#so i put Team Green Machine on vacation

[displaykitkats]

Beach Episode: Koana, Varshahn and Azdaja travel to Costa del Sol to celebrate the Moonfire Faire, but not without Lamaty'i and her bff tagging along.

[hardheadedbighearted]

Tin Man and Boyd the Definitely Real Boy

(closed starter)

The streets of Duckburg were under attack.

This was not exactly out of the ordinary and in fact if one were to look in the windows of shops on the way by to the scene they would find people rolling their eyes and complaining about the impending interruptions to their commute, the interruptions to their lunch breaks, the trouble with getting work done in this city, come on, or simply calling to let the boss/partner/babysitter/etc know that there was a monster, they would be a bit late, sorry, as the fleeing populace followed the emergency response teams who were responsible mainly for making sure the battleground was free of civilians.

Duckburg was a hotspot for science and technology and sat at multiple crossroads of supernatural and paranormal interest. Duckburg was a hotbed of occult activity. Duckburg was the home of the world's greatest adventurer.

The streets of Duckburg were always under attack.

Today's specimen was a giant mammoth, big and shaggy and wearing a mask of some kind, because, you know, why not. As it tore through the streets, upsetting commuters and lunch breakers and people just trying to get a cup of coffee, goddammit, another enormous figure approached it.

The first word to come to mind to describe it was 'wolf', well, after 'big'. Big it was; the chest alone was big enough that a large adult man could set comfortably and have elbow room. You know, to use a completely arbitrary measurement.

It was also flying, which was not a normal thing for wolves, even big wolves, but then it was also not normal that wolves have gleaming white fur with an almost metallic sheen to it, and spikey back armor on its back and face.

And to consider a wolf opening its mouth and firing a lazer, well, forget about it. This wolf was clearly one of a kind.

The wolf dispatched the mammoth easily, hogtying it with destroyed electrical cables, and knocking it out with a tranquilizer fired from one claw. You know, after he was able to get through the hide, that was.

Choppers were already descending to retrieve the mammoth. A ballsy reporter hurried to the scene and waved a microphone.

"Tin Man! Tin Man! Down here!"

The wolf paused in overseeing the load-up, and turned its attention to the reporter.

"Tin Man, what will you do with the creature now that it's been subdued?"

The wolf's tail swished faintly, and suddenly the fearsome creature that had fought the mammoth seemed friendly and approachable. It opened its mouth. The voice that came out sounded projected; it was not caused by the mouth itself, merely projected through it.

"Our scientists will study the creature to see if it can be safely released into a habitat where it won't cause any harm to human life or the ecosystem, and if not, will be safely put into stasis until a better solution can be found."

"Tin Man, ready to go," called one of the ground crew.

Tin Man gave them a nod and turned back to the camera just long enough to say, "Hopefully, the former," before flying off after the chopper and the mammoth.

'And so another day was saved by the Tin Man, Duckburg's own-'

"Turn that off, will ya?" Qrow didn't wait for Leonardo to comply, merely grabbed the remote and flipped the newsfeed off himself. He folded his arms and glowered at the tv, then out the window of the compound to where the Tin Man and the rest of the ground crew were coming in.

Tin Man was no longer needed to oversee the Mammoth situation; he headed for the bunker where his crew lived and worked, mainly on himself; inside, he took a seat on the large support stand that would allow them easy access to him. In his seat, he leaned forward, supported by cables that hooked into him as he sat, and-

-a seam down the middle of the armored spines on the back split, separating the armor and ejecting a pilot's seat, occupied by a pilot.

"Nice work out there, big man," Qrow said, holding out a paw to help the pilot from his cockpit. "Oz wants to talk to us, come on. You can let your alterego wait a while."

"No rest of the weary," the pilot said, and followed.

-/-

"What do you mean decommissioned?" the pilot roared.

His name was James. Let the mind's eye pull out just a bit to see the whole picture: a boardroom elsewhere in the compound. Seated around the table, a thin rooster in an emerald-green suit, the crew who attended the Tin Man, and several others, whose identity we'll get to later.

And rising halfway from his chair, fury rising his fur, is a wolf. Not a wolf like the Tin Man, just an ordinary wolf, albeit a big one- tall and broad and bigger, now, in his fury.

"Oz, I've spent the past decade putting everything I had into the Tin Man. I've given up more than one man ever should, and now they want to just... replace me? Him? With a child?"

"Perhaps those in power agree with your assessment of how much you've been asked to give up," Ozpin said calmly, as several eyes drew to James' metal fist, sitting in a dent on the table, to the seam peeking just out of his collar.

James sat down. He steepled his paws over his muzzle, and counted slowly, enough Mississippi's to get his temper under control, and said, more calmly now, "He's just a child. This is not a job for a child. This isn't right."

"And yet, this is what has been decided. There is nothing we can do. The Tin Man will be decommissioned, his parts displayed in a museum, and you-" He smiled kindly. "-well, now you have time for all of the things you didn't have time for before. Make use of it. Take a vacation. Enjoy yourself."

James sighed, and slumped back in his chair. "With all due respect, sir... I would rather just have my machine."

[fruitcoops]

hi eve! what do you think about a video where couples do the chapstick challenge? like jily vs coops and they compete to see what couple guesses more right! idk i think i would be fun

It's been too long since I wrote one of these--I missed them! Coops, Cubs, and SW Jily belong to @lumosinlove <3

“Welcome back, everyone!” Dorcas said with a smile to the camera. “It’s been over a month since our last big video like this due to scheduling, but we hope you’ve been enjoying our more active social media presence in the meantime. I’m here today with James and Lily Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and our lovely Cubs. How were your summers, everyone?”

“Hear that, Cap?” Logan’s grin was smug as the cat that got the canary. “I’m lovely.”

“Our summers were great,” Sirius said, ignoring him. “Lots of vacation time.”

“At our house,” Lily teased.

“Yeah, while you were on vacation. It’s called being a good godfather.”

“I’m glad you all had fun,” Dorcas interjected smoothly as she pulled three bags from under her chair. “Because we’ve got a very special game today. Inside these bags are ten blank chapstick tubes, each with a different flavor. One person from each team will apply the chapstick to their lips, and their partner will first have to kiss them, then guess the flavor. Finn, Leo, and Logan, your team will have two guessers.”

“They get two guesses?” Remus protested. “That’s so unfair!”

Dorcas shrugged. “They have to guess at the same time, and they only get one point per correct answer.”

Finn raised his eyebrows. “Y’know, Loops, you’re starting to sound pretty homophobic over there…”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Remus sighed.

The camera cut; when it returned, Lily, Sirius, and Finn were seated in folding chairs with the bags of chapstick in their laps and a small sticky note in their hands. Across from them, their significant others were sitting with large headphones over their ears.

“Can you hear me?” Dorcas called.

Remus didn’t react at all as he messed with the trailing wire; Logan squinted at her. “Quoi?”

“I can’t hear anything,” James said loudly. “This is super weird. It’s just, like, humming. Honey, it sounds like Harry’s white noise machine!”

Lily smiled reassuringly and patted his hand. “A little quieter, lover.”

“What?”

“A little—nevermind.”

Dorcas’ mouth twitched with a suppressed smile. “Non-guessers, you can find all the flavors written on stickers at the bottom of each tube. Please start with number one on your flavor lists when you’re ready.”

Sirius bit his lip as he riffled through the bag, and Remus leaned forward to give him a light peck at the corner of his mouth. “I haven’t put any on yet!” he laughed.

Remus paused. “What?”

“I haven’t put any chapstick on.”

“Slower, I’m not good at lipreading.”

“Mon dieu,” Sirius muttered with a shake of his head.

Next to him, Finn had already applied his first flavor and was sitting with a happy smile as Leo and Logan thought for a moment. “Is it lime?’ Leo guessed.

“I think it’s lime,” Logan said half a second later. Finn gave them a thumbs-up and the three of them high-fived. “Called it!”

“That’s…lemon? Really sour lemon?” James guessed. Lily shook her head and showed him the tube. “Lime. Shit.”

Remus licked his lips. “Lime?”

Sirius nodded. “Oui!”

“Really? Hell yeah!”

“We’re at a bit of an advantage,” Sirius said as he put the lime in his lap and checked his list. “I wear chapstick all the time.”

“Why?” Dorcas asked, sounding rather amused.

“My lips get dry from being at the rink all day.” Sirius shrugged and put the next one on. A mischievous smile flickered over his mouth and he tilted his chin toward Remus. “He won’t leave me alone, either.”

Remus’ eyebrows pitched and he leaned forward. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“You have to go slower, I really can’t—”

“Green apple!” Logan exclaimed, slapping Finn’s knee in excitement as Dorcas covered her mouth to hide her laughter. “I remembered what it’s called!”

“Correct!” Finn announced.

“I think it’s green apple,” Leo said.

James pulled away and rested his chin on his hand. “Kind of a caramel apple, but without the caramel.” Lily turned to face the camera with a look of disbelief. “So just a normal apple, I guess.”

“Yes!” Lily turned his face toward her with a smile. “You got it!”

“I got it? Woohoo!”

“That’s green apple.” Remus wrinkled his nose. “Tastes like those shitty candy apple lollipops, though. Did I get it?”

Sirius nodded and wiped his lips off. “Number three is pomegranate,” Dorcas announced.

Finn frowned as he dug through his bag. “I don’t—there it is. Wow, this smells really nice.”

Leo paused and smiled before kissing him. “That smells really nice!”

“Does it?” Finn laughed before moving to give Logan a kiss.

“Oh, I like that,” Remus said, kissing Sirius a second time. “No idea what the flavor is, but I like it. Hmm. I have to think about that.”

“Is that frosting?” James asked excitedly as he grabbed Lily’s hands. “Do you have frosting flavored chapstick?”

“No,” she laughed, shaking her head. “What the hell? It’s pomegranate.”

“It’s what?”

“Pomegranate.”

“Persimmon?” She rolled her eyes and showed him the sticker. “Wow, I never would have guessed that.”

“Is it cherry?” Remus guessed. Sirius shook his head and his face fell. “Aw.”

Leo and Logan shared a look as Finn kept his poker face. “I have no idea what that is,” Logan finally said. “It’s sweet, though.”

“Is candy-flavored chapstick a thing?” Leo wondered. Finn held the tube up. “Pomegranates are tart. That wasn’t tart.”

“What the hell is that?” Logan looked to someone off-screen and held one of his headphones away from his ear.

“Une grenade!” someone called.

“Oh! That didn’t taste like it at all.”

All four guessers kissed their partners within a few seconds for the fourth—almost immediately, they pulled away, faces twisting. “Oh my god,” Remus coughed, wiping his lips. “That’s grape. Oh my god.”

James’ nose scrunched. “It’s grape. I don’t like it.”

In a moment of direct action, Leo took the wet wipe Finn had been using and ran it over his mouth while Logan stuck his tongue out. “It’s grape, and it’s gross. No more cough syrup kisses, please.”

“You’re halfway there!” Dorcas called, chalking up their correct guesses on a whiteboard as Lily, Sirius, and Finn applied the fifth flavor.

Sirius held his hand up as Remus started moving in and sneezed. “Desolee. Okay, you can go now.”

Remus kissed him and recoiled in half a second. “More cough syrup? Are you kidding me? It’s not any better when it’s cherry.”

“Dorcas,” Leo whined when he pulled away. “The first ones were such nice flavors!”

“My head hurts just tasting that,” James said miserably. “It’s that awful fake cherry stuff.”

“That’s cherry.” Logan smacked his lips with a grimace. “Eugh.”

Dorcas held up five fingers for them to see as she spoke. “Just five more, and you’re all done. Those are the only bad ones.”

Lily lit up as she applied the sixth and James hurried to kiss her. “Oh, that one is nice! You always wear strawberry. It’s my favorite.”

Remus shrugged. “Kiss was great, flavor’s fine. It’s just fake strawberry, yeah?”

“Whew.” Leo’s eyebrows rose after the kiss. “Very st—”

“Oh, strawberry!” Logan interrupted. “Katie makes me wear something like that when we have tea parties.”

Dorcas added more tallies to her board. “Tremzy, you can’t hear me, but that’s the cutest thing you’ve ever said. We need pictures.”

“I’ll find some,” Finn promised.

Sirius rubbed his lips together and made a face; Remus laughed, running the pad of his thumb along his mouth. “Stop, I can’t kiss you like that! It can’t be that bad.”

“That would give me a headache,” James said, clearly disappointed. “It’s some sort of pineapple monstrosity. Pina colada? I liked the strawberry a lot better.”

“It’s pineapple. Does that count?” Lily asked. Dorcas nodded, and she gave James a high-five.

“That’s not bad,” Leo admitted with a shrug. “Tastes like the dried mango we get at the store, the kind with all the sugar on it.”

“I don’t have the first idea what that is,” Logan said. “Knutty, I’m letting you take the reins here.”

“You’re both wrong,” Finn said, enunciating every word so they could read his lips.

“Baby—” Remus faltered with a laugh and held the wet wipes out of reach as Sirius tried to take them back. “Baby, we don’t get a point if you wipe it off. Just one kiss, okay?”

“Fine,” Sirius grumbled. Remus pressed a sweet kiss to his upper lip and handed him a fresh wet wipe. “Happy now?”

“Oh, I like that,” Remus said. “It’s definitely pineapple. I can see why you hated it so much.”

“Cap, do you not like pineapple?” Dorcas asked. His intense wiping of his lips was the only answer necessary. “We’re in the final three. Sirius, your team is in the lead by one.”

“Come on, hubs,” Lily said as she put the next one on. “This is easy-peasy. We have to beat Cap or we’ll never hear the—”

“Mint!” Leo exclaimed, looking quite proud of himself. “Ooo, it’s like Christmas.”

“I can smell it all the way over here,” Remus laughed, though he didn’t pass up the kiss. “That’s peppermint.”

“It’s like a candy cane,” James said dreamily.

“He’s not going to like this one,” Sirius said as he capped the next chapstick. “I like it, though, and that’s all that matters. Pucker up, Loops.”

“Oh, hell no.” Remus leaned back as Sirius leaned in, keeping his lips out of range. “Nope, not a chance. That’s some plastic vanilla bullshit and I’ll be tasting it all day.”

Dorcas tapped him on the shoulder and he lifted one headphone. “If you don’t taste it, you don’t get a point this round.”

“We can take the hit.”

“What? No!” Sirius protested. “I had to taste the pineapple, remember?”

“I love you and I totally want to win this, but I really, really don’t want that taste in my mouth.”

“Fine,” Sirius sighed, wiping his lips off as Remus readjusted his headphones.

James’ face split into a beaming smile after his kiss. “Birthday cake!”

“No.”

“Shit.”

“Vanilla,” Leo and Logan said in unison.

Finn pumped both fists in the air. “Yes! We’re tied for first!”

Leo gave him a high-five. “I don’t know what you’re saying, but you seem excited about it!”

“Last one,” Dorcas warned. “Whenever you’re ready.”

“You should wear chapstick more often,” James said as Lily lined her lips. “It makes you so soft.”

“He has no idea how greasy my mouth feels right now,” she said fondly with a glance to the camera.

“Tell me about it,” Sirius agreed. “Alright, Loops, don’t pussy out this time.”

Remus narrowed his eyes. “You just told me not to pussy out, didn’t you?”

Sirius blinked at him. “I thought you couldn’t read lips.”

“C’mere.” Remus cupped his jaw in one hand and kissed him, then smiled. “Orange. Did we win?”

“Mmm, that’s what the oranges back home taste like,” Leo said, going in for a second kiss.

Logan licked his lips a couple of times. “Tastes like fancy orange juice. I like it.”

“In a cruel twist of irony, my lips are getting dry,” James said when they parted. Lily raised her eyebrows as he thought. “That’s orange. We won, right?”

“Take off your headphones,” Dorcas said, miming the motion until everyone could hear her before holding her scoreboard up. “Unfortunately, James and Lily are in last place with a score of seven out of ten. Cap and Harzy, your teams are tied for first place with eight out of ten.”

“We could have won if you didn’t have a personal grudge against vanilla,” Sirius said under his breath. Remus threw one of the chapsticks at him and Sirius dropped another down the neck of his shirt.

“Boys.” They both gave Dorcas a sheepish look and she shook her head. “Thankfully, we prepared for this situation with a tiebreaker. Nobody but me knows the flavor, and it is not written on a sticker. Remus, Leo, and Logan, you will not have to put your headphones on again, but you will have to correctly identify both flavors to get their point. You will write your answers on these whiteboards. You only get one kiss to determine your guess. On your marks, get set, go!”

Sirius swiped a decent amount over his lower lip and pulled Remus in with his hands on his cheeks; Finn practically used half the stick covering his mouth before collecting his kisses. “That’s interesting,” Leo murmured, tapping his dry-erase pen on his thigh. “That’s very interesting.”

Remus jotted down an answer and leaned back in his chair with a self-satisfied smile. “You know it?” Sirius asked with a grin.

“I do.”

“Is that your final guess?’ Dorcas checked. He nodded, and she took his pen. “Leo, Logan, do you have a guess as well?”

“I think I know one of the flavors,” Leo said cautiously, bending over to whisper it in Logan’s ear. He hummed in agreement, then whispered back.

“This is so intense,” James murmured, looking between the two teams as Lily perched herself on his lap. “I feel like I’m watching the Olympics.”

“If we get one of the flavors right and Loops gets both wrong, do we win?” Logan asked as Leo wrote their answer down.

Dorcas thought for a moment. “Yeah, sure. But only if Remus gets it completely wrong.”

“What’s the prize?”

“You already get to kiss your partners all afternoon instead of running drills. What more do you want?”

“Amen,” Remus agreed.

“Alright.” Leo handed over the whiteboard pen, though he looked nervous.

“Would you like to go first?” Dorcas offered.

“Coconut and lemon?”

“That is incorrect.”

“Ah, fuck me,” Logan muttered. “Loops, you’d better be wrong.”

Remus’ smile was even more pleased as Dorcas turned to him. “Remus, do you know what it is?”

“Well, Ms. Meadowes, I’m glad you asked. That’s Burt’s Bees honey and coconut.” He flipped the board with a flourish. “And it just so happens that my boyfriend bought that exact chapstick at the store last week and has worn it every single day since then.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Leo looked between them in shock as Logan’s jaw dropped. Finn buried his face in his hands. “Of every flavor on earth—”

“I promise it was not intentional,” Dorcas said, though she was laughing a little. “I literally rolled dice to pick it while I was looking at the website.”

Sirius looked to the ceiling as he pulled Remus’ chair closer. “Thank you, universe, for my terrible impulsive habits in the self-checkout line.”

Dorcas turned to the camera with a dimpled smile and spread her hands. “Thank you for joining us for the chapstick challenge, Lions! You can find all these flavors at the link in the description. Like and subscribe for more videos like this, have a great day!”

[space-mermaid-writing]

House Arrest [Reader X Loki] Chapter 3

Summary: You are Clint’s 'little' sister and actually a trained Shield agent. But you gave that up a few years ago and became a Chef, because you wanted a normal live. Then one day Natasha shows up at your door and takes you to the Avenger Tower for a while for security reasons.

Tags: Reader is an former Shield Agent, chef!reader, Reader Barton, 2012 Avenger vibes, everything is still alright, Slice of Life, Avengers Family, Loki has a good heart, still the god of mischief, Slow Burn, mention of food and cooking

Read it on AO3

Chapter 3: Nighttime pancakes

The next few days you got to know everything a little better: The tower, the Avengers - as far as they were present and showed themselves - and the rest of the staff that you ran into from time to time. You also discovered that the tower had its own training halls. Actually this was just logical given the team that lives here. Often when you were out and about in the building, you got the faint feeling of being watched. It was a little disturbing, but you dismissed it by saying that the environment was still new to you. Also, you had learned that JARVIS had access to all the public rooms and most of them were probably video monitored too. You weren’t sure about your own quarters yet, but you were also not sure if you wanted to know the answer.

Unfortunately the nights are very long, because you sleep very badly here. Despite the short time, you miss walking outside, through the streets, and besides, you are used to a rather strict daily routine. Sure, it's nice to switch off for a few days and not have to do anything. A little vacation, so to speak. But you're someone who soon gets bored with that. You chose a profession that requires you to spend hours running around the kitchen, preparing dishes and finishing orders for a reason after all. The price of your now lazy life is that you toss and turn in your bed at night without really being tired. Maybe there are some additional worries that keep you awake. For example, the Hydra question that was still unresolved.

This night you turn from side to side again, sighing, and at some point take a look at the digital alarm clock. Its digits glowing a light red in the darkness. It's three in the morning. Or night. Depending on how you see it. After a few more unsuccessful tries to sleep, you give up and decide to roam the halls a bit. Just walking around and stretching your legs. Outside, it's quiet. Only the soft whirring of some working machines can be heard. The corridors are discreetly lit, so you have no trouble finding your way, which leads you into the large lobby. It’s actually the first time since your arrival that you find it completely empty. Still, you have the familiar feeling that you are not alone. Jarvis probably never sleeps.

Out of habit, you end up in the kitchen and take a bored look into the fridge. Nothing in there appeals to you, but you're not really hungry either. Not even for a little snack. Still, you feel like cooking. Maybe pancakes. You could eat them for breakfast later. Without thinking too long about it, you get a bowl from the cupboard and tie an apron around yourself, which you have obligatory lying here by now. Flour, milk and eggs are quickly mixed and a few other ingredients are added for flavor. You put some butter in a pan on the stove. When it became liquid, you start to fry the first pancake and gradually got more and more, so that you quickly have a respectable pile together. Quietly, you hum to yourself.

"It's been a long time since anyone has been here at this hour”, you suddenly hear an unfamiliar voice behind you. Surprised, you whirl around, holding a knife that had been lying next to the stove. A dark-haired man in a green shirt is standing by the kitchen island, watching your actions curiously. When he sees the knife, he raises both hands to calm you down. On each of his arms you notice a narrow silver hoop with a red dot flashing. You hadn't heard a door, and you're not sure how long he's been standing there. "What’s your deal? Can’t sleep?", you ask him. "Just like you apparently." You raise an eyebrow and set the knife aside as the pancakes demand your attention. "You're Loki, aren't you?" It's more of a statement than a question, and the man nods. "And you're the archer's sister", he respond, which makes you in turn nod. "I‘m Y/N, pleasure to meet you." "You don't often hear that as a prisoner", he says amused, but still keeps eye on you, waiting for your reaction. "Heard about it. I guess we're sitting in the same boat." "Oh, really?" "Well, I probably won't be tasered right away if I try to leave the building." "Probably?", Loki follows up. "Yeah, I'm not entirely sure about that."

You talk for a while until you hear the elevator ping quietly in the lobby. But you're not paying attention right now, as you're busy scraping the last bit of dough out of the bowl and then turning off the stove. "Would you like some?" you ask Loki, turning to him only to find that he has disappeared. Taken aback, you turn your attention to the room next door, where you hear muffled voices. Then the door opens. "THAT'S what I call a nice welcome," Clint grins, looking at the stack of pancakes. "Brother dear", you greet him equally pleased and surprised at his unexpected appearing. Smiling, you walk up to him and hug him. Along with him, Steve Rogers, whom you've also already seen on the news as Captain America, came in. He seems a little confused at first, but after you fill him in on who you are, he welcomes you as well.

"What are you doing here?" your brother then asks you. "You can see that. I'm making breakfast for you." "No, I mean, what are you doing here?" He specifies the question with a gesture that included all the surroundings as well as the Tower. "Oh..." It's clearly too middle of the night for you to be that precise. In a few words, you explain your situation. Clint has some encouraging words for you, but can understand that you are not enthusiastic. "At least we can get more on each other's nerves again. Why don't you start right now and join us while we eat?", he laugh, putting his arm around your shoulder in a brotherly fashion as he pushes you toward the stove. You have to laugh, too. "You mean while you eat my breakfast." "Exactly." You go get two plates from the cupboard and serve the men each a good stack of pancakes with maple syrup. They thank you and the group of you make yourselves comfortable at the kitchen island. "Where and how do you guys usually eat here?", you ask in the meantime. "We each order our own food. Probably have a flat rate with all the suppliers in the neighborhood," Clint explains. Steves' gaze is on you questioningly. "Don't you want some pancakes, too?" "In the middle of the night? No thanks, I'm not hungry." "Then why did you made them, if you don't mind me asking?" "I knew you'd come and could use something in your stomach", you reply with a serious expression, to which Steve shoots first you and then your brother a scrutinizing look. He’d seen enough weird shit while working with the Avengers to take such a statement quite seriously. And he wonders whether you, unlike Hawkeye, have superpowers. But only until you can no longer stifle the broad grin, because his facial expression is just too funny.

Before you can say anything, though, Clint interjects. "As siblings, we've just developed some sort of telepathic ability." You nod in agreement. "Exactly. That's how I always know when he's going to say something stupid and deserve a head butt." "To be honest, I never heard him talk about you before”, Steve admits. "See”, you wink, "It‘s working out just fine." You laugh, and while they continue to eat, Clint tells you about the mission they just came from.

Afterwards, you put another stack of pancakes on a plate to take it with you back to the lobby. "Hungry now, are you?", your brother asks you, clearly tired after the long journey and at this late hour. Just as the super soldier. "Maybe”, you answer shortly and wish them both a good night. The greeting comes back double and you head into the large lobby with the elevators. "Jarvis?" "Yes, Miss Barton?" "Where is Loki's apartment?", you ask the computer. "You are not exactly authorized to receive this information." "I just want to get him something to eat."

You raise the plate in your hands a little higher and apparently your answer is analyzed, because for a few seconds there is silence. But then you get the information you want and are directed to the door you are looking for. It was on another floor and at the end of a long corridor.

You knock, but at first there is no response. So you try again. "Come on, my prince, I know you're not asleep and it's rude to leave a lady at a locked door." You hear an amused sound from the other side and shortly after the door is opened. With his arms crossed, Loki stands before you. "It's also rude to disturb a prince in the middle of the night, M’Lady", he replies. "Rude would be to refuse a dinner from a lady. Especially when she personally hands it to you", you add, giving him the plate. It's impossible for you to tell if he's amused or annoyed as he looks from you to the pancakes in his hand. "I never said I wanted any“, he states. "But you didn't say you didn't want them, either. Just give them a try. I'm pretty good at cooking." With that, you turn to go. "Good night, dear prince," you wish him, but without turning around. So you miss the grin on Loki's face as he closes the door.

[foodieforthoughts]

Sand and Stars - Chapter Two

Series Summary: After the water pump being blown up, the insurgents in Baqubah are taking a hold of the food supply to the village. Camp Warhorse is in dire need of reinforcements. It has been eight months of submitting countless requests when the High Command commissions Sergeant Olivia Ross to take her group of men and women and help Captain Syverson and his team to restore a semblance of normalcy. But with the war raging, does it get two hearts closer too?

Pairing: Captain Syverson x OFC x OMC

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: 18+, Mentions of war, military technicalities, smut in future chapters

A/N: Hello peeps! I hope you are enjoying this series. Please comment and reblog if you like it. It’s always good to hear that your work it appreciated. And massive thanks to @thelastsock for being my beta, who is immensely talented and the sweetest person ever! ❤️

<Chapter One

Title: Chapter Two

As the golden rays of the sun peered from the horizon, the living quarters came to life. Olivia was the first to jump into the shower, with Sloan and Sierra joining in by occupying the other booth, sometime after.

They had the food truck retrieval on their agenda today. But before that, the ladies, and everyone else in their unit had to carry out their scheduled morning workout. 

Olivia walked to the gym downstairs feeling fresh after the much needed shower. Everyone had retreated to their quarters last night, matted with sand and sweat, only cleaning themselves with a wet towel owing to water scarcity in the camp. As she reached the open doorway to the gym, she instantly spotted Schmidt lifting weights with the other men. A boombox sat on a table on one corner, blasting rock music from its speakers.

“The level of testosterone in this place is maddening,” Sloan groaned from beside her.

Olivia whinced as the song played a displeasing high note of an electric guitar. The gruff laughter of the men, along with the loud music was not the first thing she wanted to wake up to. “How about we go to the roof instead?” Olivia suggested, shrugging her shoulders. 

Half an hour into their workout, Sloan groaned under the heat. She pulled her blond hair up in a bun and sat on the ledge of the rooftop. Olivia got a couple more of her crunches done, the back of her t-shirt sticking to her body with her sweat. Sierra was staying put in a plank, Olivia always admired how this woman, even after bearing two kids, had an excellent core strength.

“Look at these guys,” Sloan commented, looking down from the roof. “They so bulky and unkempt.”

Olivia sat up, crossing her legs and grabbing her bottle of water. “You checking out the SF guys?”

“Yeah. Yesterday one of them, BJ was he? Was staring at my ass as I walked past him.”

Sierra stood up from her plank position and walked up to where Sloan sat. She ran a hand through her brown bob and looked down at the men. “I don’t know, they look rough and tough. Like, come on, they aren’t exactly Abercrombie & Fitch, but some of them are easy on the eyes.”

“Syverson, you mean?” Sloan nudged her friend. “Don’t think I didn’t hear you let out that low whistle when he spoke.”

“You know I am weak for the southern twang. And has a buzz cut ever looked that sexy on anyone?”

Olivia rolled her eyes watching Sierra fan herself while Sloan shook her head in disbelief. Pushing herself off of the floor, Olivia stretched her arms above her head. “Tell that to your British husband.” She poked the tip of her empty bottle in Sierra’s belly.

“Come on, Sarge. Tell me you didn’t find the Captain sexy.” Sierra wiggled her eyebrows at Olivia, giving her shoulders a shake too.

“Maybe she’s missing Captain Coop,” It was now Sloan’s turn to wiggle her eyebrows suggestively. She jumped down from the ledge and grabbed her own bottle. “Tell us, Sarge. Is he good in bed?”

“I think he’s so vanilla. Syverson seems like hot chocolate. Yum.” Sierra content with her comment, laughed along with Sloan. With her arm perched on Sloan’s shoulder, Sierra waited for an answer from their Sergeant.

“Guys, we have important work to do today.” Olivia let out her braid, letting her sweaty hair dry. “Come on,” she tilted her head towards the broken door of the roof.

Both women rolled their eyes at her, not stretching the topic further. Although when they were walking away, Sierra added a cheeky “I bet Syverson is an ass-man,” making Olivia shake her head.

But now that she was alone, she allowed herself a moment to think. She wouldn’t lie to herself, she found Sy to be very appealing to the eyes. The command he had over his men was also palpable. He hadn’t addressed them in front of her, but even in a laid-back manner, they seemed to be respectful of him.

With a warmth creeping on her already flushed skin, Olivia's thoughts turned to how he had checked her out. He was trying to be discreet, but she had noticed how his gaze had washed over hers when she had stood in front of him in the office. But, she was no innocent maiden either. Like for instance, when he had been looking down towards the map, pointing out the routes and places to hit for the food truck, she had noticed a few details about him. They were subtle attributes like the bridge of his nose, how his lashes looked thicker than hers, how his scruffy beard concealed most of his face, making her fingers tickle with the urge to touch it.

Olivia let out a slow breath, turning to look beyond the compound. It was not the time, or the place to be thinking about the physical features of her captain. They were in the middle of a war and she was here for a particular mission. Besides, she wasn't sure they were on good terms right now.

Shouldn’t have lashed out at him about being checked out when I was doing the same to him.

Her eyes fell towards the Humvees getting prepped with ammo and men getting ready to head out. She was bunching up her damp hair, to tie it up in an army regulated 'bun' to avoid violation of the dress code, when she caught sight of the Captain.

Sy stood in a black t-shirt and cargo shorts, holding a cup in his hand. A green spray-painted German Shepherd stood near his feet, wagging it’s tail and tongue lolling out of it’s mouth. The more Olivia looked at Sy the more she leaned towards agreeing that Sierra was right. Buzz cut hair never looked so good on anyone she had ever met.

Olivia’s mouth fell open when Sy looked up towards the roof, directly at her. Her hands fell down to her sides as they both stared back at each other. She watched as a smirk appeared on his bearded face while he brought his cup up to his mouth. Even from this distance she could notice how after taking a sip he licked his lips, darting only the tip of his tongue out.

“Yo, Red!” The sudden call from Schmidt standing just below the one-story building, wearing his gear and black sunglasses covering his eyes, broke the semi-trance Olivia had going on with Syverson. “We need to roll out.”

She nodded at her comrade, throwing a last look at a smiling Sy, before heading down towards their room. This was unacceptable. Get your head in the game, Liv. She scolded herself, a frown forming on her face as she ran down the stairs.

It was almost sundown when the troops finally came back to Warhorse. Olivia let the chopper hover over the camp while the last of the Humvee travelling behind the tarp-covered truck, entered the compound. They had noticed a few cars driving up to the mountain while the on-ground crew had spoken to the truck driver. Olivia was aware that they weren’t supposed to fire until they were getting attacked, but her fingers had hovered over the trigger to their machine guns attached to the chopper as a precaution. 

Luckily for them, the cars had driven off without any sort of trouble. The rest of their route back had been mostly uneventful with one of their men singing “Oklahoma, where the wind comes sweepin' down the plain” making everyone laugh over the comms. Olivia, unlike her own no-nonsense superiors, usually let her unit members have fun from time to time. She believed to earn respect, it wasn't necessary to make them bend the knee to her.

As soon as the skids hit the dirt, her eyes seemed to lock onto Syverson. He stood near their main wing in the same clothes, patting on the backs of his men as they walked back to their building.

“That seemed easy,” Schmidt cracked his neck, shrugging his shoulders to loosen his muscles. She could also feel the stiffness in her neck from sitting in the chopper, tensed and worried about the ground force. “This will feel like a vacation, huh Red? Work only once a week.” He laughed, joining the other men as they jumped out of their vehicles.

She smiled at him, stopping to watch the SF men helping her guys to unload the contents of the food truck. She spotted a body walking towards her from the corner of her eyes. She chose to look on ahead, counting the number of crates being offloaded, without glancing to her side.

“You did good, Red.” Sy’s gruff voice sounded from beside her. The use of her nickname sent weird sparks down her spine. “You scared off everyone with your chopper blades.”

Olivia couldn’t help but let herself smile. She would like to believe she did scare off the insurgents. “Would that suffice for everyone?” She jutted her chin, indicating the cartons of food being placed on the ground.

Sy let out a heavy sigh. “Will have to. Can’t let the locals suffer because of us.”

“What if they don’t care about us helping them?”

“We still do it. That’s our job.” She looked to Sy after he spoke. He had his arms crossed over his chest and his lips pursed together as he observed his boys taking the cartons to storage. Her eyes lingered on his, the evening sun making them look like two limpid pools of blue. She was aware she was staring but in a deeply cliched moment, she couldn’t avert her eyes.

“Like what you see, Sergeant?” The smugness in his voice was unmistakable. She quickly looked away and down towards her shoes, vaguely noticing the sand stuck to the eyelets and the scuff marks on the toe caps. 

Even though her ears warmed up from being caught red-handed, she was quick in gathering her wits around the awkward moment. She looked up again without much consideration towards him and turned to walk away. But before she was out of his ear shot, she couldn't resist adding, “I’ve seen better.”

Sy’s laugh, loud and filled with spirits, made her bite her lip as she smiled and sauntered back to their designated wing. Two things she was glad about right now. One, about Schmidt being right, this definitely felt more like a vacation. And two, Syverson and her weren’t exactly butting heads.

Olivia refused to accept it, but it really warmed her heart and she looked forward to the coming days.

Chapter Three>

✨Series Masterlist✨

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[quillsareswords]

Breathing Room

Damian Wayne

Of course the little dog here is basically my sweet baby girl Rogue with a different name (Baby/Babe because I'm sure all of you at home have dogs you'd like to substitute names for), who sends all her love and puppy kisses to all of you! Ugh this was fun to write. So goddamn fluffy I could call Build-a-Bear a competitor.

Reader is a Titan.

Requested:

Prompt List // Masterlist (in bio)

"If I die, I'm leaving my dog to you."

Damian turns halfway to give you a suspicious glance over his shoulder. Then, he turns back to the fire place, where he's successfully stoking the flames currently living there.

The animal in question is the next victim of his scrutiny, laying perfectly peacefully on the corner of your blanket that's been left unused on the couch next to you. He points, you nod, he rolls his eyes.

"Awe! What? You wouldn't take my poor baby girl in?" You're borderline incredulous. "Did you hear that Baby? He doesn't love you!"

He scoffs, then pushes himself to his feet and joins you on the couch once more. The little dog lifts her head to look at Damian, almost accusingly.

You pet her gently. "Don't mind him, Baby, he's just jealous because I love you more," you soothe, babytalking the eight pound pooch like the spoiled princess she is.

"Firstly, you aren't going to die, it's only a snow storm," he argues, "and secondly, even if something were to happen, of course I'd take in your large rat."

You gasp and lightly slap his chest. "Damian Wayne!" you shrill. He chuckles loudly. "You take that back right now! Apologize!"

He rolls his eyes, knowing that if he doesn't, you'd probably give his spot on the bed to Titus, who's listening to the entire exchange from the giant pillow on the floor. He reaches across you, lays a hand on her little head, and says clearly, "Baby, I am sorry for calling you a rat. You are clearly small not-dog."

You sigh in exasperation and defeat. He laughs, though it's obvious he's trying not to and failing miserably. "What am I going to do with you, you scoundrel?"

His arm lays across your shoulders as you shiver for the second time in the last five minutes. "Well, you can first let me chose what movie we watch since I started the fire for you."

You can't help snuggling closer to him. "Firstly," you mock, "I could have started the fire myself. Secondly, I'll let you pick the movie if you let me pick the genre."

"Deal," he relents.

Two comedies and a horror film later, you hear the front door downstairs unlock, with a roaring chorus of arguing voices behind it.

When Kori and Dick invited you and Damian to a Titans Winter Vacation, you had been a little skeptical. You hadn't been a Titan for very long, and you weren't as familiar as you'd like to be with any of them.

However, you'd known Damian for years, and he insisted it wouldn't be as bad as you thought. He wasn't entirely keen on the idea either, but you'd eventually agreed that it'd be nice.

They'd rented a cabin up in the mountains. It was three stories, with six bedrooms, five bathrooms, two living rooms, a home theater, and a game room. You especially loved the balconies on every level. That provided a truly glorious view of the Smoky Mountains.

Though, when you heard it was six bedrooms, you knew that meant sharing a room. You only really slept alright by yourself or with Damian, so it concerned you that you'd most likely be sharing a bunk bed with Raven, as you and Damian were seventeen. But, because Dick knew you wouldn't be doing anything more than cuddling, he was more than happy to let you and Damian share a queen-size in the loft, directly above Garfield and Jaime's.

To sweeten the deal even further, everyone was in perfect agreement that you should definitely bring your dog. She was very sweet and quiet, and perfectly mannered. You didn't worry about taking her anywhere. It made you feel even better that Damian was taking Titus.

So here you are now, tucked into Damian's side on a plush plaid couch in the loft, Baby curled up next to you and Titus sprawled at your feet, listening to Gar and Raven and Cyborg come shivering in through the front door.

"Holy hell, it's cold as balls!" Gar shouted, kicking off his boots at the door. You were about to call down to ask how town was, but he was already sprinting up the spiral staircase.

Damian sighed, though only loudly enough for you to hear. He thought of the loft in it's entirety as yours, even though the bedroom was an entirely separate room, kept private by a thick door.

Garfield paused by the couch to lean over and pet Babe, which she gladly accepted, before zipping over to the firepalce to warm up.

"How was town?" you ask. Damian grabs the remote and backs out of the movie, which was already rolling credits.

"Eh, it was okay. Grocery store was neat, though. Had a candy section that was lit."

You laugh softly. "Get all the groceries?"

He nods. "Yeah, but their produce section was so confusing."

"Are you sure you aren't just dull?" Damian quips. You roll your eyes and flick his ear as you sit up. "Hey!" he chirps.

"Ha!" Garfield shouts and points boldly, though he looks as though he's about to hurdle the railing behind you. "Damian got in trouble!"

Damian, the tough, mature man he is, flings a pillow toward the green boy with as much force as he can while slouched against the couch back.

"Watch the fire, you dufus," you scold, laughing, as you slide toward the steps with Baby at your heels.

"Ha ha! You got in trouble agaaiinn!" Garfield sings. Then he shrieks, and then there's a green bird diving over the wooden railing and Damian's shouting something that has you scooping up Baby and hustling down the stairs to stay out of his way.

• • •

Your bedroom is dark, and because you both like the curtains pulled away from the floor to ceiling windows overlooking the drop of the mountain your cabin is perched over, it is quite cold.

Too cold for your liking, even pressed against Damian's back and Babe curled into the small of yours.

It's been fifteen minutes of listening to Bob's Burgers play on the television over your shared dresser and the collective body heat still isn't enough. So, in a desperate attempt to chase the chill off, you half unwind your arms from his waist, and slide them under the hem of his tee shirt to press them flat against his side and his back.

While you're sighing in relief, he's jumping and sucking in a breath of absolute shock. He all but gasps, "What are you doing with your ice cold hands up my shirt?"

You almost laugh at the tone of absolute offence he's using. "I'm cold! We can't all keep the same core temperature as the sun, Wayne."

"Well Jesus, you could have at least warned me," he grumbles, rolling in your hold to face you.

You fall asleep pretty quickly now, wrapped up in his arms, legs tangled with yours beneath a heavy quilt.

• • •

You're always the first ones up. Well, not always, but for the past four days that you've been on the trip, you both have. It's usually Damian, and only Damian, but you aren't far behind once your main source of heat leaves you alone in bed with sunlight beaming into the room.

You, Baby, and Titus all follow him down the spiral staircase and through the main common room, dining room, and the intermediate stretch between the two staircases and two bedroom doors.

He turns on the coffee pot for the rest of the team while you start the kettle and set out tea bags and mugs for the two of you. While he's still fiddling with the settlings on the machine, you let the dogs out to the small fenced yard off to the side of the huge cabin.

The machine spurs to life just as you're lifting yourself up onto the countertop of the kitchen island. "Are you gonna make pancakes and eggs?" You keep your voice low, considerate of Raven in the room on the left and Jamie and Garfield in the room on the right, all still sleeping.

"I wasn't planning to," he answers, leaning against the counter by the gas stove, where the steel kettle is still heating up.

"But you promised. . ." You just out your bottom lip and tilt your head just a little, soft eyes oh so slowly grinding away at that steel cover he keeps locked around his heart.

After exactly forty two seconds, he caves in. "Did the Happy Bunch even get the ingredients yesterday?"

Your sweet begging facade switches on a dime, now housing a devious glint in your eyes. "Of course they did, I put it on the list."

He sighs, loudly. He lets the dogs in before he goes around the kitchen, gathering all things necessary for the pancake mix you love so much.

It's twenty minutes later when Kori and Dick are opening the basement door and emerging from the hall downstairs, Kori's hair just as unkept as every morning and Dick's shirt just as wrinkly as the night before.

"Sometimes I think you only love me for my pancakes," Damian chides playfully, having yet to associate the creaking hinges with the basement door.

"I won't deny it," you laugh, grinning down at the bowl you're stirring with more dedication than is probably necessary.

"Damian, I didn't know you cook," Kori states, with enough surprise that you're a little taken aback.

He turns to look at her over his shoulder, still dicing strawberries without looking and making your nerves twitch while he does it. "Only occasionally."

"Hey hey, watch what you're doing, boy," you sound a little too much like someone's grandmother, but you're really a little aghast that he hasn't steeled himself yet.

Damian reserves a certain part of himself around most people. It's a part of him you're allowed to bask in only after years of assurance and affection. You wouldn't be so surprised if it was only shown to Dick, but it was Kori he was speaking to, eyes still a little glittery and smile still lopsided and prominent.

In a moment of adoration and maybe a little pride in him, you hum, "Only for me, of course."

To yours and even Kori's awe, he chuckles. "Only when you force me, you mean."

You recover faster than she does, and cover yourself with a laugh. "I wouldn't call you promising me strawberry-blackberry pancakes forcing you, but if you wanna try and save a little face . . ."

Kori turns to Dick, with a look on her face that is silently asking if he's seen the same thing. His eyes flit between her, you, and his youngest brother, before they settle on you. He seems a little less jarred.

"Gezz, what'd you do, (Y/N)? Drug him in his sleep?"

With Garfield's arrival, Damian's smile fades off and he resumes quickly dicing strawberries on a wooden cutting board.

You mumble into your batter, "I'm starting to wonder."

• • •

At 11:15 in the morning on the sixth day, a war commences.

While you and Damian decide to hide out the still-raging snowstorm in your cozy little loft with your faithful hounds, half the team is out in the snow, hurling handfuls of snow that vaguely resemble spheres at one another from behind artificial snowbanks.

Though eventually, you decide the total war out in the front yard is far more entertaining than anything on his Hulu or Disney+. So, you pop a bowl of popcorn and brew your third batch of tea, and sit backward on the couch to watch out the massive windows that take up most of the front wall of the common room.

Over the porch roof, you can watch all the atrocities of battle play out from the safe warmth of your loft together.

Though, some time around three, Damian reminds you that you have plans to drive into town to explore, and asks if you'd rather stay and finish the battle.

An hour later, you and Damian stand at the front door, dressed to brave the weather, having bid your dogs goodbye as you left them in the warm safety of your bedroom.

Damian's hand is on the doorknob, but he seems hesitant. "Are you ready?"

You flip up your hood and pull your scarf up over your nose. "Yes."

He hauls the door open, and with your hand in his, you quickly cross the porch, jump the steps, and make it halfway around to the driveway, when you hear somebody shout, "Civilians! Open fire on civilians, they're both wicked!"

Damian spins on his heel to threaten the entire group, but you beat him to it when you see Jamie, snowclod wound up, aimed right at you.

Silence falls over the battlefield like the snow still drifting down at an alarming rate.

You point a sharp finger at him. "If you do this, I will never forgive you," you declare lowly. "I swear to every god in existence you'll wake up with your head sewn to the carpet."

He stops. Narrows his eyes. "You're bluffing."

"Am I?"

A moment's debate. You can image the Scarab waving you off with we can take her. But oh, that thing has never seen you with a grudge.

He swivels on his feet and hurls it at Raven, who's been hiding behind the snow that'd been shoveled off the sidewalk that morning.

You take Damian's hand again and make a break for his car.

After the drive to Downtown Gatlinburg and three or four hours spent roaming the streets, you're already talking about living there. In all honesty, he isn't so opposed to the idea of buying a home in the area. You seem so in your element here, and the town and the scenery surrounding you is so breathtaking.

But you know you'd never be able to drag him out of Gotham. Perhaps a vacation home, or maybe retirement.

You decide to stop in to a little cafe in a place called The Village, which is a collection of shops surrounding a lovely courtyard off the main stretch of Downtown.

It's crowed inside, so you decide to stand out by the fountain while you sip your steaming drinks and converse about the little shops you liked best so far. You are particularly fond of a candy shop, and he would very much like to check out a blade shop a block or so down the way.

Your teeth chatter as you talk about wanting a souvenir, something small to keep on a shelf, and finish the rest of your hot chocolate.

"Are you that cold?" his question is simple enough, but his voice is so soft and so drenched in concern it catches you off guard.

You laugh lightly. "I'm okay, just might need another hot chocolate before we set off again," you shrug, jamming your hand into your pocket has he takes the paper cup from you and nods.

"Well, I'm sure that can be arranged." He smiles.

There's something in his eyes, though. It's subtle, in the little wrinkles between his eyebrows, and the redness of his nose and his cheeks. As much as you like the way it looks on his honey crisp complection, it's starting to worry you. Not the blush he gets from the cold's kiss, but the slightly out of character openness he's been exhibiting. You like to think that maybe he's growing out of hiding his louder emotions, for his own sake, but you can't take the risk that it's something else.

He returns to you with an offering of mint hot chocolate. He smiles again when he greets you, and the pair of you set off back toward the sidewalk do a little shopping.

"Hey, Dame?"

"Hm?"

You wind your arm around his elbow with your free hand. "Everything okay with you?"

He turns his full attention on you. "Yes, of course. Why do you ask?"

You take a sip out of your hot chocolate. "I don't know, you've just been acting a little differently the last few days." His eyebrows crease in a worried way, and you get the sense he's disappointed. "In a good way, I mean," you correct yourself quickly, "I just want to be sure it isn't for a bad reason."

He shakes his head and takes a deep breath. You turn out onto the sidewalk, and start making your way farther up the street. "No, there isn't anything wrong," he assures. "I can't exactly explain it, which I'm not entirely okay with, but it's been. . . nice, this trip. The land is beautiful, the air is much cleaner than in Gotham, the people here are nice." He turns to face you again. "And you seem a lot more comfortable with the Titans. I'm glad; I'd feared you wouldn't bond with them at all, truthfully, and they're all far more bearable with you around."

You nod as he speaks, eyes jumping past him to the signs on the building fronts every once in a while. There's something he isn't saying, and you know it.

"And. . ." He sighs. "And you."

You pass him a quizzically quirked brow.

His voice lowers and he lays a hand over yours on his arm. "I love you so much, (Y/N). I can't even find the right words anymore."

Your eyes lock with his and you stop walking. Your lips part because your jaw goes a little slack, and your wide eyes reflect all the neon colors of the signs in the window on your right.

It isn't the first time he says he loves you. And you know it won't be the last, but he hardly ever says it so freely. It always behind closed doors in the softest moments, when you're both vulnerable or so drunk on love for one another neither of you can think straight.

You can't remember the last time he's been so open about in in front of anyone else, and it only ripens your concern.

You pull him closer, eyebrows slanting together. "Damian, I'm serious, are you okay?"

Now he's the one with one eyebrow reaching for answers. "Pardon?"

"I'm sorry," you blurt, "you know I love you from here clear to Alpha Centauri but you're really starting to worry me."

He laughs at that. Then, his eyes are as soft as his smile, and his hands smooth down the sides of your arms before they rest on your forearms. "(Y/N), I promise you there is nothing wrong with me now that hasn't been for the past seven years. Am I not allowed to let once in a little while, and allow myself a little breathing time?"

You hadn't realized you were so tense until you relax under his touch with the assurance. "Of course you are," you reply after a pause. You take one hand off your hot chocolate to rest it on his chest, coincidentally over his heart. "I just worry sometimes. I don't want anything to happen to you, Dame."

"I know," he says. He gingerly takes the paper cup from you and sets it on the bench you hadn't noticed before. He pulls you into his arms, enveloping you in a warmth like sunshine and a scent that's too particular to Damian Wayne to be mistaken. Your arms wind inside his open coat to the hoodie he's wearing underneath.

A long moment passes in relative silence. Your eyes are closed, ears perked to the drifting sounds of uncaring passersby and the rumbling of passing cars.

"I really want to slip my hands under your shirt right now," you mumble into his shoulder. "But if you tell me not to, I won't."

He grunts.

And for a moment, you ponder weather or not that was a denial. You silently make your choice and close your eyes again.

He leaps under your touch. "Damn it, (Y/N)!"

[marveloushiddleston]

The Monster Within

English Masterlist

Plot: Everyone fails at being who they are supposed to be. A man, a hero, is measured by how well he succeeds in being who he is. Loki must now understand this truth. After the final battle against Thanos, the job of the original Avengers was done. As part of the new Avengers, among him Wanda, Vision, Bucky, Sam, Carol and Stephen, Loki must prove himself to Earth. Together with SWORD, the Avengers must face a new, unknown enemy and stop him before it’s too late.

Chapter 9

"Good" to see you all back here safe and sound," Tony says, "Mister Brainwashed.", He nods to Bucky, it wasn't much, but Tony talking to him again was a start, albeit a very small start.

"What happened to your armor Loki?", Bucky asks Loki as he notices the new armor.

"Well, the team felt I could use an upgrade," Loki held out his arms.

"Really?", Bucky asks looking at the team.

"Well, if you're done with your little chit-chat. I've located Wanda and Vision.", everyone gathered around the table. Tony stood at the table fang, on the left side stood Bucky and Monica and on the right side stood Catherine and Loki.

"I discovered the two in an alternate timeline by Vision, still dead after the last battle. Wanda revived him after that and took over a small town called Westview. There she plays mother, father, child in a sitcom of sorts."

"Well then, we should get going before we waste any more time," Monica says, Tony shaking his head.

"The thing is, you're an active part of the sitcom, Monica, so it's unwise for you to go on this mission," Tony clarifies to the team.

"Well, then I'll wait here and wait from here," Monica agrees with Tony.  Bucky, Catherine and Loki went to the machine and put on their quantum suits.

"Okay, on the count of three, we go to the quantum level. Three...Two...One.", the three disappeared from the machine. Tony looked to Monica, "So what do we do now?"

Bucky, Loki and Catherine appeared outside of Westview. The first thing they noticed was the SWORD base, which resembled a small town, outside the city. Catherine walked closer to the edge of the town and wanted to touch the force field, Loki pulled her back slightly by the arm.

"Not if Stark is right and everyone in the town is stuck in some sort of sitcom, everyone there is probably unaware of it and if you enter it you are part of it as well," Loki explained, staring at the force field.

"And what do you propose to do?" asked Bucky, walking to Loki's side, "How else are we going to get to Wanda and Vision?", Loki looked around, he noticed a SWORD jeep parked near the group, Catherine and Bucky followed his gaze.

"You're not planning on doing what I'm thinking right now, are you?" asks Bucky, taking an audible breath.

"Oh yes I am," Loki says mischievously, grinning before making his way to the jeep.

"Up to what?" asks Catherine, trying to figure out the situation. Loki put his hands on the hood of the jeep and a green glow settled around the car.

"This will protect us from Wanda's powers.", Loki explained and Catherine term that Loki wanted to steal the jeep.

"Hey, what are you doing!!!" a SWORD agent shouted a few feet away and ran toward the team. Loki opened the jeep with Seidr. He got into the driver's side and pulled the door shut. Bucky sighed, ran around the jeep, got into the passenger seat and pulled the car door shut as well.

"Unless you want to book a vacation in a SWORD prison cell, I'd advise you to get in, Catherine," Loki said, leaning against the car window toward her. By now, a group of several agents were running toward them. Catherine got into the car behind Loki as quickly as she could. The agents fired at the car as Loki started the car.

"Do you know how to drive?" asked Bucky. Catherine and he clung to the car as Loki took off like mad. He drives the car in circles, spinning the earth so the agents couldn't tell where they were shooting.

"No, but I can fly spaceships," Loki explains with a grin. He heads for the force field and gave as much throttle as he could.

"Um, well, that's not a spaceship, Loki.", Catherine improves Loki. A fleet of SWORD jeeps sped up behind them. Two of the jeeps caught up and slammed into Loki's jeep on either side. Finally Loki manages to shake off the Two Jeeps, the other Jeeps stopped as Loki broke through the force field. He stopped the car with an angled left turn, throwing Bucky and Catherine against the side of the car. The three got out of the car and closed the car doors.

"Tony, can you tell us where Wanda is?", Catherine tries to talk to him through the radio, "Tony, can you hear us?"

"It seems like the communication is not working here," Catherine remarks.

"We'll have to find them the old-fashioned way I guess," Bucky says. Loki and Catherine agree with a nod and walked toward the interior of the city. Finally, they arrived at the center of the city and looked around.

"Where, in Helheim's name, have we ended up?" asks Loki as he surveys the city.

"On a sitcom," Bucky answered. At the SWORD base outside of town, Darcy had returned to the TV with a pack of chips from the vending machine and noticed the new cast members from Wanda's sitcom.

"Jimmy, you should see this!", Darcy called over her shoulder before continuing to stare at the screen. Jimmy appeared at Dacy's side and looked at the old TV.

"Loki is alive and Bucky and him are now part of the show too?", Jimmy asked confused, "And who is the woman next to them."

"One of our SWORD agents, they just went through the force field to Westview," Darcy and Jimmy turned to see Director Hayward standing behind them.

A/N: My tag list is open and please tell me if you want in it and tell me what you think of the chapter in the comments!

Tag-List: @silvers-hero-vault @i-like-most-things-i-guess

[thebibliomancer]

Essential Avengers: Avengers #227: Testing... 1... 2... 3!

January, 1983

Welcome to 1983! And the year starts off with the greatest gift of all: more Captain Marvel!

Also, She-Hulk strutting, Hank pondering, and Wasp lunching.

Truly, this issue promises much for six dimes.You’re blessed these days to find a comic that promises half as much for ten dimes.

I’ve said before that I like covers that are just ‘hey here’s several things that are going to happen in this issue.’ And I still do. Is rad.

Also rad? We have our next long term Avengers writer starting in this issue. Roger Stern!

So last time (in Spider-Man), boat cop Monica Rambeau punched a science machine and got filled with science. She can turn her body into any kind of energy. She quit the boat cops and became a superhero in New Orleans for a couple weeks but then learned that she was going to explode. So she went to New York to try to get some science to fix the science.

Since Reed Richards wasn’t available, she wound up going to the Avengers for help. Hijinxes ensued as they must, but Iron Man was able to siphon the excess energy out of her by causing a lot of property damage to his own property.

Imagine the AU where Reed wasn’t on vacation and Monica ended up more tied to the Fantastic Four.

The issue starts with the Avengers and the all-new Captain Marvel hanging out in the combination lounge and science room.

For when you need to calibrate something but with an eye towards leisure.

Since Iron Man siphoned off a lot of energy from Captain Marvel, Wasp decided to test her to make sure her powers haven’t been affected.

The test has Captain Monica take off from Avengers Mansion and then hit a series of satellites as different forms of energy. One as light, one as microwaves, another as radio waves before returning to the mansion as x-rays.

And since she’s traveling at the speed of light, she gets back before the Avengers even take a breath. Although using the telemetry machines he assembled for the test, Iron Man clocks her in at under two seconds.

Cap notes that she’s so fast that she makes Quicksilver look like shit. Because running is fine, if you can’t turn into light.

And Wasp is so impressed that she instantly invites Captain Marvel to join the Avengers as an Avenger-in-training.

Cap frets about the Avengers’ government clearances but Wasp is ahead of him with the power of NETWORKING.

She already got a limited-security training program approved by the government. Because she and the First Lady have the same masseur.

It really is about who you know.

Cap examines the paperwork, sees that everything seems to be in order, and agrees that Jan’s plan is best plan. She-Hulk is all for it too. As is Thor. Only Hawkeye doesn’t voice support, but keeps his thoughts to himself.

So, Monica is in the Avengers! As an in-training!

With that established, Wasp leaves for a brunch appointment.

That Wasp and her brunching.

Cap and Iron Man start breaking down the Monica-Measuring-Machine while Hawkeye starts grousing.

Because Hawkeye.

Hawkeye: “Hey, am I the only one who’s noticed how bossy our boss-lady’s gotten lately? We didn’t used to get called in on the run just to screen new members.”

She-Hulk: “What’s the matter, Robin Hood? Can’t stand being around a few strong women?”

Captain America: “The calling of special meetings is the group-leader’s privilege, Hawk -- you know that! I think Jan is just growing into her post as Avengers chairwoman... and doing a great job of it, I might add!”

Hawkeye has not drunk much respect respect women juice around this point in his life. Putting aside his repeated kissing unreceptive women, he also went ‘haha i hope you learned feminism is pointless’ during the Evils of Feminism Halloween issue.

She-Hulk agrees with Cap’s take and then picks up the entire five ton machine and walks off with it, I think mostly to show off. Or strut her stuff, as the cover said.

This just sets off Hawkeye some more.

Hawkeye: “That’s another thing! I never used to have big, green broads challenging me to arm-wrestle everytime I walked through the door! Do you know what it’s like to... to... Aw, the heck with it! I have to get back to work!”

Cap: “Welcome to the future, Hawkeye.”

Hahaha amazing.

Razz the heck out of him, Cap.

Its possible that he’s exaggerating but I do believe that She-Hulk would do that, just to flex on Hawkeye. What with her muscles.

But I wonder if the reason for this bad Hawkeye mood is that in a rarely precedented turn of events, the Avengers have three women on the team.

That’s still four guys to three girls but since its usually one girl to every three guys, Hawkeye might feel suddenly outnumbered.

Because he is a fool.

After Hawkeye stomps off, Cap remarks that Hawkeye needs to learn a few new things about women.

But Iron Man is lost in his own women troubles. He beats himself up verbally for getting involved with Wasp without being honest with her about his identity.

He even wonders if it would be for the best, aka less awkward for everyone, if he resigned from the team.

Cap tells him that wouldn’t solve anything.

Captain America: “You made a mistake. We all make mistakes. The important thing is to learn from them... to bounce back. You can do it, mister! You’re an Avenger!”

Iron Man: (So was Hank, Cap... So was Hank.)

Interesting to see how the fall of Yellowjacket is still rippling in the pond.

But here’s what I’d tell Morose Iron Man: Hank didn’t learn from his mistake. He doubled and tripled down on it. If you learn a thing, you’re already off to a good start.

Thor has apparently been sitting across the room the whole time, listening to all of this. But he is also lost in his own thoughts.

He is also thinking whether he should resign from the team but so that he can focus more on re-establishing Donald Blake’s life. And even though some of his proudest moments have been as an Avenger, it is taking away Donald time.

Several floors below, She-Hulk casually carries that five ton machine on her shoulder. So casual that she reads the Daily Bugle while she walks.

She-Hulk, a Californian: “‘The Daily Bugle’ -- HAH! They call this a newspaper? New Yorkers wouldn’t know a real paper if it bit ‘em on their behinds! Sometimes I think I’ll go stir crazy in this town!”

There is apparently nothing for her to do in New York between Avengers missions. Nothing to do. In New York.

???????

But she does find a help wanted ad for a part-time instructor for a health spa that interests her.

You have a LAW DEGREE.

First off, how are you not in ridiculous law school debt?

Second, LAW DEGREE.

She’s so engrossed in the ad that she does Jarvis a fright, forcing him and Monica to squeeze up against the wall to avoid being smacked by the machine She-Hulk is carrying.

Jarvis bemoans that new Avengers are always a trial before hurriedly excluding Monica.

She diplomatically takes no offense.

Jarvis continues his tour of the mansion, taking Monica to the records room which has not only all of the Avengers case files but also cross-referenced files from the Fantastic Four, the UN, SHIELD, Interpol, and a bunch of federal agencies.

If the Avengers love anything its drama but if they love two things its reading up on stuff. Like how Hawkeye was like ‘ah ha the Taskmaster, I read your file’ in the issue where he shot Ant-Man on an arrow.

Monica Marvel asked to see the records room because she’s following up on the Thing telling her that someone else went by Captain Marvel before she did.

So Jarvis punches up the Avengers’ file on Mar-Vell.

That’s a bit of a neat touch. If she’s going to go around as Captain Marvel (and she has to, its a trademark squat) she’s going to be respectful and learn about the man that her name is going to evoke.

Meanwhile, in Central Park, Reed and Sue Richards?

Well, they’re on the cover so its not much of a surprise. They’re Wasp’s brunch appointment. A brunchment.

Sue decided that they should jog to Tavern-On-The-Green. Reed has decided that he hates jogging.

Sue: “Oh, no! It’s 11:59! I knew we should have started sooner!”

Reed: “I wish we hadn’t started at all.”

So when Sue complains about them arriving late, Reed goes heck yeah i can get out of jogging, scoops Sue up and does FANTASTIC LEG STRETCHING which is very different from jogging.

Good thing he made those jogging suits out of unstable molecules.

In mere seconds, Reed covers the half mile to the tavern to meet the nonplussed Janet van Wasp and the oppositely nonplussed waiter.

So, Sue and Jan are fast friends forever now because of that one time they had brunch.

That’s how it works in their circle.

And Sue called and invited Jan out to brunch. But not just to get her back, but because she’s worried about Jan.

Well she says “we’ve been worried” but Reed probably had to be reminded that Sue has friends.

Jan: “Sue, you’re a dear! But you’re worried about nothing! I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. Sure, it’s taken awhile to get used to being single again -- but I’m fine! Really!”

And like someone who is totally fine, she insists that she’s fine and then immediately excuses herself to the bathroom to powder her nose.

Noses sure needed a lot of powdering back in the day.

And anyone that insists that they’re perfectly fine and then runs off to the bathroom is either going to cry or going to powder their nose in a more narcotics fashion.

After Jan heads off to the bathroom to powder her nose in whichever way, Reed and Sue talk about her behind her back.

Reed: “Well, she’s certainly putting up a good front -- !”

Sue: “Yes, but it’s just a front! She’s keeping everything bottled up inside her! And she’s been through so much lately... Hank’s expulsion from the Avengers, the divorce... and now that she’s become chairwoman of the Avengers -- ! I’m afraid for her, Reed!”

Reed: “We can’t help her if she won’t let us, Sue. Jan’s a strong-willed woman -- I just pray that she’s strong enough to bend with the pressure... and not break!”

So its not one thing Sue is worried about. Its all the things. And there are a lot of things.

I don’t know what Sue means by “now” when she says Jan became chairwoman of the Avengers.

That happened the instant she came back from her divorce vacation from the team. I mean, it is plausibly a thing to worry about that she’s taken on too much in too little a time and just putting a smile on.

But she’s been leadering the Avengers. Its gone okay.

Anyway, Jan did go into the bathroom to not cry in front of her new best friend, Sue.

Jan: “I won’t cry... I won’t! Maybe I don’t have Hank around to lean on anymore -- but I can tough it out! I’ll show ‘em... I don’t need him... Don’t need anybody! After all, I’m an Avenger! I’m the leader of the Avengers!”

And she walks out of the bathroom with feelings entirely managed and a smile back on.

I think the Avengers needing anybody is why the Avengers are Avengers, though. Bunch of usual loners teamed up once and realized ‘wait this is great.’

So like in the Jan and Tony are disgustingly cute together story, we get another glimpse that things haven’t been as easy on Jan as she lets on.

I don’t mind. This is what being a well-rounded character is, probably. I’ll see how things go.

It’s like... There’s this period of the Teen Titans book where Donna Troy became the team leader because Dick Grayson was having a lot of identity problems. And Donna suddenly started being like ‘I have no idea what I’m doing’ and making a lot of mistakes. And one could suspect that she was being set up as a less competent leader to make Dick look better. Kind of like how Shuri (initially) and Maria Hill exist to make T’Challa and Nick Fury look better in comparison.

As long as they don’t do that to Jan or something else like that, I’m fine for Jan to have a more complicated situation.

And it doesn’t seem like it’ll go that direction because I've heard she’s going to be the team leader for a while and mostly everyone (except Hawkeye) thinks she’s doing a good job.

But we leave brunch to the opposite of brunch, dusk. And at Ryker’s Island Penitentiary.

Recently, the government has been scattering all of the prisoners with superpowers to prisons across the country. Probably to avoid creating a powder keg situation.

*coughs in Raft*

The only superpowered prisoner left is “probably the worst of the lot.”

Because it’s Hank Pym.

Good dunk at his expense, prison guard.

But actually because “What could be lower than an Avenger who’s gone bad?”

And there’s a Dr. Paul Edmonds here to see Hank.

Hank is sorta blase to it, since he’s seen about thirty by this point. Presumably many of which have been paid for by Tony Stark’s guilty conscience.

Edmonds doesn’t say whether he’s from the prosecution or the defense (and Hank admits it doesn’t really matter to him) but he’s here to determine whether Hank is fit to stand trial.

What with his weird history.

Hank Pym: “Doctor, when I think back over my history, as you call it, I sometimes wonder if I was ever fit for anything!”

Wow, nice self-own, Hank.

Anyway, almost the entire rest of the issue is the Grand Fairly Exhaustive Hank Pym Backstory Exposition Dump.

Of course, with the fillering of the previous run, Hank has been in jail for a bit. And a lot of the relevant backstory stuff is decades past. And Iron Man’s recap of it is over a year ago.

The long-awaited trial is coming up soon so Stern has to get the readers refamiliarized with this stuff.

Lets try to breeze through?

Hank’s life? Sucks. A lot.

He received his doctorate while his friends were undergraduates because he was a workaholic and because “it was easier to deal with chemicals than with people.”

He probably wouldn’t have ever left his lab if his coworkers hadn’t managed to drag him to parties occasionally.

Hank met his first wife Maria Trovaya at one of those reluctant social occasions.

Hank: “She was beautiful, intelligent, witty... I couldn’t believe she was attracted to me! It was like some kind of miracle!”

Wow, another amazing self-own.

They fell so in love with each other that they were married in months.

And then tragedy.

Maria decided that the perfect place to go on honeymoon was to her homeland of communist Hungary where her father had been an enemy of the state.

Sooo. The secret police beat the shit out of Hank and took Maria off to be killed.

Dang.

Hank had his first breakdown when he heard. And the State Department had a hell of a time getting Hank released from Hungarian captivity.

When Hank got back to the US, he buried himself in his work. And the mad lad decided to invent a shrinking potion.

Hank: “It shouldn’t have worked, but I made it work!”

I like when people stop and realize how bonkers the Marvel universe is.

And that Hank put all this effort into inventing this thing and then in a moment of clarity went ‘holy shit I can’t believe that actually worked!’

This recap doesn’t mention that Hank poured his invention down the drain after having a bad experience in an anthill but either way, the invention led to him becoming Ant-Man!

Sort of accidentally! He didn’t really plan to become a “costumed crusader” he just sort of happened to do it.

Hank: “In a way, it almost felt good to be battling the kind of vermin who had killed my Maria!”

But he admits that he wasn’t ever truly comfortable in the role of superhero.

Vicarious catharsis for his murdered wife is possibly the reason why he can’t stay away from it though.

Although it mixes with Hank throwing himself into science so he doesn’t have to people. And Hank feeling insecurity compared to his peers in both superheroics and science so he keeps jumping unhappily between the two.

He’s got a lot going on.

Then his life changed forever again when he met a Dr. Vernon van Dyne and his daughter Janet.

Hank: “Though she was barely twenty, her physical resemblance to Maria was striking. And I soon discovered that Janet van Dyne was more than just a frivolous young debutante. Her father was killed... murdered, and when she tearfully vowed to see justice done, I saw a strength of will... so much like Maria’s!”

Hank revealed that he was the Ant-Man and offered to make her his partner.

So, yeah, maybe the relationship was kind of not on the healthiest footing from the beginning. There’s an age gap (Hank says she’s barely half his age although I don’t know that he’s supposed to be in his forties?). Hank is using her as a replacement goldfish. She’s probably clinging to him in a similarly unhealthy manner, having just lost her father and this guy goes ‘hey want some superpowers?’

(Interesting but obvious bit here is that Hank says that with his further research, he could give Jan better powers than his own. What with the wings and the Wasp sting and all, yeah its kind of obvious that her powerset was better. Its interesting though considering how insecure Hank would get later.)

It would have taken a lot of emotional maturity from the both of them to keep it from becoming the unbalanced relationship that it did and neither of them were that emotionally mature, I think. Hank doesn’t even like to people.

He also doesn’t like to Ant-Man. Even with a partner, the role makes him ill at ease.

Hank: “No one can truly know the fragility, the vulnerability of life, as I have. It takes a very strong man to shrink to the size of an ant and still feel sure of himself. And I was never that strong.”

And here there’s a nice bit of arc welding.

Back in Avengers #1, Ant-Man is the one that suggests that Ant-Man, Wasp, Hulk, Iron Man, and Thor become a team.

I don’t know what Stan Lee’s original reason for having Ant-Man be the one to say it. It might have just been a flow thing. Ant-Man had just spoken to explain how his ants have trapped Loki in a tank so rather than pivot to a new character, Stan may have had Ant-Man bring it up.

But in this grand recap of all things Hank Pym, Hank explains his motive.

Feeling ill at ease as Ant-Man, feeling unsure of himself from seeing the world at the size of an ant, he had found some strong allies that he didn’t dare to lose.

Interesting dots to connect.

But then Hank went ‘oh no i fucked up.’

Hank: “I soon realized that Ant-Man would constantly be overshadowed by the more powerful teammates -- at least one of whom the Wasp found most attractive!”

It’s Thor. Of course, it’s Thor.

Even though it may have been a ploy to make him jealous, Hank locked himself in the lab to improve his powers.

Of course, we know Hank Pym’s usual string of luck with locking himself into his lab.

So what happens next is incredibly obvious but no less funny. But its so funny that I had to look up whether it was how it was originally portrayed or invented for this extended flashback.

When testing his new growth formula, Hank smashes his own house like a sillier Alice in Wonderland.

And this actually happened in Tales to Astonish #49.

Amazing.

Hank really does have consistent luck with science.

And what makes it funnier is that according to this extended flashback, making himself super-strong and giant didn’t actually make Hank feel like a more valuable member of the team.

He felt clumsy and inept. Not to mention that testing an experimental formula on himself WAS REALLY BAD FOR HIS HEALTH.

And it was Jan realizing what was going on with Hank rather than concern for herself having been shot that made Jan suggest that the two retire from Avengersing (leading to the Kooky Quartet).

But Jan actually really enjoyed being the Wasp and Hank must have felt shitty pulling her away from it because as we know, he eventually ends up back on the team with more limited growth powers and a name change to Goliath.

He actually felt like he was pulling his weight around this time, though, because he was the most experience member of the team.

Of course, its also around this time that he accidentally created Ultron, which is a big whoopsie.

But he made what he considers a worse whoopsie.

Hank: “But even the responsibility for unwittingly unleashing Ultron on the world often paled in comparison to my trouble relationship with Jan. Having come into her full inheritance, she wanted to underwrite my research. I wanted to pay my own way, but I couldn’t find the words to tell her.”

Probably because he was more comfortable with chemicals than people. Open and healthy communication is essential in a relationship but its also difficult.

He also wanted to marry Jan but at the same time felt too unsure of himself to propose.

So Hank did what Hank do and retreated into his lab.

Where he accidentally spilled some chemicals and had another breakdown after getting high on fumes, becoming convinced that he was actually another person entirely.

I don’t know why but the panel of Hank declaring “So, Goliath won’t marry Janet van Dyne, eh? Then, there shall be no more Goliath!” cracks me up.

Anyway, Jan saw right through Yellowjacket and decided to play along and when Hank was shocked back to reality, he discovered he was married.

Which. Uh. Has gotten more scrutiny in the years after it was published. Including this year of 1983.

Hank: “I guess even some psychotic episodes can be beneficial.”

Dr. Edmonds: “Do you think that was the case?”

Hank: “I did then. Now... I’m not so sure. I know I wanted to believe it then. Jan and I were married. The circumstances didn’t seem important.”

After the honeymoon, things begin to sour. Hank tried to stick to small sizes as being better for his health. And he tried to stay away from the Avengers too but Jan wanted them to be Avengers together.

Hank: “I had to keep trying for her, even though my heart wasn’t in it! The pressure got to be too much, my work began to slide. More and more projects were ending in failure.”

He smashed up his lab to lash out at something, out of frustration that he had swallowed his pride to accept Jan’s money and was now wasting it on fruitless projects.

Jan started trying harder and harder to prop up Hank’s ego.

But he was still a walking emotional wreck so when Ultron returned, it didn’t take much to tip him over the edge into another breakdown.

This one came with AMNESIA! Hank though he was Ant-Man ant-again and attacked the Avengers because he didn’t recognize Vision, Scarlet Witch, Wonder Man, Beast, or even Captain America as being Avengers.

I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again and again. Ants is best power.

Hank: “It’s almost funny in a way. I took on the Avengers single-handed and nearly beat them! My finest hour as a ‘hero’... and I wasn’t even in my right mind!”

That does sour what is an otherwise pretty impressive stomp. When Spider-Man stomps entire X-Men team, its held up as one of his greatest moments. When Hank does it to the Avengers its like ‘welp there goes another Hank Pym breakdown.’

Iron Man was able to devise a variant of electro-shock therapy which undid the damage Ultron did to Hank’s mind which sure sounds like a thing electro-shock therapy could do.

Hank was getting back into the swing of things as Yellowjacket when Henry Peter Gyrich pulled the rug out from him.

As Henry Peter Gyrich is known to do.

With him as the government liaison, the Avengers were ordered to slim down the roster. And Hank got the boot while Jan was kept on the team.

At first Hank was glad for it because it gave him an excuse to leave the team and go back to his lab work.

Buuuuut as happens when Hank does do that, his lab work became fruitless and frustrating.

And with Jan on the Avengers, he could go days without seeing her. And he felt alone and lost without her.

Its the irony of his life.

Jan convincing Hank to stay on the Avengers isn’t good for him. Him not being on the Avengers while she is, isn’t good for him. And being kept from being on the Avengers isn’t good for her.

A possible compromise might have been to have him working at Avengers Mansion as an on-staff but uncostumed science advisor. But Hank may not have accepted that, what with the pride.

I wonder about it though because Hank will later join the West Coast Avengers in a strictly support capacity for a while.

Anyway, Hank having a bad time in the lab coincided with Captain America reorganizing the roster.

Hank: “I began to think that maybe ‘Avenging’ was all I could do. As Yellowjacket, I pinch-hit for other members whenever possible. And when Captain America invoked executive privilege to further pare the team down to a more workable six members, I jumped back on board. I had such high hopes. The ‘new’ Avengers were practically the original group. This time, I thought I could finally be the kind of man Jan wanted me to be. But I was only fooling myself. By then, I was in no state of mind to be an Avenger!”

Because, yeah. This is the part of the Hank Pym Lore Dump that we hit the Elf-Queen incident.

And then the court-martial.

Hank: “I had to redeem myself somehow! I became desperate! In the hours that followed, I must have cracked completely!”

Enough that building an indestructible kill-bot to kill his friends to make them realize how useful he is seemed like a good idea.

It wasn’t.

The robot kicked the crap out of Hank before he could hit the secret shut-down switch and Jan saved the day by hitting the switch instead.

Hank: “Jan divorced me, threw me out... Not that I blame her! Did you know that I actually struck her on the day of the court-martial?! Lord, I must have been out of my mind! I had compounded one mistake with another, and my whole life collapsed like a house of cards.”

Dr. Edmonds asks if being estranged from his friends and broke was why he tried to steal the federal reserve of adamantium but Hank denies this last bit.

He was played a fool by EGGHEAD!

Hank: “But I’ll tell you this, Edmonds, I won’t play the fool any longer! I’ve learned so much about myself -- the hard way -- in the last few weeks. I’ll have my day in court, and I’ll beat those charges!”

Dr. Edmonds: “I see. And in that way, you think you’ll win back your wife?”

Hank: “No. I thought that was possible once. I don’t any more. I’ve lost her. It hurts, but I’ll just have to accept it. Now, all I want back is my dignity.”

Oof.

I’ve been kind of low-key snarking at Hank for acting like he’d be able to easily win Jan back given what went down but it hurts a little to see him give up on that hope, even if he seems resigned to it.

LATER, Dr. Edmonds returns to his office and calls his SECRET EMPLOYER

Its Tony Stark. Of course its Tony Stark.

We already knew that Tony has been throwing a lot of money at the problem of Hank to assuage his guilty conscience. And that it included making shrinks available.

Dr. Edmonds: “Dr. Pym has been through more than any two men should! He’s suffered at least four nervous breakdowns in the last decade! He has a massive inferiority complex -- but the man is fit to stand trial. Moreover, I don’t think we can swing an insanity plea. Despite his insistence that this Egghead person set him up!”

I wonder if Iron Man was trying to swing an insanity plea. Get the case dismissed. Wouldn’t put it past him!

And honestly. What would you think if you friend had a nervous breakdown, built a kill-bot to kill you, wandered off and disappeared for a while, and re-emerged after heisting a whole bunch of adamantium and claiming that Egghead made him do it?

Dr. Edmonds asks whether it is possible that Egghead was involved since he is a serious psychiatrist man and doesn’t keep up with the superhero biz. But Tony tells him that Egghead died in an explosion in Defenders #42.

Edmonds ponders that may indicate an even deeper delusion, while not suspecting that his pencil has been bugged.

BY EGGHEAD!

Its not a great bug in the sense that it seems to have a bright flashing light. But in the sense of ‘how the hell did you get a bug in a pencil, Egghead?’ its a very great bug.

Egghead, presumably taking a break from his plan to invent eternal youth to get infinite money and then buy the world to save from having to do the Effort of taking it over, hears Dr. Edmonds say “Still, Pym seems convinced he’ll be exonerated, Mr. Stark.”

Egghead: “Ha-ha-ha! Henry always did have faith in the legal system! I suppose I shall have to shatter that faith for him! I knew it was a wise move to let the world think that Egghead is dead! No one searches for a ‘late’ fugitive! Just as no one will suspect who is truly behind Pym’s ultimate disgrace -- when my plans ruin his day in court!”

WOW! You are super petty, Egghead!

Follow @essential-avengers​ because I’ve finally caught up with my backlog. And because I’ll never bug a pencil nor even annoy one. Like and reblog too or I’ll bother a pen.

[alexthepartyman]

The Bleeding: Plain Sight

Hi guys! My name is Alex, and I like to write fics. This is the fic that used to be known as Fine Line, but for creative reasons, not anymore! This idea has really meant a lot to me, and the amount of times I restarted this fic I-

That means something, right? I’ve gotten to various points in this story before, but I could never tell it the way I truly wanted to tell it. THis time should be it, but don’t be surprised if I start over again. 

This is The Bleeding! The chapter is under the cut, and it’s 3600 words, last I checked. 

CONTENT WARNINGS: MURDER, MENTIONS OF RAPE, DEATH. READ AT OWN RISK.

“Make a wish,” Elle says. I look up to where smoke is ascending from Spencer’s desk.

“Come on, man. Blow, baby! Blow!” Derek yells with a chuckle.

“I thought you were full of hot air, Reid,” Elle teases.

“Come on, Reid!”

“They’re trick candles, Spence. Okay?” JJ cuts in. “They’re gonna come back on every time.”

“Oh, Mommy to the rescue,” Derek coos, shaking Spencer’s head.

“Mommy?” Spencer asks.

“Hey, James. Come join the celebration,” Elle says. I shake my head and look away from the Latina woman smiling at me. “Oh, you’re no fun. Ignore him, Spencer.”

“This is work time, not fun time,” I dryly comment. “The distinction between the two is very important to me. And no, I won’t have any cake.”

“Okay then, suit yourself.”

“Hey, Reid, does this make you legal yet?”

“Uh….”

“Hope you like chocolate,” Elle says, turning her attention back to Spencer. I can hear a phone ring.

“Agent Hotchner?” Grant asks across the bullpen.

“Aw, look, you blew wax on the cake, man.”

“That slice is for Derek,” I comment.

“What? No way, why do I get the slice with wax on it?” Derek asks me. I look up from my work to see Spencer walk over to Gideon and watch their lips move.

“Hey, Spence, first piece for the birthday boy,” JJ says, holding a piece of cake out to him. “Spence, get over here. James, are you sure you don’t want some cake?” She turns to me, and I snap out of the zone I just went to.

“Huh-uh, no. I’m sure.”

“Happy birthday.”

“Thank you.”

“Birthday boy.”

“JJ, why don’t you feed it to him?” Derek teases.

“Sorry, guys. Party’s over,” Hotch says from the phone. I close the notebook I was working in and slide it into my bag, slinging it over my shoulder and heading up to the round table. The rest of the team meets me up there, and we take our seats. “We’re going to San Diego,” he tells us.

“Not for the surfing, huh?” Derek asks.

“Nope,” I comment.

“They’re calling him the Tommy Killer,” JJ says, handing us each files.

“Six women raped and murdered in their homes in the last three weeks.”

“Six in three weeks?” Elle asks.

“Two a week,” I add. “Short fuse.”

“And getting shorter. The first two were eight days apart, then the next four in two weeks.”

“Rapid escalation,” Spencer comments. “Do you think he’s regressing to a psychopathic frenzy?”

“No, he’s too controlled for that,” Hotch answers. “See you on the plane.” I raise my eyebrows and look up from the file, watching our boss leave. Okay, weirdo.

“Why the Tommy killer?” Derek asks.

“You know the rock opera?”

“Uh...that was by The Who, right?” I ask.

“Yeah. This unsub glues his victims’ eyes wide open,” Hotch answers as he walks away.

“Tommy was blind as a result of psychosomatic disability, though…”

“He wants them to see him.”

“And feel him,” Gideon adds.

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

“Brenda Samms was found yesterday by her children when they got home from school,” Hotch says. “She had been strangled with a thin ligature, possibly a wire.”

“No weapon left at the scene.”

“Residue on the wrist and mouth indicate that duct tape was used and removed.”

“Also not found at the scene.”

“Brought it with him, took it with him.”

“Why?” I ask, looking over the crime scene photos.

“He also started leaving messages at the fourth scene. This was on the mirrors,” Hotch says, holding up the picture of the mirror covered in lipstick. “Fire lady, lay your costly robes aside. No longer may you glory in your pride. Take leave of all your carnal vain delight-”

“I’ve come to summon you away this night,” Spencer finishes.

“That’s not in Tommy,” I comment, looking at him.

“No, it’s a ballad from the late 1600s. A Dialogue Betwixt Death And A Lady,” he answers.

“Lovely.”

“A seventeenth-century ballad?” Elle asks.

“Yeah, a woman essentially begging death to live.”

“What kind of person knows this ballad?”

“Are we looking for a literature professor?” JJ asks.

“Anyone with an internet connection, actually. You should see what comes in when you type the word Death into a search engine.”

“Reid, no wonder you can’t get a date,” Derek teases.

“Reid, Balian, you two stay on the messages. See if there’s a deeper meaning,” Gideon says.

“Well, it definitely looks like he ransacked the crime scene pretty well.”

“Lot of damage, but nothing taken.”

“The eyes are the thing, the signature.”

“The behaviour that isn’t necessary for the murder, but necessary for the emotional release...that’s what he’s there for...” I comment, pulling out my notebook and writing notes in it. “It’s one collar, two sleeves, right?” I ask.

“What are you talking about?”

“There’s a trick to how to spell necessary. It’s like explaining a shirt. One collar, two sleeves.”

“Yes, it’s one collar, two sleeves.”

“Thank you, JJ.”

“There used to be a widely held belief that the eyes record a snapshot of the last thing a person sees before they die,” Spencer cuts in.

“Yeah, that’s right. People used to write poems about talking to death.”

“Ballads.”

“Whatever.”

“You think they’ll ever run out of new things to do to their victims?”

“Well, finding new ways to hurt each other is what we’re good at.”

“Right. Spencer, can you write down the poem for me? I’d ask you to recite it, but I couldn’t keep up,” I ask, sliding my notebook his way.

“Uh, sure.”

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

“My name is Death. Have you not heard of me?” Spencer whispers, staring at one of the verses pinned to the evidence board. “You may as well be mute…”

“Creepy, huh?” JJ asks.

“Actually, conversations between death and his victims was a fairly popular literary and artistic theme throughout the Renaissance…” He peers over to JJ’s face. “Yeah. Creepy.”

“Thank you for making this James-friendly. So, uh, if this pattern sticks through, this is how it plays out?”

“Yeah.”

“Why not include the lady’s verses?”

“If the unsub is writing as Death, then it wouldn’t make sense for the lady to respond,” Spencer replies to me.

“Why start with the messages now? There were three other murders, why no messages until now?” I ask.

“Maybe he’s evolving.”

“Why would he evolve? He’s spending more time at the scenes now, what with writing the message, and the cool off period is getting shorter... Gideon? Where are you going?” I ask, trailing off at the sight of Gideon and Derek following someone out.

“We’re going to the crime scene. Come on.”

“Cool.”

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

“This profiling really works?” The detective asks as we ride down a street.

“It’s a tool,” Derek replies.

“You can tell all about a guy from looking at the scene?”

“The scene’s only part of it. We also use victimology, precedent. We can usually get a fairly clear picture of the guy.”

“Our guys went over it pretty well.”

“I’m sure they did.”

“Local officers aren’t trained to look for the things we look before.”

“What’s that?”

“Hate, insecurity, fear, anger.”

“That’s all in the scene?”

“It’s all in the behaviour,” I comment.

“You know anything about our guy yet?”

“Yeah,” Gideon replies. “He isn’t gonna stop until he’s caught.” We pull up beside the house with perfectly trimmed green grass surrounding us, in every yard. As we get out and walk to the house, a cruiser drives by us. “You increased patrols in this neighbourhood when the pattern was identified?”

“After the fourth victim. Bosses cancelled days off, vacations.”

“Neighbourhoods full of cruisers, and he still struck two more times,” Derek comments.

“He blends. Gideon,” he answers his phone. “Attempt?”

“Damn,” I whisper to Derek.

“Well, we’re already at the last crime scene. Let us know if you identify a suspect,” Gideon replies, ending the call.

“Suspect?”

“There might have been another attack not far from your station.” I watch as the detective turns back to walk to the cruiser.

“Hey, hey, hey,” I cut in, stepping in front of him.

“Where are you going?” Derek asks.

“Over there.”

“Sir, units are already heading that way. There’s not much you would be able to do there, we can get more accomplished here -”

“You’re kidding me, right?” The detective stares down into my eyes.

“No.”

“If there’s an arrest, what we find here will help you prosecute,” Derek answers.

“This scene won’t be pristine forever,” Gideon adds.

“Guys, knock yourselves out,” the detective responds, putting the house keys in my hands.

“Thank you-”

“Hey, wait a minute,” Derek asks, stopping the man from running off. “The unsub went through the back, right?”

“The family room. It’s the one full of print dust,” he replies before turning to run away.

“Gideon, we’re going around the house.” I then toss the keys at Gideon and chase Derek around the side of the house, we climb over the gate and head to the family room window that was propped open, and we climb through it, carefully climbing the furniture until we get to the floor.

“Okay, it’s not that easy to manvuever.”

“Athletic,” I reply, helping pull him off of the armchair. We head to the kitchen, and Derek hands me crime scene photos.

“Alright, he messed with something in here.” I look around at the modern kitchen, feeling like I had walked into a friend’s house in Alexandria again.

“Microwave door’s open,” I comment, looking inside and closing it.

“Broken cappuccino machine. Took the appliances, which are upstairs. Why?”

“Why would I do that?”

“Why would I take the time?” We continue our tour around the house, leaving the kitchen and heading into the dining room. “Here's where I got the china...the silver.” I look to the open silverware box. “I didn’t take it, I broke it.”

“There’s a scene in Tommy where he throws all his mom’s riches into the water,” I add.

“Why wouldn’t she hear me?”

“Because she was blaring something upstairs.”

“Or I did it after.”

“Why stay afterwards for that long?” I follow Derek up the stairs, to the bedroom, where we meet Gideon staring at the TV.

“She had a workout video on,” he tells us. “Stepaerobics.” I told you so.

“Stepaerobics? With the platforms? Step up, down, step up, step down?”

“It can be fun,” I retort, looking around the bedroom floor. “Where’s the platform?” Gideon turns to the bed, getting on his knees and peering underneath it.

“He spent a lot of time here.”

“What, so he vacuumed? I mean, there’s no marks from the platforms.”

“A lot of time. We established this. The broken things, the message, the vacuuming-”

“The broken things. She must have been dead or incapacitated when he did that,” Derek cuts me off. “Cappuccino from the kitchen, dishes, vases, broken jewellery.”

“Symbols,” Gideon answers, sitting on the bed. “Your riches, gold, garments, jewels bright. Your house and land must on new owners light.”

“Is it just me, or do I just not understand that sentence?” I ask.

“Her riches,” Derek replies.

“Right.”

“You ever feel like there’s something obvious right in front of you, you just can’t see it?”

“A lot,” I nod.

“Yeah, usually right before a woman dumps me.”

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

“The verses,” Spencer walks up to us as soon as we come back.

“You found something?” I ask.

“Uh, not an answer, a question. I found the full text. He’s pretty much following it to a T, a least the death side of the conversation.”

“Okay. What’s your question?”

“Why didn’t he leave them at the first three murders? I mean, this ballad is ten verses long, just on the death side, he’s got plenty to work with. But if it’s not part of his signature, if it isn’t something he has to do for an emotional reason, then, I mean, why start?”

“JJ,” Gideon asks, grabbing her attention. “Find out when the press ran the first story on this unsub.”

“When?”

“After which victim.”

“Yeah, you got it.” She picks up the phone.

“What are you thinking?”

“He wasn’t getting enough attention.”

“Narcissist? I mean, claiming you’re speaking as Death is a pretty big grandeur. It’s saying that you control life, you’re the thing to fear.”

“Police departments sometimes don’t even know they’re looking at a pattern.”

“Yeah, until somebody tells them. Balian, see me, feel me. Remember that. Tommy.”

“The first story ran the morning after the fourth victim was found,” JJ tells us.

“The increased patrols didn’t begin until after the fourth victim, either,” Derek adds.

“Yeah, the police didn’t realise what was happening, he writes his verse.”

“And everyone knows he was there.” I look behind me to see Hotch and Elle walking in.

“The offender in this new attempt is a black male.”

“Black male? Cross racial- that doesn’t happen.”

“What about Herbert Mullin, he killed fourteen people of completely varying ages, races, and creeds.”

“There was no sexual component to his crimes, he was a paranoid schizophrenic that was under the delusion that he could prevent earthquakes with murder,” I ramble.

“This attacker wore a ski mask,” Elle adds.

“Tell em we’re ready?”

“For a profile?” I ask Gideon.

“We’re gonna make Tommy contact us.”

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

“The unsub brought his weapons with him. Tape, glue, wire. He did not leave them at the scene,” Gideon says. “He took them when he left. He has a kind of killing kit that he carries.”

“Organised killers usually have a skilled job, likely technology related, which may involve the use of the hands,” Hotch adds with his arms crossed. “The crime scenes are far enough apart that he needs a vehicle. This will be well kept, obsessively clean, as will be his home.” Gideon has found a spot, sitting next to me on a desk. “He’s diurnal, the attacks occurred during the day, so the vehicle may be related to his work, possibly a company car or truck.”

“We believe he watches the victims for a time, learns the rhythms of the home, knows his time frame,” Derek comments.

“You’re not gonna catch him accidentally,” Hotch continues.

“He destroys symbols of wealth in the victims’ homes,” Gideon gets up and paces to the boards at the front of the room. “He harbours envy and hatred toward people of a higher social class. He feels invisible around them.”

“Class is the theme of the poem which he left at the various crime scenes,” Spencer cuts in. “At one point in the poem, the woman attempts to bribe death, but he doesn’t accept it, he says this is the one moment when riches mean nothing. When death comes, the poor and the rich look exactly alike.”

“So, he’s poor?”

“Probably middle class,” Hotch answers. “A lower-class person would significantly stick out in a highly patrolled neighbourhood. This guy appears to belong there. He blends in.”

“Why does he glue the eyes open?”

“The unsub is an exploitative rapist,” Elle interjects. “Most rape victims close their eyes during the attack, turn their heads. For some rapists, this ruins the fantasy. For this type of rapist, the goal is more related to the victim watching him than the act itself.”

“The verses, the staging, the aggressive language, “I am death. This is a guy who, while being in control at the crime scene, almost certainly feels inadequate in the rest of his life.”

“That’s why he couldn’t wait for you to figure out what he’d done. Why he needed to make sure all his crimes were counted. His victims,” Gideon stands up again from a chair, “they represent whatever it is that’s controlling him, and he wants that control back. He is under the thumb of a powerful woman who frightens him. And a final point. He is white.”

“We have witnesses that identify him as a black male,” the chief argues.

“The attacker was black, but he’s not the Tommy Killer. Mrs Gordon’s husband came home at the same time he always does. The Tommy Killer would’ve known that-”

“And Mrs Gordon’s attacker wore a ski mask,” Elle cuts me off. “The unsub knows when he walks into a house, he’s going to kill the woman who lives there. If you’re not leaving any witnesses, why wear a ski mask?”

“And he wants the victim to see him anyway.”

“Your attempted rapist is a garden variety, disorganised young man.”

“As the victim’s age goes up, generally, the attacker’s age goes down. Mrs Gordon is about sixty, which puts her rapist at about twenty.”

“And it takes years to develop the level of calm and sophistication that Tommy displays at ta crime scene, and the rapist is far too young for that.”

“Mrs Gordon told me that there’s a young man who delivers groceries to their home. He fits a lot of what we’re describing here.”

“Great. So we’re back to zero on Tommy.”

“Not at all. May I see you in your office for a moment?” Hotch asks, walking off with the chief.

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

“You really watched the opera on the plane?” Gideon asks me.

“Yeah. I didn’t exactly remember it all, and I wanted to be able to determine if this unsub really fell like he was Tommy,” I answer. “And I figured I could do that by comparing details of the movie to the unsub, you know, since they call him the Tommy Killer… you know, that bugged me the most.” I turned to Gideon, facing him. “I couldn’t figure out how this was connected to Tommy at all, except for the riches in Brenda Samm’s house being destroyed and Tommy throwing his mom’s riches into the sea.”

“I could tell you found the opera fun to watch,” Gideon replies.

“Elton John caught me off guard, and I love rock music.”

“He confessed to Mrs Gordon’s attack before we even got to the car,” Elle struts in.

“Thanks, Elle.”

“Should just make the eleven o clock news,” JJ states.

“Did they get good footage?”

“Yeah. Couldn’t miss him.”

“Good. Now we wait.”

“Call Garcia.”

I pull out my phone and speed dial, reaching her in moments.

“Go for Ms Penelope Garcia,”

“I got her on,” I say, handing JJ my phone.

“You ready for the trap and trace?”

“Peaches, this is the office of unmitigated superiority. I am always ready. With the awesome power I have in this room, all I need is fifteen seconds on the phone to nail this skeevy perv.”

“Fifteen seconds.”

“If that.”

“That’s not bad,” I comment.

“Not bad? What do I have to do to impress you, Agent Balian?”

“Didn’t mean it like that, you are already impressive.”

“Uh-huh.” She then hangs up on me, and I pocket my phone. “I’m no Derek Morgan.”

“Yeah, clearly. You need game with the ladies.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. I don’t need game if I’m not gonna play,” I retort.

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

“Still waiting, Garcia,” JJ says into a phone.

“God, I hate waiting like this,” Elle complains from the desk I’m at, flipping something over.

“Do you think it’s weird that I knew that ballad?”

“Spencer, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but everybody has that tidbit of knowledge that nobody else has,” I state. She scoffs.

“I don’t know how it is that you know half the things you know, but I’m glad you do.”

“Do you think it’s why I can’t get a date?”

“Don’t listen to Derek. What works out for some people doesn’t work out for others,” I don’t even look up from my book.

“Have you ever asked anyone out on a date?” Elle asks.

“No.”

“That’s why you can’t get a date.” A phone rings from another desk.

“Detective Martin.”

“That’s what that guy’s name was? Martin?” I ask quietly. “Did I even introduce myself?”

“Hey, hey,” I hear a whisper, and Derek throws his hand up.

“Line six, Penelope, line six,” JJ says. Gideon gets up from the chair he’s chilling in, and we take the call as Hotch and Gideon run over to us.

“You stupid, incompetent sons of bitches! I don’t make mistakes! I am death! You hear me?! I am death! You’ll see now. Tomorrow. Mark my words, you will see. And while I’m taking her, I’m gonna be thinking of you.” He then hangs up, and I pull my head back in disgust and confusion.

“Anything?” JJ asks. “She says she got nothing.”

“Nothing?” Derek exclaims.

“We missed him?” Hotch asks. Thinking about the FBI while you’re getting off? What kind of statement is that?

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

“We have an undercover car for each of your teams, and the entire damn department out there, too.”

“Remember, a truck. Maybe a work truck, in excellent condition.”

“Everyone knows.”

“Alright, he might make a mistake today.”

“He’s angry, and he probably hasn’t done the surveillance he’d like.”

“Yeah, well, neither have we. Let’s go, Reid,” Derek says, claiming the beanpole.

“I’ll bring the car around,” Elle sighs, then leaves. I look to Gideon, then to Hotch. He gently pat’s Gideon’s arm.

“We’ll find him,” he says before leaving.

“There’s no way we just gave Tommy another victim,” I sigh.

“Profilers make mistakes, too.”

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

A cell phone rings, bringing Hotch and me out of our silence.

“What you got?”

“Put it on speaker,” I comment, and he does so.

“He’s a phone technician, Hotch. Police are looking for someone walking around the neighbourhood in broad daylight. Who notices a phone guy up on a pole?” I look from the phone to the phone poles, connected by miles of wire.

“He can watch for husbands leaving for work, watch for police patrols, know when the neighbourhood’s quiet.”

“He knows when he’ll have plenty of time. He can even tap into a phone line to make sure someone’s home. How about routing a call through twenty-five substations?”

“Twenty-five?” I ask.

“Yeah. Backyard? Hey, he’s just looking for a pole. Got tape? Of course he does. Wire? He’s a repairman.”

“Sounds right, Jason.”

“It is right. And we have his name.”

“We do? We have his name?” I ask Hotch as he looks at me and flips his phone shut.

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

“Oh, I almost forgot. I have something for you,” Gideon says, pulling something out of his go-bag. “Forgot to give it to you at the party.”

“But you don’t give birthday presents,” Spencer remarks, taking the blue box with the red ribbon and opening it. “Wow...the Red...skins…”

“Reid, you got football tickets. And if I can count, there’s two of them,” I explain. “Why the Redskins, though?”

“It’s a VIP box,” Gideon explains.

“Whoa.”

“Thank you so much.”

“Ever been to a pro football game?” Gideon asks.

“No, I honestly didn’t even know this was football,” Reid laughs, examining the tickets.

“You’re gonna love it.”

“We are, you’re coming with me, right?” Spencer asks.

“No. Someone else on the plane is a huge Skins fan.”

“It’s not me,” I volunteer.

“Who?”

“Only person in the whole world who calls you Spence.” I look over the back of the seat at JJ, who reads a newspaper.

“No way, dude.”

“JJ?”

“She’s a huge Redskins fan.” Spencer looks back at her.

“Wh-what should I say?” Gideon just stares at him, and he tucks the tickets into his shirt pocket, getting up from the seat. He stops and stares at the board. “Checkmate,” he moves a piece.

“What? What?” I exclaim, looking back as he goes to sit with JJ. “Why did you just do that to him?”  

[toboldlywrite]

10/1

This month I’m setting a challenge for myself to write something for one prompt each day. But instead of picking a list, I made one myself. These are meant to be exercises to get me back into writing again, and therefore aren’t overly edited.

Day 1 is based off of this prompt by @deepwaterwritingprompts​​​

The reality in the women’s restroom on 42nd street was failing

warnings for: unreality, blood mention

The call comes in at 2 am on Friday morning.

That’s always the way it works. All week, not so much as a blip on any of my feeds. I was starting to daydream about my vacation; relaxing on the interdimensional breach, listening to the soothing sound of antimatter waves lapping against edges of the void, sipping a martini. And then the phone rings.

“The reality in the women’s restroom on 42nd street is failing.”

“42nd street? Didn’t that happen before?” I flip through the records on my desk until I find it. 42nd street. The 7-11. Of course. If there’s a weak point in reality, you can bet a 7-11 is built on it. It’s like they’re magnets to each other. Last time it was something about cosmic goo getting into the new Slurpee machine. Everyone who ordered one had disturbing nightmares for weeks. That one took quite a bit of cleanup.

I watch my martini dreams poof into dust. “What’s the event level?”

“We’re not sure yet. The liminal interference is keeping us from getting a clear reading.”

I curse. Of course it is. But there’s only one thing to do.

“I’ll be there in five.”

When you don’t know the scale of the mess, always prepare for the worst. My parent instilled that lesson in me long before the Bureau did, so my tool belt always had everything I needed for even the most apocalyptic of unreality events. A force-field generator, a backup force-field generator, a taser (you never know what kind of unfriendly beings might be causing trouble), a small can of spray paint, a vial of virgin blood (as yet unopened), a formerly cursed amulet that had been cursed again to backfire any curse put on it and now is a powerful protection charm, a scanning device, stabilization grenades, and a collapsible mop. But as the Bureau also taught me, the greatest took in any agent’s arsenal is their brain.

It takes all five of my promised minutes to get ready-- putting on the belt, checking my inventory, and putting on my safety gear (steel-toed boots, flame-resistant pants and jacket, gloves)-- but the benefit of having an office outside of the physical plane is that it takes no time at all to get anywhere. I scan my ID at the vending machine and a portal token drops into my hand. It looks deceptively like a coin; the protective casing holding just a few ounces of unreality-- the only thing capable of cutting a portal through the tough fabric of reality. I drop it into the middle of the sigil painted on the far end of the office floor. It expands into a disk covering the entire sigil, until the floor is a puddle of purple-tinted void. I step into the puddle, and golden light from the edges shoots up around me into the ceiling.

The next moment I’m on the street under the neon orange, green, and red glow of the 7-11 sign, standing right next to my partner.

There’s no one else in sight, but even in anyone else happened to be looking, they won’t remember they saw anything at all.

“I did some checking,” Donna Blaine says without so much as a hello. “No one noticed it before I picked it up.”

There has to be at least one universe where there’s a picture of Donna in the dictionary next to the word “efficient.” It’s why we make such a great team. Donna in the field, picking up events or anomalies too small to be detected by our monitoring satellites or otherwise undetectable to their scanners. And me in the office, keeping an eye on the satellite feeds and ready to jump into action if Donna sees something that shouldn’t be there. Like tonight. But she can’t act on it on her own.

“I’m not surprised,” I say, pulling out my scanner as we approach the building. “No one likes using those bathrooms unless they absolutely have to.”

Just like Donna said, there’s too much interference. Damn convenience stores. They always generate their own field of liminal energy. The closer they are to a gas station, the worse it is. And guess what’s right across the street. I don’t like not having an idea of what to expect before walking in, but this time we don’t have a choice. So I brace myself for the worst and follow Donna inside.

The overhead lighting is so bright it hums in a tone that reminds me of the hunting song of void wraiths. Some older music cracks over the speakers and a bored-looking teen sits on a stool behind the counter, face buried in a magazine. He barely glances up as we pass, just nodding to Donna. I don’t know what she told him about needing to close the bathroom down, but it was obvious he wasn’t paid enough to care.

The bathrooms are at the very back of the store, down a dingy hallway that has seen better days-- probably a decade ago. At least the lights are dimmer.* But that means the humming noise that is now getting louder has a different source. My scanner is still on the fritz; if anything it’s gotten worse. I reach for my forcefield generator and gesture for Donna to do the same. Just in case. Me meet each other’s eyes, and I countdown from three with my fingers. As soon as my hand makes a fist, I open the door.

I don’t kick it down-- that stuff is for action heroes in movies shielded by plot armor. Instead, I slowly push it open until I can just see through the crack. The humming is louder and the lights flicker like they’re trying to strobe but can’t muster up the energy. In the flashes of brightness, I can’t see anything other than an appropriately disgusting public restroom. I push the door open wider until I can squeeze through; Donna right behind me.

Still nothing, but my scanner is going haywire. I point Donna to the right to investigate the area by the sink, and I go to the left. It’s a small restroom with only two stalls, but you never know where an anomaly might be hiding. I push open one stall door with my foot, resisting the urge to hold my nose. I might need to give it a closer look, but decide to check the other stall first. I kick it open, hoping to find something obvious. And find that the inside of the stall is gone.

There’s no toilet, no floor, not even a back or side wall. There’s just a swirling vortex of purple-tinged shadow surrounded by a ring of light.

It’s a portal.

A portal. In a bathroom. In a 7-11. On 42nd Street.

Somehow, I manage to find my voice. “Donna.”

She joins me right away, and together we stare into the impossibility for a few shocked seconds.

Donna reacts first, calibrating her scanner. Now that we know the event is a portal, we should be able to cut through the interference. “Amazing,” she breathes. “There’s no sigil. No sign of any portal aids being used. Someone did this on their own.”

“In this universe? Impossible.” There are beings capable of that in other dimensions. I have one or two on speed dial. But if it is an interdimensional portal…

“The portal does lead to somewhere else in this dimension. On this planet too, I’d say.” She whistles. “The energy it would take to do that…”

“There’s a lot of liminal energy here. That could have helped.”

“True. I’m searching for the anchor point…”

All portals have one, aided or not. If they aren’t anchored, they just fly off into time and space, often with catastrophic results. The last thing I want to do is go chasing after one of those.

“Found it.” She shows me the coordinates on the screen and I plug them into one of the stabilization grenades before tossing it into the maw. A single, piercing shriek cuts through the hum, and the portal collapses in on itself. It gets smaller and small and smaller, the hum quieter and quieter and quieter, until there’s only the grenade, hovering in the air. I hold out a hand and let it drop into my palm. The lights flicker once more and then shoot up to their full brightness, making me wince. The stall is back, just as gross as I imagined it to be.

Not too difficult of a call, all things considered.

But there is one thing still out of place. On the floor, smack dab on the middle tile, is a bloody handprint.

Donna kneels on the ground-- making me wince again; who knows what else had been there?-- to scan it. She frowns.

“What is it?”

“Blood. Human blood.”

“Is it virgin?”

“I can’t tell. It’s the liminal energy again. But somehow, it was the anchor point.”

“That’s--” I start to say impossible, but honestly, what isn’t possible in this job?

“You know what this means?”

We both do. But I have to say it out loud for it to feel real. “It means this universe is evolving.”

“We have to find who that blood belongs to,” Donna says, and scrapes a sample off the floor.

I sigh. So much for my vacation.

But I’d be lying if I said it isn’t worth it.

*(Here have an alternate ending-- starting at the *-- inspired by me searching through Caramelldansen memes yesterday)

The humming is gone, but I still hear something. I pause, straining to ears to listen. It’s music, I think. But not the same music that was playing in the main store. My scanner is still on the fritz; if anything it’s gotten worse. I reach for my forcefield generator and gesture for Donna to do the same. Just in case. Me meet each other’s eyes, and I countdown from three with my fingers. As soon as my hand makes a fist, I open the door.

I don’t kick it down-- that stuff is for action heroes in movies shielded by plot armor-- I slowly push it open until I can just see through the crack.

My eyes are immediately assaulted by flashing lights. Blue, green, red, orange-- over and over again like a strobe on a dance floor. And the music is definitely coming from inside. It’s some kind of dance… electronic song with incomprehensible lyrics sung in a high-pitched voice. I can’t see the source of the music or the lights, but as I push the door open further, I see something else.

It’s a figure, clad in black robes, lying face-down on the floor, motionless.

I exchange a glance with Donna, who has squeezed up beside me.

“Uh,” I say out loud, for lack of a better plan, “are you alright?”

The figure slowly raises its head, and I’m greeted by the sight of a skull with the same lights flashing from its eye sockets. It grins and gives us a thumbs up with a bony hand.

“Oh. So sorry, Death. Carry on.”

We put up a “wet floor” sign and a lock charm on the door, just in case.

[shewhowillnotbenamed1]

An Opening

@ravenfan1242​  I had been meaning to write your WallyRae - this is finally done! I never wrote an AU like this or for Kid Flash/Raven. I hope you enjoy! Thank you so much for the lovely Valentine’s Day WallyRae fanart!!!

Prompt List

@ravenfan1242​ WallyRae Fanart 

———————-

A disembodied arm sprang open an office, and stole the living wits straight out of the occupant, who until that moment, was lunching alone. A plastic spoon hovering within range of an agape mouth. “I thought I smelled something delicious.” Her shocked cobalt blue examined the intruder who then asked, “what’s on the gourmet today?”

“Um…soup.” Raven said to the bowl tightly. “Just soup.”

“I like soup.” The redhead remarked, holding the door frame above and angling his body towards the desk. “Did you make it?”

Sprinkles slid off the spoonful steadily. “Microwaved it.”

“Close enough, right?” He grinned. The kindness of his blue-green eyes shone even in the sparsely lit room, its single window covered in slats.

“Right…” She mumbled. A limp noodle nose-dived off the cutlery and plopped back into the lukewarm pool. “Cooking adjacent.” Which was as close to the act as Raven was willing to stand.

A wide breadth was generally best.

“Exactly what I always say.” He agreed. “Although… it certainly smells homemade, Raven.” Why was she blushing? Why was his mention of her viscous broth - located somewhere on the borderline between piss and dishwater - making her forget how to think straight? The lull was disturbed when freckled fingers rapped on her door in a rapid staccato. “I’ll see you later?”

She nodded weakly. “Later.” With that, he went whistling on his way.

With bright smiles and even brighter hair, Wally was unreal. Whether he stopped by her office unexpectedly, saw her in the kitchen, or spotted her in passing, he had this tendency or - compulsion - to talk to her. Even if it meant he had to race over to her and abandon someone mid-sentence, he would find his way to her side. Though he only started weeks ago, he had a presence that elicited eagerness, instead of her general indifference.

The day they met, something strange happened - she forgot to bring in her thermos of tea to work. She stopped in the kitchen on each floor, before she went up a total of five flights - to the sole coffee machine in operation. The machine beeped scarlet - angry accusations; it demanded to be cleaned before servicing anyone else. A not-so-office-friendly phrase threatened to slide from her lips at the sight of a hand swiping the final steaming cup of liquid - the proverbial straw.

“Just my luck.” She sighed to herself. An office building without a working coffee machine was one with cruel working conditions.

The new owner of the wax paper cup turned to her. “I’m sorry, did you need coffee?” Perhaps he was sympathetic, but likely he heard the desperation in her voice, the sheer panic of taking on Tuesday without a cuppa.

“No…tea.” Raven corrected the redhead. “Coffee doesn’t do it for me.”

“What a coincidence!” 

She believed it.

Apparently, he already had a superabundance of energy. A voice that was less jarring, explained. “Coffee makes a bit hyperactive - or more so.” His lips turned up cheekily. “Would you like mine? It’s herbal. Mint.”

“Really, I couldn’t.” But the man didn’t hear of it, he grabbed another paper cup and unloaded an even amount.

“We’ll share - you can make it up to me by telling me your name and department…” He could see she was befuddled. “I’m Wally West - I’m new.” His skin radiated charges through the handshake, it lingered on the cup he passed to her.

“Raven Roth… Human Resources.” On a typical day, she had few direct interactions with others, but she wanted to interact with him.

That week, they spoke every day. She tried to put her finger to the pulse of it, but couldn’t surmise.

It was easy to attribute her attraction to the dashes of freckles, flaming tresses, and feistiness, but it was more than that. There was a gravitational pull drawing her to the western hemisphere. It was saturated with sun. It was offbeat and unique, and…fun. With that chance encounter, work life changed for the better. So even though Raven hardly ever did herself, the days of routine nine to five took their own, well-deserved time-off.

———————-

Office parties and happy hours. These were social situations that had persisted through time, even though cocktails and coworkers were not meant to commingle.

And it was why, Raven didn’t know why she was attending this one. Frankly, she would much rather be in her own company than that of her tipsy boss and drunk coworkers, and other wasted strangers in the lowly lit bar. It was the most awkward thing in the world to witness their behavior while they bummed booze off the company dime.

The true reason she was here - it was mandatory. A mandatory, holiday party, the intention of which was to spend time socializing with coworkers in a low-stress environment. The aim was to avoid getting sloppy. Working in HR, she was aware. Though, others seemed to forget, they tended to get rowdy. Especially before their vacations.

Speaking of which.

“Man, you’re usually faster.” Pre-party rum was affecting speech patterns of the recent arrivals. “Happy hour awaits!”

“I know, we’re already so late.” That was definitely pre-party rum from someone’s cubicle closet.

There were other divisions here. Teams that were not as straight-laced as her own.

“Wally, you need to relax and get a drink - or two.”

He tipped his head, as spotted her by the bar. His steps were clumsy, eyes watery from the alcohol. At last, freckled cheeks, with their rosy halo freckled, wiggled out a hazy smile. The orange and blue bulbs above had gone paces past ambient lighting, to delve deep into clubbing territory. They were outside of work and outside the standard, watts of fluorescence she had grown accustomed to seeing him under. The palpitating in her chest appeared to agree. Raven didn’t know whether it was the drink she had been nursing, the thumping bass of played-out pop, or him in his gray button-down, with its rolled up cuffs showing forearms, tanned and strong.

“I hoped - you… to - night -” The shock of red bobbed, invitingly. Raven squinted and motioned to her ear. Oh - right! Wally mouthed. He pointed to a stool, Raven shrugged. She sipped quickly to hide her smile as he plunked down at her right.

And now…

At least five songs had gone, but Wally hadn’t left her side. Their bodies were tilted towards one another in the backless seats. He had given up shouting over the music to whisper directly into her ear canal. Each syllable was slow and slightly slurred - deep and deliberate.

“You look very nice.” Wally was referring to her black sheath dress. Though work-appropriate, it was tight and clingy. An unintended positive of the unseasonably warm weather, Raven had foregone tights. And Wally West clearly noticed.

“You know I’m in HR - that could be misconstrued as flirting,” She jabbed him with her straw. “But, you’re alright with me, Wallace.” When they were alone here with alcohol in the air she felt emboldened. To call him Wallace and scoot closer in her seat - to flirt about whether or not they were allowed to flirt.

“Misconstrued…?” His grinned went lopsided with nausea for a moment. “Oh - boy that booze.”

For a second, she placed a hand on his shoulder in a gesture that hopefully was innocent to any onlookers. “Wally, are you alright?”

“Yeah.” He swallowed, shakily. “I just… don’t drink - like ever.”

“Really - not ever?” The ink eyebrows shot up. “Why not?” Her upturned nose twitched.

“Ever run hungover?” Run? A pale hand’s push slid their glasses out of sight. “I run - marathons… One’s coming up next weekend, so I’m in the middle of training for it.” Wally chuckled pathetically or painfully.

She fingered her ebony tresses thoughtfully. Then she whispered, while leaning forward so her mouth brushed the pink, freckly orifice. “So then why…did you drink?”

Wally spoke near her cheek, the sharp, spiced-sugar whisked Raven’s nose. “Because I wanted a little liquid courage.” His queasiness had dissipated. “I… want to dance - will you dance with me?” He asked, as though it had only occurred to him moments ago.

Suddenly, she glanced at her surroundings. “Um, I…” They were alone, but not truly. And even if they were, this was still a work party. She sneaked a peek behind them. The darkened room was thinned out, over half the people had left. Those that remained were drunker and louder than the last. Could it be that it was safe after all?

“Raven?” Wally was following her line of sight. “Are you…looking for an out?”

“No,” She promised and placed her palm in his. “Let’s do it.”

“Do it?!” Wally gasped. “Why, Raven, I’m appalled!”

“Don’t you dare…” Her voice had suddenly gone dry.

“I thought you were in HR.” Wally continued. “Can I report someone in HR - to HR?”

She sighed into her smile. “Your jokes are still decent when you’re wasted.”

Right or wrong, it was best to be cautious. Raven felt more at ease when he took her to a secluded corner in the back. Her and Wally danced restlessly, waiting, with their bodies a ways apart. Unspoken, until they were the last ones left.

At last.

Turning in aimless circles, with her arms draped on his neck and his hands tight to her waist, they drew closer. With the party over, it was harmless. She and Wally had morphed into two individuals out on a Friday at the bar.

The bar where booze laden blood overheated their bodies. Raven’s cardigan was torn off and the first three buttons on Wally’s shirt had come undone.

One song melded into another and another and another. Until one that played for their ears alone - it was one where rules of Human Resources, policies, and holiday parties could fall away like layers fallen between them.

———————-

Raven clicked open another email. One day was unending lull only for the one that succeeded to be filled with a billion urgent emails that all required her attention.

Today was one of those days.

Open Skype.

That was it. No subject. No greeting. No signature. And it was from one Wally West.

An involuntary smile began to slide across her skin as she clicked, wondering what this could possibly be about.

WW: 30 minutes. Me and you.

RR: I’m busy. What is this about?

WW: You’ll see. I’m signing off - so you can’t say no.

Wally appeared in her doorway no less than five minutes later. “Raven - up!” He commanded.

She shook her head violently. “I have a ton of work to do today. I can’t -”

Wally persisted. “Up. Up. Up!” He went around to pull her out of the chair. It made her remember their dances. She had to breathe carefully to calm herself. “You can squeeze in an hour for lunch.” Raven opened her mouth. “Microwaved leftovers or calcified bags of nuts from your desk drawer are not lunch.”

“Wally, please…” Raven she begged. She had to at least attempt a last ditch effort. “I should get this done.”

His red hair flopped over his face. When he straightened back up, he gave her a soft smile. “Trust me, it’s only an hour, and you’ll love it.”

“Okay.” She couldn’t say no to that - or to him.

He chatted with her animatedly for all five blocks until they arrived at a little bistro Raven had never been to, despite it being so close.

“Two tomato soups and two grilled cheeses, please.”

Simple, but classic, it was her favorite comfort food. When the waiter disappeared, Raven playfully shoved him. Wally grinned, appreciating how well he knew her.

True to his word, it was the best lunch at work she had ever had.

And after, they ran, with full-stomachs sprinted, arm and arm in their pea-coats. The uncooperative weather wafted their condensed breath out into the ether. The chill snapped their cheeks and noses, outlining them in pink as they raced on. He had vowed to get Raven to her office before an hour elapsed. But before they rounded the corner to the building, he stopped.

“Wally, come on.” Raven panted. “We have to get back - before -”

The experienced runner was hardly winded. His voice didn’t waver when he told her, “Raven, I don’t… Have to get back.”

“No. We all have an hour.” She exhaled, glancing at her watch for the time. “That’s the rule.” Her tone dropped a decibel, she conspired, pinching her forefinger and thumb. “I mean I’m supposed to say that, but you can push it a little…”

“Raven, I’m an independent contractor.”

Faintly, she wondered why he needed to mention that. “Meaning? You have a stricter deadline than I do -” He brushed a raven lock, tenderly gazing at her as he did so. “Wally…! What if someone sees you…”

“Today’s my last day, Raven.”

“What?” The pale girl ripped away, violently. “No." She bit out. Raven tried to slow and soften the harshness. "I… don’t understand.”

“My contract ended.” Wally explained. “And they decided not to extend it.”

“But,” She argued, knowing it was futile. “Surely there’s something we can do, or I can do.”

After all, what was the point of working in her department all these years? What was the point if she couldn’t help a friend?

“Raven, don’t worry about me.” He slid closer. “It’s alright, I’m needed elsewhere.”

“So that’s it.” Raven lifted her head.

“I’ll be packing up tonight…” Wally continued in a normal register. She wished he wouldn’t. “If you wanted to help…”

The wind picked up, night colored tendrils blew back in frigidity. The ice in the air surrounding her body was as cold as the ice overcoming her heart. It was painful enough that he was going. Leaving her. Helping to carry out the process would be cruel. “I don’t think I can do that, Wally.”

“I understand… But now, I can do this...” He eyed her closely. His bluish-green eyes memorized her face, at last, her lips. With enough films and sappy television in her repertoire, she knew what was next.

Two parted pillowy lips advanced, angling downward. Raven stood on her tiptoes, stretching her body to sun. His warmth drew her nearer to his atmosphere. This was it. The moment she had only dreamed of… She shut her heavy lids, just as his mouth, stung by the chill, veered…into her forehead.

“Let’s go back… to the office.”

The cool wind whistled and Raven was stung.

All over again.

“I’ll - meet you up there.” She stepped back. “I need a moment.”

As soon as he had disappeared out of sight, Raven started to walk. The other way. To the train. To go home. She felt sick after all.

A half day only seemed appropriate.

[dem-obscure-imagines]

Snap Out of It

Beast Boy x Reader

Summary: When a mission against Mad Mod goes wrong, it’s up to you to snap your favorite shapeshifter out of his hypnotism.

Note: Hi, my name is Morgan and I love Beast Boy with all of my heart. Sorry not sorry lmao. But yeah, this has been bouncing around my head forever. Forgive me. Edit: I think this is the quickest I’ve ever written a fic asjhafkjdh

Warnings: None?

Word Count: 1.6k

Why, during summer vacation of all times, did it have to be Mad Mod? Why? You hated the red-haired old man with every bone in your body, especially when he disrupted your one break from school. Today was supposed to be a nice day. The team was planning on going to the beach all day and then having a movie night so you could watch the new X-Men movie you’d heard less than satisfactory things about, but nooooo. Now you were strapped to a chair, a spinning vortex swirling in front of you and a soothing voice telling you to relax.

Were you at the beach? No. So relaxing wasn’t going to happen.

The room you were trapped in was modeled to look like a classroom, which only served to piss you off even more. You swore anger was the only thing keeping you lucid. So you sat there, stewing in your rage until it was finally enough to give you the strength to bust free of the metal shackles around your wrists.

With them out of the way, and not inhibiting you anymore, you could use your powers again. So you did, using a blast of purple energy to destroy the projector hanging down from the ceiling. Its remains sparked and smoked and the wall it had been projecting onto went dark. You were fine, as far as you knew. A little dizzy from staring at that damn spiral for so long, sure, but fine otherwise.

So, you set out to find the others.

Victor was trapped in an unending game of dodgeball until you helped him through the hidden door. Raven had been locked in a janitor’s closet sealed shut with magic so she couldn’t get out, Starfire was bound to the jungle gym, and finally, Robin had found himself stuck in the principal’s office.

That left one green shapeshifter unaccounted for.

“In here.” Raven pointed to a door labeled ‘Algebra.’ There were lights flickering inside, and you prayed that opening the door wouldn’t lead to another trap. Luckily enough, it was a room similar to the one you had been trapped in, a whirling swirl spinning on the wall in front of where Beast Boy was tied down. His head was tilted to the size, his eyes crossed and his body limp.

You destroyed the projector with a blast of energy, but that didn’t shake him from his daze. Gar was still sitting there, an empty look in his eyes.

“We need to snap him out of it.” Robin waved a hand in front of your teammate’s face. He didn’t budge.

“Underpants.” Starfire tried. Though that method had worked before, on one of the other occasions you’d all been kidnapped by your least favorite madman, it didn’t this time.

“Wake up, Gar!” Raven snapped, shaking his shoulder. That didn’t work either.

Victor tried to tell him a joke, Dick snapped in his face a few times, but none of it seemed to have any effect on him at all. And then you got an idea.

“Alright, step aside.” You motioned the others away. Your powers, being magic based, had some perks sometimes. One of said perks was to be able to break people out of spells and other tricks of the mind. The only downside, really, was the method you had to use to do such a thing. “Listen. If this doesn’t work, we never tell Gar it happened, alright? I’d never hear the end of it…”

“Do what you’ve gotta do.” Dick nodded, crossing his arms.

The others all watched as you lowered yourself onto Garfield’s lap. You grimaced. This was decidedly too weird. You couldn’t remember a time you’d ever been this close to him. After all, this was Gar you were talking about. You leaned in and then hesitated. Were you really going to do this? Was this where your super-heroing adventures had led you after all of these years? You were going to…ugh, you couldn’t. You couldn’t! But you had to. You knew he’d do the same for you.

So, after thinking it over for a long moment, trying to figure out any other way, but failing to come up with anything, you leaned forward and pressed your lips against his in a magical kiss, siphoning the dark energy out of him until finally—

He kissed you back.

As soon as you felt his lips moving against yours, you squeaked, jumping out of his lap as both of your hands slapped over your mouth. You kissed Garfield and He Kissed You Back.

Well, now you felt weird about the whole thing.

When you looked down at him, he was still tied to the chair, staring up at you in a different sort of daze, cheeks pink and getting pinker as he realized what had happened only moments before. Victor untied him and Dick helped him stand while you just stood there in shock, still processing.

“You okay?” Raven asked, making sure you hadn’t just transferred his hypnotism onto yourself, but she knew you were out of it for…other reasons.

“Fine. I’m fine.” You reassured yourself, mostly. “Let’s just kick his ass and get out of here. It’s been a long day.”

“Right. Titans, Go!” Robin directed the team onwards and you did your best to put the last few minutes behind you, but you knew that was going to be easier said than done…

***

When the six of you finally got back to the tower, movie night commenced as planned, although your beach day had been sacrificed in the name of crime-fighting. As there were only a few spots left on the couch, Gar had plopped down next to you, which immediately set off your fight or flight instinct.

“I’m…gonnagomakepopcornberightback!” You blurted before bolting to the kitchen to put a bag of it in the microwave. Once it was in and spinning around, the machine humming quietly, you stood there, collecting yourself. You were a superhero. You weren’t supposed to feel like this about something as stupid as a crush.

Wait a second, back up. Crush? Did you have a crush on Garfield? Garfield? Garfield as in your green teammate Garfield? Garfield as in the one who’d tracked mud across your newly mopped floor Garfield? Garfield, the same Garfield who never took out the trash when it was his turn and always left his dishes in the sink instead of the dishwasher? That Garfield?

He kissed you back, didn’t he? Maybe he liked you. And…maybe…you liked him back?

God! What were you thinking?! No! You couldn’t like Garfield! Never! Not in a million years!

But…mulling it over further…it wasn’t like he was a bad looking guy. In fact, he was actually kind of cute. Maybe more than cute. With that boyish grin and his adorable fangs, his cute little laugh. Was he a little messy? Sure, but he’d always stood up for you, even when you had been new to the team. He always went out of his way to make you feel like you belonged.

The microwave beeping pulled you out of your thoughts and back into reality. You shook your head, inhaling a deep breath. Madness. Nonsense. You were overthinking things. He knew that your powers were tricky sometimes. He knew that it was nothing personal. Right?

“Hey…” A careful voice spoke up behind you and you turned around to look at him. “Can we, uh, talk? About what…happened earlier?”

“S-sure. What’s up?” You set the popcorn bowl on the counter and crossed your arms, leaning back against it. Super casual. Nailed it.

“Well, I just…thank you, first of all. Victor told me you kind of saved my ass.”

“Just doing my job.”

“Heh, yeah.” He scratched the back of his neck, his cheeks going pink. “When I…well, when I kissed you back…listen, (Y/N) I didn’t think it was any secret I liked you…”

Well, this was not the conversation you were expecting to have today…Earlier, you’d imagined the green boy teasing you for all of eternity. Hey, (Y/N) remember that time you kissed me haha omg XD. This little confession unfolding in front of you was…different…

“You…”

“You don’t have to say anything. Really, it’s okay.” He chuckled to himself and shook his head. “I just…I’m really sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?” You asked quietly. You blessed the fates above for giving you the courage to take one teeny little step forward.

“The last thing I wanted was to make things weird between us.” He sighed. “But obviously I did, so…”

“Why me?”

“Why you?” He laughed. “Are you kidding? You have magic powers, you can fly, you’re literally a badass, but at the same time, you’re funny and sweet and pretty…Any guy, girl, or otherwise would be lucky to date you.”

“Gar, if we’re being honest, I…didn’t know I had a crush on you until today. But…I definitely do, and I definitely have for a while.”

He perked up a little, green eyes sparkling with boyish innocence. “For real?”

“Yeah, for real.” You took another little baby step forward. “So…”

“So…”

“Would you two just shut up and kiss already?! We’re TRYING to watch the MOVIE!” Cyborg hollered from the couch.

Your cheeks flushed red and you giggled, surrendering your blushing face to the security of Garfield’s toned chest. He wrapped his arms around you, gently kissing your temple. You could feel him smiling against you, his hands tracing patterns on your arms and back.

“Don’t worry, baby. We’ve got all the time in the world for kissing.” Gar kissed your forehead again.

“Well, I never thought I’d say it, but…thank God for Mad Mod…”

He laughed. “You’re telling me.”

[jhl1031973]

Unpublished Work - Doctor Who: Advent Of Terror

This is my fourth entry in Big Finish Productions' Paul Spragg Memorial Short Trip Opportunity. None of my work has been chosen, but there will be other chances. This one features the Seventh Doctor and Ace. Enjoy andSubmitted For Your Approval.

- James Heath Lantz November 2, 2020

Advent Of Terror

A Short Trip Starring The Seventh Doctor And Ace

By

James Heath Lantz

The Snow came down slowly. The multitude of colours from the numerous Christmas lights and decorations reflected upon the white landscape. The village of Ortonshire looked picturesque, like a greeting card a friend or relative would send. The small hamlet was known worldwide for its Christmas celebration from late November until early January. The local candy factory made Advent Calendars that were shipped everywhere from London, England and Paris, France to Alberta, Canada and Tuscany, Italy. People of all walks of life came from everywhere to experience what newspapers and magazines over the years named “The Most Magical Christmas Village In The Entire World”. Celebrities, especially writers, would visit on their vacations. Rumours had circulated about  Amelia Earhart, Winston Churchill, Shirley Jackson, J.R.R. Tolkien, Ernest Hemingway, Anne Rice, Stephen King and Clive Barker walking the streets to take in the magnificence of Ortonshire. One innkeeper's grandmother even claims that Mary Shelley wrote the final chapter of Frankenstein in the room that belonged to her Great Aunt Sadie on Boxing Day.

Nothing seemed out of the ordinary in Ortonshire when the TARDIS had materialized in front of the largest Christmas tree to be placed in the town square in perhaps half a decade. The doors creaked open. The Doctor, in his seventh incarnation, placed his hat upon his head as he walked out of the time machine. He took a deep breath to take in the crisp winter air. There was a twinkle in his eye when he saw the lavishly decorated village.

“Come along, Ace,” The Doctor called to his companion with hint of impish glee in his Scottish burr. “The Most Magical Christmas Village In The Entire World awaits us.”

Ace buttoned up her coat before the Doctor closed the TARDIS doors. The Doctor looked at the Christmas tree. “Perhaps we should move the TARDIS a bit. It could ruin the view of the tree,” The Doctor pondered out loud.

The Doctor and Ace returned to the TARDIS. The ship disappeared some seconds later. After five or six attempts, it reformed just outside of the village's city limits. The Doctor and Ace were greeted by the words “Happy Christmas from” written in red and green Christmas lights over the Ortonshire sign. The Doctor silently noted that the population number was covered by snow. However, he thought nothing of it after seeing Ace smile. With everything she and the Doctor had been through, they both deserved a little holiday cheer.

“I must say,” The Doctor said as he and Ace walked through the snow covered thoroughfare and looked at the beautiful ornaments and lights of various brilliant hues, “The human capacity for celebration and decoration surpasses that of destruction at this time of year.”

Ace and the Doctor continued their stroll. The Doctor was particularly enchanted by a group of snowmen dressed like Father Christmas. He and Ace had a long, hearty laugh at the sight of them. They then resumed walking until they saw three rows of ice sculptures. The Doctor took time to admire the beauty and craftsmanship. The attention to detail on an angel astounded him. Something also look frighteningly familiar about it. Yet, he could not put his finger on what that was.

"Professor," Ace said inquiringly, interrupting the Doctor's reverie, "Where are all the people?”

"I'm sorry, Ace. What?"

“The people. There should be at least one crowd of people if this is The Most Magical Christmas Village In The Entire World like you said. Even the shops we passed along the way were empty, and it's barely seven o'clock.”

“My goodness, Ace. You're right,” The Doctor observed. “I was so taken by the splendour and wonder of Ortonshire, I failed to notice the most important thing you had just pointed out. What happened to all the people?”

Before the Doctor could even think to investigate his inquiry, a pair of hands belonging to someone behind him had grabbed his arms. Another had done the same to Ace. They had not heard the sound of footfalls running toward them. A tall woman in a yellow hazmat suit moved in front of the Doctor and Ace. Her facial features were obscured by her protective mask. She pointed her gloved left index finger at them as she spoke sternly in a Northern English accent.

“What the devil are you two doing here?” She asked.

*

The Doctor and Ace were brought to the Leverton Military Base just a few miles east of Ortonshire, which had recently been used as a headquarters for pandemic responses in the past decade or so. Blood samples were taken from the Doctor and Ace before they were led to a decontamination room. The Doctor told Ace that they must go through the procedure for everyone's protection. They were cleansed with chemicals, soap and water before putting on grey jumpsuits to while their clothing was being sterilized. They were dressed normally some hours later.

A guard brought the Doctor and Ace to an interrogation room. On the way there, the Doctor noted that the TARDIS was being rather unsuccessfully examined an adjacent laboratory. He began to chuckle upon seeing a scientist in a hazmat suit fall when the ship gave him an electrical shock. The Time Lord then thought it best to move on. He and Ace entered the medium sized, sparsely furnished room. They were ordered to wait for a Doctor Henderson to question them.

The Doctor, umbrella under his arm, paced. Ace sat in a folding chair. She followed the Time Lord's movements with her eyes. “Do they think we did something wrong, Professor?” She asked with hint of preoccupation in her voice.

“I'm not sure, Ace,” The Doctor replied. “I wonder if our being here is connected to the missing people of Ortonshire.”

The Doctor continued pacing the room. This time he did so while playing the spoons. This went on for roughly fifteen minutes. Ace wanted to protest this action, but The Doctor's expression told her that he was concentrating on the situation. He checked his fob watch when a tall, pale woman with long, dark, curly hair and horn rimmed glasses entered. On the left breast of her long white coat was a badge identifying as Doctor Carol Henderson, Head of Project PANVAC.

Project PANVAC is a team of scientists and military personnel created to study viruses and pandemics to prevent their spread and create vaccines should they be needed. They banded together with funds from various governments worldwide after so many lives were lost in the past couple years to new strains of illnesses that had mutated considerably.

The Doctor closed his fob watch and lamented, “You took your own sweet time getting here.”

“Sorry if my needing to decontaminate myself and my security officers is an inconvenience,” Doctor Henderson responded sarcastically. “Now, would you mind telling me who you are and what you two were doing in a quarantined area?”

“Quarantined area?” The Doctor asked in surprise. “We knew nothing of a quarantine. We'd only just arrived. We're not even from around here.”

“By your accent, I'd guess you're from Scotland,” Henderson responded.

“You'd be quite surprised, I'm sure. Anyhow, I am the Doctor, and she is my friend and associate Ace.”

“Doctor is a title, not a name. For example, I'm Doctor Carol Henderson.”

“For you, dear Doctor Henderson, it's a title. For me, it's a name.”

"Very well, Doctor," Henderson said with a hint of irritation. "Now, tell me what you were doing in a quarantined area.”

“We didn't know about any quarantine,” Ace said impatiently.

“Stay calm, Ace,” The Doctor said, raising his right hand slightly. He turned to Doctor Henderson. “She is quite correct. We came to Ortonshire because of its reputation for Christmas celebration. We had no idea any quarantine had been put into place.”

Before Doctor Henderson could respond, someone had knocked on the interrogation room door. She opened it and stuck her head out the other side. Someone had told her the secretary-general of the United Nations wanted to speak with her. She left and returned some twenty minutes later. The Doctor looked at Henderson in an attempt to anticipate what she will do and say next.

Henderson took a deep breath. “Apparently,” She said to the Doctor, “I'm supposed to trust you. After I mentioned 'The Doctor' to the secretary-general of the United Nations, he ordered me to allow you assist Project PANVAC if you wish to do so.”

“Yes. Of course, I'd be happy to help if I can.”

“The U.N. has quite a detailed file on you.”

“Yes,” The Doctor said, “You can thank those busy bodies at U.N.I.T. for that.” He walked toward Doctor Henderson. “Now, what exactly are we dealing with here, Doctor Henderson?”

“It started three days ago with some children who were building a snowman near the forest at Ortonshire's southern border. A boy named Charlie Wright was the first to exhibit symptoms. He complained of a headache after returning home. The local doctor found he had a very high fever before the lad lost consciousness. His three friends – another boy and two girls had similar symptoms as the evening had progressed.”

“Let's see,” The Doctor pondered, “Three days ago was December 1st. Go on, Doctor.”

“My team and were called when infection spread to the adults and other children. The local physician told us  that all the patients exhibited something odd on the skin about an hour before we arrived in Ortonshire.”

“Odd in what way, Doctor?”

Doctor Henderson paused for a moment. She seemed to searching for an appropriate description. Swallowing her pride and perhaps realizing the Doctor was no threat, she spoke.

“Perhaps it's better to show you, Doctor.”

*

Doctor Henderson's gloved hand punched a numeric code on a security keypad to the right of a metallic door. The Doctor put on a surgical mask and latex gloves while following her. The door slid open. They briskly walked down an empty, bright white corridor. The doctors were greeted by a burly security guard upon Henderson's explanation of the Doctor's presence. She had told him the Time Lord was there on orders from the United Nations. The Doctor tipped his hat before entering the patient's quarters.

Charlie Wright was a sandy haired, frail boy who looked to be no more than ten years of age. He lay dormant in the hospital bed. The Doctor looked at a copy of Charlie's file. With Doctor Henderson to his right, the Doctor examined the boy closely. His skin was chalk white with blue, green and grey vine-like tendrils all over his body. His pupils, irises and the whites of his eyes were clouded over in the same green/blue/grey hue.

“The vines are attached well,” Doctor Henderson said. “Scissors and knives were unable to cut them. Fire only activates the sprinkler system.”

The Doctor took a closer look at the vines. The Doctor said, “We may not need to do that if we can get a blood sample.”

“I'd like to get a sample of them as well to study this more thoroughly.”

“Understandable. A low level laser might be able burn off a piece without harming young Charlie here. Now, tell me. Is Ortonshire the only area infected, Doctor Henderson?”

“According to our facilities in other parts of the world, the illness is contained within the vicinity of Ortonshire. No other village, city, country or continent has had any reports of symptoms like these for now,” Henderson replied while indicating the tendrils.

“Then it's not too late,” The Doctor said hopefully, “We may be able find a cure before this spreads worldwide. Now, somebody get me that laser.”

*

Ace was in the laboratory where the TARDIS was being examined. She had been ordered to where a hazmat suit for her protection. The scientists who were studying the ship were amazed. They had no idea what they were dealing with. One man even approached the TARDIS doors with a large drill in hand. Ace laughed.

“You'll never open the TARDIS with that,” Ace observed.

“What?” The scientist with the drill asked.

“I'm afraid she is quite correct, sir. Your drill won't open my TARDIS,” The Doctor said. “Now, put that thing away. The TARDIS is perfectly safe. Stop wasting time, and point us in the direction of Doctor Henderson's office.”

The scientist indicated a corridor to his left. “You can't miss it. Her name's on the door,” He said sheepishly.

The Doctor turned his head in the direction of the TARDIS. He was clearly irritated. He muttered something under his breath. Ace couldn't quite make out what he said, but she giggled. There was something amusing and sweet about the Doctor when his dander was up. Ace told the Doctor that they arrived at Doctor Henderson's office, Now all they had to do was wait for her to arrive with the laser needed to take the sample of the virus vine. Hours had passed. The Doctor used this time to read Doctor Henderson's extensive research on viruses, pandemics and cures. He had finished reading her most recent paper when the head of project PANVAC entered the room with the surgical laser in hand.

Doctor Henderson and the Doctor went to Charlie's bedside. The Time Lord prepared the laser. He double checked its parameters to make certain it was set at minimum intensity. He didn't want to unnecessarily injure the boy in his efforts to save him. The narrow red beam hit a vine on the boy's wrist. A small chunk of about the size of a newborn kitten's toenail fell on to the white bed sheet. The Doctor placed it in a vial with a pair of tweezers. The Doctor and Doctor Henderson took the sample in thee latter's office. The head of Project PANVAC looked at it through a microscope. She was stymied and shocked by her findings.

“Doctor,” Henderson said, “Have a look at this.”

The Doctor looked into the microscope. “Very interesting indeed,” He commented.

“You don't seem as surprised as I am,” Henderson observed. “It has characteristics of a virus. However, I've never seen anything like it.”

“There is nothing like it,” The Doctor said, “At least on Earth.”

“Are you saying this virus is alien?”

“Doctor Henderson,” The Doctor began, “You're a brilliant virologist. I finished reading your papers while waiting for the laser.”

“Those are roughly thirty years of work consisting of thousands of pages,” Henderson said in a surprised tone. “It would take me at least three years to read them again.”

“I'm a fast reader,” The Doctor commented, “As I was saying, you're a brilliant virologist, doctor. Yet, you have a habit of doing what most scientists tend to do. You limit the scope of your search for answers.”

Ace had been sitting in a chair across from Doctor Henderson's desk. She was positively amused by the exchange between the doctors. She did nothing to repress her smile and laughter.

“So you are saying it's alien,” Henderson said, ignoring Ace.

“Not all alien life forms are little green men, doctor,” The Doctor responded.

“Some are Daleks or Cybermen,” Ace interjected.

“Not now, Ace,” The Doctor said gently.

“How do you know it's alien, Doctor?” Henderson asked.

“That isn't the important question, Doctor Henderson. How did the virus get to Ortonshire, and how do we cure it? Those are the inquiries you must ask if we are help the infected and prevent the spread to the rest of the world.”

The Doctor snapped his fingers and ran toward the nearest exit. Doctor Henderson followed him.

“Where are you going, Doctor?” She asked, pursuing him.

“I need to get to the TARDIS!” He called as he ran further away. “There's no time to lose!”

*

Ace, still in the hazmat suit, entered the TARDIS. The Doctor ran to the controls, pressed buttons and flipped switches. The doors closed.

“You won't be needing that, Ace,” The Doctor said, indicating her hazmat suit. “We're perfectly safe in the TARDIS.”

Removing the protective head piece and mask, Ace asked, “Shouldn't we be saving the people in Ortonshire, Professor?

The Doctor hadn't taken his eyes and hands away from the TARDIS controls. “That's exactly why we've returned to the TARDIS, Ace. If I'm right, the illness is not of Earthly origin.”

“So we're going find who created it?”

“Not exactly,” The Doctor answered. “We are, however, going to see how it began.”

“Couldn't we prevent the infection from coming to Ortonshire?”

“As much as it pains me, Ace, I'm afraid not. We're merely going back in time to see how the virus got to Ortonshire.”

Ace looked disappointed. “Don't look so glum, Ace,” The Doctor said. “We'll find a way to cure every sick person in Ortonshire. I just need to confirm a theory first.”

Ace was reassured by this by the time the TARDIS returned to Ortonshire's city limits near the village sign some days before their initial arrival. Christmas lights shined their rainbow of hues upon the box, perhaps as a signal of hope for things to come. The Doctor and Ace heard the town square's clock tower's bells toll. It was midnight. The Doctor checked his fob watch to be sure. He clicked it shut and sat down on the ground in front of the TARDIS doors. Ace sat next to him, her arms wrapped around her knees.

“What are we doing now, Doctor?” Ace asked.

“Waiting, Ace. We're waiting.”

Twenty minutes later, the Doctor looked at his watch again. He then turned his gaze to the sky.

“It should be arriving,” He said, “Now.”

The Doctor and Ace looked up. A shooting star streaked across the night sky, its fiery tail blazing through the starry backdrop. A meteor was clearly burning upon entering Earth's atmosphere. Small, flaming bits of the space rock crash landed. One had come close to striking the Doctor had Ace not pushed him out of the the way.

Ace helped the Doctor to his feet. He thanked her and dusted himself off. He returned to the TARDIS to get a long pair of tongs and a cylindrical lead container. The Doctor placed the meteorite inside the canister before walking into Ortonshire. Ace followed closely.

“Where are we going, Doctor?” Ace asked.

“We need to make sure no other meteorites in the area, Ace.”

“Shouldn't we get more of those lead cylinders from the TARDIS?”

“There's no need,” The Doctor answered with a twinkle of pride in his eye. “Much like the TARDIS, this receptacle is bigger on the inside. Now, come along, Ace. We have lives to save.”

*

Doctor Henderson made her rounds to check the infected somewhere around midnight. She entered Charlie Wright's room. She looked briefly at his file. As she looked up from the folder, the pale boy covered in vines did something that startled her. He sat up. She called his name, but there was no response. His face was cold and without expression. This brought a shiver of terror to Doctor Henderson.

Charlie got out of bed. Doctor Henderson overcame her apprehension and called the young man's name. The only responses were a chillingly vacant look in her direction accompanied by an eerie silence. Charlie marched out of the room. Doctor Henderson, her curiosity outweighing her fear, followed the boy. He didn't seem to notice her behind him. Perhaps in his current state, he didn't even perceive her presence as a threat.

Charlie had joined another group of the infected. Others followed suit. The crowd became overwhelming. Doctor Henderson had lost her balance. She placed her hands in front of her person to break her fall. Her moving forward did nothing to distract the patients from getting to their destination. Henderson saw that the rest of the Project PANVAC team was following the entranced people with tendrils all over their bodies.

The marching had stopped outdoors. Henderson noted they were in the Ortonshire village square. The colours of the Christmas tree's lights, especially the red and green, made the infected look more menacing and frightening. Doctor Henderson gulped saliva to moisten her previously dry throat. She looked around  The faces of Project PANVAC's personnel mirrored the question that was on mind.

What do these people want?

*

The Doctor and Ace had been collecting meteorites for the better part of two hours when they returned to the TARDIS. They had a dozen of the space rocks inside the container. The Doctor worked the ship's controls allowing it to materialize in front of an elaborately decorated wooden cottage. He checked the date. It was December 1st.

The house was surrounded by a white picket fence. Gold garland and small red and green lights trimmed the structure. Brightly lit statues of a snowman and Father Christmas were placed on the left and right sides of the gate behind the TARDIS. The snowman's left hand touched a red postal box with an address written on the side. The Doctor read it aloud.

“17 Miller Road,” He said, “If I recall correctly, young Charlie Wright lives here. We should investigate here for clues to how he became ill.”

The front door was unlocked, and the light within were still turned on, meaning the family left in a hurry. The Doctor and Ace moved quietly. They entered the front room to find an Advent Calender on the coffee table adjacent to the Christmas tree and television. It had an image of two children, a dark haired boy and a blonde girl, in Christmas pyjamas looking in amazement at the numerous presents under the tree. The square for December  1st had been opened.

“Doctor,” Ace said holding the Advent Calender. She indicated the empty square. “Look.”

“Yes, Ace, it's an Advent Calender. They're quite common at Christmas time.”

“No, look closer,” Ace insisted.

“Goodness, Ace, you're right,” The Doctor said upon further examination of the empty square. He saw bits of green dust inside. He put on latex gloves to take a sample of it. He and Ace returned to the TARDIS to study the weird powder. The Doctor looked worried after about fifteen minutes.

“I think, Ace,” He said, “We may have missed a meteorite somewhere.”

*

The Ortonshire Candy Factory was on the east end of the village. The TARDIS had arrived not long before the meteor shower had begun. The Doctor started a countdown. A meteorite crashed through one of the factory's windows the moment after the Doctor had finished. It had landed in a vat of chocolate unbeknownst to anyone working there. The mixing process had turned the rock to dust. The chocolate was then used in the sweets for the Advent Calenders.

The Doctor snapped his fingers and looked at Ace. “There's a slim chance,” He said, “But we going to have go with your plan, Ace.”

“My plan?”

“I'll explain later. We need to return to the TARDIS.”

The time machine vanished. It reappeared inside the factory this time. It hovered over the vat of chocolate. The Doctor stood in the ships opened doorway with a long mechanical arm device in his hands, He used a joystick to move it left and right, up and down until its two prongs grabbed the meteorite in the moment before it landed in the chocolate. The Time Lord returned inside to calculate his next move. He configured the TARDIS controls.

“Now,” He said to Ace, “If this is timed correctly, we can place this rock we caught somewhere our previous rock hunting selves will find it, thereby preventing it from contaminating the candy factory's chocolate and any infection in Ortonshire.”

“There's one thing I don't get, Professor,” Ace said. “How was this my plan?”

“It was you, dear Ace, who asked if we could prevent the infection from coming to Ortonshire. Now, put that hazmat suit back on, and prepare your throwing arm. We're almost where we need to be.”

The TARDIS whirled and twirled in the air. The Doctor opened door after checking the ship's location.

“When I say go, Ace,” The Doctor said as he opened the door, “ Throw the meteorite.”

“I hope this works, Professor.”

“I've seen you launch explosives at Daleks, Ace. You'll do brilliantly.”

He looked down at the street a few steps in front of the candy factory. “Now, Ace! Now!”

Ace's gloved hand hurled the meteorite with the might and determination of David against Goliath. IT landed near a tree less than an inch away from Ace's previous self. The Doctor closed the door, scanned Ace for infection and radiation and smiled.

“Excellent throwing, Ace. If all went well, Our next trip to Ortonshire will be a happier one.”

The TARDIS was now on the moon, time was catching up with itself as The Doctor and Ace's previous selves disappeared with all of Ortonshire's meteorites. The Doctor looked inside the container. There were thirteen plus five they had missed before.

“Ah yes,” The Doctor said, “We did another survey of Ortonshire after taking the rock you threw.”

The Doctor and Ace returned to Ortonshire's sign. The Time Lord opened the TARDIS doors. He exited to admire how beautifully lit the words Happy Christmas were. The Doctor took a deep breath with a smile and a twinkle in his eyes.

“Come along, Ace,” The Doctor called. “The Most Magical Christmas Village In The Entire World awaits us once more.”

Ace came out of the TARDIS just as a portly man with a white beard dressed as Father Christmas approached the Doctor. He grinned broadly as he spoke to them.

“Happy Christmas, folks. Welcome to Ortonshire,” The man said jovially.

“Happy Christmas to you as well, my good man,” The Doctor responded with a tip of his hat. This is Ace, and I'm the Doctor.

“Pleased to meet both of you,” The man replied, shaking hands with Ace and the Doctor. “I'm Chris. You here for the Christmas Festival?”

“Yes,” The Doctor replied, “I also wonder if you could tell where I may find an Advent Calendar.”

The End

[araluenrangerdanger]

The airport AU

Remember when I said I was writing the airport au from this post? I’m done with it - read under read more or AO3

Halt was used to travelling by plane. As a governmental officer, he often had to leave the country and – such misfortune - he always got seasick when he went by boat. So, due to these things, he was well familiar with the Araluen airport, located in the mainland near the capital city.

It was a simple process, really. Go to the check-in desk, get a boarding pass, go through the passport control, security check. Halt knew it all. He could practically waltz around the airport with his eyes closed.

One day, however, it all changed. Well, not all of it. Mainly the passport control. Where once stood real, living people, there were now machines. Halt and machines didn’t go together. If he even passed his own microwave, it broke down and Halt always had to spend such a ridiculous amount of money to get it repaired.

These machines came with an animated manual subtitled in several languages. Halt took out his diplomatic passport and frowned at the small screen. It seemed simple enough.

Just when he was about to put his passport inside of the machine, he appeared. A man with a bright green uniform of the airport’s information workers. He had red hair and he was smiling at him.

“Hello, can I help you?” he asked, completely oblivious to the fact that Halt was giving him his famous death glare. Still, he politely declined.

“No, thank you. I know how to do this.” As it turned out three seconds later, he did NOT know how to do it. He put a wrong page inside the machine. Halt didn’t notice this, but out of the corner of his eye, he could see the information worker standing a few feet away, looking at him with anticipation.

“Do you want help?” the guy asked again, trying to hide his smile. Halt had to fight the urge to roll his eyes. Really, he got this. So he rejected his offer for the second time and tried again.

Machines truly seemed to hate him. After he put his passport in for a second time, correctly if I may add, a red icon showed up telling him to go to the police officer. Halt narrowed his eyes at the screen. When people were doing the passport check, it was so much better. Why did the management of the airport think this was better? Halt glanced at a sign telling him that this was a much easier way to pass the check. As if, Halt thought.

He took out his passport, determined to not deal with that thing for the third time when the information guy swept in.

“You should try pressing it down,” he suggested. Halt paid him no mind and continued on his merry way to the police. He left the man standing there as he made his way through the control.

From now on, whenever Halt travelled, he had the luck to meet this guy. Apparently, he belonged to a new team of information workers that was created after the installation of these machines to help people pass through easily (not that Halt cared. He certainly never, ever opened the airport’s website to do a small research. Not at all). Halt tried his best to avoid them, but he was never completely safe since they were everywhere. Well, almost. At least they didn’t occupy the toilets.

The next time Halt passed through the new passport control was when he returned from Skandia. It was around noon and there were only two workers in bright green T-shirts that pegged them as members of this new team. Neither of them had red hair though and Halt relaxed.

He didn’t need help this time. He remembered the words of the redhead and pressed his passport down and it actually worked! His happiness didn’t last long. The machine broke down when he was inside and it took forever to get him out.

When he was inside of it for a few minutes already, he exasperatedly turned his head towards the information workers who were watching him like hawks.

“Sorry, you have to wait! We’re not in charge of those,” he heard a vaguely familiar voice and of course, there he was. Halt sighed. He was totally going to file a complaint against these stupid, useless things!

“How long?” he shot back. He was unusually grumpy – well, grumpier today. His flight was delayed by four hours and by now he was supposed to be in an important meeting. Instead, he was stuck at the airport. In this demonic machine. What a great day.

The redhead leaned against the device. For a second he looked somewhere behind Halt, where the baggage reclaim was, then replied: “Don’t know. A police officer has to come and get you out.”

He smiled. Halt wasn’t sure why; he was stuck here. It seemed as though the information worker wanted to chat while he was trapped. There weren’t many people around he could help, he must’ve been incredibly bored.

“Don’t worry. This is not that bad of a situation. I mean, the machine’s still working. At least from where I’m standing.” Halt narrowed his eyes at him and turned around so he faced the exit, leaned against the shiny silver wall of the compartment and waited. He was not in a mood to chat.

The next time Halt took the plane actually was not an official journey. No, it was something much more frightening. He was going on a family vacation with his brother and sister to Arrida. Halt hated holidays with a passion and it didn’t help that his younger brother always tried to play tricks on him. While his younger siblings were outfitted for a proper vacation (Caitlyn wore a pretty summer dress and Ferris had a dark blue shirt with flamingos printed on it, shorts and a straw hat), Halt was dressed in his formal attire. He wasn’t about to embarrass himself at the airport where some of the check-in workers already knew him (if not in person then by sight); it would ruin his entire reputation.

As they stood below the departures board and waited for their check-in number to appear, they heard a very cheerful voice: “Hello, can I help you?”

Halt didn’t even have to look to know who it was. “Oh. It’s you,” he grumbled under his breath quietly. Unfortunately for him, Caitlyn heard him since she was standing just a few feet away.

She looked between the two of them. “You know each other?” she asked, curiosity seeping through her voice.

She was given two different answers.

“Of course,” said the stranger.

“We’ve... met,” Halt admitted. Caitlyn took in his expression and decided to not pursue this matter further. Instead, she smiled and looked at the guy’s ID card that hung around his neck.

“Tell me, Mr. Crowley. What should I do if I’m terrified of flying?” Halt grumbled. That wasn’t true. Caitlyn had never been afraid of flying. If there was someone who would’ve run out of the airport if he could, it was Ferris. His younger brother was afraid even of his own shadow.

Crowley momentarily stiffened, then turned his ID card around and gave her a bright smile in return. Halt turned his attention back to the departures board and while he, in fact, did listen to what this Crowley guy had to say to Caitlyn, he just wanted this vacation to be over already. He noticed that Ferris moved in closer to them to get tips on how to conquer his fear of heights and they both listened intensely.

Halt had to admit; Crowley knew what he was talking about. Even though he tried to ignore his incomprehensible babbling, Halt couldn’t help but stand there. Both his younger siblings seemed to cling to his every word; it was fascinating what effect this guy had on people.

But, he wasn’t beating around the bush and actually gave them helpful tips which surprised Halt a little. From how their last meeting went down, he assumed that this Crowley cracked jokes on every occasion he got, so seeing him act so responsible had taken him aback.

“And what if I travel by myself? What should I do?” Caitlyn asked, pulling Halt over to her. He wasn’t sure why he did that, though. He did NOT want to listen to Crowley’s excited babbling. He already knew how the airport worked. If Caitlyn wanted to know, then fine, but he could be getting a coffee that very moment and he wouldn’t complain in the slightest. 

At one point during the conversation, he met Crowley’s eyes. An unusual feeling shot through Halt, but he shrugged it off fairly easily and broke the eye contact. He patiently listened to the end and let Crowley tell Caitlyn everything she wanted to know. Afterwards, his little sister spent the whole vacation talking about how amazing this guy's advice was and Halt couldn't help but think that maybe she had a small crush on Crowley. 

His concerns about whether he had to go break someone's neck were in vain as Caitlyn introduced her new boyfriend to them two weeks after they returned from Arrida. 

The next time the two met, Crowley was in a tight situation, getting yelled at by a passenger whose flight had been delayed by three hours and when he wanted to use the coffee machine, it just ate his money and he had no coffee. 

Halt could hear Crowley say: "I'm sorry about the inconvenience, sir, but there is no way I can solve your problems. Can I suggest calling the number on the machine and telling them it doesn't work? Or there is a nice coffee shop if you continue in that direction." 

The passenger didn't listen and tried to argue some more. Crowley sighed exasperatedly and run his hand through his red hair. This was proving to be a difficult day for him and this person certainly didn't help. 

"Yeah, well, I’m sorry, I can't do anything about it," Crowley said and half-turned to leave before he was stopped by another passenger who was on the same flight. 

An elderly woman came up to him and started complaining in broken English. "You give us wrong information! You say check-in open at five but it’s opened now!" 

Crowley's tired eyes looked over to where the check-in for the flight to Teutland was supposed to be. Indeed, they were open already. Around the check-in desk were tons of people belonging to other flights. 

Halt watched as a man with an ID card in a business suit came up to Crowley and they chatted for a while, from time to time looking at the chaos near the check-in desks. That must be his boss, Halt thought. Actually, he had no desire to go check himself in, mainly because he also had a reservation for that Teutland flight.

Crowley continued to walk around, asking people if they wanted help. Eventually, he got to Halt. 

"Hello, sir, can I help you?" he repeated his default phrase as Halt had heard it twenty times for the last fifteen minutes. Halt saw the hopeful look in his eyes. So many people rejected his help, some because of the language barrier, some because they were aware of what to do. Halt would have to disappoint Crowley yet again. 

"No, thank you," he politely declined. Crowley sighed. 

"Do you know the number of your check-in?" He asked. Halt scoffed. Of course, normal people didn't have the airport's mobile app where they could easily access this information, but Halt already knew what his check-in was, and right now, it was swarmed with people. 

But Crowley looked so eager to help someone and Halt gave in. "No, am don't know the number but maybe you could tell me?" 

Crowley visibly perked up. "Of course," he all but shouted. A bright smile appeared on his face as he opened an application similar to Halt's and asked: "Could you tell me your destination and the departure time, please?" 

Halt told him the details with skilled precision that he practiced ever since he got his job. It was fundamental to listen to and remember the useless things that some diplomats let out of their mouths. 

Crowley's bright smile disappeared as he looked through his iPad. 

"That's check-in number 125 and 126," he said and waved his hands in the direction of the crowd. "Over there," he added quickly, then went silent as he studied Halt's expression carefully, like he wasn't sure if he wasn't about to get yelled at for yet another time.

Halt may have been displeased that his flight was delayed, but he sure wasn't about to shout at some poor airport employee, even as one as annoying as Crowley. It wasn't his fault the plane didn't arrive on time and he was trying his best. 

"Thank you," he said simply, grabbed his suitcase and went over to wait in the (non-existent) line. 

Their next meeting happened a month later. Really, Halt was getting quite sick seeing Crowley every damn time he had to take the plane, but the night before his trip, he stood in the shower and a stray thought invaded his brain. Halt, with an expected amount of surprise, discovered that he actually wouldn't mind seeing Crowley again. Even though the guy could be annoying as hell, the few times he talked to him proved that he was in fact a pretty good company. 

Halt dismissed the thought when he stepped out of the shower. There was no use dwelling on something like that. 

But here he was, yet again waiting under the departures board for his check-in desk to open. And, of course, he could already guess by the mane of red hair who exactly was the information worker for today. Halt could swear that Crowley never even left the airport; he was there all the time. 

He was surprised when his bad mood (he didn't have time for his morning coffee. He had to get up at five o'clock in the morning and now, at almost six, none of the coffee shops was open yet) improved the second he saw him. He could tell that Crowley recognized him, too. He smiled tiredly and went to him. 

"Hello, can I help you?" He also sounded tired. Halt never had night shifts, but after seeing this poor guy barely stand, nobody could ever convince him to take on night shifts. 

"No, thank you," he declined his offer, even though he immediately regretted it. He was never a social butterfly, but, for some reason, he wanted Crowley to stay. 

However, Crowley knew when he wasn't wanted and made his way to the few people awake at this hour. Halt had to wait for another half an hour before Crowley came round again, stealing glances at him. 

In a matter of seconds before Crowley made his way to him, asking how default question. 

"You already asked," Halt grumbled. He crossed his arms on his chest. Crowley ran his hand through his hair. 

"Sorry, sir. You looked a little lost and I thought-" he cut himself off. Halt sighed. 

"You know what? If you really want to help me, you can go fetch a coffee."

Crowley looked both directions. Ah, there he was. His boss, Duncan, was strolling between some self-check-in machines. There was no way Crowley could abandon his position now. 

"Sorry, sir, but I can't really leave this place, even if it's to go for a coffee," he explained, taking in Halt's immediately irritated expression. 

"But," he continued quickly. "My shift's ending in fifteen minutes, so after that we can go fetch a coffee? I could use some myself." 

Halt didn't even know he nodded. It must've happened though because Crowley went on to help other passengers before disappearing from sight. 

A few minutes later, a cheerful but tired voice came from behind him.

"So, shall we go fetch that coffee?" 

[xxisxxisxxis]

Gateway Drug | Part Thirty

Table of Content or Part Twenty-Nine

Pairing: Douglas Booth!Nikki Sixx x OC

Word Count: 4.3k

Warning(s): Language, Drug use, Mentions of abuse, Death

Tag List: @unknownoblivion @sinningsixx @edwardtriggerhandzz @lemmyjelly @haileynicoleseavey17 @cierrasixx19 @oskea93 @mgkobsessed @vamprlestat @sharon6713 @itsametaphorbriansblog @miriampraez @allie-mcginn @rebeccaphillips14 @nicholeh7 @fandomshit6000 @lilmou5ie @tamedhearts @divaanya @kingbouji3 @evrsncnewyork @6ixx6ixx @ratedrkohardychick91 @floregrohlssard @oldschoolimagineblog @thanks2pete @abaldboi @swoopygorl @justjodeye @liith-ium @caos18blog @ytwahsog @shamlessobsessions @scarecrowmax @toadspleen @random-internet-user-4471 @solohqrry @loveofmyloif @sparxx27 @kaitieskidmore1 @xpoisonousrosesx @ijustwanttokiss70srogertaylor @triplehaitches @emmaelizabeth2014

LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANT TO BE TAGGED

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

When your husband presents a week long vacation on a tropical island 3,875 miles away from your everyday civilization, it seems like an absolutely flawless plan.

Until your husband is so incoherent from drug binging the whole week prior to your trip that he can't even get his own bag packed...or hold much of a conversation.

I decided not to go, even though I'd be kinda miserable without him for a whole week, and left him and Robbin to it.

I didn't feel like taking a week to observe even more of Nikki's reckless habits.

My body's comfortably enveloped by warmth and pulsing jets that leave not an inch of tension in my body for the first time in months.

The only sound there is, is the bubbling of the hot tub as Tansy, Sharise, and I, treat ourselves to an entirely empty mansion while Nikki's away.

"This is great." Tansy vocalizes in a sigh, her sky blue eyes closed while her blonde bombshell waves are pinned on top of her head.

"No Vince screaming at the TV at a ball game, no aggravation out of boredom, no arguments..." Sharise exhales from her place in a lounging chair on the pool's deck.

"...No stepping on needles, no smell of booze or vomit. Just peace." I add in the same, relaxed tone.

"Viv!" Tommy blares from the back door.

"Baby!" Vince's voice follows.

"Tans!" Sparkie's next.

"If we ignore them, they'll go away." I mumble, the three of us not making any moves, pretending we can't hear them.

Once we hear their footsteps approaching on the concrete of the pool deck, I let out a groan.

"Why can't they be 3,875 miles away?" I ask myself aloud, picking my head up and looking at them. "What is it?" I ask them, pulling my sunglasses down my nose to look at them.

"Vince is having a party tonight." Tommy tells me excitedly.

"And?" I reply, smartly.

"And we want you guys to come." He tells me, nudging my arm with his boot. "Well, Sharise, you're already gonna be there, so, but Viv, Tansy, you need to come."

"Why on God's green Earth, would I voluntarily submerge myself in to a booze, drug, and sex obsessed enviroment?" I ask them.

"Well, you married Nikki, so it wouldn't be the first time you've done it." Tommy says cautiously and I glare at him.

"When is this party?" I sigh out, not feeling like arguing.

"Tonight." Vince tells us.

Tansy, Sharise, and I exchange looks.

"Fine." I agree.

A party I assumed would only last a night, went on for four days.

By day three, Nikki was waltzing through the door, Jack in hand, and a shit eating smirk as if he were home.

"Vince, why am I answering this?" I rub the bridge of my nose.

"Theologically, speaking, Viv." He slurs, from his spot on the couch. "Dream threesome. Two girls, two guys, a girl and a guy, whatever wets your pussy. Go." He shoots and I raise my brows.

"I don't know." I admit.

"Oh, come on!" He groans out, frustrated. "Forget you're married, Nikki Sixx doesn't exist in this parallel universe, you're not God fearing, you just have a shot to select your dream team threesome. Who're you choosing?"

"David Lee Roth, Joan Jett." I reply honestly.

"Really?" Vince sounds disappointed and I raise a brow.

"Were you expecting me to say you and someone else?" I question, knowing damn well he was.

Sharise raises her brows at Vince, daring him to say something and causing me, Tansy, Tommy, and Razzle to chuckle.

"Nope." He lies, smiling innocently at his pregnant wife.

"What about you, Tansly?" Razzle nudges her with his elbow, mispronouncing her name, as always.

She's corrected him more times than we can count, but she's stopped fixing him the past few weeks.

I think she's fond of the little pet name.

She blows smoke past her red lips, heeled feet on Sparkie's lap, as she thinks for a moment.

"Billy Idol, Lenny Kravits..." She says, her eyes falling on me. "And Viv."

I don't pay any attention to her suggestion because I know she's on a cocktail of coke, heroin and ludes, and I'm suprised she's even awake.

"Jesus, it's a threesome, Tans, not a orgy." Tommy laughs, taken by surprise.

"I have three perfectly good holes and a talented tongue. Go big or go home." She shrugs, putting out her cigarette.

Tansy talked a big game, but she despised group activities in terms of sex.

She would play her part if she was asked to join one, or if Sparkie suggested she put on a good show for his buddies, but she'd have to get stoned out of her mind, borderline comatose, in order to follow through with it.

One thing Nikki did right, even in his worst point on heroin, he always protected Tansy the best he could.

He turned on Sparkie like a rabid dog in the Summer of '87, after Tansy had to get stitches in her vagina because she passed out at a party she was throwing at her beach house, and Sparkie let his sick-fuck friends practically mutilate her by attempting to fit a Jack Daniels bottle into her unconscious body.

The bottle busted in their attempt and sliced her up so badly, some of the glass went through her and missed her left fallpian tube by the thickness of a quarter.

Tansy had us as her emergency contacts, and I was helping Sharise with Skylar when the hospital called our house and Nikki, being the only one home, answered and then came and picked me up.

The doctor explained it, and Nikki and I figured it was a kinky thing Tansy and Sparkie were trying out.

When she woke up after being repaired, she told Nikki the last thing she remembered before blacking out.

I remember coming back from the vending machine to see Nikki slamming Sparkie's head into the wall of the waiting room, screaming that he was going to "fucking kill him", getting in three good punches before I got him off of him.

Sparkie didn't press charges because he knew what he and his friends did to Tansy would have come out.

To her mom, the rest of Mötley Crüe, her friends, and her husband now, it was just a weird thing she tried out for pleasure and it didn't go too well.

I suppose if Sparkie were still alive, and Axl found out the truth of what really happened to his wife's reproductive system that was nearly jeopardized, he would track him down and finish what Nikki started that night.

I'm about to get up and go get some more water just as a familiar voice exclaims, "Honey, I'm home!"

Nikki's standing at the top of the stairs from the foyer, his arms exposed by his t-shirt turned tank top, his legs wrapped in black denim, arms open wide, Jack in his right hand, and his smile gleaming.

He must have had a really, really good trip.

He was surrounded by drugs, booze and topless women the whole time...he had fun.

I've gotten over being mad at him the past few days, and despite enjoying the quiet house, I've missed him.

Tommy's jumping over the couch, like a puppy seeing his owner return after a trip, nearly tackling him, and Nikki and him are both laughing excitedly to be back together to raise hell as the Terror Twins once more.

Once Tommy's had his turn, Nikki's pulling me into him, his arm looping around my neck as he pulls my lips to his.

I eagerly accept, our tongues dancing together.

"Aww." Tommy pipes.

"Get a room!" Vince orders from his place on the couch, over the loud music and chatter of his guests, sounding grossed out.

Nikki pulls away from me after a moment, smirking down at me before peppering my face in kisses, causing me to giggle.

"I've missed you." He tells me once he's done, squeezing me in a tight hug.

I'm kind of shocked he's admitting that, but I hug him equally as tight.

"Okay, cute, but now the real party starts." Vince cuts us up, handing Nikki a bindle of blow and his hazel eyes glitter that look he gets when he knows he's bound for trouble.

I went home that night to shower, recharge, and went back early the next morning to see almost everyone was still up from the night before, including Nikki.

Hanoi Rocks is passed out in the living room floor with half dressed women all over them. Tansy's naked and unconscious on the kitchen counter with Tommy, covered up with Tommy's jacket and a blanket Sharise drapped over her legs.

Sparkie's still up with Nikki and Vince, and Mick is asleep and minding his own business in one of the guest bedrooms.

I'm stepping over strangers that are littered on the floor, and sitting next to Nikki on his spot of the couch, closing my eyes and leaning my head against his bicep as he and Vince talk about the upcoming album.

He doesn't skip a beat as he goes on about the concept he wants for the cover, lifting the arm I'm resting on to wrap it around me, and lean back, allowing me to lay on his chest.

I curl my legs close to me to lay down on the couch and take up his silent offer, wrapping my arm around his abdomen, and drifting off.

Nikki was very affectionate and sweet when he wanted to be back then.

I wake up around the same time everyone else does, 8:00 at night.

Vince showers and changes clothes while me and Sharise clean up around people because the house is a wreck.

By the time we're done, Nikki's waking up from where he was passed out on the couch with me, and rubbing his eyes.

Mick's even joined the party, too, and I also notice that Tom Zutaut is here as well.

"Draw four." Tansy tells Razzle as she's criss-cross-applesauce at my feet as she and him are using the coffee table to play Uno.

"Wait a minute, I don't wanna draw four." Razzle argues with her.

"Razz, you gotta. It's how you play the game." She explains and he scoffs.

"You ain't gotta tell me how to play the game, I know very well how to play Uno. It's Uno. Uno means 'one'. Why fuck would I draw four when the game is called 'one'?" He asks her, his accent adding humor to his slightly booze induced argument.

"The game's called 'Uno' because whoever has only one card left, is closest to winning." Mike explains, brushing his fluffy blonde hair from his face.

"That's a bit stupid, isn't it?" Razzle replies. "Life's like one big fucking game of Uno. You're dealt more than what you were under the impression of getting when you signed up to bloody play to begin with."

He draws his four cards as Tansy and I try not to laugh.

"It's a game, Razz." I chuckle out, glancing to my right to see Nikki strategically lining coke up in the shape of a cross.

He glances at me to gauge my reaction and I raise an unamused brow as he just throws a wink at me before snorting it.

Mick sits down next to Nikki and I, sighing out in pain.

"God damn." He mumbles and Tommy and I exchange looks.

"You okay there, Mick?" Tommy asks him.

"Yeah. My back hurts from carrying this tour." Mick replies smartly, causing all of us to laugh.

Once Nikki's snorted his blow, he takes the paper he rolled into a straw and licks the remains of white powder off it.

I pretend not to notice his desperate attempt to get every bit of it in his system.

"Mick." Nikki says, nudging Mick, motioning to Vince who's getting friendly with a pretty blonde girl, obviously with ulterior motives in mind. "Hey, are you in the band?" Nikki mimics what he assumes the girl is saying to Vince.

"What do you fuckin' think?" Mick replies mimicking Vince and once again, we're all cackling.

Sharise is now standing next to Vince as he introduces her to the other woman.

"Have you met my wife Sharise? Do you wanna have a threesome?" Tom jokes next, mocking Vince's voice like Mick did but goofier sounding and it's like someone cut the track on a record.

Even Tansy turns around to shoot daggers at him along with Nikki and I.

"Tom, what the fuck is wrong with you man?" Nikki asks sternly, taking him off guard. "She's fucking pregnant, man." He motions to her. "That's fucked up."

It's obvious Tom feels guilty for saying it, but Nikki's suddenly laughing and hitting him in the shoulder. "No, I'm just fucking with you, man. I'm just fucking with you." Nikki assures him and Tom lets out a sound of relief and laughs. "But don't be a fucking dick." He sternly says again, serious this time, pointing at him. "Look at her, she's fucking pregnant, man."

"Don't be a dick, Zutaut." Mick advises, crossing his hands over his chest and laying down.

"Alright, sorry." Tom mumbles as Nikki picks his bottle of Jack back up.

"I win!" I hear Razzle yell, his arms raised in victory, cigarette hanging from his lips. "Choke on that you fuckin'..." he trails off, trying to think of an insult to jokingly throw at Tansy and she just blinks at him, waiting to hear it. "...I can't think of anything because you're perfect and I don't want to plant any bad seeds in your mind so I'll just except the money you owe me and we'll leave it at that." He decides aloud and Tansy reaches for her purse and pulls out fifty dollars.

"A dollar for the number of rounds it's taken you to finally beat me." She hands it to him.

They've been playing Uno ever since he arrived the first night of this party, four days ago.

He's worked hard for this single win.

I would've appreciated his wide, proud smile as he tucked the cash into his pocket, if I had known it would have been the last time I ever got to see it.

"Tans, can you grab something from my trunk?" Nikki asks about an hour later, digging in his pocket for his keys and she nods.

"Can I drive your car?" She raises her brows, smiling innocently.

"With what license?" He counters.

"Touché." She replies taking the keys from him, and he mumbles in her ear what he needs and she nods, stepping out.

Razzle and Tommy flip through Tansy's Miss December issue, each of them holding it open, discussing the girls like food critics pointing out good and bad elements of a dish.

"Is it just me, or does Tansly have a birthmark shaped like a saxophone on her bum?" Razzle points at something, I assume Tansy's ass.

"She does." Me, Tommy, Vince, Nikki and Sparkie, all reply at the same time and look at each other, before they look at me.

"How do you know that?" Vince asks, suggestively, and I cross my arms.

"We see each other naked all the time." I explain, plucking the magazine from Tommy and Razzle. "Not to mention her ass is plastered in almost every issue."

Tansy's coming back with Nikki's keys in no time, handing them off to him, before handing him a brown paper bag I know has gear in it.

"Viv, can you go get me some food?" Sharise asks me politely and I ignore Nikki dismissing himself to the bathroom, Tansy following, as I look up at her. "I'm having a craving." She adds and I nod.

"What do I need to get you?"

I'll be honest, when she gave me specific instructions to go to Dairy Queen, get chilli cheese fries and a swirl of vanilla icecream on top of them, I was judging.

But when I was knocked up...I was eating fried mozarella sticks with peanut butter, hot wings with watermelon, mustard with club crackers, and white peas with mayonaise.

"Ew..." I mumble, coming down the road, the smell of chilli and vanilla not mixing well as the odor continues to stain Nikki's corvette.

I look down at the cupholder to grab my Pepsi, and I look back up, about to meet the back of a car that's stopped dead in the tracks of a car pile up.

"Fuck!" I say harshly, my feet hounding the break, the tires squealing to a hault last minute, missing the car in front of me by inches.

I take a few deep breaths, hearing ambulance sirens blaring past me.

My hand opens the door, my brows furrowed slightly.

Traffic is now stopped on both sides, and I shut the door, looking towards the accident up the road.

Others are getting out of their cars, checking on each other, I don't think anyone is this particular pile up is badly injured.

"What's the matter?!" A man a few cars behind shouts out.

A woman about ten cars ahead turns to look in my direction, able to see the problem better in the night.

"Car wreck!" She replies and I let out a breath, relieved I know it's not Nikki.

Tears come to my eyes.

"Oh, God, be with them, please." I mumble, wiping my eyes.

"Some hot shot in a sports car!" Another man ahead of me pipes.

A heavy feeling that weighs my soul down invades my body.

"W-What kind of car is it?!" I ask him over the sound of more people getting out of their cars and talking.

"...Uh, Pantera, I think!" The second the words leave his mouth, something in me tells me to run.

My heels are lost to the pavement as I take off as fast as my bear feet and legs will take me, turning the bend to see Vince's red Pantera, completely crumpled on the passenger side, while the other car involved in the collision is in startling shape as well.

I see Vince sitting on the curb, cut up, blood smattering his hands and clothes.

His blonde hair is covering his face as he shakes, his arms wrapped around his ankles...rocking back and forth, a cry of the deepest fear evading him.

I'm skidding to my knees when I get to him, ignoring the sharp pain shooting through my skin at the action.

"Vince, are you okay?" I ask him frantically, making him look up at me.

He looks so disoriented.

I smell alcohol on him without even trying to.

"I—I...Razzle and I—"

"—Razzle? Razzle was with you?" I try to stay calm, seeing police pulling up to join the ambulances and firetrucks.

"It came outta nowhere...I..." He trails off.

"Vince, where's Razzle?" I ask, starting to panic.

No answer.

"Where's Razzle, Vince?" I repeat, tears filling my eyes.

"He fell asleep, they got him out." He tells me, nearly incoherently, and I look around frantically to see if Razzle is anywhere to be seen.

I only see one of his high-top Chuck Taylor's sitting in the middle of the glass and blood painted pavement.

"Viv?!" Tommy's voice is panicked, probably thinking I was apart of the accident.

I turn to see him, Sharise, the party guests...

Vince's house is just up the road, they probably heard the commotion.

The guests are gawking at the accident with the people caught in the stopped traffic, while Sharise and Tommy are coming towards us.

"Ma'am, I'm gonna ask you to get away from the suspect." A police officer is saying, pulling me up and I furrow my brows.

"Suspect of what?" I demand sharply, seeing another officer approach Vince with a breathalizer.

"Possibly three murders. Depending on how good the doctors are." He replies blatantly and my heart sinks to my stomach.

I allow him to lead me away, seeing Vince being pushed into the back of a police car while the doors of the ambulances are shut, Razzle in one of them.

I turn to look forward, my eyes catching on Michael, Andy, Nasty, and Sami, now moved to the front of the crowd, the various shades of red, blue and white lights reflecting in their glassy eyes.

Nicholas "Razzle" Dingley was declared dead after nearly three hours in surgery, with surgeons that tried everything they could.

Waiting in complete silence with Tommy, Sharise, and four members of a band who were waiting to hear their drummer would be okay, only for a doctor to come out covered in blood, speaking the words, "your buddy Razzle didn't make it," completely broke something in me, that still has yet to be repaired, and probably won't ever be until I see him again.

I held it together as long as I could while Tommy, Sharise, and the remaining members of Hanoi Rocks went through a roller coaster of emotions before I decided I needed to make a getaway.

"Where you going?" Tommy asks me, sniffling as I stand up, grabbing my purse and my jacket.

"Getting Nikki and Tansy." I tell him.

"Well...they were passed out when we all left." He tells me and I let out a breath.

"I'll go check on them." I mumble.

It's obvious to him that I'm avoiding being here, and he gently grasps my hand.

"Viv, it's gonna be alright." He assures me even though it sounds like he's trying to convince himself.

I want to say: "Hanoi Rocks and Mötley Crüe are done with. Razzle's dead. Vince will get sent to prison. Everything Michael, Andy, Nasty, Sami, Razzle, Nikki, Mick, Vince, and you have worked your asses off for, is gone. It's not alright, and it won't be for a long, long time."

But I just give him my best smile and nod, and head for the car.

I got back to Vince's, taking Sharise with me. She was terrified. There she was, pregnant, promised the world by the man she loved and trusted...and he fucked it up and screwed her over.

"Sharise, I know it's a lot, but you gotta calm down." I tell her softly as we park in the driveway.

She's been sobbing ever since the doctor announced Razzle's death.

"I don't know what he expects me to do with this!" She outbursts, her eyes screwed shut as what's left of her makeup runs down her puffy, tear soaked face. "I don't know what to do, Vivian, I don't know what to...oh, God..." Another sob rocks through her as her hand is grasping mine as tight as it can, her knuckles turning white.

I love Vince. I love Tommy. I love Nikki. But they were pros at dealing their significant others fucked up cards, leaving us to pick up the pieces, accept the consequences of their actions—because they sure as fuck never accepted consequences for themselves—and repair whatever it was that they broke.

I go inside to find Nikki and Tansy, stumbling upon them in a guest bedroom, needles scattered, coke and heroin among them, and they're knocked out.

They don't know what they're going to wake up to.

I leave them in whatever high bliss they have left to escape to before reality hits them like a train.

Sharise insists on being alone to "think a lot of shit through."

I just need a fucking place to fall apart.

I could go home, but I don't like being by myself, especially not like this.

Robbin's probably in the same blacked out state as Nikki and Tansy...

But I know who isn't.

Looking back, this is probably the seed that grew it all.

The second the cheaply painted door swings open to reveal a half-awake Duff, in nothing but boxers, rubbing at his sleep filled eyes.

"V-Viv?" He asks, confused. "What're you doing here?"

Tears topple from my eyes and he seems to wake up quickly.

"Viv, what's wrong?"

It hits me at once.

A wave of grief.

My aunt, my two babies, Razzle, Hanoi Rocks, and Mötley Crüe's future...all dead.

A cry cracks past my lips as pain radiates through my chest, causing the muscles to tense and tighten, constricting against my heart as if attempting to protect it.

The sheer weight of all of it—such incredible people losing their bandmate, Vince sitting in a cell knowing he has one of his friend's blood on his hands, the fact that Nikki will wake up eventually and find the dream he had for his band is in shambles, the thought of Razzle's family and friend's getting the phone call that the only way he's coming back home is to be laid to rest—brings me to my knees.

Arms are wrapping around me before I can fall, guiding me into the apartment lit by a dim lamp in the corner, before the door shuts and we're both brought to the floor.

My head aches as more despair is vented out in tears and near shrieks, muffled by the bare skin of his chest.

He doesn't ask anymore questions, he just holds me tightly to him, rocking soothingly, his long legs splayed on either side of me as he keeps mumbling, "I'm sorry."

It doesn't take long before I'm hearing his voice crack thickly, holding back his own tears.

It was the first heart break of many in which my own husband was too fucked up to even know what was going on, or too pissed off at me to give a fuck, leaving Duff to step up and be what Nikki couldn't.

[elopez7228]

Scenic route 20/47

Read on AO3 : https://archiveofourown.org/works/18268208/chapters/43229774 

Start over : https://elopez7228.tumblr.com/post/620919089893933056/scenic-route-0147

***

The conversation flowed amicably and Rey was quite relaxed by the time the Millenium Falcon reached the parking lot of the tourism office.

Maz left the car with one last affectionate pat for BB8, taking a moment to thank Rey for wishing her safe travels.

Inside the immense air-conditioned mass that was the tourism office, a 4-feet-wide digital clock showed the countdown until the next eruption of the geyser.

With nearly half an hour to spare, Rey took a walk through the gift shop. She briefly admired the keychains and postcards, before pausing in front of an item that left her quite perplexed. Bear spray?  What on earth was that?

The shopkeeper—who was appropriately decked out in green forest ranger attire—informed her that it was used by hikers to ward off bears in the unfortunate event of an encounter. An accessory that would surely save lives, given the population of grizzlies that roamed freely within the park.  

Rey bought one because she knew that only too well. The odds of her being attacked by a bear a second time in so few days were low, but she had learned not to underestimate her natural tendency to conjure bad luck out of nowhere.  

Her phone informed her it was almost show time, so she settled on one of the benches installed in a semi circle at a safe distance from the white crater of the geyser.

***

Syed felt like a punk in a playground. She had ended up in the middle a sea of tourists who were all wearing some hideous combination of sun hats, shorts, Hawaiian shirts, cameras, and—she shuddered—socks with sandals. She stuck out like a sore thumb against the pastel masses with her tall black-clad frame, her numerous piercings, and her menacing brass chains.

She cursed Kylo for sending her to hell, far from her friends, her audience, her guns... and him. She had taken multiple photographs of a very sloppily dressed Rey, who had taken the Millennium Falcon for a joyride. Now she was wondering who to send them to. Kylo? Or Hux? Or maybe Snoke?

Theoretically, she was doing this mission on behalf of Kylo Ren. But he had shown signs of weakness that in his interest, she had the duty to report further up the chain of command...his obsession for this little English brat was beyond comprehension.

He used the hunt for environmental activists as an excuse to justify his meddlesome romantic advances, but Syed was no fool. This girl was just a tourist. She wasn’t a secret agent of the Earth Soldiers. She was frolicking about with sunglasses and a cap glued to her skull, sipping some basic frappuccino, bothering bears, and taking selfies. It was improbable, and even impossible, that she was on a mission for an ecologist association that was making dooms-day preparations. She was too relaxed; obviously a woman on vacation, certainly not an agent on active duty.

Syed meanwhile, was always on the clock. It was a shame really, the amount of time had she wasted stalking that bitch.

She finally sent the photos to Armitage Hux. He was particularly pleased when he received an image of Kylo in the throes of passion with his plaything.  She didn’t know what he would do with it, but she knew from experience that when Kylo needed a guardrail, Armitage Hux was the man of the hour. He would simply do a little sleight of hand and suddenly the unruly punk would fall back in line.  

Everything would be back to normal...like nothing had ever happened.

As for Kylo Ren himself, knowing he needed a bone to chew on, she sent him hourly reports of his little protege, deliberately omitting any mention of the hitchhiker. It was really the only useful information of the day;  and she preferred to keep an ace up her sleeve in case he decided to be difficult.

The hitchhiker was nearing the Millennium Falcon again, and Syed went off to disappear into the crowd.

The little woman circled the car for a while, then sat down on the hood, with spectacular ease. She took off her hiking boots and massaged the soles of her feet. Syed rolled her eyes. For fuck’s sake, this old hag was probably less important an update than she had initially anticipated.

When Rey came back, the woman had come down from her perch and was waiting patiently next to the mirror. Rey frowned. People had to seriously stop their fascination with her car. What was that all about?

All her wonder at the sight of the geyser (the truly magnificent explosion of water and steam as high as a five-storey building), faded to give way to an anxiety that was alas, very familiar.

"You’re still here?” Her reaction was harsher than intended, spurred on by the unexpected intrusion.

"I was waiting for you, I hope you don’t mind," Maz replied innocently.  “I haven’t found another ride, may we continue some of this journey together?”

Rey regretted her initial inclemency. She reacted too intensely, to everything.  She took a breath to force herself to regain her composure. Maz was harmless, but it was easy to see why she was struggling to find a helping hand: the park was teaming with pretentious tourists who were reluctant to change their route or their agenda...and who were suspicious of pickpockets.  She had been one of them, after all.

Rey sighed, her shoulders sagging. “Okay, fine...but I’m warning you, I’m doing a tour of all the geological marvels out here.” She said with a smile.

“Fine with me,” Maz smiled in return. “Thank you very much. I promise you won’t even know I’m here.”

Rey swallowed a remark about Maz’s tiny stature, and gently pushed BB8 over to make space.

“It's funny,” Rey observed. “BB8 doesn’t seem at all disturbed by your presence.  She’s rather aggressive with strangers, usually.”

“What strangers?” Maz laughs, reaching out to stroke the dog.

"Oh, just one stranger in particular," Rey corrected with a wave of her hand. “It was impossible for him to approach, she would try to bite him.”

“Had they met before?”

“No, of course not. He would have told me if...” Rey’s voice caught in her throat.

Did Ben and BB8 have history?  It was unbelievable, and yet...he had immediately shown interest in her, seemingly out of nowhere, when they had joined him in the Jackson Hole Lodge parking. He even outright asked if BB was her dog.

It was a silly question to ask someone walking with a dog on a leash. Why would he need confirmation?

Now that she thought about it, he had asked the same strange question about the Millennium Falcon:

Is this your car?

Obviously, it was hers. It’s not like she was just playing Russian roulette out there, hoping to find a car she could force open in the middle of the parking garage. But it was strange that he tried to make sure.

That said, in his defense, perhaps it was simply because the Millennium Falcon was an infamous bastard of a car. Anyone would have been shocked at seeing a machine like this still in use! Who knows what went on in Ben’s head?

Her face had scrunched up into a worried expression, which did not escape Maz.

"Something bothering you?” She asked in a gentle voice, “maybe I can be of some help?”

"I don’t really know," said Rey, still pensive, as she slowly pulled out of the parking space, "I've experienced some rather unlikely things since I landed in Denver. I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

"Start at the beginning," Maz replied encouragingly. “I've got plenty of time.”

That afternoon, Rey and Maz visited some of the most spectacular geological sites around the volcano: boiling springs that gave way to rainbows, geysers by the dozen, bubbling fumaroles ...they even crossed paths with animals that were once threatened in the wild—but were in total safety within the park’s verdant confines. They came upon placid bison, elk, and bald eagles. Thankfully, they saw neither bears nor wolves. These animals, however numerous, tended not to approach busy trails.

They spoke a lot.

Rey found in Maz an attentive third party, to whom she could open up without fear of judgment, and especially without fear of the rampant sexual tension present in her conversations with Ben. She knew he was attracted to her, he did nothing to hide it. But as a result, she continually wondered if the words he said were sincere, rather than a carefully prepared speech designed to charm her to his bed. He had almost managed to get there, in fact.  

In principle, there was no harm to that, she was a consenting adult. And she had to admit that she had savored every kiss, every touch...But her own ardor worried her. Had she flirted with Ben Solo because she wanted him, or because she needed to be reassured, to be held, after what Finn had done to her?

She had to put her heart back in place, heal her wounds, find her inner peace.  Only then would she consider Ben Solo.

"You do not want to make him your consolation prize," Maz hummed sagely.  “That is rather commendable.”

“I don’t think he cares either way. I mean, we are both consenting adults, but I don’t want to be a trophy...be just another notch in his bedpost.”

"You should talk to him...is it possible you’re mistaken about his intentions towards you?”

Rey narrowed her eyes. “Yes, we need to talk ...” about more than you know.

Maz was from Florida. She was bored of her apartment which sat at one end of the land, and thus decided one morning to go on foot to the other end. She had plenty of time, and improvised her itinerary at random. She had a host of tales to tell about backpacking trips to Central Asia or South America, often far from cities and crowds, and Rey began to wonder how old she really was.

It was impossible to say: her face was both smooth and furrowed, her eyes constantly hidden behind huge triple-focus glasses. Her hands were small but her fingers were long and bony. Despite her diminutive appearance, she seemed to burst with energy, and possessed an exceptional amount of savoir faire.  

Yellowstone?  She knew every corner of the place. Alaska?  She knew which roads to use in which season. London?  She had lived there twice in her youth. The Millenium Falcon? She had once owned a car of the same make and model. BB8?  Canine behavior was no mystery to her.

What a strange old woman, Rey pondered, finally glad to have good company.

Black Sand Basin, Geyser Basin, Great Fountain Geyser, Lower Geyser Basin...The park's attractions were like cat nip to tourists, including Rey and Maz.  It was hard to blame people for coming all the way to Yellowstone form the corners of the globe.

Evening was falling. The day had been exhausting, the traffic was atrocious, and the heat was stifling.

Rey went to the Madison Village campground in the park to reserve a place for the night.

Everything was complete.

Finally able to stop panicking, she was content to sleep in her car in the campground parking. Simple as that.

But what about Maz?

Leaving the campsite's bungalow, she returned to her car. The little woman was standing there, her bag hoisted on her shoulders.

"I’m all done for today," Rey explained, “I'm going to sleep in the car, they told me it was okay as long as I paid parking fees. How about you?”

She gestured awkwardly at the  car. “Do you want the back seat?  BB8 can come sleep with me...?”

Maz smiled to assuage her fears. “Don’t worry, young lady. I'm used to sleeping under the stars.”

"Right here?! With the bears and everything—“ Rey was incredulous.

“Don’t fret. I’ll take care of myself, you take care of yourself and BB8.”

Rey looked away as the sound of tinkling bracelets faded into the distance. Better not think about it, the last thing she need was an extra dose of anxiety. And besides, she was hungry.

The vending machine at the campsite procured a packet of chips, a flavorless coffee, and a Snickers bar. Dejectedly, she looked down at her meal. It was the food pyramid of sadness.

She wanted fresh vegetables and a hot plate...she would have to plan better tomorrow. These snacks were barely what she considered food.

What was Finn doing now?  She couldn’t help but wonder.

He was probably still on the respirator; if there had been any improvement in his condition, Poe would have called her.

What was Ben Solo doing?

That was easy, he was about to give a concert. Rey pulled out her phone. Should she call him or send him a message?  She opted for a message.

Good luck with the concert tonight!  Not too nervous I hope?  

An answer arrived immediately. He wasn’t on stage yet.

Thanks for the good vibes! But I wish you were here in the room.