#oc: calum gums

[quinnonimp]

cablecore yeah buttons ....... this counts as an au ..

lowkey prefer the mspaint versions though

[roanofarcc]

PROJECT SUNSHINE CHAPTER TWENTY THREE → A CODE RED (SERIOUSLY! A CODE RED!)

summary: steve harrington x oc

when another product of Hawkins National Laboratory escaped a long-survived nightmare alongside her sister, she crashed into one unsuspecting teenage boy and dragged him deeper into the dark mysteries that made up their hometown.

word count. 3.8k

warnings: cannon typical violence, child abuse, horror, gore, and depictions of mental illness. parts of this story were written pre-season 4 release. cannon divergence.

previous chapter ← → next chapter

Steve had concluded that he had a bad habit of pretending that everything was okay when they were not, and because of that, he found himself walking through the streets of Hawkins to clear his head. 

Normally, after school, he and Nancy met Sunshine at the library, but Nancy was nowhere to be found and she wasn’t speaking to Steve. According to Tommy H., who Steve begrudgingly spoke to in the locker room after gym class, Nancy ran off with Jonathan. He tried not to think too much about that, and he hoped that Tommy H. was just screwing with him. 

Steve had no idea where his relationship with Nancy stood. She couldn’t tell him he loved him when they spoke briefly the morning after Tina’s Halloween party. That stung worse than he cared to admit, but they did not explicitly break things off, and he planned to apologize later that evening in an attempt to win her back. Then, they could put everything behind them, and try to move on from the events last year, together.  

Despite Nancy not joining him, Steve still made his way up the front steps of the library and spotted Sunshine at their usual table. She wasn’t alone, though. Seated on either side of her were Calum and Tamera.  

“Hey,” Steve greeted them as he dropped his backpack onto the floor beside his chair. “Sorry I’m late.” His walk and sulking went a little longer than he intended, but he had a lot on his mind.  

Calum nodded at Steve and said, “Hey, Harrington.” 

As Steve took his seat, he met Sunshine’s eye and knew the next words out of her mouth before she even uttered them. 

“No Nancy?” Sunshine asked.

With a sigh, Steve replied, “Not today.” He didn’t elaborate, mostly because he wasn’t confident he would do so without slipping back into wallowing in his self-pity.  

“Rumor has it you two broke it off,” Calum said, too casually as popped a piece of gum into his mouth and leaned back in his seat. Tamera slapped Calum’s arm and shot him a sharp glare. 

Of course, there were already rumors swirling around about Steve and Nancy since their pretty public argument at the party, but luckily no one heard the second half of their argument which included the death of Barb and the fact that drunk Nancy didn’t love him. All they saw was the spill of punch across Nancy’s sweater and the two of them fleeing to the bathroom.  

Yet, that was enough for people to speculate what happened between the two of them. 

Steve changed the subject, not wanting to disclose his dwindling love life with two people he hardly knew and Sunshine.  

“What are you guys working on?” He peered at Sunshine’s notebook, which was covered in notes with her messy handwriting. 

“History,” she replied. 

Tamera cleared her throat and shifted her eyes between the people at the table. “Yeah, we are just about done. We'll leave-" 

“No,” Steve said, with a wave of his hand. “You guys don’t have to leave just because I’m here.” 

He knew he wasn’t innocent when it came to mocking or pushing around kids like Calum and Tamera, and they had every reason not to want to hang around him. He also knew that Tommy H. and his new group of assholes had only upped their asshole-ery, and he was pretty sure Calum and Tamera weren’t excluded from their wrath. He could at least try to show them he wasn’t the same person he was last year and try not to ruin Sunshine’s chance of making friends.  

Calum eyed Steve for a moment before he slowly nodded. “Yeah, Mara, relax, we’re all friends here. I mean, it’s been a couple of years since Harrington’s shoved me in a locker.” Sarcasm dripped from Calum’s tone, and it caused Steve to cringe.  

“Knock it off,” Tamera hissed at Calum, which only caused him to flash a smile. 

Steve sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I was a little bit of an asshole back then.” He tried to joke, but it was the truth. He was still a little bit of an asshole, but at least he wasn’t hanging around the same crowd anymore. Steve was trying. 

Scoffing, Tamera muttered, “A little?” under her breath but Steve heard her. 

“Majorly,” he corrected himself. “I was a major asshole. But I am sorry.” Shifting uncomfortably in his seat, he desperately hoped someone would shift the direction of their conversation before the air grew more tense or he fled the library. He was genuinely sorry, but it felt weird to apologize. He didn’t even remember shoving Calum into a locker or talking to either one of them. Even if he hadn’t, his association with Tommy and that crowd was enough for them to lump Steve into every horrible thing they’d said or done and pin some of the blame on him. 

Tamera did not seem to fully believe his word, but she did stop packing up her things and rested back in her seat.  

“You’re full of surprises, Harrington,” said Calum. 

“So you are, Miller,” Steve said. “Ellie said you punched some kid at the Halloween party.” 

The stocky blonde didn’t strike Steve as a fighter. He sat with his shoulders slumped and a shorter stature than most boys in his grade. Yet, there was a certain glimmer of something calculating in his blue eyes. 

Tamera crossed her arms over her chest as she said, “Yeah, he broke your friend Tommy H.’s nose.” 

“Oh no, we don’t talk much anymore.” Steve shook his head as the memories of their fight last year flashed in his head. “We haven’t talked, actually, since last year.” Besides the jabs Tommy tossed Steve’s way when they crossed paths in the hallways of the school, at basketball practice, or in the locker room. Steve hardly acknowledged his old friend.   

Curiously, Calum leaned in toward the table at Steve’s words. “What happened last year?”  

Out of habit, Steve looked at Sunshine, who was intently listening to their conversation. At the mention of last year, her golden eyes widened just slightly, and she managed to say, “It’s a long story.” 

“Right,” Steve agreed quickly, probably a little too quickly. 

Tamera hummed in response and picked at the cracked nail polish on her fingers. “Well, now Tommy’s in the pocket of the new kid, Billy, who, I’ve heard is somehow an even bigger asshole,” she sighed and flickered her gaze toward Sunshine. Her brows furrowed and she frowned. “Cal’s punch didn’t do much. Tommy, Billy, and all their friends are running their mouths. Now they’re telling everyone that you’ve been locked up at Pennhurst for the last ten years, and people are stupid enough to believe them.”  

It took everything in Steve not to roll his eyes. Of course people believed some made-up story Tommy and his friend were spewing. It just didn’t make sense that, out of all of the people in Hawkins, they felt the need to involve Sunshine like she hadn’t been through enough. She didn’t even go to school with them; rumors had less effect if that person isn’t miserably moping around Hawkins High for them to laugh at.  

“I don’t even know what that means!” Sunshine groaned, running her hands down the length of her face. 

Gently, Tamera explained, “It’s an asylum, which is kind of like a hospital, for people with mental issues. It’s where they get help. But some people think it’s a home for raging psychopaths or people who are completely off their rocker and are dangerous to let mingle with the general public.” 

Sunshine sank further down in her seat and drummed her fingers over her sweater-covered wrist, where her tattoo was hidden.  

There was a beat of silence that passed between them in which Steve and Sunshine took in Tamera’s words and felt the weight of them. Sure, Steve wasn’t directly involved with the rumors about Sunshine, but he felt partially responsible. 

Calum shattered their contemplation. “So…you weren’t at Pennhurst?” He earned himself another slap from Tamera; Steve was sure the teen’s arm was going to bruise. “Ow!” Calum hissed through his teeth and rubbed the spot with his opposite hand. “I was just asking!” 

“I wasn’t,” Sunshine answered. 

“Well, maybe if you told people where you actually were, they’d get off your back.” 

Sunshine stopped tapping her finger against the fabric pulled down around her wrist and pulled her hands into her lap. While Steve couldn’t see her hands, he had a feeling she was doing what she normally did when she was stressed and scratch her tattoo. 

“Everyone already knows what happened,” she said, lying pretty convincingly. “It was in the paper.” 

It suddenly struck Steve why Tommy and his old friends pushed Calum around so much back in the day, and why they probably still did. Calum liked to push people’s buttons and dig under their skin as far as he could before they retaliated. 

“All the paper said was some bullshit article that the chief wrote. It hardly explained anything, just that you magically appeared back in Hawkins.” 

Steve stepped in, narrowing his eyes at the blonde who tried to get a piece of truth that he, in no way, was able to handle. “What’s your point?” Steve asked. 

“My point is that it leaves a lot up to interpretation and to the imagination. If you told people like Tommy what really went down those ten years you were gone, and maybe even who you were with, it would get people off your back.” 

Sunshine’s shoulders tensed and she struggled to keep her expression blank. “No,” she said. 

“Why not?” Calum pressed. 

“Because it’s none of their business, and it’s none of yours,” Steve butted in. 

The calm, peaceful air of the library slowly rose around their table and tension pulled between the group. Too many secrets sat at the tip of Steve and Sunshine’s tongues that they couldn’t let slip.  

Yet, Calum ignored the shift in tone and refused to back down. He wanted to know something, but Steve knew the blond had no idea what he was asking them to admit. 

“Why is it yours? I mean, out of everyone, why are you, Steve Harrington involved with…whatever this is?” Calum’s gaze was challenging as it flickered between Steve and Sunshine, waiting. 

“That’s enough, Cal,” said Tamera. She placed a hand on her friend’s shoulder before she started to shove her belongings into her backpack. 

Steve nodded his head. “Yeah, I think we’re done here.” 

Standing up from the table, Calum fixed his gaze on Sunshine and said, “All I’m saying is, people around here don’t like secrets. Sooner or later, they’ll figure it out.” 

Steve and Sunshine stayed quiet, watching as Tamera pulled Calum away from the table and out of the library until they were left alone.  

Once the coast was clear, Steve sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Jesus,” he muttered under his breath. “What is their problem?” 

Across the table, Sunshine did not look upset by what just happened, but rather her face was pinched in concern. 

“They’re trying to get to the bottom of what happened last year with Will and me coming back,” she answered, much to Steve’s surprise. 

“How do you know that?” 

“They left the table for a minute and Calum left his notebook. I just wanted to borrow a piece of paper, but when I flipped the page, he had lists of people…of us, all of us. I couldn’t read all of it, but they’re trying to piece something together about that last year.” Sunshine tucked a strand of her cropped hair behind her ear and was quiet for a beat. “What if they figure something out that they shouldn’t?” 

Steve gasped. “You were snooping?” he teased, and she smiled. “I wouldn’t worry about them. I don’t think anyone could piece together whatever the hell happened last year. Not the private investigator the Hollands hired, and not some teenagers with too much time on their hands.” 

Sunshine toyed with the pendant on her necklace and sighed, “You’re probably right, but that does mean they couldn’t figure something out. What if they start snooping around the Lab? They could seriously get hurt or in a lot of trouble.”  

There was not a whole lot that Steve remembered about Sunshine, about Ellie, from their brief childhood spent together; however, he did remember that she cared a lot about others. 

Last year she stuck around and help Nancy and Jonathan hunt down a monster that stole their best friend and brother. That wasn’t her responsibility, but she stayed anyway. She watched over Nancy’s little brother and his friends like they were her siblings. Hell, she even managed to drag Steve home, drunk, after the Halloween party when he was supposed to be the one looking out for him.  

Sunshine cared, a lot, about everything and everyone. That included two teenagers who were trying to pry into her past and the events that transpired last year. 

“We’ll keep an eye on them, okay?” Steve said. “If they do get too close to the truth or if they get into some real danger, we’ll tell Hopper. He’ll know what to do.” 

Steve had no idea why Calum and Tamera were interested in what happened last year, beyond the fact that it was the strangest thing to ever happen in Hawkins. The initial shock of everything had worn off and the rumors only came from petty teenagers instead of everyone and their mothers. No one had the slightest clue as to what really happened, and it was up to their odd group of a mother, a cop, teenagers, and scarily smart middle schoolers to keep that earth-shattering secret. 

Calum and Tamera did not want the full truth, Steve was pretty sure about that. 

Nodding her head, Sunshine closed her notebook and relaxed back into her seat. “Okay,” she said. “You’re right, there’s no way they could piece everything together.” 

Yet, Steve nor Sunshine knew the true extent of teenage boredom. Nor did they know just how unrelenting Calum Miller was. If he couldn’t shake a confession out of Sunshine, he’d find another way. He’d wriggle his way into her life through another, more complicated door if worst came worst, and in Hawkins, things always seemed to get worse.  

→←

At dinner, Sunshine dwelled on the spiral of events that began to consume her hometown once again. She felt heavier than usual but tried to push it away long enough to fool her parents into thinking she was on an upward climb.  

It was growing increasingly difficult, though. No one had heard from Hopper or Joyce in a day or two. Will’s condition remained unknown too, and Mike’s answers over the walkie-talkie were short and vague. She didn’t know what was going on, but something wasn’t right; Sunshine felt a pit grow in her gut, twisting around like a dull knife.  

“How was your day?” Sunshine’s father asked cheerfully. His mood was unrelenting, and it was rare to see him without his lips quirked upwards in a small smile. It made sense, Sunshine supposed. He, like most people in Hawkins, saw their town as a calm and kind place to reside. His opinion on that faltered during the time Sunshine was missing, but in less than a year he was back to the bright and positive personality he’d been before, according to Sunshine’s mother. 

After swallowing a sip of water, Sunshine answered with a simple, “Good.” She ignored the pit that pulled tighter in her gut and the guilt of lying to her parents that loomed over her like an unrelenting shadow. 

“Boring,” Sunshine added. 

“Well, boring is not the worst thing in the world,” Mary-Jane said. “You went to the library with Steve and Nancy, right? I’m sure that wasn’t boring.” 

Sunshine poked the food on her plate with her fork absentmindedly, avoiding her parents’ gazes. “Nancy didn’t come today. I met two other people there, who are in Nancy’s class, though. They helped me out until Steve came.” 

Mary-Jane’s brows furrowed in concern. “Is Nancy all right? She isn’t sick, is she? I heard that there’s a nasty bug going around the high school. Ms. White’s daughter was out all last week with it.” 

“No, I don’t think she’s sick.” 

Nancy and Steve were not on the best terms, to Sunshine’s understanding. There wasn’t much she understood about relationships, but she knew how upset Steve was after his and Nancy’s fight on Halloween. As for Nancy, every time Sunshine had tried to talk to her, all she received was Mr or Mrs. Wheeler’s voice on the other line or in the doorway telling Sunshine Nancy wasn’t home. 

“And who are these new kids?” Walter asked. “Do you know them?” 

“Tamera Willow and Calum…Calum Miller, I think.” 

Mary-Jane’s eyes widened, and she mumbled out a quiet, “Oh,” earning a confused look from both her daughter and husband. She wiped the surprise from her face almost as quickly as it came and shook her head. “That's nice, sweetheart.”  

“Do you know them?” Sunshine asked, unsure of how to take her mother's reaction. It wasn’t like Mary-Jane was there to witness how Calum acted at the library earlier that day. Yet, her reaction told Sunshine that her mother knew something about the two.  

“No,” Mary-Jane said. “No, I don’t know them personally, but my friend Kathy, from book club, is neighbors with the Millers and she says that no one has seen or heard from Mr. Miller since last fall.”  

Sunshine nearly dropped the fork in her hand, but her shock was ignored as her parents continued talking. 

“That’s right,” Walter hummed. “His son, the one you were just with, he has been pestering Jim down at the station. He thinks his father is missing, but Jim’s spoken to the boy’s mother, and she said Mr. Miller just up and left them with no warning.” The warm, nearly permanent smile on Walter’s lips flipped upside down as he grumbled into his water glass before he took a sip, “What a bastard.”  

“I don’t know,” said Mary-Jane. “I am not one to speak ill of someone, but that woman, she’s always been…odd. I don’t know if she’s telling the full story.” 

Sunshine hadn’t heard anything about Calum’s father. As far as she knew, Will and Barb were the only ones who disappeared last fall. It seemed too close to call it a coincidence but no one in their group had any connection to Calum’s father, as far as she knew.  

“Do you think she’s lying?” Sunshine asked her mother. 

With a sigh, Mary-Jane shrugged. “I really don’t know. The Millers have always rubbed me the wrong way, but who’s to say?”  

That was all they thought on the subject, but a mess of questions swirled around Sunshine’s head. It started to make more sense why Calum was so interested in her, Will, and what went down last year. She just didn’t know how his father was connected to it, but she wanted to. 

They finished up their dinner without any more mention of the Millers. After they were finished, Sunshine helped her father wash the dishes while Mary-Jane watered the plants that lined every windowsill in the living room.  

Quietly they worked through a routine they created. It was simple and extra ordinary, and Sunshine relished every second of it. It wasn’t often she felt normal, even in her home. And while her mind was always racing and spinning out about every little thing that had happened or was happening, the familiarity of routine was nice.  

That was, until it was broken by a crackle of static that screamed from her bag hung up beside the front door. 

Her father stopped scrubbing the dishes and glanced over his shoulder. “What is that noise?” he asked. 

Sunshine listened for a moment longer until she remembered she had left her walkie-talkie in her bag when she went to visit the boys at school.  

She stopped drying the plates and dug the device out, unmuffling the voice that came through. 

“Does anyone copy?” Dustin repeated over and over again.  

“I copy,” Sunshine replied. 

“Sunshine!” he shouted, sounding relieved. “Thank God. I don’t know where the hell everyone is, but no one is picking up and I’ve got a Code Red situation here. A serious Code Red situation!” 

Dustin Henderson was always one more dramatics, but there was a waiver in his voice that struck Sunshine harshly. He often made everything sound like a huge, monumental deal, but his tone sounded more scared than theatrical.  

“Where are you?” Sunshine asked, already slipping on her shoes and grabbing her sweater from the book.  

There was a pause; Sunshine held her breath as she tucked a hat over her head. 

“My house,” Dustin said. “Please hurry!” 

“I’m on my way. Do not do anything until I get there.” 

A Code Red was not a simple, pre-teen emergency. The party had agreed to save Code Reds for Upside Down and/or Lab-related emergencies. They hadn’t had to use their code words yet, but Sunshine felt worry take hold almost every time one of the boys spoke to her through her super-comm. She waited for the words “Code Red” to come through for nearly a year in anxious, awful anticipation for their newly cozy life to come crashing down again.  

“Oh dear,” Mary-Jane said, stopping her watering. “That didn’t sound good. Is everything okay?” 

Sunshine tossed her walkie back into her bag before she hung it over her shoulder. “Oh, yeah,” she lied. She chuckled lightly in an attempt to stop any worry from seeping from her parents at Dustin’s frantic call. “Middle schoolers, you know. Everything’s the end of the world. He’s fine, but I should go make sure.” 

Maybe it was all of them still adjusting to their new way of life, but her parents never really questioned the fact that Sunshine was close to a group of pre-teens who she’d drop just about anything for. She was thankful they never asked too many questions, even though she could tell they wanted to. But Sunshine finally had a family, and she didn’t want to ruin it by telling them the truth. Some things were better left unsaid and untouched. 

“I’ll be back in a little while.” 

Sunshine’s parents bid her a quick goodbye, seemingly not too concerned about her leaving, and she took off on her bike toward Dustin’s house. She peddled down the quiet streets quickly, racing against the sun as it started to fall from the sky. Pale yellows and oranges illuminated her way toward whatever awaited her at the Henderson household.

Tag list. @leptitlu @sattlersquarry @history-of-stories

[eddiesblklvr]

NOT SO INNOCENT. | FEZCO O’NEILL

PAIRING: fezco (euphoria) x blackwoman!oc

SUMMARY: some people just don’t understand that cleo’s not one to be fucked with, at all.

WARNINGS: violence, cursing, nate jacobs, guns (lmk if i missed anything)

WORD COUNT: 1.9k

A/N: this is cleo’s party outfit also this was more cleo being a bad ass than anything else so lmao sorry in advance ALSO i’ve already used the name cleo while writing calum but let’s just pretend i didn’t

SKYE’S NAV. | FEZCO O’NEILL M.LIST | REQUESTS

it was no surprise when cleo and fez walked inside the house. and still, even after a couple of years, people still wonder how such a “terrible” drug dealer bagged one of the baddest girls in the city. cleo’s gorgeous, yet she’s so intimidating but innocent looking all at the same time.

her attitude was one of the main things that attracted fez to her. the first time he saw her was at the store.

cleo walked inside the store, her heels clicking against the tiles, face stoic and arms crossed as she walks to the register.

“hi,” she says. fez pays attention to her voice and how gloomy she sounds.

“wassup,” he responds, watching closely as she looks over the different gum packets they had. “you good?”

cleo shakes her head with a hum, her lack of response lets him know that she didn’t want to talk about it.

“you new around here? i ain’t never seen you before.”

“yeah, just settled here yesterday actually. seems depressing,” cleo sighs, grabbing a pack of gum and some skittles. “what’s your name?”

“fez. what ‘bout you?”

“cleo.” fez nodded, her name made sense to him. her face and voice matched it. “who’s the kid in the back?”

“do you always ask this many questions?”

“no,” cleo shakes her head as she sets the gum and skittles on the counter, “only when i’m interested.” fez stared her down for a few more seconds, looking over the way her dark hair framed her face perfectly and how her glasses fit so well with her face structure. he stared for a while, actually, before scanning her items.

“how much do i owe?” she asks, opening her purse to grab her wallet only to be stopped by his voice.

“nah, you ain’t gotta do that.” cleo looks at him over her glasses with a raised brow, noticing his parted lips as if he wants to say something. she leans on the counter, smirking as she looks at him.

“you want my number, don’t you?”

needless to say, fezco did end up getting her number and they’ve been dating ever since. it’s been two years since that day.

two years since he let himself be vulnerable around someone other than his brother and his grandma.

two years since he went against the words of his grandma.

cleo has shown him time and time again why, in his eyes, being with her was a good decision. she wasn’t defenseless, didn’t get scared over the things that come with dealing (and if she ever was scared she never showed it in front of anyone besides fez and ash), didn’t do anything she didn’t want to unless she absolutely had to, she was very observant and careful. her ‘bad ass’ attitude kind of reminded him of his grandma in a way.

it was very often that people buying would ask to buy her too. not knowing that her innocent look was just for show. she was similar to ash, would kill anyone who fucked with her or her boys and they’d do the same for her. the first time they’ve actually witnessed that side of her was the night they met faye.

-

cleo was seething with anger when she was manhandled out of the window of the car and thrown into the kitchen of a random apartment, barley listening to a word anyone said as she carefully observed everyone there.

that was until she heard the man, bruce, tell everyone to strip. her head snapped to look at him as he stops in front of ash.

“not you, no one wants to see that. put him in the closet!” cleo was itching to do something, but she didn’t want ash getting hurt. so, she stayed still, watching as everyone else around her began taking off their clothes.

“you hear what the fuck i said?” bruce asked, stepping a tad too close to her.

“yeah and you must be out yo’ rabbit ass mind if you think i’m finna take my clothes off just to prove i’m not a cop.”

“you got a death wish, pretty girl?” bruce slowly pulls out his gun and holds it up to her chin. “i suggest you listen before you get hurt.”

there was not a single trace of fear in her that he could see. cleo stares him dead in the eyes, silently waiting for him to pull the trigger.

“do it,” she says, pulling her hands behind her back so that she had easy access to the gun in her pants under fezco’s green sweater that she was wearing. there’s a long pause in the room before she speaks again, no one in the room has ever come across a girl like her.

“is the gun even loaded, or are you just using it to scare me? because it’s not working.” she shakes her head, reaching behind her back to pull her gun out, letting her arm dangle at her side.

“now, brucie,” she started, mocking the name she heard come from the unknown woman’s mouth, “back the fuck up out of my face, go get the kid and if you hurt him, i swear to god i’ll fuckin’ kill you.”

-

that was the day fez knew that he had the right girl, and she knew at the new year’s party earlier that night that she picked the right man.

every eye was set on the small group in the middle, maddy, jules, and cleo. not only because cleo was there, but also because she was literally throwing it back on maddy. she wasn’t drunk but she was a little tipsy. she could feel the eyes and cameras on her but she didn’t care, she was having fun. a few minutes later, cleo turns around and wraps her arms around the two girls, laughing loudly over the music.

“bitch, how does it move like that?!” maddy shouts, mind slightly blown from the dance she’d just gotten.

cleo doesn’t answer, happily skipping over to where fez was seated and practically jumps on his lap. she wraps her arms around his neck and shoulders, leaning down and connecting their lips in a heated kiss. she pulls away slightly, pressing her forehead against his, “do you want a drink?”

“mhm, you’ll go get it for me?” cleo pressing one more kiss to his lips before she got up and walked to the kitchen, not before he swats at her ass, watching it jiggle as she walks away.

on her way to the kitchen she gets stopped by none other than nate jacobs himself. it was surprising actually, seeing him healed from the damage fez did a few months ago.

“cleo, how you been?” he says, a small smirk on his face as he raises his cup to his lips. he tilts his head back, letting the bitter, burning sensation of the alcohol he was drinking cloud his throat.

“what do you want?” she deadpans, resting her weight on one of her legs. she can already feel herself sobering up, glancing over her shoulder to see how far fezco was from her. not that far at all.

“just wanted to see how you been doing. ‘s that little boyfriend of yours in jail yet?”

“no, but i’m finna be if you don’t get the hell away from me,” cleo threatens, turning away and attempting to walk away from him but she feels him grab a hold of her wrist and tug her back towards him.

she makes an effort to knee him in his crotch only for him to dodge it. she sees the look on his face and she knows he’s angry. catching her off guard, nate wraps his hand around her neck and pushes her against the wall.

she’s never wanted to kill a person more than she wants to kill nate.

“what the f—” not bothering to finish her sentence, cleo throws her leg out, kicking him as hard as she could in his stomach, the heel of her platform heels connecting with his crotch causing him to slightly hunch over. as soon as her heel makes contact with his body, her hand is formed into a fist and is flying directly in the middle of nate’s face, repeatedly until he stumbles backwards.

cleo doesn’t let up though, she’s been waiting for this moment since he put his hands on maddy. she wanted to do as much damage as she could. she has his shirt clutched in her left hand so that he couldn’t run anywhere, her right hand continuing the relentless blows to his face.

because of the repeated punches to his face, he eventually falls backwards onto the floor, bringing cleo with him. he has cuts and bruises all over his face due to the rings wrapped around her fingers and the force behind her hits. cleo stands up, grabbing a hold of nate’s hair before she bashes his head against the floor a couple times. she’s screaming at the top of her lungs, she’s sure the entire house could hear her but she couldn’t.

from the moment she felt his hand around her neck, she blacked out. she feels hands wrapping around her arm and waist but she’s refusing to stop. she can’t stop, it’s like an out-of-body experience where she’s watching herself beat the shit out of nate from someone else’s perspective.

“i swear to fuckin’ god! i’ll kill you!” she screeches, using one hand to drag nate by his hair while her other fist proceeds to bash his face.

eventually she feels a familiar pair of strong arms wrap around hers. no matter how familiar they are, she’s beyond angry, past her breaking point that she just doesn’t care.

fezco lifts her body off of the ground and begins to walk towards the front door. eventually cleo had to let go, nate’s hair slipping through her finger tips.

as they make their way out of the house, cleo’s grabbing and throwing random things onto the floor, leaving piles of glass behind them. she’s screaming and crying and trying to get out of fez’s hold.

once they’re outside, he finally puts her down, turning her around and immediately pulling her head into his chest. he lets her completely break down in his arms, rubbing her back and her head and planting kiss after kiss on the top of her head. her glasses have fallen off of her face and are now somewhere inside the house, possibly broken on the floor inside.

he turns his head as he hears the door open. he sees maddy walking through the door, and thankfully she has cleo’s glasses in her hand which are surprisingly still in good shape.

the three of them make their way to the car where rue and ash are already waiting inside. the two of them don’t know what happened but, from the state cleo’s in, they knew it wasn’t pretty.

when they’re all in the car, maddy in the passenger seat while ash drives, jules, rue, fez, and cleo in the back, cleo is sitting on fez’s lap, still crying softly into his chest. she’s calmed down a lot more, but she’s still dealing with the aftermath of the situation.

no one said anything the entire car ride, listening to fez quietly reassure cleo that it was okay now.

“it’s good, ma. you did what you had to do.”

“you gon’ be okay, i’m proud you.”

“you can’t be doing all that all the time though. don’t want nothing bad happening to you.”

later on that night after dropping everyone off and finally going back home, fez was the one to wipe of her makeup, get her shower going, and do her skin care routine. he didn’t leave her side the entire night, and she was extremely grateful for that.

he made sure to ask her how she was feeling and made sure to shower her with love and affectionate touches until they eventually fell asleep, holding each other tightly in each other’s arms.

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

Real Life

Previously uploaded on my old blog, calumh-excess. Since edited and revamped. 

The aftermath of Calum has left the rest of South’s people in a nasty spot. And Michael’s in an even nastier. Still needing to help his mother, he continues pushing. The only thing he doesn’t heed warnings and Marissa’s watching the aftermath of such choices. She loves Michael, but can she save herself? 

Gang!MichaelxLatina!OC. CW: Gangs, descriptions of violence, brief smut/NSFW content. (18+) 

A Two Part Series. Part One: Purple and Blue.

Masterlist (on a semi-hiatus)

The pool hall is cloudy, cigarette smoke filling Michael’s vision and nostrils. He watches his two ball roll down the green wool before clinking against the other balls in the pocket. He straightens and hands the cue to his baby, Mars–short for Marissa. She proudly rejected his first attempt at a nickname, Doll, stating she’s ‘no one’s Doll’ but she ‘would happily be his baby.’ So that’s his baby, tan skin glowing in the harsh lights, huffing as she lines up her next shop. They’re playing a couple’s game, him and Mars against Calum and Penelope. It’s pretty even between the two of them, but Penelope’s shockingly good and Mars’ still pretty new to the game. So Michael’s picking up the slack. He’s set her up for seven, not too far and not too difficult. It should only take a minor adjustment to the left of the cue for her to sink it. She moves too far to the left and it bounces off the wall.

Michael knows all too well the pout that’s about to settle onto her face. He rubs her back before wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her into his chest. “Next time, Baby. You’ll get it next time.”

She huffs, flicking her wavy hair over her shoulder. Her words fall with a twinge of an accent. “You’re just saying that, amor. We all know I’m shit at this.”

Michael kisses the exposed skin of her neck. He loves it when she calls him that. He likes listening to her phone calls with her mother. The conversation moves fast, English and Spanish mixing midway through sentences. It’s a reminder of just how comfortable she in around him, that in some part she’s never felt like she had to hide who she was. Though Marissa wasn’t quite the type to keep too much quiet. She inhabited space and didn’t care who didn’t like it. And Michael wanted her too, he wanted to be herself. 

But right now, he’s a little too focused on the smell of her perfume and the three balls that Calum and Penelope just sunk. They don’t really have stakes on this game. But it still sucks to loose, or be loosing. They haven’t lost yet. “Fuck,” he huffs. “You guys are fucking cheating.”

Calum chuckles, readjusting the hat on his head, keeping his head pointed slightly downward. His face is still pretty messed up, the skin still hues of blues and purples. Michael already knows how bad the damage was. They made him throw some swings, offered him one too many times the switchblade. He didn’t take it--not at first. But he could tell the heated gazes would only need one more sign of disloyalty to go on a rampage and throw him into the woes with Calum. And while Michael would do a lot for Calum, he wasn’t quite in a position to take a beating too. That’s what hurts the most--the shame in knowing that Michael could’ve done more but didn’t. 

Michael looks away when Calum glances up. Calum doesn’t blame Michael. He gets it. Michael had to do all that stuff. No sense in both of them being beaten into a bloody pulp. He’s tried to tell Michael to not worry about it, that he’s long since forgiven him. But whenever Michael catches a glimpse of the bruises, sees Calum moves a little too slow, face twisted in pain, that lump grows in his throat again. Michael doesn’t have enough mouths, enough time on this earth to apologize for what happened. But Michael had his own family to consider, his own debts, and the choice is never fucking easy. But Michal wishes shame wasn’t such a heavy burden. 

Penelope senses the tense moment happening. They happen all the time now between the two of them. She pops her gum loudly before speaking,  “The last things we are, are cheaters. Just admit it Cliffo, you can’t hang.”

Michael glances over to her, a small smile lifting his lips. “Nah, I still vote cheaters. You can go first, Mars.”

“Rather not,” she mutters, stepping away from his warm embrace.

“Baby, you can get the 5. I know you can. Let me help.” She sighs but nods. Michael guides her to the pool table. She lines up, bending over the table. Michael slides in behind her, moving her angle a bit to the right. “Remember to follow through. You stop sometimes too soon,” he whispers into her ear. She shivers a little against his chest.

With a gin, she whispers, “I hate you sometimes Clifford.”

“Oh, but you love me.”

She laughs, pulling back cue stick. Michael guides her direction, pushing the cue stick almost like trying to push it through the middle of the cue ball. The five ball glides down the wool and taps the ledge with just enough speed and angle to fall into the pocket. “Mira, maybe you’re right,” Mars chuckles quietly. “But only this time.”

 Michael guides her around the table, shot after shot sinking into their respective pocket. They clear the board, solids, stripes, and the eight ball. “They’re the cheaters,” Penlope states, her tone dripping with sarcasm. Mars flips her off, both girls laughing at the action.

A phone starts to chime. Calum pulls it off the countertop next to the table and kisses Penelope on the cheek. “Duty calls,” he laughs. Calum moved out of town and works at the pool hall and bar. It’s a hike for Michael, but he understands the distance. He’s not entirely sure what’s going on with Penelope considering her affiliation still with Block. But from what Michael’s gathered, some sort of legal battle’s going on so she can get guardianship of her siblings before moving in with Calum or least into the same town as him. 

“We’ll straighten up,” Michael states, one arm snaking around Mars’ waist.  

“Thanks,” he nods, sliding to the back, ID in his hands, ready to clock back into work. Michael picks up the plastic case the balls rest in and starts slotting them back into place. Staring down the black tray of the pool halls, all Michael can think about is how much blood was already staining the floors to the point some puddles looked black. A chill climbs down his spine when the memory takes over him. 

Calum was already pretty out of it, one eye already was swollen shut. Michael didn’t want to hit him. But then South grinned, his brow quirked up. “We got a deal, son. You telling me you’re backing out now.” Michael hated that debt was hanging over his head. He hated, even more, he was still so young to the gang. Maybe it could make things easier. But South was really putting in on Michael to show loyalty. If his mother hadn’t needed the surgery, he wouldn’t be here. And it’s not like he blames her. He blames South for making such an appealing offer. He blames South for swooping in when he was vulnerable. Michael really hates himself for opening up to South. He knew South was no good, but he had been cornered, played like a fucking fiddle.

Michael threw some swings. He tried to make them look harder than they actually were. South handed him the switchblade, the first one to swipe over Calum’s flesh. His hands trembled. He and Calum were close, even though he was a newcomer. The last thing he wanted to do was harm his friend. He’ll admit Calum took the beating well, never cried out, never said a word to plead them to stop. He sat, groaning and grunting with the punches. One particular blow landed in his gut and the curse that fell off Cal’s lips still keeps Michael up at night sometimes. It’s not so much the curse it sound, but the howl that followed. The echo of pain and yet the silence from Calum. There was a strange peace with him. Michael’s not sure he could’ve reached that point--if he could’ve found a peace in the midst of all the pain. 

“Hey, don’t tell me my boyfriend machine has broken?” Mars teases, gently placing a hand onto Michael��s back.

He shakes his head, trying to rid himself of those thoughts. It’s done. It’s over. He’s been forgiven. “Sorry, I’m alright, Baby.”

She nods, knowing that far away glaze to his eyes. He’s not okay. But she doesn’t push it. Instead, she rubs his back, and finishes putting the rest of the balls away. Mars splits the check with Penelope and they pay for the games. Michael leans into the table and lets out a shaky breath. Keep it together, Clifford. But it’s hard--it’s hard to keep it together when he knows for a fact that he should be letting it all fall apart. He should be sobbing. He should let the guilt overtake him. 

Later that night, Michael’s phone wakes him. He jolts at the sound of it ringing. He reaches to the nightstand and wipes the sleep from his eyes. What the fuck is going on? Seeing South’s number, Michael throws his feet to the floor. “What’s up?” he answers in a whisper, looking over his shoulder to Mars. She’s shifting, waking. He reaches out and runs his palm over her hair, to try and soothe her. Though he complains about the curls being pushed into his face first thing in the morning, he wouldn’t trade it for the world. He wouldn’t trade her for the world. 

“I need to speak with you,” South states. His tone is cool, calm.

“Just tell me when and where.” Michael covers a yawn, as South rattles off the name of a small diner not too far from him. The phone call ends and Michael walks around to her side of the bed.

“Be safe,” she whispers, sitting up. More falls from her lips, a prayer he’s come to recognize and he holds still as she signs the cross over him. He’s not religious by any means, but it’s second nature to her in some respects. 

Michael kisses the top of her head. “Always am.” 

He slides into some jeans, sneakers and a jacket, throwing a snapback on before walking out of the door. Michael knows his appearance helps him. No one singles him out, no one questions him. The long fringe, the glasses, the clothes, it’s all him. But he’s conscious about it. He likes to keep up the appearance. And sure, Michael should be free to wear whatever he wants. But recognizes the edge it gives him and the edge it gives South too. Michael can get into places that a lot of the other guys can’t. South can push weight in a lot of places that would normally be off limit.

Though Michael wasn’t a fan of the three a.m. calls, they are fairly common. At first, he got to a point where he couldn’t sleep. Too afraid to miss a call from South and too afraid to sleep in case he somehow fucked up and needed to get away. Micheal was sure at some point he’d never sleep again. He’d always be looking over his shoulder. He’d always be waiting for the other shoe to drop. It never did. And getting comfortable was probably dangerous too. 

But Mars made the thought so enticing. Coming home to a house full--either her family visiting or her cooking with the radio blasting. That’s enough to make him want to get too comfortable. That’s the life he’s always wanted and he can picture that with Mars. He can picture her teaching him the bachata or salsa and laughing when he fails miserably in front of her aunts, but knowing he was trying his best. That’s the thought, the picture, the dream, that he wants to give into. And yet this--this is his reality. Pulling into the diner parking lot. 

Michael spies South leaning against his car. The neon signs reflect off the slightly wet pavement thanks to the evening rain. Unusual, the rain, but it was more than welcomed. Mars loved it, said she always dreamed of running in the rain with her lover. And though they missed this opportunity, Michael made a promise to himself not to miss the second one. The forecast was predicting more rain tomorrow. 

Michael pulls up his sleeves, before stuffing his arms into the back of his pants and walks over to South. The diner is dark, the highway is fairly silent. “Going to my usual?” Michael chuckles.

South grins. “Someone’s happy.”

Michael shrugs. “I’m used to it.” And used to it doesn’t quite encapsulate the feeling. But it’s the only words he has, because he is used to his usual. Used to the early morning calls and the drives and the pushing. It doesn’t make it easier, just makes it more familiar. 

Looking past Michael, South shakes his head, a small grin playing at the corners of his mouth. “No, you’re not going to your usual. Our smugglers got busted bringing in new products. We’re a bit strapped at the moment. The club needs its weight and I’m trying to make sure none of our asses get caught up.”

The question lingers in the air. Michael knows better than to ask why he’s out by himself with South at the side of the highway. So he waits, hands still in his pockets, watching the watery reflection of the cake in the sign underneath his feet. Michael is the pusher. If suppliers get caught, he’s a close second. Though, South is very good at keeping his good people out of trouble. Michael is hoping this conversation takes a good turn. He needs to be considered one of the good people right now. 

“Don’t look so down. If shit gets any worse, you’re not gonna get named. On my word. But, look, tell me this isn’t true.” Michael looks up to South, nodding to signal that he’s listening. “I got some eyes saying they saw you hangin’ with Hood. Across the highway. He’s a traitor and I don’t give too many second chances.”

The only reason Calum got this chance was because of Block. The turf war yielded no new territory but it did create an interesting neutral ground within the city. Places that previously weren’t owned were split. Anyone could sell, anyone could use it as foot traffic. But they couldn’t fight. They had to keep it remotely cordial in those areas. It was area South was bound to loose of Block was pushed to the full extent of his manpower. And South didn’t really want to lose more men. So he had to agree to Block’s term. Calum couldn’t lose his life, but they could make a point. They could make him an example. And South used that leeway to the full advantage.

Michael wasn’t sure why Block cared so much about Calum--though Michael didn’t know about Penelope. But whatever the reason, South was quick to use it. And Calum was more than example, if Michael has anything to say about it. 

Michael’s heart races. He’s glad his hands are in his pants now or else South would be sure to see the slight tremble. He doesn’t want to throw out accusations that someone is lying. That kind of accusation if turned up false is going to get someone else killed and them him. And Michael can’t lie to him either. South can smell a liar from 100 yards away. A hand settles onto Michael’s shoulder and squeezes. Hard. Michael blinks, jaw tightening to hide the pain. South knows. 

Michael finally speaks. “He’s not one of ours. He chooses that hot piece of ass bitch over us.” God, he hates saying it. But it’s what’s going to save his ass. Right now, he needs that--he needs to save his own ass.  

“All women are good for is fucking and trouble. You should know that better than anyone,” South continues. 

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” The words fly out before Michael can think about the consequences. But he hates the way South grins, the quirk of his brow.

“Oh, you know exactly what I’m talking about. While I mainly fuck with black women, I’m no stranger to a mamacita here and there.”

Oh God, Michael’s stomach tenses, turns into a knot. It wasn’t exactly a secret who he was dating. An unfortunate side effect of his job is that close ties eventually got found out. But that didn’t mean he wanted Mars to have to be dragged into this. And for sure, he didn’t want her to be disrespected. His fists are clenching. This is South, he reminds himself. This will not go well for him if he does anything. Hell, he really shouldn’t say anything either. “That’s really fucking disgusting,” Michael spits.

South closes the distance between them, the shit eating grin replaced by a chaotic and devilish smile. “Make my fucking day. Say something else, please.”

He’s dead in the water now. But he doesn’t want to apologize. He shouldn’t have to and he won’t that’s for damn sure. It’s completely disrespectful what he’s insinuating. That somehow Mars was a stereotype, a fucking doll, not a complex human being with a rich and sometimes saddening background. She was not just her ethnicity, she was not just a woman. She was a person, she loved animals and was struggling with her waitress jig to find a way to attend school. It was just hard, she was sending so much money back home to help with her siblings. Michael offered up his apartment because he saw how much being at home was hurting her. That saved her some cash since he never asked for any type of composition, but she always snuck a couple hundred into his wallet for electricity and water. 

He stopped fighting her about it when it seemed her retaliation was to only sneak more money into his wallet with a very pointed pink sticky note on it, daring him to try again to make her stop. 

“All I’m saying is that maybe the women you associate only want to fuck, but not everyone is like that. For fuck sake.”

“A man of respect. I like that,” South says, loosening up his grip on Michael’s shoulder. “I want you to know, I really do like you. But you gotta keep to us and our business. Calum had interesting circumstances. But I’m sorry to report, those don’t pertain to you. So no more running around behind your man crush or whatever. If I hear about it happening again, I won’t be so nice.”

The slap to his back is firm, way too firm. Michael’s skin lights with a stinging fire. He nods. “Understood,” Michael answers softly. South gives a soft tap this time and then slides in through the driver side door of his car.

 Michael steps back, watching the low rider glide over the asphalt. Was Michael going to completely stop hanging out with Calum? Probably not. But now he had to be smarter. He needed to be safer. The prayer Marissa gives everytime he leaves rings back against his ears. Safer, smarter--that’s all he needed to do. He was still his own man at the end of the day. He was only it with South for a little bit longer. 

“Yeah, but how much longer?” Michael asks himself aloud into the quiet night. 

When he returns home, Mars is splayed out on the couch, the comforter from their shared bed wrapped tightly around her. She looks cute with her lips slightly parted, a soft snore falling from her mouth. She never believes Michael about the snoring, even with video evidence. But he never complains seriously about it. Sliding out of his Vans, and pulling the jacket off his shoulders, he fishes for his baby under the sea of cotton before sliding in behind her and pulling her into his chest. He’s too lazy to carry her to the bedroom. It’s sure to wake her anyway. He throws the comforter back around them and lets his eyes close. South may be heated about his affiliation with Calum, but they’ll just have to be more careful then. Michael’s not going to let him ruin one of the few genuine relationships in his life. Lord knows he doesn’t have many.

__________

“What time do you have to leave tonight?” Mars asks, tending to the eggs.

“No delivery tonight,” Michael says, removing the last of the pancakes. “Hey, easy on my eggs with that heavy hand you got.”

“Ay Dios Mios. You baby. It’s not that much, see.” She shows him the pan. “And what do you mean? Why else would South call?”

“Just wanted to talk. It’s nothing.”

She knows it’s nothing. When Michael changed shirts, she noticed a pink spot on his back. He didn’t have any other injuries. But clearly, the force of the blow was enough to leave something behind. That’s not a ‘nothing serious’ conversation. That’s a fucking warning.  She knows one when she sees one.“So things are good?”

He hums, snaking his arms around her waist. “Things are good,” he whispers into the crook of her neck, the stubble tickling her.

Marissa gives a smile, but the fear trickles down. It prickles her spine. How many warnings would he get before he wound up dead in a ditch? 

“Can we please add those strawberry shortcake creamsicles to the grocery list?” Michael asks as he grabs plates from the cabinet. 

“Would those even be out at this time?”

“Not sure. I just really have a taste for one.”

“Having one does sound good,” Marissa notes. It’s like the summers she had in the backyard, the pools and slip and slides slick with water to beat the heat. Coolers were full of melting ice and just cold enough drinks. The whir of her grandmother’s ice cream machine blurs in with the speaker that someone brought to play music 

Water hoses would spray them, or fill balloons and water guns for the games to be played later. She forgets the name of the icepops that came in plastic tubing and they’d freeze days before. But grape was always her favorite, staining her tongue and lips and even her fingers if she didn’t eat it fast enough. 

“Baby?” A squeezes her waist and Marissa blinks. Her hands are still wrapped around the jug of orange juice but not yet pouring. 

“Yeah?”

“You alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. What were you saying?”

Michael shakes his head. “No, no, what were you thinking about?”

“Just my summers. I sort of miss them. How things used to be back at home. Like as I kid you just never notice the bad because there’s always that next thing--birthday parties, going to school. After high school, it was clear what my parents wanted for me and I was trying you know. But there’s six of us and yeah.”

“The recreation center up the street has an indoor pool. We can invite a couple friends over, hang out. Bring your sisters too of course.”

The words almost fall, she almost asks who he plans on inviting, but she doesn’t. She nods instead. “I’d like that. What were you saying earlier?”

“Oh, just asking what time you wanted to go grocery shopping and if you picked up the extra shift on Saturday? Nothing major.”

_________

“Something on your mind, Baby?” Michael asks, stopped at a red light. They’re supposed to be heading up to see Calum and Penelope. But it’s in Mars gut that trouble is still lurking. 

“South knows, doesn’t he? This is why we’re going so far out.” Mars doesn’t even look at Michael. She knows the truth. “He told you to stay away.”

Michael reaches out for her knee, but the second his hand lands on the denim covered skin, she pulls it away. “Yes,” he sighs. He’s not sure what her deal is, why she’s pulling away from him. But he’s not going to piss her off even more. So he settles his hand back on the steering wheel. 

“You’d do this for Calum? Break rules?”

“I’d do it for you too if that’s what you’re wondering. I have done it for you.”

She huffs a chuckle, finally turning her gaze back to his face, the scratchy beard making a shadow on his face. “I wasn’t. I’m just concerned.”

“About?”

“Su vida,” she whispers. “South will not back down. I know you care; I know he’s your friend. I know your life isn’t exactly risk-free. But can you risk it even more? I-I worry enough as it is about you leaving late at night. My rosemary looks like it belongs to my grandmother. I have prayed so many times for you.”

Michael’s chest starts to ache. She cares. He knows she does and that she cares--he didn’t quite know to this extent. But to just leave one of his best friends all alone. To completely upend and cut off contact to one of the most consistent and loving people in his life–he can’t do that. No matter the risk. 

“I won’t lie to you, Mars. You’re asking for the improbable there.”

“So not impossible?”

“No, I could stop--the possibility of me stopping is there. The risk is high and I know I should. I could cut off all contact. They’re all possible. They just aren’t probable. It’s highly unlikely. Besides, South needs not see me or have anyone that sees me. My mom now lives up in this area. If anyone questions things, I’ll have cover.”

“So you’d lie? On your mother?”

“No.” Michael turns off, taking the exit that will lead straight into his mother’s neighborhood.  Mars watches as his jaw clenches for a moment. “I’d never lie about seeing her. I’ll just omit our pitstop afterward.”

Mars exhales, watching the houses fill out around her. The front yards, the kids playing footie. Maybe she ought to drop this, let him make his choices. But she can’t help but think about what could happen. She can’t bear even the imagined sight of Michael with a busted lip and bruised skin. She is not Penelope; she won’t be that strong. She won’t be able to put pressure on a knife wound. Her skin crawls at the thought of his blood staining her skin. She wouldn’t be able carry that weight and though it was a silly thought, because she does love Michael, she feels like she shouldn’t have to carry it. She shouldn’t have to be subjected to this. 

And though it it feels like she should stick it out. She should stay with Michael through the inevitable end. She was her own person. She deserved someone to understand that she shouldn’t be on the second end of the equation. How many more times could she pray for a soul that didn’t necessarily want to be saved?

“Just know I’m concerned,” she states. She leaves it at though for the time being, seeing as they pull into the driveway of his mother’s house. And she doesn’t want to start an argument, but she doesn’t want to end the conversation. 

Michael, turning off the car, looks as she pushes up from the seat and opens the door. She’s quick to pull the dish of buñuelos out from the back of the car. That’s a lot more than concerned, Michael knows. A lot more--but he steps out of the car and meets her at the front. 

“Hey, look at me. What is it?”

“¿Acaso te preocupas por mí? Estoy muy preocupada constantemente.” Marissa exhales, feeling a bit better to get it off her chest. But Michael’s look let’s her know he didn’t catch it all. He’s learned a few things, but is still slow to translate sometimes. “Look, I want to have a nice visit with your mother. I do, I really do. But we have a lot to talk about.”

Michael nods. “Whenever you’re ready, I’m all ears, Baby. I’ll listen.”

She takes another deep inhale and exhale. “I really want to stuff my face. I hope your mother doesn't hate me for it.”

“She’d be happy to feed you with whatever she has.”

The visit with Michael’s mom goes by just like all the rest. She offers them tea, biscuits, any and everything in her fridge. She does not take no for an answer and she’s even more delighted at the addition of Marissa’s buñuelos. “Oh, you have to send me the recipe,” she gushes, grabbing another from the tin. 

It’s nice, even though initially, Marissa is still tense. The laughs come easy and the treats don’t stop. For a moment she’s able to forget. She’s able to see Michael as the man that she knows he is, someone who loves his family, and is goofy, but so kind. That’s what she wants him to always be. Not the man she has to pray for, not the man that’s stubborn, not the man that she feels like sometimes doesn’t listen to her. And she knows initially she didn’t voice her concerns. But maybe after she did, things would change just a little. Maybe she wouldn’t feel like she’s fighting an uphill battle, which she knows she’s doomed to fail at. 

As Michael and Mars go to leave, the hugs last twice as long as normal. But Michael and Mars just laugh and give into the older woman. They let themselves be rocked by her love, side to side, and whisper how good it is to see her. Michael promises before they leave that he’ll be by again very soon. Mars prays for his sake he does not get caught so he can keep to that promise.

The bowling alley is packed, kids screaming at the opposite end of the building. It looks like a birthday party wrapping up. The table’s a mess of paper plates, pizza boxes and a quarter of a cake left. Michael thinks back to some of his birthdays. “Next birthday, we’re having a party here,” he teases low in Mars’ ear, arms winding around her waist. “Complete with the ridiculous party hats.”

“Michael, please.”

He laughs and adds on, “I want an Overwatch cake.”

Mars rolls her eyes, laughter falling over her lips easily. “Fine, fine, fine. An Overwatch cake it is.” Normally she melts right into his touch, she slots in perfectly to his chest. But she keeps herself pushed forward, it’s hardly noticeable to anyone else on the outside. But Michael knows the difference--he noticed it at his mother’s house, though she eventually did settle into him. He can’t lose her. He squeezes at her flesh, willing her understand that he’s being smart about this. Or at least trying to be smart about it. But he can’t lose them both. There are very few genuine people left in his life and he needs them. He needs them desperately. 

The bowling is the least of their fun. It’s the teasing. More than once Calum jokes about having to put the guard rails up for the girls. They decided to get boys vs girls. That earns Calum two sets of the meanest glares to land on him and the finger from both Penelope and Mars. Michael cheers as he lands his second strike of the night. He cheers, pumping his fist into the air, laughing as Mars glares at him. “We can get the guider too, the little rig for kids,” he offers as Calum wraps him up in a celebratory hug. Cal’s a couple pints in.

“You’re gonna need a ride home,” Mars huffs, holding the keys from her fingers. He’s had some drinks too. With the lopsided grin still on his lips, Michael walks over, bending over. He’s aware his breath is layered in beer but it’s okay. Her lips are soft against his, that’s all he cares about. Here with his eyes closed, fingers tangled in her hair, nothing else matters. She’s not worried about his safety, she’s not pulling away from him already. No, here, they are still the same. They give each other shit and the hugs, touches, and kisses are easy.

Mars wants to hang here forever, softly kissing Michael. Smiling as she does so because, god, is her boyfriend annoying but she loves him. She really does. She can love him even though others will say that his actions are morally wrong. She can handle that. He’s had to make his choices; he has to handle the consequences. She can be there for that. But would she ride this out even with her own destruction? Does this make her less than for having a limit? 

Three games later and after the boys are a good five pints in, they leave. Michael giggles in the passenger seat. “You’re beautiful, Baby. You know that?”

A soft blush takes over her cheek, the heat rising fast. “You might’ve mentioned it once or twice.”

“But it’s very true. You’re fucking gorgeous.”

They don’t talk that night, not like they need to. Instead they give into each other. Marissa can’t help but give into the way Michael presses her against the door of the apartment and teases her over her panties. The material of her shorts thin and loose anyway. And Michael loves it when she moans into his ear. The curses to God because he’s touching her just right makes his whole body feel electric and that’s all he’s ever needed. To feel electric with Marissa. Because in that electricity, they are safe. 

Marissa digs her nails into his shoulder, attempting to get closer in their heated kiss and Michael hisses at the pain. But he loves it. He loves this and he loves her. And there’s no way he’s losing her if she responds like this to his touch. There’s no way he’s losing her when she kisses down his stomach and takes him into her mouth. No there’s no loss here, just the sinking into the pleasure they both give each other.

“I love you,” he whispers into her skin. It feels like a prayer as it falls repeatedly, punctuating several thrusts. 

“I love you,” she returns. It’s with a sigh, and a moan, but she looks at him when she says it. And for the moment that’s all he needs. 

__________

The way South grins, Michael knows he’s fucked. The man doens’t even need to utter a sentence and Michael already knows the trouble he’s in. But South speaks anyway--and Michael for a brief moment wonders if South gets off on the knowledge that all he has to do now is look at someone a specific way and they shake in their boots. “How’s your momma doing?”

“Good,” Michael answers, “thanks for asking.”

“How’s Hood?”

Michael gulps. He wonders who the fuck is tailing him. South wouldn’t be bringing this up if he didn’t have proof. And one time is not enough. South’s always required pattern of behavior. He does not ask without a fair amount of evidence. “I wouldn’t know.”

“Bullshit! I told you he isn’t one of ours anymore. You think I’d come at you without evidence? Without something substantial?”

“No, I’m not saying that,” Michael opts. It’s still not the safe answer. But it’s biding time--that’s all he really has at this point.

“Then what are you saying? Because you’re implying someone’s a liar and I don’t take too kindly if you think it’s me.”

“I’m not saying it’s you.”

“You saying someone’s got it out for you then?”

“I’m not saying that either.” The only one that has it out for him is South, but Michael knows better than to say that.  

“Then tell me what the fuck you are saying.”

“All I’m saying is that I wouldn’t know how he’s doing.” In fact, it’s been three weeks since they last hung out. Michael was trying to cool down the trail on him. So whoever was watching him was either delaying the reports or doubling up on them, and that would indicate either pressure from South for results or that whoever it was was going for Michael’s position or life.. But admitting that would mean again, admitting that he had gone against South’s initial warning. So Michael keps is mouth shut. Because the technicalities wouldn’t matter here.

In the silence, Michael steels himself for the first swing. He’s even ready for the second one. More keep coming to the point where he looses count. Not that counting them is like counting sheep. But keeping up with the blows, even with a small margin of error, meant he hadn’t fully blacked out. And that’s what he needed. In the end, it’s not too bad. He’s able to drive himself home, though his ribs are on fire. Breathing hurts, just sitting hurts too.

He grunts, opening the door and swinging his legs out. Inside the apartment, Michael catches the sound of some shuffling. He watches the shadows over the walls as Marissa walks into the bedroom. He sighs. He can’t face Mars. She’s going to flip, but this isn’t exactly the largest apartment ever. He grits his teeth and makes his way to the bathroom. Before he can get the door close, he hears a gasp. He’s been caught. Michael watches her look in the mirror, the wobble to her lip, the tears filling her eyes.

“It’s not too bad,” he reassures. “I’ll be fine in a couple days.”

“A couple days my ass,” she whispers. Her hands tremble. She wants to run. She can’t do this. She told Michael she was concerned. She knew it would blow up in his face eventually. South is pissed and there’s no stopping him now. “What-what can I do?” 

Michael tries to tell her, he can handle it, but she orders him to sit on the closed toilet seat and he obeys the command. Her hands continue to shake as she helps clean up the busted lip and the bruise on his rib cage is bad, violently purple and red.

In bed, Michael resting on his back, Mars rests on her side, facing away from him. She understands why he does this. But how long will he defy South? How many more beatings are there going to be? This has to stop before it gets started. She can’t stand by and watch him get beat. He has to get out. She needs him to get out or maybe she needs to get out. And she wants to rip the thought out of her skull. She doesn’t want to leave Michael. But maybe she might have too. Maybe she might be forced to save herself. 

Sleep does not find her that night or the nights after really. It comes in waves, for an hour or two and then she’s back awake, staring at ceilings or walls, or closet doors, wishing she could’ve done everything differently with him. Michael watches the bags forming underneath her warm eyes. He is doing this to her, not that he meant to, not that he wanted to. But yet, here he is, his actions bearing heavy burdens on her.

“What are you worried about?” he asks, sitting across from her. The diner is shockingly dead for once, a harsh buzz from the lights above settles in around him. Though Michael figures in the next hour people will be leaving clubs soon; they’ll be gunning for something greasy.

The sigh is heavy from her lips. Michael reaches out for her hand. Her lips screw up, plump like he’s always known them to be, but somehow the corners are turned down. She does not quite meet his gaze. “I’m worried about you getting hurt again. I can’t handle that. I’m thinking about how much more of this I can endure. And I--I don’t even want to think about asking you to get out. Not if the result is you dead. I want you alive.”

“It’s a couple of bruises, Baby. I’ll be fine.”

“Por Dios, you say that now. But what happens when it’s more than just a couple of bruises. What are you going to do then, huh?” She slides her hands out from Michael, standing to greet the patrons that just walked in. 

Michael wants to promise her there won’t be a next time. He wants to promise that he can handle the warnings. But he’s already got plans to see Calum later this week. And the bruises still hurt. He can bear them, should it be at the expense of her? 

Michael cancels the plans--he can handle that. And maybe he hasn’t been playing this smart. He tries to see if Marissa wants to go to the movies, but she picks up a double and those plans never get off the ground. Instead, he makes sure to have a bath drawn for her once she returns. Her favorite is ready for dinner and for a blip in time things could be on the right track. 

But she doesn’t kiss him the same as before. And Michael doesn’t know what else to do when she rolls over in bed, away from him. They don’t share silly stories about their childhoods. And Michael misses all those stories about the casitas hanging on the walls. Or how Marissa couldn’t turn around in any room of the house and didn’t find some picture of the Virgin Mary or Jesus staring down at her. Michael misses hearing about the parties she missed throwing in the summer time, knowing the music could crush her skull but she loved it anyway. 

Michael misses the way when she got sleepy Spanish would slip out without her even thinking and rather than stopping her, he’d let her go on in the story. She’d be telling him about the birthday parties with family holding the pinata and the smell of food that filled the house for days. The whispers were all he really needed to feel close to her. 

___________

It happens and he knows it's happening too when he walks into the house to not even the muffled sounds of music. It’s on most of the time, always a soft tempo in the background, the soundtrack to her life. He knew it was happening all along. She touched him less, she stayed out more. They felt more like strangers in the apartment now. They past like ships, but instead they were sitting right in the living room growing further and further apart. 

He was losing her; he came home one too many times bruised and bloodied. But he wouldn’t stop. South wouldn’t get rid of him; he’d just make his life hell for sure. But he was too valuable. Though, occasionally, Michael feared his value would be of no use. At some point, South would get tired of the warnings and beat him for good. But at the same time, South needed Michael--they both knew under all this it was South keeping up appearances. Because as much as Michael was breaking the rules, South wasn’t one to normally keep troublemakers around longer than they’d prove they weren’t going to stop. 

But would it save Michael forever? 

It was stupid to attempt to ride the thin line until it cracked. But it was all Michael had. He thought South would crack first. Or maybe he had hoped that so much that he believed it to be true. When all signs pointed to Mars being the first to go, he somehow ignored it, assumed that she’d be there forever. But forever isn’t as long as he’d hope for.

Because Mass was on the losing end of it all, having to take care of him. Having to take double shifts sometimes because there was no way in hell Michael was in enough shape to get out and push his weight. Mars had to reached her limit. And it was right in front of his face. 

He watches her from the bedroom door, on her knees, throwing things into a suitcase.  “I can’t do this, mamá, mi corazón can’t take it,” she cries into the phone.

His eyes are blurry, his side still aches from last week’s run-in with South. The sob pressing at his chest lights his being with fire. Everything hurts. “Then go if you must,” he whispers, “but let me ask you one question. Can I convince you somehow to stay?” He’s positive she didn’t hear it but Mars snaps her head up at him.

The tears are streaking her face, light gray splotches of mascara dotting her cheeks as well. “What are you talking– No, no, Michael. Let me call you back.” She pauses, mother urging to her not hang up. But Mars is no longer listening to the frantic barrage of her mother. “Explain. What are you talking about?”

“Is there any way I can convince you to stay with me?” Michael asks, letting the tears slip down his cheeks behind his glasses. It’ll make a mess of his lenses. He doesn’t care though.

“Convince me to stay? Comó? How are you going to do that?”

“That’s why I’m asking you. Whatever I have to do, I will do it.”

Mars stands, running her fingers through her hair. Her exhale is long and heavy from her lips and mouth.“No, there’s nothing. You won’t leave. Not with the complications now and the medical bills. You can’t leave your mother high and dry. And I can’t sit here and watch him beat you! I can’t do that--I’m not strong enough for that. I-I didn’t sign up for that.”

He’s lost her. There’s no more fighting. But Michael still tries. He gives it one more push. “I’m sorry. It’s not easy for you. But there has to be something.”

“Michael, there’s nothing, nada,” she hisses, standing toe to toe with him.  “A fat nothing, zip, nil. Nothing.” The last word catches in her throat. Her body trembles.

Michael hugs her to his chest. “I’m so sorry, Baby. I am so sorry.” 

She cracks, fisting the cotton of his black t-shirt into her hands. She doesn’t want to do this. She doesn’t want to leave Michael. He’s caring, always listening. He’s there for the 2 am diner shifts when her feet feel like they should be falling off and her back is a mess of knots. He’s there for all the music she blares throughout their–well his– apartment. He’s there even when she can’t shoot pool to save her life. He’s there for the baking adventures, even though they end up with him covered in flour and cinnamon. 

She wants to hate him. She wants to despise him for going against South. But she can’t. Marissa understands why Michael did it. But she wishes she didn’t. It would make leaving so much easier. Her chest wouldn’t ache this much. Her voice wouldn’t be hardly going if she didn’t cry, because she couldn’t empathize with him. 

But she has to look out for herself too. She can’t keep sacrificing for a person that wouldn’t do the same in return, that won’t heed the warning she’s tried to give them. So she has to go. Staying would only destroy them both. 

Michael breaks the silence first. “Dance with me? One last time?”

Her chest compresses even more. Her throat feels raw as the sobs fall over it. But Mars nods. One last dance with him. She can give him that, and she can take that with her. That even to the bittersweet end, there was still so much fucking love between them. She’d never think of this, that it would be possible for her to be leaving but still want to stay and still have love to give. 

 Michael guides both of them to the living room, the place where all other dances were shared. She remembers the first time she asked him to dance. He was a little stiff, completely unsure of how to move what was expected of him. So she guided, gently encouraging and with a few laughs at his tense, awkward nature. And it’s not to say he’s a charmer now, but the aunties don’t tease him any more at parties-that’s for sure. 

It takes a few moments before his phone is paired with the Bluetooth speakers. But it’s as the cellos begin singing, and before the voice cuts in, Mars feels her knees go weak. The song she taught Michael to dance to, Esto Es Vida. It played on repeat for nearly an hour, but the smile on his face when he finally got it still makes her heart burst. 

They fit all too well together, arms winding around the other, her nestled so closely and firmly to his chest. His scent is all too familiar in her nostrils, a mixture of their detergent and his musky cologne. She can tell it’s residual from the last time he used it. It’s not as strong, just a faint note in her nose as her ears are filled with soft strumming.

Michael’s face is buried in the soft curls over hair, the lingering floral scent of her shampoo somehow feeling like flames in his nose. He won’t smell that thing again, not in fresh post fresh wash hair. It won’t be covering his pillowcases anymore. He won’t be able to still it for his own hair when it’s far too lazy to replace his own shampoo. God, is he really going to let her go? Is he really going to let her leave? But if there’s nothing he can do to convince,  he won’t force to her stay. That’s the worst thing to do, forcing her to stay in a situation that makes her uncomfortable. He’s never wanted anything but the best for her.

And this is his life, Michael thinks as he helps pack the rest of her things. He should be crying, alone, shouting at her to stay. But instead, he lifts the suitcase into the trunk of her car. He watches the brake lights pulling out away from him. The house is empty when he returns inside. He curls onto the couch, ribs still screaming at him for being in such a position. He puts the song on repeat, a bad move for him as his chest finally cracks and the sobs shake his body.

It’s Penelope that comes by in the late afternoon the next day. She only forces him to shower, noting the takeout boxes she’s left in his fridge. But mostly comes by because she knows her presence should remain more neutral than Calum’s.

“I knew I was losing her. And I still did nothing to stop her.”

Penelope’s a reassuring presence, but even she doesn’t know what to say. 

“I’m an idiot aren’t I? Just letting the girl I love walk away? But I want her happy more than anything. She deserves that, you know?”

“I know.”

“What do you think I should’ve done?”

“I think we make the best choices we can at any given moment. Something in you knew you had to let her go for now. Maybe it’s not forever and maybe it is forever. But either way, I think you made the best choice you could’ve in the situation.”

“But I want her back.”

“Wanting things ain’t a bad thing.”

“I should get ready,” Michael sighs. He needs to make a delivery. And if not for the fact that he wasn’t trying to be any further down on South’s shit list, he would continue his rant. 

“Okay,” Penelope states, standing. “Now promise me tomorrow, even if it’s the only thing you do, you’ll take your trash out?”

“One small thing for myself,” he repeats back to her. 

“Call me. Anytime.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course.”

On instinct, after dropping off the bag, Michael finds himself pulling into the parking lot of the diner. When he cuts off the car, he pauses, one hand on the door lever to let himself out. Mars doesn’t need a ride anymore. He shouldn’t be here. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Michael strikes at his steering wheel, throwing his head back into the not too soft leather. His ribs are bruised, his Baby has left him, he’s cried his eyes out once already and he’s about to do it again. Michael closes his eyes, smashing his lips together as the tears roll.

There’s a knock on his window. When Michael snaps his eyes open, he sees Penelope standing, a sad smile on her face. He nods for her to slide in. Michael lets out a shaky breath. “I fucked up. Hard,” he whispers. “Like really fucked up.”

“I came here, just so you know, on a hunch you’d fuck up. Besides, this is real life. We fuck up sometimes.”

“You probably shouldn’t be here. Block and all”

“I’m not worried about him. He got his money. Anything else he wants is his problem. Not mine.”

Michael hums. Why did even talking hurt? Maybe it’s because he knows Penelope has more information that him. And he knows that she may not sure it even if he asks. 

“She will always love you.”

Michael nods, staring out to the parking lot in front of him, huffing. He’s going to cry again. Huge sobs. He can feel it. “I’ll probably never stop loving her. But I can’t get out. Too much is on the line.”

Penelope gets it. He actively needs the money, his mother’s medical bills are still piling up. He can’t afford to leave now. “No one’s telling you to abandon your mother. This life just isn’t made for Mariss. And it’s okay that it’s not. In all honestly, I don’t think we’re meant for the shit we’ve handled. You and I don’t deserve the shit we were handed. But we all make our choices. Real life has real consequences.”

“I never meant to hurt her.”

“We never mean to hurt the ones we love.”

“She deserves better. I’m no good for her but I want to be better for her. I want to love her. I don’t think I’m built to love anyone else.”

“And if you think that, then you’re going to need a plan. And you’re going to need to get further than we did. That’s for damn sure. But right now, I want to know one thing. Did you get anything? I don’t know if you saw what I left in the fridge?”

He nods meekly. “Yeah. thanks for that.” There’s a moment of silence. “Where is she staying?”

“With Calum and I for the moment.” 

That was a bad idea to ask. She’s not too far from him. He knows that way all too well. He can be there in fifteen minutes on a good day of traffic.  But he just has to make sure she had a place to rest her head. Going back home would never be an option for her, he knew that much. “Do you think Mars will ever take me back?”

“You’d have to ask her and not do whatever you did that fucked this up..”

“I didn’t listen soon enough. I kept thinking I could have it all. Wanted me cake and to eat it too.”

“Sometimes we can, sometimes we can’t.”

“Should I even be worried about that? Getting her back right now?”

“Probably not, no. You should be worried about your ribs and eating. Keeping your place clean. Showering. Keeping a low profile. Your mother. Keeping your head down.”

“You said choices have consequences. And I don’t want Mars to be one. I don’t want her to be a consequence.”

___________

Marissa holds the phone to her hear, catching just enough of her mother over the ruckus in the background to understand that her mother’s talking about some from the church. “Don’t start this--not again. The last boy you tried to set me up--”

“Ahh-Marissa that was just that one who wasn’t all the way there. How was I supposed to know he was married? He had no ring.” 

“I’m just saying your church boys don’t look like they’re going to make it to heaven. So I think I’d rather stick with my own bad judge of character.” She only needs to grab a card quickly and a couple bags of candy. The card for a family friend’s birthday and the candy because Marissa had been craving it for a week. 

The card aisle is quick. But as she stares down the candy aisle of this pharmacy, she knows it’s going to take her a minute. 

“What about--what’s his name? That white boy?”

She almost says his name but steps herself. “What about him?”

“While it beats me, you seemed happy with him. You ever think about reaching back out?”

Mars did--and she had. But it ultimately was ruining her so she had to stop for good. “I-I don’t even know if his number is still the same.” It was, but she didn’t tell her mother that. Penelope and Calum still had contact with him so that’s how she knew. 

Mars carries on down the aisle, trying to see if she can spot anything that jumps out at her. But some of the shelves are bare. An associate’s working at the end of the aisle and she doesn’t want to be in the way. “They don’t have it.”

“Have what, mija?”

“The big bag blow pops. I see laffy taffy, but I don’t know.”

“Sorry ma’am, I’m working on restocking--”

Mars looks up just as the associate finishes with the box they’re breaking down. “Michael?” she breathes. 

“Mars?”

“That’s his name!” her mother shouts. “Michael! I kinda liked him. Don’t tell your father that. But he always--” 

Mars mutes the call--she can’t hang up unless she’s risking her life. “What-what are you doing here?”

Michael taps the name tag. “I kind of work here.”

“At a CVS?”

“GameStop never replied to my application. So I figured maybe they weren’t interested.”

And he’s still the same. A bit sarcastic, but easy going. “But wait, a CVS?” And she whispers it, like saying it too loud would cause a panic. 

“It took me a couple years to get myself straightened out. But yeah, now at a CVS. And while it’s mundane and exhausting, I figured it was by time to get my life together.”

Marissa listens for a moment and her mother is still going. “Like him dancing at Jessie’s party. It still makes me giggle.” 

“But, uh, about the blow pops. I’m 90% sure it’s on my car to reshelf. And I can make it 100% my next priority if you’ve got five minutes for me to find it.”

“Oh you-you don’t have to.”

“I mean they kinda pay me to have to, so it’s not a problem.”

“I guess then, I’ve got five minutes to spare.”

Michael smiles, turning back to the cart at the end of the aisle and crouches down. “I can feel you staring. So go ahead--ask away.”

There’s a lot to be asked. But Marissa’s more shocked than anything to get one of them to come out coherently. Like how did Michael get out? Is his mother doing well? Where was he staying now? Would South be looking for him? But instead all Marissa can do is stare. The glasses have changed, but he still looks the same. And she’s not even sure he’d aged at all in the time it’s been. 

“Found it!” He calls tugging on the box to free it from the pile. He makes quick work to open the box with his blade and then hands a bag to her. “Also, if you don’t mind, maybe we could catch up over dinner? There’s this diner I used to go to all the time because of this really cute waitress.”

Mars grins. “I think I know the place. What time?”

“I’m off Thursday evening. Say seven?”

“Sounds perfect to me.”

[quinnonimp]

wanted to test out my splatstyle brushes with my silly boy. his name is calum

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[prev post for context]

fun fact my agent ocs are in the same story as cablecore, all bc of nova x captain 3 rivalry yuri

if uve read novas artfight page u can definitely tell theres something up with her & captain 3, but theyre a lot more intertwined than ive had the chance to show people ! (though i def wanna make a comic abt it all ..) meanwhile the rest of the members are pretty much strangers, though in varying degrees, as they havent met each other via nova but rather as just normal civilians in splatsville . i like to keep it in the back of my head that the teams are like parallels in a way ! bc while theyre very different characters, & the purposes/origins of the teams being very different, theres some key traits or dynamics that are familiar

the parallels laid out would be:

nova & captain 3

calum & agent 8

barbwire & agent neo

stray & agent 4

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ARTFIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIGHT

finally finished my artfight card !!!!!!!!!! dont know why i procrastinated on it so much when it was so easy to draw ..

[quinnonimp]

making them bully each other, whatre they up to this time?

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scrimbly bimbly doodles

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the commander, nova langusta !

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aggie for the millionth time this week yass

the guy that isnt a pony in the first pic is @ieilaf 's oc :3

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hs aggie doodles #normal

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i luv artfight :3

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cal doodles from last night

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messy aggie doodles that i will hopefulyl color someday

the frye is for a little idea me n my friends had where we put parts of our sonas into idols

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noooo i like 100% forgot you had covid get well soon : [ !!!!! & yesss cablecore... forgot if youve said this anywhere but do they have classpects O_O

thank u 🙏

and yesss they do !!!

their classpects r still a wip since im working on their characterizations/stories aswell but so far:

barbwire - rogue of rage

novalan - prince of mind

calum - mage of breath

stray - thief of rage