#let me know if the link is busted so i can make a new one!

[toastess-with-the-mostess]

Do you like Voltron Force (2011) and want a spot to talk to other fans about it? Well you’re in luck because I and my dear friend @breadstickcat made a discord server just for that!

Our server is dedicated to Voltron Force, but we do encourage love for the series as a whole <3 especially because we’re fans of Voltron entirely too!

Hope to see you soon!

[wutheringmights]

Thank your for the chapter. This is me submitting my request for director's commentary.

Sorry this is very late.

But, you know.

*gestures wildly at the state of the world*

This is the first chapter in a long time where I was actively having fun writing more than 30% of it. Writing doesn’t always have to be “fun” for me to write it, but spending most of this year stuck on two chapters I absolutely hated did a number on me. 

I still didn’t get to everything I wanted in this chapter; I have been trying to get to the fallout for the Knights of Hyrule encounter for most of this year now (jfc!), but I’ve had to expand the plot points leading up to it. This entire Castle Town arc was planned to be one chapter. Past Frankie was insane for thinking that was possible. 

Pacing-wise, this chapter really did need to be on its own. The important plot points needed their own space to breathe; trying to shove all of this and the contents of the next chapter into one would have led to a lot of things being overshadowed. So even though everything is still moving along relatively slowly, the pacing is somewhat on purpose this time. 

As previously stated on this blog, I sorely neglected updating AO3 with the new chapter total. There is 6 chapters left (5 plot chapters, then an epilogue). Rest easy. This story will take me a while longer yet to complete. 

That being said, don’t be too surprised if I keep budgeting in more chapters. But if this story needs more than 40 chapters, I will abscond from society and become a sheep herder in, like, Iceland.  

(Sorry to front-load the housekeeping information; I usually keep this stuff for the end,  all of this provides context for my first bit about the actual chapter.) 

I am so happy that pre-heart connection stuff with Proxi got its own chapter, as opposed to being included with the post-connection drama of how Link starts clawing his way out of his depression. 

I mentioned last chapter that everything with the first Proxi meeting was an utter failure to me. While this chapter doesn’t erase the problems of the former, it nonetheless is an improvement and more in-line with how I wanted this Proxi storyline to go. 

Link’s depression baths is 100% me projecting-- I had a season of my life where everything in my life kinda fell apart and I became extremely depressed and anxious. One of my coping mechanisms was to constantly take showers. Like Link, I got up to around four showers a day before I was told to knock it off for the sake of the water bill. 

Depression causing a lack of hygiene and self-care is fairly well-represented in media at this point. I relate way more to depression causing a spurt of “good” habits (that are just maladaptive coping mechanisms in their own right) more, and I want to include more of them into my writing. Link seems like the kind of guy who would overcompensate like that too. 

The events of the chapter were condensed from my original vision. The party and the fireworks were going to be two separate incidents, but I wanted to cut down on the bulk of writing each chapter requires of me (more on this later). Luckily, the original idea for the fireworks also included celebrating a holiday (New Years), so the change was easy to pull off. 

I did lose an aspect of that scene I really liked though: Link knowing he was experiencing a trigger deciding to hide in his cellar, all the while congratulating himself for reacting normally while Proxi is like hiding in a cellar isn’t coping, Link!!!!

Fireworks being a trigger is a bit of a cliche, and a part of me really wishes I found something more unique to trigger Link with. But fireworks is a really effective shorthand, partly because it’s so prevalent in real life, and partly because contrasting a celebratory activity with war trauma is so evocative. 

It’s also very silly how significant events in Link’s life keep coinciding with holidays and birthdays. I want to acknowledge both for the sake of world building, but going through the effort of developing them is only worth it if there’s a plot point attached.

But who hasn’t had moments of great revelations while at the family Thanksgiving party?

I like the idea of various holidays/feasts in Hyrule having different levels of importance depending on your tribe or what region you live in, as well as them being celebrated differently depending on your culture. 

Both the Sheikah and the Hylians would place heavy significance on the feast since Hylia is one of their main goddesses, but they would be celebrated differently. I brushed a bit on the idea of the religious ceremonies being different, but I cut back on sharing more of my ideas for the specific celebrations. 

Very specifically, I wanted the Sheikah to have a tradition of performing theatrical plays of significant cultural moments (basically a kabuki-theater version of a nativity play) (can you tell I was raised catholic?). 

I have plans to do something involving a kabuki play next chapter, so I won’t elaborate more on what the play was supposed to be. However, the play did get cut because I planted Link in the banquet hall with no care to move him from that spot. 

I like the idea of moms who are flawed moms in really normal ways. The way Ayane’s mother is very sweet to Link while having these rigid standards for Ayane is very real to life, in part because it’s based on how a lot of mothers I know act to their child’s friends versus their actual child. 

In a similar vein, I’m also fascinated by mothers who fail their children in such specific ways that it would only be a failure to their child-- like a mother giving too much independence to a child who needs more help, etc. That’s my design for these slow (and hopefully subtle) reveals of how Link struggles with his mother’s memory. On one hand, it’s obvious that he was made to feel like a failure of a child, and he probably knows that was wrong of her. On the other, she was a good parent overall and she’s dead. If you have never experienced that particular cocktail of guilt, let me just say that it messes you up. 

The kids who were doing the snowball fight are Ayane’s friends, which is why one of them remarked that Link was going to yell at them again (see: when Link yelled at Ayane the first time he picked her up from school). Katsuki is the only friend of Ayane’s I’ve consistently named-dropped, so I hope that cued you in to who these kids were.

Speaking of which: I stole that name from Bakugo from My Hero Academia. I was watching the show at the time, and I like the character. Ergo, I stole his name.

Link being very aware that he had been triggered during the fireworks show-- I have a very specific gripe about the way people write PTSD that bleeds through this sequence that I cannot explain in a sentence or two. But what’s important is that I have experienced that moment when your body is triggered but your brain isn’t-- so you can start to feel yourself freaking out while in your mind you know there is no threat, yet the body’s reaction starts to cloud your mind, causing a spiral of anxiety and panic. 

Proxi visiting the fairy fountain in Kakariko is one of my favorite scenes. I just like how simple it is, and how it gives a glimpse into what Proxi’s life is like outside of Link.

I did momentarily freak out after posting because I was worried I didn’t make it clear before this chapter that while there is magic lingering at the fountain it can’t heal. But no one has mentioned it yet, so I think I’m safe to wait until a future chapter to clarify that.

Fairies being too small to have more than one emotion is of course taken from Peter Pan. As a long-time lover of fairies (my childhood hyperfixation), it’s a whimsical idea that I just adore. I originally wanted to use that idea as justification for Proxi mirroring Link’s emotions without Link mirroring hers. 

There would be scenes where he is utterly calm while she’s freaking out or crying because he’s good at covering his feelings, but she can’t. I thought this would rid her of too much agency, so I changed it to a mutual sharing of emotions so that Proxi has more space to her own person while still being his “translator.”

I also like the idea of Link being able to gather the ability to talk, but only in relation to comforting Proxi. That’s development, baby. 

I do wish I rewrote that last scene where he feels Proxi’s joy for the first time, as I really like the idea that he would feel a sense of helplessness and horror to be controlled by another person like that. What’s there now is fine, but it could be better.

Now, onto the present-day section: 

It is very, very obvious that I meant to end the last chapter with that conversation between Warriors and Lincoln. Like I said, the original version really sucked (or at least, my original prose describing what the Chain’s arrival at the castle was like). It makes more sense for Lincoln to drop the information about Lionel in the same chapter Lionel is name-dropped.

Lionel was originally going to be Lincoln’s name, but I picked Lincoln since it has the more obvious tie to the Link-Linkle naming pattern. 

Also, this chapter includes a much needed discussion about the ethics of blaming all of the nation’s problems on a single ethnic group. On one hand, it is stupidly effective to utilize bigotry to gather power, and it’s a rhetorical technique even a more morally-upstanding Warriors would use. On the other hand, that’s an objectively terrible thing to do oh my god. 

So I kinda had to go in and cover my bases of having the characters talk and acknowledge what the implications of Warriors’s plan is. The big glaring issue of this conversation is that it also implicates Lincoln and rids him of his moral superiority. 

Personally, I kinda struggle to think of a real-world equivalent to the dynamic I established in the story, where the institution of the Sheikah does a lot of harm while the people within the institution are experiencing the social-consequences of being associated with it. The best I can come up with is Mormoms. 

Either way, I live in fear someone is going to tell me that this is actually about an underprivileged group I am not aware of currently, and I am contributing to their oppression by not critically analyzing Link and Lincoln’s plans correctly. Which would be a valid criticism to make, but one I could avoid if I had just worked out in advance what the hell is this is an accidental allegory for, educated myself, and then fixed the issue. 

If you guys can think of something, let me know so that I can get started on educating myself and such.

The Castle Town arc’s recurring theme is just bureaucracy, which does not make for exciting storytelling. But I do think it’s fitting for Warriors, who used to benefit from the system, to realize all the ways it’s not made to actually help people. I also think he’s the kind of person to realize he doesn’t have the time or ability to rehaul it entirely and has to settle on trying to work within it.

I can finally reveal my “Midna is a fantastic public servant” agenda. My girl was explicitly stated to be a good and dedicated ruler in Twilight Princess, and I will not let anyone else forget it. 

I really wish that this was more of an ensemble story so that I can write about Hyrule and Sky’s adventures in the Castle Town nightlife

If there is one thing I don’t really like about this chapter, it’s the sequence from Warriors talking to Lana about Cia to the end of Icarius’s capture. Reading it back, it really comes off as very corny and very carelessly written.

I initially planned for Icarius to be captured during the bell ringing in the lead up to Warriors trying to draw the Master Sword

I was imagining a scene where they are watching the news about the invasion be announced and, as Warriors is cursing the bad luck of it all, Spirit would just scrunch his brow and say, “Captain.” And Warriors, who is unfortunately drift compatible with him, would be like “go ahead.” And then Spirit would motion for Linkle to follow, and the two of them would reappear after the Master Sword rejected Warriors with Icarius already tied up.

The problem was that would block Spirit off from understanding the whole Master Sword rejection thing, and I really needed him to carve up Warriors’s hand. 

So I punted this whole ordeal with Icarius off to another chapter, and I have been scrambling trying to find another spot for him.

Ultimately, I do think this worked out because I have no idea what the hell the would have done with Icarius during the networking scenes.

After being disappointed with how this version of the capture scene turned out, I was very tempted to cut it and just have Spirit and Linkle haul Icarius into Warriors’s office, but I didn’t want to cut out a scene of Linkle being a bit of a badass. 

And let’s talk about Icarius, because it’s been a while since we’ve thought about him.

First off, you can tell that I was having a lot of fun this chapter trying to find ways to let them have a conversation with Icarius when he can’t speak verbally and they don’t know his sign. The dictionary combined with the gesturing seemed like a fun but logical solution.

Though, in the back of my brain, I kept remembering how stupid I thought that bit in Iron Flame about the translation was. So when I wrote about Warriors translating Faovarian with just a dictionary, I was sitting there feeling like the biggest idiot in the world. 

This scene also reminded me how tragic it is that Icarius can’t speak, because I know how hilarious this man would have been with sassing his captors. 

I also got a chance to put forth the core tenant of Icarius’s feelings for Warriors: mainly, that he thinks Warriors is both insanely handsome but ultimately stupid as all fuck. 

When I first made it clear that the House of Nephus was a reflection of Warriors, Time, and Spirit, I totally thought someone would put together that Icarius, as the Spirit-equivalent, was trying to save Philo. No one ever remarked on it, so maybe it was too obvious to mention. 

(If I were to ever do another one-shot side story in the style of Smoke the Pipe, I would probably do one about Icarius’s life before the events of the plot, if only because I have a lot of ideas of how Faovaria works and how Icarius and Nephus got to where they are now; though I doubt anyone would be as interested in my silly OC’s as I am). 

I also thought someone would figure out Philo was related to the whole Fused Shadow plotline when, in his introductory scene, he used Midna’s powers. I thought it was obvious. 

I also like the idea of the Dark Interlopers having different legacies outside of Hyrule; generally, I’ve just had a lot of fun taking different bits of canon Hyrule lore and figuring out how they could fit into a greater world. My favorite (not in this chapter) example is when Nephus referred the the Three Goddess as oracles mistaken for goddesses. We know Din and Nayru appeared as oracles outside of Hyrule, and Nephus’s line implies that they are still important folk figures in Faovaria, just not goddesses. 

Spirit’s snarky good luck being the nice version of his thoughts is exactly the kind of bullshit I would pull as a socially-inept kid; he realized what he originally wanted to say was too mean so he wanted to convey some kind of recognition that he understood Icarius’s thought process but still wanted to warn him how hard it was going to be. He really, genuinely thought good luck would be the nicest way of conveying that. He’s so bad with people. I love him. 

And, god. Time. Poor guy has walked around his entire life feeling like there has only ever been one person who ever cared for him, only for that one person to turn around and be like yeah I regret helping you. 

Then there’s Warriors who is starting to learn to not let himself get tangled up in fights against Spirit, who is so wrapped up in trying to stop this war that he doesn’t even have the energy to entertain Spirit’s bullshit right now.

Which leaves Spirit alone, with only Warriors to cling on to. 

His conversation with Warriors in the hallway is another favorite of mine, if only because it sounds really natural. I think my dialogue is too on the nose sometimes, so I’ve been trying to let the characters talk around themselves way more. 

Hot tip: if you are writing about men, make sure you mention their facial hair and shaving habits. As a long-time lover of facial hair, I love hearing about characters growing stubble or having to remember to shave in the morning. It’s a little detail that gets overlooked in fiction a lot, and I’m so bitter about it. 

Oh, the newspaper article. Let’s chat about that now. 

Public opinion plays a big role in political intrigue, which I never see enough stories taking advantage of. I knew from the beginning that I wanted Warriors to get exposed in the newspaper after he was well into cleaning up his act, but I wasn’t sure how to go about it. 

As many of you know, one of my most infamous cuts from the story is an original character who was a journalist during the war producing propaganda about Warriors. In the present day, this journalist would have felt so guilty for the role they played that they would have been on the pursuit of writing a story about what really happened back then. They would have been a neutral to antagonistic force in Warriors’s life. 

You can probably guess that this expose was supposed to be their work-- a decision to finally report truthfully despite being asked to lie once more for the greater good. I really wanted to juggle with the ethics of propaganda, and to have a moment where Warriors straddles that moral line by wanting to utilize propaganda for the greater good (but for real this time). 

I cut the character because a) there were too many bozos in this story already, and b) I didn’t think that a plotline about propaganda would be the most useful in a story about a kingdom where the people’s opinion does not matter (in retrospect, that’s a misconception on my part about what propaganda is used for). 

In some ways, I think it did hurt the story a bit to not have a specific character attached to the article. However, I ultimately like having no specific journalist attached to it since it places the blame more squarely on Impa. 

Writing the full article out was most definitely not the best use of my time or the best use of space, but I was worried that if I did not, readers would be really confused as to what the general public did and did not know. 

Stylistically, the article is meant to be more of an profile/investigation piece over a straight-informative blurb. The best example I can find is this article from the Cut on Usha Vance.

(I have spent the past month deep in the anti-Vance think pieces. Fuck both of them. I can’t believe I am going to have to keep hearing about these bastards probably for the rest of my life.)

As you can see, there is the occasional use of first person and more storytelling techniques used alongside facts. I chose this style mostly to make sure the article wasn’t too boring to read. 

I also struggled picking good numbers for the article that would sound severe, without being over the top. I think I picked some realistic stats. But if I messed up, it would be very funny and would invalidate all of my bitching about Fourth Wing’s bad numbers. 

At least I got to use this as an opportunity to drop some new info on you, such as...

Marigold was 19 when she gave birth to Warriors. Yeah, there’s a bit more to the Marigold story that is still left to be uncovered. There is a thematic reason to why Warriors does not seem to acknowledge how young she was when she became his mother.

How do I put this? There’s an irony in him knowing that he was failed by being made responsible for the kingdom at 17, and then not realizing that Marigold was also failed in a similar way. I think people generally have a problem realizing that the problems they see in the world are more widespread than they are, and that they take on multiple forms. And when one thing is wrong in the world, it usually is reflected elsewhere in an unexpected way. 

Warriors believes that Marigold had a responsibility to take care of him because she was his mother despite her age. Warriors had a responsibility to be the hero, despite his age. He understands that just because society at large saw this as his duty, it doesn’t mean it was right. He doesn’t realize this wasn’t Marigold’s duty either to take care of him.

I explored this idea earlier in the story with the use of child soldiers being contrasted with Kat’s underage prostitution. 

Also, Anders Brecht. His last name is a reference to Bertold Brecht, the playwright.

It’s nice to get his story out of Warriors’s perspective of my friend betrayed me and into this is a well-educated activist who was executed for trying to make positive change in the world. To this day, it surprises me how many people were not sympathetic to the turncoats in this story.

Another thematic point: both Anders and Marigold were the Hyrulean-equivalent of leftists. Despite having their influence on him, Warriors still turned out far more moderate than them, and far more prone to causing harm. Insert rant here about how just because you surround yourself with good people doesn’t mean you will turn out like them, etc. 

Spirit being ashamed about the article-- Spirit is definitely someone who understands that just because someone knows you went through some shit, it doesn’t mean they will really give you the validation you want. He’s what happens when the vitamin fantasy doesn’t yield the acknowledgement you thought you were going to get. 

And, finally, Warriors gets put into a corner and manages not to resort to using Spirit to his advantage. I enjoy that Warriors’s determination to not use Spirit as a pawn to sway public opinion back into his favor comes at the cost of, well, being on the verge of losing the goddamn fight. Oh Warriors, you can be a better person now but being a good person doesn’t win wars. 

While the opening conversation between Lincoln and Warriors would have 100% worked better at the end of the last chapter, I do think it’s nice that their conversations are bookends. 

I do think it’s kinda silly that celebrities have to apologize for doing something wrong to the general public, and a part of me wanted to use this story as a means to point that out. But I also have to admit that there is a social reason why we expect it, and I have come out on the side of pro-apology. 

This is the first time in-story that Lincoln hugs Warriors. 

Warriors really needed someone to tell him that they were proud of him and, I won’t lie, I also kinda needed it at the moment of writing. As much as Warriors still has a lot to learn and improve on, it feels good to see him get some of the praise he desperately needs. 

Warriors’s character arc really is just him realizing that while he has to do his heroic duties, he would much rather be living a quiet domestic life with his family. Well, he always knew he wanted that. He just went about it wrong with Spirit and Time. He’s just getting to start over with a better perspective and less coercion. 

And finally, the Knights of Hyrule are arriving. I’m not lying when I say that I have spent most of this year trying to get to this stupid plot point. I thought the trip to Castle Town to now was going to be one chapter. That was back in March. It’s November now. Ugh. 

So yeah. That’s the chapter. 

You might have noticed that my style is a bit different this chapter. Looking back on old chapters, I can see myself overwriting in a lot of places, especially in the narration the explore’s Warriors’s thought process. I’ve been trying to cut that back in order to both clean up my writing and cut down on the sheer bulk of words every chapter requires.

I think it’s working out so far, but I won’t blame anyone for thinking the chapter is a little underwritten, or it seems like I’m putting in less effort into the story. 

Ideally, I would like to get two more chapters out by the end of the year-- one for each month. I have no idea how that will work out when I am as busy as usual and the holidays are coming up. But I will try my best. 

(I also just realized that there is three weeks left to the month and I have not started the new chapter yet. Oof.)

(If I keep up the chapter a month pace, the story will end around April, aka: CTB’s next birthday.)

Thank you to everyone who has kept up with this story for so long. I love writing long stories, but there’s always a point where readership peters out (not surprising; comes with the art form). CTB has long hit this point (taking a four month break this year did not help), so I appreciate everyone who has kept up so far and everyone who has recently given this story a shot. Hopefully the next chapter will worth all the time and dedication you have shown this story so far <3

[leclercsbunny]

maybe if you loved me ♡ c. sainz

part six ♡ masterlist

f1chai sainz and ricciardo allegedly got into a scuffle, sky news report. the two have come up on recent news due to their involvement with yn, as both drivers have been closely linked with the spanish socialite. the f1 management is reportedly investigating this matter, and are adamant to deal out swift and just penalties for both drivers involved. neither teams have expressed their side regarding this matter.

username i would pay good money to see them fist fight

username and nobody caught it on their camera ?? LAMEEEE

username see i would have screamed world star‼️

username hmmm arguing who's the daddy

username will forever be astounded of yn, bagging these men in the same breath

username yikes

username penalty for ocon!!

username don't let these men back on track fia (10392)

username so... private school fighting? pointing at eachother and then screaming?! 🤔🤔🤔

username "sainz and ricciardo had to be separated by several staff in a fit of blind rage."

username "the australian driver emerged with an upset expression, a bruising prominent on his jaw and a crimson eyebrow. the spaniard later on followed suit, an expression of annoyance evident, armed with a busted lip and a limp to his gait."

username so a fight FIGHT. they were scrapping to scrap 😳😳

username oh i know they were just swinging wildly

username ten bucks daniel would have laid carlos on his ass

username disagree. have you seen carlos's hands? he's punching to knock some sense into daniel

username yeah but daniel has the force of justice behind his blows

username not if he's the father. screwing your mate's ex girl while they're on the rocks?

username what do you mean on the rocks?? he cheated on her publicly. then they broke up. then partied like his life depended on it? 🙄🤨

f1chai daniel ricciardo adds fuel to the fire by posting a shady instagram story amid the controversy surrounding him today. several news outlet reports that the australian pilot have been fined a sum of 5,000 euros for recklessly behaving and have been reprimanded alongside sainz. to waive the penalty, the pair were urged to make ammends, and publicly acknowledge their wrongs for disrupting the peaceful atmosphere present in f1. his response is as follows; "i won't apologize."

username ATEEEEEEEEE

username stop playing with him 😳😳😳

username yeah that will tell them🤦🏻‍♀️😂

username they keep letting these men buy their way into being a decent human being... they'll cash out everytime !!

username i love when men are shady

username DANIEL WE ARE ALL ROOTING FOR YOU

username what if they used chairs ?? would that be atleast 10k ??

username that's spare change for these men 😭😭😭 who assigned these amount?

username it's a minor misdemeanor, it's already blown out of proportition🤭

username yeah but that's like what?? one tyre and a steering wheel ?? 😭😭😭

username so close !! steering wheels could go up to six figures 😂😂

username i stand corrected

username daniel: ... so can i pay in advance to throw hands? 🤔😂

f1chai both sainz and ricciardo have declined to elaborate regarding their public spat, and have expressed very little about their issue. no direct apologies were addressed to eachother nor was there any indication they regretted they came to blows. new reports claim that the reason of them being tight-lipped had everything to do with the paternity of yn's alleged baby, and although at odds with eachother, both sainz and ricciardo are adamant on maintaining her privacy at this delicate moment.

username enemies 4 life

username awww yn's boys🥲🥲

username the boys you speak of would push eachother on the track if given the opportunity🥰

username yeah boys‼️

username daniel probably talked maaaaad smack

username only reasonable explanation

username not necessarily, i would have been throwing hands regardless. like wym you've been comforting MY girl?!

username they broke up though

username on a break** this has been yn and carlos' dance since forever

username man shut up. yn deserves better than a man who has a very fickle sense of loyalty.

username he has some serious issues

username ALLEGEDLY okay ALLEGEDLY daniel took a swipe at matteo's parentage and said something along the lines of "you're gonna fuck up another kid's childhood just because you can't keep it in your pants?" non verbatim 😳😳

username YOOOOOOO

username that's WILD to even comprehend, imagine hearing it directly.

username ngl i would have been throwing hands with daniel aswell

username nicki type of line

username who's matteo's mom anyways 😭😭

username i know we're all mad at him but look at him 😩

username yn this isn't you‼️

username look away we can do this!!

[gayfromusa]

Climbing Partners

[ Art from ksk199999 on DeviantArt, story by me ]

Brandon and Jordan (both 21) had been climbing buddies for about three years. Jordan always wanted a higher, tougher climb, and Brandon was always went along. Brandon loved the time he spent with his buddy, but wasn’t always enthusiastic about traveling so frequently to the mountains each summer. While he enjoyed the challenge, sometimes he just wanted to relax in the sun for a week instead of busting his ass climbing as a vacation.

On one sunny summer day at Brandon’s apartment pool during their breaks from college, Jordan asked Brandon about going for another climb.

“Hey man, how do you feel about going for a climb this weekend?”

“That sounds like a great time, but why don’t we just chill by the pool this weekend? I’d love to just hang with you. We can totally go on a climb next weekend though.” Brandon responded.

While his request was very reasonable, Jordan still couldn’t let go of the idea of reaching a new death-defying height and seeing the incredible views. Jordan made his point known to Brandon, “Dude, there’s always more time to relax, we won’t always be able to climb. C’mon, let’s do it dude.”

Just before Brandon could say something, he got a spam on his phone reading, “Buy now! The brand new Size Gun uses atomic energy technology to transform the size of those around you, to any height within the range! Only $50! Get it before the price goes up!” He showed Jordan before he tried to delete it.

“Dude, look at this bullshit!” Brandon laughed.

Jordan smiled, “Imagine if that was real dude, we could both have the weekend we want.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you could relax all day by the pool, and I could be shrunk to make you the size of a mountain. Honestly the view of your apartment complex would be spectacular from a new perspective.”

Brandon started thinking. It was Tuesday, he just got a bonus from last week’s paycheck, and Jordan was absolutely right. He honestly was excited at even the possibility of a real man being the size of a toy in his hand. “You know, what if this thing is legit? There has to be some sort of legal thing preventing them from selling this, so why not try and get my hands on it before they get caught? And honestly it’s so cheap for what it’s offering.”

“There’s no way though, right?”

“I don’t know man, but even if there’s a small chance, I’d bet something for it. Let’s see if this is real.” Right then, Brandon clicked the link and ordered the product. He put priority shipping on it. “It’ll be here Friday. If this thing doesn’t work, then we‘ll spend Saturday climbing and Sunday relaxing, deal?”

“Dude, I’m so in. This could be sick.”

——————

Friday came and a package arrived. Brandon spent the night figuring it out and texted for Jordan to come over the next morning for a surprise.

On Saturday, Jordan knocked on the door of the apartment, and Brandon opened. “Is it real dude?!” Jordan asked with excitement.

��Well come inside and see!”

Jordan walked in and closed the door. Brandon led him to the living room where on the table sat a sci-fi-looking gun of sorts. “How does it even work??”

“Well I tried reading the instructions to find out, but they were in Chinese. Found a YouTube video where they basically said they can’t release how it works due to it being such a new technology. Anyways, it only works on biological matter. It’s not able to make anyone taller than their normal height, unless someone else is shrunk, then the height can be transferred to whoever. The limit on shrinking is currently an inch tall. It’s also supposed to make the person a bit more durable than you expect since it makes them more dense, but the guy said to still be extremely careful if ever handling a shrunken person.”

“One inch seems a bit tiny for climbing you, maybe we could do two inches instead?”

“Yeah sure, but don’t be shocked if you get there later.”

Jordan laughed off that last comment, “Dude I am so excited. I’ve kept on thinking about everything ever since earlier this week. Can we test it out?”

“Yeah man! It connects to my phone, then I have to make a profile for you. I made one for myself already. I’ll input your height and scan you with the gun. I hope you’re chill with it man, you have to be naked for the scan.”

Jordan nodded his head.

“Alright go ahead and strip.”

Jordan blushed slightly while he awkwardly got naked. He heard Brandon say it only shrank biological matter, so he’d be naked when he shrinks anyways. He really did want a climbing challenge, and only brought up this idea as a joke. Now that he is about to actually be able to do this, he started thinking about Brandon’s body. Brandon stood at a good 6’0”, and Jordan at a below average 5’8”. Brandon had impressive muscles, and occasionally Jordan wished he could feel them, but always wanted to respect Brandon and never asked.

But now Jordan was going to feel Brandon’s muscles up close, for maybe even a few hours. Even more pressed in his mind was Brandon’s specific features he might get to climb on. His feet, his pecs, his biceps, and maybe even other parts of his body. Thinking about all this gave Jordan a boner that he didn’t even notice, and he was already in just his underwear.

“You excited for today lil’ buddy?” Brandon smirked.

“I-“ Jordan blushed a bright red.

“Hey dude it’s alright, to be perfectly honest, I haven’t gotten the thought of you as a living toy out of my head”

“Oh, uh.. then let’s do this.” Jordan nervously took off his underwear.

Jordan, fully nude, stood before Brandon. Brandon pointed the gun and a fast burst of light emitted from it. Brandon set it down, while Jordan clothed himself.

“Why are you getting dressed? Your clothes won’t shrink.” Asked Brandon

“I wanna feel them get bigger on me.” Jordan said.

Brandon chuckled a bit, “Fair enough I guess.”

Brandon looked at the app on his phone. Jordan filled his profile for the app. He input his height, weight, sex, his feet size, then left blank the desired height spot for Brandon to fill out.

“I wanna start by just making you just slightly shorter, just to see if it works, how does 5’0” sound to you?”

“I mean 8 inches seems like a lot, but yeah let’s do it!”

Brandon once again pointed the gun, he pressed the trigger and the light flashed. No sounds or anything.

“Did it work?” Asked Jordan.

“I think so.. it’s not supposed to be instant, but shouldn’t take too- oh there ya go.” Brandon noticed Jordan’s eyes shrink down a bit.

Jordan felt a sensation through his body. His previously snug shirt and shorts now a bit loose. “Holy fuck dude it worked!!” Jordan reacted.

“Damn dude, my shorty got even smaller.” Brandon jokingly smiled.

“Dude I wasn’t short before. 5’8” isn’t short.”

“Maybe, but an angry 5’0” sure is cute.” Brandon began to laugh a little bit started messing with his friend’s hair.

Jordan’s face got a bit red again, then he pushed Brandon’s hand off his head.

Brandon didn’t say anything, just smirked and started inputting stuff into the app again.

“Hey! What are you doing now?”

Brandon pointed the gun and fired the silent blast again. “Made you small enough so you can’t fight back.” Brandon smiled.

Before Jordan could do something, he felt the sensation and this time got a bit dizzy. He fell back a bit, then his shorts fell down his legs and he tripped on them “What the- how big am I now?” Sitting with his butt on the ground, Jordan looked up and saw a staggering figure. His friend seemed more than twice the size of a normal human. He began to cower a bit as Brandon’s hands reached down.

Brandon laughed at Jordan’s choice of words as he crouched down and helped the little guy up. “You’re 2 feet small now.” Brandon laughed once Jordan was on his feet, seeing the huge oversized shirt on his friend was hilarious. He snapped a picture then removed the shirt from Jordan. “There you are again! All your glory. Still excited I see.” Brandon poked Jordan’s dick, Jordan tried to fight Brandon’s hand again but ended up pushing himself back more than doing anything to stop Brandon.

“I- I’m so sorry Brandon,” Jordan tried his best to cover the hard-on, “This is all so new to me, and seeing you so huge is kinda turning me on. We can stop if you want to, I don’t wanna do anything you’re not okay with.”

“Well I saw your hard dick earlier too bud, I kinda figured this was turning you on. Now that you’re tiny I can say that this is also really hot to me. I’m not gonna stop, no matter what you’re going down to two inches.” Brandon said with a hint of seriousness that hadn’t been there before.

Jordan was shocked. Brandon was speaking with such authority over him. He felt like a child, any sense of control was lost in that tone. A fear set in, he was at the mercy of this man. There was nothing he could do to stop his friend if he wanted to. Thankfully he didn’t want to.

Brandon shot the gun at Jordan one final time, then Jordan passed out.

——————

After what seemed like hours, Jordan woke up. He was outside, laying on a cloth surface of some sort. It was hot outside, around 80 degrees Fahrenheit, so still pretty bearable.

Jordan sat up and looked around. He was on a humungous beach towel that was flat on the ground. He looked up and saw Brandon laying back on a pool chair in just his swimsuit. He was sound asleep with his hands behind his head, feet on the ground touching the opposite end of the towel.

Jordan grew excited, it was time to climb his friend. The moment he’d been waiting for. He began to run to Brandon’s right foot, realizing the distance, he slowed to a better pace.

Jordan had never in his life imagined a foot this massive. Size 13 was big, but it had never seemed this big. Still, once Jordan reached the foot he realized he could at least climb onto the foot with relative ease. The smell was prominent, but Jordan didn’t think it smelled bad by any means.

He paused though, and decided to explore the foot a bit before venturing upwards. Starting with the pinky toe, Jordan compared his own body to it, roughy half his size. He was amazed at the size. Moving to each bigger toe, Jordan found the sizes so hot. Reaching the big toe, he laid down next to it for a moment. It was bigger than he was. He stood up and bent over onto the toe and spread his arms, feeling the massive toenail. He then went to the side of the foot, and positioned himself under Brandon’s arch, nuzzling into the soft skin a bit, and noticed that Brandon was a bit sweaty already, just from laying in the heat. Jordan didn’t want to leave, but he decided to keep going before the sweat got too much worse.

Jordan got up and walked back to the pinky toe to climb onto the foot, and crawled his way towards the leg hair. The hairs didn’t contain a lot of traction, so Jordan had to sort of wrap one around his hand and pull himself up little by little. Getting past the knee, Brandon’s thigh was much easier due to the less harsh angle. It was still tough, but not as difficult.

He then reached the next challenge of his journey, Brandon’s swim shorts. They were made of a waterproof material without a lot of traction for the tiny man to grab onto, so Jordan decided to crawl under the shorts. What was one more detour? The man was seemingly sound asleep, and seemed pretty comfortable with Jordan’s hard-on earlier, so why not stop by and see Brandon’s beast for a moment?

Jordan slipped under the shorts and made his way towards it in the darkness. Before that, there was a sort of net/mesh barrier he needed to get through. Managing to push it up and squeeze underneath, he was safe from falling because of the barrier. The overwhelming musky scent of Brandon’s cock began to hit, it put Jordan into a horny state of mind. Climbing over just a bit more, he bumped into the semi-hard anaconda. Pausing for a moment to reflect on what he was doing, he continued. Jordan began to nuzzle up against it, and attempted to reach his arms around, but was far too small to reach around the girth. Still he tried to squeeze. It began to grow a bit harder from the sensation he was giving it, that’s when Jordan backed off and decided to keep going.

Climbing upwards a bit more another issue arose, the elastic band around the swim shorts were skin tight to Brandon’s waste. He went in arms and head first and tried to army crawl under the obstacle. It took a few minutes but eventually he crawled up the other side, revealing a glorious landscape Jordan rarely got to see; Brandon’s beautifully toned and tanned abs.

He paused to catch his breath, and at the same time turned around. Jordan saw the whole apartment complex’s pool space. Given it was a nice weekend day in the middle of summer, there was actually quite a few people. Some families, a lifeguard, and even some pretty big guys, all enjoying the pool and the sun. Thankfully Brandon picked a spot away from most people which wasn’t by the edge of the pool. He was the only person in this corner. Seeing all the ginormous people going about their day, not realizing a tiny person was climbing the man tanning in the corner, was intriguing.

Jordan wondered to himself if Brandon was going to grow him back after this. The way Brandon seemed so eager to have power over him made him wonder if he should climb down now and try and find someone who would certainly help him get back. Then Jordan realized, these people might not see him, they could crush him and just think he was a bug. But even if he found someone who wanted to help, Jordan couldn’t grow back without the mass stored in Brandon’s machine, and without Brandon’s app. Brandon had all the power, even if Jordan was in someone else’s hands.

He turned back to the giant he was climbing and accepted his fate, feeling someone content. Brandon would certainly grow him back, he beat himself up mentally for considering that Brandon didn’t have his best interest in mind. After all, Jordan asked for this. Besides, Brandon’s abs were hot. Jordan climbed up a bit onto his friend’s belly and laid there for a moment. Spreading himself and feeling the muscles. He then got up and kept going.

Knowing his end goal was the top of Brandon’s head, Jordan realized he could never climb straight up Brandon’s neck, he’d have to climb onto his biceps and forearm to reach Brandon’s head. But now Jordan felt he needed to hurry, if Brandon woke up, Jordan would certainly fall flat onto the concrete below.

But Jordan couldn’t help himself when he reached Brandon’s pecs, again he laid down for a moment then spread himself out between them. His mind going back and forth, Jordan got up and kept going. Finally being able to stand when reaching the collar bone, Jordan moved pretty quickly towards the bicep. He laid against the muscle for a moment, feeling it with his arms spread yet again, and then his footing slipped.

Jordan fell what felt like almost ten feet, but was actually just down to Brandon’s rank armpits. Definitely no deodorant used today, not that Jordan was complaining. He had caught himself using the armpit hairs. And used the same strategy from before, and began to wrap his hands around the hairs to secure himself and climb up. He made his way up and this time didn’t fondle with Brandon’s ginormous arms this time, and instead kept climbing.

Using the last bit of his strength, Jordan finally reached the end. And laid on top of Brandon’s head in relief. Immediately, Brandon’s massive hand made a move to scoop Jordan. The hand enclosed around him and Jordan could barely move. He struggled for a bit but gave up upon realizing Brandon was up and walking, likely back to the apartment.

——————

Brandon opened his hand and placed Jordan on the desk in his room. Jordan collected his composure to the best of his ability and stood up and watched Brandon.

Brandon walked around the room a bit, picked up an old pair of socks off the floor and placed them in the laundry. He then took off his swimsuit, this time turned around revealing his muscles butt to Jordan. He threw the swimsuit into the laundry then turned and went to stand at the end of the desk. Jordan while on the desk was eye level with the head of Brandon’s dangling cock. His dick now appeared much more massive when it was freed from its mesh cage.

Jordan stared at the dick in front of his face for a moment, then began to lean his head back to look up at Brandon. Brandon was looking down at him with a pondering look in his eyes.

“Just so you know, I was awake the whole time.” Brandon stated.

“So you almost let me fall off your bicep??” Jordan seemed shocked. Why wouldn’t Brandon save his friend?

Brandon replied, “You caught yourself, I almost flinched, but I’ve seen your reflexes before and knew you could handle it. But regardless, do you remember the other parts of the journey?”

“The uh- oh, um..”

“It seems you rather enjoyed my feet, my abs, my pecs, my biceps, and not to mention my eight inch cock. I’m glad you took a fascination to me.”

“Wait, why are we in your room? Are you going to grow me back?”

“Not today. We said the weekend, remember? I want to play with you since you got to play with me.”

“Brandon, I-“ Jordan was shocked. He was reminded of his powerlessness from Brandon’s tone of voice. He had never seen this side of Brandon before today, and felt completely helpless to do anything besides comply. His dick got hard again.

“Jordan you are enjoying this more than I am, let me have some fun, okay?” Brandon left the room for a moment and returned with the gun, “To be honest, I wish I could make you smaller than an inch, but it’ll have to do.” The light flashed and Jordan felt himself dwindle down even tinier.

Brandon picked up Jordan with a hand that now felt twice the size. Brandon sat down on the carpet of the room and opened his hand and smiled.

“You are so cute, I’m so glad we did this.” Brandon said with a bit of a smile.

Jordan felt uneasy and turned on at the same time. He didn’t want to be like this tiny all weekend, but that thought started to fade when Brandon set him down. He tried to figure out where for a moment, but then realized he was laying between Brandon’s feet that were placed together. Brandon winked at Jordan then closed his feet softly.

Jordan could opened his mouth a bit and could taste the sweat from the gargantuan feet. Brandon slowly rubbed his feet back and forth a little bit, which caused such a pleasurable sensation for Jordan that he began to moan. Brandon heard the moans and stopped, picking out Jordan from his feet and bringing him over to his armpit.

“You know, I probably could have saved you now that I think about it, my armpit is pretty soft and could have protected you pretty well. Hope you enjoy bud.” Brandon said with a smirk.

Jordan was placed in Brandon’s pit once again, this time when Jordan grabbed the hair from the pit, Brandon closed his arm shut. The smell was ten times more potent, and the feeling of being enclosed under such a monstrous bicep was magnificent. The heat, sweat, and pressure only added to the experience. He had never felt more comfort, safety, vulnerability, and helplessness all at once. It was wonderful.

Jordan expected this to only last a minute or so, but instead it went on for ten or fifteen as Brandon walked around with Jordan before he could finally breathe normally again. He was plucked out of the pit, now smelling like it from the sweat, and held in front of Brandon again.

“I hope you enjoyed, I think I felt you ejaculate almost as soon as I closed my arm, but you’re still hard. Guess you wanna keep going.”

Brandon then brought his hand with Jordan in it down to the his dick. Without hesitation, Brandon grabbed his cock with the hand he was holding Jordan in, and began to masturbate. The cock was fully erect already, and Brandon slowly moved his hand up and down with Jordan being used as a sex toy.

Brandon then stopped for a moment to set Jordan down onto the desk once more, before continuing to masturbate at an increased speed and harder grip. Jordan sat watching the event transpire, only realizing a second before the climax what was about to happen as Brandon came all over Jordan’s helpless body, knocking him down. Brandon moaned as he released the cum.

He grabbed Jordan and brought him up to his mouth where he licked off the cum from Jordan’s back, then his front. The mouth and tongue were so huge to Jordan, and he could hardly process what was happened as he was receiving a sensory overload. When the second lick happened, Jordan came again.

Jordan was set on the desk once more as Brandon sat down in his chair and looked at Jordan. Brandon was smiling and had a look of glee in his eyes, “That was amazing, thank you for coming up with the idea for this weekend. I’m so glad I have you.”

[radioisntdead]

Hello!! I just read your velvette fic and it blew me away!!

Would it be okay if you made a fic of lucifers new wife meeting the hazbin hotel gang, along with mentioning how she died? It can be a song fic, and if it was, maybe what I know now from Beetlejuice?

If I'm asking for a lot, I'm sorry, this is my second time requesting something :)

Either way, thank you for considering this request, and if you could tag me if you make it, that would be nice!

With love 💙💙

-Xin

Good evening my dear! First of all you're doing great requesting! @fuck-this-shit-xin

Normally I prefer not to write for Lucifer for a couple of reasons, but the moment I read what I know now, I immediately went into writing mode, I ADORE THAT SONG, and Beetlejuice the musical as a whole but that song changed me, I annoyed my parents by playing it all the time back in 2020. I may have gotten slightly off track of the request, (I got excited writing reader singing)

If I knew then what I know now

Warnings!!!

Suicide and Self harm, Reader was a child star, Reader like the others breaks into song.

Link to the song, highly recommend you listen to it while reading!

Well, meeting your new husband's daughter was a bust, you ended up at her hotel, and he proceeded to get in a fight with a radio deer man and it was chaotic, So you decided to have a redo dinner where you could properly meet her and everyone,

Unfortunately the duck obsessed man had some type of emergency leaving you with your stepdaughter, her girlfriend and a couple of the other hotel residents alone.

"I'm sure he'll be back eventually."

You said with a strained smile, nervously smoothing out your dress as Charlie nodded,

"Yeah! I'm sure it was something that was super important, So uh, how'd you meet my dad?"

"Oh! Well it's a funny story-"

"Better question how does he perform in bed?"

"ANGEL."

"I'm not answering that."

And that pinwheeled into everyone drinking at the bar, chatting about random things and eventually Angel dust said something about his erotic films and you said you were in a couple of films when alive, although yours were more.... Family friendly

"Life is a thing that should be cherished, let me tell you I wish I could go back to it sometimes," you said swirling the alcoholic beverage in your hand,

"What wassssss your life like?"

"Well,"

The radio flickered on, letting a tune pour out.

Alastor raised an eyebrow.

"I was hot, I went to parties a lot"

You leaned back in your chair, recalling when you were alive,

"Y'know?"

Well that's not what Charlie was expecting you to open with,

"I was driving Lamborghinis, Sipping super-dry martinis,"

You downed the rest of your drink before standing up, moving to the music

"In the tiniest bikinis on a yacht"

You were quite scandalous when you were alive

"But I was depressed"

You put an arm over your head and leaned back leaning back, Alastor pushed you forwards with his cane.

"Also completely obsessed"

You had competed in beauty pageants since you were a child, you had starred in some films both as a child and as an Adult.

"An unhappy beauty queen"

It had been installed in you to be beautiful, the best, you had to eliminate your competition by outshining them, you were thrusted into the spotlight at such a young age, you never stood a chance.

"Who dreamed to be Miss Argentina"

A role you couldn't reach no matter how hard you tried,

"I had such low self-esteem"

You were beat down verbally by not only those around you, but by yourself, no one could beat the words you told yourself in the late hours of the night.

''I was a mess''

You had drowned your woes in alcohol, cocaine and other things, no one truly knew how much of a mess you were, being completely functional to do your pageants or films.

"So I gave it all up for the netherworld''

You flipped your hair as you twirled around.

"I've been here forever, girl"

You couldn't tell how long it's been since you died, you witnessed the decades change slowly but surely as more souls fell below.

"If I was more clever, girl"

You smiled.

"I would've stuck it out, Knowing what life's about,"

Oh how you missed looking out your window and seeing the blue sky, the sun, you missed fresh fruit, you missed the trees, normal looking animals!

"Pain and joy and suffering"

Maybe if you were born into a different life you would've been happier.

"Failing but recovering"

You made the decision to fix yourself, you hated the way your coping mechanisms made you feel, it destroyed you.

"I'll tell you another thing, Everyone comes here alone"

You motioned at the residents of the hotel, you weren't completely wrong, Angel dust came alone, Alastor showed up alone but summoned forth Husk and Niffty later on, Sir Pentious technically had his eggs but still.

"So if you are breathing, Go home!"

You danced with the rhythm of the music, hips moving.

"If I knew then, What I know now"

You placed a hand on Charlie's shoulder,

"I would have looked within and let love in somehow"

She gave you a warm hug you returned the hug before stepping back

"If I only knew the truth back then"

It was the last time, that's what you told yourself as you opened the bottle of Vodka, just one last time.

"I wouldn't have had my little "accident""

The little voice in your head was telling you it was going to get worse, and worse, you would never escape this life, you would forever be watched like a puppet, there was a letter opener on your nightstand, you were using it to open fanmail early that day.

The bracelets on your wrists moved showing a glimpse of the red markings that ended your life.

"Don't be blind"

You laid on the cold ground, blood staining your clothing, you looked up and saw the night sky, the stars were so, so beautiful.

"We left our whole lives behind"

You wondered who found you, your manager? a friend? Family member?

"See a shrink, Call a priest"

You moved around,

"Ask the recently deceased"

You glanced at the hotel residents, they hadn't died recently, you snapped your fingers summoning forth little puppet like people, where they sinners, did they come from you? Were they like the eggs? Who knows.

"Death is final and you cannot press rewind"

Stage lights turned on.

"Don't jump when the light is red"

"Toasters should be used for bread"

"Never smoke cigars in bed"

Three puppets sung, different colored lights shining on them

"Nietzsche was right, y'know, to live is to suffer, bro"

"Don't cheat on the one you wed"

A puppet dress in a suit popped up next, mocking a groom.

"Never whip a thoroughbred"

"Angry pygmys shrunk his head"

"Why did it take death to see, Happiness was up to me?" They sung in unison, each puppet dressed to match their line.

You stepped onto the stage the puppets surrounded you, standing beside and behind you.

"If I knew then, What I know now,"

You moved with the puppets,

"I would've laughed and danced"

Regrets filled you through and through

"And lanced every sacred cow"

You never did the things you wanted too, you never truly indulged in the hobbies you loved,

"I thought I knew, but I was wrong!"

If you could turn back the clock you would, without hesitation,

"'Cause life is short"

You would've probably still ended up here but at least you could've said that you lived life to the fullest!

"But death is super long"

You had an eternity to make up for the things you never did in life, it wasn't the same for multiple reasons, the main one being you were in hell.

A puppet exploded into a pile of confetti beside you.

"I exploded!"

Niffty quickly moved to clean up the confetti.

You danced to the music, twirling the puppets around, pulling up Charlie up onto the stage for a quick dance, A stray puppet pulling Angel dust into a very disorganized dance as he was tall while the puppet was not, Alastor did a goofy dance while another puppet aimed to dance with the eggs.

it wasn't all bad being down there, after all you did met your darling husband who you loved, and being married pulled you up above the average sinner.

Charlie hopped off of the stage

"If I knew then, What I know now"

Lights moved with you around the stage

"I would've crossed every line and drank all the wine"

One of the puppets wandered off to grab a glass of wine only to be stop by husk picking it up and tossing it over.

"Before my final bow!'

You did a half bow before twisting around, face to the puppets as they danced around you.

"If I knew"

You raised a hand the faintest of strings could be seen

"The things that now I know"

"I would ride the highs and cherish the lows"

Life was something you should've NEVER took for granted, you longed for the sense of normalcy that came with it,

"Going, it's a quick trick 'round the rodeo"

A small wooden horse with a smaller puppet moved around the stage for a moment.

Your movements became more face paced, your voice

"So before they lower the curtain, be certain to enjoy the show"

You bowed elegantly.

"That's what I know!"

The curtains closed.

"Life is short but death is long, Here, one minute then it's gone""

"Thought I knew but I was wrong, If I only knew what I know now!"

Your legs gave out below you, collapsed on the stage, the puppets vanished as the song ended, you were glad the curtains covered you.

You could hear the hotel doors fling open,

"Sorry I'm back! Everything's dandy now, what'd I miss?"

You heard your husband say, you took a deep breath before standing up brushing yourself off.

"Why are there ducks stuck on your coat?"

"I see Alaska is still here,"

"It's Aʟǟֆȶօr."

"Dad, Alastor please behave"

And that was your cue to prevent another fight You opened up the curtains with a large smile,

"Luci! You just missed my performance"

You said leaping off the stage tackling the short fallen angel into a hug, flustering him at the sudden attack of affection.

"I- wHAT?"

You wished you could go back and live life to the fullest but you couldn't do that, you had to spend your afterlife with your regrets, you would forever have that desire to go back, to live a sense of normalcy but you had your husband and maybe a new family with Charlie and Vaggie.

You looked forward to what the future held.

Good evening folks hope you enjoyed! Lucifer didn't get much page time (??) because no idea how to write him and again I wanted to indulge in reader's musical performance, thank you for tuning in I am making my ways through requests!

[jessilynallendilla]

SHAZAM/CAPTAIN MARVEL FIC REC

TITLE/LINK RATING COMPLETED-WORD-COUNT SERIES

let me know if the links aren't working and feel free to suggest any

We Have Nothing To Fear Except Ourselves  T 1,773 SERIES 

"Superboy will be staying at Mount Justice for now," Bruce says. He doesn't look at Clark as he says it. Clark doesn't look at him either. 

". . . Mount Justice is a cave," Captain Marvel says, clearly even more bewildered. "And Superboy is solar-powered. Isn't that kind of . . . I don't know . . . mean?" 

"'Mean'?" Clark repeats in disbelief before he can think better of it. 

Captain Marvel And The Shadow Demon  G 952 SERIES 

He floated down, knelt on the ground and extended the back of his hand toward the creature. The creature cautiously padded out of Superman’s shadow toward him and sniffed his hand, before rubbing it’s head affectionately against it.  “Heh… you aren’t nearly as scary as everyone makes you out to be.”  “Mrrrrp” the creature replied, still head butting his hand 

Super Reporters AU: That One Time A Half-Kryptonian Visited Fawcett City  G 8,185 SERIES 

Clark and Lois had a predicament, on one hand, Clark had some League Business offworld. On the other hand, Lois had to go undercover for a scoop on an underground crime ring, both can’t take care of 5 year old Jon, luckily for Clark, his honorary little brother, Billy is willing to accompany him in the peculiar Fawcett city. 

Super Reporter Billy Batson  G 19,114 SERIES 

Little Billy Batson has just been transformed into a grown man - the superhero Captain Marvel. Thrown into a crazy new world of super heroics, the little boy embraces his new life and the responsibilities that come with it. 

STRIKE A VIOLENT POSE.  G 2,376 

There is something about Shazam that Clark really doesn't get, until he does 

A Christmas Peril  M 

The ghosts of Christmas past present and future have fallen upon the Wayne household when three mentally and physically abused children come to stay. Its horrible enough that Jon has been isolated due to the destructive capabilities of his powers. Or that Billy has been left orphaned and homeless. But when Batman learns what Talia has been putting his son through. It might just push him over the edge. This leads to an overly publicised custody battle between Gotham's billionaire playboy and the wealthy religious socialite with a cult following and an assassination hobby. 

The Outsider  T 

Damian’s mission was simple. A routine drug bust that just happened to take place in Fawcett. Easy stuff. But while there, he runs into a kid with a heroic streak and a look that’s a bit too familiar. That meeting ends up changing his entire life. 

As Atlas Holds The World On His Shoulders  T 22,016 SERIES 

Billy was doing fine. Not great, but fine. He definitely didn’t need some billionaire from Gotham City of all places to throw at least 13 wrenches in his plan 

The Butler's Apprentice  T  

Billy Batson, fiercely independent and a homeless part-time superhero, finds himself in the streets of Gotham with no money, no food, and no voice. Unable to transform into Captain Marvel (Shazam), he gains unexpected help in the form of a polite and respectable butler. 

The One With The Bat's Son  T 3,405 

“Batman has seven kids.”  Wally blinked. “You’re shitting me.”  “Not even a little, I just overheard him and Supes talking.”  “Oh my god,” he breathed, staring at Hal incredulously. “You don’t think -?”  Hal nodded, slowly and seriously. “Batman could be Captain Marvel’s dad.” 

The Time Lost In Between  T 34,780 SERIES 

Everyone knows Batman knows everything about everyone, no matter how secretive they might be. What everyone doesn't know is that the Dark Knight knows nothing about Captain Marvel, no matter what he does to try to. And now, he thinks he might just have a lead, a lead that would finally let him tear apart the puzzle that's troubled him for so long. The only complication? Captain Marvel is wearing a dead man's face. 

Billy Accidentally Gets Kidnapped  NR 3,794 

Bruce needs some sleep, all the black haired blue eyed kids are starting to look the same to him. Billy just wants to do his job. In other words, I love the idea of Bruce accidentally kidnapping Billy, it happens in my other story too 

A Natural Progression  NR 92,427 SERIES 

Billy's in a bad place. Consistently on the run from bullies and the like, unable to eat or find a stable place to sleep for more than a week Sure, he's Captain Marvel, but he'd never use his powers for his own gain. Thankfully, Alfred Pennyworth comes to the rescue. 

Billy Batson And The Troubles Of Work-Life Balance  T SERIES 

No one in the League could rightly say they knew exactly who, or what, Captain Marvel was. Billy Batson did not have any plans on changing that status. Maybe he should stop feeding into the rumor mill, then. 

Captain Marvel's Adopted?  T 8,504 

When Captain Marvel sends out a distress call, the only League member available is Batman. Bruce comes to his aid, but he finds out that Billy is a 10-year-old homeless orphan with black hair and blue eyes. Obviously, he makes the only logical decision and adopts Billy. Because it's Bruce—who's allergic to revealing life-changing information—the League is left in the dark. 

From The Shadows  T 88,074 

All Billy Batson wanted was to survive a particularly rough week living on the streets of Fawcett City. The last thing he was looking for was a new family. All Bruce Wayne wanted was to learn a bit more about his upbeat teammate under the guise of official Wayne Enterprises business. But he could never turn his back on a child in need. Especially one as surrounded by mystery as Billy. OR Billy gets adopted by the Batfamily while trying to deal with a strong magical enemy. 

The Marvelous Adventures Of The SuperBat Family  T 

Batman's suspicions that Captain Marvel is autistic snowball out of control and before he knows it he's playing father figure to an impressionable homeless kid along with Superman. There's nothing wrong with panicking and accidentally taking care of another kid, right? Now if they could just figure out why everyone seems to think that they're dating then they should have everything figured out. Right? 

Of Gods And Bats  T 

After Billy Batson gets attacked by something he doesn't understand, he decides to call Batman to help him find the source of the attacks. Little does he know, this sets up a series of events that will change his life forever. Billy has always been an orphan and has learned to take care of himself – but can he learn to accept help from others and really let someone know him? 

Like Going Through Hell On A Sunday  M 54,568 

Jason Todd has to bring Damian to Gotham for his protection, meets Billy along the way and just doesn't know how he's supposed to keep these kids safe while dealing with his trauma (aka killing that damn clown) 

Billy Batson And The Phantom  T 

When a video goes viral of a teenager, who looks strikingly like the superhero known as Captain Marvel, having lightning powers and fighting shadowy enemies, it results in a lot of rumors, theories, and worst of all, conspiracies, that the teen might be the Captain's illegitimate or secret son. Billy Batson, the person underneath the Captain Marvel transformation and a teenager at the tender age of fourteen-years-old knows there is literally no way that this teenager could be his child. Nonetheless, Superman encourages Captain Marvel to help aide in the search for the teenager in order to find out the true happenings of that night in the woods. Billy goes along with it, fearing that if he pushes too hard, he might reveal his secret identity and most of all, his true age, to the Justice League. Besides, how hard could it be to find one teenager? Billy really should have taken his own experiences to heart because as it turns it, the answer to that question is: very hard. 

Who's Old Now?  T 36017 

what happens when a twelve year old masquerading as an adult superhero calls his guardian, an adult who can also turn into a child superhero, on speaker phone, in front of the Justice League. 

[sanagii]

Hi,Tumblr! I’m open for digital and traditional art commissions again! I'll do a lovely art piece for you and/or your loved ones! Lately I’ve been struggling to find new gigs and I really need money to pay my bills, so If you can please consider to commission me. If it's not possible right now, a reblog would me help me a lot! Thank you for your support ♥

The art commission service includes:

Work in process updates

Monochrome background with simple elements if requested.

Transparent background version if needed

If asked, a Cropped version for client

And of course, full resolution png file.

Delivering time:

Your commission will be delivered in 2-3 weeks (Or more, for bigger projects). If you need te art for an specific date please let me know and I'll try have it ready in time! Send me a message if you have any questions.

ADDITIONAL CHARACTER INFO: Prices are below each example, 75% of the base price for each character. *Busts with additional characters are not available. Pets can be added for 60% of the base price!

Terms of service:

I will draw anything (OCs, fanart, real people, humanoid and pets) except mecha, because I’m really bad at it, sorry! I’m okay with NSFW as long is not really explicit. I’m OK with nude art.

Extra detailed accesories like wings, weapons, amors will count as extra details and they will be charged starting at $6 USD. Simple backgrounds such as monochrome bgs, gradients and simple compositions have no extra cost. For detailed backgrounds please send me your ideas and I’ll send you a quote :).

Payments are only through PayPal invoices in USD (US Dollars) or their equivalent in MXN (Mexican Pesos), for the protection of both sides. I also can take Ko-fi.

I Accept two-part payments. I’ll start working on the piece as soon as I receive the first part, first updates will be sent in less than 15 days. The rest of the invoice would be paid before I send the finished illustration.

These prices are only for personal commissions. If you need art for commercial purposes, please read my full TOS (link below) or send me an e-mail and I’ll gladly make a price quote for the commercial rigths.

I have the rights of every commission made. Please don’t take the credits of the art or reproduct it on commercial products.

For more important info, please READ MY FULL TOS.

How to commission?

If you’re interested to commission, please send an email to sanagie4@gmail.com or send me a DM filling this form:

Character/person name(s):

Art style: (Colored sketch, full rendered, handmade watercolor)

Size: (Bust, half or full body)

Photo references:

Outfit/costume references:

Quick Description of the character(s): (Age, height, hairstyle, complexion, personality, likes)

Pose, background and/or extra details

PayPal e-mail:

If you have any questions please leave a comment or send me a message and I’ll respond as quickly as I can! Thank you for your interest ♥ 

PS: You can also commission me directly on Vgen and Artistree!

Twitter | Instagram | Support me on Ko-fi | Portfolio | Carrd

[cubicle-eyes]

Home

(Not Requested)

Hunter x Male!Reader

Y/N is Willow's older brother- aged 17. Also, the lack of gayness for Hunter is sad. Maybe I'm just hopeless. We Don't judge here. We.. eat fudge? Somebody stop me before I start making puns.

---

"WILLOW!?"

Y/N cried, stumbling from the hallway of New Hexside and shoving his way past the crowd of his classmates. Willow perks up, gasping.

"Y/N!"

Her older brother crashes into her, nearly sending them both to the floor. He grasps onto her, fisting her costume and letting out a sob into her shoulder.

"Papa- Dad- They aren't- I can't- I can't fix it."

"I know," she pulls away, but the siblings hands stay linked together. Her hands are shaking, and Y/N registers her "keeping it together" expression. "It's okay."

"And then you were missing- and I was with Edric and he broke- Willow."

He let's out another cry and she pulls him back in. "I thought you were dead, or at least puppet-fied. I was so scared, Willow."

"I know. I'm here. I can't wait to tell you all about the Human Realm, Y/N. You'd really love it there."

Gus comes over and punches Y/N's shoulder, automatically lightening the mood.

"Hey, big bro. Long time no see."

"Yeah. Miss your boyfriend?"

"Me and Matty aren't-"

"Boyfriend!"

Y/N cries, shaking Willow's shoulders and looking around. He spots Hunter, and runs over before Willow can stop him.

"Hunter!"

"Y/N?"

Hunter opens his arms just in time for Y/N to crash into them.

"I thought you were dead! Oh my titan, Hunter, your scars."

He traces his fingers over the base to the corner as it ends at his eyes, and Y/N blinks.

"Your eyes."

His lip quivers before he busts into tears, burying his face in Y/N's shirt as he fists at the fabric. He's trying to form words, but is nearly suffocating himself. Y/N inhales shakily, then helps him up and gestures to Willow.

"We'll be right back! Maybe!"

"Okay..! I love you!" She waves her arms, and Y/N smiles wearily.

"I love you too!"

As soon as they're in an empty hallway, Y/N picks him up bridal style to carry him to one of the empty classrooms. Hunter has stopped crying, but now he can't meet Y/N's eyes, holding his arms and keeping his body tense. Y/N sets him down and Hunter stumbles slightly, legs weak. Y/N catches him as he shuts the door, locking it. He turns back to Hunter, watching him sit down on the edge of a desk that isn't flipped from the previous panics.

"Hunter?"

"Yeah?" His voice cracks and Y/N sits next to him, the blonde automatically leaning against him.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have run at you like that. Maybe the last thing you needed after all of the shock."

"It's.. okay. I needed that." He was silent for a moment before he sniffled. He leaned off of Y/N, gripping the end of the table so tight his knuckles turned white. Y/N furrowed his brows.

"Why isn't... oh."

"Yeah. Flap.. isn't here."

"Is that why your eyes changed color?"

Y/N gently turned Hunter's head, and his newly brown eyes were sad. He shut them, grimacing as he leaned into his touch.

"He's the reason I'm alive."

After Hunter explained the story, Y/N was shocked. He couldn't help his lip from quivering, or the tears slowly pooling in his eyes.

"That's.. I'm so sorry. I should've gone with you. Dunce." Y/N sighed, lying back on the table. Hunter shifted to lie his back over his chest, the two forming a makeshift plus-sign on the table. Y/N ran his hands through Hunter's hair before the boy sat up, leaning on one arm but keeping himself draped over his boyfriend.

"Don't.. say that. I'm so glad you weren't there to see what I did."

"Belos did."

Hunter smiles, but Y/N knows its really one of his hiding expressions. "Yeah. Belos did. Besides.. I don't think Flap would've wanted you there, either."

"I know." Y/N whispered. His voice was always infinitely gentle, but it sounded like he was trying to convince himself it were true. Hunter sat up before he could start crying again, standing and unlocking the door.

"Alright, let's not keep everybody waiting."

"Okay, but.. we'll talk more, right?"

"Sure." He mentally punches himself for sounded so unconvincing. Y/N sighs.

"Alright. Hey, Hunter?"

"Mm?"

Y/N kisses his forehead, hands sneaking up to cup his face. Hunter's own, shaking hands place themselves over Y/N's. The slightly taller boy pulls away, smiles, and pecks Hunter on the lips.

"I'm so glad you're home."

---

💙

[sansterballpro]

COMMISSIONS ARE OPEN FOR CAR REPAIR FINANCES!

Hello! I hope everyone reading this is doing well and taking care of themselves! c:

As stated above, I’m opening these commissions to try to save for the repairs needed to fix my car! On Monday, my transmission suddenly blew on my way to work and a new one is needed for it to be able to work again.

But with both the costs of a new transmission and the repair labor, I’m in a bit of a tight spot and don’t have the money to pay for said repairs.

My place of work isn’t the closest and I will not be able to borrow my family’s vehicle for very long for they have work as well, so commissions are officially open to try to pay it off quicker! qwq

My commission information & terms of service are below if you’re interested, as well as my kofi, but please don’t feel obligated to do either! I appreciate the support a ton and thank you for reading either way! ;v; Please take care of yourselves and I hope everyone has a wonderful day! <3

link to my Kofi if interested! C: if you mention your favorite character, I’ll doodle you them in response to your donation!

Chibi Style (Examples Below):

> additional characters will be 50% of the original price extra (before added flat colors). I will draw up to three characters!

> basic colors/gradient backgrounds are free, and simple backgrounds (basic clouds and skies, such as the Fresh example) will be a $8 extra!

Sketch:

Full Body - $18

> add flat color for $5 more (per character), gradients are free!

Cleaner Line Art w/ Flat Colors:

Full Body - $30

> added gradients are free!

Fully Colored & Shaded:

Full Body - $40

> click the alt text to see what kind of commission each ex. is!

Detailed Style (Examples Below):

> additional characters will be 50% of the original price extra (before added flat colors). I will draw up to three characters!

> basic colors/gradient backgrounds are free, and simple backgrounds (basic clouds and skies, such as the Fresh example) will be a $8 extra for half body, and $12 extra for full body!

Sketch:

Half Body - $18

> add flat color for $5 more (per character), gradients are free!

Full Body - $23

> add flat color for $8 more (per character), gradients are free!

Cleaner Line Art w/ Flat Colors:

Half Body - $30

Full Body - $40

> added gradients are free!

Fully Colored & Shaded:

Half Body - $45

Full Body - $60

> click the alt text to see what kind of commission each ex. is!

Icons & Headers (Examples Below):

> these are all bust drawings (chest and up), but can be placed on different canvas sizes based off what you’re looking for!

> I will only draw one character for an icon since it is placed on a square canvas!

> I will draw up to three characters for a header, with each character being 50% of the original price extra! If you’re specifically looking for four characters (since it’s a wider canvas), I’ll make each added character 40% of the original price extra!

> basic colors/gradient backgrounds are free, but detailed backgrounds (fully colored) for the headers start at $8 and can range up to $25 based off what you’d like done!

ie. a cloud filled sky (seen in examples above, more specifically with Fresh) would be $8, the flowers (seen below) would be $15, while a complex, detailed scenery or cityscape would be $25.

Chibi Style:

Fully Colored & Shaded - $25

Detailed Style:

Fully Colored & Shaded - $35

> click the alt text to see what kind of commission each ex. is!

Terms of Service:

The best place to contact me about a commission is Tumblr, but if Twitter is your preferred way to contact then I am there as well! Please be sure to reach out to me to confirm your commission before any payment is made.

The only payment method I use is PayPal in USD! Once the commission has been paid for I’ll begin the drawing!

Throughout the drawing process, l’ll send updates and screenshots, to which you can let me know if anything needs to be changed.

I hold the right to respectfully decline a commission that I don’t feel comfortable drawing, so if there’s any questions I’m happy to answer them!

> PLEASE NOTE: Commissions can take up to four weeks! I will continuously keep you updated and please don’t hesitate to ask for progress, but I am not a fast artist and may have other commissions to finish first! If you need something by a specific date, I can make exceptions to that!

[thewittyphantom]

The final Duel Links Tag Tournament cup was the Arc-V Cup, with Celina as our partner! Teams included Zuzu and Gong, Declan and Sylvio, a new team of Yugo and Yuto, and another new team of Yuya and Dennis.

Celina: So you're my tag partner. I'd rather Duel both my opponents alone in a 2-on-1 match, but the rules are the rules. You better not mess me up. If you get in my way...This Duel will be 3-on-1 - and you're all going down!

Yugo: Sigh...Yuto? You're my partner? Yuto: Should I be sorry that I'm not Rin? Yugo: Yeah! You should! But I guess you do have skills - even if they're not as good as mine. Let's go and show 'em! Yuto: Sure. But you must realize you're not as talented as me. (they lose) Yugo: Agh! We lost! Where did we go wrong? Yuto: It's because you depend too much on luck. Yugo: You're saying it's my fault? Yuto: This is a Tag Duel. Instead of relying on luck, you should rely on your partner! Yugo: I guess...But... Yuto: I know this isn't easy for you because the only one you've ever trusted is Rin. But you need to realize you're no longer alone. Yugo: Well...Whatever! You're making me feel things! Stop that!

Dennis: Yuya, we haven't teamed up like this since the first time we met. Yuya: Yeah! You scared me back then, busting into my Duel! Dennis: I won't get an intrusion penalty this time, so I can Duel harder than before! Yuya: Sounds good! Let's get this show started! Ladies and gentlemen! Dennis: It's showtime! (they lose) Dennis: If we're going to be the best Dueltainers, we need to sharpen our skills. Yuya: You're right. If we keep Dueling like this, we can't make anyone smile. Let's keep working at it, Dennis! Dennis: How about we compete to see who can Dueltain most like your father? Yuya: You know I never turn down a challenge! Let's do it, Dennis!

Celina: I take back what I said. You Dueled great! I didn't know there were still talented Duelists like you out in the world. I guess you can say I'm a big fish in a small pond. A big scary fish that frightens all the smaller fish away...Because I'm kinda...intimidating...Maybe I should talk more nicely...I need to tell you something. A Duelist of your skill? I don't want to just team with you - I want to Duel against you too! So next time we meet, let's Duel! And you're gonna be in the fight of your life! Oops...That was too scary. I forgot I shouldn't talk like that. Next time we meet, I'll squish you like a marshmallow 'til you're nothing but gunk! Wait...That's not right either...

[jeannereames]

If you could change or insert one aspect of the common pop culture picture most people have in their heads when they think about ATG what would it be?

I'm going to jump this in the queue because I can answer it swiftly, but also because I have TWO things that are personal pet peeves.

FIRST: That "historians" keep insisting Alexander and Hephaistion were "just good friends" in the face of obvious evidence to the contrary.

SECOND: Alexander called Hephaistion his Patroklos (to his own Achilles), and they used this comparison frequently throughout their lives.

So, let’s take on the “Fake News,” shall we?

The notion that "historians" keep insisting Alexander and Hephaistion were "just good friends" in the face of what would seem clear evidence to the contrary is over 50 fucking years out of date.

Are there “historians” out there who say that? Sure. But they tend to come in two flavors: 1) people who aren’t specialists, Hellenists, or even historians,⸸ or 2) Greeks.* Since Badian, Green, Hamilton, and Schachermeyer (et al.) took over Macedonian/Alexander studies mid-century, few specialists claimed Alexander and Hephaistion couldn’t have been lovers, or Alexander couldn’t have been attracted to men. Even Hammond cagily acknowledged it.

Yet—TBH—I don't think those who repost that meme really care. They just want a convenient strawman/whipping horse to make them sound "smarter than the experts."

You don't. You sound as if you haven't read much about Alexander since about 1975. Historians who have died of old age by now said Alexander and Hephaistion were probably lovers.

But that raises another problem: the implication that anybody who might argue they aren't lovers must be an old, white homophobic dude. Again, this is wrong.

The current discussion centers more on source problems, and separates Alexander having male lovers from Alexander and Hephaistion being lovers themselves (not the same thing, actually). Those making the best argument for caution are young, very much not homophobic (but absolutely brilliant) women (e.g., Sabine Müller). Follow the link to see a picture of Sabine, if you don’t believe me. I don't agree with her, but you can't shoot down her argument by screaming "Homophobe!" at the top of your lungs. The points she raises are all good ones and any responsible (and smart) historian will take them seriously.

As for the Alexander-Achilles/Hephaistion-Patroklos pastiche… yeah, sorry, no.

I realize this torques off folks, as it’s become a mainstay of queer culture surrounding Alexander as a gay icon and owes more than a little to Miller’s The Song of Achilles.

Busting it probably makes me sound like a Grinch.

BUT…the facts just don't support it. Yes, Alexander compared himself to Achilles--but not as much as to Herakles and Dionysos. Not even close.

How do I know? I COUNTED THEM. Facts ... not impressions.

After all, looking closely at what the sources (not impressions) actually say about Hephaistion is how I came to the conclusion the man was a lot more important than heretofore recognized. 😉

Again, as I’ve said elsewhere, Alexander did compare himself to Achilles. That’s not in dispute … it just wasn’t as frequent or common as modern fans like to pretend. And Hephaistion was compared to Patroklos only twice. There’s also a problem with WHO made those comparisons: chiefly Arrian. Again, I’ve talked about this elsewhere, so won’t go over it again.

Yes, I made the comparison myself in Dancing with the Lion: Becoming. But it concerned one circumstance near that book’s end (not giving spoilers), and isn’t something they harped on otherwise. That mirrors how it appears in our sources: it’s limited, and situational.

“Patroklos” was not Hephaistion’s nickname. Wish folks would stop claiming it was.

—————

⸸ Just because somebody is tagged “historian” on a History Channel special—or his own private blog—doesn’t mean they actually have a PhD, or even a Master’s, much less one in ancient history, Classics, Classical archaeology, or ancient art history. The number of idiots on Tik-tok yapping about how Alexander thought this or did that—and clearly know jack shit—routinely stuns me…even while it doesn’t. Dunning-Kruger Effect all over the damn place.

* Greeks must often work within the confines of official narratives in order to secure jobs and funding, which can limit what they say on certain topics, from who’s buried in “Philip’s Tomb,” to the Greekness of the ancient Macedonians, to any possible homosexual “taint” staining Alexander’s greatness. This may swim against the current of academic discourse outside Greece, even by other Greeks. The Greek Ministry of Culture and Sport has softened on some of these topics in recent years, especially as LGBTQIA rights have gained better traction in Greece.

[lokisladdie1232]

NOW PRESENTING!

Enoch Ars Goetia, the Owl Demon of the Theatre!

The inspiration to make him came from The Phantom of the Opera!

Enoch is the Demon of the theatre. He was named Enoch by his father because it’s the name of Cain’s son (the Bible states that Cain’s son is named Enoch), and Enoch is the son of the first human sinner, outside of Adam and Eve, of course. His father wants him to achieve greatness.

Enoch’s power is called Puppetry!

Puppetry consists of:

- Mastery over servants to do his bidding without their knowing, like a puppet on strings.

- Temporary/time-limited mastery over non-servants in moments of need.

- Ability to call servants forth with key phrases relating to theatre; “*Name*, enter stage right/left.” “Take center stage, *name*.” Etc.

- Ability to gift ‘talent’ unto close friends and family. Talents have to be related to theatre and opera; Singing, Dancing, Piano, and more.

- He has all talents related to theatre and opera, all talents are gifts of his magic, not skills of his own. This means that if he somehow lost his power, he wouldn’t have any talent, be it acting, singing, dancing, playing the piano, creating plays, etc. Those would all be gone.

Overall, this project took me about 2 weeks in total? This is practically my first time really taking on an animating project, so it’s good! So much work went into this, but it’s only a 2 second clip. WOW! There’s so much to animating, and I learned a lot! I hope I can do another animation project soon, and apply what I learned on this one! Also, I hope I have better equipment for it by the time I start in on a new one. This was all done on my iPad in Procreate! WHEW! What an experience.

HOWEVER, I don’t see myself doing much with Enoch in the future, so if you’re interested in adopting him, let me know! Because of the amount of time and work I put in on him, he’s going to be $6️⃣0️⃣. You will receive the animation, the still frame, the bust, and a color map.

*Ko-Fi link coming soon, OR pay through PayPal/Venmo.*

[highlordofkrypton]

I am going to ask way to many of these

2, 3, 5, 7, 20, 31

I want to ask many more but I am restraining myself

PLEASE ASK AS MUCH AS YOU WANT, I'M IN A YAPPING MOOD!!

Linking to the ask game in question!

2. Anything you want to write but feel like you're unable to?

Porn. Straight up raunchy multiple thousand words for just filth. Feelings get in the way, we're all laughing or crying. I think it's an art to be able to focus on just the kinky stuff in a way that's engaging but not too anatomical. That's dirty but in a way that isn't gross, but just right, if you know what I mean?

I love smut, but the mental toll it takes on me to write pure smut is wild. I can usually shoot out 1k words in 15 minutes if I'm focused. It can take me three days to figure out like... where the character should kiss next 😭

3. How would you describe your writing style?

Oh gosh, are we supposed to use real writing terms? I don't know what styles there are out there, but my way of describing my writing would be: lived in.

I always say I'm a lazy writer, so I don't describe anything more than I have to. Usually, I will describe what matters to the character. I live in their shoes at that moment, and when I write, I embody their emotions as well. If the character is crying, my ass is sobbing over the keyboard. If they're angry, I'm rolling my eyes.

I do think that my style also means that the details I do include are a bit miscellaneous. It's natural to describe the setting, and clothes and items, but I feel like if you're really living in a universe, you get attached to the really random, if weird, shit.

5. What's a tag you never want to use for your works even when it applies?

THIS IS A TRICKY ONE!

Okay, let me start off by saying I am both pro and against tags. I think tags are a great way of searching up fics to make sure that you get exactly what you want, but I also think that for some fics it does a disservice to the fic. Disclaimer: I'm new to AO3 and I don't think I tag well enough.

So, on the point of disservice, I'll use my fic for example because I've been thinking about it for a while. So for Wildflowers, I consider it an ACOTAR prequel, first and foremost. While Tamsand is the main ship, I think by tagging the ship, it does the fic a disservice because the world is so rich, it doesn't just focus on the ship. There's so much more I want to gush about with people, and I find it answers so many complaints I see from ACOTAR fans who were disappointed by the rest of the books, but people will stop at the ship tag.

Also both characters are so polarizing in the fandom that if you hate one, you won't give this fic a shot which is FAIR but one of my goals was to convince readers to fall for the one they might not have thought they would, but yeah, I played myself with that idea.

I also tag to be safe than sorry so not to trigger anyone, but I'm very much a reader that is in for the ride no matter what, and I feel like tags can be spoilers, etc. Still, I do want to be respectful of others, but for me, I worry that if I tag 'SA' the fic might be misconstrued as it focuses on that topic whereas it's one scene that impacts later character development.

I wouldn't use the term never tag, but that's how I feel about tagging.

7. Your favourite AO3 tag.

Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne.

That's it. That's the whole tag LMAO.

20. Do you work on a single project or many at the same time? How does that work for you?

I've tried both and HOLY CRAP, I'm bad at multi-tasking. A SINGLE PROJECT. DO NOT LET ME START OTHER SHIT AT THE SAME TIME, I WLL FORGET TO UPDATE THE OTHER PROJECT.

Hyperfocus or bust, apparently.

31. What was the most difficult fic to write (but in the end you made it)?

Pick any of my smut oneshots, except Regrets and that is probably one of them.

I would say that my Lucien x Elain (Elucien) fic Warmth was difficult because I knew the setting and how I was gonna start it, but I don't know Elain very well (I haven't finished reading the series) and I don't write Lucien enough. It's one thing to know the character, but another thing to know how they are when they are being intimate. That was really tricky.

I always try not to re-use the same tropes, positions, expressions and wording in my smut, but since I don't write enough of it, to me, it reads like I'm writing more or less the same and... I hate that.

MY GOD I RAMBLED SO MUCH I'M SORRY

I STILL LIKED IT IT WAS FUN!!

[arcticwolfpaws]

Chapter 7: Blending in while standing out

Due to this being a full story I have started to post it on AO3 I'll start adding the link here for new readers.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/56481082/chapters/143531686

I had no idea how long the Gala had lasted and I a good amount of time hiding in the corner, however I had found myself actually listening to Tim, I was exhausted but at least nodding along didn’t take much energy and he was doing all the work. If I was being honest I was about half asleep and hadn’t noticed father until he spoke

“I see you seemed to have made a friend…” I snapped up my head and looked at him blinking a few times before he turned his gaze to Tim and spoke in a cheerful tone,

“Do you need a ride home son?” He asked Tim looked down at his watch and spoke

“No, Sir but you are right it’s getting late and I should get going,” Tim turned to me his eyes practically glowing as he spoke again,

“I’ll see you in school.” He’d sounded so sure of that and Father seemed proud as he looked back at me, A soft smile going across his face, What was that about?

“It’s good to see you’re making friends already. They can come over if you give Alfred warning” I wasn’t sure about inviting Tim and his Batman obsessed ass over. However I just nodded slowly before yawning, He placed a hand on my shoulder and started guiding me to the stairs.

“Why don’t you go get some sleep? There’s no need to push yourself” I was going to argue but the only one I could think of was helping clean, he gently pushed me up the stairs and I stumbled there before starting to walk up them.

“We’ll take care of the Ballroom,You get some sleep besides you have school tomorrow.” He added I stumbled a little as I headed up them with out much thought, I glanced back down and spotted the commissioner’s daughter talking to the older boy walking by with a trash bin and the male red head speaking to Jason as the swept. I didn’t linger long before leaving, I used the bust of some I think family members head, and turned left as I walked to my room. As I stepped into my room I shrugged off my blazer and kicked off my dress pants before dropping into my bed, I hadn’t even bothered to cover myself with a blanket.

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I woke up groggy and with the itch to fly scratching at the back of my mind, I pushed off the blanket only to pause as I realized it. Someone must have come in to check on me, and I couldn’t help but wonder who. Before I got up and started to strip off the remains of the suite before I lazily dug out my hoodie and a pair of jeans, once they were on I let my wings slowly form as I opened my window, the fresh air rushed into the room and I flexed my wings on instinct as I got ready to fly, I paused wondering if I should avoid Gotham tonight but shrugged it off and chose to fly.

Once I was far enough away from the manor I tucked my wings close and did a barrel roll as I snapped my wings open again I was above Gotham bay, I dipped my hand into the cold water as I took a deep breath before going higher wanting to not be spotted by anyone, as always the noise of the city never seemed to end as I watched police cars drive by there lights flashing and sirens blaring the sound caused me to wince even as high as I was.

As I flew around slowly looking for a good place to land I once again found myself on the Ace chemicals building, It was a nice high up place to sit and it wasn’t so close to everything that I had to listen to everyone however it also wasn’t high enough that I didn’t have to listen to at least the sirens, I had thought about landing on Wayne tower however. Father likely had some kind of heavy security there and I really didn’t want him knowing I had wing. After all he didn’t like metas.

As yet another cop car screeched by I mumbled to myself,

“What’s going on?” I jumped sky high as a young male voice spoke

“The joker’s causing problems again.” I stepped away from the edge of the roof ans spun around only to find, Speedy! My mood brightened instantly

“Aren’t you one the wrong side of the country?” Despite the question my tone had been cheerful.

“It’s a bit of a long story, I was going to ask you what you were doing here I haven’t seen you in what four years?” hearing him without the sirens blaring… there was no fucking way… I shook the thought from my head as I spoke,

“Five years it’s been five years and it’s… a bit complicated.” I stated and he stepped closer to me, I had no fear of the archer and maybe I should have but we’d been friendly once so nothing bad could happen… Right?

“Have you told Mr Wayne?” He asked his hand reaching out and brushing my wing, I blinked it was him. Shit how did I explain this to him? Were do you even star trying to explain something like this?

“Well does he?” He asked and I shook my head hard,

“N-no, I… he..” I stammered trying to find the right words, but he just put a hand on my shoulder,

“You okay?” I took a deep breath saying a single word.

“Processing,” that’s all he needed to hear to sit down and wait for me to collect myself, it was honestly one of the many reasons I liked Speedy… Roy, I had known his name form before but I had never thought that. I forced myself to take a deep breath.

“So you’re… Jason’s Roy?” I had finally found my voice,

“If you want to word it like that, I think of both Jason and Dick as good friends.” I started pacing but he just sat there,

“So if Jason’s robin does that mean that Dick was a robin and that…” I trailed off Father being the Batman that Tam seemed to obsess over… well I needed to keep him off Father’s tail didn’t I?

“Wait you know about Jay?” He asked sounding a bit startled as I nodded absently before realizing that I needed to explain,

“I was… checking something let’s say and had a close call heard him talk.” that was really all he needed he knew what my mutation entailed, he took another breath before speaking again.

“Alright… Does Bruce know?” He asked and I shook my head no,

“Not to my knowledge and if I am being honest I think that’s for the best.” I saw him struggle with his thoughts for a moment before dropping his head and sighing heavily,

“I hate to say this… but from what I’ve heard from Dick and Jason you’re right…” I don’t think either of us wanted me to be… removed from the house as much as I disliked the thought of being a caged bat… with out Mr Wilson around there wasn’t anywhere I could go.

“Do you know where Slade is in case the worst happeneds?” I shook my head no, as I ran a hand through my hair knocking my hood off.

“He left me with the blue man… and… I got drugged honestly the last few month have been fuzzy.” I noticed his deep frown he suddenly pushed on his ear and raised a finger for me to be quiet, so I did as he said as I thought about everything, Firstly if father was the Bat.. from what Tam was saying I needed to get a lot more creative with my hiding spots for my things can’t have them finding this hoodie, then I needed to either stop flying. I stopped at that thought and shuttered, I didn’t think I could pull that however… If I was out helping Gotham, when Father inevitably found out he may be less angry with me for my mutation. Then again that came with a lot of risks, if I broke something I’d have to convince father as to how I did it and finding a good lie might be hard… cuts and bruises could be concealed but a broken arm? Not so much.

I paced as Roy spoke into some kind of communication device, I wasn’t listening but I was well aware of him. If I followed through on this… I’d need a suit like Roy had… one that would let me use my wings freely a way to hide my voice but that one would be easy I knew sign language, A skill Mr Wilson had taught me when I was younger so that when I couldn’t handle the noise I could still communicate… but I’d have to brush up on it.

“Earth to Faraj.” Roy’s voice made me jump sky high as I looked up at him,

“What caught your head so hard you toned me out?” I bite my lip at his question before taking a deep breath and speaking,

“Will you help me become a hero?” I think he nearly chocked before he shook his head hard,

“No.” It was firm and sharp like he wasn’t going to hear me out, and I tilted my head as I watched him then smiled softly.

“Alright fine, I’ll do i-” I didn’t even get ti finish the statement before I was grabbed and Roy spoke in a sharp tone.

“No, You don- You can’t do this you’ll get hurt or worse,” He hissed and I frowned at him raising a brow before I spoke,

“I’ve made up my mind on doing this, I have my whys and now I just need my hows the choice is yours now, help me or not but we both know you can’t stop me.” He cursed under his breath letting me go as he ran a hand though his hair before he seemed to think of something,

“You’re half blind that’s a major disadvantage,” He snapped and I tilted my head before reminding him,

“I have traveled with the man you Call Slade and while he kept me away from any hits that doesn’t mean I didn’t learn how to fight,” He winced at that and seemed to be trying to find another point to argue.

“Not to mention, the people that may chose to come after one day are extremely dangerous, do you really think I wasn’t taught how to fight?” I asked and he ran a hand through his hair pacing, I flexed my wings and I saw the panic flash in his eyes.

“Wait, wait no… I… I’ll help… you don’t need to get yourself killed…. However for your safety we are making some ground rules.” I hummed, I could live with rules hell I was use to them.

“Come on I have a safe house here you can use as you’re base.” He sounded defeated and I suddenly felt a bit bad.

He started to lead me to the safe house,

“I wanted to ask earlier but the conversion kind of.. went side ways… what happened to make you half blind? Jay was the one to point it out to me in the Ballroom.” at his question I hummed before I started.

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The jungle had been Alive with the calls of animals as Mr Wilson cut through the thick foliage, I stayed close to him, as he spoke softly.

“We’re getting close what are the rules?” He asked despite the exertion in his voice it was gentle it normally was gentle when he spoke to me.

“Stay close, If a fight breaks out hide, If I can’t hide run, If I can’t run fight like hell.” I stated and he spoke in that calm warm voice again.

“Good, Good. What else?” He asked,

“Don’t touch anything that I don’t know what is and don’t eat anything.” I added he nodded and paused for a moment ruffling my hair, it wasn’t much longer after that, That the forest went quiet, no more bird songs filled the air. Mr Wilson didn’t seem to notice so at the time I paid it no mind even as I heard the undergrowth rustle softly and twigs snap. I didn’t know the mistake I was making at the time, We had stopped so Mr Wilson could look at the map and I had started to look around the brightly colored flowers on vines fascinated me, and I got closer but when I looked back to make sure I wasn’t alone… I realized that He’d moved on with out me and I didn’t know where he’d gone.

“Mr Wilson!?” I called out to no avail after all the trees swallowed most sounds quickly, I knew that but I was young and panicking… maybe if I hadn’t panicked I’d have spotted the cat in the tree or realized the forest still had halted it’s calls… but I didn’t.

I remember the fear turning to surprise and pain as something jumped on me as I felt it’s weight crushing me, it’s claws digging into my back as it bite down on my shoulder, I was wasn’t big enough to put up much of a fight for something like that but I still pulled my knife and stabbed it in the side, it was enough for it to step to the side allowing me to turn to see the spotted beast that had attacked me before it tried for me again. I managed to shove it’s head to the side, having it bite down on my shoulder again as it’s paw came up… I felt the claws ripe through my skin I felt as it tore at my eye, even as I started to feel dizzy… I had thought it was over that I was going to die by the damn thing but then… I heard a gun shot then a second one and it let me go… it was dead and I was still trying to get away from it as Mr Wilson got to me…. I don’t remember much after that to be honest, I felt cold, and Mr Wilson had tried to speak to me but… I don’t know what he said I might have passed out at some point

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“Fucking hell.” Roy mumbled, I glanced at him he was walking on my blind side, I think because he wanted to make sure we weren’t jumped,

“You know you’re safe here then with Slade right?” He asked and I raised a brow, Was I really? I guess he was half right so long As father didn’t know what I was.

“Right because I either pretend that I’m a normal person and never fly or I risk what? Who know his anger that’s for sure.” I huffed and he frowned at me before shaking his head and speaking,

“I know… I know it’s part of yourself…” He said looking down for a moment, he suddenly turned into an ally way and I followed him as he pressed a brick and a door opened up.

“Fancy.” I stated causing him to chuckle as we walked in.

“Let’s lay down those ground rules.” I nodded at the statement as I walked in the lights turning on with an annoying buzz, it lit a room full of weapons, most of them bows or crossbows with specialized arrows and bolts. A work bench with a half taken apart… something to be honest all I could tell was that it was metal and looked like it could have been a small engine.

“No fighting big names. I mean like the joker or bane…. And stay away from Ivy too for that matter.” he stated and I nodded still a bit distracted by the room,

“I can talk to Tom, And probably get a comprehensive list of people and descriptions on who to avoid.” I told him and he nodded before pausing,

“Tom?” He asked and I scrunched my nose, that didn’t sound right.

“I...hmm well… His… name is a T name.” I mumbled and he smiled slowly,

“You forgot his name.” He sounded amused and I pouted at him before crossing my arms, I spotted a sparing mat, I hadn’t noticed it before.

“What are the other rules?” I asked as I walked around wondering how big this place actually was.

“If you get hurt, Absolutely no crime fighting until your healed,” He paused for a moment before he spoke again,

“Like you do?” I asked and got a dirty look before he sighed,

“You’ll also need a costume,” He stated and I took my hoodie off handing it to him his confused expression reminded me I should explain.

“I want something that will close up like this does when I don’t need my wings.” he hummed clearly thinking before he spoke again,

“No other specs? No colors or anything?” He asked and I shook my head no, I really didn’t not now at least,

“Maybe at some point but not now… Should I?” I asked and he shook his head and gently ruffled my hair,

“It’s not a big deal, I’ll make you something quick and easy and we can change it as you need it.” I nodded slowly at that.

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The bat files

Faraj Wayne

Age: 11 birthday: December 11th

Known aliases: None

I found him after the school called me, I fear he has training from Talia and maybe here to kill me, however he hasn’t shown any signs of aggression more then anything he seems confused and if that’s truly what is happening than I wish to keep him as safe as I can.

[idolatrybarbie]

series masterlist | main masterlist

pairing: francisco "frankie" morales x f!reader, marcus pike & f!reader

word count: 7.8k

rating & summary: mature - 18+ only! | You can finally put a name to the feeling that’s overtaken your gut.

tags: heavy dubious consent - kissing, lies and manipulation, toxic relationship dynamics, emotional abuse, discussion of canon acts of violence, obsessive behaviour, controlling behaviour, misogyny, allusions to stalking. dead dove; do not eat.

notes: the behaviours of marcus pike are based upon the misogynistic and predatory philosophies of pick-up artists (link) and personal experiences with stalking. i would like to emphasize that these are bad people doing bad things. thanks to @wannab-urs for the beta and for being my revisionist history expert.

You drive to the car rental business housed in a hovelling little building next to the runway. The airport itself is huge for such a small place devoid of anything else, though you figure things worked out that way for that very reason. Lubbock Preston Smith treats you just fine, and your short flight to Dallas is distinctly unmemorable. The layover lasts a little over an hour before Southwest Airlines is herding you back onto another airplane.

It’s been a day and a half. You haven’t called Marcus back yet. What are you supposed to tell him?

Hey, I’ve decided that I want to help this criminal because…it’s what I want to do?

Terrible.

You wonder what Frankie’s life would look like, now that you’ve been in it for all of one week, if you weren’t in contact. Probably the same as it has been for the last eight months: quiet. Blow-your-brains-out quiet, solemnity trapping him inside his busted trailer. Seriously, that thing needs a bath.

The moon keeps you up. Truly, you let it. One slide of a curtain and you could fall asleep in half darkness, dead to the world. But you can’t. You don’t want to. Growing back into having that word—want—after years of doing what’s best is about as strange as Francisco is.

Somewhere between twinkling stars, your phone buzzes next to you on the nightstand. It usually stays silent, your alarm the first thing to wake you right before sunrise. When you pick it up, an unknown number is scrawled across the screen. You can’t quite place the area code.

“Hello?” you ask hesitantly.

“Hey.” Frankie.

“How did you get this number?”

“Luck?” he asks. When you don’t say anything, he gives you a real answer. “Aren’t too many of you in this digital copy of the New York City phone book.”

Setting that aside, you say, “It’s late, Frankie.”

“I know that.”

“Why are you calling?”

“Can’t sleep.”

“That’s what television is for,” you say. “Or…porn.”

“Trust me, you’re a last resort,” he says. Then he asks, “Is it weird for you?”

You resign yourself to having this phone call. “Is what weird?”

“Knowing I’m guilty.”

Is it? Surprisingly, no. In the eyes of the law, you’re just about as bad as him. Just about.

“What answer will make you sleep better?” you ask instead.

“I don’t know,” Frankie says. “Honestly, I had no clue what was goin’ on. Will told us to lay low for a while—”

You want him to continue, but you have to stop him. For both of your sakes. “Stop.”

“What?”

“You have to stop. Might not want to incriminate yourself over the phone. It’d be better if you—”

“Stop? Yeah,” Frankie agrees.

“What else can I do?” you ask him.

“Well, if you can’t listen,” he says, “…stay. On the line. Just like this.”

“Okay. I can do that.”

For an hour, you listen to Frankie Morales breathing. You can tell when he slips unconscious, exhaustion winning out. Your heart beats a little faster when you hang up, tempted to re-dial only to hear him pick up. You don’t, of course; doing that would wake him. When you fall asleep, you picture Frankie dreaming. It’s peaceful.

In the morning, you gather your notes on Frankie Morales together. Here is what you know so far:

The government is planning to extradite him and his retired special operations team members and friends, Will and Benny Miller, and Santiago Garcia for their illegal actions in an unsanctioned operation in Colombia. Their travel spanned into the Peruvian Andes, leaving jurisdictional territory a little murky without legal help.

Frankie Morales is single, fourty-two, living (or hiding out) in Lubbock, Texas. He’s lived there for eight months after having his pilot’s license revoked a second time for an apparent relapse using substances. So far, you haven’t noted any signs of addiction or using, but he could be hiding it. God knows his closet is crammed full of skeletons already.

He grew up in Texas, just like you did. He had a little brother (status and whereabouts unknown) and a mother (deceased). He was in the flight academy straight out of basic training, finishing his degree in mechanical engineering at the University of Texas Rio Grande Valley. Frankie’s mother died two months after he got home from a second tour in Iraq.

He’s guilty: of the espionage, the theft, the murder. All of it. The government has photos, surveillance footage, and probably a haul of eyewitness testimonies. The odds are unequivocally stacked against you—against him. Yet for some reason, you still want to try and save him.

This is it. You’ve officially gone insane. You’re going against everything Marcus has ever told you, any reason you’ve ever learned or logic that has managed to worm its way into your head. All on a whim. What? Because he’s nice to you sometimes? Anyone can whip out a pitcher of fucking lemonade!

No, this is something else. A pull, a fascination. The darker parts of you are drawn to him. You are so sick and tired of everyone else saving you. You want to be good because you are good. Not because Marcus tells you so. Not because your mother can finally bear to flash you a smile at annual family dinners these days. Because of something you have done; earned and given to you by yourself.

A text from Marcus interrupts your thoughts.

Are you still alive?

Rolling your eyes, you pick up the phone and call him. It starts to ring. For some reason, you seem to be able to hear both ends: your dialing, and his obnoxious Mick Jagger ringtone. The song is muffled, sketchy pop beats stowed away by the limits of sound travel.

A knock at your front door surprises you. Getting up, you tie your robe at your waist, unlatching the deadbolt before unlocking the door.

“Marcus?”

"Would it kill you to answer your phone?" he asks.

"What are you doing here?"

"You didn't call me back."

"I was getting to it."

"I thought you were dead," Marcus says. "You hang up on me, and you were still at that Francis guy's place..."

"Frankie," you correct him.

"Yeah, him. Whatever." You don’t know why the dismissal in his tone irks you so much.

"I can't talk about this right now."

Marcus huffs out your name, staring out at your kitchen before facing you. Him in his work suit and you in pajamas, you rest on uneven footing. “I told you he’s bad news. Get yourself out of this.”

“Can we reconvene for this lecture later? I have to go to work.”

“I’ll come with.”

“Marcus—” You already know he won't budge.  “Okay. Fine,” you say. “But you have to behave.”

“Me? Always,” he says.

You roll your eyes, shooing him to the couch as you start to get ready.

There are two sides to your identity as a journalist now: what you’ve been sanctioned to do, and everything else that you haven’t. The job you fill at the Post is pretty mindless. You’re a staff writer, barely entry-level enough to get you acknowledged by upper management. You write up quick stories pulled from blind lead wires about how the economy isn’t doing well, or submit story ideas on housing that always get shot down. All of this means it lets you focus way more time on Frankie than you should.

When you're ready, Marcus takes your purse from you, freeing up your arm. He leads you to the street, hailing a cab. When the vehicle rolls up to the curb and sloshes a mix of rainwater and slush onto his shoes, Marcus doesn’t even blink. He opens the door for you, letting you get in first. Chivalrous, gentlemanly. Laying it on a bit thick, but when is he not?

The ride is quiet. You watch slick streets pass by from your window, listening to the cab’s tires rolling through dirty snow and pools of water. When you glance over, Marcus is doing the same. You're dreading the conversation waiting for you, but you can't bring yourself to regret the decision made. Marcus was right about your gut. You believe that Frankie deserves a shot at redemption. Each piece of the puzzle pulls you closer to him. He reminds you of yourself. The road ahead won’t be easy, but with the help of people like you and Marcus, maybe he can rebuild a life after all this—whatever is to come.

You get out of the car first, leading the way inside the statuesque building as you shake off the soggy snow that’s settled over your jacket. Taking the stairs two at a time in your shoes is a struggle.

“Here,” Marcus says. He offers you his hand halfway up to the second floor.

Seven flights of stairs later, you welcome him to the Post’s offices. The floor is barren of another living soul, just as you’d predicted.

Marcus stops short, standing next to the Tetris maze of cubicles. You shake your head, beckoning him around a shadowy corner to your cozy nook of the building.

“An office?” he asks.

“You're surprised?”

“Is it bad if I say yes?”

You put on an exaggerated frown, unable to keep a straight face when he holds his hands up in surrender. “They seem to like me around here.”

“You make that part easy.”

“For now,” you say. Taking a seat in your plush rolling chair, Marcus sits down across from you. “I have a feeling the story ideas I push aren’t exactly winning me any favours.”

“‘Cause you want to write about something real?”

“Exactly,” you say. “I’m sick of business puff pieces and reports on the next Amazon stock shift. I want to write about the people. What’s going on, what they’re going through? I’m working at the fuckin’...diet Financial Times.”

“When what you want is full sugar Wall Street Journal,” Marcus says.

You sigh. “A pipe dream.”

“Not for you.” Fixing him with a hard stare doesn’t stop him. “Look at what you’ve done with only a couple years under your belt. In another five? Ten? You’ll be running this place, babe.”

You let air punch out from your nose, ignoring the pet name. “I don’t know.”

“I do,” Marcus says.

He sounds so confident, unshaken in his sureness. But you don’t live in Marcus’ world. You don’t get the things you want. You work for them. Not that he doesn’t, but of course Pike’s the guy to get a promotion that seemingly falls from the sky.

“Alright, Mr. Agent Man. Enough optimism from you,” you say.

The next hour is all but silent as you open up a spreadsheet, scrolling through digital receipts stored in your work email. You continuously switch between the two browser tabs, reading numbers and typing them in. The expenses of your White House trip trickle into their appropriate boxes as software organizes everything automatically. Marcus sits with you, eyes caught on something through the glass side wall of your office. He gets up and leaves, returning moments later with red licorice vines.

“Want some?” he asks, offering you the bag.

You bite your tongue between your teeth, dialed into your task. “Pass.”

“More for me.”

When your neck starts to hurt from hunching your spine, you sit back, shoulders stretching wide. You don't know if Marcus has been watching you this whole time, or if the movement caught his attention. The intensity of his gaze has your heart jumping to your throat. The moment you take notice, the force in his stare melts away.

"What?" you probe.

"You ditched the case, right?”

"Seriously? Right now?" Marcus doesn't speak, waiting for an answer. "I didn't. We can’t just give up on him.”

"You never listen to me."

“Since when have you been my boss?” you ask.

A beat of silence. “Since when have I not?” Marcus retorts.

You scoff. “You’ve got some nerve.”

“It’s always—Marcus, I don’t know what to do. Marcus, please help me. And it’s fine—”

“Sounds like it isn’t. I thought we were friends,” you say.

“You’re missing the point.”

“Which is?”

“This is my wheelhouse. You don’t want to hear it, but I’ll say it anyway. On this, I know better,” Marcus says. “And honestly? You know it too.” 

You know what I’m talking about.

“That’s low,” you say.

“But it’s true.”

You stand up, walking away from your desk—from him. He follows you out of the office, his dress shoes catching on the carpet tile. Marcus won't let up that easily.

“I want to make it all go away,” you say. “The indictment, the investigation. All of it. And if we can’t do that—”

“We can’t,” Marcus interrupts you.

“Then I want to make sure that Frankie stays here. In America. No extradition.”

"I don't think you know how this works," he says.

"I've worked in this business just as long as you have.”

"As a journalist. You are not a political animal. You are not a monster. You can't rip this apart for yourself. For him."

"And you?" you ask.

"This favour stopped being for me the moment you stepped on his porch," Marcus says. "You are not one of them—you are not a senator, you are not the District Attorney. Most importantly, you are not a lawyer. The girl who gets the congressman of Rhode Island's coffee every morning has more political clout than you do."

"Well I'm glad to see you have so much faith in me," you say.

"This isn't about faith! You think this is about belief? It's about not getting yourself fucked over in the process. You are not the thing that goes bump in the night, or makes a phone call to execute a cell block over in Oklahoma. You play the game. I play the game. Frankie played, too. And then he stopped playing, and he went against their rules which is why we're standing here, discussing whether or not we can save him when that's not for us to decide!"

You've never seen Marcus this angry. You've never seen him this anything. His emotions never really leave gift box range: happy, nicely wrapped, and convenient when you need them.

"You imagine yourself as the immovable object to the unstoppable force. You're not. You're a little girl who has no clue what she's doing."

"And you do?" you spit back. "You did? Didn't we all learn our lesson the first time? Or is your memory so short that you've forgotten sitting at that table with me."

He remembers. That temper of his liquifies, Marcus' eyes soft before he coaches his face into a hard mask once again. "An innocent man doesn't run."

"Bullshit. Innocent men run all the time. It's how they get shot in the back," you say. "Just because you have made up your mind about what he is doesn't mean that I have to."

"You should. It's all laid out there in front of us both."

"You are the one who led me to this case."

"I didn't have all the facts then. Going to San Antonio was rash. I wasn't thinking," he says.

"You were thinking. You were thinking that these men didn't deserve extradition. You were thinking that I owed you a favour, and it was the perfect time to call in. And now what? Now that you know they're not cookie-cutter American patriots, what? This is what they're owed?"

"Yes."

"You've got to be kidding me."

"It's what he deserves. All four of them. It's what's right. What's fair."

"When has anything we've ever done been right or fair? You think what I do here is saving lives? Feeding the public articles about how billionaires fucking the everyman is a good thing?" you demand. "And you? Is sending another crime boss for a cushy plea stint at club fed saving the day? We aren't in the business of right or fair, Marcus. I thought you knew that."

"So what, you and this pilot? You think saving him is gonna right all your wrongs?" There's an edge creeping into his tone. He's hedging too close into the territory of implication.

"I never said stopping that extradition order was the right thing to do," you say.

"It's selfish," Marcus says.

"And so what?" you ask. "We're already here, aren't we?"

The two of you in this room, you're both shiny and candy lacquered to hide the filth on the inside. Sometimes you used to wonder if Marcus was the exception to that rule, but you know better now. Good people don't do what you do. They never make it this far.

Marcus is simply better at hiding it.

He shakes his head. "You're unbelievable."

"Roles reversed, you would do the exact same thing."

"Hell would freeze over first." He spits your name out with an edge that's not an edge, but a tender hint of concern—no, pity. A dichotomy only Marcus Pike could manage. "You're not a fixer. You can't fix this."

"And you're not my keeper. I'm not asking you to save me this time, Marcus. I'm asking for your help."

"What if I say no?"

"You don't want to do that. You don't want to make me do that."

Marcus scoffs, walking towards you. He's in your space in an instant. Instinctively, you step back. He meets you there despite it. Marcus is so close now; you've never seen him like this. You don't want to.

"So you're all big and scary now?" he asks. His whispered breath over your lips makes your skin crawl.

He takes your jaw between two fingers, forcing you to look at him. The touch prods at that empty part of you, dark and deep, exposing you. When Marcus kisses you, a ghost of connection, you let him. It feels wrong; your stomach churns in the two seconds between its start and end. Marcus doesn't kiss you like he wants you—at least, not in the traditional sense. This isn't about love. It's for power.

He lets you go, walking away without another word. You hear the door to the stairwell swing open with a whine. You can only breathe again when it clicks shut.

You stay frozen in time for the next twenty days. Every blink has you reliving that moment. Your dreams are precariously empty. Marcus is gone again.

Hot breath chafes at the back of your neck, a delusion your mind has concocted to justify the fear that pumps through your blood at a constant. You can finally put a name to the feeling that’s overtaken your gut, swaying every thought and decision you make. Marcus has you, but not in any way that’s comforting.

He doesn’t call. Frankie does. A lot. Twice one week grows to twice a day. The worst starts when he grows bolder, leaving messages. He sounds about as scared as you are, more desperate with each voicemail. You start to really worry when he stops calling altogether.

You find a little bit of wiggle room in your vacation days, flying back to Lubbock close to Presidents’ Day. Texas has taken on uncharacteristically moody weather, the sky swampy and grey as rain drowns out any hope for sunshine. You get the same truck to rent, filling it at a Gas n’ Sip on the way out of town.

The backroads flood with rainwater, puddles gathering into small ravines on the scarred asphalt. You splash through them at sixty miles an hour, racing in the rain. After taking your sweet time to get here, a sense of urgency floods you. Scraping together the last minute trip, your mind filled itself with nightmare scenarios. Maybe he’s gone even further off the grid; maybe you’ll never find him again. Or worse, maybe he’s taken up all of that mindblowing quiet literally.

The trailer park is about as flooded as the roads, if not worse. The sea of gravel has been swallowed up by water. All you can see in pretty much every direction is a gathering of murky liquid. The truck is absolutely drenched by the time you park in front of Frankie’s home. His own truck is there too, a weak flicker of hope.

Stepping out of the truck, your shoes are immediately submerged. It soaks through to your socks, but you can’t muster up enough care to notice. Trying to dodge the wind, you rush up the steps of the trailer and pry the screen door open. You knock five times in quick succession, then step back and wait. Air blows violently against the right side of your face. Squeezing your eyes shut only does so much; you’d rather press your face against grimy siding and get out of its path entirely.

When the wooden door behind the busted screen opens, Frankie’s face goes on a journey. Moody to shocked in a millisecond, and shocked to something you can’t quite parse in the next. He’s still in his pajamas.

“Hi,” you say. His eye has recovered, for the most part. The last remnants of a yellow-green bruise smear his skin.

“You’re back,” he returns.

“Can I come inside?”

Frankie seems to think about it, giving you a onceover. You almost think he’ll tell you no. When his eyes land on your sopping wet shoes, he frowns. Leaning forward, he opens the screen door towards you.

Inside, you take your shoes and socks off.

Frankie says, “I guess you got my messages.”

“You stopped calling.”

“You stopped answering.” Touché.

“I got worried,” you say.

The words make Frankie freeze, pausing his ambling through the kitchenette. Facing the broad expanse of his back, you watch his shoulders relax. He turns to you. His jaw ticks before he sighs.

“If you don’t wanna help me, you could just say that. Not hearing from you—”

He worried. Well, you knew that. But this is different. Nothing selfish here, it’s not anxiety over the situation at hand. Just you. Frankie worried about you.

“I’m sorry,” you say. “Things got complicated.”

“In New York?” Frankie asks. “City girl too busy for a poor old country bumpkin, eh?”

It’s a joke, you realize, a laugh hiccuping from your chest. “Something like that.”

Frankie smiles then, mustache hiking his lip up to show you a flash of teeth. “I was just about to make lunch,” he says. An offer.

“Sure,” is all you give him.

You sit at his table once again, flipping through notes stuck together with raindrops. Frankie silently cuts up part of a head of iceberg lettuce right against the peeling surface of his countertop, the thick noise of chopping lulling you into focus. You haven’t looked at any of this in a while; time to play catch up.

A light clatter distracts you. By the time you look up, Frankie’s already standing at the sink, water running. A plated sandwich sits in front of you, lettuce and lunch meat jutting out at each side. Frankie finishes up in the kitchen, wiping his hands off on his jeans as he finds you staring.

“What?”

“You didn’t make one for yourself?” you ask.

“I’m not that hungry,” he says.

Disregarding any manners, you pick up the sandwich—already sliced in half—and take a bite. It’s a little more leafy greens than anything else, but you aren’t one to complain. Frankie sits across from you, waiting.

You say, “I wanted to circle back to what you said on the phone,” with bread still in your mouth.

Frankie shakes his head. “Don’t chew with your mouth open,” he says.

All you do is blink at him, swallowing the bite before you speak again. “You mentioned something about Will Miller a few weeks ago.”

“Right. Will, he told me to get outta dodge for a while. All of us to go dark. I’m living my stupid fuckin’ life, and then a few hours later my sergeant is giving me orders again.” Frankie prods his tongue into the side of his cheek, silent in thought. “I did it. Of course I did it. You get an order, you take it.”

“Even if you’ve been retired from Special Forces for almost a decade?” you ask.

“It’s not an if,” he says. “It’s an always.”

“And why is that? William Miller hasn’t been your army sergeant in—”

“Look, I’ll level with you. I get that you don’t understand. It’s not something I can explain for you to understand,” Frankie says.

You like a challenge. “Try me.”

“The training…it’s like a switch. Once you turn it on, you can’t—The people, your team. They’re family. They’re more than family. Your mother isn’t operating an AR-15 to save your life or dragging you to safety from a frag. I owe that man my life. That’s never going to change. They are the men that will always have you, no matter what. So when he asks you to do something, you do it.” He pulls at the whiskers of his moustache. “There’s no turning that off.”

Hot pants of breath beat down the stretch of your neck, your eyes stuck wide as you try to reign in the flood of sick crawling up your esophagus. Frankie looks confused as the quiet draws on longer than socially appropriate. Clicking your pen once, twice, three times, the beast at your back disappears.

“Could I use your bathroom?”

“Uh, sure,” Frankie says. “First door that way.”

He points further into the mobile home, down what’s barely a hall with two doors on either side. Spotted wood flooring turning to chipped tile as you step inside, the door pulled shut behind you. Your knee knocks against the lip of the sink, oddly low to the ground; you have to hunch to reach the tap. Cool water pours over your hand after a moment of anticipation.

The cold flow relieves some of the burning in your body, splashes of it against your eyelids running to your lips and tongue. Your mind is scattered, heartbeat in your ears. You can only grasp one thought through all the noise. This is what it feels like to be haunted.

Marcus owns you. You aren’t sure when exactly that happened. When you let that happen. So many moons ago, back in Austin? Or that diner, maybe, when he got you back after years of interim silence.

He was right. You are not a monster. He is. The world of politics is an ugly one, full of ugly people. Still, you don’t like to get acquainted with things that go bump in the night. You never noticed there was already something under your bed.

The door opens again with a creak. Frankie slouches in his seat, chin resting against the heel of his hand that’s propped against the table. You watch him, spotting the way he shakes out his shoulders. His arms let the fabric of his t-shirt loose before pulling it taut again. You want to trace your hand along the line of his spine.

Frankie refuses the rest of your sandwich, so you finish it alone. You ask him to recount the whole story, beat by beat: how he got involved, when, what the original plan was. He says that after the recce, they were supposed to hand off their gathered intel to Colombian authorities, but Santiago—Pope, he calls him—had other ideas. They went into Lorea’s estate expecting your average narcos cash stash, and wound up with a mansion spilling American dollars from the drywall.

You can see the anger in his eyes when he talks about the helicopter, the crash. Frankie slips in a mention of some pretty Colombian girl, but she’s gone from his story as quickly as she appears. The helicopter was overweight, sending them into a tailspin over the grassy plains of Peru.

“There were people there—villagers. We, uh… They were scared. A bunch of big Americans drop down from the sky with guns yellin’ English at them.” Frankie takes a long pause, staring at his hand. “I don’t know if Tom shot first, or if I—”

Oh god.

“There were a few of them dead. Pope worked out a deal with their leader. Gave him some money. We took a pack of mules, and we were on our way.” Frankie looks up at you. “I thought I’d never think about it again, I thought… I don’t know what I thought. And then Tom died. It all just went to shit.”

“Your friend died. You killed some people. In the process of all this, you broke some laws. From the sounds of it, that’s been your whole life. So what makes this different?” you ask.

“We didn’t…” he trails off. “There was no flag on our shoulder this time.”

“No.”

“No?”

“That’s not it,” you say. “That’s the reason the government is after you. That’s not why you are the way you are about it.”

A well of anger and loneliness. Self-pity has stained the man known as Francisco Morales.

Frankie bristles. “Maybe it’s just sad, hey? Maybe I wish I’d done better. Been better. Maybe Redfly wouldn’t be dead.”

Redfly. Tom Davis. From what you could unearth of the man all those months ago, you don’t think it would have mattered. He seemed more likely to stick a shotgun in his mouth than Frankie, probably in one of those shit condos he was trying to sell. Better to die in those mountains.

“What happened to the money?” you ask.

Frankie shakes his head again. A silent no.

“You know I could just find it. Make this easy.”

“We gave it to his kids. Two daughters.”

“Offshore accounts?”

Frankie gives you a look: what do you think?

You hold his gaze, half challenge and half fascination. Abruptly, you switch gears. “I’ve got one rule.”

“A rule?” Frankie asks.

"I don't give a shit what you tell the D.A., or your lawyer, whoever. But you don't lie to me. If this is going to work, it's because you're honest. And I'll be honest too."

"Fine," Frankie says. "But I have some terms of my own.”

“Such as?”

“I show you mine, you show me yours.”

“Excuse me?”

“You haven't told me a thing about you and this case," Frankie says.

“There is no me and this case, Frankie. I didn’t do anything illegal here.”

“But you know about it,” he says. “If the government was going to move on me right now, I’d already be in a cell somewhere…which means they haven’t. And yet, here you are.”

You wish he was as stupid as he looks.

“And?”

“How do you know about this case?”

“I know someone at the Justice Department. He brought the case to my attention,” you say.

“Brought it to your attention,” he says flatly.

“Yes, Frankie. He brought it to my attention.”

“Bullshit.”

“Frankie—”

“I think that your friend went looking for something he shouldn’t have. And fuck, did he find it,” he says. “The only thing that doesn’t make sense to me is how you’re the one sitting here, not him.”

“It’s complicated,” you say.

“Don’t lie. You’re bad at it.”

Fuck. Fuck. You’ve painted yourself into a corner here, no way out.

You deflate, tired of keeping up the brave face. “Everyone’s got their marching orders.”

Anything left of that unsure sense of judgement in your chest melts away as Frankie’s face falls. He’s a good little soldier. So are you.

“Marcus Pike…he wanted me to drop this. You. He thinks you deserve jail, that you aren't any better now than the man you were in Colombia. Probably worse. He says it’s the right thing.”

“And what do you think?” Frankie asks.

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

You don't want to see him go away for it. The Colombian government will demand to see him rot, but that's never sat right with you. Now the thought makes you sick, gut rolling whenever it crosses your mind. But like it or not, Marcus has gotten into your head. You need something to drown him out.

Frankie takes your empty plate and puts it in the sink. He pulls a bowl out of his cupboards. You grab your phone, tapping at the screen to wake it up. No messages, no missed phone calls.

“I should go,” you mumble, already reaching for your shoes. A warped water line has formed on the canvas upper, like brown and grey watercolour paint. You shove your damp socks in your pocket.

Frankie stops what he’s doing, pouring milk into floating bits of instant oatmeal.

He says, “It’s still raining like hell out there.”

“I’m not made of sugar.” Frankie doesn’t have a pithy comeback for you, simply standing by. “I’ll be back tomorrow—early. So be up this time.”

Frankie nods wordlessly, putting his bowl of brown sludge into the microwave. He stands in the kitchenette, watching it spin and spin behind glass. You head for the door, looking down into your purse in search of the truck’s keys. When you look up again a few steps from the exit, Frankie is there too.

His nose is inches from yours now. Frankie looks at you with something—a feeling you can’t quite grasp. It rolls off him in waves, overwhelming. He’s standing just out of reach. He is always standing just out of your reach.

When you stretch a hand up to his jaw, it feels normal. Natural. Like you were meant to hold him, like he was meant to be held. His stubble is prickly against the skin of your palm.

Frankie leans into your touch, his hand moving to hold your own in place. With your fingers splayed across his cheekbone, you can feel the fine lines around his eyes. Up close you can see the tiniest of sun spots along the column of his throat. The loose collar of his shirt creeps up and back down again with every rise and fall of his chest.

He turns his face, still in your grasp, and presses his lips to the skin of your wrist. Immediately, you yank the limb back to your own body. Like a jolt of sparking electricity, his face flashes through your mind. Marcus and his ugly, docile kiss. The scent of his cologne, eyes so close they could burn through flesh.

The memory of him this close, closer… It holds you in a tight grip, overtaking the present and launching you into the past. Back to the cost of doing business. The price of helping Frankie. But you cannot do this—this with Francisco Morales. Neither of you get that luxury.

You say, “Tomorrow. Nine o’clock.”

Then you watch him expectantly, waiting for Frankie to step aside. The trailer door squeaks open at your pull, whining when it slams shut again. You feel eyes at your back crossing the short distance to the truck. Whether they belong to Frankie or Marcus, you aren’t quite sure.

You eat again at a place called Taqueria Jalisco. The chicharron en salsa feels like an undeserved treat. You eat half of the food, washing it down with two strawberry mojitos.

Your waitress—Carla—comes back around to your table in the middle of a staring contest with the remnants of dinner. You order a Long Island Iced Tea for dessert, smiling politely as she clears your dishes. The alcohol settles a hum in your body. You feel like a live wire, unrestrained in your power to damage and destroy. So far, you seem to be your only target.

The Palm Tree Lodge happily accepts your business again, even giving you the same room as your last stay. Wrapping yourself in bedsheets, you close your eyes. The first thing that appears behind them is Frankie’s face, soft and careful as you held him. You feel a whisper of touch where his lips had been against your skin, rubbing over the spot with your thumb.

You should be scrolling through your phone, dredging your mind for any of your old classmates that went on to law school and owe you a favour. You should be thinking about any lawyer at all, but you aren’t. You can only think of him. Sweet brown eyes staring out from that despairing face. The look that makes you want him.

He is failure, primed and bottled. That makes you want him more.

Focusing, you find a place for his trailer in your mind. You’re standing by the steps, but it isn’t raining here. The sun-mottled sky shines blue and canary yellow as a glass of something cool sweats in your hand. You urge yourself to advance, taking careful steps up to the door. Before you can pull it open, you slip inside all on your own. Frankie sits at the kitchen table with his back to you, shoulders stretched beneath the thin fabric of an undershirt.

You go to him, taking a sip of the drink you’re carrying before you set it down on the table. Candied cranberries wash onto your tongue, fizzing up in your mouth. Hands empty, you rest them over each one of Frankie’s shoulders. He leans into the touch, the whiskers of his moustache brushing against your fingers as he sets a kiss to your skin.

You’re chasing a disaster. You shouldn’t want him. Wanting has only ever brought you bad things. You get the sense that if you told him to, Francisco would do it, no matter the ask. It’s hard to tell if that is a scare or a solace.

You and Frankie are the same in the exact way that you and Marcus are two of a kind. Fair is foul and foul is fair.

It continues to rain, worse today than before. You make good on your promise, knocking on Frankie’s door again at nine o’clock sharp. The door opens two seconds later. Frankie is dressed, just like you’d told him to be; a pink button up that’s been through the wringer, unbuttoned to the middle of his chest as it reveals a white undershirt like the one haunting your imagination. He lets you in without much fanfare, offering you something hot and warm from the brewing pot of coffee.

“Yes, please. Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Frankie says. “I don’t have any creamer, only sugar. It went bad a few days ago.”

“No worries. I like it black.” You do not, but you’re not about to tell him that.

You and Frankie continue this stilted little dance as he sets down the mug on the table, not even trying to hand it to you lest your fingers touch. He seems to sit a little further out from the table today.

From your bag, you produce a scribbled list of twenty names you could scrape up on the drive here, eyes dividing their time between the paper and the splashy roads ahead.

“What hoop am I jumping through today?” Frankie asks you.

“No circus tricks for you. It’s all on me right now.”

“That’s a relief.”

Typing out the first name to locate them in your contacts, you say, “I’m sure it won’t stop you from being a clown.” You hit dial as a snicker wriggles its way out of him. Let’s hope you can find Chuckles a lawyer.

By the fifth phone call, neither of you are laughing. Pacing across the stretch of floor between the kitchen and the living room, you listen to another one of your peers professionally shoot you down.

“No, Alex. I get it. Thought I’d try anyway, right?” you ask. “Thanks. Yeah, bye.” You hang up, hand sliding from your forehead to your jaw. “Fuck.”

Frankie’s crossing out the names on the list for you, drawing a squiggly line through the name of your old friend from Rice.

“Who’s next?” you ask.

“Aditi Patel. Oregon area code,” he says. Frankie feeds you the numbers as you type them in, both of you waiting on the dial tone. She doesn’t even pick up, sending you straight to voicemail.

This cycle continues for the better part of two hours: another phone call, a rejection or an answering machine, followed by another line on the page.

Hanging up again, you ask Frankie who follows Ryan Treho on the list.

“No one,” he says. “That’s it. That’s all of ‘em.”

“Let me see.”

He hands it to you, gazing up as you look it over. Frankie is right. Every name on this list has been called, every one giving you some variation of no. The hum you thought was Frankie’s ancient-looking fridge ratchets up an octave in your ears, noise crowding around you as you stare at the piece of paper.

You can barely hear Frankie’s question of, “What do we do now?” as the rattle reaches a peak, squealing like static. You’re drawing a complete blank, breath halting as you will yourself to fix this.

Frankie grabbing your hand pulls you out. You’re standing beside his seated form, facing forward while he slouches in his chair at an angle.

“I’ll figure something out. Call some people. Don’t worry about it.”

“A little difficult, don’t you think?” Frankie asks. “What are you going to do?”

Call Marcus.

You don’t want to tell him that, though. You know your eyes are glossy, hot tears threatening to spill at any time as you try to put on a brave face. Cool, calm, and collected; that’s who you are supposed to be. Strong in the face of an adversary. So why do Frankie’s brows knit together, his face coloured in concern?

“I don’t know.”

The chair drags loudly against the floor when he kicks it out, nodding at you to take a seat. You do, folding yourself in half the moment your ass hits the chair as you duck and hide from him. Saltwater streaks down your cheeks, never making it past your lips as you wipe harshly at your skin.

“I’m scared,” you say.

“Everything is gonna be fine,” Frankie says. It feels warped for him to be comforting you.

You shake your head. “I don’t know. I don’t know, I just—”

You can call him. He could help you. You already know he would.

“What are you afraid of?”

“Him.”

Living in this blink-and-you’ll-miss-it nightmare has turned your life inside-out. There’s nowhere to run, no one to go home to. There is no home anymore.

You try to backpedal, mumbling a quick, “I’m being dramatic,” as Frankie takes in your broken face. “It’s fine. I’ll have to call Marcus. Figure out a new game plan.” The very last thing you ever want to do. More likely than not, you’ll have to see him; he’ll want to see you.

“I never told you why I punched out my neighbour’s grandson,” Frankie says.

“You didn’t. What does that matter?”

“Can you just—?” Frankie purses his lips, restarting his story. “He was talking about…you. Calling you names and—it was offensive.”

“So you beat the shit out of him,” you say. “That’s great, Frankie. I can’t pummel the fact that no one wants to represent you.”

“This isn’t about that. I’m saying, if your friend at that fancy Justice Department ever did anything to you…y’know.”

“You’d go to prison for assault on a federal officer,” you say.

“Seems like I’m headed there regardless,” Frankie says. He waits on you for an answer.

“I’m fine. The stress is fucking with my head.” Lie. You know it, and Frankie knows it too, judging by the scowl on his face. “I’ll be okay.”

You grab your things, making for the door.

“What happened to being honest with each other?” Frankie asks.

“This is me being honest. And the truth is, I’m going to be alright. Okay?” He doesn’t anything. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Rushing to the truck, you yank open the door to get out of the rain. Settling yourself, you put the keys in the ignition. You reach to turn them…and then you don’t. Nothing you want is at the other side of this truck’s engine rumbling to life. You don’t want to think. You don’t want to leave. You don’t.

Time passes blindly, the rain and the sky staying the same as water beats against metal. It seems almost everflowing, like it has always rained and it always will. The sound of precipitation lulls you into a dead stare, the upholstering of the steering wheel suddenly the most interesting thing in the world. You don’t notice Frankie at the opposite window until he pulls the passenger side door open, scooting in along the leather bench seat.

“What are you doing?”

“What are you doing?” he asks.

Frankie runs a hand through his hair, dotted with wet drops as he smooths it over. This is the closest you two have been physically since yesterday, heat from his thigh radiating against yours. With the crown of your head against the headrest, you watch water through the windshield. 

“I have a wife. And a kid.” The words appear from nowhere.

“Oh.”

Frankie clears his throat. “Well, had. I’m sure they think I drove off to shoot myself, wash away on the beach. We lived in Florida…Miami. Not great for the recovering addict.”

“Okay…”

“I thought I’d tell you because of the whole honesty deal. You know, and not to say—fuck.”

You start to ask him if he’s alright.

“Are you a friend?” he blurts out.

“Uh…” You fix your gaze on the dashboard.

“Sorry. Thought I’d ask.”

“I don’t know what I am. To you or to anyone else.” Dragging your eyes to his face, you meet Frankie’s baby browns. “Do you want me to be that? A friend?”

“I want to turn back time and never have to meet you like this,” Frankie says.

The sky continues to pelt the truck with rain at all sides, heavy drops sounding off against the roof. Reaching up, you smooth out a crease in his forehead with your thumb. Worry ages him.

Your ring and middle finger cradle the ridge of his jaw. “You smoke?”

A curt nod. “They’re back inside.”

Next thing you know, Frankie’s jogging to the trailer as you wait under the short overhang, out of the wet. He comes out with a carton of Camel Lights. You take it from him, along with the butane lighter he offers. There are no chairs on his tiny porch. You opt for sitting right in front of the screen door, spine sliding against the mesh.

Frankie joins you on the ground. It doesn’t really surprise you. Keeping a cigarette pinched between your lips, you hold it between a peace sign and light it with an inhale. Then you put the lighter back in Frankie’s hand. After the first few drags, Frankie takes it from your lips with careful fingers. You watch him smoke, lips wrapping around the stains of your saliva. Instead of handing it back to you, he slips the cigarette back into your mouth.

When he lays on his side, head falling softly into your lap, you don’t even blink. A puff of white smoke leaves your lungs, the slow wind taking it up into the clouds. Frankie’s coarse curls slot easily between your fingers.

I want to turn back time and never have to meet you like this.

Wouldn’t that be nice?

[indigosunsetao3]

A Reason To Try

Chapter 4 - New Directive

Masterlist of Chapters

Warnings: 18+ - No minors Please read the tags on AO3 for any of your triggers

Alex Keller X Original FMC 5.8k words - AO3 Link

Madeline was able to get the gist of the one side of the conversation she could hear from Alex and her blood ran cold. They weren’t going to take them with them. After all of this, they were going to be left behind. She should have just stayed home, stayed holed up in the apartment like she wanted to do to begin with. Now they were out there in the middle of nowhere and there was no way she could get back to the apartment now. Their car was busted, she could smell smoke, and they were just going to be left to fend for themselves.

“I’m not leaving them behind,” Alex said smoothly back to Graves over the comms as he looked over at Madeline in the passenger seat for a second. He didn’t even need to think about it. He had said he’d get them to safety and he was going to make sure he kept that vow.

“Then don’t Keller. We can do it without you.” Graves answered back.

“Price is this your directive?” Alex asked into the mic, ignoring Graves. He found the hangar; it wasn’t hard to miss since it was the only one with lights on and multiple cars. Sliding a bit on the ice he squealed the car to a stop, jolting in his seat against the seatbelt at the sudden movement. “Stay here,” Alex said to Madeline who was already unbuckling her seatbelt.

“So you can ditch us? I don’t think so,” Madeline snapped as she got the belt off and let the buckle crack against the window in her haste. “I’ll be right back E, just need to sort a few things out,” she said turning back to look at him and Everett just nodded. He was exhausted, all of the fight and fear drained from him. She turned the volume up on the radio a few degrees for good measure; he didn’t need to hear them all yelling if it came to that.

“I’m not ditching you,” Alex answered as he watched her come around the car to walk alongside him. She looked fierce and determined, even if she was terrified. “I would have done that back in downtown Boston if that was my plan,” he snapped, wondering if she really thought that lowly of him after all this.

“I don’t know you,” Madeline said as she stomped next to him, her eyes roving over him as if sizing him up for good measure. “You brought us here because it was convenient and you needed the car. But when we’re no longer an easy task then what?” She knew how these things could go. How many times had she been left behind by the ‘good guy’ in her life. Too many.

“Listen, if I-“ Alex started determined to defend himself but then stopped. Graves had walked over in their little tiff and was staring at them with his head slightly cocked, an amused look on his face, and hand holding a pistol at his side. Alex instantly grabbed Madeline’s wrist and yanked her to a hard stop before she got too close to the guy and his small band of Shadows. She shook him off about to snap at him when she caught why Alex had stopped her.

“Get back in the car,” Graves greeted while raising his gun to point right at Madeline who shot her hands in the air. Alex didn’t budge, didn’t even flinch, because Graves was not the first or last person that would threaten him with a loaded weapon. “This is my directive, this is my operation,” he said answering Alex’s last question before glancing at Price with a smirk. Price looked highly unimpressed but outnumbered by the other Shadows there wasn’t much he could do. “Either you come with us now Keller, or you get back in that fucking car.” He shrugged, “or I can shoot you both for holding me up. I’m not picky.”

“What the fuck Graves?” Alex asked as he stared at the man. He saw Graves flip the safety off as he continued to point it at Madeline and Alex subtly sidestepped to get in the line of fire.

If Madeline had any sense she would have cowered and gone right back to the car. But she stood her ground, legs shaking and feeling like she was going to faint as she stared at the man pointing a gun at her. She wasn’t going to risk Everett’s safety because this guy was seemingly on a power trip based on everyone else’s reactions to him. This must be the guy that Alex had said kept his Shadows on a string like puppets. She opened her mouth to say something but Alex blocked her eyeline, his broad shoulders stepping in the way of the barrel aimed at her. Maybe it was a good thing she kept her snark to herself.

“We aren’t risking ourselves for two people, not on a mission this big. We don’t get this potential cure it’s over for everyone.” Graves shrugged, “I’m not making you come along. If you want to stay here and play the white knight for her like you did for Farah,” he smirked, “be my guest. But you have ten seconds to make a choice before I make it for you.”

“Leave me your keys and a few guns,” Alex said to Price as he looked over at him, ignoring Graves and his taunts. The asshole liked being the center of attention and he wasn’t about to give him that satisfaction. “I’ll get them to the CDC,” he stated and Price nodded.

“Always so chivalrous,” Graves taunted. “I’ll be sure to let Farah know that you ignored her orders too.” He laughed at Alex’s glare before turning around, rotating his free hand in the air in a circle. “Round up boys. We’re leaving.”

“You can’t be serious. We can’t drive through this, we barely got here!” Madeline said feeling rage boiling up in her as she stomped up to Alex’s back, knocking her shoulder into his as she moved to walk around him.  “You’re leaving us to die!” Madeline yelled loudly at the man called Graves who didn’t even bother to look back as he climbed into the plane.

“He’s been known to do that,” Alex answered flatly as he looked at Price and Ghost who were walking over.

“We have to go with him,” Price said quietly as he handed the keys over. “You know what he’s done in the past, I’m not letting him go unattended.” His eyes darted over to Madeline and she stared right back at him, not even flinching as the guy in the skull mask crossed his arms and assessed her.

“I get it,” Alex answered as he took the keys to one of the large SUVs; a Tahoe. “Probably take us a few days to get there,” he explained as Madeline continued to look between them all like they were insane. “How much can you leave me?”

“Full crate,” Gaz answered as he walked over. “You’ll need to get gas though,” he stated as he looked over his shoulder as the plane whirred to life. “Soap is already on making sure they don’t leave us all behind.” He paused and smirked, “or maybe strangling Graves, not sure.”

“He’d deserve it,” Madeline seethed as she looked at the pilot through the front window of the plane as they flipped switches. “Any of you pilots? Just shoot him and take it,” she reasoned. She had never been one to advocate for murder but for Everett, she found it wasn’t fully off the table. "He doesn't even know where they are, didn't even bother to ask," she tapped her foot impatiently wondering if she could use that as a bargaining chip to get on the plane. "I talked to my sister on the phone, they're hiding in a school." She wasn't going to risk her sister she decided a second later.

“Just the occasional helo,” the one with the skull mask said which elicited a chuckle from the man in a baseball cap. “We need them even if we don’t want them,” he tacked on, “otherwise I would.”

"A school?" Price interjected quickly looking at Madeline. "Last I knew they were at a local hospital."

"Yeah, well I'm willing to bet sick people also went to the same hospital," Madeline answered crossing her arms mirroring Ghost's body language. "She said it's the biggest building in the town nearest the airfield. Don't tell that asshole," she gestured with a jerk of her chin, "he'll probably push you out of the plane if he thinks you aren't of use."

Price chuckled and cut his eyes at the man in the skull mask before nodding. "Noted. Still in Parupa?" And when Madeleine quietly said yes he let it drop.

“Go,” Alex said after a second to the team, his eyes flicking over Madeline’s face which was twisted with anger as she pointedly looked away from all of them at the plane. “Get to them before it's too late. I’ve got this, I’ll see you in a few days,” he finished. When Price clapped him on the arm, they all nodded at one another before the three of them jogged back to the plane.

He wasn’t going to ask any of them to stay behind, even if he could use the help. For all that Graves was this mission was much more important and they all knew it. Alex also knew they could use him as an extra set of hands but wasn’t going to leave Madeline and Everett to fend for themselves after he dragged them out there. And not especially when her sister, who could potentially put a stop to all of this, was depending on him to keep her family alive.

“Alex, are you crazy? We need to get on that plane,” Madeline said as the other men got out of earshot. “If we just get on…they wouldn’t-” she stepped toward the plane as if she were going to march over and demand they let them on. Alex grabbed the hood of her jacket swiftly, she really was like wrangling a temperamental child, which stopped her. She twisted to get him to let go but he held fast and she whirled on him. “At least send Everett,” she demanded, “he can’t do this with us. He’s six, how are we supposed to do this with a child?” She gestured at the car where Everett was still settled in.

“You heard him, they are going right for your sister. They aren’t stopping and honestly, they need to get to her as fast as possible after that phone call you had with her.” Alex stated as he stared at her in the car headlights. The look of fear on Madeline’s face at the reminder of what her sister was going through was enough to make his gut twist in guilt. “It should be a relative straight shot to Atlanta if we leave now before everything can be blockaded.” He added trying to change the subject a bit.

The plane roared as it began to move forward and Madeline pushed her hair off her face as it blew this way and that as she watched it taxi. Their ticket out of Boston was slowly rolling away right before her eyes and there was nothing she could do about it. She sighed before twisting away from Alex defeated, the fight draining out of her as fast as it had come on. She was tired, so tired, and couldn’t even begin to fathom what was lying ahead of them if getting out of Boston had been this bad so early. She watched Alex for a second as he let his hand fall to his side before she walked back toward the car to where Everett was waiting to tell him plans were changing. Again.

Alex watched her go before heading to one of the SUVs, hitting the key fob to figure out which one it was. Opening the trunk, he pulled a crate of weapons toward him and began to take stock of what was left behind. It was a decent amount thankfully. An M-16, plenty of bullets, a few grenades, flares, rounds for his pistol, and even another set of pistols. He had a feeling that Gaz may have slipped a few extra things in there for him when he realized what was happening; knowing Alex wasn’t going to just ditch Madeline and Everett. Just like when he hadn’t left Farah in her moment of need.  Well, the first time. The thought of her alone in this right now sent a jolt of regret down his spine as he slammed the trunk shut and pocketed the keys.

“I know it’s cold bud,” Madeline answered Everett’s quiet complaint as she stared at the contraption of his booster seat. There were straps that led to nowhere, buckles, a button, and even a crank handle. She had no idea how any of this worked, Josephine had set this up and they had never needed to remove it.

“Ready?” Alex asked as he walked over, slinging his M-16 over his shoulder as Madeline struggled with the booster seat to get it out. Everett was standing next to the car, his hand holding on tight to the door handle as if Madeline had given him instruction to hold still and not leave.

“I can’t get his seat,” Madeline answered frustrated as she shook the stupid thing and tugged harder before shoving it away from her with a frustrated grunt. She glared at it before grabbing at it again and tugging hard at the straps that held it onto the base. It didn’t budge and she almost screamed in frustration; not necessarily at the seat but with everything else that was happening. The seat was going to be the final straw.

“Hang on,” Alex said, realizing Madeline was about to lose it. He quickly grabbed her hips and pulled her out from the car, tugging a little harder as she held fast to the seat as if she’d drag it out with her. “Let me give it a shot. Take a breather,” he said as Madeline slapped at his hands to get him to let go. He did swiftly and put his hands up innocently as she straightened herself. “Go to the SUV,” he instructed as he looked down at her and she grabbed Everett’s hand. “I’ll be there in a second.”

Madeline huffed as she took Everett’s hand and headed toward the Tahoe, scooping up the duffle and backpack that she had unceremoniously tossed out of the car moments before. Everett had barely reacted when she told him they weren’t getting on the plane but were instead driving. He just blinked quietly at her which concerned her more, she would have preferred another breakdown even if it broke her heart compared to the silence. He didn’t even laugh at her as she yelled in frustration like he normally did when she had her little tantrums that Josephine had akin to E’s toddler tantrums; something he found highly entertaining.

Alex was muttering to himself as he followed the seatbelt lines to see if he could figure out where it hooked when he heard the snarl. It was quiet, almost lost on the wind, but he definitely heard it. He paused in his work and looked through the back window across the way from him and he saw the movement in the shadows. Slipping back out of the car he hustled back into a crouching position, slipping his M-16 back over his arm and bracing the butt against his shoulder. He looked over to the SUV where Madeline was still half in, helping Everett get up and loading the bags, she was oblivious.

“Get in the car!” Alex yelled as he saw one move around the side of the hangar. It would get there before he could. He aimed down his sights but he didn’t have the shot, it was stumbling as it ran and he knew his yell had caught the attention of the one he had spotted before. He couldn’t wait. Slamming the door shut, trying to make more noise to draw them to him, he began running for the SUV. It wasn’t far but he could hear the slapping of footsteps following him. These things were fast, too fast.

Madeline snapped her eyes up at Alex’s yell and it took her a second to figure out what he was yelling about before she saw it. There was one on the other side of the SUV in the hangar and she could see more moving up the airfield. They must have been drawn by the sound of the plane in the relative silence of the area. She didn’t hesitate, she climbed right in the backseat with Everett and slammed the door shut before looking at Alex running right for the car.

“Shit,” Madeline whined as she saw two of them right on Alex’s tail. He was going to need to dive in if he was going to avoid them, even just stopping to open the door could be the difference between life and death for him. She didn’t want to open the door by Everett because there was one still close in the hangar but she couldn’t just leave Alex either. Making a split-second decision she scrambled over the center console, her legs flailing as she hauled herself up. The bottoms of her wet shoes from the melted ice and snow slipped on the leather but she finally made it and she flopped on her stomach on the seat. Frantically she pulled on the door handle, fumbling with the lock before flinging the door open and hustling backwards to get out of the way.

Alex grabbed the SUV door as it opened and jumped in, throwing his gun at Madeline ahead of him before slamming the door quick and fast enough that he almost trapped his hand in it. The things collided with the metal less than a second later and the Tahoe rocked to the side a bit at the hard impact. He was panting as he stared at the window as two of them scrabbled and clawed at the glass, foaming blood from their mouth as they shrieked. Pushing his foot on the brake he hit the push start and the engine roared to life and the headlights lit up more of them running right at them.

“Put on your seatbelt,” Madeline instructed Everett as she righted herself in the passenger seat, holding the gun that was much too heavy in her hands. Her nephew hadn’t even screamed at the things attacking but instead looked at her puzzled for a second. He was obviously still waiting for his seat, never riding in the car without it before. Madeline gestured for him to hurry up before he reached for the belt and buckled himself in after fumbling with it for a second. She nodded at Alex who was looking at her before he hit the gas and they began moving.

There were a decent amount of the things running up the runway and Madeline stared as they flew past them, the V-8 engine roaring as they went back out the way they had come in. Josephine’s car was still sitting where they left it, the engine still running and lights on which drew the attention of some. They descended on it like ants and a few were ripping at the seats and things inside in an angry frenzy as if they were hunting for someone hiding inside.

“Thanks for getting the door,” Alex said after they turned back on the road before gesturing at the gun Madeline was still holding. Her hands were holding it tightly, though the look on her face portrayed unfamiliarity and a tinge of fear of it. “You can set that on the floorboard behind you,” he instructed and she stared at him, eyes darting to Everett who was sitting there. “Safety’s on,” he said with a small grin before holding his hand out to her to take it instead.

“I wasn’t going to leave you to fend for yourself,” Madeline answered simply as she hefted the gun over to him. She watched as he shifted it up one handed, despite the weight, and lifted it back behind their seats without taking his eyes off the road and set it on the floor. She peered behind her seat at the floorboard for a second before looking up at Everett who was leaning against his seatbelt to look at the gun at his feet. His legs were too short to touch the floor but it was still too close for her comfort as she pointed at Everett to sit back in his seat. “Don’t touch it,” she warned as he stared at her. “Lean back and try to get some sleep, we’ll be in the car for a bit.”

“We’re going to need gas before long,” Alex said quietly as Madeline turned back in her seat again to face front. Everett had leaned his head up against the car window and was staring out into the dark, his eyes growing heavier with every second. “Gaz said it low and looking at the gauge we’re at a quarter of a tank. I don’t want to get on backroads and run out. We need to avoid main roads for a bit,” he continued as Madeline pointed to where he needed to go next.

“There’s a 7-Eleven not far,” she stated looking back at Everett again whose eyes had finally shut. “I could use some water and he’s going to be hungry before long,” she reasoned just as her stomach gave a growl. “I guess me too,” she sighed and rubbed her stomach a bit.

“It needs to be in and out,” Alex said as he darted around a few slow cars, “I don’t want to get caught up in the mess as everyone starts raiding and trying to get supplies. Plus, crowds will just draw their attention,” he continued as he flipped the radio on low to see if there was anything else besides the emergency broadcast. He had a feeling it wouldn’t be long before the radios cut out altogether.

“My sister had a stack of cash stockpiled away,” Madeline explained, “I put it in her backpack. She’s, well, we used to poke fun at her preparing for the end of the world. I guess her line of work it sometimes felt like it, but I never thought it would happen,” she sighed running a hand through her hair which was a knotted mess from being whipped around in the wind. “We can just pay cash, get in and out. I don’t even know if I have my purse anymore, to be honest,” she sighed thinking about where she had last seen it.

“If there is even an attendant,” Alex said as he saw a sign for the convenience store. “Don’t linger around. I’ll fill up, you go get food and anything else you think we may need. If there is no one around just leave what you think is good. Or just walk out for that matter.” At the look on Madeline’s face, he shrugged, “I doubt anyone is going to arrest you for lifting some gatorades and gas station snacks. They’ve got other things to worry about.”

“I...well, fair,” Madeline conceded as they turned down the road that had the gas station and a few fast-food restaurants. The restaurants were still closed at this hour but the 7-Eleven was lit up brightly and Madeline saw another car there filling up their tank and two extra cans as well. “Do you have any of those?” She asked as she pointed at one of the red gas cans as Alex checked which side to park the car on to fill up.

“No,” he answered, “see if they have any inside. Wouldn’t be a bad idea to get an extra can or two.” He peered at the store, looking for any signs of distress, or those things, but everything seemed well. It was empty save for the other car and Alex climbed out first, careful to make direct eye contact with the man filling up so they were both aware of one another. And also noting they were both armed.

“I need to pee,” Everett piped up suddenly from the backseat and Madeline sighed. She knew he just wanted to go in the store and hustle her for some candy. But if he peed now, they wouldn’t have to stop for a while. “Please,” he whined as he undid his seatbelt.

“Fine,” Madeline said quickly as she watched Alex flip through his wallet and slip a card into the pump to start. He was leaning casually against the side of the car but she caught that his right hand was resting just above where his pistol sat strapped to his leg. “In and out. No playing,” she instructed as Everett rolled his eyes at her, “I mean it E. You go in, you go pee and you come right back out here to Alex.”

Everett opened the door and Alex’s head shot up as he saw the kid climb out before Madeline came around and held her hand out to him.

“Hang on,” Alex said as he pushed up from the car. “This isn’t a fun shopping trip,” he said as he looked at Everett who tugged on Madeline’s arm.

“I’m aware. He needs the bathroom,” Madeline said as Everett swung her arm impatiently “I’m going to let him go in and send him right back out to you,” she explained before giving a step as Everett tugged again.

“Give me a second and I’ll take him,” Alex reasoned as he stared at the gas pump. He still had a bit to go before it was full. He didn’t much like Madeline going in alone as it was, even if it was faster if they worked in tandem. Sending Everett with her was a whole other risk of security if something happened.

“I can go to the bathroom on my own,” Everett said impatiently.

“That’s not the issue,” Alex answered.

“We’ll be fine. Finish up here, I’ll send him out with a gas can,” Madeline offered as she looked around. Things were still quiet and the driver of the other car a row over was loading up one of his gas cans into his trunk. Soon it would just be them there. “I’ll be quick.”

Alex huffed; he didn’t like it but arguing was wasting time. He nodded once and watched them cross the small parking lot and head inside the store. He glanced at his watch on his wrist and decided they would get three minutes before he walked in there himself. Hanging his hand back down by his side he turned to look at the gas pump numbers steadily climbing.

“Go,” Madeline said as she came back out of the women’s bathroom, checking to make sure it was empty. Everett had protested wanting to use the men’s but Madeline put her foot down at that. He went in with a grumble and she turned around and walked to the closest aisle with the handbasket she had scooped up to start grabbing things. She was just putting things in the basket without paying attention, not really caring what it was just that it was some type of easy food. She peered around for the attendant and didn’t see one which made her uneasy but it was possible they were just in the back room or something.

Turning down another aisle Madeline glanced up at the rounded mirror on the ceiling to make sure she could still see the bathroom door as she browsed. She grabbed up some pain medication, her head was still pounding, and also decided that Pepto also wasn’t a bad idea with all this junk food. A few other little things like hygiene products, hand sanitizer, and even a map off an endcap hanger were tossed in the basket by the time Everett walked out shaking his hands. He didn’t like using the air dryers and she was guessing there weren’t any paper towels.

“Right out to Alex,” Madeline instructed as she pointed to the door, snatching up a gas can in the car section they passed. Everett nodded before grabbing something he wanted from the front counter, a bag of Skittles, and holding them to her. She sighed and tossed it in the basket before watching him walk toward the automatic doors and out to the parking lot. Alex was watching him, he made brief eye contact with Madeline and nodded and she turned back into the store to continue.

“Thanks,” Alex said as Everett handed the can to him before he opened the door for the kid. He indicated for Everett to climb in and gave him a small boost with how high the step up was. “Did she say how long she’d be?” Alex asked as he watched Everett climb to the very back row to sprawl out and lay down.

“No, she had a lot in the basket though,” Everett answered as he yawned and stretched out a bit. “How far are we going?”

“Long ways,” Alex answered as the pump finally clicked off. It was a wonder anyone could afford to fill these things on the regular. He shifted the pump to fill the gas can now before glancing over his shoulder to do another area sweep. The guy that was filling up the other car was gone and Alex whirled to see where he had gotten off to. “Damn it,” Alex muttered as he looked at Everett who was settled in. “Stay in the car,” he ordered pointing at the kid who nodded at him. He slammed the door shut and locked it before jogging toward the store.

Madeline was grabbing drinks in the back when the sound of the automatic door opened again. She turned to see who it was but didn’t spot anyone. She threw a few more gatorades in the basket, a few iced coffees, and some plain water when she heard steps approaching. She figured it was Alex and she opened her mouth to tell him she was almost done when she realized it was not him. It was the guy they had seen filling up his car, he was eyeing her as he opened a cooler to grab a drink himself. Not wanting to linger Madeline shut her mouth and turned away, heading back up toward the front. But he shut the cooler door and followed her.

Shifting tactics, sure she was being paranoid, Madeline ventured back to the personal hygiene aisle. She stopped specifically in front of the feminine products. He followed a bit too close for comfort and she dared to dart her eyes over to him as she blindly grabbed things and threw them in the basket. He was staring and she realized he had blocked her way out of the aisle unless she went further back into the store, further away from the store exit.

“Can I help you?” Madeline finally asked as she turned to face him fully. She had learned in her years growing up that men did not like being confronted by people they were leering at. Eye contact made them extremely uncomfortable when a woman stood up for themselves. “Wife need pads?” She asked holding up a pack sarcastically before tossing it into her basket. “Tampons?” She nudged a box as the guy stepped closer.

“I want what you have,” the guy answered simply as he shifted his jacket back to show the gun in his waistband. “All of it. The gas, the SUV, your guy’s guns,” he smirked. “You can come along to, leave the kid though.”

Alex was in the store and he paused at the rain mat looking around to see if he could see Madeline. There was no one working at the counter and he paused as he heard voices then a very strained voice call out his name. Alex felt his stomach drop a bit as he unholstered his pistol and looked for the mirrors to see if he could find her quickly as he walked.

Madeline had gambled that the second time the doors had opened that evening it was Alex coming in now. She knew she had been gone too long and he was hopefully coming to corral her back to the car. If it was someone else that was with this guy she knew she was screwed. Condoms and pregnancy tests were not ideal self-defense items.

“I’ll be staying with my nephew in our SUV,” Madeline answered a bit louder than needed. “And my guy,” she said sarcastically, “is our military escort. I would suggest you rethink what you are demanding.” Her eyes darted up to the mirror and she saw Alex headed her way, he was two aisles away. He had his pistol raised and ready but met her eyes in the reflection with a small nod. “Go back out to your car, and take these with you,” she snapped before throwing a package of pH wipes at the guy to distract him so he would instinctively reach out and catch them being thrown at his face. He did. Taking the diversion, Madeline darted down the back of the aisle and she heard the guy snarl and attempt to come after her.

“I wouldn’t try it,” Alex answered as he came up behind the guy. His voice was even and calm but he purposely flipped the safety off on his pistol so the click could be heard. The man had reached for his own gun but stopped as he turned around with his hands slightly raised looking at Alex. “We’re leaving,” he glanced at Madeline who was at the other end of the aisle behind the edge peering at him. He nodded his head toward the door and she listened without hesitation. She went right toward the door, not even pausing to drop money on the counter.

“You come out that door in less than a minute I will drop you,” Alex warned the guy as he stared him down. “I won’t miss either,” he tacked on and when the guy nodded Alex lowered his gun a fraction of an inch. “Don’t-“ Alex warned as the man went for the pistol in his waistband.

Madeline heard Alex say 'don't' followed by three gunshots in rapid succession. She flinched and whirled back around to go into the store, having been almost out the door.

"Alex?!" Madeline yelled out as she doubled back to find him, dread filling her as only silence met her ears.