#if he doesn’t still have a nokia brick or something that is

[eemoo1o-animoo]

Is this Aloiscore or Lizziecore, I can’t tell (check tags)

[shieldofiron]

We have totally totally never talked about this before but I’m gonna bring it to your asks

Big (dilf? Kind of? Maybe) dom Billy who’s just like the most experienced kinkster ever but refuses to wear clothes that aren’t knitted and has the strongest prescription glasses and refuses to get a phone more modern than the brick

Then Steve who’s like hyper modern party animal and is immediately like “I want him” the moment they meet but keeps trying to drop thirst traps on tiktok and obviously Billy doesn’t even know what tiktok is

It’s a comedy of errors which I love

Oh I do like it. But I think I'm gonna add... Doctor Hargrove and Nurse Harrington into the equation.

Heather was always trying to show him her phone. He didn't necessarily see the appeal, but it was easy enough to just sit through whatever inane video she wanted him to watch. He was tired from a twelve hour shift might as well just let it happen.

Today he was really annoyed because his new t-shirt had a tag and he'd cut it out but he could still feel the scratching even though he'd taken it off hours ago.

"Can it wait until later?" Billy sighed, closing his eyes and resting against the back of her couch.

"No, it cannot wait until later," She tossed her hair to the side, "It's you, Billy."

"Me?" Billy shook his head without even consciously thinking of it, "Like when I texted you to pick up that lube I like?"

"No, and I'm not doing that by the way," Heather's perfectly painted lips quirked up into a smile, "No, it's a video of you."

"Someone took a video of me? What? Is that legal?" Billy leapt for her phone, grunting when she pulled back quickly and he flopped to the couch.

"It was at that grocery store you go to by the hospital that has terrible produce, not like, in your bathroom," She shook her head.

He sighed, "Okay fine."

He fully expects to see some video of him doing something clumsy, but instead it's just him, at a far distance. He's wearing the scrubs he wore on Monday, with the Scotty dogs, and he's still got his stethoscope on, yawning in the bread aisle. The video doesn't show his face, but it's unmistakably Billy, down to his old school digital watch.

A cheery robot voice says, "When you see your work crush outside of work." The video then cuts to a darkened car dashboard.

"I don't even know if I got groceries. I blacked out," A man's voice says with a laugh.

Billy frowns, "What is this?"

"It's tiktok, Billy," She swipes up and it cuts to one of Heather's favorite astrology videos, that she's showed him before.

"Wait, go back to the guy," He asks, grabbing for her phone.

She rolls her eyes, "Okay fine. Like you don't get enough ego boosts at the club with everyone begging you to be their dom."

"This is different. This is, actually me," Billy reaches out but she navigates back to the first video, tapping until another video fills her screen.

"What people think you do as a male nurse," the same cheery robot lady's voice says. A beautiful man fills the screen, wearing scrub bottoms and a silly costume nurse's hat.

"I'm here to take your temperature," The man bends close to the camera, brown eyes sparkling as he shamelessly angles his hairy chest towards Billy.

"Oh no," The man puts his hands to his cheek, "It seems you have sexy sex disease. I guess I'd better..."

He turns, arching his back just a little and Billy's mouth goes dry. beauty marks are scattered across his toned back, and he looks back coyly over his shoulder. The video cuts off.

"What I actually do as a male nurse," The robot voice says. It cuts to the same guy, his pretty fluffy hair a mess under a thick headband. He's got glasses on, and ugly, the Grinch themed scrubs.

"And you say it got stuck up there by accident?" He purses his pretty pink lips and writes something on a clipboard, "Okay, sure."

Billy laughs, "Heather, how do I get to this on my phone."

"Oh my god," She rolls her eyes, "Spare me from the Nokia."

"Well, then, what... how do I see the other videos?"

Heather complains, but as she sets him up on his ancient laptop. He has a tiktok account now, that only follows one thing, NurseStevie.

Heather watches a few more with him and then laughs, "I gotta go meet Barb for dinner. But I'll give you a hint. He works in pediatrics."

[cedarsmoke4]

Doing more thinking about modern/mechanic au Heisenberg: so I’ve discovered that re8 takes place in 2021, which is wild imo, so for my au it’s gonna have taken place in like 2010-15 ish, and then Heisenberg gets like ~5-10 years to have outside world experiences before meeting this reader.

His first run-ins with modern tech had to have been HILARIOUSLY awful. Ethan isn’t part of my fic but let’s say for this au he survived and hung out w Heisenberg in an attempt to acclimatize him to modern living. First try at getting Heisenberg a phone goes spectacularly badly-he absolutely bricks the first smartphone he touches. Then the second. Then the third. Finally Ethan does a little research and gifts him the oldest toughest Nokia phone he can find. This phone is as mundane as they come, but it’s sorta half cursed in my brain so Heisenberg literally can’t get rid of it no matter how hard he tries.

Cue shenanigans of him trying to throw it in a lake but a fish tail slaps it back as he turns away and it hits him in the back of the knee so he almost eats shit. He tries to crush it but it slips out from between the crushing objects and bounces off the wall and lands squarely on his toe (the one time he’s not in steel-toed boots). He ships it away, then the next afternoon the post man tosses him the same package but he fumbles it and the corner hits him straight in the mouth, etc.

Eventually he submits and reluctantly carries it around, hating it the entire time. He rarely gives out his number, and trying to reach him on it without a prior arrangement is like pulling teeth. He often just half-heartedly throws it around hoping it’ll finally break, but it always comes back.

The first time he actually makes a call, he discovers that Ethan somehow managed to find the only phone left in the modern age that still requires you to buy minutes on it specifically, and he only bought a single minute on it as a joke—so Heisenberg is halfway through an important phone call and it cuts off and tells him he needs to buy more minutes. He of course yells at it and throws it across the room, where it ricochets off something and ends up flying back to hit him square in the face.

He promptly magically jailbreaks it and then still only uses it incredibly rarely. Since he’s got like built-in Bluetooth, he doesn’t need to hold it to his ear while he’s calling someone, so he talks out loud to it while it just whizzes around his head, going faster and faster as he gets angrier. Cue finding him in his garage shouting at nobody as a blur of plastic and metal zooms around his face.

[pantherxdrawz]

Random Ace Attorney headcanon:

*clears throat*

Phoenix doesn’t know jackshit about technology,

well, technically nether does Edgeworth,

but Edgeworth actually knows how to use it he just prefers the older “tech” like the old Victorian phone for an example, (I saw an image of him with it and I’ve just accepted that’s his phone when grounded in one area)

but he still has an iPhone, or zPhone if you wanna use my knock off name, for calls on the go, but he just strictly uses it for calls, (He also constantly gets asked “why have that model if your only gonna call from it???”)

…That’s cause I lied, he also plays Chess on it, …Miles has like over 20 Chess apps.

Anyways back to Phoenix, unlike Edgeworth, he straight up doesn’t know how modern phones or computers work, like if you gave him a modern laptop he’d probably react something like this writing snip I did

(Like in said snip it’s a Future computer not a modern one, but the point very much stands)

Which is why he sticks to the older devices, like those old clunky home computers and the fucking Nokia model that’s classified as a weapon,

and even the computer he kind of struggles with, I think the only device he actually mastered is the Brick-Nokia

But he doesn’t want anyone knowing he doesn’t know cause that makes him feel/look old

Phoenix you can’t hide the fact you can’t use a modern phone or computer forever,

looks at Edgeworth

[rowavolo]

hi were you aware you are the FUNNIEST person on my dashboard by the way? i haven’t thought about pfps or them of me (I AM NOW THINKING ABOUT BOTH HOWEVER) but i do have a full list of my contacts of them ! i have gone into detail about my reasoning and also cannot stop talking about these guys so this ask is likely 3 miles long. anyway

the one gc with a solid name is “sweet tooth,” with barbatos, luke, n i. based on ‘sweet tooth’ and the fact that i feel my ability to bake would SKYROCKET if i had their numbers. there’s one with lucifer and dia that’s essentially just the ship name and whether or not they realize the significance beyond just “oh it’s our names” is constantly up in the air.

lucifer — ‘COLOGNE(?!)’ to ‘inkwell’. he 100% has a very distinctive cologne, i know you can tell him apart in a dark room. he uses fountain pens for official documents still (a mishap has been caused where one of his bottles spilled over his suit)(don’t ask)(satan may or may not have been involved) and at some point the name had to change. i also just think it’s a sweet nickname.

mammon — ‘monopoly man’ to ‘anklet haver’. his pants are never short enough to see it but he always manages to wear one. it’s like a shiny jumpscare. the first time i saw it it sparked a half hour discussion and the consequential contact change. he was only mildly upset (they don’t have monopoly)(he didn’t know what it meant outside of maybe ‘monopolizing time’ which is the cause of his problem with it)(stop fussing this isn’t some declaration i’ll never spend time with you again)(his contact for me after this is probably ‘anklet.’ he insists it’s because of like manacles cause “you’re always botherin me” but nobody buys it)

levi — ‘levi-fi’ to ‘jean main :/‘ after i put genshin in yet another media because he got lucky one time and it has become his entire genshin career. i like to think he’s biased towards turn-based strategies, stuff with very obvious and clear cut metas, so he probably didn’t pick up genshin (he does know a few characters and their surface lore, owns an acrylic stand of like keqing maybe, but nothing in depth) until i brought it up. i need to talk w him for hours about lore it would be good for my mental health

satan — sebastian, at first. autocorrect from a poorly written attempt at his name that stuck. he gets confused because ‘that’s not my name, and it’s not a joke, so why is it my contact?’ and after explaining it we both start to periodically change the other’s contact to be something further and further away from their name each time. think of the barnacle codswallop joke but taken to the extreme because it’s him and i’m me and we both quietly one up each other by sending screenshots of the new contact.

asmo — cycles ‘PINK(IE)’ and ‘dni after 10pm’. both are self explanatory and said affectionately. he gets mock offended whenever it’s the second one (“is my contact set to dni” “yeah” “so you hate me?” “asmo.”) and changes the heart in my contact (you know there is one) to a 💔 every time he notices. he doesn’t fix it until i, direct quote, “kiss it better.” despite his phrasing it typically is just his excuse to take me to a cafe for a while or something

beel — ‘chef gordon’ to ‘nokia brick.’ can he cook? yes. does he? not often, he’d rather eat the raw ingredients. was just brick but it was soon discovered he can navigate the most complicated uis to order his lunch but he has no idea how to like. change his brightness. it doesn’t bother him so he never looked it up.

belphie — ‘totally not suspicious’ to ‘pillow princess’ change after an invisible arc that the devs didn’t decide to show where [i devolve into an irritated blur about chapter 16]

luke — macaro(o?)n. i still forget which ones which. i think it would be fun to call him so he’d have to explain it out of his Baker Pride or something. he feels like the type to send you 10 links to various cooking sources if you ask “how do i make scrambled eggs” because he doesn’t know which one you mean.

simeon — golden bunny. bunny is autocorrect from ‘bonnie,’ logic is angel -> michael -> william. sidenote but he’d either get so startled at jumpscares or he’d be completely stonefaced and both are hilarious outcomes. levi is very conflicted about this (can’t criticize him, he’d die, but also very confused about the situation)

barbatos — barbie girl 💞💞💞. self explanatory. this one starts fights sometimes (/silly)

diavolo — ‘princiPAL’ to ‘dewdrop’ after a friendship arc. no justification i just think it’s cute and fits him :]

barbatos naming his close contacts after tea is brilliant and i am stealing it. if you’d like to use this ask to share your headcanons about their little mannerisms pretty please feel free to share!!! id love to hear them :]

- blue !

WAAAAH thank you i do enjoy making people smile/laugh . also thank you for this ask being so long its been so delightful to read over :D sorry my reply is going to be about the same length because im so AWWAAWWAAWAAA over your ideas honestly

sweet tooth is SUCH a fun group chat name . yall better make sure to share those sweets with me okay /silly

also subtly not-so-subtly shipping diavolo and lucifer to their faces is so funny. i feel like lucifer would Know but he doesnt want to admit that he knows or bring it up at all in case it makes dia uncomfy sdkfjhkds

i really like those lucifer ideas. he definitely wears a very distinctive cologne . the only thing i can liken it to (to me at least) is the way gin feels going down your throat, but like . in smell form instead, if that makes sense?? and inkwell is so fitting but simultaneously i feel like hed be Cross over it (but only on a surface level. if somebody else notices it he gets all grumpy but as long as its just you hes cool with it)

im losing my mind at the idea of mammon wearing an anklet . when i first read the nickname my brain immediately went to those house arrest anklets people wear. like, lucifer putting one on him because mamms is a mischievous little guy. HIM BEING HTE MONOPOLY MAN IS SO FUNNY TO ME ACTUALLY . you know he always insists on being the banker when you introduce everyone to the game and skims cash off the top, citing "interest" and "handling fees" and the like.

YEAH yeah in my brain i want levi to be into genshin but i think hes kind of blase about playing it regularly. he plays the occasional event and will hyperfixate on it once every few months and catch up, and also log in to spend all his money on characters he thinks are Neat (or that he's read are going to be the New Amazing Awesome Cool OverPowered Meta Guys) . he seems like an enjoyer of all the most 'typical' genshin characters, like keqing, ganyu, ayaka, raiden shogun and kokomi . like thats the extent for him sjdkhkjsd

i love the imagery of satan initially being Mildly Annoyed and Confused but the moment he's let in on the joke he's fully on board. i feel like he's that way with a lot of things, he just loathes being excluded and doesn't know how to word it so he gets snippy or even just downright mad. i could also see satan assigning haikus to peoples contact descriptions that get increasingly more ridiculous as he comes up with them.

Asmo's are so fun and silly too, i feel like he gets so grumpy if you message him too late or too early so the DNI is totally warranted but hes SUUUCH a bad sport about it . he WILL whine about it to an absurd extent. i can totally see him having hearts in almost everyone's contact name but he has this whole dictionary in his brain of the different heart emojis and their meanings . (i was gonna say something about yours being blue (because of the nickname you chose) but honestly i associate you with more of a minty green ?? not sure why. its a compliment though!) i just love asmo being SUCH a drama queen but like you know that he knows that you dont actually hate him and arent mad at him he just plays it up, its like an intricate game of cat and mouse to him. he plays the damsel in distress and you have to go save him from the evil dragon ( the fake villainous version of you that he basically made up for the funny)

IM REALLY OBSESSED WITH BEEL BEING NOKIA BRICK. THERES SOMETHING SO AMUSING ABOUT THAT TO ME. i read it initially more in the sense that he can take anything that's thrown at him (or that he gets thrown at) without a scratch . man can eat all kinds of weird nasty food without even BLINKING. the idea that he can hardly use technology simply because he doesnt really Care is also very amusing to me. hes the epitome of "damn bitch you live like this?" because he just doesnt care to learn about the things that he doesnt feel are necessary (a complete opposite to belphie, who must have everything Just Right or else he goes bonkers insane. beel will learn to do things for belphies sake i think).

Belphie is so pillow princess coded honestly, youre so right. i do not blame you for being irritated about chapter 16 it is so. its so. it is. yep. like. sorry solmare these characters are mine now ill develop them good and also not flanderise them so its okay.

ok i think macaroons are the chewy ones, and macarons are the meringue ones. i love luke so much i feel like he's a chronic over-explainer like. you ask him where a place is and he's like "oh its in this place thats sort of near this other place, do you remember when we did (xyz)? yeah its kinda adjacent to there but also not really. the building next to it is this colour and sometimes they have a sign outside oh but also sometimes they dont so its like... yeah." and you find out its like the biggest building on the main street and its just like . "dude why didnt you just say that" and he just shrugs because he genuinely didnt think about it in that way . hes a very visual thinker and he has to explain every little detail forever or else he loses his little mind (yes im projecting no i dont take constructive criticism )

calling barbatos barbie and barbie girl genuinely always SLAUGHTERS me its so so funny . come on barbie lets go party <3 . i feel like the best solution to that starting fights is to mention it to diavolo who will then be Ecstatic at the realisation because he loves barbie and suddenly he will ONLY call barbatos 'barbie' and oh boy you have opened pandora's box there barbs would NOT be happy sjkhfks

princiPAL made me giggle a lot its so silly and fun. dewdrop is also an ADORABLE name for him he is soooo dewdrop coded to me . i feel like dia loves the first one especially because he loves goofy puns and also knowing that people think of him in like a friendly light. he aches to be approachable and friendlike as opposed to a Distant Unapproachable Demon King Grr Scary

thank you so much again for sharing all of this with me, it was so so fun to read and respond to i feel like we are So on the same wavelength about a lot of things and its really delighting me :D

[cophene]

010 || ☆ ⁺ « A SIMPLE MAN AT HEART.

nine v1 || nine v2 || next chapter || table of contents

pairing : vento aureo x gn reader summary : with virtually nothing left in their credit account, a gang of space thieves turn to the richest man in the galaxy to give them  a job worth millions. too bad those never come easy, even with stand abilities and pretty-faced crew notes : sci-fi au, multi-chapter fic, sfw, doesn’t follow canon plot word count : 3.6k+

★˚⋆ YOU HAD TO ADMIT IT was impressive how easily Zero had managed to get your entire crew into this room. A matching set of mag-cuffs to the one Trish and Narancia had been dragged here with was now suspended around Fugo and Mista's wrists, the two of them flopped over a chaise. Sheila was just finishing settling Narancia and Trish on the opposite couch. She was ridiculously strong for someone so slight.

For some reason, you were left unrestrained. Not that you wanted to join the mag-cuff party, but something slimy squirmed in your chest at the sight of your crew being cuffed. All the while, Zero sat across from you on a tiny rose-wood stool watching your movements. His lips were curved just shy of a smile as he watched you fume.

Your chest felt like it was going to explode. It was as though this was your first job, just a day off from being a fledgling crew. Didn't you know to read your clients better than this? To anticipate their movements? To never let them flacking catch you with your pants down? What part of you had allowed you to underestimate Zero of all people?

He would laugh if he saw you like this. You had never fumbled an initial meeting this badly.

"Thank you, Sheila." Zero nodded once the girl had finished restraining your crew. "You may go. Please inform my guests that I will be occupied for the next little while."

"Sure thing," Sheila said. "You just let me know if something comes up." She slipped out of the room, but not before shooting a wicked grin in your direction.

For a few minutes, neither you nor Zero said anything. You wanted him to make the first move. You'd already made a fool of yourself. No need to give him more ammunition.

"You look nice, Captain."

Your jaw ticked. You couldn't bring yourself to thank him for his compliment. Zero himself looked nice as well. The black robes he was wearing were reminiscent of traditional ones worn by the Imperial family—which was probably the point for that prick of irony. A richly embroidered overcoat draped over his shoulders, the design of leaves and tassels glimmering in the low light. A debonair hat sat on Zero's head, complete with a plume of green feathers that drooped lazily. His brocade mask melded to his face like a second skin, the teardrop jewel swinging with each subtle movement.

"I won't negotiate without the input of my crew," you said, thanking the stars that your voice sounded steelier than you felt. "At least, I assume that's why you have us here instead of kicking us out of the party."

Zero had retrieved the brick phone from Trish and Narancia. He rotated it in his gloved hands, considering every angle of it. Eventually, he set it on the coffee table.

"It was impressive that you got as far as you did. That you managed to get your hands on the Nokia. You could've left right then, no?"

"The phone wasn't my goal," you said.

"I had a feeling." Zero flicked his fingers. In unison, all of your crew perked up, suddenly wide awake.

"What's going on? Who died?" Mista whipped his head around, nearly knocking out Fugo.

"Cap, you alright?" Narancia asked.

"Where's the phone?" Trish cried.

"Stars, would you sit still? Moron," Fugo growled.

"Are you sure you wouldn't rather them be unconscious?" Zero asked pleasantly.

A weight seemed to slough off your shoulders that your crew was alright. You made contact with each of them, trying to communicate for them to work with you. To make it seem as though you had some modicum of control in this situation.

"What do you want from us, Zero?" Fugo asked, the first, as always, to read the situation.

"I'd say it's more a matter of what you want from me," Zero replied. "You clearly came here with a plan in mind. Why not let it wind its course?"

Narancia whipped his head toward you, looking as lost as anything. You swallowed past the lump in your throat, trying to think of something but coming up empty.

Zero laughed at the expression on your face. He leaned back in his seat with a sigh. "Captain, please don't misunderstand the situation here. I don't have all evening to watch you flounder. You have just stolen the most valuable item in my collection to date. You've disrupted a banquet months in the making and threatened the security of various high-profile dealers and vagabonds throughout the galaxy. I should report you. More than that, I should kill you for having the audacity to galavant around my boat as though you own the place. So please, tell me what you're doing here and give me even one reason as to why I should keep you alive?"

Perhaps the scariest thing about Zero was how well he had his facade in place. The coy smile didn't leave his lips, his voice stayed smooth as chrome. Nothing could have indicated that he was upset, or that he had just threatened to off your crew.

Just who were you dealing with here?

"Give us a job." The words came not from you but Trish. She raised her chin, Upper Space haughtiness on max level. "We're here because we want a job from you. I think we've more than proved ourselves."

Zero canted his head. "A job?"

"That's right," Mista said. "We stole your damn brick phone like it was nothing. There isn't flack in the galaxy we wouldn't be able to steal."

"You must know about Stands, right?" Narancia asked. "Well we've got 'em. All five of us. Think of what we'd be able to do with that kind of power."

"We've never failed a job before," Fugo said quietly. "You'd be hard-pressed to find anyone more capable."

It was like the crew had stolen the words right from your mouth. Stars, if you pulled through, you'd take them all out for drinks.

"Us stealing the Nokia was for you to see just how we operate," you said. "You can trust us to get things done, and with our Stands, even the trickiest security is child's play. You'll never get another crew like us. We've been on the low for way too long. We're ready to make our comeback, and that could be with you, Zero. Whatever you want stolen, it'll be in your hands."

Zero allowed a moment for the words to settle. You almost believed you'd convinced him when he asked mildly, "Who do you think you are? Are you so delusional that you think you're the best thieving crew in the galaxy? Do you know how many times Inspector Abbacchio has detained you? The reputation you've garnered? Yes, you deliver, but you have no respect for your clients or anyone you work with. You think you're untouchable, when really, we're just too tired to deal with you. Just look how easily I caught you today."

"We're only here because we haven't tried to escape," Mista said, and something in his tone made you want to kiss him. "Mr. Zero, if we wanted to escape, and if we wanted to hurt you, you wouldn't be sitting there all pretty."

Suddenly the air in the room seemed to shift. It was less about Zero against you, but the five of you against Zero. In that situation, who would be more likely to win?

"There you are," Zero whispered. "I was wondering when I would meet the real Passione."

Zero rose from his seat. He walked deliberately to the back of the room, stooping to take something before returning to place it in front of you on the coffee table. When he tapped it, a projection illuminated the air.

"I want you to steal this for me."

He swiped his hand through the hologram, rotating it gently. You leaned forward to get a better look.

It was a large arrow, the arrowhead wickedly sharp. Where the shaft connected to the arrowhead the gold was molded into the shape of a crouching insect, a sharp horn protruding from its back and its proboscis melding into the tip. Green curlicues swirled over the flat of the arrowhead, and its burnished surface seemed to gleam even as a hologram. All together, the arrow was about the length of your forearm. It seemed more decorative than deadly, although anything speared through your skull was bound to end badly.

Mista asked the obvious question. "What is that?"

"A Stand arrow." A thread of reverence lined Zero's words. "Several thousand years ago, a meteorite struck Earth. The rocks surrounding the crash site contained a virus that was deadly to humans. Of course, they didn't find that out until later. Someone wanted to harness the deadly power of these rocks, and so they made them into these beautiful arrowheads. If you're unfortunate enough to be struck by one, the virus will ensure your death. Or, you just might be lucky enough to gain a Stand."

"You—you could gain a Stand? From this thing?" Trish breathed.

"Incredible, isn't it? You could make an entire army of Stand users, all with unique powers and abilities. I'm sure you've heard the poetic explanation of Stands and soul manifestations and whatnot."

As Zero spoke, you realized this arrow was unlike anything else in Zero's collection. It wasn't ostentatious just for show, used to lord over nobles and display his wealth and power. If this Stand arrow truly did what Zero claimed . . .

He'd change the galaxy with it. Everyone who didn't die would have a Stand.

The realization was like a whip snap, and judging from the looks on your crew's faces, they had just had it too.

"What are you saying?" Narancia suddenly sounded angry. "You want us to hand over this crazy-powerful arrow so you can make a whole bunch of Stand users? In what universe would we be stupid enough to do that? I don't care how much you pay us. You'd take over the galaxy with power like that."

"Why are you changing your minds so suddenly?" Zero asked innocently. "Our Emperor is delusional. His sons are incompetent. This galaxy is headed for ruin. Who better than me to turn all of this around? With this Stand arrow, anything is possible."

"Let us out of here," Mista ground out. "Report us, arrest us, whatever. We're not doing this shit for you."

"But as you so eloquently put it, you're the only ones who can do this for me. I've had my eye on this Stand arrow for years, sent dozens of crews after it. None have been successful. And now you're here, offering to give it to me." Zero spread his arms. "I've been waiting for you."

"You'll kill all of us," Fugo said. "Why would we let you do that?"

Zero's words were barely above a whisper. "If you're not worthy of manifesting a Stand, you're not worthy of life. This galaxy has grown stagnant. We've conquered all of life's hurdles. Survival of the fittest must reign again."

You had come here expecting a job, not a deathwish for the galaxy.

You made eye contact with Mista. His jaw tightened, and he nodded imperceptibly. You tapped your thigh twice, hoping everyone was watching.

Everyone's Stands appeared at once. Aerosmith bore down on Zero, showering him with bullets, sending feathers and cushions flying. The second Spice Girl softened the mag cuffs around Fugo and Mista, they were on their feet, Mista firing off his Elector and Fugo rushing outside. You were reaching for Party Rock, ready to grab your Elector, to run, to get away from this maniac.

"Kiss in Blue Heaven," Zero intoned, and everything went still.

Zero was a simple man at heart. He was like a child, seeing something behind neon storefronts and setting his heart on it. He threw tantrums when he didn't get what he wanted, and in typical child fashion, he grew bored with his toys after barely a week of playing with them. But he wasn't a child, and his toys were million-credit cars and ancient tech and designer outfits from bygone eras. His tantrums played out in destroyed livelihoods, enormous debt, and bodies cooling in blood.

What Zero wanted, he got.

The Stand arrow had not interested him at first, but Zero had grown fond of it over time. The potential it wielded was unlike any he had ever known, its power limitless, its influence spanning galaxies. Zero called himself the most powerful man in the galaxy, but with this arrow in his possession, it would be true.

The Emperor would bow to him. The galaxy would kiss his feet. He would wield the power of the gods, bestowing Stands to all who were worthy.

How marvellous.

It had been a struggle to find the right crew to retrieve it for him. He knew where it was—under the possession of a man named Jean Pierre Polnareff, an isolated Stand user who had deemed himself the arrow's guardian. The man had hidden himself away somewhere in the galaxy, his location unknown to everyone but himself.

No matter. There was little Zero could not afford with his wealth.

It became obvious that no ordinary crew would be able to retrieve the arrow for Zero. Such potent energy surrounded it, drawing bizarre phenomena and inexplicable happenings. The Stand arrow was protected not only by Polnareff, but unwittingly by other Stand users who wanted to get their hands on it. Oftentimes, the users killed each other in their battles before they ever came close to the arrow.

Zero required powerful Stand users, yes, but he needed a crew that would work together, who wouldn't tear each other apart when the arrow inevitably affected them. Zero agonized over where he could find such a crew, until one fateful banquet when a ragtag crew fell at his feet.

They weren't perfect, but they would do. It was just irritating that they hadn't accepted his reasoning for wanting the arrow. They thought him a monster. Him, the only one in the galaxy who could pay them enough.

Zero's Stand appeared over his shoulder, clad in overlapping silver and gold scales like the chainmail of old knights. Its fingers were shiny needles that clicked as it moved. It had no eyes and only a black slit for a mouth. The faint hum it emitted immediately calmed Zero.

Kiss in Blue Heaven clacked its fingers together. Instantly, everyone who had been charging at him stilled, their limbs suspended in mid-air. When the Stand opened its fingers, strands of diaphanous thread burst from their chests, bathing the room in golden light.

Zero hadn't known what his Stand's ability was at first. It had taken him a while to understand these threads were a person's resolve. They were intrinsically linked to a person, and now that Zero was more experienced, he could see how the resolves of the crew were tethered to each other and their captain. Their willingness to do things, their motivation—it was based on each person in the crew and how it would affect them.

Yes, this was the crew he'd been looking for.

A handful of glittering threads spread from each of the crewmates to the captain. That would make things easier; all he had to do was manipulate the captain's resolve for everyone else to fall in line. Zero strode over to the captain, teasing through their threads of resolve until he found the silver one related to theft, and the weaker strand that was torn about this job he'd given them. Zero yanked it out, watching as it twisted over itself in the air.

Kiss in Blue Heaven caught the thread, twisting it around its needle-fingers. To Zero's surprise, the thread suddenly grew thicker, turning into something more like steel cord. Their resolve, on this matter in particular, was decidedly against him. Zero tried to break the thread, to weave it into something different, but his Stand's needle fingers couldn't seem to pierce it.

You will accept a job from Zero. You made a promise to him. You are better off doing anything than working with Zero. It seemed like the Captain had gone through lengths to bury this particular thread in their resolve. It might have gotten them through temporarily, but somewhere in their subconscious, they were still against the idea of working with Zero, whether or not the arrow was involved.

Zero frowned. What could have happened to plant this belief so firmly? Words from someone Zero didn't know. Someone important perhaps. It was fascinating, what an effect they had on the Captain.

But also a pain. He wouldn't be able to manipulate their direct resolve then. Kiss in Blue Heaven would have to weave its own strand and insert into the Captain and their crew. This method wasn't as definite and more likely to fall apart. It would be easier for a person to reject Zero's new motivation.

There didn't seem to be much choice. In no time at all, Kiss in Blue Heaven wound a new thread together into a tight braid, Zero's new objective for the captain taken form.

Steal the Stand arrow from Jean Pierre Polnareff and deliver it to Zero.

The Stand then reattached the thread into the tapestry of the captain's resolve. This, in turn, twisted the threads extending from the crewmates, until their reservation and doubt about the job turned into eagerness and determination.

They would have no qualms about the job now. Not now that he'd rewritten all of their resolve. Tentatively, but still.

Kiss in Blue Heaven snapped its fingers. The resolve solidified back into the crewmates and they resumed their positions with a gasp. Confusion washed over their faces as they tried to understand why they were attacking the man who had just given them the biggest job in their thieving careers.

"You want us to steal the Stand arrow," the Captain said. The resolve hadn't hardened yet; it would take time to adjust.

"Yes."

"The Stand arrow," the gunman echoed. His face twisted, wondering at the odd space of emotion he felt.

"Indeed. I've sent all of the necessary information to your turtle. Anything you wonder should be directed to it. Of course, if you require any assistance along the way, I will do my best to provide. This is a group endeavour, after all." Zero gently removed the melted mag-cuff remains from each of the crew members. They rubbed their wrists, looking lost.

"How much will you pay us?" the pilot wondered.

"Whatever you desire."

". . . Ten million," whispered the Captain. Zero only grinned.

"Consider it done."

He had them now.

A tentative smile bloomed on the Captain's face. Zero made his way to them, reaching into a pocket in his robes.

"You'll be needing this."

He pinned a gold six-pointed star to the Captain's shirt. Their keys to the galaxy. No one would refuse them help with Zero's own emblem on them.

"Thank you."

"My pleasure." Zero clapped his hands together, turning to face the rest of the crew. "I'm a busy man. I'm sure you understand. As such, I will give you thirty days to retrieve this arrow for me. Can I trust that you'll meet that demand?"

"Of course." The Captain nodded. "Piece of cake."

"What will you do with the Stand arrow once you have it?" asked the engineer. Zero pursed his lips. Discreetly, when he peered through his Stand's eyes, he saw that the threads of his resolve, in particular, were the least entwined with the rest. One pull and it would unravel completely.

Interesting.

Zero tightened the thread, just barely. The crew was too cotton-headed to notice his Stand plunge its needle fingers through the engineer's chest. "I will make the galaxy a better place."

This seemed to satisfy everyone. They grinned at each other and turned for the door, practically buzzing with the newfound desire to steal the Stand arrow.

"Sorry about your brick phone," the pilot said, on his way out. "No hard feelings, right?"

"None at all. I sincerely hope our alliance with each other proves beneficial for all involved."

"We'll get that Stand arrow, Zero," the Captain said. "And you'll get us our ten million credits."

Zero barely suppressed a laugh. "On my honour, Captain."

The crew departed. Zero looked around at his torn-up sitting room and let out a rueful chuckle. What handful, Passione. He'd have to kill them once all of this was done.

Wouldn't he? Maybe not. Maybe they would continue to prove useful.

"Sheila," Zero said, and the girl materialized faster than a serving bot. He was particularly pleased with how deftly he'd managed to twist her resolve, how Kiss in Blue Heaven had turned her from an angry girl who bowed to no one, to a girl who looked at him with something akin to adoration.

"Yeah, Zero? Is that crew going after your Stand arrow?" Her acid-green eyes gleamed.

"Tail them for me, would you?" Zero said, reaching for a toffee. "Make sure they don't stray too far off track. Let me know about every little thing that happens, no matter how small. My patience has reached its limit. I will obtain that Stand arrow."

"Of course. I'll watch 'em like a hawk, Zero."

It had been a long time since Zero had felt such delicious anticipation. He had neglected to disclose one piece of information with the crew and he was beginning to feel glad he had.

If his research was correct, piercing a Stand user with the arrow yielded the possibility of achieving a higher form. Elevation. Perfection. If Kiss in Blue Heaven was already this powerful, just what would that arrow turn it into?

Requiem, he remembered someone calling it.

How absolutely marvelous.

nine v1 || nine v2 || next chapter || table of contents

[swanqueensalad]

Hii I love your page

Have you ever written about swanqueen's social media? I'm curious 💜

OOOH that's a fun one! i haven't even thought about it yet, so thank you lovely anon <33

(also as always sorry for getting carried away/rambling, it's What I Do unfortunately)

alright so obviously they're all very slow to get on social media, what with time being frozen for 28 years... and weirdly, emma, the only one who viably would have seen social media develop normally, is in the same boat.

28 year old emma swan was a grandpa. she was a grumpy defensive loner living alone in boston and working as a bailbondsperson - the only time she ever used facebook was as a catfish, to track down a perp. aside from that, she thought it was dumb and pointless. she definitely had a nokia brick for practicality

during the curse, regina was consistently baffled by the technology of this world. luckily, she had decades to work everything out! but she's still a bit confused sometimes

so anyway, the deal is they all get on social media pretty late to the party and at first they're all pretty cringe about it

facebook is the first big thing to hit storybrooke - emma just uses it for memes, but snow is 5000% a facebook mom and has a phase of tagging her in stuff and adding her to groups and emma is so done with this she blocks her lmao. (snow is hurt but she Understands)

at this point, regina still doesn't really understand What social media is but has a vague feeling it's ridiculous and ignores it.

then twitter comes along... storybrooke twitter would be INSANE because everyone's just tweeting very specific things that don't look incriminating to anyone in the outside world, but are also basically only understandable to the others.

emma actually makes really funny tweets making fun of her daily life and her family and it gets her a bit of a following!

regina gets twitter out of spite, just to see what everyone's saying. regina has a solid week where she argues with strangers on twitter. non stop. that's it. henry has to come and disable her account because she's losing sleep over it.

and then instagram hits

and everyone in storybrooke enjoys this

emma has fun filming funny videos at the sheriff's station for instagram stories, often with her dad, but mostly she's pretty lowkey and chill on it still - the odd family selfie, wholesome pictures of something she's done or fixed, posing with thumbs up and peace signs and funny captions ya know. (once she and regina get together, her instagram is just flooded with pictures of regina though. some with funny teasing captions, others just various iterations of 'my gf is the most beautiful woman in the world')

regina. LOVES. instagram. ok she gets is ironically and irritably, because henry keeps wanting to tag her/send her stuff and can't, and at first she has no idea how to use it, but then she starts to really enjoy the aesthetic side of it and somehow within days has cultivated a flawless feed - if she wasn't on private (and only accepts people she knows) she'd def be instafamous

snow white sets up a family group chat. it's on whatsapp. it starts as a wholesome way to share and also keep track of each other, but it descends into chaos so so quickly:

if you're offline for even a few hours you'll have missed a bunch of inside jokes. david and henry make so many memes. emma keeps having phases offline and getting confused. zelena keeps getting kicked out and re-added every time she says anything. regina mostly ignores it but every so often will send a comment so savage it will destroy everyone else

(rumple says something out of the blue and everyone is certain they didn't add him... nobody knows how he got in and they know better than to kick him out...)

henry is the only one who gets tiktok when that starts. he exploits his insane family for it big time though - he'll drag emma and regina into challenges and videos without them knowing what it is and the results are brilliant

(also this is irrelevant but snow white is a pinterest mom and she makes all the pinterest crafts for her classroom at school)

[the-irish-mayhem]

This is a series of short, unrelated vignettes/oneshots that was supposed to be posted for Fosterson Week a year or two ago and I finally got around to finishing it. Enjoy!

5 Universes In Which Jane Is Worthy and 1 Where She Isn’t

Read on AO3

1.

On the top ten list of bad ideas she’s ever had, this is so, so, so bad the number one spot doesn’t even seem adequate. The guy who thought he was Thor clearly got caught trying to get her stuff back, and so she is  so  screwed unless she goes in herself. God, why did she go along with this again? He’d claimed he’d fly out once he got what he was looking for (which,  god , again, why had she kind of believed him?)

Her feet crunch quietly against the hard-packed sand leading to the hole in the plastic tarping making up the walls of the facility that Thor had kicked a guy through, and she, without nearly as much hesitation as she should probably feel, hops in.

The place isn’t huge, and it doesn’t take long for Jane to find the main room.

Thor had helpfully drawn nearly everyone in security away from where her equipment is stowed, next to a… hammer in the dirt. Literally, they built this entire site around a hammer? What the  hell , archaeologists never get this much funding and government attention. And what does her equipment have to do with it?

Jane shakes herself. She has a lot more important things to do instead of trying to puzzle out the weird and wild workings of shady government agencies. Things like capitalizing on their inattentiveness and getting her gear back.

She grabs her notebook first, stuffing it into her back pocket, and then trying to figure out how she’s going to cart out at least two hundred or so pounds of equipment.

“Hey!”

Jane nearly leaps out of her skin and turns, seeing a pair of security guards sprinting towards her from one of the halls.

“Shit,” she spits, and frantically looks around at her equipment. Lightest and hardest to replace… Radio spectrometer retrofitted for wormholes. Yep, that one. She scoops it up in her arms and takes off.

Even running as quickly as she can, the guards are still within arm’s length of her before she’s taken five steps.

Oh, they are not taking her work. Absolutely not. Erik isn’t here to hold her back this time.

She reaches an arm out, barely managing to hold onto her spectrometer as she grasps the handle of the hammer. Old or valuable, the thing is still a hammer, she can still swing at them with it.

A crack of thunder. A blinding flash of light. The feeling of grabbing a live-wire running through her body for a handful of terrifying seconds until the euphoria comes.

If she be worthy , she hears.

May she possess the power of Thor.

Oh, Jane thinks.

Oh,  fuck .

 2.

“No, I don’t know what… That’s why I’m coming out here to… Look, all the issues with our readings at the site are originating from this one spot, so yeah, I’m going to go take a look,” Jane says into the phone.

“Who is it?” Darcy whispers. Their truck rumbles along a remote road in Norway leading to the coast, and the interference from their mystery site makes it so they don’t get any radio stations, so Darcy is starved for entertainment.

Jane covers the mouthpiece and whispers back, “Caplan. He’s--” she uncovers the mouthpiece. “No, there’s not any danger. You--no… No… Wait, but that time wasn’t actually my fault, so…”

“Being a dick again?”

Jane’s eyeroll is all the answer required. “Look, we’ll be ba-- in--” Jane makes an almost comical crackling noise in the back of her throat. “Wha-- interference from the-- thr-- breaking up--bye.” She hangs up without any further discussion.

Darcy contains a laugh. “You’re gonna pay for that later, you know.”

Jane rolls her eyes again. “Well, it’s my being at his facility that’s even getting him funding in the first place, so, you know.” She shrugs. “If he wants to fight me, I’m the one with more published papers and theories that changed the laws of physics.”

Darcy pumps a fist. “Fuck yeah.”

She waves a hand. “He’ll be fine. He’s pissed we took the Mule without asking.” Where they plan on going, there’s no vehicle access, so the ATV was their only recourse. “If he thinks I’ll be satisfied with this one spot fucking up my results over and over again, he’s got another thing coming. Speaking of which,” the device that rests in Jane’s lap begins to ping, “pull over here.”

“Woo, off-road time,” Darcy cheers, and follows Jane’s instructions.

Another hour of driving in the Mule later, they reach the geographic nexus that’s been screwing with their readings.

It’s a pretty spot, bright green grass running all the way to the edge of the cliff, where a sheer drop would land them in the ocean. Norway’s fjords are always breathtaking, and Darcy counts herself lucky yet again that she gets to visit places like this and get paid for it. All in all, a pretty rad job.

“Can you set up--”

“Magnetic perimeter and radiation scanners?” Darcy finishes. “Yeah.”

Darcy unloads the equipment from the back of the ATV as Jane approaches the nexus.

It looks like a storm is beginning to swirl overhead, and Darcy eyes it nervously. Without any cover, they are pretty much sitting ducks if any rain starts to fall, god forbid if lightning starts. Where the hell did all these thunderheads come from? This blew in awfully fast.

Jane crouches down and reaches for something on the ground. “Darcy, you should come look at this,” she calls out. 

Quite suddenly, the hair on the back of Darcy’s neck stands straight up. The sensation is so strong and sudden that it literally causes her to gasp in shock.

“Jane--” she starts but she doesn’t get the chance to finish.

Faster than the blink of an eye, a massive bolt of lightning tears from the sky, slicing straight down to where Jane kneels.

Darcy barely has time to scream.

She is thrown backwards by the force of the lightning strike, and she thinks she hears a voice whisper before she hits the ground behind her.

If she be worthy.

When she looks up again, she knows she hears it.

A strange woman stands where Jane once was--massive, tall, blonde, with impressive armor and Mjolnir in her fist.

May she possess the power of Thor.

 3.

Fragile isn’t a word that could ever have been used to describe Jane Foster, but with her cheekbones hollowed out by weight loss, neck and wrists gone skinny and tendons standing out against her skin in sharp relief, fragile almost seems generous. A plastic band wraps around her wrist, stamped with her name, attending physician, allergies, and a barcode encoded with all her patient information.

She is tired, often, but with Darcy’s help still manages to go through her research and rough out an outline for her next paper she plans to publish.

Jane likes to plan, likes to say things like there’s a conference next September that this paper will do really well at, and Jane knows that Darcy is trying to hide her heartbreak at these statements. Darcy used to not hide anything from her, used to barely have the capacity, let alone the desire, but it’s strange the effect dying can have.

Her hospital room is outfitted with several whiteboards scribbled over with notes and formulae, the answers Jane constantly seeks waiting to be pried out of the clutches of the equations she can spend hours puzzling over. It’s a good use of her time, when she’s not--

Elsewhere.

Jane is careful to hide the hammer. It’s her secret legacy, her last hurrah, her hidden responsibility and duty--

Mjolnir is many things to her, but burdensome is certainly not one of them.

She swings her legs over the side of her bed, gripping her IV pole to help her stand. She walks over to the window, where the sunlight of the early afternoon has been shrouded over by storm clouds. She slides open her window, the cool wind of the storm washing over her face.

In the distance, she hears the rumble of thunder.

Jane Foster smiles.

 4.

His axe is buried in Thanos’s chest, and there’s a blinding moment of what feels like sour vengeance--so many have died already, and now the Mad Titan will perish for his crimes.

He presses the blade of Stormbreaker in further, for Loki, for Heimdall, for every one of his slaughtered people.

Then Thanos whispers, “You should’ve gone for the head.”

And he feels his heart drop.

And then, and suddenly as Thor himself had dropped from the sky, another streak of lightning blazes in from the east, and Thor can feel it--  Mjolnir .

But how?

He can’t even tell who is wielding it until the hammer smashes Thanos’s skull in, and the Mad Titan is finally felled. The Infinity Gauntlet drops, the stones unused, the universe saved.

The woman holding Mjolnir is tall, with shining armor that looks well-crafted, including a helmet that hides the upper half of her face. In spite of that, he can see her eyes.

Eyes he would know anywhere in the galaxy.

She looks almost as stunned as he is.

“Jane?”

 5.

The cell phone footage is grainy and difficult to make out. Shot by a civilian in Garching, Germany, the shaky video peeks at the action from behind a brick wall. A voice out of frame whispers,  “Dude, I think it’s Thor!”  and is quickly hushed by the one holding the camera.  So at least two more witnesses to track down,  Natasha thinks tiredly.

The observation, though, is rather striking in its accuracy. The figure has a red cape and flowing blonde hair, and displays a command of lightning that Natasha hasn’t seen since Thor more-or-less retired after their last showdown with Thanos.

The opponents are a small gaggle of aliens, impossible to fully make out but probably more scavengers who’d come to pick the bones of Thanos’s last battlefield. In the two years since the Snap, they’d been getting a steadier stream of extraterrestrial threats looking to take advantage of Earth’s vulnerability.

“How is it that we have holographic video technology widely available, but every civilian who has useful intel has a Nokia from 2004?” Natasha grumbles, squinting and trying again in vain to enhance the footage.

From her place next to her, Okoye chuckles. “I think we’ve demonstrated that we have the worst luck imaginable,” she jokes darkly.

The figure is still hard to make out aside from the gaudy cape and lightning. The electricity in the air made the audio on the video spotty at best, mostly static and a few loud bursts of accurate recordings of a fight, but mostly useless. Then a few video frames give them a clear view of the front of the figure.

“Pause,” Natasha says, sitting forward in her chair. “Go back three frames?” The computer obeys her voice command, ticking back to the moment when they had the best view.

Both Okoye and Natasha freeze as they take in the image.

There’s a shard of disappointment that goes through Natasha when she realizes, once and for all, that it definitely isn’t Thor. That disappointment turns swiftly into suspicion because she does not know this person, and they certainly have powers that would’ve landed them at the top of a SHIELD watchlist back in the day.

It’s a woman. She’s massive, arms and legs thick with muscle, and extensive armor that could be Asgardian make, but with the graininess of the video, it’s hard to tell. Her helmet covers almost her entire face, only exposing her mouth and jaw. Some sort of chainmail on her legs, perhaps, and a sleeve on her left arm. Her right arm is bare, and clutched in that hand--

“Mjolnir,” Natasha breathes.

“I thought it was destroyed,” Okoye says.

Natasha nods. “We all did.”

Despite the video quality, there’s no mistaking that hammer. Especially when Natasha resumes the video and the mysterious woman throws the hammer, and it returns to her hand moments later.

“We haven’t seen any new powered people since the Snap,” Okoye says, breaking the silence. “With our…  situation  being what it is,” she continues, tactfully calling the mess they’d made of the world a  situation , “we should either ascertain if this woman is on our side, get her on our side, or terminate her as soon as possible.”

Natasha nods in quiet contemplation. They cannot afford to have a powered person running around the world unchecked, not with the way things are. They’re barely managing to hold it together as it is, and the Avengers are spread extremely thin. Not to mention their help is often rejected in an official capacity, a lionshare of the blame for what happened falling to the World’s Greatest Heroes who failed to save the world. It’s a PR nightmare, and there are many nights when Natasha wishes that she’d just been dusted along with the half of the world who didn’t make it.

But she didn’t. She’s still here, and someone needs to lead.

“Want me to track down Thor and ask him about her?” Okoye says. “Based on her strength from that video, she’s probably Asgardian.”

Natasha’s kneejerk reaction is to say no, that Thor can’t handle this, that he’s been in an almost constant state of inebriation and/or depression for the last two years and she won’t expose her friend to something that might be painful for him. Then her rational mind kicks in and she nods at Okoye. Thor is their best lead. “I’ll come with you.” (Then her vicious mind raises its hackles and says if she’s got to wade into the shit that is the post-Snap world, then Thor should have to get right into it with her.)

That night, the evening news features a story with the grainy footage Natasha could’ve sworn she’d managed to scrub from everywhere (but alas, she is no Vision.) The ticker at the bottom of the screen reads The New Thor: Who is she, and can we trust her?

***

They find him at a hightop table in a hole-in-the-wall bar in New Asgard, and if Natasha had been serving him, she probably would’ve cut him off at least four drinks ago, but the bartender doesn’t seem concerned with denying their monarch his alcoholic solace.

“Do I need to go get Brunnhilde?” Okoye whispers to Natasha.

Thor sways in his barstool, hands clasped around a large stein of beer, but seems coherent enough to answer their questions.

“Not yet.”

“Wha--?” Thor mumbles, eyes half-lidded. “What’re you saying?” His words are disturbingly slurred. Maybe getting Brunnhilde wouldn’t be a bad idea.

Natasha refocuses. “Have you watched the news recently?”

Thor snorts and takes a drink of beer. And doesn’t stop taking a drink of beer until the stein is half-empty. Natasha’s eyes widen when he lets out a loud belch.

“Apologies,” he says, not sounding apologetic, “but you’ll have to excuse me for not keeping up with current events.”

Okoye cuts in, “How about this current event?

She slides a set of photos out of a manila envelope, laying them down on the bar table. The paper sticks to the surface of the table.

Thor shakes his head once, as if trying to rein in the spinning the room is likely doing around him. He leans down and squints at the photos. “That--” He cocks his head. “That isn’t me.”

“No,” Okoye confirms. “It isn’t.”

“These photos were taken two days ago in Garching, Germany. Know of any Asgardians who settled there?”

Thor swallows, and doesn’t immediately answer. He raises his free hand not on his beer to the photos, and the tip of his middle finger drags over where Mjolnir is inked onto the paper. “I thought it was gone,” he mumbles.

“So did we,” Natasha says, tempted to reach out to him at the abject sadness in his voice.

Okoye slants a glance at Natasha.  Focus , she seems to say with her eyes, before redirecting Thor, “Are there any Asgardians in Germany?”

“A few,” he says. “None that look like this woman.” He looks up at them. “Do you know how she found Mjolnir?”

It’s his most coherent question yet. Natasha shakes her head. “We just found out about her. She looks pretty confident with it, so maybe she’s been training somewhere.”

“I don’t underst--” Thor loses his battle with his balance and gravity and falls off his barstool. Natasha and Okoye both reach out to steady him, but he manages to catch himself before he hits the floor.

Natasha goes to Thor’s side, her heart falling quickly as she puts an arm around him. It’s hard to see Thor like this, especially knowing the kind of man he used to be. (Of all the people she thought would stick with her, after Clint and Steve left, she thought that Thor would be the one to stay. He’d fought through so much heartache, sided with them in New York against his own brother, protected the Earth from the Dark Elves after his mother’s murder, faced down Thanos even after his planet had been destroyed, and yet he’d always been ready to fight. It’s downright unnatural, utterly tragic to see him laid so low.)

Turning to Okoye, Natasha says, “Go get Brunnhilde.” Okoye doesn’t need to be told twice.

“Thor,” Natasha prompts, getting the man to look at her. His eyes look pained. She’s sure hers must reflect his. “You’ve gotta stop this.”

“Stop what?” he mumbles.

“You know what.” She hesitates before offering, “You could come back, you know. Join the Avengers again. I really could use the help, and you’ve got more experience leading than everyone else on the team combined.”

He’s already shaking his head. “No.” Clear, concise, and completely at odds with his drunkenness. “No, I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

His answering smile is sad. “I have nothing left to offer you.”

“Yes, you do,” Natasha answers softly, but based on his tone, this isn’t an argument she’s going to win. Not today, at least.

A beat passes. “You really didn’t know about Mjolnir?” she asks, one more time.

“I’m not worthy anymore,” he whispers. “Why would it call to me?”

Natasha doesn’t answer that. There’s a lot of layers there that she doesn’t think she’ll ever fully understand.

Okoye returns with Brunnhilde at her side. She says to Okoye, “You know, sometime you’re going to have to visit me when it’s not for the purposes of picking his sorry ass up off the floor.”

Okoye chuckles. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Brunnhilde proceeds to pick Thor up in a bridal carry, making Natasha stumble a bit when his weight is no longer against her. “Come on, your majesty,” she says, tone almost bored. “Let’s get you home.”

Natasha bites her tongue against all the questions she wants to ask.

How often do you do this for him?

How is everyone around here blind to what’s happening to him?

Where on earth is he getting enough alcohol to regularly get drunk?

Before she can even think of pursuing another line of questioning, she gets a call from Carol--she is needed urgently back at headquarters.

She sighs. The hunt for the new Thor will have to wait for now.

***

It’s only once Natasha and Okoye are on a quinjet and flying back to their base that Brunnhilde unceremoniously drops Thor on the ground.

He huffs, but quickly stands up and brushes himself off, perfectly sober. “Unnecessary.”

She glares at him. “How long are you going to keep this act up?” she demands. “Those are your  friends .”

“Natasha is a friend,” Thor corrects, “Okoye thinks I’m a worthless drunk.”

Brunnhilde rolls her eyes. “Because she’s never known you as anything else.”

He grits his teeth. “It’s for the best.”

“That’s what you keep telling yourself, but they  know  about her. What’s your act doing to keep her safe now?”

The muscle in Thor’s jaw works furiously, but he calmly answers, “They don’t know her identity. They think she’s a rogue Asgardian.”

Brunnhilde bristles and brusquely pulls a folded manila envelope out of her back pocket. “Okoye gave these to me, said to ask you about them again when you sobered up.” She quickly opens the envelope and tears its contents out and holds them right in his face. The edges of the photo paper crease under the force of her fingers clenching down on them. “You see this? The better she gets, the more this is going to happen. And you know what’s eventually going to happen?” She jerks her head backwards. “Your friends are going to find her. She’s on a crash course, and then she will be a part of this. You can’t stop that. It was a fantasy to think you ever could.”

“I didn’t think I could keep her from it forever,” Thor replies evenly, and he wraps his fingers around Brunnhilde’s wrist and lowers the photos from his face so he can look her in the eye.

“Then  why ?” she asks.

“Because she needs to be better than me,” he says, like a release of steam from a pot. “She needs to be better, and she’s not yet.”

Brunnhilde shakes her head. “I don’t know if you’re going to get a choice for much longer.

   and the one time…

“Jane.”

His shoulder jumps under her head.

“Hm?”

“We’re almost there.”

“Oh,” she says groggily, and pushes herself off Thor’s shoulder. “Oops,” she says when she notices the spot of drool on his shirt. “Sorry.” The weird half-sleep that comes along with car rides is slow to depart, clawing at her eyelids until she reaches to her right, where a bottle of water sits.

After she downs half the bottle and truly wakes up, he gives her a soft smile, one that says he probably wasn’t far behind her in terms of falling asleep. “It’s no matter. I thought you’d want to be awake before we arrived.”

She stretches her hands over her head as much as the towncar’s roof allows, and a series of satisfying pops go down her spine. She grunts in satisfaction before saying, “I need to go over my speech one more time.”

“I’m fairly certain  I  could give it at this point with how many times I’ve heard it.”

“You’re a good person to practice with!”

“I’m only teasing,” he says. “And besides, this is hardly your first time doing this.”

“This still feels bigger, somehow.” 

He makes a soft sound of agreement. Jane offers the water to him, which he accepts and drinks his fill before capping it and setting it aside.

Jane continues, “It’s one thing to get, you know, a big science award. Like, the last time I got the Nobel I felt almost old hat at it, you know?”

Thor gives her a look. “I recall you saying that you felt like you were going to throw up before you went onstage to give your speech.”

Jane flaps her hand at him. “Okay, sure I was nervous, but I was….used to the shape of it? This is a completely different type of thing.”

“Yes, excelling at heroics is something you usually leave to me.”

“Hey, I have plenty of behind the scenes heroics!”

“Of course, dear,” he says with a laugh, “but none of those behind the scenes heroics resulted in a singlehanded defeat of the Infinity Stones, handicapping Thanos’s plan, and saving untold lives.”

Jane tilts her head back onto the headrest, a smile spreading across her face. That day, that last fight that Strange predicted would end in only one way, would be permanently emblazoned in her memory as long as she lived. Thor had asked her to stay away from the battlefield, and initially, she’d agreed. She and Tony had been theorizing about the nature of the stones, and they hadn’t had time to parse out the quantum entanglement theories together before her thinking buddy had to jet off to try and save the universe.

It came to her like a lightning strike only minutes after the team had left for the last battle. She’d built a frequency jammer that would disrupt the quantum entanglement of the stones in thirty minutes flat, and then raced out of the Avengers compound like a bat out of hell. She’d just have to get within range of the stones, and they’d be rendered inert, their effects immediately reversed, and they’d just be ordinary stones, and then they could be destroyed.

And, incredibly, even though the science of it was shaky at best, and she’d had to improvise on the fly when some of the wiring on the jammer had shorted out, it worked.

The army from the past was gone, snapped back to their original chronological configuration; Natasha and Gamora were spat out of whatever pocket universe they’d been trapped in; and Tony hadn’t had to use his gauntlet, hadn’t had to sacrifice himself for the universe as she’d  known  he’d planned on.

(Dr. Strange had sputtered, shocked, saying that of the fourteen million six hundred and five futures he’d seen, he’d only seen one possible outcome where they won, and it wasn’t this.

Jane shrugged, breathless, dirty, bloody, and grinned. “I found number fourteen million six hundred and  six .”)

“And all without a single power to her name aside from her intellect,” he finishes.

“I am pretty cool.”

“Both pretty and cool, much agreed.”

She lets her head fall to the side so she can look at him. His beard is long enough to be braided, and he’d done so this morning, and he’d taken care to braid some of his hair as well before pulling it back with a tie. He looked good. Great. Amazing, even.

She reached out her hand closest to him, trailing a finger along one of the braids in his beard. A streetlight from outside catches on her wedding ring just so.

After the Snap, she and Thor had drifted back together, partially out of shared grief and guilt, but had ultimately rediscovered why they’d worked together for years before the distance had become too much strain. They’d officially tied the knot a few years after Tony and Pepper had. (Steve had been Thor’s best man, and Darcy Jane’s maid of honor. Tony walked Jane down the aisle in Jane’s mother’s absence. Morgan had been their flower girl.) 

She wonders if any of this would’ve happened if they hadn’t found each other again. If they hadn’t rekindled their love for each other in the horrible aftermath of the Snap, would she have been around to help? Would Tony have reached out to her with the time travel issue? Would he have invited her to collaborate on the quantum entanglement of the stones if she hadn’t re-integrated herself into the Avengers circle? She likes to think so--they were friends, at least somewhat, before the Snap (but their closeness now was only formed in those last five years of wounded peace.)

“What are you thinking about?” Thor asks, and mirrors her position so he can look at her.

“Just that I’m really glad I married you.” She nudges forward so she can kiss him. “Really, really glad.”

“I’m glad you married me, too,” he answers. “Not many women would have had the fortitude to put up with me for as long as you have.”

She grabs his hand and pulls it over to her lap. “How many people did Pepper say were going to be here?”

Thor shrugs. “Less than two thousand, but there is the webcast as well.”

“ God .”

He squeezes her hand. “Go through your speech once more. It’ll make you feel better.”

“I’d feel better if we could skip past the ceremony and go right to the drinking and partying portion of the evening.”

Thor laughed. “If only I were planning the evening, Jane Foster. Now start from the top.”

Jane laughs, and closes her eyes. With her husband’s hand in hers, his warmth a steady reassurance at her side, she recalls the words she’s memorized and feels her nervousness retreat as she begins to speak.

[srsly-messed-up-fruitloop]

Shielded Away (pt 1)

““Jeez Fenton, what the heck are you doing?”

Danny stopped. “Just practicing for mime school, you know...just in case the whole astronaut thing doesn’t work out.”

Wes squinted. “Wait a minute...the news said they placed your parents’ newest ghost shield around all of Amity…”

Danny groaned, for what felt like the hundredth time today. “Are you kidding me?” He prodded at the shield, only to get stung again.

At that, Wes began to chuckle, which turned into an actual laugh, eventually becoming full-blown cackling.

Danny scowled. Not calming down in the slightest, Wes continued to cackle as he walked off into the distance.”

Or, my take on this prompt posted by @danphanwritingprompts

Word Count: 5,183

Read on AO3 or under the cut

Danny glanced at himself in the mirror in the washroom. The dark circles under his eyes seemed to have doubled in size since he last saw them. Not that he cared. He was too exhausted to care. It wasn’t even lunchtime yet, but he’s already fought seven ghosts today. A thin cool mist expelled from his lips. And here comes the eighth.

Outside in the halls, a familiar voice boomed, “BEWARE, I AM THE BOX GHOST!” Danny watched himself as his eyes became a vibrant green on instinct. Transforming once again, he flew out the washroom, sighting the box-loving spirit throwing cardboard boxes at students. He zoomed towards him, grabbing his ankle, forced them both intangible, and dragged him down to the school’s basement.

“Hey! Can’t you see I was in the middle of something?” the Box Ghost whined.

“Yeah? Attempting to traumatize people once again with boxes? How many times do I gotta tell you it’s really not scary?”

“IS TOO!” The Box Ghost angrily hurled a dusty box at Danny, who then fired an ectoblast at it to defend himself.

“You know, I could think of a hundr—oof!” Somehow Danny didn’t notice every single storage box in the basement hovering right above his head, before it was too late. Man, he really needs sleep.

He faintly heard the ghost laughing above him. Of all the places in the school, he had to lead the Box Ghost here. He’s gotta remember to use the roof next time. But this time, he knows he’d hidden a Fenton thermos somewhere around here…

In an instant, he turned intangible and phased through all the boxes he was buried under. His eyes searched wildly around the basement. Where was it?

“LOOKING FOR THIS?” Danny’s head shot up, finally seeing the thermos. Well, crap. “LET’S SEE HOW YOU LIKE BEING STUCK IN THE CONFINES OF A CYLINDRICAL CONTAINER!” Hearing the beep of the thermos activating, Danny gasped as he was slowly sucked into it. Since when did the Box Ghost learn how to use it??

“HA HAH! HOW DOES IT FEEL NOW?” the ghost yelled into the container, painfully vibrating Danny’s condensed molecules. “Now if you will excuse me, I WILL HAVE MY CORRUGATED CARDBOARD VENGEANCE!” Next thing Danny knew, he felt a harsh CLUNK to his everything as the thermos fell to the hard floor.

Outsmarted by the Box Ghost, he really was having a bad day. Well, hopefully, Tucker and Sam will find him. Eventually. He could just imagine Sam berating him immediately after releasing him. “You should have called us first! Of all places, why would you bring the Box Ghost to the basement?” Tucker would be laughing his ass off. Honestly, he wouldn’t blame him.

~

Each minute in the thermos always felt like an eternity. His form was squished to the point where all he could really do is think. And he’s come to realize how much he actually depends on his friends. He doesn’t appreciate them enough.

Except, they should be here anytime now.

Anytime.

Any. Time.

Nothing.

Wait. There were footsteps. The next instant, he was being picked up. Finally, they found him. Come on now, press the button Tucker. What was taking him so long? A fair bit of fumbling continued until fingers found the right button and he was finally released. Danny groaned and stretched, feeling an ache from being compressed for so long.

“You’re lucky I found you Fenton.”

That. Wasn’t Tucker. Or Sam. His head shot up, seeing a red-haired pain in the ass holding a stupid grin, growing wider by the second. Wes.

“Were you stalking me again?”

“Just gathering evidence. You should be grateful, who knows how long you’d be stuck in there.”

Danny scowled. His friends would’ve eventually found him. “Fine, thanks. Now if you excuse me, I have a job to finish.” He flew up, phasing through the ceiling. Invisibly weaving through the corridors of his school, he noticed two things. One, his ghost sense seemed to be picking up nothing at all. Two, the hallways were deserted. He peeked into a random classroom, empty. Same for the one beside it. He zipped through the ceiling to the second floor, stopping in front of the English classroom he left behind. Empty. Save for his bag tucked under his chair. He really should stop doing that, the number of times he’d left class forgetting his bag was too embarrassing. Picking up his bag from the floor, he walked over to the window expecting a routine gathering for a ghost alarm. Nope, the fields were empty too. Weird. Maybe they’re at the front. He was just about to check, but something about the far off view of Amity’s city buildings struck him as odd. He pulled out his phone. Dead. Right, never got a chance to charge it last night.

“Everyone’s gone.” Wes suddenly spoke from the door, almost a tinge of fear in his voice. Funny, he’s never seen Wes scared before. This should be good.

“You sure?”

“I checked everywhere, even the teacher’s lounge.”

Huh. Danny glanced out the window again. “Parking lot’s completely empty.”

“The entire school couldn’t possibly abandon us—we were only down in the basement for an hour,”

“AN HOUR?”

“Yeah, I was busy collecting evidence.”

“Okay, first off, you need a new hobby. Second, why didn’t you let me go earlier if you were there the entire time?”

“Hey, be grateful. I was contemplating not letting you out at all.”

Wes could be such a...ugh. There were bigger things at hand. Like the disappearance of his entire school.

“Give me your phone.” Wes eyed him suspiciously. He stuffed his hand in his pocket and brought out a small device, slightly bigger than the palm of his hand. Danny approached closer. “Is that a freaking Nokia?”

“Can’t trust smartphones, government uses them to steal all your information.”

Of course. Danny grabbed the cell phone. It reminded him of a calculator. “Can you even text on this thing?”

“It’s not worth it. You can call though.”

Danny searched the deep recesses of his brain for his friends’ phone numbers. He dialed a number, half guessing the last four digits.

The dial tone rang...and rang, and rang once more…

A smooth automated female voice responded, “Hello, you’ve reached the voicemail of—” then there was a moment of silence. The automated voice picked back up, “Please leave your name and message after the tone.” BEEP.

He just hung up then. Sam never bothers checking her voicemail anyways. Dang, if only he remembered Tucker’s number.

“...should we just leave? Maybe everyone got sent home?” Wes hesitantly asked.

Something still didn’t sit quite well with Danny, but the idea of using the rest of the day to catch up on some sleep was too good to resist. He tossed Wes’ brick phone back to him and muttered, “Alright, see you around, I guess.” He didn’t waste any time in turning intangible and flying through the classroom window, heading straight for home.

On his journey back, it was oddly peaceful. Usually every time he flew in broad daylight at least one person would sight him and yell anything along the lines of “Hey, look! It’s Danny Phantom!” or “Screw you ghost boy!” He was still a very controversial figure in the town, even though the news seems to be taking his side now.

And well, Danny has given up on trying to woo those who still dislike him. No matter what he does, all they see is a ghost. Apparently it isn’t clear that his only intentions are protecting the town. It sucks that his parents are part of that special group. Their narrow-minded point of view almost killed him on several occasions (well...metaphorically, he’s already kinda dead).

Which is why he transformed back into human form as soon as he landed on his front step. The lights for the Fenton Works sign were off. Odd. His parents were adamant on keeping them on 24/7, despite constant complaints from all their neighbours. He dug for his key in his backpack and unlocked the front door. Stepping inside, he slipped off his shoes and shrugged his backpack to the floor.

“Mom? Dad?”

Nothing. He strode over to the kitchen and checked the basement entrance. Locked. They must be out. Sweet, nothing to distract him from his well-deserved nap. He grabbed a cookie from a jar and made his way upstairs. As he was halfway through that cookie, he passed by Jazz’s room. He failed to notice the absence of Bearbert Einstein from her bed.

He brushed off the crumbs off his hands and opened his bedroom door. Flopping onto his bed, Danny was just about to pass out until he remembered. He groaned and blindly reached for the end of his charger on his nightstand. Ugh where was it? Reluctantly peeking one eye open, he saw lying aimlessly on the floor. Ugh. Stretching to the point where half his body was off the bed (it would’ve been much easier if he just sat up), he finally grabbed the charger and plugged in his phone. Victory. Now, he could relax. He’ll deal with whatever happened later.

BRIIIIIIIIIING BRIIIIIIIIIING BRIIIIIIIIIING

No, he swore he just closed his eyes a second ago. Just a few more minutes.

BRIIIIIIIIIING BRIIIIIIIIIING BRIIIIIIIIIING

Please.

BRIIIIIIIIIING BRIIIIIIIIIING BRIIIIIIIIIING

BRIIIIIIIIIING BRIIIIIIIIIING BRIIIIIIIIIING

The vibrating stopped. Hallelujah. Now back to h—

BRIIIIIIIIIING BRIIIIIIIIIING BRIIIIIIIIIING

The obnoxious buzzing continued once more. Several rounds later, Danny slowly blinked open his groggy eyes. He had to suppress the urge to hurl his phone at the wall when he finally grabbed it. Declining the call, he was just about to return to his slumber until he noticed his screen was full of notifications. 9 missed calls from his mom, 5 from his dad, 11 from Jazz, 17 from Sam...his stomach sunk. Danny almost dropped his phone on his face when it started ringing once more, this time his dad again. He didn’t waste a moment in answering it.

“Hello?”

“Danno where are you? Did you get to evacuate with your school? Sam and Tucker say they haven’t seen you!”

“Wha—what? Evacu—”

“Hang on your mom’s here,”

“Danny sweetie, where are you? You’re not in the Casper High group.”

“Mom what did dad mean by eva—”

“And our tracker says you’re home, but you know we can never trust it since it sometimes locks onto that menace Phanto—”

“Wait a tracker?”

“Yes honey, we need to always know where you kids are, especially at times like these. Now, which evacuation group did you leave with?”

“Uhh...I’m actually home.”

The line went silent for a few moments. Danny heard his mom’s barely contained anxiety as she spoke her next words. “That’s...how did you...that’s alright sweetie. Can yo—was anyone else left behind?”

“Yeah, uhm, Wes Weston?”

“Okay...okay. Can you find him...and leave the town right away?”

“Mom, what’s going on?”

“Danny, please.”

“...okay.”

“Call us once you’re out, okay?”

“Okay mom.”

“Love you sweetie.”

“Yea you too.” He hung up then, his earlier grogginess completely forgotten now. Right, okay, he just has to find Wes no—

BRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIING

A LOUD shrill noise accompanied the incessant buzzing on his phone. Danny’s stomach dropped even further.

“[11:00 AM] EMERGENCY ALERT: Due to the increasingly harmful and destructive occupation of extra-dimensional beings in the town of Amity Park, the state of Illinois in conjunction with the GiW has made the final decision to evacuate all residents. Please follow your nearest evacuation group and proceed to exit the town.”

It was 3:07 now. The entire town just left? While he was stuck in the thermos? And “increasingly harmful and destructive occupation of extra-dimensional beings”? Dammit he had it under control.

Just before Danny left the room, he made sure to grab his charger.

Grabbing his bag left on the floor by the front door, he nearly jumped when he saw Wes sitting on the living room couch.

“How did—”

“Chill Fenton, you left the door unlocked.”

“But wh...nevermind. Did you hear—”

“About the evacuation? Yeah let’s get outta here.”

He didn’t bother to look back to check if Wes was following. The annoying scruff of his sneakers on the sidewalk was enough to tell.

But twenty minutes later, he couldn’t help but wonder why Wes was left behind too. “So...why didn’t you leave?”

“You know nobody takes those ghost alarms seriously anymore, right? Oh wait, you do, cause you’re Ph—”

“What about the emergency alert?” Danny asked, cutting Wes off.

“What emergency alert?”

“You didn’t get it? On your phone?” Danny pulled out his phone and showed Wes the notification.

“Oh, heh, I don’t get those.”

“What do you mea—oh, right. Your dinosaur phone is too old to get them.”

“Hey, at least with my dinosaur phone, the government can’t spy on my every move. That seems like something you’d be interested in, Phantom.”

“If the government was spying on us, how did they manage to forget us when evacuating the town?”

“The government has bigger things they like to worry about.”

“Sure, like hiding Area 51 right?”

“Exactly!” Wes exclaimed enthusiastically. “Finally, someone gets me.”

“Dude, that was sarcasm.”

Wes deflated at that. “Screw you Fenton.”

“Yeah, I—” the next moment Danny slammed face-first into something that  stung. Quickly backing up, he saw Wes walking, perfectly unperturbed. Hesitantly, he took his index finger and slowly pushed forward, until he was blocked again. Ghost shield, great.

Turning intangible, he disappeared into the ground and tried burrowing under the barrier, only to get blocked and stung again. Dammit, he shouldn’t have told his parents about ghosts being able to get past their old shields that way. Returning up, Danny began to feel his way around the shield, attempting to find a weak spot.

At some point, Wes stopped, noticing that Danny wasn’t tailing him anymore. “Jeez Fenton, what the heck are you doing?”

Danny stopped. “Just practicing for mime school, you know...just in case the whole astronaut thing doesn’t work out.”

Wes squinted. “Wait a minute...the news said they placed your parents’ newest ghost shield around all of Amity…”

Danny groaned, for what felt like the hundredth time today. “Are you kidding me?” He prodded at the shield, only to get stung again.

At that, Wes began to chuckle, which turned into an actual laugh, eventually becoming full-blown cackling.

Danny scowled. Not calming down in the slightest, Wes continued to cackle as he walked off into the distance.

Bastard.

After Danny could no longer see the flare of his annoying red-hair, he sighed and glanced upwards, turning around until he saw the tower at the centre of the town, blasting at full strength. His parents worked relentlessly for more than a year on that tower. After trial and error with various other ghost shields, they finally perfected the ultimate model. Danny tried his best to help too, ghost shields were becoming more vital to Team Phantom as the days passed on (mostly because it stopped people from complaining about property damage). Often that involved sneaking down to the basement while they were out purchasing supplies, testing it out, and subtly dropping recommendations during dinner time. With governmental aid on their side, they were able to expand it into a town-wide defense mechanism, resistant against all ectoplasmic entities, even halfas in their human form.

With all the good their work has done for Amity, they are no longer seen as the town’s local kooks. Jack and Maddie Fenton are now revered as the country’s leading scientists on ghosts. That tower was a stark symbol of his parents’ true dedication. Every time Danny saw that tower, he felt a swell of pride for his parents in his chest. Except for this time. Instead, he felt dread slowly trickling down into the pit of his stomach. Why must everything his parents invent come to bite him in the butt sooner or later?

Plunking down beside the shield, Danny laid down in the grass and pulled out his phone again. Ignoring the even bigger clusterfuck of notifications on his lock screen, he started up a video call with Tucker.

The instant the call picked up, Tucker shrilled into the speaker “DANNY, WHERE THE—” which was then combined with Sam exclaiming, “Is that Danny? You got him finall—WHAT THE HELL DANNY?”

Shit, he didn’t mean to make them so worried. “Hey guys, I-I’m fine,” he said, sheepishly looking away from the screen.

Sam’s expression quickly switched from angry to concerned. “We didn’t see you when the ghost alarm went off...” she trailed off.

“Yeah?”

“Figured you were taking care of it,” Tucker added. “We had no idea—”

“Tucker it’s okay.”

“Wait, really? You made it out?”

“Well...errr...”

Sam’s face took over the screen, expression serious. “Danny...are you still in Amity?”

“Uhh...yeah?”

A moment of silence passed, where Sam’s eyes widened and Tucker just walked off screen.

“B-but look, I’ll figure out a way out! I helped build the shield, I should be able to take it down, right?”

Tucker jumped back into the frame, “You were the one who helped make it indestructible, especially against yourself!”

“True but—” he was suddenly interrupted as his phone started buzzing again. “Shit, my parents are calling, what do I tell them?”

“Just say you’re on your way out?”

“But Wes already left!”

“Wes?”

“Yeah, Wes, no time to explain—what do I say??”

“Just answer it!”

“Um.”

“DANNY!” Tucker and Sam both yelled.

He jerked as he hung up and accepted his parents’ voice call. Hesitantly holding the phone to his ear, he stuttered out, “H-hello?”

His mom’s worried voice crackled through the speaker, “Sweetie, where are you now? Wesley just came out and told us you were coming…”

“Uh…” He had to think up something. NOW. “Uhh...ghost!”

“Danny wha—”

“Can’t talk now, ghost chasing me—bye!” He abruptly hung up and shut off his phone. Heart beating rapidly, he stared at the black screen. His parents are going to kill him for this.

Well, if not already for being Danny Phantom. Ha.

Lying back down on the grass (at what point did he start sitting up?), he registered just how quiet it was. No vehicles humming in the background, no people; just a soothing autumn breeze brushing against the leaves, accompanied by an occasional chirp from a bird nearby. A lone cloud floated off in the bright blue sky. With a bit of squinting, it looked like a hoagie. At that moment, his grumbling stomach decided to interrupt the serenity.

Searching his bag, he found the sandwich he packed for lunch, which was now disgustingly soggy. Ew. Did his parents leave any leftovers back in the fridge? Nah...wait. His eyes locked on a Nasty Burger in the distance. If people had to evacuate, then they must’ve left their orders behind, right? Yeah, he would be doing the world a service by not letting that greasy burger goodness go to waste. Tucker would back him up on this.

Five minutes later, he phased out of the fast food joint with a bag of untouched, barely warm Nasty burgers in one hand and a Nasty soda in the other.

Danny was going back home to figure out a way to get past the shield. Not at all because of his impending food coma. So what if he decided to take a quick power nap to regain his focus? He’d get nothing done anyways if he was too tired to think.

And so what if that quick nap turned into him knocking out for 13 hours?

Startling awake in his bed, he checked the clock. 8:00 AM. Shit! He’s late for school. Stumbling out his bed, he immediately tripped over his backpack, falling to the floor in a harsh thud.

“Ow.”

Rubbing his shoulder, everything came flooding back in his now clear mind. Fuck, how could he let the Box Ghost trap him in his own thermos?

Fuck, he has to get up. He has to find a way to get past that shield. Right now. His parents, his friends...they’re all waiting. Who knows what could be happening to them, they could be in danger, they’d need him. He has to before...before…

Before what?

Danny didn’t even realize he was doing his morning routine on autopilot until he was in the kitchen, halfway through a slice of toast. “Ergh!” he exclaimed as he spat out the almost cardboard-like excuse for breakfast onto his plate.

Why would they be in danger?

Glancing outside, he only saw a flock of living birds in the distance. Where did all the ghosts go?

Maybe because there’s no longer anyone to haunt. And as long as the shield remains, there’s no chance of even a blob ghost escaping.

Wait, there’s still Vlad in Wisconsin! No, he wouldn’t dare make a move while the Guys in White were watching. That’s one thing he knew for certain about the fruitloop.

So...what now? Danny leaned back in the kitchen chair as the realization slowly dawned on him. Everyone’s safe. A wave of relief came over him, washing away a suffocating feeling he didn’t even realize was always there. For the first time in months, he could breathe.

The next thing Danny does is turn his pathetic slices of toast into a triple decker PB & J sandwich. Another first in months.

Of course he had to be finding a way to get past the shield. His parents must be so worried. Jazz...he still hasn’t called her back. Staring at the black screen of his phone, he couldn’t bring himself to turn it on again. Talking to her would only worry her even more, right? Ancients forbid, if his parents called again...what could he even say this time?

Sam and Tucker could fill her in. They probably already did. He slid the inactive phone back in his pocket and got up to drop his empty plate in the sink.

Hours later, Danny was sticking his tongue out in concentration, trying to get past the Level 4 boss in Doomed. He honestly started up the old desktop in the basement fully intending to review his parents’ notes on the shield. After nearly nodding off on the eighth page, he decided that he deserved a little break.

Yet, that break was still going strong at 5:30am the next day. He was finally on the last level. So close...his bloodshot eyes locked on the final key, just within arm’s reach. Almost...there…

Except, a shot came out of nowhere, striking his player right in his chest, killing him instantly. And because he was on his last life, Danny stared in disbelief as the words “Game Over” appeared on the screen. He threw the computer mouse in frustration, unintentionally letting a bit of his ghostly strength through.

Well, crap. He needs a new mouse now.

Maybe he can stop by the store in the morning. Yawning heavily, his eyes wandered to the lab’s wall clock, widening as he read the time.

He...he should’ve been focusing on the shield! He groaned as he took another look at the broken mouse. There’s not even any store to stop by anymore! Screw this, he needs sleep. He’ll deal with this later.

~

Apparently later meant a week from then. He honestly doesn’t know how he got so distracted. He just knew the majority of the last week was spent binge-watching classic horror movies and emptying out his dad’s secret hidden stash of snacks. Jazz probably would be able to offer him some textbook explanation for this.

At some point, he’d managed to convince himself that everyone’s eventually coming back. Why else would he still have electricity? And his family left pretty much everything behind, except for a few ecto-weapons and the GAV. There’s no way this can be permanent. And why should it be? He still couldn’t find the true reason for the evacuation, news reports from earlier that week just cite the “increasingly harmful and destructive occupation of extra-dimensional beings.” Sure, Danny’s been busting his ass more recently, but it wasn’t like the town was about to be captured by Pariah Dark again. With that in mind, why should he expend any extra effort figuring out how to get past the shield? The shield he made sure worked against his very own biology?

Plus, he was happy to have a break from everything. At least that’s what he tells himself. He tries to ignore that nagging feeling in the back of his mind, telling him that he should turn his phone back on.

Anyways, his dad’s snacks have run out. Which is why he was standing right in front of the supermarket, currently in his ghost form. He’s just going to phase in, grab what he needs, and phase right back out. Easy. It’s fine, even if he sets off any security alarms, no one’s even here to stop him. Besides, a lot of that food’s probably gonna go bad anyways.

The first thing he noticed was all the flies. They seemed to be having a party in the (slightly smelly) produce section. Luckily for Danny, eating his veggies wasn’t really a top priority (sorry Sam). He grabbed a basket, floated over to the bread area, and tossed in a loaf. One of his greatest accomplishments in the last week was learning how to make a grilled cheese sandwich. That and the snacks are what have fueled him in the last week.

It seemed like the owners still left everything on after abandoning the store. The meat section was thankfully cool and fly-free. Danny eyed his options, recalling all the times Tucker shared his favourite methods of cooking each meat. Guess that knowledge is finally being put to good use. Bacon? Yes. Steak? Yup. Drumsticks? Of course. Sausages? Can’t say no to that.

Danny floated further along, grabbing various other items, including a couple boxes of frozen dinners and plenty of snacks.

He almost forgot about the mouse. Luckily, he passed by the electronics store on the way home.

After packing away the groceries, Danny thought he deserved a nap. After, he’ll probably try making the sausages for dinner. And maybe give reading those shield notes another shot since he had the mouse now.

At least, that’s what he told himself. Instead, he finally beat Doomed. Holy shit. He instinctively reached for his phone to text Tucker. They’ve been playing that game since they were nine! He…

Faced with his still powered-off phone, Danny suddenly realized that it’s been a week since he last spoke to Tucker. And Sam.

He really should talk to them. He’s been an awful friend, he’s gotta at least reassure them that he’s alright. Yet Danny couldn’t bring himself to turn his phone back on.

Eventually, an imaginary light bulb lit up above his head, and he logged into his email on the computer. However, the moment he saw his inbox cluttered with emails from his parents, he logged the fuck outta there. Nope.

While watching The Birds later that night and seeing Melanie lock herself in a phone booth to protect herself from the violent seagulls, Danny suddenly got another idea.

~

It was a clear night, with the moon shining in all its glory, softly illuminating the dark sky. You couldn’t even tell that the shield was there. Almost would’ve been perfect for stargazing if it weren't for the useless city lights that were still on.

A family of raccoons was crossing the road a few blocks away. And a crow cawed from above on a lamp post. Otherwise, the street in front of his house was completely deserted.

He floated up until he had a view of the entire town. During his nightly patrols, it’d never been this quiet. It felt like he was almost intruding on something, being out here now.

Using his powers to enhance his vision in the dark, he searched around for a payphone. Yes, he’s seen them before, although he can’t say he’d ever used one. It's gotta be somewhere.

He passed by an electronics store with a TV playing the news in the display. He immediately halted and did a double-take. His face was splayed across the screen, with the headline underneath, “RESIDENT GHOST HUNTERS’ SON MISSING AFTER EVACUATION”.

Before he could fully process that, he was knocked to the ground. Panicking, he struggled to get back up, but was pinned under something. Hold on, this seems famili—

“What have you done with our son, ghost?” Maddie Fenton demanded, pure hostility lacing her words.

Danny stared wide-eyed at his mother through the net, standing over him and holding an ecto-gun to his forehead.

“I…uh...”

“Speak now. Otherwise, you’ll find out just how quickly a blast from this will obliterate your vile form,” she threatened, pressing the gun right to his head now.

“N-nothing I s-swear! He l-left, with everyone else,” Danny sputtered.

“Lies. You attacked him right before he was going to leave.”

Crap. In retrospect that wasn’t really a good choice for an excuse. “That wasn’t me!” he exclaimed.

In that moment Danny realized his father was also there, standing a few feet behind Maddie. “Scanner’s telling me that you’re the only ecto-entity in Amity Park. So, ‘fess up ghost boy,” Jack said, glaring at his son.

Danny looked between them. His heart dropped when he registered how stressed they both looked. His dad’s face was patchy in places, obviously left unshaven for days. The bags under his eyes only accentuated how bloodshot they were. Danny couldn’t see much of his mom due to her goggles, but she was visibly trembling. This was all because of him. That same nagging feeling he’d ignored for far too long was now threatening to boil over and strangle him. Choosing his next words carefully, he choked out, “Alright yeah, but he left. I swear.”

“No…” Maddie whispered.

“Maddie, maybe the tracker’s malfunctioning again,” Jack suggested.

She looked back at her husband for a few moments. Then, she lowered the gun. Danny didn’t even realize he was holding his breath.

“But...we’ve searched all the groups, and none of the nearby towns are reporting him. Where else can he be?” she pleaded.

“We just have to keep looking Mads,” Jack answered dejectedly.

As soon as his parents started up the GAV and turned at the block, Danny made an instantaneous decision. He transformed to human form, broke through his parents’ net, and ran after them, forgoing all consequences. The guilt was too much to bear. He ran as fast as his “barely passing P.E.” legs could take him. He passed several blocks, adrenaline fueling him to keep going. When he slammed into the shield once again, he looked up to see the GAV stopped far in the distance, with Maddie outside, sobbing into Jack’s shoulder while he held her. They were too far for his screams to reach.

[johnnys-green-pen]

Random E! Thoughts: S2E8 - Trainee

I love how Johnny’s first reaction to seeing an angry dog is a panicky smile. Dude, I don’t think you’ll manage to charm that one...

then again, his injury was nail-related, not dog-related, so apparently he made it work somehow

There is something oddly calm about the way Johnny, Dix and Kel are all kinda doing their own thing while casually keeping up a conversation. That never would’ve happened in early season 1. 

Also, Roy has a great sense for people, even though I don’t think he always knows what to do with it. 

The way Roy hangs on to Johnny after he falls, until Johnny moves out of his range. 

I’m absolutely howling at Roy’s butt being carefully contoured in sand. 

must not make nokia brick joke about biophone

Johnny saying that their telemetry unit is out of order is a bit weird - the biophone’s still working, the terrain’s just blocking their transmission, and I’m pretty sure they always specified that whenever that happened in other episodes. So, script changes? Johnny deciding that the specifics don’t matter? Who knows.

Johnny sees Roy working, grabs a magazine, and sits down on the desk right next to him. 

The “I wouldn’t mind having him for a partner either... partner” and the way they grin at each other. 

Aaah, so many fun character dynamics in this one. Interesting how Johnny avoids confrontation with their trainee - he clearly has his opinions, but he consistently stays quiet and lets Roy do the talking. We don’t usually see Johnny being The Quiet One. It’s probably a testament to just how uncomfortable he is with that situation. The question is why - he sure never had an issue getting into fights with Brackett or later Morton; and yet in this case he clearly doesn’t want any part of it. 

I assume it’s because the trainee is One Of Them, both as an (almost) paramedic and a firefighter. Also, aside from Roy and Chet - so, his best friend, and the guy whom, despite all their bickering, he’s comfortable enough to go on holiday with - Johnny picks his fights so that he always punches up: Doctors, and generally people who can really wreck his day, but never anybody he even remotely has control over. So, snapping at the guy they’re supposed to take care of? Apparently that’s where he draws the line. 

[spideerboy]

Thanks @grammers-synonym-rolls for the tag 

Instructions : Tag 10 followers you want to know better.

Gender: i’m a trans dude :)

Star Sign: virgo. fun fact i was born on 1st September, so i’m always the oldest in my year. 

Sexuality: i’m gay, but i also think i might be aroace? idk i just can’t really ever imagine myself in a romantic relationship with anyone but i know i definitely ain’t attracted to girls lol. 

Height: i got no idea lol. maybe like 5′9″? 

Hogwarts: hufflepuff. i’ve done the pottermore house quiz a few times, and i once got gryffindor, but my old friend refuses to accept that so i had to do it again multiple times to prove that i was a hufflepuff. 

Favourite Animals: cliche i know, but i love dogs a lot. a bit of a more obscure but i LOVE sea cows. they just look amazing and they’re bloody cool. please, look them up. honourable mentions: horses, llamas, giraffes and otters. 

Average Sleep: at a normal time during school i would get around 4 hours. now, it fluctuates massively. sometimes i sleep for 8+ hours, sometimes i stay awake for 40+ hours and then sleep 10ish hours. time is a construct of human perspective. 

Time: currently 6:23

Dogs vs. Cats?: dogs. no question about it. i’ve lived with 5 different dogs and 1 cat, and my cat is evil (although he’s old now so he’s gotten better). meanwhile all my dogs have been actual angels, and my 3 right now are the sweetest things. 

How many blankets I sleep with: i have 1 quilt, but i have a bunch of blankets on my bed that i wear as capes or sit with around my shoulders. i usually get too hot though, so normally my quilt is only semi-on lol. 

Dream Job: ever since i was younger, i’ve wanted to be a vet. there’s a clip of me when i was 5 staying that i wanted to be a vet and doing the hand sign (i was Mr Tumble, i was a cool kid). now, i still want to work with animals, and yeh, i would love to be a vet but it’s a lot of work, so now i focus myself more on the idea of working for the RSPCA or something similar.

When I started this blog: middle of 2016, i think. before that i had a nokia brick and it wouldn’t let me download aps so i had no choice really. 

Followers: 320. 

Why did I made this blog: i thought i was cool, and i needed a place to find my fanfics to read and edits of dan and phil lol. 

How did I come up with my url: originally, my url was phantrash32155. because thats what i was. 32155 was from my “official phandom” bracelet thing. now, my username because i love marvel. spiderman? love him. deers? cool animals. me? a boy. 

Tagging: @2005californiagirl @jusdaun @diamond-duste @thevixentimelord @kieranlefae @adhdysphoria @morgana-deserved-better @philiplestersgiggle  @space-gay-ahsoka @annoyingtastemakerpeanut-blog

ofcourse this doesn’t mean you can’t do it if you haven’t been tagged, you can still do it if you want to (and you don’t have to do it if you don’t want to lol)

[consultingsister-aa]

@theasteriae​ said: ceebastian

𝐎𝐓𝐏 𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 // 𝐀𝐂𝐂𝐄𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆

Who is a night owl: Cecelia. She tries her best not to be but often loses track of time and will fall asleep at her desk, leading Bash to have to get back up and carry her to bed.  Who is a morning person: Bash, he is always up before Cee, sometimes up before she has even woken up. He usually comes back to bed for morning cuddles after his run though. Still, even then, he’s up with the kids. She’ll do after school but she’s a zombie in the morning.  Are they cuddlers: Cee will tell you they’re not, Bash will tell you they are. Cee is lying.  Who is the big spoon: Bash, always. Sometimes Bash will ask Cee to spoon him but she just complains loudly about how stressful it is. It only lasts about twenty seconds.  Who is the little spoon: Cee but technically Puck the dog. Cee is medium spoon.  What is their favourite sleeping position: Cee really can’t be too hot or touching when she’s asleep but she doesn’t mind his arm over her or something like that. As long as she can easily roll away to be a cooler part of the bed, she’s pretty happy.  Who steals all the blankets: Celia actually tends to pile them on top of Bash and then accuse him of stealing them.  What they wear to bed: Very little. In the early days, it would be nothing but since the kids are old enough to climb out of bed, Cee will wear some oversized indie band t-shirt and Bash will wear boxers. Usually with a dressing gown within reaching distance for both of them.  Who likes seeing the other wearing their t-shirt: Bash, although not when he has run out of clean clothes because of it and Cee has two closets filled to bursting.  Who falls asleep mid-conversation: Bash, more and more often since they had kids. Cee really needs to be dark and silent to fall asleep but Bash could do it standing up, tired enough.  Who wakes up in the middle of the night with nightmares: Bash, for sure. Cee has very occasional ones but Sebastian’s PTSD has him suffering from bad nightmares often.  Who accidentally punched the other in their sleep: Cee. Bash can get violent in his sleep but usually he either sleeps in the spare room when he feels a bad night coming on, or Cee wakes up quickly when he starrs moving and can get out of his way. Cee on the other hand will randomly kick and punch with no warning, and then will just roll over like nothing happened.  Who can’t keep their hands to themself: Bash sober, Cee drunk.  Who said “I love you” first: Cee did but she’ll tell you otherwise.  Who would have the other’s picture as their phone background: Celia but mostly because Bash has a Nokia brick and doesn’t trust technology.  Who leaves notes written in fog on the bathroom mirror: Bash writes cute messages and Cee drawns dicks.  Who buys the other cheesy gifts: They both do whenever they travel without each other. Stupid little keyrings and or the free pens they get.  Who initiated the first kiss: Cee did and she will admit to this one. It was a power move! Who kisses the other awake in the morning: Bash does. It’s the safest way to try and persuade Cecelia to get up in the morning.  Who starts tickle fights: Cee but Bash finishes them.  Who asks who if they can join the other in the shower: Bash asks, Cee just gets in.  Who surprises the other in the middle of the day at work with lunch: Bash does! It’s a little risky for Cee to turn up at Bash’s work with no warning but at least once a week he shows up at her office, checks out the models to wind her up and then they go out on a lunch date.  Who was nervous and shy on the first date: Neither, really.  Who kills/takes out the spiders: Bash takes them outside and Cee violently kills them.  Who loudly proclaims their love when they’re drunk: Cecelia, always and loudly. Usually as Bash had got her over his shoulder and they’re making their way home at 10pm. 

[stirringwinds]

I've got 2 questions about the dirt-children: 1) do you think that they forget modern tech since it's so young only to remember later. Like write letters only to remember that cellphones are a thing? 2) Do you think that they crash history courses to remember people how stupid people could be. Like I mean museums tours and the like and the guide starts to wax poetry about one historic person only for them to pop and regale the guided with stories of the evil/stupid thing that person did too?

1. dirt children and tech: i don’t think they forget modern tech per se, but i do headcanon that some of the older nations seem a bit like that 80 year old grand-uncle who doesn’t quite take to tech, or at least uses it someone differently lmao. i see Arthur being the sort who sends paragraphs-long texts, while Alfred replies with k dad or ✅seen. it varies, of course! like, my headcanon is that yao really struggled with dialup internet in the 90s but now…old man spends hours on weibo, knows where to get the best VPNs to sneak around the Great Firewall and censors and is very tech-savvy with the latest apps. kiku is another old™ who would be very comfortable with the latest tech, but simultaneously very interested in traditional writing forms like calligraphy. @historia-vitae-magistras has a really fun headcanon that gilbert still uses a victrola phonograph and tbh i agree he. he probably still has those old nokias that are so rugged that you can drop a brick on them whereas lutz is the one using the latest smartphone. they’re brothers, but a bit different in that regard, lmao. 

2. crashing museum tours and history classes: admittedly, i headcanon that they don’t all do this, because they have to maintain a degree of secrecy regarding this global immortal people conspiracy. but, i definitely headcanon that yao is...very salty about this. if he’s in Xi’An, he has a few choice things to say about the First Emperor. also, i do have a faint idea that their memory is at times...malleable, because of the fluid nature of historiography—our understanding of history changes with new evidence and different perspectives. especially for events that happened a very, very long time ago—so sometimes they (much like humans) are unsure about whether they’ve remembered something accurately.

[definitely-not-an-alb]

Under this cut are 1,4k worth of tumblr!fic based on @beatrice-otter‘s If Peter Grew Up In The Folly AU that started with a single addition about how Peter being a nerdy teen around the Folly would have influenced/modernized it earlier. Only very slightly edited (because I’m drunk and it’s late).

Peter bullies Nightingale into buying a home computer ‘for work’ when he’s still a teen (‘Why can’t you use the ones at the library like everyone else?’ - Peter, taking a deep breath before launching into his prepared 10 point argumentation in favor of modernizing and digitizing the Folly - ‘No, of course I won’t put it on the web, I’ll put it on these disc. Yes there’s a diff- look. Once I’m done transcribing these, you can just put in one of these discs and key-word search whatever you need.)

Thus, ironically, and thanks to one overly nerdy teen living in the station, the Folly becomes the most technologically advanced department of the Met for a short time

(Postmartin doesn’t know if he’s supposed to be delighted or horrified, but Peter seems to know what he’s doing there, security wise, and he wouldn’t want to dampen the youth’s enthusiasm about archivism)

Turns out, Data Input doesn’t bother Peter after all, as long as it’s something he cares about, like architecture, or magic. Even if he keeps getting into forum fights with that one other guy working on the ‘Victorian Architecture’ entry. Historical brick making details aren’t extraneous!

Thomas’s not at all sure about this whole World Wide Web-Thing, especially after he had to comfort Peter over that ‘crowd sourced’ (whatever that means) encyclopedia … thing the boy likes to work on because Peter didn’t want to tell his mum someone put up an internet page full of what basically amounts to lies about her and his dad

‘It just makes me so angry, you know, because I could change it - I should change it, really, because it’s all wrong what it’s saying, but i can’t -’

He really should have seen all of this coming, then

‘How did you break a Nokia?’, Peter asks him, the first time it happens, as if brands and manufacture tell Thomas anything about how possible or impossible a feat that is. ‘Give it here, I might be able to fix it - but you did charge it this time? - How the hell did you get sand in there?’

There’s a certain relief in having Rose back him up on the ‘No Magic (At All) Before You’re Old Enough To Drink’-Rule, because Thomas knows from experience Peter doesn’t listen to him. Ever.

So Peter ropes him into his magical experiments involving proper protocols and the old lab equipment and an army of tiny calculators.

Peter’s A-levels are better in this AU, but maybe he still can’t draw, or he’s good, but not quite good enough (Uni waiting lists were invented by the devil) so he spends a year of so actually employed by the Folly as an ‘Independent Data Management Contractor’ or something ridiculous like that.

Also he might be seriously reconsidering that whole Architecture-thing. He might have prepared his application for Hendon already, actually.

‘You wanted to be an architect since you were six, Peter. Six.’ - ‘I also told you I want to be a wizard. Let me be your apprentice. Please.’

Thomas doesn’t know how to explain that what Peter was thinking of when he was six isn’t what being a wizard is, and that whatever he’s thinking of now isn’t it either. Never will be.

He tries to explain that it isn’t up to him, but to the commissioner, and that he’s doing just fine on his own.

‘Well, accidents happen?’, Peter says ‘What does the Met do when you’re not there for once?’, and Thomas can’t tell him how much he worries about that too. ‘And you’ve been working more! You said I shouldn’t try to learn because it’s all going away anyways, and now you’re working so much more then you used too.’

Thomas wants to argue that’s not true, but Peter made a graph. And what is he supposed to say when faced with that thick red ‘Number of Major Falcon Incidents per year’ line curving upwards sharply, it’s prognosis well on it’s way to a number last reached before the war.

‘It’s still not up to me.’, he says, somewhat helplessly, and with a sigh, ‘Are you sure?’

Thomas, remembering all those evenings spent reading out loud (because, damn him, he still thinks that’s a family bonding activity for all ages) of watchmen and selfish witches and truth, justice, freedom, reasonably priced love and a hard boiled egg, thinks that he really, really should have seen this coming.

So Peter spends a frustrating week or two desperately trying to create a werelight - Thomas will be damned if he lets him join up without ever proving that he’s not the rare case of absolute incompetency. But he succeeds (impressivly fast, even thought Thomas would never tell him that).

Also, turns out Peter hadn’t told Rose about his decision before already making Thomas say yes. There will be words, about that.

For now, he has two years to convince the Commissioner and the Homeoffice. He takes Peter’s charts with him.

There’s accusations of nepotism, never officially, of course, but Peter makes a game out of how many pints it takes until someone asks him if he’s really the weirdo DCI’s bastard or some such. He’d think it would pass around that he’s not, but alas, no such luck. He figures it’s the least annoying thing people can pester him about, in the end.

Peter’s not yet 22 when Thomas has to take him to the Commissioner for his pledge, and for a second there when Peter stumbles about the cloth-part (they practiced, of course, but he still always does) Thomas can’t help but think how painfully young Peter still looks to him.

Peter isn’t his boy, of course, never will be, and Thomas knows Rose made sure he knew about his dad, knew what really happened, but still he can’t shake the feeling -

He’d been scared Peter wouldn’t be up to this, but now he’s more worried he won’t be.

But Peter takes well to magic, and surprisingly even better to policing - maybe not in the way he or Neblett would like, but certainly in the way he’d scribbled a thin blue line for ‘Reported Minor Intracommunity Conflicts - DemiMonde’ into his charts and graphs from the beginning. He gets along with the Rivers, most of them, and with the Other generally in a way Thomas never could

(never, he has to admit to himself with some shame, cared too. He’d like to say Peter is just young enough, new enough to fly under their radars, but he has to admit, that’s not it. And he certainly didn’t expect this, with Peter’s history. He finds he’s glad it didn’t turn out differently.)

And when they are standing for the first time together on a deadly quiet doorstep there’s little apprehension in Peter, past the obvious tension appropriate to the occasion. And whatever there is in his eyes when Thomas hands him the phosphorous grenade, it’s not anything Thomas has to be worried about.

He’s more relieved, that evening then he’d like to admit.

Then there’s that shout, the big one. They’d had ‘big ones’ before, Major Incidents, but in retrospect, Thomas has to admit (shamefully, again, always shamefully) that he should have seen that this one was different. And the number it did on Peter. He definitely should have seen that.

But in the beginning, it’s just Abdul with a body for Peter to look over (’Yappy Dog’, he tells Thomas on the phone while heading from the morgue to the plaza. ‘One hell of a supernatural yappy dog’) and a maybe magical portico beheading and an interview with a talkative, surprisingly autonomous ghost, that pegs who exactly Peter is halfway through the conversation and starts to clamp up.

Just as well, seeing as there’s a scrappy PC yelling ‘Oi, what do you think you’re doing? This is a crime scene!’ at him while marching full speed across the plaza.

PC Lesley May is the kind of gal he’d probably be best friends with had they come up together. ‘I asked Neblett about her, says she’s a great copper. Incredibly perky.’ - ‘Oh, I’m sure she is’, says Thomas when Peter tells him about her later that week over kebab, making him sputter. ‘No that’s not - not like that! I mean everyone’s saying she’s going places, you know.’ - ‘You think so, too?’ - ‘I guess? Doesn’t matter, really, she wouldn’t recognize magic if it smacked her in the face, and Seawoll already called dips on her, apparently. Had her assigned to his murder team, and so I thought we might make her our liaison.’

‘And the case?’ - ‘Yeah.’, Peter says. ‘Definitely one of ours.’

[bruciewayne]

they got it right. (the butterfly effect remix)

remix of itsallavengers' the butterfly effect. there's an ao3 link somewhere. and a masterpost somewhere, if you want to check them out.

“Bucky’s alive, and he killed Tony’s parents.”

Loki’s words from earlier spin around Steve’s mind, over and over, he’s hardly paying attention to what Fury’s saying, something about ‘being a team’, making the Avengers official. Steve’s fine with that, he’s pretty much only good for war anyway, but all that’s going through his head are those damn words.

Loki had been disguised as Steve, he’d claimed that he wasn’t Loki, but he’d called Stark ‘Tony’. Steve’s almost certain that they’ll never end up on first-name basis.

None of it made any sense, he saw Bucky die, he saw him fall, he heard his scream, still, most nights, Howard died in the 90s, half a century after Bucky did. But then again, he’s alive, 70 years after he thought he was done, after he should be done.

“The Good Captain, daydreaming, are you?” Stark’s voice cuts through his thoughts, from across the conference table.

Steve doesn’t hate him, not after the battle, after the nuke, after how seamlessly they managed to fight, but he’s not sure that he likes him. Tony Stark is an asshole. By all definitions. But he can’t deny that he’s a hero, Steve was wrong before, he’ll freely admit it, Tony Stark is an ass, but he’s also a hero. Steve respects that.

He also can’t deny that the guy has some sort of inexplainable pull, like he’s the world’s brightest light and Steve’s the world’s most confused moth.

“If that’s what they call thinking now,” Steve says, instead any of the moth-bullshit.

It’s fun to play up to the ‘confused old guy’ shtick. He has to. Find joy in it or let it get to him. He has the chance for a new life, he’s not going to spend it miserable. He might even get a chance to live it with Bucky. If Loki was telling the truth.

Stark rolls his eyes and drums his fingers on the tabletop, “We gotta get you more caught up. Anyway-”

The focus shifts back to something else, and before he knows it, everyone’s standing up and shaking hands and leaving.

“Stark, a word?” Steve asks, just as he’s about to leave, the last person, save for Steve himself, who’s still sitting down.

Stark looks confused for a moment but then sits back down, “Sure, Cap, what can I do for you?”

Tony’s pretty sure that he’s gonna try and apologise again, as much as he was a dick back in the helicarrier, Rogers is exactly the way Aunt Peggy described him, but nothing like the way his dad did. Except that he is.

Tony’s not sure what to think of him, he’d never admit it, but Rogers confuses the hell out of him. He’s just as good as the history books, Aunt Peggy and his dad say, Tony’s never been the best at reading people, but even in the way he talks and holds himself, there’s this unmistakable good that he radiates, pure and simple, but at the same time, there’s a melancholy air about him, like a rain cloud above his head. He’d seen him smile once, we won, and it was bright, sunny, like the rainclouds had gone.

And then he’d never seen it again, even though, in the past few weeks, they’ve seen each other quite a bit, but he’s never seen him smile, he’s seen the horribly fake one he puts on for the press and for people who thank him for his duty, and for some reason that tugs at the heartstrings Tony pretends not to have, more than when he watches Rogers drop completely, when he thinks no-one’s looking. It’s not obvious, but his shoulders go from perpendicular to his neck to obtuse.

It tears Tony apart a little, when he sees him, back ramrod straight, every single muscle tensed, when they’re just talking.

He carries the world on his shoulders, Tony realises, because he thinks that it’s his duty. Even though he doesn’t even really know him, not really, hours worth of bedtime stories didn’t count, it feels like a universal wrong for someone that good to be so, so sad but he’s never met a problem he couldn’t solve.

So even though Steve Rogers is a bit of an asshole, he’s also sad, nothing like the guy Aunt Peggy talks about, and yeah, he doesn’t know him, but, if anything, he deserves to be happy.

Stark gives Steve his undivided attention, and a little part of him is pleased, smug, that he’s managed to capture it, Stark is a genius, Howard and a half, maybe, definitely, more, and it’d been almost impossible to get Howard to focus solely on one thing.

Steve's throat closes up, it’s stupid. But he has to make sure, just check. If Loki was right, Stark deserves to know, if he wasn’t, then it didn’t matter.

“Come on Cap, neither of us are getting any younger,” Tony prompts, Rogers is scared, apprehensive of something, it’s plain on his face. It’s making Tony scared, because, despite everything in the last few weeks, Captain America was his childhood hero, he was invincible, to see him scared…

Steve takes a shaky breath, he can’t break down in front of Stark, he respects him, he’s not too sure the respect is mutual, and he’d lose it if there were any if he broke down now, “Loki told me something, Bucky, my friend from before the war, he’s alive. And, and he killed your parents.”

Stark looks at him for a moment, then stands up and leaves.

Tony leaves, he had to, he, God, he’s not going to have a panic attack in the middle of a SHIELD hallway. He makes it a couple steps down and finds an empty office, full of boxes, he stumbles in, locks the door and slides down to the floor.

He takes a few deep breaths, tries to slow down his heart, presses a hand to his arc reactor, waits for the dark spots to fade.

One of them had to be lying. Rogers or Loki. Loki. Probably, hopefully. God, he hopes.

If it is true, first thing, he has to run checks to see if Rogers’ friend is alive, somehow, and then, find footage of the crash.

He’d tried, before, he’d looked at everything he could, every single tape he could find, through legal and more creative means, he’d tried and tried and tried, countless sleepless nights, running on coffee, Adderall, scotch and other, more creative things, right until Aunt Peggy had come in and held him as he cried, and told him to put them to rest.

Logically, it couldn’t be true, Rogers’ friend would’ve been well into his 70s, not to mention that he’d fallen off a train in the Alps in the 40s. But, by all means, Tony shouldn’t be alive, neither should Rogers.

Tony’s never been the guy to stick to petty things like ‘logic’ anyway.

So he gets himself together and goes back to the conference room, where Rogers still is, facing out towards the city below them, standing at parade rest.

Stark didn’t believe him, Steve didn’t blame him, he had to move on, both of them. It’s unfair to him for Steve to bring back his parents’ death, from over 20 years ago, just because he still has his hangups.

He gets up, and then looks over the city, it’d changed so much, cleaner, taller, bluer, but the people were the same, New Yorkers are just as rude and uncaring as they were. As much as he doesn’t like rude people, he finds it oddly comforting. After losing everything, everyone, his home is still somewhat the same.

Not really. His home isn’t his anymore.

He’s crying before he knows it, tears silently sliding over his cheeks and dripping on the star in the center of his chest. He fucking hates it. Everyone and everything he’s ever known is gone, all he has is Captain America, the next fight.

He wipes the tears away, the leather of his gloves scratch roughly on his face, probably leaving marks that’ll fade in seconds. He reminds himself that there’s no point in crying, he’s here, he has to deal, that or die, and people are counting on him, so that’s not an option.

Deal or die. The ice has already proved that he can’t die, so he has to deal.

He hears the door open after five busses have gone down the same road, probably whoever needs the room next, he turns to apologise and get out, but he sees Stark, a little rumpled, a little breathless, and he gets deja vu, Stark looks like the soldiers after shellshock. He doesn’t ask, it’s rude, and Stark is stable.

“Let’s find your friend,” he says, with a hint of a smile.

“Stark, are you sure, I don’t want to, I don’t want to bring up anything you’ve put to rest, or waste your time, Loki could be lying,” Rogers says, so sincerely, earnestly, fuck he’s such a good guy, through and through.

“Rogers. It’s nothing, I can make an algorithm, have it run, update you on the results,” Tony assures him. He has most of the algorithm already, he just needs to adjust some code blocks and functions, maybe set up auto updates, does Rogers have a phone?

“They gave me something called a Nokia. Agent Barton called it a brick,” Rogers says, out of the blue.

“What?”

Rogers turns bashful, the tips of his ears glow red, and he looks uncharacteristically unsure of himself, “You asked if I have a phone.”

“I was talking out loud, of course,” Tony mutters, “wait, a Nokia? Sorry Rogers, no can do, come to Stark tower tomorrow, 1500 hours, we’ll get you a real phone.”

Whatever SHIELD were doing to introduce him into the century, they weren’t doing a good job.

“Stark--”

“Tony.”

This time, it’s Steve’s turn to be confused, “What?”

“My name. It’s Tony. Use it.”

And with that, he spins around and leaves the room again.

SHIELD’s way of introducing him to the century is by giving him a laptop, explaining the laptop. It’s a computer and a typewriter, under an inch thick and has all the world’s information. It blows Steve’s mind.

As soon as he figures out how to use it, he loves it, SHIELD make him take classes on it, what’s acceptable now, what changed, the wars, the politics, who’s who. They’re doing it a decade a week.

Someone, maybe Agent Romanoff, told him that they were going to give him a tutor and books, but giving him a laptop seemed faster, two birds, one stone she’d said. He’s glad they went about it this way, he could put in all the mandatory hours and then explore, all in his own time.

The next day, he took out his motorbike, making sure that his phone and wallet - they’d given him a ‘debit card’ because he has way more money than he knows what to do with, because someone had managed to convince someone else that, technically, wasn’t KIA, only MIA and he has 70 years worth of backpay - were in his pocket and went off to Stark Tower.

Tony’s at the front, sunglasses perched on his nose, doing something on his phone, leaning against the door. He looks up when Steve stops in front of him.

“Afternoon, Capsicle,” he greets, pocketing his phone.

“Capsicle?”

Tony grins, “Yep, Captain and icicle, Capsicle.”

“Yeah okay,” Steve concedes, a smile forming on his face, he misses the camaraderie and friendship of the Commandos, Tony reminds him of them, a little.

“Right, bring the bike ‘round back, there’s an elevator to my workshop,” Tony says straightening up and walking next to Steve as he slowly drives the bike around the tower.

They put the bike on one of the lower floors and then go up to Tony’s workshop.

The elevator ride is awkward, both of them staring at the numbers blinking higher, silent, elevator music hadn’t disappeared, he’s sure of it.

“Tony,” he says, suddenly, “why doesn’t your elevator play music?”

Tony snaps out of his thoughts and turns to face Steve, he laughs a little, “Everyone complained,” he says, shrugging, “JARVIS can play some for you, if you want.”

“JARVIS?” Is there another person in with them? He couldn’t see anyone but himself and Tony, an invisible person?

“Oh, right, yeah, JARVIS say hi,” Tony says, not to Steve.

“Good afternoon, Captain Rogers,” the… ceiling? says, in a smooth British accent. Tony’s elevator is weirder than he thought.

“Tony,” he says slowly, trying very hard not to break down, “why is there an invisible British man in your elevator?” who knows my name!?

“JARVIS,” Tony says, waving his hand about, in lieu of an explanation.

“Captain Rogers, I am an AI created by Tony Stark, I monitor this building, but I can be accessed through most devices, provided certain circumstances, my primary purpose is to ensure the wellbeing of my creator, you can interact with me by speaking aloud.” The ceiling man - JARVIS, says.

“JARVIS, do you know everything?” Steve asks looking up.

“I know as much as I am accessible to.”

“What are you accessible to?”

“Anything online.”

“What’s my middle name?”

“Grant.”

“Wh--”

“You know you don’t have to look at the ceiling every time you ask him something,” Tony cuts in, a fond smile on his face. He can’t help it. Cap, he’s so curious, and so clearly blown away, and in wonder of JARVIS, he feels a sense of pride, somewhere deep within him, because who knew that Captain America is a huge dork?

He gives Tony a look, “His voice comes from the ceiling, so I’ll talk to the ceiling,” he says, determined.

Before Tony can retort, the doors slide open and he’s greeted with his workshop lighting up.

“Holy shit, Tony,” he hears from his side, in a hushed whisper.

Steve’s eyes are wide as he takes in everything, it’s like he stepped into the future again, it’s- incredible.

Tony feels that tiny spike of pride again, because Captain America swore, that he tries to tamp down, because, yeah, he knows he's great, he’s a classified genius, he doesn’t need some nonagenarian to tell him.

Tony takes Steve and sits him down and begins explaining the algorithm, Steve’s attentive, focussed, he asks questions when he doesn't get something, after, maybe an hour, Tony gets JARVIS to run everything, it’ll take a while, but they have time.

Their conversation ebbs and flows, at a quiet moment, Steve suddenly sits up, “Tony, if he is alive, and he did, cause your parent’s death, what- what happens, I can’t- I--”

“Hey, hey, we’ll deal with it, okay,” Tony reassures, he’s the last guy anyone should go to for comfort, but Steve, he needs the support right now.

Tony gives Steve a Starkphone, a model they’ll release in a couple months, it’s ready, all of it, but something about PR and release times mean that they can’t release it just yet. He shows him how to use it and sets up JARVIS, he’s so full of wonder and gratitude, Tony’s heart aches after him.

They talk about the team, the Avengers, Tony tells Steve his plans, Steve tells his of a road trip, they go out to get dinner together, it’s awkward and stilted, but they might be getting somewhere.

Steve thinks that they’re on the way to becoming friends. He can’t fuck it up. He won’t.

Over the next few months, Tony stays in New York more than he has to, and they become no closer to finding Bucky, but closer as friends. Then Tony dies.

But he doesn’t.

“Can’t kill me,” he’d said, banged up, but with a grin. Because his house got blown up, he had to stay in New York, in the Tower, and then everyone stayed in the Tower, Avengers Tower.

Steve meets Dum-E. This time, it’s Tony who’s absolutely blown away, because Steve smiles so, so bright when he’s in his workshop, playing with Dum-E, it’s ridiculous, and Tony feels a spike of affection, and, love, and fear. Because what if he fucks it up.

When Tony lets Steve meet Dum-E, Steve’s in awe once again, because Tony’s opened up a tiny part of his heart to him, and Steve’s determined to make sure that he doesn’t, won’t regret it.

New York, Brooklyn, it still isn’t really home to him, not anymore, but the Tower, Tony’s workshop, being around Tony, he feels at home.

They become closer, best friends then, something more. They don’t fuck it up.

The first time Tony has a panic attack in front of Steve, it’s from a nightmare, about a month into their relationship.

Steve wakes him up by shaking his shoulder, and Tony lashes out in his sleep, punching Steve right on his cheekbone, the bruise is barely there when Tony comes to, but he still notices it.

“Steve, was that--” Tony asks, voice rough, small. He wouldn’t blame Steve for leaving, for breaking up with him, but God, he hopes that they could still be friends.

“You, yeah, but, hey, hey, Tony, it doesn’t hurt, I’d take a thousand punches to make sure you’re ok,” Steve says, wrapping an arm around him and pressing a kiss to his temple, lingering there for a second.

“Okay, thanks,” Tony mumbles, quiet, because, in that moment, he realises that what he has with Steve, it’s a sure thing.

“You don’t have to thank me, sweetheart, it’s what I’m here for,” Steve says, pulling away to look at Tony, promising him a million different things with one look.

He’s beautiful, in the faint moonlight JARVIS let in, Tony doesn’t deserve him, not in a million lifetimes could he do enough good to ever deserve Steve Rogers, but Steve had chosen him, and he didn’t want to give him any reasons to regret it.

Tony just wraps his arms back around him, holding him tighter, leaning his head just above his heart, listening to it beat, strong and steady, letting it lull him back to a dreamless sleep.

In the morning, Steve kisses his forehead to wake him up, with a cup of coffee, and then asks about what he should do, if Tony has a panic attack again. Tony tells him, what’s dangerous, what he doesn’t want, and Steve listens, pays attention.

Tony tells him what they’re about. The army from space. Steve promises him that they’re ok, that, if he wanted to, he could protect the earth.

It reminds him, strikingly of when Steve’d asked if he has shell-shock, voice curious, not judgmental, a few months into their friendship, when they could easily call each other friends. Tony had given him a crash course in the progress of mental health and attitudes towards it.

They call it PTSD, now. And there’s doctors, head-doctors. To help.

Steve had then, tentatively, asked if he could get him in touch with a head doctor. Which had meant that SHIELD hadn’t bothered.

Yeah, sure.

The first thing Tony had done, after making sure Steve gets the best of the best, was go over to SHIELD and tell them what he thought of bringing a guy 70 years into the future and not even checking him for any trouble upstairs.

Tony loves him. It doesn’t hit him, it’s not like a truck to the face, it’s not violent, loud, it’s relief, finallysomething, somewhere, says.

Good thing he loved him back.

Then SHIELD falls. Oversight, protection, it’s needed, but not like that.

Steve wakes up in DC General, Tony’s by his bedside, with Sam, music’s playing, but he only has one thing on his mind.

Tony hugs him, kisses him, desperately, Sam leaves them with a knowing smile.

“You’re not allowed to die, Steve- I--” Tony chokes out, he can’t lose him.

“I’m not going anywhere, baby, I’m right here,” he says, hoarsely, kissing him, over and over.

He’s not allowed to be discharged just yet, so he convinces Tony to sleep in the hospital bed with him, he has to hold him, and he has to tell him.

His heart is beating a million miles an hour, Tony can probably hear it, feel it, he doesn’t want to fuck this up, he can’t.

“Tony, he was right, Tony, Loki was right, Bucky, he, the Winter Soldier killed them,” Steve rushes out, all in one breath.

Tony sits up, suddenly, jolting the bed. Steve grunts a little. “Sorry,” he murmurs, kissing Steve on the forehead.

Tony looks down at Steve and his heart just breaks, Steve looks nothing short of terrified, something he hadn’t seen on him in, years now, he’s looking him in the eye, his eyes are so, so, blue, bright and unrepenting, guarded, his hair’s a mess on his forehead, flopping over his eyes.

It hits Tony, just how much he’s changed since he met him, Steve was, confused, mostly, lost, scared, he used to pretend that he wasn’t, for fear of seeming weak, Tony remembers Steve telling him, when he thought that he was asleep, quietly.

He was so, so guarded, and tense, all the time, now, he’s vulnerable to him, he’s changed and grown so, so much, Tony’s so goddamn proud of him.

He takes a deep breath, “Okay, thank you for telling me.”

“Tony, he was, he’s brainwashed, it wasn’t--” Steve rushes to say, almost pleading, what for, he doesn’t know. For Tony to not leave him, maybe.

“It wasn’t him, I know,” Tony says, softly.

He’s made his peace with it, he’s had two years to entertain the possibilities, but he knows what it means: his boyfriend's previously-dead, now-brainwashed assassin, killed his parents.

It doesn’t look pretty, but he can’t change the past, and even if he could, he had to let them rest. But he could help Barnes, find him, see how they could help him.

“Tony, I get it if you want to break up,” Steve says, small and scared. His voice breaks halfway through the sentence, and Tony’s hand immediately comes out to cup his face, thumb stroking gently over the bruise on his cheekbone.

“I don’t, Steve, you told me, I’m happy that you did, but I don’t, I don’t want to break up.”

The reaction is immediate, Steve relaxes under his hand and leans more into his touch, “We’re good,” he whispers, mostly to himself over and over, until Tony wraps an arm around him, mindful of his injuries.

“Yeah, baby, we’re good.”

[extraterrestreilegal]

Chapter IX

It was getting towards the end of my first freshman year and I’d done nothing but skip school, smoke weed, and work. I stopped going to the gym every now and then because I’d developed a new addiction, working out. It was getting out of hand, I’d become obsessed with losing weight that I stopped caring about other aspects of my life. I wasn’t even focused on bettering my mental state anymore, I figured if I could change how I looked, my parents wouldn’t have to look at an ugly disappointment. The unfortunate thing was that they probably liked that I was working.

They were no longer buying my brother or I anything. Their only worry was getting my younger brother to not turn out like us. I’m glad they cared about him and now were truly focusing on being better parents, but they forgot Alex and I were still children. We needed our parents now more than anything, but they found it easier to mold a newborn than realize their two other children were hurting.

It didn’t seem like it to anyone outside of my family, but that household was a toxic environment to grow up in. Remember how I said my parents used to beat us? Well they also beat us when we’d misbehave or as much as move a muscle without being told to. They beat it into our brains when we were younger to not speak unless spoken to. To be quiet when the adults were talking. They didn’t teach us these things, they were beat into us. Whatever they could find near them, that was what was used to hit us. One time it was an old brick of a phone made by the company Nokia that knocked me unconscious. Another time it was a knife that luckily the back end hit my head. On another occasion it was a bowl of boiling soup being thrown at Alex’s face. You see, I grew up hearing kids complain about their parents smacking them or hitting them with a belt. I wish it had just been a belt. I wish it had been just a smack. I wished for years that the torture would end. And it never did because I was stuck on trying to make my parents happy and proud of me instead of doing it for myself.

I spent most of life trying to please them, and then one day I met someone who would change my life forever. It had been raining during the day and my friends and I had made plans to go out to the club. I was young but I had been going to the club for a bit now. There was a local hispanic night club and the bouncers knew my brother and his friends, so they would let us in to party. I didn’t talk to them much but I went because either my parents didn’t want me to be at home, or I myself didn’t want to be home. One night my plans fell through and I was walking the road behind my neighborhood. I’d left my phone at home because it was another one of those days where nothing was going right, so I just wanted to distance myself from everyone. It eventually stopped raining and I decided to go on a walk with my clothes still on ready to go to the club.

As I’m walking in the middle of the road, I’m looking up at the now-clear night sky thinking. I was feeling upset because I by now I had been using the club to get myself to try like women more. I tried really hard to find women attractive but as I was getting older, I was only looking at the men. I would go to the club with the thought in my head that I would go up to a woman and ask her to dance, but it never felt right. I didn’t know it then that nothing was wrong with me, but it was something I didn’t want. I wanted to be normal like everyone else and not have to think this way. But whenever I’d get the courage to ask a woman to dance, I’d get nervous because I’d start to look at their man and think to myself, “Damn, can’t I just ask you?”

As I’m walking down the dark road, I see a light appear behind me. It was only about 10:00PM but growing up undocumented, I was raised to constantly watch my shoulder. I was raised to always make sure I knew which way to run if any danger was near. No one saw how my upbringing and undocumented status was causing me anxiety and paranoia because I was also raised to hide it. Who knew I’d be playing hide in seek in my own messed up ways, unlike the other kids who got the chance to live out their childhood as the children they were.

As the light was growing closer, I tried to look over my shoulders to see what kind of car it was. I had no luck as the bright lights were blinding me from seeing the top of the car to check for police lights. The lights were now directly behind me but they’d stopped moving towards me. All of a sudden I realized the car had stopped directly behind me. If you know anything about the road I was on, you’d understand why I didn’t run yet. The particular part I was by, the road had ditches on both sides of the road. If I made a run for it over the ditches though, there was a chance I’d fall in, defeating the purpose of me leaving the scene as soon and swiftly as possible. But if I ran in any other direction, the car could easily follow me, since there was no where to run towards but an open field or down the road.

All of a sudden I heard the sound of a window sliding down. Unsure of what was going on I continued to walk like nothing was wrong. But then I heard a girl’s voice yell, “Hey you! Walking! Come here!”

I know what some of you may be thinking, wasn’t I just scared of the car? I was, but curiosity took over me and I stopped walking and turned around. I made my way towards the car and I could slowly but surely make out the silhouette of two girls. As I approached the window, I saw a brown haired, fair skinned, girl smiling at me. She looked lost but seemed glad I actually turned around to talk to a stranger in the middle of the night on a dark road. She then proceeded to introduce herself, “Hi there! I’m Sarah, first of all, why are you walking alone on a dark a road in the middle of the night? And secondly, I got lost and I was wondering if you could help me out and point me to which direction the highway towards Detroit is.”

Confused but now sure they didn’t mean any harm, I replied in a tone I can only describe as the gay-lisp, “Oh you know, plans fell through. The usual haha. But you’re actually very close, you just keep going down the road, make a right, and eventually you’ll get there.”

Before I even gave her a chance to respond, I turned around and started walking my little gay ass back in the direction I was heading. As I was walking away I could hear slight arguing coming from their car, but I didn’t pay attention to it until I heard the girl in the passenger seat say, “No! He looks too young!”

Then I heard Sarah’s voice calling for me, “Hey night walker! Come back!”

Hesitantly but surely, I turned around and made my way back towards the open window. As I was walking up, I could see Sarah smiling now that my vision had adjusted to the brightness of the headlights. I get to the window and she said, “Hi, Sarah again, what’s your name? This is Tina.”

I smiled and said, “Hi, I’m Frito, so what exactly am I too young for?”

She giggled and said, “Don’t mind Tina, she just doesn’t seem to remember we were all young at some point. How old are you?”

I thought about it for a second and I wasn’t sure whether to tell them how old I really was, “Four—sixteen.”

She laughed for a second and said, “So are you fourteen or sixteen? Come on there’s no need to lie haha.”

I sighed and said, “Okay fine, yeah, I’m only fourteen, but what am I still too young for?”

She said, “Well, you said your plans fell through. I was just wondering if you’d like to join us.”

At this point I hadn’t processed much of what she had said or I probably would’ve never done what I did. I simply asked, “Join you? I don’t know you guys.”

She laughed and said, “Well join us and you can get to know us. I don’t think we’re that bad haha.”

I laughed and said, “Alrighty, where are we going?”

She smiled and said, “Oh, we’re just going to Walmart for a few things.”

Now, I hadn’t thought about why she originally was asking on directions towards Detroit, but that would eventually become apparent. Without much hesitation, I agreed and she unlocked the doors to let me into the car. It was a 2003 Buick LaSabre and the seats were a beige fabric that was clearly stained with ashes. I could smell the faint smell of freshly burned marijuana and cigarettes. I of course didn’t mind because by now I was smoking every day so I’d been accustomed to it. We were making our way towards Walmart, which they also had no idea where it was, and suddenly Sarah turned and asked me, “Do you drink?”

Now I know I said I’d grown up drinking my whole life, but when I really started smoking weed in eighth grade, I’d found that it’d been helping with my now developed eating disorders and mental disorders. Whenever I drank by now, I never felt like myself. By now it’d always felt like the more I drank, the higher the chances were of me turning out like my father. So I tried not to as much as I could—which unfortunately is hard to avoid living in a hispanic household. But without much thought, I simply responded with, “Not too much these days.”

Sarah smiled and said, “Oh, these days?”

I just looked at her and smiled because I didn’t really want to explain my messed up life and how I’d been living until that point. The rest of the ride to Walmart was short but quiet. We eventually made it to Walmart and I will never forget the grin on Sarah and Tina’s face before we stepped out of the car. I knew something was up but I tried to dismiss it as much as I could because I didn’t want to make it clear that I was now feeling slightly uncomfortable.

As we made our way to the door, Sarah and Tina were playing around like elementary school kids. Trying to jump on top of each other but laughing and yelling hysterically for each other to stop. I smiled because I hadn’t been around genuine happiness like that, I was used to being around people who found happiness artificially. I was admittedly jealous that I didn’t have anyone I could be like that with. But I was now feeling glad I had made the choice to come along on a trip with two strange friendly girls. Unknown to me then, this night would be the start of the life I lived in secrecy. The start of excruciating pain that’d last a life time and traumatize my young mind for the rest of my life. I was looking for happiness and love in places unknown to me. I was used to doing things on my own, so why should my quest for finding those things be any different? I had to do it all on my own. And I eventually did.