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writer-rochelle · 4 years

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Statesman:Ablaze Ch.1: Rules

(a/n: i’m not sure what happened to my original post, so here it is again. i’m having to use my phone’s hotspot and it’s not the most reliable thing so i apologize for all the mixups) ft ocs by: @sunshinepascal @harrytags @pomelloe-me & myself

“Huh, what’d you say?”

“Have you seriously not heard a word I just said, Pomegranate?” Alicia King said, sighing. Stakeouts were the worst, and usually being paired up with her good friend Pom Graham, they could be a lot of fun. But it seemed that the young southern woman’s mind wasn’t in the mint green bug they had been in for the past 5 hours.

“I said I haven’t heard you talk about Whiskey lately...everything okay with y’all?” Alicia asked her friend. Pom had until very recently jabbered on and on about the older Agent Whiskey taking her under his wing. It wasn’t often that the veteran agents took much interest in the new recruits, but Pom was a family friend and as he affectionately called her, “his little pomegranate”.

“No, the stupid cunt has been too fuckin’ busy doing shit in New York to reply to my messages,” Pom said, scrolling through her phone. She didn’t want to admit the sense of abandonment she was starting to feel. She was 24 years old, for fuck's sake, not 4. She was usually one to share anything that was bothering her, and she knew Alicia would understand, but this was something that she wanted to keep reserved. Maybe she was just overthinking.

“Absinthe! Come in Agent Absinthe!”

Alicia reached up and lightly placed a finger on the left leg of her green aviators. Instantly she could see into the Statesman meeting room. A quick glance showed that Champagne was seated at the head of the table, and from where she (or rather her hologram) sat she could tell she was at the opposite end. Next to him was Agent Cognac and across from her was Agent Whiskey’s hologram. It still never ceased to amaze her how incredibly talented Ginger Ale was. Every weapon, every piece of equipment, hell even every fiber of clothing the agents were given all had Ginger's magic touch.

“Is Agent Rum still there with you?” Champagne asked, taking off his glasses and cleaning them with the cloth square in the front pocket of his jacket, before placing them back onto his face. He gestured towards Ginger, who walked forward from where she had been standing off to the side with her clipboard. As soon as the other Agent was present they could continue their debrief.

“The old man is asking for you” Alicia laughed, nudging Pom who had once again turned her attention to the view out her window. Pom rolled her eyes, pushing her tortoise framed glasses onto the bridge of her nose.

“You rang?” she said, making her voice deep and gravelly like Lurch, the Franken-butler from the Addams Family. The girls erupted into a fit of giggles, as Champagne shook his head in disappointment.

“She gets that tomfoolery from watching you!” He said, pointing an accusatory finger at Agent Whiskey’s hologram, the man in question shrugging with a smirk on his face. Champagne turned his attention back to the girls.

“ When y’all are finished, I’d like to carry on with this debrief .” Alicia silently shook with the aftermath of the giggle fit she and Pom had pitched themselves into, but quickly grew serious. If Agent Whiskey was on the call it had to be of grave importance.

“Well I’ve got some good news, and some bad news,” Champagne said, regarding the two holograms at the end of the table. Agent Cognac shifted in her seat next to her boss and grandfather, she was familiar with the temperament of her two friends and braced herself for the fit they were about to throw.

“Well, the good news is we found out where those rascals are keeping the Senator's daughter hostage. The bad news is that it's not in that warehouse y’all have been staking out all evenin’.” He pulled a fat cigar out of his jacket pocket, passing it under his nose, sucking the smell of it into his nostrils.

“What the fuck, Champ?!!! You could have told us sooner!!” Pom shouted, she was seething. The color of her face turned red from anger. Not only had she already missed the weekly update of the Mandalorian on Disney+, but she had been stuck in a cramped car with a mix of Alicia’s perfume, her own deodorant, and the leftover stench of the KFC they had eaten. She was on the verge of a headache, and more importantly on the verge of beating the old man with her bat.

“I told you she was gonna be pissed.” Whiskey muttered. Champ glared at his hologram before continuing his spiel.

“As I was sayin’, Tequila was wrong; it turns out she's being held in the basement of her own house. Ginger Ale, if you’ll please?” Champ said, watching as the resident tech wiz pulled up security footage on a screen on the wall of the conference room. The Agents watched as Molly Dubois was dragged out of her house and shoved into an unmarked car, only to be returned hours later (still bound with her head in a sack) back to the mansion.

“As it turns out, with the elections coming up soon, the Senator is looking to boost his image with the voters to ensure he’s re-elected. We were able to intercept some phone calls, I’ll be sending you all the audio recordings to listen to on your own time.” Ginger said, tapping around on her clipboard. Alicia looked over at Pom, the two agents seemingly on the same brain wave. They both knew that Senator Xavier Dubois was a ruthless, greasy, piece of crap. He would do anything to keep the state of Kentucky under his control.

“What do you need us to do, Champ?” Alicia said, revving her green bug to life and buckling her seat belt. No need for discretion when it wasn’t the right location. “Pom, I know your ass is not wearing a seatbelt, bitch,” Alicia said quietly, stepping on the brake, cackling when Pom lurched forward in her seat colliding with the dashboard.

“AAARGH! Fuck you!! You didn’t have to fucking brake check me!” Pom yelled, hitting Alicia’s arm before buckling her seatbelt and crossing her arms over her chest.

“Alright kids, that’s enough! Y’all should know better than to be acting a fool and havin' an attitude during debriefs and y’all are just goofing off, actin’ like y’all ain’t got no good sense.” Champagne said harshly, watching as their holograms faded out. “Whiskey, I want you flying out to HQ asap!”

“Sure thing boss, I’m on my way.” Whiskey said, winking at Agent Cognac before his hologram also faded out.

Other agents sitting at the table began to remove their glasses, mirroring the actions of Whiskey, their respective holograms also disappearing. Champ and Agent Cognac were the only ones remaining in the room. Ginger, having slipped out quietly to return to her lab. Cognac turned, realizing her grandpa was staring at her closely. She blushed as she slipped her glasses into the pocket of her jacket.

“What?” She said, sheepishly pouring herself a glass of water. Champagne glared knowingly at her, putting an end to any other words about to come out of her cherry-red lips. After the tragic death of her parents (both statesman alum), he made it a point to take her in and continue to raise her as his own. He'd be damned if he let his granddaughter fall off onto the wrong side of the law.

“Don’t think you can pull the wool over my eyes, young lady. I may be old, but I haven’t lost my sight yet!” The elder agent said with great discipline, shaking his finger at her like she was five again. He rose from his seat, moving to stand in front of the window with his hands clasped behind his back.

“Why are you doing this to me, Carey? You know the rules! No-“

“No fraternizing with fellow Agents! I know, Grandpa,” she said, moving to stand next to him. She felt guilty; Champ had put his neck out for her countless times, hell, he was the sole reason she was still alive. The same people who had killed her parents were set out to kill her too. If he hadn't stepped in when he had….the thought of it made her shudder.

“First of all, don’t interrupt your old man, Carey Ann. Secondly, if you know you shouldn’t, why do it?! Whiskey is a highly skilled agent; but when he’s off the clock? Jack Daniels is not the kind of man I’d want dating my granddaughter.” Champagne said. Carey sighed, knowing that he was only looking out for her. But if he knew the true extent of the relationship she had with Whiskey, he would grow even more furious.

“It’s nothing, I promise! I just assist him with things around the New York offices from time to time...” She said innocently, turning to grab her jacket and head for the door.

“Well those ‘things’,” Champagne made air quotes around the words ‘things’, following the young woman with his cold gaze, “Those things better not be in his pants, missy! I’ll tan both of your hides; I don’t give a rat’s ass if you’re 30 years old, damn it!” His words falling on deaf ears, his granddaughter having already disappeared out the door. He sighed in defeat. Wrangling these kids was starting to get harder and harder.

“Lord help me.”

a/n: i’m real upset, i have no clue what happened to the original post. I apologize for the mess. Thanks for reading <3 roach

Statesman: Ablaze is a multi-part fic that is a collaboration between myself and the ladies tagged. After throwing our ideas around late one night, this baby was born. We are very excited to share this with y’all, and hope you like reading it as much as @pomelloe-me and I do writing it.

#agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x oc #agent tequila x reader #agent tequila x oc #agent whiskey fic #oc fic #jack daniels #pedro pascal characters #Pedro Pascal #pedro pascal x reader #kingsman golden circle #Statesman:Ablaze #statesman

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cela-astral-projection · 5 years

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I'd never want once from the cherry tree 'Cause my baby's sweet as can be She give me toothaches just from kissin' me

18+ under the cut, I guess. Nothing really happens. An abundance of caution.

Muriel pushed the door open from the bedroom, still exhausted. It was evening, and he'd been in and out of sleep most of the day. Demanding solitude.

He would do this from time to time. Asra and Celeste took turns, being close at hand, but allowing him his space. This had been a particularly rough patch. They were patient with him. They didn't demand anything. They were simply available to him, willing to cater to his every whim. He just wouldn't ask for anything, buried deep in himself.

Generally, these spells would last a few days. But this was going on far longer than usual, and it had taken a turn towards the frightening. He looked gaunt. Paler. Sickly. On such a big man, it was very striking. He barely ate, and when he did, it was simply fistfuls of the candies and sweets he managed to grab and hide in the darkened bedroom, leaving a rat's nest of jewel-toned wrapping wadded up on the bedside table.

Asra had dealings in town that he simply could not put off another day, so she had been left in charge. It was a simple enough task if emotionally taxing, seeing the one they loved in such pain.

She kept herself busy, cleaning, cooking, keeping Inanna occupied so she didn't tear the bedroom door apart trying to get to him. Feeding the chickens. Hell, she'd even chopped wood, which was a task that usually sent Asra and Muriel running from the house after her, not entirely confident in her abilities to wield a giant ax, to her annoyance. She had managed to get away unscathed, she was proud to say.

The Muriel situation had come to a point where simply letting him be was untenable. She had to try something, but it had to be subtle enough to not spook him. Like coaxing a stray cat with cream.

She sat at the dinner table, alone, reading. She knew how to build one hell of a fire, that was for certain. She hadn't quite figured out moderation when it came to that. The room was much too warm, so she had opened a window, cool air pouring in to even out the intense heat from the fireplace.

At Muriel's seat, there was a large bowl, steaming. A thick piece of bread on a plate at its side. In the center of the table, a beautiful golden pie, with deep red juices seeping out from cracks in the flaky crust. His stomach growled.

She looked up at him over the top of her book, smiling.

"It's hot." He said, low, eyes fixed on the pie. He was salivating.

"I know. Sorry. It's better over here by the window." She replied, quiet. "Come sit with me. I'm lonely."

He sighed, torn. He just wanted to go back to bed. But he was so, very hungry. "I'm...just tired." He did start across the room. Short, cautious steps.

"I know you are," she said, with a nod. Her eyes were soft, as was her tone. She closed her book and laid it down. "I made dinner for you."

It smelled incredible. Everything. The yeasty, sweet-smelling fresh bread. The rich, garlicky, herbaceous broth in the bowl. The scents were overwhelming. He hadn't felt such hunger pangs since he was small.

But, his attention was fully on the dessert. He was a sucker for anything sweet. She knew some of it was that the sugar gave him temporary relief. Comfort. But it didn't last. It wasn't sustainable. He would ride the high for an hour or so, especially now that he wasn't eating normally, then crash.

"I'll...just take a slice of that and go back to bed." He said, short, moving to the cupboard to grab a plate.

"Oh...no, sorry. It's still cooling. I got started on it late. It's still too hot. I want it to cut well." she replied, standing. Apologetic. "Please, you can have as much as you want once it's good and cool. You'll like it better, I promise. I spent all that time pitting the cherries...I just want it to be right."

He pulled a face. "How long?"

"It's hard to say. It's really warm in here. If I move it to the windowsill, maybe an hour or so? Can you wait that long?" She leaned across the table to collect the pie plate. She was wearing a sheer, loose tunic. When she bent, he could see straight down her shirt. Heavy breasts hanging. She looked up at him, biting her lip.

"I'll...wait." he nodded, swallowing hard. He was starving. Absolutely famished. In more ways than one.

She collected the plate and righted herself, crossing to the window and making sure the plate was seated securely. Her bargaining chip. It seemed to be working.

He sat heavily in his chair, hands folded between his knees, not looking at her. She watched him for a long moment. Come on. Eat it. Her mind pleaded, trying to reach him. But, he didn’t move.

She sighed, and grabbed her chair, pulling it around to his side of the table, sitting in front of him. He straightened and turned, startling. She caught his wrist. "You're tired. Let me take care of you, okay?" she pleaded, staring straight in his eyes. Not a suggestion. A requirement.

He tensed. "I don't need you to take care of me," he said, pressing his lips into a line.

"I need to take care of you. It's my problem...Indulge me." she countered, squeezing his wrist affectionately before releasing it, the corner of her mouth turning up.

He huffed. "Celeste..." he whispered, frustrated, exhausted. Too tired to argue.

She turned to the table and picked up a spoon, dipping it into the soup. She had taken care that it would be nourishing, but not too rich. She wasn't sure if he could handle anything too heavy at this point. More flavor than substance. She brought the spoon to her lips and blew cool breath across the surface, and then to his mouth.

He didn't open his lips. An eyebrow raised, annoyed. She mirrored his face, not relenting. He rolled his eyes and allowed her to proceed, and she pushed the spoon in.

His eyes fluttered closed, and he relaxed. It was warm, smooth. Coating his tongue. Bone broth, butter, vegetables, garlic, herbs. It was creamy, fatty, but still thin. It flowed down his throat.

"Is it okay?" she asked, studying his face.

He made a quiet noise of approval. "Everything you make is good," he said after a moment.

She took another spoonful and repeated the process. He took it, a bit more eager. She leaned in and kissed the corner of his mouth. "I'm glad you like it."

They sat like that for a long while, until the bowl was mostly drained. They went slow, her constantly checking in. Making sure that it wasn't too much, too soon.

She broke the bread in her hands and raked it through the liquid that clung to the bowl, bringing small bites to his lips. She ran one hand over his stomach, soothing circles.

When the food was gone, he opened his eyes. Celeste, smiling up at him.

"Is there more?" He said, looking over at the empty bowl.

"If you want it, of course." She said, sweet.

"What about you?" he asked. Another of his hangups. Scarcity. The illusion that there wasn't enough. From years of there not being enough. For making sure that Asra was taken care of before himself. The days when his stomach felt like it was eating itself. Stolen food. Threats on all sides. Food as payment for services rendered.

"There is enough. There will always be enough," She said, raising her hand to cup his cheek in her hand, running her thumb back and forth, looking in his eyes. "Asra is coming home with more food in the morning. Take whatever you need. There will always be more."

He leaned forward and rested his forehead against Celeste's, breathing deeply.

She ran her hand into his hair. It was lank, greasy. Too long. She had always liked long hair on him, but as Asra had once told her, equally disappointed, "He looks like the Scourge of the South. He doesn't like letting his hair get that long anymore. Too bad for us...It’s gorgeous, isn’t it?"

He smelled musty. Like old sweat. It was a smell that came often on her impoverished patients. Those suffering from mental illnesses. Unwashed. Stale. She hated it on him. But, her face didn't betray her. Years of training had hardened her against that. There was no excuse to make someone feel less than, or unclean.

She kissed him. Soft, sweet. Unafraid. He pressed his lip against hers. Still weak. Still tired.

He wanted her. He wanted to sleep. He wanted to eat.

After a while of sitting quietly, she moved to stand, preparing him another bowl. She sat it on the table, then leaned down to kiss his cheek. "Eat this for me. I need to boil some water and change the bed."

He nodded, turning towards his meal, eating in silence. She set to her task, putting on a pot to boil, then going to the bedroom, looking over her shoulder when she got to the door, biting her lip. He still worried her, but at least it was some progress.

She made quick work of the bedroom, stripping the bed, throwing a couple clean blankets down. She cast a spell to dispel the gloom and grime that clung to every surface. She cleared away the discarded trash that he left on the bedside tables and gave everything a once over. She looked around. This felt better. Cleaner. Good enough. She could do more, later. She grabbed the washbasin from the dresser, and a soft cloth and fragrant, luxurious soap. A gift from Nadia.

When she returned, the water was steaming on the stove. Muriel was still eating. Taking slow bites.

She ladled water into the washbasin. She dipped her elbow into the water. It was quite hot, but he ran hot, and she was nearly immune to the heat herself, having had to scrub with it so often in medical practice. She lifted the basin, and made to place it on the table, in arms reach, but out of Muriel's way. She ran her finger along the rim, enchanting it to stay warm.

"I'm going to clean you up a bit if that's okay? You can take a bath later if you want. I think this will help you feel a little better in the meantime."

He stopped for a moment, contemplating. He really didn't want to be fussed over, but...he knew she wasn't wrong. He nodded, silent.

She dipped the cloth into the water and wrung it out. She put the bar of soap into the bundle of cloth, massaging it until it frothed. Cedar. Sweet Citrus. Eucalyptus. Good job, Nadia.

Celeste moved behind him, brushing his hair over his shoulder. The cloth was brushed lightly over the back of his neck, his shoulders. Gentle pressure. He moaned a bit. It felt incredible. Warmth pricking at his skin, followed by a cool breeze across the damp trails left behind. He was hunched over his bowl. Never one for excellent posture on his best day. It made for easier work tonight. She worked diligently.

Even now, like this, he was magnificent. Powerful.

She remembered the first time she recalled...running into him, outside the shop. With his curse, it was a hazy memory at best, but she did remember something. Him, all mystery and darkness, delivering an ominous warning. She remembered not really giving much of a damn about the warning, strange as it was. Everything then was strange, so that wasn't exactly new news.

All she knew at that moment was that she was going to climb that big tree some fine day. He was the first man, since waking up in Asra's arms three years prior, that had stirred something that voracious in her. He inspired a Volta-Esque hunger in her. She liked to blame Asra for that, teasing. Giving her half a heart that already belonged to some tall, dark, handsome stranger. She never stood a chance.

Once she had finished his back, she peered over his shoulder. His bowl was empty again, and he just sat, enjoying her ministrations. Quiet.

"Will you take off your pants? I want to get your front, too. If you want me to?" she inquired.

He took a shaky breath, color flooding his cheeks. He turned to look up at her, unsure.

She gave a quiet chuckle. "Oh, please. It's nothing I haven't seen a thousand times before. Let me do this."

He sighed and stood up, shaking his head, hands at the waist of the drawstring, soft trousers. He unknotted the tie, sliding them slowly over his hips. "You don't have to do this."

"Oh, trust me. I want to. Give me an excuse to get my hands on you. I'll take it." she teased gently, watching him.

The garment fell away, leaving him exposed, and he kicked it roughly aside, going back to sit, turning the chair away from the table. He couldn't quite meet her eyes, still blushing.

She refreshed the cloth and moved to kneel in front of him. She started at his collarbone and moved down. She focused on her task, though it was...difficult. She was used to being in the position in front of him. Usually, her job was a bit different. But, until he was clean, that particular prospect was a bridge too far. Though, he did seem to be stirring a bit under her touch. She bit the inside of her mouth, not hard enough to draw blood, but hard enough to keep her sober.

Her hand moved to his abdomen. Each defined abdominal muscle. A line of dark hair, all trailing to his cock. Gods. This was going to be a problem. It had been a while since he’d let her get this close. She cleared her throat, her own cheeks flushing, heat pooling in her stomach. "I...think I should let you handle that. I'm going to get your dessert. It should be ready." she said, patting his thigh, then placing the cloth in his hand, pushing herself up, moving to grab a crepe spade and plate from the cabinets.

He watched her as she moved away. He could feel himself smile involuntarily. He had always had trouble accepting that she found him handsome, but after this long, he knew she did. The fact that he could be this low and still elicit that reaction from her did cheer him a bit. He turned to refresh the cloth with soap and water. He would be thorough. He didn't know what he would be able to manage. But, he promised himself, he would have her tonight, in some capacity or another.

She moved the pie to the countertop and cut in. It had cooled and the juices had set. The flaking crust crunched and splintered as she moved the wedge through. She breathed a purely Epicurean sigh. It sliced cleanly. No gapping between the crust and fruit. The sweet fluid did drip, viscous. Exactly what she wanted. She said a silent prayer of thanks. They didn't always turn out this perfect.

She plated the slice and took a moment to admire it, before picking it up, grabbing a fork, and moving to the sitting area. She took a seat on the pile of furs on the far side of the room. Muriel's preferred place.

He watched her as she went, finishing his task. He tossed the rag in the bowl of water and stood, following after her. He stood over her, glistening in the firelight. "That's mine, right?" He said, jerking his chin towards the plate in her hand.

She smiled up at him, tilting her head to the place beside her. "I think you've earned it."

He climbed onto the pile, lounging at her side. He made to take the plate from her, but she pulled back. He furrowed his brow, confused. She sliced through the pie with the fork and brought it to his lips. He huffed a bit. "Really?" he said, incredulous.

"Mmm-hmm. Grant me this one last indulgence. Then, I'll stop infantilizing you and treat you like the man you are. Promise." She winked.

He opened his mouth, and she placed the bite on his tongue. His eyes closed and his head lolled back, groaning. The crust was delicate, airy, with a crackle. It nearly melted in his mouth. He could taste the butter. The filling rode the line of being almost cloying, honeyed, but that was cut through by the tart freshness of the cherries and a hint of orange. He chewed, slow. When he swallowed, he swore. "Oh, fuck me."

"I will, but you have to tell me what you think of the pie first."

#this got long #reader x muriel #apprentice x muriel #muriel #the arcana #depression #super super slight feederism #like it's not really a thing #cut because he lost his pants #fanfiction #arcana #food related trauma #mc #oc #oc apprentice #apprentice celeste #celeste

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ukulelecal · 6 years

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marvel!sos - characters and relationships

hey pumpkins, so i made a big post with all the information about the characters in the marvel au that i have so far. obviously there’s more to be explored, but this is what i’ve got rn.

i wanna give a big thanks to @fullblownidentitycrisis for helping me develop this so much, and to everyone who sent ideas and suggestions!! you guys are awesome, i’m so excited, lets go (also sorry the bullet points are so long, i maxed out on the text block limit so i had to combine them):

Calum Hood as Spider-Man

-Your classic geeky science nerd. Follows pretty much the same story as Spider-Man; lost his parents, and then his uncle, and lived with his aunt, gets bitten by a radioactive spider and now has superpowers. Just in this case, he went to college in New York and lived in a dorm, probably lived with his aunt during summers. Went to college for chemical engineering on a scholarship, and is now graduated

-Moved into a cheap little apartment in Harlem after college with three other guys until he finds his dream science job, which he’s struggling with. He kind of hates the guys he lives with because they’re obnoxious but he doesn’t really have a choice. Works at a greasy spoon restaurant as a busboy for minimum wage

-He gets very overwhelmed about his powers, being afraid of them, afraid of possibly hurting someone, and feeling inhuman. It’s just very stressful for him. He has tattoos for his family, and when he gets too anxious about life, his future, his powers, he traces over the tattoos with his finger to remind him that he’s got his family watching over him

Eleanor, Calum’s girlfriend

-Born and raised in Chicago. Moved to New York after high school for college, also on a scholarship. She studies biomedical engineering. So even though she’s a science nerd like Cal, she isn’t awkward like he is. She’s very cool and witty, has a lot of spunk and is very sharp. Also super intelligent and quick-thinking

-She used to want to be a writer when she was younger, specifically a poet, but as she got older she started thinking she wasn’t good enough to do it for a living so she pursued science instead, but she still writes in her free time

-Works as a waitress at the same restaurant as Calum. Lived in an apartment by herself after college, but at some point her landlord raised her rent a lot, and getting paid minimum wage she knew she wasn’t going to be able to pay it, and ended up getting evicted

Calum and El’s relationship

-They had some classes together in college. Cal always thought she was gorgeous but never had the courage to talk to her. He never expected to see her again after college but lord behold, they work at the same restaurant now

-They started talking and hanging out a lot, and being best friends eventually grew into dating. Cal and El are the broke New York kids, living off cheap food in Harlem and leftover fries from the restaurant, always complaining about being broke but they aren’t unhappy, because they have each other. When El gets evicted, she stays with Cal in his shared apartment for a bit, but his roommates aren’t thrilled with the idea of someone else living in their already cramped apartment so they both take extra shifts at the restaurant and save up so they can get their own place. They’re like the groups little siblings (even though they’re not much younger), everyone looks after them

-El doesn’t know about Cal’s powers at first, and she finds out by walking in on him messing around in the suit. She’s hurt at first, about him keeping secrets, and Cal is panicking for three days thinking she’s going to leave him, but once she comes around she shows all of her support and helps him a lot when he’s having a hard time. She also becomes important to the team after that, using her logic to make plans and her medical background to heal everyone

-Cal calls her Ellie-bear, which she pretends to hate but secretly loves

Luke Hemmings as Thor Odinson

-God of thunder, heir to the throne of Asgard. Can be a bit cocky and hot headed, but he’s mostly a ray of sunshine

-Gets banished to Earth by Odin, but not for the same reason as in the movies. He gets banished because he’s in love with a warrior named Freja. The problem is, Thor has been arranged to marry another woman since he was born. And that woman is not Freja. Odin banishes him in hopes that being apart from each other will cause their love to die, and Thor will marry the other woman without resistance when he is allowed back. Obviously, Odin was wrong. While on Earth, Thor developed the name Luke Hemmings for himself. He met a group of heroes and worked with them

Freja on Asgard and Harper on Earth, Luke’s girlfriend

-An incredible warrior. Highly respected on Asgard

-She absolutely radiates grace and is very debonair. Even in battle, she is just the embodiment of elegance. She has a very calming voice, and it easily soothes anyone she speaks to without even trying. She always seems to be calm which makes her a very easy presence to be around. Her best weapon is a sword, but she dabbles a bit in everything

-Never really knew her parents; they were killed at an age when she couldn’t remember them. Raised by an Asgardian warrior leader, thus her becoming a warrior herself

Luke and Harper’s Relationship

-They were playmates growing up. It wasn’t until they were older that they started to have feelings for each other. They both knew that Luke was in an arranged marriage, but they didn’t care. They loved each other

-When Luke got banished, it was so rough for both of them. They had no way of communicating, and they had to go nearly a year without seeing or even talking to each other. Odin’s plan of getting them to fall out of love totally backfired. The first thing Luke did the second he could return to Asgard was look for Freja. He asked her to come back to Earth with him so they could be together because if they stayed Luke would be forced to marry the other woman. She quickly agreed and ran away with him, gave herself the name Harper. They completely put Asgard behind them. And they are so lovey dovey on Earth, making up for lost time. They’re the star-crossed lovers in the typical forbidden love situation. Luke shows her all the weird Earth things he discovered and they continue to discover more together

Ashton Irwin as Captain America

-Kid from Brooklyn. Used to be very sickly and weak. Received a special serum back in 1941, and became a super soldier. Incredible strength and speed. Was frozen for years and woke up in modern times

-Now he’s very brave and determined, and once he’s passionate about or invested in something he can’t back down. And when he sees wrongdoing he can’t ignore it. He’s like the dad of the group and is very protective of everyone. He’s especially protective of his girl, and also Cal and El

-He’s super good at drawing and he used to love it, but doesn’t do it as much anymore

Mila, Ashton’s girlfriend

-A SHIELD agent. People would expect her to be super serious and stoic but she’s the opposite. She’s literally the softest bean ever. She’s soft and cute, full of giggles and big smiles. She’s also very stable and organized, which is good for Ash because he’s always stressed. Super smart, good problem solver

-Also a major badass when in action which leaves everyone shocked. She can do acrobatics well and is strong, and she can handle a gun pretty good. She gets super tough when she’s fighting

Ashton and Mila’s relationship

-They met at some sort of SHIELD meeting that Ash had to attend. He thought she seemed sweet so he chatted her up a bit after the meeting, and they started going out. So she probably knows he’s Captain America from the start

-They keep their relationship pretty private. They aren’t super affectionate in public or anything but when they’re alone? Total opposite. They’re so soft and sweet with each other, and Ash totally babies her. They’re each other’s “person” that they can always trust and go to for anything

-At some point SHIELD forces Mila to relocate overseas, and Ash can’t go with her because they need him in the states. They try to make it work long distance but they just can’t do it, and they break it off. But Ash isn’t himself after that. He suffers in silence, refusing to talk about it, but the others can see that there’s something very wrong. It’s affecting his fighting for sure. The guys help Mila convince SHIELD to let her move back to the states, and once she does they’re both back to their lively selves because they just needed each other. They’ve got such a sweet happy relationship

Michael Clifford as Hawkeye

-Sarcastic and witty. Pretty confident

-Amazing with a bow and arrow. Master marksman

-He became deaf after an accident, and now he uses a hearing aid. A little insecure about it sometimes but he’s got great friends and a girlfriend to cheer him up

-Super affectionate with the girl he loves, even though he doesn’t seem like he’d be that way

Charlotte, Michael’s girlfriend

-She’s a villain; a mutant, like Wolverine but not the same powers as him

-She was experimented on a lot as a child and treated like nothing but a lab rat, which kind of stems her being a villain. She thought the bad guys were her only family at that time and that she had to trust them (I’m going to think more into the villain organization and her powers as a mutant). She always questioned their motives and why she stayed with them but she always felt she couldn’t get away. They took her in, after all, how could she? And she’s internally battling herself a lot

-In her regular life, she can be very intimidating and snarky, but she’s pretty nice once you get to know her. She’s a tattoo artist and has quite a few herself

Michael and Charlie’s relationship

-Their relationship is angsty. It’s fine before Mikey finds out Charlie is a villain and before Charlie finds out Mikey is a hero, but it’s messy after that

-Mikey finds out in a battle, where he knocks her unconscious and her mask falls off, and then he sees her. At first he can’t even move, he’s just so shocked, and then all he can think about is all the times in the past that he shot at her and hurt her, and he just breaks down. But later, he feels so betrayed and hurt. It would take him a while to stop being angry and forgive her. Like once he finds out about her rough past, he tries so hard to understand and see her side. He realizes she needs someone to bring out the good in her. And then he has to assure her that he still loves her and thinks she’s a good person

-But aside from all their drama, they’re such a goofy couple, always messing around and being dumb together

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quickeningheart · 5 years

Text

Twelve

There was a drawn-out silence as the mice and Chex sized each other up. After a moment, Throttle cleared his throat, stepping forward. "I'm sure you must be mistaken, Citizen," he began, attempting nonchalance. "We're just three normal bros, getting our bikes looked over by—"

"Oh, give it up," Chex snorted, crossing her arms. "I'm not an idiot. There's nothing wrong with my eyeballs. And those helmets don't render you invisible, so you might as well take 'em off. I don't know who you think you're fooling. If alien mice doesn't explain all the fur, then my next guess is the evolutionary Missing Link. Or very short Yeti."

Alley stifled a laugh, and Throttle shot her an annoyed glance as he slowly pulled his helmet off. Vinnie and Modo followed his lead.

"Well, damn," Chris said softly, eyes wide.

"Told you," Chex replied, looking smug. She practically vibrated where she stood, she was so excited. "Man, I can't believe they've been here all this time. The club's gonna flip when I tell 'em I got to see them face to face!"

"Club?" Throttle repeated, frowning.

"It's some little forum she joined," Chris explained. "For people who think they've been abducted by aliens or some weird shit like that."

"Shut it, butt-head." Chex delivered another punch to his arm. "That's not what the club's about." She turned back to the mice. "You've saved a lot of people in Chicago since you've been here, right? Well, some of those people started an online forum to socialize and share experiences. Hypothesize about why you're even here. Stuff like that."

"And … you're one of those people," Throttle guessed.

"Sure am." Chex nodded at Modo. "Big Gray there saved my life awhile back."

The mouse straightened, startled by the sudden attention. "The name's Modo," he corrected. "Modo Maverick."

"Maverick, huh?" Her smile widened. "I like that. Totally a hero's name."

Modo beamed as Vinnie whistled and nudged him in the side.

"So what happened to you?" Charley wanted to know.

"There was some big skirmish downtown about three years ago. Felt like an earthquake or something. Total chaos, people running around, screaming like a buncha lunatics… And I remember there was this really weird whining. Sounded kinda like a drill, but deeper and a lot louder."

"Hey, I remember that!" Vinnie cut in. "Wasn't that when Limburger decided he was gonna dig under the big shopping center?"

"Yeah, he was lookin' for something. Anybody ever figure out what that was?" Modo asked, scratching his head.

"Who cares? He goes out an' makes with the boom-boom, we go in an' stop 'im. That's all we need ta know." Vinnie punched his fist into his palm with a wicked grin.

Chex huffed. "Yeah, well, I happened to be in that shopping center when it was all goin' down. Everything was crumbling around me and all the exits were getting blocked off. Some guy bowled me over, and I got my leg pinned. I was trying to pull free, and then these loud cracks went off right over my head. Sounded like a buncha gunshots. I thought someone had opened fire on top of everything else. So I looked up, and the freakin' wall's about to topple over." She shuddered, rubbing her arms. "I won't ever forget what that felt like, watching that slab of concrete falling in slo-mo right on top of me."

"So what then?" Alley asked, wide-eyed.

"Well, I sure wasn't goin' anywhere. When that asshole shoved me, I fell into the rubble and knocked something loose. Big chunk fell right on top of me. My leg was good and pinned. Hurt like hell, too. I just sorta buried my head in my arms and prayed I'd die quick, and I wouldn't end up buried alive or be laying there in agony for days wondering if anyone'd find me. I might've screamed, I guess. I don't really remember." Chex shrugged. "Someone heard something, though, 'cause when I figured out I still wasn't dead, that's when I looked back up and saw this huge gray … person standing over me, hefting that slab of concrete like a piece of paper. Just tossed it aside with his bare hands! And then he grabbed the big chunks pinning me down and tossed them, too. He wasn't wearing a helmet, and there was all this fur and metal and big ears … and then he started talking to me, asking if I was okay. And all I remember thinking is he was the biggest damned hamster I'd ever seen."

"Aw, c'mon!" Vinnie protested, tossing his hands in the air. "They never get it right! Why don't they ever get it right?"

"We're mice, ma'am. Just for future reference," Modo rumbled, mouth quirking.

"Well, sure, I can see that now," Chex snorted. "Waddaya want? I'd just lived through my first near-death experience. Sorry if I was a little delirious."

"Least you didn't call him a rat," Alley teased. "They hate that."

Modo rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Seems I recall findin' a little girl pinned down, 'bout to be squashed flat. Your leg was busted up pretty bad, wasn't it? I pulled ya loose an' dropped you off at the ambulance outside. You were bleedin' out pretty heavily."

"Yeah." Chex nodded. "The femur bone was snapped in two places. And my tibia was broken so badly the bone ripped clean through the skin. Scary shit. I ended up in surgery and the hospital for two months, a full-leg cast another two months after that. Took a lot of therapy just so I could walk again, too." She pulled up her ripped legging, showing off a long, jagged scar that started at the middle of her calf and ran up under the material covering her upper leg. "Ends at the thigh. Pretty cool, huh?" she said proudly.

Modo whistled. "Impressive battle scar. You doin' okay now?"

"Sure. Leg still aches when the weather changes, and I won't ever win any marathons or anything, but I can walk, and even more importantly, I'm not a greasy smear on the pavement." Chex approached him, gray eyes searching his face as she took his metal hand into both of hers. He blinked down at her, nonplussed; it wasn't often a human willingly touched him, after all. "Like I said, I was really out of it back then, and I don't even remember if I thanked you," she told him sincerely. "So I'm saying it now. Thank you, Modo Maverick. You're a really good person. And I'm glad I can tell you that face to face."

Modo squirmed, ignoring the catcalls and whistles from his comrades as he smiled awkwardly down at her, rubbing the back of his head. "Well, it wasn't anything, ma'am," he mumbled, flustered. "Just doin' my job and all that."

Chex seemed to recall their audience then, quickly dropping his hand and stepping back, hooking her thumbs through the belt loops of her checkered skirt with a self-conscious shrug. "Yeah, well, just sayin'. Thanks," she mumbled, ducking her head. Her face was nearly as red as her hair. After a moment, she straightened up, affecting her usual aloof attitude. "Anyway. That's how I found out about alien mice. I had to know who you were, so while I was recovering, I started searching around on the net, looking for … I dunno, info on mutant rodents in the subways or something." She smirked at Vinnie's snort of disgust. "That's when I found the forum, and figured out there were others who'd been saved by giant talking, bike-riding mice, and there it is."

"And there it is. Gotta love social media. So much for covert operations."

All eyes turned to the black-clad figure coasting into the garage on a sleek black racer, taking in the scene from behind the visor of a wing-eared helmet.

Chris straightened up, surprised. "Hey! You're—"

"Yep. I'm," Stoker grunted, pulling the helmet off to meet his gaze with shrewd eyes. "And you're the whelp who stuck with our Alley Cat the other night. Thanks for that, kid."

"The name is Chris. Christopher Archer. And my sister is Constance."

"Chex. Call me Constance and I'll be forced to cut your tongue out," the redhead mumbled. "Cool bike, by the way. That's like … super stealth bike or something. I didn't even hear the engine."

"That's 'cause I turned it off," Stoker said with a chuckle, dismounting and rolling the bike over to Charley. "She needs a checkup, if you get the chance. Maybe some oil. Had a bit of a bumpy ride gettin' back."

"Run into some problems?" Charley asked.

"Just a few random goons out lookin' for trouble. Nothin' I couldn't handle. But they did get in a few shots to my ride here. Think one of 'em might've taken out the suspension."

"Poor baby. I'll have you fixed right up," Charley crooned, petting the dusty crankshaft affectionately. And damned if the bike didn't rumble right back.

Alley blinked. "Did … did that thing just purr at you?"

Charley laughed. "I did tell you Martian bikes are equipped with AI, right?"

"Uh, yeah, I seem to recall something about that. I just didn't—They actually respond to you? Like, they can understand what you say?" Alley looked the bike over with new appreciation.

"That is the general definition of artificial intelligence," Charley deadpanned.

"Wow. Real AI. How cool is that?" Chex crouched in front of Modo's bike. "Hey, if you can understand me, honk or something."

There was a moment of silence. Then a short, sharp beep sounded, startling Chex into falling back onto her rear. She gaped for a second, then laughed. "That is wicked! Where can I get one?"

"Forget it, Short Stack. Dad'll never let you get a motorcycle," Chris scoffed.

"I'm eighteen. He doesn't really have a say in the matter," she tossed back, hopping to her feet. "Hey, will you give me a ride?" She grinned up at Modo, who sputtered for a response.

"Chex, we're here to see Alley, remember?" Chris sighed.

"Oh, well, she could come along."

Alley's eyes widened. "Uhhh … no thanks. I've seen how these guys drive those things around. I'm rather attached to my life. I'd like to keep it, if it's all the same to you."

Chex laughed. "Wuss."

"If by 'wuss' you mean 'possessing a healthy dose of self-preservation', then yes. I am a huge wuss," she sniffed, smoothing down her skirt.

Beside her, Stoker chuckled low in his throat. "We'll have to work on that," he murmured, smirking down at her.

She pulled a face at him. "Where the hell have you been skulking around, anyway?"

"You miss me? I'm touched." He flashed a cheeky grin.

"Yeah, sure." She waved him off. "Whatever helps you sleep at night."

"Aw, honey, go easy on an old mouse's ego."

"Sir, your ego is indomitable. I'm sure nothing I say will make a dent," she huffed, a smile twitching around her lips despite her best efforts to remain stern.

He noticed, leaning in with a sly smile, eyes lidded as he prepared to turn up the charm.

Only Alley suddenly wasn't there anymore, having been pulled out from under his nose by Chris's grip on her arm. He straightened, glaring at the intruder. "You mind? We were having a private conversation."

Chris winced at the venom in his tone but, as before, refused to back down. He turned to Alley. "Listen, Chex and I have to be back at the dorms in a few hours. We promised our parents we'd have dinner with them tonight."

"You promised them," Chex corrected.

He ignored her. "Anyway, if you wanted to go shopping for a new phone, maybe have something to eat and do a little sightseeing downtown, we'd probably better leave soon."

"Oh. Sure, lemme go grab my purse. It's upstairs," Alley replied, shooting him a grateful smile as she turned to flee the garage.

"Cock-blocked!" Vinnie sang under his breath as soon as she left, earning himself a whack across the head by Stoker's palm and muffled sniggers from Modo and Throttle.

"And speaking of phones…" Stoker's tail whipped around and plucked the smartphone Chex had been using to covertly snap pictures neatly from her fingers. "Ah-ah. None of that now," he scolded, not unkindly, as he browsed the files.

"Hey!" she yelped. "Give that back! What're you doing?"

"Just a little damage control." He navigated the touch screen with ease before tossing the gadget back to her.

She hastily checked it over, jaw dropping. "You deleted them! You deleted everything! All of my info … my videos! Do you know how hard it was to get some of this stuff?" she lamented.

"I'm sorry for your loss," Stoker deadpanned, not looking sorry in the least. "No offense, Red, but I don't fancy having our ruggedly handsome mugs plastered all over the internet. Makes it real hard to work when you've got people out hunting you down for a celebrity snapshot. Kindly refrain from future endeavors."

Chex pouted. "What's wrong with wanting to show Chicago that we've got our very own superheroes protecting us from the mafia? The cops sure as hell don't do anything about it."

"Oh. Uh…" Alley offered a sheepish grin as she descended the stairs, having overheard the conversation. "Yeah, about that mafia story I fed you…"

Chex's eyes widened. "No way. Is Limburger an alien, too?"

"Something like that."

"Awesome!"

"Not really, no." Alley shot her a funny look. "He's trying to strip-mine the planet, starting with Chicago. There's nothing remotely awesome about it."

"Is that why he wants the school?" Chris asked. "He wants to rip it apart?"

"Likely. It's sitting on a choice piece of property," Stoker grunted. "Lots of resources to ship off to Plutark."

"Is that his planet? And that's why you guys are here. To stop him from doing it?"

"Yep."

"But why?" Chex asked. "I mean, this isn't your home. Why are you risking your necks for a world that doesn't even know you exist?"

"Because the Plutarkians are a disease that need to be wiped out," Modo growled, eye glowing. "They started with our planet Mars, and nearly demolished our entire race. Earth is next on the list, and unlike Mars, it doesn't have the kind of defenses needed to beat 'em off."

"And once they're through with this dirt ball, they'll move on to the next," Throttle added. "Just like a huge, smelly swarm of … waddaya call 'em? Locusts?"

"We do have nuclear weapons," Chris said doubtfully.

"Hah! The stinkfish live off that sorta thing!" Vinnie scoffed. "Toxic waste and radiation and destruction … they eat it for breakfast. A couple of nuclear bombs wouldn't even slow 'em down."

"Yeah, all you'd be doin' is helpin' em rip up the planet that much faster," Modo added, snapping his fingers for emphasis.

The twins exchanged glances. "The government—" Chris started.

"Is next to useless," Stoker cut him off with a snort. "They can't do anything we're not already doin'. Besides, it'll just come back to nuclear warfare and vaporizing their own planet in a useless attempt to get rid of the Plutarkians."

"Yeah, and then they'll probably turn around an' use the same methods on us," Vinnie grumbled.

"That's true," Charley agreed with a sigh. "I don't think Earth is ready for the knowledge that 'little green men' actually exist." She chuckled when Vinnie huffed, tweaking his ear. "Don't worry, you're all much cuter than E.T.," she teased.

"And about time you admitted it, Babe," he replied, crossing his arms smugly. But he was blushing under his fur.

"What I don't get," Alley cut in, "is how they don't already know. I mean, people are talking about you guys online, and Chex probably isn't the only one who's tried to take pictures and videos. Right?"

"Oh, sure." Chex shrugged. "Media gets posted on various sites all the time. The problem is, it never stays posted. It's like the moment new footage appears, the site goes poof for a few minutes. When it comes back online, all the footage is gone. Happens every time. The Mouseketeers think—"

"The Mouseketeers?"

Chex laughed at the disgust written across four furry faces. "It's what the forum folk call themselves. Don't look at me like that, I didn't come up with it!"

"Well, come up with somethin' else," Vinnie grumbled. "That name's just embarrassing!"

"Yeah, sure, I'll get right on that." Chex rolled her eyes. "Anyway, the general theory is the government is responsible for getting rid of the evidence. Keep the knowledge of alien warfare happening right under our noses from getting out to the general populace. Hold off the world-wide panic it'd cause. In the meantime, hope the two species end up wiping themselves out nice and neat, and save taxpayer dollars by not having to send in our own military to finish the job."

"And they're not at all worried that two alien species with superior technology battling over our planet might end up, I dunno, completely obliterating it instead?" Alley asked skeptically.

"Hey, I did say it was a theory."

"And that's all it is," Stoker put in, shaking his head with amusement. "Sorry to burst your conspiracy bubble, but none of Earth's governments are responsible for keepin' this invasion under wraps. Mars has been monitoring your satellites for decades. Any evidence of alien species that pops up is immediately eliminated, especially Martian and Plutarkian. Can't risk having our own civilization exposed trying to save yours, after all."

"You can't possibly silence everyone who finds out about you," Chris argued. "What about the probes we send up?"

"Bah. Inferior Earthen technology. Easily compromised," the mouse snorted. "As for the rest, well…" He tapped one of his antenna. "These ain't here just for show, ya know. We have ways."

"What do you mean?"

"Memory wipes," Throttle grunted, mouth twisting with distaste.

"You can do that?" Charley asked, startled. Clearly, this was news to her.

"Not all of us," Vinnie told her. "Only a few 'specially powerful empaths are trained for that sorta thing. Ain't easy, and fiddlin' around with another person's brain is pretty frowned upon. I mean, one wrong move an' you've got a drooling vegetable on your hands."

"Luckily we have little cause to employ such techniques," Stoker added, expression grim. "But there's been a time or two when the wrong person discovered us, and we've been forced to go in for a little … mental rewiring."

"And by 'we', do you actually mean you?" Alley asked. Stoker didn't answer. But his silence spoke volumes. She frowned. "Have you ever … made a wrong move?"

"No," he replied firmly. "But my predecessor did, with another empathic race from the Quantrum Sector."

"The what now?"

"Another galaxy. You wouldn't have heard of it. That was a bad job. Pretty much the guidelines of what not to do when attempting a mind-wipe. Not only scrambled the poor bastard on the receiving end, but his own brain, as well. That's when I was pulled in to take over his position by the army. This was back before the Freedom Fighters, of course. When I was just a young punk, barely older'n Rimfire." He nodded at Modo.

"You never told us this before, Stoke," Vinnie said, sounding awed.

"Ain't somethin' I like to talk about," he replied. "Not a part of my life I'm particularly proud of. For the greater good or not, there's no honor in wipin' another person's mind. Especially when you're never told why you're doin' it in the first place. Toward the end, before I defected, I had my suspicions that the government was gettin' a little corrupt. They were sendin' us in more 'n more often to 'take care of things'. I suspect it was to keep control over an increasingly disgruntled population, when Plutark stepped in an' started buyin' up Martian property."

"And that's why you formed the Freedom Fighters," Throttle finished.

"Yep. That about sums it up. Somebody had to protect what was left of our people. We're all they had left."

"Your own government sold you out?" Alley asked softly.

"Money is power, honey. Even on other planets. Corruption is a universal problem." Stoker glanced at Chex with a raised eyebrow. "And you might consider tellin' your online buddies to start bein' a little more careful what they slap up on their sites. I may not be one of the army's guard dogs anymore, but that don't mean I've forgotten what to do. And there're still more guard dogs who ain't as nice as me, either. You annoy the wrong people or become a big enough threat, you just might find yourselves on the wrong end of Martian antenna."

Chex gulped, face paling under her makeup. Even Chris looked a little green around the gills.

"Great. Well, now that you've finished terrifying my friends, I think it's time for us to go," Alley muttered, starting toward the Caprice.

"Hold up, there!" Charley snagged her by the back of the shirt as she passed, bringing her up short. "Just so you know, you 'n me are gonna have a talk when you get back."

"What'd I do?"

Charley shot her a look. "Guess."

Alley's brow furrowed. "Oh, what, you're pissed 'cause I was worried about you? That's gratitude."

"Do you honestly believe that's why I'm upset?"

The cousins stubbornly faced each other down, before Alley conceded defeat, shoulders slumping. "Okay, okay," she grumbled. "You can bust my chops when I get back. Just lemme get these two out of your hair first." She stomped to the twins, who were now waiting in the car.

"What was that all about?" Chris asked as she opened the passenger door and slid in.

"Somebody in trouble?" Chex teased from the back seat.

Alley waved off their questions. "Don't worry about it. Right before you arrived, we were having a … family discussion of sorts. I might've said a few things I shouldn't have in front of a few people I shouldn't have… She's a little steamed about it."

Chex hummed. "Wanna hide out in the dorms for awhile until the storm blows over?" she offered. "I could probably stuff you under the bed."

Alley laughed. "Thanks, but I'll take my licks like a good little soldier, and pray Charley doesn't decide to send me packing back to Florida."

They drove in silence for a few minutes, before Chex leaned forward, draping her gloved arms over the back of the bench seat. "Hey, you think that Stoker guy was serious about the whole, you know, mind-wipe thing?" she asked.

Alley shrugged, poking through the cassette tapes Chris had stashed in a worn shoebox on the seat between them. "Dunno why he'd lie about it. He's a trained soldier, and from what I've heard, he's got some mad skills on the battlefield. Like, a four-star general or something. The mice do have some sort of telepathic ability. I guess some could be strong enough to erase memories." She chose a cassette and shoved it into the player; Queen's These are the Days of Our Lives blasted over the speakers. "Oh, I love this song!" She began to sing along.

Chex shifted impatiently. "But, like, do you think he'd really do it?" she pressed.

"I dunno. Maybe. Why do you want to know?"

Chris snorted. "She probably wants to go tell all her little forum buddies where they can find them. She never could keep a secret."

"Shut up," Chex grumbled, slumping back in her seat.

Frowning, Alley turned around in her seat. "Look, I can't say what Stoker may or may not do, but I can tell you that all four of those guys are way protective of Charley. They consider her one of theirs, and they'll fight tooth and nail to defend their own. If you go blabbing their location around and end up putting her or her garage in danger, getting mind-wiped will be the least of your worries. You've already seen Modo in action. Do you really wanna risk pissing off a bunch of trained rebel soldiers who can heft concrete walls with their bare hands?"

Chex didn't have much to say on the matter after that.

Alley could only hope she wouldn't have much to say on the matter at any future time, either.

#bmfm fanfiction #BMFM #Main cast #OCs #humor #romance #adventure

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yourocdoeswhat · 6 years

Text

“I wish I could get snails that live longer but it’s illegal so I keep the ones from mom’s garden.”

Scott was always welcome at the James’ house. Mrs. James insisted that Scott call her Auntie, and whenever he was dragged to their house she’d greet him with a ruffling to his hair and a peanut butter and banana sandwich. In the eight years he’d known Rats, that never changed. Rats never changed and the James house never changed. He would often find himself there, laying on their carpet and eating their food while he and Rats hung out because they were the only people who could stand each other for long periods of time.

Scott liked being there, sometimes more than his own house with his fuckton of brothers and sisters. Rats was an only kid, so he had toys he didn’t need to share when they were kids, and then when they got too old to play with legos he got remote controlled cars, nice bikes, and a whole shelf in the fridge dedicated to food that he wanted.

Had it really been eight months since he’d been there? Things looked the same on the outside when he went up to the door. There was the garden that got replaced every year after winter killed it off. The welcome mat with the green flowers that was faded so it looked like it was saying WEI OOME under his feet. Mister James’ truck was there, but it was dirty which was weird because Mister James never let his truck get dirty. Their dumb cat was laying in the purple flower bed, ignoring him just as much as usual.

Eight months.

He knocked and waited, and noted that the bright blue door had been repainted a different shade. Now it was more like the sky, rather than the eggshell color of before.

Mrs. James answered the door and paused. Mrs. James was a pretty woman, with curly dark hair with a few strands of silver throughout, and the discomfort on her face didn’t sit well. “Ah.” She said. “Did Trevor invite you over?”

What a weird way to say hi. “Yeah, I needed some help with my homework.” Scott lied. “Can’t make heads or tails of Hamlet no matter how hard I try.”

The worried lines on Mrs. James face smoothed, and she exhaled. “Okay. Good.” She let Scott inside.

The recliner in the living room was gone, and the house looked clean for once. That wasn’t right. The place should smell like beer and Mr. James should be in that recliner drinking and reading one of his car magazines. Where was Mr. James? He always got home before five. Mrs. James didn’t have anything to tell him and went back to wherever she came from. Not towards the kitchen, but towards some back room.

Well, Scott could make his own sandwiches. He migrated to the kitchen and rifled through everything. Rats’ mom was a cool lady and did a lot of DIY home stuff. She was the person who usually fixed up their bikes and then would paint them with cool patterns. He still had his bike helmet with the flying bat-winged skulls on them. The kitchen was painted in funky colors, and the tiles were all mismatched original things that Mrs. James did since she was really into ceramics. Even the grout was different colors. It was different from Scott’s house which was a plain brown tile to match granite countertops and plain beige walls. There wasn’t a single ounce of beige in this house. Mrs. and Mr. James never planned to sell, and they were both in their 40’s, so it wouldn’t have to be put on the market for a long time. He hoped that the next people wouldn’t just tear everything out and make it boring.

The fridge was empty of beer and Mr. James’ medication that had to be kept cool. Was he on a business trip? To get a new recliner? There were no bananas in the house. Why? Rats ate bananas too, why weren’t there any bananas? Maybe Mrs. James hadn’t gone to the store this week, and that’s why there was no beer or medication.

Scott went to Rats’ room with a peanut butter sandwich and a bottle of water. On the door of Rats’ room was a big wooden T. One side was painted red, and the other side was blue. The blue side was facing Scott. Weird. Maybe it was some kind of sign to keep out, or something else.

Rats’ room hadn’t changed much, thankfully. Scott sat his sandwich and water down on his desk, carefully avoiding his laptop that was already pretty greasy and fingerprint-stained.

Rats’ whole setup was interesting. He had a bunk bed that was minus the bottom bunk. They used to take cheap curtains and hang them up so the space under the bunk was cloaked in shadow. Then they’d play dragons and they’d pretend like their legos were the hoard they were protecting. Or they’d be knights and defend the castle (being the top bunk) from bad guys. Now the space held a wooden box full of sand, and when he glanced in he could see two tortoises slowly crawling about. Since when did he get those? He picked up his sandwich and started to eat it and walked around, snooping without touching anything.

Rats had a blanket thrown over his TV, which was odd. Back in elementary school, they’d watch the animal planet together after school was out and before Scott’s parents could come home. It was better than the after-school program, at least. Did he not watch TV anymore?

It looked like Rats’ other animal setup hadn’t changed, and Scott narrowed his eyes at the aquarium. Rats’ snail tank wasn’t changed, so Scott didn’t bother looking at those. He was surprised when he didn’t see what he was looking for, and instead, there was an ugly yellow beta fish in his aquarium. What happened to Superman? Rats had loved the blue and red beta more than his own family, so what was this ugly thing doing here?

“Who let you in?”

Scott didn’t flinch or turn his head. “Yer mahm let meh in.” Scott said through a mouthful of peanut butter sandwich. “Whoh elsh?”

Rats hadn’t changed much in the past nine months, other than his hair having gotten a little darker. He looked tired, mostly, like he wanted to climb up and go to bed even though he just got home from whatever-the-fuck he did after school now. Scott didn’t really care, because it meant Rats wasn’t hanging out with him so it was probably useless. His hair was still wild and fluffy and dark, but instead of hiding his plain brown eyes the whole mess was parted to one side. It had earned him the nickname in the past. Rats’ nest had been Scott’s affectionate boyishly-mean nickname, and eventually, it became Rats when his baby teeth fell out and his front teeth got big. Not anymore though, since it looked like Rats had braces on.

“Whatever.” Rats said and set his backpack down on the ground. In his arms was a bag of leafy greens and a few cucumbers, along with a cheese grater. Rats went to the tortoise enclosure and laid out some piles of green stuff and shredded the cucumber on top of it.

Scott wondered if he looked different to Rats. Scott was proud that he grew three inches the past eight months even if it was giving him gnarly stretch marks, but everything else was the same. Scott still had the same strawberry blond hair buzzed close to his head, the same freckles and acne, and the same sneer that never really left his face. Rats weren’t looking at him, so he figured it didn’t matter.

“So, tortoises,” Scott said when Rats wouldn’t talk. He took another bite from his sandwich. “When did chou get thosh?”

“A few months ago.” Rats said. “They’re both five. Girls.”

“What’cha name em?” He asked.

“Lady and Missy.” He said. “The browner one is Lady.” Rats watched as the tortoises went to town on the wet cucumber.

“How’d you get them?”

Rats didn’t answer and instead answered a question with a question. “Why the fuck are you here, Scott?”

Scott rolled his eyes. “You’ve been avoiding me and I wanted to know what the fuck was up.”

“Yeah?’ Rats said. “What makes you think that I’ve been avoiding you?”

“You don’t come to hang out after school, you unfriended me on facebook, you didn’t come to my birthday party, and you didn’t invite me to your birthday party this year-”

“I didn’t have a birthday party this year, Scott,” Trevor said.

Scott narrowed his eyes. “That’s bullshit if I ever heard it. Why-”

“Because my dad died a week before my birthday.” Rats spat out.

Scott’s mind came to a screeching halt. “What?”

“I said my dad fucking died!” Rats snapped.

“Dude, what the fuck?” Scott exclaimed.

His mind raced. Mr. James wasn’t a saint, but he was an okay man who always had a good word for Scott. Scott liked Mrs. James better, but Mr. James would talk to Scott and actually listen, unlike his actual father who was all mhm’s and years when Scott wanted to talk about something. Sure, he drank, but he wasn’t an alcoholic as far as Scott knew. He was decent to Scott, and a good dad to Rats.

He didn’t feel comfortable talking about that though, so he jumped to the next thing that came to mind. “How are you, like, still here? Your mom doesn’t work.”

“Maybe it’s none of your business.” Rats said.

“None of my- dude! I’ve known you for like eight years! How is that not my business?” Scott’s eyes were wide, watching as Rats hid his face through his cloud of wild hair.

“It’s not your business because you’re not my friend anymore.” Rats said.

Scott blinked, hard. “What did you just say?”

“I don’t want to be your friend anymore,” Trevor said. “So I haven’t been talking to you because I don’t want to. We don’t go to the same high school, and I don’t like you.” Rats stressed.

“What?” Scott said. “Where is this coming from?”

“Where?” Rats said. “It’s coming from eight years of bullshit! You’ve treated me like garbage for a long time and I’m sick of it.

“Hey!” Scott snapped. “I’ve been your best friend for a long time! You don’t fucking meann\ that.”

“And yet I haven’t felt better in my life.” Rats sucked in a breath. “I actually... really hate you, I think.”

“Come on Rats-”

“Like that fucking nickname.” Rats snapped. “I hate that nickname.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me! How am I supposed to know that you feel bad when you don’t tell me?”

“As if you would have listened.” Rats said and got up to head to the beta tank and drop in a few fish pellets. “I don’t have to explain myself to you. If you can’t figure out why I don’t want you around, then you’re not only a bad person but you’re also stupid too. Please leave.”

What could Scott say to that? He was shoved out of Trevor’s room and the door was slammed in his face. After a moment the door opened and his half-eaten sandwich and water bottle were shoved into his hands, and the door slammed in his face again. Scott stared at the door, wondering how the hell this ended up happening. His face was flushed bright with anger and some kind of deep hurt that brought tears to his eyes. He angrily blinked them away.

Scott was in high school, he couldn’t be crying over something as dumb as his best friend kicking him out of his house.

#some writing

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wheezyboykaspbrak · 7 years

Text

d&d losers club headcanons

- it switches between bev, ben, and mike usually dming bc honestly their voices are easier to listen to for 5 (and up) hours and they ESPECIALLY make the best adventures!

- they are the type to spend at least 7 hours on character creation, some of them acting all too well their part and getting far too into it (when the game hasn’t even started yet).

- god someone!!! always brings fucking snacks!!! the players handbook and manuals all belong to stan and if someone ends up touching a book with their salt covered fingers he will (has) scream(ed)

SPECIFIC LOSERS!

- my boy, big bill, tends to main as a paladin- keeping true to the lawful good alignment. he’s a bit boring with his race, but he likes to stick with a half elf, and of course he starts with a horse (who he affectionately names silver) and a long sword. he’s a player who is more so playing for the fun of rping and acting with his buds! he also likes helping build the story, and he is the loser who ends up drawing all the others characters in the corners of his school notebooks and character sheet.

- BEN. a dm and also practical when it comes to character creation. he usually loses the fight and is unable to pry bard from one of the other losers greasy hands, so instead he usually is a human barbarian (they all scoff collectively when he announces he’s a human- but hey, no disadvantages besides the usual chide). he likes to get the most cost effective weapon he can at first, and is a frequent user of barbarian rage whenever he can manage (especially when beverly is placed in front of the party). he gives long poetic descriptions of his character, and is one of the people who likes to play for the story and also because he likes to get things done- which they only manage to really do every other time. also, he’s chaotic good! a true good hearted barbarian boy ben.

- stan. stan, the man. that boy is a elf and a wizard, a damn determined one at that. his main school of magic is illusion, but he also likes to switch between that and conjuration for his magic user!!!! he likes to dick around with the other losers, but in character, and will cast figment spells frequently to pit the party characters against each other, or have them pick fights with merchants. chaotic neutral, and carries a club even with the bad melee stats (because ‘it’s just like a short, thick baseball bat, right?’). he plays the game to win, definitely, and he is a treasure hoarder, and somehow INCREDIBLY lucky when it comes to looting/perception checks (especially when mike is dming, but no one really says anything about it). also! the party meets up at his house, usually, if not mike’s.

- okay, mike is my son and his main is Precious. he is a druid gnome, usually, when he isn’t dming! he likes to get a big ass dire rat, and he will give his character the most ridiculous name ever but he will say it, wholly, with a completely straight face. “yes, sorry, footcheese mcsmegmaseeds will use melee this round.” all the other losers usually shorten it, because if they don’t, they would bust out laughing every time. he uses a wooden club (druids can’t use metal, and he always ends up giving all his cool stuff he finds to his friends anyway!), with his alignment being usually true neutral! he and bill are always, somehow, promoted to leader status in the party even if they don’t do anything to gain it? and mike is just looking to have a good time, anyway! he also likes to win- and is a little disappointed when richie ends up ruining a good roll for him or any of the others. but! as long as everyone else is having a good time, he knows that he will too. he is also a gold hoarder, and is reluctant to buy any new weapon when he already has a big ass rat by his side anyway.

- the boy who usually snatches bard away from ben? oh, that’s richie, and god does he get into it. along side it he is also usually chaotic neutral and a dwarf, dropping his voice down to be very hardy and deep when he manages to slip in a ballad. yes, he actually sings, and he will even occasionally bring a kazoo- just about making any kind of noise for backup. his voices are loud and obnoxious the whole time, and he’s the one who never stops fucking around! in fact, that’s the main reason he plays- because he likes to mess around with the other losers, ruining their ambushes and perfectly played out speech attempts, shaking the table on a roll. he argues the game isn’t fun if it’s completely perfect, and they all secretly agree with him (after they all collectively knock him hard out of his chair).

- BEV. y’all all know beverly is the ranger when she isn’t dming. bev’s a ranger and a half orc- and for the sake of the party, she usually picks lawful neutral (but she would love to be chaotic evil, if she knew bill wasn’t going to be a paladin). every other turn she tries to rapid shoot her enemies (if she has the ability), and also acts as a rogue if the party doesn’t have one! she likes to jokingly take insignificant things from the enemies, and sometimes the dms (ben especially) will make them have monumental importance later if they decide to continue that one campaign. she likes to play to goof, and also enjoy spending time with the boys. when she dms, she makes the best noises out of the three.

- eddie. god. they all laugh when he picks to be a halfling (”of course!”) but he also ends up being their cleric, and pissing off the cleric is like playing with fire. he’s lawful good- most halflings are, but he has a problem of skittering from his alignment more so than the other losers. he likes to play to win, and if there is a path decision that needs to be made eddies opinion is always top priority! even though with everything else he is incredibly, incredibly unlucky. it’s at the point where richie will just leave the table completely still and even clamp a hand over his own mouth when it’s eddies turn to roll. eddies favorite spell is the sleep spell, but he will usually try and use melee in between spells and heals if he can get in close enough. ALSO. he brings the snacks (of course he does), and if richie kazoos eddie will hand whistle in the background out of sync with him during a particularly intense battle.

[i’ve started a campaign w a group of gross bois recently and it has me Inspired (i’ve only played 3.5 which came out??? in the 2000s??? so this might be a stretch for the early 90s editions)]

please add more this is Sparse

#d&d #it 2017 #bill denbrough #ben hanscom #stan uris #stanely uris #mike hanlon #beverly marsh #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #stanlon #reddie #headcanons #losers club #benverly #my hcs

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