#i keep wanting to say 'go put a cowboy hat on soldier if you want a cowboy' | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

prince-septimus · 3 years

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bathroom break

pairing : rick flag x bartender!reader

summary : a team of criminals and a colonel wearing a cowboy hat walk into a bar.

word count : 2.4k

warnings : smut, 18+, minor spoilers for the suicide squad

You had spotted them the moment they walked in -- they stuck out like a sore thumb. The rag-tag group of men and the woman with the rat on her shoulder.

Nothing surprised you anymore, so you paid them no mind.

Not until the man in the cowboy hat stepped up to the bar.

It was a while after they arrived -- all crowded into a table not meant to fit the three giant men in the group, let alone all five of them. They had started off slow, a couple of shots, and then they were all splitting off. You could see a few of them on the dance floor, all clearly lost in their own little world.

The bar isn’t particularly crowded tonight. There’s a few regulars, but nothing that keeps you too busy. That’s why you’re able to spot him stepping up to the counter, a beer bottle in hand as he offers you a cheap smile.

He’d be hard to miss even if you had been distracted.

“What can I get you?” you ask, your hands toying with the rag in your hands as you watch the man carefully. There’s something about him that puts you on edge, and you’re not quite sure yet if it’s a good or bad thing.

“Another beer,” he tells you, his teeth flashing in the neon lights of the bar. There’s a faint drawl to his voice, and you can tell the alcohol he’s drank has caused it to drop. “And a one-way ticket out of here.”

“Not the party type?” You take the bottle from his hands, quickly replacing it with another. “Could’ve fooled me.”

His lips turn up. “It’s the hat, ain’t it?”

There’s a slight hint of a smile on your face.

He shakes his head as he takes a pull from the fresh bottle. “Ladies love the hat.”

You busy yourself with wiping down the counter, trying not to think too much into his words. “What’s your name, cowboy?”

Another smile, this one cocky and full of confidence. “That’s classified.”

You make a face. “You really think I’d tell on you?”

“No, but I do think you could get me into quite a bit of trouble.”

The heat courses through your body so quick, and you’re suddenly very aware of everything about this man: the arrogance with which he wears his combination of a cowboy hat and ratty t-shirt, the cocksure smug he sports across his face, and the way he’s looking at you right now.

Something about him reminds you of men you’ve thrown out before, ones who had gone a little too far and had gotten a little too handsy, but there’s something that tells you this man wouldn’t do either of those things unless requested.

Another swig of his beer, and then the bottle is empty.

“Rick Flag.”

You raise a brow. “Flag? How patriotic.”

“There’s more truth in that statement than I’d like.”

“You’re a soldier?”

“Used to be.”

“And now?”

It’s the first time you see something other than his brash personality show through. There’s something almost like regret etched into his features. “Something like that.”

You frown, feeling the conversation taking a turn that you don’t like. Conversations with bartenders are meant to be pleasant -- something to calm your foggy mind and fuel your drunken desires.

You briefly wonder if he’s drunk.

“Had enough?” you ask, motioning to his bottle.

That smug look returns. “It takes a lot more than a couple of shots and a few beers to get me drunk.”

He gives you a knowing look and you flush at the realization that you had been caught in your motives for asking.

“Do you want another?”

“I think I’m good.” A pause. “Wanna get out of here?”

“I’m working.” You feel dumb when you say it, but it’s true.

It makes Rick laugh. “Okay. What about the bathroom? You do get bathroom breaks, don’t you?”

You glance at the restrooms in the corner. “Anybody who knows better knows not to use our bathrooms.”

“Even better.” Rick grins. “Then they’ll know it was an emergency.”

You feel your mouth fall slack, trying to take in Rick’s sudden forwardness. You know there’s a possibility at losing your job over this, but you couldn’t be the first employee to fuck a patron, right?

Maybe the first to fuck one in the bar’s bathroom.

The space is stuffy and smells faintly of stale piss -- a good sign that you won’t be disturbed. One of the overhead lights is busted, its bulb shattered and littered across the tiled floor. You’re not sure who last cleaned in there, but in no way is anything sanitary and up-to-code.

That doesn’t stop Rick from lifting you up onto the bathroom sink and kissing you so hard your head smacks into the mirror behind you. You let out a groan at the quick pain that courses through your head, but Rick swallows the sound and attempts to pull something sweeter from you. The brim of his hat tips back as you kiss, and you absentmindedly push it off, letting it fall to the floor before his shirt follows.

You push him away just enough to admire his exposed skin -- his broad chest and tattooed arms. When you meet his gaze you can see that confidence still hidden there.

You reach for his jeans, yanking on the button and zipper and trying your best to push them down. Rick takes the opportunity to attach his mouth to your neck, sucking a bruise into the underside of your jaw as he takes over for you, kicking his shoes off and pushing his pants down in one quick movement.

“You’ve got too many clothes on,” he breathes against your skin, “not fair.”

You push on his chest again before yanking your own shirt off, throwing it into the growing pile on the floor. Rick reaches around you, deftly releasing the latch of your bra and pulling the fabric from your body. As his lips land on your bare shoulder, light kisses pressed into your skin, Rick reaches down to undo your jeans.

The next moment is the most awkward, and there’s laughter from both of you as Rick deftly pulls your shoes off before you try to lift up enough for your pants to follow. He struggles to pull the tight fabric from around your waist, but finally gets them off. It’s awkward and clumsy and there’s something oddly intimate about it.

And then Rick’s fingers are against the growing wetness of your panties and you’re crying out against his mouth at the stimulation.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he drawls against your lips, “so wet for me already.”

His fingers smooth up and down the fabric, giving enough stimulation to make you feel something, but not enough to get off. You push a hand through his hair, trying to coax some sort of sound from him to mix with your own, and with a slight yank on the hair at the nape of his neck, Rick is groaning out loud. His eyes shut as his hand against you picks up speed, rubbing more earnestly now.

Just as you feel the hint of something start to grow, Rick pulls his hand away, a smirk painted across his face as he looks at your disheveled state.

“You bastard,” you breathe out, resting your hands on either side of you as you try to catch your breath.

Rick laughs. “I’ve been called worse.”

There’s a lull in the action then, and it takes you a moment to figure out why.

“I don’t have a condom,” Rick says softly.

You smile, wiping at the sweat gathering on your forehead before pointing to the machine in the corner. You’re not sure when they had last been changed out, but you’re sure they’re good enough to use still.

It’s another slightly intimate moment -- you watching Rick fumble with the machine before finally producing a condom and holding it up in success. It’s cute, the grin that forms on his face when he turns back to you.

“Still okay with this?” he asks, unwrapping the condom before pushing down his briefs to put it on.

You bite your lip at the sight of him, almost forgetting that your own underwear are still on. When you reach to take them off, Rick reaches out to stop you.

“Keep ‘em on,” he tells you gently. He steps back up to the sink, standing between your legs as he reaches a hand down. His fingers skim across the fabric of your panties before he’s hooking into them and pulling them to the side.

There’s something about the action that turns you on so much you forget to breathe for half a second, and it catches you off-guard when he finally slides into you -- slowly filling you to the brim.

“Good?” he asks, panting slightly, and all you can do is nod as you let the feeling of him inside you completely wash over you.

The first moments are slow, both of you trying to get used to the feel and the position. And then his arms are hooking under your thighs, changing the position slightly and causing him to go almost deeper. You let out a small cry at the sensation as he begins to pick up the speed.

The mirror shakes with the force that he’s fucking into you with, and it leaves you breathless with each stroke. He’s pressing his lips against yours, but it’s nothing close to a kiss, just two mouths pressing against each other as you both try to get a hold on the feelings.

It’s all so overwhelming, and you whine into Rick’s mouth as his hands grip your hips and use that hold to push you against him. You can feel the beginnings of your orgasm returning, a little quicker than normal due to the previous stimulation, and you put a hand on Rick’s chest, trying to steady yourself.

“Almost there,” he tells you, his pace turning sloppy.

When you look at him, his pupils are blown out. He moves his hands up to grab your neck, pushing you back against the mirror. The position is more clunky, a little harder to manage, but Rick never stops moving against you as he swipes his tongue into your mouth.

He’s kissing you when your orgasm hits, swallowing your moans as he sets a frantic pace, trying to get himself off. The overstimulation hits like a truck, and you’re practically crying out against Rick’s mouth.

When his orgasm hits, he falls against you. You absentmindedly wrap your arms around his shoulders as he buries his face into your shoulder, groaning out as he finishes inside the condom. You hadn’t noticed a chill to the bathroom before, but now you can feel it creep up along your skin and you try to use Rick’s body against yours to keep warm.

“You were right about these bathrooms,” Rick says a few minutes later when both of your chests have stopped heaving. He lifts up slightly from you, glancing around the dingy bathroom before carefully pulling himself out of you. The action causes both of you to let out a hiss at the sensitivity, and then you’re making a choked noise when Rick lets his fingers brush across your slit before he pulls your panties back into place.

“Cheeky,” you breathe out, “very cheeky.”

“I try.” He gives you a quick wink as he reaches down to grab at the pile of clothes across the floor. “You think they’re still clean enough to wear?”

“They’ll have to be,” you chirp, taking your clothes and shoes from his arms.

It’s the last intimate moment of the night, the two of you getting dressed beside each other in a dirty bar bathroom. Rick bumps his shoulder against yours as he pulls his shoes back on and you offer him a giddy grin. You snatch his hat from the floor, pretending to brush the dirt off the brim and placing it atop his head. Rick smiles at you, a smile that’s less cocky and more saccharine. You reach for the door after the two of you finish getting dressed, carefully pushing it open to look around the bar. It’s slowly emptying as the night goes on, but there’s still enough people to not make it so obvious when the two of you slip out from the bathroom.

“It’s not the worst walk of shame I’ve done,” you comment, taking pleasure in the way Rick’s brows shoot up as he follows you back to the bar.

“I’m shameful now, am I?”

“More like shameless.” You take your position back behind the bar as Rick takes the seat across from you. When you look out into the dimly lit room, you spot the group Rick had originally come in with. “I think your friends are onto you.”

Rick follows your gaze, offering a small wave to the group when he spots them. “They’ll be fine. Everyone’s got to use the bathroom once in a while, right?”

The look Rick gives you then sends you into a fit of giggles. “Bathroom break. Sure.”

Rick waits for you to settle down before he’s giving you that sweet smile from earlier.

You look at him strangely. “What?”

“I had fun,” Rick tells you, “wouldn’t mind doing it again next time I’m around.”

You scoff playfully, “I bet you wouldn’t.” You still reach for a pen and scrap piece of paper, quickly scribbling your name and number down and handing it to Rick.

Rick stares at the paper for a second before he says your name, a small twang in his voice. It occurs to you that you previously hadn’t given your name, and he's grinning at you like a mad man. “At least now I know who’s name to call out next time.”

Rick leaves you with that, heading back to his friends who all give him a pat on the back as he passes. There's a heat in your face from his words that you’re not sure will ever go away.

#an alternative ending to that bar scene in the suicide squad #aka my attempt at giving rick some fucking happiness #its what he deserves james gunn #rick flag x reader #rick flag #rick flag imagine #the suicide squad #the suicide squad imagine #the suicide squad spoilers

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hotchseyebrows · 3 years

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bau couples costumes: because i am still just as ridiculous as ive always been

morcia: gomez and morticia (you will get no explanation. use your mind and see the truth.)

jemily: needy and jennifer from jennifer's body (they have Taste and its halloween so is there a better time to break out the blood stained clothes and pretend to be amanda seyfried and megan fox???)

moreid: frankenstein and his monster (spencer really guns for some obsurce russian horror movie characters but derek convinces him this will be more fun. and hes totally right, spencer has the worlds most convenient excuse to ramble about the book and its various adaptations all night. derek has never loved him more)

penemily: rick o'connell and evelyn carnahan from the mummy (emily shares the same "i will roar back into the face of the ancient cursed mummy with superpowers" energy rick has and penelope is a beautiful genius end of story)

hotchreid: hades and persephone (because spencer is not just smart hes a GEEK, plus they could go for an aesthetic that keeps hotch in a suit which is good for comfort reasons)

temily: poison ivy and harley quinn (emily in the vibrant colors from birds of prey!? tara in the iconic green and with vines all over her!? im gonna go pass out now)

garvez: batman and catwoman (the the thought of luke walking around pretending to be like this >:( when really everytime he sees penelope in the skintight catwoman body suit he goes :D is extraordinary)

garceid: ten and rose from doctor who (they are tender nerdy nerds and have the most fun with this ever)

ralvez: jedidiah and octavius from night at the museum (luke as a goofy idiot cowboy and spencer as a uptight roman soldier 😍😍😍)

morceid: kermit, miss piggy, and fozzie bear (its penelopes idea because she really wants to wear one of the outrageously incredible miss piggy outfits and she thinks that her boys would look so cute in quintessential kermit and fozzie clothes. derek Will Not stop saying wocka wocka all day and spencer gets a little banjo that he wont put down. its the best idea she thinks she's ever had.)

gotch: mary poppins and burt (with the umbrellas!! and the hats!! hotch is still a theatre nerd so he hums the songs to her and she makes him dance around the living room)

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mcu1shots · 3 years

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Dance The Night Away (Stucky x Reader)

This Was Made As a Part of Halloweek!

Female!Reader spends her Halloween dancing with 40s!Bucky and Pre-Serum!Steve

Genre(s): Fluff

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1158

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“Come on, Stevie, you’re feeling better, we should have a nice night,” Bucky told Steve, laying the costume that he had pulled together for him onto the bed.

“Buck, I’m gonna look ridiculous,” Steve pointed out as he looked at the clothes the other man had laid out on the bed.

“Well if you don’t put on a costume then Y/N and I will be the only ones dressed up,” Bucky replied as he looked at the mirror that hung on the wall and straightened out his tie.

Steve scoffed. “Your military clothes hardly count,” he replied, pulling on the clothes that Bucky had gotten him despite all of the protesting.

“You sayin’ you want me ta wear somethin’ else?” Bucky looked at the man in the mirror, watching him change with a smirk.

“I’m saying I look ridiculous and you don’t,” Steve replied, looking over to the door when he heard a knock.

“Hello?” Came your voice from the other side.

“It’s open, doll!” Bucky called as he grabbed his hat and set it on his head, looking over as you opened up the door and walked in.

You were wearing a black dress, simple enough, and you had a pointy black hat perched atop your head. “You boys ready to get going?” You asked, knowing the dance hall down the street was going to be serving half priced drinks and a raffle to buy war bonds.

“Can’t you tell, doll?” Bucky asked as he strolled over to you, his arm going over your shoulders as he ducked under your hat to press a kiss onto your cheek.

“Buck’s a soldier and I’m a…” Steve glanced at himself in the mirror and fixed his hat. “Bucky, what am I supposed to be dressed as?” He asked.

Bucky scoffed. “You’re a cowboy Steve, like in that film we saw in the cinema a few weeks back,” he replied, when seeing the unimpressed look on Steve’s face he just chuckled. “What were you expectin’ ta be, punk, a superhero?”

Steve just shook his head and walked over to you. “Come on, let's get going. I think a half-priced drink is exactly what I need to accept this costume.” Bucky rolled his eyes, a fond smile on his face. “Come on, punk,” he grabbed his hand and pulled him out of the apartment, letting go quickly though. To the rest of the world, you were Bucky’s girlfriend and Steve was just tagging along, but the three of you knew it was more complicated than that. That you were both of theirs and that they were also each other’s.

The walk to the dance hall was short and as you got closer you could already hear the music pouring out of the door that was propped open and excitement filled you. Bucky noticed and squeezed your shoulders. “Let me just get one drink in me and then we can dance the night away,” he said.

She smiled. “Well, I have to save a couple dances for Stevie,” you said as you walked inside, heading over to the bar like he had requested.

Steve shook his head. “I don’t want to step on your toes, literally. I’ll just stay by the bar and admire how pretty you look tonight,” he said with a bit of a shy smile. He had recently been getting more confident with his flirtatious remarks, you and Bucky were proud of him for that.

With that the three of you headed to the bar and ordered drinks, paying on the spot since you didn’t want to start a tab that you ended up not being able to afford. Bucky tried to pay for yours as well but you stopped him, saying you could take care of yourself and setting down the money for it.

You were only halfway through your drinks when you heard your favourite song come on. You gasped and set your drink down, knowing Steve could keep an eye on it for you. “Come on, Buck, we have to dance,” you grabbed his left hand since his right was holding his glass and tugged him onto the dance floor, barely leaving him enough time to set his drink on the bar.

“Woah, easy doll, you’ll rip my arm off.” he joked as he followed you, playfully rubbing his shoulder as you rolled your eyes. Then his hand went to your waist, and yours went to his shoulder, your free hands intertwining.

And one song turned into two. And then three. And then four. And after that you lost count. You laughed and danced to the songs, occasionally going back to the bar to sip on your drinks and get shy compliments from Steve who also seemed to be having a good time, only for one of you to be interested in the song again and pull you back to the dance floor.

You were there until your feet started to hurt, at which point Bucky insisted that he carry you home, of course having to do it bridal style. So you just looped your arms around his neck and leaned into his chest.

Steve walked along next to you, a smile on his face. You had been worried he’d get bored, but he seemed to have enjoyed his night just fine. Then a cough slipped past his lips as Bucky set you down in the boys’ shared apartment and instantly both of your gazes were on Steve.

“Stevie, you alright?” Bucky asked, walking over and placing a hand on his shoulder, a worried look crossing his face.

Steve just nodded. “Yeah. Guy next to me was smoking a cigar, my chest just feels a bit tight,” he explained, heading to the kitchen to get a glass of water.

“Do you have your inhaler?” You asked, walking away from Bucky to go search for it, but Steve shook his head.

“Ran out last week, haven’t gotten it filled. It’s not too bad though, I’ll be fine,” Steve said. Bucky just walked over to him and picked him up, a grin on his face. “Nice try, Rogers. You’re goin’ ta bed,” he brought him over to the bed in the apartment and carefully lay him down, he was about to protest until you laid next to him.

“Did you have a good night, Stevie?” You asked with a smile.

He nodded and put his arm around your shoulders, to which you tossed off your hat and cuddled into him. “I did. Happy Halloween, love,” Steve replied, matching your smile with one of your own.

“I’m glad. Happy Halloween, boys,” you said, yawning and cuddling further into Steve who pulled you close.

Bucky chuckled, there was no space left for him. But he would sleep on the floor and hold Steve’s hand, so he walked over, pulling over a pillow and a blanket and lay down, just looking up at you too happily. “Happy Halloween, doll. Punk.”

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mudhornchronicles · 3 years

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dreamboat | greaser!frankie morales | part two

diner cred to @thatretrobitch

pairing: francisco “catfish” morales x reader; 1950’s greaser!frankie x reader

warnings: swearing, drinking, smoking, ya know… 1950s stuff + death and war, and being rude af

a/n: part two of dreamboat

masterlist

dreamboat: part one | part two

“If I didn’t know any better, Francisco, I’d say you were teacher in a past life.” You look up at him and smirk. He looks over to you and gives you a crooked smile. He adjusts his jacket and runs his left hand through his hair.

Frankie taught you a lot more history than the teacher. Frankie had a lot more patience and explained each topic that was covered in much better detail and simply enough to understand. Like when Hattie Wyatt Caraway of Arkansas became the first woman elected to the U.S. Senate in 1932 to fill the vacancy caused by the death of her husband. Frankie compared it to the demonstration of the first long distance telephone service between New York and San Francisco in 1913 – surprising but needed.

You didn’t have Frankie for a third period, just first and fourth, but he made sure to meet you out each of your classes and walked you over to your next class. He had conversed with the boys about asking you to Rosie’s Diner on Friday night. Everyone knows when a guy takes a little darlin’ down to Rosie’s, she’s unavailable. Frankie knows you probably don’t know what going to the diner with him means but he assumes if you did, you wouldn’t go. So he decides that the less you knew the better – well at least that’s what Tom decided.

“Ya know, doll. I like the way you say my name, but how ‘bout ya just call me Frankie, huh? I don’t use the entire thing anymore.”

You cock your head to the side and your smiles turns into a slight frown. “Do you not like the way Francisco sounds?”

He tucks his hands into his jean pockets, shrugs, and looks down at his dirty Chuck Taylors. “Thanks, I do like it, but it don’t… it don’t sound cool, you know? I got a reputation to keep up – all the guys do.”

Frankie stopped using the name Francisco at the start of freshman year. Pope stopped using Santiago around the same time. Their teachers would call them Francis and Saint because they found it difficult to pronounce the boys’ names correctly. Frankie was too shy to say anything and Pope was still unsure about his accented English, so when Will laughed and told the teacher, “Ain’t that a bite? You got a degree, but can’t pronounce an ABC name,” the boys knew Will was going to be a great friend. The boys thought that would be the end of it, but then Benny decided to join his brother and say, “How ‘bout, since ya feel so high and mighty, you call ‘em Frankie and Pope? We got Francisco like that city on the west coast, so call ‘em Frankie. Then we got Santiago. You wanna call ‘em Saint, then give ‘em the highest honor.”

“Well, if it makes you feel better,” you stopped walking and placed a hand on his arm. “I like your name. I think it suits you very well.”

He smiles and nods. He doesn’t know if he’s nodding because he’s convincing himself he likes it too or if he’s nodding because he’s glad you like it too. He liked your company because you weren’t too invasive, but he could also tell that you wanted to get to know him. He knew he wasn’t the most open to people, he has his father to thank for that.

As young 19-year-old – about a year older than Frankie – his father was drafted and fought in World War 1 in 1918 as a US Army soldier and was then sent off to France a few weeks in to fight with the AEF, the American Expeditionary Forces. Because of this, Frankie’s father wasn’t the most expressive when in public but was easily the most caring when it came to his family. When Frankie was growing up, his father had spoiled his baby boy and made sure he worked hard as a welder so that Frankie wouldn’t want for anything. Frankie remembers his father coming home from work late at night, oil and bits of metal stuck to him, and always turning his frown into a smile when he laid eyes upon his son.

His father’s closure to the world only grew when he saw his family in danger. Frankie figured that by growing up within a military family, it would lead to him serving in the military as his father did before him. When Frankie was coming to the age of enlistment, he told his family about him wanting to go off to the military, but his father was very much against it. All his father wanted for his son was for Frankie to live his life the way he wanted to, so Frankie didn’t enlist. One day when Frankie was at school, recruiters came to the Morales home and were knocking the door down. Frankie’s father had informed them that his son would not be serving. He was told that because Frankie was able, male, and was soon to be of age, he had to enlist whether he was needed or not. His father complied; except he wrote his own name down instead of his son’s.

His father never regretted going to war. He still had nightmares, which Frankie knew all too well. He had met Frankie’s mother when he came back home in 1921 and after years of trying, he was blessed with a son in 1935. All was good in the world until the year 1950 – Frankie was 15 years old. In August of 1950, a letter came in the post reading the following:

SIR: FRANCISCO MORALES SR.

You are hereby notified that you, on the 21 day of August of 1950, have been legally drafted in the service to the Armed Forces of the United States of America. You are to report to the Armed Forces station below and will be transported to Daejeon, Korea.

Frankie’s father never came back.

His body was never recovered – just his ID tags. Frankie’s mother was told that the last transmission received with the whereabouts of Francisco Morales Sr. were near the Nakdong River in South Korea. Frankie always carried his father’s ID tags around his neck no matter where he went. Those tags always reassured him of himself knowing that he was doing what his father wanted him to do.

Frankie walked you down the steps of school building and stopped at the sidewalk. “Ya know, if ya need a ride, I can take ya home – aint no trouble.”

You smile and shake your head. “I appreciate that. I told my mother I’d take the bus back home.” You knew your mother would have a fit if she saw you get dropped off by a boy, but she may still be at work. You looked back at Frankie and saw that he had a slight frown on his face as he played with a necklace hidden in his white t-shirt. You weren’t sure the reason behind it, but he didn’t want to pry. “Actually, I’ll take a ride.”

His eyes lit up and nodded. “Great but I do gotta warn ya, doll. I gotta take Ironhead and Benny back to their place. Pope usually goes back to mines.” A ride home in a car full of teenage boys – what can go wrong?

The pair of you walk down to the school’s parking lot and there you see students laughing in their cars – 4 to 5 in a car – all while having a smoke and others are drinking from beer cans. You have no doubt that it’s beer cans when one gets tossed towards you with left over beer splattering over your white skirt. Frankie takes notice of the yellow stains and the grimace growing on your face. He looks over at the teenagers in a beat-up Chevy.

“Aye watch where ya tossin’ shit, birdbrain.” The teens look over at Frankie and walk over to him. You place a hand on his arm and look up at him.

“Frankie, c’mon. Let’s just go to your car, huh?” you plead. His arm tightens and as the teens arrive in front of him, Frankie protectively put you behind him and adjusts his jacket – a tick of his you’ve taken note of. The three boys who walked over to Frankie look over at you and smirk.

“Well shit Frankie, pal.” One of them takes a smoke and blows the out towards his side. “You already smashin’ up this little new betty? Don’t you work fast… first Michelle, then Tiffany, now this one?”

Frankie’s jaw tightens and his hold on your arm shifts. “How ‘bout you stuff it, Jack? You know you ain’t even supposed to be here. This ain’t your turf.”

Jack removes his hat, a cowboy hat he’s become fond of, and fixes his hair. He puts it back on and laughs. “You’re right, but I clearly don’t care. Oberyn ain’t out the can ‘till Friday, so I call the shots. My boys wanna be here and screw all these chick-a-dees, then they will. I know you ain’t gon’ do nothin’.”

“He will,” you hear a click and quickly turn your head to see Pope and the boys, Benny holding up a pocketknife. “But he ain’t doin’ it alone either.” The Bandits circle the three men and puff up their chests.

“Alright,” Jack holds his hands up. “We’re gone but trust me when I say that Oberyn ain’t gon’ be too happy to hear this.” With that he snaps his head over to his boys directing them back to their car. They turn to leave and Jack walks away backwards. When he’s satisfied with the distance between himself and The Bandits, he turns on his heel and runs to his car. He jumps in the driver’s seat, gives his girl a smooch, and revs the engine – with that he’s gone.

Pope looks at you and gives your shoulder a quick squeeze. “You good? Hope those bumrats ain’t spook ya too bad.” You shake your head and smile shyly. You look down at your ruined skirt and shrug.

“Just a ruined skirt but that’s okay. I wasn’t fond of it.” Will laughs at your comment fluffs yours skirt from the bottom, earning a nudge from Frankie.

“Let’s get her home, huh? I gotta drop off everyone else,” Frankie says. Tom tells Frankie that he’s got detention and to go on without him. Tom goes back towards the building while everyone piles up in Frankie’s Cherry Red 1945 Mustang GT – his father’s gift to him for his 15th birthday, also his last gift.

Per usual, Benny and Will leans the driver’s seat forwards and get in to sit in the back while Pope goes to sit in his usual spot as shotgun. Frankie tuts at Pope and points to the back. Pope scoffs but shoots Frankie a wink. He gets in and sits in between the brothers, being the smallest of the three, and Frankie runs over to open the door for you to sit up front. He grabs your books and hands them to Pope. As you situate yourself and buckle your seatbelt, Frankie gets in and turns on his baby. He revvs the engine and backs up out the school’s parking garage, but not before revving his engine one more time for the freshmen per Benny’s request.

On the drive to the brother’s house, Benny grabs your notebook and looks through your notes of the day. He looks through the math notes you took during 4th period and immediately closes it. “You sure are smart if you’re taking this angle stuff. I’m guessing it’s college prep?”

You look over your shoulder and nod. “I’m currently taking college preparatory trigonometry. They unfortunately didn’t have any other advanced placement for me here.”

The boys let out a harmony of “ohs” and Will shakes Frankie’s shoulder. “Frankie! She’s smart like you, buddy!”

Pope smirks and joins in on the teasing. “Lo vez, hermano! Being smart doesn’t make you un-cool. Being you does! No te hagas ver como el tonto porque no lo eres.”

You see, brother… don’t make yourself seem dumb because you aren’t.

You look at Pope and smile. “I agree with you, Santiago. Frankie is very intelligent so he shouldn’tdumb himself down because he thinks that’s what people think of him.” Pope stops and looks at you. “You know some Spanish, angel face?” You eagerly nod. “I’m very familiar with the language. They had us choose electives at my old school. I took Spanish, Italian, and French. I had a lot of a free time.”

Pope looks at you in shock but happily hollers. “Well sugar you sound pretty good speakin’ ‘em”

You couldn’t explain it, but you felt giddy. You felt happy to be around the boys and you knew you wanted to continue to be around them.

With Frankie getting out of the car and moving his seat forward, Will and Benny get dropped off first, but not without teasing him about “asking the chick.” Frankie flips them off and Pope lets out a belly laugh. Frankie apologetically looks at you and mouths sorry. You blush and mouth that’s okay.

Once leaving the brothers, Pope tells Frankie to turn up the radio. Frankie looks at Pope through the rearview mirror and narrows his eyes. “Switch to 12,” Pope says with a wink. Frankie rolls his eyes and turns the knob so the needle hits channel 12. Once Frankie hears the recognizable melody from “Takes Two to Tango” by Pearl Bailey. Frankie goes to switch the channel, but you stop his hand. He glances over to you and he sees you mouthing the words. He looks back at Pope who wiggles his eyebrows and sings out loud and to Frankie’s surprise, you join Pope singing at the top of your lungs. He laughs at your attempts at dancing in your seat and looks back at Pope who was waving his hands in the air.

Frankie thought that you’d be this proper, shy little thing but here you were having singing and laughing with his best friend. You gave him the slightest nudge and smiled in his direction. “C’mon Frankie. Don’t be a sour puss. I know you know this song!” You were right. He did know this song. He and Pope sang it so much because Pope thought he could woo some girl – he didn’t really know what the lyrics meant so you can guess what happened. If you guessed he slept with her… you’d be correct.

You poked Frankie in the ribs light enough to not affect his driving and giggled as he sang out with Pope. You liked seeing this Frankie – not that big tough guy you saw at the parking lot. He seemed like he had a big heart but was scared to show it and you were determined, but you were ripped away from your internal planning when Frankie politely asked for your address.

“It’s a shame you ain’t hangin’ longer sweetheart,” Pope began. “I think you’d like being around us two mucks. You would definitely like Frankie’s mom’s cooking. She makes the best food in town.” You smiled as the two best friends bickered about whose mom had the best food.

“I would have loved to, but I have to be home and do chores before my mother gets home.”

Frankie looks over to you and gives you a reassuring smile. “It’s alright. Maybe next time, cool?” You smile at the invitation and nod. Frankie continues to drive as you and Pope make a conversation about the possibility of you tutoring him in math. With them being high school seniors, they are not failing one class.

You feel on top of the world, laughing and talking with your new friends, until you spot the yellow Pontiac in the driveway and your mother coming out of it. Your face drops and the boys immediately take notice.

“What’s wrong?” Frankie asks. You straighten out your top and ask Pope for your books as you ready yourself to run out of the car. You look at Frankie and offer a weak smile.

“My mother won’t be happy with me is all.” You’d ask Frankie to drop you off a couple of houses before your own, but you know your mother has already seen you. As Frankie pulls up to your house, the boys’ jaws drop. You wouldn’t say your house was big, but to the boys, it was huge. Your two-story home consisted of 3 bedrooms and 2 bathrooms. The exterior of the home was beige with dark brown trimming and the river rock pathway leading up to your home was lined with grass so green you’d think it was plastic.

Your mother, dressed to the nines in a pale pink dress and white belt, looks at the hot rod parked in front of her home and places her hands on her hips as she sees Frankie run out and open your door. Your mother would normally love seeing her daughter be treated by a gentleman, but she isn’t very happy to see that it’s Frankie. She has always dreamed of her daughter being courted by a young man in polished Oxford shoes and ironed pleated pants not a worn out leather jacket and dirty chucks.

You thank Frankie for the ride and look over at your upset mother. The boys say hello to her as she gives them the ungenuine smile of hers you have seen many times. You wave goodbye to both boys and begin to walk up to your mother. You hear whispers behind you and then you hear your mother say, “Is there something else you’d like to say, boy?”

You turn and you see Pope shove Frankie towards you. His face turns red as he sees your mother staring him down and he knows that this may not be the best time to ask you.

“On with it, young man. My daughter and I have work to do.”

Frankie once again runs his hand through his hair and clears his throat. “I- I, uh, I was wonderin’ if ya wanted to hang with us at Rosie’s on Friday. The shakes are pretty good so we could ma-“

“What’s your name, young man?” You look at your mother. You narrow your eyes at her for interrupting Frankie.

“It-It’s Frankie,” he stutters, “my name’s Frankie, ma’am.”

Your mother gives her less than friendly smile again. “Well, Frankie, you’ll understand where I’m coming from when I tell you this – you are not the kind of person I want my daughter befriending. You just don’t quite… how can I put this nicely? You don’t fit a mother’s standards.”

“Mother!”

“Quiet.” she tells you. “You will not be around these boys again, do you understand? Your father works too hard for you to just ruin your life like this. You asked to be taken out of the pristine private school we paid for you to go to and we allowed you to enroll in public school. Why are you bringing home some… some hoodlum! How can you do this to us?”

You wished this had surprised you, but it wasn’t the first time your mother disrespected your choice of friends. You huffed and you felt tears coming to your eyes as you saw Frankie’s defeated look in his eyes and Pope fighting the urge to get out of the car.

You mother calls your name, and you turn to look at her. She walks to you, heels clicking the pavement, and cups your jaw. “You will not associate yourself with these boys, do we understand each other?” You see Frankie nod to you and walk back to his car. You look back at your mother and nod. “Yes, Mother. I understand.” Your mother smiles at you and gives your cheek a pat. “Good girl. Now… get inside and put that skirt in the hamper. Your allowance is going towards a new skirt.”

She leads you into the house and you look back and see Frankie’s car is still there. You stop in your tracks and look at your mother. “Mother, may I please run back and grab a paper I left?”

“Is it school related?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Very well. Go grab it and say goodbye and come back in. We have to get dinner going.” You nod and run back to the car and your mother walks into the house.

Pope rolls down the passenger side window and both boys look at you. You smile at Pope and look at Frankie.

“Does Rosie’s Diner have sundaes?” Pope smirks and turns to Frankie while Frankie nods with a confused face. “Well,” you start, “If Friday’s invitation is still open, pick me up by the green house down the street at 6pm. She’ll be going to my grandmother’s house up north.”

“Sounds like a plan, doll.”

The light breeze surprises you as it picks up the more you walk down the street. You walk past two houses and you see the red backlights of the cherry red mustang you seemed to miss.

Your mother, thankfully, left to your grandmother’s home about two hours ago, much earlier than expected. She called not very long ago to make sure you were home and doing homework. You told her that you were planning to retire early as your homework began to give you a headache. She insisted you eat dinner and sleep as she didn’t want to see eyebags under your eyes when she got back tomorrow. She bid you goodnight and said she’d be home by tomorrow’s lunchtime. Once you hung the phone on the hook, you ran to your room and began to ready yourself for the night.

You grew giddy as 6 o’clock crept closer and closer. You had applied your blush and mascara so carefully you’d have thought you were dusting the finest of china. You did not want to wear too much makeup; you didn’t want to seem as though you were trying too hard. You picked out the pins out of the curls on your head you’d put up right when your mother left and watched as the soft and tight curls fell and framed your face. You grabbed your wide tooth comb and brushed the curls out, parting your side at a side so there was more hair and volume on one side. You sprayed a tight hold hairspray all over so you could make sure your hair stood – Frankie wouldn’t want to see frazzled hair, no man would, you thought.

As you went through your closet, you decided that a dress was the best choice as it was simple enough to either be dressed up or dressed down. You went with a white collared black dress with thin white windowpane patterned lines all over. You wore your black flats and added a black shiny belt running across the waist. You get closer to Frankie’s car and you see him get out of his car – you figured he had seen you coming.

“How ya doin’ there, doll?”

“Hello, Frankie.” You wave and get closer to him. Once you’re in front of him you fix his jacket lapel and look up at him. “Aren’t you sight for sworn eyes.”

His eyes widen then starts laughing loudly and your face goes red. He nearly falls in laughter as his hands catch himself on his knees. “W-What’d ya just say?”

“I said aren’t you a sight for sworn eyes,” you frown. “Is that not appropriate?”

He catches his breath and puts a hand on his belly. He reaches over and tucks your hair behind your ear with the other hand. “The saying is a sight for sore eyes, doll; not sworn eyes.”

You feel as if your face is about to burst as you start laughing at yourself. You just cannot believe you’ve messed up your first attempt at flirting with Frankie. “I was really sure it was sworn.”

He smiles brightly and shakes his head. “Hey… can’t say ya ain’t tried right?” You giggle and nod. He look you up and down and lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“Te vez hermosa.” You look beautiful.

Have you ever had that feeling when there’s a puppy trying to get comfortable, but it can’t so it walks over to you and lays with you – falling into a deep and peaceful sleep? You know how it makes your heart feel as if it’s grown twice in size because the puppy chose you and trusted you to protect it while it slept? That’s how you felt when those words came out of Frankie’s mouth.

“Muchas gracias, Francisco.” Thank you very much, Francisco.

He playfully rolls his eyes at you and lets out a laugh. He points to the car and says, “get in the damn car.” He runs over to your door and lets you in, as per usual, and off you two went to Rosie’s Diner.

Frankie leads you into a bright neon-lit diner not very far from your home, about 25 minutes from your place. The diner stands out from the black concrete parking lot and pine trees decorating its background. He opens the light brown doors and places a hand on your lower back as you walk in – not too low or too high.

“Howdy’ho kiddos.” You’re greeted by a woman in her late 40’s or early 50s – the grey hair and sweet smile give it away. “Hey there, Frankie. Bandits meetin’ ya here?”

Frankie smiles at the woman, gives her a hug, and a quick kiss on the cheek; a kiss she smiles at and hums in content. “Hey Ro. Boys are comin’ in a while. You know they ain’t missin’ your special tonight.”

“There’s a special night every night for my favorite bandits, Frankie. Who’s this, huh? You finally bringin’ a girl for me to meet?” Frankie shakes his head from side to side smiling. He turns to you and introduces you to Rosie, the diner’s owner and one of his favorite people. “She’s new in town and I wanted to show her the best diner in the world.”

Rosie slaps Frankie’s arm and laughs. “Stop talkin’ sweet ‘fore your teeth rot, boy. You’re too pretty to be all gums now. I knew my boys were comin; your usual booth’s open, but take the table next to it, yeah. Ya need the extra seat ‘less you sittin’ the girl on ya lap.” Frankie begins to stutter a protest as you stifle a laugh.

“It’s very nice to meet you Miss Rosie. I’m in awe of your diner and excited to try your food.”

“Well it’s very nice to meet the girl who Frankie finally decided to bring to the diner. It’s a very special moment in his life ya know?” You cock your head to the side and take a quick glance at Frankie.

“Why’s that, Miss Rosie?”

As Rosie was about to explain the beginning of courtships of 99% of the teenagers in town, Frankie dragged you away with the dramatic excuse of being so hungry he can eat a horse and how he’ll drop dead if he doesn’t get a shake.

As you make it to the table Rosie had sent you to, you’d think that Frankie would have pulled out your chair, but a couple of some teens you remember seeing at school look in yours and Frankie’s direction whispering among themselves. You took a seat and looked at Frankie to ask if he knew them but as you were about to ask, you saw his face looking back at them with a deep stare. He gave them a single nod towards the door and to your surprise, they ran. Frankie scanned the room and he knew everyone would be taking in the scene. Frankie had never taken a girl out in public – especially not a girl like you. Sure people knew about other girls he’s been with, but everyone knew they weren’t together.

Frankie sat down after everyone in the diner turned their attention back to where it previously was and he passes you a diner menu, but still tense due to the eyes that locked with his back once more.

When the waitress you learned was named Vi and was obsessed with Will, Frankie had ordered a basket of fries for the two to share, a cherry soda for him and a sundae of your pick for you. Vi was also an older woman, best friends with Rosie, and had an innocent crush on Will’s blonde self. Frankie told you about the time Will brought Vi a bouquet of flowers for her birthday and Vi almost attacked the poor kid to the ground with kisses. Vi was sweet and she made you feel very good about yourself as she fixed your collar and fluffed your hair because “her Frankie needs to see what he’s got in front of him.”

You were nearly done with your sundae as you heard the distinctive pitch that is Benny’s voice as he said “What’s cookin’ good lookin’ don’t you look like a dream,” and wrapped an arm around your shoulder. You greet each and every one of the boys as they take their seats around the table – Benny calling dibs on one of the seats next to you. Benny puts his arm around the back rest of your white chair and calls Vi over to place a new order.

As the night continues, you feel free. You feel so relaxed and at ease with the boys around you that you don’t even notice the dirty looks some girls were giving you. Benny puts his head on your shoulder and give his cheek a little pat resulting in Benny playfully trying to bite your hand. Frankie clears his throat and Benny looks over at him and smirks.

“I ain’t trynna steal ya girl, Frankie. If she hangin’ with us, ya gotta get used to us playin ‘round.”

Frankie turns red as Benny calls you “his girl” and rolls his eyes with a chuckle. He looks out the window and immediately tenses. You follow his gaze and see a 1942 black Ford with some boys in it – one of the being that Jack guy from school – revv its engine as it speeds back and forth through the parking lot. He grabs the boys eyes and directs them towards the window and Benny stands up immediately. The boys follow suit and Frankie turns to you.

“Stay here alright, doll? We’ll be back.”

You turn from Frankie to the window and back to Frankie with a worried look painting your face. “What’s going on Frankie?”

“They shouldn’t be here. This ain-“ You both turn at the sound of a crash and see Pope being held against Frankie’s car by a guy in a black tee with its sleeves rolled. Frankie runs out of the diner and you run after him. You know you shouldn’t be getting in between this, but you aren’t going to let anyone hurt your new friends.

Frankie runs up behind this guy, turns him around, and shoves him away from his car and friends. The guy smirks and nods at Frankie. “Did you miss me Frankie?”

“What the hell are you doing here, Oberyn? We already told ya friend there that this ain’t your turf.”

You had to admit, Oberyn had this strut to him that showed his self-confidence and the combination of his flirtatious smile and smoldering eyes only made him more attractive than he already was. Jack came to stand next to him and as he turned to toss some keys over to another friend of his, you caught sight of the word VIPERS with two snakes on the back of his jacket.

“Yeah… he told me ‘bout it. But ya anna know what else Jackie told me? He told me that ya got ya’self a knockout.” Oberyn locks eyes with you and winks. He tries to walk over to you, but Frankie pushes back and away from you.

“Don’t get near her.” Oberyn lets out a sarcastic chuckle and gets in Frankie’s face.

“How ‘bout ya make me, Morales?”

The next thing you knew, you were yelling and crying with Will held you away as you saw Frankie and Oberyn duke it out on the concrete while Benny and Pope tried to pry Oberyn away – Jack and some other guy pushing them away. You caught a glimpse of Frankie’s bruising cheek and Oberyn’s bloody nose. You only noticed the officer’s arrival once Will dragged you back in the diner and making sure Rosie held you back as he ran back to be by Frankie’s side when the local sheriff gets out the car.

dreamboat taglist:

@ickleronniekinsemotionalrange @funerals-with-cake @seasonschange-butpeopledont

#frankie catfish morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales #francisco morales #francisco catfish morales #francisco morales x you #francisco catfish morales x reader #francisco morales x reader #frankie morales x you #catfish morales #francisco catfish morales x you #triple frontier #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal #dreamboat #catfish morales x you #catfish morales x reader

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fanfiction-funtime · 3 years

Text

Self insert oc: Alexander Vodka

AKA: Eis Cay'zar

Author of fate

A writer from Schneznaya who was driven from his home for his anti-Tsaritsa paper.

_____________________

Physical description:

A chubby fellow in a 1950's style noir trenchcoat and hat, some would even say he looks like he jumped right out of a noir comic book and into reality. He has brown hair and green eyes, a cowboy mustache, and a pointed beard like some kind of comic book supervillain genius.

He often acts confidently and even a bit egotistical when in places he's recognized and famous in, however in newer places he often seems distant and shys away from almost all contact.

Noone knows where his vision is, but they know he has one because of the cold aura that surrounds him.

At night he'll often trade his outfit for one more reminiscent of demons or vampires.

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Abilities:

Weapon type: Catalyst

Basic attack-truth: uses his catalyst to shoot a short burst of up to 3 ice shards, can attack in fast succession.

"Truth hurts, especially in bursts"

Charged attack-Bifrost: Alexander quickly makes an ice clone behind the enemy and fires 6 shots, this can increase to 3 clones if charged enough(times: 1 for 1 second, 2 for 2 seconds, and 3 for 2.5 seconds)

"I hate crowds, best company has always been myself"

Elemental ability-ice wall: creates an aura of sheer cold around himself that will damage enemies the more they stay in it, and apply the normal sheer cold to them. Does not affect party.

"My therapist said I put up walls because of trauma, but I couldn't hear them through the wall I had just built"

Elemental burst-a story to be told: Alexander takes out his book and opens to a random page, then randomly summons ice sculptures of one of 8 beings:

"Aster": this summon looks like the flatwoods monster, it surrounds the party in a swirl of ice blades that deal 2X damage as the character for 10 seconds.

"Who needs brawn, when you got brain"

"Ultimate foe": a demonic, pointy being of shadow. Will independently deal 25000 damage to three random foes.

"Meet my penultimate friend"

"Beethoven": a sculpture reminiscent of a ww1 zombie general, calls down a barrage of ice bombs that deal 5000 damage to enemies hit for 7 seconds.

"Good scifi doesn't predict, it prevents"

"Sorrows Joy": an angelic, faceless, robot like humanoid that spawns 25 angel shaped traps that freeze enemies around the character.

"With any luck, you're the only real one I've made"

"Death rider and the magic prince": two statues, one of a mummy like Schneznayan mystic of ancient barbarian times and the other an elven cavalry knight from the myths of mondstadt. The knight gives the party a 45% boost to speed and attack while moving, and the Schneznayan gives +10% damage bonus to elemental skills and +55% damage bonus to Catalyst.

"Feel the wrath of honor long passed"

"Zero point and Lion queen": a knightly man of spiked armor and a golden ottoman warrior woman whose golden chain completely obscures her head. Your enemies become inflicted with pyro and you are surrounded by thorn bushes that deal continuous damage of 1000 for 10 seconds.

"Walk down the way on a moonlit day"

The traveler: a child in a red straight jacket, his binds become undone after 4 seconds at which point all enemies take 10,000 X Alexander's level of damage.

"I uh,wont have to pay any copyrights will I?"

"Giota": a child in pyjamas who looks ready to sleep, this summon is very rare. It fully restores all party members and gives a 200% boost to both defense and damage of your characters.

"This fella's been with me since I was a kid"

"If it is a soldier's duty to escape the confines of a prison, is it not every person's duty to escape reality if even for a moment? A wise man said that, pray that I may one day be like him."

Passive-part the wasteland: Alexander is immune to sheer elements, and Grant's 50% resistance when in the party to all members.

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Story

Abandoning a dream

As a kid, Alexander was always put down when he said he wanted to write fiction, "there's no money in it" they all said.

He couldn't get into any art schools without support so he focused his mind elsewhere, a place he could hopefully use his writing to do just as much good: the first newspaper in Schneznaya.

Horrible truth

He didn't start as a trouble maker, but the more he sought out the truth the more he couldn't stand back and watch. He published numerous papers about the Tsarista's wrongdoings and the crimes of the fatui, how they would harass merchants in other nations, the unfair taxes many shipping businesses had to keep quiet about, all the way up to the war crimes the Tsarista had done in direct contradiction to her own laws.

Sadly, not many believed him even with evidence, but some got his message.

Those who fight

One day Alexander was approached by a man who claimed to have formed a resistance against the fatui. Alexander had inspired many people to disrupt the organization, and have even begun working with those outside Schneznaya.

With their help he didn't just publish some crimes, he published them all, he even got information that turned the general public against the fatui even if just a little.

In a way h had achieved his dream of helping others with his writing, even if it wasn't how he wanted.

Stop the presses

When the Tsarista started her big move of taking gnosis, she brought the hammer down on dissent like a boulder on a ten year old's wrist. One day a squad of thirty fatui stormed Alexander's home and business to silence him, and while they shut down his business they couldn't catch him.

Alexander fled into the wastelands of ice and snow and wasn't seen for several weeks.

Deus ex Vodka

One day Alexander showed up in Inazuma, a nation that had been oppressed for some time now and had recently reached it's height, yet no resistance had formed.

That was until Alexander came along.

Alexander published numerous books, spreading them throughout Inazuma. All of them spoke of freedom, of bravery, of rising up to achieve your ambitions.

And with those stories he inspired countless to take up arms, and in turn inspired countless to join the resistance.

And with mere fiction he had brought about hope,

And with mere fiction he shall do it again, in every form, and in every nation.

Vision: cold hearted

While wondering the waste Alexander fell down and looked to the skies.

He did not ask celestia why, he did not grieve or blame that he did not do more, instead Alexander did something he hadn't done in a long time:

He imagined.

And after he imagined he took out his notebook and wrote. In the freezing cold for seventeen days he wrote stories of hope and freedom.

For seventeen days the cold did not so much as cause him to flinch as he wrote tales of bravery.

For seventeen days Alexander Vodka lived how he wanted to live.

And at the end, he lied down to die.

Then a light shown, and when he opened his eyes to look he saw that the storm parted around him, and in his hand was an ice blue gem.

But Alexander was too paranoid from years of abuse from his peers as a child to wear it loosely, and far to extra to just get a lock. So instead Alexander shouted to celestia "if I shall have this Vision for my art, then it shall not kill me no matter what I do!"

He then shoved the vision into his heart and fell down.

Before he could bleed out however, a woman appeared.

"Hey Tsari, how ya doin." Alexander said as blood poured out his mouth.

"You dramatic fool," the Tsarista sighed as she put a hand on his chest, "you have my element, do you know how bad it'll look for me if you die by shoving your vision into your heart?"

"Why do you care? We hate eachother, in case you forgot."

The archon sighed, "you're just rebelling against what you see as unjust, just as I am. To be honest I feel a sort of rivalry with you, so it'd be a shame if you just died. Also," she painfully shoved the vision all the way in, painfully, "if your going to die it better be because of me, got it?"

Then Alexander sat up, and the god was gone. Along with the hole in his chest.

"Rival of a god eh?" He sat up, putting his gat back on his head, "I like the sound of that."

_____________________

How is this an insert?

Well his story can't be the exact same as mine, so I took my life and goals and made predictions, then fictionalized those predictions and expanded.

His appearance is pretty close to how I'll likely look based on my current appearance, and his dramatic attitude is exactly how I wanna act.

Him being shy in new places with strangers is me exactly as I am now really, however I do believe I'd act confidently if I were famous so he does as well.

Him being Catalyst is because I'm not athletic at all, and I figured a dps Catalyst would be cool. His main ability and resistance/immunity to sheer cold is based on how I wrap up in warm blankets when it's cold, and his ultimate is made up of characters I've made.

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Tagging: @genshin-obsessed, @golden-wingseos, @storytravelled, and @love-psxlm

#genshin #genshin impact #genshin oc

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gra-sonas · 3 years

Link

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019) Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Michael Guerin/Alex Manes Characters: Alex Manes, Michael Guerin, Isobel Evans Additional Tags: Minor Isabel Evans/Gregory Manes, Canon Disabled Character, Soulmates, Handprint Summary:

"Listen, darlin’. I don’t think because I say darlin’ that’s gonna bring you your soulmate. But, maybe I’m wrong, maybe I don’t fully understand and they’re gonna find you, darlin’." - recorded by Cowboy for Airmanes

Michael used to work for an anonymous, queer-friendly sex hotline (going by the nickname Cowboy) while he was in college, and Alex commissioned him to record a message for him while he was deployed. One day, their paths cross.

Alriiiiight, happy Malex Monday! I meant to write a short ficlet, inspired by Vlamis recording a message for a fan, saying darlin’ three times. For reasons unknown, this turned into a 5.5K fic I wrote this afternoon/evening.

This is a soulmate AU, and there’s some handprint stuff going on. And while this is mostly fluff, the fic is rated Mature (I know, *gasp*). Uhm, enjoy?

~*~

When Alex listens to the message Cowboy has recorded for him, he has a hard time (pun intended) keeping quiet and not scream into his pillow. It's a close call. Even though the need to get off is overwhelming, he's careful to move his body into a more comfortable position without jostling the bunk bed too much. He hears Ogden in the bottom bed grumble in his sleep once, but he doesn't wake up. Small mercies.

Alex feels like an hour passes before he can finally wrap his hand around his hard cock and take care of his needs with the tiniest movements. He keeps listening to Cowboys recording over and over again, and he manages to time his orgasm with the final darlin' of the message.

Wow, Alex doesn't want to exaggerate, but he thinks he's never come harder in his life. Cowboy's voice's just doing it for Alex, always, has. But the darlin'? Surefire way to get him off in no time. It's the first night in a long time that Alex sleeps so deep, that not a single nightmare haunts his dreams.

The recording continues to bring Alex comfort and orgasms in the middle of an ongoing war, and he can't help but dream up scenarios where he meets Cowboy one day, and they realize that they are indeed soulmates. A soldier can dream, right?

Months go by and after one fateful and utterly horrible day, the war is over for Alex. He returns home to Roswell via a short stint in Landshut, Germany. Half of his right leg is missing, but they give him a purple heart as a consolation price and a thank you for his service. Not that anyone actually thanks him.

It takes Alex another couple of months until he can walk again without the help of a crutch. He celebrates this newfound mobility freedom at a local bar, the Wild Pony. He's sitting at one of the tables, nursing a beer, when two people occupy the table next to his. A tall blonde woman, and a handsome man with curly hair that spills out under the brim of a black cowboy hat. A cowboy hat. Alex tries not to be too obvious, but he keeps looking at the man every now and then.

He can't hear what they're talking about, their voices a soft murmur, but then someone feeds the jukebox with a dollar, and suddenly the couple has to raise their voices.

"Come on, Michael. Don't be such a sourpuss. I want to celebrate that you're back home. It's been a dull year without you. I've talked to Max, he's promised to be on his best behavior," the woman says.

Michael. "Nice name," Alex thinks. He's just reaching for his bottle to take another sip when Michael answers.

"Ugh, Iz, do I have to come? I'd love to spend an evening with just you, but you know Max, he won't stop nagging me."

Alex freezes. He knows that voice. Intimately (well, in a way). But the man can't be Cowboy, can he? In Roswell of all places? Alex tries to be subtle by moving his chair a fraction of an inch to get a better view at the neighboring table.

He keeps staring and almost jumps up when the woman (Iz)'s phone starts buzzing. She checks the display. "That's Greg, I have to take this call outside. Please don't leave, I'll be back in a minute."

Michael demonstratively takes his hat off and puts it on the chair next to him. He smiles at her. "No worries, I'll still be here. Say hi to your beau and tell him I hope to meet him soon." She grins. "Not sure I should introduce him to you. He's your type, brother dearest."

Alex can't see Michael's face properly, but his voice sounds annoyed. His voice, that Alex is fairly certain, is that of Cowboy, the man of his (sex) dreams. "As if I'd ever make a move at someone who's involved with someone else, let alone someone who's dating my sister, who also happens to be my best friend."

Iz laughs. "Good boy. Now give me a minute, I have to talk to my boyfriend." She leaves.

Alex's hands are sweaty because now would be a good moment to approach the man, but what would he even say. "Hi, you're that guy from the queer-friendly sex hotline, and months ago you recorded a message for me I like to get off to. Nice to finally meet you in person."

Not awkward at all. But he also needs to know what the man looks like. So far, he's only seen part of his face (there seems to be stubble, which Alex approves of) and lots and lots of unruly honey-golden curls. In an unplanned move, he accidentally knocks his beer bottle over and the remaining beer spills all over his table.

"Damn," he mumbles under his breath, patting down the pockets of his jacket in search of tissues to mop up the mess.

Suddenly, there's movement at the table next to him and Michael turns around, a squarely folded piece of cloth (a bandana?) in his hand. "Here, take this."

Alex feels dizzy looking at the man. Not in his wildest dreams did he imagine that Cowboy would look like that, but now? Even if this man turns out to be not Cowboy, Alex will forever have this visual when he plays the darlin' message.

Not the moment to think about that, though. He collects himself enough to say something. "Uhm, are you sure? That looks very nice and clean, I'm sure they have paper towels at the bar."

Michael's smile is almost blinding. "Don't worry about it, it's one of my oldest bandanas, it deserves to die in the most heroic way – drowning in alcohol."

Alex snorts. "Okay, thank you." He reaches for the bandana, and for a second, their fingertips touch. Alex's vision goes blurry and he tries his best to inhale, but there doesn't seem to be enough air to fill his lungs. He gasps.

When he feels a strong, warm hand clapping down on his shoulder, he can suddenly see clear again, his lungs expand without pain, and warmth is flooding his body.

He goes almost pliant under Michael's touch (because of course it's his hand).

"Wow," Michael says, and if that isn't the perfect word to describe the situation.

Alex tries to remember how words are formed. "Do you feel it, too?" Michael just nods. "In Roswell of all places," Alex says dryly.

Michael snorts. "You wouldn't believe how apt that actually is. All things considered."

"I don't know what that means, but I'm sure I'll find out eventually. I mean, I don't want to assume, but I will find out eventually, right?"

"Yes, beautiful stranger, you will. I never expected this to happen to me, but now that it did happen, I want to know everything about you. What's your name, handsome?"

Alex can't believe that this beautiful man is his soulmate, let alone that he found him in this godforsaken town he'd never expected to return to before he lost his leg.

"Well, handsome does have a name. It's Alex. And you are—."

Alex takes a calculated breath before he says "Cowboy," at the same time Michael says "Michael."

They stare at each other. Michael's eyes are wide. "How do you—?"

Alex blushes, and he considers not answering the question for a second, but this is his soulmate asking. "I'm—I'm not just Alex, I'm also darlin'."

Michael's eyes grow impossibly wider, then he bursts out laughing. "Oh my god, that was you? I couldn't stop listening to your message either. It's been very – how can I put this – inspiring?"

"Well, in true Pavlovian fashion, I can promise you that calling me darlin' will get me hard and off in no time," Alex says, keeping his voice low. He should be beet-read, but he's beyond feeling ashamed. In fact, he feels emboldened, and if the glint in Michael's eyes is anything to go by, he's certain there's one hell of an orgasm in his near future.

Before he can put more thought into that possible scenario, Iz returns to the table. She looks at both men and raises an eyebrow.

"Michael, why are you holding hands with this man?"

Michael looks down at their clasped hands, apparently, he doesn't know either when they started holding hands. For a moment, Alex considers letting go of Michael to greet Michael's sister properly, but he can't bear the thought of losing the physical contact right now.

Michael kisses the back of Alex's hand, then he looks up at Iz. "Isobel, this is my soulmate. His name's Alex."

"He's your—Michael! I leave the table for five minutes, and I come back to you having found your soulmate? I didn't even know that we could until recently." She seems exasperated, but then her smile goes soft.

She sits down across from them and looks at Alex. "I'm sorry, Alex, I didn't mean to be rude. This is just a lot to take in. Uhm, I've met with Michael tonight to convince him to come and visit me, and spend time with our brother Max tomorrow. And I haven't been quite honest with Michael."

She squeezes her eyes shut and takes a deep breath. "Michael, Max and I were going to tell you, that we met our soulmates this week. Max bumped into Liz who's in town to visit her dad, and I happened to meet Greg at an event I organized for his school."

Alex perks up. "Greg isn't Gregory Manes, though, right? Teacher at the elementary school up at the reservation?"

Isobel blinks. "How do you even know about him? Oh my god, you're his brother! You're Alex Manes!" Alex nods. Isobel looks at him more closely. "Now that I know, it's obvious, you look so much alike. This is wild. I think I need a drink. You in? Shots are on me."

Alex and Michael look at each other and nod. There are only so many earth- and life-shattering revelations one can handle without being at least a little bit drunk.

Isobel stands up and walks over to the bar to order. The bartender reaches for one of the top-shelf bottles. Well, they have something huge to celebrate, this definitely calls for the good tequila.

Michael nudges him. "So, I know this has already been a lot, but there's something else you need to know about me, but I'd rather tell you about it when it's just the two of us. It's nothing bad, don't worry, I'd just prefer to tell – and show – you in private."

Alex smiles. "Whatever it is, I can handle it. Just real quick before your sister comes back. Does she know about the hotline job?"

Michael shakes his head. "No, she doesn't, actually. I got my engineering degree at UNM, and I picked up the job to make a little extra money for all the things my scholarship didn't pay for, and those requested messages were paid really well. It's been a great job, I was actually quite good at it, too, but now that I have my degree, it's a thing of the past. I don't really mind anyone knowing, but I'd rather this stays our naughty little secret."

"Oh, believe me, I'm not overly eager to tell anyone that your voice has provided me with some of the best orgasms. No need to look so smug, Michael," Alex grouses, but he smiles.

Michael turns his head, his face is very close all of a sudden, and his lips look plush and moist and oh-so-kissable. They look at each other.

"Alex," Michael whispers.

Alex closes the distance between them and then they kiss. Stars align, the universe expands, and Alex knows he's finally home. Not in Roswell, they could be anywhere right now, on this planet, or in another galaxy. No, home is in Michael's arms, in the sweetness of his breath, the sound of his low moans, and the soft touch of his fingers caressing the hair at the nape of Alex's neck.

"Ah, first soulmate kiss. I remember. So intense," Isobel says, and places three shot glasses and a bottle of tequila on the table.

They don't want to stop kissing, but they do. It's the polite thing to do. But it's hard. Alex would rather be alone with Michael. As if he's been reading his mind, Michael leans closer and whispers "One shot, then we leave. She'll understand. But I need to be alone with you."

Alex closes his eyes and inhales deeply in an attempt to calm his nerves. Michael's scent is intoxicating, he smells like leather and rain. Alex wants to drown in the smell. When a cold shot glass is shoved into his hand, he blinks his eyes open again.

"Earth to Alex, are you back with us?" Isobel smirks, but her eyes are kind and understanding.

"Yeah, sorry, it's just a lot to take in, and Michael smells so good. I'm sorry, but can we get this over with? I really need to be alone with him."

Isobel nods. "You know what, why don't you take the bottle home with you, and some time this week, we all meet and celebrate."

Michael nods and picks his hat up from the chair. "Excellent idea. I knew you'd understand." He kisses Isobel on the cheek. "You told Greg though, right?"

Isobel nods. "Yes, he knows. Liz, too. And—," she whispers something into Michael's ear.

Alex thinks he hears Isobel mention a "handprint" (whatever that means) but he assumes they're referring to the thing Michael will tell him when they are alone, so he doesn't ask what they're talking about. It's comforting to know that his favorite brother knows, though. It'll be good to have someone to talk to he trusts implicitly.

They hug Isobel (who also smells like rain, Alex notices), then they head out to the parking lot. Since Michael's currently living at a motel, the decision's easy where to go. They leave Michael's old truck ("don't ask, we've been through a lot together, and I'd never give up on her") at the Pony, and take Alex's SUV instead.

He doesn't live too far from the bar, and they enter his house not ten minutes later.

There's just enough time for Alex to put down the tequila bottle on the dining table before Michael pulls him into his arms. They're still wearing their jackets, and Michael his hat. Before Michael gets close enough to kiss him, Alex nods in the direction of his bedroom.

"There's a very comfortable and very big bed behind that door. We both know where we're headed anyway, and I'd like to take the prothesis off," he says, holding his breath after the revelation. He knows that his soulmate won't reject him because of it, but it's still a very personal thing to disclose.

Michael doesn't even blink, he just smiles and leads Alex to the bedroom. He makes Alex sit on the edge of the bed and kneels down in front of him. Alex's breath catches. Michael takes off his hat and jacket and drops them on the floor to his left, then he turns back to Alex and unlaces Alex's boots.

Alex opens the button and zipper of his jeans, and cants his hips to wriggle them down without having to stand up. He doesn't quite succeed. "Damn, I'm stuck, sorry. I have to stand up again."

Michael shakes his head. "No, you don't. Do you trust me?"

Alex stops and thinks about it for a moment. Does he trust Michael? The simple answer is, yes. He just knows that he can trust Michael. He nods. "I do."

Michael looks at him and holds his gaze, when Alex's butt slowly lifts off the mattress. He gasps, but he keeps looking at Michael. Michael smiles softly. Then he reaches for Alex's jeans and pulls them down, while Alex is floating a few inches above his bed.

Alex's thoughts are racing. He should be scared, his soldier instincts should kick in, and maybe he should fight, but he does none of that. Because he doesn't feel threatened. He feels safe. Michael won't hurt him, that he knows with absolute certainty.

As if by magic, he slowly descends, until he sits on the edge of the bed again. Michael kisses Alex's left knee, then he turns his attention to the prosthetic on his right leg. Alex is about to tell him what to do, when he feels the prosthetic coming off. He groans in relief. He'll have to pace himself and not go entire days without the crutch too often for a couple more weeks.

Michael removes the leg and pulls the liner down to reveal Alex's stump. Alex scrunches his face. Not in disgust of how the stump looks, but he knows how it probably smells. But Michael is unfazed, though. He leans forward and kisses the tender skin of Alex's stump. Alex is close to bursting into tears because of the tenderness of the gesture.

His voice sounds a little wet when he speaks. "I need to take some meds. Would you mind getting them for me from the bathroom cabinet? They are labeled 'evening'."

Michael nods and gets up from the floor. Before he leaves, he presses a soft kiss to Alex's lips. "Thanks for trusting me."

Alex wants to reach for him and tumble backwards with Michael in his arms, but he knows he'll regret not taking his medication, so he doesn't. Thankfully, Michael's back with the pill bottles in a heartbeat, and Alex uncaps the bottle of water on his nightstand and takes his pills.

Meanwhile, Michael toes off his boots, pulls his shirt over his head, takes off his socks, and drops his pants in a heap on the floor. When he looks around the room wearing nothing more than his briefs, Alex pats the free space next to him. "Come here, sit down. I'm ready to listen to whatever you're going to tell me in a minute, I just need you close for a moment."

Michael almost trips over his jeans in his haste to sit down next to Alex. Alex immediately realizes how anxious he is, and somehow that soothes his own nerves. He reaches for Michael's hand and laces their fingers together. Michael's hand trembles, and Alex squeezes it.

"You don't have to worry, Michael. I know you're going to tell me something extraordinary, but I can handle it. I won't reject you. Relax."

Michael snickers. "Well, you could say extraordinary, extraterrestrial would be more accurate, though."

Alex swallows hard, but deep down he knows that Michael's not joking. He squeezes Michael's hand again. "The 1947 crash was real?" Michael can't do much more than nod.

"So, you're a descendent of a group of people not from this earth who crashed here some 70 odd years ago?"

Michael looks at him. "I guess you could say that, although I have to add that I was actually on board of the spaceship."

Alex can't believe what he just heard. "Uhm, okay. You don't look like someone who's well over 70 years old, though. Does your species age at a slower rate? I this a Superman thing? Are you from Krypton? How old are you really?"

Michael laughs. "You're taking this surprisingly well. Uhm, so, depending on how you look at it, I'm either 30 years old, or I'm about 80. I don't think we're aging slower than humans, though. We were actually in stasis in our pods for half a century, and only hatched in 1997."

"You did what now?"

"Oh, sorry, uhm, our stasis pods look like glowing eggs, and we always joked that we hatched. I don't think that's how our people actually procreate, though," Michael explains.

Alex is trying his best to take it all in, but it's a lot. He takes a deep breath. "So, by 'us', you're referring to yourself, Isobel, and your other brother, Max, right? Don't you have parents? What happened to them?"

Michael's face falls, and Alex feels awful for being responsible for it. "We don't know, actually. We don't even know whether we're actual siblings. We were found together after we hatched, mute, wandering the desert. Max and Iz got lucky, they were adopted by a local family. I wasn't quite so lucky. I grew up in the system. But I've always been a bright student, so I was able to get a good education. I had to postpone my plans to go to college after high school because of Isobel for a few years, that's why I only graduated recently. But I have a good job lined up, I'll start next month. So, I'm not a complete failure."

Alex wraps an arm around Michael's shoulder and pulls him into a hug. "You could never be a failure. I don't know much about you, but you're not a failure. You hear me?" He feels Michael nod against his chest.

"Good. Now that the big secret is revealed. What did Isobel mean when she talked about a handprint earlier?"

Michael pulls back and looks at Alex. "You heard that? Well, as I demonstrated earlier, my power is telekinesis. Isobel can influence people with her brain, and Max can heal. What the three of us have in common, is that we can share memories with someone else by putting our hands on them. Skin on skin. It opens some kind of mental connection, don't ask me how it works exactly, but it leaves an iridescent glowing handprint on the other person's skin. It fades after a few days, and the connection shared during the handprint also breaks."

Alex squeezes Michael's hand. "So, you can share memories and emotions, but you won't mind-whammy me?"

"God, no, I won't. I swear. I wouldn't even know how to," Michael says.

Alex turns to Michael and they look at each other. "Okay. I'll sit down on the bed against the headboard. I don't have any medical exams scheduled in the next couple of days. Does the handprint have to be placed somewhere specific?"

Michael looks at Alex with wonder in his eyes. "How are you so fucking calm and cool about this? My entire life – well, since we hatched – I've been worried sick about revealing this secret to anyone and sicking military special forces on us. You are the first person I've ever told, and you're taking it like I told you I have a mole on my left butt cheek."

Alex raises an eyebrow. "You have a mole on your left butt cheek?"

Michael giggles. "Oh my god, I know it's probably too soon to say it not even two hours after we've met, but I love you. You're ridiculous, and hilarious, and brilliant. And I love you." He wipes at his eyes. "And no, I don't have a mole on my left butt cheek. Wanna find out where I have one?" He waggles his eyebrows at Alex.

"You casually mention that you love me, and I'm supposed to play 'search the mole' with you? You are unbelievable. For the record, I love you, too. And I don't care that we only met two hours ago. You're about to put a spooky handprint on me that will tell me everything I need to know."

Alex lets go of Michael's hand and scrambles back on the bed until he sits comfortably, propped up by at least three cushions. He looks down at himself and pulls his shirt over his head and flings it in the general direction of the hamper. He winks at Michael. "Come here, alien boy, tell me your story."

Michael laughs and crawls across the bed until he's next to Alex. He likes what he sees. A smattering of dark chest hair, strong arms, a sculpted torso. Alex is gorgeous, head to toe.

"Is it okay when I put my hand on your chest? Low enough that the handprint won't be visible even if you open the top two buttons?"

Alex nods. "That sounds reasonable. Go ahead."

Michael places his right hand on Alex's chest. Michael takes a deep breath, and suddenly his hand starts glowing red. The palm of his hand is heating up against Alex's skin, but the heat doesn't hurt. They look at each other, and suddenly it's like a gate to another dimension opens.

Alex looks at everything Michael sends his way, he laughs, he sheds tears, he looks in horror at what some of the foster parents did to Michael. He sees Isobel, and another man, Max, most likely, he sees an old man with an eyepatch at a place that looks like a junkyard.

It's not just images Michael shares, though. There are also emotions. Alex can barely handle the loneliness radiating through the connection, the fear of someone finding out, Michael worrying about Isobel, and a million other things.

When they later look at the alarm clock on Alex's night stand, they realize the whole thing didn't take longer than maybe ten minutes, and yet Alex feels like he knows everything about Michael. Not every detail or secret, but he knows Michael now.

It's overwhelming, and terrifyingly wonderful. Alex doesn't know how else to describe it. They lie down next to each other, knees knocking, hands exploring, their mouths almost touching.

"Wow," Alex breathes out.

Michael kisses him. "Yeah," he whispers.

Alex does what he's been dying to do since he met Michael. He runs his fingers through Michael's hair and enjoys how soft the curls feel. Like the finest silk.

"You are incredible, Michael. Thank you for sharing this with me. I'll have a million questions for you in the coming days, and I'm sure you'll also want know more about me, but I need to not talk for a while. Can we do that?"

Michael nods. Alex barely blinks an eye, when they both float up, comforter and duvet getting pulled out from under them, and soon they sink back down into the soft mattress again. "This ability of yours sure comes in handy," Alex praises.

Michael pulls the duvet over them, and Alex is grateful for the heat inside of their little cocoon. "It does. You have no idea what it means to me to being able to use it in front of you."

Alex notices the emotion in Michael's voice and sees tears glistening in his eyes. He wraps his arms around Michael as good as he can and pulls him close. Michael hugs back, and then they just hold each other for a long time. Breathing each other in and trading lazy kisses.

Once their bodies and minds relax, their kisses get heated. They are both hard, their cocks brushing against each other through the thin fabric of their underwear. Alex wriggles his hand between them to wrap it around the tips of their cocks peeking out. There's no time (or room) for finesse. Heat and friction are doing the job for them. Their kisses get more and more wet and sloppy, they pant into each other's mouths, and just moments before Alex is ready to come, Michael looks at him, his pupils blown wide. He presses his hand on the glowing mark in the middle of Alex's chest.

"I love you," he says. A short break, then he adds, "Darlin'."

Alex lets out a guttural sound, something between a scream and a moan, and he comes in hot and almost painful pulses between them. Michael follows only moments later, adding to the mess. But they don't care.

The connection between them is blown wide open, and Michael gasps, when he's receiving memories and emotions from Alex suddenly. An abusive home, his mom leaving, loneliness, gruesome years in the military, the immeasurable pain of losing a limb, Michael feels like he's about to pass out from it, but he holds steady.

Alex took in everything he shared with him earlier, now he wants to take in everything Alex is sharing. It's a lot, though, and when the flood of impressions subsides to a mere trickle, he realizes he's panting and sweating like he just ran a marathon.

Their foreheads are touching, and they cling to each other like they're afraid to let go of the other.

Later, they won't recall exactly for how long they stay like that. At some point, Alex musters enough energy to tell Michael where he keeps a bottle of nail polish remover in his bathroom.

"How do you—,?" Michael starts, and Alex just places his hand on Michael's chest. Michael blinks. "Wow, I think this experience has fried some of my brain cells, of course you know."

Michael closes his eyes and concentrates, but he's not strong enough to make the bottle come to him with his telekinesis. Reluctantly, he lets go of Alex, who grumbles and makes grabby hands at Michael.

"Just a second, sweetheart, I'll be back in no time. Don't go anywhere."

"Har, har," Alex makes. He's slowly feeling like he's fully conscious again. He's about to call for Michael's attention, when the man in question returns from his quest in the bathroom. He's sipping from a plastic bottle he's holding with one hand, and there's a wet towel in his other hand. Bless him.

He hands the towel to Alex (who notices that Michael soaked it in warm water, bless him more!), and he quickly wipes himself down. When he's finished, Michael takes the towel and returns to the bathroom.

When he comes back, he smiles at Alex. "Pajamas, or shirts and sweatpants?" he asks, pointing at the walk-in closet.

"Door on the far left, there's both, pajamas and other comfy clothes. I'll take what you take." He only feels silly for saying something so sappy for a second, because Michael beams like the sun. "Partner look, I like it."

Michael vanishes for half a minute and returns with two pairs of blue sweat pants and plain white shirts. He dresses himself first, while Alex puts on the shirt, then Michael's there to help him put on the sweats. Without being prompted, Michael asks "Your crutches, where are they?"

Alex smiles at him softly. "In the living room, leaning against the wall next to the dining table."

Michael goes to fetch the crutches and leans them against the wall next to Alex's side of the bed when he returns. "Anything else I can get you before we sleep?"

Alex shakes his head. "Nothing I can think of right now. Come to bed, Michael."

Michael smiles, his grin almost devilish. "It'll be my pleasure, darlin'."

Alex is tempted to throw a pillow at Michael. "You're not playing fair, Michael. I'm exhausted, and you know what you saying it does to me. I don't think all the darlin's in the world will be able to make me hard again right now, though."

Michael crawls into bed and under the covers. He pulls Alex close and kisses the tip of his nose. "Don't be sad, sweetheart, there's more than enough time for that in the morning. Unless you have to be somewhere tomorrow?"

Alex shakes his head. "No, there's nothing on my schedule tomorrow. Plenty of time for us to get to know each other with more words. Don't get me wrong, what happened tonight has been the most incredible experience of my life, and I'm grateful that we already know so many things about each other, especially the bad things that are much harder to talk about. But I still want to talk to you."

Michael nods. "We'll do that. Tomorrow. But now, let's sleep. The acetone helped, but I still feel a bit like I was hit by a truck. Big spoon or little spoon?"

Alex thinks about it for a moment. "If you don't mind, little spoon. You're just so warm, and I'm freezing. I'm always up for big spoon duty, though. I want to hold you, too, you know."

Michael's smile is the sweetest, and Alex's heart almost bursts with how much he loves him. "I know," Michael says. "And now, turn around and get comfy."

Alex does, and as soon as Michael's inhuman warmth engulfs him, his eyes start to droop. A moment later the room goes dark, and Alex feels Michael's lips peppering the his neck with little kisses. He pulls Michael's arm closer around himself.

"I love you," he whispers into the dark.

"And I love you. So much, Alex. So, so much. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Michael."

And then, they sleep.

#malex #alex manes #michael guerin #rnm fic #malex fic #my fic #michael vlamis

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classic80sand90smovieloves2 · 3 years

Text

Meeting and Dating Sgt. Hartman

(Not my gif)(Requested by anonymous)

- You met Sgt. Hartman while stationed as a nurse at the boot camp. You supposed that working in basic training was better than on the battlefield; especially since this would be your first gig as an army nurse, but the comparison did little to ease your nerves. You were still going to be taking care of a bunch of untrained men floundering around with dangerous weapons and equipment.

- Regardless of your worries, you arrived at the camp early in the morning with your bags all packed and your hands eager to do something. As you stepped outside of your car, you were met with the sight of the older man, hands behind his back and a straight, almost scowling expression on his face.

- His face softened upon seeing you; though it didn’t do much to make him any less intimidating. The man introduced himself, ushering you to follow behind him as he began to give you a tour of your “new home”. After he showed you around, you were taken into the barracks and introduced to everyone in typical Hartman fashion.

“Private cowboy, where's the infirmary,” He’d bellowed out and the man; Private Cowboy, quickly answered the shouted question. “Precisely! Now, if one of you sacks of shit gets your dick blown off by your rifle, this is who you will go and see! Is that clear?”

“Sir yes sir.” You’d nearly shouted alongside them.

- The man demanded obedience, oozed authority, and held enough power in his hands to make a persons knees buckle beneath them. He was old enough to be your father and yet, there was something about him that just drew you in.

- Unbeknownst to you, the drill sergeant was equally attracted to you as you were to him.

- Now Hartman hasn’t had to flirt for a while so he’s a bit rusty. His attempts to compliment you are stunted and awkward and he isn’t quite sure what to talk to you about. But over time he gets back into the swing of things.

- Believe it or not, he used to be quite the catch when he was younger; and while he’s a few years past what you’d probably consider his “prime”, deep down he’s still just as suave and …creative.

- It’s going to take you a while to realize exactly what he’s trying to accomplish, mainly because; in the beginning, you can’t really spend a lot of time together. He’s a busy man and even if you were to see him a lot, you most likely wouldn’t assume your superior; who’s that much older than you, is trying to hit on you. It would seem like more of a “a girl can dream” moment.

- As I mentioned before, when you’re first starting to actually get to know each other, you aren’t really able to spend a lot of time together. He decides to do something about that, requesting that you come with him and his recruits when they go to do field training or target practice; “so you can be right there if something happens to them”.

- Most of the time, you’re just sitting and watching but when he’s able to, he’ll stand by your side and make conversation, throwing in some slightly suggestive and ambiguously flirtatious comments. He doesn’t want to lay it on too thick in front of the “maggots”.

- It’s only when the two of you get some alone time together that you can have some genuine banter. You flirt light heartedly, in a way that many would perceive as joking though it’s not a joke to either of you. He teases you and you tease him right back, something he’s quite fond of.

- Well, it all comes to a head on New Years. You’re sitting in your office, finishing up some paperwork and feeling just the slightest bit homesick when you hear a knock at your door.

- It’s obviously him, and while you figured he might stop by, the champagne he’s holding is certainly a surprise. Regardless, you soon find yourself sitting on your desk with him standing beside you, the both of you a little tipsy; just enough to make you feel warm and loose.

- The remarks you exchange are a blur. All you can remember is watching in a heated daze as he leans in closer and closer until finally he seizes your lips in his. Long, slow, and slightly clumsy, the two of you kiss for what seems like forever, your arms wrapping around his neck as his fingers dig into your hips.

- It’s a few minutes past midnight when you finally break apart and you shyly wish him a happy new years, unsure of what to say besides those few words. He merely chuckles huskily and pulls you into another kiss.

- And thus begins your relationship with the master of maggots.

- Modest and reserved pda. He’s got a bit of a reputation to keep up so most of your affection is gonna happen behind closed doors.

- He may be a hard man but he’s soft with you; surprisingly so at times. If any of his cadets saw the two of you when you thought you were alone, they’d die of shock right then and there.

- Long, hard kisses.

- Swats to the butt in private. You stand before him with a beautiful bottom and expect him not to touch it? You ask too much of him. He’s only human.

- He likes to keep a hand on the small of your back. It’s sort of a show of ownership; for lack of a better word. He wants everyone to know that you’re off limits without outwardly telling them.

- He’s a fan of pet/nicknames if you couldn’t tell. You get called a lot of different things: sweetheart, honey, darling, sugartits, etc.

- He’s not a huge cuddler but he’ll sling an arm around you and let you lay your head on his arm even though it makes the appendage annoyingly fall asleep.

- He’s an old fashioned man; a Christian one at that, so a want for domesticity has been instilled in him from a young age. Let’s hope you’re willing to be a little homemaker because that’s what he’s expecting and hoping for.

- Making breakfast for him in the morning. He always gives you a “mornin sunshine” and a side hug when he walks into the kitchen.

- Straightening out his tie for him.

- Sitting on his desk and putting his hat on when he isn’t wearing it. It earns you a little smile every time you do so.

- Kisses on the temple.

- There’s going to be long stretches of time where you don’t see each other in person, it’s a part of the job and you’ll just have to accept it. It sure makes for some great reunions!

- He gets all proud whenever you praise him; especially for his medals and things of that nature. He puffs his chest out that slightest bit, straightening his shoulders as he tries to act modestly.

- Being there for all of his recruits ceremonies and congratulating him for making “another fine batch of soldiers”.

- Watching his drills in your spare time. Even if you aren’t fond of some of his particular methods of earning respect and shaping his students, you can still admire him and the power he holds.

- Like I said, you may not like some of the ways he treats some of his cadets but you sure have to stifle a laugh when you pass by every now and again. You feel like a bad person but you can’t help it; he’s a funny, raunchy man.

- Late night meetings in your office. Try to remember to lock the door behind him.

- He’s got wonderfully rough hands and that’s all I’ll say about that.

- He enjoys being able to make you laugh. He’ll tell you jokes, poke your sides, throw you over his shoulder; whatever it takes to make you giggle and squeal.

- You get away with a lot of things no one else could. You think anyone else could insult or talk back to this man without having their holes resized? No ma’am, not a chance.

- Few people are graced with his smile and you are one of those few people. It may be a small one but it still feels like an honor every time you see it.

- He’s been a drill instructor for quite a while so he’s certainly got a few stories to tell. They range from violent to embarrassing; for someone else, to just plain funny; you’ve got a tale for every mood.

- Hearing the stories behind his scars and tattoos. He likes the way you trace your fingers delicately across them while listening intently to what he has to say.

- He may or may not have gotten your name tattooed on him.

- If you want to go out and do something, he’s one old man that can handle it. He enjoys being in the great outdoors so hiking and things of that nature are right up his alley.

- Barbecues. He will tease you if you’re vegetarian or vegan; all while grilling vegetables and veggie burgers.

- He prefers dates where the two of you can be alone together. It’s nice to get away from the stupidity of his cadets and from your hectic work.

- Sitting in his lap after a long day. He likes holding your hip in his hand and giving it a light squeeze every once and a while, usually after he makes some teasing remark.

- Nighttime brandy and bourbon. It’s a nice way to wind down before bed.

- Sneaking around the camp with each other. You’ve shared several kisses behind shut blinds and secluded corners.

- Hunting, fishing and camping trips. He’s a typical middle aged man who likes to kill and you’re his girl so you’re always invited to join him.

- Getting taught how to shoot and assemble guns. He thinks it’s a skill that everyone should know, even a pretty little things like you.

- Trying to get him to ease up just a little bit; at least in some cases. He may be a professional drill instructor but you’re a professional human and you know when some people require something other than humiliation to learn.

- A jealous man. He feels a bit silly whenever he gets that burning feeling inside but he reasons that you’re his woman and he has the right; especially when it’s some young stud flirting with you. Usually, he’ll narrow his eyes at them and turn on his intimidation, asking them where they’re supposed to be and ordering them away as soon as whatever you needed to do with them is finished.

- He can always tell when you’re only trying to be nice and/or do your job so he never gets angry at you. He’ll just tell you not to be so sweet all the time and/or walk out without another word.

- A bit overprotective; he hears about anything and he makes sure to handle it. He doesn’t often use violence but his presence is enough to spook people. Rest assured, if it’s one of his cadets that’s causing problems, they’ll be running laps from sunrise to sunset.

- You get a whole lot of respect; at least to your face. No one is ever gonna start trouble with you, not when they know who you’re with. The most you’ll get is some young kid trying to push his luck but Hartman makes sure to squash that fast.

- He gets out most of his frustration at work so the two of you rarely fight; at least not aggressively. If there’s an issue then you’ll argue and resolve it within the hour, that’s just the way he is. The only time the two of you have a serious fight is when you’re adamant on trying to change the way he does things.

- If he’s upset you then he’ll apologize for that but trying to get an apology for anything else is like pulling teeth. He has a hard time admitting when he’s wrong though it isn’t too much of a problem since he rarely is in the wrong.

- He doesn’t tell you that he loves you very often but he does so on occasion, usually on your anniversary and during long goodbyes; things like that.

- As a god-fearing, old fashioned man, he intends to make an honest woman out of you as soon as he can. He’d be stupid not to.

#80s movie imagine #80s movie headcanons #80s movie headcanon #80s movie imagines #full metal jacket x reader #full metal jacket headcanon #full metal jacket headcanons #full metal jacket imagine #Sgt. Hartman headcanons #Sgt. Hartman imagine #Sgt. Hartman headcanon

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justlightlysedated · 4 years

Text

for @zuluoscarecho 🥰🥰

Michael is in the middle of changing the oil on Mr. Jameson’s ancient Chevy, when there are hands wrapped around his ankles rolling him out on the creeper from beneath the hood of the car.

Michael takes in the military uniforms, tactical gear, and the fact that they all have their faces completely covered and is immediately on guard, trying to figure out how to get out of this without actually revealing his secret.

"Are you Michael Guerin?" One of them asks, voice muffled by their masks, but the command in their tone is unmistakable.

"Who's asking?" Michael asks instead, not wanting to give an inch.

"His face matches the picture, Number Two," another voice pipes up. "We can just take him and confirm once-"

The voice is cut off with a painful sounding hiss, but Michael's eyes are narrowed and on the person who seems to be in charge here.

"What are the charges?" He asks, pushing himself up to his feet, and letting the creeper slide back underneath the car. "Because I know you can't arrest me without a warrant."

The group of four soldiers are all pointing their guns at him, except the one called Number Two, whose eyes look too amused for Michaels liking.

"Who says we're here to arrest you?" They ask, and before Michael can think of something to say to that, one of the soldiers closest to him moves, swinging his gun and catching Michael right on the side of the head.

Fuck, Michael thinks as everything goes black.

Michael comes back to consciousness violently, fists swinging and feet kicking, his knuckles smart when he actually comes into contact with someone, who grunts in pain.

"Calm down, Mr. Guerin," the same commanding voice from before says. "We're not going to hurt you."

The only difference in the voice is that it's not muffled anymore, which is the only reason that Michael opens his eyes and gives them a pointed look in answer.

The woman in question is standing in the middle of the room, she's tall and regal looking, blonde hair kept away from her face by a braid. The other three soldiers are sitting on the opposite side of the small room, two more women, one wearing a hijab, the other a brunette with her hair cut short and severe aligning with her chin and a blonde guy, built like a linebacker, hair buzzed on the sides and cropped short on top, rubbing a red spot on his cheek and glaring at Michael, all of them looking around the same age, which is not any much older than he is.

“The fact that you knocked me out and then brought me here, wherever here is says pretty much otherwise, so excuse me for not actually believing that,” Michael says, ignoring the pounding in his head to sit up, not really liking being in a vulnerable position around so many people, especially considering these people were soldiers.

The woman, who he figures is Number Two, straightens up even more, tucking her hands behind her back, and she somehow looks even taller than before as she starts to speak.

“Our apologies, but we need your help,” she says, and keeps speaking before Michael can ask what exactly they need him for.

“We are Troop Eleven-Zero-Six of the USAF, in charge of infiltrating and retrieving. I am First Lieutenant, Barbara Wilson, but everyone calls me Number Two. My team,” she motions over to them and they all introduce themselves, but Michael is still caught back a couple of sentences before when she said they were part of the USAF, the Air Force, meaning that this was either his one way ticket to a dissection table or this had to do with Alex.

“I’m sorry,” Michael says, interrupting the guy who’d been rubbing his cheek earlier. “But I don’t really care who you are. What do you want with me?”

The guy opens his mouth, probably to argue, but Number Two steps up, holding a hand out to stop him before he can say anything.

“As of 0600 hours yesterday morning, our Captain, Alexander Manes was reported MIA, during what was supposed to be a simple routine pick up. Our assumption is that he’s been abducted and is being kept somewhere outside of our jurisdiction. My team has been put on the sidelines and told to wait, while inexperienced older men debate whether or not it would be worth it to use the resources to find him.”

Michael had always known that the Air Force was going to get Alex killed.

Even though it’s been weeks since the last time that he reached out to Alex, the distance making their connection waver and spotty most of the time, like an old radio trying to pick up radio signals that are out of range, Michael reaches out for him almost subconsciously, and he is marginally relieved to feel a sharp irritated nudge back, even if it’s Alex Code for leave me alone.

“What do you need from me then?” he asks, partially because he thinks he already knows what. But at the same time, their soulmate status is something that they never actually discuss with each other, so Michael had assumed that Alex had never told anyone else.

“You are his soulmate, aren’t you?” The girl in the hijab, who Michael vaguely remembers, had introduced herself as Carter, no first name, asks stepping away from the wall she’d been propped up against.

“He’s obviously not,” the guy who he’d interrupted before, and is now labeling, Blonde Asshole, says, a sneer on his face. “There is no way some backwards cowboy hick from Roswell is the Captain’s soulmate. I told you we should’ve checked his mark while he was unconscious.”

“That is an invasion of privacy,” Carter says, sounding disappointed.

Blonde Asshole scoffs, “We’re in the middle of an unsanctioned mission.”

The woman with short hair sends a truly impressive bitch face to the Blonde Asshole, and Michael thinks she introduced herself as Sabrina, “That doesn’t give you the sanction to act like such an asshole. Oh, wait, that’s just a delightful part of your personality.”

Blonde Asshole makes a mocking face at her, “It would’ve saved us the trip. The Captain’s life is in danger. We don’t have time to-”

Michael gets to his feet, effectively shutting him up and turns to Number Two, who stares right back at him.

“Alex is in danger?” he questions, sending a wave of worry to Alex, which is immediately cut off with a stone cold icy wall, like Alex doesn’t want to give him even an inkling of what he could possibly be feeling right now, which usually would make Michael scoff and roll his eyes and go to the bar and drink until he can dull the awareness of Alex in his head.

“Yes,” she says, simply and effectively changing the mood inside of the room. “Our mission before he went missing was highly classified, and it’s entirely possible that it pissed off the wrong type of people, and this is their way of getting revenge. They’ll interrogate him to get as much information out of him first, and then they’ll kill him. And the Captain is a hard nut to crack. He’ll withstand the torture for a long time. But I wouldn’t put it past the Commander to just drop a bomb instead of risking a rescue mission.”

“So we’re not only on a time limit, but we’re also risking possible dishonorable discharge, not to mention actual prison time, so if you’re not going to be any help, you may as well tell us now so that we can find another way to save him,” Blonde Asshole says, and he potentially sounds worried, but Michael ignores him and keeps looking at Number Two.

“So what are we waiting for?” he asks, not caring that he hasn’t confirmed that he is Alex’s soulmate.

He is, which is all that matters. He doesn’t have to prove anything to anyone right now. They’ll get their proof soon enough.

“For the plane to land,” Number Two says, and the plane hits a spot of turbulence on an otherwise completely still flight, and Michael drops down back to the row of seats that he’d woken up on, feeling a little dizzy. He has never been on a plane, and he doesn't understand why knowing he's actually in one, makes him feel worse than not knowing.

Number Two just reaches out and pats his shoulder, “Rest up. Once we hit the ground, there’s going to be no time for that.”

Michael nods his head, thinking that that is easier said than done, but as soon as he leans back against the seat, he feels his eyes flutter close, exhaustion hitting him like a wave, dragging him under and before he knows it, Michael falls asleep.

After the plane lands, he gets shuffled into a standard armored vehicle, squeezed between Blonde Asshole and Sabrina, who asks him if he's an actual cowboy or if he just wears the hat.

Michael doesn't really answer because since the moment he touched the ground, wherever they are, since he didn't exactly get an itinerary before he'd been kidnapped, he could feel his awareness of Alex coming back in full force, and now that he was closer, he could tell exactly why Alex had been pushing and putting up walls, and trying to keep him away.

Their bond was bright hot red with his pain, and not only was he going through whatever it was causing him pain, torture being the likely candidate, but he was also actively trying to keep their bond blocked.

Michael closes his eyes and concentrates fully on the piece of Alex that he had inside of him, feeling it light up in the back of his head, and right on the center of his chest, warm and pulsing.

Alex sends out a drowsy question, probably wondering what the hell Michael is doing, and Michael sends back an image of getting pulled out from beneath the hood of Mr. Jameson's Chevy by his team.

He feels Alex’s alarm sweeping through him, and before he can say or think anything else, Alex drags him out of his head.

Michael gasps as he feels overwhelmed with pain, stinging from the tips of his fingers to an ache in his chest that makes it hard to breathe to the excruciating pain of what he’s pretty sure is at least one broken leg.

Michael opens his eyes with difficulty and takes a look around the cell that they have him in, but there are no windows, and even if he could find it in himself to move, whoever took Alex has his hands cuffed together and tied to his cuffed feet.

If Michael concentrates, he'll be able to tug against the bond and use his powers even while in Alex's body, but before he can, Alex is dragging him out of his head and into their mindscape, a phenomenon that only seems to be possible when an alien is your soulmate since it's one of the many strange things about their bond that isn't like anyone else's.

Michael lets Alex tug him forward and check him over, asking about a million questions, but he can barely hear any of that.

His entire focus is taken up by Alex. Even though he knows that in the mindscape he's nothing more than a projection of his subconscious, which is why he looks all of seventeen years old, the same exact age they were when they fell in love and formed their bond. Michael can't help but be relieved at the sight.

He misses Alex so much while he's away, even more when he's overseas and he can't even get this.

Alex stops speaking, probably noting the lovesick look on his face, and he sighs, but Michael can feel the swell of affection pulsing through him.

"Guerin, focus," Alex requests, snapping his fingers in Michael's face.

Michael blinks a few times before he nods his head, “I’m here.”

Alex nods his head, “Good, now tell me. What do they have on you? Because I can convince Wilson to get lost while I figure out how to get out of here.”

Michael is too charmed by the way he puts air quotes around lost and forgets to actually pay attention to what Alex is saying.

Alex shakes him a little, and Michael blinks a few times before he realizes what Alex is saying.

“Oh,” he says, shaking his head. “This isn’t about me. Well, not about the alien thing. It’s about our soulbond. They think I can help find you.”

Alex furrows his brow and shakes his head, “Tell them no.”

“It’s already a little late for that,” Michael says a little sheepishly, pushing his recent memories towards him.

Alex just inhales deeply and closes his eyes.

"Fine, okay," he says, sounding defeated. "My team is good at extraction, and having a direct line to me through you should get the job done, but-"

He stops himself and turns to Michael, looking at him with a pleading expression, "But you have to promise me that you're not going to do something reckless and dangerous and expose yourself."

Michael wants to tell him that he will do anything if it meant getting him back safely, but he also knows that it's probably a declaration that Alex doesn't want to hear.

"I'll just lead them to where you are and stay out of the actual fight, you don't have to worry about that,” Michael says, and Alex gives him a look like that’s asking for him to do something impossible.

Before either of them can say anything else, Michael feels a jolt of pain coming from Alex’s side of the bond.

Alex grits his teeth, shutting his eyes tightly and shaking his head.

“Is that why you push me away sometimes, because you’re trying to protect me from this?” Michael asks without actually meaning to.

Alex blinks his eyes open, and just looks at him, and Michael can tell that he’s on the right track, but now isn’t the time to be discussing this.

Alex just breathes in deeply, and then narrows his eyes at Michael, and Michael feels a deluge of memories, scents and sounds and limited vision, of the drive to wherever it was that they took Alex.

It’s not a lot, but it’s enough for Michael to piece it together.

“We’re going to find you,” he tells Alex, infusing the words with as much conviction as he can.

Alex gives him a wan smile in return. “I know.”

Michael just nods his head and Alex closes his eyes, and then Michael drops back into his body like he’s been dropped from a great height.

He jolts and his eyes snap open, and he sees Number Two and Carter, turned around looking back at him.

He can feel Sabrina’s hands on his neck, and wrist checking his pulse.

“Is everything okay?” Number Two asks slowly, eyes darting all over him, probably worried that they’d concussed him earlier.

Michael nods his head, “Just conferring with Alex. I know how to find him.”

Number Two looks at him for a long moment, scrutinizing, before she nods her head sharply, "Alright then."

She turns towards the front starting the truck up again while Carter hands him her tablet with their location and the map pulled up, showing real time images.

Michael grabs it gratefully and starts looking for something that matches the memories that Alex gave him.

"Let's go get our boy back."

#malex fic #2kcelebrationfic #this was the first thing to pop into my head when i read your prompt so i hope that you like it :D

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fantasticstoryteller · 3 years

Text

New Dynasty Chapter 43

“It would be Oscorp,” muttered Spiderman from his vantage point.

Wade frowned under his mask. “I thought that serum you and Rich Boy invented fixed whatever was making him unstable.”

“Only if he kept taking it.” Spiderman ran a hand over his mask.

[You know—we’re not in New York. If we come across Osborn here we could kill him.]

{After all that hard work Peter put into saving the man? He’d be devastated!}

Yeah, Spidey wouldn't like it if I killed his best friend’s father, Wade thought to them. And to tell the truth, Wade kind of liked Harry. Sure the kid had a chip on his shoulder, but he seemed to be a good friend for Peter.

[And there was that whole incident where he didn’t even flinch when you stabbed the wall next to his head.]

{Well, he told us to get out of town and leave Peter alone!}

“Not helping,” muttered Wade.

A breeze lazily blew over the two of them. From the way the men were dressed, they were cold, but the two costumed men were fine. Wade’s leather effectively blocked all the breezes, and Peter’s suit had an automatic tendency to acclimate towards the cold. If not for the huge complex in front of them and all the trees around them, it could have been just another night on a rooftop.

The communicator in Wade’s suit (and presumably Spiderman’s) crackled to life. “There’s a second building behind the main facility. It looks like a loading dock of some kind, and something’s being moved,” Iron Man told them from his position—wherever that was. His new suit camouflage was great.

“There’s something going on inside as well,” Natasha told them. Somehow she had gotten in. None of them were asking how she did it. “I’m not sure what’s going on, but there’s a lot of champagne toasting, laughing, and a giant metal box that has a ridiculously huge red bow on it.”

“Sounds like they finished what they were doing,” murmured Bruce from—wherever he was at. The only one who didn’t stay hidden from Wade on mission was Peter. And Natasha, but Natasha had made sure to point out that while she couldn’t permanently kill him, she could, easily, make sure that he couldn't get back up for a while if he got to be a danger on the mission.

[Like we’d ever put Spidey in danger!]

{On purpose.}

“More importantly,” Wade said ignoring the boxes, “none of the guards are professionals. Legit mercs and merc companies wouldn't go near this job.”

“Probably heard how little Norman pays his employees,” muttered Tony.

Oscorp and Stark Industries had a strange rivalry going. While people muttered about how callous Oscorp treated its employees, Stark Industries had been voted as the best workplace in the country three years in a row. And except for a few pointed barbs, neither man commented on the rivalry.

“Think Norman knows what these idiots are up to?” asked Natasha. “I don’t see any sign of him being in here.”

A thin sliver of tension left the spider’s shoulders. Maybe Norman was taking the medicine regularly. Or maybe not. It was too soon to say.

[Too bad he’s not here. We should still kill him for wanting us to kill Spiderman.]

{He gave up on that idea though!}

“Guys,” Natasha said, “if we’re going to move, we need to do it now.”

“All right! Into the fray!” said Tony. There was an explosion.

{Why aren’t we allowed to blow anything up!}

[We blew up that wall back in Chapter 11!]

{And what chapter are we in now?}

Both Wade and Spiderman got up and ran into the building. Spiderman knocking people out and Wade—not killing them. They might die if they don’t get medical attention soon, but he’s not killing them.

[I’m not sure Spidey will appreciate the difference if they die…]

{Die, shmie! I want something cool to happen! Like explosions we get to make!}

Ignoring the pin pad box by the door Deadpool sliced the knob off and it swung open as the two costumed men swarmed inside, Spiderman spinning web after web as Deadpool didn’t kill people.

In the center of the room was a giant box. It was ten feet tall, made of metal, and appeared to have vents in it. On the top, as Natasha reported was a giant red bow that covered the entire top of the cage. The edges of the ribbon even had lace on it.

{Open the box!}

[It might be a trap!]

Open the box Wade. The control panel is too your left.

Wade turned to see, attached to the giant dolly the box was on, a control panel with a single red button on it. Seriously? Just the one button?

Don’t argue with my artistic sense Wade. Just push the button. And you might want to take about three steps back when you do.

“NO!” screamed one of the scientists, easily labeled by his lab coat, as Deadpool approached the box. He turned looking for the other members of Deadpool’s team. “DON’T LET HIM OPEN IT!”

Wade pushed the button and jumped back the required three steps as the panel of the box in front of him slid down. He looked up into the eyes—of a velociraptor.

Please Wade. Real raptors have feathers. This is a scientifically engineered creature straight from my nightmares because I was way too young to watch Jurassic Park when it first came out.

How old—?

None of your business. Now, see the black box on the creature’s chest? Smash it.

Barely noticing that the fight was screeching to a standstill around him, Wade shrugged. “You’re the boss,” he said to the author before stepping forwards to punch the box.

As it broke a few of the pieces pierced his hands releasing the necessary few drops of blood to activate the mechanism. Almost instantly, as his hand healed of the damage, he could feel the raptor in the back of his mind, snorting with hunger, with desire, with the need to hunt. He slowly turned and looked at the scientists and amateur mercenaries. A smile broke across his face as several of the ones staring at him lost what little color they still had.

Have fun Wade.

“Yee-haw!” wailed Wade as the creature roared, showing off all her perfectly shaped, conical teeth. Wade pulled both katanas from their sheaths and dove back into the fray as the creature waved her clawed hands in mimicry and dove on one of the gunmen swiftly eviscerating him with talons on her feet. The creature, catching Wade’s excitement and blood lust, didn’t even stop to feed. It moved on to attack the next the gunman.

The man was unlucky enough to fire several bullets that hurt the creature—but she had Wade’s blood. Enough of Wade’s blood that her wounds healed almost as quickly as the bullets pierced straight through her scaled flesh. She roared with hurt and rage at the man who had injured her and leaped on him, pinning his shoulders with her taloned hands as her foot came up and her controllable claw crept up us torso and dug in, near his shoulder, until it hit his rib cage and she pulled him apart to leave him gasping as he slowly, painfully died.

“Damn you’re dark today,” Wade said as he stabbed more people with his swords.

Shut up, it’s been a long week.

As Wade spun and kicked another opponent, he got a glimpse in the back of his mind of a distinctive red and blue suit. “No!” yelled Wade instinctively reaching through the bond. “You can’t kill Spidey!” The creature looked around and, through her eyes, he saw that Spiderman was surrounded by gunmen and clutching a bleeding shoulder. “Protect Spiderman!” he ordered.

The creature roared her assent to the order, slipped her narrow head under Spiderman’s body, and lifted until he slid down her neck to rest on her back before she leaped into action once more. Bullets flew at her and she twisted to protect the spider clinging with confusion to her back—and lasers flew out of her eyes to melt several of the guns.

“She has laser eyes!”

Yes. And none of this “Oh no, must keep the glasses/goggles on at all times” junk. She has perfect control over her laser eyes. And that’s not all she can do.

A small line of men, on a catwalk above the action, aimed their weapons at the creature. Wade saw it, showed her through the bond what was happening, and she roared before a flickering blue light surrounded her—just in time to bounce the bullets back into the men who shot them leaving both the creature and the man on her back unharmed. The creature parted its lips in satisfaction—and hunger.

“She can use a force field!”

Yes Wade. Oh, and she’s going to need fed soon. She eats hamburgers.

“Hamburgers?”

Not the whole thing—just the meat. They don’t even have to be cooked—there’s not a parasite in the world that can kill her.

Wade leaped up with a cheer and knocked over a cardboard box that fell over and opened to reveal Stetson cowboy hats. Without thinking he snagged two of them as the creature ran over to him and he leaped up on the back of it behind Spiderman. Then, before the costumed hero could blink, he placed hats on each of their heads.

“Okay people!” they heard Iron Man say over the communicator. “This place is done for; let’s get out of here!”

“Onward, honorable Bea Arthur!” said Wade firmly and the creature roared again before dashing out of the building—managing to jump on several of the downed “soldiers” on the way out.

As they left the building Spiderman began to shake and Wade slid an arm around him. “Are you okay?” he asked worriedly. As soon as they were a safe distance away Bea slid to a stop on the snow and Wade jumped off to help Spiderman down—only to see that the costumed hero was laughing. “What is it?” asked Wade.

He laughed harder before he could explain. “We just—rode a—dinosaur—that shoots—lasers!”

“Spidey? Peter?” asked Wade worriedly.

He’s fine Wade. The shoulder wound is shallow and he’s just reacting to the stress.

[Is he panicking?]

{Let’s kiss him and make it better!}

“Best idea I’ve heard all day,” muttered Wade. He ripped off his mask, ripped off Spiderman’s mask, and planted a firm kiss on the younger man’s mouth, stopping the hysterical laughter.

They slowly broke apart and Peter smiled. “Great idea Yellow,” he murmured.

“Feeling better?” asked Wade.

Peter pulled him closer. “Not yet,” he said.

“Oh, well, we better try again then.” Wade bent down for another kiss as the building exploded behind them. Wade broke away, looked at the fiery explosion, and grinned at his husband. “Epic,” he said. Peter simply pulled him in for another kiss.

“I hate to break this up,” they heard through the communicator, “but we’re getting a distress signal from Xavier’s mansion. Given that we all have children there, we might want to see what’s going on.”

The two men sighed, stopped kissing, and just held each other for a moment. “All right,” said Peter as he picked up his mask from the ground. “Let’s go make sure Arachne is okay.”

“Can we stop at a BK on the way?” asked Wade. “Bea Arthur really needs to eat and I don’t want her to decide that we’re food.”

#Spider-Man #Deadpool #Spideypool

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primroseprime2019 · 3 years

Text

The Little Girl and The Dinosaurs

On a dark cold December night, there was little four and a half American/Italian girl was coloring on a piece of paper in the carpet near the fire. She has dark brown hair and blue eyes, and slightly tan skin; she was wearing pink nightgown and a silver whistle attached to her neck. Her name was Valentina Rosalina Grady and she was waiting for her parents to come from work. Truth be told, this was no ordinary little girl. She was different from the rest of the kids in her neighborhood. She had unbelievable powers. Ever since she was born, strange things happened. Animals from shape and sizes would come near her and tried to make her smile or laugh. And when she was in the backyard, flowers and plants would grow. It was really strange but her parents accepted her gift but they had to keep it a secret. So her parents decided to keep her home schooled so the kids in her school won't be scared at her.

Speaking of her parents, they were really good people. Her dad was name Oscar Grady. He had light brown hair and adventurous blue eyes. He used to be a Navy soldier but he retired to become a collage history teacher. He loved to teach others to learn but during his free time, he would play with his baby girl and make her smile while teaching her how to do combat to control her powers and even though she was small, she was a fast learner. She was smart for a little girl but her curiosity got the better of her and she would get into a little trouble. Her mom was name Alma. She was a beautiful Italian woman. She has dark brown hair and warm brown eyes. She was a doctor and was very kind to her patients. Every man wanted to marry her but she chose Oscar because he was very funny and smart. Valentina loved her parents with all her heart and soul and would stay by their side no matter what. Well, except when she had to go to the bathroom.

Then a teenage girl with blond hair and chocolate brown eyes; She wore a red sweater, brown pants and cowboy boots. She was about the age of eighteen. She came out from the kitchen. "Val, it's almost past yer bed time." She said in a sweet western accent.

Val looked at her almost pleadingly, "Awww… but Abby, can I stay up fow five mowe minutes? Mommy and Daddy pwomise to wead me a bed time stowy."

Abby smiled at her, "Alright but remember yer ma and pa ain't gonna like it to see their little baby girl still awake and energetic."

Val smiled brightly, "Thanks Abby! You'we the best babysittew evew!"

Abby's real name was Abigail Starious. She lived down the block with her big brother, Joshua or Josh, close to Valentina's home. She and her brother moved from their family ranch to study in the big city to be doctors. Abby worked as a full time babysitter for Valentina also a waitress in a cafe and her brother Joshua worked as a mechanic, for cars. They knew about Valentina's power and would keep it a secret because they took a liking to her.

"Ah shucks, yer making me blush." Abby smiled then she noticed Valentina's drawing, "Watcha drawing there Val?"

Val showed Abby a red long neck animal with a crocked drawing of a tree. "It's a Ba-wo-sau-wus." She said trying to say the name correctly. It's correct name was Barosaurus.

"Is it a dinosaur?" Abby asked playfully, knowing the answer. Val loved dinosaurs so much that she had stuffed dinosaur toys in her bed room. She always dreamed of meeting one in Jurassic World but her parents were busy with their jobs so they didn't have time to go there. Not that she was complaining but Val understood her parents and would listen to them always.

"Uh-huh, they awe pwant eatews and they awe weally big!" Val said with a big and bright smile.

"Wow! I bet they can reach the tallest of all trees!" Abby said playfully.

Val nodded, "Yup! But they have to stand on theiw back wegs."

Abby smiled before going to kitchen to make some hot coco. Val went up to the sofa and looks at the window to wait for her parents. Val waited and waited and waited but her parents didn't come home yet. She fell asleep when the clock strikes nine. Abby became worried. Why didn't Mr. and Mrs. Grady come home yet? Abby pickd up Val and puts her to bed. She looked at her phone and sends an e-mail to Mr. Grady.

Mr. Grady, it's me Abby. I was wonderin' why ya aren't home yet with Mrs. Grady. If ya'll have an extra shift in yer work, I'll watch Val till tomorrow.

-Abby

Abby went to the couch and fell asleep as she waited for the text of Oscar. On the next day, Abby woke up and prepared breakfast. It was pancakes for breakfast. She heard little footsteps coming down the stairs. She turned and smiled to see Val holding her stuff honey colored raptor doll named Honey.

"Mornin' Val," Abby gave Val her breakfast. Val sat down and yawned before eating her breakfast. Abby opened the mini TV on top of the counter and let Val watch Disney Junior. Then the news appeared.

"I interrupt this program for this breaking new. Two married couples were killed on a car accident when a truck hit them last night. Police discovered the truck driver was drunk. The two married couples did not survive the crash."

Abby froze. 'Oh God! Please don't tell me!' She thought in fear.

"The married couples have IDs and their names are Oscar Grady and Alma Grady. The drunken driver was survived and his sentenced will be in soon after he recovers."

Abby's eyes widen in horror. She looks at Val and her heart broke at the sight. Val's eyes were wide as she broke down in tears. Abby comforted Val as she and Val would have to visit the police station to inform them about Mr. and Mrs. Grady having a four and a half year old daughter and retrieve their bodies to be buried. The funeral started early morning. It was cold and the snow fall down at them slowly. Val was wearing a black dress and shoes. She was in a graveyard with men and women that were friends with her parents. Abby was there by her side, wearing a black dress and her brother Josh, who had green eyes and blonde hair, was wearing a black clothes as well. Val placed a red rose on her mother and father's coffins as they were buried. Val put her picture in the middle, on her parents' grave, so they can see it in heaven above.

After she did she went to Abby and Josh and started crying, Abby and Josh comforted her. As the funeral was over everyone went home. Val was staying with Abby and Josh for a while until they can find any relatives that Val had. But the problem was that no one knew who was the closest family member.

Val was sitting on a couch, wearing her black dress. She has a red scarf that belongs to her mother; her whistle was buried in it, and her father's black beanie hat. She had dry tear stains on her face as she looked at a picture of her with her parents. Josh and Abby watched her with sympathetic looks.

"Is there any news 'bout her relatives?" Josh asked.

Abby shook her head, "Not yet, I'm still lookin'."

Josh sighed and he looked at Valentina sadly. Val wiped her tears away. "We can't just stand here and do nothin'." He looks at Abby, "We have to find her a family or at least part of her family. Do you remember if Mr. and Mrs. Grady havin' relatives?"

Abby tapped her chin with her index finger before snapping, "That's it! I remember seeing a picture of Mr. Grady with his brother. I think his name was Owen and he works at Jurassic World."

Josh smiled, "That's great! Do you know his number?"

Abby shook her head, "No but I bet Oscar has his number on his phone."

Josh nodded and the two went upstairs in Valentina's temporally room and went to her father's things and grabbed his cell phone before looking for Owen Grady.

"Let's see," Abby looked at the names inside the phone. "Here it is." Abby found the name Owen Grady and she calls him.

In the Isla of Nublar, a man with green eyes and light brown, hair wearing a blue shirt, with a black vest full of pockets, brown pants and shoes. He was in his bungalow fixing his motorbike. Then another man came. "Owen! Still enjoying your afternoon?" he asked with a strong African/French accent.

Owen wipes out a sweat from his forehead, "Yeah, taking a break from the girls, Barry." He throws his wrench in a toolbox.

Then Owen's cell phone rang. He picks it up to see a picture of a man with brown hair and blue eye. "Oscar? Huh, it's been long since I seen him."

"How long you haven't seen him?" Barry asked.

Owen counted his fingers, "I think about sixteen years."

Barry rolled his eyes at him as Owen answered his phone, "Hey Oscar! It's been long time since we spoke."

"Ah…howdy," Abby's voice answered, "Is this Owen Grady?"

"Yeah this is Owen and who are you and how the hell do you know my name and also how did you get my brother's phone?"

"I'm Abigail Starious." She answered, "I know yer brother because I and my brother, Joshua, lived down the blocks close to his house."

"Uh-huh, yeah and why are you calling in me using my brother's phone?" Owen asked.

"Didn't anyone tell you?" Abby asked.

"Tell me what?"

"Owen, your brother Oscar and his wife died in a car accident."

Owen froze, his phone was still in his ear and his mouth was hanging open and his eyes were wide as dinner plates, "When did this happen?"

"A week ago," Abby said, "Look, I know we just met but yer brother has a little four in a half little girl, who needs a family and yer the closest family she's got."

Owen didn't say anything. He and Oscar use to work at the Navy together until Oscar retired to be a history teacher in a university college and married an Italian woman name Alma. He and Oscar rarely talk due to the fact they were very busy in work but now his big brother was dead along with his wife and now his niece- one that he didn't know he had- was now an orphan.

"What's her name?" Owen asked, wanting know his niece's name.

"Her name is Valentina Rosalina." Abby said, "So are you going to take care of her? She's a very sweet girl and well behaves."

Owen thought about it. He is the only family left for his niece and he did took care of raptors, how hard can it be?, "Alright, I'll send her a ferry ticket next week to bring her here in the Isla Nublar."

Owen could hear Abby and Josh cheering happily, "Thank you! Josh and I are gonna get her a passport. She is goin' to be so happy!"

"Alright and thanks for the information." Owen said as he turned off his cell phone.

"What was that all about?" Barry asked.

Owen looked at him before saying, "Oscar and his wife Alma died in a car accident." Barry's eyes widen. "And I have a niece, that I didn't know I had, named Valentina Rosalina." Owen looked at Barry, "I'm the only family member she has left."

Barry's mouth was hanging open in shock, "Owen, you're going to raise a little girl that you barely know while working with Raptors?"

Owen shrugs, "Hey, I raised the girls and I'm still alive." He said, "How hard it is taking care of a little girl?"

Barry was about to answer but Owen quickly raised his right hand and said blankly, "don't say it."

Barry chuckled, "And how are you going to get a ferry ticket?"

"Easy, I'll asked Claire to give me and that doesn't work I could ask Simon Masrani." Owen looked at him, "But first can you help me buy the things that little girls like." Barry rolled his eyes but he decided to help because that little girl might not survive here. Barry and Owen went to the park to buy stuff for Val.

Meanwhile, Abby and Josh told Val everything. Val was shocked, happy, and worried. Shocked that she had an uncle that she didn't know she had, happy that she had an uncle and she wasn't alone and yet worried that her uncle might not like her. Abby helped Val pack her things like clothes, some toys, her Mandora Lute and her pink Ocarina. Val likes to play music. Her mom would teach her during her free time.

Josh bought Val a passport. They were lucky because Oscar used to work in the Navy. Owen was able to make Claire give him a ticket for Val after hearing the event and send it next week. After a few weeks, Josh was driving his car with Abby in the front seat. Valentina was wearing a red t-shirt with gray long sleeves, brown combat pant and orange shoes. She has mother's red scarf and her father's black beanie hat on. Her dark hair was tied into pigtails. As Josh parked the car, they went inside and saying their goodbyes to Val.

Abby was hugging little Val, "Bye sweet pea, I'm gonna miss you so much."

"I'll miss you too." Valentina said then she hugged Josh. "Bye, Josh."

Josh hugged her back before he let her go and he took out a small red box with a ribbon, "Yer Pa wanted to give ya this on yer birthday but since he can't I was wonderin' if ya wanted yer birthday gift a little early."

Val took the box and opened it to reveal a raptor claw fossil necklace. Val smiled and she put it own. She loved raptors as they were her favorite dinosaur. "Thanks Josh."

Josh smiled until the airport voice speaker's announce, "Ladies and Gentlemen the plane will leave in twenty minutes."

"Well, go on, ya don't wanna be late." Abby said with a smile.

"Yeah, yer gonna see many dinosaurs there." Josh then added, "And if somethin' cashes you...run." He whispered the last part, alarming Val.

"Josh!" Abby scolded.

Josh chuckled, "I'm just kiddin'. Jurassic World has tight security; ain't nothing gonna hurt ya."

Val nodded and went in line while she waved at Abby and Josh. Val sat near the window and put on her seat belt when the airplane took off. Val looked at the clouds in the sky. She took out the raptor necklace and held it tight. "Please, please, please, please like me." Val whispers before going to sleep.

#fanfiction #sad #family #jurassic world #my ocs #the little girl and the dinosaurs

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fromkenari · 4 years

Note

5 word prompts: “actually... I just miss you” for Malex. Maybe one of them says it drunkenly to the other?

So, this is longer than I planned and doesn’t have the ending I planned. So basically I failed. BUT HERE.

Michael made a point to himself to avoid The Wild Pony once Maria was out of the hospital. Even though the misstep in his routine ate at him to be there as the resident town drunk and waste of space, he couldn’t. Not on Open Mic night, especially, and not on nights when the VFW met up to swap stories. But also, he just couldn’t go there and snark with Deluca anymore. They were on a different playing field now, and he knew that the game now involved Maria losing both of her best friends, her boyfriend, and any semblance of heritage that wasn’t now tainted with alien stories. She needed time and Michael knew that. He was also willing to give that time to her because please, God forbid he’d run into Alex and Forrest or worse, overhearing Alex laugh and be free of his father with someone else. He supposed he knew what Alex meant now when he’d called that momentary slip of judgment -- the threesome -- something like hell. He couldn’t have Alex because someone else had Alex and they were happy, and everything just… sucked. Sucked the life right out of Michael.

Not to be forgotten was this new trouble afoot at the OK Corral with Mr. Jones being out after some seventy years in a pod. It was a showdown every day as the three of them -- Michael, Isobel, and Max -- tried to work this fourth alien who was identical to Max (save for the weird and at times, comical drawl) and learn what they could about their homeworld. Mr. Jones wasn’t very forthcoming and tried a new plan of escape practically every day and so having time to drink his sorrows was actually low on the Michael Guerin To-Do List these days.

Still, here he was. At The Wild Pony, sucking down glasses of bourbon because life was a bastard and Michael Guerin? He was a bastard, too. So bully for everyone. He’d buy a round for the whole bar if Maria even had the notion to allowing such a stunt. Besides, time was coming up on his shift of overseeing Mr. Jones who was currently housed in Max’s cellar. He might as well be going and was picking up his black cowboy hat to bid adieu to Maria when a voice so familiar that the sound made him weak, proudly proclaimed there was a round of drinks on him.

Oh, why did this have to be him?

Michael didn’t turn around and he saw the concern briefly cross Maria’s face when he let out a pained noise, which was drowned out by cheers and the slapping of a credit card on the bar. Michael grimaced and tried to school his face, but he was tired and attempted to turn the other way to leave.

“Guerin, you’re not passing up a drink when I’m buying are you?” Alex’s voice asked and Michael finally had to face him.

“Actually, I got somewhere to be,” Michael hummed as he put his hat on his head and tipped the brim with a finger toward Alex. “Thanks for the offer, though. I mean, you’ve bought me enough before. Let’s just call it even, yeah?”

Alex blinked but otherwise didn’t betray any emotion on his face. Michael hated this -- the moments when he couldn’t read the other man. Iraq had made him a soldier all right.

“Raincheck,” Alex insisted. “Would you at least come to meet Forrest as more than the guy who steals the microfiche reader from you?”

“Raincheck,” Michael echoed with another tip of his hat and he turned to leave without getting in any more words because he was definitely going to vomit if he had to see Alex being lovey-dovey with Nazi Guy.

Michael made his way to the parking lot and was fumbling with keys when they were abruptly snatched out of his hand. He groaned and tipped his head back. “I’m not that drunk,” he said in a stubborn way as he turned his head and cocked his eyebrow at Alex. “You gonna drive me? You’re not sober either.”

“No,” Alex said but he tucked the keys into a pocket anyway. “But I’m trying this thing. It’s called being a friend. I’ve dropped the ball on that recently. Also, if you’re leaving to drive drunk because I’m here with my boyfriend, then that’s a problem for me, Guerin.”

Michael rolled his eyes and turned to lean against the cab of his truck. “I don’t need your hospitality or reparations, Alex. We’re never going to be just friends.”

“Maybe,” Alex said slowly with a nod. “But it’s more than that.”

“Oh?” Michael prompted, not willing to help at all here.

“We -- Forrest and I -- keep coming here, to The Wild Pony, and you’re never around. It feels weird. Does it feel weird to you?”

Michael sighed. “Yeah, it’s weird, but I don’t get what you’re trying to say. You want me here so you can introduce your boyfriend?”

Alex went quiet and looked at their feet before he met Michael’s gaze. “No, Guerin. I don’t want you here to meet my boyfriend.”

“So, what? You just need some rowdiness in your life?” Michael facetiously asked with a shake of his head.

“Actually…” Alex said and looked at Michael’s lips before guiding his eye line back up. “I just miss you.”

A beat of silence passed. A second beat passed. And a third.

Michael didn’t meet Alex’s eyes when he suddenly nodded slow-like and backed away from the truck and Alex. He kept going and soon he was walking out of the parking lot.

“Where are you going, Guerin?” Alex demanded though it sounded a little more like a plea.

Stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets, Michael swung around and held open his jacket as he continued to walk and stumble backward. “I’ve walked home before and I’m too sober for this conversation, but the next time you want to try to rope me into being a third wheel? Don’t.”

Alex looked like he might say something, but then he didn’t and nodded, looking troubled. Finally, a face that Michael could read even if it seized him up just as much as Alex saying he missed Michael. Michael couldn’t believe it’d actually been said, especially with Forrest inside the bar.

“One step forward, two clown jumps back,” Michael said to himself as his wet eyes shined in the moonlight as he walked the dirt road to head toward Sanders’ Auto.

#malex #malexfic #angst #mine #befitandchase

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2uselessgays · 4 years

Text

My business, my rules.

[Elizabeth Caledonia Ashe x Female Reader]

You’d been sent by Morrison with Ashe to just tackle a “small” issue down at Route 66. Talon operatives had been tampering with the payload contents, and possibly a top secret and highly valuable project. You’d been scouring the scene for a while alongside Ashe and B.O.B. To be honest, you did find B.O.B kind of cute. He didn’t speak much, but the little gestures he did were pretty heart melting.

The main attraction to you was Ashe. She was fierce, strong, loyal, fearless and absolutely gorgeous. She was the boss. Knew exactly what she wanted and would get it whenever she wanted. You best obey or be begging for mercy. Bright, blood red eyes, lush and soft white hair cut perfectly to adorn her features, and the cowgirl outfit was a neat plus. You adored her accent, her little ways of talking brought you so much unknown joy. You just had to tell her.. somehow. But for now, the mission was what you had to think about.

Ashe had her Viper slung over her shoulder, impatiently kneeling, waiting for some action to happen. “Oh for Christ’s sake, are them Talon hooligans here or not? I’m wastin’ my time here. I could be with the gang right now.”

You hushed her, pointing towards the payload. She gave you a dirty look - Ashe was the boss, she didn’t like being bossed around. Several soldiers and four prominent agents were there - Sombra, Moira, Reaper and Widowmaker - all examining the payload. The huge white pod in the middle was their main focus, they seemed immeasurably fixated on it. Must be hugely valuable, otherwise Talon would have disregarded it long ago.

“Look there, Ashe - they’re talking about it, let’s listen.” You managed to pick up a few scraps of their conversation.

“Those Overwatch freaks haven’t come here yet, are you sure they don’t have an ambush ready?” Sombra spoke, messing around with her virtual keyboard.

“Even if they are here, we can handle them. We can’t let this end up like the museum. The boss wants this.” Reaper spoke. "You’d better not mess around, Sombra.” He spat. "I won't go easy on you next time." Sombra scoffed, knowing he wouldn't dare. They needed her.

“Stop fighting, you two. Does nothing run on time in this place? Where is the dropship?” Moira broke the tension. She let out a dreaded sigh, rubbing her temples in frustration. “Even with something this valuable, Talon forces are still late. Unbelievable.” She pressed a finger into her ear, muttering a few code words, waiting for a reply, impatiently tapping her foot. Gingerly, she grimaced, pinching the bridge of her nose. “We’re going to have to move the payload ourselves. Let’s go.” She motioned towards the cargo.

As the Talon soldiers marched their way to the payload, Ashe was raring to go. "Come on, (Y/N)! Aren't we gon’ attack them? Ain't that our job, doll?" B.O.B shot you a curious look as he tipped his small fedora. You felt your cheeks slightly pricked with warmth at the mention of the pet name 'doll.' You almost don't notice Ashe getting up and jumping away, followed by her butler. "Oh, Ashe, wait-" You whisper-yelled, whipping your arm out to grab her by the shoulder. But it's too late, she had already jumped off your vantage point and into the spotlight. You jump in after her hesitantly, wanting to have called backup first, as you were outnumbered and in need of a medic in the fight, but you assumed she’d need some back-up.

She slung the Viper over her shoulder, raising her head to show her piercing, blood red eyes from beneath her oversized cowboy hat. She smirked, a cocky demeanour overcoming her. "They say there's no honour among thieves. But that's not how things work around here. Y'all are in my territory now. And you better pray for mercy. Welcome to Deadlock Gorge!" She screams loudly, running towards the payload, claiming it for herself. You run after her having her back, but before you even got close to her, you heard something.

"Apagando las luces!" Sombra yells before hacking you from behind. You squeal upon hearing that line. You look behind you and there she is. Before you could do anything she’d already shot at you, and you do your best to dodge the steady stream of bullets pouring out of her SMG. She chases you around, isolating you from both B.O.B and Ashe.

You were in serious trouble. She ends up cornering you, and as you back up against the wall, you hear, "Luces apagadas, perdedor." She was gonna try and take your life. You close your eyes, your nose scrunched as you awaited the sweet release of death. But it doesn't come. Instead, you hear explosions, several bullets being fired, and Ashe screaming, "Bob, do something!"

Ashe noticed you were missing from the battlefield. You weren't with B.O.B, neither were you anywhere near other Talon operatives. She noticed the funky looking purple agent had gone missing too. She didn't like the sound of this. Better not have been what she was thinking. She wouldn't forgive herself at all if she lost you. She threw in her dynamite, letting it do the work for her, ('snuffing 'em outta there,' as she puts it) as she whistles for Deadlock Gang members to come and help and orders B.O.B around. As the smoke clears, you see that Reaper and Moira are yelling for a tactical retreat, leaving the payload. It would be top risky to try and push it with the Deadlock Gang around. Their yells resound in your ears, and you hear the swift click-clack of heels near you.

"I believe you have somethin' that belongs to me. Put the gun down and me and my doll will be on our way." A low, familiar voice spoke - Ashe! She had come to your rescue, thank God. You opened your eyes and let out a huge breath that you didn't even know you were holding. Sombra was frozen in place, and the cowgirl was pointing her Viper at the back of Sombra's head. You jumped at the opportunity to take your double barrel scattergun and point it at her as well. She laughed in your face, mocking you as she pressed a few buttons on her suit. Her smile quickly dropped.

Ashe chuckled lowly. "Lookin' for this?" She dropped Sombra's broken translocator onto the ground, smashing it further with her heel. It released a satisfying crunch, and you saw Sombra's eyes fill with despair. "Give up and walk away, missy. Reach for the sky."

"You're not going anywhere anyway, so you might as well give up, Sombra." You chimed in, feeling a little awkward. You were nowhere near as cool as Ashe. Your fingers were steadily set on the trigger, ready to shoot.

With a swipe of her fingers and hand, the purple glitch vanished right in front of your eyes, and you heard a low chuckle and a small touch on your nose. Clearly hers. Ashe cursed under her breath, frantically looking around, fumbling to try and locate where Sombra could have gone. "God fucking damnit! Lost her. Damn Talon soldiers… No good tricksters.." Her fiery gaze met yours and was extinguished. She flashed a warm, bright smile. "Come on, darlin', we've got a victory to secure."

She wrapped an arm around you comfortably, as if to keep you close to her to keep you safe from any sort of harm. You weren't complaining, Ashe was the best thing to come into your life since you joined Overwatch back in the glory days.

Now, if only you could tell her that.

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

Dramatic, I know! Hope you enjoyed reading that work of art. ~S

Written mostly by ☆Mod Sakura, with some help from ♡Mod Noel

#Ashe #elizabeth caledonia calamity ashe #elizabeth caledonia ashe #overwatch #overwatch x reader #ashe x female reader #ashe x reader #lesbian

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edharrisdaily · 3 years

Text

Ed Harris talks Kodachrome, Westworld and the state of America

Riding high with his killer role in television’s Westworld, Ed Harris continues to bring the flinty characters that have been the hallmark of his career to the stage and the big screen.

Ed Harris has become something of a symbol for the single-minded American man. He’s used his resonant voice and intense blue-eyed gaze to play cowboys and astronauts, soldiers and sheriffs, artists and assassins.

That means he’s worn many hats: a beret as Kristof, the genius reality-television puppetmaster in The Truman Show; helmets – diving ones and space ones – in The Abyss and The Right Stuff respectively. The latter, in which he played Mercury astronaut John Glenn, proved a career breakthrough: a shot of him as Glenn made the cover of Newsweek just as the real Glenn headed into politics.

There have been plenty of Stetsons, too. He wears a big black one as the merciless Man in Black in the television series Westworld. That character could be a distant relative of the black-hatted title character he played in 1987’s Walker, the craziest movie of his career – well, until last year’s Mother! – about the American who appointed himself president of Nicaragua in the 1850s. It lives on in cult infamy.

On the line from New York, Harris laughs at the millinery-oriented overview of his career. “Ha, ha, ha. I just like wearing hats – especially as I don’t have any hair on top of my head.”

In his new film, Kodachrome, he sports a jaunty Panama to play a famous photographer who embarks with his estranged adult son on a road trip from New York to Kansas, to the last laboratory still processing the colour-slide film of the title.

It’s a relatively low-key role for Harris, not least because his prickly character is dying. “It was a great character to play. I had a really good time doing it.”

He is a man who, it must be said, sounds much friendlier than some of the characters he plays. “How are things in New Zealand?” he asks. Good, thanks. How are things in the US? “Good God almighty,” he chuckles. “Pretty pitiful situation, I guess, at the moment, eh? It’s embarrassing.”

At 67, Harris is a man whose career remains on a steady roll. In the past couple of decades, he’s appeared in plenty of big films but also managed to direct two of his own – notably the acclaimed Pollock, a biopic of the abstract artist Jackson Pollock, in which he also played the title role – and spend time treading the boards of Off-Broadway theatres.

When we talk, he and his wife of 35 years, Amy Madigan, are coming to the end of the season of the David Rabe play Good for Otto in New York. They were on stage together in London early last year, too, in Buried Child by the late Sam Shepard, who was also a Right Stuff alumnus. Do husband and wife come as a package?

“We have of late. It’s been really fun, you know.”

Born in New Jersey, Harris was a high-school athlete and football star before he attended Columbia University, and didn’t take up acting until his family shifted to New Mexico. He studied drama at Oklahoma University, then in Los Angeles, where he’s been based ever since.

He met Madigan when they were both cast in the Depression-era film Places in the Heart, starring Sally Field. They’ve since appeared in nine movies together, including Pollock, in which she played art collector Peggy Guggenheim.

The idea for the film was sparked when Harris’ father gave him a copy of a biography of the artist, but it took 10 years for the actor to get it to the screen.

It won him a best-actor Oscar nomination (co-star Marcia Gay Harden lifted the statuette for best supporting actress) and cemented Harris’ reputation as a single-minded tough nut. He famously smashed a chair on set to give Harden’s performance a jolt.

The film took its toll on the Harris-Madigan family finances. “I spent a ton of my own money on that film. You know I didn’t need to, but I had to. So I wouldn’t have changed that for the world.

“I had spent so much time working on developing the script and working on this guy and painting and getting to know people that knew him and getting the rights to his works … I was totally immersed in it. And I didn’t care what I had to do to make the film right.

“I mixed that film twice completely and went to three different composers. I would have done whatever I had to do to get it what I wanted it to be. I didn’t even think about it. I mean, my wife was kind of going ‘Ed, what are you doing?’. But we survived.”

If Pollock was an artistic triumph in step with his challenging stage work, in the movies Harris remains better known as a go-to guy for a voice of authority: in Apollo 13, he was mission controller Gene Kranz (“Failure is not an option”), and he’s played a fair few sheriffs, colonels and generals.

Nasa – the real one – has asked him a few times to perform narration duties on commemorations. He can’t get away from it in the movies, either. When Sandra Bullock’s stranded astronaut calls Houston in Gravity, that’s Harris responding.

“I mean, I am fascinated by space but it’s not something that’s like a major thing in my life.”

Harris’ commanding tones haven’t always been that commanding. “I used to have a really thick Jersey accent when I was going to college,” he says, “and just over the years, you know, part of my craft is to be able to use my voice appropriately for whatever given character.

“And I actually feel really good about the whole vocal stuff in Kodachrome, because it’s lower-register and pretty relaxed.”

The last time he played a dying man on screen – a poet with Aids in The Hours in 2002 – he got the fourth of his four Oscar nominations for it. Playing another one – and another difficult artist – in Kodachrome was harder than it looks.

“He might not be that active but physically it’s really challenging because he’s hurting, he’s aged, he’s frail. His mind is still sharp. Even to play an invalid you have to be in pretty good shape because you have to be able to use your body in a way that allows you do that.”

The film is also a meditation on the cultural change that has come with an increasingly digitised world. So where does Harris, a man who plays a robot-killing cowboy on television, sit on the digital-analogue spectrum?

“I’m a bit of a dinosaur, I’m afraid. You know it’s passing me by big-time. I am decent on the computer and that kind of thing but first of all I really like film films.

“I take a few decent photos I have a great old Leica camera that I actually used in the movie and I’ve taken some pretty good photographs. But I haven’t done much of late. I’ve been toying with the idea of building a little darkroom and getting to shoot some black and white but that’s just in my head at the moment.”

Presumably the photos would go up on the wall chez Harris-Madigan next to the Pollocks he painted in character.

“Well, a couple of friends got some, and one of the things about making that movie was you would shoot what he might be doing on canvas and you see that. But then to save time and canvas they put the camera back on me painting, and I will be painting over stuff that I thought was actually not so bad and just totally f---ing it up. So there wasn’t that much work left that I thought was decent.”

Harris is hoping to direct a psychological thriller based on Kim Zupan’s 2015 book The Ploughmen, about a Montana deputy sheriff and a local serial killer. Until then, Westworld gives him a regular pay cheque and keeps him busy for most of the year. So does figuring out what is going on in the show.

No, he didn’t know the twist about his character – that another regular character in the wild west android theme park was actually the Man in Black too, at a younger age. And that he owns the place. It was all bit of a surprise.

“You never know where they are going to take you. I’ve never worked on something where you find out in episode six something very basic about your character that might have been nice to know in episode one.

“I think they think that it’s going to keep the actors fresh or something. I told them, ‘Well, you know, last year I did 125 performances of Buried Child, and I knew what the script was going to be and what was going to happen with the character, and the 125th performance was just as fresh and alive as the first one. I don’t have a problem understanding and knowing what is going to happen to my character.’ But whatever.”

He’s not complaining. He has steady work in a high-profile show that is kind of a western, a genre he loves. He directed his own very good one, Appaloosa, in 2008. That one featured Viggo Mortensen, Jeremy Irons, Renée Zellweger and no killer robots. In Westworld he’s enjoying being a gun for hire and wearing that hat of his.

“I like putting on my Man in Black outfit. It makes me feel good.”

#ed harris #interview #q

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bestillmyslashyheart · 4 years

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“Whose car is that?” Liz asked as they pulled up to Alex’s cabin. It wasn’t Alex’s (as far as she knew) but no one else would have any reason to be here. “Maria?” She craned her neck to see into the backseat. Liz had been back for a little over a year but she’d been so wrapped up in her own drama, well her’s and Max’s, that she hadn’t really had a chance to get to know anyone in Roswell again. It was possible that the car belonged to someone from in town but Maria just shook her head and shrugged.

“I don’t recognize it.” At Maria’s denial, Liz turned to Max in the driver’s seat but he just looked worried.

“Max?”

He slipped out of the car and unholstered his weapon. “Stay here. Let me make sure it’s safe.” He didn’t give any of the women in the car time to argue, he just eased his door shut and crept quietly towards the front door.

Maria leaned forward between the two seats, her phone in her hand. “What are you doing?” Liz asked, her attention stolen from Max for a second.

“I’m sending a picture of the car to Kyle,” Maria explained. “He spends more time around Alex than any of us these days, maybe he recognizes it.” She snapped a picture and sent it off just as a shout came from the cabin. Immediately, Isobel was out the door and halfway up the stairs, Liz and Maria close behind.

“Put your weapons down!” Max was yelling when they burst through the front door. He stood with his back to the fireplace, his feet set in a proper shooting stance. Liz turned to see who he was talking to and immediately took a step back into Maria when she saw three people in Alex’s kitchen, each of them with their own weapons out and pointed at Max. When they registered Liz, Isobel, and Maria’s entrance, two of them trained their weapons on them.

Liz put her hands in the air immediately and felt Maria do the same. Isobel didn’t bother, she just stared them down with a look on her face Liz was beginning to understand someone’s brain was about to get melted. “Who the hell are you?”

“Who the hell are you?” One of the men opposite them returned.

“We’re friends of the owner,” Max answered. “And I’m a Sheriff’s Deputy. And you’re breaking and entering. Now put your weapons down.”

“Fuck you, Deputy, we didn’t break and enter shit,” the same man spoke.

“This isn’t your house,” Maria argued.

“No, we’re friends of the owner and I’ve got a damn key,” the other man, taller than the first but with no discernible features, countered. He didn’t move to produce said key. “What gives you the right to barge in here like this?”

“Who are you?” Liz asked. “If you’re friends of Alex’s, who are you?”

“Who are you?” The woman asked. “As we said, we have a right to be here and you do not.”

“I am a Sheri-” Max protested.

“I’m guessing you’re with Chaves County, yeah?” The first man asked, a mocking lilt to his voice that Liz didn’t like. “Which means this is out of your jurisdiction. You have no right to be here.”

“Look,” Maria took a half step forward but ran into Isobel’s arm. “If you’re friends of Alex’s and he gave you a key, where is he? He isn’t answering his phone.”

The three of them exchanged glances. The first guy, the one Liz was starting to think was really just an asshole, didn’t budge but the other two started to relax. “That’s what we’re here to find out. We all served with Alex and we keep in touch but none of us have heard from him in a while so we got worried.”

As soon as she mentioned they were Air Force, Liz tensed up and Maria took that half step back and then another one for good measure. They exchanged a glance, both of them clearly thinking the same thing; Jesse Manes was very likely the reason behind Alex’s disappearance and if they’d learned anything recently it was that the man had more allies than he didn’t. Anyone from the Air Force was immediately a possible threat. Especially those who show up in Alex’s cabin after he disappeared, claiming to be his friends none of them knew about.

The sudden tension was noticed by the soldiers and the woman and the tall guy next to her immediately reacted. Any relaxation they might have displayed a moment earlier was gone.

“I think it’s time you left,” the woman advised.

Liz shook her head. “We’re not leaving you in Alex’s cabin, alone. You leave.”

“Who the hell do you think you are giving orders?”

“We’re Alex’s friends,” Isobel asserted. Liz was surprised Isobel hadn’t done anything yet but then again, there were three of them. Even if she took down one and Max another, there would still be a third for them to deal with.

“This is going in fucking circles,” the Asshole cursed.

The woman looked at him briefly. “There is one way to resolve this. We could just call-”

“No,” Asshole objected immediately. “Absolutely not.”

“It would clear this up real fast,” Tall Guy hedged. “We could stop pointing guns at people. I don’t know about you but I’m not really in the mood to shoot a cop, outside his jurisdiction or not.”

“We’re all civilized people here,” the woman made an eh sound but Asshole kept going, “we can work this out.”

“Great,” Max chimed in. “We can work this out by the three of you leaving this house immediately.”

“Sorry, Deputy, that’s not going to happen.” Tall Guy at least sounded like he was trying to be apologetic about it. “Now, as we’ve said, we have Alex’s permission to be here, and you’re the one breaking and entering so I suggest you all kindly leave. Now.” So far none of them had dropped their guns. Liz wanted to leave, the door was right there and there were far too many guns in the room for her liking, but she didn’t want to leave Max or Isobel and she knew they couldn’t leave.

“Look, I’m Liz, this is Maria and Max and Isobel,” she pointed to each of them in turn. “If you’re really friends of Alex’s, maybe you know who we are?” They all showed signs of recognition but none of them quite lowered their weapons. Not yet. “What are your names?”

Tall Guy started to answer when a car came rumbling up the drive and immediately set everyone on alert again. The car skidded to a stop on the gravel driveway and two car doors slammed one after the other. A moment later, Kyle appeared in the doorway with Michael close behind.

“What’s going on?” Kyle asked as he entered the house. “None of you are answering your p- oh shit.” He immediately took a step back when he saw the visitors (and their guns) in the kitchen. “Who the hell are you people?”

Behind him, Michael crossed the threshold and immediately rolled his eyes. “Fuck you, Whitty,” he greeted. The woman and Tall Guy dropped their weapons but Asshole just turned and pointed his gun at Michael.

“Hey!” Max yelled, taking a step forward. Michael held a hand out to him to calm him down.

“Relax, Max, Whitty isn’t gonna shoot me.”

The woman scoffed. “I wouldn’t be too sure about that.” She paused a beat, her face as stoic as it had been since Liz entered the cabin, before she grinned brightly. “Hey, pretty.”

Michael laughed. “Hey beautiful.” He walked towards the kitchen and opened his arms, the woman meeting him halfway in a tight hug, Michael’s hat falling to the ground by the force of it. Michael straightened and her toes dangled off the floor.

“Alright, put me down, asshole,” she griped unconvincingly, her smile betraying her. Michael chuckled but set her back on her feet in time to accept a hug from Tall Guy.

“Hey Johnny, long time,” Michael greeted as they separated.

Johnny bent and swiped up Michael’s hat from the floor and plopped it back on his head. “It has been,” he agreed. “And yet you’re still wearing this ratty old thing.”

Michael reared back in faux horror. “How dare you insult the hat?”

Johnny shrugged. “There are certain situations in which a cowboy hat is acceptable. All day, every day, is not it.”

By this point, Asshole, or Whitty, Liz supposed, had holstered his weapon. Unlike his companions, he didn’t move to hug Michael and Michael didn’t make any gesture of greeting, the two choosing instead to glare at each other across the room.

“Uh, Michael?” Maria stepped forward, this time not stopped by Isobel. “You know these people?”

Michael turned from his angry staring match with Whitty. “Hm? Oh yeah. The tall freak of nature over there is Johnny Walker, no I’m not kidding. The gorgeous little redhead right there is Jeri Collins. And the asshole,” he nodded to Asshole and Liz felt validated, “is Alex Whitman, Whitty for short.”

“Whitman is fine,” Whitty countered with a glare at Michael.

“Whitty,” Michael stage whispered to them. “And this is,” he held out a hand to introduce Liz and the others but Jeri cut him off.

“We’ve met.”

“Yeah I saw that. Has Air Force protocol changed? Is it now customary to introduce yourself gun first?” Michael blinked innocently.

Johnny snorted. “Alex is missing and they broke in. What were we supposed to think?”

“We told you we were looking for him!” Liz yelled.

“Yeah, while your boyfriend held a gun on us,” Whitman replied. “Not overly reassuring that you’re really who you say you are.”

Max opened his mouth but Michael held up a hand. “Yeah, that’s enough. What are you guys doing here?”

“We haven’t heard from Alex in over two weeks.” Jeri crossed her arms and shrugged like that explained everything.

“Ah,” Michael replied, like it did. He rubbed the back of his neck. “Alex is fine.”

“What?” Maria asked.

Michael turned to her, eyebrow raised in confusion. “Alex is fine?”

“How do you know that?” Isobel asked. “No one’s seen or heard from him in over a week.”

Michael’s brow furrowed. “What?”

“Guerin,” Kyle sighed. “When did you last talk to Alex?”

“Yesterday,” Michael answered. “He went out of town for a little while to work on that thing?” He looked at them meaningfully as if trying to impart the words ‘Project Shepherd’ directly into their brain through the sheer force of his gaze alone. “He said it was low risk but he’d be out of cell phone range while he was gone. He called yesterday to say he’ll be back in a day or two.”

Max stared at him and finally holstered his gun. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“I didn’t know I was supposed to?” Michael looked genuinely confused. He turned to the others. “If you want to stick around until Alex gets back, it shouldn’t be more than like a day.”

All three of them nodded. “We’ve got a couple of days leave,” Whitman announced. “We’re not leaving until we see him.”

“Yeah, course,” Michael agreed.

“Of course?” Liz had to ask. “Our word isn’t enough? Michael’s word isn’t enough?”

All three of them suddenly looked very angry but Michael beat them to it. “They all served with Alex on his last deployment, okay?” He explained quickly. Liz had to think about why that mattered when she remembered how Alex lost his leg. He’d been separated from his unit for three days and when they found him, the leg was unsavable. She could imagine how that would impact his unit. She nodded, unable to think of what to say.

“So,” Kyle dragged out. “Now what?”

“Now you can go,” Whitman announced. “We’ll crash here until Alex gets back but you have no reason to be here.”

Max bristled and Maria and Isobel both tensed. Liz held up a hand. “What if we go to the Crashdown or the Wild Pony?” She looked at Maria until Maria gave a reluctant shrug. “We can something to eat or drink and get to know each other? After all, we’re all friends of Alex’s, right? No reason we can’t get along.”

Jeri shrugged. “I could eat.” Next to her, Johnny perked up and nodded in agreement.

Everyone looked to Whitman. His scowl was still firmly in place.

“Oh come on, Whitty, don’t be an ass,” Michael goaded. “Get some food, drink some beer, and pull the stick out of your ass.” Whitman took a step forward right into the arm of Johnny.

“Easy, Whitty,” Johnny soothed. “Alex will be pissed if you two go at it and you know it.”

Whitman glared at Johnny but relaxed and nodded. “Fine. Let’s go bond or some shit.”

---

In the 23 hours (Liz counted) it took for Alex to return to Roswell, Liz learned a few key things about him and his friends:

1. Alex and Michael had more of a relationship than anyone thought. As far as any of them had been aware (and they had a mini conference about the subject after the standoff at Alex’s cabin) Michael and Alex had had a high school fling and nothing more. They were very clearly very very wrong.

2. Alex’s friend Whitman really did not like Michael and the feeling was not reciprocated. It was clear that Michael and Whitman had once been close friends; there were several occasions when one would make a reference to what was obviously an old joke and they’d share a look before Whitman would scowl and look away. Michael would just look sad.

3. She was pretty sure Michael and Jeri had slept together at least once, just going off of how friendly and physically affectionate they were. But if Michael had been with Alex, Liz wasn’t sure how that had happened.

4. Johnny Walker, despite his name, did not drink.

5. Liz almost could have liked the three of them, even Whitman, but it was clear the three of them held no love for any of Alex’s Roswell friends and so every interaction remained laced with tension that Liz just couldn’t overcome.

6. They were very close with Alex. The moment Alex walked into the Wild Pony all three of them relaxed for the first time since Liz had met them and they’d all given Alex enthusiastic greetings. For his part, Alex smiled brighter than he had in months when he saw them.

“Hey,” Alex greeted their table when his other friends finally released him. “I heard there was an issue at the cabin? Michael was non-specific…”

They all exchanged glances. “You disappeared for a week, Alex,” Kyle scolded gently. “We got worried.”

Alex looked confused. “I told you I was going to check out another location from the files.”

Max leaned forward and shifted in his chair. “We got the impression that would be a day trip kind of thing,” he admitted. “When you didn’t come back and you didn’t answer your phone we got worried.”

“Um, thanks?” Alex tapped his fingers on the back of the chair in front of him. He hadn’t bothered to sit down. “I told Michael it would be a few days and there was likely no cell reception up there. I didn’t think anyone else would notice I was gone, truthfully.”

“You didn’t think we’d notice if you disappeared and stopped answering your phone?” Maria was incredulous.

Alex shrugged. “It’s not like I talk to any of you every day. I wasn’t going to be gone that long so I didn’t think about it. Sorry for worrying you.”

“And your friends?” Isobel nodded over at the pool table where Michael and Whitman were arguing about something Liz couldn’t hear and Jeri and Johnny were busy laughing at them. “Michael seems pretty friendly with them. Or with Jeri and Johnny, at least. He and Whitman don’t seem to like each other very much.”

Alex looked over at the pool table and then back to Isobel, his face creased in confusion. “Michael and Whitty get along great, what are you talking about?”

The whole table stared at him. “Whitman hates Michael? He pulled his gun on him when Michael walked into the cabin yesterday and he’s done nothing but be an ass to him since.” Alex stared at Liz.

“What?”

Liz looked at the others, just to confirm that they’d all seen the same thing she had. “Yeah, they don’t get along at all. How, uh, how do they know each other anyway? Michael didn’t really bother answering any questions after he introduced us.”

“They all served with me,” Alex answered almost absent mindedly, his focus now fix on Michael and Whitman. “We were stationed together for a few years and Michael got to know them pretty well when he visited.”

“I didn’t realize he visited you,” Isobel was brave enough to say.

“Hmm?” Alex mused, his attention still on the two men. “Yeah, depending on where I was stationed he visited pretty often. You never noticed when he left town?” Shouts erupted from the pool table and Alex cursed. “Sorry, I’m gonna-” he left without bothering to finish the sentence.

“Did you know?” Isobel turned to Max.

He shook his head. “No. I mean, we knew Michael took off sometimes, but I thought he was just going out into the desert. He used to do that when we were in high school so I just assumed…”

“How often?” Maria asked, sounding almost like she didn’t want to know. She and Michael had been dancing around each other, not quite dating but definitely something.

“I don’t know?” Isobel looked at Max. “Usually a weekend a month? Sometimes more?”

“Yeah it was usually a weekend here and there. Occasionally he’d be gone longer and there was one time he was gone for almost a month but he never mentioned where he was going.”

“Huh,” Maria sat back in her chair and threw back the last of her drink. Across the bar, Liz watched as Alex about dragged Whitman away.

“I’m gonna use the bathroom,” Liz excused herself, ignoring Kyle’s knowing look. She hurried down the hallway Alex and Whitman had just disappeared into. It wasn’t a very big hallway and it was empty. She paused outside the men’s room but when she didn’t hear any voices she reached for the door to the back parking lot.

Liz started to ease it open and stopped when she heard Alex’s voice.

“What the hell is going on with you and Guerin, Whitty?” He sounded confused. “You two were like best friends.” Whitman didn’t say anything. “Don’t tell me you hate him because we broke up. That’s fucked up, Whitty.” Now Alex sounded angry.

“He left you right before we deployed, Alex. What kind of asshole does that? And then afterwards? I thought he was the kind of man that would show up when you needed him but you needed him and he was nowhere. That’s not the kind of guy I want to be friends with, Alex.”

There was a sound Liz couldn’t decipher let alone identify who made it but then Alex began to speak. His voice was low, almost too low for her to hear, and Liz eased the door open another crack.

“Alright. I’m only going to say this once because as much as I love you Whitty, it’s none of your fucking business, but I don’t want to be the reason Michael loses someone else he cares about. Our break up was on me, not him. He- fuck, Whitty, he asked me to marry him and I said no. And then after the IED, he called all the time and he tried to come to the hospital, but I told him no. I didn’t want him to see me like that, okay? This whole fucked up situation between us is on me, not Michael. So don’t treat him like shit, okay? He really doesn’t deserve it.”

Liz closed the door and fled back to the table. She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting to hear, but that wasn’t it. Max asked if she was okay when she sat down but Liz brushed him off and reached for a drink. Kyle caught her eye and raised an eyebrow in question. Liz just took a large swig. His eyebrow furrowed in concern and she had to look away.

Inevitably, her eyes caught on Michael. He was laughing with Jeri while Johnny shook his head and lined up his shot. A moment later and his smile dimmed even as his eyes softened and Liz knew Alex had just walked back into the room. She’d never noticed it before but Michael had an Alex look. A special expression he never wore unless he was looking at Alex.

Whitman walked over to Michael and pulled him aside gently, Alex watching with a careful eye even as he started talking to Jeri and distracting Johnny from his next shot. Whitman and Michael bent their heads together, Whitman looking earnest. After a few words, Michael’s head shot up and he stared at Alex. A moment later and Michael was pulling Whitman into a hug. Liz looked away.

After their game was over, Alex dragged his friends back to the table and forced them to be nice. It was different than the previous night, some of the tension bled away by Alex’s presence. Kyle and Isobel grilled Jeri and Johnny for good stories about Alex while Maria sat back quietly, observing the conversation rather than participating. At one of the table, Michael and Whitman had their heads bent and were talking quietly. Alex tried to talk with Liz and Max about what he’d found on his trip but he was quickly pulled into the others’ conversation when Jeri apparently misremembered a story about Alex on his first tour.

When Liz left much later than night, after almost everyone else because she’d offered to help Maria close up due to them staying later than any of her employees, she almost groaned out loud when she saw Alex and Michael standing in the parking lot. Behind them, Max’s tail lights started fading in the distance as he drove Isobel home.

“You told Whitty,” Michael accused lightly, his voice still loud in the quiet parking lot.

“He was being an ass.”

“So? Whitty’s always an ass. It’s part of his charm.” Michael twirled his keys around. “You didn’t want tell anyone. You said it was better if we just forgot it ever happened.”

Alex stared at Michael, his disbelief evident in every inch of his body. Liz contemplated going back inside but Maria had locked the door behind her and gone upstairs to her apartment. “I didn’t say that,” Alex protested.

Michael scoffed. “I may have been drunk at the time but I do remember that pretty vividly. You said, and I quote, let’s just pretend this night never happened. Just move on and forget all about it. End quote.”

“Michael,” Alex sighed as he raked a hand through his hair. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Okay,” Michael agreed easily. “So what did you mean?”

“You were drunk!” Alex yelled before letting out a breath and continuing at his previous volume. “You were drunk, Michael, and you, you fucking-” he stopped.

“I asked you to marry me,” Michael finished. “And you said no.”

The tension sapped out of Alex’s body and he sagged like a rag doll. “You were drunk, Michael,” he repeated. “You didn’t mean it.”

“Don’t you dare tell me I didn’t mean it, Alex.” Alex took a literal step back at the sudden vehemence in Michael’s voice. “You said no, that’s fine, but don’t tell me I didn’t mean it just because I’d had a few drinks that night. I’d been carrying that ring around with me for fucking months.”

Liz really shouldn’t be here for this.

“You-” Alex stopped. “You had a ring?”

Michael laughed mirthlessly. “Yeah, you never even let me show you. You just- you just said no and we should forget it.”

“I didn’t-” Alex was genuinely lost for words. “I thought-”

“You thought I was drunk,” Michael finished quietly. “You thought I didn’t mean it and so you took the opportunity to tell me what an idiot I was for thinking we could have a life together. I got the message, Alex, don’t worry.”

“Fuck you,” Alex spit out. “Don’t put words in my mouth. I didn’t say that and I sure as fuck didn’t mean it.”

“Fine,” Michael scoffed. “You know what, it doesn’t matter. It’s history at this point.”

“We were 25!” Alex yelled as Michael turned away. “We were 25 and we hadn’t lived in the same fucking state in seven years! How exactly did you think marriage was a good idea then?”

Michael hung his head and half turned back. “I thought I loved you and I wanted us to be together forever. I figured we’d work out the details later.”

“That doesn’t work for me,” Alex sounded desperate.

“I got that.”

“No, that’s not-” Alex groaned in frustration. “Working out the details later, I mean. I didn’t want to take the next step when we still spent so much time apart, Michael. I mean, Christ, your family didn’t even know about us! How would you explain it to them that you were suddenly married?”

Liz wasn’t sure if it would be better or worse for her to interrupt now. On the one hand, she shouldn’t be witnessing this, but on the other, this was clearly a conversation they needed to have and she knew if she revealed herself that one of them would leave and they’d never finish it.

“Alex,” Michael sighed and turned around fully. “Why are we talking about this? It’s over. We’re over. What’s the point?”

“The point is you think I didn’t want to marry you!” Alex’s voice echoed through the parking lot.

“You said no,” Michael reminded him.

“If I knew that the choice was marrying you then or never being with you again, I would’ve done it in a heartbeat, Michael,” Alex told him. “I just- I wanted more time. More time to figure ourselves out! More time to be together, to live together first, or at least live in the same state. I figured you were drunk and it was something you were thinking about, I didn’t think you were actually genuinely proposing right then and there. I thought we’d have time to fucking talk about it.” He stopped to take a few heaving breaths. “But you were gone when I woke up and it was three years before I saw you again and now everything’s a mess and you don’t get to stand there and say there’s no point in talking about it when that is all I have wanted to do for three years!”

Michael took a step forward and Liz decided enough was enough. She reached back and shoved the door enough to make it shake a tiny bit. It was just enough to get both of their attention. Michael took a step back when he saw her. When he saw that, Alex just shook his head and headed straight for his car.

“Alex-” Michael called softly.

“Night, guys!” Liz waved and almost ran to her car. When she peeled out of the lot a minute later, Alex was right behind her and Michael was left staring after them.

#malex fic #rnm #liz pov #if the fight in the lot sounds vaguely familiar i will admit to being heavily influenced by oth atm #my fic

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