#i could maybe even call those actual liberty spikes

[toxictrannyfreak]

Oh my god no way Hawk’s hair actually looks like a semi-realistic mohawk in the s6 trailer. So proud of him

[mc-lukanette]

Hear me out... Scarlet Lady AU, but it’s Lukanette

(takes place after “Captain Hardrock”)

Luka hunched over his guitar, only for another sting of pain to hit his back. He groaned, straightening up instead, but that somehow made the soreness even worse. Juleka chuckled at him from her place on her bed, having long since given up on moving her muscles at all and preferring to laze around.

He shot her a glare, but didn't comment so as to not encourage her. As he'd predicted, they were indeed sore from trying to stop the Liberty yesterday, his arms wordlessly complaining whenever he tried to do anything with them. He didn't regret it, but it'd also made making new songs a hassle, worsened by the fact that he'd very much gotten inspiration courtesy of Marinette.

After trying to ignore the soreness for around ten minutes, he heard a set of footsteps from above deck, from someone who was clearly heading down below. He knew they couldn't have been his mother - the signature "clack" of her boots sounded much different - but it also seemed somewhat familiar.

He realized it a bit too late, just in time for Marinette to get downstairs and pop her head into the room. "Hi!"

He sucked in a breath as subtly as possible, maintaining his poker face as he replied, "Hey."

"Hey," Juleka greeted, rotating her arm just enough to wave and clearly not wanting to put in more effort than that. She didn't even turn her head.

Luka chuckled. "Jule's busy today if you needed her for something."

"Shut up," she hissed. "It was your idea."

"Huh?" Marinette asked, looking back and forth between the two. "Oh! No, I was here to see Luka, actually—not that I'm not happy to see you too, Juleka! Just..." She grinned sheepishly and rubbed the back of her head.

Marinette was there... to see him? Not his sister?

Luka glanced down, confirming that he was still wearing pants and therefore this wasn't a dream about to go horribly wrong.

Juleka's eyes flicked over to the two of them, her head having to actually move to do so. She squinted, like she was analyzing something, then groaned and slammed her hands down on the bed. She pushed herself up, clearly ignoring the way her body protested, then began her walk across the room.

Just before she reached the doorway, she leaned back to make eye contact with Marinette, warning her, "Careful with him. He's creaking like the floorboards."

Luka shot Juleka a glare, but she'd already zipped out of the room before he could blindly grab his pillow to throw at her.

For being so sore, you sure got away quickly, he thought, very much aware that she left because him being mushy with Marinette (also known as "normal and understandable because look at her") was "gross."

Marinette's eyes followed Juleka until the retreating footsteps could be heard moving up deck, then turned back to Luka. "Creaking?"

"Ah—" Well, there went any hope of avoiding that topic. "We used Chat's baton yesterday to stall the ship, but it was hard even with all seven of us. We're all still a little sore from it."

She furrowed a brow, like something had confused her, but then shook her head and replied, "Oh, that really does sound tough! I'm sorry I couldn't be there!"

"It's okay." He smiled reassuringly, remembering what he'd been told before. "You were the one who got Marigold there. She saved us."

Her cheeks turned pink and he vaguely wondered if it was obvious how cute he thought - knew - she was. She ducked her head, then did a small wiggle of her hips before abruptly looking back up at him. "Um—! That's actually what I came to talk you about? I mean—not Marigold—or her saving you—or me and Marigold—but—"

Luka snorted, lightly patting the spot on his bed next to him instead of replying. The familiar gesture caught her attention, her voice trailing off as she slowly made her way over to sit next to him. She toyed with her fringe, seeming to get her words in order, then turned to look at him.

"I never got to thank you," she said. When he tilted his head in confusion, she clarified, "I wouldn't have been able to call Marigold if you hadn't saved me."

He smiled warmly at her. "It was nothing, Marinette."

"No, really, you thought so quick!" she insisted, leaning towards him with her hands flat on the mattress to support herself. "And you stayed behind too to make sure Captain Hardrock was fooled! That was brave of you."

He leaned away, face flushing red as he tried to control the stupid grin on his face. "Thanks. You were really brave too, finding a way out to get Marigold's attention."

He didn't tell her that he purposefully didn't hide with her because the sound of his heartbeat would've given their hiding spot away.

Marinette beamed at him, but seemed to realize how close she'd been leaning and pulled back with a sheepish grin. Luka returned to his original position too, but flinched when his spine rejected the movement with a spike of pain. He let out a mix of a groan and a sigh, Marinette's brows raising in concern.

"I could give you a massage...?"

The headstock of Luka's guitar hit the bed as he jerked his head up, the instrument in his lap forgotten as he stared ahead at Marinette, eyes wide. She was looking back at him with a blank expression, like she hadn't fully realized what she'd said.

Then, it hit her, and he swore he saw her pigtails bounce up in shock as her face shifted to realization.

"I-I just—I mean—!" She flailed her arms at him. "See, my papa always does it for my maman and—when you groaned like that it reminded me of it—so—"

The fact that she'd compared his bones to those of an aging adult went ignored in favor of noticing that she hadn't even tried to take the offer back. His heart pounded like the inside of his body was a brand new drumset, and he could only utter a weak, "Okay," in reply.

She'd still been rambling at the time, but somehow his voice managed to break through. She paused mid-sentence, her mouth still open as she processed his answer. "...Really?"

He merely nodded, not trusting his voice to avoid cracking if he tried to respond.

"Oh. Um, alright, oh..." she mumbled to herself, clearly having not expected to get this far.

Luka felt the bed shift underneath him as Marinette maneuvered herself behind him, at which point it really hit him that she was seriously about to massage him. He leaned forward, mentally preparing himself, though was quickly reminded of the guitar still resting in his lap. He pulled it off and set it where Marinette had originally been sitting, resting his hands in front of himself afterward.

The silence dragged for a moment, and he could sense Marinette's eyes on him, as if she were debating with herself on how to go about massaging him. He opened his mouth to give her an out, but all manner of coherent speech left him as her hands pressed into his back, thin fingers sliding along his shoulders and squeezing. He sucked in a breath, oxygen having a hard time getting into a body already stuffed full of feelings.

It was heaven, and added several sheets worth of music that he desperately needed to write.

"I-is this alright?" she asked. "Am I doing well?"

He tried to reply, but all that left his mouth was a sound that was both inhuman and embarrassing. Pressing one hand into the mattress, he covered his mouth with the other, his face turning red as he briefly debated on living in the drawer underneath his bed in lieu of having a hole to crawl into.

He changed his mind. It was hell. She was doing amazing but that was the problem and it was hell.

Marinette giggled, the sound he made apparently being answer enough for her as she continued massaging him. Her embarrassment had left by that point and he couldn't help being jealous of it, as his own had doubled.

After a few seconds had passed, Marinette spoke up again, "So, ah..."

He wasn't sure if she genuinely had a question or was trying to spare him, but he'd take it either way. "Mm?"

"I was wondering. Since Jagged's your favorite singer, what do you think of XY?"

He let out another sound, less involuntary than the last at least, though it was still too high-pitched to make anyone believe that he wasn't affected by Marinette's motions. He cleared his throat, making sure he sounded as normal as possible before answering, "The flaws in his music stick out like his hair."

The hands on his back froze, Marinette snickering and then full-on laughing. "Oh, you think so too?"

He grinned like the fool he was, tempted to look back at her but feeling like it'd be rude. "Yeah. I can't stand his music."

"Me neither. It's so... bland and uninspired."

The mental image of them drop-kicking XY into the Seine together entered his mind, a blissful sigh escaping him just in time for Marinette to restart her massage.

"You're really passionate about music," she observed, almost sounding as if she'd been talking to herself. "It almost makes me wish I played an instrument."

"I can give you lessons," he blurted out, then immediately backpedaled with an, "if you want, anyway."

Her tone lightened. "Thanks. I might have to take you up on that. Just... not when I'm so busy."

He shrugged his shoulders, both of which already felt infinitely better under her touch. He could tell she wasn't lying, so he wasn't offended by the hesitance.

As her hands trailed down his back and he tried not to look as if every touch was sending his heart on tour, she hummed thoughtfully, like her body was there but her mind was elsewhere.

"...Hey," she called. He waited, knowing that there was something else, and she continued, "Have you ever... been stuck between songs?"

"Stuck between songs?" he echoed, trying to piece together what she meant.

"Yeah, like—" She made an unsure sound - unfortunately not an embarrassing one like his when she pressed into his lower back - then clarified, "—maybe there are a few songs you like, and it's hard picking your favorite? Or you have some songs you want to write, but don't know which one to go with?"

He got the distinct feeling that she wasn't talking about music, but it was adorable how she worded it in a way relating to his specialty so he could help her. He mulled over the question seriously, the most difficult task just being drawing enough focus away from her movements so he could answer her.

"A few times," he replied. "It all comes down to feeling then. My favorite song or the one I want to write could just be which one I'm curious about."

"What do you mean?"

"Well—" He blushed faintly, completely unaware that his metaphors were syncing with hers. "—a song that I want to know more about; to listen to over and over until I know it intro to outro. A song that makes me want to keep writing." He glanced over his shoulder at her, hoping the eye contact might help carry the meaning along. "I think those are the best kinds."

Her brows were furrowed in thought, as if he'd given her a hard equation that she was struggling to solve. He faced forward again to hide his smile when he noticed the spark of recognition in her eyes, like the metaphor had stuck and he'd actually helped her.

"I think I get it," she confirmed, the massage briefly stopping as she made idle circles on his back; still equally as distracting if he were honest. Even though he couldn't see her face, he could hear the smile in her voice as she said, "I like this one."

"What one?" he asked obliviously, though she didn't answer the question and pressed into his back again, making him squeak and forget his curiosity altogether.

The conversation ended there, lulling into something peaceful and comfortable. Luka actually found himself relaxing without much embarrassment, though there was still some pink to his face from his newfound crush giving him a massage. He just hoped he could make it through the rest of their time together without her realizing what a mess he was.

Then, as if something had occurred to her, Marinette noted casually, "Oh, I should do your arms next."

Luka's face burned. This girl was going to kill him.

[scuttle-buttle]

WC: 2261

Rated: M

Tags: angst, medical issues, pregnancy complications, hurt/comfort, anxiety, brief mentions of medical procedures but no gore, nothing is technically sad, fluff, papa laszloooo

A/N: honestly tho I am sorry. also i maybe cried a little writing this, which is a first. also also everybody is fine in this it's just emotional

Blame @hardlyinteresting

🧠

"Three weeks…. Three weeks little bean…" you mumble as you rub your protruding stomach after a particularly harsh kick to your ribs. The chair was a sweet relief to your ankles after a long day at work and doing some light chores around the house all afternoon. You had three weeks until you hit 39 weeks into your pregnancy. As much as you were anxious you were ready. Ready to not feel like a bloated whale. Ready to not have sore feet. But most of all, ready to hold your baby girl.

Laszlo had been trying to convince you to take it easy and start maternity leave early, but you resisted. The last thing you were about to do is nothing. Most first pregnancies went late anyway, you'd argued, so you didn't worry about it yet. I’m pregnant, not dying - give me another week, you'd told him.

What you didn't tell him was about the headaches. Or how sore your legs were. Or how absolutely exhausted you'd been feeling the last couple weeks. Whenever he would ask if you were alright or offer a foot rub you would just brush it off as third trimester woes. You didn't want to worry him.

You were sat in an armchair in the parlor, feet propped up, damp rag over your eyes. The droning from the tv had your nerves on edge. All you wanted to do was take some tylenol and feel better, but you had been knocking back more than was probably safe the last few days so you went without.

A sudden pain shoots through you causing the rag to fall onto your chest. “Ohh...ow? OW!” You sit up straighter as the ache persists; the dull throbbing in your upper abdomen unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. Were you in labor early? Did she just kick in a bad spot? No no - surely the pain would’ve died down by now had that been the case. Unless? Can babies kick so hard they rupture something? Did my kid just bust my liver? Your thoughts run rampant as you wait, in vain, for the pain to go away. The pricking behind your eyes and in your temples only made it more hellish. Pressing your palm to the spot does nothing, nor do the breathing exercises you had been taught.

When five minutes have passed by without relief you make the choice to call out for your husband. “Laz?” No response. “Laszlo!” A beat passes; nothing. You swallow through your building nausea.

“I swear to fucking-” you growl as you snatch your phone from the end table to your left. You use all your concentration to dial his number.

It rings four times.

“Bärchen, why are you call-”

You don’t let him finish. “Something’s wrong.”

______

Head thrown back into the flat, starchy hospital pillow you groan in frustration. “permanent bedrest?” You scrub the hand not clutching your belly down your face.

The emergency room Obstetrician gives you a pitying look. “I’m afraid so - your blood pressure is high and we want to keep it under control to prevent outcomes such as pre-eclampsia. I recommend doing as little as absolutely possible; get rid of as many stressors as you can.” He flips through your chart. “You said you’ve been having headaches and fatigue for nearly two weeks? Why didn’t you come in sooner?”

Huffing, you tell him “I thought it was just part of the third trimester. Everyone always complains about how bad it is.” He hums in response.

“Well. I’m going to go take a final look at your labs, make sure everything else is fine before we discharge you. I’ll send in my Nurse Practitioner to give you the run down and anything else you’ll need to know. And should anything else like this happen again - get in here immediately.” He pats you awkwardly on the hand before nodding at Laszlo and leaving the room.

Laszlo.

Sparing a glance from the corner of your eye you see him looking towards his lap, his weaker hand cradled in the other. He’d been quiet since you admitted when your symptoms had first begun. Every single time he’d asked you how you were feeling you had lied to him. Granted, you didn’t technically know you were lying. But it makes little difference when you’re sitting in the ER. He had every reason to be upset.

“Laszlo honey,” you reach over to him. Slowly he takes your proferred hand and stands, coming to stop beside the bulky bed frame. His thumb caresses your wrist.

“Why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve examined the signs, kept a better eye on you.”

“Laz-”

“-No-”

“-I didn’t want to worry you, okay?-” Your voice breaks as you defend yourself.

“-I could’ve done something, maybe- I don't know!” His slightly raised voice startles you quiet. The pain in his eyes only makes you feel guiltier. He licks his lips. “I took the liberty of calling your mother. She will be here tomorrow afternoon and will be staying in the guest room as long as we need her.”

Now you look away, indignant. “I don’t need to be watched like I’m a child.” The tears behind your eyelids rush in; a lone drop trailing down your cheek as the embarrassment settles within your gut. You knew that at some point it was likely you would need her here. However you imagined it to be under happier circumstances. A deep inhale fails to calm your sobs. “I just- I don’t want to be a burden with all this.” Your tears flow freely now.

“My dear you could never be.” Laszlo sits on the edge of the bed. He rests his right palm above the swell of your child, his left cupping along the curve of your jaw. He tilts you to face him. “But the health of you and our girl is what is most crucial now. Let us take care of you. Please.”

A gentle kick underneath his palm from your daughter is answer enough.

__________

Two weeks. 14 days.

Lying in bed, sitting in the same spot for hours on end was actually going to be the death of you. You were sure of it.

Your mother truly has been a huge help since arriving. Laszlo wanted to start his paternity leave, but you insisted that he stay until you were closer to your due date. Which couldn’t come fast enough, you might add. Both Laszlo and your mother were prone to pestering you about some things, but at other times if you truly wanted to be alone they gave you your space. Now was one of those times. Laptop to your side, you watch another episode of Grey’s Anatomy. A knock sounds. You turn to see your husband standing in the doorway, the blood pressure monitor in arm.

He gives you a bright smile. “How are you two on this fine afternoon?”

“Cut it with the attitude, bucko. Let’s get this over with.” The words, while harsh, had little bite to them. His brow raises but he says nothing. You honestly felt bad that you’d been in a pretty foul mood since being discharged. On more than one occasion you’d said as much to Laszlo and your mother - they didn’t deserve your ire. Thankfully they understood why you were so frustrated.

You held the strap in place as he secured the velcro and started the machine. Buzzing filled the overall quiet room. Closed eyes you wait. Some days your results were higher than others. Unless you became higher than a certain threshold the doctor said you were safe to be home. At the sound of a beep Laszlo unhooks the cuff, reporting that your levels are within the acceptable range. When he goes to leave you alone you clutch at his sleeve. He waits as you peer up at him. “Stay?”

He never could say no to you.

______

Little bean’s ruthless treatment of your bladder had you up for the second time that night. You waddled to the bathroom to attend to your business and wash your hands. Glancing at the circles under your eyes in the mirror you sigh. “I love you baby bean but you’re giving me a run for my money here, kid,” you whisper as you rub your stomach. Three days, you remind yourself.

The floor creaks as you shuffle back to bed. Suddenly, an odd warm trickling sensation travels down your legs. “What the fuck?” Looking down around your bulging bump you find yourself standing in a small puddle, the glint of the bathroom night light reflecting off the surface. “Shit okay…ah Laszlo? Hey, I need you to wake up.”

He grumbles. With a roll of your eyes you walk over and shake him awake. “Hey- what-” he sits up instantly and blinks at you. “Is everything alright?”

“My water broke.”

He hops into action right away. Moving you to sit on the bed, he pulls out his cell phone to call your doctor. As he talks you watch him move around the room, the phone wedged between his ear and shoulder, as he collects your hospital supplies. You feel useless as you sit. Yet, you know that your priority needs to be keeping yourself calm and that moving around could exacerbate your condition.

He hangs up. Coming to stand in front of you he presses a kiss to your forehead; “I’ll go wake your mother. Don’t move, Liebling.”

As you sit you blow out a long breath. You look down at your bump. “Guess you decided you’re ready to go, huh kid?” The tip of your fingers brush along the side of your stomach. “I know we’re ready for you too. We’re going to love you so much, and your daddy? He’s gonna be the best, you’ll see.” Placing your palms flat she nudges you from within.

_____

The doctors decided that a c-section was the safest route. You both knew it was a possibility, but you had hoped that after weeks of bedrest that your blood pressure would balance out enough for a natural delivery. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case. They monitored you for an hour before your contractions began, officially confirming you were in fact in active labor and dilating. After the fourth hour your blood pressure began to spike again. That’s when they decided to prep you for the procedure.

The operation went smoothly. The atmosphere of the surgical suite was tense with your nerves, but Laszlo’s calming words and his hand squeezing yours kept the anxiety from spilling over. You even found it in you to poke fun at how ridiculous he looked in the puffy blue elastic hair cap he wore.

When the first cries rang out you nearly tried to hop off the table to see your baby. The doctors worked quickly to ensure you were in proper condition while the infant was cleaned.

“Dad? Would you like to come and cut the cord?” one of the nurses calls out.

Laszlo looks back at them before turning to face you. He searches your eyes for a moment; “go,” you nod with a smile. You watch as he did what the nurses instructed as best you could, her soft wails echoing in the small room. He returns to you right after while they finish wrapping her up in a blanket.

“She’s beautiful my dear,” your professor confesses. He leans to give you a lingering kiss. “I’m so unbelievably proud of you.”

“I love you so much.”

“As I love you.”

The doctor interrupts your moment. “Would you like to hold your baby girl?” The question is directed at you, but you look over to your husband. The man you love more than life itself. He stares at the little bundle as if she’s the most incredible sight he’s ever laid eyes on. He can’t take his gaze off her. His irises sparkle with unshed tears as he looks on with wonder.

“Laz?” Finally he breaks away. “Hold your little girl - she’s been waiting to meet her Papa.”

Carefully the doctor shifts his hold on the babe to slide her into Laszlo’s waiting arm. He swallows as he pulls her to his chest. Something caught between a sob and a laugh leaves him. You blink through your own tears at the sight of your husband and daughter, a sight so far beyond perfect there could be no words. Laszlo held her with such delicacy, such reverence. It was as if any moment she could slip away as though a dream.

“Hello there my little dove, I’ve been waiting a very long time to meet you.” He doesn’t bother to wipe away the streams that fall from his eyes. “I’m your Papa and I-” he sniffs, looking towards the ceiling and blinking rapidly to clear his eyes. You rest your hand on his bicep. “I love you so very much. I would give you the world if I could. Your grandfather didn’t...he was not....” he pauses to gather himself. “To me you are the greatest gift I could ever receive. I will be the best father I can for you. A father worthy of you. Mein Gott, Ich liebe dich my darling dove.”

He continued to hold her in his arms until it was time to take you into the recovery room. When he had asked if you wanted her you simply shook your head. You would get your chance, you had a lifetime to do so. But your Laszlo needed this. He needed his little dove.

Tag list

@hardlyinteresting @lorna-d-m @livvyshmiv @somethingthatsaysbubbles @greeneyedblondie44 @unbeatablecurlgirl @apparrio @marchingicenotes7 @anteroom-of-death @bruhidaniel @lemairepstuff @thehuiabird @zemosimp05 @alindeluce @iamnotthecatladynextdoor @laura-naruto-fan1998 @trelaney @boneheadduluc @i-am-dead-inside-666 @fictionlandslanddreams @that-one-fandom-kid @hb8301 @fandom-princess-forevermore @foggycandywitch @creme-bruhlee @andy-rocks @nonamec0s @everythingbeginsineternity-blog @uncomfortablebagel @rachelicouss @wisia02

[pemfrost]

Can you do a Spider Devil (Spideydevil?) Matt/Peter hurt-comfort using the prompt “I didn’t know where else to go.” or “Are you afraid to die?” in TASM 2 after gwen dies. Or just a spideydevil/Spiderdevil story in general. I loved your other one and I love your spiderfist stories.

I'm always down for spideydevil, but my mind always wants to smoosh different universes together (well, for most marvel stuff my brain does that). Anyway, sorry for the wait :) and I apologize for the angst (no I don't).

Matt knew long before he walked into his flat that someone -no, Peter- was on his couch. As he opened the door he amended it to Peter is curled up on my couch. It wasn't totally unusual for a fellow masked hero to show up unannounced, but Peter usually shot him a text first. 

And Peter never showed up in his costume. 

"Pete?" Matt cautiously approached, taking in the way his friend's arms held his legs to his chest. He smelled like sweat and adrenaline, a mix of dirt and a blood- and salt. Tears. 

He was awake, his breathing coming in shallow rasps and his heart rate was erratic. But he didn't answer Matt's cautious call. 

"Hey," Matt tried again as he stood awkwardly in front of Peter. 

Peter drew a few shaky breaths and lifted his head from his knees. "I didn't know where else to go."

The words were thick with emotion, Peter sounded so lost, so utterly broke, and Matt didn't know how to respond. He wanted to pull his friend into his arms and whisper sweet nothings, tell him everything would be okay, that he was safe- and loved. 

Instead, he sat a safe distance away, resisting the constant urge he had to touch. 

Not that his self restraint mattered; the moment Matt’s back hit the cushion Peter was across the couch and wrapped around his side. He could feel the wetness where Peter's head rested on his shoulder and Matt snaked an arm around to hold him close, to make him feel safe. 

Still in the dark about what had Peter so distraught, Matt could only hold him and wait. His heart constricted as he felt another tremor against his side. How long had he been in love with this man? In love and hopeless to do anything about it, doomed to only be friends, colleagues, watching from the sidelines as Peter fell in love with a beautiful woman. How long?

How long, indeed. Was it the moment Peter walked into his Econ class, radiating the type of brightness only a freshman could? And how he never lost his eagerness, even surrounded by jaded students like Matt? Maybe that was the beginning of his downfall. Was it the day Peter showed up to his dorm with coffee and pizza at midnight when Foggy and Matt were both sick and studying for an exam? It could have been the first time he fought side by side with Spider-Man since meeting Peter and recognized Peter's heartbeat when he held him close as they swung  over the city. That had been a friendship changing revelation, afterall. 

Looking back, he couldn't pick out a single moment which made him fall in love, but he did know the moment he had actually realized it. It was the last final of Matt’s spring semester and he was feeling good as he walked out of the exam room. Foggy was in exams the rest of the afternoon, so he made his way to Peter's dorm- and his own doom. 

He'd met Gwen before, seen her around the campus, so he recognized her easily enough as the person standing in front of Peter as he approached. She'd been introduced to him as Peter's friend from highschool, but, judging by the way her lips were pressed against his, she now seemed to be more. 

How embarrassing that it took the dark tendril of jealousy to realize his feelings for Peter. No one ever accused Matt of being good at self reflection. 

Peter shifted and sniffled, pulling Matt back to the present. His hair was soft in his fingers- just when had he moved his hand to Peter's head? Matt continued to softly card his fingers through Peter's hair, feeling guilty for taking such a liberty even if it seemed to help Peter relax. 

"Are you afraid to die?" Was not what Matt was expecting Peter to say. But the hoarse words hovered between them, demanding a response Matt wasn't sure how to give. Was that what had Peter upset? A close call? They had those daily. 

He wanted to ask, demand, yell and curse, until he got an answer from Peter. But, his friend, his love, seemed so fragile, ready to break completely, into so many peices he may never be put back together completely. 

So, instead, Matt was honest. "Yes." He hesitated before continuing, "But I'm more afraid of losing those close to me."

He meant for it to make Peter feel better, loved, and safe. Instead, Peter pressed his head harder into Matt’s shoulder and openly wept, a heartwrenching sound echoing through the quiet apartment. 

Matt held Peter until his breathing evened out and his body relaxed as sleep claimed him. 

_______

He made coffee at 9am, hoping the smell would rouse Peter. His back was a little stiff from the few hours of sleep he managed on the couch, but he paid it no mind, his thoughts too focused on Peter. 

He felt Peter get up before he heard him, and pressed a mug into his hands as he entered the kitchen. 

"I'm glad you can't see how shit I look." Peter held the mug with both hands and leaned against the counter. "Sorry for… this. For last night."

Matt shook his head, he didn't have the heart to tell Peter that he could feel the moisture on his cheeks. "I'm always here for you, Pete. Do you want any breakfast? I think I still have some eggs."

He pushed down the urge to demand answers, ask who he should direct his rage toward for Peter's state the night before. 

"I… no." Peter turned towards him, his heart rate spiking. As words began to tumble out, so did fresh tears. Peter haltingly told Matt the events of the previous night, and as his story continued, began to include Gwen, Matt could only listen as a cold pit formed in his stomach. 

It took all of Matt’s willpower to remain where he was, to not close the distance and pull Peter against him, hold him so tight he couldn't ever leave, couldn't continue to tell him this horrible story. He didn't, couldn't. Peter wanted to, needed to, tell him. And by the end of his retelling, reliving Gwen's death, Peter was a blubbering mess, and Matt’s willpower broke. 

He couldn't fix it, couldn't turn back time or raise the dead. He could only hold Peter close, his heart heavy as he sobbed into his chest. There was nothing Matt could say or do to heal Peter's pain, and he briefly wondered if even time could. Peter lost the woman he loved, and clearly blamed himself more than the villain- and Matt couldn't say he would feel any different if their positions were flipped, if it had been Peter falling and Matt hadn't been enough. 

All he could do was helplessly rub circles on Peter's back, hold him close, and whisper nothings into the top of his head. 

[equestrianwritingsstuff]

Escape Part 3:

This is part 3 of the "Escape" post I wrote. @whump-a-la-mode wrote a wonderful part 2. Which is here. Part 1 is here.

Quick fornote, this is not edited. I may look it over eventually, but beaware of mistakes and incorrect grammar. Perhaps a lot of it. Also, my creativity levels right now are like a piece of dynamite going down a waterfall, exploding, and the particles being shipped to a rocket and then discarded into space to be later burnt up by the sun.

Warnings: blood, vomit, collared whumpee, confused whumpee, exhaustion, hospital setting, needles/syringes, restrained whumpee, creepy/intimate whumper, soundproof room, torture (head trauma, broken bones, beating), talk of death, referring to one as trash, fake drugs

~

Hero woke with a start, immediately digging her fists in the familiar mattress. She vaguely felt an odd throb right below her ribcage. Hero thought hard. She didn't recently hurt herself. Unless, of course, she cracked a rib when Villain knocked her down in the elevator. That impudent, little-

Something shifted on her lap. Hero tensed before reaching above her to flick a light on.

The sight below her made her heart skip a beat. Villain was huddled against her, clutching onto her gray t-shirt with ferocity- however weak- as if he would die otherwise. Hmph, making the little ignorant chicken did whole-heartedly believe that her attire was the only way to alleviate his suffering.

But something was wrong. Villain's face was a pallette of blood, spit, vomit. He coughed and buried his face deeper into her stomach. Quizzically, Hero looked all over him. His hands looked like he just had a punching match the plaster- the broken plaster on the wall behind him confirmed that assumption.

"Villain," Hero breathed and ran her hand over his quivering back.

A strangled whimper was the only response.

"Are you hurt?" She asked, noting his cut up heel- he wasn't allowed laces, and refused to sleep in the velcro shoes that he was granted- and the blooming flower of a bruise that erupted in the center of his forehead. Not to mention the blood, all the creamy velvet blood...

"N-no," Villain stuttered finally.

"Then get off of me." Hero proceeded to push the villain away from her, but he already did the work, spiraling onto the ground with a thump.

"What the heck is wrong with you?" Hero asked, crouching next to her foe.

"Not wrong with me," Villaim mumured. Hero scoffed. Yeah, no, Villain was perfectly healthy. He wasn't covered in blood and puke, and he definitely wasn't shaking in exhaustion.

"Sure," Hero grinned sloppily and started to take in Villain's figure. He was obviously weakened, but he was still strong. Oh so strong. His biceps were flexed- actually his whole arm was flexed, but Hero knew it was more reflexive than a boyish show-off. Even his back moved around as he breathed, muscles contracting to their maximum strength. Hero knew that he would have abs under the sweaty shirt. A hum of approval, the Villain Containment Practice really did wonders.

Yet amidst the undeniable cords of muscles, the body in front of her was truly exhausted, starved, and dehydrated. Hero doubted he would be to move, especially with the hidden injury.

It hurt Hero to watch his hand tentatively brush the collar around his neck, but it stung when it flopped back down. Maybe taking away his breakfast privileges was too much.

And perhaps snatching away his lunch, but that was all. He still had dinner, and snacks-

No, those were also taken away. Cruelly erased from his schedule and replaced with more reps. More lessons, more lectures...

The villain groaned and tried to shuffle away as spontaneously aware that Hero was in his vicinity.

"Wha' ya gonna do?" Villain slurred. His dull eyes glanced over to the plastic cup. "Gimme," he whispered.

"Manners," Hero began to warn, but stopped. Chastising such a pale prisoner would do more bad than good. She could just imagine a relaspe. Villain was doing... mediocre, but not terrible. Though the only points he received were from the continous physical exercises he performed daily.

So Hero stood up, clenching her teeth as her rib flared up again, and sauntered over to the kitchenette. She grabbed a new cup and filled it up with city water. Hero scowled- she hated this water. Once she lived in the country... the change of taste in the water was one of a kind.

Hero returned with the cup and handed it to Villain, but he immediately dropped it. Water spilled everywhere. Hero could see his skin turn red and tears spike in his eyes.

"Aww come-" Hero began, but stopped when she noticed Villain turned his head into the crook of his elbow. Hero sighed and went back for another cup.

She returned and propped Villain's limp head up. She tilted it back and ran her thumb over his lips, gently prying the shriveled muscles open. Villain, however tired, tried to refuse, glaring daggers at Hero.

"Villain," Hero growled. Villain tensed, so Hero rubbed circles on his neck. Comfort was not her greatest gift, but Villain relaxed regardless.

"You wanted water earlier," she reminded him, putting the cup to his lips. After a brief moment of hesitation, Villain greedily opened his lips and started gulping the water down.

"Slow down," Hero very rudely removed the much wanted cup from Villain. "Time for you to go to the infirmary."

"No!" Villain yelled and tried to push away from his nemesis. They may run into Nosey. What if they tried to kill Hero again? Or worse, Villain?

-

The trek down to the infirmary was beyond slow. Even Villain in his groggy state recognized that. The corriders and dorms all blended together into one gigantic smoothie. They didn't matter, only not running into Nosey mattered.

Hero carried him in a bridal carry. Though lithe and slender, she was strong. Very strong. Villain realized this with a pang of fear. She could easily dominate him and hurt him.

Especially if she found out that Villain saved her.

When she found out. Villain could only physically make it non-lethal and take away the majority of her pain. It still would scar and be painful to an extent, but he saved her.

He saved her.

"Using your powers is never the answer," Villain mumbled to himself. "Call the heros..."

"What's that?" Hero asked.

Villain shut up, right then and there.

"Well, okay. Here we are," Hero pushed open the door to the infirmary with her foot. The smell of disinfectant and medicine hit Villain's nose, making him want to throw up all over again.

"Hero." A deep voice. Not Nosey. He was safe, for now.

"Doctor. I don't know what's wrong with him."

"Why is his collar still on?"

"Safety. I don't know. He was collapsed on top of me and throwing up."

"Maybe food poisoning. Lay him on-"

"He hasn't eaten in days, Doc."

Villain felt knew hands tenderly dabbing around the collar.

"Do you have keys for this, Hero?"

"Yeah, back pocket. Here." Hero sat Villain on the ground, using her foot to keep him upright.

"Hero?" Villain slurred. His tongue was too thick, his brain too tired to completely make sense of the dire situation. He limply rested his head against his shoulder, closing his eyes.

Healing never was this taxing.

Villain felt his head fall back, so he jerked back upwards into a strangers arms.

"Hey, Villain," the same deep voice cooed, like a baritone. Deep and eneveloping.

"Villain." Hero was behind him, but Villain hardly recognized it. He felt like he was falling into a dark abyss.

"Bring him to a bed," the doctor ordered. Villain, whisked away from the comforting promise of sleep, was rushed back into the present. He jerked and cried out, fighting against the arms that held him.

He was going to be punished. Punished for his negligence. Punished for his powers.

"Villain," Hero snarled. Her voice was taut with exasperation. "We are trying to help you."

"No!" Villain cried out, breaking free of the hero and the doctor. Blindly he scrambled away, knocking over tables. Liquids spilled everywhere. Glass cut into his palms, but he didn't care. Not when he was going to be punished.

"Twenty more laps Villain."

"Add more weight, 200 pounds isn't enough."

"I don't care. Another sit-up. With weights."

"Seven minute plank. Let's go."

All Nosey's voices. The seagull that swooped down and took his strength away, leaving him a parched rasion with only enough food to keep his body minimally functioning.

He couldn't. He couldn't be punished. He helped, he helped. Yet, Villain couldn't convince himself that was indeed the truth.

Heros never cared about the truth. That was evident when they never took the time to remove him from this jail when he was innocent. Yes, he landed the homeless man in the hospital, but it was self-defense.

Villain plummeted into a skinny nurse, laying her flat on the ground with a bleeding head. Again, not his fault. She had a horrendous looking needle.

"Villain!" Hero called out and tackled him to the ground, pining him by the wrists and keeping his torso down with a well-placed knee.

Villain threw himself upwards, trying in desperation to remove himself from Hero's grasp.

"We are going to have to sedate you if you keep this up," Hero warned. Villain froze. He couldn't unwillingly go unconscious or he would never recover from the horrors inflicted upon him. Heck, he might never wake up. The creaks in his bones, the dull ache throughout his overexerted muscles, the incessant headache- they all reminded him of his predicament.

"There we go now." Hero removed her knee and scooped Villain up, laying him on a hard hospital bed.

The doctor came around, eyeing the Villain's hands.

"Please restrain him," the doctor said and quickly walked away to grab who knows what.

Hero took the liberty to roughly shove Villain's hands into cuffs. The cuffs surrounded his hand like Elsa's cuffs in the movie Frozen. They blocked any and all chances of escape.

Escape. The once motivating words was now a nightmare.

Hero then worked to place a leather strap around his throat. Villain didn't even notice that the previous collar was removed. Now looking through the mess he made, Villain saw the collar strewn on the ground.

Another strap was placed around his torso. Hero tightened it one notch too tight, pushing his abs in. Villain groaned and glared, but it lacked intent.

Finally his ankles were attached to the bed, each dangling off the side uncomfortably.

"Okay. Good," the doctor chuckled before reappearing at Villain's side. "Let's start the exam."

-

"You intolerable little butthead," Nosey drawled, tossing Villain into the white room like a piece of trash. "First off completely failing tests like a kindergartener; second, being a prat and faking injuries which just led to you being punished; and third? Well, that hospital trampede was really necessary, wasn't it?"

"And what are you gonna do?" Villain retorted. "Wave your little middle finger at me and yell all your stupid insults? Honestly, brainiac, you sound like a dying cat."

Of course, Villain did not say any of this. He just thought it, an undying wish that threatened to bounce off his tongue.

"No answer?" Nosey asked, leaning against an ivory wall. Villain wondered if it was once pure white, but all the blood spillage stained it.

Now that wasn't a pleasant thought.

"Nope," Villain replied, completely compliant.

"You know I love the little stunt you played with healing dear Miss Hero," Nosey stalked over to the villain. "But my employer does not."

Villain vividly remembered the way Nosey's face paled when they laid eyes on Hero. And then he also definitely remembered the way Nosey snarled at him- wild and feral, ready to maim and kill.

"Wanna know how much killing her depended on my livelihood? Heck, I would've made thousands and then be promoted to her position. My employer, Superhero, is now furious at me. Hero, that goody two shoes and her 'redeemed the villains' morals are quite old-schooled. Don't you think? We need a more... let's say modern approach to dealing with you monsters." Nosey's black pointed boot pressed against Villain's cheek before it slashed down with such force that it should've knocked Villain out.

But, stupid enhanced healing powers delegated by the doctor always made the promise of black bliss an impossibility.

But the enhancement was temporary. Just enough to replenish Villain's utter exhaustion.

Nosey's fingers grasped onto Villain next finding a perfect pressure point on his throat. Villain squealed, his neck was still bruised and tender from the collar.

"Do you want to know what it feels like to suffocate? Villain? Hmm?" Nosey spoke quickly, not even giving Villain a chance to shake- or nod, if Villain wanted to go that route- before they started to press right against Villain's trachea.

"Lack of air. Painfully at first, but the moment you black out. The moment that death is almost upon you is precious," Nosey spoke through clenched teeth as excitement and adrenaline overtook him. Villain, on the other hand, was overtaken by fear as he wiggled around like a frying worm.

Almost as suddenly as the hand was placed, it was removed. Villain blinked away the black blotches and took gulping breaths.

"Pathetic," Nosey growled and grabbed the back of Villain's neck, picking him up, and ramming him against the wall. An volcano of stars erupted in Villain's vision as the room tilted.

Nosey smacked him against the wall like that a couple more times before grabbing onto his wrist and stepping down. A crack and a scream echoed throughout the soundproof room like dynamite.

"Think you are done. Do you think that you are done!" Nosey laughed wickedly as they discarded the villain on the ground.

Then the beating took place. Kicks and rabbit chops battered Villain's body until he couldn't even move to defend himself. Unconsciousness loomed at his vision, but each new flare of pain brought him back to the waking world.

His broken arm loosely hung, a bone popping out of the skin, as his body convulsed. But Nosey wasn't done. No, they went over to the wall and grabbed a wooden bat and began to hit Villain until his ribs began to break. One crack after the other, after the other-

Nosey flopped down on the ground next to Villain, carefully cradling their own head with their left hand as their right picked Villain's up.

"Do you see that window Villain?" Nosey asked. "It leads right out into the city. We are even on the first story. An easy escape if you weren't so weak." Nosey wrapped their arm around Villain's heaving shoulders in a brotherly fashion. "But that's okay. You can stay with me," Nosey chuckled and grabbed Villain's chin, prying his mouth open. The villain gurgled and spat in response, but allowed Nosey to keep him in that hold.

Nosey reached into their back pocket and revealed a syringe.

"Power suppressant. Don't worry, I know your weakness. Can't be drugged or you will die. Blah blah blah. Hero's mind reading powers are good for one thing at least. But this-" Nosey stroked the clear syringe and whistled. "-is a masterpiece."

Villain tried to remove his throbbing head, but Nosey's grib was too strong.

"Can't have you dying on me when we are having so much fun," Nosey wrapped Villain into a close hug as they plunged the needle into his neck.

"Enjoy your stay," Nosey chuckled before leaving the room.

Before leaving Villain, alone and in pain, to deal with himself.

[hargrove-mayfields]

Lover, Lover, Number 9

Second day of HWOL!! Today’s prompt was Love Potion!! Read here or on my ao3 @ej_writer

Word Count: 4,593

Rating: T

Warnings: Non-Consensual Touching (Pretty much blink and you miss it and very non-explicit. It happens while a person(s) is under the influence of a love potion.)

It’s all Max’s fault, honest.

For the week leading up to Valentine’s Day, Billy’s been trying to pick the best person to be his date. Not that Valentine’s was really that important to him, per se, but he’d made a bet.

His step sister, the little brat, had made a wager that if he didn’t have himself a date by the fourteenth of February, he’d be forced to drive her everywhere she wanted to go for a whole year.

There was no way he was about to fork over that much of his time to some snotty middle schoolers, but finding someone he’s willing to go out with, a condition of Max’s bet was that it couldn’t just be a hookup, ended up being a lot harder than he anticipated.

Before he knew it, there were only two days left before he either got a date, or subjected himself to the dweeb-orama gang.

He tried to ask Carol, since Tommy dumped her right before the big day and she seemed to be into him, or at least how his ass looked in his jeans, but she tells him she doesn’t want to deal with the drama. So he tries Tommy, but he wants commitment and feels like Billy’s just in it to best Max, which, yeah, he sort of is. Everyone else follows the same pattern, can’t keep up with his reputation, can’t trust him in a relationship, on and on and on.

It’s over breakfast one morning, as he groggily makes him and his sister both a bowl of cereal, that Max asks him, “Why don’t you just ask Steve?”

Billy acts unphased, doesn’t even bother to look at her. “Steve who?”

“C’mon stupid.” His sister rolls her eyes and drags a bowl over towards herself. “Everyone knows you like Steve Harrington.”

“Do not.” He shovels a mouthful of cereal in his mouth.

“Right. Lemme guess, you don’t eat like a pig either?”

“Very funny.” He fixes her with a glare. “I’m serious shitbird, just because I like him doesn’t mean I like him.”

She nods and agrees. “Sure.”

“And just because he's nice to me doesn’t mean I have to have the hots for him.”

“If you insist.” Her bottom lip juts out as she agrees with overemphasis.

“What is your problem?” He snaps.

“I’m just agreeing with you. You don’t like Steve Harrington.” There’s a mischievous smile darkening her sweet face as she tells him matter-of-factly, “But, if you’re really desperate, I know a way to get him to like you.”

And Billy already knows what she means, of course the little shit would suggest something like that. “Nuh-uh. No way, I am not using magic.”

“Why not? Clearly you need it.”

“Because I can do it on my own, brat. Just don’t want to.” He's too defensive for it to not be true and they both know it, so before he lets a thirteen year old do anymore damage to his ego, he adds, “Can't deal with your bull this early.”

Max looks at him all smug like, her eyebrows raised as she hides a knowing smile behind her cereal bowl, but she does let it go, if not just to watch her step brother stew in silent annoyance. She’d gotten under his skin so easy, and she thought it was funny.

Her step brother, on the other hand, does not, and narrows his eyes at her, practically snarling at the look on her face. “Shut up.”

“I wasn’t even saying anything!” She bites back.

Billy grumbles and dumps his bowl in the sink, and leaves to his room to avoid babysitting his sister.

He’s starting to realize that Max had set him up. The real reason she made the stupid bet wasn’t to torture him with driving her and her nerds around, but because she thought she could hook him up with Steve.

But that doesn’t matter, because he's not pining after Steve Harrington, no matter what his little sister says.

Sure, Steve had invited him over to his place a few times, but that was just a courtesy since they were friends from basketball. And it didn’t matter that he happened to be the prettiest boy Billy ever laid eyes on, with his soft hair the color of chestnut and his doe eyes just as dark, and his long nose and his pretty red lips and-

Okay, maybe he was a little into Harrington, but again, he wasn’t going out with his best friend just because his step sister dared him to.

He can’t just call the bet off, but he’s not willing to lose either. The clock was ticking, Valentine’s Day getting closer and closer, so he’d just have to settle on somebody soon.

Admittedly, it would make things a lot easier just to cheap out and use magic, after all, he’d been trying and failing to get a date for weeks, but that could be dangerous, and Billy’s been barred from using his powers for a few years now anyways.

His father was ashamed to have a freak for a son, so ever since Max and her mother came around, he wasn’t actually supposed to use any magic at all anymore, not even for the most insignificant of things. Hell, with how tight of a leash Neil kept on him, his step sister wasn’t even technically supposed to know he’d inherited the knack from his mother.

He doesn’t really listen to that rule, but there’s no way for Neil to keep tabs on that kind of thing, so he still puts a charm on his and his sisters bedroom doors every night to keep unwanted guests out, and he still uses spells for his convenience whenever he can get away with it.

In all honesty, he could do without that stuff. Incantations were boring, spells were too basic. His favorite, the one thing he misses having the liberty to do, that’s got to be potions.

Before his mother’d left him behind, ran off to live the uninhibited life of a free spirit every witch dreamed of having, she had been very proud that Billy had taken after her in his powers, and in his skill for potion making especially.

They would make them together a lot of the time, huddled up down in the basement when his dad wasn’t home so she could show him the ropes and teach him all the recipes she knew.

He’d caught on real quick, well enough that she didn’t need to hover after the first few attempts at one type. Sometimes he wishes he’d been less proficient for just a little longer, so she’d have had a reason to stay and keep helping him.

Among their most common to make though were potions of luck and protection, elixirs, anything positive really. His mother may have also, on occasion, made a more powerful potion, one to keep under the pillows, in a flask on her hip, to spike her husband's coffee with every morning, just so Neil couldn’t hurt her or her son, but Billy was sworn to secrecy on that one.

Under his bed he still had a trunk full to bursting with everything of his mothers’ he had been able to keep, including their already prepared potions. Rows and rows of intricate crystal bottles, some still full to the top while others had only a few drops left, depending on how useful they were, all neatly displayed along with the rest of the memories of his mother.

She absolutely never allowed him to make anything dangerous, the first thing she ever taught him was to always keep hate out of his magic, so she’d let him practice more complicated and powerful potions with something a little less destructive.

Something like love potions.

It becomes his sort of trademark, the earthy smell of rose hips and cinnamon clinging to his skin from hours bent over their big cauldron they kept stored away. Even now, without having brewed anything for almost a year since they’d moved houses, it still lingered, like an aura.

They made up for some of his best work, the hardest of the love potions coming easier to him than the easiest of the medicinal ones. The best he’d ever made was a platonic love potion that his mom let him use the teensiest drop of to stop a fight between his friends at school, and to this day he was still proud of that one.

His mom had always said it made sense that that would be where he excelled, loving with his whole heart was just in his nature, and his craft was the reflection of that. In the same sense, it comes as no surprise when he’d stopped being able to brew anything stronger than potpourri after she’d walked out on him and broke that big heart right in two.

He didn’t know if keeping every of the potions that he made was genuinely because of their potential usefulness, like he tried to convince himself, or if it was a way to hold onto a time when he was still good at what he did. A time when he was happy.

Were he going to use one of those potions he kept stashed away, as Max had not so subtly suggested, he knows exactly which one he would choose. Not number six, not number twenty-seven, he would need number nine.

Not that he would, because he refuses to use his magic for petty relationships. Yet another thing his mom had drilled into him from the start was to never use his gift to take advantage of other people.

But then another day passes, and Billy's got to at least consider it, if not only for the sake of him not having to provide chauffeuring services to his least favorite bratpack.

In all reality, it wouldn’t be so bad to date Steve, he was nice enough and cute enough, but he feels they were sort of of the same polarity. They could get along just fine now, but there was some force, some energy between the two that kept them apart.

For every step they take forward, say, Steve agreeing to keep his magical secret from the moment they met, they have to take one back.

That fact had been well established in his mind since the moment he noticed himself making heart eyes; he and Steve just weren’t going to work out. Not after months of oblivious pigtail pulling, not after pushing Steve out of his own social circle, and definitely not after their fist fight in November.

Billy thinks he takes rejection from Tommy and Carol and everyone else in stride, but Steve wasn’t like them. The relationship they already had teetered on the line between rivals and friends, always one argument away from going back to that place, and Billy’s unwilling to lose that constant.

Of course, he wouldn’t have to worry about rejection and ruining friendships if he used magic.

But that was wrong. Number 9 was the strongest of the strong. It was said that it was powerful enough to make oil and water mix, but even then its effects only lasted for exactly twenty minutes. The jig’d be up quick, and his pretty boy would be right back to hating him.

There was always the slightest chance too that it were brewed just right, and Steve would love him forever, the bond that would form between them the moment he drank from Billy’s magic maybe enough to last, despite their differences. It wasn’t guaranteed to turn out bad, so maybe, just maybe, he’d give it a shot.

Godammit, had Max gotten in his head.

~~~~~

Billy knows he’s an idiot, a complete and total dumbass for showing up to the party with a crystal vial in his pocket, but he can’t help it.

There’s no guarantee he’s even going to use it, it’s just in his pocket as a sort of security blanket. He doesn’t even catch a glimpse of Steve anywhere among the crowd, so he sees no harm in it.

Well, at least not until someone, he’d have to guess it was Tommy, slips a hand into the pocket of Billy’s jacket, apparently able to sense a bottle from a mile away, and steals it. Like it’s just his own secret stash of alcohol instead of the most powerful piece of magic he’d sure as hell ever owned, let alone to have ever been used in Hawkins, a traditionalist town known for its distinct lack of witchcraft.

Only he doesn’t notice that it’s been swiped, not until he catches a glimpse of the gentle pink glow that only he could see in someone else’s hand from across the room, hovering just inches above the punch bowl.

He’d like to think he’s pretty powerful in his craft, he'd been raised by a witch who’d in her time been strong enough to get kicked out of her coven for threatening the High Priest, but in that moment he just sort of freezes.

There’s an infinite number of spells he could’ve used; he knows how to stop time, how to recall objects, and about a thousand and one other handy little ways to stop the vial from being overturned into that bowl.

And yet, his brain freezes up, and before he can do anything about it, there’s a thick fog rolling off of the bowl, and the air smells sweet and sticky like ladies perfume, and the liquid is shining all bright pink.

Billy is officially screwed.

It’s one thing for a single person to drink a love potion, but mixing it with any other liquid? That shit turned into a weapon.

He knows he’s not gonna make it in time, but he’s at least gotta try to stop it, get people as far away from it as possible. He muscles his way across the room, pushing past the crowd of teenagers to try to get to it first. “Nobody fucking touch the punch.”

But his voice calling over the crowd draws their attention to him, and there’s at least fifty hollow gazes fixed right on him. Judging by the looks on their faces, the pinpoint pupils and the awe stricken smiles, he’s too late.

There’s one breathless moment where Billy realizes what's about to happen and tries to back away before all hell breaks loose, but all at once they all surge forward trying to get their hands on him.

Momma didn’t stick around long enough to teach him how to discharge a potion, and he wasn’t going to make it the whole twenty minutes in this herd. The front door is his only escape.

It’s so dark in the room, other than the light from the potion’s ambience, that he can’t make out who’s who, whose lips those are on his neck, whose hands are on his hips and tangled up in his hair, so he just trudges forward as best he can, trying to shake each person off, only to get another wrapped around him.

But, in the magic induced state, they’re strong, and they don’t want to let him go. Fingernails dig into his skin, arms wrap tight around his waist, any way they can hold onto him to try keep him from moving any closer to that door, they do.

It’s like walking in gelatin, so many people trying to stop him, and it takes him way longer than it should, but he makes it to the door.

Before he can open it, someone’s pushing his back up against it and reaching a hand up under his shirt. Another someone presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

He feels blindly for the door knob and gets it in his hand after a few attempts, the ordeal being all the harder when there were so many people who wanted those hands on them, and twists it.

The rush of cold air from outside and the lights from the streetlight on the sidewalk helps a little to dilute the strength of the potion, weakening just enough the grip of those under his influence that he can wriggle out and slam the door shut behind him.

He keeps his back pressed against it, his arms holding on to either side of the door frame as tight as he could so nobody else can get out. Checking his watch, there were still about seven more minutes until the potion would wear off.

He could see the faintest glow of pink light shining from under the door and behind the curtains on the front window, and he thought about what they were doing without him. Probably talking about how he was the coolest, the ones who’d gotten their hands on him bragging.

No one but him would remember what happened anyways.

To make his escape, wait out the rest of the potion's effects, and hightail it before anybody remembered he was even here, well, that would have just been too easy. Because this is Billy Hargrove, so of course, at that very moment, who would approach the house but Steve fucking Harrington.

“Hargrove?” He looks confusedly up at Billy, and climbs a few of the porch steps to ask him, “What’re you doin’ out here man?”

“Party’s a bummer. Thinking ‘bout ditching.” The nonchalance he’s able to portray in his voice is in direct contrast with the way his hair is frizzed out and his clothes are all messy from what happened inside.

Steve doesn’t seem to pay it any mind though, because he offers him a smile, and responds to Billy like this situation didn’t look weird at all, with him sprawled out over the door and in such bad shape. “Mind if I join you? Wasn’t really looking forward to all the people tonight anyways.”

“Uh, if you give me,” Billy turns his wrist, still not letting go of the door, and reads the time on his watch again, “three and a half minutes, then we can blow.”

Steve leans a little to try to see in the window. “Is somethin’ going on?”

“Nothin’, nothin’ just uh, told Tom I’d stay ‘til quarter after.” It’s a bullshit excuse, Steve already knows he and Tommy aren’t even that close, but Billy just focuses on counting down the seconds and doesn’t think too much about it. “And…. we’re good.”

“You are so weird, dude.” Steve remarks while he waits for Billy on the steps. He looks back over his shoulder when they’re walking away but visibly shrugs it off. “Did you drive?”

“You know I don’t park my baby on the street.” His prized Camaro had yet to make an appearance at one of these parties, for a platitude of reasons, but the main one being that he might have to break his mother’s golden rule and put a curse on someone if his beauty got so much as a scratch.

“Figures.” Steve remarked. He didn’t think the Camaro was all that, thought it was too loud and too fast.

His BMW isn’t too far off, showing up late meant he had to take a street spot instead of cramming into the driveway, but that only made it easier to get out.

While he starts it up, he asks Billy, “Where are we going? I picked last time.”

“Far away from here as possible.” He mutters in response.

Before he pulls away from the curb, Steve asks, “Did something happen, Bills? You’re acting all, weird.” There was genuine concern laced into his voice, none of that playfulness that they usually had.

But for Billy, anything would be better than having to own up to what had happened. He’d have to admit to the whole, desperate for love, he used a potion he made when he was seven to try to make Steve Harrington fall for him, and that was not ideal, to put it simply.

Only, he felt obligated to explain, because he knew what Steve was thinking had happened. He knew too much about the sorts of things Billy told not a single other soul.

His magic was one thing. Where nobody was really supposed to know Hawkins got a new spell caster for the first time in ages, Steve had some grandma or someone who was a witch and had recognized that shit in a heartbeat.

Observational skills like that, it was no surprise he’d figured out the truth about his father too. About where the bruises and the scars came from.

So he knows that’s what Steve’s thinking right now, that Billy’s acting off because of something his dad did, and it would feel wrong not to tell him the truth, to be pitied when nothing even happened this time. Still, he’s not exactly thrilled about having to confess about the potion.

“Someone brought a fucking Number 9 to the party.” Billy flips the sun visor down to see himself in the little mirror there. There’s kiss marks all over him that he tries to rub off with his sleeve, but the leather doesn’t do much but make the skin flush.

“Shit, not a number nine.” Steve says it like he’s confident in it, but his gaze keeps flickering over to Billy to gauge his reaction. It’s clear that he has no idea what he’s talking about. “What's- what’s number nine?”

Billy snorts and explains, “Only the strongest love potion out there. Went straight into the punch.”

He doesn’t have much of a grip on the magical world, but he knew enough to guess that was a problem. “What kind of a dipstick would bring that?”

Billy stopped wiping at his face and looked over at Steve with that ‘come on, stupid’ look on his face. “Oh, I don’t know, maybe the only dipstick who walked away from the place covered in fucking lipstick.”

“Really?” There’s a teasing tone in his voice, like a parent who found out there kid had a crush, and it makes Billy want to sock him. “And who does Billy Hargrove need a love potion for?”

“For you.” It takes all the courage he has, but he admits it. His eyes flicker nervously between Steve and everywhere else, waiting for his response.

And what he gets is, “Pfft. You know I don’t need magic to get the ladies.” Let it be known that no one ever accused Steve of being the brightest.

As if he hadn’t noticed that Steve was a skeezer. As if his heart hadn’t already been broken a thousand times over because of it. “Yeah, no shit.”

He furrows his eyebrows in confusion, but maybe a little bit in denial too. “Then why’d you bring me a love potion?”

“Steve.” It sounds like a plea, an exhausted attempt to get him to understand, but Steve isn’t in on it.

“What?” Billy just sort of raises his eyebrows in response, and something about it makes it click in Steve’s head.

His mouth forms an ‘o’ shape, and when he speaks again, his voice is all breathless, “You were going to use it on me?”

“Doesn’t take a genius.” And that’s the end of it.

They don’t talk about it. Steve drives them out to the quarry in silence, occasionally looking over at Billy like he wants to say something, but doesn’t.

As soon as they get there, before Steve’s even got the chance to put the bimmer in park, Billy’s out of the car and sitting on the edge of the rocky lookout.

He needs a smoke, needs the burning in his lungs to distract him from the weight of what he had just admitted to Steve. His hands are shaking as he fumbles with a match, trying and failing to light the cigarette on three different matches before he decides to give up.

Steve taps his shoulder and hands Billy his zippo before sitting down next to him. “You didn’t have to.”

Billy lights it up and takes a long drag, giving Steve back his light with a cigarette as thanks, filling his lungs with as much smoke as he can before he can respond. “Have to what?”

“Try to use magic on me.” Steve’s staring down at his hands, calculating every last word he says. “You could’ve just asked.”

“Yeah, I know Harrington. It was creepy. Just drop it.” There’s a sharpness in that tone that hasn’t been there for months, and it makes the both of them wince.

Steve explains himself, hurt by the coldness, “No, I think it’s sweet! I mean, that you would do that for me.”

“Get over yourself. Was just messin’ around, wanted to see if I could do it.” That’s what gives him away. Billy was too sure of his own prowess for that to be all of it, and so Steve decides to press him for the truth.

“Don’t you want to know what I would’ve said though, if you asked me?��

“Honestly? No.” He really, really does.

Steve pretends like he doesn’t hear that and tells him anyways. “I like you Billy.”

It hitches his breath to hear that, but Billy’s got to be rational. “Yeah? You like me or the cinnamon?”

Steve’s face scrunches up in confusion. “What?”

“It’s an ingredient in the potion, Steve. Do you mean it or did you get a whiff of that shit somehow?” He still doesn’t look at him, just stares down at the churning water, and it registers with Steve that he doesn’t want to see absent admiration, pinpoint pupils, any sign that this isn’t real.

So he assures him, his voice as soft as it can be, “I mean it. I really really like you, and if you’re not gonna believe me, then- then I guess I’ll just have to prove it.“

Who would’ve expected Steve to make the first move? Stumbling, bumbling Steve Harrington, the one to lean in first. But he is, it’s him who uses those long fingers to turn Billy’s face towards his and presses their lips together.

If, you know, there wasn’t a more pressing matter at hand, like the fact that the boy he’d just tried to use love magic on was kissing him without the assistance of said magic, Billy might’ve been a little disappointed in himself to not be the one to initiate it.

But they’d have time for that argument later, about who did what when, right now his mind was more focused on not just sitting there, on moving his lips against the other boys and

It feels like forever before Steve pulls away to put a hand on the back of Billy’s head so he can bring their foreheads together.

Steve’s breathless as he says, “Wanted to do that since the first time I saw you in the parking lot.”

“Good. Didn’t want to have to brew any more.” Billy says without a hint of seriousness.

Steve nudges him with his elbow. “I’m trying to be romantic, you ass.”

“No seriously, hibiscus is super hard to come by around here, couldn’t afford to waste any on you.”

Crossing his arms, Steve fixes Billy with a stern look that makes him laugh.

“M’only teasin’ ya pretty boy.” He crumples his cigarette into the asphalt and puts his hand on Steve’s knee. “Kiss me like that again, would ya?”

And he does. Every time Billy asks, Steve’ll kiss him just like that first time, soft and gentle and sweet in a way he’s never had, no magic required.

Needless to say, Billy definitely won that bet.

[mishapeesha]

hello friends! i have decided to start writing a fanfiction (although I am......not that experienced with writing, but I will trY)

anyways! the pairing is obviously deancas, and since I’ve just written the first chapter, the tags will be limited until I further develop the story. The rating will change if needed, trigger warnings will be added if necessary, and so on!

the summary: 

A package is mailed to Castiel Novak, a 27 year old with unknowingly very limited knowledge on a certain aspect of his life. It’s filled with what seems like hundreds of letters all to him, a single person. Memories and confessions of love are penned within those letters. As time goes on, he feels drawn to the person on the other end and sets out to find them – and the letter’s inevitable true destination that ties the final loose end in Castiel's life.

ao3 link!: 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28625316/chapters/70161738

i would really appreciate any feedback, or just boosting this would be pretty cool too! 

for anyone that doesn’t wanna read on ao3, chapter 1 starts below!

September 18th, 1992

           Castiel’s chest bounced as he jogged down the stairs aligned in a wide spiral, his eyebrow quirked up in confusion as his doorbell buzzed repeatedly with barely a second in between every ring. He winced at the harsh sound of it, noticing how military-like it was in the way that the alarm went off. It was always a task of his to get it changed, but he never got the chance to. Either because he didn’t feel like it, or because his memory disallowed him to remember something as unimportant as a doorbell.  

           “Coming!” He called out to whoever bothered to show up at his house so early in the morning. Castiel paused beside the bookcase placed beside his door, glancing at the mirror in order to adjust the loose strands of hair that spiked in different directions with the frantic brush of his fingers. He let out a sigh as his gaze shifted towards the reflection of the wall clock behind him, seeing that it was barely 7:05 am. Just as he turned to face the door, that annoying noise rang in his ears once more. Maybe one day he’d go through with that mental task of changing the buzz to something more audibly pleasant.

           His fingers wrapped around the metal doorknob, and a click emerged as he swung the door open, being immediately met with a man who he had never seen in his life. His eyes quickly scanned over the man, noticing that he was in uniform, so he classified him as harmless. What damage could a mailman do? Hand him a letter and give him a papercut? Though there was a look on the mailman’s face that Castiel couldn’t quite place. He was torn between thinking it was some sort of discomfort towards Cas personally, or just general exhaustion because it could just be that he was tired. There wasn’t really anything enjoyable about driving to several homes, handing gifts to so many people while barely surviving off of minimum wage and receiving nothing in return.

           “Castiel Novak?” The man asked, shifting in his spot momentarily as he held a medium sized box underneath one arm, and a clipboard in the other hand. Castiel took note that his name was Thomas after noticing the nametag attached to the pocket on the fabric of his blouse.

           “Yes, that’s me.” Castiel replied, opening the door slightly more after feeling more comfortable to do so. He furrowed his eyebrows as he looked past Thomas, wondering if anyone was following him, or if they were being watched. They seemed to be alone, so Cas stopped tapping his fingers against the wooden door, although he hadn’t realized that he began to do that in the first place. “Is there anything that you need of me?”

           “Well,” Thomas began with a nod. He cleared his throat and placed the clipboard in between his legs to use both of his hands, and then offered Cas the box he held. “We’ve had this in the office for a while now, but it was specified to be delivered on this day to this address, and to you.” He explained, biting his lower lip in what Cas took as some sort of minimal panic, or uneasiness. “The sender wishes to remain anonymous, however.” He added, as if it were nothing unusual.

           “Anonymous?” Castiel questioned and drew a frown onto his face. He shook his head and reverted back to closing the door, but he kept a smaller gap so that the two of them could still communicate. “I will not be accepting a box from someone who doesn’t wish that their identity is revealed. It could be anything, and I am not willing to risk my safety.” He deadpanned before he glanced down at the box, not trusting whatever was in it. Why would anyone refuse to mention their name unless they were someone dangerous and not to be messed with?

           Thomas stared at Cas for a few moments as he was now met with the confusion of what to do with the box now that the apparent receiver was blatantly rejecting it. He swallowed hard as an uncomfortable smile curled the corners of his mouth.

“Mr. Novak, I can assure you nothing that will hurt you is in this box. Not only is it very light, but it would also be a shame if this was thrown out. As I mentioned, this has been collecting dust in our office. It has been for the last four years.”

           Castiel froze at Thomas’ words, struck with surprise. He had absolutely no idea who sent the box, what was in the box, or why it was sent in the first place. Cas was Cas. The person he spoke to the most was his brother, and even then, he barely saw Gabriel to begin with. They spoke less and less as the years passed, and so Castiel was alone for the majority of the time. So, he couldn’t quite process how he had a package delivered to him, when he knew his brother barely had the energy to stop by his house for a quick hello. He was a generally distant individual. An outsider to himself, his family, and others.

This did not add up.

           “Four years you say?” He asked, tilting his head to the side as he looked between Thomas and the box, earning a nod in reply. He sighed in defeat and once again, opened the door. “You really can’t tell me who sent it? Surely you must know.” Cas said, raising his eyebrow as he finally decided to take the box from Thomas’ hold. “It isn’t heavy.” He pointed out in confirmation to what Thomas previously stated, now more so curious to know what he was sent rather than worried.

           “I’m not at liberty to say. I’m sorry.” Thomas responded and rubbed the back of his neck before he remembered to pull the clipboard from between his legs. “Could you sign this, please?”

           Castiel took the pen and scribbled a random signature on the piece of paper, nodding at Thomas who offered a small smile at Cas. “Thank you.” He murmured quietly, clutching the box to his chest.

“Of course. Have a good day.”

           “And you as well.”

           A creak erupted from the door as Castiel let it close on itself, and eventually the atmosphere fell back into silence. But suddenly, he became almost hyper-aware of his surroundings. He couldn’t tell whether it was his actual heartbeat that he could hear, or if he was overhearing some rhythmic beat from his neighbor’s home nearby. And he definitely grew irritated at the loud ticking sound of the clock on the wall that seemed to follow him as he dragged himself through the hallway to the living room.

           The walls seemed to follow his every movement, making Cas feel judged and uneasy. And just for a moment, a sense of guilt rose in him. There was no source for it, yet there was some inexplainable physical tug to what Cas held in his hands, allowing negative emotions to faintly flood into him. He was convinced that his thoughts echoed off those same walls, as any word spoken in his mind just sounded too intense and loud in his ears.

           Cas sat down on the couch, sinking into the mattress as he leaned forward to place the box on the coffee table in front of him. His bottom lip became a victim of his anxious habits where his teeth would peel at the loose, dry skin, drawing blood that lightly pooled into his mouth and presented a metallic taste.

           “What could you be?” He spoke out loud to himself, picking at the loose thread poking out of the couch. He exhaled and used his nails to tear off the tape sealing the box shut. It looked like an average box, which made any assumptions as to what could be inside completely impossible to Cas. It’s not like he expected a bomb to be inside, but he also didn’t expect a proper gift. So, then what? What made a box so big, yet so light at the same time? What was so important that it absolutely had to be sent to Cas four years later?

           Once he managed to tear the seals off, he took in a deep breath. He didn’t know what he would be getting himself into, and yet he knew there was absolutely no way he’d be able to keep himself from looking inside. So, before he knew it or could hesitate, the box was opened, revealing the last thing Cas would have expected.

Letters.

Lots of them.

           “What the hell..?” He breathed out, flipping the box over so that the letters scattered out across the table. His eyes widened in both confusion and shock, and he immediately reached to pick one up. He examined the envelope: Clean, neat, and numbered with a bold 30 on it that was also in the colour of purple. There was no stamp. There was no name. Just a singular number, and nothing more than that.

Or it would be nothing more if he decided to keep the envelopes tightly secured.

Curiosity killed the cat, didn’t it? Though at the same time, he really did have nothing to lose. A dance with death was the least of his current concerns.

By the look of things, it appeared as though there was a certain number of letters in the box, labeled from one to an unknown limit. For all that could be known, there could be fifty letters, a hundred, or a thousand. He doubted he’d read all of them, because what could possibly be so interesting that the writer thought it was imperative that Cas knew?

The bigger question was, who wrote them?

Castiel shuffled through the envelopes until he found the first numbered 1 in red. His mouth went dry, and his brain raced with questions that he had no answer to at all. He hated being blind to the truth, to be instead engulfed in a mystery, like his life was some sort of game. He wanted to know what was going on, and he wanted to know now. But given all that Cas was presented with, he knew it would be a long time before he knew what was actually going on. It could be days, weeks, months. All depending on how much Cas read, and how fast.

He fiddled with the letter in his hand, debating whether or not to open it. He had to. He could just read this one and throw the others out. And maybe he’d get the answers he needed in the first envelope, making it possible to ignore the others.

The paper ripped beneath his fingers, and soon enough, he held a paper in his hands. The first out of many.

Quickly, his eyes scanned over the words written, immediately blocking them out because he refused to jump too far in what was visibly so carefully put together. He wanted to take his time and appreciate the effort put into all of this. But he did take notice of the handwriting. It was a combination of neat and messy. Definitely readable, and a little too familiar. It was nice, simply put. But Cas could sense the desperation in the way the words were written. They were rushed, and well thought out of as well. Like whoever wrote knew what to say, just not how to say it.

Dear Castiel,

Knowing you, you’re probably freaked the hell out right now. And... Well, you should be.

Cas frowned and scoffed, rolling his eyes at the paper. Already, the letter was referring to him, and he had no idea about who was writing. Clearly, off to a great start.

Or not. Actually, don’t freak out. You don’t need that. Anyways…grab yourself that weird coffee that I know you like and get comfy.

What I’ve done here for you is write a hundred letters. Or I’m planning to, at least. Hopefully I commit to this. I guess if you’re reading this, I’ll have succeeded, so yay me, I guess. But I want you to really read them. To understand it all because there is so much that you don’t know. About me, about you, and more importantly, about us. I know you might be scared-

Castiel looked away and shook his head, setting the letter down on the table causing it to fold in on itself with how long it had been creased for. He rubbed his forehead and sighed, mumbling something incoherent underneath his breath. Not even halfway through the first letter, and Cas was already overwhelmed. Everything in him begged him to stop reading, but he couldn’t stop himself from reaching back towards the piece of paper and picking it up once more. He was certain that would be a decision he would regret in the future.

-and that’s okay. Fear’s good. Sometimes, at least.

Please, hear me out, alright? I need you to keep an open mind. You gotta, man. Or else this won’t work. I don’t mean to put on a show and get all dramatic, but I need you to level with me. To feel with me, and to get angry and hurt whenever you feel like it. I need you to bust open your damn walnut, and pull me out of that chest that you’ve got stuffed in there somewhere.  

Cas, you may not know me now, but I know you.

I’m writing this on September 18th, 1988. We met five years go..I don't really know when you'll get this. Could be ten years from now. Guess we'll see.

I need you to remember.

Work that big ol’ brain of yours and try to not be the dumbass that you tend to be. It's my fault you're in your current situation, but you need to try. If not for me, then for you.

We haven't spoken in so long, Cas. And saying I miss you won't change a damn thing because you don't even know who I am, but I do miss you. And you can take that however you want for now, but you'll understand it all eventually. If you decide to actually go through with this and read all that I've written for you.

“Situation?” Castiel asked out loud, as if he’d get a response. Of course, he was met with silence. But he still had no idea what was happening. He didn’t know what any of this meant, but he did know this had the potential to ruin his entire life. In fact, it felt like everything started slowly tumbling down already.

And yes, he had nothing. But was it worth the loss?

I’ll tell you everything. No plot-holes, not shit-holes, or whatever. All I ask is that you read. It’s that simple.

That’s all for now. Sorry for the short first letter. I’ll see you soon.

-Dean W.

“Dean?” He whispered, and at that, his chest knotted tightly as he took in a shaky breath. He widened his eyes and wheezed, an uneasy feeling creeping its way up his chest. So, the writer had a name. One that Cas mentally did not recognize, but he physically did apparently.

What the hell did the "W" stand for? He didn't know. Or rather he couldn't remember, according to what the letters were saying.

He set the letter down and stared at the others, scratching at his arm as he eyed the unorganized mess that had now grounded him in his place. Out of all of the things he could have received that day, he just had to get what was probably the most confusing thing he had ever been confronted with.

The possibility of fault grew, and all Cas could do for now was allow himself to become engulfed in the non-existent voice of a series of letters that he was yet to understand, and so rightfully dreaded.

[team-science-mega-nerds]

agentcorp going to bed for the night but alex can’t sleep

This is canon divergent because I have no idea what the hell happened in season 4, but I do know that Alex got her memories of Kara being Supergirl erased - so that’s where this idea came from:

The thing is: Alex doesn’t want to be here. If she had the choice, she’d be doing all of this alone, but she couldn’t. It wasn’t technically possible or rational - as if those words still had meaning - and even though she was stubborn, Alex knew that she had to call in backup. It would be simple to ask J’onn or even Vasquez to help out but they would be worried and Alex would be stuck on desk duty until all of this was figured out and Alex didn’t have the patience for that. Alex knew there was something wrong. She knew that these strange dreams she’d been having about space and fire weren’t normal, so she was going to figure it out even if she had to call-

“Alex?”

“Hey, thanks for coming.” Alex stands up and approaches Lena tentatively. The phone conversation had been awkward at best. Alex had been flustered, Lena patient and understanding. And now, here they are, standing in front of a sleep monitoring station. “Wow, you…” Alex looks at Lena’s outfit. She’s wearing this soft pink hoodie and leggings and Alex has absolutely never seen Lena in anything less than two-inch heels. Alex is certain that she’s never seen Lena in anything ‘casual’ not even on game night. She looks cute, warm…Alex tries her best not to stare.

“What?” Lena is still all business under all that fluff, so Alex clears her throat and motions to the observation room where Lena will be set up. “Nice digs.”

“Usually, I’d agree. Tonight all this feels weird.” Alex opens the door for Lena and they walk into the room dominated by a one-way mirror and three flat-screen monitors. Alex had taken the liberty of putting a pillow and blanket in here, though she is almost certain that Lena won’t use them. “I know this is crazy. But I can’t observe myself objectively while I sleep and I…” Alex taps her temple. “Something is going on up here.”

“Why do you sound like you’re always on the verge of apologizing with me? I said I was happy to do it,” Lena assures Alex. “I do care about you. You’d be surprised how much.” Lena goes to study the monitors like she didn’t just say that. Alex is willing to play along if it keeps Lena comfortable. “So, on the phone, you said…dreams?”

“Yeah.”

“Like…?”

“Hellfire. Rapture shit. Blood.” Alex shakes her head. “It felt weirdly familiar though. I just need to monitor my sleep, I need to know-.”

“If it’s a memory or a dream. Yes, well, I can help you with that.” Lena is confident behind the monitors. Checking everything, scribbling in a small notepad, she has a confidence that’s unwavering. Attractive. Alex likes that Lena knows what she’s doing. All of that seems to fade when Alex actually starts to prepare for the heart and brain monitoring. There’s are plain hospital wear - a dark blue top and pants - that Alex needs to change into before she gets hooked up to the monitors in the medbay. Usually, Alex doesn’t have any reason to be nervous about her body at work. But Lena is here and Alex doesn’t know if she should hide away in the corner or just go for it. Lena must sense her uneasiness because she blushes and turns her head away. “Go on, my eyes are closed.”

Alex changes rapidly, eager to get past the awkwardness. They return to the medbay where Alex climbs into the bed and Lena starts the tedious process of hooking her up to three machines. “I’d kill for access to this kind of equipment.”

“Well, I was thinking of a way I could pay you back for this. If you’d like access…” Lena laughs, Alex tries not to scratch the pesky nodes that are attached to her brain monitoring software. “What?”

“I assumed you’d ask me to dinner or something.”

“I can do that too.” Lena fumbles with the heart monitor. She looks like she’s trying to find the most modest way of reaching under Alex’s shirt. Alex enjoys watching her squirm. There’s something about the contrast between business as usual  Lena and this blushing woman - who just managed to get a dinner date out of this whole ordeal - that is unusually alluring and Alex isn’t thrilled by the idea of Lena being on the other side of that glass.

“Having fun.”

“Yep. Absolutely.” Alex smiles. “You’ve got a cute blush. You should get embarrassed more.”

Lena scoffs. “You sound like some ass telling me I should smile more.” Lena manages to work through the monitors and get Alex up in a quick rush of annoyance.

“Well, what should I have said?”

“I don’t know. Nothing.” Lena seems to be caught between frowning and smiling. “Ass.”

“I’ve been called worse.”

“Okay. Let me check to make sure these are working.” Lena clicks around on her phone for a second. Alex isn’t sure how that will help but she waits on the bed drumming her fingers against the soft cushion. “Oh, this should work.” Lena turns her camera so that the screen is facing Alex. Or, more notably, a picture of Lena wearing a bathing suit on some beach is facing Alex. It should be embarrassing, the way the heart monitor beeping suddenly spikes. Alex should be mortified but Lena’s smug look is nothing but fuel for Alex to say just about anything she wants now.

“You went for it, huh?”

“Gotta say you’re offering me some great validation.” Lena returns her phone to her hoodie pocket. “This’ll be fun.”

“This is a serious lab study,” Alex says but she doesn’t sound even the least bit convincing. And the way her heart starts racing again while Lena walks back toward the observation room is a sure sign that this is going to be a long night. Alex does try to get comfortable. She turns off the lights, climbs under the blankets and hopes that sleep will overtake her before Alex starts overthinking things.

“Where did you grow up?” Lena asks through the speaker in the corner of the ceiling. Alex rolls over and looks up at nothing.

“What? Midvale. You know that.”

“Yeah, duh. I just need some control questions.”

“Control questions for…?”

“Technically a lie detector test. But I’ll monitor your brain too, just to make sure you’re not a psychopath.” Alex wants to laugh, she really does, but she’s more concerned about the kind of questions Lena will ask her. “How old are you?”

“Thirty,” Alex grumbles.

“Favorite color?”

“How is that a control question?” Alex questions.

“It’s not. I just want to know.”

“Green.” Alex lies back down. Lena is the kind of person that doesn’t give up, Alex is the same way, so Alex resigns herself to being interrogated. “Yours?”

“Red.” Alex really wishes she could see Lena. She’s shy in ways that other people can’t say. Alex knows that game and she wishes that there was some way she could tell Lena that she sees her. Really sees her. “Were you in love with Maggie?”

“Jesus Christ.” Alex sighs. “Yes.” There’s a long pause, Alex is unnerved. Worried that Lena will somehow find a flaw in her brain. Something that tells her that her emotions were all scrambled. That things weren’t the way she remembered them.

“You’re angry about that?”

“Maybe. She broke my heart. It’s hard not to be angry.” Alex hadn’t talked about this with anyone except Kara. It feels strange to be discussing it with Lena. “You ever been in love?”

“Still trying to figure that out.”

“Well…don’t.” Alex shakes her head. “Sorry, that was cynical. You should love whoever you want.”

“I will.” Alex senses the heaviness in the air. “Do you remember when the DEO had to canvas LCorp and we were stuck there all night?”

“Yeah. That was like…two years ago? I had to take like six Advils because Vasquez and I kept falling asleep on your couch.”

“You bought me dinner that night.”

“I did.”

“You did.” Alex can hear the smile in Lena’s voice. “And I thought ‘this is the nicest thing anyone has done for me’. It was such a small but genuine gesture. You do things like that all the time, you know?” Alex never really thinks about it. Being kind didn’t come naturally to her. She had to learn from Kara but eventually, it became easy. “So, when you called about this. Those nightmares and how you couldn’t sleep, I thought, well shit. I’ll be there. I’d basically do anything for you.”

“Lena…I had no idea.”

“You wouldn’t. I’m not very straight forward when it comes to…and then there was Maggie, so I needed to  get a grip.” Alex wonders if this slight confession is easier or more difficult with an entire wall standing between them. “I want you to be happy.”

“I want the same for you, Lena. I always have.”

“Okay, then what are we waiting for?”

[vespertine-legacy]

Too Much Info: Character Interview

(Tagged by @pauletta-00 to give my Imperial Agent, Raz, a shot, even though there would probably never be a situation in which she would feel safe giving out this much personal information in an interview, so I had to take some liberties. We’ll set it post-SoR but pre-KotFE, even though I haven’t actually finished SoR with Raz because Rishi is gonna make me sad.)

(photo is pre-haircut screengrab from Hutta, but I imagine that post-class story shitshow, she might have let it grow back out for a while)

This interview takes place in a private room of the SiltShift Cantina on Tatooine. Raz is sitting comfortably on one of two couches facing each other when the interviewer arrives, having thoroughly checked the room for listening devices, and having stationed Vector at the door. She does not stand when the interviewer enters, but greets them warmly enough. There are two drinks on a low table between the couches, and she offers one to the interviewer, who eagerly accepts it, missing Raz’s raised eyebrow.

► Name ➔ “Vero’razimiri’vosis, but hardly anyone calls me that. Most just call me Raz. There are still a lot of people who call me Cipher Nine, but I haven’t been her for a while now.”

► Are you single ➔ “That’s...complicated. I think I’m technically still married to a lovely Voss named Phi-Ton, until we get that annulled by a Mystic. It was only a marriage of necessity though.”

► Are you happy ➔ “Not usually, no.”

► Are you angry ➔ “I am. I’m not always sure at what though.”

► Are your parents still married ➔ “They never were. Bit of a scandal, really. Still together though. It’s honestly impressive everything they’ve stayed together through.”

NINE FACTS

► Birth Place ➔ “Hoth, actually. I usually tell people Csilla though, there aren’t really supposed to be ‘native’ Chiss on Hoth, are there?”

► Hair Color ➔ “Light blue. A little too light for some - I got teased a bit growing up.”

► Eye Color ➔ “Red.”

► Birthday ➔ “The 19th day of the third galactic standard month.”

► Mood ➔ “A little anxious, honestly.”

► Gender ➔ “Female.”

► Summer or winter ➔ “Winter. No winter compares to a Hoth winter though.”

► Morning or afternoon ➔ “Morning.”

EIGHT THINGS ABOUT YOUR LOVE LIFE

► Are you in love ➔ “I am. I have been for some time now. Doesn’t matter much anymore though, I suppose, when I can’t be with her.”

► Do you believe in love at first sight ➔ “No. I think love takes time to build - there needs to be trust, which is a little hard for me, and you need to know and understand one another. You can connect at first sight though.”

► Who ended your last relationship ➔ “The former Minister of Intelligence, technically, and I’d sometimes like to kill him for what he did to us, but I need him to help me keep her safe now. It was stupid of me not to expect him to lie to me though.” She pauses, looking distant. “I guess I have to take some responsibility, too. I could have tried harder to convince her to come with me on the Tenebrous.”

► Have you ever broken someone’s heart ➔ “Yes. I know I broke Vector’s heart, but I helped them put it back together.” She looks fondly at the dark shape guarding the doorway.

► Are you afraid of commitments ➔ “I’m afraid of making the wrong commitment.”

► Have you hugged someone within the last week? ➔ “Yes. I hug Vector every day.”

► Have you ever had a secret admirer ➔ “My dear one admitted to having admired me from afar for some time, but she has never been so good at keeping secrets as she thinks.” She gives a small, wistful smile.

► Have you ever broken your own heart? ➔ “Oh yes. I’ve broken my own heart several times. Usually when I hurt someone who didn’t deserve it. A lot of those times, there was someone else’s machinations behind it, but it’s been strangely freeing to accept my responsibility in all that.”

SIX CHOICES

► Love or lust ➔ “Love. It’s terribly painful, but I still prefer it somehow.”

► Lemonade or iced tea ➔ “Whichever, as long as it is spiked.”

► Cats or Dogs ➔ “I do rather like Akk dogs.”

► A few best friends or many regular friends ➔ “Just a few friends are fine. Good ones are rather hard to find.”

► Wild night out or romantic night in ➔ “A standard night in - nothing exciting, just a guarantee that I get a night in.”

► Day or night ➔ “Night.”

FIVE HAVE YOU EVERS

► Been caught sneaking out ➔ “No. Any Chiss who is caught sneaking is an embarrassment.”

► Fallen down/up the stairs ➔ “Never.”

► Wanted something/someone so badly it hurt? ➔ “Oh, stars, yes. But I hope it never stops hurting - it’s a very grounding hurt.”

► Wanted to disappear ➔ She flashes a wicked grin. “I can though. I can blend into a crowd so well that you’ll forget you’ve ever seen me. As far as you can tell, I’m a ghost.”

FOUR PREFERENCES

► Smile or eyes ➔ “Either. Both. One specific set of eyes it’s been entirely too long since I’ve seen and one specific smile that I saw entirely too rarely.”

► Shorter or Taller ➔ “Hmm, about the same height as me, I think? Maybe just a little bit taller?”

► Intelligence or Attraction ➔ “Attraction, but intelligence can be a big part of attraction.”

► Hook-up or Relationship ➔ “Relationship.”

FAMILY

► Do you and your family get along ➔ “That really depends on how you define family. I hardly ever see my parents. I saw my father the last time I was on Hoth and I don’t think he even recognized me. I have a somewhat strained relationship with my Voss family, because I think Phi-ton might have actually wanted there to be something there that can never be.”

► Would you say you have a “messed up life” ➔ Raz simply raises an eyebrow and smiles.

► Have you ever ran away from home ➔ “I suppose running off to join Imperial Intelligence counts? I was training to be a Field Medic like my parents, and I decided I’d had enough of that. Probably one of the stupidest decisions I’ve ever made, but no use worrying about it now.”

► Have you ever gotten kicked out ➔ “Never from home. I have been kicked out of several offices, and I suppose out of my entire Agency.”

FRIENDS

► Do you secretly hate one of your friends ➔ “No. There are people I’ve been forced to associate with that I hate, but it has not been a secret.”

► Do you consider all of your friends good friends ➔ “No, I have very few “good” friends.”

► Who is your best friend ➔ “Vector.”

► Who knows everything about you ➔ “My dear one once claimed to know everything about me, but it was a bluff to avoid sharing personal information about herself.”

The interviewer thanks Raz for her time, but when they stand to shake Raz’s hand, they stumble, apologizing, what was in that drink, I’m not usually like this after just one drink. “Oh, dear, you didn’t really think that you were going to keep any of this, did you? Stars, no.”

Vector has appeared behind the interviewer to help them to lie down on the couch where they had previously been sitting. There is fear in the interviewer’s eyes as they open their mouth to speak but find that their speech is starting to slur profoundly.

“Oh, no, shh. You aren’t in any danger. You’re not going to be able to speak for probably a day. You’re going to sleep very heavily for about that long. You’re not going to remember a thing about today when you wake up. There’s a lovely local gang that I’ve paid off very handsomely to ensure that you remain undisturbed while you’re here.” Raz crouches down to look the interviewer in the eye. “There’s no malice here. But I’ve told you things even the Black Codex didn’t know. This was very therapeutic for me though, so thank you for that. I do hope your head doesn’t hurt too badly when you wake up.”

As Raz turns to leave the room, the interviewer thinks they might have a vague recollection of seeing something blue, of tasting something sweet, before their eyes are too heavy to hold open any longer.

(After that, I do not have the brain power to figure out who to tag next, so if you haven’t done it yet or still have a character to do, and you want to do it, pretend I tagged you)

[geek-gem]

Just saying I'm watching Resident Evil Apocalypse right now just saying. It came in a few minutes again, and the wall scene is now on.

Honestly despite my negative outlook on the movie. Again there were things I liked which I'll talk about in this. I just wanted to put this movie on because I was in the mood.

Spoilers in case about things I liked and didn't like.

What I did like.

1: I honestly like the I guess you could say attention to detail with some video game elements. Such as the costumes like the U.B.C.S., the S.T.A.R.S. members, Nemesis himself, and other things that I found cool.

2: While this isn't a major thing but I liked the characterization of Carlos which I felt respected the source material. Such as him literally saying, "Fuck orders" and jumping out of a helicopter to save one person despite they are infected.

Besides I did think Oded Fehr did a pretty nice job with the character. Even though it's a older version of the character because Oded was 34 when this movie was released. But seriously I liked him. He was a character I liked that respected the source material. Unless anyone else has a different opinion which I don't mind hearing.

3: Sienna Guillory as Jill Valentine. I'll be honest I think it's just me thinking she seems more serious and I guess harsh than the game version at times. But I liked the casting and was fine with her.

4: Considering the Lickers part is on, I liked the Licker from the first movie, I like them in here. Including the CGI on them looks way better than the last film.

5: Nemesis despite he doesn't show up a lot, I pretty much dug him. Especially him having a machine gun works well.

6: Like I said before L.J. is funny. Now the infamous GTA moment just passed by, he literally said 10 points.

7: Guess I'll say the action was nice too, they are cool.

What I didn't like.

1: Despite elements from the video games are always nice. Especially those costumes. I wonder why do all the S.T.A.R.S. members basically wear Chris's outfit. I guess maybe budget reasons but I just see it as lazy.

I know in the games they are different colored vests. Honestly I'm being nitpicky. Besides when making the 2nd thing I didn't like, I think I can let this nitpick pass because I can handle some liberties being taken.

2. Alice......I know many people have already talked about this. I've talked about how having Alice as a main character was basically a mistake for this film franchise. I mean I wouldn't mind her existing.

But again like many people have complained while the game characters aren't ignored. She takes away the spotlight from the other characters we wanna see. Such as Jill and Carlos. I will admit she's got a nice look in this like the last film.

I mean I liked the first film actually, I was impressed by it. Really the 2nd film should of been longer, written better, more cohesive, stuff I've said before. Also more development too. Especially I don't mind Milla Jovovich as an actress. Stupid idea I wouldn't of mind her as Jill ether if that had happened.

3: Considering the Nemesis and S.T.A.R.S. part is on, I can talk about Nemesis again. While I said I liked him.

So the film version of Nemesis is more of a tragic villain than just a B.O.W. sent in to kill the remaining S.T.A.R.S. members.

I'll admit while I was excited by the first movies ending of Matt mutating and they mention the Nemesis program. To be honest I sound stupid thinking back to Birkin considering the huge mutated arm was on Birkin's right arm.

Back to the point, considering the final battle it makes sense with the decision. I feel just making Nemesis this tragic villain isn't necessary. Because he works just fine as a monstrous force hell bent on killing the S.T.A.R.S. members.

Especially I didn't mind Matt as a character too. Really if we had to change some of these decisions, we'd have to rewrite some things for the first film as well.

Besides I don't seem to like for the supposed main villain. Meh he got what he deserved anyway. Even if I feel the, "Killing me won't set things right" seems unnecessary and Alice could of said, "Do you think I give a fuck?" But yes I know the context of that scene anyway.

Or honestly would of preferred if Nemesis crushed his head or something.

Okay off topic I just noticed the R.P.D. van with the K9 unit cages, I like the foreshadowing but I wonder if I forgot that scene.

4: Just a nitpick, the Nicholai Ginovaeff character. Was the point of him sounding Russian just a reference to Nikolai Zinoviev. Which turns out on the RE wiki there is a comparison.

But again was the point of him being Russian just as a easter egg to Nikolai? Despite Nikolai in Resident Evil 3 is a secondary antagonist of that game basically.

Besides I know the actor is American(edit after checking my tv and googled him up he's Canadian) just seriously I'm nitpicking. It's probably best or.....maybe him and Nemesis being the antagonist in this movie could work. But besides it would of been out of nowhere if he was betraying people.

Yet seriously it's weird I'm rambling about this. It just feels like a weird easter egg. I do love how he called a Ceberus dog bitch which came on some minutes ago.

But seriously this is all just me rambling and nitpicking this isn't a reason.

What I'm about to say is a stupid thing to say about a film. But I saved it towards the end.

This film feels like I guess some sort of a fan film. Which sounds stupid, or just the fact Paul W.S. Anderson wrote this while he didn't direct it. It's a short movie where the story for this film franchise should of been handled better.

Amazingly I've been writing this throughout the movie.

Also another nitpick why the hell do the Umbrella's soldiers helmets look like motorcycle helmets? Unless that's an actual thing. It just seems weird.

I'll be honest, been thinking of wanting to check out Extinction as well. Despite my first viewing of this movie I was so disappointed that I didn't wanna see the rest. I've seen some of the third and whatever else. I'm just interested in the this film and maybe will watch Afterlife after a long time, and Retribution.

Now I remember what I wanted to say last. I agree with someone on Twitter. I'm really bothered by how just the difference in tone to the first movie is. As if it doesn't translate well or it's just I liked how the first was building up on that horror aspect, and other things. It was saving things such as the Licker and other stuff. This film despite some moments is like fuck that.

Alright other little things, sorry that I'm rambling more. In a way I'm not big on the whole Nemesis fighting Alice in hand to hand combat. Considering how strong Nemesis but whatever. I mean the fight looks alright.

Now I'm at the part where Alice realizes Nemesis is Matt.

Also I'm surprised Angie(the daughter in the film) didn't fucking despise Alice or said shit like, "I'll never forgive you" because Alice refusing to fight Nemesis read to Dr. Ashford getting shot.

But considering the circumstances of the situation, she would of understandable and just what I said sounds like it would of made Angie sound dickish. Meh she still likes Alice anyway after Alice literally uses herself as a shield against like some sort of spike m.

I'm basically at the Nemesis betrayal scene, holy shit I just laughed at the part of L.J. literally punching Major Tom Cain in the face.

I've rambled on too long. I just wanted to talk about this.

[skybound2]

David x Michael, on a road trip, arguing over music choices (or whatever permutation of that you would like to use!).

Hey, so 500 years later, I know, but I’ve written a thing! Well, several things, sorta? This is basically a series of short ficlets each focusing on a different song, but all connected, and is basically a direct follow on to the response I wrote MONTHS ago for a different prompt (You Are My Sunshine)! 

THANK YOU SO MUCH for the prompt, it helped get me out of a rut, LIKE A LOT. (Also, I had a TON OF FUN thinking up songs to set each piece too :-D)

Takes place in my Walk Unafraid universe sometime after Michael has gone full vamp, and is maybe just a little bit cracky ;-P

Hope you enjoy!

Billy Idol “Rebel Yell”

Michael frowns as the first few beating notes of the song start pouring out of the speakers. Before the first line is over, he’s a freshman again, shuffling into the streamer and tinsel decorated nightmare that was his first (and last) high school homecoming dance.

He hadn’t wanted to go. Would rather have been playing chicken with his skateboard on the highway. Or at home, babysitting Sam and rewatching that movie with the talking rats for the fiftieth time.

Or working on his math homework.

Really, just about anywhere else doing anything else would have been preferable.

But he’d made junior varsity on the football team (Thanks, he’s sure, to him being a year older than the rest of the freshman class. Flunking third grade. So helpful.) and even though he hadn’t played a second of that day’s game, it had been made clear that he was expected to attend that evening’s festivities. 

To support his team. And school.

Rah rah rah.

He hadn’t given a rat’s ass about any of it, not when the girl he’d been seeing (if you could call one awkward make-out session ‘seeing’) had broken things off with Michael the day before, opting to go to the dance with Michael’s friend Keith instead. 

The situation might have been less of a mess, Michael suspects, if the sight of his friend and former almost-girlfriend dancing together had sparked the expected kind of jealousy for Michael.

Which of course, it hadn’t. Instead, it had dosed Michael with a confusing case of adolescent ‘what the fucks’ when he’d caught Keith and Jenny kissing mid-dance, and he’d realized just who he was jealous over. 

The whole thing had gone topsy-turvy not long after, in a spectacular (sloppy, messy, pathetic) fist fight between Michael and Keith on the dance floor to the tune of that damn overplayed Billy Idol song.

Michael had been suspended for two days following the fight. Which had been fine by him, as it gave him time to first come to terms with what he’d been feeling, and then to find a careful place in his psyche to shove said feelings into, to be dealt with never.

Three years later, Michael had moved away, the bond between him and Keith forever broken.

As the memories play back in Michael’s head, Michael finds that the old agitation, that bitter ache of confusion and loss he’d always felt in the past, is muted. The scene’s a faded sort of matte gray, instead of technicolor. Like it happened to someone else, and he’s just catching the repeat on late night TV. 

Which in a way, he guesses it kind of had. The person he is now so far removed from who he was then as to be unrecognizable.

Different person or not, he still hates the song. (Maybe he hasn’t changed that much.) And so Michael’s lip lifts up in a sneering approximation of the blond singer’s trademark curl as he reaches for the knob and seeks out another station. 

“Hey. I was listening to that.” The complaint from the driver’s seat is annoyed but without any real heat. 

Michael keeps twisting the knob, not looking at his companion, skipping over white noise in search of something - anything - else. “We’ll find something else. Can’t stand Billy Idol.”

Even though Michael knows it’s not actually possible, it feels as if the temperature inside the car drops several degrees. Shock reverberates across the link between Michael and David loud enough that it bounces Michael’s brain around inside his skull, forcing him to turn his head away from the radio towards the blond as he continues to spin the dial. 

David appears downright scandalized as he stares back at Michael, eyebrows making friends with his hairline. “You can’t stand Billy Idol?”

Michael nods, head tilting at David, confused by the obvious annoyance rolling off of him. 

And also a little worried by how long David has kept his eyes from the road, regretting having let the blond take over driving duties at the last gas station. “Uh, yeah. Leaves a bad taste in my mouth. Can you watch the road, David? Don’t feel like getting up close and personal with the guardrail.”

David sneers, but turns his head back to the road, grumbling incoherent words beneath his breath that, try as he might, Michael can’t pick out. 

Not that it matters, as when an audible sentence finally does work its way up and out, Michael’s still as confused as when all he’d heard was gibberish. “I’ve made a mistake.”

Michael frowns. “With what?”

“Making you immortal. I can’t spend eternity with someone who doesn’t appreciate Billy Idol.”

Michael snorts, his hand dropping away from the dial when he locates something less detestable to listen to. The fast pace guitar chords and beats of Mötley Crüe playing through the speakers as a backdrop, he leans back in his seat, head angled towards David, the better to watch the exaggerated play of disgust on his lover’s face. “Too late. No take backs.” 

David’s frown deepens, but there’s a twitch at the corners of his mouth, like he’s fighting the upward tug of a smile. “Never too late for anything, Michael.”

Michael smirks at him, stretching his legs out and dragging his tongue across his bottom lip in a deliberate attention grabbing move that pulls David’s eyes straight to his mouth. “Yeah. Right. After how hard and long you fought for me?” Michael drags the words out with dirty intent. Feeling playful, and eager to wash away the lingering remnants of that earlier time, of that earlier life. He draws upon more recent, much more pleasurable memories, letting them hover at the front of his mind. The spike of lust that floods the air between them all the proof he needs that David’s on the same page. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.” 

“So damn sure of yourself, aren’t you?” The question is spoken with careful neutrality that does nothing to disguise the visceral want pouring off of David.  

A growl thrums across Michael’s vocal chords. “Pull over. Let’s find out.”

David does.

And they both forget all about Billy Idol. 

Abba “Fernando” 

Sated and settled back in the passenger seat on the road south, David knows what song it is from just the first couple of notes. He has no intention of subjecting himself to it, so he reaches for the dial only to have his hand smacked away by Michael. Shocked, he looks up at the man behind the wheel, the driver’s blue eyes alight with mischief as he starts to sing along with the music while David watches on in horror. “No. No absolutely not. Turn it off. Right now.”

But Michael’s hand stays covering the dial as his voice gets stronger. When he hits the title lyric he leans heavily away from the wheel in David’s direction and croons it in his face. David’s frozen in place by the disturbing sight. “Why do you even know the lyrics?”

‘You’ve met my mother and my brother, you honestly think I wouldn’t know the lyrics?’ The thought jumps from Michael’s mind to David’s, but Michael’s singing voice doesn’t falter at all as he sings about crossing the Rio Grande.

Under any other circumstances, David would be damn proud of Michael that his ability for telepathic multi-tasking has come along so far, but as is, he’s too distressed to feel much of anything else.

“Is this a method of torture? Is that why you’re doing this? Testing the waters? Because if so, bravo. Very effective. But it’s time to stop now.” 

Michael cackles. Cackles! As he smacks David’s hand away from the dial again, the sound bleeding into an off-key “Liberty” with a devilish grin upon his face as he turns the volume up.

David sinks as deep into the leather bench seat as is possible, all the way against the door, trying to put distance between himself and the… horror happening on the other side of the car. “Just stake me. It would hurt less.”

The gleam in Michael’s eyes is pure evil as he sways towards David again, all his earlier concern for road safety seeming forgotten in his Abba-induced haze. 

He manages to keep the car between the painted lines and away from any ditches as the song comes to an end - though it weaves a considerable amount. The smile on his face when he looks David’s way on the final note is wide and brilliant and blinding. Pleasant waves of giddy happiness echoing across the bond so strongly, that David’s own treacherous emotions race to sync up with those of his tormentor.

David hates himself a little for being so far gone on the bastard, but the shared laughter that fills the car between them feels good all the same.

Deep Purple “You Keep On Moving”

Another tank, another station, another song.

Michael smiles as the beat of a tune he never hears getting radio airplay hits his ears. He drums his fingers against his knee, mouthing along to the lyrics and bouncing his leg in time. Thinking it might be fun to finally learn how to play something other than his kneecap. The drums, or the guitar even. Or hell, why not both? He’s got nothing but time now, right? Why shouldn’t he spend it learning how to play a dozen instruments if he wants?

David speaks up when the song hits the third verse and Michael’s halfway through an imaginary worldwide tour as the next biggest drummer since Bonham. “Paul had a copy of this album.” He chuckles, once, the sound dark and heavy. “Two copies, actually. One he’d worn down to nothing. Sounded like garbled shit, but it was the only one he’d play. Said he was keeping the other ‘for posterity’ or something.”

Michael returns from his European stage debut and looks to David, trying to judge the meaning behind the story. The other man offering up information on the absent boys so rare, that he figures there must be a reason for it.

There’s not much light to illuminate him, the dash on the old vehicle mostly dark, but Michael’s eyes don’t need much light to see by these days. Not that it matters, as there’s nothing to read on the blond’s face, his expression that disconnected mask that Michael’s grown so familiar with in the past year.

“Think he bought the first one on account of the cover, but turned out he liked the music too.” David’s voice is muted - not so soft as to be wistful, but a next door neighbor to it maybe.

Michael digs through his brain, trying to recall what the cover looked like, but comes up empty. He prods at David for some help, snorting when David reproduces in Michael’s mind the image of the band’s disembodied heads floating in a wine glass of dark red liquid, with the tagline ‘Come Taste the Band’ scrolled over the top. He guffaws at the sight. “Why am I not surprised?”

“Paul was always easily amused.” The comment is said with a quiet intensity that peters out to a heavy silence, despite the song still rocking through the car.

It leaves Michael feeling like he’s intruding on something he shouldn’t be. He inches back and forth in his seat, tapping the leather seating between the two of them instead of his knee. “You, uh, you want me to change it?”

David glances at Michael, the expression on his face a little mournful, but not despondent or angry as it may have been in the past. “Nah. It’s a good song. Let it play.” 

Michael nods once, and the song plays on.

Fleetwood Mac “Landslide”

“…”

“…”

“I - you can change it if you want.”

“Course I can.”

“…”

“…”

“Are you gonna change it or…”

“Nah. Took too long to find this station. Probably just be static everywhere else.”

“Yeah. You’re probably right. So…we leave it then?”

“Might as well. It’ll be over soon.”

“Okay.“ Michael takes a deep breath, uncertain about what he’s about to say, but unable to stop himself. “This was Star’s-”

“I know.”

“And you still don’t mind-”

“No. Should I?” The questions is flat. Unconcerned, but Michael doesn’t miss the way David’s face tightens when he asks it. 

Michael moves his right shoulder in an awkward shrug. “Just got the impression you didn’t care for her much.”

David makes a low humming sound. “Liked her well enough at first. Liked her a whole lot less later on.”

Michael doesn’t have a ready response for that, knowing damn good and well why David’s feelings towards Star changed. 

“You heard from her lately?”

Michael whips his head towards David, surprised by the question.“No. I haven’t.“ 

David hums again, fingers flexing on the steering wheel as he does. “Sure about that?”

“When exactly do you think I would have talked to her, David?”

“No clue. It’s why I asked.”

Michael thinks that’s a lie, but doesn’t call David on it. Instead, he settles back, letting Stevie Nicks serenade them for a few verses before offering what little he does know. “She calls my Mom sometimes. They…talk.” David’s gaze stays firmly on the road, though Michael can feel the way tension thrums through his frame. “Think she’s still with Laddie, wherever they went. I don’t - I haven’t spoken to her since she left.” It’s the truth, but for some reason it feels like a lie.

“She took Laddie back to his father I take it?”

Michael gives a noncommittal bounce of his head. “Think so.”

“Hmm. Maybe we should pay them a visit.”

Michael lets out a low laugh at the comment. “Doubt we’d be welcome.”

A sly smile that Michael knows can’t mean anything good lifts the corner’s of David’s mouth. “Never know if we don’t try. Could pencil it sometime after Phoenix.”

Michael rolls his eyes, knowing he’s being baited and not about to be caught. “Yeah sure. Why the hell not?” Michael smirks at the way David’s forehead scrunches up at the easy agreement. He means it - he’s curious enough about where Star ended up and what she’s been doing that visiting her isn’t the worst idea he’s ever heard - though he’s not so much of an idiot that he doesn’t know that David’s reasons for wanting to see her are far from benign.

No longer in the mood for the song, Michael changes the station.

Billie Holiday “You’re My Thrill”

David hums as he twists the dial through station after station of white noise. He spins it past an old jazz tune, but then twirls it back again, making an appreciative noise as a crooning female voice starts to spill from the speakers.

Satisfied with his find, he slouches back into the leather upholstery, eyes closed and an almost dream-like smile on his face.

From his spot in the driver’s seat, Michael goggles at him. “Seriously?”

“Michael Emerson, if the next words out of your mouth are that you don’t like Billie Holiday either, I’m leaving you at the next truck stop and you can find your own way back to Santa Carla. I don’t care how close to sunrise it is.”

The way his voice doesn’t falter when he says it brings Michael up short, making him think that it may be more than just an idle threat. (Not that Michael would let him leave him behind without a fight, but that’s beside the point).

Michael manages to keep his mouth shut for a cool twenty seconds, during which he watches David out of the corner of his eye. Watches as the bleached-blond, spiky-haired murderous vampire clad all in black - not a small amount of it leather, hell, there are spurs on his boots for Chrissakes - quietly enjoys the old-fashioned song. The disconnect between the image he presents and the one the song evokes makes Michael laugh. “Damn, what decade are you from, Old Man?”

“The seventies, Michael.”

Michael snorts, rolling his eyes. Not that David can see him with his own eyes enjoying the view behind their lids. “Yeah sure. You’re younger than me. Explains the occasional tendency to throw tantrums still.” 

“The eighteen-seventies, Michael.” David says, calm and cool and not at all joking.

Michael’s hands on the wheel jerk sideways in surprise, sending the car swerving over the line before he can yank it back where it belongs. David’s eyes crack open at the disturbance, leveling a glare at Michael, but he doesn’t react otherwise. “Seriously?”

David smirks at him, slipping the cigarette he had stowed behind his ear down and to his mouth. He doesn’t give Michael an answer, just flicks his lighter open and sets flame to the stick, puffing on the end to get it to light, and settles back into his seat, eyes half-closed.

Michael molls the unexpected tidbit of information over in the space between verses. One particular thought standing out in greater relief against the rest. “Shit…you’re older than my Grandpa. By a lot.”

“I am. And if you want to be too one day, shut it and let me enjoy the song!” 

It’s only the lingering shock of the information that keeps Michael quiet. It has nothing to do with the amber gleam in David’s eyes.

Really.

Besides, as far as old-as-sin songs go, it’s not half-bad. 

Starland Vocal Band “Afternoon Delight”

Approximately one point five seconds into the song, David’s hand meets Michael’s as they both reach for the dial. David growls, fangs dropping. “I will break your hand, your arm, and all your fingers if you try and stop me from changing the station, Michael.”

Michael’s hand raises up in the air in a placating gesture that David doesn’t trust. At all. “Hey! I was trying to change it too.”

“Sure you were.” David twists the dial, spinning it through endless seas of static and snowstorms and a whole lot of absolutely nothing else.  

“I was.” Michael’s voice is pleading, but there’s mischievous glint in his eyes that doesn’t match the sound.  

David gives him a sideways glare. “Somehow, I don’t believe you.”

Michael breathes out a heavy-handed sigh. “So little trust. And here I thought we’d really been getting somewhere this past year.”

David rolls his eyes. “You forfeited all rights to musical trust after that horrendous ‘Mamma Mia’ sing-along.

“Hey! First off, it was ‘Fernando’, and second: you enjoyed that. You were smiling. I saw you.”

“That was a defense mechanism, Michael.”

“Liar.”

Which is true, but David’s not about to admit it. So he ignores him, and stops the dial on a patch of white noise; settling back in his seat to enjoy the scratchy sound of absence.

Less than a minute of quiet passes between them before Michael’s hand inches for the radio. David’s voice is curated calm when he says: “Try me, Michael.” 

“Idle threat.”

“When have you ever known me to be idle, hmm?”

Michael scoffs, giving David a tilted smile that tells the elder vampire just how little Michael thinks of David’s threats. “Go ahead, tell me all the ways that you’re gonna torture me if I change the station. What’s it gonna be this time? Something more creative than holy water dipped knives, I hope?”

“You ever heard of ‘torpor,’ Michael?” David asks, dipping into the darker part of his psyche. To the blackened memories of his early life under Max’s so-called-care. Fully intending to shower Michael with the visual of being trapped - buried - deep beneath the earth in a impenetrable box, screaming for his maker to let him out. To let him go. Screaming until his throat runs dry, and the blood in his veins slows to a trickle. Skin gone paper-thin, and ashen. So desperate to be released that he’ll say anything. Do anything.

David doesn’t plan to exact such a punishment on Michael of course, but he’s not above a little mental torment. Especially not after being trapped in a car for two-hundred plus miles with Michael and his previously undocumented love of country music and disco.

But before David can so much as conjure up an image of a box or a handful of dirt, Michael frowns in his direction. “Don’t think so. That a New Wave group or something?”

A surprised bark of laughter bursts out of David, amused eyes latching onto Michael. “What? No, it’s-” He shakes his head, small peels of laughter leaking out of him as he does. David’s laughter grows in time with Michael’s confusion. The uncertain look upon the younger vampire’s face endearing to David in a way that it has no right to be.

David shakes his head, his plans to teach Michael a lesson forgotten. “You know what, never mind.”

A frown stays planted on Michael’s face for a while longer, the confusion fading at a snail’s pace. But he drops the subject, and the two of them drive on in silence. 

A silence that lasts for the length of time it takes Michael to forget why the radio was off in the first place.

But David hasn’t. So really, it’s Michael’s fault that David launches at him, teeth bared, and the car is sent skidding off the road.

At least there aren’t any guardrails to hit. 

And if the only casualty of the accident ends up being the radio, well, they were do for an upgrade anyway.

Preferably one with a cassette deck. 

~End

[pantheon-god-of-war]

On the Pantheon VGU

I’ll use this time to rant about the teaser we got and go into as much detail as possible with what little we have. Riot enjoys leaving bread crumbs here and there and I’ll do what I can to decipher as much as possible.

Firstly, the reasons why Pantheon is getting a visual update is plain and simple, he looks out of date and he plays like garbage. Hes the definition of a number crunch champ and its not very skill based.

Lets start with the wonderful sentence

- We will be building his visuals from the ground up, while also making him feel more unique to the world of Runeterra. -

Plainly this means no more spartan and honestly I really hate that prospect of possibility. I loved Pantheon so much because he was a spartan, back in the day he was just that your regular spartan hero. Which fit into the idea of Pantheon being exactly that, a Stanpar champion who came down to partake in the league because he was born and raised to fight. When they reckoned Pantheon into a god the Spartan attire was way to plain, boring and unfit. BUT there are beautiful renditions of Spartan or Greek armor that are detailed and fit for gods. There are a plethora of very good artistic interpretations of ancient greek armor, each of which stays true to the core theme of the Armor design. But was they said they want to make him “Feel more unique to the world of Runeterra” Which only means that they are going to stray away from the spartan design because they want something “unique” The reason I am so apprehensive is that their ambition to make league more “unique” turned fierce Rakkor warriors who live and breathe war into mountain dwelling nomads that look like beggars. They turned the xenophobic elitist Rakkor into a melting pot of pilgrims from around the world. Its change like this which I think is pointless. Yes maybe calling them Stanpar in the beginning was a little to over ambitious, but people buy into the ancient greek aesthetic and you can make something original or fresh while still drawing ideas from that era. Going back to Pantheon I am really displeased that his plume is gone, the helmet  was something I absolutely adored, it was so iconic and I hate to see it go. Instead we get something that reminds me of the witch king of angmar with a large spike like crown upon his helmet.

Its arced backwards somewhat like a horn. I could see his helmet having a flaming plume instead of a physical one which would be okay I guess. He could have a horn on either side since this is a side shot and a burning plum in the middle which is invisible now. It reminds me a lot of one of the Ares designs from DC’s wonder woman.

Which is no problem on my end. Anything to that marks Pantheon more as the god of war is a plus in my book. War is ugly and vicious. Its cold, brutal and ruthless without mercy and so should its champion be. In that regard fire and lightning would be great choices if they do choose to incorporate elements into his kit.

But we will have to wait. Its good to see he still has glowing eyes, I pray to god that they don’t reveal his face (seriously riot dont) The cape caught my attention, at first I had to think of Ares weird back claws in god of war. But I highly doubt they will take that route. For me it bears resemblance to Leonas golden skirt thing which is also segmented into long narrow segments. It would be good to see the two of them meshing more with a golden pattern. Same way that Taric and Diana mesh in the light blues and silvers (take a hint) The spear is neat I guess although impractical with the extra segments, but I understand those are fantasy liberties that I will not deduct points for. The stone within the middle is intriguing. It might simply be an aesthetically oriented choice, or it will hold meaning later on as we learn more about the new warrior god. Another thing worth noting, to me at least, is the lightning arcing out from the spear, perhaps they actually will give him thunder participial or the likes similar to the Nameless king from dark souls 3. I personally toyed with that idea myself it would be neat to see him get an element of his own although thats up in the stars. His greaves look like they now fully cover his feet which is neat I guess but only straying further and further from the spartan design. He does seem to have arm guards and exposed arms which is welcome I guess, but they HAD to leave something. But for now enough on the visual, we will see more with time and speculation only does so much next to making my blood boil as I contemplate all possible scenarios wherein this could go south.

We’ll also be expanding on his current lore, as we tell the story of gods and humans and how one man fought back against the gods.

Expanding means that there will be less change than in the visual department. They have established how aspects work plenty now with Leona Diana Taric and Zoe there would be no sense in flipping that around now with Pantheon. Perhaps we will learn more about how the gods select their mortal vessels or what happens once the humans deemed worthy enter the true realm of Targon. How gods imbue them, train them and stand in contact with them once they return to earth as their champions.  One man fought back against the gods. I guess we will learn more about Atreus, he was a character marked by defiance. He climbed the mountain because he refused to accept the Solaris decree, he fought against the cold and peril of the mountain because he believed that his way was right, he had to succeed for the good of his people. What now if he learned the gods were curler than he had hoped?  What if he stood against the war gods decree, stole his weapon and made off with it becoming imbued with his strength allowing him to walk his own path. This is heavy speculation of course but Pantheon was always someone who fought against greater odds. Maybe Pantheons lore will be changed in regards to the relationship between mortals and gods. Maybe he found the gods treated them unfairly and decided to oppose them similar to Kratos, growing in power as he slew the gods who dared stand against him until he decided to fight for the people. Which is not a direction I want it to take but still a direction that needs to be considered. I hope they go for a cruel war god esq route, but seeing the whole talk of one MAN who fought back against the gods I believe it. Perhaps they will make Pantheon more noble and human,  a protector of Targon similar to Taric. Its a possibility that needs to be considered even if I am hesitant to accept it.

I will not cover the game play aspects here because we all know Pantheon needs desperate attention in that department.

[thisspaceintentionallyleftblank]

Try, Try Again (pt. 3)

Guess who saw the Lego Movie 2 again today?? I’m hoping the residual excitement will be enough to fuel a burst of writing, so that I can post stuff despite needing to complete approximately 12 billion assignments for school. We’ll soon see how idealistic of a notion that is... 

Anyways, here’s the chapter.

(Chapter 1) | (Chapter 2)

Chapter 3 (3001 words)

Lucy was currently perched in her favorite spot in all of Apocalypseburg. Up on Lady Un-Liberty’s torch, with her legs hanging over the edge and the cool wind ruffling through her hair, everything seemed to slow down momentarily.

On the city streets, which stretched out far below her feet, everything was constantly rowdy, chaotic, and loud. It was excitingly surely, and all wrestling and fighting could be fun, but sometimes, Lucy just preferred coming up here instead.

Of course, it also made an excellent spot for brooding.

For Lucy, brooding was an art form. It was edgy and mature and, if you did it right, people would recognize that you were edgy and mature as well. On a basic level, brooding was a bit like poetry. It all came down to the words that you used, and the way that you said them. It was a skill that Lucy had in bounds, and was one of the reasons why she’d been such a good songwriter when she was younger.

Reaching up, Lucy absentmindedly pulled at a strand of her hair. It curled around her finger, the dark color shimmering in the sunlight. She had moved on from her pop star career a long time ago, but sometimes she found herself expected to see a different color in the mirror. The dye job had been necessary, as she reminded herself frequently. She’d had no choice but to change herself in order to be taken seriously by the other Master Builders. When they’d first seen her, looking like the preppy idol on a Business-brand record label, they hadn’t seen a rebel or a freedom fighter. All they’d seen was a symbol of the establishment. They’d seen her as the girl she wasn’t anymore - the girl that she couldn’t be anymore.     

With a quick glance at her phone, she checked the time. Emmet would be arriving any minute with their morning coffee. If she started brooding now, she probably wouldn’t be finished by the time he got here, meaning that he’d likely try and join in again.

Emmet had… tried brooding with her a few times, but usually those attempts just devolved into him talking about a random topic in a slightly more gravelly voice. To be fair, the approach had worked reasonably well the time he’d aired his grievances with Jeff, but the rest of his topics, such as his views on toasters and hi-vis vests, had been significantly less successful.  

Lucy sighed. She wasn’t really in the mood to brood today anyways, and had basically resorted to waiting up here for Emmet to show up and help take her mind off things. She liked it here in Apocalypseburg, much more than she had ever liked living in Bricksburg. There, she had been forced to choose between either being a cog in the Business machine or a criminal constantly on the run for her life. In Apocalypseburg, she felt like she could be more herself than she had been for a while. Despite the newfound sense of freedom, the city could still get overwhelming sometimes.

Whenever it did, sitting up here with Emmet was like coming up for air.

She checked the time again. At some point during her ruminations, the clock had shifted well past eight and begun closing in on nine. A sharp sense of worry started seeping into the back of her mind. Emmet had never been late before. Ok, well, he had, but it had only been the once, and even then it was because he had fallen into the sewer baby pit and had taken over an hour to pick out all the little spikes.  

Not for the first time this morning, Lucy caught herself peering over the edge of the torch platform, down towards the base of the statue. Below her, a well timed tumbleweed trundled past, clearly signifying the lack of any happy-go-lucky ex-construction workers.

Uugh, she thought with a deliberate roll of her eyes, I’d better go find him before he gets hurt. The dread that had started building settled slightly at the thought. In a flash, she turned from the edge and started running down the statue. With a little under an hour left before she needed to meet up with Batman and patrol, she ought to have enough time to ask a few folks around town if they’d seen anything.

As usual, the streets of Apocalypseburg were populated with crowds of people, clouds of desert dust, and the odd barfight or two that had gotten wild enough to spill out onto the street. Lucy strode confidently through, easily sidestepping groups of wrestling people and hopping over the several prone figures that littered the ground. Emmet’s favorite coffee shop was down this way, just past Benny’s shop, which made him a good first candidate for her search.   

Predictably, Benny was out front of his shop, working as always on improving Metalbeard’s new body. His workshop consisted mainly of a fenced-in platform, which had been lofted for the twofold reason of avoiding the madness of the street below, as well as preventing Benny from accidently setting another passerby on fire.   

“Hey Benny,” Lucy called out, as she expertly leapt up onto the platform.

“Lucy!” Benny cheered. He whirled around to greet her, dropping the wrench he’d been holding in his excitement.

“Yar!” Metalbeard cried out as the tool tumbled down into the construct of his body, ricocheting off various components before clattering to the ground.  

“Oops,” Benny laughed. “Sorry about that...” Turned back towards the pirate, he floated up slightly, such that he could rummage around, searching for his wrench.

“So Lucy,” Metalbeard addressed her while staunchly ignoring the spaceman mucking about in his guts. “Are ye just popping by for a visit, or was there something ye needed?”

“I was wondering if you guys had seen Emmet yet today.” Lucy stepped forwards as she spoke, picking up the wrench from where it had fallen and passing it to Benny. “He was supposed to meet me at the top of the statue a while ago, but never showed up.”  

“Thanks,” Benny took the wrench from her and twirled it absentmindedly in his hands as he spoke. “Yeah, Emmet came by this morning. He had his coffee, was listening to his music, and told me that he appreciates our friendship. You know, the usual!”

Concern creased Lucy’s brow. “Do you know when that was?”

“Earlier than usual,” Metalbeard grumbled. “Much too early for that accursed ‘pop song’ he insists on playing...”

Benny chuckled in agreement. “Yeah, the line at Larry’s must have been pretty short. It was maybe a quarter to eight.” At the thought, Benny frowned. “Do you think something happened to him?”

“I’m not sure,” Lucy sighed, unable to keep the worry out of her voice. “Just… let me know if you see him, ok?”

“Can do, lassee.”

“Sure thing!”

“Thanks guys,” Lucy gave a weak grin and leapt over the fence, falling to the street and leaving the two to their work.  

In an attempt to follow Emmet’s footsteps, Lucy continued down the street, occasionally pulling someone aside to ask them increasingly worried questions. The sewer babies had seen him, but didn’t know where he’d gone. Similarly, neither Chainsaw Dave, nor Crazy Cat Lady, nor any of her cats had any idea where Emmet could have gotten off to.

She had just finished questioning Battle Debra, who hadn’t even actually seen Emmet at all, when a dark shadow engulfed them both. In the next moment, Batman swooped down beside them.

“Hey Lucy,” he growled, leaning against a nearby wall in a calculated effort to appear nonchalant. “You ready to go, or whatever?”

“Yeah,” Lucy sighed. “Let’s just make this quick, ok?”

Hurt by her dismissive tone, especially considering how cool his entrance had just been, Batman’s permanent frown deepened even further. “Uh, why?”

“It’s just that Emmet didn’t show up this morning. I’ve been trying to find him, but...” She trailed off momentarily, before adding bruskly, “I’m sure it’s nothing, but you know.”

Batman grunted. “He’s probably just working on his little house.”

Lucy snapped her head up in surprise. “His what?”

“His little house. You know, the one he’s building out in the wasteland.”

“No, I don’t know.” Lucy pulled at her hair in frustration. “What, did he tell you? Did you see him this morning?”

“Pshh, no.” Batman smiled. “It’s like, supposed to be a surprise, but I am the world's greatest detective after all.”

Lucy scowled at him, and his smug expression drooped slightly.

“Uh,” he faltered. “I also have like, a super huge telescope, so it was pretty easy to find.”

Lucy groaned. “Ok then, fine. It's just… weird that he didn't mention it earlier. Usually he tells me everything.”

Batman shrugged. “I mean, I think it was supposed to be a surprise, uh, for you.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah…”

“Um,” Lucy coughed into her hand, trying to clear her throat and in no way trying to hide the blush blooming on her cheeks. “I mean, I guess he’ll just tell me about it when he's ready…”

Noticing the emotion steadily creeping into her voice, she hastily changed the subject. “Uh, we should definitely stop talking about this and go patrol, right?”

“Oh yeah,” Batman said. He pulled out a remote control from his belt and, with the click of a button, the Bataclysm shot out of a nearby alley, screeching to a halt beside them. In a fluid motion, the two flipped up their respective doors, leapt inside the vehicle and clicked the doors back into place. With a gratuitous squeal of the engine, the sleek black custom vehicle revved up and took off into the wasteland.

The process of “patrolling” usually entitled driving around aimlessly and fighting any random aliens that showed up. Whenever she patrolled with Benny or Metalbeard, they would routinely get distracted combing through the wreckage for cool pieces. But Batman had long since had collected all the black and dark gray pieces that he needed, and as such, he now went on patrols mainly to beat up the alien creatures. He was, as he described it, simply “working out his inner rage and turmoil through meaningless physical violence.”

Lucy wasn't really sure why she went on patrols. She wasn't really looking for supplies or a fight. It just felt like… the right thing to do. Like something that she had to do it, so that someone else wouldn't need to. In a way, it made her feel like she could protect their new home.

It made her anxious, the way that Emmet kept asking to tag along. She'd told him multiple times that she'd bring pieces back for him, and she knew that he didn't like fighting, but still, he kept asking for some indiscernible reason. Glumly, she looked out the Bataclysm’s tinted windows, watching the ruined skeletons of shattered skyscrapers as they slipped past. What was it out here that Emmet found so alluring?

Regardless of his motivations, she already knew that Emmet would likely never get to run patrols. He was just… too sweet. He always had been. The way that he greeted everyone so cheerfully? The way that his grin never seemed to falter? The way that he still liked fun popular music? Like, who did that?

Not Lucy, that much was for sure. Lucy was cool and tough and edgy now.

And Emmet? He just wasn't.

She had loved that about him, but at some point it had just transformed into a source of worry. The world had made it abundantly clear that everything fun and colorful was in danger here and, instead of changing himself accordingly in order to stay safe, like any totally sane and rational person would, Emmet had just stayed Emmet.

Lucy sighed, pressing her forehead into the cool glass of the window.

“Are you brooding right now?” Batman asked, turning to glower in her direction. “Because it’s my car, and the rule is that only the driver gets to brood.”

“I’m just… thinking.” She mumbled in a half-hearted reply.

“Oh, good. I wasn’t planning on thinking, so you can do that if you want.” Turning his focus back to driving, he cranked a dial on the dashboard, sending a shockwave of pulsating heavy metal music blasting out of the back seats to help fill the awkward silence between them.

Ignoring him, Lucy went back to staring listlessly out the window. Maybe they'd encounter some aliens, and she could try distracting herself from her myriad concerns and personal insecurities with violence, like Batman always does.

Come on, she thought for perhaps the first time in the five years they'd been under siege. Come on, let's see some aliens.

There weren't any aliens.

In the end, all that Lucy had accomplished was sitting in a testosterone and leather scented car for two hours while listening to Batman talk about the power of abs or something. All in all, the experience had done little to help ease her thoughts on Emmet.

To make matters worse, her stomach had begun growling something fierce. Caving to her body’s demands, she decided to postpone her search for Emmet until after a quick stop at her favorite lunchtime cafe - Le Pain.

“Hey, Lucy!” As she entered, a familiar voice shook her out of her thoughts.

“Emmet!” She cried, a fond grin forming on her cheeks. “I’ve been looking for you!”

Emmet laughed, rubbing the back of his neck in that nervous way he does. “Sorry about this morning...”

“But! Um,” He gestured towards the table he was sitting at, which had been clearly set for two. “I was hoping that I might be able to make up for it with some lunch?”

“Sure,” Lucy said, taking the seat across from him.  

“How was your patrol?” Emmet asked.

“Eh, pretty uninteresting.” Lucy replied. She reached for one of the menus resting in the center of the table, and began perusing through the lunch items. “Apparently Batman has a kid now, but other than that nothing really happened.”

The waiter, a former french mime whose face had been repainted so to resemble a skull, walked up to take their orders.

“I'll have an abnormally large croissant and a black coffee, please.” Lucy ordered, passing her menu back to the waiter.

“Same for me,” Emmet added, earning him a skeptical look from Lucy.

“Are you sure?” She asked, doubt apparent in her tone. “I thought you didn't like black coffee?”

“Well,” Emmet said, with a crooked, almost shy smile. “I’ve decided to take it up recently. So that I can be tougher, like you guys.”

“Oh?” Lucy’s expression reflected her pleasant surprise. “I'm glad to hear it.”

After a minute or two, the waiter brought back their food, and the pair started to eat. As usual, everything tasted fine, but had a rather gritty texture. Living in a desert, there wasn't much a chef could do to keep out the sand - which, as everybody knew, was coarse, rough, irritating, and got everywhere.

“Hey Emmet,” Lucy said after a moment. “Was there… a particular reason you couldn't hang out this morning?”

“Oh,” he replied. “Well, I was going to tell you later, but I've actually started training. As part of becoming tougher, that is.”

“Training?” Lucy asked.

“Yeah, like lifting weights and doing backflips and stuff. You know, tough guy stuff.”  

“Ok, right. That makes sense.” Lucy chastised herself for worrying. Here she was, worrying over Emmet for being too soft and vulnerable when in reality he was off working at becoming better and stronger. She felt almost foolish now for having run all over town looking for him.

Across from her, Rex continued to pick at his food. He hadn’t really eaten much since… before everything, and he was finding the experience more uncomfortable than he remembered. Logically, he knew that he should be making more conversation, asking Lucy about her day and her thoughts, and a billion other things like Emmet always had, but he was struggling to think of any conversation topics. He knew what kinds of questions he really wanted to ask her… but this Lucy wasn’t the one that had left him in Undar that had foiled his plans… so he knew he'd never get a satisfactory answer.

A moment ago, he’d seen the worry on Lucy’s face when she’d asked where he’d been that morning. Then, as he explained that he was training, that he was tough now, her concern  had vanished, replaced with a soft smile. And now, as he finished his coffee, her smile had only grown bigger.

She seemed overjoyed… ecstatic that “Emmet” was finally acting tough, just like she’d wanted him to be.

Rex understood, of course. His time in Undar had been educational in that way, constantly hammering in the fact that being tough was the only way to protect yourself. Emmet needed to learn that; he needed to see that his cheerfulness and his optimism were idealistic, unsustainable, and paving the path towards suffering.

But, for some reason, the thought was still upsetting. Anger roiled in the pit of his gut, turbulent and boiling hot, making it harder and harder to maintain Emmet’s constant dopey grin.

For a moment, it almost felt like he was resentful at how ready Lucy was to accept that Emmet was changing, how excited she was for him to totally overhaul his personality. Obviously, he couldn't be upset about that though, since he agreed with the sentiment. Rex had been responsible for sending Emmet away for training, after all.

He was just… still upset that she had ruined his plans last time.

That was all.

Confident in his identification of the feeling’s source, Rex could then manipulate it, burying it underneath layers of swagger and machismo.  He had years of practice dealing with these kinds of emotions and had long since perfected the art of hiding and ignoring them. As such, his disguise remained perfect, his painted smile never wavering.

[crashdevlin]

Bottle-7: Nightmares

Bottle Masterlist

Author’s Note: Originally posted to ao3 (This is an edited and improved version), I work in info from the comics (Like Hawkeye was married to Mockingbird and Red Skull had a disappointing daughter) and I took a few liberties with what the scepter could do (but not really because the Mind Stone was used to create the Twins so what I did is not that far-fetched). This is a lot more angst than I realized when I wrote it, but it’s compelling angst.

Summary: Cassandra Campbell is a Stark Industries lab tech with dubious genetics and a history with the new Director of SHIELD. She’s been working in New York since right before the Chitauri invasion. What does she have to do with Loki, and what will happen when he returns? Starts post TDW and continues to the end of AoU.

Pairing(s): Phil Coulson x OFC (Past), Loki x OFC (Non-con), Clint Barton x OFC, Steve Rogers x OFC

Word Count: 4004

Story Warnings: So many, worst (to me) are bolded. Younger woman/older man relationship,non-con, mutilation, torture, mind control, PTSD, depression, alcoholism, forced abortions, bad things (non-con) in a church, insomnia, memory manipulation, eventual consensual oral sex (female and male receiving),

Chapter Warnings: insomnia, nightmares, depression, alcoholism, general identity issues, bad German from Google Translate, mentions of suicidal thoughts

Cassie's dreams hadn't been what would be called 'pleasant' in a couple years, but her nightmares had steadily become more distressing. When she woke, she took a deep breath to steady her heart rate and it fell immediately. She rubbed at her eyes with the blanket and folded it, throwing it next to her jump seat.

"You okay?" Clint asked, from the pilot's seat. Natasha had traded for the seat beside him.

"I'm fine," Cassie said, her voice monotone as she stood to walk up between the two agents.

"Well, maybe this’ll cheer you up. Welcome home," Clint said, reaching over to flip several switches on the jet's console.

Cassie looked out at the New York skyline. Twinkling lights and skyscrapers greeted her as she looked out the front of the jet. Right in the middle of the picturesque landscape stood Stark Tower, the visual confirmation of Tony Stark's ego. She might have found it beautiful if it weren’t the building where Loki Laufeyson had turned her into a monster... twice. 'Home' was not the word she would use.

As they walked into the top of the Tower, Steve walked out of a door to their immediate left. "Romanoff, Barton, mission debrief."

The agents split off from her without a word. Cassie looked around, seeming a bit lost as she set her bag against the closest wall. "Lab tech!" She heard from her right. "Come talk to me."

Cassie nodded and headed over to Tony. He shut the door behind her and headed to a wet bar behind to his desk. He poured two glasses of scotch and set one on the opposite edge of his desk, right in front of her. He sat down and took a sip, eyeing her. "How was Austria?" he asked as she picked up the tumbler.

She looked down at the glass. "It was good. Nice." She took a sip. It was smooth and strong. Much better than the home-made vodka she'd been downing every night to help her sleep. "All I had to worry about was bratwurst and God."

"Well, that sounds... so boring. Boring like listening to Cap extol on the virtues of the 'good ol' days'."

"Well, it might not be saving the world, but I wasn't putting it in danger, either. And it was quiet. I thought it might help me to... deal." She whispered the last word.

"Yeah. Everybody has their coping methods. Me, I drink a lot," Tony said, lifting his glass. "Or, I make metal suits. Hawk shoots stuff, Romanoff kills things. You and Banner seem to be fans of the 'disappear into the middle of nowhere and get a taste of the simple life' method. Whatever. Diff'rint strokes. But what's important is you come back when you're needed. And here you are."

"I hope it doesn't diminish anything that I tried to run when... Barton showed up." She didn't feel quite up to 'first-naming' Hawkeye, yet.

"Not at all. Figured you would. Look, you're here and in not a whole lot worse condition than when you left. I had Pepper put you on a leave of absence when Loki grabbed you, so you have a job downstairs, if you want it. And you're still what Fury calls 'enhanced', so you have a job up here."

"I don't know. I mean... I haven't even considered coming back to the lab."

"You've got time to think about it, but I'd really like you on the team when we go searching for the sceptre. It's like an epic quest. It'll be fun," he encouraged.

"Maybe."

"Well, either way, why don't you head over to the lab, let Banner scan you? I'd like to make sure Austria didn't fuck you up."

Cassie nodded, finishing off her scotch and standing.

**********

She opened the sliding door to the lab and smiled, timidly. Banner wasn't a man she'd spoken with much before, but he seemed to be the only one who didn't have judgement in his eyes when he looked at her. "Oh, hello. Welcome back. Why don't you get a seat?" Bruce said, adjusting his glasses and tapping away at a tablet.

She jumped up on the exam table and looked around at all the equipment, most of it familiar, but some of it obviously specialized. "So, 'Red Queen', huh?"

"Well, it's just something I was tossing around. Everyone's got a superhero name, you know. The big guy's The Hulk, Tony is Iron Man. Hawkeye, Black Widow, Captain America. I thought you, you know, you ought to have one, too."

"Well, I like it. It's better than 'Red Skulletta'," she said, with a small smile. Bruce just continued looking down at his tablet. "That was a joke." She leaned forward. "Maybe I should try it in German. They got a kick out of me back in Hohenhems."

Bruce looked up from his tablet and gave a little smile as he took off his glasses. "Sorry. I get lost in the science sometimes. How was Hohenhems?"

Cassie smiled. "It was quiet. The people were really nice, worked with me, helped me learn German, well, relearn it. It was simple. I was... almost happy there. Working on happy, anyway. Until Loki found me, again. That always puts an end to 'happy'."

Bruce scanned her from head to toe. "Well, at least you're here now," he said, absentmindedly.

"Yeah." Everyone seemed to think that was a good thing. Who was she to argue?

"Let me just get some blood and you can head down to your apartment." Anxiety flooded her at the mention of her apartment and Banner’s tablet beeped. "Or, judging by that spike in your blood pressure, you might want to find one of Tony's couches to crash on."

She smiled, embarrassed. "Speaking of crashing, you got anything that would help me sleep?"

"Yeah. I have a couple sedatives around. Insomnia?" he asked, straightening her arm and wrapping a rubber band around her bicep.

"No... uh, nightmares," she whispered, as he gently pushed a needle into her vein.

Bruce nodded. He pulled out the vial of blood and labelled it, before walking over to a cabinet and grabbing a bottle. "This is Lorazapam. Take one about half an hour before you try to sleep. It'll relax you and your mind won't be so anxious. It should work on the nightmares better than Tony's scotch would."

She felt her cheeks heat up at that. How'd he know she was planning to steal her boss' amazing scotch? She jumped down and grabbed the bottle from his hand. She smiled and thanked him. She had her hand on the door when Banner turned his back to her. "Scrutiny sucks," he said, suddenly. The words sounded awkward from the quiet scientist.

Cassie turned back, pushing the pill bottle into her pocket. Bruce took off his glasses, setting them on the table next to him. "I mean... it's no one else's business what happened between you and Coulson. No one's business why you left that base in the Alps. But they will be watching, judging, because that's... human nature."

She sighed, sadly. "I left because I wanted to try to outrun the scrutiny. Guess that was wishful thinking."

"Well... I... I'm not the judging type. The other guy has done some horrible things, so I don't judge. If you need an ear... I'm in this lab, most of the time."

Cassie smiled a little, stepping forward, then jumping back onto the exam table, leaning back on it. "Can I hang in here with you, for a little while, then? I don't want to deal with Steve's cold looks, or the weirdness with Barton. Eventually, we're going to get a call from Phil, and I'll have those questions to answer. I'll take a judgement-free zone where I can get it."

"Why don't you have one of those Lorazapams, take a nap?"

She took the pills out of her pocket and placed five on her tongue. She took a deep breath and rolled over on her side, curling her arm under her head and closing her eyes.

********************

Cassie had read somewhere that dreams of running for your life, being hunted by something that you can instinctively tell is faster than you, were normal. She'd never been able to find anything about being the one on the hunter side. Her dream-self cornered its prey and pulled them to her. "Hail Hydra," she whispered in her prey's ear as she brought a knife to their neck. "Sie werden nie dein schicksal besiegen, [You will never defeat your fate.]" she whispered, before violently pulling the knife across her victim's throat. As the body fell to the concrete beneath her dream self, Cassie could see her own face on the victim.

Her eyes flew open, her whole body tense. "Sie werden nie dein schicksal besiegen," she whispered, sitting up and rubbing her eyes. She looked around and saw Tony and Bruce, standing outside the lab doors, looking at a tablet. She looked at her watch. She'd gotten six hours. She hadn't gotten that much sleep in one go since she left the Playground. "Thank you, Ativan," she said, grabbing the bottle from the table next to the exam table and jumping down. She opened the lab door and smiled at the scientists.

"How'd you sleep?" Bruce asked.

"Better than I have in months, actually. Made it past hour four, so..." Cassie cleared her throat. "Um, Tony... sir. I'm in a good... well, a rested mindset, so I wanted to tell you that I'm going to respectfully decline going back to work in the lab."

Tony shrugged. "No biggie. I'm sure we can-"

"I'd like to focus on Ops training. I'm excited to make sure Loki never lays hands on that scepter again. I'd like to go on that quest. But being strong and fast won't do me any good if I can't fight. And if I can't fight, then I'm useless here."

The men exchanged a look. "Okay. I'll tell Romanoff you need some ass-kicking lessons," Tony responded.

"Don't bother. I'll talk to Barton. That conversation's gotta happen sometime. Better now, when I've had an almost full round of sleep," she said, before walking away.

She found him, with the help of Jarvis, several levels below the penthouse in a large open room with dozens of targets. "Stark made a shooting range? How thoughtful," Cassie said, walking in behind him.

"There's also some foam mats in a closet somewhere, in case Tash gets the urge to kick my ass," he said, throwing the knife that sat balanced on his fingers into a target behind him.

"Got a minute?"

He nodded and grabbed two folding chairs from the wall next to the door. She sat in one, turning it so that her chest was leaning on the back rest. "I was deluded, back at der... the Playground. To think I could carry a Jotun baby... it would have killed me. You saved me from myself. And I hated you for it."

She rested her chin on her hands, on the backrest of the chair. "I understand now. I can't win against destiny. Can't run or hide. I was created to be a super-soldier. I wasn't created to be a scientist or-or a mother. So, I may as well fulfill that."

"I thought you weren't Ops material?"

"Well, I must be. Joanna was pretty good at all that stuff. Sliding down elevator cables, jumping from fire escapes to windows... I did that stuff. Somewhere in me is the fortitude for Ops training. So, I'm coming to you, the one person who has known me longer than anyone except Phil and Fury. Teach me Ops."

Clint looked down. "Who told you?"

"I must've known. Realized I'd seen you trailing me. Joanna knew. Fury confirmed it for her...me... and then you admitted to watching me with a high power scope. Pretty easy there.” She sighed, heavily, a thickness filling her chest. “I don't mind, well, I do, but... I'm Red Skull's daughter. Phil was a level 8 agent. Fury had to keep his eye out."

Clint sighed, disappointed in himself. "I'm sorry. I wanted to tell you. I just... didn't know how."

"It's fine, Clint. It's good to have someone around who knows me... because I don't think I know myself right now." Her eyes stung as she said the words.

Clint stood, before dropping to his knees next to her. "Cassie, you don't know who you are? I do. You are a scientist. You matched wits with some of the brightest minds in Stark Industries. You are a wonderful, intelligent, selfless woman who has faced so much in the last two years. To come out alive... I'm amazed by you. I've been amazed by you from the moment Fury put me on you." He grabbed her shoulders and turned her to look at him.

"I thought it'd be boring. I thought I'd just have to wait a week or so to get evidence of you meeting with Hydra operatives or using Coulson somehow. What I saw was beauty. I saw confidence. I saw a woman deeply in love with a man who was never really around to return that love.” Clint smiled, slightly. “I remember Phil going on a mission once, and you sat around sewing the holes in his suits, while studying tissue histology in a microscope. You never made friends, because Phil was all you cared about. You based your entire life around a man who was gone for weeks at a time. You got your school work done in between making sure everything was perfect every day, just in case Coulson came home. And the day he came home, and wouldn't shut his fucking face about that cellist he saved... I remember the look on your face when you decided to leave everything you had behind and embark on a life by yourself with his kid, so that he could be happy. You didn't even cry, because you were happy letting him be happy. That is you. Selfless, loyal, never thinking about yourself."

She couldn't deny the tears rolling down her cheek this time. "I don't feel like that woman anymore. I lost... everything. I lost Phil. I lost Faye. I lost my humanity, my optimism. I lost my second chance at being happy. Loki killed me. So, who am I now, Clint?"

Clint’s heart ached at the sight of her tears, the way her voice broke as she talked of her loss. "You are the same woman. You're just a little beaten down, right now," Clint said, taking her hands.

Cassie laughed, sarcastically. She pulled her hands out of his grasp and wiped at her tears. "Beaten down was miles back. I'm broken down. I don't sleep. I can't think. I couldn't even tell that Loki had replaced Father Nathan back at the church. That's why Hohenhems was so good to me, nothing required effort. Warm up some sausage, put it on a plate, go back to church and pray for the will to end it all, cry myself to sleep, wake up in cold sweats and do it all over again."

She stood, suddenly, pushing the chair and the archer away, stepping away from him. "I thought I could do this. I thought I could come back and answer all the questions and it could go back to how it was before. But I can't. I'm not... I can't do this," she said, rushing out the door.

********************

Cassie sat in the dive bar Clint had taken her to all those months ago, her glass half-full of a 151 white rum. She'd already downed three and she was happily starting to feel drunk.

"So, what's a beautiful woman like you, doing drinking hard liquor in a dive bar?" a man asked, sitting on the barstool next to her.

"Move on," she said, not looking at him as she downed the rest of her drink and raised her hand for another.

"What's that?"

"I said, 'Move on'." She raised her head and turned slightly to the attractive dark-haired man beside her. "I'm a beautiful woman drinking hard liquor in a dive bar. Don't you think that probably translates into trouble?"

He smirked. "What if I'm a guy who likes trouble?"

She let out an exasperated breath."Mein Gott, werfen sie einen hinweis. [My God, take a hint.] I don't know how to simplify this for you. I want to be left alone. Move on."

"Es tut mir leid. Ich dachte, vielleicht haben sie eine schwester waren. [I’m so sorry. I thought, maybe, you were a sister.] Heil Hydra," he said, before standing.

She put her hand out and grabbed his wrist. "Heil Hydra?" she whispered, before turning to him. "What would make you say that? Looking at me from across the bar, you think I'm one of you?"

"I... thought maybe you were..." The man looked confused. "There was a legacy we lost. You look just like..."

"Your legacy is dead!" she whispered, furiously. "There is no heir. There should be no Hydra." She stood from her stool and wrapped her left hand around his throat. His eyes went wide as she flexed her fingers to dig them into his skin. "All you pretty young American boys pulled so effortlessly into the jaws of Nazism and you don't even recognise it." She tightened her fingers' grip further around his throat. "You, though... you recognise me. You were SHIELD. Must've seen my file."

He nodded, as best as he could. "Fury never put it on the books that you'd been let out of the Fridge,” he croaked. “Whitehall was very interested in getting you back. John Garret and I searched for an hour, in the middle of what was practically a war zone, in order to get you back where you belong."

Cassie smiled and let her hand go from around his neck, stepping toward the door. "Everyone seems to think they know where I should be. I don't belong with Hydra. They might have created me, but they lost ownership years ago. If you want to pick up the shambles of your organization, don't look at me," she said, before walking out the door.

She walked in silence to the subway and sat down in the far back corner of the car. It was quiet. She relished the quiet. Until the doors opened at the next station and several people got on. They all took places around the car, some standing, some sitting. Cassie could see a pattern to their placement. Someone had planned the movements so that she was in the middle and no one was in the others' crossbeams. The person standing closest to her had done a good job of hiding the gun strapped to the inside of her thigh, but a knife was sticking out of the back of her jogging suit.

No one moved as the subway started toward the next station. "I take it you guys wouldn't be inclined to let me off at the next station?" she asked. No one even looked at her. She nodded, then shook her head. Fucking agents, but whose agency?

When the next station came, the doors opened to reveal a tall blonde woman in all black. "Joanna Schmidt?"

Cassie looked up at the Amazonian-looking woman with as much boredom as she could manage. "Wrong chick. I'm Cassandra Campbell. You are?"

The blonde smiled brightly and held out her hand. "Bobbi Morse, Agent of SHIELD. Director Coulson sent us to retrieve you. We weren't sure you were, you know, yourself, hence the manpower."

Cassie took the hand and stood, shaking it. "You're Mockingbird," she said, looking the beautiful woman in the face.

Bobbie chuckled. "I haven't been called that codename in a while. How'd you hear that name?"

"There wasn't much to do in Austria so, I went through some of the SHIELD files Black Widow dumped to the web. I was mostly looking up stuff on the AVENGERS INITIATIVE. I followed a link from Cli- Agent Barton's file to yours..."

"Ah, ex-husband #1. That was a... crazy thing. Come on, let's get you to the director." Cassie followed the woman out of the station, to the SUV waiting on the street above. They sat next to each other in silence for a while before Bobbi cleared her throat. "Clint's a good guy. It just... didn't work."

"Things rarely do, Agent Morse."

*******************

Cassie followed Bobbi through the new secret SHIELD compound, walking through a maze of hallways that seemed intentionally confusing. As she walked, her eyes caught sight of the agents she recognized from Joanna's attack on the Playground staring at her from their offices and labs. Bobbi opened a large wooden door and led her in. Phil stood behind a large wooden desk.

"We're okay, Bobbi. Thank you," he said, sitting down in a large leather chair. Bobbi nodded and vacated the room. Phil looked up at Cassie, standing in front of his desk. "You left before I could talk to you."

"Yeah, well, you had an agency to... that's a lie." She cut herself off, dropping down into the chair on the other side of the desk. "I ran because I didn't want to deal with it." She sighed, sadly, looking at her lap.

"You were never supposed to know about Faye. You weren't gonna be on her birth certificate, I was never going to ask you for anything. As soon as I made the decision to leave, she stopped being ours. She was mine. Only mine. And then she wasn't." Her eyes moved from her lap to the ground in front of her. "I went a little nuts after. Losing her, becoming this, everything that Loki did… did to me. It took a while to even be okay, but eventually I dealt with it. I was fine. I was sleeping, no one knew what he had done. I was okay."

Cassie put her head in her hands, her voice breaking. "I'm not okay, now. I left, chased simplicity, tried to find fine again, but I can't. I can't be okay, not after everything. I ran so that no one would see me fall apart, but I can't help it now. Everyone knows how fucked I am, and I have no way to hide this time."

Phil stood, rounding his desk to kneel in front of her, trying to catch her eyes. "You don't have to be okay. No one is expecting that. And you weren't really okay before. I just couldn't remember well enough to put my finger on what was wrong. You can't find fine and you can't fall into it. You need support, guidance. You need to talk about it."

He took her hand in one of his as she shook her head. "If you don't want to talk to me, that's fine. But you have to talk to someone. Do you remember me telling you about Andrew, May's ex-husband? He's an amazing psychologist and he's well versed in dealing with the Index."

Her eyes widened in realization. "Oh, my god. I'm on the Index, now, aren't I?" she whispered.

He nodded. "I put you on, myself. Listen, the Index isn't bad, Cassie. Remember, the Avengers came from that list."

She nodded. "Yeah. I'm on their list, too."

"You didn't expect Tony Stark to back off, did you?"

"Well, Rogers did. Steve backed off all the way to calling me 'Miss Campbell’ again."

"Yeah... sorry about that. I, uh, know you were looking forward to a second date with my hero," he said, bitterly.

She shrugged. "It wasn't something I wanted, Phil, until it suddenly was. I mean, you know him... he's a great man. But don't worry, he's cold shouldered me enough that I got the hint."

"I'm not worried. I don't have a right to be. I pushed you away, and if there was anyone I'd want you to... get over me with... Not him, come on!" he whined.

Cassie smiled, slightly. "Okay. So, Andrew."

KITCHEN SINK TAGS @heyitscam99 @wonderlandfandomkingdom @unlikelysamwinchesteronahunt @mrs-meghan-winchester @henrymorganme @lonely-skys

[bluethornefics]

Goretober Drabble - Barbed Wire

In which Reboot Vergil learns a little bit more about what a fate worse than death entails. Set during the Downfall DLC.

I am very sleepy, but I thought doing a little Goretober stuff would make for some fun practice. Warnings in this one for moderate blood, gore, and some eye trauma. But not to ReVergil. He’s doing about as well as he can in this.

I may have taken some liberties with headcanons and things, but shhhh, it’s fine.

~2k words

I’d always heard about people falling into Hell. Just falling. No one ever made mention of all the pushing that happened to cause that. The next time I saw Dante, I would give him a taste of what it was like to have Rebellion shoved through his chest.

First I had to find a way out of wherever the hell I’d wound up this time. Hell needed fewer glowing warp doors and more signs and maps. Following the path of the doors hadn’t necessarily led me astray up to that point, but I never felt certain I would land where I needed to be.

Every new door I stepped from brought me to a plane that was nothing like the last, yet they were all twisted in much the same way. Hell was all fragments suspended in air and nauseating colors. The worst were the planes where distant screams and pleas filled the air.

But this was Hell, after all. I was only surprised I didn’t see more suffering.

I didn’t see much of anyone.

Just Dante.

I had seen Kat, but she was gone now.

I wasn’t sure if seeing myself counted.

The demons certainly didn’t count. I was getting damn tired of running into them. I couldn’t go ten feet without a swarm of the bastards appearing, and every swing of my sword against them felt like a hook had snagged into my wound and pulled along the length of my arm.

I was so tired of pain.

Through yet another door - I’d lost track of my path ages back - a new breed of demon greeted me along with a distant chorus of wails. I supposed it was different anyway. It wore a different mask than I’d seen before and carried chains, but it was weak and died screaming like those it must have tormented. Demons were all so pathetic.

I saw no reason to seek out any of the distant voices. I had my own pain to manage, and it was their own damn faults if they’d been trapped. They deserved their fates. But I would not be so weak. Dante would fall by my hand. He would suffer and bleed just as I had. Let him beg, even. I would have loved to hear it, the whimpering, the realization that he had nothing left. God, I would savor that.

“A smile like that isn’t a good sign. You mustn’t let this place get to you, Vergil.”

My steps froze, my spine rigid. Yamato was in-hand before I had even registered the meaning of the words, spoken in such a rasp that no tone touched them. 

If the thing hadn’t spoken, I wouldn’t have glanced twice at it, wouldn’t have acknowledged that it had any sort of human form. With all the barbed wire strung up around it and in it, it looked more like a hunk of fleshy meat held there. Wire laced through its throat, hands, legs, cheeks, and was even buried into a mushy, glistening mess that should have been an eye. The thing must have been there for some time because skin had grown over some of the barbs. The slight movement of its breathing had torn open wounds along its chest where the wire threaded through stark ribs. So much old, dried blood covered it that the new blood looked like nothing but a fresh coat of paint.

Perhaps I should have called it a he, but it was a demon. That much was obvious from the crooked horns that stemmed from black hair matted with blood. It had a tail as well. Pale and reptilian, it was longer than I was tall. Iron spikes pinned it to the ground, the only part of the demon not suspended by the wire.

“You know my name,” I said, my eyes narrowed. Even with the demon clearly immobile, I raised Yamato between us. This made it laugh, though the sound was strangled like a dying engine.

“Of course I know your name. I gave it to you.”

As though he’d lunged at me, I fell a step back. “Lies,” I hissed because it was all I could think. He was some trick, some illusion. I pressed Yamato’s tip up under his chin, but he smiled enough that the barbs sliced him a more wicked grin.

“Are you going to torture me or kill me? I can assure you I’ve been through worse than anything you could do, Son.”

“Don’t you dare call me that! My father was damned to the deepest pit of Hell. There’s no reaching him. Don’t think you can fool me-”

“You’ve fallen far.” His smile faded, sorrow filling his eye. “You still have some life in your blood. You can still escape if you keep fighting. I don’t know what fate befell you, but it seems you’ve suffered greatly. I-”

“It was your fault!” The anger hit me like a bullet train. If this bastard wanted to pretend to be my father, then so be it. The fool must have thought I still had some love for that demon. No, my father was worse than Kat, worse than Dante. Burying Yamato in his shoulder, I felt the satisfying crackle of his bones shattering under the blade. He didn’t flinch, didn’t make a sound. That just made my anger burn brighter, so I dragged Yamato down along his arm, snapping the hold of wire wound around it. The barbs tore through him as they unraveled. “You separated us,” I continued. “It’s your fault. If we’d been together, he would have understood. He would have listened to me.” But it didn’t matter anymore. He’d picked his side. He was nothing to me now - just like this demon pretending to be my father - just another demon to slaughter.

“Then something happened between you and Dante,” he said. “I see. You’re right. I shouldn’t have separated you. I thought you would both be safer that way, but it seems not.”

“Dante will be safe in death soon enough,” I spat.

His eye narrowed in on me, and for a moment, the simple gesture made me feel as though I were the one strung up and sliced open for him to see. “Hm, one of them has its claws in you. I will accept your rage. Kill me or torture me as you wish, but do it under your own influences, not some bastard Hollow’s.”

Before I could bite that this was my will, that I’d lain awake night after night in the orphanage despising him even when I didn’t remember anything about him, his ruined arm shot out and wrenched Yamato from my grasp. Such a quick, effortless action, he could have slit my throat before I even realized the blade was out of my hand.

Instead, he slashed the wires suspending him and dropped to his knees. His feet were far too weak to catch him. “What a pain,” he sighed as I took slow, retreating steps. My eyes flashed over him in search of the best method to retrieve Yamato. He was already a mess. If I just knocked him down-

“Here, you can have this back.” He held the grip out to me. “It won’t do me much good from here. Give me a moment. This might be a little messy.”

I couldn’t think of what else to do, so I took Yamato back and watched as he gripped the wire piercing his cheek. With a sharp tug, he ripped a long string of it free of where it had trailed down into his throat. It was coated a pure red, and wet hunks of something clung to the barbs. I couldn’t look beyond that, but the sounds were enough to churn my stomach.

His every breath gargled, the wire scraped along his bone, and each segment came free with a wet squelch. I thought I was beyond finding much of anything sickening, but the air was a bit too warm.

“Maybe you should sit a moment. You’re looking quite pale. Well, paler than usual anyway.” He had a voice again, a haggard but warm tone that burned my mind with recollections of strange bedtime stories and too-soft scoldings. “Sorry about all that. I do wish you could have seen me on a day when they were feeling a little less creative.”

“They?” I echoed, my voice a whisper.

“Oh yes, my torturers. You killed the latest batch, actually. I do appreciate that.”

When I managed to drag my eyes back toward him, I found him testing the spikes in his tail. His wounds were already mending on their own. The winged brand on his back glowed without any sword in its center. He kept his left eye closed, though.

“Are you really him?” I asked. “Sparda?”

“The one and only,” he said through gritted teeth as he yanked the first spike free. “Well, actually, it’s not an uncommon name, really.” He wrenched another spike free. “Ah, my poor tail. They’re lucky they died by your hand. I would have given them much slower deaths.”

I felt like I’d taken a blow to the head. “You were supposed to be impossible to reach. Mundus trapped you beyond help.”

“My boy, you are in much deeper than you seem to realize.” After tearing each spike free with little more than a wince, he stood and faced me. His brow furrowed at the sight of my chest. Every logical part of my mind screamed at me to run or fight as he pressed his filthy hand over my heart, but I could not bring myself to move. “I always knew that nephilim could not live a life free of suffering, but it still pains me to know you’ve been through so much. I wish I could have given you a better life.”

He spoke of my pain as though it was far worse than the years of unfathomable torture he’d experienced. A laugh bubbled from my throat. “Father, you had wire down your throat. I practically cut your arm in half. How could this be anything to you?”

“Because it is you.” His eye rose to meet mine. It was blue as the hottest burning flame and just as scorching. “I have never mattered. My body, my life, they are worthless, but you are my son. You are all that I am worth and all that I have left. You are all that matters to me.” His hand pressed firmer to my chest, but no pain came. Only the warmth of his palm. “And your heart breaks so easily.”

“Dante did this,” I whispered.

“Then Dante shall mend it.” Pain filled his smile. “You two were always fighting. How many times did I have to call a truce?”

“Father, you don’t understand-”

“I understand that I’ve got some Hollows to rip in half. Ugh, I can smell them all over you.” His nose wrinkled. “I fucking hate those things. Apologies for the language.”

“Hollows?”

His tail swam up to coil around my arm, gentle as his touch had been, but I could tell it was a leash to keep me from wandering as he started off toward the glow of the next door. “Yes, there’s much to do, my boy. I’d rather like to find some new clothes too. And a shower! I don’t think I’ve ever missed anything as much as bathing. But first, those Hollows. Do not worry. I will take care of them for you.”

I should have been annoyed at him treating me like a child again. I should have wrenched myself away and told him off. Trusting someone again was foolish. It could only end in more suffering, and yet, walking at his side was such a relief that even the ache in my chest eased.

Even if it was all a lie, at least for now I didn’t have to sink deeper into Hell alone.

[fangzeronos]

A Luthor and A Super Ch. 7

Ch. 1/Ch. 2/Ch. 3/Ch. 4/Ch. 5/Ch.6

As the New Year rang in for Kara, Lena, and the rest of National City, the unrest at Agent Liberty’s declaration became louder and louder. The outcry for Supergirl to reveal herself to the city was making it impossible for Kara to do her duty, as well as being thrown out of scenes by Colonel Haley was making things more difficult, as was Alex telling her to stay out of things. Kara decided it was best if Supergirl disappeared, and she folded the suit and stuffed it in a box on the floor of the closet before walking out and turning on the news to the same reports for the last weeks.

 “If you know who I am, why shouldn’t Supergirl tell us who she is?! It’s only fair! Force the leech tell us her name! Who are you, Supergirl!? You’ll have to answer soon, you know!” The camera cut to Supergirl, hovering over the prison and looking upset and worried all at once before she turned and flew off, Lockwood’s laughter lingering on the air.

 “We’re two months since Professor Lockwood was arrested and booked into the men’s prison. Crime in the city has spiked since Supergirl has not shown up to several gunfights, fires, or crises that could have used her help, leaving many to wonder if she ever cared about National City or was just in it for the fame and glory. Was Agent Liberty right? Should Supergirl reveal herself to the world? We’re going to be exploring that topic tonight at 10,” the news reporter said before it cut to a commercial.

 Kara sighed, drawing her knees up and shutting off the television. She buried her face in her arms, shaking a bit as tears fell down her cheeks. “What do I do…?” she muttered.

 The door to the apartment shut, and Lena sighed as she set her bag on the counter. “Kara?”

 Kara looked over and smiled a little, even though it didn’t reach her eyes. “Hi, Lee,” she whispered, getting up and wiping her eyes softly.

 “Sweetie, what’s wrong?” Lena asked, putting her hands against Kara’s cheeks. “Why are you crying?”

 Kara sighed softly, looking down. “News again,” she said. “They’re saying that Supergirl was only in the hero job for the fame and glory and that’s not true. I did it because I loved it. But after all of this mess with Lockwood, I don’t even like looking at that suit anymore. It makes me feel wrong when I put it on. Everyone hounding me for who I am, why I do what I do…I can’t take it.”

 Lena nodded, wrapping her arms around Kara. “It’s ok, baby,” she said. “If you need to take a break, then take one. Nobody’s going to fault you for that. It’s just burnout. You’ve been doing Supergirl nonstop for almost four years, and It’s not your fault that you’re tired of it. Lockwood’s just a stain on the carpet anymore, so we don’t have to worry about him.”

 Kara nodded, burying her face against Lena’s neck. “Maybe I should just go public,” she said.

 “No! I will not let you do that,” Lena said. “If there is one thing I will not let you do, even though you are a grown ass adult, is give up your identity. If the entire world knew, Alex would be in danger, your mom would be in danger. It’s too big of a risk.”

 “But not being Supergirl is a bigger risk, Lena!” Kara said, pulling away and running her hands in her hair softly. “Not going out there and stopping gunfights and fires and boat accidents and whatever else happens in this city is a bigger risk. I’m letting people die because I’m scared! I’m a horrible person because I’m letting this happen.”

 “No, you’re not,” Lena said, biting her lip softly. “Kara, you are the most selfless person I have ever known. You’re just in a slump.”

 Kara started to say something, but her phone rang. “Alex?” she asked as she picked it up. She answered it and put it on speaker “Alex, what’s wrong?”

 “Turn on the news. Right now.”

 Lena ran over and turned the television on, seeing a breaking news report on the screen.

 “We interrupt Press Your Luck for a special news report. James Olsen, former CEO of CatCo has just come forward with the identity of Supergirl. The man known as Guardian has recently been seen working with the Children of Liberty, and he says he knows Supergirl’s identity and can put that to rest with photographic evidence to back it up. We’re going live to our reporter on the street at the waterfront with Mr. Olsen right now. Katrina?”

 “Thanks, Caity,” Katrina said, turning to James. “Mr. Olsen, you say you have proof of Supergirl’s identity and can back it up?” “Yes, Katrina,” James said. “I worked with Supergirl for three and a half years at CatCo. Supergirl’s real name is Kara Danvers, reporter for CatCo Worldwide Media.” He turned his tablet and showed the pictures side-by-side, tapping them and overlaying the pictures where Kara and Supergirl overlapped with nothing out of place but her glasses. “She pretends to be human, but she’s just like Superman, complete with the paper-thin disguise.”

 “Kara Danvers? She always seemed—”

“Innocent and klutzy? Yeah, that’s the disguise. Glasses and a ponytail aren’t really a disguise and anyone that thinks otherwise is only fooling themselves,” James said.

 Kara narrowed her eyes, heat vision blasting the television.

 “Kara!” Lena yelled, jumping backward.

 “Lena? Are you alright?” Alex asked.

 “Fine,” Lena said. “She’s just, uh…blown up the television with her heat vision.”

 “That slimy son of a bitch!” Kara snapped, setting her phone down so she didn’t break it. “I trusted him! I told him everything and I trusted him! And he does this?! He better be glad Clark’s off world right now. James, you bastard!”

 “Kara, sweetie, calm down,” Lena said, putting her hand on Kara’s arm. “Kara, please. Just breathe and listen to me. We can do damage control. We can fix this.”

 “No, we can’t!” Kara yelled, slamming her hand in the wall and breaking the bricks. “We can’t fix this, Lena! That two-faced son of a bitch just ruined everything!” She collapsed onto the ground, wrapping her arms around herself as she started crying, drawing her knees up and burying her face in her hands.

 “Alex, I’ll call you back,” Lena said, hanging up Kara’s phone and walking over to her. She sat beside her girlfriend, wrapping her arm around her tightly. “What did you tell me once? This is just a setback. You’re going to get up after having a good cry and a teeny pity party, and you’re going to come back stronger then you were when you got brought down. You are my hero, Kara Danvers, and a stuck up, selfish, self-righteous prick is going to take that away from you.” She kissed Kara’s head, rubbing her arm softly. “Dry off those tears, sweetie. We’ll set up a conference and we can smooth this over.”

 “If I don’t go to prison,” Kara whispered. “For lying, cheating the government, obstruction, whatever else Haley wants to throw at me…”

 For the next week, Kara refused to leave the apartment except for work, even though she’d get questions and things thrown at her by the anti-alien civilians, just brushing it all off and not letting it show that it affected her. She’d spent two hours on the phone with Cat Grant on the seventh day after James told the world, the conversation she was oddly grateful for.

 “Listen to me, Kara. You lied to protect your family, and I can respect that. Even though you know I had my suspicions for a long time, especially since you’d go to “lunch” and come back and smell like smoke or your hair would be wet, or you’d be in a different cardigan and a skirt instead of those tackily awful pantsuits you’d wear. I cannot say I’m surprised in Mr. Olsen, but considering this wasn’t his story to tell, I hope you give this bastard hell,” she’d said.

 “Ms. Grant, you know I won’t do that. I don’t hurt people with my powers. Not intentionally. James…he’s just a gnat I don’t want to spend any more time on. Lena, thank Rao, hasn’t fired me from CatCo, but I haven’t been given any good stories. I’ve been running sports and fashion with Nia mostly. Someone else covers the Supergirl stuff, considering it’d be a conflict of interest if I did it. Self-promotion is what Snapper called it. After he called me every trashy name in the world. Lena, bless her, tried to put him in his place, but he still does it. I just don’t listen…I can’t stand it,” Kara said, sniffling softly and wiping her eyes.

 Cat sighed. “Maybe I should come and set Mr. Carr straight,” she said. “Or unstick his head from his ass.” She was silent for a minute, getting up and pacing her office in DC. “Can’t you get another job somewhere? Less public? What qualifications do you have?”

Kara thought. “Well...I was in the Science Guild on Krypton. I was training to be a scientist like my father. It’s how we were able to stop Reign. I used what I remembered as a girl to work with Lena. Maybe I can work for LCorp’s science department. Put my big brain to use.”

 “Well, there you go! You have a plan. Now you just have to execute the plan,” Cat said. “I’m going to be in National City tomorrow. We’ll talk more then, Kara. Alright?”

 Kara, for the first time in a week, actually smiled. “Alright. How about I meet you at the airport?”

 “I think I’d like that,” Cat said. “I’ll see you soon, dear.”

 “Ok. And Ms. Grant?”

 “Yes, Keira?” Cat asked, hearing Kara laugh at the mispronunciation of her name that used to annoy her so much.

 “Thank you,” Kara said. “For…everything. The job at CatCo, believing in me, not being angry I lied to you.”

 Cat smiled, putting her hand over her heart. “You’re welcome, sweetheart. Now. Hang up the phone and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

 “Yes, ma’am,” Kara said, hanging up and sighing.

 On the eighth day since being outed, Kara stood in front of CatCo with Lena and Cat behind her, a press conference set up at her request. She bit her lip softly, watching the flashing cameras. She felt Lena’s hand on her back, turning and looking at her girlfriend who nodded. Kara nodded, stepping forward and standing at the podium.

 “Thank you all for coming today,” she said. She took a deep breath and sighed, looking at the crowd. “The reports from James Olsen, however much I wish they weren’t, are true. My name is Kara Danvers, but my real name is Kara Zor-El. I’m from the planet Krypton. I was sent to Earth as a child to watch over my cousin Kal-El, Superman, and help him learn about Krypton. My pod, however, was knocked off course by Krypton’s destruction. I spent over twenty years in a space called the Phantom Zone where time does not flow. When I landed on Earth, my cousin was grown up and saving the world already, and I was still thirteen.”

 “Why hide who you were?” a reporter asked.

 Kara sighed. “I hid because if I didn’t, the people I loved would have been in danger. It’s why the people I consider friends who also do the hero thing wear masks. My mask…just happened to be a scrunchie and glasses, letting me use my normal look as Supergirl.” She wrapped her arms around herself softly, looking down. “I know I lied to everyone for so long. My family knew, my girlfriend knew, and my closest friends knew, but…I couldn’t let anyone in because I didn’t want people getting hurt because of me.”

 “And that’s why you’re going to be arrested for treason,” Colonel Haley said, walking up. “Stay where you are, Ms. Danvers. If you try and run or fly away, I’ve got snipers set with Kryptonite rounds to subdue you.” She walked forward and took out a pair of handcuffs. “Turn around.”

“No,” Kara said. “You can’t arrest me for protecting a secret to keep my family safe. This is wrong.”

 “And so is lying to the government,” Haley said.

 “Oh, like the fact that the DEO is not public record, yet has a fully staffed army that’s been deployed in the city numerous times?” Lena asked. “Yeah, figure that out. She worked for an organization that isn’t even on the government record, and you’re going to arrest her? That’s bullshit and you know it.”

 “Stay out of this, Luthor,” Haley threatened. “Or you’re going away alongside her for aiding and abetting. Don’t push your luck with me, rich girl.”

 Lena narrowed her eyes. “Don’t try me, bitch. You’re fucking with the wrong women.”

 “Besides, Colonel, I can call President Baker, and have you removed,” Cat said with a step forward, narrowing her eyes and looking at the other woman.

 “Actually, Secretary Grant, you can’t,” Haley said. “Since this order came directly from the President.”

 Kara sighed, looking at Lena and Cat. “It’s fine,” she said, shaking her head softly. “It’s alright, Lena, Cat. I’ll…I’ll go.” She turned and grabbed Lena, kissing her softly and closing her eyes. “I’ll be home soon. I promise. I’ve got a friend that can help me.”

 Lena nodded softly, wrapping her arms around Kara’s neck and kissing her back, whimpering softly. “I love you,” she whispered. “Come back to me, Kara. You have to come back to me.”

“I will, baby,” Kara whispered, resting her forehead against Lena’s. She walked over and hugged Cat, sighing softly. “Thank you for trying to help, Ms. Grant.”

 Cat shook her head. “You don’t thank me, Kara. Not after all you’ve done for me and this city.”

 Kara walked over and held her hands out for Haley, the Colonel slapping the cuffs on. Kara just stood blank faced, the slam not even hurting her wrists. “You can tell your snipers to stand down. Since I’m going peacefully, you can’t shoot me. Plus, and this is the most important part, Colonel, I’m not even using my powers, so you have no reason to have armed men on the rooftops,” she said, cocking an eyebrow.

 “All teams, stand down,” Haley said. She grabbed Kara’s arm and led her away, slamming the door of an SUV after shoving Kara in and getting in the drivers’ side. “All units, report back to the DEO.”

 Ten minutes later, Kara was being thrown into a cell, the cell being flooded with red sun energy to take her powers away, leaving her weak as she sank onto the bed. She drew her knees up, shaking as she looked down.

 Alex walked out of the conference room, heading into the main ops and seeing Haley looking smug. “What in the hell did you do?” she asked, her eyes livid. “Why is she in a cell? Snipes with Kryptonite rounds?! Are you out of your goddamn mind!?”

“Watch your tone, Director Danvers. Or your sister is going to be the least of your worries,” Haley said. “You’re lucky I don’t throw you into that cell with her for lying and falsifying information to government agencies. She came quietly, my use of force was unneeded.”

 Alex rolled her eyes, her hands shaking as she turned away, looking at the monitors. She smirked as she turned up the volume on the main television.

 “National City continues to get interesting. With last weeks reveal of Supergirl’s real identity, it’s been revealed by LCorp and CatCo WorldWide CEO Lena Luthor that there is a sanctioned and secret government operation in the city called the DEO. Our reporters captured everything this afternoon at Ms. Danvers press conference outside of CatCo,” the reporter said.

 As the footage played, including Kara’s goodbye to Lena and arrest, it cut to the streets in a live feed, showing people protesting Kara’s arrest and ordering her release.

 “It seems National City citizens are eager to see Supergirl fly once again. That shot’s coming from downtown National City near the Mayor’s office, protesters coming from all corners of the city. We’re going to keep coverage on this as it happens.”

 Alex smirked. “Looks like you’re fucked, Haley,” she said. “And not in a fun way. You’re going to get on the horn, get the President to let my sister out of that cell, and you will leave my organization, or I will find a way to get you fired or relocated to the Arctic digging for Santa’s Workshop. Understand me?”

 “You have no authority, Director Danvers,” Haley growled. “Not over me, considering I’m directly under the president.”

 “Yeah, you’re got his dick so far down your throat you’re hanging off his balls when he stands up,” Alex growled, getting in Haley’s face. “You’re in my organization, so do what I’m telling you. Now.”

 “Go to hell,” Haley spat, turning and storming out.

 “You first, bitch.”