#now he's got locus and they can roll their eyes and side eye the others together <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[grif-hawaiian-rolls]

My RvB Secret Santa gift for @hipstersoulgushers!!!!

You asked for Locpez in space, and i spent three days trying to figure out how to show the inside of the A'rynasea, so these two could go off on their own little adventure

No clue what they're talking about but i hope you like it! :D

[angelmichelangelo]

i see you’ve reblogged my prompt post but i can’t see it in your account, but that’s probs bc of the maturity label so im gonna ask for “i would love to punch you in the throat brother… but not like this… not like this” with raph and leo bc i think it’d be funny.

i thought this was the perfect prompt for some mutant mayhem boys so here you go!

x

A small crowd had formed in the cafeteria like something ripped straight from one of those 90s cheesy high school movies he’d watched time and time again. A few kids are cheering them on, Donnie is one of them, pitched forward on the top of one of the tables, face full of excitement as he pumps a fist up in the air, yelling with every ounce of enthusiasm, “Fight! Fight! Fight!” What Leo is not going to do, however, is fight his brother Raphael, in front of a crowd in the lunch room at school over something stupid as taking the last cheeseburger. Raphael, however, looks game because he was just crazy that way. He’s got his arms crossed over his plastron, his hip popped out because that his propensity at school now, and he’s wearing a smirk that creeps across his face, knowing it’s place. Leo sighs. “I’m not gonna fight you, Raph,” Leo says, loud enough to be heard over the cheering crowd. It earns him a few groans and boos. Raph scoffs. “Then gimme the burger and we can call it even.” He shifts his weight to his other side, as if his impatience was slowly starting to wear him down. “You know I was about to get it first.” Leo holds his lunch tray tightly. His Yoohoo slides a little to the side before he rights it from toppling over entirely. He frowns at his brother. “But you didn’t,” he argues. “I did. So get back in line and get something else.” He presses his lips together. “They have pizza swirls, see?” Raph’s face draws itself into something akin to pure disgust. A few other kids make noises to accompany the look. “Pizza swirls?!” Raph says with a sudden burst of conniption in his tone. “Dude, you know those things are straight nasty. Gimme the burger.” Leo does not give his burger away. Donnie, still spectating from the sidelines, ebbs them on, leaning in to burst through the locus, he’s still grinning from cheek to cheek. “Fight! Beat him up! Break his legs!” Leo has no idea what side he’s actually on – if any, he just knows that he wants to see some action like the rest of the students that have gathered here. “You heard ‘em.” Raph shrugs, cracking his knuckles in the most cliche way possible. Leo rolls his eyes, entirely unimpressed. “Dude. For the last time. I’m not getting a months worth of detention and being grounded with you over a stupid burger.” Raph frowns. “Then gimme!” Leo stands his ground. “No.” He says firmly. A chorus of oooohhhs! echo around the room, no doubt being spurred on by the main instigator and other turtle in the room. “What,” Raphael sneers, eyes narrowing into vicious little slits. “You afraid I’m gonna beat you?” One side of the room erupts into cheers. Leo feels his chest grow tight with anger. “Of course not,” Leo says pointedly. “I can take you any day. You know that. I always have done.” Raph’s face grows thundery and the other side of the room encourage him on. “Yeah, right,” he scoffs, stomping closer to bridge the small distance between them. Leo’s burger stays perched on his tray, squished and sloppy looking – it holds an incredible significance between them, like The Button of all nuclear warheads: this was it. “Just admit that you don’t want me kicking your ass in front of the whole school, Nardo, and maybe I’ll let you take a bite.” His lips curl around a wicked grin. Donnie howls with excitement, like the very prospect of what was about to come was simply too much for his body to even contain. Leo grins back. “I would love you punch you in the throat brother…” he imagines it, knocking the stupid burger right out of his windpipe. “But not like this… not like this…”

It’s then that Mikey appears, pushing through the crowd, still half dressed in his school play costume with a boy plastered by his side, wild dandelion curls bouncing about his forehead as they make their way to the front. Once they catch wind of what was going on, his face falls, looking entirely unamused. “Oh, great,” the turtle says flatly to the boy. “It’s just my brothers being morons.” A comedic beat. “Again.” Donnie is beckoning Mikey and his friend over, both of them reluctantly shuffling along to his ringside seats. Leo takes a sobering breath. “Raph,” he says loudly to rein in the audience’s attention. “You can have the burger–” A series of shocked gasps and curses entail from the crowd. A sense of betrayal as well as understanding ripples through the students. Mikey stands there, arms crossed, shaking his head with disapproval. “But!” Leo speaks, voice raising higher to qualm the noise around him. “But, you have to admit something yourself.” Raph’s face doesn’t change. Years of playing poker with their dad when there was nothing else to do has given him the chops for a pretty decent straight face when he needs one. “What’s that?” He asks, curious as to what it was his brother was going to try and deal him now. “Just admit,” Leo says with a grin. “That if I did fight you and I did win, which I would, you’d only go home crying to dad about it like the big baby that you are!” The room is stunned into silence. The lunch ladies share incredulous looks with one another. Donnie gulps. Mikey just rolls his eyes and shares a bored look with the boy still stood at his side.

“You. Take. That. Back.” Raph seethes, fists curling, chest puffing out like an angry bird. “Now.”

Leo does not in fact take it back. And it only takes all of about seven seconds for Donnie to finally get what he wanted when Raph suddenly lunges at his brother.

The cheeseburger ends up doing a somersault towards the floor, the Yoohoo hits the ground and explodes, spilling chocolate milk all over the pair of them as they tussle about in a heap, all arms and legs and shell pulling, kids continue to cheer them on; they aren’t exactly picking sides here – it’s not every day you get to see two mutant turtles rag it out in your school cafeteria and a fight is a fight.

“Okay,” Mikey steps forward, choosing peace, he’s able to pry his brothers apart at arms length. “I think you guys have humiliated each other enough for one day.”

The two of them, now separated continue to squabble, throwing insults at each other, more and more niche, the crowd soon loses interest as the bell rings and the excitement is snuffed out for another day.

“Now look!” Raph says, pointing to the squished, sad looking burger that was currently upside down on the floor in a river of chocolate milk. “Now nobody can have it! Thanks a lot, Leo.”

The human boy, whom Leo still isn’t entirely sure of, nudges it with the toe of his sneakers, like it might come back to life. It does not.

Donnie sighs. “Well that was anticlimactic.” He hikes his backpack up over his shell and adjusts his glasses over his snout. “I’ve got Algebra. See you guys.” And with that, he walks off.

Mikey throws him a disapproving look from over his shoulder, yelling after him, “Yeah, thanks Dee!”

The three turtles and the kid just stare at the burger now. A lunch lady shoos them out of the way with a huff so she can clean up their mess.

Leo irons out the front of his shirt with his palms whilst Raph straightens out his hoodie strings from where Leo had yanked them.

“You know,” Mikey says as they walk off together, leaving all the excitement behind them. “It’s burger and hot dog night tonight. And that’s way better than processed cafeteria food.”

Raph’s face lights up. He even has a slight spring in his step. “Oh yeah! Awesome.”

Leo rolls his eyes, sharing a distained look with both Mikey and the boy, who’s gone a little pink as he muffles a laugh. “God, I hate him.”

Mikey laughs as Raph dances down the hallway unabashedly. “Yeah, yeah,” he says, not at all convinced. “I know, bro.”

[aggresivelyfriendly]

To Be So Lonely- Chapter 4

California Dreamin

Hi all! It has been ages, but at least one person is still interested, so nanny chapter ahoy! I gave this a revise and a quick read, so.... all mistakes, as ever, are mine!

Enjoy!

Harry didn't like to think of it as plotting.

He was just taking care of her. Right? She needed to relax. She ran herself ragged. We're all attorneys so dedicated? Admittedly, he didn't know a lot of lawyers, it didn't seem a career people were borne for, but if anybody was made to wear the wig, it was Vee. It was admirable, how hard she worked, how much she worked. She might be the most productive person he knew, that may also be because he came from academia. Some people published so fast your head spun, others, didn't. But Vee put the p in productivity. That's why she got the heavy cases, like the one she was coming off. Plus, when she got home, she tried to do as much as possible with the twins. She'd totally kicked him out of last week's wakings though she hasn't slept much.

"Go, I need time with my babies." With a hand wave and a look that brooked no argument, he was dismissed like a case she saw holes in from day one. He'd lingered, just a moment, to watch her scoop up Teo. Belli was still sleeping, but stirring from the noise. A swirl of her tummy with Vee's manicured hand, and she was out. Mateo was quiet now on her shoulder too now. Her beautiful hand splayed over his back at the moment. Harry had no idea when she had time to get her nails done. Maybe her Lunch hour? Though she came home then when she could. He knew it was devotion, to the babies, not her nails. That was probably required to look "professional." She must squeeze those in on the days she wasn't huddling home to see the twins, she loved them so, said it was worth it.

However, he suspected it was guilt as well over the case taking so much time, lots of late nights and missed bed times. She's worked herself to the bone, and he knew better than to mention the dark circles bruised beneath her eyes. He still saw them though. So he'd called his uncle, his pseudo uncle, and got them the place. Even promised he'd help pay for the trip James and his family had take last minute so Harry, Vee and the babies could be alone.

"With what?" His uncle chuckled. "I Know your da tied up your trust fund because you aren't doing an MBA!"

"I'm thirty. I can make my own decisions." Harry insisted. And if that meant he had to pay his own way, that was a learning experience, real adulting too. He told himself everyday he worked to go back to school, and now just did because he couldn't imagine not, that this was the way it was supposed to be. His life hadn't been Normal. Even compared to the other students on his Ivy League program with him.

"You can, but you have to then pay your own way." He could hear the shrug, and the pride. It's why his Dad's best friend was his favorite. Harry knew he sided with him. "But, enough of the tough love stuff. On to the real thing. Why do we have to make ourselves scarce? Something going on?" He left the insinuation heavy in his voice.

"No, C'mon man. She's my boss. She just needs a break. Case has been a killer. And then she's always trying to be super mum when she's home too and not let me do night duty." Harry rolled his eyes like James could see him.

His uncle whistled, "She must be a looker, if you're talking like a husband not the help."

Harry scoffed without any control. The help. Ouch. He didn't feel like help, he felt, needed. "Fuck off. It's not like that. It's professional. She doesnt see me like that anyway. Not her type."

"Oh, I see, that why she did a donor dad? She like ladies?" Harry honestly couldn't tell if he was taking the piss, plus he wanted to give a social justice rant, but knew his Uncle was more messing with him than bigoted, he hoped.

"No! No, least I don't think so?" She wasn't, was she? "Not that it would matter if she was." He protested. He honestly could not tell why it bothered him.

"Oh, quite." James was still amused and Harry was going to make more heavy weather of it, but Harry decided to ignore his uncles tone and teasing.

"James?" He cajoled.

"So, daddy," he'd even ignore the occasional dig, he was glad his uncle couldn't see his lip curl, and that he got back to brass tacks. "What dates are we being kicked about?"

"In two weeks for two weeks."  Harry was looking at the calendar she had of Selena to see how she'd marked it. Everything went into calendars, paper ones. Even though their google one synced to her iPhone. Victoria needed the order, she was so busy. The Selena calendar was just a nod to the other part of her, that wasn't run by a clock and schedule. She loved Selena.

He'd discovered this by accident.

She was so cute when she was unguarded. He was sure that he never would have found out the personal morsel if she hadn't been super stressed and decided to dance it out. She hadn't been expecting him home, he could tell that for sure, she had a red dress on, for the occasion he supposed, though her hair was still up in the mom bun her long tresses were usually scraped up into, and she was barefooted. The dress and her feet were making the most of the Latin beat. Harry was sure he would have watched for quite a while longer had she not performed an impressive turn and opened her eyes to sing "bidi bidi bum bum." He assumed she was looking to use the microwave as a mirror. Give her self a wink maybe.

He couldn't dance, but watching her made him want to learn.

"Ayyy!" She placed her hand over her heart. "Por favor Harry! Don't sneak up on me like that!"

" I didn't mean to!" He proclaimed. "The kiddos," he gestured to the dowsing twins in their Bob double stroller. "Were just done with the park. You ok now?" He was suppressing his mirth, it's not like he caught her with her hand in a cookie jar.

"Yeah, yeah, my heart rate is back to normal." He wasn't sure that was true, her breath was still rapid. "Put those dimples away!"

"There are no dimples." He tried to make his face as flat as the pancakes the kids liked from a Trader Joe's. He knew his face was probably betraying him. That muscular defect showed unless his face was truly neutral, and he was definitely engaged, amused.

"Stop laughing at me!" She glowered. Oh! Her flush was lovely.

He finally just burst out, with the ridiculous laugh, the one that was like a opening shot at the races.

Vee was certainly off. She dissolved into giggles too. And then they were laughing together until they were just looking at one another. Harry let the dimples bloom fully then, Couldn't help it, really.

Victoria took a big breath, notched her chin back and forth an inch or two, and said, "Pardon, I'm gonna go change."

"Dress is pretty." He let slip. She shot him a warning look, but she was smiling, so he felt the need to push a bit more. "A little formal for nap time." Her flipped up middle finger as she rounded the hallway entrance made him snicker. He controlled it so he didn't hear that tone she used on the phone some times. He didn't want to be on the receiving end of that, he didn't think.

He'd been clicking a button on Amazon a moment later on the Selena calendar. Well, after he googled the lyrics to figure out who she had been dancing to. Then he remembered another little detail they'd need in the beach house.

"Oh, set up the crib!" The babies could have the third bedroom. Between him and Vee, so they could share duties. She needed rest. He was gonna try to slyly make sure he took the first night shift. She'd want to hear them, and he was sure he couldn't pull it past her if he put them on one end and her on another.

James laughed. "Jesus, should I also call the chef?"  He was joking. Harry wasn't.

"Yeah, at least give me the number. She doesn't cook. Maybe buy a second crib."

"Do you cook then?" His uncle could barely keep the mirth from frothing over.

"Yeah, when she works late. So she doesn't have to eat out all day." Where was the shame in being kind?

"Oh, Harry, you better hope she's a looker and does like men, cuz if you aren't gunning for daddy, you are most certainly the help." He wasn't even trying to hide the cackle.

The help? That smarted like a slap across the ass cheek, though it was definitely unreasonable to be bothered. "Well, I am the nanny. And I definitely try to be helpful."

"Yes, employee of the month." James kept laughing at Harry while they said their goodbyes. He could hear the snickers and was sure he would be telling Jules the moment they got off then phone.

He'd got off the phone and thought about whether he was the help for ages. Railing against the insinuation.

Then accepting it, of course he was the help! He was hired help. Must be his upbringing that was showing in his annoyance at the term. He'd need to work on that. Get over himself and his privilege.

And be the best damn help he could be.

The alternative as to why he was so bothered, he couldn't think about that. Or James's ideas about his design on daddy. Though his mind did a little wander down that trail.

Gunning for daddy, how ridiculous! He just appreciated her, respected her, liked her. He tried to make her life better, like she did him, dancing to Selena and smiling and such.

Shit.

Or giving him a job and gifting him with time with her enchanting, infuriating babies. That was where his locus of gratitude was, right? Not for the chance to be close to her.

He decided to distract himself from surfacing realizations. So he dove into planning.

He thought about his own time there, and did some googling. At first he was thinking they'd just sit on the beach a ton, he'd spent hours staring at the waves like he'd once inhabited the waters and they were calling him home. When he thought more of it, he realized that was what Vee needed, but she'd bail by day three if laying about was the only plan. They'd have to get into something else too. He reckoned outside, with sunshine, and something physical.

Hiking, once she got sick of the beach, or pool, or both. That would do the trick.

This was going to be so relaxing. He wondered if they could take the twins hiking? He was researching back pack carriers when she came home.

"Do you like hiking?" He asked immediately after he said hi. He had to restrain himself from kissing her cheek hello while he scrolled through his phone.

He'd ask himself what was going on, but it would be a lie. He'd kinda known, that he was feeling at the very least familial towards her, but ever since his Uncle razed him about liking her, he was much more aware of it.

Ignorance really could be bliss. Because he was now aware of what he was missing and his subterranean wants. It had started normally, with no romantic inclinations. When he'd come for his interview, she'd impressed him, and she'd looked really tired. But pretty, really pretty, and she had made some gorgeous kids. She could use him, his help, and he could learn from her. He just knew it.

Then his crush has sort of just grown in the background, like the tomato plant his mum had growing up. He was sure it took tending, but he never saw any take place. His only memory of it was when he was forced to help build the raised bed, and picking fat green caterpillars off of it once until he put one in his sister's hair, he was off tomato duty then. After that, all he recalled was being overwhelmed by the hordes of red ripe fruit that came from it when the sun was high. He supposed he'd had a foundational moment he didn't recognize during his interview either.

Partly, he remembered really wanting this job, to help and support this family, this woman. So he supposed his level of engagement was different even in the first stage, a compulsion, just not parental.

He didn't do much tending, not to his budding crush, but he supposed when he caught her dancing and not only was moved by her hips but couldn't help but notice her lively eyes and her vanished dark circles, was some sort of middle stage.

Today, getting off the phone with his uncle was seeing all the fruit of the labor he wasn't even aware he was doing. He'd been tending and tilling, spacing and watering, nurturing his interest.

Now he just had to decide what to do about it.

Option one, ignore it, and they continue living as they have been. Like some version of a family; they're certainly a team, but one where he is the impermanent piece, like the quarterback about to graduate onto new things. Harry doesn't want new things, well he doesn't think so. He's fairly certain he wants this team, Vee as his coach and the twins as the freshman walk ons. He's just not sure how to get it.

So, option one seems no good. He doesn't want to just pretend he hasn't realized his feelings. He's known since day one he admired Vee, adored the twins. He still felt those things, they'd just deepened and he wanted to put their needs right before his own for the foreseeable future. Which was why he'd once again delayed going back to school. Another extension. He'd told himself it was about the money, and he did need that, but really he wasn't ready to be here less.

Option two, he's direct. He's imagined that scenario in his head. The setting as the living room they share. He can tell they've just gotten back, their cheeks sun kissed by the California sun, and their suitcases still full in the living area.

"Vee, have a seat. It's been a long day. Want some wine?" Should you be able to hear the nerves in your voice in a daydream?

"Yes please." She'd sigh. And he'd only heard that like twice when he made this offer in real life, so further proof he was imagining best case scenario. After a few sips, he can imagine he'd get caught up watching her relax and be mesmerized by the working of her throat. It would take courage, but she'd be relaxed and he'd be keyed up by the two weeks of her in swimsuits and watching her lick the rim of her wine glass with her eyes closed. Sometimes excitement was related to bravery.

"Vee," he'd start, "Victoria," so she'd know he was serious. Her eyes would open, connect to his. Then, he'd just say it.

But what? I'd like to take you out. I think I have feelings for you. No. I do have feelings for you. Should I just move into your bedroom? What does your kiss taste like?

He had no idea how to tell her his heart, and that seemed like an odd place to start considering they basically lived together. Shit, would she fire him? He needed the job, and the twins, oh god! He'd miss them so.

He couldn't come out of left field then. He'd need to feel her out, flirt, watch for reactions. Malibu seemed like an ideal place to move beyond the support he showed her. The sunsets and skin had to be romantic. It felt romantic to him when he was there alone, the feeling would magnify with a love interest. He'd roll his eyes at himself if he could see his reflection. He just had to see if he was interesting to her, on her romantic radar. If she seemed bewildered or put off, he'd save his job and let his feelings fester, save money and go back to school. Try to move on.

He'd have to find a way to stay in touch with the twins.

Or, she'd be receptive.

That might have been a scarier thought. More exciting too! He'd start sooner. A glass of wine, he'd let his hand linger when he handed it to him.

But she'd just begged off for her bed.  "You're so charming, Styles!" He'd teased himself as he went to bed, well tossed and turned all night. He'd needed mountains of iced coffee to stay awake the next day on their flights, the babies were cranky too. They must be feeding off his energy, and Hers. Vee looked wiped as well, so every time he got himself a refresh, he got her one too. Everything took forever, and he was vibrating by the time they picked up their rental. The babies were slowly fading and Vee looked more keyed up than him. They needed to relax, a way to unwind.

That's when the idea sparked him. The pool, the sunset, and a night cap that he could extend into drinks. All the makings of a romantic evening, or a relaxing one. He'd just lean into whatever way she seemed to be veering.

His imagination had hoped though, as he distracted himself from waiting for service in the line.

He started with thoughts of kissing her, tasting the cool water beading on her lips and the contrast of the warm recesses of her mouth. He might have groaned out loud if Belli hadn't whined.

The traffic was a welcome distraction from his nerves and though he knew the way, Vee drove and it took just that bit longer for her lack of familiarity. Especially with traffic. He offered to do it, but she'd got the rental, at her insístanle since he'd put so much work into the trip and found free accommodations. Her name was on it. "You get to play navigator, and she'd found the energy to wink!

Good sign?

The drive knocked out the crank pots in the backseat, though they had screamed until the Mulholland Pass. Until Harry realized the sun was in their eyes directly. He'd hopped over the seats and blocked it with his hands. It wasn't comfortable, but got took away the overstimuli for all the occupants of the car. Once they pass out, he and Vee shared a relieved pair of sighs. That got his mind wandering again, about other shared exhales. Soon they were pulling up the familiar beach side road and parking, each taking a baby in hand and communicating with their eyes to get them in the house.

Once Teo was in his crib, Harry cocked his head to the driveway and moved behind her. She nodded, understanding he'd unload the car while she settled Belli. She was the hard case. Harry tried to be businesslike about it, though he admitted the brush of his front to her back was more than accidental plus, he sniffed her, inaudible. She smelled of plane, and baby, and coffee. And Vee. He smiled on his way out the doorway and it encouraged him, how well they did this together.

He dropped the bags, the many bags, she'd packed just inside her door and was in his room and rooting for the swim trunks he'd packed on top before he knew it. He text her directions to meet him out back and went before his nerves could get the best of him.

Did she like tattoos? Would they turn her off? She knew about his arms, he was fairly certain he'd been wearing a t shirt at his interview. His collection was extensive though. Eye-catching, in his experience with romantic interests, usually compelling. Unless she hated body art.

Too late to do anything now, years late, and since when was he self conscious, especially about his tattoos.

He needed to get a move on if he was gonna be ready for her. He thought he knew James, well, in this case Julia, well enough that they'd have what he was looking for, probably already chilled.

He found the Moët and grabbed the glasses by the stem and huddled outside. The gorgeous weather wrapped around him, more comfortable than any sweater and the water enveloped his thighs. If she came out soon, hopefully in a suit. They'd just catch the sunset. Her skin would look so pretty in the golden light, and then moon light, probably any light. Still, he was going to keep track of her changes. He tanned well, he could show imagine how tawny she would get. His confidence was returning with his plan working out so well and his desires so near the surface. Should he pour the champagne, or would the bottle popping be a nice official start to the vacation? He was mulling it over waist deep in the water when her voice caught his attention.

"Dios Mío!" He heard from over his shoulder, and when he looked back, he would have said the same but it had little to do with the sunset he assumed she was marvelling over and everything to do with Vee.

He nearly forgot the champagne and cavemanned her over his shoulder and straight into where he was in over his head.

But that was overly forward. He at least needed to get her wet before he dove into the deep end.

[astrid-goes-for-a-spin]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Flash (TV 2014), Supergirl (TV 2015), Batwoman (TV 2019), DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), Arrow (TV 2012), Black Lightning (TV) Rating: Not Rated Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Iris West & Kate Kane, Barry Allen/Iris West Characters: Iris West, Kate Kane, Kara Danvers, Ava Sharpe, Thea Queen, Sara Lance, Wally West, Kendra Saunders, Ray Palmer, Nate Heywood, Nia Nal, Samantha Clayton, William Clayton, Barry Allen, Mary Hamilton (mentioned), Alice (mentioned), Alex Danvers (mentioned), Laurel Lance (mentioned), Chloe Sullivan (mentioned), Gary Greene (mentioned), Cisco Ramon (mentioned), Peter Gambi (mentioned), Jennifer Pierce (mentioned), Perenna (mentioned), Superman (mentioned), Lois Lane (mentioned) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Coffeeshop AU, gratuitous crossovers, full on mixing all five shows here, and stealing from Smallville, Women Being Awesome, Iris is a spy, spy Iris West, Jitters is a front for the JLA, boss Kate Kane, Kate runs the coffeeshop, Alex and Ava and Lyla run the JLA, kid William Clayton, William's love of the Flash, Fluff without Plot, friendship fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Cisco and Gambi are buds, who run the world, women, time bros, i have squeezed every possible reference in Series: Part 5 of Iris Week 2020 Summary:

Iris Week 2020 Day 5: Coffeeshop AU!

Iris’s paycheck might say she’s a barista, but it’s been a long time since she’s had any reservations about her real job: taking the temperature of the crowds they use to mask the underground Justice League headquarters.

@iriswestallenweek

____________________________

for the tumblr crowd, here’s the full text! 

“Don’t tell anyone,” Iris repeats mockingly to herself, “But I have it on good authority that one of the regulars here is Batwoman.” Scoffing, Iris slams the cash register closed. She gets a few of these fringe people every week, insisting to her that the data shows that Jitters just has to be the locus of all the superheroes Iris can imagine.

Iris is great at customer service: she’ll smile and ask “Oh, really? Should I be watching out for Black Canary in the morning rush?” and scooch into the unoccupied chair across from the newest theorist, and this is almost always a good strategy to get the down-low.

Ripping the rag off her shoulder, Iris goes through the kitchen, dodging colleagues, and raps at Kate’s door.

“Yeah?”

“Your sister thinks Batwoman’s a regular here,” Iris says, rolling her eyes as Kate stares over the computer screen. “Are you ever gonna tell her? Because one day she’s gonna tell that theory to the wrong friendly face.”

Kate lets out a very small groan. “Mary?”

“If it was your other sister we’d be in a lot more trouble, because I think Kara would’ve vaporized her,” Iris says. “Kate, we need a better front. Literally anything. Casino?”

“I’ve been telling her,” Kara says herself, materializing at Iris’s elbow. Iris doesn’t even jump anymore. “Alex says the funds just aren’t here.”

“You have no idea how much money my family is worth,” Thea shouts from the depths of the kitchen, clearly eavesdropping.

“Are you even working?” Sara shouts back.

“Like you’re one to talk, babe,” Ava says, stepping off the elevator and appraising Sara’s makeshift pull-up bar in the freezer doorway. “Iris, did you say you have a new conspiracy theorist?”

Iris’s paycheck might say she’s a barista, but it’s been a long time since she’s had any reservations about her real job: taking the temperature of the crowds they use to mask the underground Justice League headquarters.

“Kate still hasn’t told her sister, and now Mary’s telling me about it,” Iris reports. “Other than Mary, I’ve still got crazy Chloe Sullivan, who fully believes Superman works here, and Gary Greene, who is becoming uncomfortably...Gary.”

“Can someone help out front, please?” Kendra calls through the kitchen. “It’s getting very busy!”

“I’m comin’!” Wally says, juggling hand-whipped milk and fancy batter for pastries Iris can’t name – one of the many perks of a speedster on the staff. Kara snatches the bowl of batter as he passes and disappears off toward the ovens, heat vision starting to glow.

“Yeah, I’m heading back out,” Iris sighs, rapping Kate’s door again. “Seriously. We could be anything, this is just exhausting. Gambi and Cisco have a petition running around the lower levels to switch to a tailor’s.”

“Too many people come through here to ignore,” Ava says. “If you really need, I’ll ask around to see if we can get someone else in here to lighten your load.”

“I hear Lois Lane is great at this kinda thing,” Iris snarks. Kara barks a laugh from the other side of the kitchen. It’s a good point; Lois is pushy and brassy and all wrong for this kind of work. Iris needs spies. Or therapists. Would Jen’s meta-therapist – Perenna, right? – be a good source? “Yeah, I’m going.”

When Iris reemerges into the hustle of the coffeeshop proper, she takes a moment to readjust. While they do hate the conspiracy theorists, it’s because they are right; if a hero isn’t working at Jitters, they’re definitely connected here in other ways. Iris has a panic button on her phone and her keys for just that reason: she’s a walking compendium of secret identities.

“You take the orders, Ray,” Iris says as she passes him, patting his shoulder. Ray is perhaps the only person Iris knows who actually enjoys customer service, and he makes an excellent human shield for just this reason. “I’m going to call out orders.”  

For a bit, Iris can just lose herself in the flow of the work. It’s nice, at least, to be paid a living wage and know she’s safe and that she works among friends. Ray cheerfully listens to what Iris considers to be ridiculous names for beverages, Nate makes them, hip-checking Ray every other order, and hands them off to Iris, who calls out names. Nia is on cash register, and Iris can’t believe she’s been as patient as she has with them high-fiving over her head.

“Two hot chocolates for Samantha?” Iris calls. A woman she vaguely recognizes hurries up to the counter, and Iris stares at her face, trying to memorize the details in case they’re the key to Iris’s memory: long dark hair parted exactly in the middle, wide, tired eyes, thin nose, pale skin. It’s not until Iris notices the little boy tucked into her side that it clicks.

“Hey, what’cha got there?” Iris asks conspiratorially. William Clayton looks up at her with adorable gentle curiosity. “Is that a Flash action figure?”

“He loves the Flash,” Samantha says, and Iris nods sagely. “We went to the parade this year and William saw him run past, I think it was the happiest moment of his entire life.”

Now that Iris is looking, she sees a lot of other Flash-related details on Oliver’s son: a backpack full of the lightning insignia; red-and-gold shoelaces. His fingers worry and worry at the figure; he drops it and quickly picks it back up.

The bell at the door tinkles, and when Iris sees who’s coming in, she smiles wide.

“Hey,” Iris whispers. “You really love the Flash?”

William nods eagerly. Iris looks over his head and makes eye contact with her boyfriend.

“I can promise you,” Iris says, her gaze still pinned to Barry, “He comes through here at least every Tuesday.”

.

[ask-the-freelancers]

Drift

The Project Freelancer/ Pacific Rim AU nobody asked for.

Rating: T 

Ensemble Cast, Minor Pairings if you squint

Warnings: Character Death

-- 

Drifting with Maine is exhilarating. She sees it all, relives two lifetimes the span of moments, and comes out stronger for it.

“Testing. Sigma Inferno, do you read.” Carolina and Maine nod together, the Jaeger mimicking the move, smooth and fluid. They nod.

“Excellent job, Sigma Inferno,” the Counselor says. He sounds pleased. He should be. They’re flawless.

“Alright,” 479’er says, taking over. “Let’s take ‘em out for a couple laps around the Mother of Invention, make sure everything’s in working order. Clear a path.”

The hangar bay opens, and they take one step, two. Her muscles burn with the strain of moving against the pilot rig, but it‘s a good burn. It works. —

York had expected to get partnered with Carolina. 

Well. Maybe expected is the wrong word. Wanted. He likes her, and, as far as he can tell, the feeling is mutual. Or she’s really good at tolerating him.

Then neural handshake simulation stats come back and he wilts. Their connection is shaky at best. She gets partnered with someone else.

North is the next best thing, but he’s more compatible with his twin, and that takes priority.

So York is just… partnerless for awhile. 

And then Texas arrives.

He doesn’t really know what to make of her, at first. She certainly doesn’t act like a rookie. Maybe they picked her up from some other branch of the military, because she doesn’t seem the slightest bit discomforted by life in the Mother of Invention. She’s got this dry, easy humor—not quite the jokester York is, but she goes along with his bits more often than not, and it feels like she’s joining more than tolerating.

They run a sim together.  And they crush it. 

— 

Theta Sanguinea sings.

South loves it. She loves the strength, the invincibility of it all, the knowledge that she’ll never be powerless again.

North is slightly more… measured in his admiration. She can tell he nearly as obsessed as she is—doesn’t even need the drift to tell, not when she’s had a lifetime of experience reading him. 

There are days, though, where he shows it.

Like when they react on instinct, throwing up their dome shield and blocking acid spit, and then open a gap just wide enough to slam their blade into the belly of a Kaiju, and North howls.

Their expressions are mirrored, teeth bared and eyes wide, and they feel powerful.

— 

According to official records, Gamma Sinensis rarely sees combat. It is, supposedly, largely defunct and outdated.

Its pilots would disagree.

“Good morning, Reggie!” Florida chirps. “You’re looking absolutely peachy on this fine day.”

“Butch,” Wyoming says dryly. “Energetic as ever.” Florida is awfully chipper for someone who’s probably sweat through his undersuit three times over, and also holding a trainee in a chokehold with his legs. 

Wyoming drums his fingers against his thigh, and his partner’s eyes brighten. 

“I’ll be right along,” Florida says, finally releasing the wheezing cadet and letting them crawl to join the ranks of a dozen other red-faced rookies.

He’s halfway down the hall by the time Butch catches up, tugging his hair loose from the long braid as his eyes crinkle.

“Where to?” he asks, running his hands through his hair, and Wyoming hands a datapad.

Florida’s smile turns sharp.

— 

Proditor Delta, they call it. 

“It’s equipped with self-repairing nano-tech that will patch any superficial to moderate damage to the hull,” the Counselor explains calmly. He pauses. “Perhaps,” he says, “nanotech is misleading. Bots, perhaps.”

York watches as geometric bots scuttle across the Jaeger, the shape shifting as it sets itself in place to fill a misshapen hole. Neat. 

“So why us, specifically?” he asks. “I mean, wouldn’t be more useful for one of the more active teams?” “Proditor Delta has a… unique weapon loadout,” Price replies delicately.

“Explosive whip-flail,” 479’er supplies helpfully. “And rocket punches.”

Tex lets out a low whistle. Price makes a faint, vaguely displeased sound, and Niner winces and fades into the background.

—

Holo Striker is… different. “Ran outta Greek letters,” York comments jokingly, and CT shakes her head. 

Beside her, Wash tilts his head, looking pensive. “It’s… kinda small?” he manages. 

“It’s not the size that matters,” North quips, “it’s how you—”

He only barely dodges the kick that South sends his way, chuckling softly. 

— 

Felix stares up at the Jaeger, head cocked contemplatively.

“We could steal it,” he offers, and Locus scoffs.

But then Felix turns to face him, and he’s got that look in his eyes. “I want to steal it,” he declares.

Within the hour, Disgraziata Fortuna is theirs.

—

Maine is acutely aware of the moment Carolina falls unconscious. He knows because, at that very moment, every ounce of the Jaeger’s control falls on him, and the weight is crushing.

They had been doing fine��better than fine, they were winning—and then the second fucking Kaiju tore out of the water and buried its claws in the cockpit, ripping out half the cabling and exposing the pilots, and Carolina had gotten flung against the wall. She slides down, limp, blood dripping down her temple and she’s not piloting anymore.

His head feels like it’s splitting open, but he needs to get them out of here, get them someplace safe, far enough that they can get out of the Jaeger and run. 

One step. One of the Kaiju screeches, and there’s a horrible, awful, wrenching sensation and there’s a vacuum where his left arm should be. Good thing, maybe. Less for him to control. 

Another step. A blow to the side sends him careening into a skyscraper, Carolina’s body rolling lifelessly, dangerously close to the hole in the cockpit, and Maine wrenches then upright. 

Another step. 

He can’t fail. Not now.

—

The Kaiju that comes next is only barely not a level five, possibly for the reason that no one wants to admit that things are bad enough for fives to be showing up. 

They call for backup.

479’er reports that they’re dropping in Sigma Inferno to assist, and Wash calls an affirmative and— 

There’s an ear-splitting crash. The Kaiju’s bladed tail cleaves through metal, cuts through to the Jaeger's core— 

Pain. Searing pain, lancing through his temples, and he doesn’t realize he’s screaming until his throat is hoarse and CT is—

CT is impaled on the Kaiju’s tail. Blood drips from her mouth, the end of the spike protruding from her back. 

He’s mouthing her name as the Kaiju roars and wrenches it’s tail out of the Jaeger. Metal screeches and bends, cables snapping—

CT is gone. There’s a gaping hole where his copilot should be. 

He’s still screaming. 

—

Tex crosses her arms, contemplating the Jaeger.

“It needs a name change, I think,” York comments. “Nice change of pace. Defecting and all that.” 

Tex makes a low, thoughtful sound. “...Omega,” she says. Her eyes are bright. “Renegade Omega.”

York grins crookedly, the raggedly line of his scar twisting over his cheek. “Catchy,” he says. “I like it.” Then, “We should paint it black.”

—

Carolina looks up. “Are you sure?”

Wash is staring at his hands. “No. But I want to.” He looks up, meets her eyes. “If it’s you, then I want to try.”

She sighs. The shadows under his eyes mirror hers. “Okay.”

The neural handshake connects—but just barely.

Barely is enough. Epsilon Memoriam is theirs.

[chloca-cola]

Bear Witness Chap 2

Here's the next chapter in my story! I hope everyone enjoys it as much as the first!

TW: more Leon annoying, fluffy, swearing. Nothing major!

Pairings: Leon x Reader

Word count: 1,718

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Leon awoke later that morning to find your face mere inches from his and he jerked away from you, nearly falling off the bed into the floor. You howl with laughter, straightening to your full height as Leon rubbed the sleep from his eyes, brows furrowed in a mixture of confusion and annoyance 

      "What the hell are you doing in my room? Is that my shirt?" He asked, sitting up, looking you up and down, while making sure the sheets were covering his lower half and you drank in his toned chest approvingly. 

       "I got cold, man. I don't have any long sleeved shirts, and you seem to have an over abundance, so...yoink. Mine now." You smile, striking a few ridiculous poses, laughing at yourself as you did, unknowing that Leon was checking you out. If you hadn't looked so damn cute in his shirt, he would have asked for it back. But the way you had it haphazardly buttoned, one side was daintily skewed on your shoulder, hair still messy from sleep, he couldn't bring himself to deny himself seeing you this way.

        "Ok, but why are you in my room?" You stopped posing, a shocked look on your face that he didn't ask for his shirt to be returned, a light dust a pink dusting your cheeks, but you quickly shook it off and ran over to his curtains and flung them open, causing him to flinch and shield his eyes with his hand.

        "The days half over, let's go out." He sighed, shaking his head, which he found himself doing a lot with you.

        "You know you can't-"

        "Blah, blah, blah. What can we do then?" You leaped on his bed, sitting beside him, waiting for his answer. Leon grumbled at your upbeat attitude so early in the morning.

         "We stay here. We can watch a movie or something. (Y/n), you gotta lay low." You sighed and laid back on the bed in an overly dramatic fashion.

         "That's no fun. Wait! I know what we could do!" You sit back up in a hurry, smiling flirtatiously. "You know, we are in a bed." You whisper, scooting a little closer to him. "You know what that means, right?" You lean in closer to him, eyes hooded looking at him through your lashes and he didn't retreat from your advances.

         "We really shouldn't-" Leon got cut off by a pillow to his face, and he crossed his arms over his face to block another strike.

         "Pillow fight!" You shouted, sitting up on your knees, pummeling him over and over with the goose down pillow, laughing maniacally. You even hear a few soft chuckles come from Leon, as he took up his own pillow and started trying to fight you off of him.

         After several minutes, he finally gets you to stop, you were still laughing loudly, your hair messy and in your face, but then what he started to say bounced around in your head.

        "Wait...what did you think I meant?" Leon looks at you wide eyed and this cheeks dusted pink causing you to gasp loudly, slapping his shoulder playfully. "You are a pervert!" You hopped off the bed and made your way to the kitchen. "I'm hungry, perv, are you?"

        "I'm not a pervert!" He shouted, quickly leaving the bed and getting dressed, hurriedly trying to follow you to keep an eye on you after you left last night.

         You turn and run into him, you stagger back a few steps, looking up at him, placing your hands on your hips.

         "Are you gonna follow this close through the whole condo?" He shrugged into his shirt, and you watching his muscles ripple as he moved around, wanting to reach out and touch them.

        "After last night, yeah." He replied and you scoffed, waving him off.

        "Ugh why are you so obsessed with me?" You asked, sounded like a spoiled rich kid and he sputtered through words.

       "I'm not...it's not like...it's my job!" He finally landed on an excuse and you laughed loudly at him again.

       "Whatever, dude. You know how to cook?" You asked, digging through the cabinets for pots and pans, looking over your shoulder after several beats of silence. 

        "I can make pancakes." You turned to fully face him, clapping your hands together.

        "That's amazing. Have at it, Emeril." 

 

     Leon kept his eyes on you at first, not trusting you wouldn't try to pull something on him, but you gave him a sweet innocent smile, motioning for him to proceed. He finally shrugged , inhaling deeply as he collected the ingredients he needs to make breakfast for you both.

      "Need help? I'm not completely dense when it comes to cooking." You offer, clasping your hands behind you back, rocking back and forth like an excited child.

      "Can you measure out how much of the pancake mix we need?" You stood at attention, saluting him, your chest puffed out, and he rolled his eyes, but a soft smile tugged at his lips at your antics. "And whatever you do, don't-" His warning came too late as a handful of mix landed in his face, the cloud flying high in the air before settling on your hair and his own, and you stifle a laugh. "Throw it in my face." He finished, blowing some of the flour mix from his face, wiping it from his eyes. 

       "Gotta be faster than that, Leon." You teased him, shakey the mess from you hair, laughing loudly, as you then reached over to dust it out of his silky hair. He leaned down to you so you could reach him better and you both shared a look that lasted for several ticks, before you clear your throat, and clapped him on the chest. "All clean!" A puffy cloud flew from his shirt and it caused you to laugh even harder. You moved to the bowl you pulled down and began to help Leon cook breakfast.

      After you both had your fill, you leaned back on the couch, turning on the TV to see what news you could find, and Leon watched you as you stared at the TV intensely. He knew he shouldn't be, that his task was to keep you safe and nothing more, but here he is, memorizing your profile to his memory, the soft curve of your cheek, how soft your lips looked. You are aggravating, but endearing at the same time. Unafraid of just being who you are, not caring what others thought of you. Yet, he found himself confused that you seemed so carefree of your predicament.

       "Do I have something on my face?" You ask, a teasing smirk on your lips as you caught Leon staring and he scoffed, waving his hand dismissively, shifting on the couch.

       "No, I was trying to figure out why you're so damn annoying." You snort, shoving him playfully, and he batted you away, standing from the couch. "I'm gonna go shower. Stay. Here." You gave him the 'ok' symbol, going back to the TV. 

       

      A few minutes passed before his phone started ringing from its place on the island and you chewed the inside of your cheek before curiously pulled you to the phone. 

      "Hunnigan?" You say to yourself before shrugging and answering. 

      "Oh...hello (y/n), I was expecting Leon." The bespectacled woman greeted, and you smiled and waved since it was a video chat.

       "He's jacking it in the shower." You say casually, laughing at Hunnigan's expression. "Kidding...I think anyway. What's up, can I help you with something? Give him a message?" 

      "It's nothing urgent, just wanted to wish him a happy birthday." Your eyes widened to the size of dinner plates.

       "No fucking way! It's Skennedy's birthday? Holy damn!" Without thinking you disconnect the call, grabbing his car keys and bolted out the door.

      Leon stepped back into the living room, his hair still damp, a towel draped over his shoulders, in nothing but a pair of jeans. He froze upon seeing the couch empty and the TV still on, and he cursed under his breath.

     "Does she not understand what stay here means?" He growled, throwing the towel at the couch, rushing to his room, pulling a shirt over his head.  He was nearly back to the front door when you strolled back in carrying a small bag, humming to yourself.

     "Oh hey, my man. Where's the fire?" Leon scowled at you, as you tossed the keys back into the table, setting the bag down next.

      "Why in the hell can't you just stay in this damn condo!" He shouted at you, gripping your shoulders and giving you a small shake, causing your hair to fall about your face.

        "Dude, chill out. I just went to the store." He squeezed his eyes closed hard, trying to stay as calm as he could, but you knew how to push every single one of his buttons and he shook you again, opening his eyes.

        "You could get snatched out there-" His sentence faded as you grasped his forearms, a softness in your eyes he didn't know you could exude.

        "I found out it's your birthday and I wanted to get you something nice…" You explained, reaching into the bag and pulling out a box of condoms, holding it up triumphantly and a look of sheer embarrassment was slapped onto his face and you roared with laughter. "Oh my god, your face!" You were nearly wheezing as you waved your hand, breaking free from his grasp to pull out the real gift, still miming his face as you did before holding out a small mug that had 'you're the best' in cursive on the side. You smiled brightly as he took it from you. "Happy Birthday, Leon. I know I've been a pain...you're a lot nicer than Jenkins was though."

        "Perkins." He corrected absently, overwhelmed by how sweet of a gesture this was considering you've only known each other for roughly a day. You rolled your eyes at the correction.

       "Whatever." You answer flippantly, tossing the box of condoms back in the bag. "It's my turn to shower. You stay here." You mimicked his cadence and tone, giggling as you left him standing and staring at his gift.

        "Thanks, (y/n)." 

~~~~~~~~~~~

@imagineleonkennedy @kezikatescribbling @locus-desperatus @mitsuintheworks @disneymarina @nthevalkyrie

[schraubd]

Collected Thoughts on Excluding Omar and Tlaib

I've got another kidney stone. It struck on Monday, and then I felt pain Tuesday, Wednesday, and today. Thursday was my only pain-free day this week, and I have to assume that was the universe balancing the scales and recognizing that the Israeli government's truly terrible decision to exclude Reps. Ilhan Omar (D-MN) and Rashida Tlaib (D-MI) from the country was plenty enough aggravation on its own. I went on a pretty vigorous tweet storm all through yesterday. Below I bullet point most of what I expressed on that site (which, as you may know, I've taken "private"), but my main takeaway is this: There's no serious case that either Congresswoman present a security threat to Israel (I've seen some people insinuate that they might incite a riot at the Temple Mount which -- I'm not sure I can physically roll my eyes hard enough). In practice, the "risk" Omar and Tlaib present is simply that they will hear  mean things about Israel and then say their own mean things about Israel. That's the locus of the complaint about the "balance" of the trip; that's the locus of the accusation that they merely want to rabble-rouse. What people are concerned about is they will go to the West Bank, hear people saying mean things about Israel, and repeat those mean things back to American audiences. But -- and I mean this in all earnestness -- so what? So what if that's what happens? To be clear: I don't think Omar and Tlaib were coming just to say mean things about Israel. But even if they were -- there's no security threat. The state will survive (how pathetic would it be if it crumbled?). It'd be speech. It'd be discourse. That's the price of living in a liberal, free society. Sometimes people say mean things about you. Sometimes those mean things are unfair. Sometimes those mean things are entirely fair. Whatever. It comes with the territory (pun initially not intended, but I'll own it now). It's not a valid basis for a travel ban. It used to be that Israel was emphatic that "come see us and you'll think better of us". Now Israel is terrified that if people come see them--at least, see them unchaperoned, without a constant guiding hand ensuring they see only the choice parts--they'll think of worse of them. That's the sign of a society in decay. To be sure, I think Omar and Tlaib probably would come away from their visit with a rather grim appraisal of Israel's treatment of Palestinians. But then, there's ample basis to appraise that treatment grimly--there's no inherent foul there. People can come to the West Bank and be honestly appalled by what they see. Only police states confuse "people saying mean things" with security threats. A free society can survive--and perhaps even learn from--critics giving it grim appraisals. People talk a huge game about how Omar and Tlaib could "learn" from their trip to Israel and Palestine -- and no doubt they could. But the flip side is that Israel, too, can learn from the testimony of Palestinians laboring under occupation, and from efforts to bring that testimony to the fore. It is wrong -- not to mention insulting -- to treat discourse about Israel/Palestine as if it were a one-way street, where wise, omniscient Israeli/Jewish teachers dribble knowledge onto benighted, ignorant Muslims and Arabs. Below is a recap of my other collected thoughts on the matter (many but not all of which were on Twitter):

This was a terrible and unjustified decision. Let's lead off with that and give it its own bullet point all to itself.

There is no reason to think that this decision was "what Omar and Tlaib wanted" since it made Israel look authoritarian and repressive. That is projection, to avoid speaking the more uncomfortable conclusion that "Omar and Tlaib might have had a point" in suggesting Israel acts in an authoritarian and repressive fashion.

I neither think this decision was solely Trump's doing -- Israel "caving" to his pressure -- nor do I think he played no role in the decision. I think he successfully convinced Netanyahu to do something that he already kind of wanted to do in the first place, even knowing it probably was a bad idea. Trump was like the frat boy friend egging his buddy into doing another shot flight. That Bibi was probably dimly aware it wasn't the wisest decision in the world doesn't mean that he wasn't ultimately fulfilling his own desires. Ultimately, this was a decision of Israel's right-wing government and they deserve to take the full brunt of punishment for it.

I understand why everyone is calling this "counterproductive" from Israel, since it will undoubtedly give a huge boost to the BDS movement. But, as I wrote in the Lara Alqasem case, that really depends on what Israel is trying to "produce". In many ways, Bibi benefits from an ascendant BDS movement, just as they benefit from him; and he likewise benefits from a world divided between conservatives who love everything he does and liberals who loathe him. So the fact that this decision puts wind in the sails of BDS, while further lashing Israel to a purely right-wing mast and alienating it from erstwhile progressive allies, is not necessarily a miscalculation -- it's the intended and desired effect.

On that note, remember the other day when 21 Israeli MKs wrote to Congress and said that a two-state solution was "more dangerous" than BDS? Well, if you ever wanted an example of what it looks like to trade "increased BDS support" for "kneecapping two-state solution support", this was it (even though Tlaib isn't a two-stater -- Omar is -- this act was aimed like a laser at the most prominent base of support for two-stateism in America: that is, Democrats).

On the other hand, shouldn't these right-wing Israelis be more excited to welcome Tlaib than most other Congresspeople? After all, she opposes the "dangerous" two-state solution! Oh wait, I forgot: in her one-state world, everyone gets to vote. That won't do at all, will it?

I love Emma Goldberg description of how Israel will slide away from liberal democracy via Hemingway's description of how he went bankrupt: "Two ways. Gradually, then suddenly." And by love, I mean it gives me a sick feeling of recognition in my stomach.

Justifying the ban on the grounds that Omar and Tlaib's visit wasn't "balanced" because they weren't meeting with Israeli or Palestinian government figures, only NGOs, and these are bad NGOs -- spare me. To tell visiting U.S. politicians "you can come, but only if you speak with the 'right' people/visit the 'right' sites/speak the 'correct' words" sounds like something you'd hear from the North Korean embassy. Omar and Tlaib should be entitled to visit with whomever they want to visit, and come to whatever conclusions they end up coming to. If those conclusions are unfair, we should trust the ability to defeat them with more speech, not enforced silence. But again: we can't conflate "unfair" with "critical". It's entirely feasible that a fair-minded individual hearing testimony from West Bank Palestinians will come to a sharply critical conclusion.

Some of the attacks on the NGOs Omar and Tlaib were scheduled to meet with are the usual chad gadya (has a leader who's linked to a group which kicked the dog ....) nonsense, but there are some groups with some genuinely bad history. I've consequently seen people suggest that we need to also hold Omar and Tlaib accountable for their part in this fiasco for meeting with members of those groups. Fair enough: I'm happy to hold them accountable, weighted and prioritized in proportion to their relative culpability. In keeping with that metric, I might get around to returning to criticizing their draft itinerary sometime in 2035.

Fine, one more thing on the itinerary: Am I correct in reading it as taking Omar and  Tlaib either solely or primarily to the West Bank and East Jerusalem? If so, it's entirely understandable why they'd refer to those locales as "Palestine".

Rep. Tlaib initially applied for a humanitarian waiver to visit her family, which was approved, but then she backed out given the conditions the Israeli government was going to impose on the visit (basically, not engaging in "boycott activities"). The usual suspects are crowing: she cares less about her family than she does about boycotting! I say (a) Rep. Tlaib is well within her rights to not prostrate herself to the dictates of a foreign government seeking to humiliate her, and (b) what about the past few days gives anyone the confidence in the Israeli government's ability to fairly adjudge what qualifies as a "boycott activity"?

The argument that Israel, as a sovereign state, has a "right" to exclude whomever it wants substitutes a juridical argument for an ethical (and practical) one. Sovereign states are formally empowered to do all sorts of terrible and/or stupid things. This was one of them. Hearing nominal anti-BDS folks make this claim -- which could as easily be applied to "universities and academics have the right to collaborate (or not) with whomever they want to" is probably causing another kidney stone to develop as we speak.

The other thing is that Israel is proving itself completely incapable of exercising this "right" in a reasonable manner that distinguishes between genuine threats to national security and unhappiness that people sometimes come to Israel and then say mean things. One of the reasons we liberals seek to limit unchecked government power is precisely because of the suspicion that it won't be exercised responsibly or non-arbitrarily.

Of course, the fact that Israel also exercises the practical authority to exclude people not just from Israel-proper, but the West Bank as well, gives lie to the notion that Palestinians even conceptually could have their right to self-determination vindicated solely by voting in PA elections.

Silver lining: pretty much the entirety of the American Jewish establishment -- AIPAC, AJC, ADL, J Street, Simon Wiesenthal Center -- came out against this decision. Huzzah for that.

Tarnish on even that silver lining: the Conference of President's weak-sauce statement on the matter. "Many of the organizations expressed disagreement with the government’s decision", but "Ultimately, the government of Israel made its assessment of the countervailing arguments and acted upon their conclusion." Really, that's what you're giving us? It's amazing how the Conference doesn't care about the "consensus" of the Jewish community when that consensus is a progressive one.

When a prominent member of or institution associated with an outgroup does something awful, it is natural for members of that outgroup to feel acutely vulnerable. In part, that's because they know that this awfulness will be wielded against them; in part, that's because frequently they have feelings for or connections to the target person and institution, and it is painful to see them act in such a terrible fashion. Of course, that feeling of vulnerability needn't and shouldn't be the primary story as compared to those directly victimized by the awful behavior. But it is not per se wrong, or "centering", to acknowledge and validate the existence of the sentiment; nor is such an acknowledgment necessarily one that stands in competition with recognizing the direct damage of the instigating act.

The next time a Democrat occupies the Oval Office, I have to wonder what sort of penance is going to be demanded from the Israeli government for years upon years of insult and humiliation. It's not going to be back to as it was before. It's not even going to back as it was in the Obama administration. Democrats will -- rightfully -- insist that Israel pay a price for what it's been doing these past four (if not twelve) years. The flipside of recognizing the importance of preserving Israel as a bipartisan issue is that Israel aligning itself fully and completely with the Republican Party is going to come at a cost. It will be interesting to consider what that cost will be.

via The Debate Link https://ift.tt/2ZcVv85

[evolving-kalopsia]

Chapter one rough

“Medic 17, you’ve code 3 traffic at 2765 N Locus Ave. 37 year-old male complaining of chest pain and anxiety. No further info.”

Drew looks across the cab of the ambulance at his partner and flashes him a grin. “That’s dinner, Junk.”

“Fucking Albert!” Junk yells, putting the rig in drive as Drew hits the lights and sirens. “He’s not due to call for at least two days. Maybe he’s actually dying, for once. Don’t you still owe dinner from Margaret’s last call?”

“Nope. I got Thai for that one.” Drew says proudly.

“Fuck. Yeah.” Junk responds, slamming the shifter into drive.

The ambulance heads out of the parking lot and Junk hits the lights and sirens. Rush hour just ended, traffic is still a bit heavy. The ambulance weaves it’s way slowly through drivers that seem to have never seen an ambulance in their rear-view mirror before.

“Fucking Albert.” Junk repeats, gesturing at the Toyota in front of them. “And this fucking guy! Don’t stop, shit-head! Move the fuck over!”

The car in front slams on it’s brakes, pulling one of the three textbook panicked driver moves: brake slam, pulling to the left or staying the course, crawling at a slow crawl.

“Asian and female.” Drew says, upping the bet, “and I get dessert, too”

“Just because your Asian female can’t drive doesn’t mean they’re all like that.” Junk says as the car finally figures out that the screaming sirens behind it aren’t going around and pulls off to the right, halfway through the crowded intersection of stopped vehicles.

As the rig kicks forward again, they both look out the passenger window, “what the fuck” expressions already loaded on their faces.

The driver waves apologetically, mouthing sorry over and over as they pass.

The ambulance screams ahead, clear roads for a few more blocks. Ten per over the limit is what they’re allowed per company policy. Apparently Junk missed that page in the handbook.

“Well that was a surprise.” Drew says, looking in the side view mirror.

“Cute little white girls ain’t exempt from bad driving” Junk admonishes.

“Very cute.” Drew corrects him.

Junk looked sideways at Drew. “That’s creepy, old man.”

“It’s only creepy if I say it first.” Drew says, putting on his best creep smile.

Junk gives him a disgusted look and says “No, it’s creepy when you have that look on your face when you say it.” 

Drew feigns irritation, “It’s not a look, ok? It’s just my face, I can’t help the way I was born.”

“Exactly. Which is why everything you say is creepy.” Junk turns right onto Farley Ave.  Quicker than he should, jerking the wheel back to the left to avoid a dog in the street.

Drew barely glances up from his electronic chart, already halfway finished with it. He and Junk have been partners for seven years, Drew knows that Junk is all-pro behind the wheel. Seven years of fun and blood and guts, life and death. Buffoonery and bullshit. Seven years of betting meals at the beginning of the week, based on which frequent-flyer is going to call first.  

“Turn the fucking wheel, geezer!” Junk yells at the Buick ahead, the driver stopping halfway into the right lane.

“Shouldn’t assume they’re old. That’s profiling.” Drew says, chuckling.

“S’ a fucking Buick, man. Ain’t nobody under the age of sixty-five driving no Buick.” Junk says, waving out the window at nobody.

“Profiling.” Drew repeats

“Man, I am really not in the mood to smell Albert’s house today. Not at all.” Junk moans, thinking about what lies ahead;

Morbidly obese, 47 year-old diabetic, asthmatic, congestive heart failure, kidney failure, non-bathing rage-inducing EMS system-abusing Albert fucking Piffle.

As they pull up to Albert’s neighborhood, Junk kills the lights and sirens. The less people in this neighborhood that know an ambulance is sitting unguarded in the street, the better.

“Tonight’s the night. I can feel it” Junk says, pulling up in front of Albert’s trash-strewn lawn. “He ‘gon ride the lightning, we’re working him.”

“You keep saying it, and he keeps living. You’re jinxing us one way or another.” Drew grabs the computer off the dash as he gets out of the rig.

“Lock it, I’m not in the mood to go pawn-hopping on my day off.” Junk pushes his door lock down with his finger, the automatic locks long past working in this death-defying death trap of an ambulance.

They pull the gurney out, loaded with equipment they know they won’t need; Drug box, cardiac monitor, airway bag chock full of things they might use if this were a legitimate call. But it’s just Albert. He probably dropped his can of Spaghetti-O’s under the couch again. Or the TV remote is missing, stuck in a roll of back fat from the last time he managed to get moved from the couch and back under his own power. Or Albert’s just feeling extra bored and lonely. They bring the equipment even though they know they’ll be walking out of Albert’s shithole house, reeking of sweat and cat piss so bad they’ll change uniforms in the street before getting back in the rig.

They bring all that heavy, cumbersome equipment in because it’s got less chance of being ripped off in the house than out in the rig.

And the day they don’t lug all that shit in is the day they find Albert face-down in his own puke. Not so dead they can call it a night right there. They’ll find him just dead enough that they’ll have to actually work him. Roll his 400 lb carcass over and start compressions, cut his filthy clothes off and get him hooked up to the cardiac monitor, try to get at least one I.V. started, as well as call for assistance from another crew or two, just to get his ass on to the gurney in the event they actually get his ruined heart to start pumping blood again.

Junk leading the gurney, he doesn’t ring the bell or knock, doesn’t yell “EMS” into the house like he normally would. This is Albert. Junk just walks in, dragging the gurney with him as Drew pushes it from the rear, the wheels rolling across the stained carpet, a shade of some unnamable color distantly related to brown.

“Al!” Drew yells through his paper mask, donned by both of them automatically before reaching the porch. Not out of fear of catching anything, but from a lack of desire to smell the inside of Albert’s house. The masks barely do anything at all. Just enough to keep them from retching.

“Al!” He repeats, catching Junk’s quick glance back at him. It’s not like Albert to not answer.

Avoiding the piles of boxes and junk, they round the corner to the living room where they always find him; on the filthy couch surrounded by empty soda cans and chip bags and crusty food plates. Laptop opened on the snack tray, usually some Sci-Fi on the one large flat-screen tv, xbox or playstation on the other.  He’d always yell “Here guys!” when they’d call for him and it would make them grin, ever since Junk compared him to Sloth from the Goonies.

Junk stops as the room enters his field of view and looks back at Drew with an unamused smirk. Albert is on the couch, Xbox controller in his hands and a brand-new set of expensive-looking headphones over his ears.

Drew stares at him for a moment, a similar smirk on his face.

“Albert!” he yells. It gets Al’s attention and he jumps, risks a glance away from the screen and then he’s back in sniper mode.

“Hey guys.” Albert mutters, focusing on the screen.

Drew walks over as Junk heads back outside, pushing the gurney and cursing the whole way. He pulls the headphones off Albert’s head and sighs loudly.

“What’s the deal, Al?” Drew asks, looming over Albert.

“I kept reading online about how much better it is if you have headphones, you know? Like to hear guys’ footsteps and stuff when they sneak up? So I ordered these, they’re really good, Drew!” Albert says, grinning like a great big man-child with too few teeth and too many comorbidities.

“No, Al,” Drew exhales “why did you call for us? Dispatch said chest pain. I don’t give two shits about your headphones or electronic addiction.”

“Oh yeah sorry. Fucker! Fucking campers.” Albert yells, distracted by Call of Duty again as his character on screen dies.

Drew steps between Al and the T.V. and for a second Al looks like he’s going to object, but Drew’s eyebrow raise squashes his momentary outrage.

“I’m sorry, Drew. I had some chest pain, but I think it was just some anxiety. The internet was out for like an hour and I was starting to lose it a little. I forgot to call back. I’m good now, though.” Albert says, simultaneously giving an apologetic look and trying to see around Drew, who shifts his weight and keeps his vision blocked.

“One of these days, I’m going to come in here and take all your controllers and leave. I’ll show you some anxiety.” Drew says, making hard eye contact for a moment.

Albert’s eyes go a little wide, unsure how serious the threat is. He fidgets and reaches down next to the couch, grabbing a fresh battery off the charger and starts changing batteries on his controller.

Seriously? That’s not even funny, man. I said sorry.” Albert apologizes almost sincerely, putting his controller down on the arm of the filthy couch.

The voice in Drew’s head is telling him to let it alone, to just get on with his shift. But he can’t. No matter how burnt out he is, he has to try every time. Even just a little “Samantha still your case worker?” he asks, knowing full well that she is.

Albert’s eyes light up at the mention of the pretty girl that comes to his house once every other month to dot the I’s and cross the T’s on his paperwork so his handout money keeps coming in.

“Oh yeah, Sam was here last week. She looked hot.” Albert grins like a lovesick child.

“Sure. Right now,” Drew says “her Grandmother is dying on the kitchen floor, just three blocks away. I could be over there helping, but I’m here babysitting you. Maybe I’ll get out of here and catch that call. Have enough time to save her. Or maybe next time you see Sam, she’s a little less bubbly because she’s mourning the death of her beloved Grammy because it took the next available crew twenty minutes to get to her.”

“Her Grandmother’s dying? Right now?” Albert asks, almost panicked.

“Jesus!” Drew yells. He grabs the controller out of Albert’s hands and gets down low, points at his face.

“Stop abusing the fucking system, Albert. I’m not coming next time, I mean it.” Drew exclaims, holding eye contact before turning away and heading towards the door.

“Come on, man! Give me back that controller! Please? I won’t call again!” Albert pleads.

“If I don’t see you for a month, I’ll bring it back.” Drew yells as the door slams behind him.

“Oh C’mon!” Albert yells to the empty house.

He sits for a moment, wondering if Drew was serious about Sam’s Grandmother. He reaches down next to the couch and grabs another controller, mumbling “Whatever, sucker. You’ll be back.”

Junk’s already changed into a fresh uniform and packed the gear back up, taking a drag off his vape and says “Did you kill him? Please tell me you killed him.”

“My name’s not diabetes.” Drew mutters, still irritated  as he kicks off his boots and drops trou on the sidewalk, then pulls off his shirt and grabs his backpack from one of the outside compartments, pulls out clean clothes.

Junk takes another pull and offers it to Drew. “Want some? Helps get the smell out of your nose.”

“No” Drew refuses “ But you do look damn sexy sucking that robot dick. I see a future for you in robo-porn. You could be a pioneer.”

“You’re about to become famous, yourself.” Junk replies, motioning up the street. A group of young clowns two doors down have their phones out and are snapping pics of Drew in his skivvies.

Drew looks back at them and waves. “I’d better not see those on Ebay!” he yells, pulling his pants on.

A combination of laughs and catcalls come back, as well as “Chicken legs.”

Drew mocks surprise, turns to Junk. “Do I have chicken legs?”

Junk blows raspberry-scented vapor at him and laughs. “Yep. Chicken from neck to nuts, too. Speaking of, it’s taco time.”

Junk gets in the rig and starts it up, starts to pull away as Drew jogs to catch up and hop in before he gets left in this shitty neighborhood.

[the-fiction-witch]

Burlesque baby p1

REAL LIFE

COUPLE TBS X READER

RATING: SEXY

I smirked cleaning glasses and such still getting used to working in practically the dark  with the occasional black light or purple and red flashing lights, I had been hearing the other bar boys telling customers that someone was back at last I didn't know what they where talking about I've only been here a week after all

"Oi! Newbie!" My boss yelled across the bar

"Yes sir? And it's Thomas" I remind

"Y/n wants her usual, go give the girls where drinks" he says handing me a large tray with alot of various drinks on

"Uhh okay" I nod a little unsure

"Stage door at the back, watch the stairs" he says "ohh and deliver y/n's personally she prefers it that way" pointing to the door so I nodded going climbing the little stairs it opening up to back stage I had seen backstage when I first got the job but it was now busy with half naked girls all getting ready doing there hair and make up in there dressing gowns or there little outfits, clothes thrown all over the place I spotted a space so I put the tray down

"Yay! Girls the drink boys here!" One yelled and before I could even move all the girls attacked like a plage of locus grabbing and pulled and cat fighting each other all with me caught in the middle of it until the all disputed each having taken there drink I got my breath back after that and noticed the shaker and Martin glass still on the tray, oh right I'm meant to do one for that y/n girl, but how am I meant to know who she is?

"Hey uhh-" I began trying to ask the girl at the mirror closest to me

"Y/n's over there bar boy" a girl smiled  as she did her make up

"Ohh cheers" I smiled taking the tray to the little room off to the side, it was empty a beautiful vanity covered in make up and such like a rail of outfits and a little screen "uhh hello?" I ask

"Hello?" A voice asks just as a girl popped out from behind the screen in a little silk robe and  a pair of heels "ahh new boy" she sighed taking a seat at her vanity "go on then" she says so I blushed a little unable to stop looking at her as I made her drink for her and handed it to her she smiled having a sip "pretty good, slightly over shaken, you'll learn" shs winked "see you later bar boy" she smirked giving my cheek a kiss and going back behind her screen so I took everything back to the bar and for back to work as soon as I got down I noticed in the mirror behind the bar she had left a bright purple lipstick mark on my cheek so I blushed a little getting it off as the next song came on, I recognized the voice so I looked up and there she was in her little diamond bikini and long black gloves with her purple lipstick she started singing diamonds are a girls best friend, I was gobsmaked, I man I have been here a week I know every song that comes on is gonna have a hot girl in not alot I get it it's a burlesque club I got use to it but... she was amazing, she could sing, she could dance, she looked ridiculously sexy doing it until the song was done and every person in the club gave her a standing ovation cheering and screaming few even threw her flowers, she took her bow getting a few roses that where thrown at her she spoted me looking and winked at me before she ran off backstage

"You alright newbie?" My boss asks

"Uhhh yeah" I nod getting back to work as I noticed I had done nothing while the song was on.

"Girls want there pre open drinks" my boss yelled as we where getting ready to open tonight

"I'll go" mark sighed finishing his cleaning

"Sorry mark, take over the stock" he says

"Y/n wants her favourite bar boy" he smirked

"She does?" I blushed "what uhh what exactly did she say?"

"Why? Newbie got a little crush?" Mark laughed

"No!" I argue even if I knew I was blushing

"She said your the only one who mixes her drinks right" he laughs "go on" he says so I made all the drinks up and took them back to the girls they all grabbed there drinks still not dressed or made up yet

"We open in twenty girls, let's get Bras on already!" Someone yelled not sure who until it was just y/n's left so I went over putting my head around her door

"Hello?" I asked

"Hello" she smiled so I went in putting the stuff for her drink in the side she came out from behind her screen in a little blue dress taking her seat to do her make up

"Uhhh you uhh" I stutter looking at her

"Yes?" She asks

"You look beautiful" I told her

"Awww, thank you" she smiled giving my lips a little kiss I froze as she sat back down in shock that she kissed me before she coughed expectently so I blushed and made her drink up for her

"Y/n? Why do you always like your drink some in your dressing room?" I ask

"I find it goes slightly sour coming all the way from the bar if it's mixed at the bar, plus then you would do it and those boys don't know how I like it" she smirked "you working all night?" She asks and I nod "good, make sure you do last call I wanna see you about something" and smiled

"Yes mam," I nod

"And don't call me mam, y/n or I cut your dick off" she warns taking her drink

"Yes ma- y/n" I blushed going to leave but

"Hey? Come here" she says so I went over as she stood having the last of her drink before she rolled the sleaves of my shirt up to my elbows and undid a couple buttons on the top exposing some of my chest and messing with my uniform alot "there, do it like that it makes you look cute" she smiled

"Okay" i blushed heading back to the bar.

I blushed hard standing outside the stage doo making sure I looked nice and everything as some of the girls left so I ducked inside and went to y/n's dressing room knocking on her door

"It's open" shs says so I went inside she was just finishing sorting her hair as she stood in some tight red pants and a leather jacket

"Hey" i blush

"Hey" she smiled "can you walk me to my car? Some werid guy has been following me home" she says

"Of course yeah" I smiled getting my stuff from the bar and walking out with her I did notice a few people loitering around as she got to her car

"Where's your car?" She asks

"It's alright I'll walk" I shrugged "it's not far home"

"Get I'll I'll drop you home" she smiled so u for in her car and directed her to my place

"Thanks for the lift y/n, guess I'll see you at work tomorrow" I blushed

"Yeah see you tomorrow" she smiled grabbing my shirt and kissing me I happily kissed her back my hand instantly going to her waist as we kissed till we pulled away "here..." She smiled handing me a bit of paper "call me later" she smiled

"Okay" I nodded giving her another kiss and going home.

I smirked cleaning glasses watching the girls do there song I saw her catch my eye so I winked at her so she smirked a little more as she sang climbing up on the bar to finishing up her song, people loved it as the lights went down so I offered her my hand to help her down "what was that?" I laughed

"I wanted to visit" she smiled giving me a cuddle

"Aww, okay, just warn people next time your planning in dancing on the bar" I laughed giving her a kiss "go on you've got another song in half hour" I tell her

"okay, see you later bar boy" she giggled

"Late my little burlesque baby" I smirk and sending her back to the dressing room.

[private-jaye]

Y'all want some rvb domestic chorus au? Boom.

Simmons' voice was shrill and high, broken as he screamed at his orange-clad companion.

"Oh my god! Grif! What the fuck did you do? Sarge is gonna be so mad!" The maroon soldier began to pace around the exploded remains of the jeep, head in hands.

Grif meanwhile, was leant up against the base in the shade of early morning, thinking over how he was going to break the news to his superior and their mechanic friend Lopez.

"Dude, you need to chill the fuck out and realize that Lopez'll fix it. We haven't gotten in trouble for something like this yet, why would that change now?"

Simmons let out a sharp breath and joined him at the side of the base, standing close and leaning against the cold alloy of the building.

"Well, you can at least help me clean this up before everyone else gets up.l," Simmons stood up again, walking behind a wall and shouting behind himself: "I'm getting the tool box get to work!"

The orange soldier stood up slowly, stretching and walking over to the wrecked vehicle. Just as he did so a sharp beeping began in his ears, he fell to his knees and put his hands to his head, blocked by the helmet he wore.

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

Grif sat straight up in bed, startled by his alarm. He hit the top of the small machine and wiped the single tear from his face. It'd been so long since Simmons died, why couldn't he move on?

Everyone else had moved on with their lives. Lopez and donut got together and lived in the same apartment building as himself and sarge, both people who had their loved ones ripped from them in war.

Sarges commanding officer from basic was his boyfriend and that guy was shot down by the covenant. Simmons was killed in their last stance against the UNSC a few years back, but they had spent so much time together it just didn't seem right to move on with his life without him.

"Grif, Donut and Lopez are here, they brought Michael and some banana bread." Sarge's voice was soft as he knocked gently on the bedroom door. "You up? You said we'd have them for lunch today, let's go."

"Yeah yeah, ok. I'll go get changed and stuff. Asshole." Grif gave his usual sarcastic answer and let Sarge's footsteps fade down the hall as he rolled out of bed, not at all ready to be out of bed.

In the living room, Donut was sitting on the coucj next to Lopez with Michael on his lap. The brown leather coat Lopez was wearing reminded Sarge of something, but he couldn't quite place it. The new android body that the spanish speaker had was also new, and he was tinkering with a little something and ignoring the current conversation. But put it away as his husband started talking.

"So, yeah. Michael is starting elementary school in a few days. I'm super exited and so is he. Isn't thay right Michael?" He looked down at the child in his lap, a pale faced, ginger haired boy littered with freckles. The boy had one robotic eye and a couple of robotic fingers. The boy jumped to his feet atop his father and exclaimed im exitement:

"Si! Si!" Lopez looked on in fondness as Donut wrangled their kid. Donut then looked him in the face and said to him seriously,

"Y que hay en ingles?"

"And what about in English?"

The boy looked at his lap, thinking, then looked right at sarge.

"Yes! Yes! Excited for school!" Sarge gave him a warm smile and was about to say something when Grif finally walked in.

"Hey guys, what's up. Lopez, loving the new body, Donut, is that hairdye? And You..."

Dexter looked at the small boy infront of him and all he saw was his long lost best friend, unable to form words he just stood there.

"Mi nombre es Michael!"

"My name is Michael!"

The young boy exclaimed, jumping off of his father to run and hug the new guest.

"Hola Michael, soy tu tío Grif."

"Hi Michael, I'm your uncle Grif."

His spanish wasn't the best, but he gave it a go. Donut flicked his cotton candy pink hair out of hus face and smiled warmly, beconing his adopted son.

"He speaks english too, it's just a little more dificult for him seeing as he has to learn both."

"Ok cool, can we eat now?" Grif went back to his usual tactics to take the attention away from his aching heart.

They sat down to eat and polite conversation about how the others are doing, if Wash and Tucker ever got together. Just catching up. Everyone had been split up for so long, it was nice. Donut mentioned wanting to get everyone back together and have like, a barbeque or something. Sarge quips that Grif can only go if he cleans his room, and Grif proclaims loudly that he will "Never!" And Michael follows his lead of revolution.

Later in the day they call up some old friends and make plans for a barbeque. Almost All of red team, Kai, Tucker and wash. Carolina, Grey and Kimball all still live on chorus as well. Caboose is on the earths moon taking up his father's work, with the help of Locus but was asked to come as well and they accepted. That's how the story ends, just a wholesome get-together in a barbeque area on chorus.

[phantomwarrior12]

Finally Home (End)

Summary: Sometimes the journey home is the hardest part, but it’s a journey well worth it.

Word Count: 3,444

Warnings: Canon-style swearing, angst, fluff, the works

A/N: Hey folks!

This is it, the final chapter of Saudade. It’s been a journey, for lack of a better word. I began this series a little under a year ago and I don’t think I’ve had this much fun exploring a character’s psyche as I did with Felix. :)

Thank you to all of y’all who stuck around and took an interest in this story, despite my...unreliable posting schedule. Y’all are fabulous and I love you!

Enjoy this final chapter! :)

~ Phantom

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

"You're nightmares are getting worse."

Isaac allows the heels of his hands to fall away from his eyes, stars and spots fading with ever blink.

"What?"

"You spent the night tossing and turning...and screaming." Sam doesn't look up from his sniper rifle, running a cloth over the scope for what seems like the hundredth time.

"They're not that bad," Isaac waves him off, pushing himself upwards from the bed and shuffling across the floor to wash his face.

"Really?" Skeptical inquiry.

"Yes. Now let it go," Isaac snaps, splashing cool water over sweat-slicked skin.

"Felix--"

"Let. It. Go." Isaac retorts, turning a meaningful glower on his partner.

Sam arches an eyebrow but turns back to the weapon in his hand, "Mason reached out."

The towel drops away from his face as he wheels about to face Sam, "What'd he say?"

"He was checking in, wanted to see if we had reconciled."

"And what'd you tell him?" Isaac arches an eyebrow, folding his arms across his chest.

Sam levels grey on the lean mercenary, gauging the expression etched into his partner's features, "That it's a work in progress."

Isaac tilts his head, amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth, "How very Locus of you."

"What does that even mean?"

Isaac offers a shrug and turns back to the dated mirror, "You've always been a cautious guy, Ortez. You don't rush into things or jump to conclusions. You like to take things slow."

"Experience has dictated--"

"--you rely a little too much on past experiences, Sam. People change and you gotta adapt."

Sam rolls his eyes and returns to reassembling his weapon, "sometimes caution is the best adaptation."

Isaac waves him off as he shuffles back over to his cot, collapsing onto the sheets with a sigh, "Cautious is no way to live, Sam."

"No, but it's a good way to stay alive." Sam returns, deliberately avoiding Isaac's eyes.

"Fair enough," Isaac concedes, rolling onto his side to watch his partner give the rifle one final inspection.

"Ortez?"

He receives a grunt of acknowledgement.

"You ever think about leaving?"

Sam pauses, hesitant as he lays the weapon back on the table and turns to face Isaac, "Sometimes. Why?"

"Well, we've been here for a little over a year and half, and while the Reds and Blues and their petty bickering are amusing, shouldn't we be doing something more? I mean, don't get me wrong, the guys are great and all, but, it doesn't feel right, you know?"

Sam nods slowly, "I know what you mean. Does this mean you want to leave?"

"Maybe. I don't know." Isaac scrubs at his face, rubbing at weary bags beneath his eyes. "I want to see Mason again, see the girls. I'm tired of this life, and while these guys have given us somewhere to live, it doesn't feel like home, Sam."

Sam hesitates, something so characteristic of his brother, Isaac almost laughs at the irony of it all so soon after their initial conversation starter.

"I miss them, too," the stoic mercenary admits at last, meeting Isaac's eyes across the room, "the last time we saw them, they were--"

"--just kids. Mel'll practically be an adult. And Miki? She's nearly out of high school." There's a shadow of a smile that Sam hasn't seen in years, "It'd be nice to see them again."

"Then we're going home."

Isaac sits up abruptly, a reaction, he believes Sam wasn't anticipating given the way his frame stiffens, "Just like that?"

"It's what you want, isn't it?"

Isaac starts to answer, but now, it's his turn to hesitate. For so long, they've done what Isaac wanted, and he doesn't like where it's gotten them. So, he swings his feet onto the floor and levels a solemn gaze on the larger mercenary, "Is it what you want, Sam?"

There's a heavy silence in the room, one that Isaac dearly wishes Sam would break. He's tired of making the decisions, it's why they ended up in this mess the first time around. He won't make the same mistake twice. This time--this time Sam's taking the wheel.

"Yes."

"Then let's go home."

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

Every nerve screams, every tendons pleads. It's a rush of sensations, it's nothing but shredding cartilage and shattering bones.

It's all he can remember, all he can feel, and yet, he's still free falling.

"Sam!"

He grapples for something, anything to slow his descent, but it's too late. The rocks are close and there's no saving him now.

He's gone.

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

Isaac awakes in a panic to Sam shaking his sweat-coated frame with something closely resembling terror in his eyes.

"Isaac!"

It takes a moment, but when he regains his bearings, slowly realizing how tightly he's gripped Sam's forearms, he recoils.

"What happened?" He croaks, eyes drifting to his trembling hands, throat dry from the screams.

"You had a nightmare." Sam loosens his vice grip on Isaac's shoulders, steadying his shaking form.

"God, it was so real." He murmurs, flexing his hands to try and regain some semblance of control.

"You're all right," Sam tries to assure him, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze, struggling to calm his own racing pulse.

Both sets of eyes snap to the door when Carolina and Washington stumble in, mirroring looks of concern and terror.

"Are you guys okay?" Carolina steps into the room, emerald darting in search of potential threats.

"We're fine, Isaac--"

"--had a nightmare. Sorry I woke you, guys." Isaac mumbles out an apology, eyes dropping back to the blankets tangled around his legs.

The siblings exchange a look, before Wash takes a cautious step closer, "You okay?"

"Yeah. I'm fine."

"You wanna talk about it?"

"No."

"Felix--"

"--Wash." Isaac cuts him short, lifting pained brown from the blankets to settle on the the younger Freelancer, "I'm okay. You guys can go back to bed. Sorry I woke you."

His voice is gentle, drained of the fire they've grown so accustomed to hearing. He shifts, straightening his blankets before sliding back down under the covers, rolling on his side away from his partner and the Freelancers.

Sam gives his shoulder a gentle squeeze and stands, ushering the others out, closing the door behind him.

They're talking. It's hushed and garbled through the door, but it's just clear enough for the lean mercenary to make out the end of their conversation.

"You sure he's gonna be okay?"

Wash. Always so considerate, always so worried about everyone else more so than himself.

"It won't be easy, but he'll get through this."

"We'll help where we can." Carolina's voice drifts beneath the door, and for a moment, she almost sounds like Vanessa. He rolls onto his back, zeroing in on her voice, eyes glued on the ceiling.

For a moment, he's back on Chorus, standing beside her and going over reports. For a moment, he isn't lying, for a moment, he isn't planning to betray her, for a fleeting moment, all is right.

"Dammit," Isaac mumbles, struggling, with everything he has, to brush the memory aside. He rubs at his eyes, tears pricking, soul screaming, guilt gnawing.

He slams the side of his fist against the metal wall beside him, as if pounding the wall will silence the memories. It almost works, but the collision startles the group outside the door.

Sam steps inside, Freelancers stealing a glimpse over his shoulder at the tense mess on the cot.

"Isaac?" Sam approaches, kneeling beside his brother, "Isaac, what's wrong?"

It's almost a whisper and Isaac can't find the strength or the words to answer him. Carolina gently nudges Sam back, allowing her to take a seat at Isaac's side.

"It's all right." She lays a hand on his forearm, her voice low and calming.

"It's not." He pushes her hand aside, pushing himself to sit up, roughly wiping away the tear stains on his cheeks.

"What's going on, man?" Washington ventures closer, kneeling beside Sam, quietly searching Isaac's defeated eyes for a single spark of life.

"Don't worry about it."

He jolts slightly when Carolina's hand rests on his shoulder, dragging his eyes up to meet emerald. There's a gentle smile etched into her features, something he never imagined he'd receive from the usually intimidating Freelancer.

"It's okay to be vulnerable, Felix. Nightmares are nothing to be ashamed of, it's just an unfortunate part of being soldiers."

"It's not the nightmares, those I can handle."

Sam lets out a disbelieving snort, earning him a jab from Wash's elbow. The mercenary levels an annoyed look on the youngest Church, one that Washington promptly ignores in favor of asking the inevitable question. 

"Then what is it?"

 "It's stupid." he grumbles in response, winding his fingers into the blanket and clenching his fist.

"Gates," a chiding tone from Sam, "we talked about this."

"I know, I know. I need to open to the others more."

"This would be a good start."

Isaac's shoulders sag, "Fine." He lifts his gaze, hazel settling on Carolina's curious expression.

"Before you guys showed up on Chorus, Sam and I had already been there for a couple years. In that time, we got to know some of those people pretty well--at least I did." He swallows the lump in his throat, every ounce of his being screaming for him to stop there, but he pushes through. He needs to get past this, he needs some semblance of closure.

So, he squares his shoulders, gathering what remains of his dignity and looks to Carolina, "You sound a lot like Kimball. Same attitude, same tone, and, I guess--I guess I got some flashbacks. Not everything I said to Kimball was a lie, and it's the things I didn't say that bite me in the ass now."

"Oh my God." Wash stares, "you were in love with her."

"I wasn't in love with her! It was a mutual respect." Isaac protests, turning a scowl towards the blonde Freelancer.

"No, I think Wash is right in this case." There's a hint of amusement tugging at the corner of Carolina's lips.

"I'm not with in love with her!" The lean mercenary bites back bitterly.

"They're right, Felix." Sam contributes coolly, folding his arms across his chest.

"Oh, don't you start too!"

"Have you talked to her?" Carolina interjects.

"No. I doubt she even knows I'm alive."

"Oh, she knows." Wash rubs the back of his neck, avoiding Isaac's gaze.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Caboose might've let it slip a couple weeks ago."

"I'm actually quite surprised that he made it this long." Carolina snorts, shaking her head.

"Then why the hell am I still alive? I would've thought their entire military would be knocking at our door."

"Kimball is still trying to sort out the whole freedom thing with the UNSC. They don't really want to let go of Chorus now that they know they had it at one point." Wash supplies, "so, she quite literally has been too busy to kill you."

"Thanks, Wash. That's very reassuring," Isaac retorts with a deadpan expression.

"I think what Wash is trying to say is that she, like you, has been too busy to cope with the full spectrum of emotion your survival no doubt brought back. You should talk to her."

"I'd be dead before I made the lobby."

"Not if we came with you." Wash jumps in, "Locus already got a full presidential pardon from Kimball for saving my life."

"It's not gonna be that simple, Wash."

"Isaac," Sam captures his attention, "it's something that needs to happen. We'll be there beside you, no matter what."

The lean mercenary glances between the Freelancers and his partner, shoulders sagging, "Alright. I guess we're making a stop at Chorus."

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

"I don't like this idea." Isaac stares down the door and his feet are rooted in place.

"We made it all the way here, you can do this." Carolina lays a hand on his shoulder.

"Does she know I'm coming?"

"No. We thought it best to...surprise her?" Washington offers with a shrug.

"Right, because surprising the leader of a planet who no doubt has a gun nearby is a great plan."

"She's not going to kill you." Sam retorts evenly.

"Easy for you to say, you have the presidential pardon."

Carolina rolls her eyes and opens the door, stepping inside with Sam and Wash close behind.

"Kimball?"

"Agent Carolina, this is a surprise." The president of Chorus stands, offering a warm smile to the three visitors.

"Oh, the surprises don't stop here," Wash scratches the back of his head.

"What does that--?"

She never gets to finish. Sam steps aside and Isaac slowly shuffles inside the room, hands shoved in his pockets, frame tense and eyes bleeding warmth.

"Felix--you--I thought--"

"Hey, Vanessa." He tries a slight smile, eyes drifting across her face.

"You're alive. When Caboose said--I didn't think he was serious."

"Surprise."

The disbelief ebbs away, and Isaac wants nothing more than to shy away from the glare that grips her features.

"Why are you here?"

Isaac remains silent, looking anywhere other than the woman behind the desk. It isn't until Carolina elbows him and nudges him forward that he can find his courage.

"I came to see you."

"Why?" It's sharp, detached.

"Because," a quiet fuck slips out under his breath and he unburies his hands, striding closer with more confidence than he has, "because I've spent too long running from my past. What I did here, what I did to you, was wrong. No amount of apologizing will change that fact. But what I do hope to change is where I go from here."

Kimball eases herself to her feet, meeting the lean mercenary's gaze evenly, "Why?"

"Because you're important to me."

Kimball's expression softens, lips parted in something resembling shock.

"Not a day goes by that I don't think about you and wish that I could go back and change all of it." He leans on the desk, "I wanted to tell you, god, so many times what you meant to me. Every lie, every choice I made was hell because I didn't want to betray you."

"Then why did you?" her voice softens, violet darting across hazel, searching for an answer just out of reach.

"Because fighting in your war was a job. I wasn't supposed to get attached, I wasn't supposed to fall in love with you, but I did. And when it came down to you or the job, I chose the latter because I wasn't ready to sort through all the emotions. By the time I realized it, it was too late."

His voice falters for a moment, "I realize that what I've done is unforgivable, but I'm asking nonetheless because I need to know." His hand slides to rest on top of hers, hazel locking on violet with a desperation Kimball's never seen before.

"I'm sorry, Vanessa. Will you forgive me?"

She hesitates, indecision gripping her frame and Isaac's almost certain she's going to tell him to go to hell. He's surprised when she leans forward, lips brushing against his in a moment he'll cling to for the rest of his life.

It's brief, a whisper of skin and Isaac's not even sure it happened, but when she pulls back, hand sliding out from underneath his and she stands with her hands clasped behind her back, he tenses.

"You're forgiven, Felix. I don't know what you've gone through, what hell you've walked to come to terms with what you are, but it's enough. I can't promise you a home here on Chorus, it's not even safe for Locus. There's too much residual hatred for you two, but I can promise you that your reconciliation with your humanity will be noted and that might, one day, grant you a place here."

She's distant, but he can read the signs. It's a goodbye, a promise and a hope all at once.

"Thank you."

She offers a solemn nod, "Goodbye, Felix."

The corner of his mouth tugs upward, "See you around, Kimball."

He doesn't speak until they're nearly to the landing pad, lost in his own thoughts.

"So, you showed some emotion. Didn't know you could do that," Wash teases, nudging his shoulder with his elbow.

Isaac gives him a light shove, "Ha ha, very funny."

"Cut the man some slack, Wash, he just got rejected." Carolina interjects with a smile.

"I did not! It was more like closure. I'm fine."

"Right, which is why your face is redder than Sarge's armor."

Isaac glowers and drops in behind them, falling in step with Sam. He glances at his partner, "You okay?"

"I'm fine."

"Now who needs to open up more?"

Sam snorts, "Just thinking about what comes next."

"We go home."

"That simple, huh?"

"Its the logical next step."

"I hope you two aren't planning on leaving without saying goodbye." Carolina glances over her shoulder.

"We wouldn't dream of it."

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

"Goodbye, Mr. Felix! Goodbye, Mr. Locus! We will miss you!" Caboose shouts, waving wildly as they board their ship.

Isaac can't help the smile that spreads across his lips and he turns to give Caboose a wave goodbye.

He turns away when the landing ramp closes and climbs into the cockpit beside Sam, "You ready?"

"Always."

Their ship lifts off, roaring into space towards home.

"Should we tell Wu we're coming?" Isaac smirks, already knowing the answer.

"Let's surprise him."

It's not long until they touch down on the landing pad. Every nerve stands on end as Isaac slips his pack over his head and he and Sam descend into the bustling crowd of the spaceport. It's not long until they reach the front porch and Isaac rings the doorbell.

They wait and there's scampering beyond the door before the bolt is released and the door swings open.

"Sam? Isaac?" Mason sets his pistol aside and pulls the door open further. A smile cracks across his lips and he tugs them both into an embrace.

"Hey, Wu. Miss us?" Isaac laughs, returning the embrace.

Sam looks uncomfortable, after all these years, he still isn't capable of handling hugs. So, he awkwardly pats Mason's shoulder and tries to smile.

Mason steps back, "Come inside. Megan! Girls!"

Megan Wu emerges from the living room, freezing in the doorway when her eyes land on the two mercenaries.

"Hey, Meg."

Mason's daughters come tearing down the staircase, Melody skidding just short of her mother and Mikayla nearly collides with her older sister.

"Girls, you remember your Uncles Isaac and Sam?"

They remain where they are and for a moment, Isaac's smile falters. They've no doubt heard about everything that's happened, their fall from grace and the fight with Mason. He almost turns to Mason and offers to leave until Melody steps past her mother, eyes darting between the two men before she gives Sam a hug.

He freezes and his eyes dart to Mason who smirks at the awkward mercenary's position. Slowly, he accepts her embrace while Mikayla darts over to Isaac and practically tackles him to the ground.

Isaac doesn't hesitate, winding his arms around his surrogate niece, "You guys got so big."

"That tends to happen when you're gone for a couple years, Uncle Isaac." Melody returns, stepping back and allowing Mikayla to give Sam a hug.

"You got your dad's wit, I'm so proud." Isaac snorts, giving her a quick embrace.

"They got their mother's smarts, too." Mason steps closer to Megan, who hasn't been able to find the words to speak.

The girls smile almost proudly and squeeze the mercenaries a little tighter.

Sam flinches and looks to Isaac for help. He doesn't know how to handle children and though he tries, he doesn't know how to handle affection either. So, when Mikayla's vice grip loosens, Sam steps back and tries to gather himself.

Melody steps off to the side and all eyes fall to Megan. She hasn't spoken and her grip on Mason's hand has tightened, almost as if she can protect him with the sheer force of her hand around his.

Isaac's the first to speak, "Meg, we owe you, all of you, an apology. The decisions Sam and I made, the fight with Mason, it was wrong--we were wrong. We're sorry."

She nods slowly, releasing her grasp on her husband's hand and venturing closer. Her daughters step back and her gaze flickers between Sam and Isaac.

They wait in silence until a warm smile spreads across her lips, tugging them into a warm embrace.

"Welcome home, boys."

"It's good to be home."

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

Tagging: 

RVB Forevers: @mamma-dragon ​ @loveliestoflunchboxes ​ @heaven-hell-imagines ​

RVB Mercs: @antsyserpentine ​

[amateurscribes]

I did a warm-up before I start writing chapter three today, and while this scene doesn’t appear in the series itself, I thought it’d be fun to share nonetheless! This takes place around the same time the first scene I posted does. Ok, fic under the cut!

"Wait, wait," Grif held up his hands, looking between the two other men. "If we're really going to be doing this- creating a temporary vigilante team so that we can stop this... Angler Fish guy, then don't we need to have the archetype roles?"

Locus and Lopez both looked at him like he was crazy- well, crazier than his 'overdrive' period of isolation had left him.

"What are you babbling about now," Locus narrowed his eyes at him.

"Like- to make sure the public doesn't cut off our heads while we're trying to help, we need to appeal to the things they enjoy! Hence, giving in to their idealization of team dynamics," he gestured vaguely with his hands. "I swear, this makes more sense in my head then how I'm explaining it right now."

Lopez opened his mouth, properly to call him an idiot, by Locus, stopped him by holding up his hand, begrudgingly admitting, "He has a point. If we're to avoid outside disturbances we need to play into the superhero game you've all enabled."

Lopez huffed, crossing his arms, but otherwise didn't move to say anything else.

Nodding his head, Grif said, "Ok, so we've already agreed that we need to create separate hero persona's so that the public can spread it through the rumor mill and bring it back to the guys, but..."

At this he blushed slightly, looking at the two other men.

Mumbling, he finished, "We need to decide who the... eye candy of the team will be."

Lopez squinted his eyes at him, mouth slightly open in puzzlement, but Locus shifted only subtly, coughing into his fist as he responded, "I do not believe that role will be necessary."

"No it absolutely is," he argued, trying to stop all thoughts of Simmons' from popping into his head. "The public eats that shit up and if we want them to like us then it's absolutely necessary."

Locus didn't respond, turning his head to the side, eyes closed in exasperation, and Grif took this as a sign to keep talking.

"And since Locus is the coolest out of the three of us, no offense Lopez," the other man rolled his hands but didn't interrupt him, "That makes him the maverick of the team- his whole redemption arc and all that- which means Lopez, you should absolutely take the bullet, you know, as a good Red Team member and agree to be the eye candy."

"¡¿Perdóneme?!" Excuse me?!, Lopez dropping his hands in shock, as he glared at him.

"It's totally not because I don't want to do it-"

"Absolutamente no!" Absolutely not!

"But I think it should just be you, ya know?"

"Deja de ignorarme, bastardo!" Stop ignoring me, you bastard!

"It's also totally not a weight thing, in case you were wondering because let's be real- we're both practically the same weight, except you've got a little bit more muscles- not that I've noticed- which makes you perfect to be the eye candy."

"Te voy a estrangular si continúas." I'm going to strangle you if you continue.

"Also, you're probably aware of this, but chicks and dudes totally dig Spaniards. I would know because I mean, you're very good looking I will admit."

Locus coughed roughly into his fist, blushing a tad bit more.

"And that's why you should be the eye candy," Grif concluded, nodding his head.

Lopez looked ready to just about die from embarrassment, but not before he's killed Grif himself, so Locus steps in between them, looking awkward as hell, as he clears his throat, "Perhaps, it would be fair if you two flipped a coin to decide."

Crossing his arms, Grif weighed the likely hood that he might get the shorthand of the stick, but seeing that it was a fifty-fifty shot he agreed. Lopez also nodded his head in agreement.

And so, they watched in anticipation as Locus produced a coin, and looking expectantly at the two of them.

"Heads," Grif said, claiming his side.

Nodding, Locus flipped the coin in the air, catching it and then smacking it over his arm, hiding it from view. Then he lifted his hand revealing...

The heads side.

Damn it.

Lopez looked angry and was about to say something when he was interrupted by Grif.

"Fuck," he mumbled. "Guess I have to be the eye candy then."

Pursing his lips in bafflement, Lopez looked at him strangely before his eyes widened in realization.

"That's not-" Locus started to say before Lopez smacked his arm, giving him a look that said 'shut the fuck up right now.'

"I'll go get my mesh top," Grif sighed, dragging his feet as he walked back into his bedroom, closing the door behind him.

Leaving Lopez and Locus to awkwardly stand around his living room

"I hate everything about this," Locus lamented, and not for the first time that night, he wished that he hadn't run into Lopez during his escape from the prison.

Lopez muttered his agreement.

[carryonmywitingson]

Crash Landing on Chorus

Previous Chapters:

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10

Chapter 11: History Has it’s Eyes on You

Ohio stared at the wall, Felix's words echoing in her head. "Talia... you know as well as I do that the choice is between me and Washington. You can't have it all."  Was that what it had come to? Washington or Felix? Was that what it was about? She sighed as she realized that he was right. She knew how they both felt about her and that they were both just waiting for her to make her choice, even though Washington and Felix might think it was an obvious choice, it would be the hardest choice she ever had to make.

Felix was a person that she'd hated for so long and now that she knew why he had done what he did she couldn't bring herself to hate him. All the feelings came rushing back the moment he'd told her he still loved her. But with Wash it was much fresher. He'd helped her get over Felix. Or had he? She still wore the necklace, but why? Was it as a reminder? Or a way to keep him in her life? They were so different, but Felix was right. She couldn't have them both. Eventually she would have to choose. But who?

-

As Felix walked through the building he looked around. "Why can't she just.... Did he have to.... Why?" he said to himself and groaned in frustration. He noticed that he walked passed the training room and thought he'd throw a couple punches to blow off some steam. He walked in and looked at the target. He hummed as he thought to himself. He smirked as he grabbed a marker and drew Washington's face, or rather his helmet, on one of the punching bags. "Now... That's better" he said as he started punching, stabbing and shooting it. When he was done there was sand all over the floor, the bag was almost empty. He left one of his knifes stuck in the picture he'd drawn of Wash's face when he left. After that he felt much better and much more confident.

He walked into the cafeteria and looked around. "Hey boss" one of the space pirates named Jimmy said as he walked passed him. "What're you doing? I never see you here" Jimmy asked and Felix looked at him. "John..." Felix started. "It's Jimmy" he corrected. "Yeah whatever. See... I'm counting all the assholes in the room and I think I figured out something." Felix said. "And what's that?" Jimmy asked and frowned. "Well, I'm definitely not alone" Felix said and started walking again.

-

"P.S Suck our balls" Epsilon said before they hung up. Washington sighed and walked over to the cliff to think. "I think I can get her to change sides. Join us" Felix's words echoed through his head. "You're not gonna do that, are you?" Washington asked Ohio, or rather the landscape he saw from a cliff outside of Armonia. He wasn't sure. He wanted to believe that she would come back to him but then he remembered when Ohio had the opportunity to shoot Felix. When he'd found out that they had been engaged.

"Do you really think you can shoot me?" Felix asked her and she cocked her gun. "Try me" she said and Felix raised his hands above his head but didn't stop there. He removed his helmet and let it drop to the ground. "Naomi" he said before he heard Washington come up behind him. He felt Washington's gun being pressed against his back. "She's not Naomi any more... She's not yours and Locus's old partner-..." Washington said but was cut off by Felix's laugh. "Old partner?" he asked and looked at Ohio. "You didn't tell them did you?" he asked and smiled. "Tell us what?" Washington asked. "Shut up" Ohio muttered angrily but Felix ignored it and turned his head towards Washington who'd moved to his side. "We weren't just partners. She was my fiancée. Washington... We were engaged." Felix said and Washington looked at Ohio. "What?!" He exclaimed. "Tell me he's joking?" Washington asked Ohio who didn't respond. "That's right Wash. You're not the only one here who's got a past with her. And I bet you don't even know her real name, do you?" Felix stated. "Oh and I know I'm not in any danger while she's the one holding the gun." he said and kicked Wash in the gut while reaching down and grabbing his helmet and rolling out of the way. He stood there and put his helmet back on while looking back at Ohio. "Shoot him!" Washington exclaimed but Ohio's hands started shaking at the memory of the night he'd proposed. He smiled underneath his helmet and mockingly saluted them before running off.

"Wash...." Carolina said as she came up behind him, interrupting his thoughts. "Carolina..." he sighed. "Look... We just need to do this. We can do it. Save these people and bring justice to the people who already died." Carolina said and put a hand on Wash's shoulder which he shrugged off. "That's not what I'm worried about" he sighed. "It's Ohio. What if..." he started. "She's not. Plus... Wash what I've learned is that... a great love is a lot like a good memory. When it's there, and you know it's there, but it's just out of your reach, it can be all that you think about. You can focus on it, and try to force it, but the more you do, the more you seem to push it away. But if you're patient, and you hold still, then maybe... Just maybe... It will come to you." Epsilon cut him off as he appeared. "If it's meant to be... she'll come back but until then, let's kick some mercenary ass. What'd you say?" Carolina asked him. Wash nodded. "Yeah, let's go. I can't wait to put a dent in that smug face of his." he said. "That's the spirit!" Epsilon said.

~Some time later, somewhere else in the galaxy~

Ohio was walking around the city thinking about that day so long ago. "So who's it gonna be Talia?! Me? or Washington?!" Felix had yelled at her. The day she made her choice. She looked down at the baby in the stroller. "Oh Valentine... Are you happy with who I chose to be your daddy?" she asked her sleeping son. She chuckled slightly. "I though so" she said as he fixed his hat so that it covered his ears again. She felt his cheeks and grabbed the blanket she had with her and put it on him. "It is hard to know if you'll freeze or sweat during spring isn't it?" She said and smiled at him. She began walking home. When she walked through the front door Valentine woke up and looked at her with his big brown eyes. "You really do have your mothers eyes, don't you?" she said as she picked him up.

~Chorus, Present time, Later that day~

"Locus and Felix, I was beginning to wonder if you were purposefully neglecting my transmissions." the Chairman said. "Wha-... neglect you?" Felix said with a chuckle. "Chairman, please! Never in a million years! We were just... kinda in the middle of something." he continued. "Oh, I'm terribly sorry, Felix." the Chairman said sarcastically. After the transmission finished Felix sighed. He started walking towards the room where Ohio was but didn't get very far before he heard an explosion. "Fuck!" he exclaimed "Locus! What was that?" he asked. "I don't know. But my guess would be the Reds and Blues." Locus stated making Felix start running towards Ohio. "A fucking rescue mission." he muttered to himself as he rounded a corner and then another explosion could be heard. He ran as fast as he could to Ohio's room. He basically threw himself onto the door to open it. "What's going on?" she asked him as Felix shut the door behind himself, but before Felix could answer another explosion could be heard and a hole appeared in the wall behind Ohio, revealing Washington. "Ohio!" Washington exclaimed. "C'mon! I'm here to rescue you! The Reds and Blues and Carolina are out distracting the rest! Hurry!" he told her and Ohio looked from Wash to Felix and then back to Wash. This was it. The moment when she had to make her choice. "Naomi! Please!" Felix held out a hand towards her. "Talia!" Felix looked at her with hope in his eyes, even though he thought she'd never choose him. Washing ton extended a hand towards her. "C'mon Ohio! We have to leave!" Washington told her. "It's time you made your choice Talia!" Felix told her. "So who's it gonna be Talia?! Me? or Washington?!" Felix yelled at her as another explosion could be heard. "Ohio Please!" Wash pleaded and Ohio looked from one to the other. It was now or never. "It's your choice Talia! Just make sure you won't have any regrets at the end of the day!" Felix told her. Ohio nodded, tears forming in her eyes. It was now or never.

The End

A/N: So who do you want her to choose? Read your preferred ship in the next book. Either "Ohio's Choice: Choosing Washington" or "Ohio's Choice: Choosing Felix". Hope you liked this book! And hope to see you in the next one!

XOXO CarryOnMyWritingSon

[contraloci-blog]

Fool Me Once - Ch. 9

Felix survives the fall. Locus leaves Chorus.

One way or another, though, they’re still going find each other.

AO3

Ch.8...Ch. 10

Ch. 9

Felix didn’t immediately stalk after Locus, despite his initial instincts. While it was tempting to turn over every leaf and rock on this shitball until he found him, he had to consider things realistically. The Locus he’d seen hadn’t been armored and his weapon had been painfully archaic - but at the end of the day, it was Locus.

Several years at his side taught Felix a thing or two about underestimating a guy who could be calm when the mafia was trying to kill him. He couldn’t go against him while wearing armor held together with spit and prayers, or while using a gun that was old enough to have grandchildren.

He set his eyes on easier prey instead. While Felix doubted that the bandits that lived on Chorus had anything of value, the people that he and Locus brought here were a different story. Sure, most of them died thanks to that fuckwit Doyle, but a few of them were still alive and prowling around.

He tinkered with his helmet radio, listening for the particular buzz of his work frequency. It took him longer than he liked, but his radio spit and crackled before a few familiar voices filtered through the speakers.

“…ello? Hello? Can you hear me?”

“Hey,” Felix said. He rolled his neck leisurely and weighed the suppressor in his hand. Of the few things to survive inside his armor, of course it had to be this little sweetheart. “Took you long enough.”

“Felix?”

“The one and only.”

“We thought you died.” Was it just him, or did the douchebag on the other end sound disappointed?

“There’s nothing on this piece of shit planet that can kill me. Who is this?”

“Blake. Captain Myers died in Armonia, I had to take command –“

“Yeah. Don’t care. Where are you?”

“Why do you need to know?”

“Uh, so I have the few people on this planet who don’t want to kill me around me?” When the radio was suspiciously silent, Felix narrowed his eyes and added, “I’m also your paycheck, jackass.”

“…sending the coordinates to you now, sir.”

“Fucking lovely.” Felix watched his HUD light up with a message notification as he finished screwing the suppressor onto his rifle. “How many of you are there?”

“Only six of us left.”

“Armed?”

“Suited and armed.”

“Great.” Felix took aim at a distant bird. When he squeezed the trigger, there was almost no noise save for the gentle, satisfying click-hiss that echoed in his ears as he watched the bird’s head explode. “This shouldn’t take me long then.”

∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙

It was a good thing the comm tower that the coordinates led to wasn’t far from Armonia. The lack of a Pelican made planetary navigation more than a little tricky otherwise.

His radio crackled. “Sir?”

“Yeah?”

“Is Locus with you?”

Felix scowled under his helmet. “No.”

He wasn’t too far now. Felix blinked sweat out of his eyes, cursing his suit’s malfunctioning environmental controls. Heaving around metal armor became a lot less entertaining when you were walking in an ocean of your own sweat. The humidity was inescapable, unavoidable – if it got any hotter, heatstroke was a dangerous possibility.

But fifteen minutes more and this would be all behind him.

“Where are you now?”

“I’m almost there – shit!” The ground under his feet loosened and Felix  flailed before he caught himself. Rocks trickled away as he straightened, adjusting himself and checking that no one was around to catch that.

“Sir?”

“Don’t worry, that was…” An idea occurred to him then. A cruel light lit up in his eyes as Felix smirked slowly. “… actually, no, belay that. I think I sprained my ankle. It’s bad.”

He feigned a few grunts of pain. “Yeah… gonna need one of you guys to come over and help.”

The silence dragged.

“Paycheck,” Felix snapped.

The radio crackled with a long sigh. “…Ezekiel is coming over to pick you up.”

“Tell him –“

“Her.”

“- her to hurry up.”

There was no reply. Felix glared at his radio, daring them to say anything else, but the conversation was over. He sent them his location and then walked into the underbrush, melting into the dappled leaves.

It took Ezekiel a little over fifteen minutes to arrive and she was alone. She didn’t have time to poke around before Felix sunk a bullet into her skull. Ezekiel fell over with a small gurgle, dead before she even hit the ground, and Felix waited for a few minutes to see if anyone else was around, his rifle at the ready.

Two minutes passed and no one came. A bird trilled overhead.

They really sent her alone, Felix thought, shaking his head a little. Idiots.

He walked over to her corpse and kicked her over. She wasn’t wearing Scout armor – a pity – but Recon would have to do. The helmet visor had a neat bullet hole in it, rendering it essentially useless without a replacement. But she was carrying a MK.VI rifle that was leagues better than his current gun. Felix swapped out the suppressors – thank fuck for universal equipment standards in the UNSC – and began to pry his chest plate off.

The internal clamps struggled to come loose thanks to their warped shape, but Felix dug his nails in until his armor popped off. He was pulling on her leg armor when he found the discreet knife holstered to her hip.

Whistling, Felix pulled it out. It was a hunting knife with a blade approximately as long as his hand. He tossed it a few times before holstering it again. That would be useful.

It took him five minutes to get it all assembled and after a moment’s consideration, he pulled on her helmet too.

Ezekiel under the helmet was a woman somewhere in her thirties, with a buzz-cut and a heart-shaped face. Felix didn’t recognize her. He dressed her in his own armor then slung her body over his shoulder.

Her helmet radio crackled. “Ezekiel, did you find him?”

∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙

He arrived at the tower that the remaining five had hunkered down in. A Warthog was parked under the tower and a guy stood sentry at its gun to watch the perimeter. He was the first one to catch sight of Felix.

Felix stumbled and dropped the corpse. He bent over and the exertion wasn’t actually feigned this time. In a sane world, he would be resting, not fucking lugging around corpses for a kilometer and half in a jungle.

“Hey – Ezekiel! What happened?” Someone else – not the guy on the Warthog – trotted over.

Still looking down to hide the crack in his visor, Felix scanned his surroundings. Aside from the guy on the Warthog and this one in front of them, there were  four others scattered around the tower. Two of them didn’t have any guns on them, but the other did. Felix pitched his voice for a passing mimicry of a woman.  “He just – he fucking went crazy. I had to put him down.”

“Shit… hey, you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m okay.” Felix adjusted his grip on his gun.

The guy in front of him stepped closer, his hand stretched out. “You sound a little funny.”

One…

“Yeah?” This time, Felix didn’t pretend.

Two…

“Hey, wait…” Confusion filtered into the guy’s voice.

Three.

“I guess you’re right.” Felix darted forward, pulled the knife from his hip, and sunk it hilt-deep into his unarmored side. The guy stiffened with a gasp and Felix used his distraction to spin him around and hold him in place while he lifted his rifle. He aimed at the guy on the Warthog, who didn’t have time to realize what was happening before he was riddled with bullets.

“It’s not Ezekiel!” his meatshield yelled, recovering from his initial shock. “It’s Felix, he’s turning on - !”

Felix shut him up with a few well-placed bullets to the back of the skull. The remaining four scrambled for cover but Felix killed one who’d been too slow to get up and run. Three left.

The two that had been armed opened fire on him but their bullets peppered a corpse, not Felix, and he held him close until he could take cover behind a tree instead. He dropped the guy once he was safe and patted him down. A cluster of grenades was on his hip and he unhooked one.

“Thanks, buddy,” Felix muttered as he pulled its pin loose and tossed it over their barricade. A few seconds later, he heard a dull explosion. He peeked out.

At least one of them was dead to the grenade. Two left.

Felix took aim at the farthest one from him whose cover wasn’t as good as he thought it was. The first shot took out his knee. The second put a bullet through his visor.

One left.

Felix was about to dart for fresh cover when he heard shouting. “Wait! Wait, hold on!”

“Yeah?” He checked his magazine. Everything looked to be in place.

“I – I want a ceasefire!”

Was this guy serious? “Oh yeah?”

“Yes! I don’t want to fight you, Felix! I – I don’t care about these guys, just don’t kill me! You can take the Warthog or the equipment, anything you want, just-”

He slipped away from the tree he had been taking cover behind and crept to another one, one closer to the voice. When the guy kept babbling, this time about not wanting the money, Felix inched closer again.

“ – didn’t think you were alive, everyone thought you were dead, honest –“

Felix pressed his gun to the back of his helmet hard enough to make him lean forward. The chatter stopped immediately.

“Man,” Felix said with a laugh, “I can’t believe Locus wanted to keep losers like you alive.”

“Please,” the guy said, his voice trembling, “I just want to live.”

“Then you should’ve tried harder.”

Felix pulled the trigger.

∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙

He left the bodies where they were and replaced his helmet for a whole one. Scout, this time, much to his pleasure, though it was in the boring grey that Locus’ troops favored so much. Felix looted the bodies for anything worthwhile and ended up with a small armory for himself. Ammo, grenades, guns… it was all there.

Now, all that was left was finding Locus.

Where is the one place that Locus would have definitely gone to?

His HUD lit up and he examined the map it provided. A place where he would have gone to without fail, without compunction, especially when he would need to escape the two armies still after his head…

God, it was so obvious. Locus could be so predictable when it came down to it. Felix punched in the coordinates for A'rynasea’s hangar and got into the Warthog.

∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙

Isaac leaned dangerously far over the railing, his boots off the ground, and felt a steadying hand land on his back before he tumbled over. He glanced back at Sam briefly before staring forward again.

Below them, two red specks did donuts on the runways the planes used. They kicked up dust clouds as they went but nobody went out to complain.

“You see that?” Isaac said, whistling through his teeth in appreciation.

He didn’t need to ask. Sam already saw. The two red sports cars had rolled in this morning, bringing two richly-dressed people that he heard were private mercenaries on the UNSC’s payroll.

“Hard not to,” he said.

Isaac felt the tug on the back of his T-shirt and acquiesced.  He landed with a thump. “Those are supposed to be super expensive. Courtney said they weren’t even out on the market yet.”

“Probably.” Sam sounded disinterested, but that was a total sham. Isaac had seen him sneaking looks at the cars too.

“And they’re just doing donuts with it.”

“Money does that.”

“Fuck, I’d give a kidney for a ride like that.” Or both his legs. Who needed legs when you had that to carry you around everywhere?

“It’s not very practical.”

Isaac shot Sam an annoyed look. “Oh, yeah? Then what’s your idea of a nice ride?”

Sam seemed to consider it. He stayed quiet for so long that Isaac almost opened his mouth to pester him. “Something functional,” Sam said after a pause. “Good for all uses. Efficient. Powerful.”

“A muscle car.”

Isaac pictured Sam behind the wheel of a muscle car – a Mustang, maybe, if he was a classics kind of guy, or a Barracuda. He’d drive the same way he shot a gun, probably – eyes on the goal, with the wrinkle he got between his brows when he was concentrating, and making it look easy.

Yeah, Isaac liked that.

“I suppose,” Sam said, his expression briefly thoughtful. “My sister collected posters of them.”

“You could get one after this tour. Considering what they’re expecting us to do, our payroll is, like, stupid high now.”

The UNSC needed all the warm bodies they could get to the front lines, but Isaac wasn’t worried. He was going to be just fine, and fucking rich on top of it.

“Savings are important. Considering the state of our pension right now –“

“Oh my God, live a little, Sam.” Isaac rubbed his hand over the buzzed top of his head, guffawing. “What’s the point of anything if you don’t have a sweet fucking ride?”

∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙

A'rynasea wasn’t in its hangar, but Felix wasn’t too surprised. Locus wasn’t dumb enough to not secure his best ride on the planet right away. It was clear that he thought Felix was dead, however, because he hadn’t changed the codes for anything. Felix could access it all without issue.

Douchebag.

He closed the door so no one could try to be clever and sneak in as well, and explored the dark space with the flashlight of his helmet. The hangar was mostly empty, as its primary purpose had been to house A'rynasea. The computers here had been fried after whatever stunt the sim troopers pulled to mess up the hybrid tech, but Felix wasn’t after that shit.

Instead, he counted the wall panels until he found the one they had hidden their bail-out computer behind.

“Not so smart now, huh?” he whispered as he peeled back the panel and found their – the stash behind it still. Trust Locus to nag, nag, and nag until he went blue in the face, and then forget it when things got hairy.

The fact was that A'rynasea was their ship. And as their ship, it responded to both of them. And right now, Locus didn’t know Felix was alive. Felix pulled out the heavy, briefcase-like computer and sat down on the floor. When he opened it and turned it on, a black command prompt opened for him.

Password> e8P2cP5Dv#}#8a#Y

The prompt blinked a few times before it went black again. The computer didn’t immediately self-destruct so Locus hadn’t even erased his files in the ship’s database. Honestly, what the hell was he even doing?

>C:\Ship\Admin2 > command respond ship:Felix

>Running database checks… complete.

>Performing sys checks… complete.

>Confirming user information… complete.

>Welcome, Felix.

>command no record

>Command running… complete.

>No Record confirmed.

>command locate ship

>Command running… complete.

> Ship: A'rynasea: located. Send coordinates?

His finger hovered over enter. It wasn’t because he had second thoughts or anything, or because he was worried, but rather because this was a good fucking moment to rub into Locus’ face and he couldn’t. Thinking it wasn’t as satisfying. If only something was here for him to just…

There was a shuffle outside of the hangar and a thump.

“Oh, thank fuck,” Felix sighed, standing up. He tracked the noise to be on the opposite side of the hangar door so he could slip outside without being seen without an issue. He stole outside, ears straining for any more noise, and kept his back to the wall.

Careful, careful… “Don’t fucking move, fucker,” Felix barked, spinning around the corner, his rifle up and ready to shoot.

The guy on the ground stared at him, eyes wide. He looked like utter dogshit; he had nothing but a protective vest on with ragged clothes under it, and his face was covered in ugly bruises. He wasn’t armed. “No!” he screamed, throwing up his arm to shield himself.

Felix lowered his gun after a moment’s thought. “Where the fuck did you come from?”

“I… not far from here. There’s a guy around here, I need your help, please. He’ll kill me – he’ll kill both of us. Let me inside, I’ll tell you everything I know.”

Felix considered just shooting him and going back inside. After enough time passed to make the moment suitably tense, he lowered his rifle. “Talk first.”

“There’s this guy,” he immediately said, “he’s been sneaking around here for fucking ages and he just kills everyone he runs into. He doesn’t want anything, doesn’t ask for anything, he just kills everyone he sees. He – he can turn invisible, and I swear I saw it happen –“

“Hold up.” Felix held his hand up. “Invisible?”

“It’s true,” he insisted. “It’s like those spy things you see in the movies. Invisible, just like that.”

“Yeah, sounds crazy alright. Tell you what,” Felix said, “tell me your name and I’ll bring you inside. Deal?”

“Yeah! I’m Julio. You?”

“You can just call me Felix, buddy. Come on, I’ll help you up.”

∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙

Julio, as it turned out, was a pretty damn good listener.

“…he spent so much time thinking about how clever he was, but clearly he wasn’t smart enough to make sure I was dead before running off. And now I’m back. I’m back and I am ready to make sure he regrets ever trying to turn on me. I mean – you should have heard him. ‘We’re both monsters’, like we were in some kind of play. It could have been so easy for him to just kill everyone there but no, he had to have his stupid little revelation while everything was going on, all after I saved his life dragging him from wreckage –“

“I don’t really see how this has anything to do with the invisible guy,” Julio said weakly.

Felix spun around, gesturing with his rifle. “It has everything to do with your invisible guy,” he said. “Don’t you get it, Julio? That guy is Locus. The guy who’s been running around this stupid planet, shooting and killing everyone he sees, is Locus. It just goes to show that he’s still the same. Whatever thing was going through his head is just bullshit. He doesn’t get that he’s a killer and that he’s always been one, and I’m the only one who actually sees that –“

“He is?” Julio cut in again. “Then – then we need to tell someone, warn them about this lunatic –“

Felix pointed at Julio sharply.

“No, no, don’t interrupt me, man. I’m not fucking done. I’ve had to fucking fall off a stupid alien tower, drag myself to some assfuck nowhere camp in the jungle, and get treated by a guy with more than a few problems in the head for this. Shut up for a few seconds.”

Julio opened his mouth to protest. Felix aimed his rifle at him. Julio closed his mouth.

“So, as I was saying,” Felix continued, “Locus. Locus, Locus, Locus. You spend over a decade next to a guy and you think you start understanding him, right? You see him at his best, at his worst, you see all the things he can and can’t do. So, obviously, you start adjusting things so they work. You play to your strengths. And Locus’ strength? It’s killing. I know that and I know for a fact that he knows that too, except he just won’t admit it to himself. The fact that he thinks he can blame me for what happened? Like I’m the one who’s holding his hand to the trigger? What a fucking joke.”

Felix shook his head and laughed humorlessly. “You get what I’m saying, right, Julio? C’mon, you have to agree with me here.”

He saw the animal fear lurking behind Julio’s eyes. He saw the way he leaned away, like he dearly wanted to run but didn’t dare to. Felix saw it, relished it, and tilted his head to side. “You can talk, man.”

“Uh, yeah,” Julio said quickly. “I agree with you.”

“Speak freely,” Felix said, waving his hand. “Just tell me – Locus killed your friends, right?”

“He didn’t… kill directly,” Julio said cautiously. “He never did that. You’d find people who died from bleeding out, or from falling, or because a wild animal attacked them while they were down.”

“Still killing in the end.”

“…yeah,” Julio said reluctantly. “It’s just a slower death.”

“Glad we can agree on that.” Felix felt sated. He’d gotten out everything he wanted to say, so Julio’s purpose here was pretty much used up. He could go. “So, dude, you said you wanted to find other people, right?”

Hope flared in Julio’s eyes. “Yeah,” he said, straightening.

“You can try,” Felix said, gesturing at the hangar door. “C’mon, get up. I’ll be right after you, buddy.”

“Really?”

“Absolutely. Unless you’re getting second thoughts? We could stay here, if that’s what you –“

“No, that’s fine!” Julio scrambled up, though it was hard when he was still so uncoordinated. He stumbled a few steps towards the hangar door. “Are – are you coming with?”

“Yeah, don’t worry about it. I’ll be behind you.”

“Okay, yeah. Sure.”

Felix watched him walk towards the door. Just as Julio reached the doorknob, however, Felix lifted his rifle and fired. Julio screamed abortively as he fell forward against the door, smearing the blood spatter there.

“Just kidding,” Felix said. “Thanks for the talk.”

Now that he had the monologue he deserved and loose ends were tied up, Felix could press enter without any issue. Felix smiled as the long string of coordinates appeared on the screen. Once that was done, he connected his helmet to the computer to download its contents. There. Now he had both Locus’ current location and a way to keep himself constantly updated in real-time.

He smashed the computer as soon as he got everything inside. There was no need to leave potential leaks around, after all. When it was time to leave, Felix thoughtfully stepped over Julio’s body and waved at his outstretched hand before slamming the hangar door in his face.

There was a click as the hangar locked itself again. On the other side of the door, Felix heard scratching.

When he walked back to the Warthog, there was a skip in his step.

∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙

[zmediaoutlet]

You've mentioned it in a few tags, but if you have the chance/inclination, I would love to hear more of your thoughts about the final scene of 13x03 -- as someone who was, er, less than pleased with the ep, I'm trying to get a more positive angle on it, and I love your insights (and agree with them more often than not) so...help? ^^;

I don’t know what insights I have, but I can talk about my thoughts. This ended up being super long, so the thoughts are under the cut:

First of all, I think all analysis should start with a very close reading of the text. Let’s look at the dialogue in the episode in two key scenes.

First, a snippet from the third scene. We start off fine—Samtired, Dean neutral. (He’s clearly also tired, but he comes in more surprisedabout the Missouri thing than angry, depressed, etc.) Then, Sam says that he’ssending Jody to take care of Missouri’s case, so that they can stay to workwith Jack.

SAM: We need to help Jack learn how to control his powers.Jody can handle this.DEAN: Yeah, maybe she can. Or, maybe she ends up dead because you wanted to skipout on her to babysit the Antichrist.

As soon as Jack is mentioned, Dean immediately moves to anger. It’s quiet, but obviously accusatory,and obviously that’s aimed at Sam. He’s upset that Sam is putting Jack abovetheir friends. Sam responds with confusion, for a second—he’s staring at Dean,wrinkled forehead (so much forehead), wide eyes and parted mouth of shock. Theystare at each other, with Dean clearly fishing for a response. Then,

SAM: Dean, we need him.DEAN: No, don’t.SAM: Mom—DEAN: Don’t. You— If you want to stay here and Mr. Miyagi this kid, knockyourself out. I didn’t sign up for that, so I’m gonna go to work.

So, Dean leaves. Sam sighs, and groans, but he’s not angry.Dean wasn’t even particularly angry in that last line, but he reacted sharplyto we need him, and doesn’t even wantto hear Sam’s theory. Note how quickly he interrupts on Mom.

Okay, now we can skip over a lot of the boring Patiencebusiness (though, it is interesting that Dean tells a smiling Jody [?? What wasthat, as a directing choice?] that he’s fine, and then is CLEARLY NOT FINE ATALL). We come back to the bunker with Dean having seen yet another of theirfriends (or good acquaintances, at least) die, in a world which he is nowtelling people is crapsack and shitty. Now:

We enter the penultimate scene on Sam’s clearly upset face. He looks like a wife who’s been sitting in thedim kitchen waiting for her deadbeat husband to get home from the bar so shecan scold him. He won’t even turn around to face Dean when he greets him—thoughhe does greet him, asking about the case and acknowledging Missouri’s death.Dean is grim, and even more obviously exhausted than he was at the beginning.He immediately starts with a mean-spirited joke, and we watch Sam’s face whilehe says it:

DEAN: How’s the kid? He go dark side yet?

Sam squeezes his eyes closed in suppressed anger.

SAM: Nope.

He finally turns around, ready to confront Dean. He’sfidgeting with one of the target-markers on the war table, which is relativelyunusual body language for Sam. He also has an interesting slouch, and openposture. He’s not shamefaced, or apologetic—he’s ready to fight.

SAM: He is pretty messed up, though.

Dean responds neutrally. This isn’t a fight, he doesn’tthink, just a statement of fact.

DEAN: You’re telling me.

Sam looks down, and then responds in a tone which is—less antagonisticthan his posture had been, and after he speaks he meets Dean’s eyes directly.His expression isn’t angry, but rather… disappointed.

SAM: No, Dean, he’s messed up because of you.

When Dean looks back, and looks genuinely confused by this,Sam smiles (humorlessly) and his mood shifts closer to anger again. How couldDean not get it, he seems to be thinking, and he slaps the target-marker downon the war table in another slightly aggressive posture.

SAM: Dean… You said you’d kill him.

Dean looks away, understanding where Sam’s upset is comingfrom (perhaps) now. It’s not quite an eye-roll, but that wasn’t quite how thatmoment between him and Jack went. We can guess now that Dean didn’t tell Samthat Jack was stabbing himself and trying to die, because Sam would have askedhow that conversation went. (Of course, it’s possible that Dean did barereporting, but the tone of this next line implies that the conversation betweenDean and Sam about this moment didn’t happen.)

DEAN: It wasn’t exactly like that.

There’s a slight emphasis Dean puts on that, and he’s not angry yet either. He looks back to Sam, andmaybe he was going to explain more, but Sam jumps in with:

SAM: Then how exactly was it?

A line which, while ostensibly calm in tone, is said a) as abit of an interruption, and b) Sam’s sighing through it and giving Dean a look, putting himself on Jack’s siderather than Dean’s. Dean is having a rough… week, let’s put it that way, and hedoesn’t respond well to this. We see immediately that Dean is thinking aboutthat moment from earlier, and he hasn’t had the benefit (unlike the audience)of seeing the patient, slow way Sam is working with Jack, and learning abouthis feelings and personality.

DEAN: I told him the truth. See, you think you can use thisfreak, but I know how this ends, and it ends bad.

The camera here cuts to Jack, listening in, and we’reclearly immediately meant to feel bad for the poor sweetheart. (By the way,thank god they’ve complicated him with a touch of brattiness—if it were allsyrup all the time he’d be unbearable.) That being said—Dean has a long, long history of being right about this stuff, and as theaudience we know that, too. But then—we cut to a different locus of the argument.Sam moves from talking specifically about usinga supernatural power to bring a loved one back to life (something we’veseen them do multiple times and which they tend to agree is a bad idea… exceptwhere their brother is concerned), and changes the conversation to be about this:

SAM: I didn’t.DEAN: What?SAM: I didn’t end bad. When I was the “freak.” When I was drinking demon blood.

Sam says it aggressively, strongly, sharply. Puts obviouspauses between the phrases. Dean immediately discards this, and he’s doing ittruly—it’s not him making a point, he really honestly does not believe thatthese situations are remotely similar.

DEAN: Come on, man, that’s totally different.

Sam is keeping the argument here, though; he’s drawing avery close parallel between himself and Jack.

SAM: Was it? Because you could’ve put a bullet in me. Dad told you to put a bullet in me, but youdidn’t. You saved me. So help me savehim.

We see Dean rejecting this line of argument even as Sam’shalfway through it, though. He doesn’t like this parallel at all and disagreeswith it. Superficially, of course it’s true, but Dean doesn’t buy it, andclearly doesn’t like the implications.

DEAN: You deservedto be saved. He doesn’t.

We cut here to Jack again, looking sad, while Sam insists—

SAM: Yes, he does, Dean, of course he does.

But then we cut back to Dean, and the camerawork here isinteresting. Finally, Dean is making this into a real argument, moving close. Sam is gigantic in the foregroundhere, and Dean is small and looking up and bleeding hurt, and he’s absolutelyrejecting Sam’s parallel-drawing. He remembers where the argument started, andhe’s still having none of it:

DEAN: Look, I know you think that you can use him as somesort of an interdimensional can opener, and that’s fine.

Note: it’s clearly not fine. Sam doesn’t like theaccusation, either, though he did start the day with ‘use’ rather than ‘hugsand kisses’. Anyway—

DEAN: But don’t act like you care about him, because you onlycare about what he can do for you. So, if you want to pretend, that’s fine, butme? I can hardly look at the kid, ‘cause when I do, all I see is everybody we’velost.

Now Dean is raising his voice, reacting from strong hurt.This is still the core of the problem. It’s not hating Jack-as-a-person, it’shating Jack as a function. A subtledifference, but key, I think. Sam responds to the accusation of Jack as responsiblefor the various losses—

SAM: Mom chose totake that shot at Lucifer. That is not on Jack.

Dean doesn’t disagree, but moves directly to the issue ofactual (possible) culpability, as far as he understands it.

DEAN: And what about Cas? SAM: What about Cas?DEAN: He manipulated him. He made him promises. Said, “paradise on earth,” andCas bought it. And you know what that got him? It got him dead!

Dean’s voice is raised again and there’s a shiver of emotionrunning through it; when we cut to Sam’s coverage (and again, the camera is lowbehind Dean’s shoulder and Sam is massivelooming over him), Sam is grimacing and looking down, not exactly pushing backagainst Dean’s feelings or his point.

DEAN: Now, you might be able to forget about that, but I can’t!

And then we cut, quickly,between Dean’s wide-open pain, and Sam’s more shuttered expression. Then there’squiet, and we cut to Jack, who seems to be having real feelings about Castielper Kelly’s cheerful inculcation, earlier, and we cut there to the final scene.

…So. A lot is going on, there.You know that, for me, the Sam & Dean relationship is the actual main plotof the show. A lot of crap happens that they have to react against, but italways comes down to these two, for me. As we’ve also discussed, the latterseasons have this general shape: seasons six, seven, and eight are aboutfiguring out where they stand with each other, post-Apocalypse, whichculminates in the ‘marriage’ scene in Sacrifice (even platonically, that was areal promise of devotion); seasons nine and ten are about working through theconsequences of betrayal, and working out how devoted they truly are to this ‘marriage’;seasons eleven and twelve were about the close, mature, real work of making the‘marriage’ function. In seasons eleven and twelve they were honest with eachother, worked through their problems by talking; when there was a secret, theyapologized quickly and forgave quicker, and they had each other’s backs throughthick and thin. It’s remarkable, the level of maturity they’ve reached.

Season thirteen has opened on avery dark time for the Winchester boys, and they’re starting from verydifferent places in dealing with it. Dean is heartbroken; Sam has hope. Sam’shope is pinned to Jack’s power. He wasn’t positive that Castiel was ultimatelydead, as we saw with him questioning Dean twice about that in 13.01; he hasalso mentioned repeatedly that he doesn’t think their mother is dead, thatLucifer might have kept her alive for some reason. (Which he’s right about—really,if anyone knows what Lucifer might do, it’s Sam Winchester.) Dean, in contrast,refuses to believe that Mary is alive and he’s certain that there’s no comingback for Cas. He has clung to that defeat almost as a comfort, a way to keepwalking—getting his hopes up, just to have them dashed, would be even morepainful. He gave up, and we saw it, the second God didn’t answer his prayer.

Sam and Dean disagree a lot, butit’s rare that we get to see a profound disagreement like this which isn’tlocated in a personal place. We sawreal anger between them in season four and season nine. We saw personalbetrayal, dismissal—we’ve even seen them try not to be family, though of coursethat never lasts long. (Might be impossible, considering the soulmate aspect.)This disagreement about Jack is bad, and that was a real fight they had, thereat the end. But the disagreement is still located on Jack, and I think that’s a very important distinction. Sam ismad at Dean for causing Jack pain, but he clearly understands why it’shappening and where it’s coming from. Dean is mad at Sam for trying to keep(what he thinks is) false hope alive and trying to use the supernatural forces,when that always ends bad. But thisisn’t fury. This isn’t personal betrayal. Dean lashed out in a cruel way withthe ‘oh, I guess you just forgot about Cas’ line, but that’s… frankly, veryDean. He lashes out when he’s upset. Sam knows that, and he doesn’t lash back,he’s just… frustrated. A punch isn’t going to be thrown, here.

Put it a different way. In aphysicalized incest world, where they might share a bedroom in the bunker? Noone would be getting any tonight, and there probably wouldn’t even be cuddles.(The horror.) But after this argument, I can still see them going to bedtogether. Sam’s shoulders might be held high and tight, and Dean might have tohave a few beers after his shower before he slips quietly into bed, but they’restill on the same team. They still love each other, and there’s no doubt aboutthat. They’re just mad. They’ll get better. This argument doesn’t make me doubtthat’s true, for a second, and the Winchesters don’t doubt it either—not in theAU where their love is more obvious, and not canonically.

There is an argument to be madethat Dean is coming off poorly, here, specifically because they keep focusingon the woobified aspects of Jack. “Jack is such a sweetie, and Dean is just abig meanie-head.” I can see why people are thinking that. However, I don’tthink it’s true. This episode particularly, with Jack acting a tiny bit bratty,we’re starting to get a more complex view of him. A lot of the work with Jackin the episode focused on choice. Kelly’s little video insists that Jack can bewhatever he chooses to be; that’s contrasted against Sam’s insistence to Jackthat he can be both powerful and good, and Dean’s insistence that the situationwill go wrong and that Jack was always going to be evil. That duality was a strongtheme throughout. Jack threw a tiny bratty tantrum; Jack was surpassingly sweetwhen Sam offered him a helping hand. He doesn’t know what side he’ll fall on,and neither do we, and neither do the Winchesters. They have their opinions,and the fans are developing their own, but it is being left ambiguous which wayit will go—and I love that. The turn comes when Jack thinks about Cas, who maytheoretically be a neutral party—and then the episode’s focus immediately flipsto Cas waking up in the Empty, upon Jack literallyonly vocalizing his name. What kind of fucking power is that, holy cow.

Anyway. Dean’s anger and hurtare real, and we’re shown repeatedly how deeply it’s felt. Is it pretty? No. Isit heroic? No. But it feels real, and it’s why this show is worth watching. Meanwhile,Sam is truly, really trying to help Jack… and he’s also not pretending like hedoesn’t want to use him, which is so deeply in character for Sam that it makesme want to do a little dance. These complexities are why I still come back, andI’m so glad we’re getting them. It’s looking right now like 13.04 will continuethis argument, and this complexity, and I can’t wait. I love that I can loveDean Winchester, and see every tiny bit of where he’s coming from, and stillthink he’s wrong, and still be interested in how the story is unfolding. In alot of ways, this is reminding me of mid-season nine—when we knew that Dean haddone wrong, and we knew exactly whyhe had. I was completely neutral, there, and I’m neutral now. I just want tosee how the story unfolds.

[a-taller-tale]

Grimmons Epilogue to S15E15

(before it gets jossed tomorrow):

"Cinnamon!” 

Simmons snaps up out of his doze. The voice is familiar but it sounds really off. Besides, it can’t be- 

“Grif?” Simmons could almost cry in relief seeing that stupid orange armor. “You got our message!” 

“Simmons! I’m here to get you out, buddy. -Friend.” he corrects himself harshly, muttering. “How many times did we go over this? Just let me finish. Un momento.” 

“Uh, Grif, were you eating methshrooms again?” He sounds so wrong. Wait, the Blues and Reds have all those guys that look like them running around. Maybe this isn’t Grif. Or it’s Grif with two Fs or something stupid like that. 

The orange armored soldier, who he can’t be sure is Grif, opens a hip compartment that should have been for extra rounds, but Grif always kept snacks in. He takes out a key card, and with a happy beep the cell door pops right open. 

Simmons doesn’t move. “I’m not going anywhere with you until you take off your helmet.” 

“Listen, Simmons. I have something to say. To you. It’s really important so I need you to listen, are you listening? -Oh, right, helmet.” The soldier pulls his helmet off and sets it by his feet. It’s undeniably Grif, fidgeting like he can’t stand still.  Temple definitely must have drugged their last meal. Simmons has to be hallucinating. Or someone drugged Grif.  "You can’t interrupt, okay?” Grif says, getting in close so his face is almost pressed against Simmons’ helmet, eyes darting to different points like he’s trying to make eye contact through the visor. “I wanted to tell you, I’ve been trying to tell you, that I really really really really missed you.”

Simmons freezes. “You- What?”

“Oh- you let me say it all this time. While we’re on a roll, I missed you and I wanted to tell you I’m sorry. I sort of thought you were dead and I’d never see you again. Then Locus showed up and he could have been lying about the rescue- he’s like, a mass-murderer, but it was either hitch a ride with him or stay on the moon forever wondering if you were all dead and how you had died and if it would have made a difference if I came. He’s actually not that bad, Locus, he talks more than you guys were talking for a while there. The other yous."

Simmons is more alarmed by the second and he should be thinking of escape, getting to where the others are, figuring out a plan to get Sarge back on their side, but all he can see is his friend and something is so wrong with him. 

Grif just keeps going. "-And I was thinking a lot- Can you take off your helmet? I know it’s not great to take off your helmet right now, but you asked me to, and I could get shot. I know Sarge doesn’t care. Maybe you don’t. Maybe they all do hate me. I did yell at them. Focus, Grif. Start over-”

“Grif,” Simmons interrupts, releasing his own helmet with no hesitation. At the sound of his voice Grif’s whole body tenses like he’s waiting for a hit. “Grif, are you-?”

"Hungry? Stupid? Lazy?" "No,” Simmons says. “Are you okay?" Because it’s the only question he can ask. It’s the only thing that matters right now.

Grif’s face crumples in a way Simmons has never seen before in all the years they’ve known each other. Not after they thought his sister was KIA, or after any of their battles, or when he left their room to smoke in the middle of the night. Maybe he just never let Simmons see it before. 

Grif moves into Simmons’ space again, a pleading creeping into his expression before he squeezes his eyes shut and presses his face into Simmons’ neck. Simmons almost stumbles back, but he takes the weight of Grif leaning on him, awkwardly wrapping his armored arms around his back. “...Are you really real?" Grif asks quietly.