#ace lena if you squint

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Peace in the Quiet [post finale snippet]

After Kelly and Alex's wedding, life eases. Lena finds freedom in the realization that this new reality means her life is no longer a daily struggle. It's no longer a constant fight just exist as a Luthor, a younger sister to a maniac. In this reality, Lex is simply a maniac, and Lena is simply Lena.

In the vaccuum of constant vigilance, Lena is able to feel.... other things. Like the warmth that slowly melts into her skin when evenings spent with Kara are expected, not deliberately and mindfully scheduled.

"Coming over tonight?" becomes a staple of their frequent texts and phone calls, and is most often answered with an affirmative.

There's a comfort in her heart now, marked only by the fact it hadn't been there for... well. Ever. Even the four years spent in Kara's company, blissfully unaware of her secret identity, had be frought with the dread and anxiety of waiting for the other shoe to drop. Kara's friendship had felt too good to be true, and looking back, she'd never truly trusted it.

She does now.

"Hey Kara?"

Kara cranes her neck briefly to catch Lena's gaze, confirming she was listening as she continued to dish up the pizza.

Lena takes a deep breath.

"I love you."

The admission comes easily, gently. She watches Kara pause again, hands falling still before she turns a little more to face Lena.

A beautiful, brilliant smile flashes. "I love you too."

Oh, there's no grand, sweeping kiss. No collision of bodies and fireworks. There's plenty of room to assume Kara means as friends. But Lena knows that Kara doesn't sit this close to just anyone, when she hands Lena her plate and settles in next to her.

And when their plates are set aside and Lena curls against Kara's side, her head resting sleepily on her friend's shoulder, Lena understands what she's craved all her life. What she's always wanted.

Something just like this.

[eqt-95]

Hi hello! I found the ask game related to the hearts finally so I’ll ask for 🤎 for supercorp if it sparks joy?

oh it does, it does spark joy! many thanks for the ask from both of you.

🤎 multiple kisses / kisses all over / kiss after kiss

- - - - - - -

“We’re playing Doctor!” Kara shouted excitedly when Alex, Kelly, and Lena walked in to find the apartment in absolute disarray, Kara mummified with ace bandages, covered in stickers, and talking past a thermometer sticking out of her mouth, and Esme unraveling a ball of yarn.

“During an apocalypse?” Alex asked, bypassing the pile of forgotten pillows and cushions, over the stacks of books, and through the disaster zone of puzzle pieces and legos. 

“I’m a warrior injured from battle,” Kara scoffed, annoyance on her scrunched face. “See the armor?”

It was nearly impossible to see the cardboard cutouts from under all of the gauze.

“Yea, and I am her princess and the world’s best nurse,” Esme added. She reached for Kara’s hand and began tying the yarn around her wrist. “We just need to lift your arm to rest,” Esma continued, trying gallantly to hoist Kara’s arm.

“Is that my emergency med pack?” Alex asked, eyeing the black canvas bag wearily and the equipment scattered around it. 

“We ran out of band-aids,” Esme explained. “But don’t worry, we didn’t use yours. They were too boring.”

“You should get the colorful kind like the Bluey ones,” Kara added.

Before Alex could get a word, or sigh of resignation in, Esme extended her hand toward her: “Can you hold this, please?”

And that’s how Alex got roped into holding the length of rainbow yarn to elevate Kara’s very unbroken arm while Esme removed the thermometer from Kara’s mouth.

“Uh-oh,” she scowled.

“Uh-oh?” Kara asked with exaggerated worry. “What’s wrong nurse?”

“Just what I susepted.”

“Suspected, babe,” Kelly offered from the kitchen where she and Lena exchanged smirks at Alex’s expense.

“Right, suspested,” Esme said. “It’s bad news.”

“How bad, Nurse?”

“We need to cut off your arm.”

“What? Isn’t there anything else? A disgusting herb? A powerful potion?” Kara rambled. “I really need my arm to hold a sword.”

“Hmm,” Esme pondered. “There is one thing. But it’s magic” “Anything,” Kara said without missing a beat. “Please, Nurse, please!”

“Ok. Are you ready?”

Kara grimaced, clenched her eyes shut and nodded. 

In turn, Esme gave Kara’s elbow a quick kiss. “You’re healed!”

Kara opened one eye and peered toward her arm still held up by Alex and yarn. She cautiously flexed her fingers then rolled her wrist and rotated her elbow. “I’m healed!”

“Yes, you’re healed. Now please leave my house,” Alex mumbled.

------

“Hey,” Lena said when Kara stirred. 

“Hey, back,” Kara mumbled, reaching for Lena’s hand to squeeze. She hummed then opened her eyes, finding Lena then offering a dopey grin. A sign Lena could sigh with relief. “Was I out long?”

“A couple hours. You didn’t completely blow your powers, so you should recover quickly.”

Kara nodded then winced as she sat up. “And the others?”

“J’onn and Dreamer handled the rest,” Lena explained, helping adjust a pillow. “You provided enough distraction that no one else was injured.”

“Tell that to my face,” Kara huffed, lifting a hand to rub her jaw. “I think I need Nurse Esme to make me all better.”

“I think Nurse Esme is in the middle of show-and-tell,” Lena replied. “But I’ll see if Alex has a Bluey band-aid for you.”

“Or,” Kara said, then blushed beet red. “Or we could try magic.”

“I am not about to…” Lena squinted then rolled her eyes. “Oh, I see. You don’t mean my magic.”

“Well, it-it would kind of be your magic,” Kara replied, fingers worrying at the blanket in her lap. “Just, a different kind.”

Lena refrained from rolling her eyes again when Kara offered the biggest, sappiest look. 

“If you think it’ll work,” Lena answered, and she pretended not to see the glee in Kara’s face.

“It would. It really would.”

And that’s how Lena found herself pressing a kiss to Kara’s eagerly lifted cheek.

“There. Better?” Lena chuckled, leaning back into her chair and missing the way Kara’s face chased after Lena’s retreated lips.

“Um…” Kara answered, a bit downtrodden with her lower lip beginning to protrude outward.

“Um?”

“It’s just that, actually I’m pretty sure it was my left side.”

Lena tried containing a smile and resisted letting a disbelieving eyebrow arc. “Is that right?”

“I guess I forgot?”

“Maybe I should get Alex in here to check for brain damage,” Lena teased.

“No, no, it’s ok. I just… I’m still groggy and sleepy, but I just need a little more, um…”

“Magic?”

“Exactly. Then I’ll be all better.”

A kiss landed on Kara’s other temple. “Was it here?” Lena asked, lips still pressed against warm skin.

“A-a bit lower,” Kara answered, face flushing red.

“How about here?” Lena asked, offering another kiss an inch lower.

“Getting uhm,” Kara coughed. “Getting closer?”

Lena continued trailing kisses down the length of Kara’s jawline, no longer waiting for Kara’s fibs to guide her. 

“How’s that, darling?” Lena asked when the final one landed at the edge of Kara’s mouth.

“Just one more,” Kara answered, tugging a laughing Lena onto the bed and pressing a final kiss to her lips. “There,” she sighed. “All healed.”

[emilou-keen-gear]

Demons on the Run Part 1

Writing Prompt: At first, they believe it to be a bad joke, but when more and more graves of people who haven't died yet appear in the graveyard, they start to panic.

Characters: Scrooge McDuck, Betina Beakley, Duckworth, and Glomgold Flintheart

Word Count: Approx 2100

            Scrooge McDuck sat at his desk, reading the paper. An actual paper. Not the news on one of those new-fangled tablets or on a web site. And if he ever couldn’t read a real paper that had been printed that morning, then he would tear down the entire social media infrastructure or die trying.

            Luckily he owned the only printing press in town, so he could always count on a fresh paper at his door every morning.

            Mrs. Beakley was also in the room, dusting, vacuuming and waiting for him to finish his tea so she could take it away. She radiated a presence as if urging him to drink it faster so she could get on with her work, which never worked because Scrooge wasn’t going to drink his tea slower or faster than what he always did.

            And it was that scene that Duckworth floated in on in his demon form, looking far less formidable than he usually did. In fact, he looked down-right down-cast, which was not a good look for Duckworth no matter what form he took. And while Mrs. Beakley’s presence urging Scrooge to drink his tea faster didn’t bother Scrooge, the appearance of the ghost caused the temperature of the room to fall twenty degrees, and that caused Scrooge to look up.

            “Ah, Duckworth. For a moment there, I thought my nephews had turned on the AC,” Scrooge said, squinting at the thermostat in the corner. It still read the number he had set it at, and he was never going to budge on that number.

            “Mr. McDuck, I’m afraid I have some…very bad news,” Duckworth said, transforming back to his old form. He was still downcast, but he retained a sort of dignity in his humility.

            “Bad news? How bad of news?” Scrooge asked with raised eyebrow. He hated getting bad news, especially at this hour of the day. He would prefer bad news after tea, and since Duckworth new this, it must be terrible news.

            “I’m afraid there’s been a breach of the ghost realm,” Duckworth admitted.

            “Ah, I was afraid that this might happen,” Scrooge said with a roll of his eyes. “So, who was it? Who went in? Was it the boys? Lena and Webby? Please tell me it wasn’t all the children.”

            “Ah, no, sir. It’s not like that,” Duckworth said. “Nobody went in. Something—or rather—some things came out.”

            “I’ll get Donald and Della on it right away,” Scrooge said. “They know how to wrangle a few ghosts, and it’s about time they do something around the house. They can teach the kids. This will be good experience for them.”

            “No, not this time,” Duckworth said. “It wasn’t ghosts, spirits or spooks that got out. It was demons.”

            Scrooge had reached for his rotor-dial, land-line phone to dial Della’s cell, but he stopped on the third number, the rotor slowly returning to zero. “Did you say…demons?”

            “Yes, I’m afraid so,” Duckworth said, looking apologetic. He may have apologized many times over the years, but this was one of those rare occasions that it showed on his usually-stoic face. “I don’t know how it happened, but they somehow opened the portal and got out.”

            “How? You said nothing could open the portal except you,” Scrooge said. “It’s why I let you put one in my linen closet.”

            “I know. I have a few theories, but right now it’s more important to find the demons than to ask questions,” Duckworth said, dropping his hang-dog expression. He was now all business. “There is some good news. I had someone watching the gate on the other-side, and although they couldn’t stop the demons, they were able to identify who they were. That should make it easier to locate them.”

            “I guess that is some good news,” Scrooge said, not know how that helps.

            Duckworth provided some insight. “Each demon has their own style in reaping lives and souls. It’s a sort of calling card. We can keep an eye out for unusual activity around Duckburg and find them that way. We may even be able to predict where they be based on their routines.”

            Scrooge gulped down the rest of his tea and roughly set the cup down in the dish, almost cracking the china. “Alright, let’s get to work. What should we do first?”

            Mrs. Beakley was quick to whisk away the cup and saucer, both to keep the desk clean and to protect it from another outburst from Scrooge. However, she was never the type to remain silent for long, especially when she thought someone was charging into something ill-prepared.

            “May I suggest that perhaps you gather some materials to protect yourself and fight off these demons,” Mrs. Beakley said. “I may not be an expert, but I have done some research as of late. A ring of salt, iron, holy water, and certain herbs have been known to keep demons at bay and hurt them.”

            “I didn’t think you had an interest in this sort of thing,” Scrooge wondered.

            “Let’s just say that I’ve been preparing for such a day,” Mrs. Beakley said, eyeing Duckworth. “You can’t predict when you may need to banish a demon in a hurry.”

            Duckworth put on an aristocratic sneer. “I can’t imagine why you should feel that way.”

            “Alright, you two,” Scrooge said, wishing he could keep out of…whatever they called this. He wasn’t sure if he could call it a rivalry, and if he said it was a “lover’s quarrel” even in jest, he might end up on the other side of the ghost portal unexpectedly. “This is a serious situation. Whatever equipment you have that you think may help would be much appreciated. Duckworth, let’s make a list of anything that Mrs. Beakley doesn’t have. Oh, and let’s send all the kids away for the day. I don’t want them involved.”

            “I’m sure it’ll be a long list,” Duckworth said. “There’s more to demon hunting than salt and holy water.”

            “I’ve got two water barrels filled with holy water, a mess of super soakers to fill them up with, flash granades filled with iron fillings, several dozen exorcism spells and three sawed-off shot guns with shells filled with rock salt,” Mrs. Beakley said, leaning over Scrooge’s desk. “And that’s just for starters.”

            Oh, yes. Mrs. Beakley was prepared. When she wanted to learn about demons, she learned about demons. However, she wasn’t going to admit that a majority of her demon-hunting equipment and training she received was while watching all fifteen seasons of Supernatural within a month while all the kids had been on a marathon of adventures with Scrooge.

            Duckworth knew a challenge when he saw one. He was going to lay down so much demon lore on Mrs. Beakley, it’ll make her head spin. Not literally, otherwise an exorcism was going to be needed sooner than they thought.

            However, that list was never started. As soon as quill and ink set on paper for the first item, Scrooge’s study-room door burst open and Glomgold Flintheart raced in.

            “Scoogey, ya got ta do something,” Glomgold cried out, belly-flopping onto the desk and grabbing his old rival by the lapels.

            “How did you get in here?” Scrooge said. He was certain he had installed an anti-Glomgold alarm in his security system.

            “Please, ya got ta help me. I don’t want ta die,” Glomgold wailed, as close to tears as Scrooge had ever seen him. And he had seen his fair share of Glomgold tantrums.

            “Get away from me, ya ninny,” Scrooge said. “Beakley!”

            “On it, sir,” Mrs. Beakley said, cracking her knuckles.

            “No, don’t throw me out. I’ll do anything,” Glomgold said, fighting like a fat cat at the vet to keep Mrs. Beakley from prying his fingers from Scrooge. “Ya have ta look at the graves. The graves. They’re trying ta kill me.”

            “They’re not the only ones, ya maniac,” Scrooge growled, grabbing his cane and hitting Glomgold’s fingers.

            “Wait, sir,” Duckworth said, having mulled over the pseudo-Scott’s words enough. “I do believe that Mr. Flintheart is telling the truth and is in grave danger.”

            “Does it look like I care?” Scrooge shouted angrily. “Beakley, get him out of here.”

            “Mr. McDuck, this might be a calling card of one of the demons,” Duckworth said. “I would like to hear Mr. Flintheart’s story, if it be all the same to you.”

            Nobody had ever heard Duckworth speak like that. All three of the live ducks wrestling with each other became still and quiet. Eventually, Glomgold got off the desk and stood in front of the others as he told his story.

            “So, there I was in the Duckburg cemetery. It’s a Tuesday, and I always go to the cemetery every Tuesday to visit my old business partners,” Glomgold started almost peacefully.

            “Oh, that’s very…human of you, Glomgold,” Mrs. Beakley said, surprised.

            Glomgold’s peaceful smile suddenly turned devious. “Yes, and to dance on their graves and sing how I’m still alive and richer than they ever were. Wha ha ha ha ha ha.”

            Scrooge slumped in his chair. “Tell me again why we are trying to save this man’s life.”

            “Perhaps we should contact Fenton’s mother to investigate Glomgold’s business partners,” Mrs. Beakley said with wide eyes.

            “Already dead,” Scrooge said. “Believe me, they were all as old as dirt and went completely natural. And knowing Flinty, they went peacefully, knowing that where they were going, he wasn’t going to follow.”

            “So, after I danced on their graves, I started back to my car to go home, but for some reason I got lost,” Glomgold said, his voice turning from unbridled confidence to uncertain and fearful. “I thought it was odd because how could you get lost in a cemetery? It’s literally an open field with a fence around it, but I found myself in a section of the graveyard that I didn’t recognize. All of the tombstones were old and crumbling, there were bushes and trees all over, bending over me as if reaching for me. The sky was dark and filled with clouds, and I couldn’t tell which direction was which.

            “And that’s when I saw it. Directly in my path was a brand new tombstone. And carved on it, was my name.” Glomgold paused, gulping. He was sweating profusely at this point and trembling a little. “Below that, it had a date. The date was tomorrow. And I knew in that instant that the graveyard wanted me six feet under. It was going to have me no matter what.”

            He finished his narrative, wide-eyed and feathers much whiter than usual.

            Scrooge listened to the story, and had to admit that the scenario was quite chilling, although it had a little bit of Charles Dickens in it. If only there was a moral squeezed in there for Flinty to change his ways.

            “What do you think, Duckworth? Is it one of our guys?” Scrooge asked.

            “Yes, that is definitely one of them,” Duckworth said.

            “Good news, Flinty,” Scrooge said. “It seems that you’re not crazy, at least not in regards to this. That was a demon, and we have agreed to take care of it for you.”

            Glomgold looked relieved. “So I’m not going to die tomorrow.”

            “No, Flinty,” Scrooge said, keeping back any more quips. Teasing Glomgold at that moment felt like kicking a really ugly dog when it’s down.

            “Oh, thank you so much Scroogy,” Glomgold said, wiping his brow. “Now, if you don’t mind, I have some scheming—I mean—work I need to do.”

            “Wait a moment,” Scrooge said, using his cane to stop Glomgold. “Demon-hunting doesn’t come free.”

            “You want me to pay you? Are you out of your mind?”

            “You want me to do this for free? Are you out of your mind?”

            “I’m not giving you a cent. Not a single. Red. Cent.”

            “Then good luck exorcising your own demons. Now get out of my house. I’ll see you at your funeral.”

            That gave Glomgold a moment to pause. “Fine. I’ll pay you. How much?”

            “Well, I’ll have to print out an estimate,” Scrooge said, starting to write some things down. “You’ll have to pay each of us by the hour. And of course, there’s an exorcising charge, a demon-hunting equipment rental fee, and temporary soul insurance. You’re going to want that.”

            “What? You’re over charging me!” Glomgold shouted.

            “Oh, be quiet, Flinty,” Scrooge said. “Just be glad I’m not charging you until after we get rid of the demon. If we fail, you don’t have to pay us anything.”

            Glomgold smile. “Oh, what a relief.”

            “Because your soul will have been eaten.”

            Glomgold fainted.

End of Part 1

I wasn't going to write another Halloween short with more than one part, but here we are. I have no controll where my imagination goes when I read prompts. A majority of my Halloween short stories are inspired by prompts, most of which (this one included) from @writing-prompt-s. They have a bunch of amazing prompts.

[parragone]

I was tagged almost a month ago for wip wednesday by @r6shippingdelivery and never made good on it [ for many reasons ] but today I DO

kapglaz + muze, kind of plot relevant, snippet of a canon-divergent AU where the Coliseum never happened but Nighthaven still gets involved for different, yet just as shady, reasons

"What do you think of that Danish fellow?" Mark closed his laptop as he asked. He'd leaned back and taken his glasses off, so he had to squint slightly to make out the way Timur's face scrunched, which seemed to get a laugh out of the sniper. "Ace, I think?"

"I would refrain from insulting the young man, that is all." The sniper lifted his glass to his lips as he sighed. "I don't like the fact they know so much about us already."

"Men who are not troubled by thoughts should not be trusted with them," Shuhrat said as he took his seat next to Mark. He'd delivered the statement with such a dry tone that it took a moment for them to register what he'd said; Maxim's bark of laughter prompted a snicker from Mark and a reluctant yet earnest smile from Timur.

"You're a dick, Shuh." Maxim jabbed a finger at Shuhrat with a wry smile. "That was terrible."

"Kinda right, though."

"Don't encourage it!"

"Mark," Timur cut in with a quiet, serious tone that forced the other three to pay attention, "all jokes aside, do you trust them?"

The silence answered the immediate question, but Mark leaned back against the sofa with his arms crossed as he thought on how to answer. "I want to trust Harry, but this is a gamble in a game we don't know the rules for."

"I didn't ask about Harry."

"Short answer, then; no, I don't trust Nighthaven." After a moment, he unfolded his arms and set his hands on his knees, his eyes suddenly fixated on the glass Timur put down. "Long answer; they're poachers. They're going to try to pull tech and operators out from under Rainbow, and I think I know who they've targeted, who's next, and who's already gone."

"Holy shit, you're on top of it," Maxim muttered quietly, one arm now draped around Timur's shoulders.

"Have to be. It's my job." The Brit squared his jaw and took a quiet breath. "Listen. I know it'll kill Senaviev, but Melkinova is leaving with Nighthaven. I'm sure of it."

"Lena?" Timur nearly kicked the table as he sat upright. "What makes you think-"

"They've got James convinced, too, Tima. Weiss, Melikinova, Porter, Estrada, they're all compromised. They're going to try for Nizan, Al-Hassar, Shuh, and myself." He paused just long enough to reach for his drink and finish it off. "I'll bet money they're going to aim for Bosak."

"Zofia? They would be stupid to try," Maxim grumbled.

"Ela. And I think Shah might've already caught her."

Mark didn't have to squint to recognize concern and discomfort in the eyes of Timur or Maxim, but it was the gentle squeeze Shuh gave his arm that made his shoulders slump. The man wouldn't voice his own concerns, but the fact he was so willing to give physical comfort meant he not only saw the same threat but agreed on the targets.

[lovepotionnumber5]

fic preview—slotted spoons don’t hold much soup, but they can catch the potato

“Sometimes people leave you,” Kara mumble-sings, eyes fixed on the dark horizon to the east, “halfway through the wood.”

She takes a deep breath, inhales the grime and smog and salt air. With a squint of her eyes, she begins to detect the slightest brightening of the sky.

“Others may deceive you,” she continues. “You decide what’s good. You decide alone.”

A pigeon flaps its way to the AC window unit the floor below. It settles there, fluffs up its feathers, and begins to coo.

“But no one is alone,” Kara whispers.

The quiet sounds of night shift workers making their way home are slowly drowned out by alarm clocks and screeching teapots. The sky breaks into brilliant orange and pink and everything in between—the first rays hit Kara’s skin and the rush of overstimulation that comes with it almost stings.

Earth’s sun is not her God. The only red rays it ever sheds are illusions and refractions. This sun gives her abilities beyond the most daring fantasies, and she sees how that could be worth worship, but that doesn’t make it Him. Faith doesn’t have anything to do with proof and power. Rao’s light shines on debris; Kara wonders if He too is lonely, and longs to cast her shadow once more.

The day has properly dawned. Across the city, a gentle series of chimes are the precursor to the slight increase of Lena’s heart rate.

Kara closes her eyes. “I wish,” she says.

[janetbrown711]

4) “I’m too sober for this.” Dewey (I’m interested where you’d take this lmao)

Webby walked into the room of the poker game and saw what could only be described as the most intense game of poker she had ever seen in her life. a little bit of a crowd had gathered to watch Dewey, Dante, Donald, and a lil bulb were all sharing untrusting glances to one another. On top of that, they were all wearing green visors and some even wore shades. In the middle of the table was a pile of chips, a shirt, another visor, a coupon for free frozen yogurt, and a bag of beef jerky. It seemed like everyone really wanted that stuff though, as everyone keeping their cards very close. They didn’t even bother to break their glances when Webby entered the room.

“Soo... who’s winning?” Webby asked as she pulled up a chair to observe.

“We’re trying to break a four-way tie,” Dewey explained briefly.

“Donald’s one?” She asked. It wasn’t that she didn’t believe in him, but it’s a game of lying and luck and Donald wasn’t exactly an expert on either of those activities.

“He won by default. We all had to go to the rehearsal for the rehearsal dinner, which you somehow didn’t show up to, and he claimed victory. We kinda just let it slide,” Dewey said. That made sense.

“I fold,” Donald sighed at that comment and set his cards face down on the table. The lil’ bulb did the same, but Dante and Dewey kept glances of distrust, both trying to read the other's mind.

“All in,” Dewey said, pushing all his chips in and causing the others to gasp at his bravery.

“Fine, all in as well,” Dante smirked back. Webby had no idea what was going on since she had only ever pretended to know how to play poker. She figured his confidence was a bad thing though if she was routing for Dewey.

Slowly, Dewey revealed in his hand a pair of queens. Everyone in the room gasped and looked to

Dante who, stone-cold, turned over his hand to reveal...

A pair of aces.

The crowd went wild and started shouting and celebrating as Dante collected his prize.

“Sorry for this, you all have been nothing if not kind, but rules are rules,” He smirked. Donald muttered under his breath and walked out to get some air. The lil’ bulb shook his fist and probably said something devastating if anyone knew their language.

“You suck,” Dewey said.

“That’s just how I work Amigo,” Dante put his prize money and other possessions into his bag that

Webby recognized from their adventures where they would run into the parrot.

“So... Dante... What’re you doing here?” Webby asked, forcing a smile but gave an annoyed look to Dewey

“Oh, did Dewey not tell you ahead of time?” Dante asked, before shaking his head and chuckling,

“Of course he didn’t. I’m his plus one, and his boyfriend.”

“Hm, a plus one he didn’t rsvp for. Where have I heard this before?” Webby asked rhetorically.

“A sweet sixteen does not need an rsvp for me to bring a couple of friends. It wasn’t even that big of a deal,” Dewey rolled his eyes and took a sip of the gin and tonic that sat next to his cards. “I’m too sober for this,” he muttered under his breath.

“That I can tell,” Dante teased. “Forgive me Webbigail, for my unexpected arrival. I did not know he didn’t tell you.”

Webby sighed, “It’s alright. We made sure we had extra food ordered if such an occasion occurred. The more the merrier, am I right?” Webby and Dante laughed.

“I couldn’t agree more,” Dante said. Dewey muttered something under his breath, but Webby didn’t take it for much since he was being a sore loser.

“So, what’re you guys going to do next?” Webby asked.

“Probably get stupid drunk before the rehearsal dinner and cause a huge scene,” Dewey chuckled.

“Don’t even joke about that,” Webby pointed at him.

“Okay, okay, geez, I get it,” Dewey raised his hands in defense. “Perfect wedding, don’t be drunk, blah blah blah.”

“Forgive him, he’s drunk but not drunk enough to be likable yet,” Dante stated, which made Webby do the same.

“We still love you Dewey, even if you’re a sore loser,” she patted Dewey’s head.

“I am the most handsome duck brother,” Dewey regained his cockiness.

“Whatever you say, bud. I’m gonna head out to the bar. See you too tonight, and I swear to god if you all cause a scene at tonight's dinner or god forbid the wedding I will strangle you. And if not I, then my scary college roommate Amber,” Webby threatened the both of them.

“Who’s Amber?” Dante asked.

“That’s classified. All you need to know is that she’s a bridesmaid and can and will kill you if I say so. I’m watching you two,” Webby eyed both of them before leaving the room and to the bar, where Lena, Huey and Violet waved her over from their table.

“So how’d the game end? Who won?” Lena asked.

“Dante, though I think it was a close call,” Webby recalled.

“Alright losers pay up,” Lena smirked as Violet and Huey both paid her ten bucks each.

“You guys running bets over here?” Webby raised an eyebrow.

“Oh yes. It’s a very fun way to keep things exciting and engaging,” Violet said.

“How many bets do you guys have going on?” Webby asked with curiosity.

“Mm.. I’d say twelve,” Huey had to think about it.

“Twelve? What’re they on?” Webby was now extremely curious.

“Whether or not Dante is gonna cause Dewey to do something stupid before or after the wedding ceremony, if you were going to show up today, how many 20 dollar bills Gladstone’ll find, how many times Donald will trip today, if Della will “della” Dante in the face when she finds out he’s dating Dewey and he didn’t tell her, whether Dante is secretly evil because to quote Violet, ‘no one is that muscular without a reason-unless you’re LP-,’ if scrooge’ll cry, if someone will crash the wedding, if anyone will object, if the shrimp sucks, if Boyd is gonna crash, and if you and Louie forget to bring forks when you slice the cake so you two will just end up smashing and smearing it all over each other’s faces,” Huey read off a list on his phone.

“Wow, you really weren’t kidding when you said this was the gossip corner Lena,” Webby had to laugh.

“We like to think we’re having fun,” Violet smirked.

“Okay, but seriously, who is Dante? I’ve never seen or heard of him before ever,” Huey looked to Webby.

“He’s just some guy we take on adventures for help every once in a while when we’re in South America. I don’t know how he and Dewey got so close, I guess they just did. He’s really helpful though,” Webby shrugged.

“I think that’s suspicious,” Huey squinted.

“I think you’re a paranoid older brother,” Webby pointed out.

“Maybe, but I got a hunch,” Huey drank his scotch.

“You do you,” Lena sided with Webby.

“Well either way, I’m excited to see how this all turns out. A lot could happen in the space of two days. For all we know, all of that and more could happen,” Webby pointed out.

“True. You never can tell what the Duck family will do next,” Violet agreed. “At most weddings, you never know who the wild card will be, but the Duck family is just a whole deck of wild cards. Needless to say, I’m curious to see how this’ll turn out too.”

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

[littlekatleaf]

Buried in a burning flame is love and its decisive pain (part 3)

Part One

Part Two 

“Did ya see that shit,” Junkrat said as he squeezed close to the door to let Roadhog have room next to him. “Bloody fuckin’ bonzer, mate. Blasted those dipsticks back to the scrap heap. An’ the fire, what a beaut.” Only had to blink to feel it again. The weightlessness of flying. The OR14 exploding into scrap. The whooshing rush as air filled the explosion’s vacuum. The flames. The burn. The acrid stench of sulfur and potassium. “Fuckin’ did it. Fuckin’ won!”

“For the love of God, shut up.” Roadhog interrupted and only then did the silence of the others register.

Tracer’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel, her jaw clenched. Mei stared out the window, pointedly ignoring him. Even Lucio and D.Va were quiet.

He frowned. Missed something, somewhere. Cast his thoughts back. “No one hurt?” Assumed someone woulda said immediately, or just gone without waiting for him and Roadhog.

“None of us,” Mei said shortly, emphasizing the ‘us’.

“Someone else?” Flash of Emily and Tracer forehead to forehead.

“Don’t know. Tracer can’t reach them on her com.”

Junkrat sat back. “Shit. Didn’t think...”

“Of course not! You never do. An idea crosses what passes for your mind and you’re off doing something on your own - something incredibly insane and dangerous - and paying no attention to what you’re supposed to be doing. What you were ordered to do.”

“Coulda left me.” Came out a little more defensive than he meant it, but hell, was true.

“And the team’d be two men short because Roadhog was trying to keep your stupid, scrawny ass alive.”

“What if you’d gotten hurt? Or Roadhog? We wouldn’t have known or been able to help you,” Lucio added, quietly.

“Been fine on our own plenty of times.” Swallowed hard as he said it - hadn’t really thought about Roadie gettin’ hurt. Mei’s right - you never think. Rubbed his forehead, as if he’d get rid of the voice that way.

“It’s not how we do it, Junkrat. You know that,” Hana said. The disappointment in her expression was a kick in the teeth. Rather have Mei yellin’ at him.

He did know that. He’d just forgotten. Or maybe not really understood. Made no sense. Sure Roadhog saved his ass any number of times even when it put him in the line of fire - but that was a job. Doing shit for dosh, made sense. This? This made none. Mei didn’t like him, Tracer didn’t seem to have an opinion either way - he sure as shit wasn’t as important as her Emily. An’ while he reckoned Hana and Lucio liked him fine enough, they’d known Emily and Satya far longer. Just stood to reason they’d add it up and let him ‘n Roadie fend for themselves. Simple matter of maths. Apparently he’d missed something in the calculation.  Mei tallied it for you - six necessary to succeed. Subtract two and you fail. Really, Jamison - must you be so stupid?

Tracer parked the ute where it would be hidden by the Orca. The brilliant blue sky glared down at them; sun reflected off the metal of the ship and the snow covered trees and into Junkrat’s eyes. His head throbbed and he squinted against it. Adrenaline still fizzed through him, making his teeth want to chatter and his hands shake. Or maybe it was the cold again? The sweat of the fight had cooled in the winter wind. Shoved fists into his pockets, followed Roadhog and the others, head down.

Silence. No sign of bots; no sign of Emily or Satya neither. Least the traps hadn’t been tripped. Tracer reached out and rapped a pattern on the door. No more than a second passed before it was yanked wide and Emily fell into Tracer’s arms.

“You’re all right!” Emily said, breathlessly.

Was like Tracer faded into Lena as he watched. The tension bled from her body as she held Emily close. “So are you,” she murmured into Emily’s hair.

“What happened,” Satya asked, putting an arm around Mei and drawing her inside. They all followed.

“There was an attack, like Morrison warned. But the settlement was deserted. No one’d been there in weeks. Lena thought it meant they’d be coming for you and Emily. You are okay?” Mei studied her carefully, like she might be hiding something.

Satya nodded. “We are. It has been quiet.”

“So much for a relaxing vacation.” Mei gusted out a breath, laughed, and just like that the tension dissipated. Lena and Emily disappeared to their room, likely to have a naughty. Satya and Mei lingered for only a second before disappearing as well. Hana and Lucio took over the vid screen for a game. Roadhog picked up his book, but Junkrat could tell he was watching Hana play more than actually reading.

Suddenly feeling like a puppet with its strings cut, Junkrat slumped. Adrenaline’d been the only thing keeping him going and now that it was gone he needed to crash. Made his slightly unsteady way to the bedroom, stripped off his shirt and pants - reeked of sweat and explosives - and flopped onto the cot without taking off his prosthetics. Waking up so early after late night whiskey was kicking his ass. He’d just rest a minute, til the headache fucked off.

“Junkrat? … Hey, Junkrat?”

“Mmf…?” He surfaced from sleep like he’d been underwater, disoriented.  Where…? He squinted at the sunlight streaming in the window, then discovered Emily hovering in the doorway, looking uncomfortable. Right - Taos. Vacation. And, if the way he felt at the moment was any indication, a burgeoning case of the wog. Just fucking aces. He resisted the urge to sniffle and raised a brow at Emily. “Needed somethin’, mate?”

“Um. Roadhog asked me to wake you - food’s ready, if you’re hungry.” Her gaze skittered over him, and he realized somewhat belatedly that the sheet’d slipped low over his hips. Least his bits were still covered.

“Be there in a tick,” Junkrat said. He sat up, snagged a t-shirt and yanked it over his head. “Tell him not to be such a bloody bludger next time.”

“Might, if I had the first clue what that means.”

Junkrat laughed. “Just sayin’ he’s a lazy bastard, making ya do his dirty work.”

“Not a big deal,” Emily shrugged. “He’s in the middle of a game with Hana.”

Soon as she was gone, he let himself slump back on the pillow again. His head felt heavy, thoughts slow and muddy. Truth was, he wasn’t hungry. Would really rather go back to sleep, but then they’d figure out something was wrong. He was always hungry. So he pushed himself to stand, tugged on a relatively clean pair of pants, raked a hand through his hair and headed for the stairs.

Unfortunately, standing up seemed to redistribute the congestion in his head and his nose prickled. Tried a small sniff, but it didn’t help, the sensation only increased. He hunched his shoulders, pinched his nose and squelched the sneeze into silence. Fuck it hurt, always felt like he was exploding his brain when he did that. But was better than anyone suspecting. He knuckled his nose roughly, and the itch faded.

Someone’d made brekkie for… well, whatever meal it was. Maybe scrambled eggs and toast wouldn’t kill him. And coffee. Needed fuckin’ loads of coffee. Snagged a chair between Roadie and Lucio.

“Welcome back to the land of the living,” Hana said, toasting him with her coffee cup, then narrowed her eyes. “Mostly, that is.”

“Yeah, you look rough, man. You okay?” Lucio asked.

“’M fine. Little too much ta drink last night, reckon.” Felt Roadie giving him a look behind the mask. Ignored him.

Lena laughed. “I’ve seen you drink way more than that. Sure you didn’t get hurt blowing yourself up?”

“Fuck no. Done that millions a times. Worked up mines special. Wanna try it?”

“Fuck no,” she echoed and he laughed.

“It’s a rush. All that power… Closest thing ta flyin’.”

“I’ll stick to the Orca, thanks.”

Waved away her concern. “Ah, it’s safe as houses.”

Lena looked meaningfully at his mech arm and he faked an expression of affront.

“That ain’t got nothin’ to do with me own work. How could you even think it?”

“How did it happen, then,” Mei asked, like she didn’t believe him.

Yes, Jamison. Tell them how it happened. Mouth went dry and it took him a second to swallow the bite of eggs he’d taken without choking. Cleared his throat. “Not really a story for dinner table convo,” he managed and took a long drink of coffee.

“A better story is how he got the gold tooth,” Roadhog said and launched into a woefully unembellished tale of the bar fight and subsequent need for a replacement tooth. Somehow this led to other stories about heists gone wrong in various ways … your fault…  and the others were laughing and sure he’d laughed at his own cock ups plenty of times but there was an odd echoing edge of this laughter and it scraped against his skin like sandpaper. Rubbed a hand through his hair. Leg started jittering. Got up, took his unfinished plate and Roadhog’s empty one and left them in the sink, trying not to notice that his hand was shaking.

Listen to them laughing. You think you can trust them? In the joke, you’re the punchline. Ain’t the way it is. No? Wait until they see how weak you really are. See if they keep you around then - or if it’s just Roadhog they want. But we’re a…

A what, Jamison? What are you and Roadhog?

... A duo. Where I go, he goes. He’s my… my bodyguard. And when he gets a better offer? One where he won’t have to put up with you? Suddenly a hand touched his arm and he jumped.

“Didn’t mean to startle you,” Lucio said apologetically. “You sure you’re okay?” He frowned, reached toward Junkrat’s forehead. “You feel a little warm.”

Junkrat stepped back, out of reach. “I’m f…” but even as he was saying it, he realized he was about to sneeze. Shit. He just managed to twist to the side, ducking away from Lucio. “Ah’Riiish!”

“Santinho,” Lucio said.

Only a second for a breath before another hit. “Ah’Riiish-iish!”

“Deus te ajude.”

Another breath, another sneeze. “Ah’Riiish-uh!”

“Deus, te faça feliz.” Lucio handed him a tissue.

Junkrat blew his nose. “What ya sayin’, mate?”

Lucio shrugged. “Just what my grandma used to say when I was a kid. Don’t usually get to say all three, though.”

“Aww, you got Roadhog’s cold,” Hana said. “How’d that happen?” Her tone was teasing, insinuating. “No, ‘m fine,” Junkrat said, but spoiled it by sneezing again. Least this time he had tissues.

“Gross, you’re like a plague rat,” Mei said and Hana actually laughed. See?

“Rack off,” Junkrat said. Hadn’t thought Hana would laugh at him. Not really.

“She didn’t mean anything by it.” Satya looked at him flatly.

“Fuck you.”

“Rat.” Roadhog’s voice was low, warning.

“Nah, fuck this.”  Out out out. Had to get out. Get away. He turned and, yanking his jacket from the peg by the door, slammed out.

[team-science-mega-nerds]

Agentcorp prompt: Alex and Lena run into each other at a science exhibition and nerd out entirely too much with each other

Kara refuses to go with her. Apparently, Alex gets too intense when she’s on her own turf and Kara is looking forward to a relaxing day of farmer’s market shopping and hanging out - clearly going on a date - with Lucy. Alex usually feels anxious about going to events alone, but NeuTech Con is going to be revolutionary, or so she hears. The last thing she wants to do is miss out on this awesome opportunity, so Alex decides to bite the bullet and go alone. 

It’s going surprisingly well, for an event that has literally caused all of downtown to be overcrowded and very loud. Nerds have arrived in hordes, and Alex actually regrets not wearing her leather jacket because she keeps getting looks from creepy dudes who - she suspects - don’t think that she’s the type of person that belongs here. Whatever that means. Alex is thankful that the first panel that she goes to Stem treatments and alien physiology because it’s something that she can actually apply to her work. Alex is a nerd through and through, so she’s used to taking notes at panels like this where the only light source is used to illuminate the lecturers on stage. Which is mainly why she’s so busy squinting that she doesn’t notice the chorus of mumbling as someone enters the room. 

Alex is a pro at not giving a shit and simply focusing on the things that she wants to get out of things. The lecturer, for example, was a total asshole, but the practical applications section of the lecture was going rather well. Until Dr. Williams began discussing theories that sounded a lot like eugenics and Alex realized rather suddenly that she might have to actually find a way to legally kick his ass. “What an asshole.” Alex hears someone say from a few seats away from her. The person isn’t whispering. And a few people nearby nod in agreement. Alex cranes her neck to figure out who this relatively cool person is and Alex actually recoils when she sees Lena. 

It’s not that Alex doesn’t like Lena. She just doesn’t understand how the woman went from being a potential threat to somehow ending up at Kara’s apartment every week for game night. The first time she showed up, Alex had pulled Kara aside and asked her are you sure about this? Kara seemed annoyed and that was enough to get Alex to back off. But Alex had been a little thrown off by Lena’s infiltration of their friend group nonetheless. Instead of drinking on the couch and half-participating, Alex had started joining in on the conversations a lot more and if she’d started wearing button downs instead of tattered t-shirt then so what? It wasn’t like she was putting in that much effort, just enough to get noticed. 

Which was happening now. Lena waved with only her fingertips and she made a face at the lecturer like “what the fuck is this guy talking about?” Alex laughs, too loudly, and instead of sitting around and waiting for the panel to be over, Lena motions to the door and they both head out of the room together. 

Alex isn’t sure what to say to Lena now that they’re alone - not technically alone because there are hundreds of people milling around them - but Lena seems slightly distracted by something in her purse so Alex has a few moments to gather her thoughts. Unfortunately, those moments turn into Alex noticing just how nice Lena looks in navy blue and wondering if Lena was seeing anyone now that she’d officially signed a lease on her condo. “It’s like that asshole got his degree from his mother. He gets coddled at every conference, trust me.” Lena had found whatever she was looking for but from what Alex can tell, they’re just a few pieces of cardstock. 

“Yeah, I’ve seen a few of his talks. He usually doesn’t get that…Hitler-esque.” Alex rolls her eyes. “Glad to see you here.” 

“Ditto.” Lena blushes like she didn’t mean to say that. “I never know what to do at these things in between panels but they threw a bunch of drink tickets at me, so…wanna grab a drink?”

“Me?” Alex knows that Lena is the loner type. It’s something they have in common. 

“Yes, you.” Lena seems to enjoy the fact that Alex is a little flustered. Alex vows to not appear as awkward and shy as she usually does. She and Lena are at the same event, that must mean that they have something in common. Lena leads the way to this swanky private bar. She considers poking fun at the special treatment that billionaires get, but Alex knows that isn’t original enough to get Lena to laugh. “I wish people knew how to properly operate air conditioning.” Lena shucks her blazer and tosses it on the back of her chair as she takes a seat at a quiet table in the back of the bar. Alex laughs because Lena is the kind of person who gets everything she wants, and there’s something charmingly funny about her complaining about something so small. 

“Want me to get them to change it for you, Princess?” Alex means it as a joke but the way Lena face cracks into a smile makes it seem more like a compliment. Lena is impressed and probably offended all at once. Lena scans the menu, slowly and deliberately, but when a waiter comes over to them, “We’ll have two whiskey sours.” The waiter is off before Lena can protest and she looks at Alex with a frown. “What?”

“You ordered for me.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you drink the same shit as me.”

“You noticed?” Lena says it like there’s more to it than that.

“I notice everything.” Which is the truth to some extent. Alex usually sees what she wants to see and that causes her to be bullheaded and annoying - according to Kara and sometimes Eliza. Right now, as the waiter returned with their drinks, Alex notices that Lena’s top was low enough to reveal just a sliver of purple lace. She’s matching. Of course, she’s matching. 

Compared to Lena, Alex is a complete and utter mess. She’d killed Astra. She’d recently come out of the closet dramatically. And she had a file at the DEO the size of Pluto. And these were all just recent. Alex had always been just on the verge of utter chaos. “How’s that friend of yours? The NCPD detective.”

“Maggie? She’s fine.”

“Things aren’t going well with you two?”

“Things?” Alex is the first to indulge in the drink, Lena soon follows. “Nothing to report there.”

“So, just so we’re clear…you aren’t seeing anyone?” Alex must look shocked. Scandalized even. Here she was sharing drinks with the most powerful woman in National City and all Lena seemed to be interested in was Alex’s romantic life or lack thereof. 

“Is that of interest to you?”

“Well, yes. Is that not obvious? I’m in the early stages of wooing you.” Lena picks up the cherry from her drink and bites the juicy fruit from the stem. 

“This is wooing me? You’re doing a pretty lackluster job.” Alex doesn’t know how she feels about the situation, so she decides to make light of it. 

“I had to find out if you were fucking someone first.” Lena pulls the cherry pit from her mouth and places it delicately on a napkin. She toys with the stem for a moment. “Should I tie this in a knot with my tongue?” Lena nibbles on the stem, watching Alex intently.

“Now that’s sounds entertaining. Go for it.” Alex expects a playful. But Lena is all eyes and tongue and it’s hard not to feel like the room was heating up. Maybe Lena was right about the AC. 

Lena slowly pulls the stem from her mouth, a tight knot right in the center. “How’s that?”

“Impressive.”

“You could woo me too, you know,” Lena offers. 

“And how would you like me to do that?” Alex asks. 

“I have a thing for arms, Lena says. Her eyes falling on Alex’s jacket. 

“Disembodied or attached?” Alex questions. Lena laughs so hard that two waiters stop their general hovering and try to see what’s going on. 

“You’re funny.”

“Am I funny enough to get you to come back to my place?” Alex is honest to god shocked by her straightforwardness. She isn’t certain that she and Lena are right for each other, but they’re certainly attracted to each other. So why the fuck not? Alex had to stop living in the romantic fantasy world. She is out, it’s time to figure out what that means to her. 

“Absolutely.” Lena downs the rest of her drink throws a few drink tickets down on the table and grabs Alex’s hand. 

[unnecessary-database]

Random sudden idea- kara on American ninja warrior

God bless your soul I’ve thought about this so much. Also I know somewhere someone’s done a thirsty supercorp version and that’s super awesome and all but I’m here for more the community/family/kara doing stupid shit with her powers side of the fandom so here’s an alternate take:

Kara’s like one of those teachers that has the international “I was looking for something fun to do and this seemed like a good example for the kids” story but it’s all a lie and she’s not even a teacher she’s a reporter who has no good background for being in this or anything

(well, if we subscribe to the Catco as Buzzfeed bit where Kara has to do exercise vids cause someone realized she was ripped, that’s even better and you know what I’m here for that)

First of all, if you haven’t seen American Ninja Warrior, check out this vid of Supergirl stuntwoman Jessie Graff killing it for some context, it’s epic. Now, picture, the Superfriends plus oblivious Lena watching American Ninja Warrior and Kara accidentally picking up something super heavy with one hand and Lena’s jaw dropping. Winn smirked. “Yah, Kara’s a regular American Ninja Warrior.  She should be on the show!”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Winn.”

“What, are you scared?”

Well, now she had to do it.

Things that happen:

  -James made t-shirts and all of CatCo wears them and cheers Kara on  -they make those behind the scenes training videos that are totally real, because Kara had to learn how to use high-intensity human strength without Shattering Things,   - Kara doesn’t have the time to keep coming back as a recurring champion, so she determines that she will Epically Fail at some point, her plan is to fall off the salmon ladder  - there’s a crisis on earth-1 she helps out with and sees Oliver doing the salmon ladder  - now she obviously can’t lose at the salmon ladder  - she keeps meaning to lose. but Alex makes a really good point about how if she beats Stage 4 she gets a million dollars, and think of the groceries Kara, You do enough for the city it’s not cheating, and it’s money from this big tv corporation.  take their money.  do it.   - Kara constantly stopping to wave to the crowd and always tuned in to Alex’s voice with her superhearing, Alex saying things like “this obstacle is hard, look like you’re braced really tight but don’t crush this log accidentally. Same density as a Phorian, don’t crush it.  Good. Now shake out your hands like that was hard for you.  Smile, wave. Good. Almost there.  Don’t forget this jump is high, it’s supposed to look hard. Frown in concentration.  Nice.”   - She’s a crowd favorite for her smiles and waves   - she’s also like the first person to do it with glasses, she refuses to take them off for identity reasons despite the showrunners literally begging her for safety reasons, she insists “i do everything with my glasses”  - She’s also a crowd favorite cause she’s openly single and most of the other competitors are in committed relationships or married, so everyone can drool over her guilt-free   - she actually gets asked out several times, once by another competitor, and everyone’s really really nice about it, but she gracefully turns them all down for reasons she’s not entirely sure of but Winn and Alex both have knowing smirks and Lena stiffens every time she gets asked out but isn’t there for the answer   - Kara is besties with literally all the other competitors (if you watch the show they’re all super supportive and it is QUALITY which is why it’s the best game show EVER they’re so positive it’s just wholesome)   - I now actually wanna think more about Kara’s friend Jessie from American Ninja Warrior who accidentally gets kidnapped or whatever and Supergirl flies through the roof to rescue her only to find Jessie already parkouring away from all danger; Jessie squints really hard when Supergirl takes them out and goes “Kara? I freaking knew it no one should be able to jump that far to reach the bar”   - meanwhile Kara’s getting a little antsy about her identity so she intentionally fails even though she could totally ace that course, she actually fails on an obstacle she’s aced multiple times before and shrugs her way through an interview asking what happened

Everyone’s super sad about Kara not winning.  But it’s okay.  Kara has a plan.  Next season on American Ninja Warrior isn’t Danvers-lacking.

Alex Danvers, “Security Consultant” competes instead.   - Alex, who doesn’t have to worry about breaking obstacles or giving away her non-human-ness (though there is chatter of aliens deliberating joining, they’d just have to have human-like abilities, Supergirl could run through this course like child’s play, of course, haha!)  - Alex, who doesn’t bother worrying about making the crowd love her, just answers their cheers with a few terse smiles at the beginning, then collapses into her sister’s arms when Kara leaps to climb up the tower where Alex punched the end button and wins each course   - Alex, who is recorded swearing creatively and sometimes in alien language at several different points under her breath and it has to be edited out cause it’s a family show  - Alex, who signs all the autographs for little girls while Kara just about melts with happiness because finally other people are seeing her big sister for the superhero she is  - The commentators think the sister-supporting-sister relationship is literally the best thing ever (cause it is) but are sorta baffled by the way Alex refuses to compete in a special race against Kara point-blank even tho it’s just for fun   - Alex wins the American Ninja Warrior competition, the first woman to do so, and Kara shows up to work with no voice for several days  cause she and Eliza screamed themselves hoarse last night at the competition   - the internet explodes with the eight-minute video of the commentators (I love those dudes’ excitement) losing their damn minds as Alex crushes the world’s hardest course and then Kara scales the top tower like a monkey to hug her sister

Alex drops by Lena’s office the next day.  “Hello, fellow millionaire.”

Lena laughs loudly, congratulates her thoroughly over lunch.  At the end, she says dryly, “you know I’m a billionaire though, right?”

“Goddammit.”

Alex spends the money on a new motorcycle, Kara’s groceries fund, an LGBT+ youth charity, and absolutely refuses to go back on the show ever again–she’s got things to do, like keep the world safe.  It doesn’t stop the kids’ fanmail from coming in, a few a week at first, petering down to a few a year.  She answers it all. 

[bellsybuilds]

[Overwatch] Hold your tongue 3/? (T, Akande/Lucio, 3.6k)

Hold your tongue, Chapter 3/? (Can also be read on AO3)

Doomfist | Akande Ogundimu / Lúcio Correia dos Santos (M)

Chapters 1 / 2 / 3 | Ceasefire Masterlist

To move forward, you must first look back.

-3 months ago-

“You know what this is?”

Hana squints at the tiny, circular container Lúcio holds up to her eye. Fitting small and neat in her palm, she pokes at the smooth, clear glass. Her voice is bright with conspiracy and triumph. “Omnic DNA.”

Lúcio arches an eyebrow. “Wha? Uh… maybe. I don’t… hmm… well.” He studies it closely, rubbing his chin in thought. He doesn’t think it’s based on omnic designs, but his homegrown knowledge of electrical engineering is passable, at best. He shakes the device in its case. “It’s a homing beacon. Tracker. I didn’t notice it ‘til we got back to base, and Athena’s alarms went off.”

Hana’s eyebrows rise in surprise. “It’s not one of yours?” At Lúcio’s shake of his head, she leans in for a closer look, mouth pensive. “Where did you get it?”

“You remember that friend we met today?”

Hana blinks at him. “Mister Mask? Or Mister Fist?”

Lúcio gives her a significant look, mouth tugging into a small smirk.

His new friend stares at him blankly. “I don’t know what that means.”

Lúcio flexes his arm, hand balling into a fist. Hana giggles at his exaggerated smirk, hiding her mouth behind her hand. It’s a good likeness. “I think someone just left me an invitation,” Lúcio explains, without explaining much of anything. Especially how the prospect makes his blood thrum at the challenge.

When Doomfist and Reaper made their stunt-worthy exit from Unity Plaza that afternoon, Lúcio thought that could be the last he would see of them, unless 76 decided to extend an olive branch while the DJ was still in town. That was unlikely, from what Lúcio gauged of the stern, proud soldier.

Lúcio wasn’t supposed to be there.

“Girl, we talked about this when I last saw you in London – Vishkar, the amplifier.” Lúcio had waved over his shoulder when the call came in, as though to gesture at all the things he’d resigned to leave with Rio when he went on tour. “That’s all done. I’m helping people another way now.”

Lena steamrolled on with her encouraging, sunny smile. Shrugging, like she was asking him to ‘pop down to the shops for some milk, luv’. “You’d be in our backlines as support,” she had said, “If anyone catches this on video, you’d be well out of range.”

Out of range? “You expecting a fight? I thought you said this was just an escort. And why can’t you hire private security for this?”

She hummed in consideration. “No, it’s sensitive, we are the security. And I meant… more if you were worried about a media storm. You have some big names backing you. But fire fights, too, right!”

Okay, he hadn’t specifically mentioned guns, but it was good to know where Lena’s head was at.

Lúcio snorted under his breath and smiled, calm and confident. “I’m not worried about any media. After Rio, people know what I stand for.”

Lena’s shifty look was slightly bashful while she bit her lip. Was she embarrassed? “Well… perception is reality, is what they say. And we’re still sort of… persona non grata. People infer a lot by the company you keep.”

“Hey. Hey. I could never be ashamed of being seen with you. Ace pilot. Fighter for the people. Doesn’t even cheat on races. I don’t shun my friends like that.”

Lena had brightened, leaning into the camera with an excited smile. “So, you’ll come? Just this once, I promise. We could really use your help, if it doesn’t disrupt your schedule. And you can wear a disguise… all mysterious-like if it’s easier. Talk to your agent.”

“Oh I will definitely not be telling them about this.”

But three months later, Lúcio was still riding with Overwatch and his agent was still wondering why Lucio had such a large allotment of free time that was originally slated for charity work and promotions. Volunteering is how he thought of it, as Lena had apologised they couldn’t pay him for his time. Lúcio wasn’t in need of the money, and he thought of all their strange security details as work to help a friend short-handed.

His agent would have had his head if they knew how he was ‘wasting’ his time.

And sometimes, Lúcio did wonder what was really going on – why specialists and scientists as overqualified as former Overwatch personnel were protecting a film director from fears of anti-omnic violence through a Hollywood set. But it was no grief to volunteer his time and abilities to heal their minor hurts and speed up their ventures (“I knew you brought that thing with you!” Lena had crowed when Lúcio had turned up with his sonic amplifier slung over his shoulder). He genuinely enjoyed their company: Jesse had a dry, wicked sense of humour; Lena always made him smile; Winston was patient and pleased that someone was interested in his inventions; and when Hana showed up, Lúcio was starstruck. It was also the first real sign that he wasn’t the only favour Overwatch was calling in: they were recruiting fresh blood.

He’d tried playing ignorant before, and it hadn’t ended well for Rio.

Then Soldier 76 turned up with Ana at his side. Old soldiers. Lúcio could see it in the way they carried themselves, their direct and confronting manner, accustomed to authority and sharp, considered answers. A heavy, weary quiet preceded each room they entered like an augur of grief. The hysterical reaction to their appearance had been enough to humble Lúcio into a quiet corner to observe, until those two elders had turned to Overwatch’s newest recruits and asked, “And who is this?”

They had returned to lay Numbani on the table and ask for help: a supposed ceasefire to a war Lúcio didn’t even realise was raging. A chill ran down his spine when he heard the name ‘Doomfist’, and he had said ‘yes’.  

It was fair time he learned what was really going on.

And of all Overwatch’s roster, Lúcio didn’t expect to be the one receiving a personal follow-up invitation. Or was it a challenge?

Hana takes the tiny container again and holds it up to the light, frowning. "So, you gonna call them?”

Lúcio shrugs, tracking the arcing glints of light off the clear glass as Hana turns it over under the pale bulbs of their hideaway. “Might drop in.”

“You can do that?”

“Who’s gonna stop me?”

It’s Hana’s turn to look skeptical, amusingly so. She thrusts both arms out to enframe the command room of agents before them, new and unfamiliar, and none the wiser for their scheming. Hana and Lúcio are both new to this strange organisation. It’s easy to bond over their youth and mutual celebrity when it’s earned them skepticism from these seasoned soldiers, scientists and… whatever McCree is.

Overwatch has co-opted this stationery re-supply store as their command centre in Numbani’s office precinct. For children who grew up hearing the legend of Overwatch and its agents, it’s sobering when they meet the shadows of its remains within abandoned buildings, reclaimed bases and crowded hotel rooms. The whole experience has been insightful: for all their humour and abilities, these people scramble to organise, and argue like every other group Lúcio has ever worked with. They’re just ordinary people.

They have more resources than Lúcio ever did when he and his crew led Rio against Vishkar, but his crew was tight. They were truly unified in common purpose.

Lena and her friends feel like they’re working from contract to contract – scattered, directionless, and united on hope for a mission nobody will speak aloud. Unstable grounds for trust or unity.

He swipes the container back from Hana, flipping it like a coin. “They’d just slow me down.”

Anyway, Lúcio is finding it hard to keep a low profile with his face plastered on banners through the whole city. At least he’d have an explanation for being seen in the streets. He reminds himself he’s only here as a favour to Lena, with his next concert not for another two days.

Hana leans in, crowding close against his shoulder. Sharing a desk in the back corner of the largely empty space, they are only half-listening with everyone else to Winston’s explanation of the storeroom of peanut butter unearthed that morning.

“Want back up?” Hana offers quietly, hopeful, angling for a cure to her boredom, but Lúcio smiles, shaking his head.

“I got this.”

///

Once he’s back in his hotel room, it’s a simple process to contact the world’s most accomplished hacker: a scrambled email to one of three watched inboxes, and then sitting back to wait. The only challenge is in earning their acknowledgement.

The video call comes less than ten minutes after Lúcio hits ‘send’.

Sombra’s face lights the heads-up display of Lúcio’s phone with her mischievous smile. Lúcio counts himself extremely lucky he gets a response each time he has reached out, that he is one of the few people in the world who knows the face behind the name. He has used her trust sparingly.

Sombra’s sing-song greeting makes him smile. “Ay, Lucito-oo-oo! La lucecita de mi noche!”

“Hola, Sombrita.” Lúcio winks, bringing up the high resolution scan and analysis of the tracker he had found tacked to his boot.

“Vishkar? Atlas? Who are we stealing from to–” Sombra’s gaze turns to the incoming image on her side. “Ooh.”

Lúcio watches her face carefully. “You lose something?”

Expression morphing to one of cooing appreciation, Sombra’s mouth purses in pleasure. “Mm, the detail on this: ‘exquisite’ as my friend would say.”

She laughs like it’s a shared private joke. Lúcio can’t help returning the smile, shaking his head. Sombra could never refrain from praising her own work, and he enjoys that about her. She is accomplished and deservedly proud of it.

On again, off again acquaintances, Lúcio hopes today that Sombra is on his side.

“A big guy from a bad place stuck this on me earlier today. What do you know about that?”

Sombra’s mouth pulls in a shrug, head tilted in consideration. “He’s not that bad.”

He frowns. Not that bad? Doomfist? The Scourge’s successor?  “What makes you say that?”

“He pays me.”

Lúcio blinks, mouth falling open. Sombra… and Doomfist? His brain feels like it has split down the middle. He leans in to his monitor. “You’re working with Talon? ¿Lula, en qué pensabas? ¿No sabes quién es? ¿Sabes las cosas que hizo?”

That went against everything she was supposed to stand for! She was supposed to be independent like him! Sombra was supposed to fight for the people, not… work with the people who would destroy them!

Sombra’s playful smile sharpens like the glint of a blade, a reminder that him she will cut him loose and scour all evidence of their bond without a second thought. He clenches his jaw under the intensity of her warning gaze that bores into him through the display.

“Name me 'squid’ again, Lucero,” she dares, cool and tempered. “You called me. You want answers, you mind your mouth.”

He rankles at the butcher of his name, biting down on the aggravation lest Sombra feed on his reaction.

She points off-screen presumably where Lúcio’s tracker displays on her side. “His name is ‘Doomfist’, you already know. He ordered a set of these; a lot of interesting people passing through Numbani these days.” She straightened in her chair, turning idly on its axle to provide her full attention. “I heard your talks were interrupted.”

“Yeah.” Lúcio deflates with a scowl, still stung with disappointment. He thought there were good odds Sombra would have intel on his mark, but not that she would be working with him, consciously and voluntarily.

“Well, if you’re interested, I think it’s worth hearing what he had to say. If I turn it back on, that tracker works both ways, you know.”

He didn’t even have to ask. Sombra may be one of the greatest founts of knowledge on the planet, but Lúcio wonders if she realises her own weaknesses? She could never resist a chance to close the social gap, bring the mighty low. If she was not stepping to protect Doomfist, then the man had not earned her complete loyalty yet.

Lúcio tries not to smile, cringing instead and affecting self-doubt.

“You mean– me? Talk to… him?”

Sombra shrugs. “Why not you?”

He can’t help showing her offer for what it was. “Sounds like a trap.”

“If you’re part of Overwatch, maybe. Or you could use your independent status to do something useful.” She raises her hand and, in a few blips of lavender, the heads up display blinks. A new window pops up with a street map of Numbani. In the heart of the residential district across the city, a red icon blinks, strong and steady.

Using his independent status.

“Like you?”

Sombra shakes her head, dismissing it immediately. “I don’t make house calls.”

Lúcio studies the red blink of the icon, considering his options.

“Is he alone?” he finally asks.

“He is.” Sombra leans in, the glint in her eye turning coy. “Don’t overstay your welcome.”

Lúcio smiles at the overt suggestion in her tone. “Still looking out for me? Watch your own back, Hermanita.”

She clicks her tongue, giving him a sharp wink. “Still older than you.”

The call disconnects.

///

-Present day-

Lúcio’s arrival is heralded by the strange sound of his skates, an electro-mechanical whir that always made Akande wonder how the DJ could achieve stealth if he even tried.

Today, stealth is not the priority.

“Coming in over the wing, open the doors.”

Lúcio maneuvers through the narrow gap of the rear cargo bay doors without breaking his stride, swinging down from the roof and and inside through one fluid motion. Akande’s palm slams the controls, and the door begins to seal behind him.

Before the door is entirely shut, Lúcio is already descending the ship’s stair, not sparing Akande a second glance. It stings, but there are greater concerns on Akande’s mind, too.

“Where is she?” Lúcio demands, catching sight of Sombra’s prone form in the same breath. He bolts across the short bay and drops to his knees, swinging the pack off his back. “Ay, Sombra! ¿Soy yo, Lúcio, puedes escucharme?” The caricature of Muiraquitã on his pack immediately begins to soothe with a familiar healing song as the audio medic digs in his bag for supplies, and glances back to Akande hovering uncertainly by the stairs. “Get over here, I need your help.”

“What should I do?” Akande kneels beside him, reaching again to apply pressure on Sombra’s wound.

Sweat beads on Lúcio’s hairline, he must have pushed hard to get here so quickly. His eyes are intent on Sombra’s wound while he lifts Akande’s hand to take in the damage. “Shut up and follow my lead.”

Sombra does not respond to the motion of Akande nor Lúcio crowding around her, to the pressure of Lúcio pressing Akande’s hands back with fresh bandages, or the jerk of her body when Lúcio cuts her jacket open to check for further wounds.

“¿Sombrita?” Lúcio calls sharply, firmly patting her cheek when she still doesn’t stir. Sombra’s head lolls to the side and Lúcio curses, pulling from his bag what Akande recognises as a scanner and one of the battery packs for his sonic amplifier. It sloshes with a rich gold liquid. “Okay, wound’s clear but her color is bad,” Lúcio says, drawing Akande’s attention back to his stern expression searching Sombra’s face, so keenly focused in his work. “We’re going to close this up, and then I need your help administering a transfusion; she needs blood.”

Akande nods without hesitation. “I am a universal donor.”

“I know,” Lúcio mutters, attention focused on calibrating another tool Akande does not recognise, something that looks like a thick, elaborate pen ending in a round, tapered point. Plugging its cabled extension into his battery pack of golden liquid, it lights up with an ethereal humm. Lúcio pulls Akande’s hand away and holds the edges of Sombra’s wound apart. Golden mist threads from the hand-held device into the red cavity of her flesh, and Akande watches the wound knit back together before his eyes.

He has seen many miracles in his lifetime: from his own augmentations to the jewel of Numbani rising against the African sun, but witnessing the technology of the world-renowned Doctor Ziegler never ceases to inspire awe in him. It has a finesse that his own scientists haven’t yet achieved. Those patents, those raw tools… are worth a lot of money.

The battery back is barely tapped when the pen eclipses with a soft, high note, signaling its work complete, and Lúcio turns up the volume on the song from his pack, diving back inside. Akande offers his arm, holding the bag open with his free hand as Lúcio searches, pulling out the administration set and a pack of alcohol swabs.

“When this is done, you’re gonna explain what the hell happened here,” Lúcio growls, powering up the equipment and watching its readings before reaching for Sombra’s bared inner arm. The administration set includes a scanner that reveals the line of her veins in glowing blue tracks beneath the skin. Sombra doesn’t react when the needle sinks in and Lúcio reaches for Akande’s arm next. “I need you to stand as I give her fluids. Let gravity do its work, yeah?”

Lúcio’s assertive beside manner is reassuring and directs his focus. Akande obeys without a second thought, without even questioning if kneeling from his angle with his height provides enough downward flow or if maybe Lúcio just wants Akande to step back and give him some space.

“Hold this.”

Akande dutifully takes the clear bag of fluids and watches the intravenous line sink into his agent’s other arm. It occurs to him this is the first time he’s seen Lúcio perform his role of an audio medic. Lúcio is focused, methodical and gratefully calm under pressure.

That he was on the verge of tears not half an hour ago, feels like some other world’s reality.

“You’re good at this,” Akande murmurs.

“Had a lot of practice because of people like you,” Lúcio says, taping down the IV line to keep it steady and from falling out. Again, he doesn’t bother glancing Akande’s way.

“Don’t pity Sombra. She’s capable and proud of who she is.”

Finally Lúcio looks at him. His glare is venomous and tempers the warmth spreading in Akande’s chest. “She’s bleeding out on your floor, is what she is, Akande.”

Why is it that it only feels like Lúcio says his name when he’s unhappy? Akande scowls and nods back to Sombra. He needs to redirect their focus.

“How do you know her?”

“We have similar interests.” Lúcio snorts a laugh under his breath, studying the readings from another scanner he runs the length of Sombra’s body. “Or, I thought we did. Then she started working with you.”

Akande refrains from pointing out Lúcio’s own hypocrisy. Working together. Sleeping together. Which was worse?

“Thank you for coming,” Akande says.

Lúcio’s retort is instant. “I didn’t do it for you.”

Akande bites the inside of his cheek, stifling a sigh. What else can he do? “Will she be all right?”

Lúcio shrugs with a shake of his head, setting the scanner down by Sombra’s side, now monitoring her vital signs. It beeps with the slow rhythm of her heart rate. “Now we wait.” From his kneeling position, he cranes his neck to meet Akande’s eye far, far above him. “Good thing you’re so big. She might need a large transfusion.”

“Take what you need.”

“Count on it.” Lúcio’s jaw clenches, eyes returning to his patient while he cushions her head with his folded up jacket. And Akande believes in the moment that his former lover would gladly take the excuse to bleed him dry.

‘Former’… so soon, so soon. So bitter, Lúcio.

Clank.

Akande’s eyes leap to the ceiling of the airship. “What was that?” He lowers on his haunches, instinctively sinking into a battle ready stance.

It sounded like something hit them. Or landed.

Lúcio is already climbing to his feet, watching Sombra as though she will flatline without his attention for a bare moment. His eyes raise to Akande as he backs up towards the main ramp and his bloodied hands lift in appeal. “It’s okay, it’s gonna be okay, don’t move.”

Akande’s hackles raise at the sense of imminent threat prickling the hairs on his neck. A low growl escapes his throat at the attempt to mollify him, and the arm infusing Sombra with life-giving blood clenches to a fist, his other hand holding the clear bag of fluids against the needle firm in his arm. “What have you done?”

He watches Lúcio reach back and slap the control releasing the main ramp. The warm sea breeze rushes in, thick and humid.

“Not everything’s up to me, okay?”

He hears the easing whine of jetpacks before the figure drops from the sky like a comet of azure, wings arched, shoulders broad and proud. The surrounding pillars tremble with the force of their landing, one knee planted in the ground. They are gilded head to toe in thick armour that gleams, piercing in its polish under the early morning sun.

Akande scowls at the sharp, dark eyes that find him under the helm of their golden beak. He shifts minutely to place himself between this new threat and his fallen agent.

“Helix International,” he grinds his jaw, shaking his head. He would recognise that flight suit anywhere. “Lúcio. You do have friends in all places, don’t you?”

Lúcio does not reply and Akande does not look his way as the newcomer rises to their feet and climbs the ramp, slinging a short cannon in their arms.

“Akande Ogundimu,” the woman declares in that same tone Akande has heard from countless authorities who failed to pen him in over the years. But her scowl is fierce, her eyes hard as diamonds, and if Akande was not hooked up to a needle, he would relish the challenge of that cannon being leveled at his chest. “I am Captain Amari of Helix International Security. By the authority of the United Nations, you are under arrest for violating the terms of your sentence. You’re coming with me.”

—————————–

My eternal thanks to the Doomcio discord server for the following Spanish translations, specifically @millie-on-a-leaf and @cryptidbae: 1) Ay, Lucito-oo-oo! La lucecita de mi noche! / Ay, lil Lucio, the little light of my night! 2) ¿Lula, en qué pensabas? ¿No sabes quién es? ¿Sabes las cosas que hizo? / Squid, what are you thinking, you know who he is? You know what he’s done? ('Lula’ in Portuguese is 'squid’) 3) Hermanita / Sweet little sister (Lucio says this in a fond, patronising way, knowing full well Sombra is his elder) 4) ¿Sombra, soy yo, Lucio, puedes escucharme? / Sombra, it’s Lucio, can you hear me?

[freelancer-chronicles]

Click to read ANOTHER story, we have been blessed

Tendrils of fog crept in past the curtains on the bar door. There was no keeping the stuff out when the season came. Max found it worse than the oppressive darkness or the skorpions, which at least had the good sense to stay out of her bar. It was a bad time to be doing business, and a lot of wiser heads wouldn’t try with so many bad omens about, but in Max’s experience deals wouldn’t wait. You seized opportunity when it appeared, no matter how grim things around it might be.

She watched the men across from her as they studied their cards. It was never a good idea to take your eyes off Regulators for too long. Especially if you were a Regulator yourself. Cheating fellow Regulators was almost a sign of respect. Almost. This deal was taking too long, Max felt, there were too many risks. Not least of which was that her wife Lena would get tired of waiting for her to come home and send someone to collect her.

“I’ll raise you twenty.” The older man, one of Zhim’s negotiators, smirked at Max. He was down too much coin to make a comeback. Max figured he was trying now to lose with the most panache.

The younger Regulator groaned and laid his cards down on the table, “This again? Fine. I’m out.” He was from Heliost, representing the new boss there, and trying to make a good impression. Not quite succeeding, Max thought, but trying.

“Vin, you haven’t got twenty left to raise.” Max leaned back against the booth and looked pointedly at the paltry couple of coins in front of the older man.

“I’ll write you an I.O.U.” Vin shrugged, unconcerned.

“You won’t,” Max countered him firmly, “Not when Zhim already owes me for a strider full of javelin parts.”

Vin frowned, “Dusty would’ve taken my marker.”

“Which is how Dusty lost this damned bar in the first place. You can’t wager what you can’t lose.” She watched him try to palm a card he’d just pulled from his boot. “And you’ve got nothing. New management, new rules, Vin.”

“But still no sign on the door. That can’t be good for business.” Tenzin, the younger Regulator spoke up, “Are we done here? I want to get back to my strider before the roads are full of skorpions.”

“I like you, Tenzin.” Max nodded at the young man, “You’ve got sense.”

Tenzin started to get to his feet and Vin waved at him to sit. “This hand’s not done.”

“Sure,” Max shrugged, “Let’s see if that ace you had in your boot’s enough to save your pride.”

Laughing at the older man’s chagrin, Tenzin rose and half-bowed to Max. “You’re sharper than Dusty, that’s for sure.”

“That’s why I’m still alive.” She smiled and waved for him to go.

“Give my regards to Lena,” Tenzin said, “I’ll contact you about the goods when I’m back in Heliost.” He left.

Vin eyed her across the table. “Tell me something, Max. The hit on Dusty’s strider – Was that you?”

Max laughed sourly, “With all the coin that slippery bastard owed me? He could never afford to die.”

The old Regulator grunted, getting to his feet, “So it was the curse again? Bad business there. Zhim’s worried. More than a dozen new owners for this place in the last few years.” He flipped over his cards, a hand full of nothing, plus a stolen ace, and caught Max’s eyes. “Fort Tarsis is too important to change hands so often.”

“Tell Her Glitching Highness I agree with her.” Max waved for Vin to go, and watched the older man shuffle out the door to be swallowed by fog.

Max rose from her booth, gathering up cards and the notes that sealed the deals she’d been closing. The last patrons of the bar, a trio of Freelancers reeking of Fortuo Brew and unwashed javelin padding, ambled towards the exit telling each other the same story for the tenth time about Lucky Jak fighting some sort of carnivorous plant as they left. Max pulled the gate down behind them and viewed her empty bar.

The fog brought in business – plenty of people in Tarsis opted to fortify their bravery with the aid of a drink or two – but more customers meant more to clean up. The fog played tricks on her eyes, making the Freelancers’ table look like the scene of a grisly attack. Spilled drinks pooled like blood in the dark, swirling light, dripping slowly from the edge of the table onto the floor. She sighed, calculating how much time she had left before Lena started to worry.

“Amal, take inventory,” Max said, grabbing a rag and a mop from beneath the bar. “If we’ve got to restock something, I want to start looking for it now. It’s not like we’re getting anything quickly in this weather.”

“Just leave it to me, Max!” Amal’s official job title was, “head bartender,” and while Max did employ three bartenders, he was easily the least in-charge of all of them. Privately, Max had given him the promotion so Amal would stop pestering the other bartenders with questions during work hours. Amal cheerfully took several old, dusty bottles down from the shelf to examine the contents, then paused, squinting suspiciously at the far corner. “Hey, I think those Freelancers left something behind. Can you grab it? Maybe we can still catch them.”

Max pushed aside the partly drawn curtains draping the corner booth. Amidst the bottles and pools of swill on the tabletop sat an old, threadbare newsboy hat. Even calling the thing a “hat” bordered on optimistic. Whatever color it had originally been had long since faded to a sickly taupe. The brim was spattered with irregular dark stains. As she examined it, Max got the slightest whiff of stale silver. A chill ran down her spine, and on impulse, she felt inside the band and found a hidden pocket with four playing cards and an IOU too smudged to read.

“Max? Should I try to catch those Freelancers?” Amal asked, half-hidden behind bottles.

“Don’t bother. It’s not theirs.” Max walked over to the bar and dropped the hat in the trash. She returned to the corner and started mopping up the pool of swill from the trashed table top with a rag.

“Shouldn’t we put it in the lost and found?” Amal sounded shocked, “The owner might come back looking for it.”

“It’s Dusty’s,” Max shrugged, “No way he’s coming back to claim it.”

“The curse.” Amal whispered. From behind her came the sounds of several bottles clattering into one another, followed by Amal letting out a string of horrified, “Whoops! Oh! Crap!” as he tried and failed to catch any of them before they fell to the floor. Max winced, but a glance back at Amal told her that at least none of the bottles had broken.

“Amal.” Max said dryly, “Try not to wreck my bar.”

The flustered bartender tripped coming out from behind the counter. “How? How could it be Dusty’s hat? He died months ago. Where did it even come from?” He gathered the dropped bottles and held them all in his arms like a moonshine bouquet.

“How should I know? Glitched crap happens all the time around this place.” Max cleaned the worst of the mess from the table and started mopping the floor around it. The air stank of unwashed lancers who’d spent a little too much time out in the darkness. She tried not to breathe. Without the dark pools of drink, the place looked less like a crime scene, but the tendrils of mist rising off the floor still made the dark corners of the bar look like something out of a half-remembered dream.

For a moment, Amal was quiet except for the clinking of glass as he moved bottles back and forth from the shelves. “Still,” he said, “It was Dusty’s. Maybe we could’ve… I dunno, not thrown it away?”

“It’s just a hat. We’re not building a memorial for a hat.” Max put away the rag and mop. “Finish cleaning up out here, will you? I’ll take care of the books.”

“Right. Of course.”  

~

Max entered the back room and closed the door behind her. It was hard to tell where the floor was through the fog swirling around her feet. This really was the worst season in memory. She winced, thinking of Lena at home alone. Her wife could make hardened Regulator bosses crumble with a look, but lived in terror of the dark. Their apartment always had a light on. At least one. Sometimes several, but with this fog... She was just settling down to count the money when Amal shrieked, “Max!”

She ran out to the bar. “You all right? What’s the matter?”

Amal pointed a shaking finger. “It’s back! It came back!”

Max followed Amal’s terrified gaze to the table near the gate. The old, threadbare hat was hanging on the back of a chair. “Very funny, Amal.”

She walked over and picked the hat up with a sigh. It was undoubtedly the same hat. The same smell of Dusty’s favorite drink. The same playing cards in the band, the same bloodstains. Max put it in the trash bin a little more firmly this time, as if maybe it just hadn’t gotten the point before.

“Take the trash out, would you?” she asked, returning to the back room.

It was darker in the back than Max remembered. The fog reached with its misty tendrils up the walls and curled around the sconces on the wall, dimming the lights. It swirled around her desk, and the cashbox, and the deck of playing cards she’d left there. Max waved it away, annoyed. “I’m not playing with you,” she muttered.

She heard heavy footsteps and the clanging of the gate as Amal took the trash out to the fort’s incinerator. At least that was done with. Max sat down at her desk and opened the cashbox. The sooner she finished this, the sooner she’d be home with Lena. Half an hour later, a series of thuds and whimpers from the bar told her Amal had returned. Max looked up from the books and rubbed her eyes. It was getting hard to tell where the floor and walls were anymore. The back room had been almost entirely swallowed by fog, leaving just the faint lights of the sconces. She rose unsteadily to her feet and started to feel her way towards across the room when a bloodcurdling scream came from the bar.

Max ran to the door and stumbled out to find Amal sobbing wordlessly by the front gate. She strode over and grabbed him by the shoulders.

“Amal! Get ahold of yourself.” Max gave the terrified bartender a shake and he met her gaze, eyes wide with terror.

“It’s back again! I threw it in the incinerator, Max, what if it wants revenge?” Amal’s voice cracked on the last word.

Max looked around, puzzled, saw the bar, and felt her heart sink. “It’s a hat. Even you could take it in a fight.” She grabbed Dusty’s hat, crumpling it in her hand, and shoved it in the trash can. “Go home, Amal. I can deal with this, all right?”

“But Max!” Amal started to object but was interrupted by a loud knocking sound. Max and Amal stared at one another for a moment in confusion. The knock had come from the door to the back room.

Max took a deep breath. Glitched shit happened all the time, she reminded herself. It didn’t mean anything. “Go home. I’ll lock up.” She took a step towards the back room door.

“No!” Amal shrieked, desperately throwing himself in her path and waving his arms. “It’s the curse, Max! Don’t answer it!”

“Amal,” Max tried to make her voice soothing, but it came out weary instead. She had never been good at soothing. “It’s not the curse. Curses don’t knock. Go on home. It’s been a long day.” She stepped around Amal and opened the door.

No one was there. For a moment, Max wondered what she’d expected. She felt a chill run down her spine, looked down and saw the hat on the floor. Behind her, Amal began wailing like a child with a skinned knee.

Max shut the door.

“All right. You’re going home, right now.” She took Amal firmly by the shoulders and turned him toward the gate.

“But you’ll die!” Amal sobbed, “If I leave the bar the curse will get you, and I don’t want another boss!” He stubbornly clung to Max, preventing her from walking him out.

“That’s sweet, but it’s also the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” Max said as firmly as she could. She managed to drag Amal a few steps toward the exit.

Another loud knock came from the back room door.

What was left of her nerve snapped. “We’re closed!” She shouted in the general direction of the back room, and without missing a beat, she herded Amal out the gate, pulling it down behind him.

“Max?” Amal sniffled sadly, standing in the entrance.

“I’m locking up. Watch yourself on the damned steps.” She waited for Amal to disappear from the little semi-circle of light the spilled out of the bar into the fog.

Once Amal was gone, Max walked slowly to the back room and stood before the door. Heart pounding in her chest, she stared at the handle, trying to calm herself enough to open the door, and growing increasingly angry with each passing moment that she found an ugly old hat so terrifying. This was Amal’s fault. Stirring things up that shouldn’t be stirred. She reached out and opened the door.

The hat lay silent and still on the floor.

She stared at it for a long moment. Max took a deep breath, let it out slowly, then picked up Dusty’s hat. She brushed it off, which did nothing whatsoever to improve its appearance, turning it over once in her hands.

“All right,” she said, glancing around at the empty room, “Fine. We’ll cut a deal.” She walked across the room and hung the hat up on a hook.

It stayed there. It was, after all, a hat.

Max realized after a moment that she was holding her breath and slowly released it.

“We good?” She asked the empty air. When nothing happened, she nodded, satisfied, and switched off the lights to go home. Lena was going to kill her.

Special thanks to Neil Grahn, Ryan Cormier, Cathleen Rootsaert, Jay Watamaniuk, and Karin Weekes

[queercapwriting]

Hey Cap! Could you possibly do a fix it of Alex and/or Maggie going with Kara to the restaurant? So mad we only got like 15 secs of Alex and no Maggie... Thank you!

“Maggie, what – what are you doing here?”

“Sorry, Little Danvers – Alex sent me, she’s working late but she forgot her jacket last night – “

“Yeah, it’s by the door – “

“I know. Listen, um… Lena called. I let it go to voicemail, didn’t want to be intrusive, but I couldn’t stopper my ears – said something about wanting you to talk her out of going to dinner with some Jack guy?”

Kara groans and runs her hands over her hair, frowning.

“Come on,” she says suddenly, tugging at Maggie’s arm.

“Um, okay, where are we – “

“You’re a cop. And I’m a reporter. And I think Jack’s little robots are a big problem. Plus Lena needs me to save her.”

“To save her.” Maggie’s tone managed to be bemused, even as she’s being dragged out the door by Supergirl in a blue sweater and deeply gay pants.

Kara flushes. “From her date. With her ex. Jack. Jack’s her ex. They used to date.”

“I know what an ex is, Sunshine.”

Kara turns and squint-glares at her sister’s girlfriend before continuing.

“Well, I have to save her. He forced her to choose – him or L Corp, I mean, who would do that, right, why can’t she have both, I mean sure he seems like a nice enough guy, and he’s certainly handsome, but making her choose, I mean come on, right, that’s not okay, and now he’s back in town just to, what, get her back? – and now he’s taking her to dinner, and ughhh, I should have been there to take that phone call – “

“Slow down, Kara,” Maggie says, tugging Kara away from the driver’s seat of Maggie’s own car. “You’re spiraling. I’m driving.”

Kara grimaces and shuffles to the passenger’s seat.

Maggie stares at her thoughtfully as they both get in.

“Kara, you um… Does it bother you? That Jack and Lena used to date?“

She keeps her voice deliberately casual and her eyes deliberately on the road as she starts to drive.

"Bother me?” She can practically hear Kara fidgeting with her glasses, practically see the disbelieving – denial – grin of incredulity on her face, even though she’s keeping her eyes carefully ahead. “Pfft. No! Why… why would it bother me? Lena can date anyone she wants! In the past and future, and… and present… Lena’s her own woman, she can do what she wants!”

“And it doesn’t bother you. At all.”

“Are you implying something, Maggie?”

There’s an edge to Kara’s voice, a slight bite, and Maggie retreats, because god, god, god, Alex’s kid sister can’t hate her.

“Nope. Sorry Kara, just… just making conversation. So tell me about your suspicions about Biomax.”

Kara settles and fills Maggie in along the way, and when Maggie suggests that maybe Kara should text first to tell Lena that she’s about to crash her date, Kara splutters.

“She needs rescuing, Maggie. It’s part of my job. And yours, too. And I need more information from this Jack character.”

Maggie just grimaces, and remembers the days when she thought Kara was too polite to get what she wanted. She almost chuckles to herself, but suddenly she’s finding herself face-to-face with a woman she’s arrested, and god, does the woman look arresting.

“Lena,” she offers, an apology in her eyes, and Lena’s are wary but mostly fixed on Kara. Maggie watches the two of them, even as she introduces herself to Jack, apologizes for the intrusion, congratulates him on his press conference, because even if Kara wants to dive straight into vaguely accusatory questions, Maggie prefers a different approach. In this context, anyway.

So she listens quietly as Kara asks Jack questions.

She sits back and lets her eyes flit between Lena’s teary ones and Kara’s uncharacteristically hard to read ones – but Maggie thinks she sees jealousy in them, or maybe fear of loss, or maybe, she thinks, they’re the same thing – while Jack weaves some poetry about a sunrise and starlings and Lena this and come back to me that.

There’s a silence and Maggie’s heart hurts for Lena, for Kara, but Kara is leaning forward, and she’s shattering the silence with an ice pick.

“Anyway, I was also wondering – ”

“Another time,” Jack says, his eyes never leaving Lena’s face.

Kara splutters, and Maggie thinks this Danvers might be even harder to get out of the closet than her sister.

“Lena, are – are you… uh…”

“Yeah, I think Jack and I need to talk.”

“That’s… fine,” Kara is almost squeaking, and Maggie is grabbing her knee under the table.

“Of course. Lena, it was good seeing you again, under… better circumstances. Jack. Kara, come on,” she adds softly at the end, standing and putting her hand on Kara’s shoulder and hoping Kara doesn’t heat vision it off her body.

“Lena, I’ll… I’ll see you soon, then?” Kara asks, hope in her voice.

“Yes, yes, of course, Kara,” Lena breathes, her eyes still on her ex, and Maggie thinks she knows those eyes.

Those eyes that are still so scared by the past that they’re more ready to go back into it than dive ahead into the future.

Or, in this case, into Kara Danvers.

“You know, if you want to get into Jack’s office, I can get you a warrant,” Maggie mutters to Kara on their way out of the restaurant.

“So you didn’t believe him?” Kara perks up.

“Oh, I believe him, alright. But something’s also… off. About him. About this whole… thing. Two men being killed in an attack like this? The whistleblower, someone who was corroborating his story to your boss?”

“Ex boss.”

“Ex boss. Something’s going on. It’s enough to go on, Kara.”

They pile back into her car and Maggie stares at her sister’s girlfriend for a long moment before starting the ignition.

“And Kara.”

“Maggie.”

“Don’t give up on Lena. She hasn’t given up on you.”

“How do you – ”

“I’m a detective, Little Danvers. I detect.”

“Does Alex – ”

“Kara, please, Alex barely knew she was gay herself until it punched her in the face.”

“I’m not – ”

“Okay, so bi. Ace. Both. Either way. Your girl crush is safe with me until you’re ready to come out. But Kara, listen: just don’t let her go, okay? Life is too short to… just don’t give up, alright?”

Kara fidgets and her cheeks go bright red and she looks like she’s about to panic, about to cry, about to scream.

“Let’s get that warrant, Maggie. I can worry about getting the girl after we make sure she’s not in any danger.”

Maggie grins.

“That’s the spirit, Little Danvers. That’s the spirit.”

Kara returns the grin despite herself, because maybe, just maybe, everything isn’t ending after all.

[boldadulting]

Podcast - Treasure Island cast on why they love even the most critical feedback

The cast of the Grossmont College Treasure Island show shares about their desire for specific critical feedback, why they aren’t single-mindedly focused on getting to Broadway, and the many confidence-boosting benefits of being in theater.

Interviewees (and their character names):

Del Nieto (Billy Bones) - Instagram and Facebook Delia Mejia (Captain Morgan) - Facebook Mika Fogacci (Squints) - Instagram Odany J. Frias (Ace) - Instagram Amy Oliverio (Buckets) - Facebook Kiley Giard (Mrs. Hawkins/Gold Tooth) Bill Wilcox (play attendee) - Facebook Lena Kaplun (play attendee) - Website Jason Jones (play attendee) - Facebook

Learn more about the Grossmont College Theater Treasure Island production.

Follow BoldAdulting on Twitter. Email:��masha@boldadulting.com

Comment below: How do you respond to getting feedback? Has that changed over time?