#;v: but hey; that's high school (ｐｏｓｔ－ｍｏｖｉｅ ｃａｎｏｎ)

[roastyoualive-archive]

@mercenxrycollxctive​ || from [x]

... What. He glanced around, double and then triple-checking to make sure nobody had heard. Looked like they weren’t paying attention. Typical, but he was glad for it. That could have been weird.

“Look.” He leans in, holding his notebook as though he’s taking an order. “I get you’re stoked to go to a new school. That’s great.” (There’s a bit of sarcasm leaking through the customer service voice. He does his best to behave.)

“But it’s a secret identity for a reason. You can’t just talk about it out in the open.”

[roastyoualive-archive]

"Support bacteria - they’re the only culture some people have." (From Elise)

I lost the meme rip

He snorts. That’s one way to respond to rude customers. (Fortunately, the troublemaker has left already.) 

“Still, sorry for that. Hope it didn’t ruin your meal.” 

[roastyoualive-archive]

‘  i hope you end up ok  ’

I lost the meme rip

He hesitates. He’s… Not sure how to respond. Not really. He looks down to his hands. Sighs. Nods once. 

“Yeah.” He stays silent for a while. … He feels like he should say something else. Like what? He didn’t know. He lightly rapped his knuckles against his leg. He glances at her out of the corner of his eye.

“… You, too.” 

[roastyoualive-archive]

‘ some kid just skateboarded down my street crying ’

I lost the meme rip

He raises an eyebrow, then looks at the video file attached to the text. … That person looks really familiar. 

…

Oh my god, that’s Zach.

[jesus.]

[what’s going on up there?]

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whispers bc "medical" for the nonverbal meme >:0

nonverbal starters

medical wake up in the hospital and find them holding their hand.

He squeezed his eyes shut. It was bright. Too bright. He could see the light even through his eyelids. 

It sucked. He scrunched his face up tighter. … He could still see it. With a muffled groan, he raised his hand to try and wipe at his face. … Oh, there was something holding him in place. He squinted one eye open, still unaccustomed to the light. He’d recognize that puff of hair anywhere.

“Hey, Liv,” he mumbled, scrubbing his other hand across his face. “What happened?” 

[roastyoualive-archive]

📖

Send 📖 and i’ll write a snippet from my muses’ story || Accepting

“I’m home!” He calls to the empty apartment. No answer. Mom must have already been off to work; Looks like he’d be eating alone.

Again.

He sighed, dumping his bag on one of the two chairs at the table. The wood creaked under its weight. Great. It was probably close to breaking, again. He’d have to dig out the duct tape again. … If they had any left. He hoped they did.

(Maybe he should try to find metal furniture in their budget. Or plastic, at least. Something he could melt together when it broke. It might be more cost-effective in the long run.)

He glanced to the fridge. Saw the square of yellow right away against its pale blue surface. He plucked the sticky note between two fingers, scanning over the words written on it.

‘Working late tonight’, she’d said. ‘Leftovers in the fridge. Love you.’ Of course. He tossed the note onto the table. He just hoped she wasn’t out too late - the weather tonight was supposed to suck. (And she wouldn’t be able to stop it.) He crouched down, peered into the fridge. Yeah, there were the leftovers. Just like she said.

… He really didn’t want leftovers again. Especially not Chinese leftovers again. Yeah, yeah, beggars can’t be choosers. And he’s definitely a beggar. But he worked around Chinese food every day, and he’d been eating it almost constantly. He wanted an actual meal. … You know, for once.

Did they have anything to cook? That was the question. And it was a damn good one. He crouched, looked around at the fridge’s lower shelf. Not a lot, but there was a head of (slightly browning) cabbage and a single remaining chicken breast from the bargain bin. Probably going to go bad soon. He should eat it before that happens. Waste of money, otherwise. And they still had that bag of rice in the cupboard, and… Maybe some soup in the shelves? He thought so. Hoped so, at least. A bit of rummaging gave him his answer: Yup. Tomato. That’d work, he supposed. Better than nothing. He glanced to the clock - yeah, he had an hour or two before he had to catch the bus to work. He reached to turn the radio on… And was met with silence.

Of course. Stupid thing. He couldn’t even be surprised. With a scowl, he reached over and flicked the switch to ‘off’. It didn’t change anything, but leaving it on felt wrong, somehow. At least the stove was working. He’d fix the radio after work. … If he wasn’t dead on his feet. … He wished he has time to fix it, now. It’s so quiet. It was weird.

A loud thump and a smash from the apartment above, the sound of loud curses muted by the ceiling. An argument. He rolled his eyes and shook his head, returning to his cooking. 

That’s more like it.

[roastyoualive-archive]

❝ Do you mind if I call you a genius? ❞

“Little Shop of Horrors” soundtrack sentence meme

“Yes.” He’s being difficult. Mostly because he can hear the sarcasm in her voice. “I do.”

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SMORCHED FOR NEW YEARS

He wasn’t much for parties. Never had been. He’d make an exception for this, though. His friends and his SO celebrating New Years’ in their own way. It was… Nice. Fun. He even felt himself relaxing for a change. He’s got one arm around ‘Xu’s shoulders (the other hand is occupied with a solo cup of cherry coke) as the countdown begins. … Relaxed though he may be, he’s not counting with them. Just watching and being in the moment is enough for him. 

Three, two, one… He’s about to sigh when he finds his mouth otherwise occupied. Of course, they’d talked about this before hand; ‘Xu was big on getting permission. (Warren always thought it was cute, and of course made sure to return the courtesy.) In spite of that, he was still almost surprised. Almost surprised, and absolutely flustered. 

“… Happy New Year.”

(Smooth, Peace; real smooth.)

[roastyoualive-archive]

“i ruined everything.”

three word starters pt. 2

“Shut up.” He reaches out to lightly bop her on the head. “You didn’t ruin it.” He sits heavily on the park bench, trying to ignore the distant sounds of firetrucks. 

“Nobody got hurt, right?” 

[roastyoualive-archive]

Penny has died.

“…..has died.” finish it in my ask. || Accepting

… when turned fifty degrees past calibration, will result in a polari– 

Snap. Warren frowned down at the broken pencil lead. Ah, well. That’s what he had extras for. He grabbed one of the two spares from the corner of his workspace and resumed his note-taking. Every now and again, he’d glance up at the blackboard. While some people might question his teaching methods, nobody could say Medulla didn’t know what he was talking about. He was a supergenius, after all. 

He’d been in the middle of double-checking his spelling of the inventor of the first shrink ray (Russian phonics were different than any he’d worked with, before) when a knock on the door stopped the lecture. Warren only spared it the barest glance. 

“Yes?” Medulla sounded annoyed. Warren could relate, but decided to salvage the situation. As Medulla stepped outside to speak with whoever it was - offering a ‘one moment, class’ over his shoulder - Warren reached down to rummage through his bag. He’d scrounged together enough spare cash to buy a set of highlighters from the dollar store, so, depending on how long this took, he might be able to get a head start on colour-coding his notes–

“Mister Peace.” He looked up. People were looking at him, now. A glance to the side showed him Will quickly averting his eyes. As Warren sat up, he returned his own gaze to the door. Mr. Medulla stood with a decidedly unreadable expression on his face. Beside him was one of the office attendants. The, uh, the jumpy one, what was her name… Mrs. Springer. 

“… Yeah?” He said when the silence stretched. 

“You’re being requested at the office.” Warren rolled his eyes almost before Medulla had even finished speaking. Of course he was. He shot an irritated grimace at the desk as he pushed himself to stand, bracing his hands on the smooth wooden surface. 

“And, Mister Peace?” Medulla spoke again. Warren straightened with a huff of breath and an arched brow. 

“Yeah?” He repeated. Mrs, Springer shot an anxious glance to Medulla. Warren felt like he wasn’t supposed to notice, but he did. 

“You- Might want to bring your bag, dear.” She said it in the sort of tone you’d expect a grandmother to have. That didn’t make this any less of a headache. He was fluent in teacher, by now. That meant ‘don’t expect to come back, kid’. He shoved his book into his bag, briefly wondering who he’d have to ask to copy their notes. Probably Will. Speaking of- 

“What did you do?” He asked, voice barely over a whisper. Warren shrugged and shook his head, doing his best to convey ‘I don’t know!’ in a gesture. He hauled his bag up by one strap and walked through the silent classroom and out into the hall. As he passed, Mr. Medulla looked like he wanted to say something. Warren paused. A beat of silence, before Medulla shook his head and closed the door. As it clicked, Warren could faintly hear him returning to the lecture with an apology for the interruption. Damn. He hoped this wouldn’t be on the test - or maybe he could ask for a make-up lecture at lunch? … Probably not. Especially not if he was in trouble. Guess he could always check the library. 

The walk to the office was silent. So silent, in fact, he could hear his sneakers against the tiled floor just as well as her heels. Springer seemed more nervous than usual. She wouldn’t stop fiddling, either with her glasses, a stray piece of hair, or the manila folder of paperwork she seemed to have perpetually clutched to her chest. … She seemed scared. Of him? Did she honestly think he’d attack a teacher? (Or- secretary?) …. Scratch that. Baron Battle’s kid. Of course she’d think something like that, never mind the fact he’d never done that kind of thing in his life. (Thanks, Dad.) He decided to think about something else. Like what they could possibly be pinning on him, this time. He honestly had no idea. He hadn’t gotten into any fights, or even any arguments lately, didn’t make a headache of himself in class… Didn’t cheat on tests or plagiarize his work, and ever since sixth grade had made a point of keeping his rough drafts and research notes to prove it… Didn’t destroy any more property than normal in STC (and had not, thank you very much, set Boomer on fire again). Yeah, he had no idea. He figured he had to be getting blamed for someone else’s handiwork. Again. Whatever. The nice thing about having friends (or, one of the nice things) was that, hopefully, at least one of the others would be willing and able to vouch for his innocence. That should speed things along. Maybe he’d be able to catch the tail end of the lecture, after all. 

Springer opened the door for him, and he gave her a small nod of thanks. Received a watery, shaky smile in return. Geez, she looked like she was about to cry. Was she really that scared of him? They’d barely ever even spoken, before! It didn’t put him in the best mood as he stepped into the office. Principal Powers was at her desk. For some reason, she looked older than she had when he’d passed her in the hall, that morning. He wasn’t really sure why. Didn’t think about it long after he saw the person sitting beside her. A man, broad in the shoulders, in a formal black suit. Short hair, dark glasses, ear piece. A Fed, by the looks of it. It took a concentrated effort not to scowl. Had to be about Dad. Because, you know, a fifteen-year-old highschooler in California absolutely had control over what happened up at NAPSE. He’d handled this before. Just give him your statement, get your alibi verified, get back to class. Hopefully it wouldn’t take as long to process as it had, last time. The suit started to ask a question - ‘Are you–’ but clammed up as soon as he saw Warren’s face. Just nodded to himself in silent confirmation. Warren warily set his bag down by the door and crossed his arms over his chest, hovering by the door. 

“Uhm-” Mrs. Springer broke the silence. All three sets of eyes - Powers, Warren, and the Suit’s sunglasses - turned to her. She gulped, stared at the floor, and shut the door with a nervous laugh before scurrying off down the hall. Warren furrowed his brow. Sheesh, and he thought he was bad with social situations.

“Warren?” Principal Powers spoke, and he looked up. First names? Weird. “This,” she continued, gesturing to the suit, “is Mr. Stern, from the Agency’s head office.” Warren’s brows raised, and he blinked. The Agency? What the hell did they want? No Agent had tried to get in contact with the Peaces since Mom went inactive. Were they trying to hire her, again? To hire him? He wasn’t even licensed, yet. That couldn’t be it. … It looked like they were waiting for him to say something.

“Hey.” Warren greeted lamely. He kept studying the Agent, trying to get a read on him. No luck. Not surprising. 

“Would you take a seat, son?” The Agent - Stern - said, nodding to a chair opposite the desk. Warren glanced to the chair, leaning away to get a better look at it and swallowing a comment about how Stern wasn’t his dad. Probably better to not make this worse. Instead, he said nothing and did sit down, but kept his eyes on the two adults. This was so weird. It only got weirder when Stern reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a huge, white rectangle that almost reminded Warren of an overgrown bar of soap. He flicked a switch on the side, the box made a short whirring noise, and Powers gave the Agent what Warren thought would have been an exasperated look, if she’d had the energy. (Why was she so tired? Did the staff coffee machine break, or something?) She didn’t stop him, though. There was a brief moment when the air felt charged with static. It faded quickly enough, but not before piquing Warren’s curiosity. He wanted to reach over to the box and see what it was. He decided against doing so and kept his arms crossed, hands tucked in. Stared silently at Stern, waiting for an explanation. 

“Son,” Stern began again, shifting to a more comfortable position in his chair. Warren leaned back slightly in his. “I’m afraid I have some bad news.” A part of Warren very much wanted to be sarcastic. It was drowned out by the chill that raced down his spine. 

“… What kind of news?” He sat up slowly. His hands gripped the armrests of his chair a bit tighter than he realized. Stern sighed.

“It’s about your mother.” 

Warren felt the school rock beneath him. Mom?

“What…?” The air was suddenly too thick for him to get any other words out. In the corner of his eye, he could make out Powers standing up, but he was too focused on Stern to care. No, no, no no no….

“This afternoon, at 1:45 PM, your mother was on her way home from work.”

No.

(It was so cold.)

“… Am I correct to assume you’ve seen the news? About Voltage?”

No.

(Yes.) (He didn’t answer.)

“We have reason to believe that your mother intervened in one of their attacks.” 

No. 

(Please, no.)

(This wasn’t real.)

(Not Mom.)

“And…” Stern trailed off. Warren kept staring, unaware that he was shaking his head in silent denial. 

Please.

Stern sighed. 

“I’m so sorry, son.” 

Sorry?! What did that-?! He didn’t even remember standing up, but the chair that clattered to the ground behind him let him know that he must’ve. It wasn’t true. It wasn’t. It was some sick joke, some sort of- Some- It wasn’t-! It couldn’t be, not Mom-! 

“You’re lying!” He wasn’t aware of the break in his voice. He was aware that there was no fire in his hands. Tried again. Nothing. Powers and Stern were standing now. If he’d been more coherent, he might have realized his lack of abilities came from that box. But he wasn’t thinking about that. Only about getting the truth out of Stern. 

To the Agent’s credit, he didn’t flinch when Warren shoved him against the wall. Didn’t fight back, didn’t struggle, didn’t even react aside from re-adjusting his glasses when they got knocked askew. 

“Where is she?!” Warren demanded, yanking on fistfuls of Stern’s jacket collar. “Where’s my mom?!” His vision blurred. It had to be from adrenaline, right? Not from how much he was crying. (’Boys aren’t supposed to cry, Warren’ a voice from first grade whispered.)

“Diana.” Stern held up a cautioning hand over Warren’s shoulder. Warren glanced back - Powers. It looked like she’d been reaching out to them. He exhaled a shaky breath, then roughly dropped Stern and took a step back. His lungs drew in air at a ragged, irregular rate and he sniffed but didn’t wipe his eyes. Only stared, hands still flexed against the humming white box, as the Agent calmly dusted himself off.

(’It’s okay, sweetheart.’ Said a voice he’d never hear again. ‘Everything’s gonna be okay. We still have each other, right?’)

Wrong.

He tried another gulp of air and failed. Squeezed his eyes shut, His voice sounded so small when he spoke.

“Where’es my mom…?” A hand on his shoulder. Warren flinched back. Stern was in front of him, looking down through impassive glasses.

He didn’t even care.

“Come with me.” 

…

He felt numb. 

They’d taken him off in an Agency aircraft. They’d sent someone to collect his things and he hadn’t said a word since they’d left the office, only clung to himself desperately like it might offer some form of comfort and it didn’t. (She was gone. She was gone she was gone why was she gone?) They’d landed in a secure location and he’d asked if they were going to a hospital but Stern had said there’d be no point. No point? Nobody would even tell him what happened. What did ‘no point’ mean? Sure, hospitals were expensive, but- But he would’ve given the shirt off his back if it meant she was okay. He’d have spent every day for the rest of his life at work, he’d cut down on food, he’d- He’d take a page from Dad’s book and rob a bank, anything as long as she’d be around at the end of the day, but- But there was no point. He should’ve been there. He should’ve saved her. He should’ve died, instead. She’d always been there for him. She’d done everything for him, and he couldn’t do one damn thing for her. Walking home from work, they’d said. She wouldn’t have needed that job if he hadn’t been around. She wouldn’t have lost her old one if she hadn’t needed to take care of him. It was his fault she was dead. It was his fault he lost the only person who ever really gave a damn. His mom was gone because of him.

“We’ve contacted your next of kin,” Agent Stern said. Warren numbly looked up from the chair he was in. At some point, someone must’ve put a blanket around his shoulders. He didn’t remember it getting there. “Your uncle has agreed to take you in.” The gentleness sounded alien and forced in the Agent’s voice. A thought broke through the grief:

I have an uncle?

Warren didn’t say anything, though. Only stared.

“Nicholas Peace?” Stern said, as though expecting that to jog some memory. “Your mother’s brother?” 

Mom had a brother?

Had. Past-tense. Mom had a brother. Just like Warren had a mom. Where had this ‘uncle’ been for the past forever? Why was he stepping in now? A man came into the room behind Stern. Neatly combed brown hair, blue eyes, a suit that looked like it cost more than Warren’s entire apartment. Dress code aside, he looked a lot like Mom. Warren’s chest constricted painfully and he looked away. Swallowed a lump in his throat that might’ve been a sob if he let it. Mom was gone. His mom was gone and it was his fault and now he was being shoved off on someone who wouldn’t want anything to do with the kid who killed his sister. Warren wouldn’t want anything to do with himself, either. He just wanted everything to stop.

The funeral was small and quiet. The sun was shining, and Warren, from where he stood alone, idly thought that Mom would’ve liked it. She’d loved the sun. The marble headstone could’ve covered the Peaces’ food budget for a month, easily. A simple epitaph graced its surface. 

Penelope Anne Peace

October 12, 1972 - November 4, 2005

Beloved mother, sister, friend. 

What a joke, Warren thought bitterly. He stared silently at the freshly-turned earth, blinking against tears that had long since been spent. Nobody else had come. Just him, and his… Uncle. Cousin and Aunt, too, but they were doing a poor job of disguising how bored they were. How dare they. How dare the three of them make light of this-? Mom deserved so much better. She deserved a better family than them and a better son than him and better friends than the ones who couldn’t be bothered to make an appearance. Not here, and not when they cleaned the apartment. Nicholas had sent people to do it, but Warren had insisted on being there. Had made sure to gather every single item of importance himself. … It had always seemed like such a cramped space, before. But now- It felt huge. It felt empty. It felt cold. It felt lonely. It was a feeling that followed him no matter where he went. 

Not school, though. Mainly because he didn’t go back. Not the next day. Not the day after that. (He couldn’t take it, any more.)

(Sorry, Mom.)

“Hey, guys!” Will said, weaving his way through the cafeteria to their usual table.

“Hey, man!” Zach reached up a hand for a high-five, and Will obliged, making sure not to drop his tray. He slid into a seat between Ethan and Layla. 

“How’d the history test go?” Layla asked, popping a kale chip into her mouth. Will shrugged.

“I think I passed?” He offered. “I mean, I did study, and I think I did well, but-” He glanced around, looking for a change of subject (the last thing he wanted to do was stress even more about that test. He’d been worrying all week). “So, uh- Has anyone seen Warren? I’ve still got his science notes from the last few classes, and…” The table went silent. Will looked around. “What?” Everyone seemed to be staring at their food. Layla put a hand on his arm.

“Will…” She began. Will frowned. 

“Yeah…?” It was Magenta who answered. (She’d heard the news, first.)

“… His mom died.” She said, putting her fork down. Will felt the colour drain from his face.

“Wh-? Oh, my god…”

That was the first piece of news that would reach Sky High regarding the disappearance of Warren Peace. 

The second fact was that the lavish estate of Nicholas Peace, practicing attorney, had burned to the ground completely. Thankfully, no casualties had yet been discovered, but a few of the staff were suffering serious injuries.

Next, the student body learned that, some time ago, Baron Battle had escaped from NAPSE, leaving a trail of immolated corpses and chaos in his wake before apparently vanishing off of the face of the Earth. Nobody knew how he’d gotten out. Nobody knew where he’d gone.

All they knew was that, wherever he was,

it looked as though he’d taken his son with him. 

[roastyoualive-archive]

@makeapples liked for a starter!

“Hey, hippie.” And what a flip from their first meeting this is - he’s sitting across from her. (This might just be the most sociable Warren Peace has ever been.) “You feeling alright?”

[roastyoualive-archive]

Layla has died.

“…..has died.” finish it in my ask. || Accepting

There was an oddly somber mood about the school, that day. At first, he’d thought it was just him. (It was usually just him.) But, no. This was different. People kept shooting him weird looks in the halls. That much, he was used to. It was the nature of these looks that was so weird. They weren’t the usual angry or nervous or judgmental type. … He actually wasn’t sure what it was. Whatever it was, they turned it away as soon as they noticed him looking back. That was normal enough. What wasn’t normal is that he couldn’t seem to find anyone. Not Layla, or Will, or any of the others. He knew Will hadn’t been in class all day, so that wasn’t an ‘avoiding him’ thing. But, the rest of them? He had no idea.

He sat at their regular lunch table, alone. It was weird. The first time they’d sat with him, it’d felt so wrong. They weren’t supposed to be here. Nobody was supposed to be here. ‘Nobody sits here but me’. Now, it was the fact that they weren’t there that felt so wrong. Funny, how these things changed. He’d just gotten used to having the five of them around.

It was a solid seven minutes before they finally appeared. Magenta sat down first. 

“Hey.” She said simply. He glances up from his book and half-finished bottle of juice with a nod. Zach and Ethan came next, and though he did kind of appreciate the distance they left between him, he had to wonder what was going on. 

“So, uh…” Zach began, then stopped. Warren stared at him, wondering who this was and what happened to the real Glowstick.

“How, uh, how’re you holding up?” That was Ethan. Warren turned to look at him, utterly baffled.

“… Fine…?” He trailed off, raising a brow and shrugging. 

“You sure?” Zach again. “‘Cause, you know, if you’re not, that’s cool, too, man. I mean, it’s- It’s been rough for all of us.” He sniffed. Warren’s brown furrowed as he turned again. … Zach’s eyes looked red. 

“Somebody wanna tell me what’s going on?” He asked, looking around at his friends. 

“You didn’t hear?” Magenta asked. Warren looked up to her. Took a moment to study her face. He didn’t know a lot about makeup, but he was pretty sure she’d re-done her eyeliner at some point. He could still see streaks that she’d almost - but not completely - cleaned away.

“No?” He sat back, shrugging and glancing off to the side. He was getting the feeling he didn’t want to know. But, still…

“Layla’s dead, Warren!” Magenta snapped, and seemed to regret it instantly. He flinched back. It almost felt like he’d been slapped. He knew what those words meant individually. But, in a sentence like that, they didn’t make any sense. 

“What?” He asked blankly. She was… What? Layla? She couldn’t be. 

“We heard this morning.” Ethan said quietly. He looked so much smaller than normal. Warren stared in utter, horrified confusion at the table. There was a logical conclusion to all of this. A simple one. One that he was sure he already knew. But he couldn’t reach it. 

He found himself looking over his shoulder, like he was expecting her to come bouncing over with a tray full of salad, just like always. The cafeteria offered no such salvation. He looked back to Magenta, a sort of hopeless confusion on his face. 

“Warren…?” That was Ethan’s voice, wasn’t it? He looked down. His hands had melted halfway through the table. He hadn’t even realized he’d powered up. He blinked, let the flames die out. 

Processing.

“What happened?” He asked that, right? He thought so. It sounded like him. He barely heard the answer. Something about protecting someone. Of course, she would. She’d always been like that. So painfully good, always trying to put other people first. Of course it would come back to bite her. 

He didn’t remember standing up or leaving the cafeteria. He was only sort of aware of someone calling after him (Zach?) but nobody followed. 

Probably smart. 

He didn’t even realize where he was going until he was almost out the door. Ignored the heat distortion that made the pavement bubble and the grass brown around his feet.

Step 1: Get away from this school.

Step 2: Find Will. Even if just to make sure he was okay, but mostly to get more details.

Step 3? 

Well.

If he didn’t confess to anything, it’d be a lot harder to pin it on him. 

[roastyoualive-archive]

Magenta: Zach, Ethan, where's Will?

Zach: Doing stuff.

Magenta: Then where's Warren?

Ethan: Trying to stop Will from doing stuff.

Magenta: Then where's Layla?

Zach: Stopping Warren from stopping Will from doing stuff.

Magenta: If they’re doing all that, why are you here and not with them?

Zach and Ethan: We have to keep you distracted so you can't stop Layla from stopping Warren from stopping Will from doing stuff.