#and ive been blasting better off worse in my ears

[cyberprimeyt]

Better off worse. Cuz yes.

[thefanficmonster]

The Five Scares (and one revenge)

Corpse Husband x Reader (Gender Neutral)

Warnings: Swearing 

Genre: FLUFF, Humor, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: Having a tendency to scare people, Corpse has gotten used to his friends being jumpy whenever he appears from the void into a Discord call with them. However, the one who has it the roughest with the spooks has to be his partner Y/N. Basically: The five times Corpse scared Y/N and the one time they scared him

Requested by Anon. Hi darling! Thank you so much for your lovely request it was a real joy to write and I had a ton of fun doing so! Hope you have equally as wonderful of a time if you happen to come across it and give it a read despite the long wait you’ve had to endure which I apologize for. Love, Vy ❤

I

Having had to go home for the night to keep an eye on their roommate’s dog, Y/N and Corpse agreed to have a video call before they fell asleep. They didn’t want to appear like that typical clingy and cheesy couple but after spending almost a whole week curled up in Corpse’s apartment, the two would feel each other’s absence to a very saddening degree to the point where they’d even forget the other isn’t around and would call out to them. 

Letting the call ring, Y/N’s hand comes up to smooth out their hair. However, the touch reveals to them that their hair needs a bit more than a simple tap or a pat to be tamed so while they wait for Corpse to answer the call, they quickly head to their bathroom. Flicking the light on, their reflection greets them with the underwhelming news of the actual state of their hair at the moment: an absolute mess. They proceed to do their best with the single hair-tie they have handy. A bobby pin or two would be neat but they have no time to go and grab one right now, seeing as how they can’t recall if they even brought them back from Corpse’s apartment. If they didn’t, they would have to search their roommate’s room for some which would take an even longer amount of time.

Eventually, they manage to tame it in something closely resembling a presentable ponytail and exit the bathroom feeling more exhausted than before. With a loud sigh, they crash onto their bed, face-first into the sea of pillows, groaning at the slight sting of their muscles relaxing at last.

“Y/N?“ The decently loud mention of their name by a deep, familiar yet sudden and unexpected voice startles them to the point of squealing and jumping an entire inch away from where they were positioned.

They look around their room in a frenzy, wondering where on Earth that voice came from and how it could be here with them right now.

“Y/N, you there?”, before they could locate it, it emerges once again, helping Y/N get an ide of where it’s coming from - somewhere in the messed up bed sheets.

“Corpse?“ They finally find their voice, “Y-yeah I’m here. Question is: how are you...“ and then it all clicks, causing them to twist their face in an expression of utter disappointment and bury it in the palms of their hands, groaning.

“You forgot about the video chat, didn’t you?“ Corpse asks, amusement not even attempted to be hidden in his voice.

“Yup.“

II

It’s been one hell of a day. Y/N’s college lectures exhausted them to a max and their six hour job following their classes did nothing to help them AT ALL. Quite the opposite actually. Makes sense why they look, move and talk the way they’re doing right now: like a ghost, zombie and an elder combined in one. To add to their misfortunes for the day, they were met with the mocking ‘OUT OF ORDER’ sign taped to the doors of the elevator, laughing in their face with the information that their hellish experience for the day is far from over.

Just the thought of having to climb to the fifth floor made their stomach turn in the most unpleasant way possible, but the though of how long that would take made matters even worse. Arriving at their designated apartment, they have every right to be pissed, cussing their heart out. 

However, then comes a new problem: the inability to pinpoint the correct key. They proceed to curse themselves, the keys, the door handle and the door itself before punching the poor wood that did no wrong and just stands here, serving its purpose of keeping unwanted people out of the apartment it’s guarding.

Following their anger outburst and front-door-abuse, they proceed to try finding the correct key once again, this time slightly more calmly as to not accidentally miss it in their frantic rifling.

Right as they’re about to try the third key, however, the door opens. Well, it’s opened by someone on the other side, that someone being none other than their boyfriend Corpse who’s currently staring at them wide-eyed, one eyebrow raised, the word ‘confused’ basically written across his face.

While he’s processing the sight in front of him, Y/N lets out a little scream, jumping back and away from the door, a hand placed over their chest as their wide eyes scan their boyfriend who now seems equally terrified as a result of their reaction.

“Corpse?!“ They manage to gasp, barely hearing their own voice over the loud thumping of their heart and the rush of blood in their ears, “What the hell are you doing here?!“

The confusion on Corpse’s face deepens, reaching whole new levels as his eyes gaze deeper into theirs, searching for the meaning behind their bizarre question. “You mean...at my own apartment? What am I doing, at home?“

For a few seconds, the two just stare blankly at one another, processing everything that’s just happened. Suddenly, it all just kinda caves for Y/N and they burst out laughing, doubling over, their arms clutching at their stomach as they do so. Their laughter is contagious, so Corpse can’t help but let out a few chuckles himself.

“Alright, you’ve been driven to insanity, I can tell.“ He mumbles at his reckless partner, coming up behind them and wraps his arms around them, lifting them up and carrying their laughing ass inside.

III

Finally deciding to sit down and get this damn project started, Y/N already feels like they’ve had enough of it, burnout already creeping in and threatening to ruin their work and trip them up every step of the way. It wouldn’t have been so bad had the subject not been one they absolutely despise and wish they could get out of studying but alas they’re stuck with it.

They equip their headphones as soon as they plant their butt on the desk chair in their tiny room in their tiny roommate-shared apartment, putting their Spotify playlist on shuffle as they open a blank Power Point document. They work better with music blasting in their ears since the silence tends to be too loud and distracting when they’re trying to focus. So, that way they can also sing their heart out in peace and not get disturbed by the sound of their own off-key singing. Win-win, basically.

Singing ‘Never Forget You’ by Zara Larsson and MNEK, they get a little carried away, ditching the project to enter a full-blown music video they can imagine down to the detail in their mind.

However, there’s a surprise awaiting them.

As soon as MNEK’s part of the song begins, another voice apart from his echoes through their headphones, singing along to the song. Freaking the fuck out, they let out a loud scream, smacking the headset off them, sending the object falling and landing on their laptop keyboard with a crash that only serves to further startle their roommate’s dog which comes to check if they are being attacked or something only to be disappointed by the lack of action.

When pushing the headphones off, they did so with a force strong enough to snap the cable out of the laptop entirely so now the room is filled with the sound of that same foreign voice laughing his ass off.

A voice that belongs to no other than Corpse Husband himself.

“You gotta learn to disconnect from Discord calls, Y/N.“ The fucker says, still cackling wholeheartedly at his partner’s misery.

Pissed off or not, Y/N would have to admit he’s got a point. But they’d also rather never speak again than admit it so...

“Fuck you!“ is what they say instead, seconds before disconnecting.

IV

Making breakfast is not something either Corpse or Y/N are used to, mostly cause they both either wake up late or skip the meal entirely. Regardless, having been given a day off from work and having no classes since it’s Saturday, Y/N saw no better way to start their day off than to prepare a nice breakfast for them and their boyfriend to enjoy. Problem is: they aren’t the most skilled in the kitchen. Sure they can scramble an egg or make mac and cheese, but in order to do it correctly they are not allowed to have distractions of any kind. Not even music, that’s how you know it’s serious.

Seeing as how Corpse has never seen them cook, he’s obviously unaware of theirs. The dummy straight up waltzes into the kitchen, unintentionally remaining unspotted and unheard by Y/N because he’s barefoot and because they have their back turned to him.

“Whatya cooking over there babe?“

Y/N’s focus bubble, being as thin as it is and considering they initially thought Corpse was still asleep, they have every right to let out the yelp they just did, dropping the egg they were gonna crack over the pan in said pan in its entirety - yes, shell and all.

A moment of silence commences: regretful on Corpse’s end and frustrated on theirs. Neither of them dares to say anything to avoid triggering the other. Well, that’s the case until Y/N decides enough’s enough and they turn to look at him, a wide, obviously fake smile plastered onto their face.

“Scrambled eggs, following a secret recipe, property of the L/N family.“

Seems like your pre-breakfast snack is an extra large dose of sarcasm, huh?

V

“So, how was your day? You sound pretty chipper so I take it wasn’t a nightmare like a few days ago.“ Corpse comments over the phone, listening to shuffling and shifting as Y/N moves around the apartment, getting ready to head out.

“It was great actually. Got some important results back and, not to brag or anything, but they were higher than I expected.“ They reply, a genuine wide grin refusing to leave their face as they silently count the amount of money they’ve got in their wallet. “I’m gonna go buy a cake so we can celebrate it. It’s no small deal, trust me, especially not when I initially thought I’d fail both these exams to the point of being pitied.“

“Wait...-“ Corpse attempts, his voice suddenly sounding strained and urgent but that’s the very reason he cannot seem to find or get the right words out of his system. Not that Y/N gives him any time to figure it out.

“No Corpse, you cannot change my mind. Cake and beers, we’re celebrating toni- SHIT!“ They scream as they throw open the front door, bumping square into someone standing on the other side, almost dropping their phone.

Taken aback by embarrassment and fear, they leap back, their eyes searching for the ones of the person whose personal space they just invaded. Well, to be fair, he was the one invading their personal space by standing right outside the door to their - well, to Corpse’s apartment.

The fear and irritation die down almost instantly when Y/N recognizes the person standing opposite them.

“Mind telling me why we’re talking on the phone when you could’ve come in and we could’ve had a normal person conversation?!“ They snap, ironically enough - they’re still holding the phone to their ear.

So is Corpse whos is smiling guiltily, “That’s why I called, I forgot my keys, but I got...carried...sorry.”

Well, at least this serves as proof Y/N’s not the only forgetful one.

                                                            ~  ~  ~

Corpse has been stuck in his recording room for four hours now, never stopping his stream to take care of his basic human needs such as eating or going to the bathroom. This behavior of his has Y/N worried sick and unable to focus on the task at hand - an assignment they’ve been trying to finish for two hours now, sitting with their computer on their lap and looking hopelessly at the blank Word document waiting for them to fill it up while they are waiting for it to start writing itself.

Seeing as how neither are gonna happen, not until Y/N puts their mind at ease, they slowly put the laptop aside, standing up to carefully skip on over to Corpse’s recording room to check on him, stopping by the kitchen to grab him a snack and a bottle of water along the way.

The door to the darkened room is open a crack, as usual, suggesting they can enter without knocking - this also means he’ll probably not hear them even if they knock so the whole gesture would be pointless. Not that Y/N has a tendency to knock or anything... Waltzing in, they find that the only light in the room is the very faint and dark glow of the computer screen which is displaying a dark and dingy room from a first-person view of the protagonist of whatever game Corpse’s currently playing.

“Corpse?!“ They whisper-yell/hiss at him, trying their best to grasp his attention without startling him - they don’t need to be told that the game is of the horror genre and the last thing they need is for their boyfriend to flip backwards and fall out of his chair because they scared the shit out of him. “Hey?!“

Neither attempts prove futile so, despite their best instincts telling them differently, they walk over to him and tap him on the shoulder. The reaction, while within the realm of expectancy, is a lot more startled than they expected, accompanied by a scream on top of all. They’d never heard him scream in fear before, it’s quite amusing if they’re being honest.

They suppress a snicker as Corpse’s wide open eyes meet their squinting ones in the darkness, “Y/N...babe...what is it? Is everything ok?”

Y/N rolls their eyes, “No, everything isn’t ok. Your unhealthy habit of forgetting to take care of yourself, for example.” They put the snack and the bottle on the his desk, giving him their best disappointed-parent look before turning on their heel to strut their way out of the room. However, just as they are about to make their exit, they stop right at the doorframe, giving their stunned one final glance over their shoulder with a smug smirk playing across their face, “Oh and by the way, that’s what I like to call revenge.” Just like that, they leave, pushing the door back into its previous position.

And boy, is it some sweet, sweet revenge.

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[pastelwitchling]

A little follow-up to the 3x06 malex sneak peek.

               Michael’s fingers should’ve gone numb from the cold hours ago, but he supposed that being an alien protected him from the elements, even as he stood alongside a radio tower, working on wires and satellite transmissions that would’ve been a lot easier with the help of a trained Air Force cyber-intelligence specialist for the better part of five hours.

               Michael’s jaw was clenched for more than the chill, his fingers cutting and typing and scribbling across a paper for more than the desire to be done as quickly as possible. Caught up here in the silence, nothing but the sound of howling wind and dead grass swaying to keep him company, Michael couldn’t stop replaying Alex’s words in his head.

               I just don’t want you anywhere near whatever it is I decide to do.

               After everything that had happened, everything Alex had told him, threatening to destroy the world if a hair on his head was hurt, Alex didn’t want him around now. Alex didn’t want him near him. Michael was supposed to be focused on finding Kyle, on waiting for the lab reports from Liz about the blood on that shovel and who it belonged to, but he was pretty sure he was losing his mind instead.

               When Alex had driven up, Michael had been unable to help but smile, even at how pale Alex had been. Because at least Alex was here. He always came when Michael called, and Michael was just starting to allow himself to be giddy about it. Then all hell had broken loose, and Alex had seemed indifferent to his best friend missing.

               Even Michael, who had never wanted Alex to forgive Kyle for their high school days, had felt betrayed. Betrayed even worse when Alex had refused him. Michael had asked specially, had kept Alex from leaving, and Alex had still gone. He couldn’t help but agonize over it.

               When Michael’s phone rang with Liz’s name, Michael pinched the bridge of his nose and heaved a sigh. He picked up, and held the phone to his ear, his eyes closed.

               “Ortecho,” he said in lieu of a greeting, “you got a name for me?”

               “Michael,” she said, and Michael’s eyes opened at the barely-contained distress in her voice. “Did Alex show up? Please tell me he’s there with you.”

               Michael frowned. “No,” he swallowed, “no, he left. Why, what’s going on?”

               “The shovel’s gone,” Liz said, frantic now.

Michael straightened. “What?”

“So’s the blood sample! Michael, that was the strongest lead we had! What’re we going to do now?” He heard her mutter something in Spanish, too quickly and quietly to be coherent. “Do you have any idea where Alex is?”

“Not a clue,” Michael confessed, raking an angry hand through his curls. “Was the house broken into? Are you hurt?”

“No, I’m fine!” she said impatiently. “No one broke in, whoever did this knew what they were doing!” She huffed shakily. “We have to find Kyle, we have to. Who could’ve taken it? Who else knew?”

“No one,” Michael pressed a fist to his forehead, thinking. “No one, just Max, you, me, and . . . and . . .”

“Where’s the shovel now?”

“Liz took it.”

Michael froze. His hand with the phone fell limp to his side and an incredulous, humorless laugh escaped his lips. There’s no way, he thought numbly. No way . . .

He muttered, “Son of a bitch.”

 Alex had barely stepped out of his car at a time far past midnight when Michael was there, shutting the door with his mind. Alex whipped around, startled, to find the cowboy there, glaring.

His lips were already curled around the question, about to ask what was going on, what had gotten into Michael, but Michael wasn’t about to humor his act. Not when it felt like his heart was breaking.

“Where’s the shovel, Alex?” he demanded. “What’d you do with the blood sample?”

Alex’s brows furrowed for a second before realization dawned, and his shoulders slumped. “It’s gone,” he said. It wasn’t a question. Then panic hit, “Is Liz okay?”

“You know damn well she’s not,” he growled, stepping into Alex’s space. For a horrifying second, Michael thought he might blast Alex back into the door of his house and demand answers. It had nothing to do with the shovel itself, but with the very idea that Alex – his Alex – had gone behind his back and hurt him like this. He’d never felt so betrayed, every part of him shattering.

“She’s scared out of her mind,” he said. “She wants to find Kyle, you know she does, and you took our only lead, so while I’m asking nicely –”

“While you’re asking nicely?”

“—where is the damn shovel?”

Alex searched Michael’s face, confused. Then he scoffed, the sound colored in disbelief. His next words were almost in a whisper. “You really think I took it.”

Doubt crept in, but Michael let his anger push it aside. “Don’t play stupid.”

Alex shrugged. “Couldn’t if I tried.”

“Where is it?”

Alex shook his head. He looked resigned. “I don’t know.” He turned to leave, but Michael grabbed his arm and turned him back around.

“Tell me, Alex,” he said, “before this gets worse.”

“Can it?” Alex asked, and Michael faltered when he saw Alex’s eyes were glassy. “Get worse?”

Michael squeezed Alex’s arm once, not knowing for a moment what to say, then he let go. “You’re the only other person who knew about the blood sample.”

He hummed. “Oh, and – uh – the kidnapper. Pretty big lead there, but I’m glad you came to me first.”

Michael’s face fell, and he shook his head. Without thinking, he blurted, “You’re – you’re lying.” He regretted the words as soon as he said them.

Alex looked like Michael had stabbed him in the heart. He looked away, swallowed, then turned back to Michael. “Even if I had taken it,” he said, “you really don’t trust me? You don’t trust it’d be for a good reason?” He huffed a miserable chuckle. Michael saw his hands curled to fists before he put them in his jacket pockets. “It’ll never be enough, will it? No matter what I do, no matter how much I love you, I’ll always be Jesse Manes’ son in your eyes.”

Michael opened his mouth. He clung to the anger, but found it was no longer there, replaced with shame and guilt. Even if Alex had taken it, even if he’d wiped it clean, even if he’d refused to help him find Kyle . . . wasn’t it all for something? Wasn’t everything Alex did for something?

He pushed the thought away. “I-It’s different.”

“Yeah, it is,” Alex said and sniffled, moving backwards. “The difference is that I actually believed in you.”

And without another word, Alex turned and went into his house, shutting the door and keeping Michael out.

 Michael had no idea what he was doing here. He told himself it was to check that Maria was okay, since Isobel had told him that she’d woken up, but when he saw her sitting up against her hospital bed pillows, he found there was no hint of surprise. He’d known she was going to be okay.

He sat down with a smile regardless. “Well, don’t you look good as new.”

“Shut up,” she groaned, and tilted her head over Michael’s shoulder at the door. She reached for the IV strip in the back of her hand. “Quick, before Is gets back, get me out of here.”

Michael only scoffed. “You’re kidding, right? We won’t even make it to the elevator.”

“What,” she said dryly, “are you scared of your own sister?”

“Completely.”

“Oh, come on, Guerin!” she whined, swinging her legs off the edge of the bed. “Can’t you just –” she put her hand on his arm and flinched back.

“Ow!” she hissed, waving her hand as if she’d been burned. “Oh, jeez, what’s with the aura?”

Michael’s smirk tightened. “I’m gonna tell you what I told Isobel. Stop reading my feelings.”

“Well, I’m sorry,” she said, “but they’re like” – she gestured wildly around Guerin – “everywhere. What’s happened with Alex?”

He faltered. “How’d you know it was about Alex?”

“Please,” she sighed. “You only ever get this loud around Alex. What’d you do?”

Michael gaped. “I didn’t do anything! I . . .” he huffed, and stood, pacing the length of the hospital room for a moment.

Maria rolled her eyes. “Today, Guerin, before the nurse comes in with more morphine and I have to fight her off again.”

“That bloody shovel Max found where Kyle was taken? It’s gone. Someone took it.” He hesitated, rubbing his hands together. “The only people that knew were us . . . and Alex.”

“Wow,” she had a hand on her chest. “Okay? And?”

When Michael didn’t answer, her eyes widened.

“You didn’t.” She leaned forward. “Guerin, you didn’t.”

“He asked where it was,” Michael defended. “And he wouldn’t help me find Kyle –”

She huffed an incredulous laugh. “Oh my God. You were so upset that he wouldn’t hang out with you that you accused him of stealing key evidence?”

“I –”

“And what if he did?” she demanded. “So he took it, so what? He must have a dangerous idea who’s behind all of this, and didn’t want anyone else to get involved! I don’t know, but it’s important! I know it is, you know it is! You know what he would do for Kyle! What he would do for any of us!”

A thought seemed to occur to her and her eyes widened. “Oh, poor Alex. Poor Alex, oh my God, this must be killing him!” She tried to step out of bed and swayed. Michael was at her side in an instant, but she was pushing him away. “How could you?!” she demanded. “After everything he’s done for you, how could you think he doesn’t care?!”

“Okay,” Michael tried, seating her back down. “I’m sorry, please, just –”

“You hurt him!” Michael fell silent. “You hurt Alex!” She shook her head. “We’ve already hurt him. You were supposed to be the one that protected him.”

Michael clenched his jaw and his eyes burned. He thought of Alex’s face, his resignation when Michael had accused him of not caring. He hadn’t been surprised at all. Even after the years of defending Michael, he hadn’t been surprised that Michael hadn’t defended him.

I just don’t want you anywhere near whatever it is I decide to do.

Now he heard the words for what they were. Now he heard the truth.

“Well,” he said quietly, “I didn’t.”

 Alex opened his front door at almost four in the morning to a miserable Michael slumped against his doorway.

“This is why you didn’t want me anywhere near whatever you decided to do, isn’t it?”

Alex leaned against his door and sighed. The corner of his lips tugged up for a split second. “I’ll put some coffee on.”

They sat there in silence for a while under the warm yellow light of the lamps, a steaming cup of coffee in hand. Michael studied Alex, the way his shirt ran tight over his muscles, his flat stomach, his toned chest, his strong arms and pursed lips and long fingers. Then he noticed the smaller things; the dark circles around Alex’s eyes, the scratches on his fingers and faint bruises on his jaw, the hollow of his cheeks. He was tired. Exhausted. Michael had been so happy to see Alex back, to have him close, that he hadn’t even noticed.

“I hated that you didn’t want to work with me,” he said, and Alex looked up, meeting his gaze. “I hated that I had to convince you. I guess I always knew that you would do anything I wanted, and . . . I wanted . . . I want to do this with you. Because I don’t know how to be good for everyone without you.”

Michael exhaled shakily. “I trust you, Alex. You’re the only one in the world that I trust. Whatever you decide, I know it’s for a good reason. I just hate – I hate . . . I hate not being part of it. I hate that you’re doing it alone.”

Slowly, Alex leaned back against the couch, his finger tapping the mug in his hands.

“I left the Air Force.”

Michael almost dropped his cup. “W-What?”

“Full honors,” he said, smiling for the briefest second before something weary took its place. “What I’m doing now . . . I think I know how to find Kyle.”

Michael clenched his jaw. “You knew that he was missing.”

“Hours before you called. Even got his . . . what’d you call it? Suicide bat signal?”

“And the tower? You knew about that, too?”

Alex pursed his lips and nodded. “Let’s just say I’m not working with people that like to share information.”

Michael realized he’d known that. He’d always known, if he was being honest with himself. He’d known Alex had had his own lead, that something was different about him this time. It wasn’t like when he’d come back from war. Back then, it was like Alex had lost something and didn’t know what to do. Now he’d found it and had a plan to get it back.

“That’s why you didn’t want me working around it.”

Alex smiled sadly. “Would you believe that it’s for you? That everything I have and am is for you?”

Michael swallowed thickly. He didn’t need to say the words. Alex knew he believed it. “And you? When do you get a turn?”

Alex shrugged a tired shoulder and whispered, “I don’t know how to be good for everyone without you.”

Michael didn’t know what to say to that. His eyes burned and he wanted more than anything to take Alex in his arms and kiss his forehead and help him sleep. But they had work to do.

Alex sniffled and sat up, stretching an arm over his head. “You should go,” he said, his eyes on a hallway engulfed in shadows. “Keep looking for Kyle on your end.”

As he said the words, Michael heard the silent message beneath; And I’ll find him on mine.

Michael nodded him to himself, then stood. He stared at Alex, clenching his fists, and said, “You better enjoy these last moments going solo, Private. Because after we get Valenti back, whatever it takes” – he came in close until his lips brushed the shell of Alex’s ear – “I’m not letting anything come between us again.”

Without another word, Michael walked out, and as he left, he could’ve sworn he heard Alex’s resolute, “Neither am I.”

For the record, I think the fandom is being ridiculously dramatic, that teaser was wonderful and filled with delicious tension, so please don’t rant to me about it because I absolutely LOVED it and this little fic was just for fun.

[hangovercurse]

Ice Cold Pool

Part v of the Without You series: Colson and Y/N try to return to normal, but they still don’t know what normal actually is.

Colson x Reader

Warnings: Cursing (as per usual), substance use, people not following social distancing guidelines.

A/N: Seriously guys, wear your masks, social distance, etc. I really wanna go to a concert sometime in the next 2 years.

Word Count: 2743

| i | ii | iii | iv | vi | 

masterlist

It had been 4 weeks since you and Colson had made the agreement to just be friends. Obviously, there were some hiccups in this plan. Most notably that hanging around Colson reminded you of all the reasons you loved him in the first place, and thus all the reasons you shouldn’t hang around him.

You were glad to be back to somewhat normal. You could hang around your friends without feeling too much tension, you could talk to Casie (who wanted to know everything that happened), and you could smoke again.

That last one you probably shouldn’t have been so happy about, but after a month without weed, you needed it.

Of course, not everything was back to normal. You and Colson weren’t technically… speaking. Yet.

You said simple things to each other, “excuse me,” “thank you,” and even the occasional “bless you” after a sneeze. But you had yet to have an actual conversation since that night. When hanging around the guys, you tried to be as normal as possible, interacting with Colson as little as possible. You didn’t want anyone else to think you felt awkward, because then they would feel awkward and it would be a whole awkward mess.

Tonight, you were hoping to ease some tension between you and Colson. Trippie was releasing the deluxe version of his new album and was having a “covid safe” album release party. All that meant was they would party outside rather than inside and only invite half the amount of people that they normally would.

Against your better judgement, Slim and Baze convinced you to go.

“There’s not even gonna be that many people there.”

“And Trippie would be so upset if you didn’t come.”

“If I go, will you two shut up?”

“Yes.” “Yes ma’am”

“Don’t call me ma’am ever again, Slim.”

So, you made a plan to talk to Colson at some point that night about something other than all of your problems with each other. If and only if the opportunity presented itself.

So, there you were in an oversized Misfits T-shirt that looked like a dress on you and shorts that no one could see, a beer in one hand, and a blunt in the other. You were sitting at the pool edge, your feet dangling in the water, as you talked to Iann Dior about cheese.

You may have been pretty tipsy, but he was worse.

“Cheddar cheese is the worst possible flavor of cheese.” Iann shook his head, laughing.

“Absolutely not. You can put cheddar in dishes, and they taste great. Cheddar makes things taste better. Brie cheese is the worst cheese. It’s literally fucking moldy.” You giggled, taking a swig of your drink.

“You’re both wrong. Feta cheese is the absolute worse and no one will convince me otherwise.” Colson chuckled, sitting next to you.

“There is nothing wrong with feta cheese, you two are just uncultured.” You laughed, the opportunity you needed apparently presenting itself. You took a quick glance at Colson, who was about to dip his feet in the water. “Colson your shoes are still on.”

He looked at you confused, and you realized just how high he was. “So?” he asked and Iann laughed.

“Dude, if you’re gonna put your feet in the water you gotta take your shoes off.”

Colson broke out laughing at Iann’s comment, his whole body shaking with joy. He slipped his shoes off once he finished and dangled his feet of the edge.

“So, you really think cheddar cheese is the best cheese?” He asked, taking a sip of his beer.

“Noooo.” You whined, “I just don’t think it’s the worst kind of cheese. But obviously there are better cheeses.” You kicked your feet up, splashing Colson on accident.

He looked over at you, a mischievous glint in his eye. He reached his hand into the water, splashing water towards you. “Colson!” You squealed, laughing.

You returned the favor by flicking water at his shirt, at which point Iann left. “You get me wet and you die.” He said with a laugh.

Colson then cupped his hands together, bringing water up to your shirt and pouring it all over you, much to your dismay. Luckily, your shirt was black, but the water was still freezing. “Bro.” You pouted, looking over at Colson. He was smiling, but soon mimicked your pout.

“Aww, I’m sorry. Did the little princess get wet?” Your eyes went wide, and you slapped his chest. He grabbed your hand, pulling it up so you couldn’t hit him and accidentally pulling you closer to him. “I didn’t mean it like that!” He laughed, his hand intertwining with yours as he brought it back down.

“Colson…” You trailed off, warning him. He pouted, a sigh leaving his lips as he unlocked your fingers.

“Sorry, forgot I’m not supposed to do that.” You smiled a little, glad that things were slowly becoming normal. “I wanna go for a swim.” He changed the topic, standing up and pulling his shirt off.

“Colson it’s freezing. You’re gonna get sick.” You looked at him with wide eyes but a giggle falling from your mouth.

“Guess someone has to come in to keep me warm.” He shrugged, tugging his shorts down his legs so he was just in his boxers.

It was only at this point that you realized he was very drunk. A few moments later you felt the cold water splash your face as Colson jumped into the pool near you, coming up and running his hand through his hair.

He made his way back over to you, reaching for the beer that he left on the side of the pool. He half-stood in front of you, a needy smile on his face. “Get in the water with me Y/N.” He dragged out the last syllable of your name, causing you to roll your eyes.

“There is no way in hell I am getting in that water.” You chuckled, taking a hit of the joint in your hand.

Colson pouted, taking the blunt from you and smoking it himself. “I guess I could always just pull you in.” He grabbed your thighs and you moved backwards, fighting him.

“Colson, I don’t have a change of clothes, I’ll be cold.” You tried to squirm out of his grip, giggling.

“You can just wear my shirt or something. Someone will have something.” He shrugged, pulling you into the water.

“Colson!” You squealed before your entire body was encased in the cold liquid.

“Too late.” He said, a cheeky smile on his face. His arms wrapped around you as you turned to face the edge, ready to get out. “Noooo, you’re already in here.” He whined, dragging you towards his chest.

“Colson, it’s freezing. We need to get out.” You said, turning your head to face him.

“I don’t want to. This is the closest I’ve been to you in weeks. I just wanna enjoy this for a moment.” His head rested on top of your head, and you let yourself fall back into his chest.

You had to admit, you did miss his playfulness and his touch, and you really hadn’t been this close to him in a while. But you knew he wouldn’t be doing any of this if he wasn’t both drunk and stoned out of his mind.

You sighed, knowing you needed to end the moment, if not for your own sanity. “C’mon Col, we can’t do this. Let’s get out.”

He groaned. “We did this when we were friends before, how is this any different from that?”

You made your way to the edge of the pool. “It just is Colson.” You sighed, trying to mask the anger in your voice. You tried to pull yourself up to sit on the edge of the pool, but you couldn’t quite make it the first time. Colson, of course, took it upon himself to help you, grabbing your hips lightly to lift you up. He got out and sat next to you, both of you soaking wet.

He reached over and grabbed the shirt he was wearing earlier, passing it to you. “Here, so you don’t get sick.” He seemed to be sobering up, probably due to the cold water.

“Thanks.” Your voice was hushed, your cheeks burning with a blush that you couldn’t explain. It’s just a shirt, you told yourself. You stood up, preparing yourself to find somewhere private to change.

“Where are you going?” Colson asked, looking up at you.

“To change.” You said bluntly. “I can’t exactly strip in front of 40 people.”

Colson nodded, standing up next to you, pulling his shorts on. “Where are you going?” You asked him, a small smile on your face.

“Wherever you are.” He smiled and you rolled your eyes.

“Okay, I guess I can use you to clear my path inside.” You chuckled, starting to walk towards the crowd of people near the doors of the house. As you moved through the crowd you found yourself instinctively reaching back for Colson’s hand, not wanting to lose him as you moved through the crowd. He happily took the hint and moved closer to you, his free hand resting on your hip to help guide you to the doors, though you didn’t mind as much as you should have.

You made your way through the open glass door, suddenly very self-conscious about the clothes you were wearing and the fact that you were soaking wet. “Bathroom is this way.” Colson mumbled into your ear as the loud music blasted around you. The hand on your hip led you down a small hallway until you found the open bathroom.

You went in, turning to close the door when you saw Colson had followed you in. “I gotta change, Kells. You can’t be in here.”

“Woah woah woah.” He started, clearly offended, “You never call me Kells. That’s not allowed.” You giggled, rolling your eyes. “And I’ll just… look away.” He covered his eyes with his hands, moving his fingers to form a gap.

“Colson, seriously,” You laughed, “turn around.” He thankfully did as told, and you quickly removed the Misfits shirt you were previously wearing and replaced it with his long sleeve pink shirt. It wasn’t quite as long as the other one you were wearing, but it still went down to your upper thigh and the sleeves went far enough past your wrist for permanent sweater paws. Unfortunately, this meant you would have to keep your wet shorts on.

Upon realizing this, you let out a sigh of disappointment. “What?” Colson questioned, still facing the wall.

“You can look now.” He turned around. “It’s not as long as mine.” You pouted, stretching your arms out for him to see before flopping them back down to your sides.

Colson chuckled, “I really don’t see the problem, Y/N.”

You glared playfully, “I have to wear my wet fuckin shorts.” You whined, a pout on your lips.

“I meannn, you don’t have to.” Colson said, playfully. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding! But I don’t know what to do to help you.”

You let out a dramatic sigh, looking off into the distance. “I’m not giving you my pants, Y/N.” Another dramatic sigh. “Okay fine we’ll just go to his laundry room and through them in the dryer, okay?”

“See, you do know what to do to help me.” You smiled, grabbing your wet shirt and pushing Colson out of the bathroom.

The laundry room in Trippie’s house was surprisingly small, given his house was a small mansion. You were able, however, to close the door and pull off your wet clothes. Colson threw your shirt in the dryer as well.

You hopped up onto the washer, your legs dangling off. “You don’t have to stay, Colson.” You told him, knowing he probably wanted to rejoin the party.

“I’m good. This is much more fun than whatever’s going on out there.”

You laughed, “waiting for my clothes to dry? Whatever, loser.”

He moved towards you, his stomach touching your knees. “I’ve missed this.” He said, softly. You met his eyes with your own. “Just us doing stupid shit. Being friends.”

“We’re still friends, Cols.” You smiled, tilting your head to the side.

He sighed, “Yeah but we haven’t really been friends since…” He trailed off, but you knew what he meant. “Not real friends, at least.”

You sighed, trying to decide what you wanted to say. “I’m sorry about that. I just needed a little bit of space and it never felt like the right time to… talk. Like if we started talking in a group everyone would just think it’s weird.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” his hand reached out to touch your waist. “If anything, I should be apologizing. It’s my fault we’re stuck in this weird limbo shit anyways. I was honestly afraid the guys would kill me if I talked to you.”

“Well, good thing it’s not up to the guys anymore.” Your voice got soft as you realize how close your faces had gotten. “And we can be normal friends again.” You added.

Colson looked down. “Yeah, normal friends.” He tried to hide the disappointment in his voice but failed miserably.

“Colson, we’re just friends, right?” You asked, trying to convince yourself more than him.

He nodded, “Yeah, we’re just friends.” He looked up and met your eyes, and you could see the emotions in his crystal blue eyes. “But I don’t know that I can just be friends.” His voice was soft, making your heart sink deeper.

His head was inches away from yours, his nose almost touching your own. He leaned his head to the side, his eyes traveling your face. His lips were millimeters from yours. “Tell me that you don’t want this, and I’ll walk out right now.”

“I…” You couldn’t form a sentence with his lips so close to your own. “We shouldn’t.” You whispered.

“That’s not what I asked.” He paused, touching his nose to yours lightly. When he spoke, you could feel his words on your lips. “Do you want me to kiss you right now?”

You couldn’t answer him for a few seconds. “I don- I don’t know Colson.” You breathed out, leaning your forehead against his.

Part of you was hoping he would take matters into his own hands and just kiss you, but the other part of you knew you would regret anything that happened right now.

He jerked his head away from you, a frown etched across his face. “When are you gonna make up your goddamn mind? I can never figure out where I’m at with you.” His voice raised slightly, making you jump. “One minute we’re not even talking and the next you’re holding my fucking hand at a party. You say we’re just friends and then don’t say no when I ask if you want me to kiss you. Like what the fuck is this?” He ranted, causing your grip on the edge of the washer to tighten.

“Colson, I told you. I need time to figure all of this out. It doesn’t just happen overnight.” You tried to keep your voice calm.

“It’s been weeks, Y/N. How long do you need?”

Confusion took over your features, and then anger. “Colson do you even realize what you did? Honestly, you’re fucking lucky I even wanted to be friends. You kind of screwed me up, really bad. So, excuse me for needing time to figure out if you’re worth it or not.” Your eyes fell to the floor, suddenly very self-conscious of all the things Colson had said to you 2 months ago.

Colson scoffed, backing away from you, “Well honestly it would be a lot easier if we weren’t friends.” His words were harsh, and you were reminded that he wouldn’t change, not really. “Y/N I didn’t mean it like that.” His voice became soft, but it was already too late.

You hopped off the machine, pushing past him and pulling your damp shirt and shorts out of the dryer. With your back facing him, you pulled your shorts on and then took his shirt off, replacing it with your own.

“Y/N I’m sorry I jus-“

“No, Colson. I’m sorry. I keep forgetting that my existence seems to be the bane of yours.” You shove his shirt into his chest. “You don’t have to worry about me anymore.” You walked out of the small room and through the house, determined to call a cab home.

[misslynn99]

Epicenter: Chapter Two

Pro Hero! Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

Link on AO3: Epicenter

Link to Chapter 1

Author: misslynn_99 (Me!)

The next morning, the café regulars buzzed around the TV monitors, excitedly chatting about the news. Official footage of the attack had finally been aired. Concrete flew everywhere as the villain lashed out against heroes, sending distraught civilians fleeing from the scene. The scene that every news station had on repeat, however, was that of several tons of concrete on a direct collision course for a young family, until Ground Zero put himself between the two. He squared back one shoulder to pulverize the rubble with a blast, and in that moment, his wild eyes were molten flames, the fine cascade of dust casting a hazy halo around his form.

It was such a harsh contrast to the villain swinging a pillar of concrete immediately after, colliding directly with the hero’s chest and sending him hurtling back against the harsh exterior of another building, slumping bonelessly on the ground.

“He saved them.” You whispered to yourself. Icy needles twisted in your chest. Eijirou had  trusted you to care for his closest friend at his most vulnerable. The café was much closer than any hospital to the scene, but your heart skipped a beat, fluttering in astonishment. “He could have died. It’s a wonder he didn’t.” Just how close had Ground Zero been to death’s door when he showed up here?

“Blasty is lucky he’s got a rad, manly partner like me.” Eijirou’s voice startled you, suddenly far too close to your ear.

“Hi!” You squeaked. “Didn’t hear you come in.”

“You think I’d let my best girl go un-thanked after saving my partner’s ass yesterday?” His arms swept you into a tight bear hug, twirling your feet off of the floor. Eijirou’s easy smile seemed to smooth over the awkward tension from the day before, as if it were no more than an insignificant blight of an otherwise sunny day.

“Quit harassing the woman, Shitty Hair. We’re here on business.”

“She likes it.” Eijirou had the gall to stick out his tongue. “Isn’t that right?”

“I, I don’t mind.” You couldn’t help but squeeze your eyes shut in embarrassment, dropping your head forward, and you prayed that no one would notice. This crush was spiraling out of control, as the sturdy muscles that could shatter any obstacle and strong enough to lift cars supported you easily in his embrace.

“ ‘Don’t mind’ isn’t the same as ‘like’.” Ground Zero’s mouth turned even further downward into a scowl. Reluctantly, Eijirou set you down, and you felt cold at the absence of his touch. The tension settled again like a thick cloud, choking out whatever embers of affection you felt for the red haired hero.

“I didn’t mean to impose.” The red-head’s own face was dusted with faint pink, nervously scratching the back of his neck.

“It’s no problem.” You tried your best to smile kindly, wincing internally at the memory of his flinch. “Why don’t I get you both some coffee on the house? It’s the least I can do for everything you two do to protect the city.”

“One black coffee it is then!” Eijirou perked back up.

“So, I take it you’ll have the latte, extra heavy cream with two pumps caramel, two pumps cinnamon, and cinnamon-brown sugar mix dusted on top?”

Ground Zero’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t have to say that so loud.”

“No shame.” You chuckled despite yourself. “Plenty of people take their coffee sweet, too.”

“Don’t spare Blasty’s feelings!” Eijirou laughed. “Even Mr. ‘Nothing is spicy enough’ likes sweets on occasion.”

“You better shut your mouth!” Ground Zero snapped, his tone climbing with each word. Curiously, Eijirou kept laughing, and tapped at his own ear.

“Right, got it.” The blonde grumbled. “Too loud.”

“Here you go, boys.”

“I have a name, you know.” The blonde held the cup up, scowling. “I’m off work, damn it. You called Shitty hair by his name on the cup.”

“It’s not like you introduced yourself between eating shit against the building and going in for surgery.” Eijirou scoffed.

“And you did?”

“Kiri stayed with me while they gave me IV fluids.” You supplied bashfully. “And I wanted to know when you made it out okay.”

“Call me Bakugou then.” He made a strangled noise. “When I’m not in suit tearing shit up, I don’t wanna hear ‘Ground Zero’ from you, got it?

“Not your given name?” Eijirou seemed to take a savage joy in goading on the explosive hero. “That’s awful cold, Katsuki. She did save you from a hospital stay and a month off of hero work.”

“Or Katsuki, whatever.” If looks could kill, Eijirou would have dropped dead in his tracks. Bakugou’s eye twitched and small firework-pops crackled off of his palms, clenched into fists at his side.  You hoped that the café regulars were too enamored with the news and their own conversations to notice the sparks flying.

“I can call you Bakugou, if that’s what make you more comfortable. Wouldn’t want to get on your bad side.” You chuckled, carefully watching his expression for his reaction to the playful jab.

“Kacchan’s bark is worse than his bite, at least off of the battlefield.” A new voice drifted in from the door. The emerald curls, gelled up from his undercut, were unmistakable. “I’m afraid that we didn’t get introduced last night. I’m Deku, but you can call me Midoriya if you’d like.”

“Kacchan?” You grinned wickedly. “Isn’t that so cute!”

Bakugou bristled. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, you fucking nerd!” He whipped around to snarl at the green-haired hero that had just walked in. For someone who was effectively co-workers with the number one hero, Bakugou acted like he despised the man.

“Aw, pump the breaks Kacchan.” Midoriya scrunched his freckled nose in a wide grin. “I’m just here to say hello to the woman who saved your life last night. So, this is where Kiri has been getting your coffee from? It’s such a nice little café, I think I’ll have stop by more often.”

“Like hell you will! We found it first!” Bakugou growled, stepping between you and Deku, while Eijirou chimed in the background, “I think you mean that I found it first.”

“Boys, boys, you’re all very pretty.” You ducked around the pro hero’s side, attempting to soothe the bickering. “I have plenty of coffee to go around. “

“You’re not keeping her as your personal barista and healer, Kacchan.”

“What happened to keeping this on the down-low?” Bakugou suddenly stiffened, whispering harshly.

“I think someone is feeling a bit embarrassed.” Eijirou rolled his eyes.

“I got my shit rocked on national television, of fucking course I feel embarrassed.” The blonde snapped. “But for her safety, I thought we agreed to keep any rescue shit-talk out of the public eye.”

Wincing, you looked up at him. “I think they’re calling you saving that family the rescue of the year though. And lots of people have minor healing quirks.”

Whipping his head back and forth, he snagged the strings of your apron and tugged you behind the coffee bar, through the doorway into the kitchen.

“Wait!” The two other heroes followed suit, chasing you as Bakugou dragged you out of the public eye.

“You don’t have a ‘minor healing quirk.’ “ He scowled, placing a hand on each of your shoulders, hands trembling as if he were resisting the urge to shake you. You could feel the residual heat of his calloused palms, the threat of an explosion ghosting along your skin and sending shivers up your spine.

“You have a self-destructive healing quirk that has major potential to get you kidnapped. Do you know the League of Villains would do to get their hands on you? Or fuck it, the Hero Commission? They’d keep you caged up like some animal to fix up their toys as they broke so that they could be sent out scot-free again.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.” Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Midoriya and Eijirou recoil, especially as the blonde hero turned his ire towards them once again. “Is some kind of joke to you two? Kirishima, if you could take two minutes to keep it in your pants, and Deku, if you could be serious, we need to come up with a plan.”

“Yes, Kacchan.” Midoriya and Eijirou nodded.

“Where do you live?” His burning eyes narrowed in your direction once again.

Swallowing thickly, you met his gaze. “In the loft above the café.”

“Hmm. Who all knows about the full extent of your quirk?”

“Just my parents, and my best friend from middle school, who moved to the states while we were in college.”

“Maybe she should stay with one of us?” Midoriya offered. “Just to see if anyone’s decided to target her?”

Panic froze your feet to the floor. “I don’t think that’s necessary.” You laughed nervously, fiddling with the apron strings tied at your hip. “I mean, you’re all very nice, but I could never ask that of anyone. I’m up at 4 in the morning to get the café ready to open at five, and walking alone in the dark is not my forte.” Especially if I might as well have a big target painted on my forehead now.

“The League definitely keeps an eye on our flats. They might not have made the connection that she’s done anything yet, but moving her in would be a surefire way to draw their attention. Also, there’s no way the Commission would just ignore someone else hanging out all the time.” Eijirou argued. “I think it would be better to set up surveillance on the café and her loft, and maybe get her a panic button or something.”

“A panic button.” Bakugou snorted. “I don’t know if you’ve heard of it, but there are these novel things called ‘cellphones.’ “

“And if she can’t call?” Midoriya raised an eyebrow.

“Brave words for someone who dropped his location to Icy-Hot, with literally no context, in the middle of an alleyway, and he magically appeared anyways.”

Sighing and stepping between the two bickering men, Eijirou held his hand out expectantly. “Here, I’ll put our numbers in your phone. We should probably scope out your apartment later.”

“I close at five tonight.” You offered, passing your cell to him, contacts open. “I’ll probably be done cleaning up by six, but you’re free to drop by whenever you get the chance after that. All of this feels pretty crazy though. It’s not like I did anything out in the open.”

Turning on the full force of his overwhelming intensity, Bakugou rounded on you once again, having caught the tail of your conversation. “There’s a couple articles floating around. You’re in the pictures, being floated to the hospital, and some low life bloggers are wondering how I was fine so soon afterwards, when Recovery Girl was on the other side of the country for some other case.” Venom dripped from his words, as if this were your fault somehow.

“It’s not my fault that I helped you!” Anger leaked into your voice. You couldn’t believe that he had the audacityto blame you for this. “Don’t talk to me like it is. I couldn’t not do anything. It’s a wonder that hit didn’t do worse, and I am certainly not responsible for them taking me to the hospital with you.”

In frustration, you stormed out of the kitchen, straightening your apron and apologizing to the handful of customers who were waiting by the cash register. A friendly smile and a few discounted coffees later, they sat down at a booth. The heroes were still in your kitchen, and you felt your resolve to ignore them crumbling. “I did give Kiri and Bakugou free coffee earlier.” You mumbled to yourself, a mischievous idea taking root; Bakugou’s buttons were so easy to press.

Leaning around the corner, you poked your head back through the kitchen doorway. The heroes froze, their argument in low tones evaporating with your return. “Midoriya!” You grinned, drawing out the syllables playfully and deliberately ignoring the blonde hero’s angry stare. “How do you like your coffee? Sweet as you are?”

“Uh, umm” He stuttered and his eyes darted between you and the door. “With oat milk, white chocolate and toffee, and iced please.”

“Coming right up! On the house.” The sound of sparks dancing off of Bakugou’s palms eased your flare of anger, taking a little bit of satisfaction in riling up the blonde in return, and you set about making the drink.

The trio must have finally decided to drop their discussion, and shortly followed you out to wait by the coffee bar. Bakugo turned his back to you, eyeing the door and clutching his coffee  while Midoriya and Eijirou resigned themselves to facing you, their awkward expressions apologetic. The other café patrons were thankfully still transfixed by the TVs, oblivious to the situation at hand.

“Here’s your phone back.” Eijirou mumbled, setting your phone on the counter. “He doesn’t mean it. He’s just frustrated and annoyed, nothing against you personally. It’s just kinda how he is, ya know? He takes it out on everyone. He’s been this way since he was a teenager, but he doesn’t blame you. Promise.”

“Hmm. I suppose I can accept your apology on his behalf, just this once.” You whispered back, sliding a coffee cup to Midoriya, who sipped it gratefully.

“We’ll be back later. Come on, nerds.” Bakugo’s voice was gruff as he called over his shoulder. “We have a meeting and a patrol shift soon.”

The heroes left and an unease settled in your gut at their absence, acutely missing their larger than life presence. Even as the customers milled about, coming up for refills and pastries, their words weighed on your mind. Villains and Heroes had never been a major point of contention in your life; a quirk like yours wasn’t suited for the spotlight, and like thousands of others, accepted your fate as a civilian.

The coffee shop felt like a homage to another era, before quirks existed. The small planters bloomed in the window display under your mindful care, without any sparks of magic to enhance their color or growth. The coffee beans that arrived each week were roasted delicately by hand, and each new drink was born from trial and error; no surprising powers of charm or persuasion lured customers to your door. It was an honest life that you were proud of, built with hard work and love.

Ringing up another customer and brewing the earl grey tea for a London Fog, it felt like your head was ringing. Your quirk had never been an active threat to your well-being. You had gained some control over the years, having only been able to tend minor scratches and bruises as a child, but never showed enough promise to be recruited into the medical field as a young teen. Even now, the drawbacks were too great. Healing left you exhausted, and the more extensive the injury, the greater the fatigue.

It wasn’t like you came from a family of fantastic heroes either. Your mother worked as a doctor in a wound care and surgical center because she could clean infected tissue at the expense of the patient’s energy. Your father’s quirk was completely unrelated to your own, allowing him to sculpt metal by heating his hands, albeit without flames. It was hard to believe that the arguably worse version of your mother’s quirk made you a target, but the underlying assumptions behind it sent shivers of fear down your spine. If there was no regard for your well-being, your quirk could be indispensable, could be used to patch anyone up at the expense of draining you dry.

Nevertheless, the hours ticked by, dread worrying the pit of your stomach. Bile rose in the back of your throat the longer your anxious thoughts raced. Without the grace of someone with a more offensive quirk, there was little you could do to defend yourself.

Maybe Bakugou was right to be annoyed, but he didn’t have the right to be such an ass about it. Closing time was only half an hour away, and the customers had dwindled in the shop. The pleasant humming of customers faded, exposing every raw nerve that you had. The last person was out, and at 5:06,

... there was a knock.

Snapping to attention, you jerked towards the doors, feeling a strange mixture of relief and annoyance upon seeing Bakugou waiting by the door. Sighing, you called out, “It’s still unlocked.”

He didn’t enter though. He leaned partially against the window with one hand, the other shoved deep into the pocket of his white jeans. He had the hood up on his black and gold hoodie, but not enough to conceal his distinctive blonde hair and you could have sworn his red eyes could burn a hole through anything as he peered in the window. He must not have heard you, and you steeled your resolve to go and let him in.

“Shitty Hair sent me.” He grumbled.

“Hmm.” You hummed in response, wandering back behind the counter to tuck away the extra bottles of syrup and take down the pastry display. “Make yourself at home then.”

The hero looked even more uncomfortable, his shifting gaze never lingering on anything for too long, before he spotted the bottle of disinfectant. To your surprise, he started wiping off tables, but you don’t breath a word, afraid to break the uncanny silence.

At 5:45, Eijirou, Midoriya, and a woman you could only assume was Uravity knocked, and Bakugou dropped the supplies as if he had been burned. Midoriya was the first to heckle him, teasing “Kacchan, I didn’t know that you could be helpful!”

“I was bored, you damn nerd. That’s all.”

The heroes were almost unrecognizably causal. Uravity and Midoriya were in matching letterman jackets, sky blue and patterned with delicate pink cherry blossoms falling from slender black branches, with Shouto written across the back in a beautiful script. Eijirou was also devastatingly casual, wearing baggy, low-rise black jeans and a white v-neck that dipped dangerously below his collar bones. His long red hair was up in his trademark loose ponytail, spilling over his shoulders and down his back.

“So nice to see you again! I’m Uraraka.” Her smile glowed as she bounced forward to greet you. “It’s nice to really see the place that Kirishima and Bakugo talk so much about.”

A frown creased your features. “I think I would have remembered Bakugou coming in for coffee. Doesn’t Kiri just get his?” You mumbled, panicking as you realized it was out loud.

Thankfully, Uraraka giggled. “No, he just won’t let Kiri get coffee from anywhere else now. I think the whole agency knows his order by now.”

“It’s just the least shitty.” Bakugou growled. “But whatever. I have shit to do, so let’s get this over with.”

“Lead the way.” Midoriya smiled kindly.

The stairs to the flat were in the kitchen, the door tucked out of sight next to a supply closet. Butterflies fluttered in your chest, and a sudden self-consciousness that almost froze you in place. The apartment was an intimate insight into your life and personality. Your reading was on the living room table, and cherished photos hung on the walls. Is my laundry hanging up to dry? You winced at the thought.

“Welcome!” You forced a smile and led them to the kitchen table. “So, what do you need to check out?”

“We’re not trying to invade your privacy more than necessary.” Midoriya looked solemn, glancing at you shyly from underneath his lashes. “I was thinking we should put a camera right in the stairway that faces the entrance, another on the fire escape, and one on the outside of each of your windows. Then, we can just set up a bunch around the café.”

“Oh,” You relaxed into your seat. “That’s not as bad as I was expecting.”

Midoriya and Uraraka were  sitting ram-rod straight at your table, posture stiff and schooled. Eijirou was examining your end table in the living room, carefully turning your favorite candle in his hands, while Bakugou trailed behind like a sullen shadow.

“We just want to make sure you’re safe.” Uraraka reassured. “We’ll probably change the patrol route to make sure that we stop by here, but we won’t be in the shop every time. If nothing is weird, we’ll leave you be after a while.”

“I’m glad.” The remaining tension left your shoulders, and you let out a sigh of relief. “I really don’t want to put my life on pause. I’ve worked really hard for what I have here. “

“Of course!” Eijirou looked over his shoulder, now surveying the sliding glass door that led to the fire escape. “This is the best place in town, and I don’t think I’ll ever stay awake through another Commission meeting without my usual again. Plus, we owe you big time. It’s our fault that you’re starting to get some media attention.”

“Do the cameras need plug-ins or batteries?” You asked cautiously.

“Nah,  they’re the special surveillance ones Chargebolt rigged, and we’ll get a notification if the battery is less than 25%. We’ve just gotta get them set up. Uraraka can up to stick them, then make ‘em weightless so they don’t fall down.”

At Eijirou’s words, you could see Uraraka tapping her fingers, jumping up to stick the device to the ceiling. With a frown of concentration, she pulled out her phone, checking the feed and fiddling with the camera until it was angled to her satisfaction before drifting back to the floor.

“We can take it from here. Feel free to go back to closing, or what you usually do in the evening. Don’t be afraid to let us know if you need anything.” Midoriya nodded before excitedly leaning in closer, eyes sparkling with the enthusiasm of a little kid. “Also, at some point, can I study your quirk? I keep notebooks of all different quirks I encounter, and yours is so interesting.”

“Shut your trap, nerd!” Bakugou growled from behind Eijirou, who jumped and clutched his partner’s arm. “Stop acting like we’re at the damn zoo. Save it for later.”

“Am not, Kacchan!” Midoriya whined. Turning to you, he put up his hands in a peace gesture. “I think we better get going, though. I think today’s probably been quite the day for you. Uraraka will set those up outside, and we’ll be out of your hair.”

Snagging Bakugou’s sleeve, Midoriya pulled him unwillingly down the stairs, with Uraraka having already moved on to install the security cameras in the café. Despite his tough front, the blonde didn’t fight too much, only grimacing and batting away the other hero’s hand as they left.

“Hey Kiri,” You said nervously, before the hero had the chance to follow his teammates out of your apartment. “Thanks for having Bakugou come over to be there while I was closing. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about what you guys said this morning. I just feel so uneasy, like every stranger could be dangerous and I can’t do anything to save myself. It really set my mind at ease to have someone else there.”

“I bet.” He winced with sympathy. “But I didn’t ship Bakugou out here. He volunteered, and you didn't hear that from me.”

[shannygoatgruff]

My Brother’s Keeper - Chapter IX

Genre: Psychological Thriller

Modern Ivar X Modern Hvitserk

Rating: MA 

Overall Warning:  Dark story told from an emotionally distributed person’s POV with graphic and sadistic material including rape, terror, torture, kidnapping, drug use, slash, implied incest, necrophilia, and insecurity. Heavy trigger warnings.  

Chapter Warning: Drug use, talk of spiraling out of control

Summary: Mama always said to be their brothers’ keeper. Now there is absolutely nothing these two won’t do for each other.  Boys will be boys…

Chapter IX

Why the fuck am I watching the news?  This is what flipping through channels gets me.  I should have never stopped when I saw this bitch’s face.  I fucking hate her. 

Now, I either want to put my fist through the TV or pull my damn hair out.

Fuck, I hate this bitch! She’s no different from the rest of these news assholes. Always trying to dig up some shit that should be left alone. Putting all of our personal business on blast like that...pieces of shit. And this whore is the worst of them.  She's purposely trying to make Ivar and I look bad. 

"Police are trying to find a common thread between these murders. The victims have all been found in remote areas throughout the county.  The coroner reports each victim showed signs of sexual trauma and or torture, pre- or post-mortem. While police have no suspects, in these killings, they do believe they are all connected and have been committed by the same perpetrator.  Witnesses to the last two victims’ disappearances have described seeing a Caucasian male, between the ages of 18-35, approximately 5’8” – 6’2”, medium build, with medium to dark hair, leaving with the victims. If you have any information about these victims or the suspect, please call Detective Torstein, Homicide." The white numbers for the police station flash on the screen under this bitch’s face.  

“You fucking cunt!” I don’t know what just fell to the floor as I kicked the coffee table in front of the couch.  She has no right to show fucking pictures and the names of our past guests.  But, I’ll be damned, if they are there.  All the ones from this month: Halfdan, Porunn, Astrid, and Erlendur.  None of them looked like that when we met them.  Then, they were all slutted up and ready to please.  But looking at these pictures, they look like they’re a part of a fucking church choir.  

You bitch!

But, fuck you news-lady, you forgot one. You forgot about that girl we met at the concert. I almost did. At least, I can keep one of those special nights sacred without you fucking it all up and turning it into some freak show for these news groupies to salivate over.  

Shit, I just wish I could remember that whole night. 

I can only remember meeting her and bringing her back to the cabin.  I remember she was a great lay, and that looked fucking amazing. But that’s it.  Every time I try to remember what we did, or how many times we did it or anything else, there’s like a blank spot.  I don’t know if Ivar got to try anything new with her, or what.  

Ivar said I blacked out, again.  Did she pass out before or after he got to her?   Did she try to escape?  Did he punish her long and hard for that?  Did she cooperate and he let her go?  Is that why she wasn’t on this little photo lineup? What the fuck I am saying? He wouldn’t’ve done that shit.  They just haven't found her body, yet. 

That bitch reporter is smiling again. She's enjoying all the fucking lies and the smear campaign that she’s creating against us. "Stay tuned for more information on these murders as they become available. Judith Wessex, reporting, Action 10 News."

"Lying bitch!" Just the look on her face and the sound of her voice is driving me crazy. She doesn't know us. She has no right to say those kinds of things about us. Nobody tortured or brutalized anybody. It was all in fun. They were into it.  

Ivar takes the remote from my hand and tucks it into his palm, "You don't need to watch this." He's been extra protective since I woke up in his bed. I can't do anything. He must have really been scared after this last blackout because he won't let anything upset me. Changing the channel, he settles on something non-threatening; Property Brothers. He knows I love that show. "There. That's better."

"I'm fine, Ivar,” I lie, “that bitch on the news just got under my skin.”  I reach over to pick up the ashtray – when did I start smoking so much?  I’m already on my second pack today and I’ve only been awake since noon.  

"I know you are. But you get bothered so easily. I just want you to take it easy." His smooth voice caresses my ears and instantly gives me goosebumps on my arms. But he knows the damage is already done. Standing behind me, he holds his arms out on either side of my head, with his fists out in front of me.  “Left or right?  Pick one.”

I have no idea what’s in his hands, but since we’re both right-handed, I nod toward his right hand.  He tilts my head back so I’m looking up at him.  “Open up.”  I obediently do as I’m told and feel three pills of varying size hit my tongue. 

He quickly places a kiss on my forehead as I sit up to swallow the pills dry. Turning in my seat, I watch as he drops the pills from his left hand into his mouth.  He holds his tongue out for me to see his four pills before his tongue darts back into his mouth.

“What was that?” I try to swallow hard enough to make the pills slide down my throat.  Hopefully, it’s something that’ll make me stop wanting to throw this fucking television out of the window.  

Ivar shrugs and smiles, “Fuck if I know.  I found them in my coat pocket.  Guess we’ll find out shortly.”  He picks up the dishtowel that he had sat down on the back of the couch and slings it over his shoulder, "Anyway, Serk, that shit that reporter said wasn't true. She's just trying to fuck with us. Trying to make us slip up." He starts to walk out of the room but stops and turns around with a huge smile.  "Maybe we should party with her." His smile immediately fades when he sees how upset she's made me. "Awe, brother… don't worry about that bitch. I'll kill her if you want."

"They know what we look like, Ives."

"How many white guys are there in the world, Serk? They can’t even agree on my goddamn hair color.” He leans against the wall and folds his arms across his chest. “I took care of everything. No one knows. No one will ever find out." There is such honesty and power in his voice that I can’t help but trust that he believes this.  I know he wouldn’t chance anything getting in the way of the life that we've built together.

But, there’s still that part of me that fears that our world is about to come crashing down around us. What would I do if I didn’t have this outlet or God forbid they took Ivar away from me? 

"I can't handle this shit anymore. Fucking bitch reporters are lying on us. Stupid fucking cops are trying to dig shit up and sticking their pig noses where they don't belong." Everything as of late is running through my mind. This use to be so much fun, but now everyone else is fucking it up. "Something wrong with me. My blackouts are getting worse.  We went out and I can't remember it. I can't remember jack shit from the past week! Who the fuck blacks out for a whole week?  How long can I go on like this before something really fucked up happens?" 

It feels like my throat is closing and I’m starting to sweat.  My heart rate is speeding up and I think I’m about to die.  I can’t breathe.  Jesus, why does Ivar put up with me when I'm like this? "I'm fucking up at work. Fucking Ub is gonna come here and start asking questions. Thora’s gonna fucking leave me.  You're gonna get tired of taking care of me! Shit's just all fucked up." I sit forward with my arms on my thighs and try to catch my breath.  I try so hard not to give into the fear, but fuck if I'm not feeling it leak out of my pores. 

This is why I need Ivar.  Thora could never handle me like this. I can't even handle me when I get like this. "I don't know how much more I can take, Ivy. I can't do this shit, no more! I can't."  All the air I’m trying to gulp in isn’t helping at the moment.

Standing before me with a concerned look on his face, he shifts his weight from one leg to the other. "Hvitserk Ragnarsson." And there it is - that voice that I fucking hate.  That voice Father used to keep us in line.  Ivar rarely uses that voice, but when he does it immediately gets my attention.  I look at him obediently as he sits on the edge of the couch next to me and studies my face.

The amount of emotion in me is overwhelming and before his hand even reaches up to touch my hair, my throat starts to ache, my head hurts and my eyes are stinging. Shit. 

Ivar's arms around me remind me just how much I need him and how important he is to me. "I'm sorry." I lean my head back on the pillow and let the tears run down my face. I’m so embarrassed and tired of always losing my shit.  But true to form, his arms are around my neck and he presses his lips to my cheek and coos sweetly in my ear until I feel my fear dissipates.

With a smile on his face, he turns my head to his. "Better now?" His thumbs trace my tears as he holds my head in his hands. The look in his eyes tells me that everything is going to alright and I believe him. A simple nod of my head convinces him that the worst is over and with that, he places the gentlest kiss on the tip of my nose. I don't how he does it, but he always makes it better. "Come on," he takes my hand to pull me off the couch with him, "I baked cookies."

Now I just feel silly. I had another meltdown and truthfully I can't remember why especially when I see the plate of fresh-baked cookies that he has laid out on the kitchen table. Whatever was wrong with me just moments before seems trivial. It's amazing how he just always seems to know what to do to make everything better.

Ivar's back is to me as he looks out of the kitchen window, but judging by the way his neck is arched, he's taken an interest in something. "We have new neighbors." His voice is distant, almost like he's speaking without thinking.  He can’t tear his eyes away from whatever is outside, but his head turns the slightest bit to face me.  

I’ve never seen him entranced this before. Ivar never fixates. These neighbors must be amazing.

I stuff a chocolate chip cookie into my mouth and pick up another one on my way to the window. He's right. A new young couple is moving in right next door and the woman is exceptionally beautiful. Her eyes are big and bright, her face is like silk and she has this refreshingly innocent look about her. It's enough to remind me that I haven't called Thora since the last night she was here.

Then there's the guy with her. There's something in the proud way he stands... the way his muscles protrude from the sleeves of his t-shirt, and the powerful way in which he slips his arms around her and lifts her off the ground…It makes my top lip sweat and a tingle start at the base of my skull. 

I can't move. I can only stand here and chew my cookie as I watch these beautiful creatures in front of me. “They are perfect,” My voice comes out like a dream.  I don’t even recognize the sound of it. 

As soon as I look over at him and see that gleam in his eye, I know that he already knows. They are perfect.

He lifts my hand to his mouth and takes a bite of the cookie I'm holding. "Yes. They. Are." Chewing, he nods his head and smiles. "We should welcome them to the neighborhood." He always says that the only way to get over the last one is to take a new one. The more I think about it, the more sense it makes.

Something happened with the last girl. Something bad enough to make me forget the most important things. I wish I could remember that night because I want to know that I showed her a good time, but I don't want to remember why I lost control. It's no use worrying about it now. I can't dwell on old memories. I can only look forward to making new ones. New memories with my new neighbors.

No matter what I've done before or how I feel about it now, the only thing I can concentrate on at this very moment is the dull gnawing in my gut. I need something to keep my mind off of all of this shit. 

I need this. I need them. I may always be fighting with the half a conscience I have, but the growling inside of me is usually much louder than it.

The beast inside of me is awake again. And it's so damn hungry.

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[canadian-buckbeaver]

To The Tune of Your Heart

A Piers x OC (Sai) fic! For @saiyurimai or @saiyurimaiandtheden or @saiscavedwellers

**********************************

Piers is in town for one magical night, singing his heart out on the stage in front of hundreds of fans of all shapes and sizes and ages.  And tonight, Sai is one of them.  A fangirl who is entranced by the way he plucks the guitar, imagining what those fingers could do to her, the way his lips brush against the microphone...

But she knows that seeing him on stage is as close as she is ever going to get to the star.  He has his other fans and his own security keeping him in line.

However, that was before her sister, Bucky, adjusted the cards (and tickets) in her favour.

**************************************

Sai couldn’t help herself.  As the lights went down and the first chords of her favourite song began to echo in the stadium as the band began to warm up, she seized Bucky’s arm and screamed. Her poor sister, startled out of her own world, jumped and looked around wildly before resettling in her seat. “Sai I was not expecting that…”

“Serves you right for being on your phone during a concert! Come on! Put it away! You bought the tickets for us after all, you need to enjoy it too! Besides, you can’t tell me you were drooling over Leon’s pokegram again.  The man only updates it once in a full moon!” Sai grinned as she teased her sister.

Bucky flushed and put her phone away, securing it in her pocket.  “I just really like that last picture he posted.  Him and the Dreepys. It was cute.”  Bucky wasn’t quite meeting Sai’s eyes and her cheeks were pink.  If Sai had to guess she would say that Bucky was probably looking the beach photo he had recently posted.  It was a fangirl’s dream and Bucky was quite the fangirl.  She was as big of fan of Leon as Sai was of Piers. And Milo. And Raihan.  And…

“So are you going to put your phone away, pot?” Bucky asked her, breaking her chain of thought.  “Or are you going to videotape and take as many photos as you can for your rainy day collection while you’re here?”

Sai grinned, hitting record as Piers walked on stage and greeted the audience, the sound of screaming almost drowning out his voice.  “Kettle, I think you already know what I am planning on doing.  Now hush!  It’s bad enough with the rest of the crazy fangirls. I don’t need your negative Nancy attitude on it too.”

Bucky rolled her eyes and chuckled softly, letting Sai have her moment.  She would get her back after the concert.

The hours flew by in a haze of screaming, laughter, and more than a few tears.  Sai couldn’t remember when the last time she had had so much fun at a concert. Piers sounded like his CDs! No, even better. She couldn’t get enough of him and his sexy voice, the tiny little expressions he made as he sang. He was perfect… it was too easy for her to imagine that he was singing those sweet songs for her ears alone…

All too soon the concert ended.  Sai was sure that she had ruined her vocal cords for the rest of the year.  And it had been so worth it.  Piers picked up his stuff and disappeared into the back, where he would be signing autographs for those who had bought those exclusive backstage passes.  Sai was already jealous of the girls behind them. They had been talking about their backstage pass since they had gotten into their seats behind them.  Sai would LOVE to meet Piers one day.  Sit down with him and talk music, pokemon, give him the bracelet she made him and-

Bucky was in her seat, scrolling through her phone.

“Bucky? Aren’t we… aren’t we leaving?  The concert is over now.”

Her twin looked up at her, innocent and wide-eyed before turning back to whatever was on her phone and scrolling. “Hmm? Oh yes. The main part of the concert is over already? Well I guess you need to get moving. You don’t want to be late. But you’ll need these to get there next.” Reaching into her pocket she pulled out a silver and pink dogtag, the backstage pass for this particular concert, and the bracelet that Sai had worked on making him.

Sai’s mind exploded.  “Bucky… I… really?  This… these are…”

“Your backstage pass for a meet and greet with Piers and that bracelet you made for him in case this day ever happened?  Yes.  Yes they are.”

“How on earth… what in Acreus’ name did you do? For Mew’s sake these passes…”

“They aren’t cheap.  Brisingr and I had a few extra races that we did so we could get it for you.” Bucky winked at her.  “Now hurry up.  I’ll wait for you outside once you’re done and I’ll be wanting a full story.”

* * * * *

So that’s how she got here.  Standing in line with the other fans, nervously bouncing from foot to foot.  Sai tried to calm but she just couldn’t. There was so much going on, so much to think about.  Especially with her sister.  She owed her sister, big time, for this.

Bucky must have done extra races with Brisingr to make up the money to buy the tickets.  She was such a sneaky woman.  When on Mew’s green earth did she have the time and where did she do the racing?  And surely she would have heard of a Salamence flying around the Galar region.  Hopefully she wasn’t doing street racing again.  Last time she tried street racing she had almost been caught by Officer Jenny. She was going to give her such a stern talking to when they got home….  Home after seeing her idol!  The one and only Piers of Spikemuth! OH! She could scream!  Her mind was racing, turning around in circles.  She couldn’t keep her head on straight.  She…

“Listen up!” a woman with pink face paint across her eyes called out to the fans.  “We know that you are looking forward to seeing Piers but we have a few rules for you to follow if you want to see him.  Follow along and everything will go as normal.  Break the rules and you’re out.  Got it?” There was a rumbling of agreement, the electricity in the air palpable. “Rule number one: No squealing, screaming or shrieking.  Piers already has a bit of a headache from tonight’s show, let’s not make it worse.  Soft talking, when it is your turn, is ok.

“Rule two: no giving food.  We appreciate it but Piers is a picky eater and… well, that’s all you need to know.  Small gifts are fine as long as Piers accepts them but no food or drink.” Sai knew that this rule was more or less bullshit.  It was a safety protocol.  They were always worried that someone would try to take the rocker out of commission, diminish the competition.

Still, her hand tightened on the little bracelet she made him.  Still, that meant that her bracelet was perfect for him.

“And most importantly, rule number three.  We have a list of names of the people who have the backstage pass.  When we call your name, you can approach Piers.  We are doing this one at a time for his benefit.  Stay behind until it is your turn.  Again, you break the rule, and you’re out.  Does everyone understand this?”

Again there was murmured agreements.  Sai realized that the bigger and stronger stage hands were circling close behind them, like sharks circling seals.  They probably were deathly serious.  She wondered how many others had been booted from the show.

Muted gasps and quiet murmurs circled around her as her heart leapt into her throat.  A man with slouched posture and the trademarked hair stepped in front of them. It really was Piers! The pale skin, the wild hair, the….

Tired eyes.  Poor guy looked like he needed coffee, in an IV, in his veins.  Still, he smiled and greeted the fans, waving at them and giving them a small chuckle.  “How are you, loves?” he asked, his voice husky and tired.

Ugghhhh…. Sai could melt.

The lady with the clipboard checked names and introduced the fans to Piers one at a time. Slowly, calmly.  They seemed to have a system going.  Piers would shake their hands, smile, say a few words, take a picture and give an autograph, and then the line would carry on.  He really was a dream, signing everything that he was handed, and making conversation though he looked exhausted.  Sai wished that she had something more than the pamphlet and the ticket stub.  The others had autograph books or magazines.  The one girl had him sign her body pillow.  Another a personalized doll that they had made themselves.  Though, granted the last two were a little on the crazy fangirl side but that would make for a memorable fan…

“Saiyurimai?” the girl asked as Sai handed her ticket to be checked.

Sai smiled and gave a small giggle.  “I usually just go by Sai.  My full name is such a mouthful.”

“But it’s rather pretty. Yuri like those lilies, am I right?”

Her heart stopped.  Piers was looking at her with those pale eyes of his, a smile on the corner of his lips. Oh… if only this moment would last forever….

“Yes.  I’m surprised you know them.  I was convinced that my parents chose the most obscure flowers to name me after.” Sai nervously pulled her hair behind her ears before outstretching it take his hand. “Hi.  Nice to meet you.  I’m Sai.”

Piers took her hand, squeezing it gently.  She could feel the heat on his fingertips and the palm of his hands where he had gripped the mic.  The touch seemed to linger a tad too long.  “It’s nice to meet you Sai.  I recognize your hair from the audience.  You looked like you were having a blast up there.”

Her cheeks were burning slightly.  “Yes.  I’ve been to a few of your concerts and own all your CDs.  I know a few of the songs off by heart now.”

“So maybe next time you’ll have to join me and show the audience how it is done, hmm?” His eyes twinkled down at her and she couldn’t help but squeak and laugh slightly at his joke.

“Of course!  I’ll need to flown out first class of course! Champagne, oysters, the works!”

The Rockstar laughed.  “I’ll keep that in mind.  Now, what can I sign for you?”

With trembling hands, Sai handed over the pamphlet, watching as his pen scribbled across the paper.  “I hope you don’t mind… my sister sort of sprung it on me that I was meeting you and… Oh!” She fished out the bracelet and handed it out to him. “I hope you accept this.  I… I have been working on it for months.  The dark beads are made up of dusk stones and the pink is a crystal that comes from the salt mines in Unova.  It is said to bring good luck.”

Piers finished his inscription of the pamphlet and gently took the bracelet.  He flipped it over, looking at the beads, the knots, the strength of the string, the… “Thank you, I love it.” he told her as he put it on, minding the sleeve of his jacket. “I’ll think of you whenever I wear it, Sai, lily of Galar.  Now.  Do you want a picture?”

Sai was staring at him through hazy eyes.  He had accepted the bracelet, even loved it.  He said he would think of her.  She couldn’t help herself.  Just before the camera went off, she put a finger through the pendant on his collar, pulling him in for a deep kiss.  

His lips were even softer than she had first thought. Soft and warm, slightly chapped, but he tasted faintly of black, dark coffee. She could smell the coffee on him, and the faint hints of his cologne and…

….

Oh dear Acreus.  

What had she done.

She released him immediately, her face red, his face pink.  “I’m sorry!  I forgot that there were people in this room!”  There were the sounds of outrage behind them as Team Yell fought to get the disgruntled fans under control, the lady with the clipboard who looked like she was about to murder Sai and Piers…

Piers was blinking away his own haze, staring down at her like she was some sort of wild flower… “It’s alright.” He chuckled as the astonished team member gave him the photo.  “We all forget ourselves sometimes.  You should get out of here before the mob tramples you.” He wrote something on the back and sent her along the back way.

Sai clutched at her picture, still in shock as the sounds of the fans slowly faded over the distance.

Oh Acreus…. She would never be able to go to another concert again.

* * * *  *

Bucky was waiting outside the concert hall like she had discussed, looking at something on her phone.  Slowly Sai snuck up on her, peeking over her sister’s shoulders to see what she was doing.  Fully expecting to see her looking at a scandalous picture of Leon…

To her surprise she was looking at the picture of Leon with the Dreepy in his hair.  There was something just so carefree about the moment.  Something so… innocent.  She could see his Charizard peeking over his shoulder at the camera, amusement in his eyes.

And then Bucky swiped to the next picture, and the picture of Leon on the beach popped up on the phone.  Sai could see that her sister was fully entranced by the photo, taking in the lines of the muscle, the tight swim trunks.

“Caught you~” Sai sang to her, enjoying how Bucky shrieked, almost throwing her phone in surprise.

“SAI! HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN STANDING THERE?”

“Long enough to know that my sweet sister isn’t as innocent as she seems~ and that she likes a man with long, purple hair and very little on.” Sai sang to her.

“OH, SHUT UP.” Bucky sputtered, her face red.  “You just caught me at a bad time.”

Sai chuckled as Bucky stormed off, catching up to her easily.  “Ah come on sis, there is nothing to be ashamed of.  I’m sure that if you posted a picture of yourself in a bathing suit he would like it too.”

Bucky pouted at her, her cheeks still hot.  “You know, sometimes you’re encouraging in the wrong sort of ways. Hopefully you enjoyed your Meet-and-Greet… though obviously it went well as he has what looks to be a phone number on the back of that picture there.”

Sai froze in step, slowly turning the picture over. Sure enough, right where he had been writing before herding her out the door….

“SAI.  DARE I ASK WHY YOU’RE KISSING HIM LIKE THAT?”

[snappedsky]

Fanatics 73.5

We finally learn what's happening to the rest of the Battalion. Previous! Next! 

--

Government of Doom Part 5

           Zim’s house is quiet, completely covered in impenetrable metal plating. On the roofs of the surrounding buildings in the cul-de-sac, four pairings of SDA agents are watching it closely, waiting for the slightest change. They are professionals, working in shifts to keep from getting tired eyes. And while they think they’re ready for anything, they could never be ready for what happens next.

           A young man walks down the street straight for Zim’s house. All four groups immediately perk up, recognizing him to be Johnny C. But before they can act, they’re all swiftly killed- necks snapped, skulls crushed, throats slit, and heads smashed by four individuals they were not expecting.

           The Night Terrors leap off the buildings and join Johnny as he enters Zim’s yard.

           “You sure you’re up for this, Nny?” Reverend Meat asks, noting Johnny’s pale, sweaty complexion and matted hair.

           “Yeah, you look dreadful,” Eff adds, “like even worse than usual.”

           “I’m fine,” Nny insists gravelly, “this is nothing.”

           When they approach Zim’s house, Johnny knocks heavily against the metal plating. “Hey! Open up! It’s Johnny!”

           There’s no response for a second. Then the plating around the door disappears and Skoodge opens it.

           “Come in, quickly,” he orders. Everyone hurries inside and Skoodge closes it after them, the metal plating returning.

           “What’s going on out there?” he asks frantically.

           “Squee and the others have all been captured by those agent assholes,” Johnny replies as they march through the house. “We gotta find them.”

           “Oh no!” Skoodge exclaims.

           They take the elevator down to the lab and Johnny starts to make a beeline for where the captured agents are in their glass cage, but stops at the sight before him.

           The agents are all curled up, rocking back and forth, and covering their ears, as Gir bangs tunelessly on a toy keyboard and squeals, “doom doom doomdoomdoom dooooooooom!”

           “It’s his Doom song,” Skoodge clarifies, “he’s been singing it since you guys left.”

           “Wow,” Johnny comments, “he’s almost better at torturing than me.”            He ignores Gir and stomps up to the cage, slamming his hand against the wall. “Where’s your headquarters?”

           “Doom doom doom,” one of the agents mutters feverishly while the others whimper and moan.

           Johnny glares at them incredulously while Skoodge passes by. “You’re not gonna get anything out of them,” he says as he approaches the main computer. “Fortunately, I got a better alternative.”

           “‘Puter,” Skoodge demands, “track Zim’s PAK.”

           “Tracking,” the Computer replies apathetically. A view of Earth appears on screen briefly before zooming in on the United States, into Nevada, and stopping over a flashing pink dot.

           “There he is,” Skoodge says.

           “Nevada,” Nny groans, “how are we supposed to get there?”

           “We can use the Epic,” he suggests.

           “It’s back at Devi’s I think.”

           “No problem,” Skoodge grins, “‘Puter, recall the Epic.”

           Everything’s quiet for a moment and then a sound similar to a jet engine echoes through the walls.

           “There we go,” he says and walks for the elevator. “I can drive.”

           “Ooh, we get to fly in the flying car,” Reverend Meat cheers excitedly.

           “I am coming too,” Mimi declares, “my master is in danger.”            “Fine,” Skoodge nods, “Gir, Minimoose, you stay and watch over the prisoners.”            Minimoose squeaks while Gir continues singing.      

           “Alright, let’s go already,” Johnny orders impatiently. Everyone rides the elevator and quickly exit the house, the metal plating closing back up behind them. They all get into the Epic and Skoodge punches in coordinates to Zim’s location.

           “Here we go!” he booms as the ship takes off into the air at such velocity, it pushes everyone up against the seats. “We’ll be there in no time!”

           Meanwhile, deep within the SDA facility, Zim is suspended inside a metal laboratory. His arms are hanging from the ceiling by metal cords and his legs are bound to the floor. His PAK is connected by only a few cords, giving his body just enough power to stay alive. Robotic arms coming out of the ceiling are removing all the items, which seem very miscellaneous: a couple large knives, a bat, a few books on the supernatural, two laser guns, and many alien devices.

           Zim pants heavily, too exhausted to try fighting back. But his antennae twitch slightly when a beeping emits from his PAK and he grins.

           “Hear that!” he shouts weakly, “that means my PAK is being tracked! My loyal minions are on their way to rescue me!”

           Through a one-way mirror, a head scientist named Mackey is controlling the robotic arms. He stops for a minute at Zim’s words and turns to his assistant.

           “Warn the Director,” he orders. The young man nods before hurrying off and Mackey faces the controls again. But his work is a little more hesitant as he is slightly unsettled by the grin plastered on Zim’s face.

           In a similar lab, Tak is in much the same situation. The only difference is a wire attached to the metal plating on her face. Whenever it looks like she might try to retaliate, the head scientist in charge of her capture- a woman called Nel- sends a large shock through the wire. This keeps Tak compliant.

           Nel would never admit it, being a professional, but she does love the way the alien’s body convulses with each shock. So she’ll take any excuse to punish her, even the slightest twitch of a finger.

           Tak pants heavily through gritted fangs. Even with her PAK detached, she would be able to escape if it wasn’t for those blasted shocks. When she gets out of this- and she will- she’s gonna make that scientist pay. She’ll make them all pay.

           Pepito is thinking the same thing as, a few labs over, his throat gets hoarse from screaming. He is shirtless, bound to a metal table by silver chains that sear his flesh. Twin scientists named Lark and Stark stand over him, both wearing large crosses as they test the sensitivity of his horns, by squeezing them with clamps.

           “Intriguing,” Lark comments as Pepito writhes. “They must be full of nerve endings, like teeth.”

           “Yes. Imagine what the Christian church will say when they find out the Antichrist has such a large weakness,” Stark remarks.

           “Indeed,” his brother agrees, “but his energy levels remain stagnant. I thought for sure stress would activate his powers.”

           “Could be the silver. But if we remove it, we risk allowing him the freedom to destroy the facility.”

           “Too true. For now, let’s continue testing the limits of his body. The Director wants us to document every single thing.”

           “He is so thorough.”

           The two brothers nod agreeably. Beneath them, Pepito pants rapidly, trying to think about something other than the pain. Where are his friends? What’s happening to them? He wants to question these scientists, but the words get gargled in his throat.

           He needs to get out of here. But they were right. The silver chains are preventing him from using his powers. If he could just muster up a little, he would blow them both to bits. If only.

           Finally, in a lab that looks more like a hospital room, a heart monitor beeps rapidly in accordance to Squee’s anxious vitals. He is strapped to a metal table, an IV in his arm and probes attached to his temples. The room is dark but he can make out the silhouette of someone standing on the far end, writing on something.

           Lights suddenly turn on, nearly blinding Squee as a door opens and someone else enter the room.

           “Director!” the first person exclaims, lowering her clipboard.

           “Hello, Doctor Theresa,” the Director smiles warmly as he approaches. He looks over at Squee, who glares at him through squinted eyes as he adjusts to the brightness. “How is he?”

           “His vitals have yet to settle down,” Theresa replies, “it’s a wonder he hasn’t had a heart attack yet.”

           “Well, you can’t blame him,” the Director laughs, “waking up in this situation.”

           He approaches the foot of the table and Squee does his best to squirm away.

           “Hello, Squee C,” he says, “I am the Director, the head of the Supernatural Destruction Agency.”

           “Destruction?” Squee grumbles, “seems dramatic.”

           “You, my boy, are a…marvelous specimen,” the Director says, “your supernatural energy levels are the highest I’ve ever seen in a full human. They’re even higher than some paranormal creatures. You must be able to perceive things that most humans could never even dream of. I modified my mind and body to achieve sight like yours, and I’m sure you’re still stronger.”

           “That’s…flattering…” Squee comments uncomfortably.

           The Director smiles. “I was hoping to use this machine on the Antichrist, but I’m afraid it’s too risky. On you, though, it should work swimmingly.”

           He grabs one of the probes attached to Squee’s head, running his hand along the cord until it reaches a large rectangular device beside the table. It almost looks like a giant car battery with a screen on the side showing what appears to be energy readings.

           “This is a charger that siphons supernatural energy and converts it into electrical energy, to power devices,” the Director explains, “when we come across creatures with especially high natural energy levels- like yours- we attach them to the device and use them to charge our technology. It makes for a cheaper power bill, let me tell you.”

           He chuckles delightfully while Squee glares in disgust.

           “Now then,” he sighs contently, “you may feel some intense pain.”

           He pushes a button on the charger and a burning, white hot pain runs through Squee’s skull and radiates throughout his entire body. Screams rip through his throat as he writhes in his restraints. It feels like his brain is being sucked out through those tiny tubes.

           The Director and the doctor seem unbothered by the screams. She keeps an eye on his skyrocketing vitals while he watches the power levels on the charger rise with wide, sparkling eyes.

           “Look at this, Doctor,” he says excitedly, “we’ve never achieved power levels this high before! With this, we’ll be able to upgrade all our devices. Perhaps even power the entire facility!”

           “He is just one boy, Director,” Theresa points out.

           “One boy with tremendous power,” he argues, “think of it. We’ll be able to perfect our tracking process. Instead of scanning the energy levels of one area, we’ll be able to do individual beings. No more trial and error with capturing. We’ll know for sure what creature is giving off supernatural energy and neutralize them right then and there.”

           “Won’t…let you…”

           “What’s that?” the Director turns to Squee. He squirms slightly as he grits his teeth and glares at them.

           “I won’t…let you,” he snarls, “I won’t…be your…battery. I won’t…let you hurt…innocent creatures. You won’t…get away with this.”

           “I’m afraid there’s nothing you can, my boy,” the Director says, smiling pityingly as he pats Squee’s leg.

           The door suddenly opens and a lab assistant rushes in. “Director, sir. You need to hear this. It’s important.

           “Alright, alright, I’m coming,” the Director nods, “keep an eye on the boy, Doctor. Make sure he doesn’t die.”

           “Yes, sir,” Theresa nods as he leaves with the assistant. She continues to watch Squee’s vitals as the charger rips through his brain.

           I have to do something, Squee thinks. I can’t move, so I can’t write. But maybe if I focus really hard, I can still create something. Maybe if I focus…

           I need to make something, anything to destroy these machines and help me escape.

           Focus! I need to focus! And create!            The charger suddenly starts beeping, startling Theresa. She looks at the energy levels on screen in bewilderment as they light up red.

           “Wh-what?” she exclaims, “the power’s going up! It-it’s completely off the charts!”

           She looks at Squee and jumps back. “Wh-what is that…?”

           A black cloud is manifesting over Squee’s head, his eyes closed and face twisted with exertion. The cloud continues to grow and grow until the middle starts glowing red and orange, like fire.

           Theresa dives to the floor as the cloud explodes. It’s small, but the noise echoes through the whole facility.

           Theresa looks up at the destruction of the machines and Squee rising from the destroyed table. “What-what did you do?”

           He looks at her, swaying a little on his feet. “Well, I-I’m a little unsure, but I think I um created an explosion. So…that’s kinda cool.”

           Dusting himself off, he stumbles out of the rubble and heads for the door. “Anyway, bye.”

           He’s just about to leave but stops short. “Oh, wait a sec.”

           He looks back at her and she flinches from his dark glare. “Where’s my stuff?”

[diveronarpg]

Congratulations, BECKY! You’ve been accepted for the role of LADY MACBETH with an approved FC change to Karrueche Tran. Admin Cas: Ah, Lucrezia. She’s undoubtedly one of my favourite characters here, and for good reason. She’s perceptive, calculating, enchanting, and perhaps most importantly of all, utterly terrifying. I adored your application from start to finish, Becky - you captured every dark ambition, every siren song, every scheme and subterfuge that Lucrezia’s ever used to her advantage. Femininity is her weapon, and she knows exactly how to use it. Honestly, I could feel the beat of her heart in every single word you wrote. This line in particular got me: “You must shed your snakeskin and free the heart-thrum-fresh creature which lays ready and waiting beneath.” Your Lucrezia certainly isn’t for the fainthearted, and I’m so excited to watch how she flourishes in your capable hands! Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

OUT OF CHARACTER

Alias | Becky

Age | 24

Preferred Pronouns | she/her

Activity Level | WFH so online daily.

Timezone | GMT

How did you find the rp? | Blast from the past !

IN CHARACTER

Character | Lady Macbeth, Lucrezia Falco

What drew you to this character? |

There’s blood on your hands and it won’t wash out. There’s blood on your hands and it glistens, deep and dark and vicious. There’s blood on your hands and it whispers like a friend, like a confidant, like a lover.

There’s blood on your hands – and you know this is the price to pay for greatness.

You will build your empire piece by piece until a crown of power rests against your brow. If the streets of Verona must run with ichor, so be it. You are the flower and the serpent. You are becoming and unbecoming. You are forging yourself anew until the person looking back at you in the mirror is a reflection you deem worthy.

Docile smiles have never been a currency you can afford to use. When you were younger, bright and teetering on the edge of foolishness, your mother and father had wished for a doe-eyed daughter. Instead, you had come home from school with a bruise marking your face and a blade-sharp smile cutting across your mouth ( the other girl had looked far worse ). Makeup had covered the purpling skin from friends and family, your mother chiding you with a loss for how to tame her daughter. Your parents had done all they could to brush aside your misdemeanours. This is what happens when you grow up in a house which thrives on concealment: you get good at hiding your sins.

You feel yourself being picked apart. The decadent dance of decaying debutante. You must shed your snakeskin and free the heart-thrum-fresh creature which lays ready and waiting beneath. Your heart turns to a sticky dark mess that slides through the fingers of anyone who dares to try and save it.

You were never built to be soft.

Venom pools in your mouth, tart on the tongue. Dark eyes shine bright in the nighttime, flashing a smile to distract from danger. Laughter echoes down a cobbled passageway and silence pools along stone grooves soon after, matching the rust-coloured criss-cross patterns that decorate your palm as soap and water cleanse you of tonight’s trouble.

Marriage. Misdemeanours. Murder. Perhaps there’s a reason they call you Lady M beyond simply carrying your husband’s moniker with you. Binding yourself to him had been necessary to get where you are now but it had not been his trust you sought to gain but that of Cosimo. The best laid plans are those that take time. You know how to lay in wait, patient when necessary, and those who do not perform as you wish them to are cut loose from their marionette strings.

There is nothing you wouldn’t do to achieve what you desire.

– Lucrezia Falco is the amalgamation of some of my favourite characters, including her namesake; Narcissa Malfoy; Marisa Coulter; Rebecca de Winter; Carmine Zuigiber; Melanie Cavill; Estella Havisham; Amy Dunne. I’m definitely drawn towards the idea of Lucrezia embracing the darker parts of herself and pushing her boundaries. I’m always a sucker for a character who stirs gossip and whispers in people’s ears so I have no doubt she’ll bring her fair share of drama with her, leaving anyone who suffers for it in her wake. A temptress at heart, she’s particularly adept at inciting trouble.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? |

I. ASCENT. You are destined for more. You can feel it calling to you like a siren song billowing up from murky depths. Every ounce of praise is gathered, wrung out and collected from those above you. Hierarchy is merely a concept devised to provide a clear pathway for people like you. The top is evident; the means for ascent less so. – Lucrezia sets her sights high. The absolute pinnacle of her goals is to achieve a high level rank, be it Boss, Underboss or Advisor. She isn’t fussy. I have no doubt this will put her at odds with Juliana ( who is somewhat her foil ) but who doesn’t love some tension? Vivienne and her influence is potentially tricker for Lucrezia to deal with but I envision her attempting to carve out a mentorship-type role for herself in the heart of Ms Sloane. She’ll be quick to pitch her desire to become something more and, whilst it would be great to see her achieve it, I can’t help but wonder what she may do should she be denied.

> Vaguely and conceptually curious about the idea of her becoming a hitman to take the spot Orion left behind but she’d certainly be a bit of a wildcard option, all things considered. Very femme fatale, very serpent-under-the-flower.

II. BONDS. You can feel him watch you, eyes tracking your movements. Lust occasionally sparks but love remains absent, settling like quiet of your shared abode when his conversation starter falls flat at your feet. It is not his fault, not really. You are repulsed by the idea of letting him know you well enough to know your weak spots. To let him in would be to surrender. The organ beneath your ribs serves its purpose keeping you alive and you shan’t let it soften for the sake of a husband who wants to know the woman who shares his bed better. – Ah, Mikael. Married for his connections and potential. Lucrezia is purposefully preventing herself from having any feelings towards him that aren’t inherently carnal but even those have begun to dry, the thrill of what they once had having risked returning to routine. I don’t think it’s impossible for them to fix what they have but it would take Lucrezia learning to be vulnerable in front of him which, after ten-or-so years of marriage, may admittedly never happen. For now she is satisfied keeping him ( what she assumes to be ) happy so that he doesn’t grow tired of her. It’d be interesting and very Shakespeareanly-apt were he to get wrapped up in her devious plans. For better or for worse, and all that… Perhaps they will end up breaking apart or perhaps they will overcome their current lack of love for one another. Either way, it’ll be messy.

III. MANIA. You wipe the blade against silk, a dark smear across fine fabric. Information is precious and once you’ve plucked what you need from a mouth that offers what it can in amongst strangled sobs, you dispose of the source before others can make use of it. Clean. Precise. An emissary is not expected to get their hands dirty like this but you do what you can to get noticed by the right people. And the wrong ones. But your sins are beginning to take a toll, gnawing their way into the blackened husk of your heart. Before long, you may begin to unravel.

– Emissaries trade in whispers but Lucrezia knows she needs to get ahead of the rest in order to stand out from the crowd. She’ll do whatever it takes to get information and secure deals. We love drama in this house so I am absolutely here for her getting in too deep. The more she tests her morality, the weaker her conscience grows. She treats it like an experiment to see whether she’ll ever reach a point of breaking and thus far is yet to see any signs of such. If there is a price to pay for these inhuman acts, it will be her sanity.

IV. CONTROL. You will take what is offered. You will keep climbing. You won’t turn back and you certainly won’t let anything get in your way. Or anyone. You need those ranked higher than you to look on you favourably. The thought of someone close to Cosimo thinking you are incapable makes your skin crawl. With recent deaths and absences leaving gaping holes in the mob hierarchy, you need to do all you can to ensure that those who fill them adore you.

– The higher she attempts to rise, the further the fall. Lucrezia knows she cannot achieve power on her own; she needs supporters. It will take more than a well placed compliment and a brush of her fingertips. She needs to climb inside their minds; carve out a space for herself to sit amongst dark thoughts and ensure the loyalty of her fellow Capulets. Once inspiring this in a chosen few, she will rely on them to protect her and behave in a way that snubs out the sparks of any other bright things daring to climb the ranks. As soon as a new Advisor is chosen, should it be someone she doesn’t take kindly to, she may very well start fanning the embers of mistrust in their abilities. A whisper here, a comment there. A reputation can take a long time to build but can be toppled overnight by the right sharp-smiling disarming woman.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | Not currently but that could certainly change if it helped with the overall plot!

IN DEPTH

In-Character Interview:

I. ) At half past nine, in the wake of Mikael going to work and leaving her alone ( precisely the way she likes it ) in the shell of their home, Lucrezia dons her gym wear and goes for a jog. The route is specific. The timing is immaculate. She passes the wife of the mayor like clockwork, passing a smile in her direction each morning until smiles become greetings and greetings become stopping to coo at the child in her stroller.

Eventually this turns to weekly lunches and invitations to various social events. They all dance the way she desires, puppets dangling from strings caught in her hands. It’s at the book club that she learns the most; gossip spilling from the wine-loosened lips of women in power or women married to power. Falling into the latter camp isn’t so bad when it gives you a free step up in the world. Lucrezia knows this fact well.

“But is that really your favourite place in Verona?” the Capulet asks as they talk of unexciting places nestled snuggly in her Don’s territory, seeking a location fit to hold an entirely over-the-top birthday party for the mayor’s wife. She’s only been half-listening, waiting for the perfect moment to chip in with her opinion. Her valued opinion. That was important. Charm the right people into believing you have their best interests at heart and they won’t see that your own motives lay at the centre of all you do.

“What about Teatro Nuovo?” she suggests, seemingly off-handedly, gaze fixing on the mayor’s wife with familiarity and a glimmer of private acknowledgement, as though only she knew precisely where would be best. Lucrezia wouldn’t dare spend an unnecessary amount of time in Montague territory typically but this particular excuse to snoop around the building wasn’t one to turn her nose up at. With high profile politicians and their security in attendance, she’ll bet her luck that the Montagues wouldn’t dare to target her. “There’s an elegance to the theatre. Grandeur. And who doesn’t love an opera-masquerade themed party?”

II. ) “I’m trying to get a better idea of Mr Falco’s routine. What does your typical day look like?” Mikael’s PA asks, far too eager to please their boss in a way that Lucrezia would like to think only she knows the art of.

The edges of her mouth lift, hiding her irritation at the prying behind a well-practiced false smile. “To begin, Mikael and I wake up and enjoy some early morning cardio.” The lie leaves her lips, accompanied by a laugh to put the other at ease. Her wifely facade remains; she’s used to putting on this charade. It is the blush that stains the PA’s cheeks that marks her success. “And then he will leave for work and I attend a yoga class or meet a friend for breakfast.” Lie. It’s more likely to be a negotiation, securing a deal with someone whose attention lingers on her just as much as it lingers on the examples of the firearms the Capulets can offer. “I’ll typically spend some time running errands or planning a dinner party before lunch which is either eaten alone at home or out. The afternoon is for shopping or a leisurely stroll.” Another lie. Afternoons are for organising reports to give to Vivianne. Who is following through with their half of agreements? Who is falling short and needs a follow up visit from her less-charming friends? “And then Mikael will return from work and we’ll have an enjoyable evening.”

Lucrezia conjures a vision of perfection without giving it a second thought. She neglects to mention the hours spent at The Twelfth Night; or those coaxing whispers from unyielding mouths; or those scrubbing the blood of another from the beds of her fingernails.

III. ) “What has been your biggest mistake thus far?” The bespectacled marriage counsellor asks. Beside Lucrezia, Mikael fidgets. She reaches for his hand, curling her fingers around it. His wedding band is warm to the touch. He stills as he always does when she touches him as though surprised by his own wife’s affection. Predictable.

Agreeing to attend this meeting, she thinks to herself. She’d slammed a door in Mikael’s face when he’d suggested they try and talk things through with a therapist present yet agreed to attend for the sake of keeping up appearances ( he talks to Everett about their relationship, she knows this much ). “I once served garlic hors d'oeuvres at a party with an orchestra.” Lucrezia answers. “Such a bad idea when everyone had to stand so close to speak to one another.”

Her revenge on her husband’s attempt to meddle with their relationship is to be had afterwards as she says goodbye, a hand on the therapist’s arm and a sultry tone drifting from her lips. When she glances towards the door, she meets Mikael’s line of sight.

It didn’t matter what games they played, the queen was always the stronger piece.

IV. ) “What has been the most difficult task asked of you?” Cosimo’s question wafts towards her on a tendril of cigarette smoke that catches in the sunlight streaming into his office through slits in the blinds.

Inwardly, Lucrezia wants to scream. Very little can make her speak genuinely, truthfully, from the heart. This line of questioning makes it feel as if he were trying to climb inside her head and understand who she was. She doesn’t care for thinking about her shortcomings, nor does she have any intention of allowing Cosimo to do the same.

She deploys one of her usual tactics. Raises her hand slowly to pull the cigarette from Cosimo’s lips and hold it to her own, taking a drag before returning the lipstick-stained end to him. She exhales slowly. “I’ll tell you when you give me something difficult to do.” Her brow raises in challenge, settling the boss with a steady stare. Test me, she wants to tell him. I want to feel alive.

V. ) “What are your thoughts on the war between the Capulets and the Montagues?” Everett asks her the day she leaves his decina, chin held high in light of her promotion to emissary, no longer trapped beneath the heel of another man’s shoe. The question is posed casually but Lucrezia knows him well enough by now that Everett rarely acts without purpose – and that purpose would be sat snuggly against the morals that keep his spine straight and his expression guarded.

Lucrezia turns the question over in her mind cautiously as though it were a trap, steel jaw ready to spring shut. A smile slinks slowly across her lips as she closes the space between them until a metre of polished wooden floor is what keeps them apart ( along with a history of unresolved differences ). She squares her gaze with his. “All this time spent teaching me and you still can’t figure out what goes on inside my head, can you?” Something that isn’t quite a laugh escapes her mouth. The sound is silky, amusement winding itself around it like a serpent. “What would you like me to say? That the war is necessary? That, like you, I got involved in all this because of someone I love?”

It doesn’t take a telepath to know that Vivianne springs to the forefront of both of their minds. An emissary is only as good as her intel and sufficient background information was always a valuable arsenal to carry. Her reassignment had not been born from luck; she knows exactly what she’s doing.

Acrylic fingernails reach to brush an imaginary piece of lint from the shoulder of Everett’s suit before turning swiftly to leave, her answer falling behind her as she strides out of the room. “It’s about time we fucking won, Everett.”

Connections:

THE SPOUSE: Mikael Falco. As much as it pains her that the man she married can’t find the strength to stand up to her when necessary, she still clings to a thread of hope that she can turn him into the person she wishes he was. Headstrong. Lethal. As hungry for more as she is. The Falco name is a pretty one and would surely look just as beautiful sitting alongside the most powerful families of Verona, no?

THE ADVERSARY: Calina Sokolova. This town isn’t big enough for the both of them. Calina seems to slip through life with casual elegance whereas Lucrezia feels like her nails have left imprints in everything, working hard for what she deserves. She waits with bated breath to hear news of the Montague emissary’s fall from grace, eager for the whispers to land on the shell of her ear first so she can watch it all burn down in flames.

THE ANNOYANCE: Everett Craven. There’s fun to be had in finding new subtle ways to torment a man like Everett. She waits for the twitch of his brow or the tick of his jaw, hoping to be the cause of the vexed sigh that leaves his mouth. His seriousness mixed with his influence over Mikael are, irritatingly, things she’s never been able to break. And not for a lack of trying.

THE PUPIL: Delilah Bello. She is not one to offer a shoulder to cry on but, equally, she is not one to disregard those who do whatever it takes to stay ahead. Delilah’s choice of tactics may have been misguided and Lucrezia certainly doesn’t find the soldier’s attempts to deny what happened in any way productive – but perhaps she simply needs steering in the right direction. Making the best of a bad situation can be an enjoyable pastime when done right.

THE SOURCE: Mona Chen. Mona certainly knows how to string together a pretty sentence, words shining through the darkness that they have both made their home in. Lucrezia enjoys collecting the payment owed to Cosimo; enjoys having the privilege of hearing the secrets whispered to her as if some vessel for the truth. She turns the information over in her head, admiring it, deciding what should and shouldn’t be passed on. There’s power in that.

THE SEDUCED: Open to anyone. Lucrezia has them hooked around her finger, but unlike post-marriage Mikael they prove to be much more of a fun plaything. She knows they want what they can’t have but she’s beginning to get a taste of her own medicine. Being with them is like playing with fire, dangerous but enthralling. She won’t cheat on Mikael but she might just test a few boundaries.

THE SANCTUARY: Open to Capulets or neutrals. Even someone like Lucrezia needs a safe place to rest. Somewhere she can drop the many charades and be herself. This person is, perhaps, the only soul she has ever felt truly at peace beside. Time is what strengthened their bond, along with their fair share of helping one another out of tricky or dangerous situations.

THE TRICKED: Open to Montagues. She has no intention of harming them, for that would be counterproductive. They are a plaything, of sorts. An experiment to see what she can do, what she can achieve. When they first meet, she slips into a charade of fear. Pretends to be at their mercy if only for the sake of spinning her story: the terrified wife. A sob story can go a long way if you know how to play it.

[astromechs]

anything that’s worth my love (is worth the fight)

idk, oneshot, character/relationship study thing, who knows. also i didn’t reread the bendis issues about the cancerverse before i wrote this, so i took some liberties and fuck bendis canon anyway

also on ao3!

i.

Peter Quill is a strange guy.

It’s not the most profound assessment, but it’s about the best that Rich has, even after almost three months of working with him. Just by looking at him, you’d think that he’d be one of those painfully serious guys out of an old movie, dark, brooding, and mysterious. But over time, it becomes clear that, in a lot of ways, he’s the opposite; he seems to come to life more and more by the day, a ghost of a smile here, something like a bad joke there, a lot of offhand comments that seemingly come out of nowhere but somehow prove to be completely relevant.

Rich finds that his eyes have developed a tendency to linger on Peter for probably longer than they should, as if just staring will somehow get him closer to figuring the guy out.

That’s it. Nothing more to it than that.

There’s no real reason that he’s continuing to watch as Peter walks away, and—

“Richard.” He’s still not used to the voice that’s now a part of him, yet he can't imagine life without it, either, somehow. (It’s not entirely a bad thing; he’ll take his comforts where he can get them, even if said comforts have an annoying habit of always waking him up in the middle of a few precious hours of sleep.) “I have found that your heart rate increases by an average of twelve percent whenever you are in the proximity of Peter Quill. I am analyzing — ”

“Shut up, Worldmind,” he cuts in flatly, but the words don’t leave his mind for weeks afterward.

ii.

Worldmind had calculated this plan’s probability of success to sit somewhere at approximately four percent, but Rich had thought that had been generous.

Direct assault has pretty much never been an option against the Annihilation Wave up to this point; this whole thing has been a game of finding the best time to evacuate civilians, and then retreat. He’d like for that to not be true, sure, because, well, maybe he hadn’t paid as much attention as he should have in his high school history classes, but he’s pretty sure no one has ever won a war purely through retreats. Even so, though, the fact is that even in the best case scenario of the United Front not running on basically a skeleton crew of troops, they’d still be massively overpowered, outgunned, and everything else.

But Peter had been right; something had to change to turn the tide, and this had been their best opportunity to strike. The crazy son of a schlag had just decided to do it himself before anyone else could argue.

That’s the long and short of how Rich had gotten here, crouched on the ground next to a second-in-command who had also just given them the biggest advantage they’ve had in months by putting himself in the blast radius of a well-placed bomb. And said second-in-command is still in one piece, somehow; a little worse for the wear, judging by the way he favors his right side as he tries to lift his body into a sitting position, but nothing that won’t see a full recovery.

There are about a million things on Rich’s mind, but each one gets away at light speed before he can grab on, and all he’s left with is a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that hasn’t managed to disappear. He swallows down the dryness in his throat, and when he opens his mouth to speak, all that comes out is:

“You’re crazy.”

“Maybe.” Peter shrugs in response, and after a moment, he actually smirks through the blood trickling from his bottom lip. “But it worked, didn’t it?”

There’s a part of Rich that’s definitely pissed, but the rest of him can’t help the smile that pulls at the corners of his mouth.

(And, okay, he can’t lie; he probably would’ve done the same thing.)

Peter Quill may, truly, be the craziest man he’s ever met in his life, but there’s a possibility that they could win this whole damn war because of him.

iii.

They’ve managed to gain some ground, but Krelar still falls.

It’s a brutal loss, probably the most brutal in a whole war full of them; a hidden horde of the Wave had decimated thousands of civilians before they could even retreat, and those who’d been left of the United Front had barely made it off the planet themselves. They’re all shaken, deeply, and Rich had ordered everyone to tend to their wounds and get some sleep before reconvening at the end of the night cycle.

An order he knows he won’t follow himself.

He tries, though, for a time, tries to lie back on his pillow in his quarters and shut his eyes; he can go without rest longer than most, but even with the entire Nova Force inside him, he’s still pushing his limits. But when he does, he sees Kree falling on all sides, hears their screams as they do. He sees Xandar dying around him, just as he has in his mind’s eye. Death, just death, and even with all this power, he’s always helpless to do nothing but watch it happen….

His feet hit the floor, wander the corridors aimlessly, until they end up at the door of Peter’s quarters.

It opens before he can even knock.

They stand there for a time in silence, Peter looking as lost and haunted as he feels. There’s nothing to say, anyway; no platitudes will bring the planet back, gallows humor can only go so far, and with both of those options gone, well. That’s it.

Except —

Peter leans in and presses his mouth to Rich’s, and Rich doesn’t take the time to think about what’s happening, instead pulling Peter’s body as close to his as possible. They stumble through the doorway like this, a tangle of lips and hands searching for some kind of solid reassurance.

It doesn’t make anything better, because there’s nothing that can, but by the time Rich wakes up after managing a couple of hours of sleep, head resting on Peter’s bare chest and the rhythmic thud of a heartbeat in his ear, he thinks he can stand on solid enough ground to take a next step.

iv.

“Let me buy you a beer” had turned into three over the past hour, with a fourth probably soon to come, and while Rich feels guilty about it on some level, Peter continues to insist. It’s returning the favor, he says, for the tip about Knowhere, which has proven to be a pretty good base for his team, some hiccups aside. And:

“You look like you need it more than I do.”

After the — week, month, six months, year? — he’s had, he can’t really find it in him to argue.

Starlin’s has most of its usual clientele this evening, the loud, violent crowd that sees at least three bar fights broken up before it’s forced to disperse. A few broken bottles fly past their table at various points through this, but they’re otherwise left alone; being a war hero commands some respect in certain ways.

“I went back,” Rich finds himself saying a time after the bar quiets down, swirling the mug in his hand absently. “To Earth, I mean. First time since everything went down.”

Peter turns in his seat, attention fully focused on him, something like concern in his eyes (both human, no cybernetics anywhere, which is still taking some getting used to). He doesn’t say anything, and Rich takes that as his cue to continue.

“It was like…” He trails off, and it takes him a moment to commit to a train of thought. “No one even cared. The universe as we know it was almost gone, and all anyone could think about was fighting among themselves. This whole damn galactic war happening right above their heads, and nothing even changed for them.”

It all has a bitter taste coming out of his mouth, more than he’d actually intended it to, but he can’t deny that now that it’s out there, he feels like a massive weight has been taken off of his chest. He feels — better, somehow.

“But.” Rich drains the rest of the contents his mug after a beat. “Home is home, you know.”

“Yeah,” Peter says, and Rich thinks it sounds a little distant. “Home is home.” He reaches a hand toward one of Rich’s, gives it a brief squeeze before letting go.

Maybe it’s the fourth beer he’s now starting, but Rich has a wild thought that right here, right now, he could feel more at home than he has anywhere in a long time.

v.

It’s so quiet that the sound of Rich’s own breathing pounds in his ears. For a reality where life has supposedly won, it seems awfully dead; visibility stretches for miles on end, and as far as he can tell, there isn’t a single sign of movement anywhere. Worldmind’s report from his helmet’s scanners chime in at the thought, but confirm what he already knew.

He peels off his helmet, because everything’s getting too stuffy. He thinks it shouldn’t surprise him that that doesn’t provide any kind of relief.

Next to him, Peter kicks the Cosmic Cube on the ground, and it clinks against an outcropping of rock.

“Thing’s dead,” he says, voice still breathless from their last seemingly never-ending encounter with the Revengers, from dying and being resurrected repeatedly. (Turns out, that kind of thing can take a toll. Who knew.) “Next time they come back, we’re gonna get our asses kicked even worse.”

Rich’s eyes drop to the ground, drift over to the Cube and stay there as something starts to occur to him. It’d had one shot, sure, and they’d already blown it, but what if a source of massive power could charge it again? What if — “Maybe not.”

He’s trapped here, probably forever; it doesn’t take a genius to figure that one out. He accepts it, too, because he’d known his choices when he’d followed Peter in here, and if he could do everything all over again, he wouldn’t change any of them. Robbie, his mom and dad, every single being on countless worlds are safe. That’s what matters.

But before that door is shut for good, he can open another. One he himself can’t walk through, because someone has to hold it; it’s the only way.

Peter deserves so much more than being stuck here in a barren wasteland, fighting and dying and coming back to life again, and again, and again. He deserves a chance to live in the universe that he’d helped to save. And Rich can give him that; it’s the least he owes him. For everything.

He bends down to gently lift the Cosmic Cube with the tips of his fingers.

“Rich — ?” It seems to dawn on Peter before he can even finish the question, and out of the corner of his eye, Rich can see Peter’s widen in horror. “Rich, wait.”

He closes his eyes and concentrates, tuning out the screams and everything else around him.

“Rich!”

Nova Force rips through his cells, and it feels almost warm.

[artificialqueens]

Emergency Contact (Branjie) - hy-jinkx, athena2

AN: A huge thank you to Writ for being an incredible beta for this, we hope you all enjoy it!

You can also read on AO3.

José is watching TV when he gets the call. It’s a number he doesn’t know, and he’s about to complain about hoes dialing the wrong number and just ignore it, when something drives him to answer. Maybe it’s the fact that it’s nearly Christmas, stores blasting the same songs over and over, list of presents to buy his family still untouched, and the holiday always brought phone calls from random relatives he’s never seen in his life. Or maybe it’s the same force that drove him to answer the odd number when he got picked for Drag Race, a number that’s taken him to a pink workroom twice and into the arms of a tall Canadian man for what was too short of a time as he lived it and now feels too long a time to have spent memorizing Brock’s breathing and the freckles dusting his back, for it all to come crashing down anyway.

He presses the phone to his ear, and a kind voice says she’s calling him because—and then it’s like the ocean roars in his ears, and he misses all the medical nonsense the woman is spouting, because all he hears is that Brock is in the hospital.

Brock is at the hospital, and they’re calling him.

He is Brock’s emergency contact.

José realizes with a start that he doesn’t know his own emergency contact, wouldn’t even know how to change it. But Brock, always so responsible, so organized, must have changed his when they were dating. The thought that Brock trusted him enough to be an emergency contact gives his heart that familiar flutter. It quickly dies, though, at the confusion. Why, when Brock always takes care of that shit, hasn’t he changed it back to Steve or his mom or whoever it was before they started dating? Why is José, Brock’s ex-boyfriend, answering a call that should be making someone else’s heart–a heart that could handle this, that hadn’t been broken just a year ago– pound?

Is it worse if he just forgot to change it, or left it intentionally? It doesn’t matter. Brock is alone in the hospital in LA, and it’s almost Christmas, and leaving him there isn’t an option, regardless of whatever status they’re in right now. He tells the woman he’ll be on his way, writing down the name of the hospital so his forgetful ass doesn’t blank on it in ten seconds.

Brock must be freaking out, José thinks, hating himself for knowing how Brock would react, for still feeling that familiarity toward him, for trying to understand Brock’s mind. Too bad he couldn’t understand his mind all those months ago.

He grabs his coat without so much as another thought. It occurs to him that he doesn’t even know what’s wrong with Brock, had zoned out for that part of the call. Was he sick, or hurt, or even worse? Was he in pain or asleep? What if it was really bad?

Fuck it. He’s out the door.

The hospital was one of Brock’s least favorite places. He felt out of his element in his hospital bed, completely out of his realm of control. His care was in someone else’s hands, and a stranger’s at that.

He wasn’t sure if he trusted a stranger with his life. The only people he did trust with his life were his family and - well, José. Even if he didn’t want to admit it, he would likely always trust José that deeply, the younger man just having that effect on Brock.

Maybe that was why he never had the heart to remove José as his emergency contact.

Or maybe he had simply forgotten, his mind too preoccupied once the whirlwind of drag race airing had begun. He didn’t have time to worry about things like that, especially when he was so diligent about his health while being on the road almost constantly.

This was just a hiccup, an accident really. He didn’t see the point in calling José right now, but apparently the nurse disagreed with him.

“Might make you feel better seeing a familiar face,” the nurse had offered, flashing him a stern smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes before stepping out of the room. Damn his inability to say no to people.

The minutes felt like they passed by at a snail’s pace, Brock’s mind reeling. José was coming, but Brock had no way of really knowing how his ex would react. He knew José would be concerned on some level, and there would likely be some yelling involved, but whether that was at Brock or the hospital staff was yet to be determined.

Would José laugh at Brock’s injury, or would Jose dote on him like he had when Brock got sick while staying with him in LA?

Maybe if he was lucky, they would let him leave before José showed up, but he doubted that would be the case. Instead of allowing himself to think about his ex and the sense of dread he felt knowing José was likely on his way, Brock tried to keep himself busy by playing a game on his phone.

José tears through the doors like he’s on a mission, all his confusion and anger replaced with genuine worry, ready to grab the first person he sees and demand they take him to Brock.

“I’m here to see Brock Hayhoe,” he begins at the reception desk. “He one tall-ass hoe, you can’t miss him.”

“Name, please?”

“José Cancel. I’m his fri–” no, his abuela always said Christmas isn’t a time to lie, even if it’s just to himself,  “–I’m his emer–I’m his contact person.”

“Room 372.”

He’s off, past the snowmen and bulbs and snowflakes lining the walls, trying to bring cheer to a place that to him really isn’t a place for cheer. Hospitals and all their bad juju always gave him the creeps, and he’s secretly grateful when drag shows and touring give him an excuse not to visit a sick relative. He knows it’s terrible, but he just can’t take it. He can’t take the cold white rooms, all the people in pain and suffering in ways he didn’t understand, in ways no one could help. To have someone he loves in that position…his heart just can’t take it.

Brock is one of the only people he could possibly do this for. He even turned into a full-on nursemaid that one weekend Brock got sick in LA. He checked Brock’s temperature and gave him medicine and tea like people did in the movies and almost started a fire trying to make chicken soup, Brock protesting the fussing all the while. He sat on the couch with Brock’s head in his lap, stroking his sweat-damp hair and waiting until Brock’s breathing evened out and he finally got some rest, staying up most of the night to watch over him. It’s a part of him only Brock has seen, a part no one else has earned since.

There’s a paper snowman outside Brock’s door, and the fake, construction-paper smile only makes the place seem gloomier, because surely there’s people here who won’t see Christmas or a snowman ever again.

He takes a breath and turns into Brock’s room, the sight almost making him walk right back out. There is no way someone as big as a moose should look this damn small. Brock is about half his normal size—a size that completely covered José in bed on those nights he needs to forget—in the hospital bed, and it makes him seem fragile, like those fancy dishes people locked away in cabinets and never used. His Brock–though he needs to give up on that now–is not supposed to look like this. There is not supposed to be an IV in his arm or all those monitors that belong on a spaceship around him. If he thought Brock was pasty before, it’s nothing compared to the ghostly paleness now; a ghost that just can’t stop haunting José, whatever he does.

There’s a chair by the bed, but José is too rattled to sit.

“What the hell kinda mess did you get yourself into?” José demands, holding tight to the angry side of him to keep from breaking, to keep Brock from the spiral he knows he’ll sink into if he sees José scared or worried.

“You came,” Brock deflects. Is that happiness in his voice? Whatever it is, it breaks through José’s anger. If Brock is awake and talking (and maybe even happy to see him), then it can’t be that bad, right?

“Yeah, I came,” he says softly. “I wasn’t gonna leave your ass in the hospital alone. Especially so close to Christmas. I know you hate this shit.” Damn it, he wasn’t going to do this. He wasn’t going to get familiar, wasn’t going to let his heart soar when he saw Brock.

“I do.” Brock sighs helplessly, and José notices the rumbled sheets, Brock’s restlessness something he knows well.

“So, what did you do?” José asks. “Had to be some dumb shit, knowing you.” He decides to keep the joking tone, to avoid the part of him that aches seeing Brock so small and vulnerable, the part that wants to take Brock home where the scariness of the hospital can’t reach.

Brock’s cheeks turn slightly pink and he stares at the floor, a sure sign of his embarrassment. No matter how much José told himself he wouldn’t do this, Brock is still a book José’s read so many times his fingertips have discolored the pages, a movie he’s watched so many times he knows every line.

“Well…” Brock begins. “I was practicing dancing and tripped over Henry. I twisted my knee a little. It’s nothing bad, they just want me to spend the night to make sure the swelling goes down and that there’s no other damage.”

“You tripped over your cat?” José tries to hold back a laugh, but he’s so relieved it’s not serious, that Brock was just being his dumbass self, that he can’t help it.

Brock bites his lip the way he does when he’s trying not to smile. “Yeah, I know. Laugh it up.”

“You dumbass twinkle toes,” José snickers, taking the seat next to the bed. “I’m glad you okay, though. You need anything? I’ll go hollerin’ for the nurses, you know me.”

“I’m okay right now,” Brock says. “I’m a lot better now that you’re here.”

Oh shit. José’s stomach should not be tingling now. Brock shouldn’t even be saying this shit. Brock is looking at him with those green eyes soft and wide like a puppy, and José knows he’ll be here all night no matter how much it pains him.

Despite how nervous Brock had been about seeing José, he finds the other man’s presence to actually be pretty calming for him. He figured part of his nerves had probably come from being stuck in a hospital bed alone, having always felt unsettled whenever he had to go to the hospital for any reason. But with José around, Brock felt a sense of ease, and deep down he knew everything would be okay.

So what if he laughed a little more than he should at José’s jokes, or felt himself blushing as José called him out for injuring himself in such a stupid way? None of that really mattered with José around, as much as Brock hated to admit it.

There was a part of him that knew this was probably not a good idea, allowing himself to fall into the comfort of just being around José. They weren’t together anymore, but it was so damn easy to fall back into their old ways whenever they were around each other.

It was easy to forget they had ever broken up.

Now that José is sitting in the chair beside Brock’s bed, Brock feels the urge to reach out and grab his hand. Brock knows he’s not hurt badly, that he’ll probably be just fine in a few days, but there’s a part of him that still craves reassurance from the man sitting beside him. To Brock, it feels a form of validation, a way to silence the worries that threaten to send him spiraling down a rabbit hole of what if’s.

He resists the urge to grab José’s hand, instead folding his hands in his lap as he reminds himself that José is no longer his.

“You don’t have to stay, you know,” Brock mumbles after they sit in silence for a while, his eyes slowly flicking over to glance at his ex. Their eyes meet for a second, and Brock swears he can feel his heart skip a beat, despite what the monitor on the other side of his bed might say. He quickly averts his gaze, feeling his stomach sink as the reminder hits him once again that he should not still feel this way about José.

They had been broken up for months, they were practically strangers at that point. And yet, José somehow still felt like the most familiar person in the world to Brock.

Brock both loved and hated the duality of their situation.

“You’re hurt. I ain’t leaving you alone, B.” José’s voice sounds soft, almost as if he’s afraid that speaking too loudly will shatter the fragile bubble they’re living within in that moment.

It’s a side of José that Brock hasn’t seen since they broke up, and seeing it now makes Brock feel vulnerable. This is the José that Brock fell head over heels for, consequences be damned. Seeing this Jose now is almost too much, a bitter reminder to Brock of all the things he’s lost by losing José. No more stolen kisses backstage, no more late night calls from halfway across the globe, no more days spent holed up together in hotel rooms on the rare occasion they’re in the same city for more than a few hours. Maybe it’s because he’s in pain, but in that moment Brock wants nothing more than to have José crawl into the hospital bed with him and curl up against his side.

He’s happy to settle for holding José’s hand though, smiling softly at the younger man as José reaches out and gently intertwines their fingers. It’s not much, but it’s enough to ease Brock’s nerves and bring a soft heat to his cheeks.

Maybe, if he’s lucky, Jose won’t leave this time.

José can leave at any time. He knows this. He does not need to be here, in this hard chair making his ass, back, and neck ache at the same time, looking at boring white walls, and half-watching the channels Brock flicks through. He doesn’t need to hold Brock’s hand as long as he does either, but once he touches that smooth skin, he just can’t let go of it.

He can leave at any time. But he doesn’t. There’s some force keeping him planted in that chair, getting Sour Patch Children ( ‘ they’re kids,’ Brock insists) from the vending machine and passing some to Brock, roasting the doctors that walk by, all to keep a smile on Brock’s face as the afternoon-pink sky deepens to a dark plum.

“What you got planned for Christmas?” José asks.

“I think I’m actually gonna have time to go home,” Brock answers. “It’ll be nice to see the snow, you know?” he adds.

“Yeah.” José nods, though he’s used to a warm Christmas in Florida as a kid and here in LA now. Cold weather always made him wish for the sun-kissed beach, but Brock loved the cold and snow. Brock had been so excited when he took José to Toronto in the fall, chatting about how it would be snowing soon, and José let the finger-numbing-even-in-gloves cold fill him with hope that he would get to see a Toronto Christmas with Brock, even though he could feel the end coming by then.

“I think I might be able to stop home for a day too,” José says. “You know I like my warm weather.” He’s excited to go home, he really is, but something in him is missing the Christmas he never got to have with Brock, the snow-covered streets he never got to see.

“Yeah, you do,” Brock says, and José wonders if his voice is so heavy because he’s weighed down with the same ache for what never was.

José has already hit it off with the nurses and is allowed to stay the night, complimenting their sneakers and making them laugh telling them about the time Brock kissed one of the cats in his sleep, thinking it was José. He tries not to let the pain sink in, not to let the gaping hole in his heart devour him, because while he has this collection of stories, memories of just the two of them, that collection will never grow. There will never be more sleepy mornings in bed and movie nights and inside jokes. He can reach for the memories like cookies in a jar, but eventually he’ll scrape the bottom of the container, and all those treasures inside will have rotted.

He forces the thought away as he nestles in a blanket the nurses bring him, as he watches Brock fall asleep, the slow, steady breathing a noise that has carried José off to sleep several times. His own personal lullaby.

He doesn’t think he’s slept the same since he lost it.

There’s a lot of things that haven’t been the same since he lost Brock.

He watches some unfunny late-night show, and doesn’t realize he’s fallen asleep himself until a gasp lurches him awake, Brock sitting up in bed panting like he’s run a marathon.

Even though it’s a little scary seeing Brock so frightened, José relaxes, because he can handle this. Calming Brock is something he’s done on countless nights when Brock couldn’t sleep, pacing the room and venting his worries in frantic breaths, when José just held his restless body tight and brought Brock back to himself. Nights when Brock had doubts about himself, questioning if he was good enough for José, doubts that turned into doubts about José, doubts that turned into doubts about them as a couple, doubts that no amount of soothing or kisses could quiet.

But José can quiet these ones, and he will.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” he asks, taking Brock’s sweaty hand

“Nothing, I just–I forgot where I was for a second,” Brock explains, slowly reigning in his breathing by himself, the way José used to help him do sometimes when the anxiety got too strong.

“Everything’s okay,” José soothes, “You’re here with me.”

You could be here with me forever, he thinks. You’d never have to be anywhere else, he doesn’t say.

“I’m here with you,” Brock echoes. “I’m really happy you’re here, J. Thank you for staying.“

Fuck. Jose’s heart skips a beat. He doesn’t know what kind of painkillers Brock is on, if he should blame it on that, or if being trapped in this room only feet apart for so many hours is bringing something out, but he doesn’t care.

Maybe this is why Brock never changed his emergency contact. Because when it comes down to it, who did you want there in an emergency?

The person you feel the safest with.

And all the dark parts of Brock he’s seen, all the insecurities and fears and times when he was being a dork instead of the Ice Queen, were because Brock felt safe with him.

And still does, no matter what they are now.

“Scooch over, toes.”

Before he can stop himself, he climbs into the bed and wedges himself between Brock and the railing.

“You’re sure?” Brock asks. An ask of hope, not doubt.

“I’m sure. But Imma regret this if you still snore like a moose.”

Brock goes off into that snorting laugh, the one José used to scheme ways to bring out, seeing Brock acting so free and wild his reward for whatever stupid things he had to do to earn it.

José turns on his side and nestles his head on Brock’s chest, into the comforting curve of his shoulder. Brock’s hand snakes around his back, lightly stroking José’s hip, fingers narrating the story that will never leave them. José knows he would go back and relive it all again if he could.

José cranes his neck up and presses his lips to Brock’s cheek, light stubble scratchy beneath him, the kiss bringing back memories he usually tries to avoid.

But tonight, he lets them play in his mind on repeat as they drift off.

When Brock wakes up in the morning, the first thing he notices is José curled up against his side, one leg carefully thrown over his un-injured leg. The other man is still sound asleep, snoring away softly. The sight warms Brock’s heart, making him wish he could reach his phone to take a picture, wanting to remember this moment, because who knows how long it would last once José wakes up.

As rays of sunlight begin to peak between the blinds, stretching across the floor and slowly illuminating the room, Brock wonders how he and José didn’t work out. The distance wasn’t ideal, especially when they were on different continents and couldn’t even get their schedules to line up for a five minute phone call, and it was rough trying to navigate a public relationship. But when José felt like home no matter where they were, why the hell couldn’t they make it work?

The noise outside Brock’s room steadily gets louder as the hospital staff rotate out, the graveyard shift heading home. He winces as he hears a nurse outside his room hollar something to a colleague down the hall, feeling José stir beside him. The younger man’s eyes slowly flutter open, one of his hands raising up to rub at them as he lets out a lazy yawn.

The sight is one Brock is all too familiar with. He’s seen it dozens of times before, and yet he doesn’t think he could ever tire of it. Soft, sleepy José was probably one of Brock’s favorite things to witness.

“Mornin’,” José mumbles quietly, his head tilting up to look at Brock. He feels an imaginary string tug at his heart, the emotional pain a welcome distraction from the aching in his knee.

“Morning,” Brock whispers back. He knows he doesn’t need to stay quiet, they aren’t risking waking anyone up, but the delicate nature of the moment - of their situation - almost feels like it requires him to whisper. As if being too loud would ruin everything, would burn whatever was left of the bridge connecting them.

A heavy silence falls between them as Brock frantically wracks his brain for a way to make José stay just a little bit longer. He knows that soon enough a nurse will come to check on him and make José move from his spot tucked into Brock’s side, and once there’s space between them again, Brock has no guarantee that José won’t just walk out of the hospital without so much as a glance back.

“I miss you,” he murmurs after a few more minutes of silence, earning himself a scrunched up look of confusion from José.

“I’m right here, what d’ya mean?” José’s voice is a little louder now, causing Brock to tense up a little. That’s a mistake though, because then José carefully untangles their legs and sits up. Fuck, he had to act quick.

“I miss being with you. I miss… I miss us,” Brock admits. There’s a moment where Brock is convinced that he’s overstepped, José not saying anything as his eyes dart to look down at the floor.

“I miss us too, B.” José lets out a soft sigh, his hands fidgeting in his lap the way they always do when he’s nervous. Brock hates being the cause of José’s nerves, hates it so much that he has to fight back the urge to place his hand on top of José’s out of fear of overstepping.  “But it didn’t work. We didn’t work.”

“We could try again though. Take it slow this time?” So what if he sounds a little too hopeful, a little too desperate? So what if less than 24 hours ago Brock was anxious as hell to see José? Things were different now. The only thing making him anxious now was the thought of losing José again, of letting him slip through his fingers a second time. “We’ll make it work.”

“Do you really think -”

“I do.” Under normal circumstances, Brock isn’t the type to crawl back to exes. But this is José, the only person who had ever felt like home to him, the person he would always safe around. Maybe that was why he never felt like he could fully move on from José.

Before either of them is able to say another word, a nurse knocks on the door twice before stepping into the room, plastering on a sickly sweet smile as she glances between the two men. She tells them that Brock is free to go and tells José he shouldn’t be in Brock’s bed, then leaves the room just as abruptly as she entered.

There’s another moment of silence before either of them speak again, only this time it’s José who breaks the silence.

“Tell you what,” he starts, finally looking over at Brock. “Christmas parade’s goin’ on downtown, why don’t we go then we can figure us out?”

Brock can’t help the smile that takes over his face, hope surging through him. “I’d like that,”  he agrees, nodding his head happily.

“Then get your ass up, I’m gonna get you some crutches or some shit so we can leave.”

The words bring a smile to Brock’s face, make him feel like he’s back on Cloud 9 for the first time in a while. The words don’t guarantee that things would be different this time around, don’t event promise that there would be a this time around , but they still leave Brock feeling oddly calm and hopeful, given the fact that he’s still in the hospital. Seeing the way that José smiles at him before stepping out of the room to track down a nurse seals the deal for him.

Now more than ever, Brock is grateful that he never removed José as his emergency contact.

[kaitlynpcallmebeepme]

I’ll Fight For You

I’ll Fight For You

Peter Parker x Reader 

Warnings:  Fight scene, explosions, hurt descriptions, starving self, swearing I think, nursing organ facts (tell me if you think of any more), fluff, and a hint of angst

A/N: This is the work I have for @keepingupwiththeparkers for her 4,000 follower writing challenge. 

#kuwtp4kwc

Thinking about making an origin story for Gargoyle. The good title I thought of I want to save for my series. Comments and feedback are always appreciated. Requests are open and Messages are open if you want to chat. The gifs came from google, so credit goes to the person who made them. I don’t own Gargoyles the show either.

Background: Only slight endgame spoilers for this description. In my world, Carol snapped the gauntlet to kill Thanos and made it through the time machine, but left the mind and time stone so they could bring Vision back and returned the soul stone to save Natasha, and Steve didn't go back in time. Avengers Tower was bought back until the compound could be rebuilt and remained as a kind of a base since Queens is closer to the tower than the compound.

Tag list: Send me an ask if you want to be added. 

@trashinaglass and @peter-pan-hoe ♡

Dialogue prompt:

8. “I thought I’d lost you”

Word count: 1,860

The intel was terrible at best. When have you ever heard of a hydra agent defecting.  That didn't matter anymore. What mattered is that your team, the Avengers, got the intel about chemical weapons Hydra was developing and get out of the base as quickly as possible. 

Taking revenge on the people who tortured you is one of the sweetest things ever. You were Y/n. Last name you never knew. Part of a species of bat-human hybrids that you were the sole survivor of, thanks to hydra of course. Mainly a human body with slightly pointed ears, retractable claws, an echolocation trackability, better hearing, sharp teeth, bat-shaped wings protruding from your back, skin that can turn to stone, and slight healing powers, which were amplified if you turned completely to stone for some time. You took the name Gargoyle after Peter showed you The Hunchback of Notre Dame. It was his job to catch you, Steve, and Bucky up on all of the pop culture stuff you missed.

You and Peter had the bottom floor almost cleared with the task of searching for hostages. You liked the curly-haired nerd. You two were around the same age when the Avengers raided the Hydra base you were kept captive in. He was the one to hoist your bloody body over his shoulders and carry you out of there. You both valued stealth and sticking to ceilings. You both often trained together and we're interested in both of your talents, yours of which was blacksmithing and Anatomy. You both tested your powers to see how far you could push each other and discover what your limits were. Peter could spend an hour upside-down before he started to feel fatigued and your healing ability worked better if you have a lot of what was hurt. For example, a kidney would heal a lot faster than a heart because there are two kidneys and one heart. 

Okay, back to the mission. No hostages or test subjects have been found as you and Peter kept making your way around your floor. It was mainly storage rooms with few people in the hallways. Not as exciting for you, but you didn't want to go into a room where you two couldn't handle what was inside.

You and Peter got on the ceiling in front of the last room you had to check off your floor. When all of a sudden the door burst open on its own and the air was filled with bullets. Two big guys with miniguns. TWO?!?! Normally it would be one and a lot of smaller henchmen covering him. You looked at Peter for some silent sign of a game plan. He drew a 'Z' with his fingers and pointed to his web shooter. Then made the cracking fist motion with his hands. You nodded and made a silent prayer that this worked because you hated having to play fair when taking out minigunners. Peter shot the two guys with taser webs, which brought them both to the floor. You two then dropped down and started going ham on betting these two up. You just hit the back of their head until their occipital lobe knocked out their vision. Fury would be by later to arrest everyone, but you wanted to make sure they stayed down. You cut up their arms and legs a bit just so it would make it difficult for any of the men to escape. You disarmed the miniguns and Peter webbed down the guys as best as he could. 

"Wonder what they were guarding?" 

"I don't know Gargoyle, but we better be careful."

You gently pushed the door open revealing a planning room covered in blueprints. Some were for cannons and others were for what looked like experiments. Turning humans into other creatures, which in turn would be used for Hydra. 

"Make sure to have Karen scan all these."

Before you could analyze the plans in front of you, you were knocked to the ground. Your body went into full fight mode preparing to stab whoever tackled you. Good thing your mind caught up to your instincts and realized it was Peter who was on top of you. Your senses were thrown off as all you could hear was bullet shells hitting the ground and an AK-47 going on full blast. You extended your arm and hit a button to make a small sharp disc fly out from above your wrist. The disk shot under the table and took the last man standing down. You kicked the gun away and gave the guy a few scars with your Assassin's Creed wrist knives. 

It was only then when you realized that Peter didn't get up. He was groaning in the middle of the floor where you left him.  He was on his side, but you could see the number of bullets in his left side. You turned Peter over and realized he's bleeding a lot faster than he should be. 

"Hit near the pancreas and spleen. Shit." If there was one thing you remembered from all your time studying Anatomy, it was those two organs have a lot of blood going through them. "Nonononono. Kid, you gotta stay with me. You gotta stay awake." You hit his face a bit to keep him conscious. 

You didn't want to move him because that could make it worse and you were definitely not qualified to remove bullets on a battlefield from an advanced human. So you did the next best thing. You held the button on your earpiece. "Code Blue. Underoos's been hit. I repeat. Code Blue. Underoos's been hit." 

"What? Where are you guys?" Tony's panicked voice wasn't helping your demeanor.

"Basement; in a room full of blue-." Your eyes grew wide for a split second as you saw the guy who shot Peter with a grenade in his hand and his thumb in the ring.

"Hail Hydra." 

You didn't have time to think. You scooped up Peter and ran as fast as you could before the pin could be pulled. You both barely made it to the doorway before the whole room exploded. You wings protected the two of you from most of the flames, didn't mean it didn't hurt. 

"Kids, you ok?" There came the Dad voice from Clint again. Clint, you liked to call the perfect mix of sass and fatherly advise.

You slowly lifted your wings but kept them up to keep the rubble dust out of your eyes. You looked over at Peter who you could tell was still losing consciousness. "We're fine. The basement's clear. I can run him back to the quinjet and rush him to the medbay of you guys can meet me there." 

"We're done here. Everyone meet at the jet and we're rushing the kid back. Do you need cover?" Natasha was one of the few people to keep Tony's mind straight besides Pepper.

"No. I can run him back up. The basement's clear." Just as I scooped Peter back up and started to run to the stairs, remote turrets came online. "Of people."

Your bare feet skidded across the dirty floor as you made a break for the Northwest stairs while trying to avoid the bodies that littered the floor. Your wings covered you both, but the bullets that hit your legs still hurt. Your heart pounded in your ears as the only person you were worried for was Peter. Did he lose too much blood? Was his body healing around the bullets? Would he ever wake up from this? You pushed your thoughts to the back of your head and focused on running. 

The snow of Ireland made your bare feet bleed, but you were numb to pain at this point as you layed Peter down in the jet. You tried to focus all of your healing energy to your hands, but it wasn't helping. You just decided to step back and let Bruce and Tony try their hardest to help as F.R.I.D.A.Y flew you back to the tower.

They took Peter to the Intensive Care Unit and only when they gave him a transfusion of blood and took all 12 bullets out of his side were you allowed to see him. He had a slight concussion and his face was bruised from the fall. You couldn't do anything to help him but hold his hand with the IV still in.

"Do you remember when we met? It was my first day. Still getting used to the compound. You were hanging from the ceiling as I was quenching a blade in the garage and scared the shit out of me I almost left the blade too long in the oil. I was a mess then. Still thinking that I was undeserving of love. That hydra had used me too much that I wasn't worth anything anymore. Even before Hydra my parents never made me feel good about myself." A shaky breath left your cut lip as you let tears silently slip out. "You're too good for this world Peter. You go out of your way for the little guy. You made me realize no matter how many people kick you in the jaw, even if it's one person or just yourself that wants you to keep going, you get the hell back up. I am that now for you. Please wake up. Please. Just don't be dead. Please." You were crying waterfalls at that point that any words you tried to make came out shaky.

"You are my sunshine 

My only sunshine 

You make me ha... ha-ppy

When skies are gray

You'll never know dear

How much I love you 

Please don't take

God please don't take 

My sunshine away."

A week he was asleep. A week too long. His body was healing fine and fast. His brain just needs to realize he's ok and wake up. May visited a lot and talked to you. She felt like another mother to you. In fact, all the women you met through the Avengers were your mother. Well, Shuri was a little older than you, so she's your older sister.  You refused to eat and got ticked off at anyone who tried to get you to. Of course you couldn't die, but starving was slow and it hurt. Eventually, Wanda had to put you in a dreamlike trans in order for them to put an IV in you. You couldn't leave Peter, you couldn't.

One morning you woke up from the side of Peter's bed and saw his eyes open and him sitting up. 

"You okay?" 

"Yeah. I woke up in the night and the nurse brought me water and said you haven't left me since I got here." His hand went up and whipped away a tear that you didn't realize was falling.

"You got me there Parker. Don't ever scare me like that again. I thought I'd lost you."

"I won't and you can't get rid of me that easily." He kissed your forehead as you kept smiling through the tears. "Now we better eat before we get suffocated in Aunt May and Mr. Star's hugs." 

"Agreed."

[supergirlfics]

Could we get one where Reader is Alex’s twin but older by a few minutes or so. R is in the DEO with her sister and is a better agent than Alex (due to more experience) and Alex is jealous because R gets sent on better (dangerous) missions more than her. Well during one mission things go bad and R only saves one of her agents and they both barely make it back. Alex gets told by J’onn that R takes those missions so Alex doesn’t have to because R thinks Kara likes Alex better. Angst and fluff pleas

“She should be back,” Alex said, staring at the screen in front of her. “Where is she?”

“Have patience,” J’onn said. “Your sister is a very capable agent.”

“I’m aware,” Alex said flatly. “I should have been sent on this mission. I’m just as good as she is.”

“Agent,” J’onn said. “Jealousy is not a good color on you. You were needed here.”

You ran as fast as you could, trying to ignore the pain that stabbed through your leg with each step. There was gunfire behind you. The enemy was hot on your trail. 

“Go!” You yelled, motioning to your agents. The three of you slid around a corner and stopped momentarily for a breath. “You two go. I’ll cover you.”

“No way,” Agent Hobbs said. “You have family to get home to. I’ll cover.”

“Agent -”

Hobbs cut you off. “I realize you are my superior officer, but this is not up for debate, Agent Danvers. Get out of here. I’ll be right behind you.”

“We should go,” Agent Padavan said. He grabbed your hand, forcing you behind him as he ran. 

You looked back to see Agent Hobbs ready her gun and step back into the hallway. You were thrust around a corner before you could see anything else. But the sound of gunshots rang in your ears, followed by a scream.

`No!” You yelled. You tried to turn back, but Agent Padavan tightened his grip. 

“We can’t go back for her.” 

You could hear footsteps behind you. The alien had caught up. You were almost to the front door. Just a little farther. A bullet whizzed past you. Another one rang off a nearby pipeline. Gas exploded from it.

“Crap. Run, Agent. Faster!”

Moments after the two of you shot through the door, a blast rang through your ears. The building behind you went up in spoke. The force of the explosion knocked you and Agent Padavan off your feet. Flames licked at your back.

You scrambled to your feet with the help of Agent Padavan. Arms around each other, you continued to safety. Once far enough from the building, you fell into a ditch. You were completely out of breath. Your back stung. Your leg was bleeding worse than ever. A spot on your cheek stung and you touched it, drawing your fingers away to see them covered in blood. 

Agent Padavan wasn’t much better. He was covered in cuts and bruises and cradled an arm to his chest. 

“Agent,” You gasped. “You okay?”

“My hand. I was shot.”

“Me too,” You said, moving to cover the wound on your leg. You were lucky to be alive. Lucky to only have one bullet wound. The alien must have been a horribly bad shot. 

“We need to get back to the DEO,” Agent Padavan said. 

“I’ll call for an extraction team.”

“No need.” 

A flash of blue and red streaked through the sky before landing in front of you. Supergirl. You sister had come to your rescue. “Let’s get your home.”

“Thank you.” You said. The adrenaline was starting to wear off and the pain that shot through your body seemed to become a million times worse. You gritted your teeth, forcing your grunts of pain to stay behind your lips. That didn’t fool Supergirl, though. She gave you a worried look before taking both you and Agent Padavan in her arms and leaping into the sky.

You lay on a bed in the med bay of the DEO. You hadn’t remembered passing out, but you also didn’t remember anything just seconds after taking off into the sky. There was heavy bandaging around you leg. You could see it better than you could feel it. Whatever was in the IV drip was very effective at taking away the pain. 

Agent Padavan was in the other bed, still asleep as several agents looked after him. You sisters sat on either side of your bed. Each of them held your hands in one of theirs. 

“Hey,” You grunted. 

“That’s all you can say?” Alex asked. “You almost died, Y/N.”

“Alex,” Kara said. “Think you can tone it down a little? She almost died.”

“Yes, she did. She was reckless. She didn’t take the backup she needed. She should have been more careful.”

“I’m right here,” You said. “You don’t need to talk as if I’m not here. Alex, no offense, but you weren’t there. You have no idea what the circumstances were. I feel terrible enough without you rubbing salt in the wound.”

“You’re right,” Alex sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m glad you’re okay.”

“I know you’re upset. And it’s not just because I got hurt. I can see it every time I look in your eyes. I know you better than anybody, Alex. And you know that twin telepathy thing is real.”

“Yeah, that’s how Supergirl knew to find you,” Alex laughed. “I got your bat signal.” 

“You’re a good agent, sis. You know I’d do anything to protect you.”

Alex left Kara alone with you and went to find J’onn. “Has Y/N talked to you about anything … personal lately?”

“That depends,” J’onn said. “What are you wondering about?”

“She told me that my life is more valuable than hers. Please tell me that it’s just the survivor’s guilt talking. She doesn’t actually think that, does she?” 

J’onn sighed and Alex’s heart plummeted. “Agent Danvers, you’ve often expressed your discontent with your sister taking more dangerous missions. It has nothing to do with ability, Alex, but everything to do with love and protection. Y/N sees it as her job to keep you safe, just as you do Supergirl.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“She believes Kara is more fond of you than her. She believes that if she is to get hurt or die on a mission, it won’t hurt Kara as much as it would if it were you. I have tried to tell her otherwise, but you Danvers girls are very stubborn.”

Alex pulled Kara out of the med bay to relay what J’onn had just told her. It had broken Alex to hear that. And it broke Kara.

“She thinks I like you more? She thinks that she can just throw herself in harm’s way and it won’t matter?”

“We have to make sure she knows how important she is. I will not let my twin sister continue to think this way.”

In your opinion, it was very rude of them to confront you when they did. You were weak and lacked the energy to argue. 

“You know that I don’t have a favorite sister, right?” Kara asked. “Alex and I love you more than anything.”

“What did J’onn tell you?” You sighed, looking away from your sisters as you blinked back tears.

“You can’t take the dangerous missions just to protect us,” Alex said. “We won’t ever be completely safe. We’re in a dangerous line of work. You gotta open up to us, sis. Okay?”

“I can’t just stop watching out for you. You’re my little sisters.”

“By twelve minutes,” Alex said. “Now scoot over so I can cuddle with you.”

[friking-awsom-kitten]

Sleeping beauty just need some coffee IASA Chapter 4

He gasped, sitting up in shock. However, something refrained him from getting enough air and was shoved up deep into his throat. He chocked and grasped whatever was blocking his airways, ripping it off. Suddenly he could breathe again and he took big gulps.

His eyes flitted around the room in a panic, not recognizing where he was. Something to his left caught his eye and he stared at the woman that had been checking a machine next to him.

The woman dropped what she was holding and screamed.

He screamed back.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sam had been staring out the window for a long time now. She didn't pay attention to whatever the teacher was saying. Few kids did.

Word of Danny had gotten around pretty fast and by the end of the first day everyone knew. It had been chaos.

Some people were angry and wanted to bill the Fentons for all the damage Danny's fights had gotten them. Some wanted to report the parents for child abuse. Most were furious at the GIW for disrespecting basic human rights and trying to capture a boy and were pestering the government to shut it down. The president, however, wouldn't back down, saying they were the best of the best at ghost science and this town needed them.

But almost everybody was grateful for Danny and all he'd done for the town.

A lot of people had visited him in the hospital. Including several of Sam's classmates.

They would also continuously ask the two friends questions.

About how it happened. If Danny's parents had known. Whether they got to fight ghosts too. Whether Danny would keep protecting the town or if he was ok.

Sam honestly didn't know. It had been two weeks. She'd never been more worried than she was now. The more she thought about it, the more it made sense, though. He had been exhausted. Physically and mentally. He was probably on the bridge of collapsing anyways and that blast must have depleted his energy reserves.

She sighed and glanced towards Tucker, who was staring at his phone. The device was turned off and pushed far away on the table, but the boy didn't take his eyes off of it.

All of a sudden, a sharp ring interrupted the teacher. Everyone jumped a bit in their seats and they turned to look at Tucker, who was scrambling to pick up his phone and putting it on his ear.

"Yes? For real?!" Tucker's eyes widened and he looked at Sam. "He's awake!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They burst in the hospital room. They had memorized the way long before and could walk from the receptionist to the ICU wing in their sleep.

Their eyes immediately fell on the small family in the corner.

Maddie looked about ready to cry and Jack was standing still with furrowed eyebrows. It was not a sight Tucker and Sam had expected to see.

The cause of all this grief was sitting up on his bed with a frustrated expression. He didn't have a breathing mask on anymore and the IV had been removed.

"Danny!" Sam cheered and sprang forward to hug him. He tensed under her hug and she frowned, letting go. "Danny?"

The boy huffed, looking incredibly uncomfortable. "So I've been told. Who are you?"

She was so perplexed her arms went slack. Tucker sucked in a gasp and they both turned to the doctor that had been standing next to them. He cleared his throat. "Yes. Daniel seems to suffer from Amnesia. From what you have told me and what we discovered, this was caused by a combination of sleep deprivation, malnutrition, and recent stress. The severe concussion he recently got sealed it. It affected his hippocampus." The doctor stopped reading from his paper and looked Danny over before continuing. "From what I have gathered up to now, he seems to only be affected on the explicit memory, meaning the memory of the places and the times and the people. Or the who, what, where, when and why. However, the implicit seems normal, thankfully."

"The what?" Tucker breathed out, barely able to form words as he tried to understand everything happening.

"That means the skills he has learned. He can walk, talk, breathe, and all the motoric functions he has learned throughout his life, as well as riding a bike or reading. However, I'm not sure whether his semantic memory is damaged. This is the common knowledge. For example the days of the month. Or when his birthday is. The damage on that may vary."

The raven gave an exasperated sigh. "If you go through that explanation one more time I'm gonna give myself another concussion."

"Well," Tucker smiled weakly, even though tears were threatening to fall, "he didn't change personality-wise."

The other boy grinned. "He did say I still have the skills I learned. Must have practiced my sass a lot because I'm a pro."

Sam snorted. "Yeah. You did." She turned to the doctor. "But they will come back, right? This isn't permanent?"

For the first time, the doctor's face fell. "I- we aren't sure. Retrograde amnesia, which is what this condition is called, doesn't have a cure, but there are some ways to coach old memories to come back. Most patients remember their oldest memories, but Danny doesn't seem to even have that. If he does regain some memories, it will most likely be from early childhood. However, we can't be sure. It could get better, worse, or stay like this for the rest of his life." He looked at the pale faces in the room and smiled encouragingly. "But I don't think it will get worse given that this was a brain injury, first and foremost."

He nodded towards the parents. "Before I run a blood test and prescribe anything, I need some questions answered." He took out a list and a pen. "Did Daniel take medications? Any past health problems? For example seizures or strokes or infections? Did he take drugs?" He crossed over every time they shook their heads or wrote down when they mentioned something about a panic attack or how he had had an accident in the portal.

The doctor shook his head. This kid was a walking medical catastrophe. It was no wonder he ended up with amnesia. He sighed and put his papers down. "I'll send for a drug test and he'll have an MRI scan. After that he will have to stay in the hospital for a few more days until he is fully healed. Daniel, will you let us put back the IV?"

Danny scrunched his nose. "Ugh why. I'm awake now. I just need some food. Do you guys have some fries?"

"We'll get you appropriate food after the IV is back on. Your body is still short on nutrients."

"Please, Danny." Maddie begged. "The sack also has some ectoplasm. It will help you heal faster. You will be able to get out of here sooner."

Danny pursed his lips. This woman claimed to be his mom, and let me tell you how weird it is to not even remember your own mother. He wasn't even sure if he could trust these people. They could be lying to him for all he knew. But he had no other option. Besides, that woman gave him a comforting vibe. He smiled at her unconsciously and nodded. "Alright, but the second I'm out I want pancakes."

All the medical procedures had been run and the doctor had decided Danny would stay two more days before he could go home. All Danny's injuries had been healed during his coma. He claimed nothing hurt and only complained about getting food. Something nobody was surprised about. The boy hadn't eaten normal food in weeks. What they were surprised about was that he was so restless. He should be tired. In fact, he should still be unconscious. But nobody was about to complain about that.

What Danny really wanted was a bath. He felt dirty and gross. He was horrified to learn he'd been washed during his slumber and couldn't look at any nurse in the eye after that.

However, he felt especially uncomfortable when groups of strangers walked through the door and grinned at him and gave him presents and took pictures.

He glanced at the table next to him. It was simply covered in 'thank you' and 'get well' notes and some kind of merchandise. He had also gotten many pictures and drawings, but they were so confusing he couldn't figure heads or tails of it. On the other side were also some balloons and a few stuffed animals and to top it off, all around him were flowers.

I must have been some kind of celebrity, Danny thought. But why were they thanking him?

A girl suddenly burst through the doors and tackled the poor boy. He let out a yelp and she let go just as fast as she'd latched on and started rambling.

"I'm so sorry. I came as soon as I heard and then the plane was delayed and I first had to arrange a short vacation and I had to finish this assignment and they wouldn't let me go saying you weren't in danger of death and they said 'Alright, you can go, but if you don't get that degree it's on you' and I swear I was about to strangle them."

Danny couldn't understand what she was talking about so he took the time to inspect her. She had long brownish-red hair and he could honestly see the resemblance to his apparent mother. This must be Jasmine, his older sister.

The girl seemed to catch on that Danny wasn't responding and she paused, looking at him good for the first time. They stared at each other in silence for some time, taking in the other sibling.

Jasmine held out her hand and smiled. "Hello. My name is Jasmine, but you can call me Jazz. I'm sorry about just now. I was a bit worried."

Danny blinked in surprise. Why was she introducing herself? She must know he had amnesia. He grinned. It felt nice to know at least someone didn't come asking him if he knew them or expecting something from him. He shook her hand. "I don't think I need to introduce myself since you probably know me better than I do. You're my sister, right?"

Her smile brightened and he silently congratulated himself. "Yes. I'm two years older. So I'm nineteen and you're gonna be seventeen in Oktober 27. It's July 13 today. I just came from college."

Danny smiled softly, grateful for all the information she was giving him. He felt awkward having to ask such simple things. "Are you in the first year?"

She nodded. "I'm studying creative therapy. To put it simply, it's a kind of therapy for people who can't put their problems into words so instead do it with their hands. The therapist then can study their movements and results to see how they think and how to help them. There are many types and I'm doing a mix between drama and art."

She continued talking and Danny listened. He learned so much. She told him all about her and her life and her friends and even what recently happened in college. It was as if they were catching up on old times.

She didn't mention anything about Danny, or what he used to do or what they did together and he was grateful for that. It would have felt like she was telling him what he should have done and he would've felt obligated. It was an insane thought, given that all that had happened in the past, but he didn't want people telling him who he was.

They talked for hours. Mostly she was the one speaking, but Danny often put in his opinion or input in something and she would laugh.

At one point, a violet-eyed girl and a dark-skinned boy walked in and joined them. Danny remembered them as the two people who were there when he woke up. He tensed a bit, but they just greeted him and sat down. They said some words to Jazz and turned to look at him.

The boy wiped his hands on his pants and cleared his throat, but at a look from Jazz he smiled at Danny. "Hey, man. I don't think we told you our names. I'm Tucker Foley and that's Sam Manson."

Danny nodded towards them, but frowned at the girl. "Are your eyes naturally purple?"

Sam rolled said eyes as Tucker laughed. "No." She admitted. "They're blue. I got these contact lenses from my grandmother. She didn't want them to go to waste."

Tucker laughed some more. "Her grandmom used to be really rebellious as a teen. She saw potential in Sam," he told Danny and so the conversation went into flow again.

Sam and Tucker telling Danny about themselves and complaining a bit about school. They also told him how they met.

Apparently, Danny had known these people for practically all his life. Since kindergarten. That was a weird thought.

Jazz had glared at them for bringing that up but Danny sighed. "It's ok, Jazz. I'm gonna get this a lot from now on."

Sam winced. "Sorry. Just thought you'd want some background information. If there's something you don't like talking about we won't. Just tell us, alright?"

Danny shrugged. "That's just the thing, Sam. I don't know anything about anything. Everyone expects me to know all kinds of stuff and then it's just gonna get awkward." He huffed, frowning. "Whatever. It doesn't matter. I'll just figure out what my life is now."

Jazz grinned, beaming proudly. "That's the way to look at it, Danny. Just start off fresh."

Except that wasn't entirely possible. The moment Danny was admitted out of the hospital he knew his life was way weirder than he had thought at first.

When he was let out there was a crowd waving him off and cheering and he got a green sock thrown at him so that was a nice way to enter the world fresh.

Then there was the house he apparently lived in.

He honestly had no idea what to say about that. It looked like aliens had infiltrated earth and were doing a terrible job at laying low.

He sighed, ignoring all the paparazzi and following the two adults inside. It was much better inside. It was very clean. As if it had been prepared for his arrival. That just made him feel more guilty.

Maddie and Jack were grinning at him as they gave him a tour of the house. Maddie more nervously, while Jack was excited.

The first and second story were pretty normal. On the first was the kitchen and the living room. Then upstairs were all the bedrooms. Danny paused in what was apparently his room. It looked pretty clean and neat. He must have been either a perfectionist or his mom had tidied it up for him. He was gonna go with the second one.

Finally, he was shown the basement and the op Center, which is what they called the UFO on the house. The UFO looked exactly how Danny imagined a UFO would look like. It was huge and had a lot of wires. Somewhere something was beeping, but he couldn't figure out what.

Then the basement. Danny shivered as soon as he entered. He saw millions of weird machines and guns and a milkshake maker he decided not to trust. The name Fenton appeared everywhere. Like a logo.

Then there was a door at the other side of the room. It had a beethemed pattern as if warning people of toxins. Danny felt like he should put on a face mask or something to protect himself. His father was wearing some type of protective suit.

"What do you do for a living," he asked, exasperated.

"We're ghost hunters!" Jack grinned, leaving Danny with a baffled expression.

"Why do you hunt ghosts?" He asked, stumped and curious. The part about ghosts didn't surprise him much. It felt as normal as the fact birds were chirping outside.

Jack's expression fell and he exchanged a look with Maddie. "Well son." He started cautiously. "We're ghost scientists. We have been studying them for years. We sometimes catch one to learn more about them from up close."

"Like they're animals." Danny frowned and his parents grimaced.

"They're not all sentient, Danny." It was Maddie who said this. "And Amity park has been haunted by ghosts for years. Most of them attacked and destroyed."

"Well maybe most of them just stayed home minding their own business and the ones that did mean bad came here so we don't see the other side of their world."

To his surprise Maddie smiled softly. "Yes. You may be right."

They didn't tell him much about the things in the basement. In fact it was the shortest they had been in a room and they practically shoved him back up the stairs.

They stayed in the living and talked a bit and Maddie went to the kitchen to cook some dinner because it was already pretty late in the afternoon. Danny had a foreboding feeling. Probably because how Jazz paled and sent him a few scared looks.

Danny stood up and followed his mother to see her fumbling around the fridge, trying to find something that didn't try to bite her hand off. "Hey?" Danny started, unsure if this would be seen as impolite. "Do you want me to help you cook dinner?"

The woman brightened considerably as she slammed the fridge shut and smiled at him. "Are you sure? I mean. Yes, I would love it if you did this with me."

Danny nodded and rolled his sleeves up before washing his hands. Maddie's eyes widened when she realized she'd forgotten to do that.

"So what are we making?"

Maddie scrunched her face. "I'm not sure yet, Danny. There isn't much left that is edible."

"Where do you keep all the food?" Her boy's eyes searched the small kitchen and she remembered he had forgotten all of that.

She pointed out the fridge and a few cabinets and he looked through them, bringing out many types of ingredients and selecting a few out. He asked for the pots and the pans and she pointed it out. He asked for herbs and she showed him. He asked her anything and she gave him the answer, watching in amusement as he fell right into his element.

Maddie settled back a bit as she saw him swiftly cut some carrots and dump them in the pot. She smiled. It had been a long time ago that Danny had taken the job of a cook in this house. Given that no one had any insight in it or kept mixing the sauce with the wrong chemical (what do you mean chemicals aren't supposed to go in food?). The raven had looked up recipes or he would cook ready-made food.

He'd started simple and after a while started mixing in his own stuff and experimenting. He had loved it. Maddie had let him drop a few chores so he would have time to prepare and make dinner. He would write a list of groceries and tape it on the fridge and Jack would go buy it.

In fact, Maddie could see the last note he had written still on the top left of the refrigerator. Her eyes watered a bit.

"Are you ok?"

She wiped her eyes and nodded. "Just that onion you were cutting just now. It's fine. Go ahead. You're doing a great job." She smiled. "Anything else you need?"

He shook his head as he flipped some pieces of meat on the sizzling pan. "Well, not for now. There are no more potatoes. And when was the last time you refilled the salt? And I had to use something else instead of the paprika because that's all done too. And you got way too much beef. How are you going to eat it all before it expires."

Maddie's smile turned nostalgic as she saw all he listed right now written on the little sticky note on the fridge. "We usually don't," she told him, earning herself a look of disgust.

Finally, the dinner was ready and they all say down to eat. Each family member congratulating the boy on the excellent food and what would they do without him. They didn't mention how they'd barely survived the two weeks he'd been absent.

Jazz was just in college, but Jack and Maddie had to constantly order pizza or eat in a restaurant every night. Even something as making some toast was always a hassle. Not only because the toaster sometimes malfunctioned and threw up the bread so hard it stuck on the ceiling, but Maddie was also very sure bread shouldn't be green.

Now they had Danny back. Everything had changed. Just....everything.

But he was back.

They talked a bit more. Danny asked about the many drawings they'd had to carry back home along with the rest of the presents. Who was that man on the drawings that looked to be made by kids ranging from three to fifteen?

Jack looked excited to tell him something, but Jazz had shushed them. She smiled at Danny reassuringly. "How about we talk about that tomorrow. You have enough to think on right now." She stacked the empty plates and brought them to the sink. "You heard the doctor. Get some rest. I'll do the dishes. Don't worry about school yet. You have a few weeks to recuperate and get used to life."

Danny looked at each of the people in the room, taking in their appearance and demeanor. If this was his family, no matter how crazy, he loved it. He smiled and turned around, bidding them a good night.

He walked up the stairs and paused, trying to remember where his room was.

He had a small moment of panic when he couldn't recall right away. What if he forgot more things? What if he forgot whatever he did today? What if the doctor was wrong and my amnesia isn't just of whatever happened before the concussion and I'll keep forget- oh wait his door was the one in the left hall.

He sighed in relief when his assumption was proved correct as the door opened. He closed it behind him and took a good look around.

The walls were white, but they had been covered in many posters about some kind of egg band or about a Doom. He wasn't sure. There were also some NASA posters and the wall next to his desk had a big board covered in pictures. There was a blackhaired boy with Sam and Tucker. A lot of those actually. And some about random places Danny had no clue about.

But his eyes wandered to that boy again. Was that...him?

He hadn't looked in the mirror yet. It was strange. Not knowing what you looked like.

Was that really him?

He found a mirror next to the dresser and the closet. It was large. It could fit his whole upper body and a bit of his legs.

He paused before taking a peek. A pit in his stomach and a bit of adrenaline made him jump forward and stare at the boy in the mirror.

He looked a bit older than in those pictures. But he still has black hair, blue eyes, a small nose and smallish eyes and thin lips and fat cheeks and freckles. Although he felt better knowing he had a bit of a jawline and the baby fat was less than in the pictures. His hair was also longer. And it was messy. Probably hadn't been brushed in weeks. Even if they had washed it, as they said, it still looked greasy and dirty.

He didn't feel like doing much of his appearance right now.

He wanted to explore.

He put to the side the pile of presents his father had dumped in his room after having brought it from the hospital and went rummaging through his room.

He opened every drawer, looked at every piece of clothing and squinted under every piece of furniture and he learned a bit about his past self.

He didn't have much variety in clothing. It was mostly T-shirts, jeans and sweaters. There was one neat suit shoved in the back, though.

He had some kind of obsession with stars.

Same thing goes for ghosts. There was even a map in his dresser. Along with a long list of names and some kind of description behind them.

He looked in the bathroom, which he had found he had right in his room. He found a first aid kit shoved under the sink, which he found odd. The rest was just normal supplies for in the shower.

But for the rest, his old life was still a mystery to him. Danny wondered if he would ever gain it back. Had he always been this famous? Wasn't it exhausting? And why had everyone been thanking him?

He suddenly wondered where his phone was. He should have one right? He'll ask his mother tomorrow.

But he really wanted to look up amnesia on the internet.

His eyes fell on a beat up laptop and he tried to turn it on, but it had a password. The hint wasn't even helpful. It just said 'bitch' and Danny honestly felt attacked and offended.

He plopped down on the bed with a deep sigh.

Everyone told him to get rest, but that was the last thing he wanted to do. He felt so energetic and restless. He didn't think that should be normal. He was pretty sure patients just coming out of comatose shouldn't feel rested.

Sigh, just one more thing he wanted to look up on the internet.

He also wanted to know how he went into a coma.

The doctor had vaguely mentioned a concussion or another kind of head injury. Must have been bad. He'd also made it pretty clear Danny was up long before anyone had thought he would be.

Maybe if I had slept for a bit longer, Danny thought, I would have been able to keep my memories.

He groaned quietly. Nothing made sense. Life was a weird jumble of gibberish and with every piece of information he made out it just became even weirder.

He lifted his arm to look at one picture he found he liked. A white haired anime man was standing with hands on his hips and a cape fluttering behind him. Sparkles had been thrown around as well as glitter that had been glued on.

There wasn't a note or anything, just a boy's name. Joey. Along with a small drawing of a dinosaur that Danny didn't think had anything to do with the rest.

That same anime boy turned up everywhere. On the balloons. On the plushies. On the shirt he'd gotten. On the posters the poeple seeing him off from the hospital were holding.

Who was that dude??

And what did Danny have to do with him??

Danny stood up and walked towards the mirror again. He cocked one hip as he put his hands on them and frowned at the image.

"Who are you?" He asked the boy with exasperation. "And just how crazy is your life?"

[writeouttaluck]

A story about Racing, Police ignorance, and Love Ft. This Corny Ass Title.

((Wrote this over two days. little editing, lots of writing.))

The camera in my hand could hardly hold steady and I had a grin ear to ear on my face like a village idiot. From the passenger seat, I could see the excitement on Jessie’s face as she brought the car to a slow. It was 1:00 AM and she had somehow gone undefeated, back to back, in a series of drag races on the street. Five races, five wins, and a whole lot of promised money would probably make anybody grin ear to ear.

I turned the camera to her and without missing a beat, she turned and stuck her tongue out at me.

“Tell me, Jessie, How does it feel to win three grand without lifting a finger for work?” I asked in my best fake news anchor voice.

“Feels fucking good!” She shouted, slapping the steering wheel in joy.

I was caught on a laugh and it almost felt like that teeth chattering cold feeling running up my spine. Pure electricity. We were both having the time of our lives and I felt closer than ever to her.

“Woah, what the hell?” She murmured under her breath.

I must have held the camera on her longer than i thought because when i turned to look out the windshield, the crowd was dispersing fast. All the people that were once watching were now either running to cars, their friends with cars, or just plain running. They scattered like ants before us. I zoomed my camera in and followed two people as they ran and hopped a fence into someones backyard.

Thats when we both noticed the bright red and blue flashing lights up ahead. Fuck.

A portly man jogged through the crowd and towards our car, reaching to his hip. He stopped in our headlights and yelled something. To our suprise, he drew his gun and aimed at us through the windshield.

“STOP RIGHT THERE. STOP RIGHT THERE” He shouted at us.

I looked to Jessie who seemed to be weighing her options. She stared at the cop infront of us and chewed her lip, a nervous tic i've noticed over the years. Illuminated by the flashing lights, she grew a small smile.

“Put on your seatbelt” she said quietly.

“Its already on” I replied.

“Good”

She shifted the car into reverse and stuck her hand out of the window, raising her middle finger.

“FUCK YOU, PIG!”

I didnt even have time to laugh at her tenacity before I was thrown forward in my seat. She had hit the gas so hard that we spun the tires going backwards. She turned around in her seat to look out the back window and I raised the camera out the windsheild. The cop knew that pointing his gun was useless since he had no real reason to use it. He wasnt about to kill us over a drag race.

He started talking into his radio and I laughed. I laughed hard. One hand on the steering wheel and one on the top of my seat, Jessie watched the road behind her as she drove backwards at high speeds. I watched her through my camcorder. Her eyes said determination but her lips said fun. I looked at her skinny form admirably. Her dyed hair fluttered in the wind and her silver lip piercing caught the dashboard light just right. Watching her in her element like this was stunning. She did it all with such a natural grace. Her motions sharp and accurate like a blade under flesh.

She dropped back into the drivers seat and wrapped her hand around the e-brake. With one hand grabbing the ‘oh shit’ handle above me and another on my camera, I braced myself.

She yanked the handle back and spun the steering wheel, throwing our momentum to the left. As the car spun, She grabbed the shifter and threw it into first. She dropped her foot into the gas pedal and the car caught traction. I sank back into my seat as we took off again. The engine roared in a fury, drowning out all noise around us. A light flashed on the dash and she hit the clutch, shifting again. The car lurched and went faster.

She was grinning wide as the blue lights became distant behind us. She shifted again and gained more speed. The houses, trees, sidewalks, all became a blur as we blasted through the neighborhood.

All of a sudden a police car with the blues on pulled out infront of us and stopped, blocking the intersection ahead. Jessie laid the gas into the floor and shifted again. I looked over at her like she was crazy. She smiled and concentrated on the car ahead. We must have been going at least 80 at this point.

The car was getting closer when all of a sudden i felt our momentum swing again. Jessie had pulled the e-brake again and hit the gas, sending us swinging around to face where we came. I could smell the burning rubber around us. The smell got worse as Jessie put the car in first again and slammed the gas, taking off in the opposite direction of the cop car.

I looked behind us to watch as the cop car turned to follow. Of course, considering how Jessie was driving, I wasnt sure If it would be able to keep up. The car lurched as Jessie shifted. The mustang revved hard and kept pace, sending us down the street.

Two more cop cars showed up in the distance. I could see their blues before i could see their headlights. They were headed straight for us, side by side. No way around them.

I watched Jessie analyze it all. She was quick like this. She knew the curb was too high to climb without popping any tires. She also knew that these dumb ass cops werent backing down.

One cop car behind us, two infront of us.

She took her chances with the one behind us.

She slammed on the brakes, coming to a skidding stop in the middle of the street. The cop behind us, who had been picking up too much speed, had no choice but to either crash into us or swerve around us.

The cop car swung itself around our vehical and came a stop in the center of the intersection. This also blocked off the two cop cars ahead. Jessie threw the car in reverse once more and hit the gas, sending us backwards. She looked behind her for an opening and as soon as she found herself in a spot with no cars parked on the side of the road, she swung the mustang around again and put it in first, launching off for the final time tonight.

We peeled out and we were gone.

…

The street lights strobed through the windshield as the mustang flew down the street. Tunes poured from the radio and filled the car with good vibes. Every so often the car would lurch as Jessie shifted, but otherwise it was smooth sailing. Cops were long gone, probably trying to pull the fingers out of their ass so they could keep harassing people like us.

“Fuck the po” Jessie stated, turning down the radio a bit.

“They really are fucking worthless around here” I replied in earnest.

“You think theyre still stuck in that intersection trying to figure out how to get around one another?”

I laughed a bit at that.

“Probably” I said.

It was quiet for a bit with no other sounds save for the engine and the semi quiet radio. I stole glances at her from the passenger seat and I could tell she was thinking kinda hard about something. It made me wonder what the next step in the night would be.

“Tonight has been fun” she started, “but it kinda sucks that im gonna have to have my car painted again”

“Why is that again?” I asked

“Well, I cant exactly drive around freely in this thing when the police are on the look out for a red Ford Mustang. Kinda beats the point of running from the police”

“I get that...Still, you made a good chunk of change tonight. I imagine it wont run you too much to paint it, will it?”

“Nah” She replied, “but I dont know… I liked the red. I thought it looked nice…”

“Well I think you look better when youre not behind bars…” I said softly, almost wishing she didnt hear me at all.

“Yeah, its not exactly something I wanna see in the mirror every morning”

We sat in silence for another moment before i could scrape up the words to keep the conversation going.

“What color?” I asked.

“Hmm?”

“What color are you gonna paint it this time?”

The corner of her mouth twisted in contemplation.

“Well it was black, then that color got too hot...I liked red but this just isnt gonna do anymore…”

“How about pink?”

“Ew, no” she grimaced, “Talk about a big red flag saying ‘Im a female and i think its important above all that everyone should know that””

“I think thats a bit of a stereotype”

“Yeah? Well stereotypes exist for a reason.”

“Ok, ok, what about something fancy?”

“Like…?”

“Well, ive seen a few cars do a sort of sunburst color. Im not sure how expensive it would be to get that, but i think it could look nice. Besides, you could still use the red on your car for either the top or bottom depending how you do it.”

“Hmm...ya know, thats not a bad idea….”

“I also think it would be cool if you made the center black. Like a zero sun or something”

“Im gonna have to have someone sketch something but… I think i dig the idea of it…”

Jessie pulled the car to a slow and turned into her driveway. Hitting the button she had strapped to the visor, the garage door slowly rose open. She drove the car inside and hit the button again, closing it behind her.

With that, she turned the car off and opened the door, getting out. I followed suit.

As I stood from the car, the first thing Jessie did was pop the hood and walk over to the mini fridge in her garage. She leaned over and opened the door, grabbing two beers from the rack before shutting it. She brought one over and put it in my hands before cracking her own and taking a sip.

She sighed deep and walked over to her tool box, grabbing her socket wrench and bits, before standing over the engine bay.

“Timing is always a bit off with this thing…” she muttered as she went under the hood.

I cracked the top of my own beer before sitting down in the office chair she had lying around. I took a hearty drink from the bottle as I was quite parched. Moving fast and dodging cops really worked up a thirst, even though i was only filming it.

I watched Jessie tinker with the motor again. I don't think she will ever be satisfied with it even though it does the job just fine. Thats one part of her that really gets me. She loves her car a lot, Almost too much. She loves it to the point where I sometimes wonder if she really can really love another person beyond a one night stand. I can almost understand such a fondness for something inanimate, I mean, I love my camera to death and I use it almost as much as Jessie drives her car, but it almost makes me feel... Jealous. And even thinking that makes me cringe a bit. The idea that I would be jealous over the way someone treats an inaminate object over me is just silly. But god damn it if sometimes i dont get frustrated.

Ive had a crush on Jessie for nearly 2 years. She means the world to me and im not sure if she even knows that. I spend most of my free time with her. Ive loaned her cash many times either to put into her car or on tools. I mean she always pays me back and thats fine, but i just wish that I could say the thing that I wanna say without coming off as some weirdo. I dont even think she sees me in that way and it hurts.

It hurts really fucking bad.

I take another long drink from the bottle until its empty. I place the empty bottle on her work bench and grab another from the fridge, quickly popping the cap off.

Its not even her fault. Its not her fault at all. Its my fault for always being such a chickenshit anytime the moment arises. She even teases me about getting a girlfriend so she can steal her. (She is bi, but i dont think she would actually do that to me. Jessie is a good friend and if anything, she would probably act as my wingman. Shes cool like that.) It really blows that she pretty much sees me as a brother...or a lamp.

I dont wanna be a fucking lamp.

I watch as she cranks away at some form of machinery under the hood. Youd think after all this time spent around her, talking about cars and racing, that i would learn a few things. And i cant tell you that youd be wrong. I. Am. A. Dumbass. When it comes to cars.

Ask me about film or editing or what-have-you and i can pull answers out of my ass all day long. But anything beyond a standard oil change? No idea.

I watched as she went to take a sip from her own beer only to find it empty.

“Hey nerd boy, wanna grab me another beer?”

And like the whipped dog i am, I got right up and grabbed her another bottle.

I set it down on the car just a tad harder then i intended and winced when she took notice. It did not damage the car or anything, but there was a notable change in mood.

Fuck.

She set a hand on my shoulder before i could go sit back in my pity corner.

“Is something wrong, dude?” The way she looked at me pierced me. I was stuck. And if i didnt say something soon i was gonna look like a weirdo.

I sorta shook my shoulder, the one her hand was on, a bit to see if she would remove it. She didnt.

“Its nothing, really. Im just thinking about something shitty that youtube did, thats all.” I spoke quietly before looking away.

Her hand stayed on my shoulder, firmy clamped. Not enough to feel pain, but enough to know she was squeezing it in consolement.

My lonely ass practically shivered at the touch. Ive been starved of human contact for far too long.

“Yeah, im not buying that. Look at me” she said firmly.

When i didnt move my head from the side, she set the tool in her hand down on the car and grabbed my jawline, moving my head to face her.

She stared at me in something mixed with concern and...i guess something like motherly instinct?

“Why dont you tell me whats really going on? I know you too well to know that something small would bug you this much.”

I decided that I could probably get away with a half lie. Probably.

“I uh… Ive been having trouble with this girl…” I started sounding more unsure than id hoped. Motherfucker…

Her eyes lit up for a second. Shock? Suprise? Yeah I wouldnt believe me either.

“You actually found a girlfriend?” She asked quickly, somewhere between suprise and excitement.

“Well, I uh...No… Its more like I have a...crush…on this girl.” I spoke slowly trying to keep my tone even.

She then let go of me and speed walked over to grab both of the wheelie chairs and set them so they faced each other. All in one motion, she made sure we both had bottles in our hands and we were sitting down facing each other.

“So…” She started, “Tell me about this girl…”

I sat and thought about the most vauge things I could bring up so that I could wiggle out of this.

“Well, uh, shes got shorter hair. Not quite short, but about shoulder length. She has these beautiful eyes. Amazing, stunning, eyes…. Shes uh, a bit on the shorter side but i think thats adorable, really…”

“She sounds cute!” Jessie started, bouncing her legs in place excitedly. “Whats she like?”

“What do you mean?”

I knew what she mean.

“Ya know… like her personality or whatever…”

“Oh, yeah” i said rubbing the back of my neck nervously, “She uh...Shes real tom boyish, likes to play rough and have fun on the wild side of things...She also isnt afraid of anyone or anything and could probably take down people twice her size anyday of the week...She also has a really cool music taste...Shes one in a million, really”

I saw something flash real quick in her eyes before switching back. Oh fuck. She knows…

“Well she sounds like someone special” She said taking a sip of beer, “Have you thought of how youre gonna tell her?”

My heart started pounding. It was pounding harder than it was when the police were on our ass less than an hour ago.

“See now, thats the frustrating part. Im always trying to figure out how im gonna tell her...but im afraid she will be put off by me…”

“And whys that?” Jessie asked me.

“Because...uh...because…” I stammered trying to think of something to say.

Her eyes shined brightly and bored into my own. She concentrated on me like I was the only thing visible to man. I could feel my palms start to sweat.

“Because….me and her...got really close over the past two years...and i dont think she shares the same feelings...thats why its frustrating.”

Jessie leaned back in her office chair and drank down the rest of her beer before continuing.

“I see…” she started, “And would this girl happen to own a red ford mustang that she enjoys racing with and using to run from the police when the occasion arises?”

I looked down at my feet and nodded my head yes.

I heard the glass of her bottle clinking against the concrete floor before she rolled her chair closer to mine. I felt her hand around my jaw line again. This time it was more of a caress than a grab. She slowly lifted my chin up to meet her and my first expectation was to get laughed at for my burning red cheeks.

Once we were both staring at each other, I saw her move in closer to my face.

Her eyes drifted shut and before i knew it, her lips were against mine. It was a light kiss with hardly any movement. Timid and testing, like a deer investigating something new in the wild. I felt her head tilt more to the side and i did the same in the opposite direction.

I….I didnt really know how to feel. I was overwhelmed, trying too hard to read the situation at hand. My brain was going so fast i felt like my head was gonna explode.

And before i realized how amazing this moment truly was, she broke away from the kiss.

To my suprise, her breath was actually a bit laboured. And she stared at me with a big smile on her face.

“Ive been waiting....two long years for that, nerd boy.” she whispered so softly.

This time, I grabbed her chair and pulled her too me as I met her with my lips again. Our faces came together and this time it was all a lot messier. She moved her lips against mine, roughly, hungrilly even. I tried to mirror what she did but to be honest, my experience with kissing was minimal. Then I felt something poke between my lips and at my teeth.

I opened my mouth a bit more to accept her tongue. I could feel her reach behind my head and grab on, shoving us closer together. I ran my hands up her back, watching not to cross any boundies.

It was like a dance, really. She lead and i followed. And what a dance it was.

We broke apart for air and stared at each other. My hands had rested at her hips and she had a hand on each shoulder. We were both just about hanging off the edge of our chairs.

Out of breath she spoke quietly.

“Backseat?”

I nodded frantically, like my life depended on it.

“Backseat”

[planets-and-prose]

An Escape

Two rebels against a large galactic federation find each other, and create an...unorthodox alliance, to say the least.

“Okay, this is a really, really bad idea!” Morgan shouted, so as to be heard over the blaring alarms. They shrunk away from their cell door as the large, heavyset Latina woman continued to bang at it. With one final bang, the door swung open. The woman’s robotic leg was sparking slightly, as if she’d messed something up within the circuits opening the door, but she gave Morgan a lopsided grin.

“Sure, but at least we’re having fun!” She reached a hand out to help Morgan up, and they accepted. “Okay, if we run and get to the hangar, I can probably get the hangar door open and we can take one of their smaller scout ships. We’re just a hop, skip, and an FTL jump away from freedom!” The woman pulled Morgan up with a surprising amount of strength, and pulled Morgan along with her rather than letting their hand go.

“Are you fucking insane?!”

“Yes, just insane enough to get us out of here,” the woman said with a grin. Her steps were a little bit unwieldy—the prosthetic leg wasn’t bending right. However, she was still running, and almost outpaced Morgan. A shot from a phaser ricocheted off the metal walls of the corridor, causing Morgan to let out a squeak and duck. However, the woman seemed utterly nonplussed. “So, what’s your name? Any pronouns I should use?”

“Y-you’re asking this now?!” Morgan sputtered.

“Yep!” The woman yanked Morgan around a corner, and a bullet whizzed right through the space where Morgan had been not half a second ago. “Figure I should get to know you a little bit before yanking you into a spaceship with me.”

“You could have considered that before busting me out of my cell.”

“You complaining about it?” Morgan simply shook their head—anything, even death, would be better than what the Galactic Peace Federation had been planning for them. It was either agony, or causing the torture of hundreds, thousands, maybe even millions if it went far enough.

“Morgan. I’m Morgan.” They stumbled down another corridor after the woman—despite her size and hurt leg, she was incredibly fast. “They/them pronouns I guess?”

“Good to meet you, Morgan! I’m Sellia Galuzio. She/her.”

“Nice to…meet you?” Half of Morgan’s brain still struggled to keep up with whatever the hell this situation was. They had no clue who this woman was—she’d just appeared at their cell door, paralysis cuffs hanging uselessly off her wrists, and asked if they wanted to get out. Of course Morgan said yes, but they frankly didn’t expect it to go this far, and they didn’t notice the cuffs till they were already running. The implications of being taken by someone who’d had those cuffs…to their knowledge, the GPF only used those on the people they deemed their most dangerous adversaries. Morgan couldn’t help but worry that they were in too deep. But it wasn’t as if they really had a choice anymore.

The two stumbled into the hangar and looked around. Just stepping into this area felt like gaining footing after sliding on ice. Finally, something they understood. In this entire fucked-up situation, at least NOW they had something they could latch onto.  They’d been piloting for most of their twenty-one years, so ships were easy. They made sense. Now, AI took care of a lot of it, but the AI in these ships would likely not be cooperating with them. So…manual piloting it was. The prospect sent Morgan’s heart racing, and they could feel the corners of their lips tugging upward in an almost-smile despite the dire situation. “Scout ships are over there,” Morgan declared. “They’ll have enough fuel to get us pretty far away. And easiest to pilot with one person.” Morgan started running over to the ships they mentioned, Sellia not far behind.

“You a pilot?” Sellia asked.

“Yeah, since I was a kid. This one looks good. I’ve flown something like it.” Sellia forced the door open, held it so that Morgan could force their skinny frame in, then slipped in herself.

“Good, I’ve barely flown before,” she commented offhandedly as she let the door shut.

“You were going to steal a ship, and you’d never flown!?” Morgan hopped behind the console, instinctively ducking down as the phaser blasts and gunshots hit the ship’s exterior. It had been built to handle far, far worse, but that knowledge didn’t stop their adrenaline-fueled shaking.

“Hey, it’s not like I’ve got much to lose!” Sellia unscrewed the repair panel of the console and pushed aside wires until she found what she was looking for. “You good to fly without AI?”

“Great, as long as we get somewhere in twenty-ish hours.” As they spoke, Morgan looked around. Take off the safety locks, orient themselves…

“I think we can manage that.” Sellia yanked the AI’s hard drive out, setting it in a small storage area. “They can track us way more easily with that shit,” she said by way of explanation.

“Buckle up,” Morgan cautioned as they powered up the ship. They didn’t bother attempting to go through slower start-up processes; a few guards had made it to the large open hangar door and were trying to get it to close. Probably as a safety mechanism, the hangar door closed slowly, but Morgan worried it wouldn’t be slow enough. A moment later, with a few sputters and worrying noises, the ship hummed to life and jerked forward. Sellia stumbled, almost fell before sitting down, but Morgan wasn’t fazed—they just yanked the throttle back and accelerated until finally, barely, they made it out of the closing door. The doors scraped the top and bottom of the ship a bit, but after a nerve wracking moment, both Morgan and Sellia let out a breath they barely realized they were holding. All was well. They made it.

“Nice flying!” Sellia settled back in her seat a little bit and worked to detach her prosthetic leg. “So, we’re not too far from Hral IV; we should be able to get there within a few hours at most. It’s mostly abandoned aside from a few little outposts that…well, let’s just say they’re perfect for a couple of outlaws. It wouldn’t be hard to land the ship out of the way and at least rest there and fuel up.”

“Okay, I’ll adjust course.” Morgan started entering a few commands into the console. “So, what are you planning after this? Are you going to go your own way after Hral IV?” Sellia shrugged as she hopped over to the small storage unit and pulled out a toolbox.

“Really depends on what you want. I wouldn’t mind having an experienced pilot around, but we’re going to be fugitives. You could just say I brought you under duress and go back to whatever your normal is. That all depends on you.” She examined a couple of screwdrivers critically before gingerly sitting down next to the toolbox.

“I…” Morgan paused. They had to take a moment, just to figure out how much they were willing to reveal. Should they mention the way that they’d never really had a home since their prodigal piloting skills attracted all the wrong attention? Would they get used or made a spectacle of if they brought up the fact that they could figure strategic ways to span thousands of light years with ships that were meant to do two thirds that? And…what would Sellia do with the knowledge that they’d been captive in order to be tortured until they agreed to “colonize” undiscovered planets with the GPF?  

Colonize…that word haunted them. It sounded so heroic, finding land and resources for the noble humans. But it meant a cultural war at best, and…genocide at worst. Morgan had seen it too often, since they seemed to get to planets just before the GPF. They’d meet wonderful people, start to learn a language…and then they’d have to run again. Sometimes, if they made it back, they could still see some of the culture that they remembered. But other times…the planets were shells of their former glory, homogenized by the GPF.

“I don’t really have anywhere else to go,” they settled on. It was the best vague truth they could think of.

Sellia hummed in acknowledgment, just managing to get a panel off her leg and see how badly some of the wiring was messed up. She sighed to herself and started rummaging through the toolbox again. “Well, neither do I, so you’re welcome to stay with me until we both find somewhere else. I honestly don’t have any idea where I’ll be going, I’m mostly playing it by ear. If that sounds—fucking hell—okay with you,” she began, cursing to herself as she fumbled with the circuitry, “then I’d be happy to have you stay.”

Morgan smiled—it was very new to have someone want them around without any knowledge of their piloting skills. Granted, Sellia probably knew that Morgan was special somehow, and did need an experienced pilot, but…all she knew was that Morgan had piloted ships before and was good at it, not that they were the youngest ever certified pilot. “So, should I call you Sellia? Galuzio?”

“Anything’s fine, I’m not too picky.” The words were a bit garbled—Sellia held a few screws in her mouth as she spoke.

“Okay. So…Sellia? Do you want any help?”      

“I think I’m good,” Sellia mumbled through the screws as she bent over to check the stump of her leg. It ended at the hip, so looking at it was a bit of an endeavor, but she seemed to be managing. Metal was grafted onto the flesh of her upper thigh, along with a fair few connectors that seemed to somehow go up into the very flesh of the stump itself. “I’m not great at this—” She stopped to grab a screw out of her mouth, then continued. “—but I can manage. Probably won’t work as well as it used to, but I’ll deal.” They nimbly started to redo the connectors, cursing at the paralysis cuffs occasionally blocking her way.

“So…why were you cuffed?” Morgan asked timidly. “I…it’s okay, if you don’t want to answer. I just…if I’m going to stay around you…”

“I used to be a pretty vocal rebel against the GPF,” Sellia explained. “It didn’t help that I stole a bunch of their weaponry and assets, until they managed to get a tracker on my ship and predict when I was coming. My partner and I fighting hundreds of them didn’t go super well.”

“Your partner?” The words came out of Morgan’s mouth seemingly against their will.

“Yes. She’s…not with us anymore. Thanks to the GPF. She died of her wounds in captivity.” For once, the seemingly omnipresent energy that Sellia gave off was dampened down.

“Oh. I…I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to be. At this point, apologies don’t mean shit. They’re not gonna bring her back. But at least now I’m out and can hopefully give the GPF hell for what they did.” Sellia experimentally moved her prosthetic leg around. Despite it being sluggish and not quite working, she gave it a satisfied nod. “I mostly got the cuffs since I’ve been a problem for them for…years now. And I’m gonna be a problem for them for years more.” A crooked grin flitted across her face.

“Makes sense.” Morgan let out a sigh of relief—Sellia wasn’t a scary person. No mass murder, no horrific crimes against humanity. Just, basically working against a shitty organization and avenging a partner. “I can try and help get the cuffs off. It’s hard when they’re on your own wrists, you know?” As they asked, they heard a clang, and one cuff popped off Sellia’s wrist.

“I’ve gotten a few of these off in my lifetime,” Sellia chuckled. “But I appreciate the thought. And the piloting. You’re doing amazing.” Morgan blushed and shook their head.

“Not so much, we’re not moving that fast.”

“How long until Hral IV?” Morgan peered at the navigation console.

“Um…about half an hour.” Sellia whistled lowly, impressed.

“I’d say that’s pretty amazing. I expected much longer.” Morgan’s blush deepened, but they steadfastly stared out the window.

“Well, all we can do is wait,” they murmured, doing their best to not drown in the praise that they so rarely received—at least, rarely received without strings attached. And right now…it didn’t seem like those strings were there. Maybe this would be better. Maybe they didn’t have to be alone anymore.

Just maybe…this was the start of something better.