#Laser lip reading PA

[mdbariaticcosmeticsurgery]

How Much Does Liposuction Cost?

Liposuction is the term that is getting normal in the beauty and glamor world. There are several celebrities who have undergone liposuction treatment with liposuction. Liposuction, which is also known as Brazilian butt lift surgery, is one of the longest-standing cosmetic treatments which has been practiced all over the world. The liposuction cost is also very expensive according to the location and other factors.

The actual definition of liposuction is a surgical procedure in which the body fats are removed from a particular body part and then injected into the buttocks part to enhance its size and shape. The process is practiced under the influence of anesthesia, which makes it function smoothly without causing any pain to the patient.

Liposuction Cost Around The World

Liposuction enables fast improvement to your body by reducing the fats from the body and making it contour. According to a few reports, it is estimated that around 27,000 patients underwent butt -lifting treatment in 2019. This shows the high demand for liposuction in the US market. With this, laser lip reading in PA is also getting trendy with liposuction. But not only in the USA; this treatment is followed by various other countries as the treatment's cost is differentiated according to the zones and locations.

1. Liposuction Cost In South Korea

Medical tourism globally has chosen some countries that are cost-friendly and offer high-level satisfaction in Brazilian butt lift surgeries. One of the countries in South Korea is known for its world-class plastic surgery; full-body liposuction can range between $25,000 to $30,000.

2. Liposuction Usa

According to a few reports by the American Society of Plastic Surgeons, the acreage cost of the butt lifting surgery is over $3,600 per body part area. This will exclude the surgeon's fee, the cost of anesthesia, and other facilities, as the total cost varies based on all these factors. The laser liposuction reading in PA is cost-effective.

3. Liposuction Cost In Mexico And Brazil

Brazil is the country from where the process of liposuction was invented. It costs around $1,500 to $13,000, excluding operating costs and anesthesia. In contrast, liposuction is substantially less expensive in Mexico. The smaller body area can cost $2,300 to $2,500, the medium parts area is for $3,500, and the larger part areas are around $4,000.

The Liposuction cost makes it one of the costliest cosmetic surgeries. Liposuction is a straightforward, safe, and effective way to reduce body fats and inject them at the desired place for the contoured body. The complication rate is very low in terms of liposuction.

Schedule Your Appointment For Liposuction Here! Bariatric and Cosmetic Surgery is where you can find special offers and services for your liposuction surgery. Doctor Sean Yuan is one of the specialized doctors here who is experienced in cosmetic surgery. The liposuction cost is according to the market. They also provide other services, such as lip augmentation. Breast augmentation, tummy tuck, buttock lift, etc. So, if you want to enhance your beauty skills with cosmetic surgery, visit their website.

[nour386]

Furry Fortune teller

Stan and Ford are stuck with a dilemma, Filbrick has told them to either find a way for Shanklin to earn his keep, or else the Stab Possum will be kicked back to the streets. Can they find a way to save their pet from the cold cruel outside world?

also on ao3!

This was my piece for the @lost-legends-zine. I hoep you enjoy this short adventure with the stans as they try to save their beloved pet possum.

“I can’t believe pop called me bologna!” Stanley threw himself onto his bed with a huff.

“He didn’t call you bologna,” Stanford corrected. “He called your idea bologna.”

“That’s the same thing! My ideas come from my head, my head is me, so he’s calling me bologna.” Stanley threw up his arms angrily.

“To be fair, you didn’t have much of a compelling argument,” Stanford said from behind his math book. “You can’t say he’s got stage fright to explain why we can’t show Pop Shanklin’s laser eyes.”

“I can too say that,” Stanley said. He slunk down to the floor. “I mean, you can’t prove he can’t do it just because you haven’t seen it. It’s like Santa or the Tooth fairy. Just because you didn’t see them doesn’t mean they aren’t real.”

“I can’t argue with you there. However, Pop isn’t going to take that kind of reasoning.”

“I know. It stinks.” Stanley flailed on the floor of the bedroom. “Like old socks.”

“We’ve already tried testing his strength, agility and speed.” Stanford pointed to the obstacle courses that they had set up in their bedroom. “And he hasn’t shown any progress in any of them.”

“He’s made progress in being the toughest possum. Right Shanklin?” Stanley asked.

The stab-possum in question gave a small yawn before curling back to sleep. He’d nested in the shirt that Stan still hadn’t returned to the Sibling Brothers.

“Oh yeah, he’s tough,” Stanley said, grinning.

“Tough isn’t going to be good enough.” Stanford pursed his lips. “Pop said we needed something sellable with Shanklin or else he’ll put him out on the streets. Remember?”

“Don’t worry. This is just like in the latest issue of the Stilted Investigator Dogs! The pack is about to lose their dog house to some snooty poodle who wants to make it into a snooty salad bar unless they can raise the funds and stop her.”

Stanley continued his explanation of the plot line while Stanford nodded along, asking the occasional question about how dogs are able to communicate with humans yet still need to earn money.

“If they can talk to people why don’t they just put on a show and wow a bunch of locals and make money that way?” Stanford asked.

“I don’t know. Besides, if they did that they wouldn’t be able to stop the bank robber and get paid reward money for bein’ heroes!” Stanley said excitedly.

“That sounds contrived.” Stanford rolled his eyes.

“You’re just sayin’ that because there isn’t numbers on every page,” Stanley defended. “I bet if you read the first issue you’d see it’s really cool.” Stanley jumped to his feet and started to rummage through his drawers. “Now where did I leave it? I was reading it last night.”

He felt something bump against his leg. Looking down Stanley saw Shanklin with something in his mouth.

“Whatcha got there buddy?” Stanley asked, reaching down for whatever Shanklin was holding. “C’mon Slick, let ‘er go.”

Shanklin held tight with his teeth, but he was no match for the might of the one and only Stanley Pines. After a minor shake, and the accidental vaulting of Shanklin onto the lower bunk, Stanley found the comic he was looking for.

“Oh my gosh!” Stanley cried. “Sixer, did you see that?”

“I don’t think a possum shot-put will win us many friends,” Stanford deadpanned. “The last thing we need is some animal rights group giving Pop a whole bunch of calls.”

“No, not that!” Stanley bounded over to his brother. “Look, he brought me the comic I was looking for. It's like he knew what I was thinking.”

“He’s in the room with us. He could have just recognised what you were looking for from last night,” Stanford said. He watched as Shanklin scratched at Stan’s leg. “But that does raise the possibility of him having near-canine intelligence.”

“No way. He’s psychic. Like Ma!” Stanley waved his arms excitedly, dropping something from his comic book. “Oh no, my book mark.”

“You used a candy bar as a bookmark?” Stanford questioned. He watched with bemusement as Shanklin snatched the treat mid-fall and scampered under the bed.

“Hey give that back!” Stanley reached under the bed. “I was gonna have it for a midnight snack, but I didn’t stay up long enough.”

“Maybe that was why he took your comic?”

“Nuh-uh,” Stanley said, successfully pulling Shanklin out from under the bed by his tail. “He’s a mind reader possum, like Ma. But less hairy.”

“Probably shouldn’t say that around Ma.” Stanford stifled a giggle.

“That’s why you’re the smart one,” Stanley said, grinning.

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

"So you're saying he needs a bigger curtain?" Ma Pines said, grinning.

"No way," Stanley said. "If we make it any bigger then no one'll see him. And then what's the point of setting up the show if no one is gonna see him?"

"Mystique, of course." Ma held up a fabric light. It was covered in stars and constellations. "When you start a show, you need to make a grand entrance. And what, my little free spirit, could be grander than a shadow puppet show?" She pinched Stanley's cheek before getting back to work.

"She does have a point," Stanford said from his perch on the floor. He had his nose in a fortune telling book, the current chapter titled 'Onion predictions and you!' "If we want a large number of people to come and watch Shanklin, then we'll need something really eye catching."

"He's Shanklin! What could be more attention-hogging' than that?" Stanley asked. "How many people have seen a stab-possum before?"

Shanklin was taking another nap, this time on an empty seat in the living room. He had been rushed downstairs the moment the brothers had agreed to ask their mother for help. And while he wasn't necessarily pleased with being so roughly picked up and moved, he was rather excited to smell the delicious lunch that Ma had been cooking.

"Everyone's seen a possum before, Stanley," Stanford said.

"Yeah, but he's a stab-possum!" Stanley insisted.

"The suckers won’t know that. Without his knife, they'll think he's some regular old possum, like your Pa," Ma said. She cut a small square from the fabric in her hand and laid it on Shanklin's back. "Oh, this could make a nice cape for you."

"Well they're dumb," Stanley muttered.

"Maybe instead one belly-aching, maybe you can help your Ma with cleaning up all this possum hair." Ma nodded to the lint roller.

"Aw, why do I have to do chores?" Stanley huffed.

"’Cause - uh, we need him prepped for his show," Ma said quickly. "Yeah, we're gonna need to clean Little Shanklin before his show so that the customers see his best side. You don't want him to get a bad picture do you? Imagine how bad the publicity would be. 'Failed Possum Performer Ruins Tourist Ice Creams with Fur.'"

"Oh no! Not the ice cream!" Stanley gasped.

"Yes the ice cream!" Ma smiled wickedly. "Are you gonna let all those delicious treats get spoiled by Shanklin's messy hair?"

"Never!" Stanley cried. He brandished the lint roller over his head as he ran to clean Shanklin of his loose fur.

"And make sure you get your clothes clean too," his mother called after him. She picked up her fabric once more and started to measure out the length of the curtain bar her sons had decided upon.

"You don't really think that would ruin his show do you?" Stanford had tucked away his book for now. He'd read enough methods of predicting the future that he was seeing stars.

"That depends on how you define 'ruin'," Ma said, smiling. "You know what they say, there's no such thing as bad publicity."

"But if people spread the word of how messy Shanklin is, then less people will come our way," Stanford said.

"That's why we need a good show to put on. How often do you think a tourist comes to this broad walk?"

"Once a vacation?" Stanford adjusted his glasses.

"Correct," Ma said. "And if new people are coming every day, then we've got new people to scam. And if more good news spreads about how amazing Shanklin's fortune telling is, then people will more likely take the risk of coming to see his show. And do you know why?"

"Because people could get their ice cream before coming to watch Shanklin's show?" Stanford asked.

"I knew you'd say that," Ma said, grinning. She reached down and pressed Stanford's nose, who giggled in response. "I was thinking that curiosity killed the cat."

"But satisfaction brought it back," Stanford rhymed. He was about to enjoy a well-deserved break when he heard his brother scream with pain, followed by a loud thud.

"Sixer, help! The lint roller attacked me!"

Stanford stood up to see his brother wrapped in the lint roller paper. It looked like a poorly designed Halloween costume, but stickier.

“I’m coming,” Stanford sighed.

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

“Come one, come all!” Stan cheered. He danced along the boardwalk, catching the eye of every tourist and uninterested beach goer. “If you’re bored outta your mind from seeing the same old sand and water, then boy have I got what you’re missing!”

“I have been getting bored,” a tall man said. He wore a line of sunblock across his nose.

“I do hate sand and water,” the woman next to him agreed.

“What do you wanna show me? Is it a dinosaur?” The child with the couple asked.

“Even better!” Stanley hopped from one foot to the next. “A possum that’ll tell you the future!”

“That’s so cool!” A grin spread along the child’s face. “Mum! Dad! Can we go see the magic possum? Please please please?”

“It’s not by the beach is it?” His mother pursed her lips. Stanley wondered why she wore a swimsuit if she hated the beach this much, but chose to not say so out loud.

“No way. The sand makes his outfit uncomfy,” Stanley said.

“Well, if the possum is that understanding about the dangers of sand, then we have to go see them,” the child’s mother said smiling.

Stanley ran ahead, leading the vacationing family, and a few curious passersby towards Shanklin’s stand. His Ma had taken her crystal ball and its table out of the pawn shop and onto the boardwalk. Sitting on top of the crystal ball, in the centre of a mess of tarot cards, was the possum in question. A star-patterned hat adorned his head as Shanklin looked out at the audience. The possum gave a happy squeak when he saw Stanley return.

“Now Ladies, Gents and Germs, who's brave enough to have their fortune told by the most magical possum in the world?" Ma asked the crowd.

A young girl with pigtails, looking only slightly younger than Stan and Ford, bravely marched over to Shanklin's table.

Ma grinned. "Ah, a brave young lass aren't we?"

"All who approach Shanklin must place an offering in the gift bucket," Stanley  tried his best to put on a mysterious voice. He held out a bucket towards the girl. She ran back to her parents and returned with a five dollar bill, which she dropped in the bucket before staring at the possum.

"Mr. Shanklin, where will I have the most fun today?" she asked.

"Take out a card, tell us what it says, and he'll tell you what he sees," Stanley said.

The girl nodded and drew a card from the many that surrounded the crystal ball.

"The Chariot?" she read.

Shanklin chattered his teeth to her.

"Sorry, I don't understand possum," she said in a small voice.

"Normally, a translation costs extra. But for such a pretty little lady, Stanley will give it to you for free," Ma said quickly, before Stanley could shove his bucket in her face again.

"Sure thing." Stanley put his bucket down next to the table. He tucked something into his pocket before walking over to the girl.

"The great Shanklin says that a Chariot card tells you of great enjoyment at the bumper cars at fun land. Or maybe with a toy car car you could get at the local pawn shop,” he added with a wink.

"What if my card was upside down?" the girl asked. "And I read it without turning it around?"

"Well, Shanklin says..." Stanley paused to let the possum in question squeak. "The exact opposite. If it was upside down then you should be careful, you might get bored out of your mind from the bumpers. Or maybe you should check out a doll from that pawn shop instead."

The girl gave Stanley a serious look before putting her card back. "Thank you, Mr. Shanklin," she said, before running back to her parents.

There many hushed whispers as Ma walked around, a small bucket in her hand. "So who’s up next? Shanklin takes advance payments." She grinned as various people dug out their wallets and threw a dollar or two into her bucket.

“Line up and Shanklin will read your fortunes!” Stanley said.

“Psst, Stan! That wasn’t the plan!”  A harsh whisper came from somewhere unseen.

Stanley grinned. “C’mon Ford, this is more fun.”

“If we give a wrong prediction, people will be upset,” Stanford insisted. He poked his head out from under the table cloth, careful that no one from the crowd could see him.

“Half these people are here for the fun of it. I don’t think they’ll mind a bologna fortune,” Stanley said grinning, his bucket already full of ‘translation’ fees.

“Can you at least give a couple of the ones I’m suggesting?” Stanford asked. “This book is heavy, and writing predictions super-fast isn’t easy.”

“Are you sure you don’t wanna join me up here?” Stanley whispered. “It’s like storytelling, but more fun!”

“I’ll stick to the facts,” Stanford muttered.

“Here’s a fact. After this pop won’t call Shanklin a waste of space ever again,” Stanley said grinning.

“Definitely,” Stanford agreed.

----

Make sure to check out the companion piece for this fic found here by @garbagegnomes 

[metaphorical-love-for-a-car]

Pew Pew-- Joe Mazzello x Reader

Prompt; “Take me laser tagging then push me in a corner and kiss me. Then shoot me and walk away.”

Warnings; none!

Word Count; 1.3k

Read it on AO3

At some point or another, most children dream about being a famous actor. You were one of those kids. You stuck to those dreams until you hit middle school and was given an opportunity to participate in a play. During rehearsals, you were completely fine. You performed your little heart out. It wasn't until opening night that things started to go downhill. You were a bundle of nerves. Everyone assured you that you would be alright. They said you did great in rehearsals so you would be okay during the actual performance. You took a deep breath and marched on stage when you heard your cue. You took one glance at the crowd and froze. All the lines you had learned disappeared. Your brain pressed the self-destruct button, and you vomited on stage. Needless to say, you learned that acting just wasn't for you. Instead, you turned your focus to the ones behind the scenes. You decided that you wanted to be a director.

You had long since graduated from college and had directed a few indie films, but you wanted to move up in the world. You wanted to get more experience working in the big leagues. The moment you heard through the grapevine that the creators of the upcoming movie Bohemian Rhapsody were looking for PA's, you leaped at the opportunity. It would be a dream come true for two reasons. 1. It would provide an awesome working experience, and 2. You grew up listening to Queen, and it was still one of your favorite bands. You were absolutely ecstatic to discover you got the job.

Sure, it was annoying when people would see themselves as superior and bark orders at you all day, but you could easily overlook that. The best part of the job was getting to know the cast. They were all so incredibly humble and just all around amazing people. During your time on set, you found yourself falling for none other than the living meme, Joe Mazzello. You could easily recall the moment you started crushing on him. It was one of the first few days of shooting the Live Aid scene. Joe had gotten himself a perm and was wearing a jacket that practically swallowed him. He danced alongside Liam Lunniss and Gwilym Lee to none other than the classic song, "Boss Ass Bitch." Your cheeks were hurting from smiling so much. They had the whole damn routine memorized.

You found yourself making excuses to talk to him. The most common one was telling the cast that you were going on a coffee run and wanted to know if they would like anything. You thought you were being subtle, but apparently, you were far from it. Ben, Gwil, and Rami could see it. Hell, even Brian and Roger could see it. Everyone knew. Most people just thought, "Oh, that poor PA. They're crushing on an actor. Too bad it won't work out." What they didn't realize, however, was that Joe liked you too. The boys gave him endless torment about taking so long to ask you out.

He ended up printing out a Life Alert meme that said, "I've fallen for you and can't get up" with his contact information scribbled on the back. Joe gave it to Ben to deliver it to you. When Ben handed you the paper, all you could do was laugh. Of course, Joe would ask you out via meme. That evening, the two of you went to a karaoke bar. After Joe had a couple of drinks, he felt confident in his singing skills and stepped up to the mic. Out of all the possible songs he could have chosen, Joe selected Purple Rain by Prince. He was a good singer, or at least that's what you gathered from the few lines he actually sang. Most of the time, he was just screaming the lyrics. If his goal was to make you laugh, then the mission was a success. Your sides were aching by the time he sat back down.

After that, he took you on multiple dates. Whether it was going out to dinner, walking through a museum, or even just playing Mario Kart, you always enjoyed the time spent with him. You'll never be able to forget the first time he kissed you.

He decided to take you out on a top-secret date. No one knew what it was-- not even Ben. Joe refused to give any details but would constantly giggle like a kid who got away with stealing from the cookie jar. He even went as far as to blindfold you so you wouldn't be able to see where he was taking you. Joe ushered you into a building and your senses were immediately bombarded. The strong scent of cleaning supplies made you wrinkle your nose, and cartoonish gun sounds blared over nearby speakers. The sound was only rivaled by kids laughing. You gasped, thinking you had finally put the puzzle together. "Are we at an arcade?"

"No, but you're pretty close," Joe hummed. He gently removed the blindfold, and you blinked a few times to adjust your eyes to your new surroundings. A bright smile graced your features. "Surprise!" Joe held up his jazz-hands. You laughed with delight.

"I love laser tag! You'll have to go easy on me. It's been years since I've played, so I'm probably pretty rusty." Joe snorted, and an employee led you along with a group of others into a back room. You were all assigned gear and given instructions on how to play safely.

"Don't worry, m'lady. I'll protect you," Joe vowed.

"Oh, my knight in shining armor." You placed the back of your hand against your forehead, fluttering your eyelashes. The two of you held the act for about ten seconds before dissolving into laughter.

The employee tapped a few buttons on a nearby computer, and the circular light in the middle of everyone's vest began to glow with the corresponding colors of their teams. Yours lit up blue, while Joe's lit up red. The two of you stared at each other for a moment, realization settling in. You would be competing against each other... as if Mario Kart wasn't stressful enough. "Oh, how the tables have turned." The employee pulled back a curtain, and everyone filed inside the dark room. The teams were separated into different corners of the room. An automated voice came over the speakers and began the countdown. Joe stuck his tongue out at you, and you retaliated by giving him the middle finger.

Then the battle began. Everyone was hiding behind obstacles and firing at whatever moved within their vicinity. You, on the other hand, barrelled headfirst into enemy territory. You had one target-- Joe Mazzello. He was going down, whether he liked it or not. The two of you laughed, trying to dodge the other's attacks. You crouched, creeping around an obstacle. As soon as your eyes landed on Joe, you fired at him. The sensor on his chest vibrated, and you cheered at the sudden victory. While your guard was down, Joe grabbed your wrists, pulling you close to him. "That wasn't very nice."

"You're just bitter than I'm beating you."

"Is that so?" You hummed in response, never breaking eye contact. Without warning, Joe pressed his lips against yours. Your body tensed for a moment before relaxing into his touch. He pulled away, resting his forehead against yours. That's when it happened. The ultimate betrayal. He pressed his gun to your chest and pulled the trigger in a rapid-fire procession. Your vest's sensor vibrated violently as you gasped. The lights overhead flickered to life, indicating that the round was over.

"That was a cheap shot, Mazzello!"

"All's fair in love and war, sweetheart," he said with a wink.

[namesnot-rick]

Johnson and Gilligan’s “Two Weeks in Hell”

(And Other Strange Purchases from the Dream Marketplace)

“Excuse me, is that a Boeing-737?”  I say, shuffling my feet toward the sun-bathed creature at my direct far-left.  She looks puzzlingly; examiningly, I may say.  The hiss and growl of machinery crawl in my ear and scream me deaf.  I point the ample-titted Mary toward the hulking plane which soars just overhead and nearly rips my head in two.

“I said- is that a Boeing-737!”

“I can’t hear you over this Boeing-737!”

“What!”

“I said-”  Useless.  The woman-species has proven futile in the quest for a simple inquiry; not the first, nor the last time.  The beastly idiot-mother - she which has denied the relinquishment of her youth for twenty years beyond her prime - those which should sag, perpetuated unnecessarily by the vanity of the grotesque, obscene, leech-brained Mother of the illiterate and the neurotic.  I dream of heaving those mammaries-in-denial straight into the sky - sending them through a jet engine, shredded upon contact, clogging the deafening mechanical beast with silicon and sending it spiraling into the Atlantic abyss!  What a glorious lark, what a plunge, what a-

“Excuse me, is that a Boeing-737!” says a blind fellow, whose grasp encompasses my shoulder.

“What!”

“I said, is that a-”

“Is that a Boeing-737!”  He shrugs and falls away.  Signs read, ‘Florida Man mauled to death poking alligator with stick down in the bayou’, and then flash green, and bathe under the sunlight for two hours, and then melt away.  It is silent now except for the radiating humidity and a hose attached to an extinguisher, whirling in the air and spouting ocean-water until the water goes back in the ocean.  The ocean is next to the road and the road is next to a highway and the highway is next to three buildings; one looks like Miami and the other looks like an airplane and the other looks like a hit disco nightclub, in bright blue neon script, “Havana.”  Vehicles zip through the interstate route, six lanes of terrifying speed and inhumanity, the road threatening to jump up and and strike my elbow bloody and pull me down; litter-infested industrial non-sentient rats screaming by at eighty miles an hour and blowing down palm trees as they go by,

All standing between myself and the hit disco nightclub, “Havana.”  Threat levels rise as I inch forward with a single-toe, testing the dangerous and rabid white-foaming waves, biting back, and

I close my eyes and hold my breath and plunge into the polychromatic midnight-indigo entrance of the hit disco nightclub, “Havana”; there’s another doorway and I’m in a dimly-lit waiting room.  A bouncer stands before me, an immovable palm tree of a man with laser-show pink stealing through the cracks and reflecting against his massive white shoes.

“Tell me the business,” I say.  He nods and steps aside.  The beat rises like heat from the pavement, the funk pours in as the doorway proceeds open, lights dazzle epileptically across the purple-checkered dance floor, littered with inflatable tube men embracing and assaulting each other; simultaneous and communal and chaotic, stuck in their single inflatable spot and reaching across and then up and falling down, to repeat the process.

“A sight to behold,” a voice comes over the PA.  I nod.  Four non-inflatable men, apparently Puerto-Rican or Dominican, donning green-striped zoot suits, dart their eyes my way.  Two drop their shades, like Risky Business; one spills his drink all over himself and blushes; the other, long and handsome, hair slicked all the way back, pulls me forth on an invisible rope, stringing me toward the floor and dancing away.  I feel my bones give way to the liquid-

“Feel your bones melt into the radioactive beat, my sweet child,” says the PA.  I am amid the chaos of dozens of inflatable men and four zoot-suited Dominicans, shoulders and waist in unison; the disco-flavor is ingestible, and open my eyes to see that I, too, am donning the slick-sly-livin’ green-striped zoot suit.  This is the moment; I am the moment; I am not me; I am- I am- I am-

“You are the child of a new funk,” says the PA; euphoria emanates from my core, stings my extremities; I feel alive and dead and passed on to a higher groove.

“Florida Man mauled to death,” says the PA, and a beat drop.  “Poking alligator,” the voice melts into the music, “down in the bayou.”

* * *

“We may have to commit violent crimes,” says the slick green zoot to his friends, over a radioactive yellow drink that spills over the side and melts through the wood floor.

“I don’t think.”

“We could, but the logistical processes are immense.”

“Is she prepared for-”

“Of course she-”

“The island is a horrible dangerous venue, complete with razor blades on all corners of the mountain, and such a trek could not possibly be expected of a mere-”

“Are you in?”  The zoots pause their quibbling; they shoot expecting glances toward me.  “Are you in,” he repeats.  Anticipation motors overhead, lingers in the air like silicon-shredded tits behind a malfunctioned jet engine.  The inflatable tube men lean closer.  The music ceases; the frogs no longer croak; the world is at a stand still.  “Are you-”

“Well, is this Havana?” I reply.  It remains still for a moment; the men then throw their collective arms up with all the inflatable tube men, and a ‘huzzah’ the size of Tampa overtakes the “Havana.”  I relish briefly in the sweet moment and three of the zoots melt into the floor; the remaining one follows me toward the backroom.  There stands another palm-tree bouncer with huge white shoes.

“It is Tuesday,” he tells me.

“Now it is Thursday,” I reply as Christ himself, shattering the previously accepted bounds of time and space.  He complies.  The zoot hurries alongside my epochal steps, which surpass thousands of documents in a mere instant.  The room we enter is dark, noir-esque; my zoot suit turns monochromatic.  The room is heated, dry like baked ceramic.  It pervades my lungs.  It smells of vast conspiracy.

“We’re looking for a book,” he says.  I slant my eyes and light a cigarette, and look about the room.  A small office, blinds drawn, entirely black and white.  A coat rack in the corner is bare; papers are strewn hectically across the desk in front of dozens of filing cabinets.  The door reads, backwards, ‘FITZGERALD, M.D.’  I remember being here before; scheming of some sort, and the overwhelming existential dread of a plan gone awry.  I clear my throat, compose myself, exhale smoke from my nose, and speak from the far corner of my mouth:

“What kind of book… fiction?”  The zoot falls silent and looks suspiciously at the oncoming shadow; he hides behind the coat rack.  A dame staggers in and falls drunkenly across the desk, failing to notice me standing there with a cigarette frozen to my lips.  An incoherent tune passes through her messy red lipstick in heaving, inebriated sighs.  Some sort of old jazzy standard, mixed with a cheap perversion of the Star Spangled Banner.  Her sweeping, bare leg knocks a stapler across the floor, and she looks up with the expression of a junkie whose stove has caught fire.

“Who are-” she burps, the words falling from her slacken jaw.  “You’re not supposed- this isn’t your office.”

“Dammit, Johnson, get this whore out of here!” the zoot exclaims fiercely, storming out from behind the wall with a ‘FITZGERALD, M.D.’ nametag sewn to his shirt.  “This is no time for games; I, the owner of this fine establishment, have pressing matters to attend to.”

“I don’t understand-”  the zoot knocks her unconscious with a swift and gruesome blow to her painted cheek; the whore goes flying into the back wall, and the zoot turns away with the look of a prize fighter, shaking his hand painfully.  He rips off the nametag, crushes it beneath his foot, and spits on the remains.

“My name’s not Fitzgerald, anyway.”

“Who’s Johnson?”

“We’re in too deep now, Johnson.”

“What about the book,” I reply.

“Yes, of course; nonfiction.  Island based.  Look for the volcano with razors,” says the zoot.  I drag the befallen whore across the floor to get to the ‘I’ filing terminal.  Behind her is a pool of dried blood; her lipstick has turned a shade of grey.  Sunlight, peering through the drawn shades, strikes obliquely across her exposed cleavage.

“What a mess,” I comment.  The zoot spins his detective hat around and removes a magnifying glass from the front of his pocket.

“We’re in too deep now,” he says.

“We haven’t much time.”

“We’ve committed a violent crime, Johnson.  Barbaric, illegal, striking at the very core of man’s depraved soul.  The question is: whether you, a capable man but surely one of a decent moral fibre, maybe a tinge of childhood innocence lurking in your soul - whether you are willing to confront those demons when the inevitable day comes.”

“Volcano with razors,” I reply.

“This is not a game.  The stakes have been raised infinitely.  This poor woman, probably a mother, certainly a daughter - her blood is on our hands.”

“Volcano with razors.  Volcano with razors.  Volcano with”

“That is the owner’s daughter which you’ve so ruthlessly struck down, Johnson.  Notice the dark-grey appearance about her; lifeless! just as every other god-forsaken item in this room.  Gone.  Dead.  Sunken into the earth, receded into a dark and timeless void beyond our solar system.  She, whose demise is a mere infinitesimal speck on the blood-stained shirt of humanity’s graveyard!”

“Volcano with razors.”

“Murder, Johnson; goddammit, it’s murder!”

“Got it!  Volcano with razors.”

“Delightful!”  The zoot rubs his fingers across my cheek affectionately, burns my temple with a wet kiss, and removes the book from my grasp.  He rotates it thrice, and sifts through the pages hastily.

“Aha!” he exclaims.  “This is it.  You’ve done it again, Johnson!”

“Volcano with razors.”

“Yes, Johnson, very good.”

“Volcano with razors.”

“We must first attain a million dollar boat; inflatable, preferably.  And then we may proceed to the next step of our plan.”

“What is the next step,” I inquire.

“We may have to commit more violent crimes, Johnson.”

“It’s Tuesday now,” I reply five days later.  The zoot has crowded himself into the back corner, five o’clock shadow stuck indelibly to his chin.  He gnaws hungrily at the cuff of his suit, struck by the vanity of it all.

“Johnson, we’ve killed the owner’s daughter.”

“Have we yet attained the million dollar boat.”

“I cannot stand to look anymore at these grey walls.  A man needs color in his life, Johnson.  A man needs sexual gratification.  Will you make love to me, Johnson?”

“It is Wednesday now.”

“Have you any idea what it is like to starve oneself of physical intimacy and nutritional sustenance for nearly a week, Johnson?  I could eat my own suit.”

“You already have,” I reply.

“That is correct, yes.  I remember yesterday quite clearly.  The pain is immense, but my memory is still sharp.  I say, Johnson, the digestion of that seersucker cotton has certainly been something of a struggle.”

“Yes, it has.”

“Oh, the defecation, don’t mind that.  Merely the sign of a healthy and functioning digestive system.  In the black and white you cannot make out the entrails quite so clearly.”

“It is Sunday now.”

“The Lord’s day on Earth, Johnson.  Perhaps this time he shall save us from this noir-influenced hellhole.  Johnson, are you going to eat that suit anytime soon?”

“I am quite full, courtesy of the dinners brought to us by the owner’s secretary.”

“May I have that suit?”

“It is Thursday now.”

“One week and nine days, Johnson.  An insufferable experience, surely; but there is no man I would have rather spent it with than you.”

“I’m a woman.”  The phone rings.

“Yes,” the zoot says.  “Killed the owner’s daughter, yes.  Banned from the club, you say?  The most expected route of action, undoubtedly.  I am truly sorry for going through your things, sir.  Yes, I will let Johnson know.  Yes, yes.  No, no.  Perhaps.  Well, I would not say I was discourteous in refusing the secretary’s dinners, but I was quite full from the suit; you could understand.  Mmhm.  Repulsive, you say?  Well, I have not exactly kept my body in peak physical condition, but that seems a bit harsh.  Get the Hell out?  Surely, sir.  Thank you for the extended stay.”

“Johnson.”

“Yes?”

“Check the phone, please.”

“But you’re holding the phone.”

“Not this phone; the computer… no, not that computer; the printer.”  There is a letter, in color, designed much in the way of a diploma.  It reads: ‘We hereby grant the deed of  ONE ONE-MILLION DOLLAR INFLATABLE BOAT  to a Mr. D. Gilligan, courtesy of the Avalanche Holding Company.’

“Who is D. Gilligan,” I inquire.

“Avalanche Holding Company… where do I know that name?”

“Who is D. Gilligan?”

* * *

“I tell you, I’ve had plenty of fine meals in my lifetime, but nothing in life compares to the pop! of the reds and blues and yellows after two weeks and two days in that monotonous hellhole.”  Gilligan has one hand on the steering wheel of his classic convertible sportcar, and the other is chomping on the blunt end of a thicket of seersucker cotton.  His teeth gnash expertly through the various tightly-wound fibers, and sit dryly at the back of his throat.

“Johnson, grab me a glass of water, will you?”

“You haven’t any water in here.”

“Grab it from the ocean, Johnson!  The coastline is your proverbial oyster!  Nothing can stop us now; ‘tis but a dreamland!”  I do exactly so, and he thanks me kindly while removing his other hand from the wheel to suck down the musty ocean water.  “Doesn’t it feel good to be alive once more, my friend?”  Johnson throws the glass across the interstate pavement, and places a pair of sunglasses at the tip of his nose.  “Miami Vice, Johnson!”

“I suppose it feels positively enlivening to be alive, Gilligan.”

“You know, Johnson, I’ve grown quite fond of you over these past two weeks in Hell.  You’ve danced with the inflatable, committed violent crimes, graciously surrendered your suit to my digestive tract, and then watched me strain and yank that very suit from my bloody asshole.”

“I suppose I have, Gilligan.  I’d like to think of us as partners; quick-thinking, detective types.  Struggling immensely through the hard times, and, as of now, enjoying the fresh and colorful breaths of a life on the run.”

“Indeed, Johnson, a positively liberating lifestyle.  That was very well put; have you considered writing the next great American novel?”

“I fancy a working class tale myself, Gilligan.  One which speaks to the fiercest plights of our downtrodden peoples; the chilling battle cry of a hundred million in unison, calling upon Marx’s inevitable ascent and ushering in the calm and slumbering twilight of man’s existence.”

“Yes; yes!  That which shall tickle furiously at the very pudenda of the working man’s discontented soul!”

“A tale of sound and fury, Gilligan, though told by an idiot it shall not be!  I envision the vanguard of a new and permanent order, under which our people shall at last flourish in material and intellectual prosperity.”

“I have always desired the stately mustache of an absolute ruler, Johnson.”

Perhaps I shall entitle it: Gilligan and Johnson’s ‘Two Weeks in Hell.’”

“Try this on for size: Johnson and Gilligan’s ‘Two Weeks in Hell.’”  The flattering sentiment hangs in the air, accompanied by a coastline peace and the low whirring of a well-functioning motor vehicle.  Before us, the sunset twists into deep blues and reds, the palette of God’s own improvised brush for the enjoyment of a few appreciative mortals.  The highway breeze spindles delicately about my bonneted hair; I feel like Elizabeth Taylor from the movies.  No - Thelma and Louise.  No - Bonnie and Clyde.  Outlaws on the run, mired in chaos; forced by our respective low upbringings to commit violent crimes, and finding in the process that we love the thrill of it all.  And what better place

“What better place,” I look over at Gilligan, “than sunny Miami, Florida.”

“I tell you, Johnson, I am not set at ease by this whole Avalanche Holding Company thing.  It feels like a classic ploy from the movies.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, what the hell would an avalanche be doing all the way out here in the sun and bayou?”

* * *

Feeling several miles beyond the civilisation of the metropolis, Gilligan and I look about the shipping yard with squinted eyes.  Silent apprehension creeps toward and festers under our fingernails.  It is thick with flour.  It pervades like bacterial mud-soup.  It leeches at the sides of our matching leather platforms; unties our premium polyester shoelaces; discolors the bottoms of our four-hundred dollar green-striped zoot suits.

“Tragedy strikes,” says Gilligan, “in the muddiest of crevices.”

“Vanity is not a luxury afforded to the working class,” I reply.

“Even Tony Montana had to dirty his shoes every once in a while.”

“Montana, you say?”

“What about it?”

“Don’t they have avalanches in Montana?”

“My God, Johnson!  Where is our  MILLION DOLLAR INFLATABLE BOAT????”  In pure shock and revulsion, I turn to see a strange man charge Gilligan with a crowbar and strike him twice across the skull!

“The zoot man is dead!” he exclaims in an Eastern European accent to his charging accomplice, a table-sized pizza box with eight menacing legs extending well over a foot into the air.

“O zoot está morto!” responds the beastly creation, its pizza-box mouth flapping triumphantly.

“You fucking bastard!” I shout, pulling a four-inch dagger from my green-striped zoot suit and promptly jabbing it several times into the side of the wicked Bulgarian swine.  He falls to his side wheezing, splattering mud across my green-striped zoot suit; he convulses erratically in the desperate fashion of an inflatable tube man.

“It is the tube man!” I respond horrifically, the full weight of this conspiracy before my disbelieving eyes.

“Ah, veja, ele é o cara do metrô, mas eu sou o Avalanche!”  The arachnid pizza box rears his back toward me, and reveals the letters upon it, spelled across the cardboard in faded ink: ‘COURTESY OF THE AVALANCHE HOLDING COMPANY.’

“It cannot- no, it cannot be!”  I fall back several steps as the table-board-eight-legged-freak inches toward me, cackling heinously, deafeningly, each leg stabbing inexorably into my predestined fate.  I hold to my dagger in trembling fear; the beast’s shrills grow nearer.

“A avalanche atinge o pior ao amanhecer!”  With a single crow-barred blow, the revived Gilligan collapses the monster in the stew-thickened mud.  The beasts transmutes immediately into a vile, Portuguese conquistador, whose twirling facial hair and fragile, South European frame are caked in the bayou earth.

“O sofrimento; O sofrimento,” he whispers despairingly.  Stimulated by the violent crime and the near death of my closest companion, I throw myself onto the useless conquistador and jab my dagger into his belly repeatedly.  Entrails spill out onto the tip, which I promptly wipe across his teary, dirt-plastered cheek.

The imperialist cunt cries aloud, pleading for mercy, claiming his innocence in the vain last breaths of the desperate and pathetic; in his infantile hysterics, I derive a cold and unfeeling pride, that of the unchallenged victor, forgetting the presence of my faithful companion for the briefest moment.  With a swift one-two, I pull his blood-suffocated tongue from his throat and cut horizontally, leaving a long gash which flows exceptionally across quivering lips.  Pulling the tongue apart, I peer in as one might at a piece of seared pork, to make sure it is of an acceptable internal temperature.

“O, ye sweet red-milk of the soon deceased, ye tender flesh of the befallen conquistador!”

“Johnson.”

“O, ye convulsing body of the sick Portuguese whore!  O, ye bloody triumph and arousal!”

“Johnson!”

“My Lord, Gilligan; when did you arrive?”

“Johnson, we must make it to the sea; the great pangs of our journey lie ahead yet.”

“A volcano with razors?”

“Indeed, my dearest friend.  Now, that  MILLION DOLLAR INFLATABLE BOAT has got to be around here somewhere.”

“Could it be near the sea?”

“Genius, Johnson!  Simply stupendous, on the ball, on top of one’s feet, thinking on the balls of your feet, Johnson!”

“It is Friday now.”

“That it is, Johnson, and the shallow Everglades are nearly behind us.  Phone for you, Johnson.”

“Hello?”

“This is your mother; when will you be coming back home to Nebraska?”

“Whenever; I have new a new friend now.”

“The meatloaf is almost cold,” she responds in a heaving sigh.

“I’ve committed serious violent crimes, Mother.”

“You’ve what?”

“And I’ll commit them against you if you’re not careful, you crustaceous, obscene, darling bovine cunt.”  I drop the phone in the water, and a stillness permeates the air.  Gilligan continues chewing on the sopping ends of a thin slice of seersucker cotton, stabbed through on the end by a wooden prod.

“Easier for bayou dipping,” Gilligan explains, to which I nod agreeably.

“Say, Gilligan?”

“What’s the word, Johnson.”

“I’ve been thinking.  We haven’t quite confronted the nature of our violent crimes, have we?”

“Death toll of three, Johnson.  Such is the life of crime-detectives on the run; we who’ve lived an extensive two weeks through the fiery plight of Hell, endured hardship and near starvation in the depths of a noir-influenced catatonia.”

“Well… what will I tell my kids?”

“Have you any children, Johnson?  This is pertinent information, you should’ve warned me sooner.  Kids carry diseases, Johnson.  Swampy diseases.  Dysentery, chlamydia, influenza, schizophrenia, the like.  Have you dysentery?”

“No; nothing of the sort.”

“Then get to the point, you sentimental bastard.”

“Well, provided I do.  How do I look them in the eye and tell them I murdered a table-sized, pizza-box, Portuguese, arachnid conquistador in cold blood?  That I truly enjoyed slicing open his tongue like a pan-seared pork fillet?”  Gilligan mulls over the question pensively for several moments, seeming quite perplexed by the potential moral quandary of our actions.  Looking ahead toward our destination, he responds:

“That is something you’ve got to confront, my dearest amigo.  In the meantime, we’ve a volcano with razors on our mind.”  Gilligan, finishing his piece of seersucker, looks about himself, and has tragically run dry of the digestible fabric.  He clutches impatiently at his stick, slaps it against the side of his boat to the tune of Smoke on the Water.  Smoke rises from the water; something sinister stirs beneath the surface.  “Say, could I get a slice of your shirt, Johnson?”

“Why, you’ve ate it all alread-”

“Johnson, look - a beastly gator; a dirty swamp-toothed reptilian of the sea!  Perhaps I shall poke it with this handy stick!”

“Gilligan, no!”

[geekygen]

Dream worlds collide

The start of a new adventure!

Thor x Reader

Somethings never changed. You were always on the run. Always hiding. Always alone. That’s just how it has been since you were 15. It seemed as if things would never change until one night it did.

It was dark, so dark that the only thing you could see in the moonless sky was the twinkling of stars. You looked up, a sigh left your lips. It was beautiful and soon you would be able to

actually enjoy it instead of always using it for cover. This would be your last heist. It was a big one, one you weren’t even sure you wanted but the temptation of a huge payoff got the better of you. The prospect of never having to steal or barter, played through your mind. You pictured yourself sitting on a cliff high above the ocean as the waves ceased below you. A storm raged in bring electricity to your skin. You loved storms. You shook yourself back to reality focusing on the job at hand. Taking a deep breath you closed your eyes, swiftly your body started to disappear. You were invisible, completely undetectable. You walked right up to the large square glass case, it was only a matter of moments before you held a large stone in your hand. The moment you held it, light started to glow from the center of it, setting off all the lasers you managed to avoid before.

“Great” you muttered and ran, putting the stone into a padded pouch on your hip.

Quickly you were on top of the roof. The door shut behind you seconds before you were kicked hard in your back, as you fell forward you made yourself disappear again. You watched as a red head looked around trying her hardest to use the environment to find you.

“I lost her sir. She gone invisible.” She muttered under her breath.

You stood still composing yourself until the red head moved giving you the opportunity to leave without detection.

“See if you can find her with your infrared Stark” she finished before running off.

“I got nothing are we sure she’s human?” Stark asked over the coms pa.

You managed to jump two buildings while they searched. Suddenly the sky clouded, lighting struck inside them. You looked up thinking that being on top of a tall building was not a great idea, invisible or not you still could get struck. You looked around to the quickest exit. It took only a step. All around you light streaked and vined around you tracing your body. The sensation didn’t hurt like you thought it would, it tickled and prickled on your skin.

As the light faded a mass figure stood in front of you. A large hammer in his hand while is cape flowed behind him along with his long blond hair.

“My lady, I believe you have something of mine.” He spoke in a accent, his voice deep and strong.

“I don’t see your name on it.” You replied with a smirk at your cheesy line.

“Please, I don’t want to hurt a lady such as yourself.” He asked kindly.

You let out a humph and a smile.

“I’d love to see you try!” You spoke and drove between his legs grabbed his cap and twisted him around flinging the cape over his face, giving you the chance to run. You didn’t make it as far as you hoped before the red head was back and pinned you down. You kicked her out but she was resealent and bounced back up fists up ready to take you down. The two of you fought back and forth a few times before she stopped and just looked at you. You thought for sure you had won all you’d have to do was finish her off, but you forgot about one key component. Strong arms wrapped around you. You wiggled and bit, tore and fought, but nothing helped.

“I will warn you one last time...”

“Bite me giant!” you sneered interrupted him.

“As you wish, my lady.” He spoke and the last thing you remembered was the sound of thunder and a blinding white light shooting out from the sky.

When you woke you realized you were tied to a chair, arms behind your back. legs tied individually. Your neck ached signally you’d been out for a while. You took a few deep breaths before opening your eyes. Everything was too white, too bright. You tried to turn invisible but found you no longer could. You looked around and saw your skin. Your pale skin was streaked with light red marks looking like lightning flowing down your arms.

You bowed your head and let out a frustrated sigh.

“Your awake.” A voice replied from the corner.

The red head from earlier walked toward you. She was beautiful, her red lips matched her hair perfectly while her porsilin skin brought out its features.

“Hardly.” You scoffed. “I assume you have what you want.”

“We do.” She crosses her arms and looked at you.

“So what next? bars? Jury? A big cement box?”

“Maybe, then again it wouldn’t be the first time for you would it.”

“Spoken from experience?”

She smiled slightly before turning somber.

“Perhaps.” She started matter of factly.

“You know those won’t hold me forever.”

“We actually wanted to talk with you about that.” She said and the door opened a tall dark man in black clothing walked in.

That’s when your world changed.

They offered you a job with S.H.I.E.L.D as long as you stayed honest and followed orders, you had a place at headquarters to stay, food on the table, and they were willing to teach you. It was a no brained compared to the option B.

Natatia, the beautiful red head, gave you a quick tour along with a backpacks worth of materials you had to read though, before heading down to your new living quarters. It was a simple room closet, full size bed, headboard end tables and a private bathroom.

“Is this a joke?” You question more for your self.

“I’d pinch you but I’m still recovering from our little match last night.”

You give a sympathetic smile, just before you went to speak.

“I’ll let you get settled. Let me know if you need anything.” She excused herself and closed the door behind her as she left. You breathed deeply looking around. You set the back pack down on the bed and sat down before laying back. It felt good to stretch even if it was only for a moment. Then it was time to study. You read quickly about the other operatives. Their brief backgrounds and specialty’s. A few you recognized. Thor god of thunder, and Natasha the Russian spy. As the hours went by and the books moved from one side to the other. Things started to click in your brain. You walked up to the closet noticing the door slightly opened. In the closet were two duffel bags. The only things you had left. They knew you were coming. Suddenly it clicked. You were set up! You were angry, confused. Was this a test? Were you being followed and for how long? You turned yourself invisible and set off to find answers. It wasn’t hard to find a small group. Their loud chatter was easy to find.

“There must be something wrong with my suit Jarvis. We need to recalibrate the censers.” Tony Stark commanded.

An electric arm came down and whisked away the the helmet from his hand.

“Consider it done sir.” A voice echoed as it worked.

“Your loosing your touch Stark.” Natasha joked.

He shot her a look of sarcasm.

“Its not my fault she’s a freak like the rest of us.”

Thor took took big strides to stand face to face with tony.

“Do not speak of her in that way.” He threatened in a booming voice. His voice seemed to make the air electrify. The scars are your arms tingled. “She can’t help what she is any more than the rest of you.” He finished and with that the rest of them went quiet knowing deep down he was right. Tony made a sarcastic look at the others. Some days Thor was just too attached to his love for the misguardians. Hearing Thor defend you made your heart flutter and if you were visible your sure your cheeks would be bright red.

“I know what your thinking.” A mischievous voice appears behind you. You spin around to find a slender man in black and deep green with long dark greasy hair. Panic sets in, he can see it in your eyes and he smiles. “Worry not your still have your powers.”

You lunge at him only to find it’s a hologram of some sorts.

“Are you part of shield?” You whisper.

“In a way.” He stated.

“What is it you want?” Skeptical of this new person.

“Nothing just to check on the new recruit. To my delight you can change things just like myself.”

“The only thing I change is myself.”

“How odd.”

“Is it?” You questioned a little too loudly. Making the others start towards you. You quickly flea back to your room not wanting to encounter anyone else. Exhaustion from the day wore on you. It was time you tried to rest.

[pandapantslovesyou]

New Beginnings

Technically part of my Omegaverse AU, Survivor’s Guilt (the one with Disillusioned), but you don’t have to be following that to read this.  It also doesn’t mention the Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics.

Summary: Mr. and Mrs. Washington have adopted Alex and Laf.  They make some new friends.

Gilbert climbed out of the car and bounced excitedly, looking around.  “Jutht like the pictureth!” he exclaimed.  “Alex, look!”

Alex walked up to him, taking his hand.  Gilbert beamed.

“Welcome home,” Mr. Washington said to them, placing a hand on each of their shoulders.  “Let’s go in, get you settled.”

Mrs. Washington was waiting for them just inside.  “I’ve got a fresh batch of cookies cooling on the counter.”

Daniel and Frannie bounded into the room.  “Hi!” Frannie said.  “Hi!  Welcome home!”  She rushed towards them, but Mr. Washington stopped her.

“Remember what I said?”

She froze.  “Always ask first.”

“Right.”

She bit her lip.  “Can I hug you?”

Gilbert stepped forward and they hugged.  Alex remained rooted to the floor.

Alex, Gilbert, Daniel, and Frannie were all instructed to play outside after dinner.  Alex watched from the porch as the others ran around the yard, playing superheroes.  Frannie was Wonderwoman, from what he could tell.  Daniel was Batman, and Gilbert was Robin.  They even had blankets that they were using as capes.  There was one for Alex, too, if he wanted.  Daniel said he could be Aquaman.  But Alex didn’t like the ocean, so he sat on the porch swing and observed.

He didn’t like superheroes, anyway.  They weren’t real.  If they had been, one would’ve saved his mom.

Alex blinked hard and looked down at his lap.  He didn’t know much about her - he was only three when she died.  But if he closed his eyes and thought really hard, he could almost remember her face, or how she smelled, or the sound of her voice as she taught him English.  If he thought too hard, though, he’d remember how sick she was.

It had been because of a bug.  Nevis seemed to have been full of them.  One bit Mommy, and she got sick.  It had started out small, just a little fever.  But then the big storm came from the ocean - she’d called it a hurricane - and it made things worse.  He could still hear the roar of the water as it crashed against the house, the howling of the wind, the rain that wouldn’t stop.  Mommy was trapped somewhere else until the next morning, when most of it was over.  She’d held Alex so tightly that day, crying and thanking God that he was safe.  But the island hadn’t survived.  A lot of people had died, too.  They flew to America a week later, but Mommy was getting sicker and Alex remembered that he’d started to get sick, too.

He could still smell the musty hotel room, the sweat, the tears, the sickness.  Mommy had been holding him tightly, rubbing his tummy because it hurt, and singing softly in French.

“...Au clair de la lune, Pierrot répondit, Je n'ai pas de plume, je suis dans mon lit.  Va chez la voisine, je crois qu'elle y est, car dans sa cuisine, on bat le -”

And then she wasn’t singing anymore.  Her hand had gone still and he could no longer feel her breath in his hair.

Alex closed his eyes tightly, trying to forget.  He didn’t want to think about Mommy.  Because she was dead.

He sniffled.  He missed her so much.  He’d give anything to be in her arms again, to feel her brushing his hair back and kissing his forehead, to hear her singing to him.  But thinking about her made him hurt.

“Hi!” Frannie suddenly yelled.  Alex looked up to see two kids crossing the street.  The bigger one was holding the smaller one’s hand, even when they tried to pull away.  It reminded Alex of whenever he’d held Gilbert’s hand at the foster homes.  “Do you want to play?  We’re superheroes!  Marty, you can be Supergirl.”

The little one squealed in delight and finally wrenched away from her older sibling, but it was okay because they’d reached the yard.  “Hi, Frannie!” she said.  She looked at Gilbert.  “Who’re you?”

“I’m Lafayette.”

“‘Fayette.”

“Non, Lafayette.  With a la.”

“Lafayette.”

“Yeah!  Me and Alex jutht moved here.”

“They’re our new brothers,” Frannie said proudly, then walked over to the bigger one and hugged them.  “You can play, too.  You can be Superman, like last time.”

They glanced at the porch and noticed Alex.  Then they looked back at Frannie.  “Maybe later.  Thanks.”

Alex looked down at his new shoes that Mr. Washington had bought him.  He heard footsteps and his head shot up as the bigger one came onto the porch.  It was a he, Alex decided.  He had longish curly hair and a lot of freckles.

“Are you in trouble?” they asked.

“Huh?”

“Sometimes when I get in trouble, Mama makes me sit on the porch swing instead of playing.”

Alex shook his head.  “I’m not in trouble.”

The kid sat down next to him.  “I’m John.”

“I’m Alex.”

“So why aren’t you playing?”

Alex shrugged.  “I don’t want to.”

“Well, why not?”

“I just don’t.”  He looked down at the ground.  “I don’t know why.”

“Oh.”  John got quiet.  “Sometimes I don’t want to play, either.”

“Like now?”

“No, not like now.”

Alex cocked his head, confused.  “Then why aren’t you playing?”

“Because you looked sad and I wanted to cheer you up.”

Alex stared at him.  “Why?”

It was John’s turn to look confused.  “Because people shouldn’t be sad.”

He’d never thought of it like that.

John continued, kicking his legs back and forth, making the swing move.  “It’s harder for people to be sad when they’re with a friend.  When I’m sad, I talk to Frannie.  She’s my best friend.  But you can be my friend, too.”

Up until today, Gilbert had been Alex’s only friend.  “Okay.”

Speaking of, Gilbert bounded over to them.  “Hi.”  His eyes were bright, his smile large.  “I’m Alex’th little brother.”

John grinned and shook his hand, then looked at Alex.  “I’m a big brother, too.  I’ve got Marty and Junior and Mama’s having another baby soon.”

That was a lot of people to look after.  “I’ve got Gilbert.”

“Lafayette,” Gilbert corrected, giving Alex a look.  They’d talked about it.  Gilbert wanted to go by his last name now.  Alex figured he’d gotten the idea from a book they’d read together a week ago.  “Jutht Lafayette.  No more Gilbert.”

Maybe it was because he didn’t like it when their old foster parents had called him Gilly.  Alex took his hand.  “Okay.  No more Gilbert.”

“Do you wanna play with uth, Alex?  You can be Aquaman!”

Alex shook his head.  “I don’t wanna be Aquaman.”

“Why?” John said.  “Aquaman is so cool!  He can breathe underwater and talk to fish!”

Alex’s face fell.  “I don’t like water.”

A moment passed.

“That’s okay.”  John was smiling again.  “You can be Superman.  He can fly and is super strong and can shoot lasers out of his eyes!”

“But you’re always Superman!” Frannie whined.  She’d apparently overheard.

“Yeah, but I wanna be the Flash now.  He’s super fast and can outrun everything!”

“Is Superman fast?” Alex asked.

John nodded.  “He’s super fast.”

“Who’th fathter?” Gilbert asked.

They decided to have a race to find out.

In one of his earlier foster homes, there’d been another boy his age and they played games all of the time.  But when Alex won, he’d always push him down or pull his hair or yell at him for cheating.  When Alex crossed the finish line first, he worried that John would be mad at him too, but John just grinned again.  Alex thought about how great his life must be, for him to keep smiling like that.

They all played together until the streetlights came on and it was time to go inside.  But John promised that he’d come over to play tomorrow.

“Did you have fun?” Mrs. Washington asked as them as they came into the living room, chests still heaving from all of the running.

Alex smiled at her for probably the first time.  “Yeah, I did.”

[animationnut]

Between the Lines

Fandom: Rick and Morty Rating: T Note: Takes place after A Rickle in Time

Light spilling out of the open fridge, Rick squinted against the glare and searched for a late-night snack. "Crap….crap…even more-urrrp-crap," he grumbled upon discovering nothing appetizing on the glass shelves. "Eh, screw it."

He snagged a container of leftovers from last night and shut the fridge door with his foot. He grabbed a fork and dug it into the cold casserole, making his way to the living room. He took a bite of the subpar dinner dish and went over to the couch. He was about to collapse into the cushions when he happened to glance out the large glass window and paused.

Sitting in front lawn, just in front of the window, was Morty. His head was tilted upwards, eyes locked on the inky black expanse above, the one they had travelled many times. Furrowing his brow, Rick chewed thoughtfully on the casserole and turned towards the front door, intending to see what his grandson was up to.

But he barely took a step when heavy thuds sounded on the stairs. He stilled and watched as Summer bounced down, her eyes half-lidded. A yawn escaped her and she quickly covered her mouth as she shuffled over to the front door. Hidden by the darkness of the living room, Rick went unnoticed by the seventeen-year-old.

"Dork," she muttered aloud, removing a pink hoodie from the hook by the door. She shrugged it on and slipped her feet into a pair of sandals. She flicked the porch light on before venturing outside. Rick turned his gaze to the window, watching Morty's head turn in surprise as his sister walked across the grass and sat beside him.

"What the hell are they doing?" Rick muttered. Curiosity overpowering hunger, he set the dish carelessly on the couch and strode over to the front door, which Summer had left ajar. He slipped outside silently, avoiding the stark glow of the porch light and settling in the shadows. He leaned against the side of the house and eavesdropped on his grandkids.

"It's three in the morning, loser," Summer was saying, her knees tucked against her chest. "You didn't have another nightmare about the laser-shooting penguins, did you?"

Morty flushed, though it was difficult to tell in the darkness. "S-shut up, Summer. It was a really s-scary dimension and t-those penguins were really creepy. You weren't there."

"Obviously," she drawled. "So, spill. What are you doing out here?"

He returned his attention to the night sky, staring at the sparkling silver stars. "Rick said something that's b-been bothering me."

Rick's lazy, observing expression sharpened at Morty's words. Summer tilted her head to the side, eyes calculating. "He says a lot of things that bother you. But…was it something that happened recently?"

Morty nodded, gaze lowering. "During the whole ripping time apart f-fiasco."

Summer mulled over the events in her mind, trying to pinpoint the memory that would have caused her brother to become upset. "Alright, I give up," she said finally. "What was it?"

"I-I don't really want to tell you."

Summer frowned. "Why not?"

"You didn't get upset by it like I did," he mumbled. "S-so you're gonna think I'm stupid."

"You're always stupid," Summer responded automatically. She thought for another moment before she was suddenly struck by what her brother might be referring to. "Oh-no way. You're not talking about when we were arguing about who Grampa's favourite is, are you? And he said we were both equal pieces of-"

"Yes," snapped Morty, not wanting to hear it again. He crossed his arms over his white sleep shirt, sudden tears springing to his eyes. He quickly scrubbed them away and stared at the grass by his bare feet. "I just…I just thought t-that after everything we've b-been through, he'd at least f-feel affection, or something."

Rick's fingers dug into the material of his lab coat. He knew his words often hurt Morty, but the kid could often brush it off, more or less. But apparently, not this time.

Damn kid. Is he that oblivious? he thought in irritation, trying to ignore the stirrings of guilt in his gut. Doesn't he realize-?

Loud laughter suddenly sounded, startling Rick from his thoughts. He stared at Summer, who had her head thrown back and was laughing hysterically. Morty stared at her with wide eyes before he scowled and turned away, embarrassment filling his features.

"Shut up!" he snapped. "I-It's not funny!"

"Sure it is!" Summer giggled, calming down. She looked at her brother in amusement. "Morty, you have to read between the lines."

"W-what?" he asked in confusion.

"Grampa is full of crap," pointed out Summer. "He puts up a front-a tough one. He's also not the most emotional person to begin with. So when he says we're both equal pains in his ass, he's saying he loves us both equally."

Morty eyed his sister. "R-really?" he asked hopefully.

"Of course, dork." Summer grinned. "Grampa Rick has problems vocalizing strong sentiments like that, so he buries them under harsh words in order to express them his way. It's just who he is. I doubt we'll get any serious 'I love you's' from him anytime soon, but we'll get plenty of insults that mean the same thing."

Rick snorted softly. He had meant it when he said his two grandkids were very different from each other. Summer, though she didn't look it, could be really insightful. She could look past the crap people threw at her and see the true meaning hidden within. It disturbed him, at first, because she was the only one who he couldn't trick, couldn't manipulate. Morty was the opposite-he was trusting, easy to manipulate, and hardly learned his lesson whenever he was screwed over. But it wasn't necessarily a bad thing-he was always jumping to help people out, and even if his good intentions backfired, he didn't stop.

A moment of silence passed by before Summer spoke. "You know, you are Grampa's favourite. Obviously."

"I didn't mean what I s-said," Morty said softly, feeling bad. "He d-doesn't like me more, or anything. I'm just the o-one he takes on adventures."

"Which means he likes you better." Summer ruffled his hair playfully. "It's okay. I get it, really. You make the perfect companion for him. Just ignore any future jealous spells."

"If you want t-to come with u-us sometimes I could ask Rick," offered Morty.

Summer smiled. "Yeah. That'd be cool."

"…Summer?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

She punched him playfully in the shoulder. "No probs."

BOOM!

Summer and Morty shrieked as thunder cracked throughout the sky, a sudden downpour following after it, frigid drops drenching them in seconds. "What the hell?" yelped Summer. "There wasn't a damn cloud in the sky!"

"Just get inside!" yelped Morty.

With quick speed, Rick slipped onto the porch and back inside the house. He shut the front door and locked it, smirking when the two teens rushed for cover. Spotting Rick through the small glass window, Summer scowled and beat on the door. "Gram-pa!"

"Sum-mer!" he mocked, crossing his arms.

"Let us in, Rick!" Morty cried, tugging insistently at the door.

"Nah. You runts-urrrp-could use a shower."

"Look who's talking," sneered Summer.

"We're cold!" complained Morty. "Rick!"

"Grampa!"

"Fine, whatever. Wimps. I'll let you in. But you gotta say that I'm the greatest mind the world has ever seen."

Summer set her hands on her hips. "You're the craziest mind any world has ever seen, I'll give you that."

"You're the greatest mind the world has ever seen," said Morty quickly, elbowing his sister in the side.

Huffing, Summer reluctantly echoed her brother. Satisfied, Rick unlocked the door and the two tumbled into the front hall, soaked to the bone.

"What are you doing up?" Summer asked suspiciously, taking her wet hair out of its ponytail and letting the red strands fall against her back.

"None of your business," Rick shot back.

"I'm gonna go c-change," muttered Morty, wrestling his shirt over his head. "Rick, are you gonna w-watch T.V?"

"That was the plan," drawled Rick.

"Can we watch it with you?"

He sniffed. "Whatever. So much for me time."

Smiling, Morty hurried up the stairs. Summer lingered, a knowing smile on her lips. Rick glared at her. "What?"

"Oh, nothing," she said innocently. "Just reading between the lines."

At the dangerous expression Rick shot her, she giggled and darted up the stairs. Rick only let the smile surface when she was out of sight.

"Yeah, you're both equal pains in my ass alright."

[winterwriter8845]

I Can Kiss Away the Pain: Chapter 16

Masterlist

Warnings: attempted rape

Raven's POV

I woke up in my bed with Bucky next to me, his arms engulfed me. I thought we fell asleep on the roof... I shifted a little, and Bucky opened an eye.

"Morning, beautiful," he said, his lips brushing mine. He kissed me, just a peck.

"Morning. I thought we fell asleep on the roof."

"We did. Tony came and woke me up because it had begun to rain."

"Oh." I looked out the picture window to see it raining. I tried to get up, but Bucky's grip on my waist prevented me to.

"Don't leave me, baby."

"I have to get ready for school."

He groaned and released me. I got up, and a few moments later, he did, too. I grabbed a change of clothes and walked to the bathroom. I took a shower, dried off, dried and straightened my hair. I walked out to find that Bucky wasn't in my room. He must've went to his room to take a shower. I walked to the kitchen to find Tony and Steve talking, and Tony was making breakfast.

"Morning, Raven," Tony and Steve said.

"Morning," I said back.

"Do you want something to eat?"

"Yes. Can you make a pancake?"

"Can I? I can make a mean pancake."

I chuckled.

Tony pulled out the pancake mix and made me a pancake. He sat it in front of me, and Steve handed me a glass of milk and a bottle of syrup. I ate the pancake, thanked them, and walked back to my room. I brushed my teeth and put my makeup on.

Bucky walked in and sat down on my bed. I glanced at him from my mirror. He was wearing jeans, his combat boots, and a red long sleeved shirt. I finished my makeup and walked to him. I sat down next to him, and he scooted to the edge of the bed.

"I'm scared to go to school," I said.

He pulled out his phone and gave it to me. "I know. Just try to ignore them. Call me if you need me to pick me up."

I nodded. I took the phone and slid it into my pocket. I grabbed my book bag, and we left the tower after he grabbed his jacket and hat from his room. He took me to school in a classic mustang.

I kissed him then got out of the car and made my way into the school. I went to my first block, and class began shortly after.

School went by normally until I got to study hall. I was sitting in study hall when Peter came in. He sat down next to me, and I instantly became nervous.

"Hey, Raven," he greeted. "How are you?"

Is he seriously trying to have a conversation with me?!

"Hi," I say, quietly.

He pulls out a notebook and his chemistry textbook and opened to a page and started to write down notes. I turned my attention back to my laptop, where I was typing my notes for Bio 2.

At some point in the middle of study hall, he was watching me with a lust in his eyes. He slid his hand along my thigh, and it made it way up to the button on my jeans. He unbuttoned my jeans and his hand was going to slip inside my pants, but I slapped his hand away.

"Leave me alone, Peter," I hissed at him.

"You know you liked it when I gave you hand jobs."

I buttoned my pants back up, grabbed my stuff, and left study hall. But he followed me. He grabbed my shoulders and spun me around to face him. He shoved me against the wall, and his lips slammed into mine.

I shoved him away. "Leave me alone, Peter!"

"You know you like it. You know you want to bang me."

"I have a boyfriend."

"Oh yeah. I've seen him. A little old, don't you think?"

"He's not that much older than me. Why am I still talking to you?" I walked away, leaving him behind. I walked to the bathroom and locked myself in the stall. I pulled my phone out and called Bucky, tears in my eyes.

Bucky's POV

Once I had dropped Raven off, I drove off into the city. My mind was still on Raven; I was worried that something would happen at school, and she would hurt herself again. I need to talk to Wanda again. I know Wanda is trying her best, but I don't want Raven hurting herself again. I'm afraid she'll cut too deep one time and end up dying from it.

I parked the Mustang a block away from the coffee shop. I slipped on my jacket and cap and pulled my hood up. I walked down an alleyway. It was still pouring rain. The rain started to soak my jacket, but the cold didn't affect me at all.

I walked past a small cardboard box and noticed a small white ball of fur. Then I heard a meow. I looked down at the box, and a little white kitten poked its head out from under the flap of the box. I crouched down next to it. I  held my hand out to it, and at first, it just cowered away from it, but then it came up to my hand and rubbed up against it.

"Come here, little one," I said to it. I picked it up and held it right under my chin, my chin and the bill of my hat sheltering it from the rain. It was shivering. I slid it into my jacket to keep it warm. It was a little underweight but not as bad as I would've thought. I walked into the little pet store beside the coffee shop to pick up a few things. I needed to pick up some cat litter, some cat food, a blanket, and some toys.

"Looks like you have a little bundle of fur," a feminine voice said behind me. I turned around to see a young employee of about 18 years. She had a smile on her face at the site of the kitten.

"Yes," I smiled back at her. "I just found her in an alleyway."

She frowned. "Aww, poor thing." She paused before adding, "I'm Rachel, by the way."

"I'm James." I'm not comfortable with telling strangers my nickname. "Can you actually help me? I don't know anything about cats or kittens. I only know that I need food, some toys, and cat litter for it."

"Sure," she said, grabbing a basket.

"Thank you."

"We can have it checked out here, if you want, to make sure nothing's wrong with it. It'll be free of charge since you rescued it."

"Sure. Thank you." She led me to a room in the back and sat the basket down in the seat. I took the kitten, who had been sleeping in my jacket, out and handed it to Rachel. A vet came in, and Rachel handed the kitten to him. He grabbed a hand towel and gently dried it. I sat down in the seat and watched as the vet checked the kitten to make sure nothing's wrong with her. Once he was done, he handed me it back, and I slipped the kitten back into my jacket.

"Well, first off, it's a she," the vet started. "She's about four weeks old. She has worms, but I've given her some deworming to take care of that. Other than that, she's healthy. I gave her her first round of vaccines."

I nodded. "Thank you."

Rachel grabbed the basket and led me out of the vet room and down to the cat section. She grabbed a small bag of litter and sat it in the basket. "Tidy's Clumping litter is the best litter we have here, and a lot of people give us good feedback."

I nodded and smiled at her.

She grabbed a small bag of kitten food and a blanket and put them in the basket. Then she led me to the toy section and grabbed a laser pointer and some soft toys for her and dropped them into the basket. She then grabbed some kitten and cat care pamphlets and put them in the basket.

"I put some pamphlets about cats and kittens in the basket, since you said you didn't know anything cats."

"Thank you."

"I think you're good for now." She walked to the checkout counter, and I followed. She rang up the items. "Since she's a rescue, everything is 25% off."

I smiled at her. "Thank you." I paid and left with the items and the kitten snuggled into my chest.

I reached the car and sat the stuff in the back. I pulled the blanket out and wrapped her in it, then I pulled out a kitten care pamphlet and began to read. I read that at her age, kittens still drink milk.

I sat the pamphlet down and got out of the car with the kitten still wrapped up in the blanket. I walked to the coffee shop and ordered an English Breakfast black tea for me then a small cup of milk for the kitten. I picked up some of the English tea and herbal tea for the Keurig machine Stark has in the kitchen. I paid and left with the small bottle of milk in my coat pocket and the tea in my free hand. I reached the car, and my phone started to vibrate. I answered it. It was Raven.

"Raven?"

"Come pick me up." She sounded as if she had been crying.

"Okay. I'll be there in thirty minutes." I hung up and looked at the clock on my phone. There was still two hours of school left. I sat the tea and milk in the cup holders and held the kitten in one arm as I drove off. I arrived at the school thirty minutes later.

I walked into the school and into the office. I still had the kitten in my arms. She was burrowed down in the blanket, sleeping.

"I'm here to pick up Raven Nichols," I said to the attendance lady.

She called for Raven to come down on the PA. A few minutes later, Raven came with her book bag. Her eyes were red and puffy, and I knew she had been crying. We walked out to the car. She set her book bag down in the floorboard and sat down in the front passenger seat. She was shaking and had started to whimper again.

"What happened?" I asked her once I sat down on the driver's side.

"Peter tried to give me a hand job in study hall, then he followed me and kissed me when I ran from him."

"I'll kill him," I muttered. My blood was boiling. How dare he touch her with such lust, and she didn't want it. I took her hand in mine and started to rub the top of her hand with my thumb, trying to sooth my fire. She started to sob, her tears carrying her makeup down her face. "You want me to kill him. I will."

"No, don't. You've done enough in the past. You don't need anymore on your back."

My lips parted as I looked her in the eyes.

She gasped, covering her mouth. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything." She looked down at her lap.

"Raven. It's alright. I'm not mad. You're not wrong. I've done a lot in the past that I regret now." I tilted her chin up to look me in the eye. "Raven, it's alright. I still love you, okay?"

She nodded.

I took the kitten out of the blanket and placed her in Raven's lap.

Raven started to pet the kitten. "Where did you get it?"

"I found her in an alleyway, and I decided to take her in." "Did you give her a name?"

"No. I was going to let you name her." I smiled at her.

She thought about it for a moment. "Nova."

"I like that name a lot." I smiled at her, and she smiled back.

"I've always liked the name. I want to name my daughter that if I ever have one." She smiled, but it dropped. "But... I guess that'll never happen. Who would want to have a kid with me?"

I hid my smile as I dropped my gaze to my lap. I can think of one. It was true; I would love to have a kid with her. I shouldn't be thinking about this stuff when I haven't even thought about proposing to her and getting married to her. But I end up thinking about this stuff anyway.

I handed her the blanket for the kitten and drove off. She continued to pet Nova, and her sobbing and whimpering came to a halt. She was still pained, I could see it on her face. We arrived at the tower twenty minutes later. Raven grabbed Nova, who was now bundled up in the blanket, and her book bag, and I grabbed the cat stuff and tea and milk, and we both walked into the tower.

We were greeted by Wanda and Pietro.

Wanda gasped at the sight of Nova. "Who's this little fur ball?"

"Her name is Nova," I said. "I found her in an alleyway."

"Good for you," Pietro said. "The Winter Kitty."

I raised an eyebrow at Raven. "Did you tell him about that?"

She chuckled, still trying to hide her pain. "Maybe."

"Wanda, can you look after Nova for a few moments? I need to talk to Raven."

"Sure."

Raven handed Nova to Wanda, and I sat the bag of pet stuff on the floor. I took Raven's hand in my metal one and led her to her room. I sat the cup of English tea on the night stand. I sat down on her bed and kicked my boots off. I sat criss crossed, facing her, and she did the same. I took her hands in mine.

"Raven, you can let it out. I know you've been hiding it."

She looked at me for a long moment, and then tears started to well up in her eyes. They streamed down her cheeks. I pulled her into my arms, and she curled up in my lap, her hands clutching my shirt.

"I just don't want to feel like this anymore," she whimpered.

"I know. I know," I said against her hair.

She continued to cry for a few more minutes until she couldn't anymore. She still didn't let go of my shirt. I held her for a while until she got up off me. She walked to the bathroom and cleaned the makeup off.

"You know, I don't even know why I bother to put makeup on anymore," she said, looking at me from the bathroom mirror.

"I don't know either." I got up and walked over to her, leaning against the doorframe of the bathroom door. "You look more beautiful without it anyway."

She smiled at me and put her makeup up. She walked out. I handed her the cup of tea from the night stand. She sipped it and smiled. "Thank you. This tea is already cheering me up." She sipped some more.

"Come on. Let's go back to the others." I started to walk to the door.

She caught my hand. "Wait. Why were you hiding under the bill of your hat earlier? When I said that no one would want to have a kid with me?"

Oh, shit. "I-I... It's embarrassing if I say."

"Just spit it out."

I closed my eyes for a second before opening them back up. "I.. I would love to have a kid with you. I know we haven't been dating long. But I feel as if we were meant to be together. I think you would make an amazing mother."

She blushed. She didn't speak.

I looked down. "I know, it's stupid of me to say. It's so early on..." I started to ramble on, but she cut me off by kissing me.

"It's not stupid," she said, pulling away. "I think the same way about you. I'm just scared that something will go wrong... that Hydra or Peter or Hunter will do something, and we get hurt."

I wrapped my arms around her. "I won't let anything happen to us."

She nodded. "I just want to take it slow, though."

I nodded. "I understand. And I will respect your space."

She kissed me again.

"Come on." We walked back to the living room where Wanda and Pietro were playing Nova with the laser pointer.

"Hey," Wanda said. They stood up, and Pietro handed Nova to Raven.

"Everything okay?" She asked.

"Yes," Raven responded.

Raven and I hung out with the rest of the Avengers for the rest of the day. We watched a movie, Lord of the Rings, and Raven and I fell asleep on the couch, her on top of me with my arms wrapped around her.

[moonraisedsunchild]

Adi and Jaime’s relationship headcanons A-Z

tagging: @melyaliz (Faith and Gigi) @royslittleharper (Maia) @cuddles-for-cassie (Kira) as the first two have done one of these. also tagged them because i used their character at least once. 

also mentions of Jaime Reyes, Bart Allen, Dick Grayson, Traci 13, The Reyes’, the Kents’, Kara Danvers, Paco and Brenda, Lois Lane, Kori Anders, Tim Drake, Khaji Da, and whoever else i might have missed that is not my character.

also i don’t really know Spanish so any of the Spanish things i looked up online.

Affection – Adi is like an affection leech but hides it behind her reserved front. She is a bit touch starved and she loves holding hands and hugging. More than once her hands will search out places she can feel his pulse because it’s steady in a way that most of her life isn’t so it’s calming. She always finds herself surprised by little things like when Jaime kisses her forehead. Her motto is like ‘the closer the better’.

Jaime likes to be affectionate but he doesn’t really want his friends to see him being too affectionate as they would tease him and he also kind of worries a bit that Khaji Da might do something and cause problems. his favorite part is when Adi reaches out for him, it reassures him more than word do that no matter what is going on that she needs him and doesn’t blame him whether he blames himself or not.

Breakfast – Adi is not a morning person, think Tim level of messed sleeping schedule, but she loves breakfast food. Occasionally if she is still awake and not super tired, she will make Jaime breakfast but never anything too hard as she is still learning how to cook. If cooking fails, she would just go out and buy food from whatever place he likes. For herself she likes cheese a lot but if she is buying then she would get a bunch of taquitos like those freezer ones or Quiktrip ones or maybe a sonic bacon breakfast burrito with cheese.

Jaime making breakfast means Tupperware. He will make stuff for himself before putting the rest away for Adi to eat when she is awake and hungry. Sometimes for like special occasions Jaime will make sure she sleeps at a reasonable time so that they both are awake at the same time and they will make breakfast together with Jaime having to help Adi not make such a mess or too bland food.

Cuddles - The first time, Adi froze like still and stiff as she wasn’t sure what was going on but she relaxed as the warmth was really nice. After, she would become a Cuddle Monster with snuggling closer and everything. Her favorite way to cuddle is to be lying front to front on Jaime’s chest like especially if it lets her listen to his heart.

Jaime likes spooning. He doesn’t care if he is the big or small spoon though Khaji Da talks less when he is the big spoon. He also likes when he can lie between Adi’s legs and rest his head on her stomach. It makes her smile and she has trouble not laughing, there has been more than once when they end up laughing after some banter. It’s probably one of the times they both feel mostly content.

Dates – Adi can be competitive so games like laser tag and paintball are good but mostly she doesn’t care what they do as long as she can be physically close to Jaime. She likes dancing for that reason as well as things where Jaime will ‘teach’ her what to do because it gets him near her. Chicken makes her laugh a lot because it involves swimming, being near Jaime, and trying to beat someone.

Video Games are a big part of dates for Jaime. He likes playing games where he and Adi need to work together to win. Movies are for if they just come back from a mission and one of them are injured. He also likes to train some together because it helps Adi but also the more they work together the more likely they both will be safe. Maybe they can think up some cool attacks and then he can brag to Bart. He does like dinner dates that end with dancing though. He will deny it but even though neither of them can dance the swaying is nice.

Entertainment – Video games, movies, and trying everything Adi hasn’t done that is the normal human experience. Adi has actually tried baby food but didn’t really like any but the ones with apples. Jaime was a bit weirded out but got over it when she dumped one of the jars over Paco’s head after he said something mean. Jaime let her convince him to start trying to learn Portuguese the normal way. Since she learned Spanish from him, she could understand the general meaning of a simple text but beyond that they are still trying and Jaime is only regretting it a little bit.

Family - Adi’s family is Kori and the Kents. She isn’t as close as she wants to Kori and Conner but she does like Kara Danvers, Jonathan “Pa” Kent, and Martha “Ma” Kent. She still is not sure how to feel toward Clark Kent as he wasn’t exactly warm to her either nor is she sure how to feel toward Lois Lane as Reporters make her uncomfortable. She adores Jaime’s family, as long as his mom keeps her doctoring away from her, along with Paco and Brenda.

Jaime has a general understanding of who she is related to but has learned that it’s kinda complicated. Adi becomes more withdrawn if Kori or Conner are mentioned but he has met Ma and Pa as well as Kara. Beyond that, Adi spends more time around his family even if it’s just her sitting in the corner watching them interact. His mom has mentioned that when Adi does that it makes her want to mother her because of the longing looks but beyond that they get along with her. Paco has a bit of a minor grudge on her but Brenda really enjoys hanging out with her.

Gifts – Adi enjoys spoiling Jaime. If she can and she knows there is something he wants then she gets it for him. she just likes that he looks happy but she is most giving with her words once they are together. She constantly tells him how much she loves him and how proud she is of him.

Jaime would probably give food. Adi always gets a big smile when he does. He also noticed that she always gets really happy when either he is teaching her something or they are learning something together. However, Jaime learned that for Adi the words are important. Maybe not as much as physical affection but being told that he is proud of her and how glad he was that she was alive once reduced her to happy tears.

Home – Adi would probably stay with Ma and Pa kent or stay at mount justice. On the off chance she doesn’t, she would probably end up staying with Brenda. Like she would want to stay with Jaime but his mom probably would not be up for that and while Jaime might not like Adi near Brenda’s aunt he can’t really tell her she can’t stay there. I mean she can take care of herself as long as she knows to be careful. Though maybe his mom wouldn’t be against it if she stayed in Milagro’s room but there is a small chance that would actually happen.

Intimacy – Adi and Jaime spend a long time listening to their friends poke fun at the fact that they have not done anything below the belt yet. Mentally Adi knows that it’s something Jaime might want but she didn’t feel ready nor was she sure it is something she was exactly interested in. eventually it happened only because Adi wanted to give Jaime anything he might want. For Adi, it was just something that she knows couples do to show they care though she enjoyed the closeness it brought to their relationship.

After the first time, Adi doesn’t actively seek it out but is willing enough for Jaime. However, The times when Adi instigates things become rather unconventional. Adi likes trying new things but she does have a few that she likes more than others while also having some she only tries once.

Jealousy – Adi finds herself less jealous of peoples advances toward Jaime and more insecure. She isn’t afraid that Jaime will leave her so much as she is afraid that he would be better off if he did. Though Affection wise she might get a little jealous if Jaime is showering someone else with affection and ignoring her.

Jaime can be very jealous but he is good at hiding it. He knows that Adi cares for him and wouldn’t ruin what they have but he doesn’t trust most guys around her because he knows that if they give her Affection that she would be willing to soak it up even if she doesn’t think it means anything.

Kisses – Adi enjoys all the gentle kisses best. Hands, foreheads, cheeks, and lips. She likes the other kinds but they make her a lot more nervous than she likes to be most of the time. She does like how Jaime reacts to the other kisses though especially the gasp he gives when she is the one to start it. She likes that if she kisses down his chest he will quickly pull her into a searing kiss.

Jaime likes those toe curling kisses. He likes the smiles that the gentle kisses cause. He likes the blushes that come from the make outs or the kisses that cause Adi’s eyes to darken. He likes the gasps when he kisses her neck. He loves the breathless kisses when things grew too heated.

Lazy days – Adi constantly floats. If Jaime is going somewhere, she will grab his arm or shirt and let him drag her around. There is a lot of cuddling, Paco and Brenda might be around and there will probably be video games or movies. They either eat food from Jaime’s mom, the Kents, or order out. Adi probably talks Jaime’s ear off or will sing a song she likes/that makes her think of him. Adi reading books aloud to Jaime. He might not really care about the subject, he just likes hearing her voice and the fact that she sounds content when not counting sad or funny parts.

Nicknames – Adi likes calling Jaime: Dearest or Querido(Dear). She likes whenever Jaime calls her something possessive like My Love or My dear because it makes her feel like she has someone.

Jaime likes calling Adi: Hermosa(Beautiful) or Mi Sol (my sun). Jaime likes hearing Adi speak Spanish. He hadn’t known it was something he liked until the first time she called him ‘Mi Amado’. He isn’t sure whether it’s just the Spanish or if it’s because it’s her using it.

Other fun – Adi likes exploring and will drag Jaime off to hike or just look around. Scavenger hunts for Jaime to find things, typically pieces of clothing that she stripped off in each location, where if he finds everything then he gets to choose what they do the rest of the night *wink wink*.

Jaime has accidentally caused a Pillow fight once and he both regrets it and loves it. Jaime likes when Adi Instigates Role Play. He likes the endings while she enjoys seeing how elaborate she can make the plot before he intervenes and ends it.

They Fly-Dance a lot because it is both sentimental and romantic. Catching grapes or popcorn in their mouths that the other threw. Setting up dominos or building things with legos.

Patrols – If they are together, it is focused. Adi feels likes she has to prove herself. She feels like she has to make Kori and Conner like her more by being the best. Jaime is being supportive and tries to help her do her best.

If they are patrolling separately and alone, there is a second channel for communication and they are talking. The type of talking depends on how important the patrol.

However, if they are patrolling with someone else then the second channel is open and they are likely talking about their plans later. Their partners are not amused.

Quarrels-  Mainly misunderstandings. Adi might have said something that reminded Jaime of how much he had wanted to get Khaji Da off of himself. Jaime might have said something about the strain between Kori, Conner, and Adi. If none of these then likely Adi was feeling overwhelmed/stressed or she blew things out of proportion without meaning to. She also might have been feeling overly emotional and if exploded out of her.

Resolution – There is a lot of talking. Jaime and Adi have to actually explain rather than brushing it off as nothing. they might even need outside help. Adi will definitely need counseling. She might need medication if any would work on her.

Schedule – Jaime having school as well as the team missions. Adi eventually going to school after being caught up on what she should know plus the team and missions. Date nights are Tuesdays and Saturdays when there are no missions.

Teasing –mostly little things here or there at first until they have a better understanding about what is a sore point or not. Adi would have a harder time being teased or teasing as she can be a bit sensitive and she wouldn’t know what was too far. Once she felt more confident in their relationship it would get easier because she would see that he wasn’t being mean or trying to upset her. She gets better about it after watching others tease kindly.

Unforgettable moments - Their first Flight-Dance which is when Adi starts thinking she might be in love with Jaime.

When Bart, Gigi, Jaime, and Adi were playing truth or dare and Jaime was dared to kiss Adi. It was her first kiss and helped her solidify that she was in love with him while making him question his feelings.

Jaime confessing his feeling while worrying as he is digging Adi out from under a building that had collapsed on her. When Adi gets uncovered she beams at him and asks if he wants to go to dinner with her.

The time Adi had memorized the song “Mi Sol” and sung it for him, the first being when he found he wasn’t the first blue Beetle, she has sung it for him more than once and he learned to harmonize.

Valentine’s – Jaime had asked around and leaned that Maia could teleport. Jaime wanted to do something special for Adi. He went to Maia and asked if she could distract Adi somewhere away from Texas or Kansas the night before Valentine’s Day before Teleporting her to Ascarate Park in the afternoon on Valentine’s Day. He would owe her but she had agreed.

They weren’t at the point of engagements and marriage yet but he knew he wanted Adi to be the one. Jaime had been planning this for at least a year after Adi had told him wistfully that she wished their families could meet. She had just started getting along with her family better and wanted to share what she loved about his family with the Kents.

Jaime convinced Brenda to fly the Elder Kent’s out to El Paso while asking the other Supers and Kori to fly out. He and his Mother worked the day before to have all the food prepared for a giant picnic. They, the Reyes’ with Paco and Brenda, would be driving the Kents’ to the park and together they would have lunch. The two families would get to know each other if only because they all cared for Adi and Jaime.

Adi had been more than a little annoyed at first. She had wanted to wake by Jaime’s side on the day that she had been told was romantic and for couples. When she arrived at a picnic with both of her families she had been so touched. She had sincerely thanked Maia and wished her a Happy Valentine’s day before tackling Jaime. The Lunch had gone off wonderfully with Adi smiling and with only a minor food fight when Paco had said something to Kira that made Brenda dump a bowl of Gazpacho Andaluz, Salmorejo Cordobes on his head.

Work – Adi works with children at a daycare, specializing in working with the disabled, when not doing missions for the League. She also helps at a teen homeless shelter. Jaime works as a Dentist that is both highly paid as well as offering free dental care for the homeless. He still does work with the League but is called in less often.

X- exes – Adi herself has never dated anyone else. she is still a little worried that Jaime likes Traci 13 better than her but, beyond the minor insecurities,  she likes Traci and would love to be her friend. 

Yearning – After the fly-dance, Adi found it harder to fly especially when around Jaime. Her feelings were too jumbled for her to feel the proper joy of flight. After the kiss, Adi still found it hard to fly because now she was more often than not felt her efforts must be hopeless. She didn’t think Jaime could feel the same toward her and that made her sad.

After the Kiss, Jaime found himself watching Adi more. He felt jealous of the guys that spoke to her because she had started getting quieter around him. Bart, Gigi, and Faith eventually convince Dick to pair the two for the next mission. That mission ends up being the one where Adi is under a collapsed building, Jaime confesses, and Adi asks Jaime out to dinner. Bart, Gigi, and Faith are not sorry in the slightest.

Z – Jaime had to be the big spoon at night. Adi tosses and turns in her sleep if he isn’t. He only finds out later that she almost always tosses and turns except for when she has a nightmare or when she is being held. If Adi stays awake, then she will have Jaime’s head in her lap while she reads or is on the computer.

[modernlife-catastrophe-blog]

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[poisonbooknerd]

FALLEN STAR by Susannah Nix is available now! Get your hands on this sexy Hollywood contemporary romance today.

About FALLEN STAR

The second he walked through the door, she could tell he was trouble.

Grace knows better than to fall for a Hollywood bad boy like Scott Deacon. An arrogant movie star with a troubled past and a big honking chip on his shoulder? No, thank you. He may be sex on wheels, but beneath the charming facade he’s just another cocky jackass destined to make her job more difficult.

Except...

The more time they spend together, the hotter the fire between them burns. With every flirtatious smile and brush of his hand, she feels her defenses crumbling.

She wants to hate him, but instead she’s in danger of losing all control.

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Read an Excerpt from FALLEN STAR:

Tuesday they were shooting on location in Jackson Square all day. The call time was two hours before dawn, so they could wring every second of sunlight out of the day, and Grace could not stop yawning on the transport van to the location.

“Wakey, wakey,” Scott said, leaning over the back of his seat to shake a plastic tumbler filled with something thick and green and disgusting-looking in front of her face.

“Ugh,” Grace grumbled. “Get that away from me.” She couldn’t help but smile a little though, even through her sleep-deprived crankiness.

An hour later, as the first streaks of light were glimmering in the sky above the river, Scott showed up at the pop-up tent where video village had been set up, and presented Grace with a white paper bag and a tall styrofoam cup from Café du Monde.

“For me?” she asked, perking up considerably. “Did you seriously walk over there and buy me coffee?” He didn’t seem to have gotten anything for anyone else. Just her. Her brain filed this information away to obsess over and analyze later, when he wasn’t standing two feet away grinning at her.

“Café au lait,” Scott said smugly. “And beignets.”

Grace narrowed her eyes at him in suspicion. “Did you make one of the PAs do it?”

“As a matter of fact, I did it all by myself. And I had to take a picture with the employees, so I hope you appreciate it.”

“I do!” she said, beaming at him. “You’re officially my favorite person today.”

He blinked at her, his smirk fading into something else entirely. Whatever that expression on his face was, it sent Grace’s stomach tumbling into a free fall. Rather than examine it more closely, she focused her attention on the bag in her hand. Inside was a mountain of powdered sugar, and buried beneath it were three pillowy squares of fried dough. “Don’t inhale while you’re eating those,” Scott warned her.

“Not my first rodeo,” Grace told him, excavating a beignet. “Want one?”

“Noooo.” He held up his hands in a warding gesture. “I’m doing a water cut for that fight scene on Thursday.”

Right. He’d be shirtless, which meant the Abs of Glory would be on full display. Grace found herself looking forward to Thursday with a little more enthusiasm.

“Sucks for you,” she said, giving him a taunting grin as she bit into a beignet.

His eyes homed in on her mouth with laser beam focus. “That’s fine. I’ll just enjoy them vicariously by watching you eat.”

“Does this get you off?” she asked archly and took another bite. Scott licked his lips. “Not gonna lie, it kind of does.” Grace couldn’t help laughing at his retriever-staring-down-a-dog-treat expression, which led her to make the fatal mistake of inhaling with the beignet in front of her mouth. Coughing sugar out of her lungs, she clapped a hand over her mouth as a cloud of fine white powder billowed out in front of her.

Scott sidestepped the powdered sugar typhoon and patted her on the back, chuckling. “Told you not to inhale.”

About Susannah Nix

Susannah Nix is the author of quirky contemporary romances about smart women and swoony men, including the Chemistry Lessons series of romcoms featuring STEM heroines and the Starstruck series of movie star romances. She lives in Texas with her husband, two ornery cats, and a flatulent pit bull. ​ When she’s not writing, Susannah enjoys reading, cooking, knitting, watching too much television, and getting distracted by Tumblr. She is also a powerlifter who can deadlift as much as Captain America weighs.

Website | Twitter | Facebook | BookBub | Instagram | Goodreads | Pinterest

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[poisonbooknerd]

FALLEN STAR by Susannah Nix releases March 5th - get a look at an excerpt below and preorder your copy today!

About FALLEN STAR

Available March 5th, 2019

The second he walked through the door, she could tell he was trouble.

Grace knows better than to fall for a Hollywood bad boy like Scott Deacon. An arrogant movie star with a troubled past and a big honking chip on his shoulder? No, thank you. He may be sex on wheels, but beneath the charming facade he’s just another cocky jackass destined to make her job more difficult.

Except...

The more time they spend together, the hotter the fire between them burns. With every flirtatious smile and brush of his hand, she feels her defenses crumbling.

She wants to hate him, but instead she’s in danger of losing all control.

FALLEN STAR releases March 5th - preorder your copy now!

✦Apple Books https://apple.co/2sUEguf ✦B&N http://bit.ly/2sRkmQV ✦Google Play http://bit.ly/2sQKECQ ✦Kobo http://bit.ly/2sS1HEJ

Be sure to follow Susannah on social media to find out when the Amazon preorder goes live!

Add FALLEN STAR to Goodreads now: http://bit.ly/2sRkm3n

Read an Excerpt from FALLEN STAR:

Tuesday they were shooting on location in Jackson Square all day. The call time was two hours before dawn, so they could wring every second of sunlight out of the day, and Grace could not stop yawning on the transport van to the location.

“Wakey, wakey,” Scott said, leaning over the back of his seat to shake a plastic tumbler filled with something thick and green and disgusting-looking in front of her face.

“Ugh,” Grace grumbled. “Get that away from me.” She couldn’t help but smile a little though, even through her sleep-deprived crankiness.

An hour later, as the first streaks of light were glimmering in the sky above the river, Scott showed up at the pop-up tent where video village had been set up, and presented Grace with a white paper bag and a tall styrofoam cup from Café du Monde.

“For me?” she asked, perking up considerably. “Did you seriously walk over there and buy me coffee?” He didn’t seem to have gotten anything for anyone else. Just her. Her brain filed this information away to obsess over and analyze later, when he wasn’t standing two feet away grinning at her.

“Café au lait,” Scott said smugly. “And beignets.”

Grace narrowed her eyes at him in suspicion. “Did you make one of the PAs do it?”

“As a matter of fact, I did it all by myself. And I had to take a picture with the employees, so I hope you appreciate it.”

“I do!” she said, beaming at him. “You’re officially my favorite person today.”

He blinked at her, his smirk fading into something else entirely. Whatever that expression on his face was, it sent Grace’s stomach tumbling into a free fall. Rather than examine it more closely, she focused her attention on the bag in her hand. Inside was a mountain of powdered sugar, and buried beneath it were three pillowy squares of fried dough. “Don’t inhale while you’re eating those,” Scott warned her.

“Not my first rodeo,” Grace told him, excavating a beignet. “Want one?”

“Noooo.” He held up his hands in a warding gesture. “I’m doing a water cut for that fight scene on Thursday.”

Right. He’d be shirtless, which meant the Abs of Glory would be on full display. Grace found herself looking forward to Thursday with a little more enthusiasm.

“Sucks for you,” she said, giving him a taunting grin as she bit into a beignet.

His eyes homed in on her mouth with laser beam focus. “That’s fine. I’ll just enjoy them vicariously by watching you eat.”

“Does this get you off?” she asked archly and took another bite.

Scott licked his lips. “Not gonna lie, it kind of does.”

Grace couldn’t help laughing at his retriever-staring-down-a-dog-treat expression, which led her to make the fatal mistake of inhaling with the beignet in front of her mouth. Coughing sugar out of her lungs, she clapped a hand over her mouth as a cloud of fine white powder billowed out in front of her.

Scott sidestepped the powdered sugar typhoon and patted her on the back, chuckling. “Told you not to inhale.”

About Susannah Nix

Susannah Nix is the author of quirky contemporary romances about smart women and swoony men, including the Chemistry Lessons series of romcoms featuring STEM heroines and the Starstruck series of movie star romances. She lives in Texas with her husband, two ornery cats, and a flatulent pit bull. ​ When she’s not writing, Susannah enjoys reading, cooking, knitting, watching too much television, and getting distracted by Tumblr. She is also a powerlifter who can deadlift as much as Captain America weighs.

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