#i need to be beaten with hammers. or exploded. or something. please put me out of my misery. holy shit

[incesthemes]

i don't think supernatural is good for my health.

[riverboundao3ff]

Riverbound, Chapter 9

Your name is TAGORA GORJEK, and you just survived your first assassination attempt.

Not many are as lucky as you to have made it to your eighth sweep around the sun without such an experience (or several), so you do your best to keep that in mind as you stagger back to your feet. The world feels like it’s spinning around you-- are you in shock? Probably. You’ve always been a bit of a weakling when it came to things such as these. There’s grass stains and dirt on your clothes and in your hair, and your side is definitely bruised from where Bombyx kicked it, but you are alive and that is what’s important.

The air is dead silent from when the alien called out a name… Polypa?

Oh.

Oh, shit.

You are going to kill Tegiri.

“For fuck’s sake, woman!” you explode, losing all fear as you storm over to the oliveblood and yank her up by the ponytail. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t take you to court for this, right now-- uh, are you okay?”

Goezee hasn’t even tried to slice off your fingers for touching her. She and the alien are just staring at each other, wide-eyed and speechless. The alien’s gaze briefly flicks over to you before they look back at Polypa, and they wince.

“Uh… Gor-Gor, do you mind letting go of my moirail?”

… You are going to kill Tegiri, bring him back to life, and then kill him again.

“Your moi-- of course. Of course you’re dating the assassin.” You step back and massage your temples, feeling the beginnings of a headache coming on. “Yes. Of course.”

Goezee comes back to life in the blink of an eye and slaps your hand away. She goes down on her knees next to the alien and flings her arms around them, letting out a string of the most pathetic pale vocalizations you have ever heard, and that includes the porno Tyzias sent you as a prank for your seventh wriggling day.

“What the fuck?” Stelsa demands, before she bends over with a pained cough.

“Yes, my feelings precisely. Our mutual friend has lovers in high, er, low places, it seems,” you huff, going to help her up before your eyes fall on something a little more distressing.

Lanque Bombyx is on his stomach in the grass, unmoving and silent.

“Bombyx!” Before you even know what you’re doing you’re beside him, shoving him over onto his back with a grunt. Your guts flip over on themselves in fear. “Lanque? No, no, come on, you Troll Gucci-loving jackass, you’re the only one I’ve ever had a good conversation about accessorizing with, I forbid you from dying on me now--”

A low groan rises up from the bloody mess, and you’re able to breathe normally again. “Please stop talking, it’s too loud.”

All at once, the alien, Goezee, and Stelsa are joining you and Lanque, with Goezee tight-lipped and the alien growing increasingly scared for their friend.

“Did you hit any vital organs?” Stelsa demands.

“No, I was just trying to get him off me, not kill him.” With practiced ease, the oliveblood pulls out a clean rag and a small bottle full of some green liquid. She unscrews the cap and dumps some of the liquid into the stab wound on Lanque’s shoulder. The jadeblood heaves with a pained hiss, growling deep in his chest.

“Lanque, I’m so sorry,” the alien whimpers.

“Oh, darling, you’re the one who stopped this bitch from completely eviscerating me,” Lanque breaths, reaching over to gently pat their thigh.

“This bitch is keeping your injuries from getting infected and jump-starting the healing process,” Polypa grunts. Ignoring another furious spit, she tightly wraps the stab wound with the rag and ties it down. “Make sure to clean out the other cuts when you go home. Avoid moving that shoulder around for a couple wipes.”

“I know how to take care of myself,” Lanque rasps.

Polypa rolls her eyes. “Of course.”

You and the alien help him to his feet, and relief helps you stay grounded when he’s able to walk without too much difficulty. It’s no secret you’ve got a soft spot for jadebloods, and if he had died because of you… well. You don’t want to think about it.

“What about Bovois?” you ask Polypa as the five of you make your way back up the sidewalk to the omniscuttlebus station.

“I’ll take care of him,” she promises grimly.

The bombs in your backpack weigh heavily on your shoulders and mind. If anybody had told you six perigees ago that you would soon be joining a rebellion against the Alternian Empire, you would have simply laughed in their face at the sheer audacity. Then, you would have called the drones on them. That’s what good, law-abiding citizens did, after all, and you are a good, law-abiding citizen.

But it had started way before that, hadn’t it? Ever since you befriended that alien and saw how good a person can be. Ever since something in your twisted bloodpusher came untangled, bit by bit, as the exposure to their warmth and kindness thawed you from the inside out. If it hadn’t been for Xigisi and all the other friends they made, you would have assumed you were losing your mind.

As of now, you have about twenty-eight hours until the beginning of the next mission. Tyzias has yet to hammer out all of the finer steps, which is slowly driving you insane because you want nothing more than to pester her for details, but you already had the nerve to lash out at the alien earlier over their time travelling shenanigans. Entykk is slow to anger, but even you know better than to test her twice in the same night.

Being that this is Thrashthrust, you and your group don’t receive so much as a second glance as you board the omniscuttlebus, even with you and the alien supporting a beaten-up jade boy and another teal and an olive giving each other nasty looks behind your back when they think you’re not looking. The ride out of the indigo part of the city is, unsurprisingly, a lot less enthusiastic than the ride in. Even Stelsa doesn’t say much other than a couple of warning hisses at Goezee when the olive accidentally makes eye contact.

By the time the omniscuttlebus reaches the station nearest to your hive, Lanque is able to walk by himself again, but you still don’t hesitate to quickly usher everybody inside your office-slash-home as quickly as you can. You can’t even bring yourself to care about the dirt left by the front door from peoples’ shoes.  

“I’ll text Daraya and Tyzias,” Stelsa mutters, giving Goezee one last nasty look before sitting down primly on a loungeplank.

Something tugs at the bottom of your pants, and you glance down to see Ferretdad yanking away, an angry chitter rising up from his throat.

“I’m fine,” you promise him, crouching down so he doesn’t have to crane his neck as much. “We got the bombs and everything. See?”

You take off the backpack and show him. Ferretdad doesn’t look impressed, and squeaks at you to wait before bouncing off down the hall.

Any other time, you’d be embarrassed from all the fussing, but after what happened earlier you can’t bring yourself to protest. You busy yourself at your desk by turning on the coffee machine and getting clean mugs from the cupboards. A good cup of coffee would help clear your pan, and then you’d feel fine again.

A scoff from Lanque has your attention, even though he’s talking to the alien, who Goezee clearly wants to just be alone with. “You should have told me your quads were open, dear. I know many in the cloister who’d be a great match for you.”

The way he glares at Polypa makes it obvious he’s really saying I’d rather see you with anybody else than this filthy creature.

You privately agree. Why couldn’t the alien have chosen a good, dutiful jade from one of Lanque’s peers? Better yet, one of your own coworkers?

The alien smiles tiredly and pats Lanque’s arm. “I appreciate the offer, but I’m good. Geez, what’s up with jades and trying to get me to date their coworkers? Bronya asked me the same thing awhile back.”

“Perhaps she’s right about one thing,” Lanque mutters.

Polypa glares at him, pulling her moirail closer to her. “That’s nice. Shouldn’t you be in the caverns with your sisters?”

“Shouldn’t you be trying to murder some poor bastard?”

“Can we not?” the alien demands, shoving the two farther apart. “Don’t make me auspitize for you fuckers, because I will.”

“Tyzias says ‘Good job on not getting killed’,” Stelsa calls over.

“Tell her I said thanks.” You bring her the mug and set it down on the nutrition plateau. “Any word from Daraya?”

“She better not have told Bronya,” Lanque growls.

“Why do you guys need electromagnetic explosives?” Polypa asks, crossing her muscular arms.

“None of your business, stray.”

The alien ribs him. “We’re gonna wreck the drone factory.”

You turn to them with a hiss. “You can’t just go around telling people these sort of things! You’ll get us all killed!”

They roll their eyes. “Gor-Gor, she’s my girlfriend. She’s not gonna snitch.”

“I don’t snitch,” Polypa agrees.

A clattering from the back rooms announces the presence of Ferretdad, who comes huffing and puffing back into the living room, dragging a medicalizer kit that’s three times his size. He leaves it to bound over to Stelsa and bite her ankles until she relents, before doing the same to Polypa and Lanque.

“Thank you, sir,” Polypa says graciously, popping the kit open and selecting one (1) bandaid for herself. She slaps it on the massive puncture wounds on her forearm from when Lanque bit her. A bite like that would have given a lesser troll nerve damage, you note. You’d be impressed if it wasn’t because she was trying to kill you.

“Darling, if you could just put it over the stab wound on my shoulder? I’m afraid I can’t see it very well,” Lanque says, holding another bandage out to the alien while making the most pathetic pair of baby-barkbeast eyes at them.

“Sure!” The alien takes the bandage and holds the ripped sleeve open while they apply the bandage, tongue sticking out in concentration as they wipe a bit of blood away.

Lanque makes a big show of looking away, exposing his neck to them in the sluttiest display of pale-flushed behavior you’ve ever seen. He smirks at Polypa, whose pupils dilate in rage, a low rumble rising up from deep in her chest. The alien doesn’t seem to notice-- the frequency must be too low for their sub-par ears to catch.

By some miracle of the gods, Stelsa has the globes to intervene before the two start trying to kill each other all over again. “So! Polypa, was it? If I were to tell you that our little group here is part of a… rather rebellious faction with the intent to overthrow the Heiress and bring equality to all members of Alternian society, how would you feel?”

Polypa’s growling stutters to a halt. “I… I’d tell you that’s absolutely insane, probably borderline suicidal. Where do I sign up?”

“I’ve changed my mind. I like her,” Stelsa says happily. “No need to sign up for anything! Just keep your trap shut to everybody else outside of the group and I won’t feed your guts to the dire-ravens.”

“That won’t be a problem.”

“We’re going on a mission tomorrow. Wanna come?” the alien offers.

“Absolutely.”

You groan. “We don’t even have all of the details yet, because my dearest coworker leaves everything to do until the last possible second before rushing off on a potentially deadly expedition--”

“Dude, how hard can it be?” the alien snorts. “I can teleport. Just give me the bombs; I’ll be in and out of there in, like, ten seconds.”

“I’m sorry, you can what?” Polypa demands.

“Teleport. It’s a long story, I’ll tell you in a bit.”

“Do you know how to set and time them? Do you know where you’re even going?” you ask, raising a brow.

“Um… no. But that’s what I have you for! Just set them up for me, and I’ll drop ‘em off and skedaddle. And, uh… I’ll bring the map?”

Stelsa and Lanque look at each other like, they’re gonna die.

The alien makes a face. “Well, unless anybody has a better idea, I’ll be the one doing this. I’ve done a lot stupider for a lot less.”

“I don’t doubt that,” you tell them dryly. “I just don’t like the thought of you going in alone.”

Polypa claps a hand to their shoulder. “Then I’ll come, too. I’m good at finding my way around.”

Your friend’s brow furrow, and for the first time, you see a glint of fear on their face. “You know I can’t ask you to do that.”

“No need to ask. I’m telling you I’m coming with you. I already lost you once,” Polypa snaps. “And that will never happen again.”

They groan. “I’m not gonna convince you to stay behind, aren’t I.”

“No. No, you are not.”

“Ugh.”

“Where will our base of operations be?” Stelsa asks.

“There’s an abandoned building two blocks away,” Lanque offers. “Nothing to fuck up if the bombs go off prematurely. Nobody to see us doing illegal shit.”

“Ooh, good idea! I’ll tell Tyzias and Daraya,” Stelsa says, already tapping away at her palmhusk.

You’re still not convinced the plan is foolproof. There was too much depending on the alien and Polypa finding the computer rooms undetected, placing the bombs, and leaving before they went off. The thought of drones or security finding and killing your off-world friend is enough to make your palms sweaty with anxiety.

“The waves begin tomorrow at three,” you force yourself to say. “We’ll meet at two in the abandoned building Lanque says is safe. Bring food and stuff to entertain yourself with. Providing it doesn’t take too long for the alien and Polypa to find the computer rooms, we’ll finish placing the bombs before the end of the fourth wave. We’ll leave, and once we’re a safe distance away we’ll set them off.”

The alien grins. “Oh, this is gonna be fun.”

“I’ll run it over with Tyzias when I go over later,” Stelsa assures you.

“Thanks.” You stare out the window at the lights of the city, where trolls of all castes and shapes and sizes were living out their lives, one possibly deadly night at a time. How many of them, given the chance, would join the rebellion? How many would cull you on the spot for even thinking about such a thing?

You think about Tirona, and the anger in her eyes when you first denounced the Alternian Empire in front of her. The grief you had tried so hard to suppress over losing the alien had boiled over after finding some selfies on your palmhusk they had taken when you weren’t looking, all freckles and cheesy grins. For the first time since you nearly failed an exam at the beginning of your legislacerator career, you cried at your desk like a little grub. Tirona had walked in and tried to cheer you up with some memes-- something about a rustblood getting culled for trying to speak up for themselves, and you just lost it. Instead of that shittily-drawn rustblood, you just kept thinking about your lost friend at the wrong end of a culling fork, and you told Tirona as such while shredding a file that would have condemned some goldblood to death for arson.

What you didn’t tell her, however, was that everything you did for the rebellion you also did for her. Hell, you and your coworkers practically raised the kid after her deadbeat lusus kept fucking off to who-knows-where. You still have daymares about the night you went in to check on her, not too many sweeps ago, and found her in a dirty respiteblock, naked except for a dirty diaper and a single sock. She’d been so dehydrated you and Tyzias both thought she wouldn’t make it through the following day.

If-- when you win, no kid will ever have to have a lusus like that again.

But it’s still a while before the moons will set, and you have a hive full of friends and tentative acquaintances alike.

You grin and turn to the alien and Polypa. “How about we get your dear moirail up to speed on all that’s happened, hm?”

[artificialqueens]

Hot as Hell and No A/C, Chapter 4 (Branjie) - Blackhighheels

(Read at AO3)

Four

”Morning Jay,” Jose says as he shuffles into the kitchen. His hair is sticking up in all directions and his eyes are barely open, even though it’s already close to eleven. He desperately needs some coffee or this day will be a complete mess.

”Good morning, sunshine. Don’t you look chipper this morning.” Jason chuckles and thankfully hands him the much needed caffeine.

”Shut up, asshole,” Jose grumbles anyway as he takes the mug. He sighs as the sweet and hot liquid explodes on his tongue.  ”I didn’t go to bed until like four in the fucking morning .” He adds once he has swallowed.

”You want me to pretend I didn’t hear every word that was yelled last night or are we gonna talk about it?” Jason asks and makes Jose look up at him, before he drops his head on his arm on the counter.

”Fuck,” he groans. Brock is going to kill him, if he finds out. ”Please, promise me you gonna keep every word to yourself.”

”Goes without saying. I like Brock. Never thought he’s playing for our team, but he’s a nice guy. Together with Ada he’s the only person in the Hytes family, who isn’t an absolute fucked up asshole.”

”I don’t know them, only Rachel. Well, and his parents from talking to them for about a second the other day.”

”You better stay away from them Vanj’. Brock has a reason to be scared. If his dad finds out he’s talking to us, he’s in for a lot of trouble.”

”What do ya mean? Like, he’s beating him up or some shit?” Now Jose gets really worried.

”I don’t know. I don’t think he’s physically able to do it anymore, ‘cause he had a heart attack a couple of years ago and can’t do any hard labor since then, but when we were kids…” Jason scrunches up his face. ”Brock’s older brother, Dan, is my age and we were in one class. He’s an idiot, who got hit in the head fighting one too many times. But I’ll always remember the day when we all went swimming after school and I got invited for whatever reason. We must have been like fifteen or something. Dan had marks all over the back of  his thighs. I asked him what had happened and he replied that his dad had caught him making out with a girl after church and had beaten him with a belt. He said it like it was completely normal. I told him I thought it was fucked up and he nearly beat me up for saying that, ‘cause the asshole minister preaches that it’s normal to beat your kids and that kids aren’t allowed to cry and shit like that.”

”Shiiit, mami.” Jose hisses. This is a lot worse than what he imagined was going on.

”All three of them always had like bruises and were real scared of their dad. People are talking ‘round here and they say that he also beat his wife.  Brock was the smallest and used to cry a lot as a little kid. I think he must have had it real rough at home. Now that I know that he’s gay, I don’t really get why he ever came back. The whole family basically lives at church. Ada got married when she was just sixteen and I think it was more to get away from her dad. Joe, her husband’s a good guy though. Not the sharpest knife, but he’s good to her. Since they got married she’s been popping out one kid after the next. Dan’s married to the minister’s daughter and she’s just as narrow minded as him. I don’t think she ever cut her hair and like, only wears skirts. When they were courting, they went on some missions and shit, then came back and now they’re trying to have as many kids as Ada or more. There’s no music in their house other than gospel. They don’t own a tv. When we were still at school they believed in creationism and I think they still only fuck to make more babies. Brock’s always been the most normal out of them. Now knowing that he’s gay kind of explains why he hasn’t got married yet, even though they’ve been trying to set him up with church girls for years. I always thought he might get back to his studies once their finances got better.”

”He said he didn’t wanna be a minister and that his family needed him or some shit. But child…. Now I really wanna take him out of here and … I dunno,” Jose mumbles the last part. He really doesn’t know. He wants to protect Brock, take care of him, look after him and make him smile. He wants to see him laughing, not crying. He wants him to be not tired for just one day. He wants him to relax and be happy. He wants to hold him and kiss him. He wants to be with him. But that’s all stuff that he can’t tell Jason, because he’d look like a fucking idiot who’s fallen for the wrong guy once again.

”He’s a good guy and if he opens up to you like this… girl, he must really like ya. But Brock will never leave his family and you’ll be gone in another three weeks. So you might wanna think about what you’re offering. You’ll be gone, but he has to stay and live here.” Jason’s warning rings loud and clear in his mind, but also makes his stomach clench painfully.

”I know,” Jose sighs and puts his coffee down. All of a sudden, it makes him feel nauseous.

”Fuck, Jo, I can see on your face how much you like him. Just… be careful, k? If not for yourself and your romantic heart, then do it for him.”

Jose just sighs again. Last night he lay awake and dreamt with open eyes of what he could do with Brock and how he could make him fall for him.

Now he knows that would be even more of a fucked up idea than he initially thought. He can’t be more than friends with Brock, no matter how much he hates it. He only has three more weeks left here and Jose wants to take his own heart back to L.A. with him, in one piece if possible.

His phone beeps and when he takes it out of his pocket he sees a text from Brock. He is dimly aware that he’s smiling like a damn fool.

***

Brock is proud of himself that he had the courage to really text Jose in the morning. After a bit of an awkward back and forth about where and when they could hang out, they decided the easiest way was, if Jose just came out to where Brock was working today. It’s an old ranch in the middle of nowhere that Daniel is renovating for a client. Well, was renovating before his accident. Now Brock has to at least fix the roof and the porch so Dan can continue once he’s better.

Brock is so giddy with excitement that he forgets the hammer twice as he crawls up on the roof.

Around lunch time he can see Jose’s fancy car slowly rolling up the dusty pathway even from afar. No one else around here drives a car that expensive. When Jose gets closer, Brock waves and forgets his fear of heights for a second, as he lets go of the wooden beam he’s sitting on.

”Child, you better come down here, ‘cause I’m sure as fuck not crawling up there!” Jose yells as soon as he gets out of his car.

”I’m coming, I’m coming,” Brock chuckles and carefully makes his way over to the ladder and down to the ground. This is not the time to fall and break his neck, if there ever was one.

When he gets down, Jose is holding a large basket and a blanket. ”Brought us some food,” he smirks and holds up the basket.

”Thank you.” Brock’s cheeks heat, but he doesn’t really mind it. He’s been out in the sun all morning so most likely he’s all red anyway. ”We can sit over there in the shade if you want.”

”Dang, I thought I could get my tan on,” Jose complains.

”Oh ok, we can stay in the sun then.”

”Idiot, I’m just fucking with ya! You really think I’d like to sit in the fucking heat? Especially when I have to spend my afternoons and evenings in a building with a fucked up A/C?” Jose is laughing and bumps his shoulder into his, before he leads the way and spreads the blanket out in the shade. The spot has another advantage: It can’t be seen from the small pathway, should anyone else come up here.

”I thought Jason got the A/C fixed?”

”He did… for about a day. Then the damn thing broke again. I’m sweaty as fuck from simply teaching them kiddos.” Jose opens the basket he’s brought and starts unpacking. ”Don’t worry, I didn’t cook any of this shit myself. I stopped by your sister’s store.”

”I knew this looked familiar,” Brock laughs and picks up one of the rolls Jose’s brought. ”You really didn’t have to do this though. One more thing I owe you for.”

”Well, Miss Thing there’s only one way to make it up to me.” The way Jose says it sounds very seductive.

Brock’s very nervous when he asks: ”How?”

”You fix the fucked up A/C next time you’re over.” Brock is surprised, but then has to laugh with Jose when he starts cackling. His laughter is as loud and boisterous as his personality. Brock likes it so much to see him laugh. ”You quite the handy man, aren’t ya?” Jose nudges him again. ”But I have to say, ya look more like a real ass cowboy with your hat and all.”

”What? You don’t like my hat?” Brock laughs and adjusts the old straw cowboy hat he is wearing. Jose doesn’t need to know that he only wears it, so he won’t get burned by the sun and because it’s old and he doesn’t care if it gets any dirtier.

”I like it,” Jose smirks and snatches the hat off his head a second later. ”I just think it’d look better on me.” He twirls the hat around his index finger as he leans back on his elbows.

”It’s all sweaty and dirty.” Brock feels embarrassed when he points it out. He knows the hat is disgusting, but he doesn’t want to see Jose getting disgusted by it. He looks down, stares at the blanket.

”What do ya think?” The words make Brock look up at again and Jose is now wearing his hat and a large smile.

Shit.

For a couple of seconds Brock doesn’t think anything.

Beautiful.

Cute.

Hot.

Sexy.

That’s what he’s thinking.

”It looks good on ya.”  Is what he’s saying.

”Really?”  Jose cocks his head to the side. He looks like a fucking model.

”Really.” It feels like time stands still as they smile at each other and all Brock can think about is Jose, his smile, his eyes, his lips and his hat on his head.

”Let me see. Take a picture of me,” Jose snaps him out of his daze, as he hands Brock his very expensive and new phone. Jose poses for the camera like a pro, then goofs off a bit by pretending to line dance and makes Brock laugh so hard he snorts and can’t stop until Jose drops back down beside him on the blanket, chuckling as well. ”Show me.” He requests once he is able to talk again.

”I’m not a photographer, but I think the pics are good. And the video is really good,” Brock smirks as he hands Jose his phone.

”Bitch! You filmed me doing the chicken dance! You such a cunt!” Jose screeches, rips the hat off his head and swats at Brock with it. ”But the pics are cute, boo. Looks like ya know what you doing.” Jose says after he’s stopped laughing and looked at the pictures.

”When I was away at college, someone scouted me for photoshoots. For a couple of weeks I modelled for them, did some fashion shoots, but then one of the ministers at the college caught wind of it and told me it wasn’t ok to do that because of vanity and seductive looks and stuff. So I stopped. But I’ve been interested in photography since then. If I ever got the opportunity to go back to college, I’d study photography.” Brock reveals yet another story and dream he has never told anyone around here.

”You certainly have the bone structure for modelling and the eye for photography. Betcha, you could still get some gigs if you wanted to.” Jose fiddles with his phone for a bit, then snaps a couple of shots of Brock and shows him.

”I look like shit.”

”You just look tired, boo. You working too much.”

”I don’t have a choice.”

”I know.” There isn’t any conviction behind Jose’s words, but Brock doesn’t want to get into this right now.

”Let’s eat?” He asks and is glad when Jose accepts. They are back to laughing their heads off in no time when Brock tries to teach Jose how to catch grapes with his mouth after throwing them up in the air. Surprisingly Jose lacks the coordination and fails every damn time. Or maybe he’s just doing it to keep Brock laughing - who knows.

***

Their lunch meetings only last two days, then Brock’s family gets in the way once more.

”I’m so sorry, but I have to cancel our lunch plans,” Brock tells Jose on the phone and looks around to make sure he isn’t overheard by his family.

”Oh, ok. Dinner then?” Jose’s disappointment is audible through the speaker.

”I can’t do that either. I have to work over at the grocery story during lunch and after I’ll done here at the farm. Ada was put on bedrest and now my mom is managing the store. But she can’t do the re-stocking of the shelves.”

”Don’t tell me you taking that on now as well?”

”Who else?” Brock sighs heavily.

”Brock that’s crazy! You’re actively working towards a heart attack at thirty-five,” Jose scolds him and it feels kind of good to have someone who is worried for him. At the same time can’t change it so he opts for not saying anything. ”When you gonna stack those shelves?”

”Around nine. Why?”

”Leave the backdoor to the store open and I’m gonna help ya. It’s gonna be done much quicker and at least we get to talk a bit. I have another funny Thackery story for ya.”

”Jo, I don’t know if that’s a good idea…” What if someone sees them?

”Hey, if anyone sees us, we can always just say the big city guy is used to 24/7 service and needed some cat food. And Imma be quiet, all sneakily and shit.” Jose comes up with an excuse.

”Fine, I’ll text you when the coast is clear.” Brock quickly gives in, because really, he just wants to spend some more time with Jose.

When half past nine comes around Jose strolls into the store through the backdoor.

”Booh!”

”I’ve heard you coming,” Brock chuckles and turns around. He starts laughing for real when he sees Jose. He is wearing a blue work overall with a neon orange security vest over it. The fact that the overall is unzipped nearly down to his navel and his naked chest shows makes the outfit even more ridiculous, albeit sexier. ”What the heck are you wearing?”

”I came to work, work, work, work, work… so I gotta do the work work work work work work,” Jose sings and moves his hips to his own tune. ”I found this at Jason’s. It cute, right?” he smiles and puts his hands on his hips.

”Very,” Brock chuckles. ”But also unnecessary. We can stack some shelves without a neon vest.”

”Safety first!” Jose screams loudly in delight after his own smart ass comment.

”Sshhh, my sister’s living just next door.”

”Fine, Mary, Imma be as quiet as a hamster.”

Brock can’t help it, he guffaws. ”As a mouse, you idiot,” he corrects and pushes Jose into the direction of the shelves they need to stack.

***

For nearly a week, each night they stock the shelves together and then hang out at the closed store, eat snacks and exchange stories. Brock gets an idea of what life is like for Jose in L.A. and he wishes he could glimpse at it, just once.

The additional work and the long talks are part of the reason why he gets even less sleep now.  The only time he gets to nap is when he falls asleep out of sheer exhaustion at night. Another reason are the thoughts in his head, as he processes his friendship with Jose, his views on life are so different from his own.

Jose doesn’t believe that being gay is a punishment. Instead he sees it as a way to belong to a community, share a culture with others, that Brock has only seen glimpses of. The fact that there are gay movies and romance novels out there blows his mind. He doesn’t even own a tv.

Jose’s view on life and love is much more positive and romantic than Brock’s own. Jose wants to find true love and be with that man for all eternity. Brock wants that too, he just knows that for him it’s not an option - not now, not ever.

However he gets to dream with Jose, live through his ideas and hopes when he isn’t allowed any of his own.

The hopelessness he feels when he’s alone in bed at night is crushing, when the urge to touch himself to his memories of Jose gets overwhelming and makes him feel dirty and disgusting. He’s not supposed to lust after his friend and yet he can’t forget their one short kiss, the way Jose smiles, laughs, walks and smells; Brock finds everything about him arousing.

He always squelches the desire by reminding himself that Jose will be gone in two weeks.

***

When Daniel calls him to tell him that he has to stop by at the dance studio because Jason called about the A/C, Brock is less than excited. He stops by the store to stack the shelves even though it’s not closed yet.

Since the dancing studio will be closed by the time he gets there and Jason will be around, he won’t get to see Jose, which ruins his day completely. He’s got so used to seeing him regularly over the last week. Even all the sleepless nights are more than worth it; it’s not like he’s slept well for years.

”Yay, our lord and saviour!” Jason greets him as he lets him into the studio.

”Let’s see first if I can fix it,” Brock shrugs and follows him through the empty building.

”Here’s the A/C unit, there are the manuals and stuff. I have to get going, because I have a meeting tomorrow in Dallas and are driving out there tonight. Jo should be here in a sec to help you and lock up,” Jason lets him know and Brock’s heart starts beating faster at the prospect of seeing Jose.

”Hey, you hoes. Did I just hear my name?” His distinctive voice echoes through the rooms and makes Brock laugh. ”Hope you only saying nice things about me, or I have to whoop your ass.” Jason doesn’t look very threatened and just laughs.

”I better get going, you asshole. Don’t forget to lock up. Imma be back tomorrow evening. You better not try and cook again. There’s no fire brigade in town.”

”Leave, bitch!” Jose hollers and pretends to throw one of the weights after Jason. ”That motherfucker always gotta run his mouth,” he giggles once they are alone.

Brock just smiles, but doesn’t reply. He’s still too shocked by Jose’s sudden appearance.

”You really gonna fix the damn A/C?”

”Isn’t that why I’m here?” Brock looks up from his tools.

”Kinda,” Jose shrugs with a smile. ”Just thought after you done with that thing, we could go upstairs and watch that show I told you about. Can’t leave here without educating ya a bit.”

Brock feels his heart beat in his throat. ”The one with the Spanish gay drug dealer?”

”Arab gay drug dealer in Spain,” Jose corrects.

”Right,” he nods. ”Sure. Let me just at least look at ‘that thing’.”

”You’ve already eaten something? We could get some pizza and make it a real dope ass movie night?”

”No, not yet. But didn’t Jason just say you’re not allowed to cook. And there’s no delivery service in town.”

”I can heat up some frozen pizza, dumbass. Why don’t you do your fixy-thingy here and I make the pizza and we meet upstairs? It’s way too hot in this fucked up building without a functioning A/C.”

”That’s what I’m here for,” Brock rolls his eyes playfully at Jose’s dramatics.

”That a yes?”

”That’s a yes.”

”Woohooo!” echoes off the walls of the dance studio and a moment later Brock is alone again to deal with the faulty device.

***

Brock’s done after just half an hour, or at least knows what the problem is. He also knows that he can’t fix it without additional parts.

Jose is already waiting for him on his couch, a large pizza on the table and the tv turned on. It’s much cooler up here and after the first couple of slices of pizza and Jose’s running commentary on the show they are watching, Brock slowly finds himself relaxing. It also helps that the fluffiest cat he’s ever seen, Thackery, is sprawled out on his lap purring loudly.

The couch is comfortable and he leans back. Jose is close enough so the scent of his cologne hangs in the air. After a while the scent gets stronger, when Brock’s head comes to rest on his shoulder. He fights to keep his eyes open, but is too tired to do so. Jose’s arm wraps around Brock’s shoulders and pulls him closer, then his fingers play with the sleeve of his T-shirt, tickle his skin. This should feel weird, because he’s not used to any kind of physical touch; But it doesn’t. It’s comforting and nice and Brock never wants this moment to end.

The last thing Brock is aware of, is when Jose’s other hand slides into his hair and massages his skull. Then he’s asleep, just forty minutes into the movie night and for once he stays asleep, right there in Jose’s arms.

***

When Brock wakes up, he is still on the sofa, still in Jose’s arms and there’s a blanket thrown over the both of them and wrapped around his shoulders. It’s a weird feeling to wake up for once without a headache, burning eyes or the overall feeling of doom all around you. He’s comfortable resting against Jose and he wishes he could stay like this a while longer.

”Fuck,” escapes him when he checks the time and realises it’s already half past five. He was supposed to be up over an hour ago. Quickly and quietly he gets up and takes a moment to wrap Jose completely in the blankets so he won’t get cold. He thinks about leaving him a note with a Thank you, but decides to just text him later. He really has to leave.

He parks his brother’s truck in front of his house, then runs over to his parent’s farm. He thinks about just running into the stable like this, but he needs other shoes at least.

”Where the fuck’ve you been?” His father screams at him as soon as he steps a foot into the house. Both his parents are up and sitting at the breakfast table.

”Working,” he lies.

”Working? The whole night? Which hussy have you been with? If ya get her pregnant out of wedlock, there’ll be hell to pay, you hear me!” Brock wonders if his father has already been drinking this early in the morning. “You not ruining my reputation!”

”I wasn’t with a woman! You know that Dan called me last night about the A/C at the studio. I’m not an electrician and was up all night trying to fix it.”

”You were at the faggot’s studio all night? Haven’t I forbid you to go there!” His father’s cane flies against his leg and hits him in the knee as he throws it his way.

”I was working there, earning money for Dan. What the fuck do you want from me? One second I’m supposed to take care of his business and the next I’m not allowed to see his clients? Which is it?” Brock yells back.

”Don’t you dare raising your voice at me!” His father’s voice is icy now. That’s when he always was at his most dangerous when they were younger. The most horrific beatings he’s got, always started with that voice.

Today, however, Brock isn’t scared of him. For once he’s slept, he feels rested and strong and he won’t be intimidated by his drunk of a father. Maybe tomorrow again, but certainly not today.

”Fine. So what is it? The money or not accepting work from people who pay for it?”

”You’re a disgrace, smart-mouthing me like that. Talking about working, when you haven’t even started your work here, because you’ve been hanging around this damned dancing studio. One should burn it to the ground and these faggots right along with it!” His father rages. ”And let me tell ya, the days when you’re being lazy and not pulling your weight are over! It’s time you get married and produce a couple of kids so you know what responsibilities are! No more excuses. And don’t you dare saying no when we find ya a wife.”

”Or what?” Brock’s voice is shaking with rage.

”Or you’re out of here. You can leave and never come back. And now go and feed the animals. I can’t stand the pathetic sight of you. Fuck off!”

Brock turns around on his heels and marches off, slamming the door behind him. ”Likewise,” he mutters as he makes his way to the stables. He can hear the animals already, they’re restless and hungry and that certainly is his fault and they shouldn’t be suffering because of him. He can’t let this happen again.

TBC

[alindakb]

Letters to my Parents - Thursday 5 Augustus 1993 - by Alinda

Thursday 5 Augustus 1993

Dear mom and dad,

I ran away from home yesterday. Don’t get mad, please. It’s just that Aunt Marge came to visit. She’s a horrible person. And I kind of lost my temper when she insulted you both. The week had started off so good. On the night of my birthday, I received a letter from Draco, the first one this summer. He was okay and still allowed to go to Hogwarts the coming school year. He said it had helped that Hermione hadn’t had enough time to study for her exams, making it possible for him to become the top of our class. It had helped his mother to convince his father. Not that they are on speaking turns. Draco says they are fighting all the time. He hides away in his wing of the house (I still can’t believe he has his own wing, I’m already glad I finally have my own room) to avoid them the best he can.

Included with Draco’s letter was my first ever birthday card. I placed it on my bedside table while I read his letter. But I was interrupted a couple of times. Firstly by Hedwig who came back with a birthday card from Hermione. She’s in France, enjoying her holiday by learning about the local history of witchcraft. A little later Ron’s family owl Errol showed up with a card from Ron. He is in Egypt with his family after they won the Daily Prophet Grand Prize Galleon Draw. Ron is also getting a new wand next year, which is good because that broken wand of his causes more problems than it solves.

I also received a card from Greg. His family didn’t go on holiday, says they haven’t for years. Not since his brother died anyway. I still need to ask him about that and tell him I’m sorry. My trying to kill myself brought back a lot of nasty memories for him. He told me he’s been to visit Draco once this holiday and that Draco looks to be doing okay. He only talks about me all the time now I’m not around him. Greg begged me to tell him to stop obsessing about me so they can talk about Quidditch and stuff.

Hagrid send me a card that included a present. And off course, it was no ordinary present. I hadn’t even unwrapped it fully when the parcel quivered and started to snap loudly. I took my lamp and raised it over my head so I could strike if it was necessary and then pulled off the rest of the wrapping paper. A large book fell out of it with a beautiful green cover. Before the book scuttled sideways and then fell off the bed with a loud clunk I could read the title, written in golden letters. The monster book of Monsters it said. The book hid under my desk. When I tried to grab it, it snapped shut on my hand. When it tried to escape I jumped on it and then held it closed with a belt tightly buckled around it.

Together with Hagrid’s package came also my Hogwarts letter for the coming year. It was the normal stuff, informing me that the school year will start on the 1st of September and a list with the books and supplies I will need. But it also included a permission form to visit Hogsmeade. That made me a little sad because there was no way Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia were going to sign it for me.

By then it was already two o’clock when I could sit down in peace with my flashlight and the letter Draco had sent me. I read it a couple of times until I almost knew every word by heart. As I said, he’s hiding out in his own wing. He finished all his homework in the first week of the holiday and is now reading this interesting book about potions. He misses me a lot, says it’s weird to sleep alone in his massive bed. His mother is taking him to Diagon Alley to get his supplies the Sunday before school starts and he hopes I can go that day as well, so we can finally see each other again. He misses kissing me. And to be honest, so do I. His lips are always so soft. I dream about them at night.

The next morning Aunt Marge came to visit. You know I’ve told you about her before. She’s Uncle Vernon’s sister, the one and only bulldog breeder. She was the one that beat me with her walking stick on Dudley’s fifth birthday to stop me from winning musical statues. And a few years later she gave me dog biscuits for Christmas. And the year before I went to Hogwarts I accidentally (and maybe a little bit on purpose) I stepped on the tail of her favourite dog. The beast had chased me into a tree and Aunt Marge didn’t call him off until long after midnight. And now that nightmare was visiting again, for a whole week. It was the worst birthday present I ever got from the Dursleys.

So for an entire week, I had to pretend that I went to St. Brutus’s Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys, was not allowed to do any ‘funny’ stuff and I was to keep a civil tongue when talking to her. I woke up Hedwig as soon as Uncle Vernon left to tell her to go stay at the Weasley’s for a week, that it wouldn’t be safe for her to stay with Aunt Marge around. I’m sure one of her dogs would go after her. After that, I made sure all my cards and letters from friends, just like my schoolbooks were put away safely.

And it was a nightmare, from start to finish. First, she said that if I had been dropped on her doorstep she would have sent me straight to an orphanage. Then Uncle Vernon made me pretend that they use the cane at St. Brutus to please Aunt Marge, who assumed straight away that I probably got beaten all the time. The next couple of days Aunt Marge made sure I stayed close so she could compare me to Dudley and to boom out suggestions for my improvement.

On the third day of her visit, she crossed a line. She told Uncle Vernon that it was not his fault that I turned out o be an unsatisfactory person. That if there was something rotten on the inside, there was nothing anyone can do. I had to fight tears when she said that, it reminded me of all the bullying that I had received in my first and the start of second year at Hogwarts. She continued by comparing me to her breeding dogs. She said that if there was something wrong with the bitch, there’ll be something wrong with the pup. I got so upset when she said that. I could feel my magic flare through me and Aunt Marge her wineglass exploded in her hands. It didn’t seem to bother her at all, she thought she had just squeezed it too hard. I fled the room after that, afraid I would get another warning from the Ministry about using magic outside of school.

The warning never came, but the insults from Aunt Marge continued. And then yesterday, just after dinner when Aunt Marge was hammered from the wine she turned on me again. Told me I had a mean, runty look, just like some dogs. And then she told us that she had Colonel Fubster drown one of her dogs last year because it was weak. I looked down at my hands when she continued, small tears falling from my eyes. She went on, explaining it all comes down o blood and that Aunt Petunia’s sister was a bad egg. That she was stupid to run off with a wastrel and that I was the result of that. She then asked what you did for a living, dad and Uncle Vernon said you were unemployed. And then Aunt Marge just went on, saying you were a no-account, good-for-nothing, lazy scrounger and I just snapped. I pushed my chair back, stood up and screamed at her that you were not. She laughed at me, joked about the tears I was shedding and then she suggested that you died because you were driving drunk I couldn’t take it and yelled that you didn’t die in a car crash. This made Aunt Marge angry, she, of course, doesn’t know the truth and still believes you dying in a car crash is the trued. She called me a nasty little liar, an insolent, ungrateful little something. She couldn’t finish her sentence, her body was swelling, her face expanded, her tiny eyes bulged, and her mouth stretched too tightly for speech. Then the buttons from her tweed jacket burst. She just kept swelling. I knew I was doing it, but I couldn’t stop it. I was so angry. I’ve never been that angry before, it scared me a little.

I don’t know what happened to Aunt Marge after that, I ran out of the room towards the cupboard under the stairs. The door burst open before I reached it. I think I did that too with my magic. I took my trunk out of the cupboard and then raced upstairs to grab the pillowcase with my books, letters and birthday cards. I sprinted back down and placed the pillowcase in my trunk. At that moment Uncle Vernon came into the hallway and ordered me to come back and put her right. I don’t know why, but I wanted to hurt Uncle Vernon at that moment. I grabbed my wand and pointed it at him. For a couple of seconds, I wanted to jinx him, to hurt him and punish him like he used to punish me. And then I thought of Draco and how disappointed he would be if I wouldn’t show up at school because I was in jail. And I thought of you, knowing you wouldn’t want me to hurt anyone. So I just opened the door behind me and left without saying a word.

It took me a while to calm down. Dragging along my heavy trunk helped with that. When I reached Magnolia Crescent I collapsed onto a low wall. It didn’t take long before I started to panic then. I was sure I would get expelled from Hogwarts because I did magic and even harmed a Muggle doing so. I was afraid I was going to get arrested, or outlawed from the wizarding world. And that made me think of Draco, and how I would have to leave him if that was true. I couldn’t force Draco to leave the wizarding world, he knows nothing about Muggles and their ways. I started to cry again, wishing I could be with Draco at that moment. I needed him more than ever.

After another while, I decided that since I would already get expelled I would just use some more magic to bewitch the trunk to make it feather-light. That way I could tie it to my broomstick, cover myself with the invisibility cloak and then fly to London to get my money from Gringotts and start my life as an outcast. I opened my trunk to look for the cloak when I felt like someone was watching me. I looked at the black alleyway behind me, even used a Lumos to see it better. And that is when I saw it, a hulking outline of something very big, with wide, gleaming eyes. It scared me to death. I stepped backwards, I hit my trunk and tripped. My wand slipped out of my hand and then there was this massive bang sound and I was surrounded by blinding lights.

I yelled and rolled back onto the pavement, just before a purple triple-decker bus stopped beside me. The name ‘The Knight Bus’ was spelt in gold lettering over the windshield. A conductor leapt out of the bus and introduced himself as Stan Shunpike. He spoke loudly into the thin air until he noticed that I was sitting on the ground. I got back up, looked for the massive black dog I had seen only moments before, but it was gone.

It turns out the Knight Bus can take stranded wizards and witches anywhere they need. I didn’t want to put too much attention on me so I pretended my name was Greg Goyle. I’m sure Greg won’t mind, I’m sure he will find this story funny once Draco tells him when he goes back to school. It would take me 14 Sickles to get to Malfoy Manor in Wiltshire, so I looked for my last coins and paid Stan. He helped me get my trunk into the bus and off we were. Stan wanted to know why I wanted to go to the Malfoy’s and I told him that I knew Draco Malfoy from Hogwarts and that I was going to stay with them for a while because my mother wasn’t feeling well. Luckily they believed my story and didn’t ask any other questions.

The Knight Bus doesn’t have normal seats, instead, it’s filled with half a dozen brass bedsteads. Once I set down on mine the bus took off with another loud bang. It threw me back flat on my bed because of the speed of the bus. I felt really nervous on the bus. The driver, Ernie wasn’t a very good one. We kept mounting the pavement, only the bus didn’t hit anything. Everything jumped out of the way of the bus as it approached and back into position once it had passed.

I couldn’t sleep, so I took the Daily Prophet that Stan offered me. On the front page was a large photo of Sirius Black, an escaped prisoner. I had also seen him on the Muggle news. It turns out he murdered thirteen people with a single curse twelve years ago. He looked just like a vampire in the picture. Stan saw me looking and told me that Black had been a big supporter of Voldemort. And once Voldemort was gone and he was cornered In the middle of a street he blasted half the street apart, killing one wizard and a dozen Muggles. And after that, he just stood there and laughed, like it was one big joke. It seems that this Black is off his head. And he’s the first one ever to break out of Azkaban.

After all the other wizards and witches had left the bus we came to a stop on a small country road. Stan said we were at Malfoy Manor. When I got out I could see a large hedge stretching in both directions. In front of us was a gravel driveway, and the large hedge curved with it and continued alongside the driveway. I took my trunk and started my way up this driveway until I reached a large iron gate. The gate contorted into a face and asked me if I knew what time it was. I told it, that I was sorry for bothering him that late, but that I really needed to speak to Draco Malfoy. The gate informed me that the young master Draco had already gone to bed and that I would have to come back after sunrise. I tried to convince the gate that I had nowhere to go, but it wouldn’t let me pass. After a while, the face disappeared and I was stranded in front of the gate. I set down on my trunk and tried to think of a way to let Draco know that I was at his house. No good ideas came to mind and after a while, I felt stupid for even thinking I could just rock up at Malfoy Manor and that everything would be okay. Draco’s father hates me after all and me showing up, as a criminal, won’t help matters much for Draco.

I decided to turn around, walk back to the road and call for the Knight Bus again and go to London. I could wait till morning and then get my money and disappear. I would write to Draco and tell him what happened and maybe meet up with him somewhere to say goodbye.

Just as I started walking someone stepped through the gates. I looked around and saw Draco’s mother Narcissa standing with her arms folded around her. She was wearing a long black jacket and a purple scarf. She asked me if I was leafing already and pointed out that Draco would be very disappointed when he would hear I didn’t even stay to say hello in the morning. I couldn’t help myself, I started crying again at that point. All the tension and fear leaping out of me at once. Draco’s mother was very kind, she hugged me and told me it was all going to be okay. She guided me through the gates, it was very weird, they didn’t open at all, just turned into some black smoke and were back being a solid gate once we passed it. The rest of the driveway was shielded by the large hedge all the way up to the house. It was dark, so I couldn’t see it properly, but I knew it was larger than any house I’ve ever seen before. I hope I get to see it a bit better later today, but for now, I’m stuck in Draco’s wing to make sure that his father doesn’t see me.

Narcissa brought me to a room on the first floor that held a bed and some other small furniture. She order a house elf to get me something to drink and eat and then made sure I told her what had happened. She told me I could sleep here for now, but that it wasn’t wise to keep me at the manor since Lucius still didn’t approve of me and Draco’s relationship. She told me Draco was only two doors away, asleep in his own bed. I can’t believe how kind Narcissa is, she insisted I call her that, that miss Malfoy makes her sound old. And I like it when she smiles at me, it reminds me of Draco’s smiles.

Once Narcissa had left me alone to sleep I crept out of the room to find Draco’s bedroom. It wasn’t hard at all and I was stunned by how big it was. Draco has a king-sized bed. It’s fairly simple, just a bed base with a mattress on top of it. Now that I’ve seen it in the light of day it really looks amazing. It has two simple black boxes next to it as bedside tables and a large desk stands on the other side of the room. One of his walls is filled with Quidditch posters and the picture of us together that Dean made for him is really stuck underneath Draco’s pillow. And Draco has a walk-in closet filled with all his clothes. Oh, and he has a massive en suite bathroom with a massive bath and a cabinet filled with all his crazy hair products.

Of course, Draco was really surprised to see me sneak into his room yesterday, but he didn’t hesitate for one moment, he just lifted his blanket and let me crawl into bed with him. He asked me if he was dreaming. I told him I was really here. Then he asked me why I was at his house and I told him that I had run away and that I was afraid that I won’t be going back to Hogwarts because I did magic. Draco said it would be okay, that the Ministry would understand that it was an accident and that I shouldn’t worry. He kissed me then and that made my worries ebb away. I fell asleep in his arm and woke up with him staring at me. It was really nice.

Narcissa came to look for us in the early morning and wasn’t even upset when she found me in her son’s bed. She told us to stay in Draco’s wing until Lucius would have left for the day. She told us the elves would bring us breakfast and now we’re just waiting for it to arrive. Draco keeps asking me when I’m going to put my book down and pay him some attention. I told him I had to tell you all about what happened and he stopped complaining after that. He’s reading a book right now, his hand entwined with mine on the bed. I’m really happy I’m here now and somehow I’m not that worried anymore about what is going to happen next.

I will let you both know as soon as I do what is going to happen now. If I get expelled or not and if I can stay here for the rest of the summer. I really hope I can.

Love you,

Harry James Potter

[planetsam]

The alien is massive.

He thinks nothing of slamming Jesse Manes onto the concrete like a rag doll. Alex looks away, his stomach in knots. Michael knows, okay, he knows the man is a monster. He knows he deserves everything that’s happening to him. But Michael also knows that he’s not the one responsible for the deaths. As much as he wants Jesse dead, there’s no way he’s dying for Michael’s crimes.

“I blew up Cauffield,” he says. The man’s eyes snap to him, “I triggered a failsafe, I blew it up. Not him.”

“Guerin,” Alex starts towards him but the alien is faster. His fist hits his face with a sickening crunch and spots explode in Michael’s eyes. “No!”

“Don’t!” He shouts, “I killed his people.”

“You did,” the alien snarls, “your stupidity got our people killed.”

So he knows. Michael revels in the it. The honesty, the pain, everyone keeps saying it’s not his fault but they know it is. He doesn’t try to block any of the blows the alien lands on him. Maybe if his body breaks enough he can be free of the overwhelming guilt. He lands face down like Jesse Manes and something around his sternum area gives, or maybe the wind is just knocked out. When he gets air back in his lungs, he can’t help but laugh. Dying by the people he thought would accept him, it’s got the kind of poetic justice even he can appreciate. Jesse tries to get up and the wave of energy slams him back. 

“You’re next,” the alien snarls and storms towards him. 

“Wait, wait!” Alex’s voice comes loud and desperate. Thankfully the alien does not say anything or listen. He hauls Michael up by his collar, “he’s telekinetic too!”

That makes the alien pause. 

Michael groans because he would really like to die before the pain fully hits. But he should have expected life not to give him anything. The alien looks at him and Michael wishes him fucking luck, he can’t see out of one eye. The rest of him is probably just as swollen. And Alex, fucking beautiful and brilliant and too stubborn for his own good Alex just keeps talking.

“He’s telekinetic. Someone you loved was in there too, right?” He says, “the hand transference.”

“How do you know about our ways?” The alien demands.

“I was there,” Alex says. Cop out, “please. Just—“

“Fuck it,” Michael slurs and grabs the guy’s hand. He doesn’t know what to do so he just shoves his power at him. The alien grabs the connection and manhandles it into something recognizable. 

She’s so beautiful. 

“Not now,” she scolds, slapping his hand away.

Love.

There’s fire.

Screaming.

Terror hits him in waves as he runs. He runs and is carried at the same time. The corridor is long and terrifying but he doesn’t have a chance to trip as he’s picked up and set down in front of the pod.

“I don’t want to go!”

“Listen to me, you must. For all of us. We’ll follow you,” she says, “remember the map. That’s how we’ll know.”

He looks at his father. Is she right? She’s crying.

“You can do this,” he says, “there is no one I would trust more,” he looks at the royals who are trying not to cry, “we will see you. One day.”

“We’re so proud of you.”

“We love you.”

The connection rips and the alien throws him aside. Michael laughs, because with the fragments of it he can still feel the alien’s anguish. No, not the alien. Dad. The alien is his father. His father leaves him, goes over to Jesse Manes, grabs his hand and with a sickening sound he rips it clean off. Now Jesse Manes screams. Alex’s hands are on his face and his shoulders, but even he has to turn away in disgust. Michael laughs because this is—this is too perfect. He can tell himself anything he wants about his mother. But his father is there. And coming back over.

“No, no listen—“ Alex starts to protest but the alien just nudges him aside and puts his hands on Michael. The healing hurts just as badly as being beaten up. Worse because now he can see the anguish in his father’s face. He gets to his knees and puts himself between his father and Alex, even when Alex tries to get around him, “it was an accident,” he says.

“Stop,” Michael says and turns back to his father, “do it, I killed them.” 

His father looks at him steadily and somehow this is worse. 

“Come on,” he says, “I killed mom. I killed everyone. I didn’t go to college, I couldn’t get myself adopted—“his dad looks at him with something so close to sympathy Michael wants the knife, he wants Jesse and his hammer, “come on!” 

“Michael,” his father says and something in Michael’s soul breaks.

“No, no—“ He can’t breathe, “no. Don’t—“ he needs a weapon, he needs something, “I killed mom!”

“I know.”

“But—“ He looks at him desperately, “you have to finish it. Please!”

“No,” his father says simply.

Michael lunges for him, if he won’t kill him he’ll make him. His father catches each blow and eventually Michael is trapped. The senses with his mom were dulled by what was between them, by how short it was. Here it flows over him. He smells like a dad should and the thought is so ridiculous that the emotion chokes Michael. He doesn’t understand what the noise is or where it’s coming from because he can’t move. His father has his arms wrapped around him and all Michael can do is sob. No family wanted him because he drew symbols on the walls or wasn’t Christian enough. Here he’s murdered someone and his father is holding him like he’s not the worst thing walking the earth. When he turns, Alex has put a tourniquet on Jesse and is looking away out of respect. His father turns towards Jesse. Alex says nothing. Intent is coursing off his father and Michael has one terrible and clear thought.

“Look, Hey,” he spins Alex around and grips him when he tries to twist, “look at me.”

“No,” Alex says, “I want to see this.”

“Trust me, you don’t,” Michael says, gripping him tighter and keeping their eyes locked on each other. There’s a sick sound and Alex goes pale and Michael just manages to shift his grip so he can double over and vomit. Jesse is a horrible person but that doesn’t mean Alex deserves this, “it’s—“

“He’s alive,” his father cuts in. They both turn, “he will not speak for some time, or move.”

“But—“ Michael knows his father should kill one of them, that’s how society works. How Antar justice works. But his father just gets to his feet.

“We do not kill family,” he says simply. He looks at the pair of them, Michael’s tears and Alex being sick and the look on his face is one that he’s only ever gotten from three people. “We need to go.”

“I’ll wait with him,” Alex says, pressing his keys into Michael’s hands, “go. Just—come back?”

He touches his forehead to Alex’s. He doesn’t want to go, but he knows he needs to. If he stays with this family, the other may never be there. It feels like he’s being torn in half and he can only cling to the hope one day he might be whole again. But when he pulls back he meets Alex’s eyes. 

“Yeah, of course,” Michael says, “of course.”

They get into the car and his father stares at he starts the vehicle. Michael takes one last look at what he’s leaving behind, puts the car in gear and drives into the unknown. 

[duhragonball]

Dragon Ball Z 261

Last time, Gotenks and Piccolo escaped the Hyperbolic Time Chamber, but not soon enough to prevent Majin Buu from turning everyone on the Lookout into chocolate and eating them.    Gotenks, now a Super Saiyan 3, is determined to avenge his mother(s), so you’d think he’d finally make some headway in this fight.  But not really.  He seems to be able to go toe-to-toe with Buu this way, but he’s not exactly dominating the guy.

At this point in the battle, Buu is using his elastic body to stretch and contort himself out of the path of Gotenks’ blows.   The first time I saw this, I wondered why he hadn’t done anything like this before, but now it’s clear to me that Buu never needed to before.   Until now, Gotenks’ punches and kicks weren’t even hurting the guy, so there was no need to dodge him at all.   The only thing SSJ1 Gotenks did that hurt Super Buu was the Super Ghost Kamikaze Attack, and even that wasn’t enough to put the guy down.  

Even now, I doubt Buu really needs to bother with this.  He’s just toying with Gotenks here.

Then Buu swings him down through the Lookout, and chases him through the hole he just made. 

Buu follows Gotenks to a lake on the Earth’s surface, and somehow Gotenks manages to sneak up on him, commando-style, which seems kind of odd considering how much power he must be putting out just to maintain SSJ3.

Then he busts out a new move: Brain Crush Hammer.   

This... cuts Buu in half, which is pretty cool, except it doesn’t exactly live up to the name “Brain Crush Hammer”.

Gotenks blasts both pieces with the “Finish Flash”, which I guess is like the Final Flash only he keeps his hands apart and fires in two different directions.  

From the Supreme Kai Planet, Goku, Kibito, and the Supreme Kai watch the battle in a crystal ball, and they’re all pleased with Gotenks’ performance.  Goku’s so high on the job he’s doing that he’s beginning to think Buu will be defeated before Gohan even gets a chance to fight.

This is especially frustrating to Gohan, because he has to sit here for 20 hours as part of the Elder Kai’s power-up spell, or whatever it’s called.   He’s got to be at like 19:57 by now, but he can’t watch the battle with his dad, and if he gets distracted, it’ll just take that much longer to finish the work.   On top of that, even the Elder Kai isn’t required to focus on this.   He’s been reading comic books this whole time.

Stop me if you’ve heard this one, but Gotenks did this big flashy move on Majin Buu, and he thought he had this in the bag, only for Buu to reassemble himself and turn the tables on him.  This is pretty much every fight Buu has been in.   The only difference is that stronger characters just manage to last longer, but the results don’t really change.

I think that’s kind of a problem with this guy.    It’s not as bad as Frieza, where people knew he was invincible, attacked him anyway, and then they were all surprised to see that he wasn’t even scratched.  It got old really fast, and that’s why I always get bored watching the Frieza Saga up to the part where Goku turns Super Saiyan.  

I’d suggest that this is part of the reason why I like the Saiyans and Androids better as villains.   We know the Saiyans are beatable, because Goku’s a Saiyan and he could be beaten, provided his opponent is strong enough.  The androids were presented as invincible, but #19 is the first one we see in action, and he gets beaten without a lot of trouble, so it offers a glimmer of hope that the stronger androids that follow have their own weaknesses.   

What makes Cell so awesome is that he’s eminently vulnerable.   He needs to feed on humans to get stronger, and then he’s dependent upon the androids to achieve his final form.  Even in his ultimate form, he still takes all sorts of hits, if only to show off his regeneration powers. He’s a daunting challenge, but there’s still lots of ways to attack him. 

WIth Buu, I think the idea is that no one really knows what they’re getting into when they fight this guy.   Dabura thought he was a joke, and even Babidi was worried when Dabura ran him through with a spear.  Except Buu could just regenerate and turn Dabura into a cookie.   Vegeta seemed to do better against Buu, almost lulling you into thinking he had a chance, but really, that fight was just a repeat of Dabura’s effort.  Vegeta could damage Buu, but Buu would just pull himself back together and keep fighting.  

This move right here that Gotenks is using is called the “Super Balloon Bomber”, but it’s basically just more exploding ghosts.   The SBB is simply Gotenks making thirteen ghosts all at once instead of making ten ghosts one at a time.  Also, he says these ghosts pack a bigger wallop when they blow up, which makes sense, considering Gotenks is at Super Saiyan 3 this time.   

And Buu can’t dodge these guys as easily as the last set, so maybe these ghosts are faster too.    Makes sense.

But the outcome is basically the same.    Buu gets blown up, but he can still pull himself back together.  

It irritates him whenever he has to do that, so I don’t know, maybe this is draining his stamina every time, but it sure doesn’t seem like it.   No one ever observes that Buu ki is getting slightly weaker.

And Gotenks is lulled into this false sense of security, because he did an impressive move on Buu, and even Buu is upset about it.  He thinks he’s winning, but when you get down to it, what did the Super Baloon Bomber accomplish that the Finish Flash didn’t? 

And this is why I have my doubts that Goku ever really stood a chance against Fat Buu back in episode 245.  He only thinks he might have been able to beat him, but all he really proved was that he could last longer against Buu than Vegeta did.   Just like Gotenks is proving that he can last longer than either of them.   But it doesn’t do any good to last longer if you can’t put the guy away.

Now, I’m pretty sure the whole fight down on Earth was filler.   If I recall correctly, Buu and Gotenks stayed on the Lookout the whole time until it was destroyed, but in the anime, Buu knocks him down to the ground, they fight there for a while, and then Buu shoots him back up to the Lookout, and they resume there.  But it’s hard for me to tell the difference, because the filler parts of the battle scenes fit almost seamlessly with the ones adapted from the manga.   It’s a simple formula. Hero does a big move, Buu either no-sells it or recovers a few seconds later.

Meanwhile, Piccolo’s been having a nervous breakdown over the Lookout getting destroyed by all this fighting.   It’s easy to lose sight of this, what with everything else getting trashed.   The world below is nearly deserted, most of the main cast is dead, and there’s really nothing stopping Buu from just blowing up the whole planet if he wants.   But the Lookout has been an institution on this show for years.    It’s pretty wild watching it get smashed to pieces like this.  It’s like Toriyama decided he would use the Buu arc to just tear down the entire world he had built over the past decade, and it’s awesome to watch it all fall apart.  Z stands for the end.

Meanwhile, Mr. Satan and Bee are still trudging through the wasteland.   Satan seems to think there should be people here, which I don’t understand, since this place looks like it would be deserted even before Buu showed up. 

Then they spot a city, and that boosts Mr. Satan’s spirits somewhat.    Surely, there must be survivors there.  

But no, this town might have been spared from Fat Buu, but Super Buu wiped out the population with the Human Extinction Attack.   Mr. Satan doesn’t realize that, because even though he saw the attack like everyone else, he never got hit, and he never saw anyone else get hit, so he doesn’t realize what it was intended to do.  

There’s something very tragic about how he calls out for a hero’s welcome.  We’ve seen before how much Mr. Satan’s self-esteem depends on his fame and celebrity.   He was terrified of being the runner-up in the 25th Budokai, for goodness’ sake.   Jewel was the runner-up in the 24th Budokai, and everyone seemed to love that dude, but it’s not enough for Mr. Satan.  Now, he’s stuck in a world where he can’t call upon his fame because all his fans are dead.  

But at least there’s food and water.   Satan loots a grocery store and gives Bee a dish of milk.  Not sure that’s good for dogs, but this is Dragon Ball Z, so who cares?   All those pterosaurs in this show have big fat bodies and tiny li’l wings and they can still fly.    Dogs drink milk here.

Satan still can’t figure any of this out.  He knows Buu was a decent person at heart, and yet he’s destoryed the entire world.    Why? It just doesn’t make sense.

Then they move on, and Satan sees Fat Buu in the clouds.   I don’t really buy into Satan/Buu slash, but I get why people do.  You could write a gay romance story about Batman wondering why Superman turned evil, and it would look a lot like this. 

Yeah, yeah, the Lookout’s destroyed.   I already covered that.    Why do some of the pieces float in mid-air, while others lie on the surface of the big piece that’s left?    How does anything in this world work?   Let’s move on.

Buu does this thing where he bends over backwards and grabs his ankles to make a ball, and then he starts crashing into the Lookout multiple times.  He’s supposed to be trying to hit Gotenks, but I think he’s more interested in breaking he Lookout down to pebbles. 

But that sets him up for Gotenks’ next move, which is...

OH COME ON, PICCOLO.   Do you really have to touch your forehead to do Special Beam Cannon?   You know how this works, so shut up and let him do his thing.

So Gotenks does “Continuous Super Donuts”, which is basically the same as the “Cosmic Halo” from a few episodes back, which made a ring around Buu that closed in on him.  Only this time, Gotenks makes multiple rings, which seal Buu up in a ball of ki energy.   But Gotenks knows he could bust out of this, so he plans to follow up with another move....

ULTRA BUU-BUU VOLLEYBALL.   Now, I know what you’re thinking, this is a lot like Tien’s Volleyball fist from the 22nd Tenkaichi Budokai.  We’ll you’re wrong, because...

DAMMIT PICCOLO STOP WHIMPERING ABOUT THE LOOKOUT AND HELP.

GOTENKS IS GOING TO PASS IT TO YOU, BECAUSE IT’S A TEAM ATTACK.   THERE’S NO “I” IN TEAM PICCOLO.   YES, THERE’S A “ME”, WE ALL HEARD THE TAYLOR SWIFT SONG, BUT THIS IS NO TIME TO BE TALKING ABOUT THAT.

LOOK, GOTENKS CAN ONLY STAY IN THIS FORM FOR A FEW MINUTES, AND IF BUU GETS OUT HE’LL KILL US ALL, PICCOLO.   WOULD YOU STOP THINKING ABOUT TAYLOR SWIFT FOR LIKE TWO SECONDS AND SAY YOUR LINE?

YES FINALLY THAT TOOK FOREVER WHAT ARE YOU DOING OUT HERE?

All right, so Piccolo sets the ball, and Gotenks spikes it down in to the earth, where it explodes and makes a huge hole.   That might have killed Buu, except Piccolo screwed up the timing so it was only 99.2% effective.

Piccolo yells at Gotenks to quit screwing around.  Yeah, you’re one to talk.

So Gotenks knows Buu survived that, and he taunts for him to come out and continue fighting.  He even says that he can’t stay in this form much longer, and it’ll take him an hour to re-fuse and do this again.  Why would you tell him that?

But Buu doesn’t show himself, and Gotenks wonders if that last attack really did finish him off.

I blame Piccolo for this.

[bellsybuilds]

[Overwatch] Hold your tongue  (T, Akande/Lucio, 1.7k)

The first of my fills for the writing prompts, wherein I again fail to respond to a prompt in under 1k words. I’ll just accept my handicap with grace.

Hold your tongue (Can also be read on AO3) for @slavewhotouchedastar

Doomfist | Akande Ogundimu / Lúcio Correia dos Santos (M) 

Chapters 1 / 2 / 3 | Ceasefire Masterlist

Angst #21: “I wish I didn’t have these feelings, but I do.”

Lúcio shouldn’t say anything.

He shouldn’t.

His arms cross tightly over his chest and he huffs a breath when strong hands stroke down his arms in what might be an attempt of comfort.

Comfort. Here.

That’s a laugh.

He tries not to shy from the familiar touch of those calloused palms, stomach tightening, but fingers tip his chin up, and then Lúcio has to look on the face of his complication.

Not for the first time, its occurs to him that Akande is really handsome. And his eyes are gorgeous, even if he often stares a little too long and makes people uncomfortable. He’s not afraid to study people. Right now, the full intensity of that focus is narrowed on him in a careful frown, and he resists the urge to look away.

Lúcio adores the strength of his features, bold and broad unlike his own straighter face, and a form he conditioned for speed. Akande was built to brawl while Lúcio trained himself to evade the need for it altogether. Not today. No more running.

“Ìfẹ́-ọkàn mi….” Akande smooths a thumb over his lower lip and Lúcio almost turns his face towards that palm on instinct. “You are thinking very loudly.”

Don’t say anything.

Before him in their secreted Illios motel room, early morning slants across Akande’s face. He takes a seat on the edge of the bed, drawing Lúcio to follow so the shorter man doesn’t have to crane his neck to meet his eye.

They are both dressed, the work of a few minutes though it took even less than that to get them off last night. Lúcio spent most of his time this morning looking for where Akande threw his gloves and eventually found them behind the television.

At his back, the news anchor reports concerns of local unrest in the wake of tensions in Egypt. Is Talon behind that, too?

The story eclipses to silence as Akande turns off the television, giving Lúcio his full attention.

“I’m just… worried. For you,” Lúcio murmurs, drinking in Akande’s open body language, the hands he props on his knee, head tilted to listen attentively.

The bark of laughter is expected.

“You, worry? For me?” Akande smiles, squinting at Lúcio as though he will see the truth behind the joke if only he looks close enough. Lúcio’s face burns, an emotion tightening in his chest he’s not willing to study too closely as Akande laughs again, shaking his head. “And what cause have I given you for this concern?”

People are not all good or all bad.

Lúcio knows what he’s read, like everyone else: Akande Ogundimu is brilliant, aggressively forward-thinking, and persuasive. It’s these qualities that make him dangerous, more than his stolen gauntlet, more than the body count that climbs with each appearance of his name in the news. More ruthless than his own violence is the carnage Lúcio has witnessed him inspire in others: hangars of armoured Talon agents, guns raised, baying like slavering hounds for Doomfist’s glorious vision of a better world.

But Lúcio can’t ignore the other things he’s learned: the schools Akande’s subsidiaries established in his home country, the scholarships and medical care reconnecting and sustaining families still scarred decades after the events of the Omnic Crisis. The dangerous men he has recruited to his side so he can keep a close eye, and put down the worst of them himself.

The math is simple: the lives Akande has saved far outnumber those lost in his wake. That they know of. And still….

Lúcio closes his eyes with a small sigh, biting his tongue.

“I know you believe in what you’re doing, man, through and through. But….” He shakes his head, arms falling to his sides. “I want to ask you not to anyway.”

Akande doesn’t hesitate. “Then ask.”

“Don’t,” Lúcio fires back at Akande’s amused smile. “Please don’t.”

Akande stills, his smile softening into a calculated line and it’s like watching a film of ice pass over his eyes the moment he understands they have finally come to this conversation, after these three long months.

The shift from Akande to Doomfist is disturbingly seamless. A ripple seems to pass beneath Akande’s skin, every feature relaxing at the surface, but Lúcio feels the man’s strength coiling at the ready, electrifying the air with tension. And as that electricity builds, the easy comfort of the shield they erected around themselves over all these months begins to slowly and irreversibly fracture.

Lúcio doesn’t know why the break seems to start in his chest.

What would his family or friends say if they knew how long he had let this go on? That he let it happen at all?

“Years of planning,” Akande says. His voice has smoothed with a disquietingly familiar charm that gives Lúcio the chills.

“Don’t do that.”

It makes his stomach roll to hear that voice used on him, and in the sanctum of… whatever this is. He shakes his head, feeling the illusion fracture further. He stops himself from pushing the heel of his hand against the sudden pang in his chest.

Akande continues, and Lúcio’s attention is drawn to the slow, intent gesture of his hand. “Every conflict, every war makes us stronger. With our work, humanity will bear more like you who rise up and lead us forward.”

Lúcio stares at the man in disbelief. Is he for real? What exactly is he trying to start?

“And how many will die? How many who never had the means or the chance to protect themselves?” Lúcio thrusts a hand at the window to the world Akande thinks himself fit to reshape, voice rising. “Your way, Akande– it raises those you favour, and the privileged even higher. Don’t use me as a poster child for your war mongering. It could have been anyone else in Rio, but it’s dumb luck that I’m the one who stole that technology first.”

“No,” Akande rises to his feet, voice hushed with an intense passion, eyes alight. “You survived because you were the strongest, Lúcio!”

Lúcio takes a step back, unafraid, but unwilling to let the other man close the distance. “We didn’t want to fight. People were disappearing. They were being beaten in the streets. Thrown into jail without charge or sufficient cause. A building exploded and they pretended it wasn’t their fault. That was your people.”

Akande shakes his head immediately. “Not mine.” His lip curls in an ugly scowl, voice hardening. “There is nothing more cowardly than a bomb.”

Oh, right. Akande doesn’t know that Lúcio has learned Vishkar sit at his table. Which just makes everything the two of them have been doing even worse.

He swallows thickly, taking another step back when Akande reaches for him. It physically pains Lúcio not to let him. When the hell did they get so far?

Lúcio tries to swallow some moisture down his throat, even that is difficult. His body is wound so tight, trembling. It forces his words out quiet and unsteady.

“People died, and they didn’t have to. I fight so nobody has to live through that again. We just want to live. How many in places like mine, do you think would survive a war? A real war?” He tilts his head, studying Akande’s face intently, but he’s not as good at this as Akande, and Akande’s expression is stone. “Why do you get to decide that for us?”

“A war is coming, Lúcio, with or without me. But with me, we can steer its machine.” With a blink, something softens in his expression. Akande sighs, straightening. His shoulders relax and Lúcio feels some of the tension leave his own body. “You can still leave. Do not make the quarrel between us today.”

Lúcio smiles wryly, shrugging and throwing his hands up. “It was always between us. But this only worked when we pretended otherwise, huh? Listen.” He leans his hands on his hips, and watches Akande’s expression light up further when Lúcio steps in, voice gentle. “Would be easier if I didn’t, but I care about you. I wish–” His heart hammers, but he forces the words out past tight lungs and his throat closing, he has to now or he never will, “I wish I didn’t have these feelings, but I do. And I gotta fight for those people who can’t fight for themselves. You know?”

Akande is quiet, dark eyes searching Lúcio’s face long enough for Lúcio to see that he understands. He understands and it’s not relief or joy that Lúcio sees in his face, but he never expected that.

He never expected this to go for more than one night, all those months ago in Numbani.

“You won’t get the answer you want from me,” Akande says, in a strange tone that Lúcio doesn’t understand. The man doesn’t even have the decency to make it sound like an apology.

Lúcio nods, gaze dropping to the floor, adjusting his stance. He anticipated that. He just hopes Akande can’t tell he’s shaking.

Glancing to the door at his back, the silence is heavy and brings the realisation crashing down that he only has seconds before those targets return to their backs and they’ll need to raise their weapons.

Against each other? Fuck.

“… Would you do it yourself?” Lúcio asks, unable to look Akande in the face, doesn’t even consider that Akande might not understand.

He feels a huff of air on his temple a moment before a hand turns his face, and then Akande is kissing him. Deeply. A tongue slides between his lips, a gentle hand cups the back of his head, and Lúcio’s whole body gives up the fight, bowing towards Akande as it releases the tension of the last five minutes. His heart is thundering in his chest, his eyes sting – no, fuck, he’s not going to lose it –

Akande pulls back before Lúcio is ready, a sharp, wet break of sound, and Lúcio whimpers despite himself, body leaning in to follow him.

Fuck.

Akande’s eyes are dark and pupils blown. He swallows audibly, glancing from Lúcio’s lips to meet his gaze. His hands fall away. “If I see you on the field. Go the other way.”

Metal scrapes on wood as Akande swipes his earpieces from the table and when the door swings shut behind his back, Lúcio’s ears ring in the silence.

And he can’t escape the feeling that there’s something else he should have said.

[peach-bottom]

Peach Bottom - Chapter Three

<-ch2-    -ch4->

“Yo reconozco mis transgresiones; siempre tengo presente mi pecado.”

Solidity so cold and real it felt like pressure lined Tye’s spine, her back. Her temples throbbed in beat with her heart, which pumped in punches to her chest, thumpa thumpa thumpa. And another drumming, this one outside herself, this one wooden and quivering, desperate. A metallic film coated her tongue; eyes stinging; gas, she had been gassed.

“Contra ti he pecado, sólo contra ti, y he hecho lo que es malo ante tus ojos; por eso, tu sentencia es justa, y tu juicio-”

The voice was shaky, and familiar. “Martha?”

“Tye! Oh, Tye!” She felt Martha fall on top of her, sobs exploding out of that shaky voice, and Tye opened her eyes, struggling against the sterile, cold light. Martha looked gaunt and broken; a scrape on her chin, eyes bloodshot and exhausted. Guilt went through her in a cold shot, but she couldn’t quite remember why. Her thoughts were sludging along at the speed of molasses, and her head felt so heavy it might as well be pinned to the floor beneath it. But something soft, too - yellow at the split and spinning side of her vision - Martha’s sweater. She shut her eyes and still saw that yellow like a burn, spinning sickly.

“Where’re we?” Tye muttered after a moment, forcing herself to consider this more. There were other people - most of them sleeping, some crying, leaning against stone, white-painted walls. One woman was up against a door with a small, barred window, hammering on it - that was the drumming noise, then. Beside her, a young man, barely more than a boy, lay unmoving. She shut her eyes again. Thumpathumpathumpathumpa. Made herself open them. Martha’s hands up above, flashing movement as she spoke.

“In ‘holding’ they said. Tye - they, you, you fell! And I fell on top of you, but then I saw it was you and I pulled you out, but you weren’t conscious and I couldn’t just - they started throwing these cans when the fighting started, gas, like I said, Tye! And I couldn’t leave you, so I stayed, I stayed and they tried to put me on the bus with the others who stayed to take to Nostamo but I told them my ankle was twisted and they let me come with -”

“Xena,”  for a moment, there was only static, and the flash of that name, and the history of the situation suddenly lurched forward into stunning clarity, and she felt her daughter’s name fall from her mouth like her own living heart.

Tye pushed herself all the way up, the world tilting on an angle for a moment, her stomach lurching, but she felt purged from her own body. The pain and confusion had ceased to matter, every face around her flashed, face after familiar face, neighbors, friends, but not-

NOT-

Face after face.

But really, she knew, knew Xena wouldn’t be here and not right by her side, knew-

“Xena...” This time, the word was dragged from her throat. She opened her mouth and did it again, though, and again, pouring agony and she must be screaming but all she could hear was a whisper, and Martha’s ragged breaths, and her hands were shaking Martha but she couldn’t still them, “Xena, where’s Xena? Martha? Where’s Xena?”

Martha’s eyes filled with tears again. She bit her lip and glanced down, and the Earth dropped beneath Tye’s body and fell, all past alignment insignificant before the gravity of that downward glance, pity - “She’s not with us, here,” Martha whispered, “She didn’t get on the buses either. I think - I mean, I know, I know she escaped with the others. I saw. They were running west when I saw them. Everyone - everyone says that they ran west; I saw her crawling over the blockade to Cecil B Moore and then… then I couldn’t see her anymore.”

Martha’s words faded to that static. There was nothing, nothing but her chest, the punching muscle of her heartbeat, and her breath was gone again, she was being trampled again, blood a river in her ears, no, stop, no-

No. Not right now.

She knew Martha was talking. She knew Martha’s hands were on her shoulders, and then arms around her, and Martha was crying, no - she shut her eyes.

Count. Count to ten.

One, two, three, four five sixseveneightnine-

RUN!

No. No, shut up. Shut up and stop! Pull yourself together! This isn’t useful right now. This isn’t useful right now.

“You’re wasting time, soldier.” The voice, hard, amused.

You’re wasting time, Ma. The voice lilting, light.

Tye took a gulping breath, eyes shut. Run.

Xena had run. She’d run, like she’d needed to, and she hadn’t stopped. She’d run in a group, with others, their neighbors, who might not be too fond of Tye, but loved Xena, loved her like she was the whole town’s child, would protect her.

Xena was not in holding.

Xena had not been put on the buses.

This here’s the ideal world.

It was a sweeping, considering sentiment. A Xena-esque sentiment.

Her hands still shook, her heart still hammered, but when she opened her eyes Martha was sobbing, and so very young, and that helped, somehow. “Sorry,” Tye whispered, “sorry, buddy, it’s alright. I’m here.”

She acknowledged it - the yawning maw of horror, dark fear lapping at her toes, trying to suck her into it. And then she turned away.

Comfort Martha. Watch the door, with the woman hammering on it, sobbing, pleading, “My son won’t wake up!”

Feel lucky.

No, that’s bad.

Feel lucky, though, right? Feel lucky.

-

The door finally opened about an hour later, though it was hard to tell - the room had no windows beyond that one tiny one in the door, and the lights were cold and sterile, giving the impression of eternal daylight, though it must still be night, in the AM by now perhaps. Two people walked in - one police officer with a phasor and a young man in medic’s robes who crouched next to the boy at last, scanning him. The woman thanked him again and again, hands gripping her son’s, and he glanced awkwardly up at her, reading the scan, “Uh, it’s fine,” he said, “He’s alive. But I need to take him for a more in-depth head scan; he definitely has a concussion.”

“Good, yes, thank you, thank you,” the woman said through her tears, and Tye remembered how they had all gone quiet when the mayor started talking, sacrificing their chant just to find out what happened next. This woman had sacrificed her rage. It was good. It was what Tye had to do.

Tye rose and shuffled up to the officer, legs quivering with the effort of moving, head down. The officer cocked her weapon at Tye like she had her fists raised, though, and Tye swallowed, spoke as clear as she could, “My daughter,” he said, “my daughter - my young daughter, she’s out there alone, she was scared, she ran and-”

“You didn’t stay with her?” The officer asked, eyebrows going up.

Tye swallowed, “I tried,” she whispered, “Please. She’s disabled. She’s by herself out there.”

The officer’s eyes narrowed behind her helmet visor, and Tye wondered helplessly if this woman thought she was lying to her, “Please,” Tye pleaded, heart clenching like a fist, “Please, her name is Xena, she’s sixteen, she’s diabetic and blind, she’s by herself, she needs-”

“I’ll see what I can do,” the cop interrupted her.

Tye stared at her, “Please,” she said again. Officer nodded, looking a little exasperated now.

Tye stared at the door behind her, wondering if-

The officer cocked her weapon again, gaze suddenly sharpening, zeroing in on her, and Tye swallowed, whispered, “Please. Thank you. Thank you, please,” and then forced herself to go back to Martha, collapse into Martha’s waiting arms, fists so so tight her nails bit into her palms.

A gurney was unrolled on the concrete floor and the boy lifted onto it, a button pressed and it glowed blue, lifting up into the air and trailing the doctor as he gathered his few things and then headed towards the door.

The cop stopped the boy’s mother at the door, “You wait here,” she said.

“What? But I - no! No! I have to stay with him!” She pushed forward after her son as the doctor turned and hesitated, a frantic energy starting around this poor mother like a tornado.

“She can’t come with me? I’m just going to scan him. Not much she could do,” the doctor said.

The cop glared, “Those are the rules.”

“Oh,” the doctor shuffled awkwardly, “ok.”

“Please,” the woman begged, and fell to her knees, gripping the cop’s free hand, “please, he’s all I have, just let me stay with my boy, please-”

The cop looked uncomfortable, the doctor even more so. But the officer pried her fingers free, muttering, “That’s simply not allowed.”

“Sorry,” the doctor said, voice forcibly light, so awkward, and the woman dove for the door as they shut it, slammed her head on it, sobbed, curled in on herself, and her breathing came fast, hysterical.

Tye watched, soul blank. Martha shivered beside her.

-

It was another hour before the doctor came back with the boy - who was now, thankfully, awake, though he was slurring his words. His mother just hugged him, crying, and the doctor called, “Who else was unconscious at some point?”

Martha turned to look at Tye, but she was already up, walking with purpose back to the doctor and cop, “Me, I was,” she said quickly, butting in front of an old man, “Please, my daughter-”

“There’s no blind girl in intensive care and no teenagers at all in the morgue, I checked,” the cop said shortly.

Tye felt her whole world turn upside-down for a moment, air leaving her. The morgue. She hadn’t even considered-

And then she swallowed and whispered, “I - good, that’s good, but I mean - she’s with the other… other refugees, she’s not-”

“Refugees isn’t the right word,” the cop snapped immediately.

“That’s right,” doctor said good naturedly, scanning her, “It implies you’re from out of the country. The correct term is Internally Displaced Persons, or IDPs.”

“The correct term is squatters!” Officer snapped, “Or ‘cop killers.’ Twice over if Ohara’s surgery goes the way the doctor said it might. Did you know two officers were shot last night and even more beaten and trampled?”

There was silence for a moment after that. “Oh,” the doctor said as the scanner beeped, “You’ve got a mild concussion and slight malnourishment, but otherwise, you’re fine.” He moved onto the next person in line.

Tye took a deep breath and said calmly, “She was with the other squatters, then. She ran with them - I need to get to her, please, she’s just a little girl, and she’s blind, she can’t-”

“I thought she was sixteen.”

“That’s a little girl! She’s a child, she’s my child-” Tye stopped talking, mouth gaping for a moment, and she felt it, a stone in her throat, a pressure behind her eyes, and thought at the same time, ‘maybe it would help’ and ‘don’t give them the satisfaction.’

She gaped. Breathed. Didn’t cry.

The cop was staring at her. After a moment she let out a huff, and then said gruffly, “Listen, if you can prove you have somewhere to go, someone to stay with, someone who inhabits a legal, flood-defense-approved residence… and you can pay your medical bills, I mean, then you can go. They just don’t want folks going back to their squats.”

“Thank you,” Tye whispered, “thank you, thank you, thank you. I need - I need to make a call.”

The cop nodded and took out a cell. There was immediate uproar behind Tye, others yelling for the chance to make a call, and to her shock the cop grabbed her by the arm and pulled her outside. She took out a pair of handcuffs, attaching Tye to the handle as the door closed, “Regulation,” the officer said, then smirked at her, “Sort of.”

Tye blinked, recognition coming in a jolt, “Sandy?” She said, awestruck.

Sandy had worked at AedosDynamic. Her career there had only had a four month overlap with Tye’s, but they’d gotten to know one another in passing.

“That’s right! Man, I did not think it was you at first. I mean, you’re not looking your best right now. And also… well… I didn’t know where you were living, you know?”

Tye stared at her. Sandy, apparently at a loss, reverted back to her customary furrowed brow. “Well, hurry up then,” she said, gesturing at the phone.

Tye jumped, immediately dialing Xena’s number. It went straight to answering machine, however, and Tye realized with a sickening lurch that of course - Xena’s comp had been killed by that blast, of course her phone would be dead, too. “I just need to make one more!” Tye said quickly when Sandy looked like she was about to argue. Sandy rolled her eyes, looking severely uncomfortable, and Tye realized that even this - cuffed outside, unable to leave - was special treatment. She was lucky, right now. Extraordinarily lucky that she had barely known someone, that she was here in her dirty t-shirt and sneakers, allowed to make a phone call. Lucky.

Tye fiddled with her cuff with one hand, logging on quickly and whizzing through the AedosDynamic contacts directory, lips pursed, whole life sour with what she had to do now, though she knew she had to do it.

-

“Oh my GOD!”

Lemon stood in the doorway to their holding room like a piece from another puzzle, yellow hair sticking up in all directions, decked out in a pink sweatsuit and Crocs.

Tye rose immediately, something huge rolling through her chest unexpectedly at the sight of her. “Lemon, I need a favor from you,” she whispered. Sandy shifted awkwardly by the door.

“Yeah, I mean, I figured that when you said where to pick you up,” Lemon said, giving Tye a once-over, eyes positively glinting, “You know, I knew it. I fucking knew it.”

Tye stared, “Lemon,” she started again.

“Not because… well, I mean, all different kinds of people live in the towers, so it wasn’t that, but I just mean you personally, you just always had something about you. Shit though, I didn’t know you lived in Mt. Danu, christ.”

Tye stopped breathing.

Her neighbors, her friends and not-friends, were all watching. And Tye took a deep breath, thought of her daughter, and said, “Lemon, please, I need your help. My daughter - my daughter ran with the other, uh, squatters. She’s out there by herself.”

Lemon’s eyes widened, “Shit, you mean she got sent to Nostamo housing without you?”

Tye shut her eyes, “No, no, that was - there were buses for that, and we got a choice first, but then that was when the fighting started and they started gassing the protesters.”

Lemon’s eyes were wide, “Why didn’t you guys just go with Nostamo? You wouldn’t have to stay, and at least there’s free livin’ there, right?”

Tye shut her eyes for a moment, “Lemon, my daughter! She’s by herself.”

“You want me to… what, go find her?”

“No! You wouldn’t know how to- I mean, please, I just need to, to be able to tell them I have somewhere to live.”

Lemon stared blankly at her. And then her eyes went wide and she mumbled awkwardly, “Oh. I mean. Shit, Tye, like on the one hand I’m psyched, but long-term... I dunno if like… we would make the best roommates? You’re kind of-”

“I won’t be there long,” Tye said through clenched teeth. And then she grabbed Lemon’s shoulder and leaned in, “In fact,” she hissed, “you would barely notice me.”

Lemon squinted, “I mean… I think I would. You’re not exactly hard to miss. And I only have a one bedroom apartment. And-”

“Lemon! I just mean-”

“She means she’s going to pretend she’s going with you because we require she has somewhere that’s not a squat in a flood zone to go, but then she’s going to go look for her daughter instead,” Sandy said in a pained voice.

“Oh!” Lemon said brightly. “Well, then. That’s alright.”

“Wait,” Martha’s tiny voice. Tye felt her stomach lurch. Martha. What about Martha? She couldn’t leave her behind again.

Yes you can, the Good Mother voice said, quietly.

“Lemon,” Tye said, voice shaking a little, “there’s also… this is Martha, she’d just help me, but if you could say that she’s staying with you, too-”

“Uh-uh,” Sandy said immediately, “I’m willing to overlook you, Tye, for old times’ sake, but you can’t ask me to break the rules for you any more than I’ve already done.”

“What about if! If she really stayed with Lemon, then!” Tye said, speaking quickly, “Yeah! I mean, Lemon, I’m - yeah, I’m difficult sometimes, I suppose, but Martha, Martha’s an angel, and she’s got no one else here, her parents moved up north last year, and you’d hardly notice her-”

“I could cook,” Martha said, “I can cook really well. And clean! I’m… not the best at that, but I could learn.”

Tye felt a boiling drop of acid in her gut at that meek little offer, made so hopefully, at Lemon considering it, but then Lemon shrugged meekly and said, “Well, alright. Don’t clean my house, but I’m not turning down food cooked by a pretty girl. I could share the homestead for a week or so, I guess.”

“Two weeks.” Sandy said shortly, “and you need to sign paperwork for both of them.”

Lemon groaned, “Tye, this is becoming a thing.”

“Lemon, please.” Tye’s voice cracked, and Lemon’s eyes went wide, shocked, and Tye felt like screaming, pulling out her hair, pulling out Lemon’s hair, “please.”

Lemon signed the paperwork. Then there were the first payments of their medical bills, hefty and ridiculous, which Tye paid promptly, taking Martha’s away from her when she started saying “it’s fine, it’s fine” over and over again, a huge chunk of Tye’s savings flowing fruitlessly down the drain.

Not that it mattered, now.

Outside they piled into a taxi, Martha awkwardly maneuvering her sunflower bag, Tye butting in before Lemon could say her address into the little machine as soon as they were half-settled - “AedosDynamic.”

Lemon’s eyes widened, “You sure you wanna go into work like this, bud?”

Tye said nothing, just pushed her forehead against the cool glass of the cab window. Breathed.

When they got to AedosDynamic she used her card to swipe them in and then promptly threw it in the garbage, Lemon snorting, Martha trotting after her worriedly, looking around like she was going to get in trouble for existing, here.

“Ms Baker?” She heard a flabbergasted voice call from off to the side, but she ignored it, kept walking. The television blared - “while most went along with the housing the city provided, some of the Mt. Danu squatters turned dangerous during last night’s evacuation, forcing police to result to stunning after two officers were shot - Officer Miller confirmed dead, Officer Ohara still in intensive care. Rumors that gas was also used remain unconfirmed-”

Tye stood for a second in front of the Explorer SSX 5000. Stared at its gleaming nylon cleanliness. Then she took it, and it was hers. Along with the chugga-galon, the compass and comprehensive map of southeastern Pennsylvania, the granola bars, the instant noodles, the tiny stove, pot, and titanium spork. And the vest. That puffy orange vest. 

“-this just in - a group of suspected Mt. Danu squatters has been spotted on the edge of the Manayunk ruins. Citizens - these stragglers were most likely involved in the violence during last night’s evacuation, and we urge you not to approach them. Instead, if you see anything, call the following emergency number! They will be taken in and processed into the Homeless Rehabilitation Center.”

Tye froze, staring at the screen. A map! A map of Philadelphia, with a dot near the edge of the wall, where the park began. Gotcha, kid.

“Oh my god, Tye,” Lemon said as Tye started trotting fast towards the exit. No one stopped her, though everyone stared, mouths open. “Woo, suck on that!” Lemon yelled, “I quit!” She threw her own badge into the garbage.

They made it back to the taxi, shoved in, and then again, before Lemon could speak, Tye said, “Mt. Danu, please.”

Martha gasped, “Tye,” she said, “is that really… safe, yet?”

Lemon whistled, “I dunno, I kinda wanna see it. They’re saying a lot of conflicting things on the news, you know.”

Tye leaned forward and repeated to the taxi microphone, “Mt. Danu!”

A beep, and then an automated voice, “I’m sorry. That area is blocked.”

“This is so conspiracy theory,” Lemon whispered.

“Try the shopping center,” Martha said softly, “Then we could just hop down.”

Tye nodded, “Privex Shopping Center on 33rd and Tuatha Blvd,” she said clearly, and the taxi started off with a jolt, rising to join the other crafts like it in the automated driver lane.

There was no security at the jump down from high-rise to dumpster, though Tye’d seen a few copbots chugging along down below as they’d landed, so she figured they’d get here on their patrols soon enough. The three of them dropped down, sneaking along under awnings so as to not be seen from above, checking streets before they walked down them. Once they saw a few folks with a wagon full of junk - maybe looters, maybe people like her and Martha, residents come back to get more of their things. Twice they ducked into an alley to avoid copbots. There was a poisonous haze still resting close to the ground, like mist, and it stung at Tye’s scraped knees.

Construction equipment - or destruction equipment, she supposed - was being set up in the market square. She could see the great long necks of the excavators like animals, roving, could hear their beeps and steaming roars.

Besides that ruckus, Mt. Danu was silent, and still. It’s dead, she thought. And it was.

They passed a blocked street on their way around the market, and a blackened husk of a building that had burned, probably due to complications with the surge. It was known to happen with faulty wiring. The doors down all the streets were still open, and Tye stopped as she reached a bike, solar panels out, whole thing locked up with a fraying wire lock, abandoned.

She took her new serrated knife out of her new backpack and began to saw at the wire.

Martha gasped, “Tye, that’s not yours,” she said.

Tye almost laughed, but said nothing.

“Woooo, you’re on a roll, girl.” Lemon said.

Tye paused for the barest second, gritted her teeth, and kept going.

When she’d gotten the bike free, they went into the house, where she found the keys in a little bowl near the door. Tye started up the bike, Lemon sitting on the back behind her and Martha on the handles as they took off down the few blocks to Tye’s house.

The door was wide open. The tv was gone. Her comp.

They’d had nothing else important, really. But her clothes were strewn everywhere, even messier than she normally left them, and drawers were all pulled out, like whoever had raided had been pissed that that was it, had been thinking ‘there must be something more’ when there wasn’t, there was nothing, nothing.

It smelled like home. It smelled like home and it also smelled like metal, smelled like something that made her dizzy, and Tye took a deep breath of all of it and began to work, changing first, immediately, into better clothes, more durable clothes.

Lemon wolf-whistled.

And for some reason, that’s when Tye snapped.

“This is all one big fucking joke to you, isn’t it?” She said through gritted teeth.

Lemon laughed nervously, “Uh, no need to be snippy. I’m just trying to lighten the mood a bit.”

“This isn’t a mood that can be lightened. This isn’t a mood that should be lightened.”

“Hey, I just learned that my best friend came from a teeny tiny little ruin in some squatter flood-bait ground town, ok, I really think-”

“Mt. Danu was not a neighborhood of squatters.” Martha said, very quiet, very brave, and Lemon let out an annoyed huff.

“Ok, whatever, but still - some flood-bait ground-”

“Why do you keep doing that?” Tye snapped.

“Doing what?”

“Insulting Mt. Danu.”

“I’m not - I’m just stating the facts!”

“Mt. Danu is - Mt. Danu was a neighborhood where some people had owned their houses for generations. Where people ran shops without help from up above because no one gave a shit about the businesses down here. Where everyone knew each other, where there was always music coming from somewhere, where people weren’t fake and back-handed and full of shit!” Tye’s voice was rising, the hand clenching her shirt shaking. “This neighborhood was beautiful, it was beautiful, and classic, and full of art and culture and all that shit you people think you own up there, and I’m proud of it, I’m proud as fuck of where I come from, so you can just shut up. Go home, Lemon. Go back to your precious tower. Get out of my house.”

Lemon gaped at her, and then, very quickly, turned and left, slamming the door behind her.

There was quiet. Tye pulled her shirt on and started packing her bag, hands shaking, not really sure if that was the right thing to do from the standpoint of the manipulator, the puppet-master, the what-she-always-fucking-failed-to-be. She’d thought it before, about Lemon - a rich friend had to be useful. If she was smarter she’d make use of that. But she couldn’t find it in her to regret anything she’d said. She never could, really.

After a moment, Martha spoke, “You called Mt. Danu ‘where you came from,’” she said shyly, “you’ve never done that.”

Tye’s breath caught painfully, “Grab whatever you want, Martha,” she said softly, “We won’t be using anything here anymore.”

After collecting the rest of their supplies, Tye and Martha went outside and nearly tripped over Lemon who, to Tye’s shock, was sitting on the stoop waiting, her head in her hands.

For a second she thought Lemon was actually crying, which would have honestly just been too infuriating to deal with, but Lemon’s face was instead harder than Tye’d ever seen it, brows together and mouth a thin line. When she spoke, her voice was a little raw, but unwavering, “I’m sorry,” she said frankly, “you’re right. I’m just… I dunno, I’m just feeling weird I guess, and awkward, because this is horrible, and I don’t know how to… I’m just, I’m being an asshole. You’re right.”

Tye narrowed her eyes. This wasn’t a new thing. This dance was familiar, though her outburst this time had been a little more extreme than the usual ones. “For fuck’s sake, Lemon,” she muttered.

“Right. Ok. You uh, don’t have to forgive me. Especially not right now. You’ve got a lot on your plate.” Lemon replied, dropping her head again.

“I forgive you!” Martha said, irritatingly.

Lemon beamed up at Martha. Tye sucked in a breath, let it out in a whistle, and then said, “Ok, well, I’m glad, I guess, cuz this is where I leave y’all.”

Instant uproar, “Don’t be stupid,” Lemon said, rising quickly to her feet.

“I thought I was coming with you!” Martha shrieked at the same time.

This seemed to remind Lemon, “Yeah, wait, I kind of just assumed that we were pretending she was living with me to get her out? Uh I mean she can of course, you can too! I’m just full of shit, I was being full of shit, you can both stay-”

“Tye,” Martha said, and she looked so young, “I really think it’s a good idea if I come with you… you’ll be on your own otherwise, and, I mean. Well. I will be, too. Isn’t it better if we stick together? You wouldn’t… wouldn’t just leave me, would you?” Her lip was trembling, and Tye saw the flash of guilt in her eyes at the manipulation, but also sensed the helplessness - the girl was barely 24, her parents were up north, what was she supposed to do?

Tye shut her eyes. And when she opened them, she was stone, she was solid, she was impenetrable. “You would slow me down,” she said bluntly. It was really the only way, with Martha. She was good people, but unless faced with a wall, would try and twist anything towards what she wanted, “the bike is made for one person, really, and it’s going to be dangerous, and you’ve never even lived outside Philly’s walls. You don’t know how to survive, out in the wilds. I don’t have time to teach you to, either. I have to find Xena.” Martha’s face froze, and then fell, shattered. She bit the inside of her cheek and sniffed, eyes glassy, and Tye felt her own dam break just a little, “I’m sorry, Sugar,” she whispered.

Martha nodded, and then she was in Tye’s arms and they were holding each other so tightly she could feel her breathing, her heart beating, her tiny life that Tye’d seen so much of. She’d known this girl since she was fourteen and starting up her babysitting business, and now, now she didn’t know if she’d see the rest, if she’d see her ever again, if-

She pulled away before the dam could really break, turned to Lemon, who looked hopeful for a hug, arms half raised, but Tye put her hands on her hips. “It’s been something, Lemon.” Tye said, surprising herself by how warm the words came out.

Lemon quirked a smile, recovering quickly, crossing her own arms like that was the plan all along, “That it has.”

She glanced at Martha, “Are you gonna stay with her? Cuz you can.”

Martha smiled a small smile through her tears. “I don’t think so,” she said after a moment, “I have an auntie who lives in a houseboat in Schuylkill. We’re not close, but I think she’d let me crash with her. Then I could keep an ear to the ground, too. Try and figure out what else is happening.”

Tye nodded, “Be safe, love,” she said softly, “and remember - Lemon’s always a backup if it doesn’t work out.”

“I am. And I’m, like. Here for you both anyway, too. Any way you need me.” Lemon said, a little strained, and Tye let out a huff and touched her arm, a small concession that made Lemon flush scarlet.

Tye smiled small at both of them, saluted them with two fingers, and with that, slung her backpack over her shoulder, buckled the two front supporting straps, started up the bike, and took off towards Cecil B Moore, the small bike roaring faithfully over the barricade with a hover-burst. Far ahead, the wall marking the edge of the city limit loomed.

Their house gaped behind her. Door left wide open.

Don’t think about it.

Don’t think about it.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten.

Ride.

<-ch2-    -ch4->

[fangirl--of-everything]

Thank the Chicken Man (Juice x Reader)

A/N. I love this beautiful bean. This one shot doesn’t mean that requests are open, or that I'm going to be churning things out regularly again (I know I suck I’m so sorry guys I’m just so swamped with school its a mess), but I have been inspired and have a few other things in the works that I’ll keep you posted on. Anyway, you guys know the drill, I don’t own anything except the plot, blah blah blah, including the above gif, as much as I wish I could own this beautiful man and some of his biker brothers. 

Alright guys, enjoy!

Juice rolled down the street, enjoying the purr of his bike beneath him, the wind in his face. He heard Bobby and Tig behind him, but as he sped up they fell behind. They knew the drill anyway. The Chicken Man was nervous about strangers and wouldn’t talk to anyone but Juice. Hearing other bikes would spook him.

Juice rolled up beside the blue van, which was parked rather conspicuously in the middle of a backroad, got off his bike and walked up to the window.

“Juan Carlos.” the Chicken Man nodded, head twitching to look around the lot. “May I assume the stimulants are in your backpack bag?”

“Yes Chicken.” Juice couldn’t hold back his smile. This was his favourite part, the shady deals. There was just something exhilarating about it, and he had to admit he enjoyed when he was able to do something like this the rest of the club couldn’t. “May I assume you have the cash?”

The man looked around nervously, giving another jerky nod. “Yes. Would you mind getting in? Talking this way makes me feel very conspicuous.”

Juice couldn’t hold back a laugh. “Sure thing man.” He opened the door and climbed into the passenger seat. “You’re a lunatic, you know tha--”

He saw something move behind him, a flash of white. “Shit!”

He elbowed the Mayan (not a Mayan, he realized distantly, but a guy from that gang they were patching over), in the face, but hands, too many hands, grabbed him roughly and dragged him back between the seats.

There was shouting behind him, but he was too busy bucking and twisting to hear them properly. His arms were wrenched above his head roughly, pinned in a way he couldn’t shake off, and a gloved hand clamped down over his mouth. He shouted anyway, kicking and bucking and twisting and strongly regretting leaving Bobby and Tig behind.

The man with the hand over his mouth leaned down, and Juice recognized the president of the other MC. “You tell Clay, my bullshit MC’s got some reach eh?”

A fist slammed into his face and his head snapped back, slamming into the floor of the van. Distantly, over the sounds of fists hitting his face, his own grunts of pain, and the blood rushing in his ears, he could hear the Chicken Man.

“I’m sorry Juan Carlos, but I’ve run up a bit of a tab with these Mexican fellows.”

Juice was very tempted to tell the dick what he thought of his apology, and where he could shove it, but he was a little busy. He lost track of how many times he got hit in the face, and then when he was too dazed to fight back anymore they moved down to his ribs. He noticed distantly that one of the guys behind him was tugging at his arms, and when he bucked against them the jackass behind him dislocated his shoulder. He screamed, or at least he let out a strangled groan, and something absolutely disgusting was shoved into his mouth. He was pretty sure it was a sock. If it hadn’t been in his mouth he probably would have thrown up. As it was he was pretty sure he was going to need to wash his mouth out with soap.

He got hit in the face again, and all thoughts of being sick were knocked from his head.

(Y/n) was walking down the road when she spotted the Chicken Man’s van parked down a backroad. The man was crazy, but he sold good steroids, which helped with her brother’s anemia. And they were  dirt cheap, which was great.

She didn’t need to visit him for another few days, but since he was here she might as well see if he had anything. The man was very cautious, and by cautious she meant he set meeting places at complete random and inconvenient times. She had to hit him up while he was available.

She walked up to the van, rapping her knuckles against the passenger side window. Chicken jumped, eyes widening when he saw her.

“(Y-y/n)!” She heard him stammer through the window. “What are you doing here at this inconvenient hour?”

She blinked, chuckling uncomfortably at the man’s awkwardness. “Sorry, I just noticed you were here. You don’t have anything for me since I have you here, do you?”

“A-actually I--” There was a low groan from the back of the car.

Her eyebrows raised. “What was that? You got a girl back there Chicken?”

Chicken started coughing violently, obnoxiously loud and for far too long.

“Woah! Are you okay?” She asked, opening the passenger side door and leaning in. “Are you-- What the fuck?!”

Her mouth fell open when she glimpsed what was going on in the back of the van.

Three mexican men covered in tattoos and wearing  leather cuts were crouched in the backseat, a bloody, bruised man sandwiched between them. The top of his head was covered in tattoos, and he had what looked like a sock stuffed into his mouth. He was barely conscious, but he stared at her with pleading, swollen eyes. Her mouth worked, no sound coming out as she searched for the words to ask what the fuck was happening.

The man in front pulled out a gun, pointing it at her face, and for a second she saw white.

“Leave.” The one pointing the gun at her ordered. “You didn’t see shit you understand?”

She was struggling to breathe, but she nodded shakily.

“Good. Now get the fuck out.”

She took a stumbling step back, but a soft groan from the one they had beaten up made her stop. She was suddenly reminded of the time when her brother had been beaten up by bullies in high school, and half his grade had watched. No one had done anything, and he had needed to be hospitalized for two weeks. She had hated every one of the kids who had walked away.

“No.” The word was barely a whisper, but she said it anyway.

“What was that bitch?”

She swallowed. “No.” She said again, voice stronger.

The man with the gun pulled back the safety and static buzzed in her ears. The bruised guy bucked sharply, grunting something and kicking the man holding the gun. He got punched in the face for his trouble, and on instinct she lunged forward, grabbing the man’s gun hand before he could hit the other guy with it. Someone grabbed her hair and slammed her head against the side of the car. White exploded behind her eyes. She landed on her ass on the pavement, blinking dark spots out of her eyes as tires squealed in front of her.

She watched the car speed away. Before it reached the end of the block the back doors flew open and a dark shape was shoved from the back, hitting the pavement with a  groan. She pushed to her feet, shaking off a wave of dizziness, and stumbled towards him.

He looked worse in the light of day, half his face swollen and bruising, the other half covered in blood from his broken nose and split lip. He groaned, rolling onto his side, screaming into the gag as he put weight on his sore shoulder. His other hand waved, torn between clutching his shoulder and pulling the gag out of his mouth. When (y/n) crouched in front of him she made the decision for him, pulling out the sock and tossing it down the road.

“God… thanks.” He groaned, gripping his shoulder and leaning his head back against the pavement. “Why… are you…fuck.”

“Shit are you okay?” Her hands fluttered uselessly, unsure of what to do. “What do I do? What can I--?”

“Just...” he swallowed, looking at her through blurry eyes. “Just go--”

“I’m not just gonna leave!” Her voice was a little too shrill. “I just stared at a gun and got hit in the head, I’m not gonna just leave you here! I--”

“Okay.” He laughed, and then coughed wetly. “Fuck. Sorry I...I meant go get...” his eyes rolled back in his head.

“What?” Her eyes widened. “Fuck! Are you dying? Fuck!”

“‘m fine.” He mumbled. “Just hurting.” He swallowed thickly. “Can’t breathe.”

“What can I do?”

“Go...” She opened her mouth and he put a hand on her arm. “Go down the road. My… my guys are waiting.”

“Guys?” She asked nervously. She was suddenly very aware of the fact that the bleeding man at her feet was a biker, and had probably been beaten up by a rival gang.

“Mhmm.” He blinked, looking slightly more aware. “My  brothers. Please?”

She bit the inside of her cheek and sighed. “Okay. I’ll be right back. Please don’t die.”

“I’ll do my… best.”

“Okay.” She nodded, pushing to her feet. “I just-- I’m (y/n). What’s your name?”

“Juice.” He smiled weakly, ending with a grimace.

“Okay.” she nodded and sprinted down the street.

Tig played with the gun at his side, tapping it against his hip as he waited for Juice to return. When he heard the squeal of tires racing down the road away from them he sat up straighter, shooting a look at Bobby. They heard the sound of hammering feet and they both tensed, guns raised.

A girl neither of them had ever seen before came whipping around the corner, sliding to a stop so quickly when she noticed the guns that she landed on her ass. Her hands were in the air, eyes wide. “Help-- your friend-- Juice--” She gestured down the road.

“What happened?” Tig ordered, taking a step closer.

She shook her head rapidly. “I don’t know, just please come.”

The bikers shared a look, and Bobby set off down the street, swearing softly. “Get your ass over here man, it looks bad.”

“Shit.” Tig swore, stuffing his gun into his pants and offering the girl a hand. “Get up.”

She ignored his hand and pushed herself to her feet, swaying slightly. When she took too long to move he caught her arm and dragged her with him.

Juice was lying on the road, bruised and bleeding. Bobby was looking him over, asking what happened, but he didn’t seem to notice the most important thing-- “Where’s your cut man?”

“What?” Juice asked, looking down at himself. Bobby swore softly beside him. “Oh fuck.”

“What?” The girl asked softly. “What’s going on?”

“Shut up.” Tig growled.

“Hey.” juice glared, pushing himself to his feet. “Back off. She helped me.”

“Oh did she?” Tig asked sarcastically. “What the fuck happened you moron?”

Before Juice could answer the girl passed out. Tig swore, using his grip on her arm to hold her up. Juice jumped forward, then winced, fell to his knees, and vomited.

“Well shit.” Bobby shook his head. “What do we do now?”

When (y/n) woke up, it was to the sound of muffled music and talking. She sat up slowly, her head pounding, and looked around the unfamiliar room. It was clean, smelled like smoke and some sort of cologne, and was sparsely furnished, with a large poster on the wall. A skull, holding a scythe, and Sons of Anarchy along the top. She was lying on the bed, on top of the sheets. She chewed the inside of her cheek and rubbed her sore temple, trying to figure out what exactly she’d gotten herself into.

The noise outside rose, then fell, and she heard footsteps approaching. She pushed to her feet, looking around the room for a weapon. On the nightstand was a pretty heavy looking clock, and on the floor across the room were two dumbbells. She grabbed one of the weights and the clock and stood behind the bed.

The door opened, and she threw the clock. It hit the wall and exploded, and the person opening the door ducked and swore.

“Fuck!” She recognized Juice as he hid behind the door, one hand raised. “Shit! What the hell are you doing?”

“Where am I?” She asked, shifting the dumbbell from her left hand to her right.

“Teller-Morrow repair shop.” Juice stuck his head in, watching her nervously and staying close to the door. “We’re not gonna hurt you okay? Just put the weight down.”

She laughed bitterly and gripped the dumbbell more tightly. “What happened?”

“You got hit in the head, you passed out. We brought you here and our doctor friend made sure you were okay. You’re in my room at the clubhouse.” He leaned into the room, looking her over nervously. “Are you gonna throw something else at me, or can I come in?”

She rocked back and forth on her heels, chewing the inside of her cheek, and gave a small nod. Juice took that as a yes, easing into the room and closing the door behind him. He was bruised, both eyes black, bottom lip swollen. His nose was bandaged and his right arm was in a sling. He kept the left one raised, a sign of surrender.

“Why am I here?” She asked, rolling the dumbbell between her hands.

Juice shrugged. “I figured if you were buying stuff from Chicken you might not want to go to a hospital. And our doctor checked you out free of charge, so don’t worry about money or anything. I just wanted to make sure you were okay, you know, and say thanks for jumping in.”

She nodded, the motion bringing on a wave of nausea. She swayed, the room spinning, and Juice stepped forward, reaching for her arm. She swung the dumbbell at him, and he jumped back.

“Let me help you!” He stepped forward again, and she was too dizzy to resist as he grabbed her arm and guided her down onto the bed.

“Look,” he studied her, prying the makeshift weapon from her hand, “you’re safe okay? I promise. And Tara said you need to relax or your concussion could get worse.”

“Concussion?”

He nodded. “I guess Salazar hit your head against the door pretty hard.”

“Yeah, and I’ve had concussions before.” She rubbed the back of her head. “Sensitive cranium.”

Juice laughed. “That’s gotta suck.”

“I’ll be honest, it’s not usually a problem. I try to avoid situations where I get hit in the head.”

Juice laughed again, but this time it was uncomfortable. He dropped his gaze and rubbed a hand over his mohawk. “I’m sorry about that. Seriously. I mean, I don’t know why you were there, but if you weren’t I’d probably be dead, so thanks.”

“Oh,” (y/n) blinked in surprise, “um, you’re welcome, I guess? I mean, what was I supposed to do, leave you there?”

“Yeah.” He nodded. “Yeah usually when a person points a gun at you and tells you to run you’re supposed to turn and sprint away and not look back. Why the hell did you stay?”

“I don’t know. They were gonna kill you, I couldn’t just leave you there.”

“Why?” He leaned closer, studying her face like it held the answers to every question he’d ever asked.

She shrugged. She couldn’t explain it. “I don’t know. Couldn’t you just say thank you again and move on?”

“Yeah.” He smiled softly. “Yeah I’m sorry. Thanks again, seriously. I owe you one.”

“That’s okay,” she mumbled, reaching up to toy with the ends of her hair.

“No I’m serious.” He leaned forward, tilting his head until she looked at him. “If you ever need anything, you call me alright? You’re a friend of SAMCRO now, we’ll take care of you.”

“That’s,” she laughed. She didn’t know if it was the head wound talking, or a crash after the adrenaline, or what, but she was suddenly very amused. “That’s actually kinda cool.”

“You think so?” Juice asked, his grin stretching wider. “Cuz it is you know. It’s not all violence and beatings and blood. Now you’ve got nine guys in your corner with a lot of influence in Charming. Anything you need, any time, give me a call and it’s done.”

“Okay.” She nodded, a small smile spreading. “Right now I just wanna go home. Can you make that happen?”

“It depends.” His grin became wicked. “How do you feel about motorcycles?”

-----/ 2 weeks later /-----

“Piney!” Chuck yelled from the office of Teller-Morrow. “Phone!”

Piney groaned, pushing to his feet and walking into the office. “Who is it?”

“Someone looking for Juice.” Chuck shrugged. “Said she was a friend, don’t know what to tell her.”

Piney reached for the phone. “I’ll handle it. Go see if there’s some filing you can do alright?”

Chuck nodded. “I accept that.”

Piney waited until the other man left, then took the call off hold. “Hello, this is Piney.”

“Hi, this is (y/n). I don’t know if you remember me, we met a couple weeks ago.”

“You’re the girl who fought the Calaveras for Juice.” Piney nodded. “I remember. What do you need darlin’?”

“Is Juice there?”

“No, he’s out of town for a little bit. Is it urgent?”

“Sort of.” Piney could hear her nervousness. “Any way I could get a number to reach him?”

“Yeah,” He rumbled. “Just give me a second to find it sweetheart.”

The only reason Juice knew he was getting a phone call was because the phone buzzed in his pocket. He couldn’t hear it ringing over the pounding music and cheering of the Sons and their Irish friends, and in truth he barely felt it buzzing with the croweater grinding in his lap. He nudged her off him, stammering an apology and looking desperately and Chibs until the Irishman took her off his hands. He pulled out the phone and backed away from the fire, walking until he could at least hear it ringing before he picked up.

“It’s Juice. What’s up?”

“Hi Juice, it’s--”

“(y/n)?” He interrupted. He’d been secretly hoping she would call. Even so, if she was calling it was to cash in her favour. Something might be wrong. “Are you okay? Why are you calling-- how did you get this number?”

“Uh, Piney gave it to me. Listen--”

“Are you okay?” He interrupted again. She sounded nervous, shaky and worried, and he had promised to look after her if she needed anything. Of course when she called he was in god damned Ireland and wouldn’t be of any help to anyone. “Listen to me okay? If you’re in trouble, Tig, Piney and Kozik are in town, they’ll help you. As soon as I get back I’ll--”

“Juice, I’m--”

“Look I promise you’ll be okay alright?” He couldn’t seem to stop rambling. There was something wrong, this blind panic had settled under his skin and he couldn’t breathe. He rubbed a hand over his hair, pushing to his feet and pacing. “Shit. I’ll protect you, I’ll see if I can get a flight back, or-- or I’ll see if Clay can call in some other charters. Maybe the Nomads, or Tacoma or--”

“Juice. Shut up.” She cut him off. “I’m fine. I just,” she sighed. “You said you owe me a favour. I was wondering how much that favour was worth.”

“Oh.” He nodded, moving further away from the party. “What do you mean? You need money?”

“Yeah.” She took a shaky breath. “Five thousand dollars. I know it’s a lot to ask for, but my brother’s in the hospital, and the steroids he needs, they’re expensive. I can’t cover the bills on my own. I promise, I promise I’ll pay you guys back. I just need a loan.”

“Okay.” Juice nodded, unable to hold back his sigh of relief. He hadn’t realized how worried he’d been about the stranger who’d saved his life until now. It was … unnerving. “Okay. I’m gonna have to talk to the guys, move some money around. I’m gonna need a couple of days alright?”

“Yeah, of course. Thank you Juice. Thank you so much. I promise I’ll pay you back. Thank you.”

“Yeah no problem.” He laughed. “I’ll call back once I have it alright?”

“Okay. Thanks again, seriously.”

“No problem.” Juice said again. A cheer rose up from the party, and he looked up to see a croweater waving him over. “Look I gotta go. I’ll call you back in a few days.”

“Sure.”

He lowered the phone, when he heard over the line, “Juice, wait.”

He held the phone back to his ear. “Yeah?”

She sounded different now, less nervous. Kind of amused actually. “Were you worried about me just now?”

“What?”

Her laugh carried over the line. “You said something about flying back, and I was under the impression that you guys are in Ireland or something, doing something important. You were gonna come back to make sure I was okay?”

“I, uh,” he rubbed his head again, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. “I owe you. You saved my life. That’s all.”

“Okay.” She still sounded amused.

“I’m serious!” Juice protested. “I owe you, that’s it.”

“Sure.”

He sighed. “You don’t believe me do you?”

“No. But it’s okay. You don’t care remember?”

He snorted. “You’re a piece of work aren’t you?”

“Maybe. I--” there was muted noise in the background, coughing or something, and when she spoke again that faint trace of humour was gone. “Just give me a call when you have the money okay? I gotta go. Thanks again.”

“Okay I’ll--” the line clicked as it disconnected. He sighed, rubbing a hand over his scalp. He had a feeling she was going to be a lot of work.

-----/ 1 month later /-----

(Y/n) was working when she got called from her cubicle. She quickly ended the call she was on and grabbed her bag, walking over to the door.

“Sorry.” The secretary gave her a sympathetic look. “Didn’t mean to take you off a call, but there’s a biker here for you.”

“A biker?” (Y/n)’s eyebrows raised. “Mohawk, tattoos on the sides of his head?”

The other woman nodded. “Yeah. Kinda cute. Too young for me, but for you,” she winked.

“You old creep!” (Y/n) laughed. “No, we… we kind of work together. I don’t know why he’s here though.”

“Sure you don’t.” The older woman pursed her lips and smiled knowingly. “He’s outside.”

“Alright, thanks.” (Y/n) was still laughing when she stepped out into the afternoon sunlight, to see Juice leaning against the front of the building. He looked up when she walked out, and smiled. Bruise-free, it was pretty cute.

“Hey.” He pushed off the wall. “You work at a telemarketing firm?”

“Um, yeah.” She felt a wave of embarrassment. “It’s a second job. I need the money. Did you just come to make fun of me, or is there a reason you’re here?”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you at work.” He looked sheepish. “I was gonna wait until your break, but that lady noticed me loitering. I was worried she was gonna call the cops.”

“No more likely she’d ask for your number.”

“Oh.” Juice made a face, disgust, and she laughed. A real laugh. It sounded nothing like the nervous laughter he’d heard from her before. He wanted to hear it again. “So, anyway, I wanted to give you this.” He held out a paper bag, which she took and looking into with confusion. Her eyes widened when she saw the content.

“Is this--”

“They’re the steroids your brother needs right?”

“She nodded, mouth hanging open. “How did you get these?” she asked. “Wait. Do I want to know?”

He laughed. “Probably not. But I figured, since we put the Chicken Man out of commission it was the least I could do.”

“I can’t accept this.” She shook her head, moving to hand the bag back to him.

He pushed it back towards her chest. “Yes you can. And when these run out, let me know I’ll get you more. We have a lady, she can get me these for dirt cheap.”

She was still shaking her head. “Seriously Juice I can’t take--”

“Just add it to your monthly dues.”

Her eyes widened in surprise. “What?”

He snorted. “You think I don’t know you gave Piney five hundred bucks last week to start paying off your debt?”

She sighed, running a hand through her hair. “I’m sorry, but I don’t want to owe you guys anything.”

“It’s cool, I understand. Just add another fifty whenever you need the steroids. I’ll get them for you.”

“I don’t know Juice. I feel like I’m taking from you, and if I can’t pay you back--”

“Go out with me and we’ll call it even.”

She blinked in surprise, eyes widening. “What?”

He rubbed the back of his neck and looked her over. The low-cut jeans, the way she brushed her hair of the nape of her neck, her long lashes and the way she chewed on her bottom lip. He realized he hadn’t stopped thinking about her since she had stuck her head into the Chicken Man’s van, and that he wanted to see more of her. He wanted to make her laugh again. “You heard me. Go out with me.”

“I, um,” she ducked her head, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, and laughed softly. Juice smiled. She looked beautiful when she laughed. “Yeah, okay. Sure.”

“Seriously?” He was grinning now.

“Yeah.” She nodded, still smiling, and reached up to toy with the ends of her hair. “Should I give you my number, we can set up a time?”

“I already have it.”

Her brows drew together. “What?”

“Shit.” He swore under his breath. He looked up at her nervously. “I just, I tracked your cell to find out where you worked. I kept the number from when you called me in Belfast.”

“You know that’s a little creepy right?” She asked.

“I know, and I’m sorry, it’s just I wanted to make sure you were safe.” She arched an eyebrow, waiting for more. He felt himself start to get lost in panic, to begin overthinking. “We change phones a lot so I wanted to be able to recognize you calling in case you were ever in trouble. I’m sorry.”

Her hands were on his face, wrapping around the back of his head, and before he could  blink she dragged his head down and kissed him hard. He grunted, eyes widening, and then her thumb did this thing where it stroked the spot below his jaw, and he melted. His arms slid around her waist and he pulled her to him, his hands finding her waist, her ass. God she had a nice ass. His other hand found itself in her hair, and he couldn’t tell where he liked having his hands more. All he knew was that he didn’t want it to stop. He deepened the kiss, and they stumbled back until her back hit the wall, and she pulled back with a gasp. He groaned, chasing her lips, and she ducked her head, pressing her hands against his chest.

“Maybe, um,” she ran her tongue over her bottom lip, laughing softly, “maybe we shouldn’t do this here. You know, where I work.”

“Right.” Juice laughed, leaning forward to rest his forehead against hers. “So, you’re okay with me calling you?”

She nodded. “Obviously.”

“Why did you do that anyway? I mean, not that I’m complaining, because I’m definitely not, but--”

She leaned forward and pressed her lips against his softly, cutting off his rambling. “I noticed you get kinda lost in your head when you’re nervous. I figured I’d help you out, show you I got the message.”

“Okay,” He nodded, biting his bottom lip and smiling. “Just so you know, you can do that any time. Feel free.”

She looked him up and down, running her tongue over her lips and grinning. God he was so screwed. “Well maybe I will.”

Feel free to tell me what you guys thought :)