#& i’m watching this dude for a couple minutes struggling with this plastic caught on the pallet he’s trying to grab

[nothingweirdhere]

saw a guy flip off a piece of plastic wrap today & honestly? mood.

[shorkbrian]

Creep

Prelude - bitch hold on what about mean brother Shigs being an absolute creep? Inspired by me playing a boss in AC Odyssey and my controller vibrated so hard I almost dropped it, and I couldn’t beat this dude and it was so freaking frustrating!!!!!! 

Pairing - Shigaraki X Reader

Warnings - - INCEST, NSFW, innocence kink, do not read if those squick you out bro!!! Seriously! abuse of trust, dubcon, noncon, literally nothing about this situation is good, or healthy, or nice. Disgusting behavior is exhibited by Shigs.

Music - (does anyone actually like when I provide music? I like getting music vibes while I read through fics but ik that my music taste is a bit wacky lol anyways). https://open.spotify.com/track/0ODyahnUlK9G5bT4dA5NCI?si=10R9ggoJS1inYidrMeWrHA

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He offers to let you play his Xbox game, you keep annoying him by pouting for his attention and he gives up with trying to ignore you.

Stipulation - you gotta sit on his lap while you play, you’re such a stupid little girl that he forces his hands over yours, showing you how to use the Xbox controller while sneering at how dumb you are.

You’re too focused on the game to pay attention to how one of his hands has dropped from the controller, is creeping up your thigh, thumbing at the hem of your shorts. You don't realize that he’s plastered against your back, breath picking up in your ear as he hunches over your shoulder, thinking of all the dirty things he wants to do to you, how you’re too absent-minded to realize how much of a perverted creep he is. 

“Shit!” You curse, breaking Shigaraki out of his thoughts as you bounce your leg in frustration. He feels the slight vibration of the controller - you’re getting attacked in the game, enemies surrounding you and hacking at your player. Shigaraki is too entranced by how he can watch your jiggling breasts over your shoulder, jostling around as you jerk your arms, trying to not die in the game.

“Nii-san help me, ‘m gonna die!” You shriek, whole body getting into the gaming experience, jerking around in his lap as you struggle to press the right buttons. Shigaraki tries not to groan - he can feel the space between your thighs as you move around, hot and doughy and he wants to touch so bad.

Yeah, he’s always been a bit of a creep, but he’s never actually done anything to you.

The most he does is fantasize, thinking about how you’d feel clamping down on him, how’d you’d taste if he made you ride his face. What you’d look like if he forced his cock into you with barely any prep - you’d squeeze your eyes shut so tight, let out little whimpers and clench your fists because “Hurts, hurts! Go slow Nii-san, don’t want this!”

But he wouldn’t have to listen, you’re just a naive little girl who doesn’t know that Shigaraki would be trying to make you feel good too, that it would feel good soon.

“Stop wiggling, you’re gonna fall off.” He rasps back at you, taking his other hand off the controller to grab your waist, barely saving you from keeling over and onto the floor. You’re left to fend for yourself now, button-mashing, groaning when you finally succumb to your enemies and die a violent, gory death.

“I died! Why didn’t you help, you’re right here?!” the accusatory tone of your voice is ignored as you revert to the last save, huffing in frustration as you’re forced to start over.

“You’re never gonna learn if I’m holding your hands like that.”

Shigaraki’s glad you’ve stilled again - if you’d kept up your wiggling, he’d have to figure out a way to explain what the hard thing poking into the side of your plush little rear.

God, you had the most perfect ass.

Maybe he’s a freak, a disgusting man with fucked up morals, but Shigaraki’s always been a social outcast, seen as weird and wrong and criticized for every little thing he did.

What’s wrong with settling into the role other people were so quick to offer him?

Surely you’ve noticed his odd behavior by now, the behavior that’s picked up in the last few years. How he stares at you a little more than he should, how sometimes he slips into bed with you, murmuring some lame excuse about not being able to sleep.

The way he freezes when you give him an affectionate hug, clenching his fists by his side as your breasts are squished up against his body.

You had to have caught on to his uncharacteristic softness with you. He’s still mean and coarse and rude, but there's an underlying affection underneath the way he mocks your outfits, when he says you look like the gross character out of a manga he’s reading, how he tugs on your hair sometimes when he passes by you, wheezing out a laugh if you turn around and try to slap at him in irritation.

If you didn’t want him to be weird, you could’ve said something by now. You should’ve said something by now.

So really, it’s your own fault that he feels so comfortable being a sicko.

“Don’t tickle, I gotta focus.” You tell him, squirming away when he runs a hand experimentally over your stomach. You’re so cute, and dumb, he wants to bully you until you’re crying, say mean things and hurt your feelings only so he can kiss it better. 

But he doesn’t, because he’s a good brother.

His hand travels further up, rests right underneath your breast, almost cupping it. Still, you don’t say anything, attention on the game.

Do you want this? Are you just stupid? His affection is so obviously not normal for siblings, and yet you act like it’s fine. Maybe you’re a virgin, untainted with the knowledge of how sexual touches feel like.

The hand on your waist begins to slip under your shorts, his cold fingers quickly warmed by your skin. “Nii-san, stop that, it’s weird.”

Ah, there’s the common sense.

“I though you wanted to play the game? Don’t be a bitch.” He doesn’t really care whether you want him willingly now or not, he’s getting excited by the heat of your body, your weight on his lap.

You pause the game when his hand creeps lower into your shorts, when his fingers skim low over your tummy, too close to a private place that brothers shouldn't touch.

“Stop touching me, I don’t like that.”

“It’s not like you wouldn’t enjoy it.” He mumbles, and you stiffen in his lap, but he quickly takes his hand out of your shorts, stops cupping your soft breast.

The game gets unpaused, and you resume playing, although your attention is divided now, nervous about sitting in your brother’s lap.

Has it finally clicked? Are you thinking about what he could do to you, how he could make you feel?

“You suck at this.” Shigaraki observes, the controller shaking almost violently as you’re attacked again, overwhelmed by enemies.

“Well, maybe if you taught me how to play instead of being weird, I wouldn’t be.” You snarked, frustrated with the game, uneasy with your brother holding your hips like that.

Shigaraki rolls his eyes. You’re so dramatic, and although you have a valid point, he’s always been weird. This is nothing new, you’ve just been too thick-skulled to realize it before, which isn’t his fault.

A few more tries, and you still can’t get past the one group of enemies, dying after a few minutes every single time. You’re going to waste the batteries like that, controller jumping in your hands. 

“I can’t-” You whine, coming across the enemies after your latest death, already knowing what’s going to happen.

Shigaraki stays silent, red eyes finally flickering away from your body and up to the screen of the TV. 

You’re at one of the hardest parts of the game, facing a section that took Shigaraki two days to beat (not that he’ll tell you that). He grins as you throw yourself into the fight, immediately getting decked.

The noises you’re letting out are cute, frustrated groans on each hit landed on your player, muttered curses and triumphant scoffs whenever you manage to strike an enemy, which isn’t often.

The controller’s still shaking like crazy, and you’re moving around in his lap again, and Shigaraki is done. He can’t take this anymore, you’re being a tease.

He snatches the Xbox controller out of your hands, ignoring your little “Hey! What’re you doing, I was playing!”

“You call this playing?” The shuddering of the controller surprises him, gives him an idea.

There hadn’t been a plan, he had just been acting on instinct, hands itching to push you off his lap and to the floor, just to see the way you’d look up at him after. 

Like that, you’d be in the perfect position to suck his cock.

But he wants to go in a different direction now.

“Stay still, you’re so annoying.” He’s spreading his legs out, sinking back further in his chair to get a better angle, your legs hooked over his.

There’s no time for you to protest. Like this, you’re spread out nicely, exposed, even though your shorts cover your intimate place.

Without any further preamble, Shigaraki shoves the vibrating controller up against your clothed cunt.

“NIi-san!” You shriek, immediately writhing in his hold. But Shigaraki has an arm locked around your chest, keeping you pinned to his chest. “Don’t, think sins’t-this isn't-! Stop this, stop! Don’t touch me!”

He can bet it feels good, that you’re struggling to tell him to stop. He begins rubbing the controller against you, snickering at the way you jolt and writher on each pass of the hard, curved plastic against your protected clit. He can’t even imagine how good it would feel if your stupid shorts weren’t in the way.

“Stop, stop! Stop it! Stop!” You sound like a broken record.

“Shut up, you can’t even play the game right. Feel that?” the controller gets rubbed harder against you, and you writhe. “That’s how bad you are. So pathetic, can’t even fend off a couple of bad guys.”

Can’t even fend off one, Shigaraki thinks to himself. You could be trying harder to get out of his hold, could be screaming and yelling and scratching and kicking.

Well, you are scratching and kicking, moving around so much that he’s having a hard time keeping you still. And you making a lot of noise, but there’s no one else home.

He’s fully hard, and every movement you make struggling rubs him right up against the meat of your ass, and he sucks in a stuttered breath, biting his lip.

“No, no, no, no, don’t want this Nii-san, stop it-” Your panicked pleas are ignored, Shigaraki shoving your hands away as you try to pull the controller off of your cunt, get the vibrations to stop.

On screen, the player is still getting attacked, each new hit making the controller vibrate even harder.

“Ow, ow! It hurts, make it stop! Nii-san-”

“I’ll gag you if you don’t stop complaining.” Shigaraki seethes, feeling irritation creep up. “It hurts because you’ve never felt this good before, idiot.”

He remembers the first time he’d used something on his dick. It was your toothbrush, unsurprisingly, the one that vibrated with three different speeds and made you so proud of your pearly whites.

It had been so overwhelming, he couldn’t even touch the back of the head to his cock. At times, it felt so good it had hurt, had completely blinded his senses and leave him in a puddle of his own cum and sweat, panting.

So Shigaraki understood what you were trying to say - your inexperienced body needed him to slow down, ease up a little. But your gross, nasty brother wanted to ruin you.

Your character on screen died, resulting in one last heavy vibration that made you sob, thighs struggling to snap shut, hands desperately pushing at Shigaraki.

He felt you convulse in his grip, could practically feel the way your little hole was clenching as you gushed all over yourself, whining and moaning at the pleasure.

Your character was sent back to the last save, the game on a loading screen.

But Shigaraki wasn’t done.

He was still hard against your back, rubbing himself off as best he could, but he was finding his own pleasure in watching you writhe on his lap.

The controller was tossed to the side, nimble fingers sliding over your shorts, Shigaraki laughing at what he found.

“You’re so wet, holy fuck. That’s disgusting, wow.” You were drenched, the fabric of your shorts completely soaked with your juices. You only sobbed out a pitiful noise, maybe trying to deny it, but Shigaraki wasn’t listening. He was too busy rubbing over the wet spot, gleefully feeling you up. It was easy for his fingers to find a comfortable, mind-numbing rhythm, so used to playing games and deftly pushing buttons, using sticks and joysticks, directional pads and the like.

You were rocking against his hand unconcsiously, body unable and unwilling to decided whether to pull away or push closer - you had just cum, but that didn’t negate the vicious, heady sensation that his fingers brought.

Shigaraki quickly grew bored of this though, unable to ignore his dripping erection. He had never been a patient man, quickly removing the hand stimulating your swollen pussy so he could pull his cock out of his sweatpants.

With a quick movement, your shorts were tugged down, your brother completely pushing past your refusal to lift your hips, burning your skin with how forcefully the fabric was ripped down.

“Nii-san, what are you doing-you can’t, you can’t!” You cried, renewing your struggle when you felt skin against skin, his cock hot and velvety as it rested against your cheeks. “I don’t wanna do this, don’t make me do this-”

“I don’t care. I’ve tried to be good, and it’s like you don’t even care.” The man ground out, beginning to rut his hips against your ass. It was dry, and it didn’t feel great, but it was more than enough to satisfy Shigaraki. “I barely touch you, I keep my hands to myself-”

Which was a lie. Late at night, when he was sure you were fast asleep, he’d touch, just a little. Rubbing your nipples, feeling them peak under his touch. Feeling the curve of your waist, skin soft against his dry palms.

“-I wouldn’t stare either, but you wear those stupid shirts-” The deep cut ones, the ones that showed off your cleavage and allowed him weeks of jerk-off material.

“So annoying, just a stupid little imoto that follows me around, you just want attention.”

He knows you don’t do it on purpose. You aren’t trying to make him see you in a sexual light. But maybe that’s what makes it all the more appealing, how naive and innocent you are.

Fuck, he’s getting close just thinking about your purity, how much you don’t know, how much he could teach you.

He doesn’t know a ton, but Shigaraki knows enough about what feels good for him, and you probably wouldn’t want to learn, but he deserved something nice every once in a while, didn’t he?

The drag of his cock between your ass cheeks was making him loose his mind, the slide too rough, but it felt delicious and stimulated him just right, pulling at his foreskin and spreading his precum into a sticky mess on your skin.

“Fuck, stay still, lemme feel good-” His voice was choked up, still holding it’s usual nasal resonance. 

You sobbed in his hold, his fingers still playing over your shorts, exploring, keeping you occupied and frozen with sensation while he got himself off with your body.

And then he was breaking, splurting his seed all over your lower back, watching it come out of his cock in shaky squirts, painting your skin a cloudy white.

Shigaraki groaned, eyes transfixed to the sight before him. It was hard to keep them open, body shaking with little snaps of pleasure in his veins, in his stomach.

On the bed next to his thigh, the controller started shaking again. Panting, Shigaraki raised his eyes to the TV screen as you slumped against him, softly crying.

Your character was getting attacked again.

“Let’s keep playing.”

And the vibrating controller was pressed to your bare cunt, making you scream.

He’d have to wash it after this, but he figured it was worth it in the grand scheme of things

[hermannsthumb]

I've read fics where Hermann disapproves of PDAs but what about the reverse? As in he's so stunned at winning the most amazing man in the Shatterdome (6 phds, literal rockstar, gorgeous Newt) that he deliberately provokes contact and shows of affection. Just to show off to people and send a clear back off signal. And Newt just dotes on him obliviously.

ok this one is another super old prompt and when I was writing it this week it KINDA got away from me. but I hope everyone enjoyyyys. partially inspired from conversations with @k-sci-janitor 👀 totally sfw, except for one brief reference

anyway, a fic about hermann being all affectionate with newt and also discovering what relaxation is 

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The day after the world doesn’t end, Hermann brings Newt breakfast in bed.

Honestly, it surprises Newt more than the whole world not ending thing. Up until the previous evening, after all, Newt was pretty damn sure the guy absolutely hated him, and that if Hermann was gonna do something as out of character as bringing him breakfast, it surely meant he’d spat in it first. Or maybe poisoned it. If hated isn’t the right word, Newt would say Hermann at the very least barely tolerated. And then the whole sharing the neural load thing happened. And, after that, hugging, not once, but twice, and then falling asleep in bed together. And now Hermann’s perched on the edge of his bed (which they shared while they slept) and handing him a plate.

“You had quite the busy day yesterday,” Hermann says kindly. Hermann has never spoken to Newt kindly before. Atop the plate are two pieces of toast, a soft-boiled egg, and a mug of coffee. The coffee and toast (Newt notices) are exactly the shade he prefers. He wonders if Hermann picked up on it before or after the whole mind-melding thing. Before wouldn’t surprise him—Hermann has always been weird about noticing details like that. The egg, however, is something purely Hermann in taste. “I imagine you could use a nice spot of breakfast,” he adds.

Newt shoves his glasses on and blinks at Hermann groggily. He struggles to sit up, partially tangled in his sheets, and then takes the plate. A little bit of coffee sloshes down onto one of the slices of toast. “Are you wearing my sweatshirt?” he says.

Hermann smiles and looks down at the ragged old MIT sweatshirt he’s tossed on. He may have a few inches on Newt, but he’s still one skinny motherfucker, and it hangs almost comically off his frame. “I am,” he says. “I poked around in your closet, I hope you don’t mind. My clothing was in a rather sorry state.”

Sorry state is an understatement for both of them. Newt’s surprised they haven’t been formally ordered to burn the shit they wore to the bone slums yet. Blood, dirt, and kaiju guts aside, Newt’s, at least, reeks to high heaven with sweat. “No worries,” Newt says. He picks up the coffee and blows on it. He wonders where Hermann got coffee that smells this good. It’s been hard to find anything decent and non-instant on the base these days, and (thanks to limited rations) chain shops like Starbucks cost an arm and a leg for even a small. He also wonders what people thought when they saw Hermann strutting around the base with bedhead in a sweatshirt that obviously wasn’t his. Newt almost wants to blush on his behalf. Scandalous.

Before Newt can so much as take a sip of the coffee, Hermann is suddenly unbuckling and shucking off his grey slacks. “Dude!” Newt yelps, flushing bright red to the tips of his ears. Hermann blinks at him innocently. “What are you doing?”

It’s not so much that Newt is upset as it is that it’s so wildly out of character for Hermann that he feels he owes it to Hermann to act at least moderately scandalized. In all his years of knowing and working alongside Hermann, he’s never so much as seen Hermann’s bare wrist before. Now he’s in Newt’s goddamn bed flashing calves, and thighs, and neatly-pressed little white briefs��� Hermann rolls his eyes and tosses the slacks (unfolded!) onto Newt’s desk chair. “Making myself comfortable,” he says. “Would you like me to stop?”

Does Hermann iron his underwear? It would be at odds with the rest of his clothing if he did, which is usually in various stages of frumpy to outright wrinkled, but Newt can’t think of how else it would look like that. He wonders if Hermann’s stitched his name on the inner waistband. It seems like the kind of thing Hermann would do. Newt suddenly realizes he’s been staring at Hermann’s briefs (and, worse still, considering how cute Hermann looks in just them and Newt’s sweatshirt) for an uncomfortably long time, so he quickly shakes his head and drags his eyes to Hermann’s face. One of Hermann’s eyebrows is quirked up. Newt hasn’t been subtle. “No,” he says. He clears his throat. “No, dude, you’re—all good.”

He chokes down a too-hot sip of coffee to have something to do with his mouth.

Hermann smirks.

The bedcovers are drawn back. Hermann slips under them and drapes an arm across Newt’s chest, his hand curling protectively over Newt’s hip. With his other hand he snags Newt’s coffee from his grasp and takes a sip. Newt watches his jaw and throat work as he swallows it, a funny feeling blooming in the pit of his stomach. The mug is handed back over, Hermann’s fingers brushing against Newt’s, which make Newt feel even funnier. “Newton,” Hermann declares. “I think we ought to have sex.”

“Oh,” Newt says. “Can I finish my breakfast first?”

“Certainly,” Hermann says.

Newt’s heart pounds as he spreads a little packet of margarine across one of the pieces of toast; he can feel Hermann’s eyes on him, never straying once. Hermann’s hand draws little circles on his hip. Newt drops his toast twice to the plate before he can successfully take a bite, and even when he does, he doesn’t taste it. Hermann’s fingers dip under the hem of his t-shirt. Newt swallows his toast. “Why?” he says.

Apparently it’s the right question. Hermann nods, like he’s pleased Newt has asked. Like they’re talking theories or something. “I came to the conclusion while I fetching your coffee,” Hermann says. “It occurred to me that I wouldn’t have gotten up at seven in the morning to get coffee for just anyone. Then, of course, there is the whole drifting business—”

“You realized you wouldn’t have done that for just anyone too, huh?” Newt says with a smile. Hermann’s hand on his hip stills, and his cheeks go pink. Newt’s relieved to have gotten some ground back here. “Hermann, that’s sooo romantic.”

“The world was at stake,” Hermann sniffs.

“It’s okay,” Newt says. “I won’t tell anyone the great Dr. Gottlieb has feelings. So, what, you realized you have a big ole crush on me?”

Hermann takes the unfinished piece of toast from him and sets it down on his plate. He pulls Newt’s glasses off, kisses him soundly, and then puts Newt’s glasses back on. His mouth tastes like toothpaste. “On the contrary, I’ve always suspected it,” he says. “It’s just that now I have the time to confirm it.” He reaches up and strokes at Newt’s hair. “We have the time for lots of things, now, Newton. Whatever we’d like.”

Newt finishes off his coffee quickly, not even caring when he burns his tongue, and then tosses the remainder of his breakfast to the floor. His egg spills onto the massacred skinny corduroys he wore yesterday. Whatever, Newt’s burning them anyway. “God, get overhere already, man,” he says, tugging at Hermann’s borrowed sweatshirt. He needs to help Hermann confirm his crush or whatever, pronto.

--

It’s a few days before Newt and Hermann finally drag themselves out of bed and to the lab to tackle what little work remains for them to do—cataloguing what are apparently the last kaiju samples known to man (Newt), recording and backing up their drift data (Newt’s solo drift, and then their joint data), drawing some random scribbles on the board and pretending they’re important calculations about the possibility of the Breach reopening (Hermann. Okay, whatever, maybe they are important). Unfortunately, the delay isn’t for any sexy reasons, as much as Newt would’ve liked it to have been. The events of the last day of the war caught up with them pretty quickly after that morning in Newt’s bed, and they mostly just slept, ordered out dinner, popped ibuprofen for their various aches, and avoided medical at all costs. (Rumor had it the medical staff on base were looking for him and Hermann so they could do some brain scans. Apparently drifting with a kaiju brain is potentially dangerous, who knew.)

A rancid smell washes over them the second they push the heavy lab doors open, and Newt spots several hunks of kaiju organs rotting away on his workbench. Hermann clamps a hand to his mouth. “Oops,” Newt says, turning to Hermann sheepishly. He can’t help but cower as he does. He and Hermann got along swimmingly the past couple days—it’ll be sad to see all that hard work go down the drain over this. “Guess I forgot to clean up the other day. In my defense—we were kind of busy.”

But Hermann doesn’t snap at Newt, or thump his cane on the ground, or call Newt an idiot, or even look annoyed; he lowers his hand from his mouth and laughs. Albeit a terse laugh, but still. Newt gapes at him. “We were rather busy,” Hermann concedes. “So long as you clean it up in the next ten minutes, I—what, Newton?”

“Nothing,” Newt says, quickly. “I’m gonna—um—deal with it now.”

Hermann disappears from the lab while Newt is digging around in the storage closet for extra heavy-duty trash bags. When he comes back an hour later, he’s holding a cardboard tray of small plastic cups, and Newt has just hefted his last spoiled sample into the lab’s airtight biohazard bin (a bit mournfully, if he’s being honest, since he’s sure there’s still more to learn about the kaiju from them). Newt squints at the cups in the tray while he rips his messy disposable work gloves off. “What’s that?” he says.

“Iced coffee,” Hermann declares.

The gloves slap, wetly, into the biohazard bin, and Newt lets out a low whistle. “Dude. No way. From where?” He’s not sure when he gave off the impression that the way to his heart was good coffee, but maybe it’s true. Then again, Hermann could probably win him over with a cup of lukewarm tap water. Not because Newt is desperate or anything. He just really likes Hermann.

“A little shop a bit away from the base,” Hermann says. “I took the bus.” He draws back his chair and sits down with a soft sigh, setting his cane against his desk. Then he draws out a small brown paper bag from his parka pocket. He tosses it to Newt; Newt catches it with one hand. “They had these funny little cakes on sticks. I thought you might like one.”

“Cake pops?” Newt says.

“I presume,” Hermann says. While Newt inhales the little chocolate-dipped cake pop (which is so good, oh my God, Newt hasn’t had dessert that didn’t come from a vending machine in plastic shrink wrap in years), Hermann adds, “I wasn’t sure what sort of iced coffee you liked, so I made sure to get a variety.”

“Sick,” Newt says, spewing crumbs on his shirt. “Um. But, like, why though?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Hermann says. “I suppose I wanted to do something kind for you.” He carefully slides a straw out of its paper wrappings and pokes it into the lid of one of the coffees. Once he crumples up the wrapper and tosses It into his train bin, he grips his cane, and uses the handle to nudge Newt’s desk chair towards him. “You worked awfully hard cleaning the laboratory.”

Newt preens a little, even as he privately wonders why Hermann’s acting so weird. Well, nice. But nice is weird for Hermann, so they’re basically the same thing. Is this part of his whole deciding whether or not he digs Newt thing? Newt just assumed the awesome morning they spent together would be proof enough of that. Then again, Hermann’s pretty thorough. “I guess,” Newt says. “It was kind of my mess, though.”

Hermann pats at the empty chair with a smile. Hermann’s smiles are so rare—crooked, and stupid cute—that Newt’s heart gives a painful little twist at the sight of it, and he realizes he doesn’t actually give a shit about why Hermann’s being all weird, actually. “You’ve earned a break,” Hermann says. “Besides, I’d like to spend time with you.”

Newt’s too stunned to argue with that one. When he sits down, Hermann inches their chairs together until their knees are touching.

--

They don’t necessarily fall back into their usual habits by the next week, but the better ones they’ve picked up (being a little kinder to each other, a little more patient, a little more respectful, and also the fact that Hermann can’t seem to stop touching Newt) all but fall into the background as Newt throws himself into his work with renewed determination. Unfortunately, his desire to get it all done as soon as fucking possible speaks less to his awesome work ethic, and more to the fact that he’s just not sure what else to do with himself now, and he likes that work gives him the excuse to not think about it. Hermann said they have all the time to do whatever they like now. Well, Newt likes working. He knows working. Relaxation is a foreign concept to him, and it was a foreign concept to Hermann up until recently. While Newt is toiling away over his decaying kaiju samples in the lab, Hermann is out—

“Where?” Newt says.

Hermann gives Newt the most serene smile Newt’s ever seen cross his face. “I took a bath,” he says. “It was very nice. I bought some nice soaps, and lit some candles, and looked online to see how to do one of those mud masks. It was very relaxing. You ought to try it.”

“Try bathing?” Newt says.

“Yes. Well, no. I mean taking a bath. Is there something you’re not understanding?”

Newt tries to imagine Hermann with a mud mask on his face and cucumbers over his eyes and fails miserably. Hermann hates messes. He would never stand for mud, let alone on his skin. Where’d he even find a bathtub? Did he break into the rangers’ locker room again? Aren't candles banned on base for being a fire hazard, anyway? “Yeah,” Newt says. “Pretty much all of it.”

Hermann shakes his head with a snort, and Newt catches a whiff of something floral and fragrant—his fancy new soap or oil, he guesses. “I’m not surprised. You know, Newton, you are awfully tense.”

Hearing that from Hermann of all people, the king of having-a-massive-stick-up-your-ass, is probably the funniest thing that’s ever happened to Newt. He laughs out loud and plunges a bare hand into his kaiju sample with a gross squelching noise. “Sure, dude.”

He’s almost too engrossed in his sample to feel Hermann sidling up behind him and setting a hand at his waist. He definitely feels Hermann nose a kiss behind his ear, though, and the hot flush that spreads down across his neck from it. Newt’s hand goes sweaty around his scalpel. One thing he definitely wasn’t expecting from a post-no-apocalypse Hermann is how free he is with affection in any and all forms. “Give it a rest, love,” Hermann murmurs. He nudges at the heel of Newt’s boot with the end of his cane. Love? “Why don’t we head back to my quarters and watch a film? You can pick.”

“But.” Newt fidgets. “I have—my sample—”

Another little kiss. The soapy-oil smell is stronger now. Newt thinks it might be lavender. He wonders if the mud mask left Hermann’s skin all soft. “It won’t be going anywhere, Newton.”

Newt sets down his scalpel.

When they they pass by a group of LOCCENT staff in the hallway, Newt makes to drop Hermann’s hand (which Hermann had laced together with his own before they left the lab), but Hermann holds fast, maybe even faster than before, and looks at him with his stupidly sweet set of big eyes. Newt waits until they round the corner to say anything. “Sorry,” he says, lamely. “Um. I thought—you wouldn’t want—” Hermann continues to stare at him. His iris is still ringed red like Newt’s. “I just mean I know you’re weird about stuff like that. Public stuff.” Hermann has been a closed and tightly-bound book for as long as Newt’s known him; he can’t imagine that would suddenly change and he would start broadcasting his emotions far and wide in the course of a week just because he’s a little less stressed.

Or, you know. Maybe Newt’s totally wrong on this. “Ah,” Hermann says. He nods, very seriously. “Yes. I have been considering that as well. I see no reason to hide recent developments in our relationship.” He squeezes Newt’s hand. "In fact, I see no reason to not be quite, er, proud of them. You’re quite the catch.”

Newt remembers the stolen sweatshirt. Maybe Hermann wearing it out to get them breakfast was more calculated than he realized. “So if I made out with you against the wall right now you wouldn’t be mad?” Newt says.

“Well,” Hermann says, inclining his head to his door, "seeing as my quarters are right there, it seems a rather unnecessary inconvenience.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Newt smiles as Hermann leads him in. “Can I really pick the movie?”

“Within reason.”

[milstrim]

Comfort in My Shadow

Chapter 6: That I Would Be Good

By @iwritedumbshit for @iron-mum

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Minor Pepper Potts/Tony Stark

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Pepper Potts, Ned Leeds, James “Rhodey” Rhodes

Summary: Soulmates are definite in the universe. Nobody knows exactly why they exist, or what dictates who is bonded to who, the only thing known is that they are never wrong. But Peter’s not so sure about that.

Living at the group home had taught Peter a lot about laying low and how to stay alive when nobody cares. But he’d always clung to the hope of the shadow at his feet reflecting his soulmate that had watched over him for years.

Typical that his soulmate is actually a superhero that Peter is convinced shouldn’t want anything to do with him. Maybe, just this once, the Universe was wrong.

But Tony Stark is desperate to prove that it is right.

Ch 1 // Ch 2 // Ch 3 // Ch 4 // Ch 5 // Ch 7 // Ch 8

---

When Peter woke up, it was horribly bright. His eyes opened a sliver only to be immediately squeezed shut with a groan, a sensory overload surely on its way as the harsh yellow light broke through even his tightly shut eyes. He could already feel the migraine, but the teenager pushed it down as the memories of what had happened flooded back.

The ferry. Mr. Stark. The suit. The men in the alley. And then...darkness. And now wherever he was right now he guessed. After a few moments, Peter managed to crack his eyes open again, surprised a little by the room he was in, not that he'd expected much to be honest.

Peter himself was chained to a pillar, his arms cuffed around it uncomfortably while metal ropes twisted around him at least five times over. His entire body was stiff, leaving him to think he'd been stuck in this position for at least a few hours. What time was it? Had anyone noticed he was missing? Peter blinked emptily, very much doubting it. Nobody at Queens Pinehill Group Home for Boys would be expecting him home until late, and it wasn't like Mr. Stark was going to be looking for him.

The teenager took a deep, rattled breath, pushing the regret to the back of his mind and observing the rest of his situation instead.

The yellow lights in the room were horrible bright, allowing for Peter's shadow to loom out in front of him in a stark contrast to the light concrete ground. He forced himself to turn away from it, instead trying to find a means of escape. There were no windows in the small room that he would peg as a larger storage room, though there wasn't really anything to store. There were a few plastic shelves that had wheels on the end, but, save for a couple of blankets and a pillow, there was nothing resting on them. The only other things in the room were a metal door, a stained bucket, a few stools, and a blinking camera.

Peter turned to glare at it directly, watching it warily as the light on it blinked red. Who was behind that camera? It had to be the vulture guy, right? He'd recognized one of the men that had come to grab him, and they had alien weapons, so. Yeah, Peter may have gotten in a little over his head.

"Hello?" he called, shouldering the ropes wrapped around him. They didn't give, just rubbing against the hoodie that still smelled of Mr. Stark. He tried desperately to block it out. "Hey! What the hell's going on!?"

There was, of course, no answer, so he slumped against the pillar, grimacing at the hunger gnawing at his stomach. He wished desperately that he knew what time it was. Then again, he guessed it didn't really matter. His grounding had already been extended, and what was a few more missed meals? It surely didn't feel like it really mattered anymore.

It was a few minutes before anyone came by. Peter was straining against the chains, struggling to get some kind of hold in his awkward position, when the sound of footsteps caught his attention. He paused in his efforts, stilling to stare at the door as it opened and a wrinkled man stepped through. It took him a moment, but he was quick to realize that it had been the man on the ferry.

This must be the vulture guy.

The door boomed to a slow shut behind the man, who grabbed one of the stools and sat atop it, regarding Peter easily. There was a minute of tense silence before anyone spoke.

"I'm sorry to do this to you, Peter," the man started. Peter scowled. Great. Of course the man knew his name. "But you're bad for business, and so is your little shadow right there, so you'll be staying with us for the time being."

Peter blinked, trying to hide his surprise as he glanced down at the shadow he'd been avoiding. The vulture guy knew Mr. Stark was his soulmate?

"What is this? A ransom? Because he won't pay."

The man huffed sarcastically, shaking his head. "You two seem close." Peter bristled at the mockery in the man's voice. "But, no, I'm not going to ransom you for money. You'll be a nice and easy distraction while we take what we want."

Peter stared at him in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"I'm afraid you aren't cleared to know that," the man said, standing up. "The light will stay on while you're here, in case you give Stark any flashes. The only way out is through this door, which has a second electric door on it that will reactivate once I leave. If you stay nice for this first day, or if you somehow manage to do it yourself, you'll be let out of the chains and brought meals on the regular. Understand?"

"How long do you think you're going to keep me here?"

"Just a few days. You will miss your Homecoming, though, I'm afraid."

"How did you find me?" Peter demanded. The man gave him a threatening smile.

"All we had to do was follow your shadow."

And then he was out the door. Peter was left alone in the overly bright room. Just him, his shadow, and the clinking chains.

He knocked his head against the pillar, closing his eyes shut with a regretful sigh.

  ---

After a few hours of rest, Peter managed to wrestle out of his ropes. First he snapped the handcuffs holding him against the pillar, flinching as the metal cut into his skin, and then tearing through the last of the binds restraining the rest of him. As the man had promised, no one came for him after he'd freed himself from the ropes, leaving the boy to his own devices. So he'd gone on to try and figure a plan of escape. These men were planning something, scheming to trick Mr. Stark, and they were going to use him to do it. And Peter wasn't going to let them.

That had been two days ago.

With a tired sigh, the teenager knocked his head against the stone wall for the millionth time that day, staring up at the camera and wishing desperately there was at least something for him to do. He'd even take a coloring book at this point. With those dumb twisty Crayola pencils. Anything was better than just sitting here and wondering.

Wondering what was happening. Wondering how people were reacting to his disappearing. Wondering if Mr. Stark had heard, or if he'd cared. And, of course, pondering the 'What if?'

What if Peter hadn't gone after the vulture guy? What if he'd listened to Mr. Stark? What if he'd done better and been able to take the man down without messing up? Would he be a good soulmate then? One worthy of Mr. Stark?

There were no answers to his questions. Not one. There were speculations and dreams and nightmares that had shocked him awake the few times he'd been able to catch slivers of sleep in this place, but there were no concrete answers. Maybe there never would be.

"Forever."

Peter shook himself vehemently, turning away from the camera to stare at the door instead. At least the meal times here were consistent, more that with Mr. Fowler, though with the same boring peanut butter sandwiches for every meal. In all honestly, if the teenager had been given something to entertain himself with, or the lights were at least dimmed for when he needed to sleep, he'd consider this place better than the group home. Yes, he was aware of how horrible that was, but anything was better than the musty odor of liquor and the sharp tug of a hand, fingernails biting.

Teeming with unbearably restless energy, Peter pushed himself to his feet, walking around the small room in laps, trying once more to find anything to get out of here. A loose nail, a crowbar, something cool that an alien weapons dealer might have left in their storage room, but, like the first thousand times, there was nothing for the teenager to grab. There was the bucket for him to relieve himself in, the couple of empty storage shelves (he'd placed the left over blanket and pillow on the top of one, feeling much safer to be at least out of temporary reach should anyone come into the room to try and grab him), and the stools. There was, also, the camera, but that had made out to be very off limits since day one.

He'd crawled up the wall towards it and the light had immediately flashed red, a warning buzzer screeching through the storage closet. With a shiver up his spine, Peter had dropped from the wall, clutching at his ears desperately. The light had turned yellow once more and the room had been returned to that horrible, thick silence.

And it had been like that since.

And today it changed.

The hairs on his arms raised, forcing Peter to sit up from where he was laying against the wired shelf. He glanced at the camera warily but, a few seconds later, the door buzzed and then opened. There were three men. Vulture guy, shocky-gauntlet dude, and the other man that had been in the alley when Peter had been taken. They all had weapons.

Vulture guy was the calmest of the three, horrifyingly easygoing as he stopped in the middle of the room, looking at Peter lazily. The teenager eyed the gun strapped to his belt.

"Get down here, Pedro. You've got work to do."

Peter stared at the man. The man stared at Peter.

"What kind of work?" he asked hesitantly, keeping his expression painfully schooled, though he wasn't sure it'd worked.

"Just a bit of good ol' fashioned negotiation."

"I already told you he wouldn't pay a ransom."

"Money's not what we're looking for, kid," the man said. He gestured to the gun strapped to his hip. "Now we can do this the easy way, or the hard way. You choose."

"What are you? A cop?" Peter muttered, but he jumped down from the shelf anyway, keeping his head up in an attempt to avoid his shadow. The man smiled, clearly amused by his joke.

"I've got the cuffs to prove it," he joked, pulling the thick metal cuffs out. They weren't regular cuffs, like the ones that he'd snapped out of a few days ago, but instead thick ones that would coat all the way up to his wrists. They were held out, open, in front of him expectantly. "Putter' there, kid."

With a low exhale, Peter placed his hands in the cuffs, resisting a flinch when they clamped shut. The man just smiled on him, a condescending pat on his shoulder. He couldn't help the flinch.

"Great. Let's get going."

Peter followed the man out of the room he'd been trapped in, his hands stuck together in front of him and his head forced up away from the glare of his shadow. The teenager finally took in the building he'd been kept in for the past two days, eyes narrowing as he tried to remember every single detail, but it wasn't some sort of maze like he'd been expecting. It was just--a warehouse. An empty warehouse, a few loose pieces of furniture and knick-knacks scattered on the cement floors.

It wasn't very long before they stepped through one last hallway, ending in an open room. It was as dim as everything else had been, shadowed pillars holding up the ceiling. For some reason, his hairs raised and his spine shivered. He halted to a suspicious stop, staring at the vulture guy for a moment before turning to stare at the rest of the room. Something in here was wrong. Very, very, wrong.

The man with the shocker knocked against his shoulder, pushing Peter forward. With a hesitant shiver, the teenager followed after the man, examining every inch of the room he could see.

They stopped in the dead center of the room beside one the pillars. A pile of chains sat on the ground next to it. Peter stared at it for a moment, brows furrowing, before turning to look back up. His eyes caught onto a timer on the wall, sitting idle at thirty minutes but not yet counting down.

The clinking of chains caught Peter's attention, and he turned to see the shocker guy and the other men grabbing the metal and staring up at him expectantly. He glanced between them and the timer, his eyebrows raised. The vulture smiled.

"It'll all be explained later," he said. Then he shrugged. "Or maybe it won't. I don't really care either way. Now sit down."

Peter glanced at the pillar, the men with the surrounding chains, his cuffed hands, and, finally, at his shadow. His gaze rested there for a tired moment, at where he'd been refusing to look at for days. At the sharp cut of Mr. Stark's chin and the hair that was always spiked up in a constant swoop. He was grateful that shadows didn't have eyes, saving him from the man's disappointed stare.

But the shadow wouldn't save him from the men here, so Peter would have to. He'd have to at least try.

"Yep. I will definitely do that now," Peter said, moving over to the men.

He allowed for the shocker gauntlet guy to move just a little closer, and then he struck. With metal encased fists, the teenager lashed out, landing a harsh punch to the man's face and following it with a kick that launched him halfway across the room. There was panicked shouts as he whirled back around, ducking low as a bullet fired, lodging in the pillar behind him.

He rolled as he ducked, using the force of his weight to slam into the other man's legs, who consequently tumbled to the ground. Peter rolled fast enough to carry past the man as he fell, springing back up onto his feet clumsily. He ran, ducking behind a pillar as gunshots rang, the men picking themselves back up.

The teenager twisted, searching for an escape. There was a door to his right, about halfway across the room. A few pillars stood between him and his best shot at freedom, just enough for him to dive and grab some cover, but it would be risky. Peter glanced at his shadow.

He ran.

He only made it past two pillars when his senses spiked. He dropped into a crouch on instinct, flinching as the pillar beside was slashed, a slice of beating wind rushing over him. He squinted up to see the vulture's wingsuit, turning around at the wall and circling the room once before coming back to Peter. He moved to run, but the suit had already caught up with the gasping teen, blocking his path and knocking him to the ground.

Footsteps echoed lightly as Peter tried to scramble back to his feet, only managing to push himself onto his elbows until there was the click of a gun. He turned, glaring up at the vulture guy, a pistol in hand pointed barely a few feet from his head.

"Nice try, Pedro," the man said, pulling back a smile. He called, "Schultz!"

Shock gauntlet guy was back, one eye black and his gauntlet buzzing with power. It charged up with an electric whine, the man raised back his fist, and when it came down, Peter only knew two things. Pain and darkness.

  ---

Tony stared around the completely packed tower, only a few boxes left in his lab to be moved to the plane that would blend into the dark New York night in barely ten minutes. He sighed, tucking his hands in his pocket as he looked out the window over the city. The billionaire had never been known for his sentiment, but even he could say that this move held a lot of significance. And, not only that, but, out there in the dark city below, his little shadow remained.

He'd been reeling the past couple days from the incident at the ferry, about Peter's actions and his own. In the end, the kid was only a kid, one desperate to put some good in the world. He was smart and strong and everything Tony hadn't been, but then he thought of the people on that ferry. If one had died, and Peter had been the cause of it--well, it was easy to see the kid would have never recovered from that.

He needed time, and Tony needed time too. 'Forever' had been a little rash, but a week and a half didn't quite have the consequences the teenager needed to swallow. After returning from the dock, he'd placed the neatly folded suit into the nearest box and hadn't looked back. He assumed the suit was somewhere still in the empty lab, waiting to be unpacked and then eventually returned to the kid when Tony saw him on Friday.

He furrowed his brows, pulling out his phone. Maybe he should text Peter, or call him, and make sure he was okay. He hadn't really expected to hear from the kid in the past few days, but after seeing Peter's thin ribs and hearing that his foster father had taken his money, he was less than thrilled to leave him alone.

Glancing back at the boxes left, he moved to click on the kid's number. This wouldn't take too long, and they would be going in his car anyway. No plane required.

An echoed ringtone answered the stale night air before he could click call.

"What?" he muttered to himself, turning his phone off. He turned away from the window to stare at the leftover boxes. Hesitantly, he stepped over to them, opening the one where the ringing was loudest.

Peter's suit sat inside, twitching as it rang. He reached out his hand, grabbing the red fabric and pulling it out. It was folded crisply, the mask tucked away neatly between the cloth. He snagged it from beneath the fabric, surprised at the heaviness of it.

A badge, a card, and a ringing phone all tumbled out, clattering on the floor as the mask was upturned.

What the hell...?

He kneeled down beside the items, heart racing and picking up the still ringing phone displaying an unknown number. He snatched it up, answering the call immediately and pressing it up to his ear, picking up the other items left behind.

"Hello? Who is this?"

"Hmm, I expected a cute kid like Parker's soulmate to be nicer." Tony froze, motioning for Friday to begin tracking the call. "Then again, I knew what I was walking into ever since you pulled him out of that lake last week. You two should really be more careful about where you hold your conversations, y'know."

"Get to the point," he snapped. Out of the lake. Vulture Guy. He pulled up a separate hologram and began to search for what he'd previously left to the FBI. Pictures and shaky videos of the large metal wings appeared in front of him.

"Y'know," the man dawdled, ignoring Tony's demand. "I didn't quite believe the kid when he said you wouldn't pay a ransom. I mean, a billionaire for a soulmate and, with no hesitation, he just said it. But really, I get it now. I do."

"You don't get anything."

"I don't? Well, that's a surprise. I usually get things, and this one isn't very hard to tell. Kid hasn't looked at his shadow in two days."

Two...

"What the hell have you done to him?" he whispered, voice cold. He whirled around towards the screen that had the phone's location, brows furrowing when it wasn't any closer to finding out the source of the call.

"I've insured that business will continue to boom, Tony," the man answered easily. Tony took a seething breath, reigning himself in. Ransom. He'd said something about a ransom.

"What do you want?"

"Did you finish packing yet?"

Tony glanced at the boxes. "Yes."

"Good. That plane of yours is scheduled to take off soon. Let's make sure it stays that way."

"And Peter?"

"You get to come and get him."

"And if the plane doesn't stay on schedule?"

"You won't get the location in time. No more shadow for you."

Tony glanced down at the mask clutched in his hand and then at the shadow on the ground. It was pale in the dim room, hair curly and clothed in a baggy sweatshirt.

"I need proof that you have him," he demanded. There was ding. Drawing the phone away from his ear, he glared down at the photo. Peter was slumped against a cement pillar, chains wrapped tightly and thickly around him and the pillar. He was gagged and clearly passed out, a purple bruise forming around his eye. He still wore Tony's red hoodie.

"Did you get your proof?"

Tony swallowed. "Yep. Loud and clear."

"Great. When your plane leaves, I'll send you the location. As of now, you have half an hour."

"Until what?"

"I guess you'll find out."

And then the call disconnected.

"Shit!" he yelled, grabbing the suit and balling it up. "Friday, location."

"I was unable to trace the call, sir."

He rubbed at his face. "How long until wings up?"

"Ten minutes."

"Keep an eye out for an anonymous message. Notify me immediately. And how long would it take to get out a suit and reassemble it?"

"For the current Mark, anywhere between ten and fifteen minutes."

"That's too long," he muttered. Everything was taking too long. "Get my car ready downstairs. I want it waiting out front for me at a moment's notice."

"Of course, sir."

Panicking only slightly, he grabbed the last two boxes, piling them in his arms and rushing them to the elevator. The ride was quick, but it could have been quicker. When the doors slid open, he dashed out to where workers were piling the last of the tower's belongings into the open plane, Happy overseeing them all.

"All right, wheels up in eight minutes. We just got to load Tony’s old Hulkbuster armor, prototype for Cap’s new shield, and the Meging... the Meg... the... Thor’s magic belt," his friend called, catching sight of Tony, he paused. "And these two boxes. Hey, boss, what's up? You look like you're about to be sick."

"I need the plane going as quickly as possible. And I really mean as fast. As. Possible."

"Tony, what--"

"Just get it going," Tony snapped, making a note to apologize to his friend later. There wasn't any time to explain. Happy stared at him, and then nodded.

"Okay. Five minutes, it'll be in the air."

"Good. Thanks, Hap."

Tony left the boxes, keeping the suit and Peter's belongings with him and dashing back to the elevator. It took him to the empty bottom floor as quickly as possible, where he practically tore out through the doors and to where his car was waiting for him. The gas was already running as he slipped into it, pulling out his phone and waiting.

"How long since the timer started, Fri?"

"Seven minutes."

"The plane?"

"Taking off now."

Tony rolled down the window, poking his head out and squinting up. There was a distortion of movement, and then there was a buzz. He turned back into the car, glaring down at his phone to see an address in Brooklyn.

He floored on the gas.

"How far away is this?"

"Approximately twenty-eight minutes."

"How long we got?"

"Twenty-two."

"Great. Let's be there in twenty. Quickest route. I don't care how many laws we have to break to get there, got it? And trace the message's location, send it to Rhodes when you find it."

"Of course, sir."

Tony didn't know how many red lights he forced the car through, how many people he cut off and sped around, cutting every corner he could possibly find. It didn't feel fast enough. But nothing ever could. The only thing that went fast enough was the rapid pounding of his skittery heart.

How could he have been so stupid to leave Peter alone like that? To meet him and then drop him off like the drop of the hat. And to not even bring him home or make sure he wasn't injured. Or to even just have a reasonable conversation. It was despicable of Tony. And now Peter might die because of it. His little shadow.

While driving, he ordered for Friday to find Peter's missing person's report, his heart beating rapidly as he tried to piece together when the kid had been taken. Where? How far out had Tony been? Had they just been waiting for him to leave?

As it turned out, there wasn't one. Tony chewed his lip, pushing it to the back of his mind for now and just continuing to floor the pedal. One step at a time. He just had to get there before whatever was going to happen happened.

Tony ended up arriving in eighteen. He barely even parked the car, just ripped down the joystick and leaped out, running without any kind of hesitation into the dark warehouse.

  ---

When Peter blinked awake, it was to a constant ticking and the loss of his shadow. He panicked, struggling in an attempt to see what had guarded over him for so long. He needed it now more than ever. The chains he was trapped in rattled and clinked with his weak movements, and he winced at the pain around his eye and the soreness in his jaw. After a moment, he realized that it was the tight gag cutting into his cheeks so hard he was sure that there were cuts around the area.

A little more searching revealed to the trapped teenager that his shadow was still there, if a little faint. It stumped out in front of him, hard to make out, but Peter was grateful nonetheless. He knocked his head against the pillar, staring at the shadow in an attempt to force down the way his hairs were still raised on end.

He forced himself to tune into the ticking that was still happening, furrowing his brows and straining his ears. There was a lot of ticking actually. One in the pillar across to him, and the one across from him, and the ones line across the room...

The pillars were filled with bombs.

His breath caught.

Breathing was hard through the tight gag, but he managed to shudder in a few deep breaths, his whole body moving with the impossible action. After what felt like forever, he was a little more coherent, a little more able to comprehend his situation. Peter glanced away from his shadow, instead staring up to where the timer had been earlier. It was counting down quickly, now leaving him with five and a half minutes. The vulture guy hadn't said what was going to happen when that timer ran out, but, given the ticking bombs in the pillars, he had an idea.

The teenager began to struggle, trying desperately to get a good enough grip to pull his cuffs apart, but the chains kept his arms firmly strapped against his side. He let out a frustrated grunt after a minute of fruitless wrestling with the clinking metal, letting his head drop and blinking tiredly. Think, Parker, think.

"PETER!!"

Peter perked back up at the sound of his name, his eyes widening as he recognized the frantic voice echoing through the halls. Mr. Stark. What was Mr. Stark doing here? Is this what the vulture guy had meant?

Peter tried to shout back but, of course, the gag muffled his ability to speak. All that was choked out was a long grunt that barely made it past the room. He tried a few more times, rustling his chains as loud as possible to catch the man's attention. It apparently worked, because footsteps approached.

Mr. Stark burst through the door, frantic and wild eyes landing on Peter with a short gasp, but he never stopped running, sliding to a stop on his knees in front of the boy.

"Peter. Oh, my God, Peter, I am so sorry," the man apologized, his voice a whisper. Hands reached out towards his face. Peter couldn't help the way he flinched away, his head knocking against the pillar painfully, leaving splintered cracks in the cement. Mr. Stark paused, mumbling a horrified apology and glancing at his watch anxiously. "Okay, here's the deal. We're under a pretty strict time limit, okay? I just gotta get you out of here. Can I...can I take your gag off? Please?"

Peter hesitated, glancing at the clock behind Mr. Stark's head. Three and a half minutes.

Mr. Stark followed his gaze, glancing over his shoulder to catch sight of the ticking timer, his expression darkening. He turned back to Peter.

"Like I said, time limit. So, can I?"

After a moment, Peter nodded, leaning his head forward to let him grasp at the fabric. His instincts screamed to not give the man purchase to his hair, but Peter knew better. Not that he could stop the flinch when Mr. Stark's fingers brushed against the back of his head.

Mr. Stark reached forward immediately, untying the knot and pulling the gag away in a gentle manner, letting Peter finally take a deep breath. He moved his jaw, trying to undo some of the tension trapped there and wincing at the pain that dug into it. The billionaire moved onto working the chains, his watch turning into a bright red Iron Man gauntlet that began to power through the metal.

It was silent a moment before, "When did they get you?"

Peter swallowed, leaning his head back and shrugging. "After the uh--after the ferry. Cornered me in an alley probably half an hour after."

"I'm sorry, kid," Mr. Stark apologized, but Peter just shrugged again, staring pointedly forward. He kept a careful eye on the clock. Two and a half minutes, and the chains weren't looking good. He narrowed his eyes, glancing down at the watch. It didn't have a direct power source, and he very much doubted it would be able to break through all of his chains in time. He swallowed.

"It's okay. My fault anyways."

"No. This isn't--"

"It is, Mr. Stark," Peter protested. Mr. Stark stared at him, but he needed this off of his chest. This horrible guilt that he was he'd never get the chance to get rid of. And now might be his last opportunity. "I was the one who went after the vulture guy. Not even with good intentions. I just... I don't know. You're--you're Tony Stark, and having me for a soulmate seemed less than thrilling to you. I just wanted to prove that I was worthy to be your shadow. And I didn't. And I'm sorry. And...and I get why you didn't want to talk to me again."

"Peter--"

"Just go, Mr. Stark."

"What? No! I will not leave you--"

"The clock, Mr. Stark." They both turned to look at it. "Less than a minute. You won't get me free in time."

"We don't even know what will happen! It could be a fluke for all we know," the man protested. Peter stared at him, unable to keep himself from trembling in fear, gesturing towards the nearest pillar with a nod of his head. His voice was a quaking whisper.

"These all have bombs in them. Every single one, except for the one I'm tied against. You won't make it if you stay here."

Mr. Stark stared at him, his gaze hard, still blazing through the chains. None had been completely broken yet, but they were beginning to turn orangey-red. There was a frightening resolution in his stare, and Peter did his best to return it despite how much he was blinking back horribly frustrated tears. He forced his gaze away, checking the timer once more. Twenty seconds.

"Please, Mr. Stark. You need to go."

"I'm not leaving you," the man said. The chains were getting redder, Peter could probably tear at them soon, but not soon enough. He continued straining anyway, grunting as the metal resisted against him. "We're going to have a much longer talk later, kid, but I don't want you to think for a second that I don't want you as my soulmate. You're a good kid, with a good heart. There is nothing to prove. Absolutely nothing."

Peter glanced at him from where he was straining, surprised at the wetness swimming in the man's eyes.

The chains snapped, falling around Peter in a metal heap. The timer beeped.

The thundering of booms crowded Peter, going off around the room in a sporadic circle. Mr. Stark's arms wrapped around him immediately, a protective body shielding him against what Peter had honestly expected to be a bigger explosion. Instead, they were small, knocking out the middle of the pillars so quickly that trying to follow them made his head spin. He figured out what was happening just a second too late.

Working against the instinct to curl himself into a protective huddle underneath his soulmate, safe from the crowding dust and explosions that shattered through the air so hard that he could feel the vibrations underneath the man's arms, the teenager broke free of his hold. The ceiling crumbled down as quickly as he moved, forcing Mr. Stark to the ground as far away as he could reach and piling himself in between.

No amount of bracing himself could have prepared Peter for the pain.

Ch 1 // Ch 2 // Ch 3 // Ch 4 // Ch 5 // Ch 7 // Ch 8

[midweekblues]

The Terror, Géricault and a bit of Julian Barnes: a rant

Part 2 /?

Hello, it's me again! With more random data about a certain 19th century nautical tragedy! Come for the trivia, stay for the cannibalism!

I dunno, man, I just dig these stories. Which is weird, having worked and lived at sea, but whatever. The Terror connects to a very primal part of my brain, the same part that buzzes when I read about the wreck of the Essex, the Donner Party, Scott's final expedition or the Edmund Fitzgerald. There's a theme going on here. So back to the wreck it is!

On the first part of Chapter 5 of A History of the world in 10 1/2 chapters, Julian Barnes gives us a summary of the ordeal on board the Medusa. To summarize even more:

- French frigate Medusa struck a reef off the coast of Senegal in 1816.

- Not everyone could fit into the boats, so a raft was built. 17 people decided to stay on board the half-sunk frigate, rather than brave the ocean on that construction.

- The raft was so overcrowded that it was actually underwater in the beginning. To lighten the load so it wouldn't sink completely, they had to discard most of the food brought on board, and all of their water, leaving only wine to drink. Most of their food (mainly flour and biscuits) was at some point submerged and thus ruined by the saltwater. .

So all our supplies are either spoiled or will make us prone to delirium?  

- The raft was expected to be towed by the boats, but during the first day, "one by one, whether for reason or self-interest, incompetence, misfortune or seeming necessitty, all the tow-lines were cast aside", and so the raft was left adrift.

- On the second day, three men gave up and, "convinced that there was no escape from death, bade farewell to their companions and willingly embraced the sea".

- On the second night, there was not one but two mutinies on the raft. After the struggle, 60 remained on board.

- On the third day, they started eating some of the dead.

- After the third night, 12 more people had died. 11 of them were cast into the sea, but one body was kept on board, "reserved against their hunger".

- On the fourth night, yet another mutiny. After all the violence, a total of 30 survivors remained on the raft.

- On the seventh day, two soldiers were caught stealing wine from one of the remaining caskets. They were executed by throwing them to the sea. 

-That left 27 survivors, only 15 of them healthy enough to survive more than a few days. Their resources were extremely limited, with less than a cask of wine for drinking, and only human flesh for food. "To put the sick on half allowance was but to kill them by degrees. And thus, after a debate in which the most dreadful despair presided, it was agreed among the fifteen healthy persons that their sick comrades must, for the common good of those who might yet survive, be cast into the sea", Barnes tells us. "The healthy were separated from the unhealthy like the clean from the unclean".

There’s been a vote, Edward

- After that, the survivors decided to cast all their arms into the sea, except one sabre, "lest some rope or wood might need cutting".   Fun fact: the equipment of modern lifeboats includes not only food, water and a first aid kit, but also 1 (one) boat axe. And the reason for this is exactly the same: just in case some rope or plastic/fiberglass might need cutting . 

(My face during that particular safety training)

- And then

wait for it

a white butterfly showed up.

Now of course, that would be a good sign, right? Not because it works great as a symbol on an artistic level (looking at you, Peter Jackson), but in this case it does work on a logical level: How far away can a freaking butterfly fly? It must mean that land is near, right? Just like, dunno, same way that an arctic bird, preying mainly on fish, wouldn't stray too far away from open water, so it must mean there are leads relatively nearby, right?

Right? :____(

The survivors of the Medusa did not spot land anywhere. And our Cold Boys didn't find any leads. Life is a bitch like that sometimes. Géricault could have chosen to depict this moment in his painting, but he didn't. "First, it wouldn't look like a true event, even though it was," says Barnes. As viewers, we know this. We are ready to accept a white butterfly showing up somewhere in the Misty Mountains over Khazad-dûm to save our favorite wizard, but on a real story, a real tragedy, it wouldn't work, it would be too on-the-nose. And so the butterfly and the bird both fly away, and nothing changes, and the tragedy goes on.

- On day 10, eight of the survivors of the Medusa, convinced that land must be within reach, built another, smaller raft, from pieces of the first one, upon which to escape. But as soon as they tried it, they realised it was too frail, and gave up on the plan.

- On day 13, they sighted the Argus. This is the moment that Géricault depicts, when they first spot a ship on the horizon.

See it there? Just look where all the guys are looking (well, not all of them, but more on that later)

Yep, that's a ship, that tiny little thing on the horizon, against the rosy sky (is it dawn, or dusk, by the way? What do you guys think?), not bigger than a butterfly. Pretty impressive to have the whole composition of this massive painting, and the attention of everyone depicted, gravitate away from the viewer. Literally no one in this painting gives a flying fuck about the viewer because their eyes are fixated on their only hope, a ship that looks like it might just disappear at any moment...

Which is exactly what it did.

My dudes, this painting, and the story behind it, is peak Romanticism. The drama.

The Argus was visible for about a half hour. It gave no sign of having spotted the raft. And then it disappeared.

Ok but wait a minute, so didn't they get rescued? Well yes they did. That's how we know what happened.

The survivors watched the ship disappear, fell into despair and decided, like many of us do on one of those days, that a nap might help. So they "rigged a piece of cloth as a shelter from the sun, and lay down beneath it"

And then a couple hour later, one of them went to the front of the raft, out of the canvas, and saw the Argus half a league away (that's less than 3 km), "carrying a full press of sail, and bearing down upon them".

If this wasn’t real, we’d call it lazy writing. I mean, typical cliffhanger, our hero is gonna die, all hope is lost, finish episode there. And then next week, boom, of course the hero is saved within the first five minutes. Ugh. But life is badly written like that sometimes.

And so they were saved. Well, five of them died in the days after their rescue. Which leaves us with a total of 10 survivors from the Raft. 

Géricault read the account from Savigny and Corréard sometime in the winter 1817-1818. The painting was finished in July 1819. And sometime in 1820, Captain Crozier saw it in London, while he was on leave before joining Parry on an Arctic expedition in 1821.

And this is getting long, so I'm gonna leave it here for now. Next part will be about the parallels I see between the actual painting and the show.  If you made it all the way here: Thanks for reading! 

(here’s part 1 and part 3 )

[shewhohangsoutincemeteries]

little things

Rocket Raccoon x Gender-Neutral Reader

Requested by: @bluemarsuniverse​

Summary: rocket talks to quill about the reader, confused as to why they do all those little things for him.

Characters: rocket raccoon, reader, baby groot, peter quill, mentions of other guardians

Warnings: adult language, fluff

Word Count: 2,047

CHECK OUT MY FANFIC DEDICATED BLOG

You were half-lost in inconsequential thought when you felt an insistent tug on the hem of your jeans. You smiled down at Groot, standing carefully and stretching your arms out above you. You groaned contentedly as you did, feeling a kink in the middle of your back ease.

It was your own fault that you were stiff; you’d been curled up in one of the cockpit seats since breakfast, shooting the shit with Quill and Rocket on a long-haul flight to a planet called Sakaar in the hopes of picking up some new work. Apparently, it was mostly junkers, but word had it the big wigs on the planet hired contractors pretty often. A couple of hours curled up in that chair, one leg thrown over the armrest… well, it would probably make anyone sore. Still, you’d had fun, as you always did. The three of you had just been talking about nothing in particular… although, truthfully, you’d spent most of the time just listening to the two of them squabble as you watched them fly the ship.

Rocket glanced your way as he heard your groan, his eyebrow quirked. It might have been concern, but maybe he was just exasperated. Or annoyed – you had technically interrupted him. You offered him a small, cheery smile and he rolled his eyes, a smile of his own touching at the edge of his mouth. You bent down to scoop Groot up off the floor when he took hold of your pantleg again.

“I’m gonna go and get lunch started,” you explained quietly as Groot grinned up at you, his tiny hand tangling in your hair as you placed him on your shoulder. “Try not to insult each other too much while I’m gone. I wouldn’t want to miss a good one.”

Quill turned his head to give you a crooked smirk in response. “All my insults are good ones.”

“Oh, please,” you shot back. “Half your references are so old and obscure even I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about half the time.”

His jaw dropped in offense, and you laughed. You were about ten years younger than Quill, and he took every single one of those years as some kind of personal offense. So, of course, you tended to play it up.

Rocket scoffed, shaking his head at the two of you. “You both make no sense.”

“I don’t know how you put up with us, Rock.” you said with a wink, and he smirked despite himself, ducking his head. “I’m gonna try making that spicy thing you liked again. I’ll bring up some for the two of you when it’s done.”

“You don’t even like spicy food.” Rocket pointed out and you shrugged the shoulder Groot wasn’t sitting on.

“Yeah, but you do.”

Rocket watched you leave, his brow furrowed. “I don’t get it.”

Quill adjusted the controls in front of him, settling comfortably back into his seat. “Get what?”

“Why Y/N… does that.”

“You’re gonna have to be a little more specific.”

Rocket rubbed at one of his eyes with his paw, shaking his head. “Just, that—”

***

You sidestepped a wrench as it clattered across the floor, a smirk playing on your lips. This was exactly why you never went around barefoot; steel-capped boots were pretty much a must on the Milano. Rocket’s head was in an open panel, his paw buried in his toolbox and his back to you. “You wanna watch where you’re throwing those things, man?”

He spoke without looking up, sarcasm lacing his tone. “Why do that when you can just watch where you’re walkin’?”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “You’re seriously a charmer, Rocket.”

“You know it, doll.” he replied without looking up.

“How’s it coming?”

Rocket huffed, turning to dig deeper into his tool chest. His fur was mussed, sticking up around one ear – a sure sign he’d been at this for a while. Whenever he was frustrated, he’d tug at that spot of fur absently. “Would be fine if I could find the damn plasma—”

“You mean this?” you bent down to pick up the tool from where it was half-hidden under a crate. You held it up pointedly until he turned around, surprise lighting on his features. “Is this what you were looking for?”

“I—yeah?” Rocket said, his tone softer than before. You handed it to him, leaning back against the crate. “Since when do you know anything about tools?”

“I looked it up a while ago. Taught myself.”

His brow furrowed in confusion. “Why?”

You shrugged, leaning back against the crate. “So, I could help you.”

***

“This is disgustin’!” Rocket snarled, clawing at his fur irritably. He, like the rest of the crew, was covered in thick, dark purple goo. It was viscous and sticky; it was the remainder of some seriously disgusting alien pods that you’d all been contracted to destroy. They were a pest species popular on the black market; they could do some serious damage to a planet if left unchecked.

You’d found them in a cavern about thirty miles outside a small city, hanging from the ceiling in nets. You’d dealt with the smugglers and Quill had opened fire on the closest net. It had exploded, leaving you all retching and covered in the goop.

“Why the hell did we take this job?”

“For about thirty thousand units,” you said dryly, rubbing a towel through your soaking hair.

Quill had called “Captain’s Rights” and claimed the first shower, so you’d filled a bucket with steaming water and lugged it to your bunk. You’d stripped out of your mission gear and spent twenty minutes scrubbing the gunk off your skin. It had taken half a bottle of body wash and you’d ruined your loofah before you’d even gotten a chance at the shower.

It had taken another fifteen minutes and a lot of shampoo to finally remove the goo from the locks it had gotten caught in. Drax was in there now, and while Gamora and Quill were getting the ship back in the air again, Rocket was left in the cargo bay, furious over his condition. He’d been standing behind Drax when the first pod had exploded, so he’d been spared most of the goop, but it still clung to sections of his fur stubbornly.

“Yeah, well, it isn’t enough.” he grumbled, cursing as the goo glued his paw to the fur of his neck. He grunted as he pulled it free, taking a little fur with him. You hid a small, amused smirk as he did. “This shit is never comin’ off.”

“This might help,” you suggested, setting a fresh bucket of hot water and a cup down next to him. You held out your now half-empty bottle of shampoo. “And so will this.”

He raised an eyebrow at you, and you shrugged. “It’s all I had. You might just have to deal with smelling like vanilla and grapefruit for a little while. Sorry. But it’s probably a good thing, because that gunk really stinks.”

Rocket snickered despite himself, shaking his head as he took the bottle from you. “Fine.”

“You’re welcome.” He gave you an exasperated look, and you smiled, sitting cross-legged on the floor. You watched him struggle with the cap for a moment, the goop on his paws sticking to the plastic. “Dude… do you want a hand?”

His ears rose in surprise before they lowered back against his skull again, his expression turning apprehensive. You held up your hands in surrender. “I’m just saying, it took me almost half an hour to scrub that shit off, and I’m not covered in fur. You wanna do it yourself, by all means. I’ll see you in a couple of hours.”

You made move to stand, and he groaned dramatically in annoyance. He didn’t say anything, he just held out the bottle petulantly. You smiled softly, taking it from him. You could feel his eyes on you, wary, as you filled the cup with hot water and squirted shampoo into your palm. “Relax, Rocket. I’m not going to hurt you.”

He huffed a sigh, his shoulders lowering slowly. He held out an arm, letting you gently take hold of his wrist. “I know.”

***

“Groot! Set your ass down, would ya?”

You paused in the corridor as you heard Rocket bark irritably. Stepping into the doorway of their shared bunk, you watched in amusement as Groot terrorized his surrogate father. The raccoon was curled up in his hammock with his back to you – you’d relieved him at about three a.m. to take your turn ‘piloting’. Mostly, you just had to make sure the autopilot stayed on course and that nothing unexpected came your way. That was about six hours ago, and by the looks of things, he hadn’t actually gotten much in the way of sleep yet.

Groot on the other hand, was in high spirits, bouncing around the room and chattering excitedly. Rocket groaned, shoving a pillow over his head.

Rolling your eyes at the two of them, you whistled, catching the Flora Colossus’ attention. He immediately ran towards you, vines clinging to your leg. You saw Rocket’s ear perk up under the pillow at the sound as you let Groot clamber enthusiastically up your arm. “C’mon, sprout. Leave your Rocket alone and I’ll make breakfast.”

Rocket rolled over, his head peeking out from under the pillow. He watched you through one lazily opened eye, his fur mussed. “What’re you doin’?”

You tickled Groot’s belly with your fingertip, grinning tiredly as he giggled. You spoke through a yawn. “Distracting the child so you can get some sleep.”

“But you’re tired.”

“Not as tired as you,” you shrugged. “It’s fine. I’ll just take a nap later. This is what coffee’s for, anyway.”

Rocket gave you a small, weary smile. “You’re a doll.”

“And that right there is why I do it,” you teased with a smile of your own. You reached up to stroke the soft fur of his ear, and he sighed, settling back into the hammock. His eyes closed slowly, his lips curving softly. “’Night, Rock.”

“Night.”

***

“—that thing they do.”

Quill sniggered, shaking his head and setting the ship to autopilot before standing. “You really are thick, man.”

Rocket raised a brow, offended, following after him as he headed for the ladder down to the ship’s main quarters. The scent of warm spices already teased at his nose. “What’re you talkin’ about, humie?”

“C’mon, Ranger Rick. Is it really that hard to figure out?” Quill asked over his shoulder. He sighed when he caught Rocket just staring at him blankly. “They do it because they like you. It really can’t be that much of a shock.”

Rocket stopped, his cheeks warming under his fur. “You—you’re just—I—”

Quill turned to grin down at him as he reached the kitchen. “You seriously didn’t know? Oh, man, this is going to be fun.”

You looked up from the stove, ladling curry into a bowl. “What’s going to be fun?”

Quill winked at you, accepting the bowl from you as he stepped past you to sit at the table beside Gamora. She rolled her eyes at him, a light smirk curving her lips as he pressed a kiss to her cheek. “You’ll see.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, amused. You turned to Rocket, who still hovered in the doorway. Groot had run over to him as soon as he’d seen him and was now perched happily on his shoulder. “You didn’t have to come down, I would’ve brought it up to you.”

Rocket ducked his head, glancing at Quill briefly before shrugging. He rubbed at the back of his head bashfully. “’s fine. We, uh… we figured we could all eat together.”

You grinned, taking a seat and patting the space beside you. “Great. If the curry doesn’t blow your head off this time, I give up.”

He snickered, sitting up next to you. Groot ran out onto the table, set on bothering Drax while he tried to eat. You lightly touched a finger at the edge of Rocket’s ear, smirking as it flicked forward in reaction. He swiped at your hand with his paw, cheeks warming once more.

.

.

.

tags: @lovely-dreamer19​ @spacesuitsforemergency @wittyforachange​ @wefracturedmotivation​ @january-echoes​ @glossyloner​ @capitalnineteen​ @dragon-chica​

[deberiaestarescribiendo]

Saint Jude's Miracle: A Javier Peña x OFC (Isa) Fanfiction. Chapter VI

Summary: Javier and Steve reunite and reflect on their past and their present and the hurtful memories they have to carry from their time in Colombia. Meanwhile Isa struggles with her everyday life and not having news from Javier for days is starting to worry her.

Word count: 2,6k

Warnings: PTSD talks, mentions of violence. (This is me trying to solve one plothole from season 2 from a character I really liked and hated at the same time👀)

A/N: So this took longer than I thought, I completely lost the inspiration and words didn’t flow I had to restart this many times. I guess I will look at this in a few weeks and think I should have revised even more, but I promised to post this today, so there it is. This is plot and more plot with a little bit of angst and fluff at the end.

Series masterlist

Chapter VI: Old Friends

Time is a curious thing; here they are many years after: Their bodies are not the same; the jeans are tighter around the belly and the hair is already grey in some parts, wrinkles around the eyes bear witness of the years that had pass through them, but nonetheless the conversation flows as if not a day has passed.

The empty beers sit to the side of the table leaving a small pool of their condensation over the wooden table. The music is loud at the bar and Javi and Steve had been quite for a few minutes now. The question floating above them making the air thicker every second it passes without addressing the matter.

“I should have reach to you sooner” Javi says holding his half bottle, is it the fifth or sixth he has finished?

“Don’t worry about it” Steve shakes his head and leaves his bottle on the pile “I called a few times, but I thought you needed time to process it all”

“The thing is I didn’t” Javi shows half a smile “I really fucked up and when they gave me Cali I thought I could redeem myself. Tried to do it by the book, tried to outsmart them” he leans on the table “and what happened? It was a fucking charade” he snarls

“You did well getting all that shit on the news” the blond agent taps on his friend arm “Shit! I wanted to quit myself when I saw it”

“They didn’t give me another option. But...” Javi crosses his arms over his chest when he feels that familiar feeling, the words and feelings choking him

“You didn’t want to”

“Fuck, I’m a middle age man! This is what I’ve been doing for my whole life? What was I supposed to do?” he exhales deeply, a burden is lifted out of his chest

“Everybody said it was unfair if it helps” Steve consoles

“I guess not Stechner” Javi scoffs

“Oh, you haven’t heard?” Steve comes close “He disappeared. For real, MIA. Nobody has heard from him in years”

“Well, I don’t wish death to anyone...” Javier shakes his head:” who am I kidding? Fuck him!”

The two of them laugh out loud for a few minutes; the waiter guessing that their laughs deserve another round; leaves two cold beers on their table with a wink

“For Stechner, I guess”

“May he rot in hell” and they drink together

“So...about that wife of yours” Steve has been dying to ask more about Isa and Connie has tasked him with getting all the information he can gather.

“Isa” Javier reaches for his wallet. In the small plastic pocket inside it, there’s a picture of the three of them on a photo booth, the same day they had to go to the mall to get Elvi’s photo for her school application.

Elvira is seated on their laps while Javi and Isa smile at her

“Oh, she’s gorgeous. You’ve been always lucky with the ladies, Javi”

“Well, I am. I don’t know how she bears with me. I give her too many headaches”

“Connie was happy when they stopped asking me to go on field operations. Not gonna lie, it felt good for a bit getting back to a desk and just do paperwork. But then...” Steve blue eyes look glossy in this light and after too many beers “I saw myself reflected on the glass doors of the office and shit, it hit me; I was old and dying on a desk. And then you called”

“I understand”

“When you said you were married with a kid, I really couldn’t believe that you and I were once those dudes in Colombia”

“It feels like a million years ago”

“And just a few days ago at the same time” completes Steve and Javier nods

“What does she know? your wife, how she handles all that?”

“She doesn’t. When I met her she was...first of all she had left Laredo before everybody knew me for the Escobar shit, so when we met, we were just two strangers. We could talk and I could kick everything under a rug and let her form an opinion about me by herself without interferences” his gaze wanders over the tables: families having a quite dinner; a couple that has an untouched plate in front of them while they kiss and talk in whispers.

“And after you married?” Steve asks interrupting his thoughts

“I just told her the necessary” he shakes his head the necessary is almost nothing.

“Well, it’s better that way, but I couldn’t hide it from Connie. Man! I was out control; everything and anything could trigger me. I was anxious, paranoid all the time. I woke up in the middle of the night, got my gun out of the safe if I heard a car tire exploding or any loud noise and I’d had my heart beating fast for hours. And let’s not talk about the nightmares”

“The helicopter?” Javi asks, his voice is thin almost a whisper remembering the extreme methods the police used when the hunt for Escobar was on its peak

“Yeah...and many others. I keep on seeing the two of us entering that house, but instead of finding Olivia crying, she’s dead, shot dead as her mum” Steve sniffs and coughs moving uncomfortably on his chair. “That’s when I looked for help”

Javier nods remembering so many nights where he thought his brain could kill him, reimaging that kid in the ally, rescuing Helena, all the things he saw when Los Pepes were unleashed. By your hand.

“We should call it a night, amigo”

“I see your Spanish has not improved. Just the two words you knew back in Colombia” Javi scoffs with a grin

“Cabrón”

“Yep, that’s the second one”

Isa

It’s been two days since he left and he hasn’t called. Isa tries to focus on everything she needs to do before Elvira starts the new school year. She has called Chucho every afternoon thinking that maybe he had some news, but nothing.

“Ese marido tuyo aguanto mientras Elvi era chiquita y ahora que pudo se largo” (Your husband stayed with you while Elvi was a baby and now that she’s grown, he has left you) her mother commented once she got the news that Javi was away and he hadn’t call in three days. News travel fast in a small town and she hears the comments about her, about Javi: he did it again, he left another woman and run away, he left her as he left Lorraine. Every day Isa had to struggle with her own thoughts and the constant reminder from her mother and the ladies in Laredo that something was wrong with Javier.

Her brain repeats the same litany:

He must be caught up in something

Maybe he’s somewhere where there’s not a good connection

Maybe he cannot call for security

Maybe he did run away

Maybe he’s in danger

She tries to stop her mind when it gets that fast spiraling down towards the darker scenarios she can imagine. On the third night after he left and hadn’t called she had a terrible nightmare and she had to keep her little night lamp on as she does every night he spends away and every day since then, the lamp is on while she rests, sleeping just for a few hours and then spending hours turning back and forth trying not to think about the worst possible things she can imagine. What would she do if he never comes back? What would she do if something bad happen to him? Even though they had made peace by making love in that old truck before parting she could not forget their arguments and the things left unsaid. He would never leave them like that, would he?

Isa tries to be calm, not to project her fears and worries onto her daughter but each day she’s challenged with the never ending things she has to do at home each day: laundry, cooking, cleaning, and every time she thinks she’s finished there’s something new that has come up. Elvira is stressed, as any kid her age, watching the summer slipping away with its long days of freedom on top of her dad being away. So she’s more agitated than usual, sassy and misbehaving just to get her mother’s attention.

The trip to the supermarket is a long chant of demands: I want Cereals, I want Ice cream. All Isa can hear is IwanIwantIwantIwant and the wheels of her shopping cart screeching on the ground. She thinks her wrist is about to snap open just trying to hold Elvira’s hand so she sticks to her side.

“It’s really crowded, cielo, stay with me” she sighs trying to be patient.

But the moment, Isa hesitates and looks down to read her shopping list, she’s out

“I’m gonna get my cereal”

“Elvi!”

Isabel gains a few complaints from some old lady that she almost railed over trying to run for her daughter.

“Oh, you want that one?”

“Yes, please. I can’t reach” Isa laughs softly watching her daughter acting polite and looking like an angel towards the stranger woman. The lady gives her the colorful box and Elvi jumps excitedly until she sees her mum at the end of the aisle.

“¿Qué te dije de que te separases de mi?” (What did I tell you about running away from me?” the little girl pouts and answers

“I thought you would say no if I ask for this”

“Ay, Elvi. I’m sorry if she bothered you” Isa smiles to the woman. She is on her 40s, Isa guesses, she has a beautiful elegant visage framed by a brown with blond highlights mane. She smiles widely with her scarlet lips: “No hay problema” (No problem) she answers in Spanish, her accent seems different to the Mexican-American accent Isa is used to listen to in this part of Texas.

“Gracias igualmente. Está obsesionada con esto que está lleno de azúcar” (Thank you anyway, she’s obsessed with this sugary thing” Isa ruffles her child’s hair

“La comprendo, mis hijos son igual” (I understand, my kids are the same)

“¿De dónde es? tiene un acento muy bonito” (Where are you from? you have a very beautiful accent) Isa asks, for a moment she thinks that she might be overstepping but the woman laughs softly patting Isa’s arm with her hand stylishly decorated in elegant gold and diamonds rings, her manicure is perfect.

“Colombia,pero ya llevo unos años acá en los Estados Unidos” (Colombia, but I’ve been here in the USA for a while now)

“¡Oh! me han dicho que es muy bonito” (I’ve been told it’s very beautiful) Elvi grabs her mum by the hem of her dress rushing her to finish the boring conversation, mainly because she wants to get back home and open the box of cereal “Bueno, un gusto” (Well, it’s been a pleasure) Isa waves

“¿Cómo se llama?” the woman asks when they’re leaving

“Isa, ¿y usted?” (Isa, and you?)

“Judy. Un placer” she grins

The TV has already passed to that late night teleshopping advertising stupid stuff with even more stupid people repeating again and again the same lame catchy phrases. But there’s silence at this hour, Elvi is sleeping soundly and now Isabel can rest on the sofa, eyes fixed on the stupid people on TV and her longing for Javier.

She took the laundry out of the dryer today. Mixed in all the clothes an old “University of Texas” t-shirt that Javi rarely wears around the house and that she has stolen as pajamas. Without even realizing it, she smelled the fabric only sensing the sweet scent of the softener she uses so she had rushed to the bathroom and sprinkled the t-shirt with Javi’s cologne. And now hugs herself silently praying that tonight will be the night he calls.

The TV volume is set to the minimum and when the strong ringing sound surrounds the house Isa thinks is coming from it until she realizes that is coming from the kitchen. She runs, stepping on Elvi’s toys and bumping her knee over the sofa. Limping she runs and picks up the phone

“Hello?” her voice is shaky

“Isa is me” Javi says on the other line

“Javi, thank God, where were you? You told me you will call when you’d arrive and it’s been three days and I...” she babbles

“I’m fine, I’m sorry...it’s been a little bit crazy” he sounds tired and he’s speaking softly as if he cannot raise his voice

“Are you okay? Are you in danger?” Isa sniffs, the tears rolling down and she leans on the cold tile wall of the kitchen

“No, it’s just we have to go to different places, meet a bunch of people. I didn’t have the time. I’m sorry Isa. Elvi’s sleeping I guess?”

“Yes, but she will be really happy to know that you called”

“I’ll try to call earlier tomorrow”

“Yes...please, she’s being a bit difficult lately”

“Why?” Isa can hear how the bed creaks on his end and his deep grunt

“I guess it’s the end of summer, you’re not here, my mum...”

He huffs

“Elvi told her we didn’t know where you where and you can imagine”

“She hates me even more”

“Don’t worry about her. Tell me about the job” Isa sits on the ground holding the phone on her shoulder

“Isa...I rather listen to you”

“I haven’t done much. Nothing interesting”

“It doesn’t matter” he answers

And thus she begins telling every tiny detail, Javi was silent on the other side and when she asks if he’s listening he just hums.

“Anyway...I guess that’s all. And I hope you’re not mad but your old university t-shirt has a new hole in it which somehow makes it even more comfortable”

“You’re wearing it now?”

“Yes...I miss you so it’s just like having your arms around me”

“I miss you too, Isa. I only have this old dude on the medallion and the picture I keep on my wallet to remind me of you...not that I need anything to remember you”

“That old dude...” she laughs “he’s a saint and I think he’s doing a good job for the moment”

“Really?” Isa smiles widely when she hears his deep chuckle on the other side

“You’ve said I miss you for the first time, I will say it’s even a miracle”

“What? I’ve told that plenty of times” he says a little bit offended “ but we’ve never been parted that much since we’re together”

“You don’t say you love me that much either...” Isa adds

“That’s not true” he says firmly

“Yes it is, I’m not mad, you express it in other ways. I’ve accepted that when I marry you”

“I’m sure I say it many times...”

“You can say it now...” she whispers

“I love you, Isa, and I miss you” he mutters

“See? Saint Jude is working its magic” Isa laughs. Her heart is full and she feels like an enormous weight has been lifted. He loves me, he’ll be back

“So I’m not a lost cause anymore?” Javi replies with an amused tone

“We’ll see when you get here”

“And you won’t say it back?”

“What?”

“That you love me and miss me”

“Ay, Javier” she sighs “I sleep every night waiting for you with the lights on, praying that you will get back to me soon, I sleep with your t-shirt and even if I don’t believe in it really, I keep praying and praying that you will be back to our bed, that I will turn and you’ll be there, so yeah, I miss you and I love you. Te amo”

“Yo también te amo”

“Good night, mi amor”

“Good night”

(taglist: @sara-alonso)

[aliciaevers]

Ajinweek Part 2

Tw for violence, drugs, and blood

Note: this is an au fic where everyone is human

First chapter is on my blog under the tag ajinweek2020 :) 

Takahashi took in a breath as he watched someone step into the factory. He had a flashlight much larger than Takahashi’s, and from what little he could see seemed to be dressed formally, even wearing a hat. 

Tanaka put a hand over his mouth, quieting his shaking breaths. Gen put a hand on his back sympathetically, but it did little to help calm him down. 

Heavy footsteps echoed through the facility as the man walked through to a back room. 

“Ok, now let’s go,” Gen whispered, pulling Tanaka with him. They met up outside with Okuyama and Takahashi, and reached the gate. Takahashi attempted to push it open, but found it stuck shut. 

“What the hell is going on?” Tanaka asked, worried. 

“Someone put the lock back on,” Gen said, slipping a finger in between the thick bars of the fence. 

“We could climb the fence,” Takahashi suggested, tapping the fence lightly. 

Okuyama shook his head. “No way am I getting over that, even with a boost.” 

“Let’s just go find the guy and ask him to let us out,” Tanaka said. The others agreed, and they split into two groups to try and find the man faster. Gen and Takahashi, Okuyama and Tanaka. 

Okuyama and Tanaka took the upstairs, leaving Gen and Takahashi down on the work floor. 

“It is kinda creepy down here,” Gen admitted, looking at a set of variously sized drill bits. “Seriously, dude, those things could do some damage.” 

Takahashi picked up one of the drill bits and laughed. “What are you afraid of Gen? Evil construction worker coming for you?”

He ran the bit back and forth in his hand, watching the way the few unrusted bits of metal reflected the light of his flashlight. “It’s just old crap, no big deal,” he dropped it onto the floor carelessly. 

“Oh, I heard something,” Gen said, looking over to his left. 

“But there’s someone’s light over there,” Takahashi said, pointing to the right. “Guess we can split up again.” 

Gen agreed, and the pair split. 

The factory was bigger than Gen had ever realized. It felt like he’d already been walking for a couple minutes, and he still hadn’t reached the other side of the factory floor. 

He kept his flashlight ahead of him, occasionally catching glances of moths, rats, and the shadows of decrepit old equipment. Every once and a while he’d even confuse a pole with a person out of the corner of his eye. 

“Never gets any less creepy,” he whispered to himself after the third time. 

Finally, his flashlight caught the appearance of a man. 

“Excuse me, sir,” Gen began. 

The man turned around and lifted an eyebrow in surprise. “What are you doing here?” He asked. 

“Well, I’m so sorry, but my friends and I thought this place was totally abandoned, and we just wanted to check it out,” Gen tried to excuse their actions. 

“Your friends are here too?” The man seemed to contemplate that for a second. “You know, this is a dangerous place to come for fun.” 

“Yes sir, again, so sorry,” Gen apologized, hoping the man would be kind and escort him out. 

The man approached him, and for a second, Gen expected him to put a hand on his back and show him how to leave. Instead, the man beside him reached into his jacket and pulled out a thin syringe, then quickly pricked Gen in the back of the neck. 

“Huh?” Was all Gen managed before he was falling back against the man, his legs collapsing beneath him. He clawed at the floor, trying to pull himself away before his vision faded completely. 

On the other end of the factory, Takahashi found himself staring at the flashlight he’d seen earlier, sitting on a box. He reached down and picked it up. It gave off much stronger light than his weak little flashlight, and had a nice heft to it. 

He turned around, shining the light around to try and find its owner, to no avail. From somewhere far off he heard a loud thump, but decided it was probably Tanaka tripping over something upstairs. 

In actuality, Tanaka had tripped over nothing and was still looking around with Okuyama. The two of them hadn’t seen any sign of the man in the building, but had found a fair number of old papers. 

“This says the factory was foreclosed on,” Okuyama whispered, eyes still scanning the paper. 

“So?” Tanaka asked, confused. 

“That would make the owner a bank. Who would come in for work from a bank, on a Saturday night, at 1 in the morning?” 

Okuyama put the paper down carefully. “Something about this just doesn’t sit right with me. I’m not sure we should be looking for that guy at all.” 

“Should we warn Gen and Takahashi?” Tanaka asked. 

Okuyama nodded. “I think that would be a good idea.”

Gen woke up almost unable to breath. All he knew was that something really fucking hurt. It was also damn hot, or at least his body was reacting like it was. He could feel sweat running down his forehead, and an uncomfortable dizziness was hitting him in waves. He struggled in a breath, but it sent another shooting pain through his body. 

He shifted slightly, and the pain in the middle of his body suddenly doubled, leaving him panting for air. At his side he felt the familiar plastic of his flashlight, and flicked it on to finally see where all the pain was coming from. 

A long, dark iron post pierced through his abdomen. His breathing got faster as he began to panic. Blood stained his shirt around the post and ran down his stomach, half spreading in drops and the other half thinning out into a sticky red solution slowly drying, making his skin itch painfully. He wanted to scream, but wasn’t sure he could even manage the sound. Instead he let out a pained whimper as he sat back, unsure of what to do. All he knew he could do was wait.

[writehardwhumpharder]

Carson uses WAY too much magic (Part 2) in the hospital

After being admitted to the hospital Carson spent six whole days unconscious before slowing starting to come back to himself.

When his mom heard what happened she wanted to rush down there immediately to see him but Daniel managed to convince her that that wouldn't be necessary. He was stable, spiked two high fevers but each went back down by the next morning. It was just a matter of waiting.

The nurses tended to him diligently and Daniel managed to stop in once a day after work. They'd been in this position before but somehow this time felt different. The anxiety that welled up in Daniel's chest never seemed to go away and he was getting more and more restless, wishing Carson would just wake up already.

Some time on Tuesday night he finally stirred. Just a twitch at first, then he managed to pry open his tired eyes and look around the room. His vision was blurry, actually his whole body felt blurry. He managed to move his hands a little and one came in contact with a piece of plastic, he pressed the button out of muscle memory, still not quite sure what he was doing.

A nurse came in right away armed with a pen light, Carson's one true nemesis. He groaned when she tried to shine it in his eyes, making him feel sore all over again.

"Can you tell me your name?" She asked.

Carson knew damn well who he was but getting his mouth to form the words was a bit of a struggle, "Carson Hall," he said, barely above a whisper.

The nurse nodded, "and do you know where you are, Carson?" She asked sweetly.

His eyes swept the room again, unable to make sense of what he was seeing. "Not.. my bed." He said finally.

"That's right, you're in the hospital." She told him. Yeah that makes sense, he thought to himself. Seeing as he looked ready to pass out again any second the nurse kept the questions simple.

"I'm Nurse Emma, you can press that button any time you need anything. Before you go back to sleep can you squeeze both my hands for me?" She asked, and Carson did, albeit a little weakly. "And wiggle your toes." Carson complied. "Alright, you can go back to sleep now, Dr. Owens will stop by in the morning."

Carson didn't catch much of what she said after saying he could go to sleep. He turned on his side away from her and realized his muscles felt stiff and achey after not moving for several days. Maybe it would be a good idea to do some stretching. Nah..

--

When Carson woke up again it was light outside and when the nurse came by he didn't remember waking up the night before. Today he was a lot more capable and even managed to drink some water. Nurse Emma wheeled a table up to the side of the bed and left him his phone and the tv remote.

Carson couldn't remember the last time he watched cable TV but he turned it on just for the hell of it. It was preset to the local news channel which was, unsurprisingly, covering the event that happened last week. A woman stood in front of where the old building stood, most of it was on the ground now.

"Police have yet to comment on the strange explosion Wednesday night. Witnesses from the neighborhood reported seeing a strange blue light along with the explosion leading to much speculation about its cause. Some believe it was a chemical reaction from residual particles from when the factory was in use. Others believe the event was supernatural in origin. Here are some overhead views of the factory." The camera switched to prerecorded shots from above, taken by a helicopter. Carson nearly split out his water seeing just how extensive the damage was. There was a perfect circle in the center about six feet across surrounded by mounds of rubble covering the entire block. No wonder he felt so drained. Grainy CCTV footage from a nearby building caught the explosion. This time Carson really did choke on his water. He coughed harshly but kept his eyes glued to the screen. At first there was a burst of smoke and fire blasting through all the windows. The light was overwhelming but the flames were quickly snuffed out by an even brighter light. The building exploded outward, pushed by an invisible force creating a split second of distinctly blue light. It reminded him vaguely of a lightening strike in reverse. The whole thing happened in a matter of seconds and it was hard to tell exactly what was going on. But one thing was certain from the video, it was NOT a normal explosion.

When that channel went to commercial he switched it to another news channel, it seemed though that everything but the local news had already moved on to bigger things. He turned the TV off and leaned back against his pillow, oddly exhausted. Just sitting up for a little while sapped away what little energy he had managed to gain back. Carson would have gone back to sleep if his nurse didn't come in at that exact moment followed in by the doctor. She set a tray of food down on the table next to him then left them alone.

Dr. Owens flipped open a chart that he didn't even notice was hanging from his bed.

"Good morning, Carson. Do you remember me? I've been your doctor several times before in cases like this, but you always manage to check yourself out before I get the chance to discharge you properly." He said. Carson did think the guy looked vaguely familiar.

"Speaking of which, can I go now?" Carson asked.

Dr. Owens laughed heartily, "I'd like to see you try." He said. "Actually I came to share your test results with you and suggest that you stay an extra few days to fully recover. While I can't see the human body the way you do Mr. Hall, our medical tests are quite accurate, and you are not exactly the picture of health."

Carson leaned back and prepared himself for the scolding that usually followed any time someone called him by his last name.

"When you were first admitted Wednesday night I ordered a full body CT scan." He handed him several photos which Carson held up against the light steaming in from the windows. "Everything appears to be normal but if you'll look closely at the skull here, these spots show bleeding which explain why you experience nosebleeds and in this case, bleeding from the ears, as a result of overusing your magic. It is a very minor intracranial hemorrhage, virtually harmless, but you still need to be very careful. If something were to block the blood flow inside the skull that could cause serious damage."

Carson scratched the back of his head. He figured it went something like that but hearing it from the doctor made it sound a lot more scary. He handed Carson a second CT scan this one just showing his head.

"We took this scan three days later on Saturday. You may not be able to see the subtle difference but this scan is completely clean, no bleeding or abnormalities so we can confidently say now that you've recovered without any serious damage."

"So-"

"There's more," the doctor interrupted. "We also did some blood work."

"Sounds expensive," Carson remarked. He internally groaned knowing that if this hospital bill was too high he'd have to go do a job and land himself in the same exact situation.

"Everything is within normal range except your white blood cell count is a little elevated in response to whatever havoc you wreaked on your immune system. You also appear to be a tad anemic." He stated. Where doctors usually this blunt? "Normally we'd discharge you once your blood count returns to normal but I'll make you a special deal. Once you can stand by yourself you're free to go." He said with fake cheer. "Any questions?"

Carson went over the information overload the doctor just dropped on him once more in his head. He only had one question, "is that a challenge?" He leaned toward the doctor.

"No, stay in bed for now. I'm serious. If you need to go to the restroom or get up for any reason press the call button and a nurse will come to assist you. Get plenty of rest over the next few days and make sure to eat well. I'll check back in with you then." Dr. Owens said then turned to leave.

Carson picked up his phone and texted Daniel, "SOS, I'm bored."

He stared at his phone impatiently. Daniel would be at work at the book store at this time so he was probably busy.

It only took him couple minutes to respond but it felt like forever. "When did you wake up?"

"A lifetime ago. Save me," Carson texted.

"I can't leave no one else is here."

"NooOoOo," Carson whined, not caring how needy he sounded. "I'll just check myself out then..." he threatened.

"Don't move."

Carson smiled and sat back to wait. He settled on playing phone games until then but at some point his eyes started getting tired and he must have fallen asleep.

--

"Dude, you begged me to come and you're not even awake?" Daniel said, punching his shoulder lightly before sitting down.

"Hmm?" Carson groaned. He stretched for a solid ten seconds before looking at Danny, "what?"

Danny sighed, "Nevermind."

"Ugh, I can't believe I have to stay here. It's, it's not even comfortable..." he said, feeling his eyelids grow heavy. Daniel watched as Carson nearly fell asleep again.

"Oh wait..." he said suddenly, sitting up. "I gotta go to the bathroom."

"Do you need help?" Danny asked, a little concerned about how out of it Carson still was.

"Psshh I'm a grown man I can-" Carson swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood with confidence only to black out almost instantly.

Daniel felt a little guilty for not stopping him. He crumpled to the ground so fast there was nothing he could have done but he still looked around to make sure no one saw that before tip toeing over to him.

"Carson buddy, you okay?" Danny asked, poking his shoulder. No response. "Alright, back to bed."

He scooped him up and deposited him back on the bed, pulling the covers up over him. Carson's head lolled against the pillow and his eyelids fluttered open.

"What happened?" He asked, blinking away the spots in his vision.

"You tried to go to the bathroom and failed horribly," Danny replied flatly.

"Oh yeah, I still need to do that," Carson attempted to sit up.

"Just slow down a second." He said, then noticed the tray on the table next to him. "Hey is this your breakfast? It looks you didn't even touch it." Danny said. He removed the lid and grabbed the fork. "This cornbread doesn't look half bad."

"I'm not hungry," he said, pushing the table aside.

"Oh come on."

"No. I'll eat something later."

"I shouldn't have told your mom not to come. Maybe we can call her up so she can tell you to stop being a little bitch and eat your food," Daniel said. Not to be mean, that's just exactly what his mom would say if she were there.

Carson put a hand over his eyes. "I have a headache okay? It looks gross right now." He muttered.

"Fine. Now do you want me to help you up or do you want to call a nurse to help." Danny suggested.

Carson couldn't exactly wait until he was fully healed to go to the bathroom so he swallowed his pride and accepted his help.

Daniel held out his arm for Carson to hold then prepared to support all his weight as soon as he was on his feet. Carson wobbled sharply and leaned into Daniel. Even then the process was exhausting and he had to take a moment to catch his breath before Daniel walked him the rest of the way.

Carson took slow, careful steps, then once he was inside the bathroom and holding onto the safety bar Danny shut the door to give him some privacy. He felt pathetic struggling so much to do something so simple.

By the time he was back in bed Carson was too dizzy to function. Daniel sat on the edge of the bed looking worried. "Is it that bad?"

Carson tilted his head back and covered his eyes with his hand, "eh" he waved him off to show he wasn't ready for questions at the moment.

Danny checked his phone, it was almost time to head back to the shop and reopen. Taking an early lunch break was pushing it as it is.

"I have to go back to work now but I'll pack a bag for you and bring it here after I'm done. Try not to die of boredom until then," he said.

Carson groaned, "No promises."

--

He ended up staying another two days. The hours spent alone in his room were agonizing, even after Daniel came by and left him his laptop and some clothes. If he was being honest, Carson just didn't like hospitals. They were filled with sick and injured people, people he could save but didn't. Instead he laid in bed while people suffered and died.

Carson pulled his pillow down over his face in frustration. At least he'd be going home soon. All he was waiting for now was someone to come pick him up. Riley had sent numerous texts asking if he needed anything, obviously feeling guilty for what happened. Morris seemed to be taking it even harder. He stopped by yesterday with a card signed by all the officers who were still alive because of him. All in all he now had 10 get out of jail free cards which hopefully he wouldn't need to use.

Carson's phone buzzed, "Almost there." Danny texted. He looked around the room which was now a mess of his things. Very slowly he went around picking up socks and charging cords which he threw back into his bag. Lastly he put on his shoes and coat and sat on the edge of the bed to wait.

Dr. Owens stopped by with his discharge papers just as Daniel arrived.

"So where's the bill? How many thousands of dollars do I owe you now?" Carson asked the doctor.

"Nothing, it's covered under your healthcare plan," Dr. Owens said then left after all the papers were signed.

"I have a job and healthcare, take that!" Carson cursed at no one in particular.

"Most people are employed, it's nothing to get excited about." Danny said, but he laughed anyway. "Let's go." He crouched down for Carson to get on his back.

Carson of course pretended not to know what he was doing, "what? I can walk by myself, you know. It's been over a week." He defended.

Danny rolled his eyes, "fine but I will laugh at you when you fall on your face before we even make it out of the hospital."

Carson pouted for a moment before giving in. Daniel managed to carry him and his bag without a strain.

"Did you get even lighter? My nephew weighs more than you," he teased.

"Fuck off," Carson replied, unable to think of a more sophisticated comeback.

[thenamesseven]

Warnings: Angst

Parked in front of your apartment Yugyeom gripped the steering wheel so tight that his knuckles were starting to get white. His hand still hurt from the punch he had previously threw to Jinyoung but the rage that kept flowing through his veins dulled the pain.

At first, when he had stopped driving and found himself staring at your apartment, the only thing going through his mind was he had to tell you about what Jinyoung was doing behind your back. He was so determined to do it, he truly felt like you needed to find out and kick Jinyoung's ass as much as you would like. That's why as soon as he saw you coming back from the supermarket, carrying a bunch of plastic bags and struggling a little thanks to your swollen belly, he literally ran out of the car.

"Here, let me help you"

His voice caught you off guard, you had been so deep in your own thoughts that you hadn't heard Yugyeom approaching you. You were a bit confused as to why he was here when he was supposed to be practicing with the rest of the group but since you were struggling to carry all the groceries bags by yourself you didn't complain one bit and allowed him to help you.

His bruised knuckles didn't go unnoticed. Sort of worried, you reached out a grabbed the hand of the younger male to stop him from hiding it "What happened? Did you get into a fight?" You frowned at your own words because, Yugyeom was such a sweet and gentle guy that you couldn't imagine him fighting with somebody.

Yugyeom, on the other hand, froze at your question. For some reason, the words 'Yeah, I punched Jinyoung' got stuck in his throat. Maybe it was because you looked so genuinely happy that he didn't want to be the one to ruin your day, maybe it was the fear that you wouldn't believe him since he didn't have any clues. Whatever it was, pushed Yugyeom to lie once again.

"I accidentally punched the wall practicing, nothing you need to worry about" He said quietly before he forced a small smile up to his lips "Nothing you need to worry about"

"Are you sure? It looks like it hurts" You muttered going up the stairs, Yugyeom let you go up first so in case you tripped or amything he could catch you.

"Ah, I'm fine, I'm fine" He insisted smiling, shaking his head "Geeze, I came here to check how you were doing not for you to take care of me"

"What can I say? I need to start practicing for when these two get out, after all you're the baby of the group" You loved teasing him about being the maknae. No matyer how tall he was or how muscular he was getting thanks to working out he would always be the baby of GOT7.

"If I had known this I wouldn't have helped you" He replied chuckling, carrying the plastic bags inside for you.

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

Back in the practice room things weren't any better. Jaebum had dragged Jinyoung out of there to take a look at his lip in the infirmary, leaving the rest of the group alone and confused. The first one to break the silence was Jackson who was sitting on the floor against the wall, a soft sigh leaving his lips.

"Didn't know Yugyeom had it in him to punch one of us" It had meant to sound like a joke but it ended up sounding like a statement.

Mark who had been practicing by himself nodded quietly "You know he and (Y/N) are really good friends, he was the one that made Jinyoung and her meet"

Youngjae frowned "What do you mean?" He asked kind of confused, not really following what they were talking about.

Bambam, taking a seat next to Jackson, decoded to join the conversation "That if Jinyoung is really doing what Yugyeom was saying, Yugyeom might feel guilty for making them...Meet" Bambam sighed shaking his head, his eyes down onto the floor.

"I don't think he's doing it" Youngjae stepped up for Jinyoung, shrugging quietly as he turned to look at himself in the mirror "It doesn't make sense, why would you throw away a life next to your wife and future kids for a...Lover? Why risk everything to get in a scandal? He could even get fired"

"We sometimes just fuck up Youngjae" Jackson muttered looking at the other male "Jinyoung may have taken the wrong decision, thought he could hide it forever and look at us now"

"Do you think (Y/N) knows something?" Bambam asked feeling a bit concerned for you, he wasn't as close to you as Yugyeom but he was your friend.

"Wouldn't she have left him?" Mark asked in return

"She might know, like, she might sense something is wrong but her feelings are making her blind" Youngjae replied "She probably doesn't want to assume he's doing something without any proves" He turned again to face the other males "Something we should also do instead of punching each other"

"Where is Yugyeom anyways?" Bambam asked frowning, he had texted the maknae after Jaebum exited the practice room with him but he never replied.

Jackson sighed "Knowing him, he probably went to check on Lucy" He mumbled playing with the hem of his shirt "I really hope he doesn't say anything or do something stupid, it's not really his news to deliver"

"Yeah specially when we don't know if he's right or not" Youngjae reminded again.

"Dude, whatever he is doing, he is lying to her" Mark said frowning "Remember when she came to our dorms? Didn't she said Jinyoung was supposed to be in a meeting with Jaebum?"

"But Jaebum was there" Youngjae said frowning.

"Exactly" Mark smiled sarcastically "He also said he got late to (Y/N)'s ultrasound because he was with the choreographer but I overheard Yugyeom telling Jaebum the choreographer was with him that afternoon" All the guys' heads snapped up to look at Mark, he sighed frustrated leaning his head back against the wall.

"So I don't know if he's exactly cheating, which he probably is, but if he's not, whatever he is doing is not good because he doesn't want (Y/N) and us to find out"

"Fuck" Jackson whispered quietly.

"Yeah" Mark muttered sighing "Fuck indeed"

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

The only sound that could be heard in the infirmary were Jinyoung's hisses everytime the nurse laid the cotton with disinfectant on the wound that Yugyeom had made in his lip. Fortunately he hadn't bled too much and the it wasn't broken, it would simply be swollen for the whole day and tomorrow it would be back to normal. Probably a little bruised but nothing make up couldn't cover.

Jaebum hadn't said anything on his way to the infirmary, he had walked behind Jinyoung to make sure the older male wouldn't turn around and look for Yugyeom and as soon as they walked inside the infirmary he had simply sat down there and waited for him to get cured. Even now, that the nurse left the room saying Jinyoung wound was going to be good, Jaebum didn't even know what to say or do with him.

"I'm going to talk as the leader of GOT7" Jaebum broke the silence after a couple of minutes, his eyes down on his hands as he fought to find the right words to say "Whatever it is going on in your private life shouldn't screw our practice" Jaebum lifted his head to look at the other male "We have photoshoots and a comeback around the corner and the last thing I need is all kind of scandals in social media because you got your lip busted and Yugyeom has his knuckles bruised" He sighed "You need to think about the consequences of every fight you start and every thing you say, the others don't deserve to be drag into your private life problems just because you and Yugyeom have things to solve" Jinyoung opened his mouth to say something but Jaebum cut him off "I'll talk with him too, he's not getting away that easily"

"And as a friend?" Jinyoung asked, tilting his head to meet Jaebum's eyes. The other male seemed to tense a little before he looked away, sighing.

"I don't really know what is going on or what is wrong with you since you hadn't come to any of us to talk" Jaebum said carefully quietly in case there was somebody around "But whatever it is, it's getting out of control and you need to solve it before you break her heart and Yugyeom breaks your face" Jaebum stood up stretching himself "You're going to be a dad Jinyoung, I think it's time to grow up and face the consequences of what you did, which again, I don't know what it is"

Jinyoung nodded, Jaebum was always right and even when he didn't know what Jinyoung had been doing he had suspected since the beginning something was going on. Just when he was about to get out of the infirmary, Jaebum stopped and turned around to face him with a poker face.

"Go home, get some rest and think about a way to fix this whole problem" He muttered looking at him before his face turned stern "Now, if Yugyeom is right and you're cheating on (Y/N), I won't stop Yugyeom from breaking your face"

Leaving Jinyoung there stunned, Jaebum turned around once again and walked away.

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

Yugyeom felt defeated when he walked out of your apartment. He hadn't been able to confess Jinyoung's crime and break that smile of yours. You just had looked so excited about the babies, about all the plans you were making to spend some more time with Jinyoung when he was free and all the things you had ended up buying at the supermarket for the twins that Yugyeom hadn't found enough strength to say 'Hold up, he's cheating'

On his way out, he spot Jinyoung getting out of his, both males sharing a look but none saying anything to each other. Yugyeom, noticing Jinyoung's body tensing, he smirked getting inside his car and seeing how he started walkkng faster upstairs.

Meanwhile, you were sitting on your couch, munching on the chocolate cupcakes Yugyeom had brought for you. Not too long after he was gone, Yugyeom bursted through the door, he looked so mad and frustrated that you were scared to even talk to him. You tried to ignore you angry boyfriend, keeping your eyes on the show you were watching when he plopped down onto the couch next to you.

"What was he doing here?"

"Yugyeom?" You asked surprised of his question, clearing your throat a little "He just came to check on me" Shrugging you look at him "He also brought chocolate cupcakes" You said smiling hesitant.

"Chocolate cupcakes" He scoffed leaning back against the couch, you really didn't understand what was wrong with him today.

"Was work...Tiring?"

"Tiring?" Whatever you said it triggered him "Of course it was tiring and I come home to relax and all I see is Yugyeom and his fucking cupcakes!" He raised his tone at the end of the sentence

"So?" You asked frowning, not really understanding his points.

Jinyoung bit his lip looking down at you. Honestly? He felt like crying again, he was so close to exploding and screaming, kicking things just release some tension before telling you what had happened earlier that afternoon. But instead, Jinyoung shook his head "Whatever, I'm going out"

He left you standing there astonished, not really knowing what to do or say. You didn't even blink until he slammed the door om his way out.

As Jinyoung walked down the street he glanced down at his phone, watching a text message from a really familiar female.

Sunhee: If you're free, I would like you to come over.

Jinyoung sighed again before walking further away from his home.

[torisfeather]

Also on AO3

It was in the middle of the morning. Kiku had gone out for some fresh air and, true to himself, had settled on a bench in the playground, in the shade of a tree, to read. Except…

"Kiku-chan!" Kiku looked up. Alfred smiled at him, a coke can in his hand. The Japanese boy couldn't open his mouth before he sat down next to him. "Wait… A biology book?!" the American exclaimed when he saw the cover. "Kiku-chan, it's Sunday, we've had like a week of lessons and you're already studying? Aren't you a little crazy?"

Kiku seemed a little uneasy and looked away. "I'm used to… starting early," he said hesitatingly.

"What the fuck…" Alfred said. "Well, whatever floats your boat. "He finished his coke and threw the empty can into the nearest trashcan, yelling "GOAL!" when it successfully disappeared into the black plastic bag. "So?"

"So what, Alfred?"

"Tell me! What did you do yesterday? Did you find yourself a club?"

Kiku stayed focused on his book and kept silent for a moment. "I joined the journalism club."

"… That's all?"

"Yes, why?"

Alfred breathed a sigh. Kiku couldn't tell if he looked rather disappointed or relieved. "How many are you? Two?"

"We're three."

Alfred snickered.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing, it's just a pretty ridiculous number of people for a club!"

"It's completely fine!" the Japanese said, slightly offended, before speaking up again. "How many are you in your student help club?"

"Six."

"That's not a lot either."

"It's more than three!"

Kiku let go of the issue. He wouldn't fight about such futile things. That a club had three or six members was about as important at the percentage of snow in August on the Mississippi River. He glanced at his friend, still laughing a little with that genuinely happy smile on his face. "You look happy that my club has so little people."

"Huh? Why would you think that?"

"A feeling."

Alfred scratched his head. "It doesn't really make me happy… I mean, it's not a real journal team, they only publish a few pages a month and there aren't even sexy pictures. Plus, they never tell about my HERO exploits, they just talk about things nobody cares about, it's not fair!"

"Oh, so it's grudge…"

"Wha…" Alfred seemed about to choke, his eyes exaggeratedly wide, wiggling without visible intent. "Absolutely not! A HERO never holds a grudge, unless there's a good reason!" He was so ridiculous Kiku let out a tiny laugh that he tried to hide behind his hand. Too late. Alfred noticed and gave him a large smile. "I knew you could actually laugh! You should try to do it more!"

"Huh…" Kiku hesitated for a while and then eventually chose not to answer.

"But about what we were saying… Journal club isn't the best to make friends."

"Hum? Why? Ludwig-san and Feliciano-kun are both quite friendly."

Alfred laughed again. "Ludwig? Friendly? Are you serious?"

Kiku thought for a moment and had to refrain from giggling again. "I have to admit it isn't exactly the best adjective to define him."

"No kidding? Plus two friends can't be enough."

"You know, Alfred, I believe it's better to have few solid friendships rather than many hazardous acquaintances."

Alfred looked at him like he was reflecting on his words. "Come again in English?"

Kiku had to refrain himself from face palming. "Quality is better than quantity."

"Oh, okay, you couldn't said that earlier!" The American started to laugh and Kiku just smiled. Alfred's good mood was contagious. Silence fell again between the two of them and Kiku went back to reading, thinking they were done. "So it's my HERO duty to help you in your quest for friendship!"

The black-haired boy sighed. "I assure you there is no need for this now, Alfred. I believe I can fit in just fine."

"But… You don't have a lot of friends and…"

"And I like it that way, thank you," Kiku interrupted a little sharply.

Alfred went quiet and looked at him with a sad little pout. "So you don't need me anymore?"

Kiku gave him a surprised look and smiled before his puppy eyes. They were probably about the same age but Alfred acted so much like a kid… "Why would you say that, Alfred? You are the one who told me we were friend, aren't you? It doesn't matter if you are helping me or not!"

The American's eyes sparkled and, without warning, Kiku was prisoner of a pair of arms seemingly trying to crush him. The Japanese felt his face go white, then red, started shaking, reflexively struggled, tried to calm down, observed the situation, put things in perspective and, finally, dared to put his own arms around Alfred's waist after making a lot of efforts to see this as normal for occidental culture. Give him a big hand, it was difficult but he finally managed to hug someone back!

He realized far too late that he had dropped his book. When Alfred let him go, he was too fast for him and grabbed the book instead of Kiku. But instead of giving it back, he looked at the page the Japanese boy was reading. "What's so interesting in th…?"

He stopped. His expression went from curiosity to surprise to amusement in a couple seconds. Kiku shrunk back into his seat, mortified. There, between the biology book's pages, he had slipped a doujinshi to use the studies as an excuse to read it. Alfred smirked at him. "So you know that technique too! I'd rather do that to read comics in class but hey, you do you…" He laughed loudly and turned the manga's pages. Kiku was as red as a poppy, trying to disappear into his own shirt. Alfred suddenly stopped laughing, squinting his eyes to take a closer look at the manga. "Kiku?"

"Y-yes, Alfred?"

"What is that guy doing with the… Wait, what is that thing? Is that a skewer?"

Kiku looked at the page he was talking about and blushed even more. He really didn't think he'd ever read this kind of stuff with someone else… Alfred was looking at him insistently, waiting for an answer. Kiku took a deep breath and whispered an explanation in his ear. Alfred blushed as well and winced but didn't seem too disgusted, much to the Japanese boy's relief.

"You read very weird stuff, dude," he commented as he took a look at the rest of the manga. He laughed several times, avoided a few pages that looked too "weird" for him and asked plenty of questions Kiku did not want to answer. After a couple minutes, he looked up and gave Kiku a look that was way too serious for his character. "Kiku… Don't tell me you're in the crazy-yaoists club?"

"Um… Let's not change the subject, Alfred…"

At the very beginning of PCD, that Monday morning, Luna had taken a few minutes to announce that their yearly September Ball would be held on next Saturday. She had watched as the students' eyes sparkled, as the girls started chirping about the kind of dress they absolutely had to wear, as the boys started talking about who they'd invite. She smiled fondly. Then the lesson began, like the week before, with an intensive tiring session. But as their last strengths left the kids, her mobile phone rang and she left the room to pick up. When she came back, she looked perturbed. Like divided between annoyance and worry. To the point where she actually didn't realize the students had all taken advantage of her being gone to take some rest. She started to give her instructions for the lesson, like nothing happened.

Everything went smoothly. Those who knew their powers gladly worked on them and the others, which meant Vash, Lily and Mei, spent the session watching horror movies, since the teacher was obviously too shaken to surprise them like last time When the bell rang the end of the lesson, Feliciano innocently asked Luna what was on her mind but she sent him off a little dryly, which didn't comfort the Italian boy.

Thankfully, the next day, she seemed to be back to her usual mood, so the problem might not have been that bad.

The first journalism club session was quite short as Ludwig had declared that the first week would be dedicated to finding interesting topics for the school newspaper. Since he was taking the small number of members and their inexperience into account, he had put the publishing date at the end of October so that they could produce quality articles. To make it short, the journal was composed of a front page article on which they had to cooperate, as well as several smaller topics they could manage separately. Ludwig was taking care, ever since he had joined the club, of the "practical advice" page, focusing on studying methods and health. Kiku had inherited the "criticism" page, which was actually to his liking. Lastly, Feliciano was in charge of the "school info" page. He just had to report whatever was happening in the school, which was akin to a simple rumor page.

Ludwig had then started a brainstorming to find a topic for the front page of their October edition. But with a pasta-obsessed boy and an otaku who would only submit very Japanese topics, the research was not going well. Because no, "pasta popularity by country" and "the ten best places to celebrate the hanami" were not suitable topics. He decided they would simply think about interesting topics for the rest of the week and pick one at random the next Monday.

Then Feliciano woke up and they had a snack while talking about September Ball.

On Wednesday afternoon, during free time, Gilbert put his plan to execution.

He had to do without any accomplices this time. Antonio had been kidnapped by Bella and Francis was in detention for "exhibitionism". Granted it wasn't socially accepted to go skinny dipping in the school's swimming pool during swimming practice but a detention for that… It's not like it was the first time, they should be used to it by now.

He was carefully walking through the empty corridors, making sure he was as silent as possible. Mostly because he didn't want to get caught, but also because, if he listened carefully, he could hear the discreet sound of footsteps following him since noon. He smirked as his destination came into view: the kitchen. Francis had told him it was completely empty between two and four in the afternoon. Cooking club didn't start until then, and the cleaning staff was long gone already. Gilbert stepped into the room, tip-toed further in, as if checking no one was there. Then came back and closed the door.

Now came the work part. The albino boy walked up to one of the many numbered cupboards in the room and started checking them, one by one. He found numerous interesting things, such as bags of ingredients with unpronounceable names or diversely shaped cake pans, until he found what he had been looking for: a bag of flour.

He walked back to the door with his loot but, instead of leaving, he just opened the bag and started spreading its content all over the kitchen floor, making sure he didn't leave a single clean space. For good measure, he threw the rest of it across the room, and watched the results unfold.

At first, nothing happened for several minutes. Gilbert was waiting, standing in a corner, but his idea seemed to have failed… Pfft, as if! He was awesome, all his ideas were consequently awesome, and thus had to work! Thankfully for the albino's ego, after a while, two footprints suddenly appeared. They quickly made their way towards the door. The mysterious stalker was running away once more. Gilbert had an impatient grin. The hunt had started.

He teleported in front of the wooden door. The footprints in the flour stopped suddenly and tried to take a few steps back to run in the opposite direction. Except whoever this invisible person was, they had forgotten a crucial detail: flour makes tiles very slippery.

A large white cloud raised in the air when the invisible person fell onto the ground. Gilbert jumped on the hole that fall had created in the white powder and kind of managed to restrain the spy by sitting on them. He felt them struggle but not manage to shake him off, which made him smile even more.

"Behold the way you were tricked by the awesome me!" An annoyed growl answered him as his prisoner slowly calmed down. It was almost like they were sulking, which made the albino laugh. "So, won't you show me your face, Birdie?"

A long moment of silence followed his question. Gilbert wondered if he had heard him well and wanted to repeat himself when, finally, his stalker slowly appeared. He could first see their blue student jacket form some sort of transparent veil above the tiles. Then their beige vest appeared underneath, then their white shirt. Their brown tie took a while to show up at his collar. Then he could see a pinkish neck, pretty blond locks, and the lines of a slightly chubby face, like a child's. His ruby-colored eyes traced their large, round jaw, their full lips and straight nose, and ended up diving deep into huge blue purplish eyes. He drew back a bit, taking in their half-annoyed half-sheepish face and decided, after taking a good look, that this boy was the cutest stalker he had ever seen.

He was very disappointed when the boy ended up not turning completely visible. He was staying in a transparent state which, although allowing to see his face, made it difficult to make out clearly his silhouette; he looked like a ghost. A very cute ghost.

After a while, he turned completely invisible again and Gilbert whined.

"I can't stay invisible for very long, it takes a lot of focus," the ghost explained in a voice as transparent as he was.

"What's your name, Birdy?" Gilbert asked.

"Matthew."

"Why are you following me?" Gilbert was determined to get the truth out of him.

Matthew hesitated for a few moment before answering. "I… I spy on problematic kids on the principles' behalf. I might have to tell them about what you did here."

Gilbert gave him, or at least looked at the spot where his head was before, a doubtful look. He was awesome enough to know a lie when he heard one, and Matthew had hesitated too much to be sincere. "And the real reason is?"

Matthew went quiet for a minute. "I'm looking for confidence," he finally said. Gilbert did not move, waiting for him to keep going. Matthew sighed and explained. "As you can see, it's pretty hard to notice me," he said. "I have a hard time being visible and everything I touch, from my clothes to Kumayolo…"

"Who?"

"Over there." Gilbert turned and noticed, further away, a white teddy bear sniffing the flour and sneezing quietly. Matthew had probably let go of it when he fell. "Anyway, everything I touch goes invisible too, so it doesn't help. Most people in the school don't know I exist, or forgot from not seeing me. S-so I try to get others to notice me but…" You could feel from his tone of voice that he was blushing. "I can't, I'm too silent," he said like it was a secret. He then stopped for a moment. Gilbert tilted his head, not getting where he was going. "So I followed you to try and understand how I could be noticed. I mean, you're one of the most famous kids in the school. The Bad Touch Trio, all that stuff. Everyone know your name, even if it isn't to say nice things about you. So I thought that, by observing you, I could learn to be the same. It's stupid, I know."

Gilbert gave him and incredulous look. Then dropped to his side, freeing the blond boy, and started laughing nervously. Matthew didn't move. The albino was guessing he hadn't told him the entire truth but he'd make do with his explanation for now. "So that's why you've been following me for weeks?!" he exclaimed, shaken by his uncontrolled laughter.

"Y-yeah?"

"Dude you should've just asked me right away, Birdie! You need awesome advice to become awesome!"

"Wha… Oh, ok, sorry…"

"Don't apologize! It just took longer than it should have, that's all!" Gilbert stood and reach out towards the space where he thought Matthew was. He felt his hand in his and pulled to help him up. He himself stayed visible, which meant Matthew's ability only affected objects. Kuma-what's-his-name was a teddy bear so, even if it moved, it still counted. "So, Birdie, in my awesome generosity, I will teach you everything you need to know to become almost as awesome as me! Kesese…"

"Um… Really, Gilbert, you don't have to bother…"

"Don't worry, Birdy! I was bored anyway!"

"Why are you calling me Birdy?"

Gilbert stopped and thought. "It's a nickname I used for you… I guess it stuck because… You're hard to catch, and you fly away as soon as I find you, like a little bird." Matthew didn't answer, Gilbert assumed that meant he liked the nickname. "Well, then. Lesson number 1, Birdy! When an awesome dude makes an awesome mess, he proudly faces the consequences. So we're going to leave the flour here and go before someone sees us…"

"Um… Aren't contradicting yourself right now?"

"No, why?"

"We could at least sweep the floor, there are people working here that have better to do than cleaning…"

"Yeah, but we also have better to do."

"But…"

"Second lesson, Birdy!"

"But…"

"Wanna go to September Ball with me?"

"But… What? What does this have to do with anything?"

"Well that's rule number 2! An awesome guy never goes to a party alone! So, Birdy? What do you say?"

"…"

"Birdy?"

"…"

"That's when you say 'Oh Gil'! I'd love to go to the party with you! When are you picking me up?' and you fall into my arms crying happy tears."

"Wh… Y…C… Y-y-you really think anyone'd do that?"

"You say that like it's a bad thing!"

There was another silence. One could almost hear the gears turning in the blond boy's head. "Ok, fine," he eventually said. "I'll go with you…"

"Yeah! That's cool, Birdy!"

"On one condition." Gilbert stopped. Matthew walked to a closet, opened it, took two brooms out and threw it to the albino. "We're going to sweep the kitchen."

Gilbert scratched his chin and pretended to think. "Blackmail, huh? Cool, I didn't even have to teach you lesson number 3!" He felt a light hit on his arm and laughed. "Feisty, aren't you, Birdy?" he said before starting to sweep the flour-covered floor.

The invisible blond boy was intriguing. He couldn't remember the last time someone had managed to make him clean up one of his shenanigans. But hey, it wasn't such a heavy price to finally have someone entering the party with him. Even someone invisible.

"The time is up, you can all stop."

Francis sat his pen down and checked the list of feelings he had detected among the students. Arthur let go of Carwin's hand and hurriedly put his gloves back on as the older boy kept talking with his Shadows. Yao blew off the tea light candle he was training with and was finally allowed away from the fire extinguishers. Eduar closed his laptop before Young Soo and Hyung Soo's attentive gazes. Gilbert went back to his human form after going through all the animals he could think of all morning. Antonio stopped playing with his force fields and Bella lowered herself as delicately as she could to the ground.

Luna was noting her observations on a notebook that she always had with her, as she watched from the corner of her eyes the fourth year students preparing to leave. She had a small smile as she noticed the progress some had made during the summer. Bella, for example, had been levitating for a whole hour without batting an eye, a new record. Unfortunately, others seemed still unable to progress…

Francis handed her his list and she let him go with a little "good job".

"For those with two powers, we'll work on them next week," she announced as she read. "Carwin, excellent work but remember to make sure you have control before summoning more. Eduar, good work, you can leave. Yong Soo, Hyung Soo, you'll do what you've seen next time, try working it during the week-end…" The students she called would listen what she had to say to them and then leave immediately with their stuff. That was how Luna's classes usually ended. "Bella, very good, I'm glad you practiced. We'll work on precision together. Antonio, Gilbert, you did well but stop playing during the class, you're here to work. Yao, Arthur, you both stay."

The two boys shared a look, slightly anxious. It also was common for her to keep one or two students to speak to them, but it wasn't usually to congratulate them… The rest of the class left the room, leaving the two students alone with the teacher. She went and sat at one of the tables that had been pushed against the wall and gestured at them to do the same. They complied, nervously.

"Who wants to start?" she asked with a firm voice that said yes, you are being scolded. The two boys shared another look and Arthur pointed at himself. Luna nodded and told Yao to go and wait in the projection room. He obeyed without a word, which only added to the heavy atmosphere that had settled. The English boy waited, uneasy, for her to start. "So? You still can't control it?" she asked with a troubled face.

"No, still can't."

"Still as powerful?"

"Yes, I believe it's even growing stronger…" She looked at him in the eyes, waiting for him to continue. "I made sure not to touch anyone outside of my family, don't worry. Although it's hard with that damn frog who uses all his time to spoil mine and keeps harassing me and…" Luna cleared her throat and Arthur realized he was rambling. "Yes, so, as I was saying, even with touching anybody, I feel like it's getting stronger. I can't explain it it's like… I don't know, drugs getting stronger without a change of dosage."

"It must be growth," she said almost to herself. "And you still can't calm the effects?"

"No, impossible," Arthur grumbled, pulling on his gloves and bringing the teacher's attention on them. "Are they new?" she asked.

"Um… yes, I lost last year's ones…"

"And you're wearing them already?"

Arthur didn't answer and blushed. Luna smiled and wanted to ruffle his hair, but remembered he didn't want to be touched. She stopped herself just in time, which the English boy was thankful for. "Don't worry, I know why you're wearing them. You know it's a permanent capacity, like Matthew's…"

"Sorry, who?"

"A second year student. You know, the invisible little guy? Alfred's brother?"

"Alfred has a brother?"

"Oh, whatever. So I was saying… yes, permanent capacity, so it's hard to control, but I am sure you'll manage in a few years. You just have to keep working on it."

"Yes, miss…"

She gave him a blinding smile and nodded at him to leave. She watched maliciously as he gathered his stuff. "One last thing!" she said before he could disappear though the PCD room's door. "I'm certain this power will be useful to you, so you might want to test it? Your little 'frog' seems rather receptive…"

Arthur almost choked as he glared at his teacher who burst into shimmering laughter and shooed him away, taking note of the redness that had appeared unexpectedly over his cheeks. Oh how she loved teasing the students about this!

She got up and went to open the projection room's door. It was Yao's turn to sit in front of her, as he obviously tried very hard to control himself. He probably thought she was going to scold him about his non-existent progress. He wasn't exactly wrong, but she didn't want him to have a new fit. She had to weight her words and to be tactful, while still telling him the truth. She took a few moments to think as the Chinese boy grew impatient. "Yao," she eventually said. "Don't worry, you work well, even if you are not progressing very fast. This is what I want to talk about."

She dangled the list Francis had written in front of his eyes. Next to his name, Yao could read Very tense since the beginning of the session, but that's not usual. Anxious and defensive. All of this has to do with his power + being confused about his feelings. Personal note: needs a hot bath with lavender oil and relaxing music. "Can't he mind his own business, aru…"

"He still needs to practice. If I'm correct, it was almost the same thing last year. And the one before that." Luna sat the paper down and gave him a beautiful smile. "Would you talk to me about this?"

"No, ma'am, sorry…" Yao looked away and bit his lip awkwardly.

"I already told you that, if you wanted to control yourself, you had to make peace with your emotions. I didn't tell you to force them away."

"I know, aru…"

"You need to understand, Yao, as long as you won't be calm during the exercises, you won't be able to progress and everything will stay erratic and unexpected. I know it's something difficult to do for someone with a past like yours, but we need to avoid putting others in danger. If you fight it, your power will fight you too, do you understand?"

"Yes, aru…"

"If you have trouble controlling them, it simply means you are not accepting your powers as a part of you. After three years of training, you should already be able to manipulate candle flame away from the fire extinguishers, you know? Same thing for…"

"Miss!" Luna stopped. Yao's face was red and his eyes glistening with tears. He couldn't listen, as always… "Miss…" he repeated, in a lower voice, trying very hard not to snap at her. "When I found out about this capacity you say is "part of me", I set my former school on fire, aru. Kids almost dies because of me, aru. And when I got here, I had to find out about some other curse that I had to live with, aru. So don't tell me these… things are part of me. I don't want to be a freak!"

"Yao. Calm down." Yao ignored her and started gathering his stuff. He did not want to talk about this, not now, not ever. He felt his pulse raise and was clever enough to sit back down and breathe, so he wouldn't illustrate what he had just explained. "Yao, rejecting your capacities won't make them less dangerous."

"I know, aru! Put I still can't accept them, aru!"

"Then you're in a dead-end."

He stood without answering and headed for the exit. He tried to think about something else, kittens, plush toys, flowers… Something cute and peaceful that could calm his thumping heart. He needed to get those problems out of his head.

Ivan was waiting at the door. Tâ mâ de!

He was alone. Which meant he had left his friends/scapegoats/servants/others to stay with him a while. Double tâ mâ de!

Yao could always pretend he didn't see him but it was pretty hard to say that to an almost seven feet tall guy standing right next to the door. Especially when the playground was empty because everyone was having lunch.

He could also try to dig a hole and bury himself alive so he would have to endure the Russian's presence and the very unpleasant his body tended to have in his presence. Right now, it seemed like the most enticing option. Unfortunately, there were material limits so he would have to choose another option…

"Yao-Yao~!" The Russian boy's playful voice interrupted him in the middle of his thoughts. Yao felt his large hands cover his shoulders and shivered. His heart started beating harder. He already wasn't very calm, but now the situation had gone from bothersome to dangerous. He started power walking towards the cafeteria like nothing was wrong, making sure he was breathing evenly. Ivan followed him.

"Sorry, Ivan, but I'm really not in the mood for anyone's company right now, aru," he said with a blank voice.

"Eh? Even though I waited for you all this time?"

Yao checked his watch. Classes really did end fifteen minutes ago. "You didn't have to, aru."

"But I wanted to be with my little Yao-Yao!"

The shivers increased. Bad omen. "Well I don't and that's it, aru! And stop it with the nickname!"

As only answer, Ivan caught up to him and closed his arms around him, slowing him down. He held him tight. "But Yao-Yao want to be with me too, da?"

Yao couldn't react immediately. He could feel the Russian boy's warm breath on his neck, the sweet scent of his scarf, the strange exchange of temperature between their bodies, through their uniforms, a surprising side-effect of their respective powers. Part of him wanted to hold onto that large back and accept the embrace. But the rest of him was freaking out at his heart going crazy, at the shivers increasing again, and at the ball of heat blossoming in the depths of his chest. He only hesitated for a second. He kicked the Russian in the legs, freeing himself, and ran as fast as he could to the closest bathroom. Once more, Ivan didn't chase after him. He just watched him go with a bitter eye, sighed and walked to the cafeteria. By himself. He'd have his chance anyway. He knew it when he saw him the first time. Yao would be his. But not like his friends. The Chinese boy would be completely and entirely his. Someday.

Locked in one of the stalls, curled on the toilet seat, Yao wanted to cry. He was breathing as deeply as he could, gripping the fabric of his pants to try and steady himself. Why? Why did he have to hide such a shameful thing? Why was this happening so often these days? Why couldn't he just have that kind of affection from Ivan? He knew he could be cruel when something wasn't to his liking. He knew he was probably a little mad. But he also knew how frighteningly nice he could be with him. With this sort of kind dominance that made his head spin all the time. He had been hiding for three years and controlling himself was getting more and more difficult every time his roommate tried to get close to him. Until when would he be able to keep it a secret?

All these questions weren't helping at all. His blood was boiling, the heat had claimed his entire body. His muscles and bones were a little sore, as always. There was nothing to do. He had to wait. Wait for his body to stop being a jerk.

He startled when he hear the bathroom door open. Slow and silent steps walked on the tiles and a pair of black flats stopped right in front of his booth. He heard three knocks on the panel but didn't move. "Occupied," he said with the most normal voice he could manage.

"I know, Yao. Let me in."

It was a woman's voice, low and calm. Yao recognized it immediately. He stood, trembling, and unlocked the door.

It was a woman in her forties. She was slender, and a little hunched but you could feel she had once been very tall. Her skin was dark and her hair was blond, a darker blond than her sister's. The long blue dress she wore was hardly hiding the weakness of her body. However her almond-shaped eyes were filled with colors, shimmering like stars.

Gaia came in, closed the door and held him close. No word was spoken. Yao let her, thankful. He even let a tear roll onto her shoulder. She just held him silently. She knew. She always seemed to know. "You don't have to be ashamed, you know…" she whispered.

Yao didn't answer. He knew that, if he was to open his mouth, he would start sobbing.

"I know you don't want anyone to know but nobody will judge you for being different. Because everyone is different here."

He shook his head. Her words felt so right and yet…

"You don't want to accept it. I know. The problem isn't about others. It's about yourself. Unfortunately, you'll soon have to accept yourself."

"When?"

"Soon." He wouldn't hear more. She probably didn't know about the details either. Little by little, he felt the heat leave his body. His heart had calmed down. Feeling this, Gaia stood back a little and looked at him straight in the eyes. She gave him a wonderful smile and played with his brown hair for a moment. "Better?" she asked.

He nodded. Without another word, she left the booth and started walking slowly towards the exit. "You don't leave your office very often," Yao commented.

"That's true," she said, still walking slowly. "But I cannot let my sister take care of everything by herself. And I've had more than enough of all the paper work."

"Do you need help to go back?"

She stopped and looked at him with a sad smile. "I can still go by myself, thank you. I am sick but not disabled yet."

He watched her leave. He felt a little lighter. Gaia was great at cheering her students up. She was always at the right place at the right moment and always knew what to say. With an appeased sigh, he headed back towards the cafeteria.

[whimzea-blog]

Day to Night 1.75/2

Title: Day to Night

Author: whimzea

Pairing: Zane/Heath

Summary: Heath and Zane’s Valentine’s Day is very different than last year’s.

Also up on AO3 here. (I lied. One more little part before the end.)

********

“God, you have gotten fucking awful at bowling!” Heath marveled, watching Zane walk back from throwing his fourth gutterball in a row.

Heath was beating him by almost one hundred points this game, and had beat him by about 150 the first game.

He could make the excuse that he just wasn’t totally focused, but that would ruin the next part of his plan. And mostly, he was focused. He actually just sucked at bowling. But he was having a blast, and Heath seemed to be, too.

“And why do you keep looking at your watch?” Heath asked as Zane looked down at his wrist, again.

“Because-” Zane paused as he saw someone walk through the door to the bowling alley, his arms full of boxes and bags. He grinned. “Because of that guy.”

Heath turned to see where Zane was looking. A young, handsome white guy with sparkling diamond studs was carrying several bags, his pants falling dangerously low off his ass. “Because of a fuckboy? Are you dealing drugs?”

Zane rolled his eyes. “Just wait. You’ll see.”

The guy paused and looked around the bowling alley. He seemed to sigh in relief when he saw Zane waving him over.

He dumped his armful of stuff on their table. Zane handed him some cash, and he left, without a word.

“He was friendly,” Heath said sarcastically.

“He did the job, that’s all I care about,” Zane said, smiling as he looked through everything. It was all there.

Heath sniffed. “Is there food? I’m fucking starving.”

Zane nodded. “Yes. Go bowl your turn and finish off the game while I set it up.”

Heath did, and the final score was 180 to Zane’s whopping 82.

“You never had a chance,” Heath said smugly. “Kicked your ass from here to Florida and back again.”

“Stop bragging and eat,” Zane replied, pointing to a seat where a napkin and ice cold Celsius was set.

Heath sat. “Oh, you so fancy,” he joked, holding up a paper napkin.

“Your first course, sir. Dinner à la Vine.” Zane placed a take-out box in front of Heath, as well as a pair of chopsticks.

Heath grinned as he opened the box and saw ten little sushi rolls- salmon, his favorite- sitting in front of him.

“Ooh, how you zew it?” Heath said, quoting from one of their favorite Vines and pretending to struggle with the chopsticks. Zane laughed, so glad that Heath understood. But of course he did.

“Ooh, I got it!” Heath picked up a destroyed piece of sushi and popped it into his mouth.

“Was that fuckboy from Postmates?” Heath asked a bit later, dipping a roll into a small plastic cup of soy sauce.

“Nah. I paid an Uber driver extra to go pick up everything,” Zane said. “I can’t believe he didn’t fuck anything up.”

“Well, this is damn good sushi,” Heath commented, chewing blissfully.

“It’s just the start,” Zane said mysteriously. Heath raised an eyebrow.

****

“Your second course, sir.” Zane placed a McDonald’s bag in front of Heath.

“Sushi and McDonald’s? You better hope I don’t puke in your car.”

Heath dug into the bag and pulled out a container of fries and a sandwich box. Zane dug into his own bag.

Heath opened his sandwich box. He lifted off the bun.

“Baby…”

“Yeah?” Zane took a bite of his sandwich, smiling ear to ear.

“You forgot my damn pickles!”

Heath yelled it so loud that the couple in the lane next to them looked over. Heath waved.

It was so perfect, and so comfortable. While reminiscing about old Vines, old vlogs, old times, Zane couldn’t believe how seamlessly they had transitioned from being Zane and Heath to...Zane + Heath? Zane <3 Heath? Nothing had changed...except everything had changed.

Heath burped and sat back. “Bitch, I’m getting full. My stomach must be getting smaller or somethin’...I definitely can’t eat as much as I used to.”

“You better have room for one more course,” Zane warned.

“I will, after we hit the arcade,” Heath said, stretching. “I gotta digest. And I’m not done kicking your ass around this entire place yet. I’m thinking...air hockey.”

Zane pulled out his wallet and gave Heath some cash. “Go get tokens. I’ll clean up and meet you in the arcade.”

Heath fanned himself dramatically. “When he gives you money for arcade tokens,” he said dreamily, his hand hand over his heart.

Zane flipped him off and Heath laughed, changing out of his bowling shoes and dropping them off at the counter before jogging towards the other side of the building.

Zane cleaned up their garbage and changed his shoes, but paused before going over to the arcade. He felt like he needed one more trick up his sleeve to make this the best possible night. He had dessert all ready for them, but he felt like he was missing something.

Zane was kind of feeling like a nice blunt would hit the spot, but since Heath had stopped smoking cigarettes, he had sworn off weed too. He said being high made him crave cigarettes even more.

Zane shook his head. Maybe inspiration would hit him again like it had that afternoon.

*****

Heath beat him at three games of air hockey and three games of skee ball, winning a boatload of tickets and bragging rights for the next hundred years.

“Fuck, Heath, are you on ‘roids?” Zane joked as Heath pumped his fist in victory, his basketball shooting skills earning him over two-hundred tickets.

“I guess you just bring out the best in me, baby,” Heath answered in his Heather voice, blowing him a kiss.

“You just like kicking my ass,” Zane corrected him, palming their last two tokens.

“True.” Heath winked.

“We have two tokens left. I’m outta cash. What do you want to play?”

“You pick,” Heath said. “I’m gonna go trade in these tickets.”

Zane chuckled as he watched Heath get in line at the prize counter behind two eight-year-olds.

He looked around the arcade. They had already played their favorites. Everything else was just sort of...lame.

He had almost decided on another game of air hockey when something caught his eye. He glanced at Heath before walking over to it.

It was one of those fortune-telling machines. ZOLTAR, it said in big letters across the front, with an eccentrically-dressed moustached guy inside, his hands hovering over tarot cards and crystals.

Zane had seen one of these at Disney World one time when he was a kid, but had been too afraid of it at the time to play. Now, he was just intrigued. What could a machine tell him about the future? As much as a fortune cookie, he surmised, but still. He was easily roped into these things.

He put in his two tokens. Zoltar’s eyes lit up an eerie blue color, and his hands began moving.

“Zoltar sees very great things in your future.”

Zane shivered. Zoltar’s voice was creepy as fuck.

“But I warn you- do not forget where you began. An abundance of pride will lead to your downfall. If you wish to see deeper into the future, Zoltar will need more...encouragement.”

A piece of paper spit out of the machine, and Zoltar’s eyes went black. Zane guessed “encouragement” meant more tokens.

From his fortune, he expected the lyrics of “Jenny from the Block” to be on the card from the machine. Strangely, though, the side not covered with ZOLTAR and a bunch of symbols was blank, except for one sentence, “You will find what you seek in the mountains.”

The fuck?

“Dude, check this out!” Heath said, suddenly appearing next to him. Zane jumped.

“Fuck, you scared me!”

“Look at this shit!” Heath held up an enormous clear plastic ball. He threw it on the ground, and inside, thousands of tiny lights lit up as it bounced. Zane and Heath, watched, mesmerized, until it finally stopped bouncing.

“That’s dope,” Zane agreed.

“I know, right?!” Zane had never seen a grown man so excited over a toy. It was cute.

“So, what did you spend your tokens on?” Heath asked. He looked at ZOLTAR. “Not this shit, I hope.”

Zane quickly shoved the card from the machine into his pocket. “Haha, no way. Just one of the claw machines. I didn’t get anything.”

“I bet I would have gotten something,” Heath said haughtily. “Although nothing as sick as this ball.” He bounced it again for emphasis.

“You ready to go?” Zane asked, sort of unnerved by ZOLTAR and ready to head home. “You bet.”

*****

“Bitch, where’s my third course?”

They were stuck in traffic on 134 again, and Zane could tell Heath was getting antsy.

“Oh, yeah,” Zane said, reaching into the back seat for the last bag of food. “Here you are, sir.”

“Boskon Kream doughnuts!” Heath screamed, taking a huge bite. “Don’t you touch my Boskon Kream doughnut!”

Pieces of chewed doughnut fell out of his mouth into his lap, but Zane was so used to Heath’s eating habits that it didn’t faze him.

Heath ate happily. Zane couldn’t stop thinking about ZOLTAR. He knew it was just a machine, but he had a weird feeling about it. He tried to distract himself by thinking about how well the evening had gone, despite the shaky start.

“Hey, why do you hate Glendale?” Zane asked, remembering Heath’s comment from before. “You never told me.”

Heath’s eyes narrowed again. “Because everyone in Glendale is a fucking asshole.”

“Everyone?”

“Everyone.” Heath tore off another piece of doughnut and didn’t elaborate.

They sat in companionable silence, except for the radio. Heath ate another doughnut, burped loudly, and then pulled out his phone. It was like any other night.

They were getting close to Studio City, and Zane hadn’t made any progress with deciphering his fortune, nor had he thought of his pièce de résistance for their night out.

They were five minutes from home when they drove by a middle-aged couple walking on the sidewalk. They had huge backpacks and hiking boots on, and were walking with poles.

“White people,” Heath said, shaking his head before looking back at his phone.

Zane figured they had probably come from Franklin Canyon Park, choosing to walk back instead of driving like normal people, but hey, to each their own. LA had plenty of hippie types.

As he looked back at them in his rearview mirror, it hit him.

“Oh my god,” Zane said abruptly.

“What?!” Heath looked at him, concerned.

Zane had it. He had figured ZOLTAR out.

[sandwichbully]

Frank from Philly 2: Electric Boogaloo, 16 September 2017

 It’s September, everybody, it’s time to check your Gophers schedule if you want to maintain your soul’s healthy, lustrous coat. Today, I made the mistake of venturing into Dinkytown without first consulting the college football schedule and found I had no fucking way out because the police - who should have been arresting and beating the shit out of everybody but me - had closed off all the exits. It was like they corralling us toward the stadium like some nightmare “Down In The Park” scenario; since this is Dinkytown, the presence of “rape machines” is totally plausible.  Please, tell me you get the Gary Numan reference.  Anyway, there is only one way out of this labyrinth of douche-sluices clad in gold and maroon vertical striped overalls - yes, that’s a thing. That everybody was wearing. Five hundred thousand Clearisil’d goddamned teenage date rapists walking around dressed like Pogo protégés and don’t act like you don’t know who the fuck Pogo is with their Dads behind them wearing cop shades and cop ‘staches, and their main squeeze walking in front of them with her skirt hiked up to her titlets and her chicken cutlet ass cheeks hanging out, not having graduated junior high yet, and not one of these doofus Brock-bros, their apologist dads, or their underaged girlies can pay attention to a crosswalk signal WHERE THE FUCK WERE THE COPS TO BEAT THESE FUCKERS TO DEATH!?  So, as mentioned, I, the lone Argonaut, my brethren slain, surrounded by the gold and maroon gophertaurs, found my one exit from the labyrinth: Just book a straight line on SE 4th to Bullshit Central, the confluence of Hennepin, University, 1st, and some other streets, too. It’s where my union hall is, I can take refuge there. There’s also a White Castle if I need a colonic and the Gopher Bar which nobody can remember if that’s racist anymore after the whole Club Jager thing a week back but the art on the wall is still creepy. Kramarczuk’s is in Bullshit Central, so is Brathaus. There’s that Japanese joint that Ron and Jo took me and Tosha to. Nye’s, god rest its overpriced soul, was over there. Bullshit Central really isn’t a bad place to be if you have fifty dollars and absolutely nothing responsible you have to do with it. If I take SE 4th all the way to Bullshit Central, I can make it home, alive, unscathed. I’m feeling pretty good about this, actually. Two Jehovah’s Witnesses buzzed my apartment while I was jacking off this morning and I just powered through that. I think I can make it.  And that’s when I see it.  Frank From Philly.  Cheesesteaks.  Real cheesesteaks.  I love cheesesteaks.  I have nothing else to live for. I mean, I did make a half dozen jars of pickles today but I don’t think I’ll live through the next ten days, let alone the next ten minutes, given that I’m in The Land That Consent Forgot.  So, that was it. Frank cast out his line. He hooked me. I went inside.  My previous review of Frank’s is a far different animal. I told a tale of suburban gym surrounded by antiseptic teens who’d never touched a cigarette or their own clits. Affable lil’ duders who could sell you a Xanax come midterms. A bunch of kids who looked like they did safe things like check in with their roommates if it got late, dipped their bread in milk, had no intention of ever fucking bareback. But that was summer time. That was when the Hitler Youth’s Townie Division was in full force.  This?  Heh.  This is fucking football season, bitches.  Everything I’ve ever told you about Dinkytown is like something from Bizarro world.  I have never in my life seen so many absolutely sinister looking white kids gathered in one place in the day light. They looked like they want to beat me up just for being old and better sexed. They looked like their genital warts were burning. They looked like they did abortions the way their grandparents did them: a couple kicks to the stomach and a straightened out coat hanger up the kid shitter. And there were about two hundred billion of these absolutely psychotic looking fucks in Frank’s today. My god, the terror.  Fucking football season.  Little Asian lady greets me at the register and asks me how I was doing. I didn’t go into any elaborate detail over how panic-stricken I was at the moment because one: she wouldn’t care. She has to work in this environment and I bet she carries a firearm of some sort. It’s football season. And then two: She’s hot and I want her to think I am strong and capable so she will like me and ask me to stick around until she clocks out so we can go to a bar, have a few drinks, and then she takes me back to her place and her and her identical twin sister roommate take turns pegging me until the sun comes up. So I said, “Good.”  “What can I get you?”  “From behind,” is what my sick man devil brain wants to say but what comes out of my mouth is, “Yeah, I was looking at a cheesesteak. Can I get that with cheezewhiz, peppers, and onions?”  She starts typing on the register, muttering what I think is, “God, this customer is so fucking good looking and refined, not like these short-dicked boys that always come in and out of here,” but turns out to be, “OK, cheesesteak… pppeeepppppeerrss… oooonnnnions…” She looks at me and does not tell me, “You’re everything I’ve ever wanted in a sexual partner and I would like to give you a tour of our walk-in cooler,” opting instead to say, “You said cheezewhiz?”  I want to say, “Take me to bed and lose me forever,” but I said, “Yeah.”  She asks, “Is that for here or to go?” because you know I’ve beaten this joke to death when I break out a Top Gun reference.  “For here,” I tell her. I’m not going to bike with a sloppy ass cheesesteak in my bag.  And, unlike the last review where there was nothing going on and I had to wait a week and a half for my cheesesteak, in the middle of this crowded, hectic scene, she walks by a guy coming from the back and yells in his face, “CHEESESTEAK!”  I expect him to make it but he looks confused. She starts making the cheesesteak. She’s not wearing an apron or plastic gloves or nothing protective. She just gets right on the goddamned grill like its her fucking personal grill from home and starts chopping fucking steak on the grill.  I go to Trieste for two specific reasons: They have the best gyros in all of Minneapolis - I’ll put money on that statement until someone brings me to a better gyro shop - and I love watching the Greek guy in the kitchen work. It’s like watching Michaelangelo paint the Sistine, this fucking guy. And he wears an apron and gloves.  And here I’m watching this little Asian lady do the same thing on this grill, just -  “Hey, Dustin!”  - just rocking the fuck out of -  “Hey, DUSTIN!”  Sorry, she’s working this grill like -  “Dude, I’m going to sit over here!”  Anyway, she’s -  “Did you already grab your drink!?”  Goddamnit.  See, I can’t even enjoy watching her work the grill because whatever this shit head’s name is is yelling right next to me to let Dustin know he’s going to sit over wherever. I’ll give you three guesses how they were dressed and the first two don’t count.  The Asian lady yelled “CHEESESTEAK!” at the dude from in back again and he kind of ducked as he walked to the back.  Within minutes, however, my cheesesteak is ready. A lot faster than last time. The Asian lady struggles with the cheezewhiz pump and looks at me, handing me the plate. “Cheesesteak?”  I say yeah, thank her, and find the cleanest table for one that I can, with a window to my right and a beam directly across from my chair. To my left, an angry young black man glowers at me over his girlfriend who is unconcerned with anything but her phone and I’m afraid I might have just done something racist.  Did I do something racist?  Oh, fuck, was I being racist?  Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck, Jesus Christ. These fucking college kids, man, they’re all fucking football crazy and they’re woke “AF”. It’s bad enough I’m twice their age and I don’t rape people, I’m also fucking racist or something, too. Did I not check my privilege? I came in here and ordered a fucking cheesesteak. With cheezewhiz. And peppers. And onions. Why was this angry young black man glowering at me? Did I just unknowingly do some alt-right shit? Because those guys change their memes all the time. Did they pick up cheesesteaks and nobody told me? Is the cheesesteak the new sandwich of white nationalism? I mean -  Then he looked at his table of white friends and returned to his pizza.  One of the clown-suited white kids got up and said, “Dude, call me,” as he left, presumably to assault somebody and do debit card frauds, and the young black man nodded.  The place was packed with a lot of little white fuckers. White boys, white girls, all straight or straight-seeming. Maybe the dude who glowered at me felt underrepresented. Maybe I did something racist without knowing it. Maybe his pizza tasted like shit.  Anyway, I picked up my sandwich as the conversation behind me turned to the straightest white dude shit you could think of: Hugh Hefner. I looked out the window and saw a dude try to hold another dude’s hand and thought, “Oh, maybe football season isn’t so -”  NOPE! He was just trying to ball-tag him.  Goddamnit.  I was in the nucleus of white jock bros doing white jock bro shit, like picking up kegs and getting young tight strange on the reg. I was the odd man out here, the stranger in the strange land, in my high-cuffed jeans, Frank Sinatra mug shot t-shirt, four week old beard that none of these kids could grow. Not a stitch of U of M color on me or a wisp of alcohol on my breath - it was five thirty, ferfucksake. The angry young black man wasn’t glowering at me. He’d been looking me over. I looked different. I was a white dude but not a white dude from around here.  Or maybe I had done something racist and hadn’t known it.  Still, though, he was probably checking me out and I just caught him at the wrong moment. Like when I saw Todd Trainer coming out of a Dunn Bros and I made my “Is that Todd Trainer?” face right as Todd Trainer looked up at me and saw my “Is that Todd Trainer?” face which, from the way the muscles in my face feel when I recreate it, must look an awful lot like my “Well, my IBS is fucking flaring up again!” face. It’s not a good look. That’s what Todd Trainer saw.  Anyway, I let it go because I had bought the ticket, I had to take the ride. It was time to eat my goddamned cheesesteak.  You’re probably wondering how it was.  I hardly remember the last time I was there, a little over a year I should think. So I can’t really compare it to last time. My meat was cooked, not seasoned, didn’t need it. (Note that, PepperJax. “America’s Favorite Cheesesteak” my sexy Black Irish ass. Lay off all the goddamned Lawry’s.) The peppers were nearly goddamned fluorescent, the onions translucent. The cheezewhiz looked like something I should not be eating, like it was really just plumbing caulk and annatto, but I’ve got a fucking deathwish, like that L7 song, so yeah, fuck it. Little Asian lady, because she was trying to send me signals, doused the goddamned sandwich with it. Like she was happy about it. Like she had a plan that day. She had woke up to kill round eyes and this was her first shot all day long.  It was fucking delicious. It was savory. It was heaven. All that beef grease and cheezewhiz dripped on my wax paper and I just sopped it right back up with the sandwich. As I did, the loud conversations turned to nothing but a gentle thromming around me, like the sound of my mother’s heart while I was in the womb. I had returned to the gentle place, the place before pain, the place of tranquility and security. I was home, my droogs, I was home.  Not around these bros, no. In the sandwich.  I pounded that fucker down in about four minutes.  Then the world came rushing back at me. Saturday. Dinkytown. Sun close to going down. Football season. Jesus Christ, I had to go.  Connors and Bethanies everywhere. A new throng of Bethanies entered as I got up to throw my wax paper away and all their ponytails were tied so high and tight that their eyebrows were in a constant expression of surprise, tight little non-cheeks poking out of skirts. I threw away my wax paper and tried to avoid physical contact, hell, eye contact and I SAW A GUY WITH AN UNDERCUT OH GOD DEAR JESUS HELP YOUR SERVANT PLEASE GOD MOTHERFUCKING JESUS AND MICHAEL THE ARCHANGEL DELIVER THIS SINNER DELIVER THIS SINNER OH LORD SONOFABITCH THEY’RE MULTIPLYING! THEY’RE MULTI- DID SOMEBODY GET ONE OF THEM WET!? OH MY GOOD LORD IN HEAVEN BABY JESUS PLEASE I SWEAR I WILL NEVER TOUCH MYSELF AGAIN JUST DON’T LET ANYBODY FEED THEM AFTER MIDNIGHT!  I begin hyperventilating. I need air. I need a pink lemonade. With some Hennessy. And a cigarette dipped in embalming fluid. God sweet lord baby Jesus get me out of here. The exit! I see the exit! If I can just make it to the exit!  I make it! I’m out! I’m free!  I unlock my bike, put on my headphones, and hit start on my phone. Public Enemy. Classic cut. “911 Is A Joke”. I straddle my bike, look briefly through the windows at Frank’s Football Season Patronage. They’re. All. Staring. Back. At. Me.  I swear to god. They’re all staring back at me.  Shit was unnerving.  I got out of Dinkytown before sundown. Came back to the apartment. Slammed back a grape pop.  If you go to Frank From Philly’s, go during baseball season.