossible for the two of them to pass and forcing them to stop.

“¿Qué haces saliendo con un blanco?(What are you doing with a white man?)” The man yelled at Javier with amusement in his voice.

“Nada que deba saber. (Nothing you need to know about)” Javier replied in annoyance, glancing at John who already had his hand by the holster of his gun. “Muévete, no hace falta que esto acabe sangrientamente. (Move along now, this doesn’t need to end bloodily)”

“Muévete, no hace falta que esto acabe sangrientamente. (No, of course not)” The man replied mockingly as he nudged his horse forward, slowly making his way towards them. “Diviértete con tu Americano (Have fun with your American),” he whispered to Javier as he passed by, grinning widely from ear to ear before kicking his horse into a gallop and riding off.

“Culo (Asshole)” Javier muttered to himself as he watched the man disappear.

“What was that about?” John asked as he looked between the disappearing figure and the annoyed Javier.

“Nothing,” Javier replied and turned the two of them off the main road, up a small hill where a single tree stood in the dusty desert. “This should do.”

John looked around. “I don’t see a building.”

“It is a two minute walk from here,” Javier replied as he jumped off Boaz and tied him to the tree. “You stay and I will go get the food.”

John raised a brow. “From the restaurant?”

“Yes.”

“You are going to take the food from a restaurant… Out?”

“Yes.”

“Alright then…” John said as he jumped off his horse, taking a moment to take the worst dust off his custom-made saddle. “I will wait here then.”

It didn’t take too long before Javier returning, holding a plate of food in each hand with a wide smile on his face as he walked over to John. “Now this is real food!

“What even is that?” John let out a small snort of amusement as he saw the three hard bread-like things lying on the plate that Javier gave to him. It looked like a sandwich except the bread wrapped around the meat and greens on three sides instead of just smashing them together.

“Tacos!” Javier grinned as he sat down next to John. “Good food from my home country. You are about to experience heaven, brother.”

John chuckled as he grabbed one of the tacos, trying to keep the filling from spilling out as he brought it to his mouth and took a bite out of the crunchy shell, immediately pulling away as his mouth began to burn. “Oh my god- What is that?”

“The meat! It got flavor!” Javier replied with joy as he watched John reach for his water. “If it is not spicy, it doesn’t have any taste.”

“I don’t think I will ever taste anything again,” John coughed as he held a hand over his mouth. “Oh god-”

Javier grinned as he took a bite out of the taco. “This is real food.”

----

I have never eaten tacos in my life.

[mallowmaenad]

[sniffling, face puffy and red, streaks of wet all around my face as I try to catch my breath] a-a-acab i-in... inc-cludes... P-p-a-a-tty W-w-wagon fr-from the... [dry heaves as snot drips out of my nose] from th-the... [wet, guttural cough followed by a labored whimper] from the hit p-puzzle... pl-plat-for-former... [sniff] th-the hit puzzleplatformer [snrk] M-mighty [wincing as I hold back even more tears] Sw-swi-tch Force... [shaky shallow breath as I sniff, my nose still runny] b-b-by WayForward [chokes up and coughs, whimpering as my eyes redden from irritation from so much sobbing] e-even if. she. h-has. a f-fat, su-su-sucullent ass...[runs to my room where you can hear me loudly scream-crying through the door which quickly tapers off as I turn on my computer and start jacking my shit loud as hell]

[daesofthepen]

Hurray the poll is over!!! 🎉

Okay, so first of all, the tag will now be “Detective Danny AU” for the idea of him being a Columbo-like detective in Gotham.

Second of all: This idea was originally inspired by this chain of nerdpoe's idea. - [Desktop link] - [Mobile] -

Third of all, background notes on this AU:

Danny, Tucker, and Sam are together and married. Living the domestic, gothic, poly married life of their dreams in Gotham.

They're about in their late 30s to early 40s. To REALLY get that scrunkly, himbo Danny vibes.

They have perhaps recently moved to Gotham. Initially the moved to Metropolis because Tucker got a job there, but unfortunately, there was an incident while he worked under Luthor soooo...

Sam loves Gotham much more anyways! Nothing to worry about, and Wayne industries offered to quadruple Tucker's pay even though Gotham has a lower cost of living. Everyone wins!

So obviously they're your perfectly normal poly couple moving in, hoping to lay low after crossing a supervillain. Not! Immediately they begin hatching a plan involving the GCPD. To reduce corruption, but mostly? Just to fuck with them.

Danny will apply to the recently opened (*cough*) position of Detective. Together, with someone on the inside and someone on the outside, they will out the corruption within the GCPD. In the most humiliating way possible. ACAB, bitch.

But of course, Danny being Danny, he gets really into the role of detective.

[alola-reblogging]

Got any team skull headcannons you could maybe write hehe I personally hc the grunts have rap battle night lol

Yes yes yes I have a thousand team skull headcannons omg thanks so much for requesting hehe ♡

• So the majority of team skull are kids who couldn't begin the island challenge and felt left out, or those who attempted the island challenge and gave up.

• Some of the grunts had just came from broken homes, and Guzma sympathised with them and let them stay instantly

• Friends or siblings or cousins of grunts then joined, and the team skull family got bigger

• I mean it's cannon Plumerina sees herself as everyone's big sister, and the grunts go to their big sis with all their problems

• Relationship problems, period pain, battling tips, and to Plums annoyance, to settle the dumbest arguments

• Plums tries her best to support all the kids, and give them 1 on 1 time

• She teaches the grunts life skills, such as battling, type match ups, gives advice on the best move set and so on

• She even teaches the grunts some cooking (not that she's great at it but she's a fairly decent cook), she usually supervises in the kitchen though as there's been more then one eight times incident in the kitchen

• The grunts who have an interest in makeup, Plums teaches them too. All of Alola may be fearful of Team skull but they can't deny their eyeliner is immaculate

• Yeah I can TOTALLY see them doing rap battles lol

• Every Friday night is rap battle night, and all the grunts are welcome to participate, the majority of everyone writes their own raps

• Many of the grunts know how to beat box

• Some of them will rap, others will back up the track beatboxing

• When Guzma joins in all of the grunts get so excited!!

• Both because the boss is in their presence, and because Guzma's sic on the mic

• They have game nights too

• They play loads of different games like Monopoly, Twister, Cludeo, they even play video games too

•It usually ends in boards being flipped, controllers being thrown and someone sulking in the corner

• Of course they have battle nights as well

• I mean, they battle every day, but once a month they'll hold a mini tournament and all battle one another

• It was something Plums came up with to help the grunts grow stronger together

• Spray painting is also a big past time of the grunts

• Most of them just tag places with the skull logo or some anarchy logos

• A few of the grunts are quite artistic about it, and all throughout alola you can see beautiful works of art that most would refuse to believe were created by a member of team skull

• And someone *cough cough guzma* spray painted ACAB on the wall of the police station

• Nanu hasn't bothered to clean it off

• In her spare time, Plumeria likes to watch anime and read manga, she has a secret soft spot for slice of life stuff

• If you mention it though she'll probably crush you.

• She also enjoys watching pokemon battles online from past champion defences or big matches from tournaments, she especially loves watching poison type trainers

• She's got a crush on Raihan from the Hammerlocke gym in the Galar region

• She follows him on social media and has seen all of his matches

• Its a secret dream of hers to battle him

• It's no secret Guzma holds a lot of anger towards Kukui and Kahuna Hala, but there's times where he truly does miss the times when he and Kukui were kids, and would just chill at the beach, eating malasadas and catching pokemon

• He misses Molayne too, and just the three of them doing absolutely nothing but cracking on and having a good time

• He would never admit to anyone, and it pisses him off when he has thoughts like that as he considers them weak and worthless

• Usually when he thinks about his old friends and the fun they had something ends up getting heavily destroyed

• When Guzma recruited Gladion as the enforcer of team skull he offered Gladion to come stay with them in Po Town

• Gladion refused, simply because the grunts annoyed him to point of going insane, and he knew it was best to be alone to get stronger, and he didn't want so many untrustworthy eyes of Null

• Plumeria and Guzma knew he was living rough, and felt bad for the kid, so Guzma fronted Gladion the cash for his motel room

• Gladion insisted on paying Guzma back but he refused to accept the money, stating to Gladion that it was nothing and in return he can back up the grunts when needed and do odd jobs for them

• Gladion was instantly thankful, though he had a difficult time expressing it

• Gladion usually had to defend the grunts against island challengers when they were loosing in battle

• The odd jobs consisted of many things, like stealing supplies from warehouses, finding and catching a specific pokemon, sometimes even doing drop offs for some not so legal products Guzma was selling on the low

• Gladion tried to keep away from Po Town and Team skull whenever he could, but the money was decent and Gladion was desperate

• He knew he had to feed his Pokemon, as well as himself

• He doesn't regret his time in team skull because he knew it was do or die but its not his proudest moment

• Gladion is always invited to game nights or rap battle nights by Plumeria but he always refuses, insisting he's got no time for nonsense with people below his level

• There was this one time he was at the mansion late delivering some stuff he picked up for Guzma, when a tropical rainstorm ensued and the trails was blocked off by mini floods, so he had no choice but to spend a night at the mansion

• It just so happened to he rap battle night

• Gladion hid in a corner watching in utter horror as all of the grunts danced around, spitting bars and blaring music throughout the mansion

• Guzma pushed him to the centre where he utterly froze and refused to participate

• This is where the grunts distsin of him really began, they already didn't like that he refused to live in the mansion and wear the team skull uniform, but they went absolutely mad when their boss paid for a motel for him too

• The grunts were jealous of the favoritism that Guzma showed Gladion, so when the boss himself wanted Gladion to rap and he refused, that was pretty much a death sentence for Gladion in the grunts eyes

• One of the grunt girls have a little thing for Gladion, and they're always overly flirty with him

• Gladion shows her no interest and is extremely uncomfortable with her advances

• She doesn't stop though, and overtime he just becomes irritated

• A lot of the grunts took this offensively that Gladion wasn't interested in their friend, just adding another reason to their hatred

• When the grunts gang up on him, it ends in pokemon battles, although there's been occasions its ended in a fist fight

• Plumeria always tries to keep the peace but even she has been at the blunt end of Gladions sharp tongue in the past

• do you guys remember when gladion called plumeria a whore in the manga omfg

Tysm for this ask it was fun ♡

[vipernoir]

Here's some random headcannons I've thought about Luka for a while

♡ He's not that well liked in his own class and only gets along with a select few at school, and the people he gets along with are the sorts friends you have at school but you don't hang out outside of school if that makes sense?

♡ He's a bisexual king cough cough lukadrien

♡ Also I remember reading a fanfic in a different fandom where they found out their crush was their dad fuck I truly hope Luka didn't have a thing for Jagged yikes

♡ He and Juleka just hang out, paint each others toe nails, dye each others hair, Juleka just uses Luka as a lab rat doing his hair, makeup, maybe even drawing sharpie tattoos on him, but Luka just likes seeing her doing something creative and encouraging her so is more than happy to be said lab rat

♡ Luka respects everybody's music taste, and truly tries to understand every kind of music someone creates/likes even if he isn't partial to it

♡ Anarka raised her twins on the classics; Nirvana, the sex pistols, the cure, the who, Metallica, motley crüe

♡ Both Ju and Luka went through that BVB emo phase, I'm talking full on Andy Sixx makeup, unironically rarw xDing, wearing the billion band wristbands Luka totally still wears some of his

♡ Anarka raised both the twins to live your own life, love who you love, play what's in your heart

♡ Luka has a lot of strong opinions on certain things, and whilst he will always respect and validate someone's different opinion as much as be can he always sticks to his own morals

♡ Luka occasionally does graffiti to promote these morals

♡ He's ran from the cops before for getting caught spray painting ACAB under a bridge

♡ His forgiving nature means he automatically trusts everyone and wants to give them a fair chance, so all of the built up frustration and sadness from being neglected by his own father all of those years is buried under a layer of fake happiness, he hides how he truly feels to give his dad a chance but a strong part of him wants to not forgive him as easy but it just isn't Luka's nature

♡ He's fascinated with bugs, he used to collect them as a child and study them, draw them, watch them, eat them

♡ He has a small following on YouTube for posting covers of popular songs, he isn't that big as he isn't regular with uploading as he just does it when he feels like it

♡ Luka's music taste varies it can go from political pop punk like Mindless Self Indulgence, to more hard-core sounding music like Rob Zombie or Slipknot, only to switch to sadboy sound cloud like lil peep, to then soft pop punk like Paramore, then one minute he's sat listening to old Disney playlists, his music taste is so versatile

♡ Luka definitely obsessed with the camp rock movies as a kid, like him and Ju would sing and dance out all the songs together, always on repeat

♡ I like to think Luka is vegetarian just because either he felt kinda bad eating meat, or Mylenne converted him somewhere down the line

♡ Luka always keeps a spare pair of headphones, a spare guitar pic, and a notebook and pen for lyrics, with him at all times

♡ After his break-up with Mari he started writing sad, heartbreak songs, he wasn't trying to be that cringey but it's all that would come out.

♡ He refuses to play them though, because they're that sad that probably even Chloe would shed a tear hearing them, and he would never want Mari to feel guilty for hurting him in such a bad way

It's 3 am now so ima stop but I have so many Luka crack hc's it's crazy so ill post some more later

[jewishdainix]

ACAB also applies to fictional cop characters btw. But. Yaknow. You still have to treat those characters like characters and analyse their character - which encludes how them being a cop affects their character and how the narrative treats it and the police in general - so you will still have to engage with the character despite the fact that cops are. Yaknow. bad (cough cough tma fans coufh)

[silasplaskett]

i was having trouble understanding what kind of character spider is really supposed to be but i think the “*cough* *cough* acab” moment as compared to how he ACTUALLY reacts to an officer assaulting his classmate really makes all of his behaviors make sense

[swampstew]

Day 13 ~ Size Difference x Smoker x F! Reader

Title: Size Kink with Smoker and F! Reader WC: 1.1K CW: 18+ only, Spicy, consent very much implied, size kink, female reader, Smoker doing marine shit (ACAB sorry buddy that includes you), penetration, m!n0rs DNI you will be blocked

Smoker x F! Reader

Last DNI/Content Warning

Smoker saw the woman before he clocked the pirate that had assaulted another citizen. Her pretty face, her short and curvy stature, the way her ankles looked in her strappy heels as she walked the street minding her business. Not aware of violence behind her.

He did what he had to, he sprinted towards the crime. He could see that the pirate scum was targeting her next, the trajectory of his footsteps as he emptied the purse he stole for its valuables. Smoker pushed himself and whipped past the beautiful stranger, face tilting to meet and hold her gaze and he passed by her.

Smoker came down on the criminal with a swift kick and punch, pinning him to the ground. Calling for his subordinates, he kept a foot on the shackled prisoner as they gathered him up. Smoker looked to the woman.

"Are you ok miss?"

The blush spread from her cheeks down towards her neck. "U-uh yes, I am thanks to you." She twisted stray hairs behind her ear before continuing. "I should have known better if a strong, marine officer like you is sprinting head on in my direction."

Smoker's cigars tilted from his slacked grip, was this flirting? He let out a dry cough, and ran a hand through his hair.

"Priorities," he started out, pausing and not quite sure where he was going with that. "Had to neutralize the pirate before I could let myself entertain the idea of speaking to you." The smile on her face let him know he was doing well.

"I'm a Vice Admiral. Vice Admiral Smoker. Now that my officers have detained that man and I am no longer needed, would you like to have dinner with me?"

Smoker had to give it to himself, he hadn't dated in some time but he still had moves. After dinner he had been invited to her single story home for a glass of wine. And half a bottle later he was tangled in her silk bedsheets.

He towered over her shivering body, a light sheen glistened her skin as he pulled back from the heaving petting and kissing. His bulging cock restrained in his gray briefs, contained for now as he he built her up to take him. She took the opportunity to sit up and unclasp her bra, dropping it off the side of the bed and she smiled at him.

He groaned at the sight of her hardened nipples, he couldn't resist palming himself. Eagerly reaching out with one hand to palm a breast, they weren't small by any means but he smirked as he held one entirely in his hand, kneading it between his fingers. Pulling back to roll her nipple with thick fingertips. She keened into his touch, drawing her hand down to pull his hand away from her breast and down towards her pussy.

Her hand was so small against his large, calloused one but he followed her lead as she splayed his finger out and pressed down over her core, following her gentle, unspoken instructions. Moaning loudly was his reward, as was the slick that flooded her underwear from his touch as he rubbed her clit with his thumb and rubbed her core with his forefinger. He could cover her entire sex with one hand and he felt godlike.

One large finger pushed aside her panty, another edged her core and lips, rubbing the entrance and eliciting more moans from her. He plunged into her core, his finger being immediately hugged from by her inner walls, wet and wanting but not used to the intrusion. He slid his finger out and pushed in again, gaining depth and more moans; he repeated his actions until his palm was up against her clit and core, finger buried.

Smoker was broken from the dreamlike haze of the clenching on his finger when she reached out and placed soft trailing touches on his clothed cock. Glad he had put out his cigars, Smoker's jaw gaped as he enjoyed her small touches to his cock. His cock enjoyed it too, violently throbbing and that elicited a delighted gasp from her, doubling her efforts and focusing on his cockhead, leaking so much precum.

He began pumping his finger in and out of her and watched her expression become fucked out, stuttering her own ministrations as her muscles tightened, clenched. Didn't stop until she clenched and shook like she was an island being railed by a hurricane. Smoker grinned at the lovely sight. How would she look if she came on his cock. He had to know. He took off both their underwear as she recovered from her high, small body heaving dramatically.

He was almost ashamed at how the sight made his cock violently ache. Deciding to not waste any more time, he lowered his hips until his cock met her center, leaning down to place a gentle kiss to her swollen lips.

"Let me know if I hurt you, ok darling?" he husked out. She nodded her head in understanding. Smoker watched her face as he sunk his cock into her, her face contorting in shock and pleasure. His cockhead getting swallowed within her with no problem, it was his girthy shaft that was the issue. Rolling his hips, he let her adjust to his size before attempting to move forward.

Finding a good pace, he began to rut into her, becoming absorbed by her tightness, her heat and her clenching as she took his cock into her body. The wailing as erotic pleasure overtook her, Smoker watched her face, the way it slacked open when he angled his hips higher; the way she bit her lip when he took long strokes, finding the one that made her mouth open like an 'O' with her eyes screwed shut tightly itched that scratch he had.

Grunting loudly as he stabilized his position, he began to rut into her, maintaining that face until her walls closed and shuddered around him, screaming out his name as she came. Feeling her strength as he orgasmed on his cock, Smoker's own jaw became slack as he came too, hips stuttering as he sloppily jerked into her and rocked her frame.

Bracing himself on his forearms, he shuddered as he rode out his high, panting with a heaving chest into her own plush one. The shudders were contagious as they overtook her frame. Smoker gave her a smile and a kiss, and began to pull back to pull out when he saw something.

With a proud grin, he placed a large hand over her belly and pressed down, eliciting a sharp gasp from her. Craning her neck to see, her eyes widened at the sight of his bulge inside her pressed upwards, the way she could feel him from both sides, it felt like something she had never experienced before.

"Would it be selfish of me to ask for more of your time, miss?"

~ Follow, Like, Reblog for more ~

[gay-jewish-bucky]

ACAB applies to P-ggy Carter beating the shit out of suspects, it's not "girlboss" or empowering, it's copaganda dressed up to pander to white *cough*supremacist*cough* "feminist" power fantasies and it worked

[rogueshadeaux]

Chapter Twenty-Seven — Patrons

That's my brother. I couldn’t lose him. That’s my brother. 

5.4k words | 19 min read time | TRIGGER WARNINGS: death, body horror in a way? cops [ACAB]

I fought to turn in place, ignoring the stinging soreness in my body and how the shards of glass from the broken window sliced into my knees. “Brent?” I repeated more urgently. Dr. Sims materialized into pixels and was gone, flitting out of the window beside him. I pulled myself over the side of the driver’s seat to look at Brent, who was limp and unmoving. My heart dropped in my chest, and I immediately began to shake his shoulder. “Hey man, come on,”

The truck groaned a bit as some weight was added, and Dad’s face appeared in the shattered square where the back passenger window used to be. “Jean, are you okay?” He demanded. 

“Dad, Brent won’t—” I cut off, only glancing at him for a moment before turning back to Brent. There was some blood coming out of his nose. “Come on, asshole, wake up—”

There was that crystalline sound that always accompanied Dr. Sims’ powers, and the passenger-side door was yanked off of its hinges with a grind of metal. 

“Come out of there,” Dad demanded above, looking at me from the hole where the passenger’s side door was. 

I shook my head, trying to push up off my knees to get a better look at his face. He just wouldn’t move. 

Getting up to look at Brent gave Dr. Sims enough leverage to grab me by my arm, and he pulled me up with a surprising amount of strength for a dude who looked like he avoided heavy lifting at all costs. Dr. Sims dragged me out of the wreckage, my legs getting cut up in the shards sticking out of the window’s track as he yanked me out of the smoking car and flitted down with the aid of his powers, setting me down on the road. 

The truck that had been chasing us was entirely decimated, the hood of it denting in so far that the back of the truck lifted up a bit. The mangled bodies of the thieves chasing us slumped in the seats or out of the broken windshield. The other truck was nowhere to be seen. 

Dr. Sims gave me a one-over, noting the little bits of blood littering my body and asking, “Are you hurt?” 

I blinked, looking away from our destroyed truck to him, then to where he was looking at my body. My side was bleeding again, staining my shirt. 

I shook my head, coughing again and trying to get to my feet. Who the fuck cared about that right now? Brent was hurt. 

Dr. Sims’ hand came to my shoulder and he forced me back down. “You need to stay sitting Jean, at least until we know how injured you are—”

Dad’s smoke form flitted out of the truck, to the road by the roof. “Eugene!” He shouted. “Help me turn the truck!” 

Dr. Sims hesitated, looking at Dad as he hooked his hands on the truck, then to me. “Don’t move,” he stressed before disappearing in a pixelated blue cloud. 

He flitted over the truck and beside Dad, the two of them straining to lift the truck even with their powers. I shakily got to my feet, ignoring the stench of rubber and smoke and death to begin closing the gap between me and the totaled truck. Between me and my brother. 

The truck settled, and Brent’s form followed the momentum and slumped over the center console. My heart practically left my chest. “Brent?” I called, breaking into a jog. 

Dad flitted to the passenger side and clambered in, hooking his hands under Brent’s arms to begin pulling him out. Dr. Sims grabbed Brent’s legs as soon as he was able, and the two laid him down gently on the ground, Dad immediately checking him for a pulse. 

I used my powers to dash the rest of the way towards them and skidded to a stop on my feet just as Dad pulled away from Brent, and Dr. Sims moved in his place, hands lighting up blue as he began to slam them into his chest to perform CPR. 

I was glued in place by fear, frozen by it. Everything around me seemed to slow down until I was able to watch how every dense blue pixel of Dr. Sims’ power tried to spread into Brent’s chest and restart his heart, giving him a bit more strength to push his steeled rib cage in. I could see into the truck now that Brent’s form wasn’t there; there was a nice indent in the dash of the car in the form of Brent’s chest, wires and glass and everything scattered around the seat. He had somehow taken the force from the crash chest-first. 

Dad’s jaw was so steeled it looked like it’d wire shut forever. “C’mon, son,” he whispered through grit teeth. “C’mon.”

“D, see if there’s any smoke in his lungs,” Dr. Sims grunted, putting more force into his presses. 

Dad tilted Brent’s head back, using one hand to open his mouth while the other came up to hover just above it, skin going dark as the smoke pulled from inside of him and swirled around in a lazy ambience. Dad’s fingers flared, and the smoke ringlets around his wrists spun faster. 

Something slowly escaped from Brent’s mouth, pulling from somewhere deep in his throat; the smoke from the accident and whatever move Dad had pulled, the bit that he never got to force out on hacking coughs. Dr. Sims kept punching a beat into his chest, the blue on his arms glowing stronger. 

My hands were on my lips now as I silently sobbed, eyes so wide the tears pooled as I refused to blink. My mind could only chant how that’s my brother, again and again and again as I watched Dad and his friend fight to bring him back to life. That's my brother. I couldn’t lose him. That’s my brother. 

The blue of Dr. Sims’ power seemed to charge, glowing brighter before his next push down and following the movement; there was a deafening pulse that made me flinch as the energy of his power shot down into Brent’s chest, charging the underlying steel in it blue in some odd attempt to shock his heart back to life. The remnants breezed past, ruffling my hair. Pushing away the breath I was already barely taking in. That was my brother. Why wouldn’t he wake up?

Dr. Sims’ arms charged up again, and there was another pulse, the bass accompanying it making my ears throb. How much time had passed? It felt like a lifetime. How long was too long? 

My hands shook and my eyes got too blurry to see past by the time the third pulse of energy pushed out of Dr. Sims, the blowback from it clearing the tears in my eyes. Brent’s chest was now glowing a dim blue, the energy shifting deep in his chest. 

Dr. Sims stopped his compressions, arms falling limply to his sides as he huffed. Dad fell back from his knees, staring blankly at Brent, smoke dissipating from his hand. Why did they stop, why weren’t they trying anymore? 

I took a step back, shaking my head. No. No, no, no, no, no no nonononono. 

There was a pensive moment where nothing moved. The only sounds came from the groans of our broken and beaten truck as the stuff in the engine settled and the swampland below us. Everything fell to my senses then, engraving in my memory forever; the way Brent’s sternum glowed, the blood from his nose, the tears in Dad’s eyes. The way the glass scattered around Brent caught the warm light of the bridge’s lamps and reflected them back like stars. The small gashes along his arm that was once facing the window of the truck. The smoke still in the air from our wreck froze in place, painting a picture of a moment that would haunt me forever. 

The blue in Brent’s chest faded, and Dr. Sims shifted to watch it intensely. There was something in his face that made me pause, that had me looking between him and Brent’s body in hope. 

The blue suddenly flashed, and with it came something else; a large aura of steel ripped from every pore in Brent’s body, pulling away and then snapping back to him just as quickly. The hit from their return was just enough to shock Brent back to life, their stabbing into his skin making him gasp out, eyes shooting open. 

Dad scrambled on his knees, “Brent,” he rushed, “Can you hear me?”

Brent couldn’t seem to catch his breath. “What the fuck,” he groaned, coughing. 

Dad laughed breathlessly, like he couldn’t believe his eyes. Brent cursed. He’d be fine. I choked back a sob of relief. “You okay?” Dad asked. 

Brent blinked hard a few times, head moving to the side to look at the destroyed truck. “What happened?” He asked, trying to sit up. Dr. Sims put a hand on his shoulder. 

“You need to lie down,” he advised. “Your Conducrine Gland needs time to work before you start moving.”

Brent looked at him, bewildered. “My what?” He asked. 

“It’s the little sack that makes the proteins that creates your powers,” Dad chimed in. “You need to let it heal your body all the way before you move. You got hit pretty hard, bud.”

Pretty hard was the understatement of the century. 

Brent laid his head back down, blinking hard. He stayed there for a moment before his head popped back up and he said, “Shit, Jean, where’s Jean—”

“She’s right there,” Dad pointed in my direction. Something about the acknowledgement broke the spell the fear had over me, and I was rushing over to Brent, crouching down on my knees. 

“Are you okay?” I demanded, looking at the cuts and bruises on Brent’s body. Steel was slowly overtaking the red under the slices, healing him from the inside out. 

“Are you okay?” he asked pointedly instead.

I glanced down at myself; my jeans had ripped at some point, and my palms were bleeding, little holes stabbed in them from the glass. I looked like a mess. My fingers moved to my side, where my stitching had popped, and came back bloody. “Jean,” Dad got up from where he was sitting. “Let me see your side.”

I nodded, standing and letting Dad raise my shirt, getting a bit woozy when he did. The gash on my side that had only been stitched for a week had lost three of those stitches, the barely-welded skin trying to pull away from itself. 

Dad gave me a look over — checking my face, examining my cast to make sure it didn’t break — his brow furrowing the entire time. “I told you to stay on the floorboard, Regina,” he began to chastise. 

There was a calm anger in his voice, like he was trying to keep himself from yelling at me. “Wh—” I cut off. “Dad, you can’t be serious right now.”

“I’m very serious.” His eyes left the cut he was pulling glass out of to bore into mine. “You will listen to me when I tell you to do something.”

“Dr. Sims was shot, and Brent was driving.” I defended. “You fell off the car! What, was I just supposed to sit and wait—”

“No, what you’re not supposed to do is put yourself in front of a bunch of bullets when you can’t heal.” Dad shot back. “You should have stayed in the truck!”

“They would have shot up the truck anyways!”

“I was dealing with them.” Dad said through grit teeth. “I would have been able to deal with them if I didn’t also have to worry about keeping you safe.”

I blinked. Was Dad…blaming me for this? “I was trying to keep everyone from getting hurt—” I started, Dad cutting me off. 

“That’s not your job, Jean!” Dad growled. “We’re not going through all of this to help you just so you can throw it away on some stupid heroics. You want to be helpful? Do what you’re told. Don’t make us drop out of the sky just to save the people you’re sacrificing in the process. Stop throwing yourself into danger trying to do something you can’t.”

My voice died in my throat. Dad really was blaming me for this. For what happened to Brent, for the destruction. Was he right? We wouldn’t be here in the first place if it wasn’t for me. 

Yet again, something else happened that was my fault. 

All the defensive spirit left my chest and I looked down at the asphalt. “Okay.” I simply muttered. 

Dad stayed there, his feet unmoving, before I heard him sigh above me. “We’re gonna have to call the cops.” He said, like it was the worst possible option. “Get ready for a long night.”

It was indeed a very long night. 

EMT rushed in with the multiple police cruisers, checking me out at Dad’s insistence. All I gained was more scratches and bruises, and the stitching on my side gained two butterfly strips and the insistence that I take it easy the next few weeks till the others dissolved. 

That was the first two hours. The other five were spent being questioned at the police station. 

There was either disdain or acceptance of our presence at the police station, no in between. There was one officer who handed Brent and I wrapped sandwiches, and another who sneered great, more of their kind. I’d say it was some good cop/bad cop facade if they were actually asking us any questions. We were just asked our version of events, and told to stay put. I was falling asleep sitting up in the chair by the time they released Dad and Dr. Sims from wherever they were in the back of the station. 

The room Brent and I were in was a meeting room of some kind, all of our things on the long table after being searched through. Dad came in first, rubbing his eyes. “You two okay?” He asked. 

I nodded. Brent was folded over the side of the table, head in his arms, dozing off. 

Dad looked at our things splayed out across the top of the table, and groaned. “My fucking truck,” he muttered. He plopped down in a chair, elbows going to the table, head in hands. “There goes transportation.”

“We’re in the center of the city,” I started. “Don’t they have trolleys here?”

Dad shook his head. “Not for where we’re going. But we would have had to ditch the truck anyways, so this doesn’t change much.”

My brow furrowed. “Where….where are we going?”

Dad leaned his head back, keeping his eyes closed. “The person that could help us lives in the swamplands. We would have had to take a boat.” 

I rubbed my eyes, yawning. “Where would we be staying if he’s in the swamp?” I asked. I thought he’d be in the city, or at least close enough to it for us to have a hotel. 

Dad shrugged. “Offered us his place. We’ll figure out sleeping situations when we get there.”

I nodded, eyes going back to the grain of the table. Every time I blinked, I could see Brent laid out on the asphalt, in that middle ground between dead and alive. We wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for me. He wouldn’t have almost died if it wasn’t for me.

Dr. Sims was in the room a few moments later, looking just as beat down. “We’re the ones chased and robbed, and they treat us like the criminals.” he sneered, pulling his bag close and unzipping it. “We’re lucky we’re getting off on technicalities,”

"Might be a conduit safe haven, but that doesn't mean everyone's still welcoming," Dad muttered.

Dr. Sims opened up the laptop, checking to see if the screen was shattered and closing it just as quickly when he realized it wasn’t. He then pulled another one out, doing the same. “Well if they bothered doing anything about the highway robbers, we wouldn't be in this mess.” Dr. Sims muttered. It was the angriest I’d ever seen him. I didn't even know the guy could get angry.

“We need to leave soon,” Dad groaned. He must have been considering passing out right here in the meeting room like I was. 

Dr. Sims sighed. “Yeah.” He closed the second laptop and shoved them both back in the bag. “Alright, come on. Let’s get going.”

We stepped out of the police precinct and into the sun, tired, sore, and groggy. 

The rest of the city wasn’t feeling our laze, though. 

We were deep in what I had to assume was downtown, surrounded by neon signs and tall buildings all in some square. It was this blend of modern and vintage that shouldn’t have worked, but somehow did; Greek Revival buildings with fairy lights wired in their wrought iron, multi-story brick buildings with moving neon signs. This didn’t look like the decimated New Marais we were all told about, at least. 

But then again, we were coming out of a police station after nearly being sniped, so.

Brent and I only had one bag each; my big mountaineering bag was on my back, and Brent was holding the handles of his old football equipment duffle bag. Dad brought his thick briefcase along with his own hiking bag, and Dr. Sims was able to fit both the straps of his backpack and the sash of the messenger bag on his body comfortably. We definitely looked like tourists, but we at least didn’t have much to lug around — so it wasn’t too strange when Dad suggested, “Let’s walk. We’ll find a trolley to the docks if we don’t just get there first.”

“Thought you said New Marais was unsafe,” Brent tried to joke. I could tell it was only partially in jest; even with his Conduit abilities, parts of his skin were still pink from the bullets. He definitely didn’t look interested in gaining more marks. 

“That’s why you two will walk in front of us, and we’ll make sure nothing happens. Don’t stop, keep walking, do not engage anyone that tries to talk to you.” Dad commanded. 

I wasn’t in any place to challenge him. I’m sure he was still mad about the last time I didn’t listen to him. 

New Marais was a city I could get lost in, if given the chance. Partially because I had no fucking idea where I was going, but also because it had an allure to it I’d never caught from anywhere else. There were no alleys, no spaces between doorstops. The porches on the second floors seemed to run for miles, curving with the buildings as we entered some giant square with a huge cathedral in the middle. 

“Never would have thought the land of the sinners would have such a big church.” I quipped. 

Brent froze dead in his tracks, looking around. “I know where we are.” He murmured. His eyes widened in that way they always did when he was close to some sort of architectural archaeology, and he exclaimed, “No way, I know where we are! Jean, c’mon!”

And then he just took off, much to Dad’s protests. 

“Brent!” Dad shouted as Brent disappeared somewhere behind a crowd, a group of men performing little stunts to the cheers of the watchers, passing around a bucket for change after each trick. Dad cursed under his breath, saying, “C’mon, we’ve gotta keep an eye on him,” and rushing off just as fast, leaving Dr. Sims and I to chase after him in his wake. 

Brent was hard to track in the crowd, something Dad was struggling with too as he shouted, “Brent!” again in an effort to call him back. But, between two parents and their baby’s stroller, I caught a glimpse of him, saying, “Dad, over here!” 

I became the leader, weaving through the crowd with a coordinated ease that Dad and Dr. Sims were struggling to follow. I didn’t worry about that; I just kept my eyes on Brent as he dodged his way through the people, skittering to a stop at the front of the cathedral’s gardens. 

“Brent!” I called, managing to find a gap wide enough to jog the rest of the way to him. He didn’t move, eyes staying glued ahead as I got closer to chastise him. “Dude, you’ve gotta—”

I glanced over and cut off, finally realizing what he was looking at. 

The cathedral was huge, elevated gardens and tiered steps leading up to the steepled gothic church with a giant rosetta window in the arch of the lancets. At least, I think that’s what those curvy bits just over the entrance were called. I’d ask Brent, but he was transfixed on what stood in front of the cathedral. 

Just up the first flight of steps past the iron gates, a terrace cut into the stairs, this huge pile of concrete sat up in its center and lit up despite it being the middle of the morning. It would have looked like a bad disposal of some concrete left over from the church’s repairs if it wasn’t for what was sticking out of it. It was an old step, ripped up and immortalized because of what was embedded in it: Cole MacGrath’s Amp. A two-pronged prod made of nothing but metal, his weapon of choice as he fought back the Beast and saved the world from its destruction. Trapped in concrete and now forever preserved, the closest we would get to an Arthurian sword in the stone. 

Behind it on a pedestal stood the man himself, cast in stone. Cole MacGrath’s effigy stood with one foot propped up on an extra little slab of concrete, posed as if ready to leap forward and punch whatever was in his way. One fist was balled and ready to do so. The other had its fingers flared, ready to call upon that electricity I remember he was blessed with and strike with who knew what. Maybe bolts of lightning. Maybe simple arcs. 

I think what took me off guard was how normal the man looked, even in commemoration. The most eye-catching thing about him was the Amp in a sling bag on his back. Otherwise he just looked…normal. Really short hair, a tee-shirt. He looked like a regular man, someone who couldn’t have been capable of what he did. 

Maybe that’s what was most inspiring about it. That he wasn’t some god, but under it all, a man. 

“The Patron Saint of New Marais,” Brent breathed, stepping closer to the closed iron gate and lacing his fingers in the spaces. I followed close, as if it’d help me get a better look.

“Is this…” I drew off, looking around. “Is this where it happened?” 

Brent nodded. 

Somewhere, right in front of me or behind me or maybe even where I was standing, was where Cole MacGrath took his last stand and defeated the Beast almost 26 years ago. 

There was shuffling behind us, and Dad and Dr. Sims appeared, stepping close. Dad’s disapproval died in his throat as he looked at the scene before him, while Dr. Sims’ looked reserved, like he was at a wake. 

We stayed in an enraptured moment of silence for about two minutes before the spell finally broke over Brent, and he turned to Dad. “Did you have anything cool?” He asked. “Like a weapon or something?”

Dad scoffed, a crooked smile playing on his lips. “Yeah — I had a chain.”

I blinked. “That was it?”

“Got the job done, didn’t it?”

“We should go,” Dr. Sims interrupted. “We shouldn’t keep him waiting any longer than we need to.” 

Dad hit the stalling motor on the boat rather hard, hissing, “That’s fucking great,” 

“Well,” Dr. Sims sighed. “We did tell the guy at the marina we’d take it as is. Guess we should have checked the fuel.”

It was probably the dingiest little thing at the docks, but it was supposed to be enough for the trip out to the swamps. Or, we thought it would have been. Dad and Dr. Sims bargained with some guy who looked surprised to even be spoken to, offered a few incentives for a three day use of the boat that involved Dr. Sims’ video powers and his Macbook that looked like it needed to be put down back in 2023. Brent and I didn’t ask exactly what this favor was. Probably was safer if we didn’t know. 

But Dad, in his rush, offered to take it then and there, which led to us floating aimlessly in the middle of the wetland, accompanied by nothing but direct sunlight and screaming trees as the cicadas yelled their protests at our presence. 

Brent was perched in the center of the dinghy, knees tucked to his chest. We’d finally found a downside to his steeled reinforcements; he was dense. Not mentally, though I was saving that joke for later — steel’s apparently three times heavier than bone, and his weight increased a good 40% when his muscles became laced with it. When Brent moved to step into the boat the first time at the docks, it lurched under his foot and threw me overboard. So he was situated in the direct center of the boat and told not to move. Not that he needed much incentive; he looked at the water with apprehension, probably thinking about the last time he was submerged. 

And right now, that turned into a bit of panic. “So we’re stuck here?” Brent demanded, looking around. 

“I could go,” Dr. Sims offered, “Buy some gas?”

“I mean,” I started, shrugging slightly, “I could sorta push us along? If I manipulate a current behind us, I should be able to—”

“No.”

Dad’s voice was low and stressed, like I’d just suggested stealing from the Pentagon. “Dad, it’s just a tide, it’s super eas—”

“I said no, Regina.” He looked down at me, glower in his eyes. 

“It’s not a tidal wave!” I retorted. Dr. Sims looked away from Dad uncomfortably and I could see Brent roll his eyes, but I didn’t care. “It’s a current. It’s literally one of the easiest things I can do!”

Dad’s chest flexed when he inhaled, as if trying to make himself bigger. “No. You’re not in a position to be doing that right now.”

“You mean I’m too weak.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“I mean, Dad could probably do it—” Brent tried to interject

“I can’t.” Dad responded simply. “Most I can do is shoot water off into the swamp.” He then turned his attention back to me. “Jean, you’re not doing this.”

“I’m not healing right now, but I can use my powers. You saw me on the bridge! It’s not gonna kill me.” 

Dad’s eyes flashed, and he opened his mouth to argue more when Dr. Sims interjected. “It isn’t a bad idea, Del.”

“Euge—”

“We’re out of gas, and besides, the more power she uses, the more proteins in her system. More of those means it might speed up her healing.” Dr. Sims continued, like Dad hadn’t even spoken. He looked at Dad and stressed, “It could be good for her.”

Dad stayed staring at his friend for a while before moving away from the stern of the boat, motioning me to it wordlessly. 

I stomped past, uncaring about how it rocked the little dingy and Brent’s “Jean!” behind me as he tried to keep himself steady. 

This was ridiculous! There was this fire in my chest as I summoned my water and began trying to manipulate the swamp; what was going on with Dad? He was acting like I couldn’t do anything right! If there was something I couldn’t mess up, it was piloting a goddamn boat. 

That weird discomfort in my shoulder blades was back, a sort of soreness that I couldn’t really compare. It pulled as I did, manipulating the waters around the boat to gently push it forward. 

The boat moved slowly, but hey, it moved. This was more than I’d done before, and Brent’s heavy ass wasn’t exactly helping — so it dragged lazily through the water, Dr. Sims directing turns every now and again as we traveled deeper into the swampland. “How long are we gonna be here?” Brent asks behind me. 

“What, New Marais? Or this guy’s place?” Dad hummed. 

“Both, I guess.”

Dad sighs. “Hopefully, not too long. This guy can give us some info on the tar, might have some connections, and then we’ll be out of here.”

“What is he? Some kinda scientist?”

Dad scoffed. “He’s not much,” 

“He’s been there since the beginning,” Dr. Sims interrupts. “He was Cole MacGrath’s best friend.”

“Holy shit, the Cole MacGrath?” Brent asks, incredulous. 

“He’s been doing a lot of underground pro-Conduit work since. It’s how your father and I met him,” Dr. Sims added. 

Dad murmured off on the side, “Sure, if you call that fucking work,”

“D,” Dr. Sims chastised, sounding tired. I could only imagine the exacerbated look he was giving Dad. 

“Let’s just hope he’s actually useful this time,” Dad says simply, voice curt. Dr. Sims sighed somewhere behind me. 

There’s an awkward silence that even the cicadas’ screams couldn’t cut through, Brent cracking to ask, “So what kind of Conduit is he?” 

“He’s not.” Dad replied flatly. 

Dr. Sims tried his best to be more welcoming. “He helped MacGrath with a lot of stuff — built the amp, even — but he’s not a Conduit.”

“Oh,” Brent hummed. “And he decided out here was the best place to settle down?” 

“It’s off the grid. No one’s gonna come out here willingly,” Dr. Sims explains. “He’s made as many enemies as we have over the years.”

“Let’s just see what he knows. The sooner we get outta here, the better,” Dad grumbled. 

I hadn’t realized he was saying this because we were at our destination, ignorant to it all until Dr. Sims told me to veer left and a voice echoed over the ambiance of the swamp. “Well, long time no see, Eugene!” 

I looked over my shoulder to see one of those swamp houses, a shabby little shack on stilts — only this one was modified to hell, with an extra floor and what looked like an old train car on the other side of a wide dock, where a portly older man stood. He was in a printed blue and white cuban shirt, the quiff of his slightly graying brown hair blowing in the breeze that shot between the mangroves. His eyes hid behind glasses but his face reminded me of those little rodent animals that always smiled, quokkas or something. 

I pushed the boat to the dock, Dad throwing a rope up to tether it as Dr. Sims pulled himself out of the boat to greet the guy. The water slipped away from my arms, sank back into my skin, and I flinched when it settled; something about letting go of my control made the center of my shoulders twinge in pain, like I strained myself with a stretch. 

Rolling my shoulders, I turned, catching how Dad was looking at me. “You okay?” He asked. He still looked a little miffed from earlier, but at least the concern was genuine. 

But if I told him something was hurting after doing the exact thing he wanted me not to, I knew I’d never hear the end of it. He’d tighten his grip on me and I’d never be allowed to do anything like this again around him. 

So I lied, saying, “Just tired.”  

Dad nodded. “I know. Me too. We’ll talk to this guy, and then you both need to get some sleep.”

Brent was still in the center of the boat, unmoving. He couldn’t get out till we all did for fear of throwing us overboard. “You’re telling me,” he grumbled, staring off into space. He looked exhausted. The bags under his eyes seemed deeper than usual, and I had to wonder if it was because of his near-death experience.

Dad moved to grab a bag, stopping when he heard, “Nice to finally meet you, Delsin,”

We all turned to look at the guy who was standing on the dock with Dr. Sims, hands on his hips. “Kids,” Dad said instead of greeting the guy back, “This is Zeke Dunbar.”

Special shout out to my little boy, lovingly referred to as 'Delsin Layer' by friends, for coming up with the cool idea of how certain conduit powers could theoretically revive people! I've never met a more inquisitive and creative mind. He also really wants me to point out the steel when Brent's revived comes from the in-game healing animation (he was very serious about it staying in-canon). I may have given him too much control and he's now trying to direct more things in this story lol.

[cator99]

ACAB tattoo roomie (everyone here has ACAB tattoo so I will specify that its the white one although in context it should go without saying) 3 seconds after hitting the pikachu bong: "man... I want more tattoos..... but I think it might be cultural appropriation? I dont know... tattooing seems like something whites stole... and so –*cough of the pharaohs curse*– we... Ack (tries to spit but proceeds to just open-mouth-drool onto the porch)........ guhhhWE should stop... it's NOT our culture. Or maybe it is?? Ohh I dont know the history but it just feels wrong" idk what to tell u my little german boy maybe you should go do a heckin german culture and yodelayheehoo your way into some lederhosen and a copy of mein kampf if your so concerned about being problematic and engaging in alleged race inappropriate behaviours lol...