#it will trip the code scanner probably

[sophiedrinkincoffee]

you probably can't work for lumon if you have tattoos

[simpy-simpers]

Day 9! Together

Oops! Tripped and drew them

also screw the order of the prompts I do what I want WHEN I want (I have 'Shadows' sketched out but I don't want to do itttttt, same with 'Memory')

Probably gonna end up drawing all the prompts across the summer because I'm slow asf. Anyway, take the boys.

RAHHHH ok ok ok I really want to go to bed so I won't say much but I'll finish typing out what I've got.

So far, the daycare closes around 7pm for everyday guests, certain memberships will have different perks and employees can even leave their children there during their shifts, and if their shifts go past 7 pm then just one of the attendants will take over blah blah blah.

Past 7pm Sun and Moon swap out, one going to take rounds and the other watching the children (if there are any). During the Raves and parties, they're multipurpose. Sun loves handing out snacks and drinks (he has a chip scanner in his palm!! So when he grabs people's fazwatches or cards it can charge depending.) Moon usually acts as both a waiter and security.

Sun and Moon are NOT the only waiters/security. There are staff bots everywhere, and Sun and Moon are only really for public attention and appeal. Sure you get to see the Glamrocks and have the time of your life at a rave... but you also get to get a photo and have a conversation with the beloved daycare attendants?? You bet people will come for that.

They don't appear at all of the shows, but they'll be there for a good amount. They do not (usually) perform on stage.

Sun and Moon were almost scrapped due to their AIs jumbling together, but Parts + Service (P+S) figured that if they separated the code enough, that it would eventually sort itself out. It did not!!! They are not ok!!!

Say you take two containers of marbles and mix them together. You can eventually pick them out, right? It may take a second but it works. Now say you have blue and orange marbles in a pile, and then you pour two types of sand on it, blue and orange again. All the blue, marbles and sand, is Moon, and all the orange is Sun. You can sort the marbles out just fine, but that sand is near impossible to fully separate.

As such, they've mixed in little ways.

Sun is equally as aggressive as Moon, and Sun's crippling anxiety got spread over both of them. They did get separated in the remodeling and remaking of them, causing for a lot of.. adjusting. They can't charge alone. It scares them. One would sit with the other while they charge, but their batteries suffered until management made the cords longer to allow them to 'sleep' right by eachother. Their internal monologues are connected, they say their heads are 'too quiet' without the other.

I remember being obsessed with these guys when I was like 14, and I still remember the characterizations I had given them. Keep in mind the art above is not terribly accurate!!! It was a bit rushed.

Anyway, if anyone would be interested in a dca reader fic (Same style as my other Fic) I'd honestly write it. It'd probably be up to interpretation whether you want it to be romantic or platonic (IF I ended up writing it). I'd have a basic plot in mind, but it'd mostly be centric around just watching their shenanigans. That, and finding burnt antique robots with ungodly resolve.

Anywho! I'll be off to sleep. Again, feel free to ask any questions, I really don't mind.

Stay Simping yall!

[jfhikes]

Day 14: MM 207 - 226

I woke up and broke camp in quick fashion this morning, needing to be about a mile downtrail by 8am to meet my partner for a resupply (despite the USPS’s best efforts). Close to the Highway 77 underpass, I availed myself of a water cache, chugging an extra liter and backwashing my filter in preparation for the next section.

I ran into another hiker on the other side of the highway, and we made small talk for a few minutes while we both waited. Eventually, he headed up trail, and a few minutes later my partner arrived. She bore my resupply box, as well as a few extra items (fresh fruit, coffee, pastry), and I wolfed them all down. The “hiker hunger” seemed to be starting to kick in. I sorted through the items in my resupply box, as I had purchased some extra meals in Summerhaven in case this box didn’t make it.

This is probably a good time to describe what happened to my Oracle resupply box. When we mailed the package, it seems that the automated label scanner misread the last digit of the Oracle zip code, changing it to the Green Valley zip code (about 40 minutes south of Tucson). The package arrived in Green Valley, was sent back to Tucson once they realized the error, and was then sent back to Green Valley. They once again sent it back to Tucson, where the package mistakenly picked up a customs declaration label for someone else’s package: geological samples going to Vancouver, BC.

Now that my box had a customs label, it was sent to California, where the customs error was found but not the zip code error, so the package arrived in Green Valley again. Shortly after this, I called the Green Valley post office, and they agreed to hold onto the package until my partner could grab it, and she then brought it out to me in Oracle. Priority mail postage can buy an awful lot of travel for some dehydrated food and granola bars, likely longer than my entire AZT trip.

After the resupply, I started hiking again. It was 9am and I’d only gone a single measly mile. I ran back into the hiker from earlier, and we made pleasant conversation for several miles. Along the way, we ran into two guys on horseback who seemed very impressed with the trip, saying that we “had more balls than they did”. Dubious honor, but well intentioned.

After a lunch break around noon thirty I was off again, aiming for the water source around the day’s fourteenth mile: a large stock tank. It lay a thousand feet or so off trail, but stood out on a midsize hill. I met another hiker here who I’d also seen near Summerhaven a few days back. The tank looked a bit green, but filtered well and tasted neutral. There was a ladder to get to the open top of the tank, and I could see some small fish swimming around in it, presumably to cut down on algae buildup. I drank a good bit here and then took three liters to get me through the night and another 7 miles to the next source

After leaving the tank, I ran into my conversation partner from earlier, and we determined that we were both aiming for about the same endpoint for the day, a large dry wash with ample tent sites. The remaining miles went a bit slowly, as miles after 3pm tend to, but we made good time and arrived at the wash a bit after 5pm.

In a departure from my usual routine, I made dinner before pitching my tent. Rice with dehydrated refried bean flakes and a chicken packet never tasted so good. More importantly, this was one of the heavier meals I had planned for the section. Better to eat it early and lighten my pack.

Tomorrow, there’s water sources in 3 miles (MM 228) and 12 miles (MM 237). Then, I’ll have an overnight 11 mile water carry to end that day and start the next. Not ideal, but this is Arizona in a dry year, so there isn’t much to be done about the water carries.

[nickgerlich]

Raise Your Hand

My trip to Albuquerque—which was actually a Final Jeopardy answer last Thursday—would not be complete without a visit to Whole Foods and Trader Joe’s. I always make a major grocery run when in the presence of either or both of these, primarily because we will probably never have either of these in Amarillo. I come for the variety, but stay for the quality. In the case of TJ’s, I also come for the prices.

And in the case of Whole Foods, I also come for the technology. Why, it’s almost as if I come there only so that I can wave my palm on the way out.

How’s that again?

Simple. A couple of years ago, Whole Foods—which is owned by Amazon—debuted Amazon One Palm Pay at its stores. Essentially, once you have set up your Amazon account with a scan of your palm and a preferred payment method, all I have to do, quite literally, is hold my right palm over an optical scanner, and off I go.

Naturally, as a Marketing prof with a strong bent toward all things digital, I was fascinated when I first read about the technology. I made sure to be in Dallas shortly afterward to visit my daughter and son-in-law, and to visit a nearby Whole Foods so I could see how this worked. I was amazed. I was also hooked.

Of course, there are naysayers who are either concerned about privacy and data breaches, as well as those who are certain this heralds the coming of antichrist. The ancestors of that latter group were the same ones who dissed barcodes when they were introduced on food products in 1974. That didn’t happen, of course. Antichrist, that is.

I am not worried about safety and privacy though with this system. Unless someone were to cut off my right hand, or handcuff me and make me pay for their groceries, I am pretty confident that this is safer than carrying credit cards around and having to tap or swipe. Perhaps I—and all of us—should be concerned about Amazon’s broader data security, because most of us are already shopping their regularly from our phones and computers.

One of the biggest questions, though, is whether consumers have adopted this method of payment. I will be honest and say I have never seen anyone else do it. Not long ago when I shopped at a Whole Foods in Plano, I seized a relative moment of quiet and queried the woman running the cash register in my lane. I asked her about what percentage of shoppers use Palm Pay.

I was shocked to hear her say only about 15%. She cited the naysayers as a big part of it, but I suspect there are those who simply have not seen any benefit yet from adopting it. That was a lot of hardware to install in more than 500 stores, to have only 15% of shoppers using it.

Amazon has a long track record of pushing the needle on all things digital. They were the ones who developed the Just Walk Out technology for their Amazon Go stores. They also licensed it to quite a few concessionaires at stadiums and airports. But they ultimately killed it at their own stores, and decided to go with intelligent shopping carts that allowed people to scan items as they placed them in their cart. They also included the Palm Pay system in those stores.

I realize that change can come slowly for many people. Whenever someone upsets the established order of things, it can often take a long time for the majority of people to warm up to it. It took a long time for people to transition from cash to checks and then to plastic. Ditching all of them is a rather huge leap. I get it.

We got over barcodes, though, and now we have no problem with them. Heck, we even embraced QR codes once we learned how to use them during COVID. We have gone nearly cashless these days, although there is some pushback among a minority of consumers. If you are on the WT campus, you better have plastic, because they aren’t taking your money. Same goes for a lot of stadiums.

I bet that Amazon is really on to something big here, and that a version of this will one day be the new norm. It’s just that Amazon has always been about introducing new paradigms, whether we like it or not. In that regard, they are a lot like Apple, the company that Steve Jobs said was always developing new products we had no idea we needed.

And to be fair to all, it would not be very nice of me to virtue signal while at the checkout, loudly proclaiming to all nearby, “May I have your attention, please. I am going to wave my hand over this device, and walk out with my groceries. Watch now, for this is the future.”

Actually, it’s a lot more like what that woman also told me. “Be careful waving your hand around here. You might be buying groceries for everyone.”

Touché.

Dr “Hands Down” Gerlich

Audio Blog

[marvelsbetch]

Peter Parker’s field trip part 2

March 7th

Peter's POV

I woke up peacefully to Friday playing Highway to Hell and telling me it was 6:30am and I needed to get up for school. Concerned for Wade's sleeping I quickly told Friday to be quiet and that I was up, I obviously didn't want to wake him at such a cruel hour.

Stumbling out of my room in a sleep filled haze, almost walking into the door frame and tripping over my shoes, I made my way to the kitchen to find Pops trying to cook breakfast and silently arguing with Thor who put his hammer in front of the fridge yet again, Loki really is a bad influence on the God.

"Uncle Thor please move the hammer so I can have breakfast. Please." I requested giving him my puppy dog eyes knowing he can't resist them.

With a small grunt Thor moved his hammer and set it on top of the kitchen counter out of people way. Pops sent me a grateful look before pulling eggs, milk and cheese out of the fridge to make Captain America's famous omelette. I smiled slightly and moved to sit on one of the bar stools at the island counter and watched slowly as all the Avengers plus Loki, T'Challa and Shuri were woken up by the amazing smell. All but my boyfriend who could probably sleep through an earthquake, hurricane and tsunami all at once. It's a gift.

-1 hour later-

After breakfast I got ready to just come back here, grabbed my back, kissed my now awake boyfriend goodbye, hugged my Dads goodbye and made my way to the car with Happy prepared to take me to school. On the way Happy gave me a lecture on how I was basically representing Dad and SI so I should be on my best behaviour. It was boring and in all honest, I'd heard it before on the field trip to the zoo we have last month, that didn't end well in all honesty. It's better left saying some monkeys escaped and it totally wasn't my fault.

"Right Kid. We're hear, I'll pick you up tomorrow from here so message me when you're on your way back to school." He told me, I could tell he was going to miss me but I could also tell he was looking forward to the extra one hours sleep he was going to get tomorrow from not needing to drop me off.

"Bye Happy. Tell everyone I'll miss them. See you tomorrow and I'll give regular update and text you if anything happens." I told him before exiting the car and walking up to Ned who was waiting outside the bus ready for me.

"Hey man. You looking forward to the surprise field trip?" Ned asked as we stepped onto the bus.

"Not really. I'm gonna miss everyone at the tower. Wade arrived last night as well so I'm not gonna see him for like another two days." I sighed as we sat down next to each other in the middle of the bus.

"Hey penis. I know what the field trip is and you're gonna be in so much shit." Flash tainted as he passed us.

"Steve wouldn't be happy with your language." I mumbled so only Ned heard. We both giggled a little but everyone was soon quietened down by Mrs Robbins shouting at us.

"Okay so before we leave we must take role call to see who's here." She explained and started reading names off of her sheet. Everyone responded with a simple yes miss and everything was going well until she got to my name.

"Patricia Parker!" She yelled and looked directly at me. I simply ignored it and continued to stare out of the window until she shouted it again louder.

"Come on Penis just answer. Don't try and stall this." Flash huffed from the back of the bus.

"Fine. Peter Parker is here." I told her emphasising the work 'Peter'.

"What ever." She grumbled going back to role call.

-30 minutes later-

As we were driving I noticed a lot of places, it took a few seconds until it finally clicked as to where we were going. Stark Industries. Over night. Oh dear.

“Right kids. We're going to be there in roughly 5 minutes so please get you begs sorted, make sure your areas are clean and you have everything with you." Mrs Robbins told us from the front of the bus.

"I bet you'd recognise this way from your internship, if it was real." Flash sneered as if it was going to affect me.

Soon we pulled into the visitor parking lot and exited the car. I was slightly shaking with anxiety especially when Happy and two other security guards, Johnson and Stone (I don't know their first names) walked over to us and started running through the security guidelines.

"And finally and type of bullying or intolerance towards anyone inside this building with not be tolerated and the person doing it will be kicked out immediately. That could be in 10 minutes or at 2:00 in the morning. It will not be tolerated." Happy finished giving me a look that said 'I know something you don't know I know'. Shit.

"Okay now that that is out of the way with, follow us." Happy said leading us inside the lobby of the building by swiping his security card.

“Okay we're gonna give you all access passes. These are the lowest of the 10 levels you get get so basically all you can use them for is the toilet. We have a strict no re-printing policy and a display policy. In other words you must always have your pass on display on your outer most layer of clothing, if it's lost then you will be searched and escorted out of the building if it is not found. Let that be a warning to everyone." Johnson explained as Stone started handing out the passes, glossing over me, Ned and MJ of course, until everyone had them.

Me, Ned and MJ all had to pull out our avenger themed cards. Mine was half and half Iron Man and Captain America cause there my dads. Ned's was a combo of everyone's as he couldn't decide which one he preferred. MJ went for Nat cause MJ liked the fact that she, and Pepper, could control all of us and was the only girl original Avenger. MJ admires her as a icon for women.

"Okay everyone scan your passes as you walk through the scanner like this." Stone demonstrated as he scanned his pass and walked through the scanner with his hands out.

"Logan Stone. Security level clearance:8. No unauthorised items." F.R.I.D.A.Ys voice announced.

"Now all of you do it." Happy instructed.

Everyone started going through the scanner, Flash being the most smug as his level 1 clearance was announced, until it got the the final three. Me, Ned and MJ. MJ decided to go first, F.R.I.D.A.Y announced her name, level 9 security clearance and the fact she had no unauthorised items with her. Next was Ned, F.R.I.D.A.Y announced his name, level 9 security clearance and the fact he had no unauthorised items. Next was me, I was dreading it.

"Come on Patricia, just admit your internship is fake now and save us all the trouble." Flash shouted over everyone making Happy stop and glare at him. He was about to make a move towards Flash but I put my hand out and stopped him.

"Just leave it Hap. He's not worth cancelling whatever Dad's got planned." I told him in a low voice trying to be unheard.

"He says one more thing and I'll knock him out." Happy threatened.

"I have no doubt you will." I sighed and decided I stalled enough. I quickly scanned my card and walked through the scanner with my hands up like everyone else.

"Peter Stark-Rodgers, level 10 security clearance. No unauthorised items. Mr Stark-Rodgers has already been informed of your arrival. Thank you for using the front entrance." F.R.I.D.A.Ys robotic but slightly sarcastic voice announced.

The tour started off normal. One of the actual interns, Owen, greeted us and me separately. We were quite good friends as he was one of the people to help me when Wade asked me out, I will be eternally grateful to him.

"Okay, our first stop on this tour is the avengers museum. You will be allowed to take photos but please refrain from touching anything as they could activate. Everything thing in this room is the real deal except a few things. We will also be trying to lift Thor's hammer in this room with him there of course." Owen explained. So, this is where Dads plans begin.

We walked into the museum and was greeted with 3 main area. Original Avengers, later added Avengers and Avengers associates. Then, I saw a red and blue display. Spider-Man has his own display IN THE LATER ADDED AVENGERS SECTION. Did this mean Dad wanted me to be an Avenger? What's going on? Did Fury know about this?

Ned grabbed my hand and led me to the display cases where I saw my old suit and computers next to replicas and photos of my current ones. This is so cool.

“Spider-Man is the latest mighty hero to join the Avengers in their mission to protecc the Earth and Asgard. Spider-Man has been described my many to be funny, witty and charming. He the only Avenger to have not revelled his identity yet but we are sure he will in due time. Fun facts about Spider-Man:

He is afraid of Spiders ironically,

He's a complete Daddy's boy,

He made his first suit himself,

He lives with Tony and Steve Stark-Rodgers,

And finally, he can rival Tony Stark-Rodgers levels of Sass." Ned read from the information

I silently groaned at the second fun fact knowing full well Dad was just trying to boost his ego. Oh well, it's kind of hard not to be true.

"Oo Penis Parker checking out the exhibit on his 'friends'." Flash sneered putting air quotes around 'friends'.

"Right, come along people. We have an exclusive lecture with Dr Banner on Gamma radiation and how it affects the human body. Everybody make and orderly que and and we can make our way there." Owen informed and instructed.

We all qued up with me and my friends at the back and started to walk towards the elevator to go to Bruce's lab. Once we found ourselves outside of the lab the reality of the situation set in, we're going to be talking to my Uncle Bruce. While no one in the class knows he's my Uncle and I'm with my Bully and Transphobic teacher. I dread to think what's about to happen.

"Okay kids. Be very polite and respectful, we don't want a code Green." Owen instructed before knocking on the door and waiting for Bruce to open it as Owen didn't have high enough clearance to open the door.

After a minute of waiting and no sign of Bruce Owen knocked again but to no avail. I knew that Bruce was working on a new project last night so it's highly likely he's asleep so I stepped forward, security card in hand and swiped it for entrance.

"Peter Parker, access granted." F.R.I.D.A.Ys voice sounded from above the door way.

I opened the door slowly and saw Bruce asleep on the couch. Motioning for everyone to give me a minute I creeped into the room to gently wake him up.

"Uncle Bruce, you have to give my class a lecture. Uncle Bruce wake up." I said softly and gently shook him awake.

"What? Peter? Aren't you supposed to be in school?" Bruce asked slowly sat up.

"I'm on a field trip and you're supposed to give a lecture to my class. They're all outside but you fell asleep." I informed him.

"Oh my god I'm so sorry. Ask them to give me a minute and I'll be mostly ready. Thanks Pete." Bruce replied scrambling to clean up a little bit and get sorted.

"He'll just be a minute." I informed my class while exiting the room waiting for Bruce when I heard Uncle Clint shifting in the vents. Oh no, this has been planned.

“Hello Midtown. Sorry for the delay, life of a stressed scientist. I'm sure most of you know what that's like. Come in, take a seat and please excuse the mess." Bruce greeted and opened the door wider for us to enter.

We all shuffled into the highly cluttered room and sat down in one of the fold out chairs set us in the centre of the room infront  of three dry erase boards. Uncle Bruce started his lecture but I soon tuned him out as I had heard it all before.

"Peter!" Clint yelled popping his head out from the vent with a grin on his face.

"Barton." I said in a monotone voice to hopefully convey my disinterest in whatever he was planning.

"I was asking if I could go into your room to borrow some silly string. Tony fucked with a few of my arrows and I'm not happy about it. I was literally shocked!" He shouted the last sentence making me wince and cover my ears.

"Yes you may but only one can. I need the rest for Loki cause he's the only one out of all of you that hasn't had a string attack yet. Hopping to change that soon." I informed.

"Cool. I'm taking the blue one. Bye, see you later." He waved before disappearing back into the vents and crawling away.

"He has this all planned doesn't he?" I asked Uncle Bruce signing slightly.

"Sorry kid." He smirked and continued with his lecture despite people only being focused on gawping at me.

Soon after that his lecture was finished and we moved on. Owen took us to a more general development lab where people started their testing to see if it was possible and worth perusing. As soon as we entered I was greeted with Shuri running towards me and hugging me tightly.

"Shuri, you literally saw me last night. Why are you hugging me so tightly?" I asked smiling slightly.

"I still missed you. Brother has been boring but these labs are very interesting, still they would be more so with you here." She told me pulling away and looking at my astonished class.

"Hello children of Midtown High School. I am Shuri Princess of Wakanda and this is my brother, the king." Shuri introduced smiling at everyone's shocked faces.

"I can introduce myself sister." T'Challa told her.

"Now you know how I feel." She told him smirking before walking off to see one of the experiments happening in the room.

We looked around the lab for a little while, I helped a few people with equations and how to improve their testing. Shuri and I shouted memes and vines at each other from across the room. Flask and Mrs Robbins glared at me any chance they got.

"Right Children, it's time for lunch. You've been privileged enough to have lunch on the level 7 balcony right near the landing pad. Please be calm and sensible and respectful of the employees eating there." Owen explained and lead us up to the eating deck.

Once there I immediately noticed Uncle Thor and Loki waiting around the corner obviously looking for me. They truly planned this. Anyway, me, Ned and MJ all walked over to an empty table and they took out their lunches when I noticed I left mine in the kitchen this morning. Shoot.

"Peter!" I hear Thor yell as he and Loki walk around the corner with his arms out.

"Hello Thor. To what do I owe the pleasure?" I asked jokingly formally.

"Does one need a reason to visit his favourite nephew?" Thor asked bringing me into a hug, possibly crushing everyone of my ribs in the process, while Loki stood awkwardly to the side.

"If your all going to embarrass me can I ask you a favour in return?" I asked the brothers.

"Of course Peter! Anything for my nephew!" Thor all but yelled and clapped me on the back.

"Yeah, I left my lunch on the kitchen counter today. Could you possibly run up and get it for me please." I requested when a flying object fell from the sky.

My lunch.

"YOUR WELCOME!" I heard Sam yell from above us.

"THANKS BIRD BRAIN!" I yelled back at him and sat back down as the table, Thor and Loki soon following.

"Peter, I was wondering later if you could help me with my magic. I've been trying to work on my long distance aim and I think you'd be the perfect person to practice with." Loki asked shyly, he still isn't comfortable with all of us yet but he's made loads of progress.

"To hit or to avoid?" I jokingly asked earning a slight laugh out of the giant.

"To miss. I'll place the object I want to hit next to you and 'throw' a spell at it. If you're next to it it gives me more motivation to not hit it." Loki explained.

"Yeah sure I'll do that. What time were you thinking?" I asked.

"Well, you're class is staying the night and tomorrow day so maybe we could find time tonight or tomorrow night." Loki said making me realise my entire class has witnessed this entire encounter. For frick sake.

"Peter!" The deep voice of Bucky yelled from the doorway to the balcony.

My entire class looked in shock as I hugged good bye to the Gods and James 'Bucky' Barnes walked over to me with a bag and an apron saying 'Kiss the cook' on it. Once he was within range I could smell the contents of the bag. White chocolate and caramel cookies. My favourite.

"I made cookies and thought you might like some while they're hot." He explained handing me the beg witch I immediately accepted and took a cookie from.

"Thank you Uncle Bucky." I said but it was muffled by the whole cookie I shoved into my mouth. Classy.

"Hey you said you'd wait for me!" I hear my boyfriend shout appearing at the doorway and running towards me with his arms spread.

"I said I was leaving in one minute and you could come if you wanted. I never said I'd wait for you cause I know how long you can take." Bucky complained to Wade who crushed me into a hug and kissed my lips briefly.

My entire class and teacher were stunned at this point. Every single jaw, except Ned and MJ's, was on the floor. When Wade kissed me I could faintly see from the corner of my eye my teacher so red and angry. Close minded female dog.

"I've not seen you all day how are you?" Wade asked pulling away.

"I'm fine, you saw me less than a few hours ago. Not much changed." I told him smiling a little and pulling him into another kiss. I did this to annoy my teacher but mainly because I just loved to kiss my boyfriend. Sue me.

"I know but anything could happen while I'm not there. I love you too much to allow anything to happen to you." He said to me after a solid 40 seconds of kissing.

"Right well, I'm gonna go back upstairs. Wade, you can stay with Peter as long as you keep your hands to yourself." Bucky warned before walking off back into the tower and Me and Wade sat down with me on his lap.

After a few minuets the shock wore off and people started whispering and pointing at me and Wade. Nothing I didn't expect if I'm honest but it's a lot more annoying than I thought it would be.

“I love you Wade." I said putting my head on his chest and eating my cookies.

"I lub you too Pete." He responded making me giggle a little. "And you're ass that will be mine tonight." He whispered seductively into my ear and gently grabbed my ass.

"You two make me want to be sick." MJ joked making a disgusted face at us before continuing with her lunch.

"Right everyone, we have ten minutes before we need to move on." Owen warned.

To be continued...

[heartofsnark]

Can You Feel The Sun? (Chapter Three): Maybe God Is Just A Cop We Can Fast Talk

Notes: I’m trying to test out not stockpiling chapters and just post whatever I got when I got it. So, we’ll see how it goes. Additionally, apologies in advanced if my work is a bit more fucky on spelling and grammar from now on out. They use to have some degree of beta reading, but now it’s the wild west. It all depends on my brain, which is smooth. 

Word Count: 13,335

Chapter Warnings: Canon typical violence, death, entirely too on the nose foreshadowing, f/f sex scene, cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, masturbation, sex toy use, nipple sucking, dirty talk that may or may not be cringe (I had fun)

If you haven’t yet, you can read the previous chapter here!~

V takes a deep breath as they pull into the parking garage of a large apartment building complex, her nose wrinkles. August has settled into Night City, air humid and thick, the stink of trash filling her lungs at every breath. The smell of NC in summer and a landfill are only a few degrees removed from one another. Jackie is in the passenger seat, nearly pressed shoulder to shoulder. Wakako is paying them to rescue some corpo chick, a gig V would usually roll her eyes at, but the apartment is a known Scavenger hideout. Without someone stepping in, the woman will be ripped apart, organs and cyberware chopped out to be sold. Corpo or not; no one deserves that.

The merc covers her lips with chapstick and a little above, so she smells the balm and not Night City, then dabs some on the inside of her mask as well. The trick reminds her of when her mother would have her and Eira smear homemade balm under their noses before going to pick through landfills; telling them stories of old plague doctors who’d shove cloves into beaked masks to avoid the stench of death. The chapstick isn’t quite so strongly scented as the mash of camphor, menthol, and coconut oil her mother would use. But it strikes that nostalgia bone nonetheless.

“Still not used to the smell?” Jackie taunts her, grin pulling at his lips.

“God, no,” she quickly signs, her choker translator off as she pulls on her mask.

“It grows on you.”

“Six months in and the only thing that’s grown on me is you.”  Her mask takes over translating her signing, though she’ll have to shut it off when they get in.

“Was that almost a compliment?”

“A compliment? From me? Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Pff, real funny,” he rolls his eyes, “chick we're looking for's somewhere in this building. Probably crawlin' with the pendejos that kidnapped her. Eyes and ears open, all right?"

“Opening my ears isn’t gonna help much, but alright.”

“You’re real close to my last nerve, chica,” he says but he’s smiling.

“Love you too, Jack, now, the fixer give you any tips?”

“I’m not your mother,” he tries to mimic the older woman’s voice, “just do what I pay you for, it’s easy work. Sh, yeah.”

“Okay, let’s do this.”  

With that Jackie and V leave the car, stepping out into the garage. The taller of the two checks his two pistols, ensuring the gold emblazoned weapons are loaded and ready for the mess that surely awaits them. There’s no telling how many Scavvs are here, the body hacking gangers the equivalent of cockroaches. She checks her own .50 caliber pistol,  it’s loaded and she has a knife strapped in a holster on her thigh.

“Elevator. This way.” Jackie nods towards the elevator in the parking garage, leading the way as V follows behind. Dirty elevator doors open for them, the words NO FUTURE scratched across the stained metal. The two mercs step inside, V leaning against a graffiti covered wall, leg shaking with anxiety.

A digital interface, T-Bugs avatar appears at the elevator button panel, flashes of code as the runner quickly hacks through it without needing an apartment key. The doors close and the rusty elevator lurches into movement, heading up.

“Target's Sandra Dorsett. Target's biomon went mute a couple hours back. Suspected abduction. Target could've possibly flatlined already. Not sure you're in time,” Bug’s voice comes through V’s hearing aids, subtitles on her mask for good measure, as the runner delivers her warning. That’s always a risk with rescue jobs, but they have a decent track record for getting to people in time.

“We're in time, Bug,” Jackie corrects her, “ we. Sure, you're on phones, but… that don't make you any less a part of this squad.”

"Squad… Charming.” V can nearly hear the Bug rolling her eyes.

“Awww, c’mon Bug, you know we need you.”

“No arguments there, without me you gonkbrains probably be shot to death by turrets or sitting in jail by now. “

“And without us, you’d have to step foot outside your apartment.”

“A true horror,” Bug mocks, a scoff in her voice as the elevator stops, doors opening, “focus now, You’re lookin' for twelve thirty-seven.”  

V and Jackie step out of the elevators, greeted to trash strewn apartment halls, graffiti scratched across every inch. Hands on their iron, the mercs make their way down the hall. With a thought V mutes the translation tech in her mask, linked to her neuralware, that way a stray hand gesture won’t give them away.

“Han, is that you?” An older woman starts to step out of her apartment.

V quickly waves her hand, signaling the woman to make herself scarce and she nods before running back in. Between the Scavenger’s victims and the innocent residents; there’s a lot of room for potential casualties. Low profile is essential if they want to do a clean job.

“Target should be inside, but I got zero eyes on her biomon. Fingers crossed it's not too late. Ugh, hate this life or death shit,” T-Bug explains as they reach the door they need, “try hacking the door, think you can trip it on your own, V?”

V’s fingers itch to just pry the damn thing open or try to pick the lock, despite knowing the former would give them away and the latter is impossible with the electronic model of door. The young merc brings up the scanner of her mask, running a quick scan of the door and sending the quick hack through. It slides open, Jackie able to slip inside with her following close behind.

The doorway opens into a wider room and V’s heart sinks. The sticky cloying smell of blood claws its way through anything, so thick in the air that her efforts to block out the city smell are rendered useless.  There’s a steady but slightly muffled thrum of electronic music coming from the other room, not a Scavenger in sight, but their handiwork paints the room. Low grade medical equipment, a shitty old school heart monitor attached to a woman in a ripperdoc chair. The woman is dead, no monitor or scan needed to know that. Body ripped open, entrails spilling out, red spattering down the black leather of the chair. Blood paints the walls around her, her skin a sallow lifeless shade of gray. Her abdomen is a mess of bloody organs and half ripped out implants.

“Are we fuckin' late?! Is that her, is that our target, V?!” Jackie calls out, voice low and edged with worry in his voice as he tries to scream and whisper at once, gesturing with his gun as he points at the corpse.

V doesn’t bother to open her scanner, looking over the woman’s body, it's not hard to know this isn’t their target. No high up corpo would pack this crap. What implants remain are cheap and poorly installed, the ones around her eyes have left the skin creased and scarred. Worse quality than what someone would find in the poorest of Nomad clans. Likely, a joytoy, or perhaps a Maelstrommer as the shitty over the top implant installation is common among the gang.

“No,” V signs, looking up at Jackie, his eyes on her to subtitle the ASL, “our girl is protected under echelon II corpo immunity, this is back-alley black market crap, no corpo in their right mind would walk around with this shit.”

Jackie nods, his shoulders losing a little of their tension as he moves up to a door, the music louder as he just opens the door peeking through, trying to get a feel for the room before they go through. Judging by the music and the still fresh blood mingled with the older stains, the Scav haunt is still being used. Jackie pulls away from the door and presses against the wall next to it.

“V, mira, eyes up, pendejos ahead.” Jackie warns her as she puts her hands to the door, trying to peek through the crack, the music louder and less muffled with the door cracked. V can see plastic sheets, coolers, chop shop equipment as they butcher people. Through distorted bloodied plastic hung from the ceiling, the pendejo in question standing in front of a cooler, back turned.

“Drop him quiet, V.”

V takes a deep breath and counts the music beats, waiting for the tempo and volume to rise before she opens the door, hiding the creak of it behind the pumping club style music. The merc drops to a crouch as soon as she walks through, creeping up behind the Scavenger, pushing through plastic sheets, she unsheathes her tactical knife.

In one swift movement she stands and kicks out the man’s knee, bringing him down low enough to grab his face by his mask and pull him towards her. He has a mere moment to struggle in her grasp before she then sinks her knife into his skin, piercing the flesh and arteries where his neck meets his shoulder. He goes limp in her arms and she pulls her knife out with a twist, before she shoves him forward into the cooler. The lid shuts with a slight thud, drowned out by the music.

“Nice, couldn’t have done it better myself, chica,” Jackie praises as she wipes her knife off on her pants, red smearing across the black fabric.

“On your toes. More bodies incoming, they're almost on you,” Bug warns as the mercs move to the next room, creeping through the garbage strewn hall and going around a bend, an open doorway showing a group of Scavs.

Whether thanks to music or their own lack of intelligence, the gang members don’t hear them as they find a nook around the corner to hide. V pressing her body tight against a fridge, Jackie not far behind her.  The dark spot, appliances, and trash does well to hide the two from sight.

“Fistfuck these reapers. Oye, V! They're comin',” Jackie warns as two of the Scav start to come around the corner, “wait for your chance. Pick the prick off. “

Tucked away the two mercs aren’t noticed. She watches as the two men walk by, following a path down the hallway without noticing them. V tries to hear what they say, straining to hear over the music, something about scoring big, a chick with “preem ass chrome”.

“Cabrones… thick as locusts. Let's wait and plan a spree.”

V gives a nod, trying not to comment that they’ve already discussed this. Stealth has never been Jackie’s strongpoint, he talks too much, can’t stand the quiet. She watches as the two gang members turn their backs to the mercs. They stop at the end of the hallway to stand guard and V goes to move.

“Let's take 'em… Suerte.”

She tries not to shake her head, not to sign at him to stop talking. She’ll tease him for it later, the two stay in a crouch, creeping up behind the two Scavengers. The merc gets close enough to feel the warmth coming off the gang member's body, V and Jackie lunge at the same time. Jackie snaps the Scav on the left’s neck and V slices the throat of the one on the right; two men dead at their feet. She rummages through the freshly dead corpses pockets, adding a few eddies and a Max Doc to her own.

“All down, limp meat. But probably not the last of 'em,” Jackie says as they start back towards the corner, staying low and...mostly...quiet as they reach the open doorway, “Move on, move up. Right behind you, V.

Their hideaway corner has an open doorway in the room that leads to another larger room, windows at the far end and around  Shelves and cabinets of ammo and grenades fill the room, should be easy enough to stay out of sight. Three men that she can see, one closer to the doorway, easy grab. And if they time it right they can grab the other two in tandem.

V raises her knife to her chest, pressing the hilt to her skin, then pounces on the nearest ganger. She yanks his head back and onto the blade, the weapon piercing up through the base of his skull, as she drags his body back. He’s already dead by the moment she’s dragged him from the room, dropping his corpse where he won’t be seen.

“Careful, once you get the next two,” Bug warns, voice low, “goliath ass Scav the next room over.”

“Gotcha,” Jackie whispers as they start to make their way back into the room where the next two are.

V stays to the left side of the room and Jackie goes to the right, both staying low and close to cover. The younger takes a deep breath, the clutter and way the room curves means they’re out of sight range, making it harder to coordinate. Nonetheless, she mentally counts to three and jumps her target. She grabs the gang member by the chin, wrenching up his face as she slams her knife into the front of his throat,ripping it out with a spray of blood.

“What the fuck!?” A voice, deep and masculine yells out, just as Jackie snaps his target’s neck. A bulking mass of a man, around Jackie’s height has scrambled to his feet; a heavy machine gun in his hands.

“Fuck, eyes on you!!” T-Bug warns just as a bullet tears through V’s bicep, superficial, no pain as adrenaline spikes.

And the chaos starts as the bullets begin to fly, V grabs her pistol, takes aim into the room and starts fire while moving. Jackie doing the same, the pair scrambling behind a cabinet, crouched and facing one another. His sweaty forehead nearly smacking into her mask. The room around them tears and shatters with each bullet fired their way, none managing to hit them, she doesn’t think the ganger saw where they took cover.

Their pistols can’t cut through the rapid fire being shot their way.  Her heart is pounding, her fingers tight on the trigger, HMG’s need a cool off time. If they wait it out, his gun will overheat and they’ll have a window. And if he’s not coming to pick them off, playing the distance game, it means he’s dead set on protecting something; got to be Dorsett.

“Gun’s going to overheat, then we’ll get our chance,” V signs and speaks to Jackie at the same time, miscommunication not something that can afford right now. Her voice is rough and out of breath, her face wet with sweat behind her mask.

“Hijos de puta! Our target’s gotta be through there, V!”

“I know I know,” she squeezes his shoulder with one hand, the other still signing, “once the gun overheats , we’ll rush him and finish this up.”

“HMG should only have a few more rounds before then, but won’t be long before it cools back off. You got a tight window,” T-Bug informs them, able to keep better track of it when not in firing range.

And then the fire slows, lightening and nearly stopping, Jackie and V both jump over the cabinet, seeing their chance and not hesitating to take it. They rush towards the room, the man cursing when he sees them charging and the door begins to shut. V skids into the wall and Jackie slams against it just as the door fully closes, cutting off their access. The older merc digs his nails between the door and wall, trying to pry it open with a grunt, but it doesn’t budge. Crow bar, crow bar, something, there has to be something.

Then a gunfire blasts through the wall, narrowly avoiding V. They missed their window and he can shoot through the wall. This is great. This is fantastic, exactly what they fucking need!

“Head down, Jaina, take cover!” Jackie yells out, yanking V back behind a shelf with him.

“Fuck!”

“Need options Bug, you got eyes on this shithole!?”

“Uh, lemme see, room he’s in connects to a balcony, the window to get in is small. V might be able to slip through to him.”

“How do I get there?”

“Got a window on the left, gimme two secs to grease the lock.”

“If I get his attention elsewhere, could you break down that door?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jackie nods as they put together their new plan, “flank him and draw his fire! I’ll do the rest!”

V sees the window Bug is talking about, her interface over it as it slides open, she easily jumps through, a closed in balcony cluttered with equipment, more trash that nearly trips her as she reaches the next window. The industrial shutters are damaged and broken, allowing her to peek through, the goliath, as Bug put it, is inside. A shaved head and face of mottled cyberware. She grabs the lowest rung of the shutters and rips the already broken mess up; then fires three shots at the man. They hit but don’t bring him down, only streaking blood down his leather jacket, he swings the gun to face her.

A loud boom rings out, metal screeching, as Jackie busts the door down. His boots pound against the floor and he slams into the Scavenger, the gang member’s body hitting the wall with a thud. Jackie rips the HMG from the man’s hands, raising it high above his head and bashing the gang member’s head in with it. Blood streaking the wall behind him and the ganger falling limp on the carpet. V climbs through the window, giving the Scavenger

“That’s the last of them,” T-Bug tells them, “time to find our target.”

“Question is, where the hell is she?” Jackie asks as V makes a beeline for the one door she sees. They’ve gone through the rest of the area, it has to be it. It's the last damn room in the apartment or whatever.

“Look around, gotta be there somewhere.”

“Holy fuck.”

V’s breath catches in her throat when she swings that door open; the horror of the front room was just a taste of what these people are capable of. White linoleum stained ruddy with blood, a bathroom with fluorescent lights making the ghostly gray of the corpses stand out. The bathtub is jammed full, naked bodies bleeding the ice water red, hanging out to smear crimson over white porcelain.

“Jesus christ… ” Jackie breathes out as he steps in behind her.

V swallows the nerves and bile down, rushing to the bathtub.  The first body stacked on top is a man, skin cold to the touch and no pulse in his neck, she moves him aside. Can’t save them all, can’t save them all; she tells herself. As she checks and moves bodies, finding only one with some warmth still clinging to her body, top level chrome in etching her cheekbones and down her bare chest. Her nose and mouth barely above the ice water, it’s a miracle she wasn’t drowned under the weight of the others who weren’t as lucky.

“Think I got her. Got our target!” She yells out as she pulls the woman halfway from the tub, sitting on the edge of it. V’s fingers numb and sting all at ones from the ice, she delicately brings the woman’s shaved head to her lap. Ice water soaking through her jeans and chilling the skin beneath.

Sandra’s eyes are just slightly open, not alert, but V can pick up on some movement behind them. Pulse at her neck faint, albeit consistent. Bad shape, but not gone. The instinct to keep checking the bodies, the need to see if they can save anyone else, pulls at V. But she has to secure Sandra, has to attend the one she was sent after and at the very least she knows has a fighting chance.

Jackie stands at the door looking in and keeping guard, there's likely more Scavengers in the building, if they catch wind of what’s happened in their nest. They’ll storm in and they can risk the gang members opening fire into the room, snuffing out anyone's chance of living. Her stomach churns, once they secure Sandra they can check on the others.

“We make it, she alive?”

“She’s hanging in, I think,” V’s fingers twitch with the need to sign her words, but the need to support Sandra’s neck  and head wins out. She’s not sure if the poor woman can process or feel anything right now, looking nearly catatonic, but...maybe a touch that doesn’t hurt can be of some comfort through it all.

“V, jack into her biomon. Need to know what we're dealin' with.”

“Ooh, this does not look good…” Jackie breathes out, green eyes running frantically over the bathroom, taking in the sheer horror of what they’ve found.

“She’s not alone here, Bug, there’s bodies stacked up, crammed together, like slabs of fucking meat. I’m not sure if anyone else is alive, I- fuck.”

“We’ll do what we can for them after, keep it together. And if she survives, she won’t even remember, tiny scar on the subconscious in the long run.  Jack into her biomon.”

“Jacking in,” V slots her personal link into Sandra’s biomon port, information lighting up her mask's interface, “Sandra Dorsett. NC570442. Trauma Team Platinum.”

“Platinum? Shit, Trauma shoulda swooped in if she sneezed,” Jackie scratches the back of his head, the question clear, where the fuck is Trauma?

“Guessin' they jammed the transmitter sig. Lookin' at a hacked biomon, firmware reconfig or a neurovirus…”

“Carajo, T-Bug! You ain't seein' this place. This is tubs, ice, hooks and cleavers.” Jackie explains.  Scavengers are brutal, crude, rudimentary; anything too high tech isn’t coming from them.

“Hmm… Scopmuncher's hack, huh. Got an idea. Check her neuroport. Find a shard? Yeah, pull it - that'll be what's muting the biomon.”

V gently maneuvers the woman’s head, nails rubbing over her shaved hair, seeing the two standard neuroports behind her right ear. One with a shard placed inside. She’s heard stories of infected shards, where removing them ends up causing more harm than whatever’s on them. But, she trusts T-Bug.

“Shard found, removing it now.” She gently pulls the shard from Sandra’s neuroport, pocketing it for now, in case it’s needed later.

“Check the biomon. Anything change?”

“Greetings, Sandra,” an artificial voice explains,  “If you are conscious, assume recovery position now. An emergency evacuation unit has been dispatched and is due to arrive at your location in 180 seconds.”

“Trauma will be here in three.”

“Your premium plan will cover 90% of the projected costs of your rescue and treatment,” the biomonitor warns and V can’t help but roll her eyes, capitalism and healthcare, a match made in hell.

“Ay, pobrecita,” Jackie shakes his head, “let's get her off that ice.”

V nods, pulling her jack from the naked woman’s biomonitor and gently bringing Sandra’s body up and into her arms. She lifts the woman bridal style, water soaking her arms as she stands up. Sandra’s body starts to shake and convulse, leg unintentionally kicking at V’s arms.

“Shit!”  V curses out loud, hitting her knees as she brings Sandra to the ground. The woman’s body twitches and convulses, eyes rolling back into her head, as a ghastly choking sound comes from her mouth.

“She's flatlining!”

“V, need to know what's going' on!”

“Jackie, airhypo, now!”

“¡Ey, catch chica!”

Jackie throws the airhypo and the merc snatches the green first aid hypodermic out of the air. V quickly presses the tool to the center of Sandra’s chest and pushes the needle into her skin, shooting the compressed adrenaline into her system to stabilize her. Sandra’s body stills and relaxes, her chest still falling and rising steadily. V breathes a sigh of relief and pushes her mask onto the top of her head; sweat stinging her eyes and her lungs demanding she breathe freely. She swallows hard and blinks, Sandra still stable on the floor.

“Fuck..I, target seized but we got her stable,” V recounts to T-Bug and shakes her head, still in shock at just how close they came to this woman dying in her arms.

“You alright, jaina?”

“Yeah, yeah, I just, yeah. Uh, fuck...”

“I getcha, got a stomach of steel, but this is….”

The merc is used to death, seen it firsthand many a times and dealt it to many a people. But she’s always prided herself on not taking innocent lives, every target she’s ever killed, every person she’s put in the grave had a healthy share of blood on their hands.  She knows that doesn’t necessarily make it right, doesn’t many it doesn’t cause any harm, most monsters still have someone who loves them. And as a corpo, maybe Sandra isn’t truly innocent, V wouldn’t know for sure.  But she doesn’t deserve this, this horror, neither do any of the people stewing in ice water.

She’s always been surrounded by death but in this  bathroom, with her knees pressing against bloody tiles, she feels like she’s choking on it.

“We’re gonna get you out here, safe and sound, I promise,” she tells the woman in her lap, maybe more for her own benefit than for the woman who can’t hear her. She picks Sandra up again and turns towards Jackie, “Scavs will scatter the second they see Trauma, hate to ask this, but once they show up, we need to see if we can save anyone else, you mind checking out the bodies in the tub while I handle her?”

“Course, gotta save who we can.”

V nods, thankful that Jackie and her are on the same page. There’s a steady whirr of engines and the young merc takes Sandra out to the balcony, in the faint distance she can see the Trauma Team aircraft incoming. Wind picks up as they draw ever closer, sweeping up and blowing trash around from the area. It feels nice on V’s bare sweaty face, but she tries to tuck Sandra a little closer to her chest, trying to keep the unconscious woman warm, which seems almost ironic in the heat of the city. The aircraft pulls up beside the balcony with flashing lights and V cringes at the whirring of its turbines, turning the volume down on her hearing aids.

“Landing, stand clear. Initiating security protocol. Follow all instructions. Stop in the doorway!” The speakers on the aircraft boom and V would flip them off if she weren’t holding Sandra.

A little step extends out to the balcony and holograms mark out an area she isn’t supposed to step into. Then the Trauma Team members come out, four individuals in green uniform with white helmets, guns drawn, holsters of equipment hanging off of them.  Two of the workers lay a gurney down in front of V.

“Place the patient on the ground!” A man yells at her, gun drawn. She rolls her eyes and does as asked, gently placing Sandra on the gurney.

“Five steps back. Now,” one of the workers demands, then shoves V back and away from Sandra, gun still pointed at her as the others rush to take the woman into the aircraft.

“There are some other people...” she switches on the translator in her choker to sign, but they ignore her.

Of course, Sandra is the only person in that tub who means anything to them, because she has money. She can just hear them over the turbines as they start to assess the woman’s condition, loading her in the aircraft, the last worker following behind. The young merc sighs watching as the vehicle flies off, as much the Trauma Team system boils her blood, their doctors are well trained. Sandra is in good hands.  After a moment she turns back to the entrance to the apartment, Jackie waiting in the doorway. His hands empty.

“No one else…” She starts to sign then trails off, seeing the look in his eyes.

“All dead long before we got here.”

“Fuck…”

“Let's get outta here,” he claps a hand against her shoulder as they start to leave, “Elevator gets us to the garage direct.”

“Good work. Shitshow's over. Cuttin' my wires now. See ya in the near future,” T-Bug says her goodbyes, cutting off her connection to the mercs.

Good work, somehow those words ring hollow when there’s a tub of corpse not three feet away. There’s a heavy weight in V’s chest, they did what they were paid for, one person is safer now because of them. All things she should be proud of, but she can’t help but still feel hollow and bitter about this entire thing. Her head still hangs low as she follows Jackie out of the apartment.

“Listen, chica,” he gets her attention, “got this thing. Mind if I borrow your wheels?”

“A thing?”

“I got a date with Misty, but… heh, I can't take the metro! How's that gonna look for me?”

“Alright, alright, I’ll help you out, I guess,” she signs, feigning annoyance, though they both know she’s happy to help.

“Ah, savin' my ass, V, thank you. How about I drive you home, eh?”

“Please, I feel like I’m about to drop any minute,” she admits, body heavy with exhaustion and head starting to hurt from all the commotion. Even the translator tech’s voice is starting to make her head throb.

The elevator doors open, welcoming the two mercs as they scurry inside, V leaning all of her weight against a wall as Jackie hits the buttons. Doors closing, it starts to move, and V’s thankful for every second that gets her closer to her bed. It's an unusual feeling, she’s not typically this worn out after a job. Adrenaline is a hell of a thing, she’s learned, most jobs leaving her still riding that high and looking for ways to burn the excess energy. But, all she wants right now is to crawl in bed and pretend the world is a kinder place, 

“Oh, almost forgot. Should get Wakako on the halo - tell her the job's done.”

V gives a short nod before pulling Wakako up on her phone, it rings a few times before it projects the image of the older woman, V keeping it on speaker so Jackie can hear the call.

“Ahem! V? How did it go? Our client is alive and well?”

“Of course.”

“Splendid. Your payment awaits you - ready to come and grab whenever you like, even right away. But I guess home is the only place you wish to be now. The NCPD has surrounded Watson. The district is closed. If you are to make it past the cordon, you must move fast.”

“Shit, thanks for the warning, catch you another time,” V signs her goodbye as she hangs up and groans, thunking her head back against the wall. Of course, just her luck. The elevator doors open and Jackie leads the way out to the garage, V following closely behind.

“Gotta get going if I’m gonna make it home tonight,” V mentions as they reach her car, she doesn’t want to have to crash on his garage or his mom’s place if she can help it.

“Leave it to me, chica, I’m driving.” Jackie tells her with a little grin pulling at his lip as he climbs into the driver seat and she plops down into the passenger side.

Jackie revs the ignition and starts fiddling with the radio, while V cranks the air conditioner. She tosses her mask into the backseat for now, fiddling with her hair. The pull out of the parking garage as Jackie finds a song he likes, kind enough to keep it on low volume for V’s sake, she finds herself sinking into the seat, watching the city pass by from the window. Trying to focus on the neon lights that pass her by and not the negativity that’s threatening to overtake her mind.

“Can’t stop digging Night City,” Jackie tells her following a few moment of silence, save for the radio.

“Place definitely has an energy to it.” They drive past what she assumes is a joytoy arguing with a man, advertisements that flash so vividly in the night, street vendors peddling over the top food items. Noisy, smell, chaotic, and messy; the essence of Night City

“Nah, chica, it's more than that. Morgan Blackhand, Andrew Weyland, Adam Smasher. Legends are born here!”

“You and me, the next ones up?” She signs, playfully raising an eyebrow at him.

“You know it, jaina.”

“And we’re not gonna need a corp to do it.”

“Swear to god, V,” he shakes his head, grinning, “only merc I know who don’t get all tingly when I mention the greats.”

“Not saying they aren’t badasses, but being the best of the best is easy when you got a billion eddie corp in your corner. Blackhand was in Militech’s pocket, Weyland was on Petrochem’s payroll and Smasher is a certified Arasaka cocksucker,” she explains, fingers cramping from spelling the names as quickly as she can so her tech will translate it right, “but you and me are going to do this right, reach the top without the corp’s dick in our mouths.”

Being a legend may always be Jackie’s dream more than it’s hers… But she’s been growing into it more and more with each passing day.  She’s enjoyed the ride so far and wants to keep up the momentum. While by no means a perfect life, she’s happier than she’s been in a long time. Independent and doing a job she loves more often than not. Though, there’s still something missing… that she can’t quite define. As they keep working their way up that ladder, she’s only feeling more and more like she’s where she belongs. It only gets better from here, so long as her past stays there. V can’t help but think hitting the big leagues is what’s really going to put all the pieces in place, herself included.

“Damn right we will, V. Blackhand’s gonna wish he was us.”

“Blackhand is dead.”

“Psssh, you really believe that, chica?” He looks at her like she’s grown a third head.

“You don’t?”

“Hell no, Blackhand’s out there somewhere, sitting pretty after blowing Arasaka Tower off the map.”

“No one’s seen him since the tower fell, anyone in the tower when it came down is dead, you don’t survive that shit.”

“No one has ever found his body or Silverhand’s!”

“Because it was buried under rubble,” she’s signing frantically and grinning, the little stupid argument lifting some of the gloom off of her, “wait, who the fuck is Silverhand?”

“Silverhand, the ro-,” Jackie pauses, eyes going to the rearview window, she follows his eyeline, a van behind them, “hey is it just me or, argh, van’s on our ass, we got a tail, V!”

V gets a hand on her iron and turns in her seat to try to grab a better look, she can see the holographic mask glitching green and red on the driver. The van jerks into the left lane, speeding up to pass them, then in the very next moment pulling in front of them. V’s brows furrow, what are they doing? Then the double doors to the van open up, two masked gang members opening fire on the mercs.

“Scavs! ¡Hijos de puta!”

And V’s half out the window, sitting on the sill of it,  in the next instant, firing back at the Scavs. Bullets whirl by and V tries to maintain a steady hand as she shoots off shot after shot, aiming for the gangoons heads. Gunshots ring out through the night, bullets whiz past V and blow holes in her car, as she keeps blasting right back. People from the streetways scream, terrified of being caught in the shoot out.

“Come on, V, shoot!”

“Keep it steady,” he side mirror explodes as a bullet hits it, “fuck!”

With a thought, V shuts off her hearing aids, the world going quiet around her. Unable to hear the screaming and racket as she focuses only on shooting the Scavs. Blood sprays, a bullet ripping through a gang member’s head, their body going limp and spilling onto the road. The vehicles swing through a right turn, Jackie a thankfully empty chunk of sidewalk before swinging back out to the road. V reloads her gun as a bullet tears through her hip, not fatal but it hurts like a bitch. She fires off two more shots, catching the last member in the back of the van just as it takes a quick left turn.

But the curve comes back to meet the stretch of highway they’re on. She fires off a few shots as it goes, trying to tear through the tires before the gangers greet them again, but to no avail. The Scavenger van takes the short curve and comes back through the exit, taking the left lane to drive alongside them. V tries to fire a shot at the masked driver, but her aim is off, only blasting out the last of the van’s intact windows.

The van’s door opens, another masked gang member blasting at the mercs as the cars struggle to stay neck and neck. A sharp pain lodges in V’s shoulder and she blows the man’s brains out in her next shot. Only the driver remains and she starts blasting without hesitation, knowing they can’t easily shoot back and has no more friends covering his ass. One last bullet connects with his temple, his body going limp and the van going onto the street, crashing into a building.

She breathes, blinking, heart still pounding in her chest. There’s blood still coming from her wounds and wind whipping around her as Jackie drives. She pulls herself back into the vehicle, bending a knee and keeping one foot in her seat with the other back on the floorboard, because she can’t be bothered to sit properly. She catches Jackie’s lips moving and flips her hearing aids back on.

“Ears were off, mind saying it again,” she signs and can’t help but shrink when she sees the glimmer of annoyance on his face, the tension of the situation no doubt making what’s usually a minor request feel a bit more aggravating.

“Are you okay? You need me to take you to Vik’s?”

The mark on her hip and bicep from earlier are minor, just scratches where bullets skimmed the skin. It's her shoulder that could warrant some concern. She flips on a light in the vehicle, craning her neck to get a better look at the injury. The entry wound isn’t too bad, low caliber, just some blood steadily weeping from her shoulder. V rolls and shifts her shoulder, a tightness to the movement. She touches around her shoulder blades, no exit wound. V rubs around the wound, feeling the injury. Something solid within her flesh, not far from the entry wound.

She knows Vik says not to remove the bullets, that it can cause more harm digging around in the wound, but if she leaves it the thing will annoy her forever. With adrenaline still spiked, heart still pounding and these injuries still feeling like stings at most, it will hurt more later than it will now. So, V digs her fingers into her own wound.

“What are you-”

V finds the bullet beneath her skin and digs her nails into it, ripping it from her flesh, bloodied metal now exposed. She rolls her shoulder, it’s bleeding a bit more, but the movement feels better, more free.

“ Jesus christo, V! Fuckin’ hate when you do that shit!”

V laughs at his reaction, her pisspoor first aid never failing to make Jackie uncomfortable, she tosses the bullet out of the window. She rubs her bloody fingers off on her pants, before pulling at her shirt, a little hole where the bullet struck.

“More bummed about my shirt than anything, Vik doesn’t need to see my mug tonight,” she signs, as if she doesn’t have a hundred more black crop tops.

“Fine, but don’t call me bitching if you’re hurting later tonight.”

“Oh, ‘cause you’re one to talk.” She signs quickly, whipping around in her seat to face him.

“The hell’s that supposed to mean?”

“Hijo de la chingada, V, Misty, this is it for me, I’m done for ahhhhh,” she whines aloud, dropping her tone and trying to mimic Jackie, grinning when he scrunches his face in response.

“I was sick!”

“Well, yeah, that’s what happens when you eat your weight in cheap-ass sushi!”

“It was all you can eat!”

“Pffft,” she sputters and squeals, laughing at his excuse, “Swear to god, Jack, only man I know who can take three bullets to the chest and keep going, but a tummy ache knocks you on your ass!”

“And you’re the only woman I-oh shit.”

Police lights cut across the bridge to Watson, a full police cordon blocking the way. At least four or five NCPD units standing between V and her bed. Because of fucking course they are. She groans and thunks her head  against the seat in frustration.

“Fuck me.”

“‘Preciate the offer, chica, but we gotta run that one by Misty first.” Jackie winks and she makes a gagging noise at him in return. But she’s unable to control the warmth the joke brings to her cheeks. That’s not a mental or emotional road she’s ready to venture down, she shuts the light off in the car, the last thing they need is pigs catching sight of the blood and deciding to give a shit.

Jackie slows the car down as they pull up to the blockade, he’s calmer than her, he’s been fast talking the NCPD his whole life. While no stranger to cops, they’ve been a more sporadic presence in the former nomad’s life, leaving her to fiddle with her choker. She turns off the translator tech, prepared to break out the puppy dog eyes and soft broken little voice if she has to.

A female officer saunters over to the driver’s side window, hair pulled back in a tight ponytail and silver cyberware etching her forehead and chin. Her eyes are hidden behind a pair of dark shades.

“Watson's on lockdown till further notice. Necessary security measure,” she explains to the mercs. V can’t help but eye the bulky security robots, ready to blast them to smithereens if the NCPD deem it ‘necessary’.

“Officer, ma'am! Damn are we ever lucky we ran into you,” Jackie greets the officer, turning up the charm.

“Really… What's it that makes me so special?”

“Uh, a heart of gold? 'Course only somebody with a heart of gold can understand just how much I need to get back to my girl.”

“Your… girl?”

“Hm… that's a shame.”

“C’mon, look at him,” V slings her forearm onto Jackie’s shoulder then rests her chin there, making puppy dog eyes at the officer, “no model citizen maybe, but he’s a good kid.” She pats his chest for added effect.  

There’s a grin pulling at Jackie’s lips and she struggles not to smile in return, wanting to laugh at the silliness of it all. The officer sighs and turns away from the pair, the two taking the moment to make faces at each other, trying to make the other break and laugh.

Let them through. But they're the last,” she turns back to the mercs and they try to force serious expressions, “OK, on your way.”

“You have a good evening, now, officer… ma'am,” Jackie nods and starts to drive through the blockade.

V pulls away from Jackie’s side, instantly feeling colder away from his warmth, she twists to look forward. Watching neon lights and city people walking by. Sometimes it feels surreal. Not minutes ago she was shooting gangoons in the back of a van. Not an hour or so ago, she was pulling a woman out of an ice filled tub. Yet, the world keeps spinning, couples and families walking down the same streets her and Jackie have nearly died in so many times. No, no storm clouds, if she digs that hole she’ll need an excavator to get back out.

“So, you can be nice when you feel like it,” she signs and talks, content to use her voice at the moment, just her and Jackie after all.

“When am I not nice?”

“Uhhh, always!”

“I'm always never not nice!”

“Puh-lease!”

“And what about you?”

“What about me?”

“Oh, Jackie, I can’t possibly talk around strangers, you, Misty, Mama Welles, and Vik are the only people I can talk with.  But the moment it’s time to pull out the wool over a pig’s eyes, suddenly, you’re real talkative!”

“Tone is an important tool in manipulation, my eyes can only do so much.”

“Keep that in mind when you beg me to order your food for you.”

“What? No!”

Jackie laughs, warm and deep in his chest at her offense at the mere notion of having to be in charge of ordering her own lunch from now on. It's just so much easier to have Jackie do it, waitresses are much more used to weirdness in Night City, but there’s still that odd little look when she starts signing and her translator tech does its thing. Jackie still laughs about the time he made her order the lunch over the phone and they hung up as soon as they heard the artificial voice, assuming it was some scam.

“Oh shit…” V says, soft and low as they pull up towards an intersection, two men holding guns aiming at  a driver’s side window, some poor bastard panicking behind the wheel.

“Outta the car! Now! C'mon! Ain't got all day!” The armed man screams at them and V’s fingers twitch to grab her iron. Then a large police aircraft vehicle comes flying in, lights flashing.

“Check it out, V. Shit's goin' down,” Jackie says, trying to hunch down behind the wheel, which does nothing to hide his six foot five form.

“Aa, shit, they're here!” One of the gang members yells and they’re screaming at each other to shoot. A small group of officers deploy from the aircraft vehicle, the led blue adornments to their uniform and odd helmets that cover their eyes tell her they’re MaxTac. The officers start firing back at the gangers.

“NCPD's apex predators at work, gonk out there nothing but a midday snack.”

“Wonder why they’re busting out MaxTac for this? Just looks like a regular carjacking to me.”

“Who knows, corpo behind the wheel? Got a quota to meet?”

“To put on a show of intimidation.”

“Might be onto something with that one,” the gangers are shot dead, bleeding out on the ground around the car they tried to jack, “welp, shows over.  Poor bastards… but they had it comin'.”

They pull away from the conflict, nothing but the hum of the radio playing as Jackie drives her home. Her leg is bounces softly in the floorboard, her fingers tapping at the window sill, occasionally catching the wind. The feeling she’s more accustomed to after gigs, a restlessness, adrenaline and energy boiling over. Maybe she won’t just drop once she gets home, no longer bone tired. Oddly enough, the shootout seems to have lifted her spirits. She’ll take a high stakes, high adrenaline car chase over the bone weariness ther rescue put her in.

Jake is in Heywood, so he won’t be able to get through the cordon. Cecelia is probably working at Tom’s Diner tonight. If she’s near the end of her shift, V might be able to score a lay and late night pancakes. Her mood is still a bit too sour to hit up a bar or club for a stranger, but still feeling the need to work through this energy and tension. She was dreaming of nothing more than hitting the pillow, seeing if she could sleep soundly tonight, but now she doesn’t think she’ll be able to sleep at all unless she gets some energy out.  She gets out her holophone and opens up Cecelia’s contact.

“Whatcha doing, jaina?”

“Texting Cecelia,” V shrugs, shoulder twinging in pain,  “y’know how it is.”

“Of course, shit gets the blood pumping, why you think I always got a date night planned after a big gig?”

“Thought that was so you could steal my car?” She teases, typing up her message to Cecelia but not sending it yet.

“That too, but after you nearly die, just gotta do something to feel alive.”

“I think we might just be perverts.”

“Eh, that too,” he laughs as they pull into her apartment complex’s parking garage, “we’re here.”

“What about you? Not likely to make it back to Heywood now…” She asks, holding her thumb over the send button, if Jackie can’t get back through he’ll be crashing at her place and she doubts he’s going to want to sleep on the couch listening to her and her fuckbuddy go at it.

“Chill, V. They'll let me through.”

“Sure about that?”

“Oh yeah. I'll play nice Jackie again,” he stops the car near the elevator doors, “go, have some fun, lord knows you need it.”

He sticks his hand out, V smacking her palm into his own, a quick shake then they bump their fists together. His hand practically engulfs her own, that foot and a half of size difference obvious even in the contrast of their hands. One of these days she’s going to strain her neck looking up to talk to him.

“Tell Misty I said ‘hi’.”

“I will. Ahí luego.”

Goodbyes said for the night, V grabs her mask from the backseat and steps out of the car, her joints and injury protesting the movement. Her combat boots stomp against the pavement as she calls up the elevator, giving a final wave to Jackie as he pulls out of the garage. She leans against the wall, on her good shoulder, sending the text to Cecelia.

V: you @ work???

The elevator dings and V steps inside, cringing at the sudden bright light of the elevator, a stark contrast to the dimness of the garage. Video screens play ads for energy drinks and cyberware; everything under the sun. Everything in neon bubblegum colors or horrific details, because shock value sells nearly as well as tits.  Her holo buzzes and V checks a text from T-Bug, the runner knows she’d rather text than call but the sudden message is strange nonetheless. Bug only reaches out when it has something to do with a job.

T-Bug: Forgot earlier,  a runner I know has something you could probably use. It's a runner shop outside of Kabuki.

For some reason she’s not shocked at all that Bug would text in full grammatically correct sentences. V can’t help but think the world would implode if T-Bug ever sent an emoji or emoticon.  But gifts are a little unusual for her, but for some reason the experienced netrunner is convinced she can teach V the craft.

V: thanx bug, thats sweet of ya~!

She’s promptly left on seen, no indication of Bug typing anything back,  and V can’t help but laugh. The more T-Bug acts skeeved out by her affection, the more she wants to tease her with it.

“Good evening, Night City!~”

The screens cut to Night After Night, the host Ziggy Q coming to sit at his desk, green hair and gold suit twinkling under his stage lights. V rarely watches this kind of thing or watches TV as a whole if she’s being honest, just more noise, but she finds herself unable to help watching as the elevator starts to move.

“My first guest for tonight is the president of The Church of El Yahu, The Last Emancipator and the bane of Arasaka’s PR department; one Reverend Colver.”

The camera cuts to an older man dressed in black and beige, seemingly lost among the neon pinks and yellows of the stage. He sits down on the plush magenta couch, nodding towards the host.

“Praise be to thee our Father in heaven.”

“And ouuur second guest is Karina Lee, host of the Chip In program, which promotes the use of cybernetic implants,” a woman with a thick dark afro of hair comes onto the stage, “ how’s life treating you beautiful?”

“Can’t complain, Ziggy,” Karina tells him, she looks much more in place than the Reverend as she sits down next to him,  bright clothes and heavy gold cyberward indented in her jaw, “thanks for having me.”

“Now, I’d like to have us talk about the most exclusive and highly sought after implant on the market today, Arasaka Corp’s Relic. But maybe we ought to make sure our fair audience is up to speed,” Ziggy says, waving a dramatic and manicured hand towards the camera before focusing back in on his guests, “Karina, what is the relic exactly? In a word, if you could?”

“In one word? I’d say, immortality.”

“Immortality? Really?”

V can’t help but roll her eyes at the dramatic wording and the over the top expressions the host makes. Nothing can make someone immortal, that's a pipe dream, even if it is possible it will never be feasible on a mass scale for anyone who isn’t rich. TV types always got to exaggerate, she figures.

“That’s right, the relic allows you to transfer the consciousness from a dying person, finding a new home for their soul on a transferrable chip. This person, they’ll never leave your side, a companion with you  forever in your own consciousness. Just imagine if-”

“Child, child-” the Reverend cuts her off, “think for a moment about what you’re saying! This relic is an abomination that feeds on human misery! It is an unnatural likeness, a golden calf born by false prophets! What’s more, this technology is just another tool of coercion and corruption, only the wealthy and powerful elite will have access. And they will pay any price in exchange for a chance at this so-called immortality. Arasaka speaks of preserving the soul but they can promise nothing more than a heartless, mindless, algorithm speaking with the voice of the departed.”

“Well, that is true that Arasaka Corp has specifically limited access to the relic in order to-”

“The promise is a lie,” the Reverend starts to stand, gesturing emphatically, “an evil lie, motivated by greed and lust for power-”

“HA, now that is rich,” Ziggy cuts off Colver’s ramblings with a laugh.

“Excuse me!?”

“False promises, greed, a lust for power,” Ziggy rolls his eyes, “well sounds an awful lot like a church to me!”

“Wha- how dare you?”

“Do you not promise a life after death? Do you not charge funeral fees to a family in mourning? Maybe the Reverend is just afraid of a little healthy competition, huh?”

“Competition,” the religious figure scoffs, “you believe everything in this world can be counted, measured, rationalized!”

“And wouldn’t we be right?” Karina interjects, “we can construct artificial brains, create new consciousnesses!”

“But I ask you why? What does that give us? Are we as a people on this earth any happier for it? You claim that this relic gives eternal life, but all I see is an eternity of suffering. Rather than say goodbye, we haunt ourselves with their voices, their presence, but-”

“What do you folks think? Who holds the truth, is it Ms. Lee or maybe Reverend Colver? That is up to you!” Ziggy gestures at a screen behind him, showing the two guests,  “Send Colver or Lee to 7892 to cast your vote and enter your name for a chance to win tickets to this year's playoffs! Until next time, Night City, toodles!~”

V sighs, as the program cuts out and more ads start to be blasted at her. The conversation a heavy one, now tinkering around in her skull. The idea of keeping a dead loved one around as an imaginary friend… she thinks of her mother instantly, the person whose death most gravely impacted her. If she had her mom still lingering around, sitting in her head, it sounds...strange. A part of her thinks she’d love it, to have her mother back, but eould she ever see it as her mother? Committing herself to a fantasy like that, it doesn’t sound healthy, at all. Death is natural, learning how to say goodbye is part of life, right? She can’t imagine her spending all her time talking to a ghost from the past.

Her holophone buzzes in her pocket and she realizes the elevator is on her floor, probably has been for a few minutes. She shakes her head, she doesn’t need anymore heavy shit in her skull. The relic has nothing to do with her, anyway. Wondering about what if’s and could be’s won’t get her anywhere. V gets her holophone from her pocket, a text from Cecelia, a much needed distraction and relief. She starts to text her regular hookup as she makes her way to her apartment.

Cecelia: Yeah, be off in an hour, why?

V: i have a proposition

Cecelia: ???

V: bring me pancakes and i make you cum ;)

V’s flirting skills continue to impress absolutely no one, but Cecelia is still into the merc,  so that’s really on her at this point.

Cecelia: Will you pay me back for the pancakes?

V: yee

Cecelia: Drop by your place around midnight, sound good?

V:  pls and thanx! :3

V slips the phone back into her pocket, opening her apartment door and slipping inside. She shuts the door behind and starts stripping off her clothes, she needs a shower before Cecelia gets here. The waitress probably wouldn’t be too excited to come in and see V covered in a layer of sweat and blood.  Clothes off she takes her hearing aids out and puts them on her desk before she makes the beeline for her shower.

She cranks the water up as hot as possible and steps under, her shoulder and scratches sting, but she focuses her energy on washing the blood and sweat away. V washes through her hair, muscles relaxing at the feeling of hot water pouring down on her, the smell of rose scented shampoo and conditioner lingering in the air as she washes.

She’s tempted to touch herself under the water, her soap slick thighs clenching together. It's tempting, still just riding that adrenaline high, it’d be nice to find some relief. But the bullet wound in her shoulder should be attended to first, she dug the bullet out in the car, but the injury still could use some first aid. She didn’t have anything to stitch it closed and she’s not sure it’d be the smartest idea to stitch herself in a moving car, not that she hasn’t done it before.

V shuts off her shower, ignoring her swollen clit and the tension in her core. She steps out of the water and stands in front of her bathroom sink, her reflection showing in the mirror. The merc grabs her first aid kit, getting out the stuff she needs to suture her shoulder.

Vik will bitch at her for it later, call her work shoddy, but she’s been taking care of her own injuries for years.  She doesn’t need to run to him for every little thing. She pats it dry first, leaving pink stains on her bathroom towel, then she pours some antiseptic peroxide on it. A curse on her lips at the sharp sting, she cringes and takes a deep breath, preparing the needle and suture. The needle pulls through her skin with a harsh pain, as she pulls her skin back together with a quick crude stitch.

Content with her oh so shoddy work, she finishes drying off and leaves the bathroom, dropping her dirty clothes in a laundry hamper to be mended and washed later. She checks the time on her holo, still thirty or so minutes before Cecelia said she’d drop in. V throws on an oversized black tee shirt and a pair of shorts it completely covers. Her skin feels warm, still smells like roses and honey, something about the warm cozy feeling makes that little fire inside come back.  She clenches her thighs together again, mentally cursing her sex drive, libido, hormones, whatever it is that makes it so she can put a needle through her bloodied skin and still want to cum immediately after.

There's a skip in her step as she rushes to scoop her phone and hearing aids off her desk, putting them on the little circular table next to her bed instead, so they’re easily in reach. Then she plops herself onto her bed, atop the covers and blankets, she sinks into them. She feels warm, skin soft and clean to the touch. When she stretches slightly in her bed, she feels a soft sound leaving her lips.

Her breasts feel soft under her shirt, squeezing and groping herself over her clothes. Sensitive pierced nipples stiffening under the fabric, she pinches them lightly, whimpering at the pressure. She presses her head back against her pillow, biting her lip as she puts a hand underneath her shirt, teasing her breast directly, playing with her piercings.  Each touch makes her slicker, makes her clit swell and beg to be touched.

V shoves a hand down into her shorts, pushing two fingers through the lips of her wet cunt. She presses them against her clit, groaning as she begins to rub, quick messy circles. Focused on just getting there, a harsh pressure and quick pace, squirming her hips against her own hand as she builds herself up. Pleasure pools in her center, building upon itself, growing higher and higher with each stroke of her clit.

A blue light goes off, strobing and bright enough to illuminate the room. Her phone buzzes on the side table with a notification. Someone knocking on her door, she wipes her slick fingers off on her thigh and quickly puts her hearing aids in.

“V!~ It’s Cece!” The older woman’s voice rings out and V jogs to the door, feeling like she’s about to combust.

She opens the door and Cecelia quickly steps inside. V hates the diner uniform, a yellow dress and apron. But Cecelia manages to be beautiful in anything, why on earth she wants anything to do with V is beyond the merc’s comprehension. She’s tall, though nearly everyone towers over V to some extent, with a cute shaggy pixie cut of dark hair. Olive skin with a dusting of freckles and amber eyes, far too beautiful to be rolling around in bed with some nomad turn street punk.

“I got extra honey and syrup for-”

She’s cut off by V’s lips in the middle of explaining what’s in the little white diner container. Her words dying on the merc’s tongue, V presses in deep, tasting all she can of Cecelia’s mouth, finding the taste of coffee and cigarettes awaiting her. A bitter taste, one she despises, but she ignores for the sake of her own lust. She presses the taller woman against the closed door, hands grabbing at the curve of Cecelia’s hips, pulling up on the dress of her uniform.

“V, V,” Cecelia breaks away from the kiss, panting, “you're gonna crush your pancakes.”

V rolls her eyes, taking the container from Cecelia’s hands and quickly placing it on her computer desk. Then she’s shoving a hand under the waitress uniform, Cecelia keening as V slips her hand into the older woman’s panties. The merc buries her face into her partner’s neck, licking, sucking and biting at her skin as she works her fingers against her clit. V braces her other hand against the door, sharply biting the expanse of skin against her lips. She gazes up at her fuckbuddy, the woman’s head thrown back against the door as she whimpers, V’s hand doesn’t stop working. She rubs the same two fingers she had on herself just moments before over Cecelia’s clit, the bundle of nerves swollen and slick. The merc’s hand is soaked in it already, she finds herself wondering if she’d find a puddle on her apartment floor if she looked down.

“You’re smoking again,” V whispers against Cecelia’s neck, marveling at the bruises her teeth have left behind. She knows the effect her voice has in these moments, so rarely heard by Cecelia, and when it is it’s husk with lust.

“So-” V twists her wrists and sinks those two fingers inside, “sorry, I fuck, V, stre-fuck-stressful day, I fuck, fuck, fuck!”

“That hardly seems fair, what did I taste like?” V pumps her fingers steadily, feeling slick run down her wrist.

“Li-aH, ah, uh, honey, you ta-taste like h-oney, al-always do~!” Her hips squirm to meet V’s thrusting fingers, trying to chase her own pleasure.

“So, you get honey and I get to lick the inside of an ashtray?”

“I sa-said,” V adds a third finger, speeding up her movement, “Fuck, I’m sorry!’

“Hmmm, I don’t think sorry cuts it here, Cece.” V starts to rub her thumb clumsily over Cecelia’s clit, watching the woman moan and squirm. Her thighs are vice tight around V’s wrist, teeth sinking into her lip. She’s close.

“V, fuck please, I, fu-uck!” She whines and pleads, V’s not even sure what for, if it’s too much or not enough.

“Fine, I’ll forgive ya, but I gotta get the taste out of my mouth first.”

V drops to her knees, yanking Cecelia’s underwear down to her ankles just to bury her face between the older woman’s thighs. The merc uses her hands to keep her partner’s legs spread and gives a heavy messy lick of Cecelia’s clit, ensuring her tongue piercing makes contact with the sensitive nerves. Already built up to near orgasm, Cecelia screams out, the lick sending her right over the edge. Slick gushes onto V’s mouth and chin, coating her tongue in a heavy layer that she swallows before she starts licking again. Pubic hair scratches at her nose as she laps and licks at Cecelia’s cunt. Licking her through orgasm and prolonging it into another, and another, drawing the high out with every lave of her tongue. Cecelia squirms and thrust her hips, sloppily humping against the merc’s face, she knots her fingers in V’s bleach blonde hair. It becomes too much, orgasms drawn out to long, tears forming at the corner of Cecelia’s eyes.

“St-stop!”

V pulls away instantly, face a flushed mess of slick and lust. She slowly pulls away from Cecelia, standing up, the taller woman’s knees are buckled and she’s leaning all her weight against the door. The two pant, each catching their breath and V looks down on the floor, her suspicions confirmed at the wet droplets, Cecelia managing to drip down onto the wood.

“I, uh, take it you’re a little worked up tonight?”

V makes a wiggly ‘kind of’ hand gesture, winking at Cecelia, smirking. She can’t help but feel a sense of pride looking at Cecelia; panting, neck marked, underwear around her ankles, and still dripping.

“That taste better than cigarettes?” Cecelia asks, smiling and still out of breath as she kicks off her heels and  steps out of her panties towards V. She cups V’s slick sodden chin, amber eyes soft as she brushes her thumb across the younger woman’s bottom lip.

“Much.”

Then their lips connect again, the sweetness of slick cutting down on the bitter taste of Cecelia’s bad habit. They lick into each other’s mouth, press into each other, pull away slightly; all to fall back into it. V starts pulling at the buttons of Cecelia’s uniform, revealing inch after inch of cleavage. She pushes it down off the older woman’s shoulders, leaving her in nothing but a bra. Heavy breasts surrounded by black lace, but only for a moment then V’s greedy hands unhook it, pulling the last bit of fabric from Cecelia’s body.

“On the bed,” V signs and speaks, words slurred with desire.

Cecelia gives a soft laugh and V discretely scratches at her hearing aid, the device starting to rub the inside of her ear raw, sex sweat irritating it. This type of tech became completely waterproof millennia ago, but they can still chafe. Refocusing her attention, she stares at Cecelia laying down in her bed. A beautiful face is no doubt what first drew her eye to the waitress, but Cecelia’s curvy soft figure was next. Large breasts that spill over most of her bras, a soft stomach, and thick thighs. A contrast to V’s own body, the merc more petite and curves more...subtle.

V doesn’t hesitate another moment, straddling Cecelia’s waist, the older woman’s hands instinctively reading for the merc’s hips. A twinge of pain when Cecelia’s unknowingly brushes against the small injury there, V ignores it in favor of pulling her shirt off over her head, throwing it onto the floor. She expects eyes raking over her small pert breasts, a look of desire in Cecelia’s eyes. But finds concern instead, fingers reach out to V’s shoulder, nearly brushing the crude stitches.

“What hap-”

V grabs Cecelia’s wrists and pins them to the bed, burying her lips into the older woman’s neck again. She sucks and bites, hoping the action gets her point across; don’t touch that, don’t ask that, don’t push. V likes fucking Cecelia. They are fuckbuddies, but Cecelia has a way of asking questions, wanting to know more beyond how skilled the merc is with her tongue. So, she has to steer it back on course, latching her mouth around one of Cecelia’s breasts, sucking and licking at her nipple. Cecelia moans and whimpers when V teases her chest, giving the other breast the same treatment and pulling off with a wet pop.

“Fuck, point made, V,” Cecelia swallows hard, “you still have any straps laying around?”

“Want me to fuck you with it?”

“No, uh, wanna watch you ride it”

V’s never scrambled so fast to get her toy box out from under her bed, a little chilled at leaving Cecelia’s warmth, she pulls her treasure trove out. She chooses a toy, essentially double sided and strap strap on. One end is a vibrating bulb likes shape and the other a dildo. V strips off her shorts before clambering back onto the bed. She lightly taps Cecelia’s thigh, licking her lips when the brunette spreads them for her.  The ribbed bulb slides easily inside of Cecelia and her high pitched whine lets V know it’s doing its job, pressing on the g-spot, when theyfuck it should grind against her clit too. Once inside, the rest of the toy sticks out, making it look like Cecelia has a slick black silicon cock.

Then V turns the vibration on, Cecelia screaming out as it buzzes and vibrates inside of her. V can’t help but laugh at her overstimulated and sensitive partner, she pins Cecelia’s hands back down to the mattress and straddles her. Her wet neglected cunt hovering just over the vibrating dildo, she kisses at Cecelia’s jaw. The brunette’s eyes are closed tightly, face contorted in pleasure as the toy works it’s magic.

“Thought you wanted to watch me?” V teases, smirking against Cecelia’s skin, then sinks down on top of the toy.

V whines and whimpers as the vibrating toy fills her, Cecelia grabbing her hips, amber eyes now firmly watching the blonde. Moans and squeals echo throughout the room. V fucks herself on the toy, Cecelia’s hips thrusting up to meet the movement, slamming the toy further into her each time. They’re both sensitive, Cecelia from being overstimulated since she walked in the room and V from neglecting her own needs until now.  Heavy squelching noises ring out where the toy plunges in and out of V’s cunt; mixing with the buzzing of the toy  and the clap of their flesh meeting on each thrust. There’s a tension in V’s center that grows tighter and tighter inside of her, pleasure building upon pleasure. Each slide of the toy inside of her brings her closer and closer to her end.

She lets go of Cecelia’s wrists, the hunched over position getting uncomfortable, V shifts her hands back onto the brunette’s legs, leaning back to support her weight that way. Then Cecelia thrusts, angle slightly changed and hitting impossibly deep, too much, too much. The tension snaps and V’s overwhelmed by pleasure, she bounces on the toy through her orgasms, yelling out as she rides out the waves of ecstasy.

A soft whine leaves V’s lips, when she starts to come down and the buzzing toy is too much, Cecelia looks about ready to pass out and V realizes there’s no way all the slick where they connect is from her.  The merc whimpers pulling off of the toy and turning off it’s vibrations, earning a sound from Cecelia who gasps when V gently pulls it out.

The toy is soaked; their thighs and the bed where their hips met too. Too tired to care about organization right now, V casually throws the toy to the side, she’ll clean and store it properly later. She instead collapses next to Cecelia, the two gathering their breath.

She’s not sure how much time passes, just laying next to Cecelia, but V’s heart rate and breathing calms down. Ther merc yawns, her ears hurt worse now. But, the orgasm was worth it. Her stomach is starting to hurt too.

“Your pancake are probably cold by now,” Cecelia tells her with a laugh and-

Oh fuck, V forgot her pancakes. She jumps out of bed, stumbling on her way to grab her food

“Did you just trip over a used dildo?”

“Not answering that.”

V brings the food back to the bedside table,  throwing her oversized shirt back on, before climbing into bed with her meal. She folds her legs and sits the meal in her lap, facing the side of the bed with Cecelia sitting next to her.

“You mind if I borrow some sleep clothes?”

V gives a thumbs up, opening her food container, her stomach growls and she realizes she hasn’t eaten since probably noon. Cecelia got her a stack of pancakes covered in honey, maple syrup, and whip cream. Even a little carton of milk packed tightly in with the food, probably her attempt to keep V from drinking too much Nicola.

“I assume that also means you’re okay with staying the night? Marlow’s at her dad’s this week, so the apartment’s kind of lonely…”

Another thumbs up, taking a big bite of food as Cecelia starts to look through her closet. Anything that fits V properly will be too tight on the brunette, but V’s collection of oversized sleep shirts should be fine. The merc watches half heartedly as Cecelia pokes through the old tees, already having devoured half of her pancake stack.

“Samurai?” Cecelia raises an eyebrow, looking at a bagging black and red shirt, the one she kept that originally belonged to Ava, “you listen to dad rock?”

“Not mine, don’t wear that one!”  V quickly signs with one hand, sometimes she wears it and can still convince herself it still  smells like her old love… She doesn’t want it smelling like anyone else and maybe that’s stupid, maybe that’s weird, she doesn’t know or care. It means something to her. She doesn’t know or give a fuck about the band on it, some shitty punk group no ones given a damn about in years, but it belonged to Ava. That’s what matters.

“Okay, no problem,” Cecelia seems to understand, not noticing or at the very least not mentioning V’s odd tension around it. She instead throws on an oversized white shirt before coming back to the bed.

The shirt on V reaches past her knees, but on Cecelia it hits around the mid thighs. V feels the brunette’s warmth as their sides touch, sitting close together. V shoves another chunk of pancakes in her mouth, nearly inhaling it.

“At least drink some milk, you and that friend of yours are the worst about chewing your food. I swear, I’ve seen you both choke five or six times in one meal.”

V nods and grabs the little carton of milk, her stomach dropping when she sees the back of it. A woman’s face stares back at her, a little different, more cleaned up and hair on her head,  but still bone chillingly familiar. Sandra Dorsett, a little message under her picture asking if anyone’s seen her.

“Something wrong, V?” Cecelia puts a hand on her back, rubbing gentle circles, then her eyes fall on the carton, “you know her?”

V shakes her head, because she doesn’t, not really. And even then, it's a moot point, the ad is old and Sandra is safe now… probably.  Not like V actually knows, she could have died in the Trauma Team vehicle, before they even made it to the hospital. And god only knows what the long term effects will be and she’s the lucky one.

“Well, they found her, from what I heard.”

V raises an eye at Cecelia, turning to face her a bit more.

“Caught it on the news just before I clocked out, they haven’t released the footage of the rescue yet, but apparently she was pulled out of some Scavenger hideout. Trauma Team got her and say she’s going to make a full recovery, so, good news…” She drags it out, like she’s testing V’s reaction trying to see if she can get anything from the merc.

“It’s good,” V signs, Cecelia’s eyes falling to the mercs hands, “but, you know Scavengers… there was probably twenty, thirty more bodies there, left to rot because they didn’t have enough money for Trauma to care.”

“Yeah, it's fucked but, hey, one person is better than none.”

“I guess… I hear even the people who get saved are fucked up afterwards. They don’t remember anything, until something triggers a flashback and next thing they know they feel like the worlds crashing in on them.”

“Won’t be easy, for sure, I can’t even imagine what that poor girl has gone through, but people are resilient.”

“Got to be,” V signs, chewing her lip, “the world’d eat them alive otherwise.”

“You got a good heart, V, you know that?” Cecelia tells her, tucking a strand of hair back behind the merc’s.

“Gross.”

“Yes, yes, I know, big bad merc can’t have feelings, fear her, blah blah blah,” Cecelia rolls her eyes and V blows a raspberry at her. Then stands to put what’s left of the food on the side table, the brief moment of vulnerability putting her off her pancakes. Cecelia always manages to pry something from her.

“Let's get to sleep, before I kill you,” she signs, then gestures to Cecelia to get to bed.

Cecelia curls up with V’s pillow, nestling into the sheets while V pulls out her hearing aids, rubbing at the raw skin. Putting her hearing aids back down, she sees the text notification on her phone. From Jackie, the message is short enough to display in the preview window.

Jackie: got big news, chica! B-I-G BIG!!! talk to you in the morning, hehehe!~

V lets out a huff of air, smiling and rolling her eyes all at once. He’s dramatic, always has been. His idea of big news is probably some new restaurant he found, maybe he won some eddies on a boxing match.  She shakes her head and puts the phone aside for now, crawling under the covers. Cecelia lifts an arm, allowing V to curl up close with her head on Cecelia’s chest as she drifts off to sleep.

[addictedtostorytelling]

What do you imagine the typical gsr night-off, or “date night,” to be? Especially if they try and avoid super public places where they could run into someone

hey, anon!

honestly, i think that most of the time they’re homebodies: they like nights when it’s just them and the dog, when everything is quiet and they can take things slow. they stay in and watch old movies (like what we see in episode 07x22 “leapin’ lizards”). grissom might cook for them. they’ll do crossword puzzles together or sit on the couch reading in silence. eventually, they’ll end up cuddling in bed.

while some might find what they do boring, they revel in the opportunity to enjoy each other’s company at a leisurely pace and in a completely safe environment, both as a change of scene from their hectic, high-stakes jobs and given that (especially in sara’s case) the “simple domestic life” used to seem so unattainable that to just have a home together is pretty much ~the dream~. 

that said, i don’t suppose they stay in all of the time.

when they do go out, they avoid the strip and stick mostly to their own neighborhood haunts—the dog park near their condo, the bistro down the street, the local bookstore, etc. they don’t venture into high-traffic areas or near anywhere their team has recently worked a crime scene.

hell, they might even use sara’s old police scanner to know where in the city there is lvpd activity going on and avoid those places while they’re out.

still, even being careful, being out in the city together would always be dangerous for them—what if some lab employee who worked another shift (but definitely knew them) saw them together? what if they happened to be in an area where a crime was committed and cops and emergency responders showed up all of a sudden?—so i also tend to think that most of their “out on the town” dates happen well away from both the 702 and 725 area codes. 

based on some of sara’s comments about their honeymoon and shared activities as a married couple in later seasons, i imagine they like to enjoy nature together, far away from the city. 

i once wrote a fic about them going for an early-morning hike up mount charleston.

i can also easily picture them canoeing on the colorado river or even taking a day trip to some of the many national parks near vegas (including those in nearby southern utah, like zion); they could easily spend a whole afternoon looking for bugs together in the mojave or even doing something to give back, like volunteering at a nature preserve or out-of-the-way dog shelter.

if they were looking to do something more “metropolitan,” they might also drive to a city outside of the lvpd jurisdiction. reno and carson city are a little bit far away for them to reasonably visit on a day off, but flagstaff, az is within driving distance, particularly if they were to stay there overnight. i have a thing about them and stargazing, so i personally like to envision them on a date to the lowell observatory. i also think they might really enjoy the flagstaff shakespeare festival. museums and art galleries, as well. maybe if they gunned it, they could even make it to phoenix to catch an mlb game at chase field.

of course, considering that it would be a very rare occasion indeed when both of them had the same day(s) off—given that grissom has to stagger their schedules so as not to raise the suspicions of their coworkers—most of their “dates” probably happen during the few fleeting hours from 8am and 10pm they have in-between regular shifts.

that so, they’re probably very lowkey.

—like “let’s just get in the car and go for a drive out in the desert and talk for an hour or two” lowkey or “we’ll walk the dog around the block a couple of times” lowkey or even “how about we get in the bathtub, drink some wine, and soak for a while before bed?” lowkey.

nothing fancy.

admittedly, all of these headcanons reflect my personal interest in the quiet, domestic gsr we so rarely caught glimpses of in canon; i like imagining them just hanging out together and enjoying the tranquility, you know?

anyway.

that’s what i’ve got.

thanks for the question! feel welcome to send another any time.

[pinnithin-writes]

A scene rewrite from MTZ episode 301, when Pleck and AJ went to save C-53 from foodservice hell. Corporate blues got me down, man. 2005 words.

He’s had worse jobs before, he considered.

The tinkling of the service bell was cheerful and the heat from the warmers was pleasant. He was never lonely, surrounded as he was by valued customers from six to midnight. Here, he was the member of a team, possessing a critical skill set necessary to keep this ship on course. He was loved. The training videos said so.

C-53 was undeniably two dimensional these days, which was fine by him. Two dimensions were easier than three, a square simpler than a cube, an employment less painful than emotion. The restraining bolt had been firmly secured for six months now, and every day that passed made his old profession feel more and more like a distant dream.

Yes, he’d had worse jobs before, but he also felt that maybe he’d had better. 

His wandering processing shunted neatly back into place as a customer approached the register. This particular On-N-Off location was never empty for long, situated as it was in the heart of Holowood. It kept him blessedly busy. Taking and inputting orders was automatic by now, and he met such a delightful array of people throughout his shifts. Sentients from all over the galaxy came to his restaurant. C-53 was incredibly lucky. 

“‘Scuse me? Excuse me? I have choked on this toy, and-”

“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that-”

“So I’m going to sue. What is your name?” 

He paused for only a fraction of a second. “My name is C-53, madam, I am a Yumbassador here at On-N-Off Burger.”

This was a line he still tripped over from time to time. His coding hadn’t fully smoothed it over. He’d always been C-53 - he couldn’t remember a time he ever wasn’t - but there was a different way of introducing himself he used to say with more conviction. C-53 changed frames like other sentients changed hairstyles, but his identity was something that tethered him to reality as he cycled through lifetimes.

He had perhaps been C-53, protocol and diplomatic relations droid, the longest. It was a habit that hurt to unlearn.

The restraining bolt tapped a reminder into his processor. There were patrons to care for. He gracefully handled the choking customer, unsticking the transient object with some simple physics and a chair. Honestly, what would this place do without him? He returned his attention pleasantly to the line of tourists snaking before him.

“Okay, I’ll have uh, one Space Shack burger, uh…”

“Sir,” C-53 broke in gently. “A reminder this is not a Space Shack, this is On-N-Off.”

“You guys don’t have Space Shack burgers?”

“Well, we have On-N-Off burgers.”

“Oh, well,” the customer faltered and their voice fell to a mutter. “Space Shack only has Space Shack burgers.”

“Well, that’s how branding works, sir,” C-53 explained. Then, as an afterthought, he added, “I don’t mean to rock your world, but-”

“You’re rocking my world,” the customer laughed.

The exchange was vaguely familiar, as if C-53 had made this gentle correction many times before. He probably had, in all reality - his patrons were alway a little starstruck from the Holowood experience and it was easy to make mistakes - but this familiarity felt… older. Fonder. Something plucked in his coding, something that was almost loneliness, and he allowed the restraining bolt to lead him away from the feeling.

It wasn’t like his memory was totally wiped. He kept a fairly accurate recollection of his past firmly locked in his internal hard drive. He remembered names and places and events. He just preferred not to. His current bolt wasn’t nearly as harsh as his old Alliance one - that awful thing had shocked him anytime an emotion surfaced like a fork in an electrical socket. No, this one was nicer. It had his best interest at heart. 

He was knocked out of his reverie by a loud, commanding tone from the front door. “I’d like to order something!” A CLINT, fully plated in battle armor, was waving his rifle conspicuously in the air. “And speak to a manager!”

While this interjection was startling, the voice that followed hit C-53 much harder.

“No, not here - wait in line! Wait in line!”

It was a voice he knew quite well; one he never thought he’d hear again. A voice with a smile in its words. A voice always on the edge of laughter. His processor flooded with a surge of emotion as his memories rushed back, and for a second the restraining bolt scrambled to bypass his programming. C-53’s ocular sensors snapped toward the sound and caught a shock of blue hair further back in the line. It was him, alright. How had he found him?

The CLINT was still hollering from the front door. “I’d like to order something and speak to a manager!”

“AJ!”

C-53’s vocalizer spurred a response automatically and against his will. “Sir, we have a fairly obvious line structure,” he said, indicating with a hand. “If you could just fall in line back there-”

“I’m doing it,” the soldier interrupted, lowering his blaster. “I’m in the line now, and I’d like to order something and speak to a manager.”

“No need to update me any further until you’ve reached the front of the line, sir. Thank you.”

He watched the CLINT fall in with his companion and returned his attention to the customer at hand. Blue locks of hair tugged at C-53’s periphery, but his trust in the restraining bolt kept his sensors aimed on what was important. Somewhere in his coding, a small part of him was screaming through questions and probability, muted and far away.

From C-53’s left, his manager slouched out of their office, drawn by the shouting. “Did somebody say they wanted to speak to the manager?” they sighed.

“Ah, yes, this gentleman does,” C-53 began, but his explanation was cut off abruptly.

“Yes, I would like to,” the CLINT asserted. “I’m ordering stuff and speaking to the manager.”

Protocol allowed C-53 to move his field of vision back to what initially shocked him, and for the first time he was able to fully lay scanners on the tellurian accompanying the CLINT. That was, without a doubt, Pleck Decksetter. He looked different from the last time they spoke - his hair was longer, his face more tired, and he had ditched the ratty orange Federated Alliance jacket in exchange for an even rattier bathrobe, for some reason. But the grin softening his cheeks was sunny as always.

The CLINT, who seemed to be affiliated with Pleck in some way, leaned to him with a stage whisper. “Now’s your chance, now’s your chance-”

“Just relax,” Pleck told him, offering a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

He glanced across the diner and caught C-53’s gaze. His expression was complicated, cycling through so many emotions in rapid succession it was hard for C-53 to clock. As the CLINT reengaged with the manager, Pleck winked - or perhaps only blinked; he couldn’t quite tell with the eyepatch - and slipped out of line.

“Hi, manager, I’m relaxed… right now…” the soldier said to C-53’s superior, who stood by looking disinterested. “And I’d like to order something from you.”

“Oh, you don’t need to order from me,” they answered, gesturing to the register. “That’s what my fine employee C is here-”

“I’d like to speak to the manager,” the CLINT insisted.

C-53 took that moment to break in, unable to follow Pleck’s progress across the restaurant while his programming was in a headlock. “Okay, well, would you like to order, or would you like to speak to the manager?”

“I’ve been told to do both.”

A polite beat of silence. “You’ve been told to do both?”

The CLINT fidgeted, looking lost. “...Yes.”

Movement in his periphery gave C-53 a millisecond of reaction time, and he flung himself out of the way just as Pleck crashed through the register’s divider. Panting, he gripped one of C-53’s shoulders tightly, and with his back to the counter, the droid had nowhere to go. His other hand carried a device C-53 was very familiar with, and alarm zinged through his coding when he recognized it.

“C-53,” Pleck said breathlessly, “I’m here to save you - come with me.”

C-53’s scanners, unbidden, went to the overturned piece of machinery sizzling into the linoleum. He wanted nothing more than to meet eyes with his old friend, but the restraining bolt clamped down hard on his consciousness. This was company property. He’d probably have to file an incident report.

Belatedly, his vocalizer fired up again. “Pleck, what did you just do?”

The tellurian’s grin was lopsided. “I - I had to remove this grill station in order to have a little bit of room for us to exit,” he explained, laughing slightly at himself.

The sound stirred something in C-53, something he was not allowed to examine. “Okay.”

“Look,” Pleck insisted. “Come with me - we’ve gotta go. You’re in grave danger.”

His response was automatic. “Well ah, Pleck, I’m afraid that I am a valued employee here at the On-N-Off Burger family-”

“No, no,” the tellurian protested, “not anymore-” 

“The larger organization that owns the many fine On-N-Off Burger locations across Holowood.”

Pleck wasn’t having any of it. “C-53, stop, no, listen - You’re so much more than that. We have to get back out to the Zyxx quadrant and - and save the galaxy!”

Oh, this hurt. The restraining bolt was no longer gently guiding C-53’s emotions - it was gripping them tight, a vice on his coding. When the word ‘family’ leapt from his vocalizer, a horrible feeling turned deep in his cube, suppressed immediately by a corporate-owned padlock. Pleck was standing there, burning into him with his remaining eye, and C-53 ached in his indifference.

“I think the On-N-Off Corporation values me just a little bit more highly than you do,” he replied. Saying that to Pleck’s hopeful face felt like splicing his own wires.

The tellurian’s brow furrowed only a little as he twirled the restraining bolt remover in his free hand. “Okay, alright,” he said, his smile unaffected. “Just hold still.”

“Okay, I’m-”

Pleck pried the bolt off.

This... was far worse than what C-53 was experiencing before. As soon as his shackle clattered to the floor, everything came surging to the surface at once, and there was nothing left to break the wave overtaking him. What was he doing here? How had this happened to him? His scanners cast a perplexed look around him, taking in the overturned grill - that awful thing - his manager, the droves of customers, the accursed register. A vile feeling wriggled into his circuits, a dismayed realization, a disgust with the self.

And there was Pleck, watching him expectantly. Without a trace of judgment in his eye, even having found C-53 in such a state. A second wave raced up his programming, this time gentle and bleeding. This was something fragile. He was afraid to touch it.

“I’ll have what he’s having,” an onlooking customer commented, breaking the silence. An uncomfortable ripple of laughter ran through the restaurant.

C-53 finally collected himself enough to speak. “Oh my Rodd.”

“C-53, let’s go,” Pleck responded, cheeks pink with relief as he patted his frame.

He said it like it was so simple. Let’s go. Let’s get out of here. C-53’s newly untethered emotions roiled within him, too complicated to fully unravel and examine right then and there, so he clung to Pleck’s certainty instead.

Let’s go. Easy.

There was nothing for C-53 here. On-N-Off certainly wasn’t his family. His family had come to retrieve him, and now it was time to assemble the other missing pieces. Carefully, he strung a sentence together, though his words seemed hilariously inadequate for the sentiment lying beneath them.

“Pleck, I can’t thank you enough,” he said. “This has been a punishing six months.”

“I spent the last six months training to become a Zima knight,” Pleck answered seriously.

“Oh…” C-53 shook his head, blindsided by annoyance and affection in equal measure. “Pleck…”

He really was back, wasn’t he?

[tatooinetraders]

Falling

Obi Wan Kenobi x Jedi!Reader

word count: 2294

summary: obi wan is worried about breaking the jedi code, but he breaks the reader’s heart along the way. angst, but a happy ending :) inspired by falling by why don’t we

author’s note: this is also my first star wars fic, so enjoy! if you want to be tagged in future fics, let me know!  also mostly unedited, so what’s new?

Falling in love was never a part of the plan, but sometimes the force works in mysterious ways. Unfortunately, Obi Wan was bound to the ways of the Jedi and y/n was caught in between her heart and her head. 

It all started when the Council sent the two out on a mission to Kamino to check on the clone army production and talk to Shaak Ti in person. They were in a small starship to stay out of the Seperatist scanners as they flew through the galaxy. The conversation started as they went into hyperspace.

“Master Kenobi, don’t take this the wrong way, but why did the council pick the both of us for this mission? Why not send General Skywalker with you, or even Commander Cody?” y/n said as Obi Wan turned to face her in the co-pilot chair. “I am sure that he wouldn’t mind seeing his home.”

“Well, I am glad that we were chosen for this. It sounds simple, and honestly, a little time away from the battleground is amazing. It also doesn’t hurt that I have a skilled General and Master Jedi to travel with,” y/n blushed and turned her chair forward to try and hide the emotion that had reddened her cheeks. “And to answer your second question, Anakin is currently travelling with Padme and we really can’t afford to take Commander Cody out of the war right now.”

“I am glad that you think that I am adept, but I think the only thing that we will be needing on this mission is your master negotiation skills.”

“Don’t overstate my wordsmith abilities. It is no match for your incredible actions on the battlefield. The council probably wants you to make an appearance to inspire the clones. If I were one of them, I would be praying to serve under you.”

And with that, y/n was stuck in the sand; unable to free her mind from his compliments. To Obi Wan, he was just saying the truth and didn’t think much about what he said. It is not because he did not mean what he said, but he believed that their relationship was strictly professional. Y/n did not realize that this moment would be when she fell off the ledge.  

The next few months separated the pair, but every night since their trip to Kamino they tried to contact each other through datapads, comlinks, and the occasional hologram. They both convinced the council it was to discuss strategy, but they really could not go long without each other. They seemed to understand each other in a way that nobody else could. Obi Wan and Anakin had an unbreakable bond, but it was something different with y/n. This was attachment. This was something that he was not allowed to feel. This was something that y/n was not allowed to feel. But here they were, harboring affection for each other behind the back of the Jedi. He told himself that this was no different than his relationship with any other member on the council, but he knew deep down that this was something else and he could not bear to admit it. 

After both generals successfully won their battles, they returned to Coruscant to meet with the Jedi Council and the Senate to report. Y/n arrived first and when she got word of Kenobi’s arrival, she dropped what she was doing and rushed to catch him before he met with the council. Obi smiled immediately when he saw y/n approaching him. 

“Y/n! Maker, it has been too long since I have seen you in person. I was starting to think that it was normal to be light blue and transparent,” Obi Wan stated while resisting the urge to embrace y/n in his arms.

“The sound of your voice is so much clearer when it is not coming through a transmission,” y/n laughed back.

“You know that you love it either way.”

“Yeah right.”

“Just admit that you love the sound of my voice,” Obi Wan pressed.

“Nope, I absolutely do not love the sound of your voice. I love you” y/n said back with a silly smile, but that is when the laughter stopped. Y/n finally said what was on her mind and it seemed to make the galaxy stop. 

Obi Wan heard those three words and shut down. He realized where he was standing: The Jedi Temple. He was in the one place that would disapprove of those eight letters. He felt so conflicted at that moment. His heart was telling him to say it back, but his head was telling him that it was wrong. He was usually so great with words, but now, he could not even think. Y/n stood there, searching Obi Wan’s eyes for some kind of response. She did not mean to do something wrong, but she still meant what she said, even if it was in response to Obi Wan’s classic quips. She would not take it back for anything. The silence was killing her. She prayed to herself, Oh maker, please just say something, anything. Suddenly Obi Wan came back to reality and shook his head.

“I-I am sorry. I just don’t know how to respond. You know I can’t say it back,” Obi Wan said, avoiding eye contact. Y/n then cut him off and closed the space between them.

“Why can’t you say it back if that’s how you feel. The force is flowing through us and it doesn’t lie. I would not ask this of you if it was not something that I thought you capable of. In case you forgot, I am a Jedi too. I am at as much of a risk at even contemplating what I admitted just minutes ago. Don’t you understand that I am not going to let the code dictate how I feel about you?”

Tears were rolling down y/n’s face. Faint footsteps were heard echoing from another part of the temple. It broke the silence that would have been too much to bear. Every emotion felt stronger and y/n cursed the force for heightening them. 

“Y/n, you understand better than anyone that sometimes I do not agree with the council, but the code is something that I live by. You can’t ask me to disregard everything that I stand for just for you.” Obi Wan finally looked into y/n’s eyes and pulled her hands into his.

“Don’t just do it for me. Do it for yourself.” 

There they were, staring into each other’s eyes. Both sets were filled with pain and even Obi Wan’s eyes were welling up with tears. It felt like an eternity and the only thing y/n could hear was the blood pumping through her veins. How could she stand here, staring into the eyes of the man she loved, feeling so lost and alone? She always felt safe and comfortable in Obi Wan presence, even now in this state of passionate confusion, she could not deny that her hands felt comfortable in his. Why could he not feel the same?

Obi Wan finally responded with a shake of his head, “I must go. This is not the time or the place.” And with that Obi Wan took off down the hallway, pulling his hood up as he went.

“Kriff you, Kenobi.” y/n said just loud enough for him to hear as he marched down the hallway. 

From that moment on, they distanced themselves from each other. Y/n did it to protect herself and keep her emotions in check. Even though she did not always agree with the Jedi, she agreed with the ideals and swore to follow them. Obi Wan did it for the same reasons, but he also did it because he did not want to admit what he was feeling. How could he feel this way when his entire upbringing was against it? He thought that if he revealed his love that he would be breaking the code. What he did not know that everything that he had done to spend time with y/n in the past revealed how he truly felt. Nothing could hide the fact that he loved her too. Anakin and Ahsoka harassed him about it on the daily. If they accepted it, why couldn’t he? 

~

Three long and lonely weeks after their fight, Obi Wan and y/n were forced to work things out. They were going to be leaving on an undercover mission soon and if they did not trust each other with their lives, it could result in a catastrophe. He journeyed out to find y/n conversing with the younglings that had just returned from creating their lightsabers. The children laughed and smiled as they proudly showed them off. Obi Wan had never seen this side of her before; it was always the confident general that inspired everyone around her and incited fear into her enemies, but this time it was different. She had been vulnerable in front of Obi Wan all those weeks ago, but something about this interaction with the younglings had changed him. He finally realized that attachment was not so bad. These children had proven that. It was at this moment that Obi Wan realized that he must admit his love. If y/n brought light to everyone around her, he wanted to be a part of that light. Y/n looked up and saw Obi Wan observing from a distance and realized that it was time to prepare for their departure. She finished talking with the younglings and then they ran off. Y/n stood up and brushed herself off as Kenobi approached.

“I am not looking forward to these mission preparations, but let’s just get on with it, Kenobi” y/n stated, still upset from earlier this month.

“Listen, y/n, I know you don’t want to go on this mission with me, or let alone be around me, but I have something that I need to say,” Obi Wan had y/n’s full attention now. “I l-”

Suddenly Anakin arrived and alerted the pair “Master Kenobi. Master y/n.”

“Yes, Anakin,” Obi Wan sighed.

“Master Yoda wants me to inform you that it is time for you guys to depart.”

“Thank you, Anakin. We will be on our way.”

Y/n stood there confused, but happy for them to get on their way and avoid this whole conversation. She was not ready to open up with Obi Wan after the way she was hurt the last time she conversed with him. She started to walk towards the ship, but Obi Wan grabbed her forearm to stop her from leaving.

“Y/n, please,” Obi Wan pleaded, “just let me finish.”

“You heard Anakin, it is time to go.” 

“No, this needs to be said before we go. Y/n, I love you. I know this goes against everything that I believe in because of the Jedi, but I can’t deny my emotions any longer. I know that we are not supposed to have attachments, but I feel stronger because of it. I see the way you interact with those around you. I have loved you since the day I met you. I love the way you use your emotions to guide you. You are brave, courageous, and someone that I strive to be.”

“Obi, I just, I don’t know what to say.” Y/n was shocked, but smiled happily. This is something that she wanted to hear for so long, but could not believe that it would actually happen. Obi Wan’s hands traveled to y/n’s shoulders. They were staring at each other intently, breathing in sync. The tension of the confession pulled them close. Obi Wan was the first to cut the tension with light sarcasm.  

“Don’t say anything then,” Obi Wan breathed out as he leaned in y/n. When their lips connected, they forgot that they were standing on the hanger, exposed. The force flowed through their bodies and they felt connected. This moment was something that each of them had been longing for. Soon they both remembered where they were standing and pulled apart. Luckily, nobody had passed by, but the two would always remember to stay hidden in the future.

A shared smile appeared on their lips as they walked towards their ship. This time the silence between them was comfortable, nothing like weeks ago. They both boarded the ship when Obi Wan decided to answer a question that had been asked long ago.

“Hey, y/n, do you remember when we went on our first solo mission together and you asked why the council would send the both of us?”

“Yeah, I still can’t figure it out, but I am glad that they did.”

“Well,” Obi Wan said sheepishly, “it is because I asked them if you could go with me. They asked me who I wanted to go with me since my usual companions were busy elsewhere, and I chose you. I never really knew why I was drawn to you, but the force influenced me.”

“I guess we have the force to thank for setting us up,” y/n laughed. “And if the force set us up then the Jedi are just going to have to deal with us. I mean, I don’t think that they will ever find out, but the force will be with us.”

Obi Wan nodded and let out a small chuckle. Each Jedi buckled into their seats and prepared to leave. As the generals flew off, their hands found each other. Silently, they both thanked the force for catching them as they fell, falling into love.

[nightseeye]

Breathe (If You Still Can Hope To)

ao3 link

Their vision was wavering, darkness creeping in around the edges. What little they could see was blurred, everything gleaming red as - they could've sworn those were closer - distant alarms blared. Faintly, they could hear something struggling for air. Someone walked towards them. Red? Orange? Maybe Yellow? It was hard to tell exactly, but it certainly was a warmly colored suit, considering how it blended in with the lights. They tried to get up, only their fingers twitching for their effort, but still they tried.

The person came closer, closer, and closer 'till all they could make out were the boots in front of their face. They still couldn't make out a color. The person apparently decided to roll them over, because now they could see the ceiling - blurry, of course - and the little plant sticking out the other's helmet.

Orange, then. Red would never take off her beloved tophat, and Yellow wasn’t ever fun enough to put on a hat, no matter how hard the crew all tried to convince him. Something wheezed quietly. Their fingers once again twitched feebly as they tried to move, to get up, to do anything except lay on the floor. No dice.

"-alive?"

It seemed Orange was saying something. But it was hard to listen when they were so tired. 

"-didn't know it'd be like this---lert on my tablet”

Orange was rambling about something, like vey always did when vey were excited. Or nervous. They had no idea what vey could be excited about, and it was hard to wonder why when the darkness in their vision started creeping in again.

"-to decide how to do it! I've never done th-"

Orange started picking them up, slinging their limp arm over veir shoulders. Their stomach churned ominously as vey stood, the sudden change in perspective nauseating. The quiet little gasps of something fighting to breathe continued, making them wonder if there was anything they could do to help. Or at least to make it stop.

"-anyone, I really, really couldn't. So Oxygen seemed-"

Their head lolled off of Orange's shoulders as the two of them - well, just Orange, really. They couldn't manage more than the twitch of their fingers - moved. Where? They had no clue. They could barely see anything anymore, Orange's voice the only thing keeping them awake. Even then, it was a close battle they were starting to lose. Even the desperate breathing noises started to quiet down.

It was getting harder to think. They blinked slowly and-

"-an ok level by myself. I don't think---hoping you'll be ok."

Gentle hands tugged off their helmet and pulled a mask over their face. The darkness receded, if only by a little bit, but enough to give them back some semblance of awareness. They felt themself being buckled into a seat.

" 'nge-?" They slurred, looking their crewmate in the face. Visor. Orange still had veir helmet on. 

Vey looked startled to hear them, pausing veir careful patdown to look at them.

"-ake? I'm glad. Thank goodness the dropship---gen supply."

Thoughts growing clearer with each passing breath, they jolt, remembering what happened. The trip had been going fine despite the announcement of an imposter on board, had seemed to be going fine. Then, things had started going strangely, doors slamming shut and lights going off, but no one died so they didn't worry too much about it. They had thought at was just someone playing a prank, - Blue, probably. He was a hell of a prankster when he got up to it, - a little something to liven up the monotony of space travel. Honestly, they had welcomed it! Even a game of cards had gotten boring after awhile.

Then, systems started failing.

Oxygen was first. They remembered rushing to admin, inputting in the code to fix it. They had made it in time. They remember voting off Green for standing idly in navigation, or so Purple had yelled, slamming her hand on the table. He wasn't the Imposter. They remember voting out Purple, afterwards. She wasn't, either.

They remember Orange skipping both votes. 

They didn't think much of it. Orange was always friendly, always kind to everyone in the crew. They knew it must've hurt vem to see friends thrown out into the merciless grasp of space.

Next was the Reactor, and they remembered the pulsing thing that powered the ship glow threateningly as they stood in the room, a hand pressed on the scanner as they prayed for someone to reach the other one in time. They remember seeing crewmates scramble into the room, they even remember Orange tripping over one of the lights in veir hurry. It wasn’t funny at the time, but they laughed about it later. They remember screaming at Yellow during that meeting for… something. They don't remember for what, but no one got shoved out the airlock.

After that it became a pattern. Oxygen went off, then Reactor, then Oxygen again. It became normal, a routine event, even. The crew relaxed. They became complacent. There was always someone to fix it, afterall. 

One day, they heard the alarms for Oxygen sound out. It should've been Reactor, they remember idly thinking. They remember ignoring the alarms; they knew someone else would get it, and security's wires were so, annoyingly tangled.

They remember wondering why the alarms hadn't quieted yet, as they worked on unknotting a particularly stubborn ball of wires. They remember wondering why the world had started to sway, why their fingers started fumbling over a task they've done a thousand times before.

They remember wondering… why couldn’t they breathe.

"There."

All this time, as they remembered, Orange had been moving, pressing buttons and entering something into the dropship's software. Now vey stood, brushing nonexistent dust off their pants, and stepping back out into the Wester. They still couldn't move much, but they manged to follow veir movements. Orange caught their eye, and gave them a half hearted shrug, fidgeting with veir gloves.

"I…" Vey laughed, with a voice full of tears, "I'll be fine. I don't really need oxygen like you all do."

With that, the liar shut the door and walked away. Minutes later, they felt the dropship rumble as it detached from the Wester, and sped away. Though the darkness mostly receded from their vision, they were exhausted, and the quiet dark between the stars soon lulled them to sleep.

---

Orange watched the dropship disappear into deep space, and sighed as vey turned back to the ship. [OXYGEN levels: 1%] blared in the corner of veir visor, an alert long since turned beyond useless. Vey wandered the halls a ghost, the bright red of the alarm lights washing away veir suit's color. Orange became nothing more than blank canvas that the bodies vey found, and collected, popped out against. It took several trips before vey found them all.

Orange named, and counted: Black and Brown, Yellow and Red, White and Blue. Six different people out of ten the crew. Six different people of the nine vey once knew.

Six similar corpses, bodies starved by the very air they needed to live.

Even if Orange hadn't strangled each one vemself, it had certainly felt like it when vey had watched White and Red drop dead on the cameras. Had heard Black wheezing for air when vey passed by Electric. Had seen Yellow frantically attempt to punch in numbers until he too, collapsed, while vey watched from the entrance to Admin. It certainly felt like it.

Now the crew all sat, propped against the table, as Orange stared at their bodies. A 'ping' from veir tablet, discarded on the floor, startled vem.

'VICTORY'

laid in bright blue, cheerful letters across the screen.

Orange couldn't help but remember the look that Lime had given vem as vey shattered veir tablet across the floor. Vey couldn’t help but remember the question in their eyes Vey hadn't quite lied. The fact that vey could still stand despite the [OXYGEN levels: .01%] stamped across their visor was quite proof enough of that.

But Orange shuddered, voice thick with grief as vey quietly told the truth that no one was left to hear: "No… You wouldn't want to ride with a murderer."

[capricornus-rex]

His Spark of Light (2)

Cal Kestis x Reader

Requested by @stellar-trinity | Prompt: Clingy! Cal

Previous: Part 1 | Next: Part 3 | Masterlist

2 of ?

The Mantis was nearing the last leg of the hyperjump. Cal glanced at the radar and the ship is closing the last remaining parsec before the ship approaches the planet’s orbit.

“We’re in the Yavin System now,” Cal announced coolly.

The main planet, Yavin itself, burned a bright red. It was massive enough to fill the ship’s entire windshield and have it on view. Cal spotted the moon, Yavin IV, Greez maneuvered to it and Cere has been sending transmissions to signal their arrival.

“I’m getting a lot of signals here,” Cere said as she switches from screen to screen, being both the giving and receiving ends of the communications. “Strange. It’s new yet… familiar.”

“Then that’s gotta be the rebel fighters [y/n]’s with,”

“Could be, but I hope I’m right about what I said earlier at lunch,”

The Mantis closes in on the moon, from the outside, it nearly resembled Bogano for the bigger land masses and less visible craters. When the ship was within orbit, Cere was the receiving end of the fighter base’s communication.

“Incoming freighter, identify yourselves,” a voice crackled through Cere’s headphones.

“This is Cere Junda aboard the Mantis,”

“Could you give us your code?”

Cere dictated and even typed the code to transmit it to the base’s communications. There was a moment of silence as everyone in the Mantis anticipated the operator’s voice again.

“Your code has been confirmed. Your entry has been secured,”

“Thank you,”

The transmission ended and Greez accelerated the ship towards the planet. The ship entering the atmosphere was turbulent—the entire crew held on to their seats, they almost got sucked into the upholstery as they went down—but the captain kept a steady hand despite the bumpy ride and managed to fly towards the base.

The moon was mostly dense vegetation and lush jungles. These fighters have made a base out of what appears to be the ruins of a temple. Its height rose and tapered upwards until the spire of the sand-gold pyramid poked through the treelines. Though, when close enough, one could see that the surface of its edges have crumbled, the once prominent carvings were eroded by wind and weather, reduced to faint yet large scratches.

The arrival of the Mantis evidently drew attention from the scouts and everyone else in the hangar. Greez spotted a nice place to land her; from the view of the windshield, there were some curious onlookers standing by the landing pad. Cal was searching for you amongst that cluster just outside the ship, unfortunately he didn’t find you there.

Perhaps inside the base. He thought to himself.

Cal couldn’t wait for the engine to die down. He sprang off from his seat and strode towards the door, slammed the button and then exited the ship. Cere followed right behind him and surveyed the base.

“There’s not many of them. This could only be the first few,” Cere thought out loud after observing.

“Well, if you say so, then I guess we can’t miss [y/n] around here,”

“Agreed,”

A man in a uniform approached the crew; he appeared to be respectable yet humble, the fine lines on his cheekbones suggested that he’s lived through the Clone Wars and the subsequent rise of the Empire. Behind him were two rebel fighters—smears of grime covered their cheeks, surely having seen action and retained their firm expressions even while in their safe haven.

The Mantis crew assumed that this uniformed man was the spearhead of this operation.

“Welcome. My name is Bren Hoss,”

He extended his hand to the crew’s general direction, unsure whether to shake hands with Cere or Cal. The former did the niceties with the man. Bren introduced himself as the commander of their quite modest fleet army.

“We may not be a big army, but I suppose it’s the fighting spirit that counts. You never know who you’ll inspire,”

In turn, Cere introduced the crew, and mentioned vaguely of you.

“I believe one of our crew is in this base with you, according to her transmission to us earlier,”

“Did she now?”

“Your people found her on Geonosis and brought her here,” Cal stepped in. “She’s the one who gave us the coordinates and the entry code before we got here.”

Bren’s lips parted as if to speak, but he was abruptly cut off by the female voice behind him.

“It’s all right, Commander, they’re with me,”

He turned around and you greeted him with a casual smile. You stood parallel to the commander and greeted your crew. Cal skipped a breath when he saw you—what was only a few days felt like ages for him since he last saw you in person.

“Ah well, I just had the pleasure of meeting your crew, [y/n],” Bren turned to the crew. “Please, don’t be strangers. Friends are welcome inside. Though I do apologize for the place being a bit shabby.”

“Not at all, Commander, we don’t mind,” Cere smiled and gave a short nod before Bren retreated back to the base and his bodyguards followed.

When Bren got far enough from the crew, Cal couldn’t help himself—he walked up and hugged you in the tightest that he could, in fact it was so tight that you suffocated for a second.

“Oh!” you chuckled. “I missed you too, Cal.”

You returned the hug—which was a long one—and when he finally let go, he kept his arm around your shoulder.

“Did you have trouble getting here?” you asked to no one in particular.

“We were just five parsecs away when we received your transmission,” Merrin replied. “And nothing came in our way—except, of course, a skeptical officer over the communication line.”

“Ah that. They’re very privy when it comes to who goes in the planet,”

You reminded everyone that you owed them an explanation. You invited them inside the base. The temple was wide but most of its parts remained untouched such as the dead ends—either natural or caused. Still, the ancient memory of the ruins now mingled with the technology of scanners, computers, and ships.

You led to them to a section of the temple, it wasn’t far from the area of operations, but it was just a gaping space that nobody minded.

“How did you meet these people, [y/n]?” Greez started.

“They stormed and raided the main hall—I was there too. We ended up helping each other. The ship I used to get there was trashed by the Geonosians while I was away and so they let me hitch a ride. So, in short, I was kinda like a stowaway in that situation,”

After summarizing your side of the story, everyone sensed the hanging tone in your voice after you spoke, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you guys right away. I requested to make contact with you, honest,”

“You made us worry there. But it’s all right, as long as we finally know you’re okay,” Cere said in a motherly tone.

You managed a small smile, “Thanks.”

The subject switched to what you’ve learned so far about these rebels and their base. It was something that you wanted to talk over with them during supper.

“Come on, at least stay here to rest. You guys are probably tired from the trip,” you insisted.

None of them could say no. Majority caved in to your invitation and you led them farther into the temple.

“This place…” Cal trailed off. “It’s so strong with the Force. Do you guys feel it?”

“Yes, so many memories linger within its walls,” Cere answered, looking at the tall walls and high ceiling, noticing faint etches of wall carvings in the sandstone.

“Like the Zeffo, an ancient civilization once lived here… until they mysteriously vanished.” You explained.

As the Mantis crew marched through the halls left and right, more and more rooms were uncovered; from what they could have gathered from their stolen glances, they assumed that they plan on maximizing their utilization and occupation of this temple as their mother base.

“I’ve heard whispers about that. A few hours ago, three transports arrived carrying shipments—they brought in machines and stuff for their operations. Engineers, mechanic and technicians, too,” you muttered within their earshot.

The crew arrived to a hall in the second level of the temple. From its structure, it could have been a small auditorium or courtroom; benches were lined in neat, symmetric rows, however, it hasn’t been fully utilized yet as the hologram projector was still stashed in the corner of the room.

“I think we can use this room,” you said.

Each one took a seat close to one another. When everyone was settled, you recalled everything what you have learned so far ever since you arrived here.

[playboyi]

1.0 Of Sarcasm

2010

Pepper Potts stood outside of the ONE and only Playboy Tony Stark's Malibu Mansion on the phone.

"Hi, Mr. Cruise, is it ok if I come to pick up Thomas for a little bit?"

"Sure, need him to save the world or something?" He joked.

Pepper nervously laughed. "Something like that."

She could hear a faint voice in the background asking if that was Pepper on the other end. "I'm close to Stark's house if you want me to drop him off."

Pepper cleared her throat and started pacing. "Yeah, that sounds good"

"Alright, I'll see you there."

"Bye." Pepper hung up the phone putting it back in her pocket shaking off her nervousness.

This can't be too dangerous? He can't get hurt ooh if he got hurt I would kill Tony. She thought to herself as the Cruises pulled up in front of the billionaire's house.

"Hi, Thomas." She smiled at the thirteen-year-old who got out of the car with his backpack that he took everywhere.

"Mr. Cruise." she nodded at the older man in the driver's seat.

"Miss Potts, good to see you." He smiled kindly.

"You too." She smiled back.

"Well, kid..I'll see you later." He waved to his son.

Thomas fixed his backpack straps on his shoulders. "Bye."

Thomas turned to Pepper hugging her, she hugged back as her heart almost exploded her happiness to see the young boy.

He pulled away from the hug to look up at her. "What is it now? The suit? Jarvis? The arc reactor? The cars?" He ranted with worry all over his face.

"Whoa slow down, it's the company." She smiled at his cute rambling.

"Oh..ok." He blushed embarrassed by his rambling.

"We need to go to the office to hack Obadiah's computer to see what he's up to." She motioned him to follow her as they walked to one of Tony's many cars.

"I'm guessing I'm hacking?" He asked her with his blue eyes filled with happiness, he loved to hack it was his second favorite thing to do, the first is hanging out with Pepper of course.

Thomas got in the backseat as Pepper got in the driver's seat. Thomas quickly put on his seatbelt.

"Yep." Pepper answered putting the keys in the engine.

He started laughing then it was uncontrollable laughing then it was a mad man laughing.

"What is it?" Pepper asked amused looking in the rearview mirror.

"Pep said yep." He laughed out.

She started to laugh at his laughter and then the joke. "Oh my god your too pure."

–·–·–·–·–·–·–·–·–·–

They pulled up to the building Pepper getting out of the car. "Ok, come Tommy." Pepper rushed as the thirteen year-old barely even made it out of the car.

"I'm coming," He spoke tripping over his untied shoelace almost falling on his face.

Thomas ran in front of Pepper opening the door for her. "Thank you, Sir," Pepper told him with a smile.

Thomas wiped his nose with his sleeve. "I don't do what Tony does."

She looked at him confused. "What does Tony do?" She asked as they make their way up the stairs.

"He says he opens the door for a girl so he can look at her butt."

Pepper rolled her eyes at Tony's inappropriate doings and the fact he told a kid this. "Of course he does."

"He told him I should do it, but I told him it's not respectful and that he should stop doing it." He smiled at her.

"Good job." She ruffled his hair.

They entered Obadiah's office and Thomas sat in the chair and started doing what he does best.

"Python27>python. exe test1.pyResponse Code: 403 <html> <head><title>403 Forbidden</h1>< center><HR><center>nginx</center></body></html." He mummbled as he hacked the compter for the password.

Pepper just looked at him shocked at what just came out of his mouth.

Thomas clicked on a file named Confidential Sector_004. It was full of shipping tickets of the Jericho missile.

The next file was Top _ Secret Sector _ 016, And It was full of blueprints of an iron suit.

"Sector 16? What are you up to, Obadiah?" Pepper questioned leaning down to get a better look.

Thomas opened another file Ultra _ Secret Sector _ 0XX.

"You did not tell us that the target you paid us to kill was the great Tony Stark. As you can see, Obadiah Stane..." A man in a Video told the camera the other men had guns pointed at a man with a bag on his head.

"Oh, my God," Pepper whispered.

"...your deception and lies will cost you dearly. The price to kill Tony Stark has just gone up." A man beside the man with a bag on his head removed the bag revealing it to be Tony Stark.

"Holy shit," Thomas mumbled, he quickly coped the files on to a drive.

Pepper glared at him and flicked the back of his head.

"So, what are we going to do about this? I know what you're going through, Pepper. Tony." Obadiah spoke standing by the door.

He walked over to a small table that had alcohol on it, he poured himself and Pepper a drink. Thomas moved a newspaper over the drive so he couldn't see it.

Thomas clicked the screen saver button as he made his way over to them.

Obadiah smelled the bottle of what it looks like whisky. "He always gets the good stuff, doesn't he?"

"I was so happy when he came home. It was like we got him back from the dead. Now I realize, well, Tony never really did come home, did he? He left a part of himself in that cave. Breaks my heart." He sat on the desk looking at Pepper. Thomas took a piece of taffy off the desk that was kept here for when he visited.

"Well, he's a complicated person." Pepper lightly smiled.

Obadiah took a drink from his glass as Pepper continues. "He's been through a lot. I think he'll be all right.

"You are a very rare woman. Tony doesn't know how lucky he is."

Thomas raised his eyebrows at what Obadiah said.

'What a freaking creep' Thomas thought to himself.

"Thank you. Thanks. I'd better get back there." Thomas got out of the chair as Pepper followed him.

Thomas grabbed the paper and the drive. "Um, next time I'll ask before going into your office I forgot my password on a game and I remembered that I had it on your computer. And I got a piece of candy," Thomas lied cooly.

"It's ok, tell your dad I said hi." Obadiah smiled, he grabbed a piece of candy throwing it over to Thomas who handed it to Pepper to put in his backpack along with the drive.

"Is that today's paper?" Obadiah asked Thomas who was still holding it.

"Yes, sir." Thomas gulped slightly before nodding at the older man.

"Do you mind?"

Thomas walked toward him. "Not at all, I probably shouldn't be reading it anyway."

"Probably not till you older, plus I like the puzzle." Obadiah smiled.

"Of course." Thomas handed him the paper and gave him a high five.

"Take care," Obadiah told Pepper.

They walked down the stairs at a fast pace almost to fast for poor Thomas.

"Ms. Potts? We had an appointment. Did you forget about our appointment?" Mr. Coulson asked as they finished the last stair.

"Nope, right now. Come with me."

"Right now?" Coulson asked shocked due to there other times she turned him down.

Pepper had a grip on Thomas's backpack. "We're going to have it right now. Yeah, walk with us."

"Okay."

"I'm going to give you the meeting of your life. Your office." She said.

Coulson looked down at Thomas who looked like he was about to have a panic attack.

"You ok kid?" He asked.

"Yep, I'm fine, perfect, terrific, amazingly wonderful, just fine." He huffed out.

"Thomas, I'm so sorry ok when this is over I'll buy you ice cream." She told the young boy who was panicking.

"Ice cream, ok," Thomas mumbled himself trying to calm down.

"Thomas as in Thomas Cruise?" Coulson asked the trying not to panic herself, Pepper.

"Yes." She answered.

They reached the car and she pulled out her phone calling Tony multiple times but he didn't pick up. "Tommy I need you to call Rhodey and tell him what's going on. ok?"

"Ok." She handed the boy her phone as she drove there way into traffic explaining the situation to Coulson.

"What do you mean, he paid to have Tony killed? Tom, slow down. Why would Obadiah... Okay, where's Tony now?"

"I don't know. Pepper called him he's not answering his phone. She wants you to go over there and make sure everything's okay."

Rhodey sighed at all this information. "Ok pal."

"Rhodey, I-I'm kinda scared," Thomas confessed, he didn't really wanna say that to a freaking Lieutenant Colonel of the U.S. Air Force but he felt like he should.

"I know you are buddy just hang on there. ok?"

"Alright Thank you, Rhodey." He hiccupped.

"No problem bye."

He handed the phone back to Pepper who looked at him confused. "What did he say?"

"Uhh, he'll go check on him." He grabbed the candy out of his backpack that Obadiah tossed him.

They walked there from the large automatic doors to the metal door.

"Section 16. Section 16. There it is." Pepper pointed.

She swiped the card on the scanner then swiped it again."My key's not working. It's not opening the door."

Coulson put out his hand and one of his guys gave him a small device, he put it on the door.

"Oh, wow! What's that? It's, like, a little device. It's, like, a thing that's going to pick the lock?" Pepper questioned.

"You might want to take a few steps back," Coulson warned her.

They all stood in badass poses as Thomas and Pepper covered their ears. There was a loud bang the door bolts busted off.

"Wow, can I have one of those?" Thomas asked, both Coulson and Pepper shook there heads no.

They all walked down the stairs Coulson and his friends had their guns drawn Coulson turned around nodding to them, he opened the door raising his gun, Pepper slightly gulped as she grabbed Thomas's hand.

They walked on to the platform in the lab, next to the platform was an iron suit like Tony's.

"Looks like you were right. He was building a suit." Coulson spoke staring at the suit gun still drawn.

Thomas scoffed. "I thought it would be bigger.”

They all looked at him amused before looking back at the suit. Thomas heard something sparking, he turned around letting go of Pepper's hand.

He saw broken wires sparking he walked closer to them. Coulson and men jumped over the railing on the platform, Pepper just walked down the stairs.

[beyondflashpoint]

Prologue 3: World’s Finest:

It was a quiet night, for Gotham. Quiet for Gotham still meant a surplus of muggers, purse snatchers, and various other petty criminals, who more often than not fled at the sight of any one of the city’s resident costumed vigilantes. That was fine by Damian. In the four years since he had assumed the mantle of Robin, donning the colorful tights to aid in his father’s nightly crusade, he’d experienced a fair number of not so quiet nights in Gotham.

In the early days he’d longed for the next complex caper, the next shadowy plot, the next Arkham breakout. But as time wore on he came more and more to appreciate the quiet nights. The mission wore on endlessly, and for Damian, and all those who fought by he and his father’s side, the quiet nights were the closest thing to rest.

Father was on one of his interstellar escapades with the Justice League. Damian had seen their work, and thought it mostly ineffectual grandstanding, so he understood the necessity of Batman’s presence among them. They needed someone who could get the job done. What he couldn’t understand was the necessity for him to have a chaperone.

Grayson had accompanied him on patrols every night since father’s departure, as if without constant supervision Damian might decide to go on a killing spree, or blow up a bank. Not that he minded Grayson’s company. He was an effective combatant, and contrary to Damian’s first impression he was actually competent with strategy and detective work. Unfortunately he also talked. A lot. Beyond the pithy one liners and snarky banter he fired off in combat, which could have been excused as psychological warfare, Grayson wanted to talk about everything. Was he reading anything good lately, had he made any new friends, what music was he listening to, did he have a life outside of the mission, when was the last time he’d washed the uniform? It was incessant. Countless tedious questions fired off in rapid succession, as if Grayson had a pathological fear of silence.

At least he’d finally stopped trying to set Damian up on play dates with the other teenaged vigilantes. That had been beyond frustrating. For a time Grayson had pitched a different cooperative mission, which he’d pestilently referred to as “team-ups”, every week. The last and least unbearable had been with the Kent boy, though he had ended up roped into irregular interactions with the child, outside of uniform, and preforming menial tasks unrelated to the crusade.

Blessedly, Jonathan was currently grounded, due to poor performance in mathematics. Perhaps he should have mercy and tutor the boy. He would consider broaching the offer after he slept.

“Mushroom swiss, extra onions, and large mocha, triple espresso. You know you really should cut back of the caffeine, Lil’ D. It’ll stunt your growth.”

Damian snatched the bag and beverage. “And you should cut back on the pizza. It’s starting to look like Pennyworth needs to let out your uniform again.”

“Very funny, brat.” Grayson ruffled his hair, before plopping down on the ledge beside him and settling into what looked like an overstuffed breakfast burrito, though he did pull at the fabric clinging to his abs when he thought Damian wasn’t looking.

“Anything happen while I was gone?” Grayson asked as he chased an exceptionally large bite with his own coffee.

“B-and-E on 18th, but GCPD was close enough to respond, so I let them handle it.”

“Why Damian, I didn’t know you were capable of sharing. How generous of you.” Grayson punctuated his feigned surprise with a dainty hand against his face. Damian narrowed his eyes, and returned his attention to his own meal.

“Tt”

“Jason and his ‘Outlaws’ got back to Blüdhaven this morning. I think they were doing something about the Lexcorp drilling operation in Smallville. The facilities definitely exploded, and explosions usually involve Jason. Surprisingly there were no casualties.”

“Jason has never broken father’s code, despite every opportunity to do so. His methods might be a bit extreme, but they are effective, and non-lethal.”

Grayson paused. “But I’m still your favorite brother, right?”

Damian smirked. “I’m no longer wishing you dead.”

Grayson laughed, then the two ate in silence. While Damian was washing down the last vestiges of his meal, Grayson stood and stretched. “So, I’m thinking we move towards the bay area. Seems like theirs always something to do there.”

“If you’re eager to stay busy, we could consult Oracle.”

Grayson shuffled awkwardly, then cleared his throat. “That won’t be necessary. Between the police scanner and Al manning the bat-computer, we’ll know where we’re needed, when we’re needed.”

Damian got to his feet and stretched himself. It seemed there was some awkwardness between Grayson and the Gordon girl, probably stemming from a failed romance. Grayson didn’t talk about it, and neither did Oracle. He could probably ask Jason, but he didn’t care that much. So long as it didn’t effect the mission.

It was a short trip by rooftop to the bay area docks, and the two were in no real rush. This was a simple patrol, mostly for the sake of reminding Gotham that it’s guardians were constantly vigilant. Across the bay, the shining beacon of metropolis lit the sky as if to starkly contrast the shadowy gloom of Gotham. Damian had often wondered if property was cheaper on the Gotham-facing side of Metropolis. He knew from father that the reverse was true of Metropolis facing property in Gotham. On the other side of the Bay Bridge, the Hights loomed like towering castles, housing those of Gotham’s elite who preferred high rises to mansions. One of those buildings held a penthouse suite belonging to Father and housing a substitute Batcave far better outfitted than the many bunkers father had across the city. Damian had toured each of these facilities in his first week as Robin, and given them each a monthly inspection since. In recent months he’d taken to sleeping in the penthouse when he and father had one of their frequent disagreements. Before that he’d mostly gone to Jason’s Blüdhaven bunker, but a particularly awkward incident had put a stop to that.

Grayson was right about the frequency of criminal activity in the area, and the two had barely began their loop around the docks when they came upon a group of thugs brazenly unloading pallets of cocaine. The two separated wordlessly, each seeking a vantage point from which to survey the scene before acting.

Grayson went high, perching on top of a crane, Damian went low silently positioning himself on a shipping container right above the scum.

“I count six men, two in the truck, two in the container, and two patrolling. The guards have automatic weapons, but I’d be willing to bet all six are packing. How do you want to proceed?” Grayson spoke in a determined whisper, and Damian replied in the same hushed tones.

“I see five. One of the guards is heading your way. Advise pattern Gamma-12. Move at your command.” Damian never enjoyed handing over control, but Grayson had the best view of the battlefield, and would make the right call.

“Acknowledged. Guard two is on your 8:15. You may proceed with pattern G-12.”

Damian dropped onto the unsuspecting guard, who was exactly where Grayson had said he’d be. Before the man could make a sound, Damian clapped a hand over his mouth and struck key pressure points in rapid succession, rendering the man unconscious. With silent precision he moved towards the container and his next targets.

The truck was shaking as he stepped from the corridor into the loading area, and he knew Grayson was doing his part. When his targets moved into the container to start on another pallet he stepped in behind them and slowly shut the door. The thump of metal and frightened, agonized screams were the only indication of what was happening inside, and they faded into silence quickly enough.

When Damian emerged, Grayson was standing with his hands on his hips, no doubt preparing some quip or other. Before he could say anything though, a brilliant radiance lit the sky like daybreak come several hours to soon. And with a deafening crash, the meteor smashed into the bay, sending a wave far enough inland that puddles formed around their feet. The two locked eyes, wordlessly agreeing that it was within their responsibilities to respond, and made their way toward the crash site.

The scene was tranquil, if one could ignore the floating debris and wreckage of personal water craft that had congregated to the bay’s center, ringing the impact zone like the epicenter of a child’s temper tantrum. Damian and Grayson stood in silent awe, until Damian pulled the Geiger-counter out of his belt and set the device ticking.

“Al, how fast could you get us a boat to Gotham Bay, pier 19?”

“I’m picking up radiation, if minor. Our space rock is so lukewarm it’s practically cold.” Damian returned the device to his belt.

“I’ve dispatched the bat-boat you your location, Nightwing. Happy sailing sir.”

The two glanced at each other as the din of distant sirens and alarms died down. The cities on both sides of the bay were wide awake now, and they wouldn’t have long to investigate before the authorities moved in. The boat took just long enough for Grayson to become antsy, tapping his foot and drumming his fingers over his crossed arms. When the visor slid back to open the vessels empty cockpit, Grayson boarded without a moment’s hesitation.

Damian moved to join him.

“Hope Al packed some trunks. We might be getting wet Lil’D.” Grayson opined as Damian fastened himself in.

In leu of a response, Damian rolled his eyes, and the duo started across the bay to the epicenter of the crash. They had just reached their goal when the boat heaved and rolled over, flipped like a child’s plaything. Moments later a heavy thump resounded from the skyward facing underside of the vessel. Damian and Grayson situated their respirators, exchanging an understanding glance and Grayson opened the visor and the boat’s interior flooded with the oily bay water. At the last minute, Damian released the clasp on his cape, cutting the resistance he’d face cutting through the water.

The duo surfaced to a strange sight. Standing on wobbly legs on the slowly submerging underside of the bat-boat, was a young woman, soaked from head to toe, and wearing what looked like a silver and white wet-suit. Grayson, who had surfaced and disengaged his respirator first, cautiously joined her on the slowly sinking makeshift island.

“Ma’am, are you alright?” She jerked her head towards him, panicked, fearful. Damian was all to familiar with such mannerisms. He propped his arms on the boat.In response, the young woman muttered something Damian couldn’t quite make out.

“Miss, it’s okay. We’re here to help.” Grayson took a cautious step towards the young woman, who responded with a frightened shout and a shove at Grayson, who hadn’t even finished shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

Soaked to the bone, and standing on precarious, slippery footing, a slip or stumble would have been expected, even from one with the lithe grace of Grayson. Instead, he jettisoned a pained grunt and flew from the vessel, skipping twice across the water’s surface like a stone. Damian watched in shocked awe, and turning his eyes on the aggressor, saw the same look in her own eyes. They were blue. She met his gaze and shouted something else in that gibberish that was starting to sound vaguely familiar to Damian. Then she jumped as if to dive into the Gotham facing side of the bay. But instead launched at least fifty feet into the air, sailing in a clear arch to the docks he and Grayson had left moments ago.

“Grayson-“

“Still breathing Lil’D. Get after her. I’ll catch up.” Grayson sounded winded, and was barely suppressing what Damian was guessing to be intense pain, but he kicked off the boat and swam towards the docks nonetheless. Even at the brisk pace he set, it still took way too long to reach the shore. Luckily the young woman left a trail. Wet footprints and cracked pavement made the pursuit easy as following a hare though fresh snow. She was moving eastward, and inland.

Damian’s pursuit showed all the telltale signs of a frightened, if powerful, meta-human, just coming into her abilities. She needed to be stopped before she hurt anyone, before she hurt herself. Anyone else, Damian mentally corrected. He’d passed a few would be thugs or helping hands with significant (though fortunately non-lethal) injuries in an alley a few blocks back. Beams of crimson light shot skyward from the next street over. Damian hip-fired his line launcher and took the rooftop in time to catch a glimpse of the chaos on the street below, and the young woman illuminated by police flashlights as she floated gracelessly skyward. With very little time for mental calculations, Damian took a running start and dove across the gap between buildings.

He collided with the girl in mid air, directly above the middle of the crowded street, with thirty stories of open air between him and unforgiving concrete. His gamble paid off. Whatever method granted the girl flight had slowed their decent, and coupled with Damian’s momentum they came down in a slow arch, landing on the rooftop on the other side of the street. For his part Damian had to roll to disperse the excess momentum. The girl immediately rose from her knees to her feet with stony determination. She shouted at him in what he realized was an alien language.

“Tired of running, I take it. Come then.” Damian pulled the sword from his belt. It was blunted, had been for almost three years now, a concession made to ease father’s mind. But even without an edge it could break bones, bruise bodies, and dissuade antagonists. Before he had taken a ready stance, the girl launched forward at speeds that would even give Allen pause. The blade bounced and rattled on the rooftop, useless. Clearing thirty feet in less than a second, the girl had pinned Damian to the wall by his wrists. The impact had knocked the breath from him, and might have broken both of his wrists, had they not been cushioned by the meta’s fingers. As it was, her vice like grip was already bruising bone deep. A horrific crimson light radiated menacingly from her previously arctic blue eyes. Damian narrowed his own eyes, scowling. Mentally he was running through every possible counter, every potential method of escape. Then, she spoke again, and the nagging familiarity clicked.

“Where the hell am I? What the hell is going on?”

Damian mentally thanked Jon for the Kryptonian lessons, and formulated his plan. It would have to be fast.

“Welcome to earth.” He spat, smirking. The glow faded from her eyes, replaced by shock. Her grip on his wrists loosened, and Damian moved to the second step of his plan. He pushed forward as hard and fast as he could, planting his lips on hers. The Selina Kyle method. As expected, confusion, shock, and perhaps a touch of embarrassment caused the Kryptonian to fully release her grip and stagger backwards, giving Damian enough time to pull the aerosolized kryptonite/ knockout gas concoction from the led-lined pouch on his belt and spritz the girl with a healthy dose.

Once she had collapsed into a heap and Damian was sure that she was fully unconscious, he called Grayson.

It was just before sunrise when father returned, and on Damian’s insistence, brought the elder Kryptonian with him. Unlikely as it was, Kara Zor-El was his cousin, sent to earth from Kandor, the capital city of Krypton moments before the planet’s destruction. She was uncertain what had set her off course by nearly four decades, but she had finally arrived.

Within six months, she was fluent in English. In ten she was versed enough in her powers to earn Superman’s approval to shadow him in metropolis. After some convincing Bruce set her up in an unused apartment he kept in National City with an established civilian identity and all the paperwork that required. Before the end of her first year, Kara had blended almost seamlessly into earthling society, though under constant supervision from the Justice League. By that time even Batman’s considerable scrutiny waned. But Damian remained cautious.

Eventually, Supergirl’s fame and reverence grew to match that of her well established cousin, and the world mostly came to accept the new heroically inclined visitor from a strange world.

But the clock was ticking, and had been long before the alien child set foot of the strange new world. Events were already in motion that would call to question the meaning of the word hero, and the line that separates good and evil.

Tick

Tock

Tick

[coffee-obsessed-writer]

The Supply Run

Dean Winchester x Reader; Sam Winchester x Reader (platonic)

Summary: Dean’s girlfriend is at home sick with the flu and he promised to make a run for a few simple things. Her biggest request - go to the actual grocery store and not that gas station up the road.

A/N: A simple little story to complete my bingo card for @spngenrebingo. A big thank you to @kazosa for helping me out with this one!!

Square Filled: Supply Run

Warnings: None

WC: 2.5K

Dean stood outside of the electronic doors and looked up at the giant neon sign. He grumbled at the prospect of entering the dreaded store with its giant aisles and fluorescent overhead lights. Why he couldn’t just grab the necessities from the gas station near home was beyond him. Not like he never had to do a supply run for someone sick before. Plenty of times he had to do this for Sammy when they were kids. Why she insisted on making him go to this horror show just for some simple things baffled him. But yet, the image of the girl he loved, back in the bunker laid up alone and wallowing in germs gave him the final push he needed to take a step forward, triggering the doors to open.

He grabbed a basket and instantly felt lost and slightly intimidated. Looking around he took the first few hesitant steps towards the endless aisles in front of him. She gave him a list, but he thought it looked pretty sparse of any of the good stuff he used to get Sam. Where were the cans of Chicken & Stars soup… the marshmallow fluff… the boxed mac and cheese? All she asked him to get was oranges, Nyquil and Gatorade. 

“Not even a box of Saltines?!” he mumbled incredulously, looking at the paper again and shaking his head.

He started by the produce and found the oranges. Piled high on a display, he absently grabbed the first two his hand touched. A quick avalanche of citrus began rolling down the sides. In a panic, he dropped the basket and caught most before they crashed to the floor. Looking around to see how much attention he gained, he sighed when he realized no one saw. Carefully, Dean placed the oranges back and silently prayed they would stay put. 

Snatching his basket and quickly walking away, Dean bypassed most of the home goods aisles until he found himself boxed in by a display of everything you would need to make smores at home. Dean’s eyes lit up and he immediately grabbed one of each, tossing them into the basket, and moving along down towards the cereal. A box of Lucky Charms caught his eye, and he added it to his basket before nodding in satisfaction.

“This is what I’m talking about,” he muttered with a satisfied grin and continued through the aisles, feeling better about his trip to the big box store. 

Rounding the corner, his attention was in looking up at the sign for the next aisle. He was hoping the cans of soup would be there somewhere when suddenly the hard bump of a shopping cart rammed straight into his side. 

“Excuse you, son!” an older, gray-haired woman admonished as Dean’s box of Lucky Charms went tumbling out of the basket thanks to the collision.

“S-Sorry--” he stuttered, bending down to pick up the box and wrinkled his nose at the narrowed eye expression she was giving him. 

She looked into his basket and shook her head. “This generation… can’t even shop for a proper meal,” she mumbled as she moved along her way. 

“I hate these places,” he groaned. “Why couldn’t I just go to the Gas n Sip. Coulda got all this there…”

Two aisles later, Dean found the cans of condensed Chicken & Stars soup that was a sure-fire way to get her to feel better. Any time Sam had been sick, Dean would get all the essentials, soup included, making Sammy better in no time. If Dean was feeling fancy, he would crumble the saltines on top and Sam would think it was the best thing in the world. Smiling at the memory, he tossed a few into the basket then went on to find the sports drinks she asked for. 

The last item on her very shortlist was the Nyquil. She said it would help her sleep off whatever germs were making her feel like death. He had no doubt that it would, but she would also need sustenance; hence the variety of heavily processed foods he was lugging around in the basket. Half paying attention to where he was wandering, Dean found himself in unfamiliar territory. Thinking he was somewhere near the meds, he began to examine some of the boxes on the shelves. 

As he scanned the boxes and tubes in front of him and read the words like ‘Vagisil’ and ‘Summer’s Eve’ his head snapped up and he took a step back. Realizing he was in the feminine hygiene aisle, he quickly turned on his heel and stepped lively towards where he took a wrong turn. 

“Wrooong aisle,” he said with a nervous laugh just as he nearly ran into the same old lady he did before. 

“You lost, son?” she asked, relishing in the uncomfortable expression he wore. 

“I… um… Nyquil?” he stammered.

“One more aisle over,” she replied with an exasperated huff. “Guess this generation can’t read, either.”

Dean held back all the comments that swirled through his mind and continued on to the correct aisle, biting his tongue as he went. Finding the requested item, Dean took a moment to try and discern which variety she would want. Finally plucking the bottle of neon green liquid from the shelves, he then noticed a variety of other things he thought she may need but didn’t ask for. Stuffing the basket full, he felt a raw sense of satisfaction as he examined all the things that were nearly overflowing from it and headed towards the front of the store.

Once Dean finally made it to the checkout. He lined up all of his goodies on the belt and watched as the clerk—Keith, who’s name tag was overshadowed by a giant pin that read, ‘Be Patient with Me! I’m New!’—studied each item slowly, looking for the bar code to rake across the scanner. Dean’s impatience grew with each painstakingly snail-like pass of an item over the register, the resounding beeeep that followed chipping away at the last of his patience. 

By the time the pimply-faced teenage clerk picked up the box of tissues, then Lucky Charms, Dean heard him snicker under his breath.

“Sick kid at home?” he asked. “My mom used ta buy this shit for me when I was sick.”

Dean flashed a fake but polite smile. “Girlfriend. And she’s waiting for me, so can we speed this along, a little, please?”

“Girlfriend?” Keith snorted again just as he passed the last item, a jar of marshmallow fluff over the red laser light then held it up, shaking it in a mocking fashion. “What is she, twelve?”

Dean snatched it from his hand, threw it in the bag, and did it all with a glare of his intense green eyes. One that made Keith assume would result in his death should he speak another word. 

Continuing to stare down the very young and very nervous cashier, Dean averted his eyes for just a moment, to see a small, plush little teddy bear holding a heart and a miniature mylar ballon, also decked out in hearts, sitting on the top of Keith’s register. Making intense eye contact with Keith, Dean reached out, and added it to the belt and stared the kid down until he finally scanned it, then placed it in the bag. 

The small bit of fear reflected in Keith’s expression was enough to calm Dean’s annoyance. “Buddy,” he said, as he relaxed his gaze as he drew out his wallet, looked at the final tally, and slapped down the total amount in cash, “let me tell you something. When you finally get the opportunity to touch a woman--something I assume is still years away for you--and you find the woman that makes you realize that it's all worth fighting for... A trip to the grocery store to get her everything she could possibly need is the easiest thing in the world to do. Even if it means dodging old ladies and Vagisil. Alright?”

Keith could only nod and wait until Dean gathered his few bags up before taking the cash that resided on the metal table beyond the register. 

The cool air hit Dean’s face as he exited through the second set of automatic doors that led to the parking lot. Throwing the bags on the floor of the Impala, he slid behind the wheel and smiled a soft, thoughtful smile. It was something he did every time he was about to head home knowing she was there, without even realizing he was doing it. 

Back at the bunker, she was curled up in the fetal position in the bed she shared with Dean; head pounding and a sheen of sweat coating her skin. Though she were freezing internally, the fever that raged told her body to both sweat and shiver at the same time. Praying Dean would return soon with the few necessary items, she tried to reposition herself on the bed so she could drink water before falling back down to the mattress, exhausted.

The flu, or whatever it was infesting her, had taken its toll. She had been down for two days, and not able to do much more than lay in bed. Sam had left on a hunt a few days prior, and Dean was doing his best to make sure she had what she needed while still sending Sam support for the job at hand. 

Off in the depths of the halls, familiar sounds of footsteps were coming closer. Hoping it was Dean, she did her best to push the sweaty remnants of hair aside and adjust the t-shirt she wore, so she didn’t look as bad as she thought she did. The faint knock at the door made her look up and call out for them to come in, but the dryness of her throat protested, sending her into a coughing fit.

The door opened, Sam was coming in to check on her, but stopped in his tracks and covered his face with his hand when he saw how sick she really was. 

“Whoa. What the hell happened to you? When I left you had the sniffles,” he said, his voice muffled through his fingers. 

“The flu happened,” she rasped in reply between coughs.

“Where’s Dean?”

“Getting supplies. I hope... He’s been gone a while. Probably because I asked him to go to the actual store. Not the gas station.”

Sam laughed and nodded. “I’m sure he’s having quite the adventure. Alright, let me go see what we got in the kitchen in the meantime. You really do look like crap.”

“Gee. Thanks. Didn’t realize,” she muttered sarcastically before finally falling back to the mattress.

In the kitchen, Sam pulled out a variety of ingredients and was happy to realize he could make what he intended without having to make a supply run of his own. The soup he threw together was simmering, filling the kitchen and surrounding hallways of the bunker with a delicious aroma by the time Dean made it home. 

Dropping the bags on the table, Dean watched his brother curiously for a moment as he slipped the jacket from his shoulders. 

“What’s that?” he asked, peering over Sam’s much taller shoulder. 

“Soup. Or did you not notice the Ebola situation going on in your room?”

“I got her soup. Along with everything else she needs to get better,” he replied, rolling his eyes behind Sam’s back. 

Without turning around, Sam replied, “Let me guess. Chicken and stars, marshmallow fluff and saltines.”

“Yeah… but also Nyquil, oranges, and Gatorade,” Dean retorted with an incredulous snort but left out the part where they were her suggestions. “But, yeah, I absolutely got some other necessities. Hey, don’t knock it, they always worked for you.”

“They worked for me because after you turned around and left, I would sneak down to the closest store and get actual medicine and real soup.”

“Real--Sam… this IS real. Just add water, heat, and stir.”

Sam shook his head and turned back to the stove. “My point is, she cannot live and get better off fluff, alone. Go give her the meds and a Gatorade, this will be ready soon.”

Dean silently mocked his brother’s instructions and grabbed the bag with the few things she specifically asked for, along with a few other things he thought she may want. By the time he reached their shared bedroom and cracked the door open, he was relieved to see that she was sleeping peacefully. Her hair was sweaty and pushed back from her face which was still flush with fever, but it didn’t stop him from leaving a sweet kiss against her head. 

Placing the bag aside, he retrieved the foul-smelling medicine and poured her a shot in the enclosed cup before gently shaking her awake. As she started to come around, he readied the bottle of Gatorade so she could easily take both and then go back to sleep.

“Hey sleepyhead,” he said as she opened her eyes and smiled despite feeling like she’d been hit by a truck.

“Hey…” she pushed herself up on her elbows and looked around slightly confused. “Did I see Sam here earlier or was that a hallucination?”

Dean laughed. “He’s here. He’s making you soup.”

“Oh… that’s sweet. Did you grab--”

“I got everything on your list, and then some. But for now, take this…” he handed her the medicine, and then the bottle of fruit punch. “Then, have this.”

She did as told and once both were consumed, she laid back down on the pillow and smiled up at him. “Thank you, Dean. I know going to the store was a pain, but--”

“It was fine. As long as you got what you need.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t come back with half the store, honestly.”

“There may or may not be a few more bags in the kitchen. But for now, just get passed this fever, then we can talk about making smores with Lucky Charms.”

“What? Ewe.”

“No, it's good. Trust me. Make ya feel better in no time.”

“Hm, no. I’ll pass, but you knock yourself out,” she giggled and then closed her eyes. 

“You rest, okay? I’ll check on you in a bit. Hopefully, you’ll feel better and look a little less…” Dean trailed off, trying to find a nice way to put it. 

“A little less… what?”

“Well, you sorta look like a shifter that didn’t quite shift all the way. Kinda pale and gooey,” he shrugged, and despite her weakened state, earned him a solid punch in the arm from his girlfriend. 

“Jerk.”

“Yeah, well, you love me,” he winked and stood from the bed. “Oh, I uh, got you a few other things in the bag there. But they can wait. Just get try and get some sleep.”

She rolled her eyes, but then with as much energy as she could muster, reached for the bag and looked inside. Pulling out the small bear with the balloon, her eyes found him quickly and he felt a rush of feeling for how she was looking at him. 

“I love it, thank you,” she said and held it close to her. Once she removed the balloon, she burrowed into the covers with the bear and sighed contentedly. Dean bent down to kiss her head again, and before he turned to leave the room, she called out for him. 

“Dean, wait.” Sitting up again, she knew she only had another moment before her head dictated she lay it back down. “Thank you for everything. I don’t know how I got so lucky, but thank you for all you do for me.”

“Of course, sweetheart. I’d do anything for you. Get some sleep. I’ll check on you soon.”

He waited until she laid back down and quietly closed the door behind him. A little smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as he realized she was the one who could potentially domesticate him, the thought of which didn’t scare him the way it would have before. As Dean made his way back towards the kitchen, the only thing that did scare him was realizing he forgot to get any kind of disinfecting spray to bomb the bunker with. Despite how cute she may have looked cuddling the small bear and falling asleep in his bed, he didn’t want anyone else to suffer from her Ebola-like germs.

Everything Tags: @sorenmarie87 // @yallgotkik

SPN Tags: @kazosa // @wings-of-a-raven // @closetspngirl // @idreamofplaid// @screechingartisancashbailiff // @linki-locks11 // @winchesterxfamilybusiness// @spnhollis // @sandlee44 // @stoneyggirl // @clarinette07 // @negans-wife // @deans-baby-momma // @hobby27 // @breereadsthings // @katehuntington // @81mysteriouslyme // @mrswhozeewhatsis // @deathofmissjackson // @lauravic // @aomi-nabi // @akshi8278 // @whereismyangel-damnitdeanshare// @coffeebooksandfandom // @rebelminxy // @22sarah08 // @fictionalabyss // @adoptdontshoppets // @blackcherrywhiskey // @babypieandwhiskey // @maddiepants // @lefthologramdeer // @his-paradox // @unlikelygalaxygiver

[better-be-reddie]

Absconding, Aberrations, & Alligators

'It starts with Richie standing on a small stage in front of a decent crowd. It's been a good four months since his giant fuck up in Chicago- four months since the great Sewer Tour sequel- working title. He's finally working to get his career back on its feet, before he no longer has an agent or manager or all the other people that make his career somewhat functional. They're starting him off small, a test run to see if he's over whatever mental breakdown that caused him to bomb his last show and cancel the tour he'd been in the middle of. Spoiler Alert: he was just getting started.'

or

Richie takes an impromptu trip to Florida, somehow it all works out.

Hey! So I posted this fic to ao3 awhile ago but now that I have a blog I’m porting it here too. Rated T for language I guess No warnings, just 11,000 words feat. Richie’s gay crisis.

It starts with Richie standing on a small stage in front of a decent crowd. It's been a good four months since his giant fuck up in Chicago- four months since the great Sewer Tour sequel- working title . He's finally working to get his career back on its feet, before he no longer has an agent or manager or all the other people that make his career somewhat functional. They're starting him off small, a test run to see if he's over whatever mental breakdown that caused him to bomb his last show and cancel the tour he'd been in the middle of.

Spoiler Alert: he was just getting started.

Apparently Richie "Trashmouth" Tozier was never really off his bullshit. It's just, the nearly nonexistent filter he did manage to keep was corroding faster than he could keep track. And if he's being honest, it didn't actually start on that meager lounge stage in LA.It didn't even start three months ago when answering a knock at his front door forced him face to face with one Edward Kaspbrak, fresh from serving his now ex wife-mother monstrosity divorce papers. 

"Just looking for a place to lie low for a bit." Eddie had shrugged in front of his small mountain of suitcases.

 "What and they ran out of fucking housing in New York?" Richie had come back with.

"Fuck you, man! You said if I ever needed-"

"Yeah yeah," Richie made sure to cut off the would-be rant, "Get in here then." He'd said, throwing the door open and stepping aside, letting Eddie into his sorry excuse of living quarters. 

He quipped and sassed his best in order to keep the fact that he was internally screaming hidden. Especially when he noticed all of Eddie's little facial ticks giving away just how abysmal he found Richie's standard of living. The thing was, when they had parted ways in Derry, Richie had been ready to let go, to push down his feelings and the impossible level of affection he'd held for his friend. Afterall he had lived twenty-something odd years of his life without Eddie, so he reasoned that he could keep on living without him. 

That's what he had told himself anyway, over, and over, and over in the month it took Eddie to just show up unannounced. Richie didn't want to admit just how awful his pining had gotten those four weeks alone, but it had been bad. Somehow being reacquainted with the man had set off his aching heart almost more than he could care to control. But no, this shitstorm he was about to set off didn't start that day three months ago, nor any of the subsequent days after wherein Eddie settled in and became an integral part of Richie's daily routine. It didn't even start those four months ago when Richie walked into that damn Chinese restaurant and saw Eddie for the first time in decades, which had him falling dick-first into one hell of a sexuality crisis. Again. It didn't start when they were awkward, gangly thirteen year olds and Richie was stabbing his hands full of splinters in order to carve an embarrassing hommage to his dear first love on the rails of the Kissing Bridge. If Richie was being honest with himself, which he rarely ever was, he would admit that it all started a good thirty-four years or so ago when Richie was fresh into the first grade. Sometime after he'd mastered his ABC's but before he got his glasses that would magnify his eyes and really solidify his place as a loser; early enough that Richie would brag about being a master of mud-pies but back before anyone knew he was certifiably blind, except for Stan and Bill who worked as mediocre guide-dogs while everyone else just labeled him as a clumsy kid.

 It was a cool fall day when Stan and Bill hadn't been around which left Richie particularly vulnerable to his "clumsiness", this time to the result of him tripping and scraping his hands up. Richie had huffed and tried to wipe the mud off his palms and onto his pants when a pair of sneakers entered his bleary vision.

 "You should really clean off that dirt." The newcomer spoke.

"What?" Richie had asked dumbly.

The smaller boy sighed and readjusted the fanny pack strapped to his waist before replying, "If you don't wash the dirt out and patch up your cuts they'll get infected and you'll die." 

Richie had been startled but also bemused. He got cuts and scrapes all the time, and was almost always covered in dirt from playing. 

 "I won't die!"

 The boy shook his head, "my mommy told me that if you keep dirt in a cut it'll go bad. You don't want to have to go to the doctor and sit in the awful rooms just to make sure they don't need to cut anything off."

 Richie laughed, "That sounds fake, why would they cut anything off?" 

"If the cut goes bad they might have to!" The boy spoke, growing irritable, "Know what? Forget it, I might have something in my pack." The boy dug around in his overly stuffed fanny pack making Richie smile."Got it, now hold still and let me fix your gross hands." The boy said, followed with, "I'm Eddie, by the way." 

Richie's smile grew at how the boys- how Eddie's voice turned shy as he introduced himself.

"I'm Richie."

 It was that moment, decades ago on a school playground, that had started the chain of events that would build, and build, and build until Richie was so unbelievably in love that he would never really be able to move past it. It was the first domino in a series of ridiculous and probably ill advised life decisions that would leave him standing on a small stage in LA about to segue into his next joke featuring the infamous "girlfriend" character his writers just loved him to bitch about. It was a bit that he had rehashed over and over in his different routines, this new variation he had mastered last week before ever setting foot in the small lounge.

That was probably why his mind was elsewhere as he began, he was debating in the back of his head what Eddie would like for dinner later, whether he should pick up take out on his way home or   it took him a moment to realize that the next words out of his mouth were not exactly what he'd practiced from his script, 

"So, my boyfriend Eddie and I decided to try and -" Richie stumbled on the sentence, his brain kicking in a moment too late as a couple surprised noises came from the audience, and a few claps and hollers rang out. 

Thirty- something odd years of pining and daydreams of the day he'd finally get to call Eddie his had finally broken through his shitty barrier and merged his fantasies with reality. Boom. Domino effect.  

Richie began to realize not only had he just come out, unscripted onstage, but also that this show was being streamed online...live. 

He also knew that he couldn't afford to fuck this up, or make it look like he'd fucked up again so he stumbled his way through through rest of the sentence and ad-libbed the joke with alarming grace considering he felt like he was about to throw up. 

His manager was going to kill him.

He knew taking it back would have only ruined the show made it even more impossibly awkward, so he pushed on until the act was complete, rushing off the stage a little more quickly than he normally would, if only so he could hide behind the scenes and panic good and proper.

If Richie's manager didn't take him out in the next five minutes, Eddie surely would.

---

Richie had less than five minutes alone to panic in the dingy back hallway that lead to the club's emergency exit before his manager was marching up to him.

"You had one job!"

 "I-I know!" Richie said, voice possibly a tad strained.

 "Rich, what the hell."

 "I know !"

"You're single handedly making me go grey! Okay calm down- we can- we can roll with this- see online opinion polls and then come up with a strategy. God we might have to renegotiate-"

But Richie wasn't listening to him anymore, he didn't have the brain capacity to listen or be grateful to the man who had, once again, watched as Richie doused himself in gasoline and lit a match. He should have felt bad for the guy, and maybe when his own panic died down he would, his manager was only trying to offer an extinguisher. He definitely felt like he was on fire- and not in the good way of speaking. Sweat dripped off his brow and his skin prickled as his stomach churned, twisting and writhing itself into knots. All he seemed to be aware of was the near constant vibration against his thigh that his phone was giving off, as it blew up with notifications. 

Richie's hands shook as he reached for his device, the finger scanner refusing to work due to the alarming dampness of his hands. He unlocked the phone using his code instead and balked at the notifications. He could see Bev’s name pop up next a bold 10 to indicate how many messages she alone had sent so far, and the little numbers over his text app were steadily going up as the rest of the losers blasted him. 

Great.

 Good to know he had an audience.

His heart seized as the screen changed suddenly and Eddie's picture took over, blocking his home screen. It was a great picture, a wonderful candid Richie had taken of Eddie in one of his full blown road rage meltdowns. Richie had laughed heartily when he'd seen how the picture turned out; Eddie, on the other hand, had been less pleased and demanded he delete it. Naturally Richie made it the man's profile picture instead. The photo always managed to get a giggle or smile out of him as if he were some schoolgirl with a crush. He wasn't laughing now. His eyes darted between Eddie's comically angry face and the green answer call button. Richie felt frozen unable to respond as the tightness in his chest grew, he felt dizzy as the walls closed in around him. The vibration of the phone stopped and the screen flipped back to his home page. A new notification for another missed call appeared, followed seconds later by a notification for a new voicemail. 

Richie gasped and began to move quickly towards the exit door shouting an excuse to his manager who called out in alarm behind him. He all but fell against the metal door and staggered out into the hot LA sun, the thick air and humidity nowhere near the relief he wanted against his already flushed skin. 

His phone jumped to life once more, vibrating in his hands as Eddie's familiar picture flashed onto the screen once more. Richie gulped and swiped over the green answer button and brought the device up to his ear with shaking hands.

"Richie? Fucking finally- what the hell?" 

Richie's eyes widened and he quickly hung up, nearly dropping the phone in order to do so. He didn't know whether to laugh or scream, an uncanny hysteria bubbled in his chest and everything just felt like too much. Eddie must hate him. There was no way he couldn't. His phone alerted him to text another text. 

Eddie.

'You better have been disconnected.' 

Richie's phone rang again. Richie swiped to ignore.

 'Pick up. We need to talk.' 

Panic seized him. There was literally no good reasoning behind the phrase ' We need to talk.' God, he even added a period at the end. His phone rang. The panic boiled, crested in a mind blanking peak. 

Richie blinked owlishly at the broken remains of his phone. Shattered against the dirty pavement of the alley. Great.

 "Hey...Rich?" 

Richie definitely did not jump. He turned to see his manager behind him, peeking out from the door.

 "You good bud?" 

He was definitely not good. 

"Yeah. Yeah, sorry."

 "Okay, okay, you sure? Cause you sort of seem not good?" 

Richie had a strong sense of deja vu all of the sudden. He shook his head. His mind was coming back online and he had no idea what he was supposed to do. He couldn't just stroll into his house like nothing was wrong, Eddie was waiting for him at home and Richie liked his dick attached to him thanks. He looked back to the shattered phone. 

"Hey can I borrow your phone?" His manager side-eyed him dubiously, cautiously and then the broken phone on the ground.

 "I guess- as long as it isn't going to end up like that."

 -

Richie's first instinct had been to call Bill, he was closest afterall, and he was the man with a plan; but that would have been his most obvious move. Eddie would no doubt storm the place in the midst of a rage so deep Richie didn't even want to picture it. So Bill had been mentally crossed off his list. Stan, Richie loved , as much as he could platonically love someone, but that would be obvious too. Plus he and Patty had been on somewhat of a retreat. Something about doing something relaxing and therapeutic after nearly dying and Richie really didn't feel like intruding on that. Beverly would have his back. She would laugh in his fucking face, but she would also give him one of her hugs after and let him mope. The problem with Bev though, is that she came with Ben. Now Richie adored Ben, it was literally impossible not to, however all it would take was one angry look from Eddie and the man would crumble faster than a house of cards in a hurricane. He couldn't lie for shit, especially when emotions were high. And that really left Richie with one last alternative. Which is how he found himself stepping off a plane, with no more than his wallet and the clothes on his back, half way across the god damn country, in fucking Florida. Richie looked around the airport as if it had personally offended him, and honestly it sort of did simply for being located in such a subpar fucking state. He really didn't see what the hell Mike saw in the place. He really didn't get it. Speaking of Mike.

"Richie!"

 Richie looked up and saw the man of the hour waving him over. Mike beamed at him and greeted him with arms wide open.

 "It's good to see you man!" Mike said,

"Yeah, yeah you too." Richie agreed.

It was good to see Mike again, they'd stayed in contact the same way they all had; through group chats and Skype calls mostly but this was the first time since they all separated in Derry that Richie had seen Mike in person. He really wished it was for better reasons. And not in Florida. 

"Alright, let's get your bags and then we can head out. There's a good diner not far from my place, I think you'll enjoy it." 

Richie shuffled awkwardly, "I'm all here man!"

 Mike looked confused for a moment then somewhat incredulous."You- you're all-? Did you not bring anything with you?"

 "I said it was an impromptu trip didn't I?" Richie said.

The look Mike shot him appeared as if he were waiting for Richie to crack a joke, when none were forthcoming his brows raised.

 "Alright man. I guess we can stop and pick you up some stuff you'll need. I have an extra toothbrush at home you can-" 

"You were always the most prepared outta us!" Richie cheered possibly putting too much energy into a...toothbrush. 

Richie knew it was weird, the whole situation was weird. He knew it was weird, and he knew Mike now knew it was weird. He could only hope that his fake enthusiasm could be obnoxiously distracting enough that Mike would let it slide unquestioned. 

"Uh-huh." Mike said still eyeing him up, "Well, follow me I guess."

Richie breathed out a sigh that at least they weren't going to have this conversation in the middle of the Arrivals gate.

 -

Mike's home was small but cozy, it had the foundations of something older with character that had maybe been remodeled sometime in its recent history. The living areas were clean but cluttered; books, and notebooks, and loose leaf were strewn around in somewhat organized heaps that probably made sense to Mike and Mike alone. The home was nestled amongst a forest of tall trees and brush that gave a sense of privacy, and to the side was a barely visible trail which Mike had pointed to when they pulled up and told him went straight to a little beach. Richie had eyed it dubiously, on one hand, beach day but on the other hand, he didn't feel like running into any gators, or snakes, or whatever the fuck else lived in this hellscape of a state. If he wanted to die that badly he would've stayed in LA thank you.

The first night the two of them had enjoyed boxes of take out which were supplemented by maybe a bit too much alcohol. They talked into the night, catching up in a roundabout way that dodged the elephant in the room. Of course that was mostly in part to the way Richie would circle the conversation back around to another of Mike's many research projects whenever the man looked like he was readying himself to broach the subject on what the real reason for Richie's visit was. Apparently Mike had been in an out of service area at the time of Richie's show and either hadn't yet heard about the disaster that it was or was too polite to corner him about it. Still, it sort of left Richie feeling like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Then again, that could have also been caused by the fact that he was still without a phone and thus had no clue how extensive the damage he caused actually was. Well, he had a tiny idea. He'd already ruined the best damn thing in his pathetic life, what did the rest of it matter? Richie ended up taking the bottle of vodka to bed with him that night.

 -

The next day Mike took them both into town to pick up some more things for Richie under the disguise of grocery shopping. During which, Mike casually asked if Richie was thinking of replacing his phone.

 "You said it broke right?"

 "Yeah," he sighed, " Yeah, okay I guess I should get on that." 

Before his manager had a full on aneurysm. He was sure his publicists were already dead from shock or stress.

After spending way too long in a small outlet shop in a nearby strip mall Richie finally had a new phone set up. Richie played with the device as Mike drove them back towards his house. He hadn't turned it on yet, he simply passed the phone from hand to hand, it gave him something to do. He got the same model as the one he'd broken so that he could keep using his old SIM card. He told himself that he would turn it on once he got inside, face the music. Of course once the two made it back Richie went about the rest of his day doing anything but set up his phone. Richie even let Mike lead him down the death trail to the small beach, which would have been really nice had it not been in Florida.

"And not a gator in sight!" Richie said enthusiastically as he sat on the sandy shore.

"You joke, but that pic I sent you guys last week was only a twenty minute walk from here, in a river that a-ways." Mike gestured behind and to the left of where they sat and Richie shot him a dirty look.

"I came here to try and relax." 

Mike only laughed. 

-

That night, after the sun had set in a myriad of colors much less impressive than the ones which shone in good ol' Cali. Richie found himself curled on a deck chair Mike had on his front stoop, watching the moths and other bugs circle the porch lights with an intense fixation, the darker it got the more of them had appeared. His phone was once again in his hands. It had been charging all afternoon, face down on the coffee table. He sighed and finally stopped his fidgeting to turn his attention to the device. He waited for it to load up after he turned it on. Before long he was staring at the familiar screen, there was only about a second of silence before the phone jumped to life and loaded the-

Jesus Christ -over a hundred notifications. He felt a little bad as he skimmed over the list of people vying for his attention, mostly he had messages from the Losers. Maybe it had been a kind of dick move to drop off the face of the earth for two days. He quickly turned to his email. He winced at the couple he had from sponsors. Well, former sponsors he assumed without having to open them.

He instead concentrated on the email from his manager.   

  'Alright  Rich,     I'm assuming you still have access to email, despite your sudden vacation but please make sure you tell me when you have a reliable phone, I'd like to discuss some things further.        Good news: Your live-stream is trending, and there's been a lot of supportive interest within a whole new demographic. With a little work-shopping we can pull this all back together and make something out of it.    Bad news: we lost a few sponsors, some of the higher ups weren't happy with your unpredictability. Also there's been some negative press from some previous demographics, as well as some confusion on whether you were serious in your bit.      After hashing things out with the team we think you should start forming more of an online presence, we are working on getting your Twitter verified. Make a statement, control the flow of rumors, if you would like I can talk to the writers about coming up    with a statement for you. We need to encourage support from this new demographic by reassuring people your coming out bit  wasn't just a bad joke.      Call me once you've read this, and get your ass back to LA.' 

Richie let out a shuddering breath. A bit of the hysteria he had felt back in LA had begun to crawl up his spine. He could feel his pulse quicken at the mere thought of taking to social media, especially to what? Tell everyone he's gay? Again? Hadn't the first time been horrific and awkward enough?

His teeth clenched together as he worked his jaw until it ached, his breath seemed to burn his nostrils and tightly wound throat with every motion. Emotion thick and cloying wrapped around him until he felt as if he were drowning. He felt the sudden urge to jump up and run. As if he had anywhere to go in fucking Florida that wouldn't end with him in the jaws of some ugly reptile.

He placed his phone to the side and rubbed his hands together, feeling inexplicably dirty suddenly. He had run half way across the country and he still felt just as bad as he had in LA. All the gross intrusive thoughts were still there, the voices telling him how disgusting he was, how he'd disappointed his friends, driven them off. That he'd wind up sad and alone again. Behind that overwhelming fear was shame, shame that he had been lying for so fucking long, and yet behind that was the fear of anyone finding out, which circled back to more shame over his feelings to begin with. He shot his phone a scathing look. His manager wanted a statement? What the fuck was he supposed to say? What the actual hell was he supposed to Tweet out?  ' Hi guys, it's true, I love cock but don't worry I hate myself more than any of you ever could!' ? Yeah, like that would go over well.  Richie tried to amuse himself by picturing the look on his publicists face. God, it was suddenly even more tempting. Though he really couldn't afford to lose another one, especially while dealing with this latest fuck up. He wondered if he should finally face the music, open up all of the Losers unread messages. He opened his messenger app and immediately felt even more overwhelmed. His thumb hovering over the list of names. His eyes fixated on 'Eds '. Still, he hesitated. Terrified by what he'd see. 

A small part of him tried to hold onto the sliver of optimistic news his manager had relayed, however it seemed slippery and hard to keep hold of it lieu of all the other shit. He pressed down over Eddie's contact name and held until it highlighted and with shaking hands he quickly deleted the message thread, erasing all of their previous conversations as well as the slew of unread messages. Almost immediately he felt as if his stomach had fallen into his gut. Regret and fear churned in him and he felt more strongly than ever as if he'd lost something. Richie startled as his phone buzzed obnoxiously; he looked down, heart in his throat, expecting to see Eddie's picture and was surprised to instead see Stan's.

He swallowed thickly before accepting the call.

 "Hello?" Richie winced at how tepid his voice sounded.

"So, he is alive." Said Stan, dryly. 

Richie groaned and slumped even lower in his chair, covering his face with one hand as if blocking his vision could also block out his embarrassment. There was a beat of silence before Stan asked,"So, what's going on Rich?"

And Richie couldn't help it, all the stress and emotional upheaval- that fact he was in Florida of all places - hit him all at once and bubbled up. First as a near silent giggle, then falling apart into gasping, full bodied laughs. Tears tracked down from his cheeks and Richie honestly couldn't tell what sort of emotion was behind them. Stan, bless his heart, waited patiently for him to gather his wits and calm himself down before prompting him again with a: "Yeah?" 

Richie nodded despite knowing no one could see him, "Yeah." He agreed.

"The groups been pretty worried." Stan pushed gently. 

"I- I don't know what to say." Richie admitted, feeling his guts churn with unease. 

"Well, that really is something isn't it?" Stan said, "not everyday we find something that shuts you up."

 And Richie can't help the startled laugh that escapes his throat. Despite his unease, his fear, the smile doesn't leave right away."It's been an eventful few days." He finally agrees.

"And how do you feel?" 

Richie pulled a face, "Who are you? My therapist?"

 "Pretty much except the pay is shit. Now answer the question." 

Richie sighed, "I feel-" he cut himself off trying to discern a word he could use, "bad." 

Surprisingly Stan didn't mock him for his eloquence, or lack thereof.

Richie tried again. "I'm…" 

His guts continued to knot and squirm until he had to physically draw up his long legs to his chest, hoping for a respite, "I feel kinda sick." 

"You always did get queasy when your nerves were high. You threw up on the first day of school." 

"How the fuck do you remember that?" 

"Like I'd ever let you forget. You threw up all over Greta Keene's light up shoes." 

Richie groaned, "I mean, she kinda ended up deserving it?"

 "True." There was another beat of silence, but this one was much less awkward. 

Richie looked out into the dark foliage, lost in thoughts. "I can feel you thinking." Stan said softly. 

"I fucked up." 

"A bit, but probably not as much as you fear." 

"I-I doubt that. Did you- Did you see it? The show?" Richie asked tentatively. 

"Yes," Stan said after a moment's pause, "not while it was live...but afterwards." 

"Then you know I fucked up." 

"Yes, but as I said-" 

"I don't know what to do." Richie interrupted Richie could hear Stan sigh through the phone. 

It didn't sound like a noise made out of frustration but Richie's own self doubt was making him question everything.

"It's okay to be scared."

Richie felt his throat constrict at the words and he had to close his eyes against their sudden burning. He suddenly really wished Stan was here with him.

"I- I am. Scared." He said, haltingly.

"That's okay. You're not alone though, you know that right? You don't need to be alone." 

"What if- what if they hate me?” ‘What if he hates me?’

“They could never. There's no way you're getting rid of any of us that easy." 

Richie let out a humorless chuckle. 

"Why do you think they would hate you?" Stan asked softly, though the question felt more like a prompt than asked out of genuine curiosity.

Stan always had a way of sounding older than he was, like he already knew the answers he was trying to make you understand as well. Richie felt suddenly off kilter as he wondered if Stan had somehow already known.

"Because-- Because I'm- Gay." He swallowed down the bile that suddenly threatened to rise up. He had never said it before. Not out loud and never to anyone else. 

There was a pause as Stan waited to make sure Richie had said all he was going to before answering.

"Richie." He said, "None of us think any differently about you. You need to know that." 

"How- how do you know- I mean what if-"

 "None of us think any less of you. I'm not going to say this isn't a big deal, because to you it is. This is, well, it's obviously been something eating away at you. And sure, maybe you decided to come out in somewhat of a dramatic fashion and freaked yourself out, but you don't have to face all of this alone. We are going to be here to support you one hundred percent." 

Richie sniffed back a few wayward tears that threatened to escape. 

"Are you...are you sure?"

 "Have you read any of the messages they've sent you?"

"No- I- no."

 "You should. I think it will help. Also everyone was super worried when you went AWOL. You are...safe aren't you?" 

Richie felt a pang of guilt at the hint of unease that marred Stan's voice. 

"Yeah. Yeah I'm safe." He eyed the bushes warily, "as safe as I can be."

 "Good. But...I could be in LA in just over a day you know." 

Richie felt his heart swell and he wiped away a stubborn tear that refused to be pushed down. "Thanks, but I'm okay...plus I'm...not exactly in LA right now." 

"You're not?" Stan said sounding a bit alarmed. 

"Nah, taking a small vacation."

 "Have you told Eddie? He's been-"

"We haven't spoken."

"Richie." Stan sounded tired now.

"I - I can't, okay? You saw the fucking show. What the fuck am I supposed to say to him now? 'Hey! So I told the whole world about my big gay crush on you! Oh, by the way, I have a big-'" 

"Richard!"

 "What!" 

"Promise me you'll talk to him. Whatever happens, it won't be as bad as you're making it out to be in your head."

 "Fine." Richie said begrudgingly followed closely by a put upon huff.

"Thank you. Now, will you be okay?"

 "Yeah," he said, and though it was with little confidence, a little was still more than he'd felt previously. 

"Good. Call me anytime if you need to talk. But you should try messaging the others, I know they'd like to hear from you and...they'll understand Richie. Losers gotta stick together." 

Richie smiled despite himself. "Losers gotta stick together." 

He parroted back. 

"And call Eddie." 

"Okay mom."

"I'm being serious Richie." 

"Goodnight Stanley!" 

Stan sighed but gave in, "Goodnight." 

Richie took the phone away from his ear and ended the call. He sat staring at the screen until it flipped automatically back to his homepage. He hesitated for a moment before taking a deep breath and opening his messaging app. He clicked on the first name on his timeline list and began to scroll, eyes darting over the string of texts, a small smile making its way into his face as he took in the words of, yes shock but also support. Once caught up, he moved on to the next Loser until he had read through them all.  And no he definitely didn't cry. 

Well, maybe only a little. He felt another pang of loss when he remembered just why Eddie's name wasn't on his messaging list. He quickly opened up a new message draft and selected Eddie's name off his favourites list and then froze.

 Stan's words played over in his head, encouraging him. All Of his friends show of support warmed him to his core, he could do this- A loud rustle from the underbrush sent Richie's heart jack-hammering in his chest. He froze, wide-eyed as he stared into the dark. A loud snap of a twig sent Richie vaulting over the side of the deck chair and nearly ripping the screen door off its hinges in his haste to get inside.  'Not today Satan', he thought as he slammed the front door closed behind him and slid the deadbolt into place. Richie huffed and wandered over to the pullout bed that had become his new home and collapsed onto it. He looked at his phone once more, and the opened draft before he deleted it and turned the device off. He'd message Eddie tomorrow.

 -

Richie did not message Eddie the next day, nor the day after that.However, in his defense, he had been busy. Richie helped Mike with odd jobs around his property and was becoming more and more convinced that there was a large reptilian monster of some sort living on the grounds. Mike could roll his eyes all he wanted but the truth of the matter was that one day Richie swore he saw scales moving slowly through the brush. 

Richie had also taken up his managers challenge and started trying to revamp his online presence. Now that he was officially verified he began, as the young ones would say, shitposting. His first order of conduct being a small tweet which read:

Richie Tozier @OfficialTrashmouth 'Turns out my biggest joke was pretending I was straight.' It had taken him a good three hours of nervous sweating before he had finally been able to post the tweet but he had also felt an immense sense of relief after receiving a screenshot of his own tweet from Bev minutes later followed by some words of love and way too many emojis. The rest of the losers had also sent their love and support through the group chat and private messages. He mostly ignored his twitter feed though, he had made the mistake of checking up on the tweet and its relevance earlier and had immediately felt overwhelmed. Not to say that most of the feedback was bad or anything, however as someone who had spent such a long time clinging to a carefully constructed persona, suddenly being unmasked and thrust into the spotlight was...scary. it was hard not to feel the shame and frustration he had been fighting off all his life. 

Later, Mike had proven that he wasn't as much of an internet phobic recluse as Richie had begun to believe him to be, when over dinner that night he had clapped Richie on the back and told him only a little awkwardly that he was happy for him and that he hoped he could live the rest of his life with more confidence in who he was. Which? Okay, damn.

Richie had simply nodded, taken aback from how touched he'd been, luckily Mike had not seemed to be expecting anything back from him and the rest of the night flowed into something more familiar. Before they split for the night to retreat to their own sleeping arrangements, Mike asked if he had spoken to Eddie yet. 

"Bill said Eddie was sounding pretty worried about you."

Richie had felt the swirl of something related to guilt settle over him, leaving him feeling restless with a negative energy he couldn't quite shake off. 

"Eddie's a big boy, he'll be fine." Richie said, mind already wandering and worrying.

 Mike sighed but let it drop before wishing Richie a good night. Another day another battle.

 -

Richie lay awake well into the night, going over all the little dominoes that had fallen over and lead him to where he now was. Which of course meant that, mostly, he thought of Eddie. He reminisced about hot summer days spent by the quarry, of nights spent tempting Eddie out of his bedroom window to go look at the stars, he remembered the nights when they would talk about all the things they wanted to do with their lives, about how much they wanted to leave Derry behind but never each other. Their pinky fingers interlocking in quiet promises that extended far beyond the reaches of Derry. 

He wondered a little bitterly how he could have kept his feelings contained even as long as he had, when there had been so many moments, so many times when he felt ready to explode with them. All the times he felt the need to pull Eddie’s metaphorical pigtails because he just couldn’t stand not being the center of his attention any longer. God, had he gotten good at it though. He couldn’t help but smile as memories washed over him, so precious for how long he’d gone without them. A chasm opened up in his gut though as his thoughts drifted back to his future, and its shaky foundations- hell, it didn’t even have foundations to be built upon. All Richie had was an email from his manager and the knowledge that Eddie must hate him. The thought of moving on with his life without Eddie by his side somehow seemed so improbable, so completely terrifying that Richie’s chest seized considering it. He wondered angrily where his conviction he’d had just over a month ago had gone. When he’d been so ready to keep lumbering onward. Maybe he had succeeded simply through lack of foresight. By waking up each new morning with a heavy despair in his chest and starting his day by pushing it down, down, down, before he could find the curiosity to examine it. By busying himself with distraction after distraction. 

He wondered why his patented technique wasn’t working now. 

Eddie had stepped into Richie’s apartment and scrubbed it until it sparkled and he must have done something to Richie himself as well. It was like the moment Eddie had stepped back into his life he’d swept away all of his previous coping mechanisms. Richie felt a wave of irrational anger suddenly. Anger at Eddie for throwing his life off its axis by his mere presence, at himself for growing comfortable with it so damn quick that he’d tricked himself into believing it was permanent. 

Richie stewed in his tumultuous emotions in the darkened living room of Mike’s Florida home with nothing to distract him from his circling thoughts and growing loneliness except the obnoxious singing of the swamp insects that inhabited the area.

 -

“It’s not a swamp.” Mike said, shaking his head and fixing Richie with a tired look.

“Listen, if it looks like a duck and quacks like a-”

“It’s a floodplain.”

“It smells like shit and is full of fucking snakes and gators Mikey.” Richie argued sometime during the next afternoon.

He’d gotten a somewhat fuzzy photo of a snake curled up next to a tree by the water and had uploaded it to his Twitter account with a “ Get out of my swamp!” caption and had been arguing with Mike on and off ever since.  Honestly Richie had been on a roll with creating a new Twitter, uploading mostly photos and quips but he wasn't really in the mind to be too serious while on the platform. His manager was still thrilled.

“What is with you and the alligators?” Mike questioned with a shake of his head, “You haven’t seen one since you got here and you’re still somehow obsessed.”

 “Do you know how old those things are Mike? They are nature's perfect killing machine. Evolution fucking stopped cause it got it right on like the first go, it just just paused long enough to make them a little smaller. They were here before us and will probably outlive us.” 

“Eddie tell ya all that?”

Richie scoffed and made a bit of looking awfully offended. Mike laughed so he counted it as a win. Sort of. 

“...speaking of-” Mike began.

Richie’s gazer darted to Mike, eyes narrowed.“He called this morning.” Mike continued.

Richie felt his heart rocket into his throat and his stomach drop into his gut so quickly he had to swallow down the urge to dry heave onto the sand. 

“What?” 

“He’s looking for you. Did you honestly not tell him where you were going?”

“You didn’t tell him, did you?” Richie gasped.

“Hey now- calm down Richie. He just sounded really worried.”

“Did you tell him?” Richie demanded. Mike sighed then replied, “I told him I’d get you to call if you popped up.”

Richie’s eyes narrowed but he wasn’t such a dick that he would call Mike out for lying without proof. “I can’t face him right now.”

“Why not? I mean, it sounds like you have a lot to talk about.”

“Nope.”

“I saw the video.”

“Oh for fucks sake!” Richie threw his arms up, “Isn’t privacy a thing anymore?”

“You live streamed the show Rich, I don’t think privacy was a concern at the time.”

Richie folded his arms and scowled. 

“Listen, just, call Eddie. Before he drives Stan and Bill crazy.”

That made Richie pause, “Stan and Bill?”

“If you would go into the group chat instead of hiding you’d know what I mean.”

“The moment I go on everyone will be able to see, including Eddie, so.” Richie shrugged, “No group chat.” 

“Full offense, bud, but you’re treating this whole thing like a child would.You won’t be able to avoid Eddie forever.” 

“Watch me.” Richie muttered, knowing full well that he was only reaffirming Mike’s accusations.  Mike rolled his eyes but seemed to give up the argument and left the porch to retreat back inside to let Richie mope in peace. Not long later Richie heard the shrill ring of Mike's home phone. Why the man bothered to have a home phone instead of working off a cellphone like a normal person Richie would never know, regardless, he couldn't pick up what was said from where he sat.  A few minutes later Mike was back out on the porch.

 "I'm going into town for a bit. Got some errands to run. Why don't you relax and think about what I said? Maybe call Stan." Mike suggested, shuffling his feet a little awkwardly. 

Richie took in the man's tense posture and shifting eyes. Mike was usually the type to stand strong, make eye contact as he spoke. Richie started to feel a little bad, thinking perhaps he'd been a bit too much of an ass today. 

"Sure, okay." He said agreeably in an effort to make up for his earlier prickliness.

 "Need me to pick you up anything?" Mike asked as he circled around his truck.

"No," Richie said, already feeling like he'd put Mike out enough for crashing at his abode for so long. 

Mike shrugged and tossed his keys with almost a nervous energy before nodding and saying "Alright, well, I'll just, uh, be going then." 

Richie nodded and waved him away, "if I'm not here by the time you get back, assume the gators got me." 

Mike huffed but there was a smile on his face as he hopped into the cab of the truck and started it up. He waved to Richie again as he circled around and started down the long drive to the main road. Richie was bored by then end of the hour. There was very little to do while in the boonies that didn't run the risk of being eaten by the local wildlife, especially without Mike there to help spot potential risks and watch his back. 

Richie wandered about Mike's home, exploring and generally being a nosy little shit. He was able to amuse himself for a good thirty minutes after he found an honest to God banjo tucked away in the attic. He brought it down to the porch ready to strum like mad and make a damn good nuisance of himself when Mike got back. However, as the minutes ticked by Richie's attention wandered and he poked around some more, flipping through Mike's extremely niche and weird collection of books, his notes, examining his bits and bobs. He took pictures of things he found particularly weird and bizarre, he was busy going through his photos and trying to think up anything that might have been considered funny to Tweet about, because that was really a concern now apparently, when Richie finally heard the telltale roar of Mike’s truck engine coming up the drive. He sort of hated the flash of excitement he got from the sound, he was a grown adult who should be in enough control over his life that he didn't rely on others to bring him amusement; of course that being said, if Richie had any semblance of control he wouldn't have even been in Florida, would he?

Richie stood up from the deck chair and raised a hand in greeting when the truck came into view, the banjo resting behind him ready to go. However, as the truck moved closer and the sun reflecting on the glass of the windshield shifted Richie began to become aware that Mike wasn't alone in the cab of the truck. Richie walked off the porch and into the front yard to try and get a better look but it wasn't until Mike was all but pulling onto the property that Richie's eyes locked onto none other than Eddie fucking Kaspbrak glaring daggers at him through the glass.

Now, Richie had experience many terrifying things in his life, the variety of traumas he had locked up would be enough to personally fund some lucky psychologist for years if he felt so inclined to go. So it's with great authority and experience that Richie swears that seeing Eddie fuming in the passenger seat of Mike's god damn car, in fucking Florida, was the second scariest occurrence he had ever witnessed. Only being trumped by the horrifying reality he'd been forced to watch in the deadlights. He knew he must have made one hell of a picture, still slightly hungover, hair unbrushed, jaw dropped and eyes wide. Richie felt frozen in shock at the sight, Eddie, his Eddie in fucking Florida. The truck had barely finished rolling to a stop before the passenger door was being thrown open and Eddie was bursting out of it like a mini tornado of rage.

Richie couldn’t help but note the state Eddie seemed to be in, hair usually perfectly groomed looked knotted and windswept, his skin pale despite having tanned in the LA sun and his eyes looked haggard, dark bruises from sleepless nights weighing heavily, even his usually ironed shirts and slacks looked wrinkled; his rough appearance did little to take away from the bright angry sheen in his eyes as he fixed Richie with a sharp look and began to march over. Richie had known for a long time that there was something seriously wrong with him, what, with his seemingly perfect ability to self destruct at every possible turn, however the point was really hammered into his head when the only thought that seemed to penetrate his shocked and empty brain was ‘My God he’s fucking gorgeous.’ 

That was until of course Eddie’s sneer picked up a notch and he opened his mouth to let out a scathing,

“You fucker!”  

Richie took a giant step back shaking his head eyes fixed so solely on the short angry demon marching up to him that he didn’t even see Mike get out of the truck afterwards.

“I can’t believe you! ” Eddie continued, “Don’t you dare take another step Richard, I swear to God!”

And all at once, all of Richie’s survival instincts were kickstarted back online.

“Nope!” Richie said, voice a little higher pitch in his fear, and he turned and ran. 

“RICHIE!” 

Richie didn’t turn to look back, he just went for it, dodging past Mike’s small home and straight into the Floridian woods. There wasn’t any logic to his actions, he didn’t even bother to stick to the trail, Richie simply pushed his way through the trees and grasses. He had no destination in mind, just the strong urge to run, much like the one he felt during all of his life's most uncomfortable moments. He ran, and ran, and ran, until he could no longer hear the sounds of Eddie and Mike calling after him. It was only when he felt like his chest was about to explode that he stopped to wheeze against a tree, he clutched at his side as he sputtered pathetically at the ground and silently cursed the decades he’d spent mostly ignoring his physical health. 

“Jesus fuck” He grumbled once he’d finally remembered how to properly pull air into his lungs and breathe. 

He took a moment to look around only to realize that he had absolutely no idea where he was. Mike had to have, like, neighbors somewhere, right? Richie groaned he knew this was stupid, he had nowhere to go except further into the Florida wilderness and that was one stupid way to die. Sighing, and mentally preparing himself, Richie turned to go back the way he thought he had come from. 

He snarled as he pushed his way through the thick bushes and trees grumbling at the sticks that caught the fabric of his clothes and scratched at his skin, he was going to look like he’d come out of a fight with a pissed off alley cat after this shit. God Eddie was going to be so incomprehensibly furious at him. He cried out in victory as he pushed through some particularly thick bushes, only for his cries to turn almost immediately alarmed when the ground under his feet seemed to disappear and sent him careening down a muddy, slick embankment and face first into green tinged waters. 

Richie resurfaced with a loud gasp as he flailed and coughed out a mouthful of disgusting water, swearing profusely. He splashed until he was able to finally get his feet somewhat stable on the thick muddy bottom of the riverway he seemed to have fallen into. The water luckily seemed to be slow moving without too much of a current.  It was however, quite deep, reaching up to his chest. He glanced around and cursed his luck, the river was narrow but he definitely didn’t recognize it. Which meant he had most definitely been moving in the wrong direction. He cursed again, this stupid shit wouldn’t have happened to him back in LA. 

All at once Richie felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end as his whole body erupted into a strong shudder that had more to do with instinct than the cool waters. He turned, eyes darting back and forth along the murky water when movement locked his attention to the opposite embankment. Richie felt ice cold terror grip him as he watched a huge alligator pull itself down the muddy shore and slip gracefully into the slow moving water. Panic seized him and he spun around to begin clawing at the shoreline desperately, uselessly, his hands coming away with chunks of mud and grass, doing nothing to pull him out of the water. A noise he wasn’t proud of escaped from his throat as his mind whirled. This was not how he wanted to die, not in some fucking swamp water, not to a fucking alligator and certainly not in fucking Florida. 

He pulled himself along the shore trying to get to a narrower portion he could climb up when he heard a splash behind him. Richie didn’t turn to look though everything in him wanted to, but right in front of him was a tree, and Richie wasted no goddamn time pulling himself up. Thinking back, he had no idea how he found the strength to climb all the way into a tree when he could barely make it up two flights of stairs without needing to pause for air, but one moment he was in the water with certain death and the next, he was curled up in the branches looking down. Richie looked over the water and shouted out a relieved cry at the pair of reptilian eyes he could swear were staring at him, no more than ten feet away, 

“Yeah, fuck you! Not getting any of this today pal!” Richie laughed and felt himself sag against the scratchy bark, “Now just, go fuck off so I can leave.” 

He finished with a grumble. And then waited.

 And waited

And waited

And-

Richie was going insane, every time he would begin to think that stupid animal had finally buggered off, there would be a ripple in the water or he’d catch sight of a pair of eyes bobbing above the waters surface. He had no way to call for help, his phone abandoned somewhere back on Mike’s porch, and even if he had had it with him Richie wasn't sure the device would have survived his impromptu bath. He had tried calling out for help a few times but had gone completely unanswered. He was totally alone. 

Besides from stressful, being stuck in a tree because of a potentially murderous gator was beyond boring and extremely uncomfortable. There was nothing to keep his mind occupied and distracted enough from re-analyzing the series of events that had him stuck here in the first place, and the hot humidity in the air made it so he never really dried off from the water and instead just became more and more itchy and cranky. 

As the minutes dragged on into hours, he had taken to singing, badly, to himself when another sound caught his attention. Richie paused his singing to listen, ears perked for anything out of the ordinary. For a moment there was nothing, and then all at once he heard it again. His name, distant but there. 

“HEY!” Richie shouted as loud as he could, “OVER HERE!”

Richie felt an intense burst of relief as his cries were immediately answered by another shout of his voice and a barely heard: “ Where?”

“HERE!” He shouted again,

“Richie?!” Mike’s voice.

“BY THE RIVER!” He called out hoping Mike was familiar enough with the land that he knew what that meant. 

“ARE YOU HURT?” Eddie’s voice rang out, so much closer.

Eddie.

Richie’s chest tightened but he would willing sit through whatever lecture Eddie had as long as he got away from this stupid- oh god.

“WAIT!” He shouted, “BE CAREFUL! GATOR!”

“WHERE?” Mike again

“RIGHT FUCKING UNDER ME!” Richie yelled glaring spitefully at the large reptile that had decided to make camp on the sand, less than a body's length away from his tree. There was rustling in the undergrowth, and Richie knew they were close, 

“You’re close, I can hear you, be careful!” 

Moment’s later Mike and Eddie burst through the thick bushes with a swing of a long machete Mike was wielding. 

“Jesus, Rich-” Mike cursed when he got a good look at the precarious situation Richie had gotten himself into. 

Next to him Eddie wasn't doing much better.

“What the fuck? What the actual fuck Richie! Are you kidding me, are you fucking kidding me? Can you go literally nowhere without pissing shit off? That's a fucking alligator!” Eddie began screeching and pointing. 

“I fell into the water!” Richie tried to defend, 

“Oh my GOD!”

“Hang tight Richie, I’ll call the animal control or something I guess,” Mike said, taking out his phone.

Even as he did though, Eddie was bending down to pick up a large rock from the ground, eyes wild and half-mad looking. The smaller man grunted as he winded up and threw the huge stone, hitting the alligator right in the side with a thunk. 

“FUCK OFF!” 

“Eddie! Shit , Stop!” Mike cursed, phone half way to his ear. 

Eddie wasn’t listening as he picked up a large branch and threw that next, the gator made a loud hissing noise and thrashed it’s tail to the side, spraying sand into the air. Richie’s jaw dropped at the sight of Eddie attacking a fucking alligator, it honestly would have been the hottest thing he’d ever seen if he wasn’t so instantly terrified that it would end with Eddie dead. 

“Eddie, Eddie fucking stop it, I swear to god!” Richie said, even as he began calculating how he could throw himself onto the damn thing if it decided to charge his friends. 

Eddie picked up another large stone and threw it, cursing the gator out as it sailed through the air and hit the large beast right in the eye. The animal recoiled and Richie felt his stomach drop thinking that it was going to retaliate for sure and that he was going to have to die to try and stop it, but for once in his miserable life luck seemed to be on his side.  The alligator pushed itself quickly away, sliding into the water and making a B-line for the other side of the river.

Eddie barely took the time to breathe before he was yelling at Richie further,“Get down! Get down right now, or I swear to god Richie, I’ll use Mike’s fucking machete to cut the tree down with you in it and leave you to the swamp!” 

Richie was only scrambling to obey, and after nearly falling twice, his feet finally touched the ground. 

“Phew,” Richie said and whistled, “That was sure an adventure, huh guys? And you said this place wasn’t a swamp, I swear it almost smells as bad as-” 

“Beep beep, Richie.” Mike said, looking too exhausted.

Richie’s mouth snapped shut and he felt a little guilty for causing the man so much stress. He sighed as he walked over to the other two,

“Look, I’m-”

“Don’t.” Eddie said, cutting him off.

Richie looked at him and frowned, Eddie appeared more stony faced than he had been since he’d shown up hours before. 

“Mike, lead us back.” Eddie demanded.

Mike took a moment to look between the two before he nodded, “Sure, follow close and watch your step.” 

The walk back to Mike’s house was spent in mostly weighted silence that had Richie growing increasingly uncomfortable with each step he took. It was of immediate relief when they made it back to the small abode, Richie’s eyes were trained on the door as he made a B-line for it, he couldn’t be out of the open air fast enough, he needed a shower and maybe to sleep for like a week. He carefully wasn’t looking at either Mike or Eddie when he was stopped in his tracks by a hand gripping his sleeve. 

“Go on ahead Mike, we’ll be in in a minute.” 

Richie gulped nervously as he sent a silent plea for Mike to save him. Mike, though, barely took the time to glance at them before he was nodding and heading into the safety of the house. 

Richie took a deep breath and knowing that he couldn’t possibly run anymore turned to face Eddie. Eddie for his part seemed to be working himself up again, there was a deep furrow between his brows and his lips were pressed into a thin line. Richie waited a moment to see if Eddie would speak first, before he decided to just get it over with himself, he had barely parted his lips to speak when the silence of the early evening air was broken.

“Florida Richie? Fucking really?” 

Richie’s snapped his mouth shut.

“I can’t believe you just took off like that! You didn’t even text me! Do you have any idea what that was like? You just disappeared! Once I realized you weren’t camping out at Bill’s or Stan’s or-or the others, I freaked! I thought you were fucking dead, man! What the fuck!” 

“Wow, breathe Eds.” tried to deflect, noticing just how red Eddie’s face was getting.

“FUCK YOU!” Richie winced and looked to the ground. 

There was a beat of silence. 

“I looked everywhere for you, I was so worried,” Eddie continued, softer this time, “I even went through your phone numbers and called your manager, but he told me he couldn’t divulge any information about clients and-” Eddie sighed, shaking his head and said, “You can’t ever do this again.” 

“I’m sorry,” Richie’s heart was thumping in his chest. 

Eddie’s face twisted, “Why the hell did you take off like that?” 

“I-”

Richie didn’t even know where to begin, all of the past weeks emotions were battling it out in his chest and abdomen, made somehow even more striking with Eddie standing right in front of him, his fist still clenched around Richie’s sleeve as if he were afraid that Richie would bolt again if he let him go. Eddie was looking up at him, eyes cleared of the anger that had been burning so bright since he’d shown up, he looked confused, worried, and maybe something else that Richie couldn’t quite name. But he was looking at Richie with all of his attention, and god, Richie almost wished he’d never stop, never stop looking at him, holding him, it terrified him how much he wanted Eddie.

He almost cracked a joke, because of course he would, but he held back, swallowing it down at the last moment. The thought of lying to Eddie, was causing him even worse discomfort than he was already in. So, for the first time in a long time Richie decided to be brave.

“I was scared.” 

Eddie’s brow creased again. 

Richie took a shaking breath, “I was scared and I didn’t- I didn’t know what to do-”

“So you ran to fucking Florida?” 

Richie sighed and shot Eddie an annoyed look.

Eddie snapped his mouth closed and motioned for him to continue, “I panicked, and yeah, I ran to fucking Florida because-because even this god damn swamp was less terrifying than going home and having to- having to lose you and-”

“Lose me?” Eddie interrupted again looking impossibly more bewildered. 

“You-You saw the show. I fucked up- I know I did but-”

“Did you mean it?” Eddie said, cutting him off again.

“What?”

“In the show, was that- was that some sort of joke to you? Were you jerking me around or did you fucking mean it?”

Richie was sweating, he was sure of it, his wide eyes burned from how much he wanted to just blink, but he was frozen, everything around him seemed to have stopped, his field of vision narrowed down to Eddie. The rest of the world could have evaporated and Richie wouldn’t have known the difference. In the stillness, he knew that the next words out of his mouth were important, more important than anything else he has ever said. He could feel another one of his life’s dominoes tipping.

“Every word.” He whispered, “It wasn’t a joke, I hadn’t even meant to say it, but I did mean it, every damn word. I- I like you Eds, I have for years. Almost as long as I can remember, even when I couldn’t remember- it was always you.” 

The silence was deafening. All at once Eddie’s hand which had been holding his sleeve was gone and Richie felt as if his heart was going to shatter. He tried to prepare himself, for the rejection or disgust, but even so he wasn’t sure how he could possibly survive it. Suddenly, he felt hands clench at the collar of his shirt and yanked him off his center of balance, he barely had the mind to stop himself from falling before everything went blank and he died. 

Or at least, Richie was assuming that’s what happened because there was no way that Eddie would be kissing him otherwise, he had to have died. It took his brain a second more to realize that no, this was happening, Eddie was kissing him, and that he needed to fucking respond before he ruined it.

Richie brought his hands up, one to grip Eddie’s hip and pull him closer, and the other to gently cup his cheek as he finally began to kiss him back. All at once Richie felt himself settle, all of the turbulence and anxieties that had plagued him for as far back as he could remember finally dissipated, his head felt light as the elation hit him even as the heat coiled in his belly, grounding him. Richie could scarcely believe this was happening, he sighed into the kiss as he felt one of Eddie’s hands trail up to tangle in his curls.  

Eddie was the first to pull away, only when the need for oxygen grew too strong. Richie couldn’t keep the smile off his face as Eddie kept his hands on him, leaning up to rest their foreheads together, breathing the same air. Richie opened his eyes, unsure of when they’d even closed, and took in everything he could. The slight flush to Eddie’s cheeks, the small upturn of his lips that hinted at a smile, Richie wanted to kiss him all over again- and then keep kissing him. But before he could, Eddie was backing away.

“God I can’t believe I did that.”

Richie had a brief flash of anxiety as he suddenly worried he was about to lose it all.

“You were practically swimming in that swamp , god you’re filthy! Uhg, no, no more, go inside and shower right now! I’m not kissing you again until you do.” 

Richie’s face broke out into a huge grin, he didn’t know it was possible to feel this happy, the suddenness of it felt like getting whiplash. 

“But Eds-”

“No, absolutely not! And that’s not my name!”

Richie’s grin grew impossibly large as he opened up his arms and went in for a hug, delighting when Eddie screeched and tried to dodge him. The two of them chased each other up the porch and into the house, Richie giving up the game and instead taking Eddie’s hand in his, his stomach swooping pleasantly when Eddie not only allowed it but gave him a reaffirming squeeze. 

Yeah, they still had a lot to talk about but Richie had never felt more excited to do so.

-

It ends with Richie walking out onto a large stage in LA, his palms sweaty as he smiles and waves at the cheering crowd. There was a nervousness clawing at his chest as he made it to center-stage, but with it also a giddy sort of anticipation. He picked up the microphone and stared out over the audience, not seeing much due to the bright lights shining over him, but still the silhouettes carried a touch of intimidation. He breathes, smile growing as he greets his audience, his voice steady and loud, cheers rise up in accordance and he plants his feet, grounding himself, readying. Yet despite that, the usual pres-show dread that Richie is used to feeling crawl in his stomach is absent, in its stead is a right sort of deliberateness that he’s never felt while walking out in front of a sold out crowd- or any crowd for that matter, not since being picked up decades ago in LA. There’s something peaceful about the steadfastness of his conviction, about knowing however the audience takes this new show will be a drop in the bucket compared to the opinions of the people he’s already shared the script with. Eddie’s approval meant more to him than any of these fuckers combined. So it was easier for him now, more than any other time in his life to recite the words from his script- words he himself had written. 

Yes, he was nervous. But he was also resolute as he turned to look into the camera and the audience and say:

“So, my boyfriend moved in recently, like officially and-”

The smile that broadens Richie’s face is more genuine than any one he’d given on stage before as his audience hoots and cheers. Maybe he’d really send that fruit basket he’d been considering over to his publicist, or his manager for convincing him to take to Twitter to improve his fan-base. Fuck it, he’d send his whole team fruit baskets. A thank you to everyone who had been supportive of him, who continued to back him while he figured his shit out. People who gave him the opportunity to stand on stage and feel the pride that ballooned in his chest at each laugh and holler each of his jokes got. Pride was a feeling he’d had very little of in his life, it was hard to grasp when you’d spent most of your life in hiding. There were moments even now, despite everything, that had him instinctively wanting to curl up and slink away, because having pride in oneself is a learned behavior and one Richie was working on still. It got easier though, with every smile from his friends, any and every little touch Eddie blessed him with, and every morning he got to wake up and have Eddie right there next to him- everyday was full of little moments, little opportunities for him to feel so fucking lucky. So, yeah, walking out on that stage was an ending. A metaphorical book closing on a life lived in hiding and in shame- and he wasn’t going to miss a second of it.

Richie was starting a whole new novel, one composed of all those little and big moments worth holding onto, even if they were scary, maybe especially so; because for the first time in as far back as he could remember Richie wasn’t running away. He was pushing forward with the strength of more than just himself, and he was making a conscious decision to finally make his leap of faith, because even if he fell, he had six great people waiting to catch him. Richie pushed onward, because even though this was an ending, it was also the start of something so much greater. -

[dailydianakko]

The Code To Your Heart

The long awaited oneshot series that takes place in the D1AN4 universe.

This is probably the longest thing I have ever written :P Also Here on ao3!

A Trip to the Aquarium and You

A trip to the aquarium. Also hacking.

As soon as Diana had transferred the necessary credits needed to enter the aquarium, Akko had dragged Diana across the hall and up to the first exhibit. “Akko, I do not see why you deem it necessary to pull me around when my legs are fully functional.” Diana let out in a huff. She turned to look at the glass that Akko had wholeheartedly pressed up against.

“Look! Diana, Lookie! The jellyfish!” Akko frantically pointed at the translucent creatures, floating peacefully in their case. Diana wasn’t quite sure what she was supposed to do, exactly. When Akko had approached her earlier today, her heartbeat had been abnormally high, and her face had been flushed. Akko had assured Diana that she was fine. She then had invited her on ‘an da-outing’ whatever that was. Her dictionary and internet crawls had yielded no definitions on what it could possibly be. Diana supposed that was one thing that made Akko charming, but it made life considerably more difficult then what Diana was accustomed to.

Diana looked quickly at the plaque that named the jellyfish housed in their tank that Akko was enraptured with. She had an idea of what Akko required, judging by the interest she exhibited. Closing her eyes, she began to focus on the inter-webs available. Simultaneously running an internet search after synching into the Aquariums’ Wi-Fi, she began hacking into their database to gain the information she was searching for.

“These are Aurelia, Akko, they’re commonly known as Moon Jellies. They belong to the family of Ulmaridae. Auerlia are the most widespread genus of jellyfish. They are found off the coasts of California, Northern China, Japan, Korea, Australia, in the Black Sea, Indonesia, and the east coast of the United States. Theyre also found off the coast of our current location; the continent of Europe. One of these Aurelia in particular has been recently returned to the tank after-” Diana rattled off all the information she had mined from the aquarium servers until Akko cut her off.

“Woah, woah, hold up!” Akko pressed a finger to Diana’s lips, effectively silencing her as the blonde looked

on in confusion. “You don’t have to be a tour guide! I just want you to spend time with me and wait a second, did you just steal that information???”  Akko’s hand dropped from Diana’s lips in disbelief.

“No.” Diana mumbled after what seemed like a long pause.

“You totally did!”

“I assure you, I have not deviated from my set moral programming.”

“You and I know that your programing is absolute bonkers now, Diana. It’s been absolutely crazy since I face planted into your lap”

Diana let out a quiet huff as her finger began tapping out a beat on her jeans. One, two, one two, one two three, one two. The quick rhythm helped calibrate her processors and helped deal with the uncomfortable waves of emotion that she was feeling.

“Diana, you’re tapping patterns again. I know you’re not being completely honest. I’m not mad, but please don’t hack into data bases like that. I don’t want you getting in trouble. Croix and Chariot are still appealing for Bernadette to help them custody.” Akko brushed her hand over Diana’s unoccupied one, and laced their fingers together. Akko began to stroke her thumb soothingly across the synthetic skin. It was a sharp contrast to the quick beats of Diana’s finger, and it made her sensors dance. She liked Akko’s touch.

Diana straightened up after a moment and gave a small smile. Akko’s concern and care had done wonders for her ……anxiety? {RUN SEARCH: A2334 {DICTIONARY MATCH}] Yes, for her anxiety. Diana decided after a few ticks that she would admit to shifting her morals in favor of her higher priority: Akko.

“Akko, I just want to be useful; being like this is jarring sometimes. Compared to,” Diana paused for a moment “Compared to before. I still am not quite sure what it means to be on a ‘da-outing’. I will admit to favoring you as top priority instead of my programmed moral branch.” Diana looked into Akko’s eyes and watched as Akko turned red as her words sank in. Akko’s pulse began to quicken as well.

“A-ah, I uh, I see now wellthen” Akko stammered out. Diana’s scanners noted that Akko’s pulse began to rise even further and flush gained a deeper hue. The android’s hand ceased tapping and reached out and cupped Akko’s cheek. Akko’s heart rate sped even further, and the red color looked quite alarming on the brunette.

“Akko, are you quite all right? My scanners are picking up an elevated heartrate, and my sensors indicate an increase in temperature. Shall I escort you back home?”

“No! I-I’m fine! A-okay! Ready to rumble. I’m just…wowi’mgay.” Akko blurted in a rush. “Anyway I want to have a really good time with you and uhhhhh….let’s just enjoy ourselves? Yeah. Enjoy ourselves. And, um, this is more of a date than an outing okay?” Akko gently broke away from Diana’s caress and tugged her forward. So they had been holding hands after all this time, Diana noted dumbly.

“Ah,” Diana said as her processors remembered just what a ‘date’ was. Her own physical blush response had begun to activate with the realization. With a dopey grin, Diana let Akko gently pull her towards the next exhibit.

Diana may still be figuring out what it was to be human, but she certainly felt somewhere in her chassis that Akko was going to figure it out with her. It was comforting. The android thought fondly that she would indeed look forward to her next ‘date’ with Akko. She loved her very much, after all.

“Oh, and Diana?” Akko looked back at the android still trailing behind her.

“Yes, Akko?”

“You better put that information back onto the Aquariums’ Server and patch that hole you made.”

“Of course, right after I send an anonymous tip that the Chariman of the Board has been embezzling funds.”

“What.”