#i nearly cracked thr shits and fucking screamed

[iampikachuhearmeroar]

as someone who has just started volunteering in a big op shop 2 days a week.... if you're the type of person that just leaves a whole ass mountain of clothes strewn on the floor of a change-room and maybe haphazardly hung up on the wall or direct on the floor in front of the change room rack... I reserve my right to believe that I should be allowed to flay you alive when the purge happens. also this is playing in my head right after you have the audacity to do this and probably say to yourself that "well, it's their job anyway 😒🙄. why should i even try and bother to help them?"

however, if you're the type of person who honestly tries to rehang your clothes on the hanger and either puts them back correctly on the return rack at the change rooms.... or EVEN BETTER puts it back in the CORRECT clothes rack where you got it from (or at least you guessed where you got it from and say put it in size 8 when it's size 10 or something). I am passionately, earnestly, eagerly, ardently, caringly, wholeheartedly, tenderly, vigorously, etc, making out with you. with tongue. sloppy style. we can do anything else sloppy style too if you wish, king or queen.

[the-irish-mayhem]

This is a series of short, unrelated vignettes/oneshots that was supposed to be posted for Fosterson Week a year or two ago and I finally got around to finishing it. Enjoy!

5 Universes In Which Jane Is Worthy and 1 Where She Isn’t

Read on AO3

1.

On the top ten list of bad ideas she’s ever had, this is so, so, so bad the number one spot doesn’t even seem adequate. The guy who thought he was Thor clearly got caught trying to get her stuff back, and so she is  so  screwed unless she goes in herself. God, why did she go along with this again? He’d claimed he’d fly out once he got what he was looking for (which,  god , again, why had she kind of believed him?)

Her feet crunch quietly against the hard-packed sand leading to the hole in the plastic tarping making up the walls of the facility that Thor had kicked a guy through, and she, without nearly as much hesitation as she should probably feel, hops in.

The place isn’t huge, and it doesn’t take long for Jane to find the main room.

Thor had helpfully drawn nearly everyone in security away from where her equipment is stowed, next to a… hammer in the dirt. Literally, they built this entire site around a hammer? What the  hell , archaeologists never get this much funding and government attention. And what does her equipment have to do with it?

Jane shakes herself. She has a lot more important things to do instead of trying to puzzle out the weird and wild workings of shady government agencies. Things like capitalizing on their inattentiveness and getting her gear back.

She grabs her notebook first, stuffing it into her back pocket, and then trying to figure out how she’s going to cart out at least two hundred or so pounds of equipment.

“Hey!”

Jane nearly leaps out of her skin and turns, seeing a pair of security guards sprinting towards her from one of the halls.

“Shit,” she spits, and frantically looks around at her equipment. Lightest and hardest to replace… Radio spectrometer retrofitted for wormholes. Yep, that one. She scoops it up in her arms and takes off.

Even running as quickly as she can, the guards are still within arm’s length of her before she’s taken five steps.

Oh, they are not taking her work. Absolutely not. Erik isn’t here to hold her back this time.

She reaches an arm out, barely managing to hold onto her spectrometer as she grasps the handle of the hammer. Old or valuable, the thing is still a hammer, she can still swing at them with it.

A crack of thunder. A blinding flash of light. The feeling of grabbing a live-wire running through her body for a handful of terrifying seconds until the euphoria comes.

If she be worthy , she hears.

May she possess the power of Thor.

Oh, Jane thinks.

Oh,  fuck .

 2.

“No, I don’t know what… That’s why I’m coming out here to… Look, all the issues with our readings at the site are originating from this one spot, so yeah, I’m going to go take a look,” Jane says into the phone.

“Who is it?” Darcy whispers. Their truck rumbles along a remote road in Norway leading to the coast, and the interference from their mystery site makes it so they don’t get any radio stations, so Darcy is starved for entertainment.

Jane covers the mouthpiece and whispers back, “Caplan. He’s--” she uncovers the mouthpiece. “No, there’s not any danger. You--no… No… Wait, but that time wasn’t actually my fault, so…”

“Being a dick again?”

Jane’s eyeroll is all the answer required. “Look, we’ll be ba-- in--” Jane makes an almost comical crackling noise in the back of her throat. “Wha-- interference from the-- thr-- breaking up--bye.” She hangs up without any further discussion.

Darcy contains a laugh. “You’re gonna pay for that later, you know.”

Jane rolls her eyes again. “Well, it’s my being at his facility that’s even getting him funding in the first place, so, you know.” She shrugs. “If he wants to fight me, I’m the one with more published papers and theories that changed the laws of physics.”

Darcy pumps a fist. “Fuck yeah.”

She waves a hand. “He’ll be fine. He’s pissed we took the Mule without asking.” Where they plan on going, there’s no vehicle access, so the ATV was their only recourse. “If he thinks I’ll be satisfied with this one spot fucking up my results over and over again, he’s got another thing coming. Speaking of which,” the device that rests in Jane’s lap begins to ping, “pull over here.”

“Woo, off-road time,” Darcy cheers, and follows Jane’s instructions.

Another hour of driving in the Mule later, they reach the geographic nexus that’s been screwing with their readings.

It’s a pretty spot, bright green grass running all the way to the edge of the cliff, where a sheer drop would land them in the ocean. Norway’s fjords are always breathtaking, and Darcy counts herself lucky yet again that she gets to visit places like this and get paid for it. All in all, a pretty rad job.

“Can you set up--”

“Magnetic perimeter and radiation scanners?” Darcy finishes. “Yeah.”

Darcy unloads the equipment from the back of the ATV as Jane approaches the nexus.

It looks like a storm is beginning to swirl overhead, and Darcy eyes it nervously. Without any cover, they are pretty much sitting ducks if any rain starts to fall, god forbid if lightning starts. Where the hell did all these thunderheads come from? This blew in awfully fast.

Jane crouches down and reaches for something on the ground. “Darcy, you should come look at this,” she calls out. 

Quite suddenly, the hair on the back of Darcy’s neck stands straight up. The sensation is so strong and sudden that it literally causes her to gasp in shock.

“Jane--” she starts but she doesn’t get the chance to finish.

Faster than the blink of an eye, a massive bolt of lightning tears from the sky, slicing straight down to where Jane kneels.

Darcy barely has time to scream.

She is thrown backwards by the force of the lightning strike, and she thinks she hears a voice whisper before she hits the ground behind her.

If she be worthy.

When she looks up again, she knows she hears it.

A strange woman stands where Jane once was--massive, tall, blonde, with impressive armor and Mjolnir in her fist.

May she possess the power of Thor.

 3.

Fragile isn’t a word that could ever have been used to describe Jane Foster, but with her cheekbones hollowed out by weight loss, neck and wrists gone skinny and tendons standing out against her skin in sharp relief, fragile almost seems generous. A plastic band wraps around her wrist, stamped with her name, attending physician, allergies, and a barcode encoded with all her patient information.

She is tired, often, but with Darcy’s help still manages to go through her research and rough out an outline for her next paper she plans to publish.

Jane likes to plan, likes to say things like there’s a conference next September that this paper will do really well at, and Jane knows that Darcy is trying to hide her heartbreak at these statements. Darcy used to not hide anything from her, used to barely have the capacity, let alone the desire, but it’s strange the effect dying can have.

Her hospital room is outfitted with several whiteboards scribbled over with notes and formulae, the answers Jane constantly seeks waiting to be pried out of the clutches of the equations she can spend hours puzzling over. It’s a good use of her time, when she’s not--

Elsewhere.

Jane is careful to hide the hammer. It’s her secret legacy, her last hurrah, her hidden responsibility and duty--

Mjolnir is many things to her, but burdensome is certainly not one of them.

She swings her legs over the side of her bed, gripping her IV pole to help her stand. She walks over to the window, where the sunlight of the early afternoon has been shrouded over by storm clouds. She slides open her window, the cool wind of the storm washing over her face.

In the distance, she hears the rumble of thunder.

Jane Foster smiles.

 4.

His axe is buried in Thanos’s chest, and there’s a blinding moment of what feels like sour vengeance--so many have died already, and now the Mad Titan will perish for his crimes.

He presses the blade of Stormbreaker in further, for Loki, for Heimdall, for every one of his slaughtered people.

Then Thanos whispers, “You should’ve gone for the head.”

And he feels his heart drop.

And then, and suddenly as Thor himself had dropped from the sky, another streak of lightning blazes in from the east, and Thor can feel it--  Mjolnir .

But how?

He can’t even tell who is wielding it until the hammer smashes Thanos’s skull in, and the Mad Titan is finally felled. The Infinity Gauntlet drops, the stones unused, the universe saved.

The woman holding Mjolnir is tall, with shining armor that looks well-crafted, including a helmet that hides the upper half of her face. In spite of that, he can see her eyes.

Eyes he would know anywhere in the galaxy.

She looks almost as stunned as he is.

“Jane?”

 5.

The cell phone footage is grainy and difficult to make out. Shot by a civilian in Garching, Germany, the shaky video peeks at the action from behind a brick wall. A voice out of frame whispers,  “Dude, I think it’s Thor!”  and is quickly hushed by the one holding the camera.  So at least two more witnesses to track down,  Natasha thinks tiredly.

The observation, though, is rather striking in its accuracy. The figure has a red cape and flowing blonde hair, and displays a command of lightning that Natasha hasn’t seen since Thor more-or-less retired after their last showdown with Thanos.

The opponents are a small gaggle of aliens, impossible to fully make out but probably more scavengers who’d come to pick the bones of Thanos’s last battlefield. In the two years since the Snap, they’d been getting a steadier stream of extraterrestrial threats looking to take advantage of Earth’s vulnerability.

“How is it that we have holographic video technology widely available, but every civilian who has useful intel has a Nokia from 2004?” Natasha grumbles, squinting and trying again in vain to enhance the footage.

From her place next to her, Okoye chuckles. “I think we’ve demonstrated that we have the worst luck imaginable,” she jokes darkly.

The figure is still hard to make out aside from the gaudy cape and lightning. The electricity in the air made the audio on the video spotty at best, mostly static and a few loud bursts of accurate recordings of a fight, but mostly useless. Then a few video frames give them a clear view of the front of the figure.

“Pause,” Natasha says, sitting forward in her chair. “Go back three frames?” The computer obeys her voice command, ticking back to the moment when they had the best view.

Both Okoye and Natasha freeze as they take in the image.

There’s a shard of disappointment that goes through Natasha when she realizes, once and for all, that it definitely isn’t Thor. That disappointment turns swiftly into suspicion because she does not know this person, and they certainly have powers that would’ve landed them at the top of a SHIELD watchlist back in the day.

It’s a woman. She’s massive, arms and legs thick with muscle, and extensive armor that could be Asgardian make, but with the graininess of the video, it’s hard to tell. Her helmet covers almost her entire face, only exposing her mouth and jaw. Some sort of chainmail on her legs, perhaps, and a sleeve on her left arm. Her right arm is bare, and clutched in that hand--

“Mjolnir,” Natasha breathes.

“I thought it was destroyed,” Okoye says.

Natasha nods. “We all did.”

Despite the video quality, there’s no mistaking that hammer. Especially when Natasha resumes the video and the mysterious woman throws the hammer, and it returns to her hand moments later.

“We haven’t seen any new powered people since the Snap,” Okoye says, breaking the silence. “With our…  situation  being what it is,” she continues, tactfully calling the mess they’d made of the world a  situation , “we should either ascertain if this woman is on our side, get her on our side, or terminate her as soon as possible.”

Natasha nods in quiet contemplation. They cannot afford to have a powered person running around the world unchecked, not with the way things are. They’re barely managing to hold it together as it is, and the Avengers are spread extremely thin. Not to mention their help is often rejected in an official capacity, a lionshare of the blame for what happened falling to the World’s Greatest Heroes who failed to save the world. It’s a PR nightmare, and there are many nights when Natasha wishes that she’d just been dusted along with the half of the world who didn’t make it.

But she didn’t. She’s still here, and someone needs to lead.

“Want me to track down Thor and ask him about her?” Okoye says. “Based on her strength from that video, she’s probably Asgardian.”

Natasha’s kneejerk reaction is to say no, that Thor can’t handle this, that he’s been in an almost constant state of inebriation and/or depression for the last two years and she won’t expose her friend to something that might be painful for him. Then her rational mind kicks in and she nods at Okoye. Thor is their best lead. “I’ll come with you.” (Then her vicious mind raises its hackles and says if she’s got to wade into the shit that is the post-Snap world, then Thor should have to get right into it with her.)

That night, the evening news features a story with the grainy footage Natasha could’ve sworn she’d managed to scrub from everywhere (but alas, she is no Vision.) The ticker at the bottom of the screen reads The New Thor: Who is she, and can we trust her?

***

They find him at a hightop table in a hole-in-the-wall bar in New Asgard, and if Natasha had been serving him, she probably would’ve cut him off at least four drinks ago, but the bartender doesn’t seem concerned with denying their monarch his alcoholic solace.

“Do I need to go get Brunnhilde?” Okoye whispers to Natasha.

Thor sways in his barstool, hands clasped around a large stein of beer, but seems coherent enough to answer their questions.

“Not yet.”

“Wha--?” Thor mumbles, eyes half-lidded. “What’re you saying?” His words are disturbingly slurred. Maybe getting Brunnhilde wouldn’t be a bad idea.

Natasha refocuses. “Have you watched the news recently?”

Thor snorts and takes a drink of beer. And doesn’t stop taking a drink of beer until the stein is half-empty. Natasha’s eyes widen when he lets out a loud belch.

“Apologies,” he says, not sounding apologetic, “but you’ll have to excuse me for not keeping up with current events.”

Okoye cuts in, “How about this current event?

She slides a set of photos out of a manila envelope, laying them down on the bar table. The paper sticks to the surface of the table.

Thor shakes his head once, as if trying to rein in the spinning the room is likely doing around him. He leans down and squints at the photos. “That--” He cocks his head. “That isn’t me.”

“No,” Okoye confirms. “It isn’t.”

“These photos were taken two days ago in Garching, Germany. Know of any Asgardians who settled there?”

Thor swallows, and doesn’t immediately answer. He raises his free hand not on his beer to the photos, and the tip of his middle finger drags over where Mjolnir is inked onto the paper. “I thought it was gone,” he mumbles.

“So did we,” Natasha says, tempted to reach out to him at the abject sadness in his voice.

Okoye slants a glance at Natasha.  Focus , she seems to say with her eyes, before redirecting Thor, “Are there any Asgardians in Germany?”

“A few,” he says. “None that look like this woman.” He looks up at them. “Do you know how she found Mjolnir?”

It’s his most coherent question yet. Natasha shakes her head. “We just found out about her. She looks pretty confident with it, so maybe she’s been training somewhere.”

“I don’t underst--” Thor loses his battle with his balance and gravity and falls off his barstool. Natasha and Okoye both reach out to steady him, but he manages to catch himself before he hits the floor.

Natasha goes to Thor’s side, her heart falling quickly as she puts an arm around him. It’s hard to see Thor like this, especially knowing the kind of man he used to be. (Of all the people she thought would stick with her, after Clint and Steve left, she thought that Thor would be the one to stay. He’d fought through so much heartache, sided with them in New York against his own brother, protected the Earth from the Dark Elves after his mother’s murder, faced down Thanos even after his planet had been destroyed, and yet he’d always been ready to fight. It’s downright unnatural, utterly tragic to see him laid so low.)

Turning to Okoye, Natasha says, “Go get Brunnhilde.” Okoye doesn’t need to be told twice.

“Thor,” Natasha prompts, getting the man to look at her. His eyes look pained. She’s sure hers must reflect his. “You’ve gotta stop this.”

“Stop what?” he mumbles.

“You know what.” She hesitates before offering, “You could come back, you know. Join the Avengers again. I really could use the help, and you’ve got more experience leading than everyone else on the team combined.”

He’s already shaking his head. “No.” Clear, concise, and completely at odds with his drunkenness. “No, I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

His answering smile is sad. “I have nothing left to offer you.”

“Yes, you do,” Natasha answers softly, but based on his tone, this isn’t an argument she’s going to win. Not today, at least.

A beat passes. “You really didn’t know about Mjolnir?” she asks, one more time.

“I’m not worthy anymore,” he whispers. “Why would it call to me?”

Natasha doesn’t answer that. There’s a lot of layers there that she doesn’t think she’ll ever fully understand.

Okoye returns with Brunnhilde at her side. She says to Okoye, “You know, sometime you’re going to have to visit me when it’s not for the purposes of picking his sorry ass up off the floor.”

Okoye chuckles. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Brunnhilde proceeds to pick Thor up in a bridal carry, making Natasha stumble a bit when his weight is no longer against her. “Come on, your majesty,” she says, tone almost bored. “Let’s get you home.”

Natasha bites her tongue against all the questions she wants to ask.

How often do you do this for him?

How is everyone around here blind to what’s happening to him?

Where on earth is he getting enough alcohol to regularly get drunk?

Before she can even think of pursuing another line of questioning, she gets a call from Carol--she is needed urgently back at headquarters.

She sighs. The hunt for the new Thor will have to wait for now.

***

It’s only once Natasha and Okoye are on a quinjet and flying back to their base that Brunnhilde unceremoniously drops Thor on the ground.

He huffs, but quickly stands up and brushes himself off, perfectly sober. “Unnecessary.”

She glares at him. “How long are you going to keep this act up?” she demands. “Those are your  friends .”

“Natasha is a friend,” Thor corrects, “Okoye thinks I’m a worthless drunk.”

Brunnhilde rolls her eyes. “Because she’s never known you as anything else.”

He grits his teeth. “It’s for the best.”

“That’s what you keep telling yourself, but they  know  about her. What’s your act doing to keep her safe now?”

The muscle in Thor’s jaw works furiously, but he calmly answers, “They don’t know her identity. They think she’s a rogue Asgardian.”

Brunnhilde bristles and brusquely pulls a folded manila envelope out of her back pocket. “Okoye gave these to me, said to ask you about them again when you sobered up.” She quickly opens the envelope and tears its contents out and holds them right in his face. The edges of the photo paper crease under the force of her fingers clenching down on them. “You see this? The better she gets, the more this is going to happen. And you know what’s eventually going to happen?” She jerks her head backwards. “Your friends are going to find her. She’s on a crash course, and then she will be a part of this. You can’t stop that. It was a fantasy to think you ever could.”

“I didn’t think I could keep her from it forever,” Thor replies evenly, and he wraps his fingers around Brunnhilde’s wrist and lowers the photos from his face so he can look her in the eye.

“Then  why ?” she asks.

“Because she needs to be better than me,” he says, like a release of steam from a pot. “She needs to be better, and she’s not yet.”

Brunnhilde shakes her head. “I don’t know if you’re going to get a choice for much longer.

   and the one time…

“Jane.”

His shoulder jumps under her head.

“Hm?”

“We’re almost there.”

“Oh,” she says groggily, and pushes herself off Thor’s shoulder. “Oops,” she says when she notices the spot of drool on his shirt. “Sorry.” The weird half-sleep that comes along with car rides is slow to depart, clawing at her eyelids until she reaches to her right, where a bottle of water sits.

After she downs half the bottle and truly wakes up, he gives her a soft smile, one that says he probably wasn’t far behind her in terms of falling asleep. “It’s no matter. I thought you’d want to be awake before we arrived.”

She stretches her hands over her head as much as the towncar’s roof allows, and a series of satisfying pops go down her spine. She grunts in satisfaction before saying, “I need to go over my speech one more time.”

“I’m fairly certain  I  could give it at this point with how many times I’ve heard it.”

“You’re a good person to practice with!”

“I’m only teasing,” he says. “And besides, this is hardly your first time doing this.”

“This still feels bigger, somehow.” 

He makes a soft sound of agreement. Jane offers the water to him, which he accepts and drinks his fill before capping it and setting it aside.

Jane continues, “It’s one thing to get, you know, a big science award. Like, the last time I got the Nobel I felt almost old hat at it, you know?”

Thor gives her a look. “I recall you saying that you felt like you were going to throw up before you went onstage to give your speech.”

Jane flaps her hand at him. “Okay, sure I was nervous, but I was….used to the shape of it? This is a completely different type of thing.”

“Yes, excelling at heroics is something you usually leave to me.”

“Hey, I have plenty of behind the scenes heroics!”

“Of course, dear,” he says with a laugh, “but none of those behind the scenes heroics resulted in a singlehanded defeat of the Infinity Stones, handicapping Thanos’s plan, and saving untold lives.”

Jane tilts her head back onto the headrest, a smile spreading across her face. That day, that last fight that Strange predicted would end in only one way, would be permanently emblazoned in her memory as long as she lived. Thor had asked her to stay away from the battlefield, and initially, she’d agreed. She and Tony had been theorizing about the nature of the stones, and they hadn’t had time to parse out the quantum entanglement theories together before her thinking buddy had to jet off to try and save the universe.

It came to her like a lightning strike only minutes after the team had left for the last battle. She’d built a frequency jammer that would disrupt the quantum entanglement of the stones in thirty minutes flat, and then raced out of the Avengers compound like a bat out of hell. She’d just have to get within range of the stones, and they’d be rendered inert, their effects immediately reversed, and they’d just be ordinary stones, and then they could be destroyed.

And, incredibly, even though the science of it was shaky at best, and she’d had to improvise on the fly when some of the wiring on the jammer had shorted out, it worked.

The army from the past was gone, snapped back to their original chronological configuration; Natasha and Gamora were spat out of whatever pocket universe they’d been trapped in; and Tony hadn’t had to use his gauntlet, hadn’t had to sacrifice himself for the universe as she’d  known  he’d planned on.

(Dr. Strange had sputtered, shocked, saying that of the fourteen million six hundred and five futures he’d seen, he’d only seen one possible outcome where they won, and it wasn’t this.

Jane shrugged, breathless, dirty, bloody, and grinned. “I found number fourteen million six hundred and  six .”)

“And all without a single power to her name aside from her intellect,” he finishes.

“I am pretty cool.”

“Both pretty and cool, much agreed.”

She lets her head fall to the side so she can look at him. His beard is long enough to be braided, and he’d done so this morning, and he’d taken care to braid some of his hair as well before pulling it back with a tie. He looked good. Great. Amazing, even.

She reached out her hand closest to him, trailing a finger along one of the braids in his beard. A streetlight from outside catches on her wedding ring just so.

After the Snap, she and Thor had drifted back together, partially out of shared grief and guilt, but had ultimately rediscovered why they’d worked together for years before the distance had become too much strain. They’d officially tied the knot a few years after Tony and Pepper had. (Steve had been Thor’s best man, and Darcy Jane’s maid of honor. Tony walked Jane down the aisle in Jane’s mother’s absence. Morgan had been their flower girl.) 

She wonders if any of this would’ve happened if they hadn’t found each other again. If they hadn’t rekindled their love for each other in the horrible aftermath of the Snap, would she have been around to help? Would Tony have reached out to her with the time travel issue? Would he have invited her to collaborate on the quantum entanglement of the stones if she hadn’t re-integrated herself into the Avengers circle? She likes to think so--they were friends, at least somewhat, before the Snap (but their closeness now was only formed in those last five years of wounded peace.)

“What are you thinking about?” Thor asks, and mirrors her position so he can look at her.

“Just that I’m really glad I married you.” She nudges forward so she can kiss him. “Really, really glad.”

“I’m glad you married me, too,” he answers. “Not many women would have had the fortitude to put up with me for as long as you have.”

She grabs his hand and pulls it over to her lap. “How many people did Pepper say were going to be here?”

Thor shrugs. “Less than two thousand, but there is the webcast as well.”

“ God .”

He squeezes her hand. “Go through your speech once more. It’ll make you feel better.”

“I’d feel better if we could skip past the ceremony and go right to the drinking and partying portion of the evening.”

Thor laughed. “If only I were planning the evening, Jane Foster. Now start from the top.”

Jane laughs, and closes her eyes. With her husband’s hand in hers, his warmth a steady reassurance at her side, she recalls the words she’s memorized and feels her nervousness retreat as she begins to speak.

[warlock-enthusiast]

Waking up slow

The Wayhaven Chronicles

Adam du Mortain x female Detective (in the future)

Detective Kat Kingston faces a murder, Unit Bravo and her mother. (Not always sticking with the canon)

Chapter 4: Drinking and thralls

AO3 link

Chapter 1 / 2 / 3

----

“Another one?” Kat clinked their empty glasses together. “Another one! You go. I…” Tina tilted her head, carefully deciding if standing up seemed like a good decision or not. “Eh, just go!”

So, that was the answer to that.

Kat took a deep breath and pushed herself up. She’d tried to pace herself, one cocktail, one shot. And she’d failed spectacularly. After three cocktails and five shots, Kat felt wasted. Wobbly legs, a tad crossed-eyed and surely far too unsure of her surroundings. In hindsight, she’d never been particularly talented in going out without getting drunk. Probably in direct correlation with self-esteem and crippling bouts of depression. Tonight had all been about reminiscing about old times and forgetting the present for a while.

But, well. Kat wasn’t here to analyze herself. No, not today, Sir!

For once, she tried to forget about the case and past and her mother and just concentrate on being alive (and drunk). Pushing away the nagging conscience, which bothered her, because of two dead people and a killer on the loose.

Not to mention weird Doctor Murphy and his empty eyes and strange behaviour.

She leaned over the bar and smiled. “Tequila sunrise! Two.”

“Yes, Detective Kingston.” Chen raised a brow, said nothing, and turned around to mix the cocktails.

Getting back to Tina seemed more exhausting than before and her friend patted the empty space beside her. “Ah, wonderful. Come here.”

Kat followed her invitation. Their shoulders touched and she saw a reflection of the bar’s lights in Tina’s eyes. Always so pretty. Always so put together. She hoped that her friend would never lose her spark.

They’d almost shared a good cry earlier, talking about their past patrolling the streets together and missing each other terribly.  

Tina looked relaxed now and drunk and raised the corner of her mouth, a cat waiting for some cream. “So, what’s going on with Unit Dashing? Any compromising situations?”

Of course.

Reading so many romance novels had put a special kind of imagination in her head. About wet, white shirts and fountains and romantic horse riding at the beach, not to mention a whole lot of passionate, nightly encounters.

To be completely fair, Kat had borrowed a few of the smuttier novels and indulged herself.  A lack of romance in her life didn’t mean that she’d suddenly lost all of her baser instincts and needs. She puffed up her cheeks. “They’re driving me insane and they’re so full of shit at times.”

“No help then?” “Maybe a bit. Not much though.” Kat rubbed her eyes. “Well, Agent Sewell is helpful and really, really smart. And Agent Hauville is … how to describe it? A ray of sunshine. I like him, yes.”

She did . The observation surprised herself.

Though, Kat dreaded the day that Felix and Tina formed a bond. A future filled with endless pranks and much laughter and so much warmth. Actually, not the worst thing to imagine.  

Maybe they should spent some time together.

Tina nodded, or tried to, because her movements seemed sluggish thanks to alcohol, and pinched Kat’s shoulder. “A toast to us then. We’re great.” “We are.”

“Yeah!”

“YEAH!”

TIna shuffled closer, her breath hot on Kat’s cheek. “Important question!” “Hm?” “Most handsome?” Tina’s eyes held a dreamy expression. “I vote for Nate. His eyes are just so, so pretty and I’ve always liked a bit of stubble and a good jawline.” “Eh.” “Come on, spill it. I’ve known you for years and we’ve talked about boys so so many times. Even about girls. I know your type.” Kat blushed and nearly spit out his name. “Adam.”

A moment passed.

Then another.

His name hung between them like some deep, dark secret, until Tina began to laugh and to pat Kat’s thigh. “Uh, like your guys cold, eh?”

Kat shook her head. “Remember Bobby?” “Sadly, yes.”

Both of them prefered to stay silent on the matter of Bobby to not ruin their evening.

“I don’t know. It’s just something …” Sighing, she rested her head on Tina’s shoulder. “Something about how he holds himself, always so tense and closed off. He’s clearly built a barrier between himself and the world and I just want to… you know, see what lingers beneath?”

“And you want to see him snap and press you against the nearest wall, ravishing you with his lips.” “MAYBE.” “OH… oooooh.” Tina giggled and wrapped an arm around Kat’s shoulder. “Look there.”

She hadn’t noticed how the bar suddenly went rather quiet. All the laughter and voices ebbing away with the presence of four Agency agents. And Kat knew, her short break was over with them in here.

Shit.

Adam’s dissapproving gaze made her squirm. It shifted from her bandaged hand right to her face, then to Tina drunkenly stumbling over her feet.

“You’re inebriated.”

“Yes. I’m drunk. Sorry, you had to find me here but I’m off duty and well, yes.”

Wonderful conversation.

Kat felt relieved that he hadn’t witnessed their earlier talks. She could live without him overhearing her swooning about him. Especially now, that his cold, green eyes watched her in such a disappointed manner. Her outfit looked ruffled and untidy with the first few buttons of her blouse open and her skirt too high on her thighs. Kat tried to make herself more presentable and earned a scuff from Adam.

“I need, uh, I need to ... “ Tina failed at standing up and used her arms to steady herself. Thankfully Nate came to her rescue and Kat noticed a faint blush sitting high on her friend’s cheeks, as he steadied her with his body. Ha!

“Have to go.” She pressed herself against Nate and let herself be guided to a cab.

Kat waved at her. “Write me when you get home!”

“Nothing wrong with a bit of fun, eh?” Felix tried to make light of the situation and earned a grunt from Mason, who already checked the bar’s drinks and ordered a round of something high in spirits.

“That is settled then.” Felix laughed and guided Kat back to the comfy chairs and sofas.

Drinking with Unit Bravo wasn’t as bad as she’d imagined. Especially with Felix at her side and Nate’s soft smiles and voice. Mason prefered a chair, which let him watch a group of pretty college students, while also offering enough shadow to hide half of his face.

Adam’s shoulders and back seemed straight and tense, but the green of his eyes looked a bit less hard and cold as he talked with his teammates. They cared about each other. All the banter and manly grunting, they cared and they liked being in each other presence. Maybe Kat hadn’t noticed it earlier, but their bond ran deeper than that of colleagues.

Suddenly feeling a bit sappy, Kat got up. “I’ll go and get us a nightcap.”

Her phone beeped and she found a message from Tina, explaining that she just fell right into her bed, followed by a paragraph of eggplants emojis.

Smiling and rolling her eyes, she looked at Chen and ordered the drinks.

Kat didn’t expect Adam so close behind her. She felt his presence, the hard planes of his body. His hand rested near hers and his voice washed over her, while making small talk. Their hands touched, as both reached for the glasses. Helping with carrying the drinks, yes, of course. Her throat went dry and heat rose to her neck and face. Her heart picked up the pace and Adam appeared flustered as well.

For once, unsure of himself? His gaze lingered on her mouth and neck and drifted lower to her chest.  

Something between shifted and fell into place. Just for a second, Kat seemed to know how to approach him and to go forward with this, this feelings.

The moment passed, but the warmth in her face lingered. Everything felt so complicated with him around him. Felix patted her back, seemingly knowing what was going on her head and Kat offered him half a smile.

At least, they could enjoy a drink in peace.

---

To arrest the killer. To get answers. Murphy was the killer.

Kat’s hands formed fists.

She hadn’t been this angry in a while and almost felt the blood rush to her head. Trusting them didn’t get her far. Instead they just lied and lied and kept secrets. A part of her had doubted their intention from the start. Following and protecting her from what exactly? What the heck was going on? Did her mother order them to block important facts from the case? But they never answered her questions, just offered flimsy excuses. Unit Bravo probably slowed down her investigation as well. Would make sense. A part of this puzzle was missing and had been from the start. Kat felt in her bones.

Always so close, yet so far away from a satisfying answer.

Shit, shit, shit. Kat wished to be drunk again, but her mind seemed completely aware and clean and she cursed under her breath. They fucking knew the killer. They knew and did nothing. Let him roam around looking for more victims. And now they seemed against the idea of getting him?

“What…?”

Four people blocked her path. A vile stench filled her nostrils and Kat suppressed a scream. With their rotten skin and milky eyes, they reminded her of bad Zombie movies. Couldn’t be for Halloween and she hadn’t read about a convention in Wayhaven.

“... the fuck.”

They closed in on her and she found Unit Bravo at her side.

“Thralls.” Kat heard Mason grunt and then chaos exploded around her. She’d left her weapons back at the station and tried to remember her training. Shock made it hard, though, and she raised her hands, only to witness Mason clashing with one of those things. A sick crack echoed through the night and the rest of Unit Bravo joined the fight. Felix seemed unusually fast and quick, almost too fast for her eyes. Adam parried attacks with brute force, while Nate prefered a more elegant solution of evading and hitting.

Maybe her mind was playing tricks on her.

Their stench and slow movements froze her blood, but their words brought a whole new rush of fear.

“Bring Kat. Not kill.”

“Detective Kingston?” Another voice cut through her panicked mind and she turned around to find a pale Douglas standing outside of the bar. She hadn’t even seen him in there. He appeared like some deer in the headlights, drunk and afraid and as shocked as Kat felt.  

One of these things turned around and focussed on him. “Kill witnesses.”

“Run, Douglas” In a spur of the moment decision, Kat put herself between them and Douglas and offered him a chance to flee. But what about her? She took a fighting stance, tried to punch her opponent and failed.  Her knuckles hurt from trying to find some weak spot.

Strong fingers closed around her neck and lifted her from the ground. Darkness began to dance in front of her eyes and Kat’s body collided with a wall. Everything hurt and she fought against losing her consciousness and mind. Bile rose in her throat and Kat thanked her reflexes for poking that thing in the eyes and a moment to steady herself and watch her surroundings.

Unit Bravo fought with all the strength and skill of people their rank and training, but the thralls fought without holding back, without fear or tactics. Just an ongoing wall of force. She’d never felt so helpless or ill prepared.

Kat rose her arms. “We can help you! Please, calm down. It doesn’t have to end like this.”

But it did. For a moment, she thought that she’d seen some humanity returning to their faces, but Mason knocked them down, before anything else could happen.

She wrapped her arms around herself, shivering and questioning everything.

Kat found her voice to be high-pitched and panicked and she tried to met Adam’s gaze.

“Tell me what’s going on. What is happening here?” Almost a plea, but he didn’t answer. Kat felt tears well in the corner of her eyes, as she discovered the wound on Adam’s arm. It closed itself. One moment there had been a deep gash and the next … gone.

“Adam…”

A sickening crack ended their conversation. Kat felt blood on the back on her head. “Ugh.”

And she fell and fell and hoped that someone would catch her.

[disabled-queen-hc-blog]

Could I request some hcs or positivity for Queen with memory loss due to CPTSD?

Content Warning: Mentions and depictions of domestic violence, child abuse and vomiting

“You all remember the show that was on when we were kids with the donkey?” Freddie asked, swirling the wine glass in his head.

Brian popped up from his stool at the bar, eyes sparkling, “Yes! The mule! What was it’s name? It was a puppet wasn’t it? A ghastly one too.” 

John drained the last of his beer before saying, “Muffin the Mule?”

“Yesss! That’s it! Wait how did you remember that? You were just a tot when it finished airing,” Freddie asked with furrowed eyebrows.

John shrugged, poking his temple. “Got a good memory,”

“What about you, Roger? You remember that freakish mule?” Brian asked, swaying a little to the radio playing in the background.

Roger froze, hands tightening around his pint. He was hoping if he stayed quiet, they wouldn’t ask him about the damn donkey. But of course they did.

He blinked, mind whirring to the past, a place filled with holes and craters. Black holes where memories should be. Punches of nothing where a childhood, laughter and toys, should be. 

He didn’t remember Muffin. Or if they even had a telly. Or if he ever heard of the show from school friends. He didn’t remember his fifth birthday either. He didn’t remember what his favorite toy was as a kid. All he remembered was work boots stomping on tile. A glass cup smashing on the ground. Big hands. Big hands. Around his thr-

Roger took his beer glass, a shaky hand bringing it to his lips, downing the whole thing with two painful gulps. 

He wiped the foam from his upper lip, praying there wasn’t any panic in his eyes. 

“Never heard of it,” he said before asking the bartender for a round of shots. The first of many that night.

♚

“Blimey, Rog, you really outdid yourself tonight,” Brian grumbled as he and John tried their best to carry a slurring and wobbling Roger back to the flat. 

Roger just giggled, head hanging limply, feet dragging behind him. 

“And you could’ve paid for you tab y’know. Nearly made me declare bankruptcy, you bitch,” Freddie added, frowning at his wallet in his pocket which was a bit too light for his preference. 

I wish I never married your bitch of a mother. Then you would’ve never been born!

Roger shivered but started to laugh uproariously, his whole body shaking. “Promise to not hit me, Fred?” Roger managed to say between his fit of giggles.

Freddie rolled his eyes at his friend’s drunk antics. “I don’t fancy corporal punishment, darling,” 

“Wish dad could’ve said that himself,” Roger said with a snicker, slumping further down in his friends grips.

Brian and John struggled to hoist him back up, Brian shaking his head all the while. “What are you blubbering on about mate?” he asked as he readjusted Roger’s arm around his neck. 

“Muffin! I don’t remember her,” Roger answered, although none of them could decipher how that made any sense. 

“Yeah. I remember you said that earlier. No b-” John was cut off.

“I don’t remember nothing!” Roger said, breaking out into giggles. 

“‘Cause you’re drunker than a skunk, Rog,” Brian said.

Roger shook his head, lips pressing together. “Nu-uh. I don’t remember shit. ‘Cuz me dad beat me too much. Uh-huh,” Roger tried to use his finger to hush himself, as if to say this was all a big secret, but he ended up pressing his finger to John’s lips. 

“I beat you were one naughty kid,” Freddie said, only imagining how rambunctious and obnoxious a 4 year old Roger Taylor could have been. His poor, poor mother.

Roger’s tone suddenly changing, the laughing abruptly stopping, his face melting into something serious. There was a glint in his eye that made Brian shiver. 

“I was a good kid. Real good. I did the chores. Cleaned my room. The dishes. Ate my vegetables. And he didn’t care. Not even a little. He didn’t care, Freddie. I was so good and he didn’t care,” Roger’s hair hung in his face as he looked down at the moving pavement. 

He remembered his first broken nose at 6. He remembered how the bruises on his arms looked. He remembered what his mom’s screams at 3am sounded like. 

He couldn’t wrack his brain hard enough to find anything else. A single shred of evidence that he had a enjoyable childhood. As if the only thing that imprinted itself into his mind where adrenaline filled moments. Everything else was smudged like wet paint, splattered with blood and pricked with tears. 

There was nothing else. 

Nothing. 

A strangled sob found it’s way out of Roger’s mouth. And then another. The world began to spin dangerously. John’s hand on his neck, the one stabilizing him, felt big. So big. And he was so little. So little. Defenseless. Weak. He was a child. Roger was a child and all he knew was pain.

The first spray of vomit erupted before anyone could react to Roger’s initial cries. 

Everyone panicked, Brian and John setting Roger down gently onto his knees. Freddie ran over to pull his hair out of his face and rub his back. There were echoes of “Are you okay?” and “Roger, it’s alright,” But Roger was too busy upchucking his stomach contents, his thoughts erratic, eyes leaking.

My dinner’s an hour late. You think I’m happy with you right now, bitch?

Why the fuck would you wake me up from my nap? It’s like you want to be beat, you little shit!

I stepped on one of your toys. Come here. I said, come here, Roger!

His stomach was empty, but he kept forcefully retching, wanting the memories to spill out of him to join the puddle of stomach acid before him. Nothing would come up.

Roger let out a frustrated cry, arms shaking. “I can’t remember Muffin the Mule! I can’t remember it! I can’t remember anything! I can’t remember anything!!!”

He was covered in tears, snot and spit, quaking as he screamed his throat raw above his own waste in the middle of the road. The three others huddled around him, hesitating on what to do. They had a vague idea of what was happening, but they’d try to help the best they could. 

There was hands on the small of his back. Fingers running through his hair. Feather light squeezes on his shoulders. Hushes, whispers and coos. Roger wanted to fight it. He wanted to stay here until he screeched his throat raw, until he died, but he was unable to fight the comfort. He found himself melting in their touch. Melting away. Until his eyes fluttered shut. Until he didn’t remember what happened next.

♚

There was sunlight sneaking into the otherwise dark room through a crack in the curtains. The air smelled like toast and bacon. 

Roger’s eyes fluttered open, bleary and confused. But he was so warm and comfortable. A strange mix of emotions to feel. He went with it though, snuggling deeper into the blankets, head sinking into the fluffy pillow. 

He was ready to drift back asleep, uncaring of where he was or what happened when the softest touch landed on his side. He cringed, but it was accompanied by an even softer voice.

“Roger, don’t worry, it’s me,” Roger relaxed when he heard John whisper. He rolled over in bed to find John laying in bed next to him. He was still in his clothes from the night before, all curled up because Roger had unknowingly hogged all the blankets.

“They put me on ‘Roger watch’ cuz I was the most sober,” John said with a quiet laugh. 

The events from the night before came reeling back. The drinking and the stupid mule and the break down and oh god.

Roger broke out into a sweat, panic gripping him. He shot up in bed, ready to jump out and run. To where? No clue. All he knew was that he was terrified. This wasn’t how any of this was supposed to go. He was supposed to smile and pretend like everything was okay until he croaked. He wasn’t supposed to tell people about that. He w-

“Hey, hey, Rog. It’s okay. You’re fine. Everything is okay. What happened last night..is fine. You take your time. We’re here to listen whenever you’re ready. For now, just relax. We’re gonna take care of you,” John said as he eased Roger back down into bed, brushing some hair out of his face.

Roger just nodded, letting himself be pushed back down, eyes wide. Only then did he realize how tired he was. How his bones were aching, head pounding. 

Just then, the door creaked open, Brian and Freddie walking in. Brian carried a plate of everything a hung over man could dream of. Eggs, toast, bacon, pancakes and a heaping cup of orange juice. Freddie just held a bottle of aspirin, unable to cook himself. 

Roger looked at both of their faces, unable to find an ounce of pity or awkwardness. Just sincere smiles and loving eyes. 

“I...” Roger wanted to speak, but nothing came out. Freddie shook his head, ushering in Brian. 

“Darling, eat up. We have all the time in the world to talk,” he said as he sat on the side of the bed, pinching at Roger’s cheek. 

“Yeah, eat up. I busted out my mum’s pancake recipe for you,” Brian said, handing Roger the plate and glass. 

John hummed, face burying into the pillow, apparently not having slept at all that night. “We love you, mate,” he mumbled before drifting off.

Roger took the food, swallowing hard. Maybe there weren’t words for any of this. Maybe he’d never be able to explain himself or his gratitude. But right now, as he scarfed down his breakfast, Roger hoped he’d remember this moment. 

His past was a vortex that would take years to get over, to move on from. And he’d probably never get any good memories back. But he could make good ones starting from that very moment. He could make memories to last a life time.