#thank you grand blue for frying my brain

[stickers-on-a-laptop]

a vamos is something that can be so romantic

[perseusjackson-jasongrace]

Hello!!! How are you?

So I had this idea have you ever written or read a double date fanfiction of pipabeth and jercy? I really wanted to read one

and what's your all time favorite jercy and pipabeth fanfic?

You are my favourite blogger and I love this blog so much!!!

Okay this has legit taken me like a week to get to because life has just been the most hectic but even if I do say so myself I am obsessed with this fic and I really really really hope you like it.

Also you legally own my soul now because you said so many nice things it automatically ascended from my body and it's on its way to you😩🥺thank you my angel!!!!!

I have never done an active pipabeth x jercy double date thing but I think pipabeth is sometimes mentioned and/or featured briefly in my jercy fics or vice versa. The only one i can think of is my Bakery AU. My favourite pipabeth x jercy fic is Stranded by @punkpipabeth because everything about it is just *chefs kiss* and I love it endlessly. I cannot tell you the amount of times I've read that fic.

Masterlist

Okay here's my one, please enjoy:

Find definitions to ballet terms here;  ma raison d’être means ‘my reason for being’

"Alright everyone, let's start from the chassè."

"And," His teacher rolls, "Five, six, seven eight."

Percy Jackson pushes off from the bar and strolls to the middle of the room, amusement swimming in his eyes. Jason Grace winks before turning to the front and standing in position.

He pushes his foot forward bending over his leg and brushing the floor with his fingers.

"Good Piper," She calls, "And grand jetè and pas de chat and relevè, relevè. Pirouette."

The music fades as they all breathe heavily, a leg raised behind them and arms fanned over their heads in a V.

"Well done everyone, good class. I expect to see that perfected by Tuesday. But for now enjoy the weekend and rest easy."

The class breaks into chatter and excited bubbling as the weekend stretches out before them.

"Piper," Their teacher says, "Can I talk to you about the costume?"

Percy flops onto the floor, talking a large desperate sip from his bottle and tugging off his ballet shoes.

"Ugh," Jason groans, "I swear these elastics get tighter every time I wear these."

"Maybe if you stopped stretching them with your massive feet you wouldn't have these problems." He teases, green eyes dancing.

"Shut up. Not all of us can look like faerie princes."

"You think I'm a faerie prince?" Percy wiggles his eyebrows.

"Graceful and devious?" The blonde matches his expression, "Hell yes you're a faerie prince."

He blushes, brown skin heating under that electric gaze.

"Hey you two," Piper McLean crashes down next to them, pulling at the ribbons wrapped under her ankles.

"Sup Beauty Queen," He smiles, "You looked incredible out there."

"You really think so?" She shares a rare look of shyness.

"Definitely." Jason's gaze is full of pride.

"Well thank you. Who knew playing Cordelia would be so..."

"Challenging?"

"Inevitable." She sighs and there are possibilities flickering in her brown eyes.

They finish changing out of their sweaty ballet gear in content silence. Percy doesn't bother taking off his tights, just shoves a pair of grey sweats over them before threading his arms through a wind jacket and leaving it to fall open on his bare chest. The wind is cooling against his heated skin and he almost groans in relief.

"You guys want to grab burgers at the Banter Bar?" Jason looks between them.

"Yes!" He squeals, "Gods yes! Let's go." He grabs their hands and races out the studio doors and into the vibrant night air.

Piper laughs, "Let me at least tell Annabeth to meet us there before she thinks I ditched her with no warning."

"Good plan," He echoes her happiness, as he tugs them out the gates and down the road.

The neon lights from all the little diners and bars make their skin look effervescent and their eyes glow with the magic of youth. The wet ashpalt from the afternoon storm is neon with allure. Tonight it feels like the world is theirs to spin and whatever direction it goes they'd go flying with it. Tonight feels like the start of something wonderful. He breathes in the winter wind and his lungs gasp like it's the first time they've tasted life. Tonight feels limitless.

The three of them skip up to Banter Bar to see an amused Annabeth Chase already waiting outside, her skateboard tucked into her side.

"Hello babe," She crashes into her girlfriend and they squeeze each other.

"Hello ma raison d’être," Piper whispers, kissing her softly.

Soon enough they're all flopping into a booth, menus placed in front of them and smiles stretching their cheeks.

"How was class?" Annabeth wraps a hand over her girlfriend's shoulder and slouches into the leather.

"So good! Your darling is spectacular." Percy grins.

She squeezes her shoulder, "I can't wait to see the show."

"It's not only me that's wonderful," Piper looks to the boys across from her, "They're unbelievable. I think Madam Alima is still astounded that Jase can jump that high."

"Says she hasn't seen anyone do that in all her thirty years of teaching or her twenty years of dancing." Percy brags.

"Well everyone in class is in awe of this one’s grace. Cannot count the amount of times people have stopped to stare as he does his adage." Jason fires back, blue eyes sparking.

"Can't believe I'm friends with the most talented dancers in the school." Annabeth smiles at them, her pride shining bright on her face.

The waiter comes back then to take their drinks order and when they all get chocolate milkshakes laughter bubbles from them like brooks and breezes.

"Gods," Black curls bounce as he turns, "Doesn't it feel like you could do anything right now?"

The girls thread their fingers together and squeeze softly before looking at him.

"There's just something about tonight." Piper agrees.

"Everything is irrelevant but this: to embrace life. To feel it. To savor it. To love it. Marty Rubin." Jason whispers.

"Yes," Percy turns to the blonde. To that strong jaw, and scarred lip and cerulean gaze. "That's what it feels like."

His head falls to his friend's shoulder and he feels a little closer to home. Their milkshakes are set down before them, a glazed cherry gleaming on the mountain of cream. With a delicious smirk he licks off the sugary whipping and offers the cherry to Jason. A gleam enters the blonde’s expression as he leans forward, eye contact like concrete sin, and closes his lips around the bright red fruit.

Their boundaries had always been a little blurred. Had always been one trip away from more. But it was fun, exhilarating to tiptoe on this edge. See who fell in first. If they would catch each other. Drag one another down with wicked smiles and warm hands.

"Where are we going after this?" Piper pauses her slurping to ask.

"Wherever the cobblestones take us." He shrugs. It's the kind of night to dream about the future and pretend the present is nothing but an exciting mystery.

"Let's go to the Hovel?" Jason suggests, pushing away his empty cup.

"Oh gods," Annabeth groans, "I couldn't even walk the last time we went there."

"Whose fault is that?" Her girlfriend laughs, "You were the one that fed us more shots than we have fingers."

"I’m a sucker for two-for-one. Sue me." She grumbles, sticking her tongue out.

"I'm down. But first I have to get out of these clothes."

"Before all that you little gremlins," Grey eyes narrowed, "Eat. I know how you guys get. Once an idea is sitting in your brains nothing else matters."

"Alright mom," They laugh and wave the waiter over to order greasy, cheesy, stuffed with everything but the kitchen sink burgers.

Class always makes them hungrier than should be possible and they can devour just about anything in front of them. When the food arrives, they dig in immediately. Faces stuffed and giggles bursting between them.

Jason picks a fry from Percy's plate and he looks at him incredulously.

"You did not just steal a precious potato from me."

The blonde responds by reaching over and stealing more.

With a laugh from the girls and a gasp from him, the black-haired boy jumps at Jason and attempts to steal his fries. But his friend is quick and the fries are held up in his right hand, high in the air and faraway from him before he blinks.

He scrambles onto the blonde's lap, unaware of the sharp inhale it drags out.

"Give me your fries you thief." He bounces as he tries to reach them.

Jason's hand is warm on his hip, keeping him pinned down so he doesn't go toppling onto the floor, "Nope. You were too slow."

He whips his ocean eyes to look at his friend, shoving his face so close their noses brush, "I was too slow?"

The boy hums and Percy’s attention falls the vibration of that smooth throat.

"Maybe you should have used some of that grace everyone loves you for."

He huffs a laugh, "Maybe you shouldn't steal."

"Trust me you stole something first." Blue eyes flash.

"And what exactly is that?" He breathes, as their foreheads fall together.

Jason just smirks and pushes him off his lap.

Annabeth and Piper are wrapped up in each other, whispering softly into their skin. They all turn to one another and if you ever went back to ask the waiter what they saw that night they will swear the room changed colours for that brief moment.

Later when the group arrives at the club, donned in outfits made from glitter and sacrilege, they shove their way to the center of the dance floor and became one with the music. Hands and skin and magic weaves between them. Like the start of something dazzling. Like obsession.

Percy wraps a hand behind Jason's neck and pulls their bodies together, so nothing is between them but electricity and indulgence.

"If this night never ends I'll be happy." He screams over the music, hot breath and joy in his friend's ear.

"Wanna die here?"

He can feel Jason's smile on his cheek.

"In your arms?" His lips graze a golden neck, "Every time."

"Want to know what you stole from me?" They pull back slightly, so emeralds and aquamarines meet.

"What?"

The blonde grabs his hand and puts it on his chest. He feels the rapid beating under his palm and his fingers curl into the shirt.

"If I fall into hell," He pushes into his face, "Catch me will you?"

"Let's fall together?" That grin is ungodly in its beauty.

"Lets fly."

And then Percy Jackson kisses his best friend and finds home between their souls.

[shadowofthelamp]

Anybody remember my oc Augusta? Archie continuity, probably post-reboot. I’ve mentioned this scenario a couple times, but never wrote it out until now.

Wordcount: 925

Warnings: Uh... mentions of death I guess? Augusta does messed-up biological experiments, but it’s kept vague enough.

Augusta hummed to herself, looking past the crackling force field around the compound to admire the architecture inside. So many lovely curved angles, with a crackling electrical spire on the top that’d suit a science lab perfectly. “He really doesn’t skimp, does he, girl?” In reply, Bubbles growled, lips drawn back and exposing her teeth.

Of course, Bubbles was a navy blue wolf twice her size, so that was rather in-character for her and Augusta couldn’t quite blame her. The fox used the hand not currently gripping Bubbles’ collar to run over her own hair before straightening her back and looking up at the camera mounted inside a statue of the Doctor’s face. “I wish to speak to the Doctor.”

The camera whirred for a moment before a metallic voice responded. “Business?”

“I’ll tell him in person, thanks. Trust me, he won’t regret it, and it’ll just take a minute.”

The camera whirred again before a red light shot out, scanning both Augusta and Bubbles. Bubbles growled again, but Augusta whistled twice, and the beast’s ears lay flat. “That’s a good girl.”

Within a few minutes, nothing had happened, and Augusta sighed, tail flicking. “So inconsiderate of my time... I suppose it’s time for a demonstration.” She whistled again and pointed a finger at the nearest electrical box that looked important, and Bubbles lunged, tearing at it with her teeth with sparks and metal flying. It carved into her jaw as she ripped it apart, blood splattering and frying against the shield as she shook her head furiously to rip the box to shreds. The shield dropped. 

“You’ve got my attention.” There he was- Doctor Eggman, leaning against the doorframe. She hurried in before he changed his mind, Bubbles drooling a bit more blood that would heal soon enough. Enhanced healing was part of all the bigger breeds, they tended to get themselves so messy.

“Sir, I come to propose an alliance.”

He laughed at her. “Well well well! A brave little fox, aren’t you? I take your little pet is part of this ‘alliance’?” Bubbles huffed hot air through her nostrils, and he leaned back a little, as if he’d only just noticed her teeth. In fact, Bubbles was about his height, just below his eye level. Her muscles were obvious even under her coat, power radiating from every pore.

Augusta nodded. “Bubbles is part of a series of experiments I’m running. I’m here to offer her to you as a sign of my good intent- she’s an excellent attack animal.”

“I can see that- and she’s trained?”

“As well as I need her to be.” She held the man’s gaze- or at least she thought she did, considering those goggles of his. 

“I like your confidence, trying to intimidate me! And what do you want from me? It’s not often I get gifts, although I certainly do deserve them. I should add that to the list of duties for the bosses, to get me something special now and then.” He raised an eyebrow, and her fist tightened around the leash.

“Turns out the ethics board gets involved and cuts your funding when a few volunteers get their brains scrambled. It’s not like a few stupid college kids matter in the grand scheme of things. They made such marvelous pets, and I learned so much from the gene swapping! It’s in the name of science, you need to crack a few eggs to-” She cleared her throat. “No offense, Doctor.”

“None taken!” He turned his attention to Bubbles. “So you want funding for your projects-”

“And I would turn everything your resources fund over to the Eggman Empire. I specialize in combining normal Mobians with Ferals to make them faster, stronger, and smarter.” She ticked off on her fingers. “They grow faster, can be trained faster, and operate without hitches like personal morals that would them from being ruthless.” Her tone slipped to admiration. “I come to you because you control chunks of  the planet- what you’ve accomplished is unbelievable, and I know what I have to offer could help advance the Empire. Your resources combined with my research can help enhance your armies, and I can finally work without small-minded idiots shutting me down.” She clicked her tongue. “What a shame the inspectors went down with the old lab building.”

Eggman set a hand on Bubbles’ head, and the beast snarled for a moment until Augusta whistled. At that, Bubbles’ leaned into the touch. He turned back down to Augusta as he scratched Bubbles’ ears before dropping his arm, folding his hands behind his back.

“I roboticize a part of every one of my Egg Bosses. Any preferences?”

“My arms,” Augusta said instantly. “That was the other thing I wanted- I could preform even more delicate operations with completely steady hands.” She paused. “Oh, and there’s one more thing.”

“I don’t like uppity underlings, you know.” He tilted his head.

“It’s not much. When you capture Sonic one day... I want a piece, and if he’s not dead, a few days to study him before he’s yours. He’s a biological marvel, and I want to find out what makes him tick.” Her lips curled back over her teeth, grin spreading like poison on a cold operating floor. “I could turn him into a pet for you, if you like.”

His grin widened.

“I think this just may work, Reddie.”

“It’s Augusta.” She stuck out her hand, shaking when he grabbed it. “And it’s a pleasure doing business with you, Doctor.”

[negasonicteenagemess]

girls/girls/boys  peter parker imagine

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Word Count: 3.5k+ (I think it’s my longest yet)

Request: I suggested it and people said yes sooooo here it is lads. It’s 7:30am and I haven’t slept so forgive the mistakes

A couple Spider-Man ps4 references here and there

No Endgame spoilers

masterlist

New York. The best place on Earth, at least in Peter Parker’s eyes. After an alien invasion here and there, the people of this city came together in one, borderline heroic, ideology. To rebuild together. As a city united, they fixed not only the physical attributes of the city, but the hearts as well. Hope returned as people such as your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man began to step up to protect the city they loved. 

The people of this city made it so easy and great to love for Peter. Well, besides when he gets beaten to a pulp by bad guys. That isn’t fun for anyone.

As Peter walked on the cracked pavement under the setting sun in the city he loved, with the girl he loved, he couldn’t help but admire her. After nine months, to this day, of dating this girl, Peter knew he loved her.

Yes, he knew it was crazy, but if he had to hear ‘you’re in high school, you don’t know what love is’ one more time, he’d just lose it. Deep down in his heart as he saw the light breeze ruffled her hair, he knew that what he felt for her was love.

He loves her with every fiber of his being.

But those three little words were never once said due to his guilt. Peter felt that it was wrong to confess his love to her without her knowing everything about him. That hiccup just so happened to be clad in red and blue spandex.

Nine months, the time frame of a pregnancy and he still hasn’t told her the truth about why he cancels dates and misses class more often than not. He was scared in all honestly. He couldn’t bear the thought of her leaving him because of his alter ego. So, he kept it bottled inside, along with his revelation of love.

As they walked in a comfortable silence, Y/N began to lose herself in her thoughts as well. When she met Peter Parker for the first time in biology in freshmen year, she knew she was done for. As cliched as it sounds, he was different than most other guys. His heart, the care he held, made him who he was, and she loved that about him.

But, just like Peter, she was keeping a secret from him that she thought would ruin their relationship. She liked boys, obviously because she was dating one. What Peter didn’t know was that she liked boys… and girls.

The way she thought of it was stupid. The logical side of her brain knew that he would never hate her for being bi. The other side of her shivered in fear of the thought of Peter kicking her out of his life.

She didn’t want his feelings for her to change which is why she’s been silent on the topic. Tonight, that would change.

“So, what do you have in store for our epic anniversary?” The boy questioned as he wrapped his arm around her shoulders. Y/N smiled as she made eye contact with him.

“It’s a surprise,” the smile on her face grew as Peter shook his head and chuckled. “You and your surprises.” He leaned in to give her a short peck on the lips as they kept walking. Her cheeks turned red at the small act of affection.

After small talk, and down a few more blocks, they arrived at the restaurant with insanely bright neon lights. “Karaoke?” Peter read off the sign on the restaurant window. Y/N beamed at the confusion on Peter’s face, “yeah! I thought it would be fun to give it a try. But if you don’t want to then we-“

He cut her off, squeezing her hand, “No this is great. Just keep in mind, singing is not my strong suit.” He opened the door for her as she giggled at the comment.

The couple was soon seated at a booth while a very drunk man sang ‘Eye of the Tiger.’ Peter and Y/N went over the memories they made together over the past few months. One of the employees took the mic, and with a voice laced with boredom, called the next person up. “Y/N L/N, you’re up next.”

Peter’s eyes widened as he looked at his girlfriend questionably with a French fry between his fingers. Y/N nervously chuckled, “I immediately regret this.”

Stunned, Peter stumbled through his words, “I um.” He cleared his throat before continuing, “I think you’ll do great.” The initial shock washed away, as he offered her a comforting smile. She nodded her head trying to convince herself more than anything as she stood up and walked to the stage.

“You got this Y/N,” Peter encouraged, tossing her a thumbs up when the mic was placed in her hand. An anxious smile graced her lips as she gave a small wave to the people watching her intently.

‘This was such a bad idea,’ she kept thinking over and over again just as the music began.

“Oh god,” she whispered before the words made their way on the screen towards the far left of the stage, in the direction that Peter was.

“I don’t wanna hear you’ve got a boyfriend Sometimes you’re better off alone”

The beat was familiar for Peter, but he didn’t quite know the song. He felt down because of how tense Y/N was, but the proud smile never left his lips as he cheered for her from halfway across the restaurant.

“But if you change your mind, you know where I am Yeah if you change your mind, you know here to find me ‘Cause I don’t ever wanna be your boyfriend”

Y/N’s voice gradually grew slightly more confident as the song went on, and every now and then she’d look at the screen for the words. With this newfound confidence, which wasn’t much, she began to look at the other people in the ‘crowd.’

Peter’s eyes eventually trailed to one of the T.V.’s behind the bar. There was a hostage situation at Grand Central. Again. He bit his lip and looked back at his girlfriend. ‘Why the heck would someone hold other people hostage at GC?’

“I am just a villain vying for attention From a girl A girl who can’t decide and here’s the reason why”

She found her eyes searching for Peter’s, and as they locked, words spewed out of her mouth.

“Girls love girls and boys”

The song soon ended and she stood there awkwardly yet again. She walked off the stage and back to the booth where her boyfriend was waiting. When she approached the table, Peter quickly stood up as his eyes kept flicking from Y/N’s to the T.V. behind her.

The uneasy smile returned when she approached him. “So… what did you think Pete?” She bit her lip, anticipating his response.

“Uh, it was great babe, but I gotta go. May needs something.” Peter grabbed his jacket from the booth about to step away without acknowledging the look on Y/N’s face.

“Something more important than our anniversary?” Her voice was shaky, from anger and sadness simultaneously. He stopped his steps and ran a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry,” before Y/N could respond, he bolted out the door of the restaurant.

She let out a light scoff as she plopped herself into the booth. Pushing the plate to the side, she leaned her head on her hands while tears pooled in her eyes.

Somehow, she knew this would happen. She knew that Peter wouldn’t like her because of this. Their waitress walked by, noticing her distress. “Hey, you alright?” The kind woman questioned with concern. Y/N sat up, redness around her eyes, “my boyfriend ditched me after I basically told him a really big secret.”

The waitress felt bad for the poor girl and saw that there was obviously a person who previously occupied the seat across from Y/N. “I saw your little performance and it was great. I’ll make sure everything’s on the house.”

Y/N’s eyes widen at the woman’s statement. “Y-You don’t have to do that.” She wiped the tears off her cheeks as the waitress waved her off, “Nonsense. It’s the least I can do.” She smiled down at the poor girl. “Thank you,” Y/N sniffed. The woman nodded her head and walked off to assist another customer.

Y/N huffed, pulling out her phone and going straight to the contacts with the only person she could think to call. Pressing the device against her ear, she waiting as she heard it ring.

“Hey Y/N what’s up?” MJ’s iconic gloomy while simultaneously cheery voice greeted. “MJ, I-I don’t know what to do.” Her voice stuttered as she fiddled with the napkin on the table.

“Woah what happened? Where’s Peter?” MJ’s voice grew with concern as question rattled her brain. Y/N sobbed, “He left. He fucking left me here after I basically told him that I’m bi. And-And it sucks because I did the plan, with the karaoke to, you know, break the ice. But it didn’t work. He ran out of here MJ.” Her breathing was uneven as she recounted the story from just a few moments ago.

“Oh god,” MJ whispered into the phone as she got up from her bed to grab her coat and jacket. “Y/N, send me the address to that place. I’ll try to be there soon.”

Sighing, Y/N tried to deflect. “No, you don’t have to-“before she could finish, MJ interrupted. “Yes, I do. You’re always there for me Y/N, so now it’s my turn,” MJ boldly stated as she shut the front door. Y/N closed her eyes, as a few more tears escaped, “thank you.” They bid their farewells and MJ was already on the way.

Across Midtown, Peter was graciously learned that he was taking out ‘terrorists’ that were holding hostages in Grand Central. Slowly, one by one he stealthily took them out. But he made a terrible mistake. His phone. The small device was tucked into the waistband of his boxers so there wasn’t much he could do at this point.

The ringtone blared and all eyes were on him. “Oh no,” he whispered as the gunmen started firing rounds at him as he stuck to the ceiling. He ran on the ceiling yelling, “Hey Karen.”

The automated voice responded, “Yes, Peter?”

The boy dodged bullets left and right before he zipped down onto the ground. “Can you connect to my phone?” He blurted, now throwing punches at the man in front of him. Peter webbed one of the men to the floor before he was bombarded by more of those men. “Hey guys, sorry about crashing the party,” Peter exclaimed mockingly, shooting a web at the ceiling, swinging and kicking on of the men in the face.

“Actually, I’m not that sorry,” he joked. His phone rang again, but this time he was able to see who it was on the interior of his mask. “MJ?” He whispered. His distraction allowed the men to get a few hits in. Before he could get shot at again, he used his webs to pull the guns away from them, throwing them far behind him.

The ringing didn’t stop, and Peter groaned, “answer it, please Karen.” Silently, the A.I. did what it was told.

“MJ, can I call you back, I’m a little busy,” he shouted, tripping one of the terrorists. MJ scoffed on the other end of the line, “really Peter? It’s your anniversary and you ditched Y/N at a restaurant.” MJ was fuming and the taxi driver gave her strange looks.

“Look, I know it was bad, but believe me,” he paused, kicking someone in the face, knocking them out, “I really wanted to stay. Because I- “He cut himself off. He didn’t know what to say, his mind went blank until he felt a sharp pain in his gut from the terrorist. “You what, Peter?” MJ angrily said, paying the driver and getting out of the car. “I love her, okay?” He shouted. He froze and so did the men before him. They all kind of exchanged ‘what the fuck’ looks before one of the men lunged at Peter.

“I gotta go,” he hung up before she could protest, knocking out the last few guys then calling the police.

MJ went into the restaurant going straight to her best friend. When they saw each other, Y/N stood up next to the booth to hug her friend. MJ let her friend vent, knowing that just being there and listening to her meant a lot.

The night went on, and the pair grew tired. MJ took her friend home, paying the taxi fair for her. “You sure you don’t want me to stay the night?” MJ offered as the approached Y/N’s apartment door. She nodded her head, “I think I’ll be okay.”

MJ let out a short breath, “call me if you need anything, alright?” Y/N softly smiled nodding her head. She went in for a hung, again, needing any form of contact at the moment.

“See ya,” MJ stated, walking back towards the exit of the building. “Bye,” Y/N mumbled loud enough to be heard. She went inside her apartment, going straight to her room. The second she shut her door; the tears began to flow as she covered her face with her hands.

She tried to stabilize her breath, but it was getting too hard. She sat on her bed, not feeling motivated to even change her clothes. Y/N looked at her clock and saw that it was only a little after eight. She sighed as her tears slowed down. Her eyes began to get heavy and she decided to just lay down, trying her best to ignore the deep feeling in her heart.

Soon after the police arrived, Peter learned that those men had plans to plant bombs in the terminal. He was relieved to know that he got there fast enough to prevent the bombs. Peter then leap in the air to swing on his webs to the girl he loves.  

Running, swinging, and jumping through the city was usually such a rush for Peter. The city he loved looked a lot smaller from where he was at, but the rush was non-existent that night as his one goal was to get to Y/N.

As he landed on the fire escape quietly, he looked through the window to see his girl asleep on her bed. He pulled the mask off his face, his brown locks flopping as he did so. He examined the red material in his hands mulling over his thoughts. Is it really worth it, keeping this secret from her which ultimately makes her feel like shit in the end? Peter sighed, running a gloved hand through his hair as he bit his lip in thought.

After a while of thinking, he pulled the mask back on, “hey Karen?” The automated voice replies, “yes Peter?”

“C-Call Y/N,” he stuttered, nervous about the next interaction. He kept cracking his knuckles, as he heard the phone ring. He looked through the windowpane and saw her slowly wake up to the ring of her phone. She groggily sat up, rubbing her eyes, most likely from leftover tears as Peter thought.

He watched her pick up the small device, her eyebrows raised as she just stared at it and watch it ring. He watched hopefully as she pressed the screen, only to hear her voicemail message start. She threw her phone onto her bed, holding her head in her hands. “H-Hang up and call again Karen.” His voice was rough as he saw Y/N’s distressed state.

“Peter, that isn’t such a good idea,” the automated voice suggested, but Peter blew it off. “Just do it, Karen,” his frustrated voice pleaded even though he knew the A.I. would obey.

The ringing began, again, and he watched as Y/N groaned, grabbing the device yet again. Under the mask, Peter bit his lip, whispering to himself “please pick up. Come on, come on.”

He saw her roll her eyes and answer the phone. “Peter, stop calling me. It’s late. I’m tired and I just need time to think.” He watched as she lowered her phone about to hang up.

His eyes went wide as he begged, “wait, wait, wait!” He said this far too quickly and rushed which got Y/N curious. She sighed exasperatedly. “What do you want, Peter? You wanna leave me hanging again or- “she scoffed.

He could hear how hurt she was from what her did and her felt awful about it. He rubbed the back of his neck, doing the only thing he thought could solve this. “L-Look out the window,” he implored.

Y/N slowly averted her eyes towards the glass, only to quickly stand up and drop her phone. After Spider-Man, or Peter, pointed towards the lock, Y/N with furrowed eyebrows, rushed to open the window.

They both stood there, looking at each other. “Hey,” Peter awkwardly greeted with a small chuckle. “Spider-Man…. You’re Spider-Man.” She stated, trying to get herself to understand the situation.

She moved to allow Peter into her room. As he crawled through the window, he pulled his mask off. Y/N was able to see cuts and bruises littering her boyfriend’s face. “Oh my god,” she worriedly stated, walking close to him and enclosing his face in her hands to examine the damage. “It’ll heal in a few hours,” he whispered, closing his eyes as he leaned into her warmth.

“When, why did this happen?” Y/N questioned, softly running her fingers over his bruises. Peter sighed, recounting the memory, “you remember that one field trip in freshman year at the science exhibit?”

She made eye contact nodding her head as she continued to examine his injuries. “There was a radioactive spider they were testing and surprise surprise, it bit me. I gave me powers.”

Y/N froze, “so when you told everyone you got contacts, was it just your…abilities?” Peter nodded his head, placing his hands over hers. “I-I felt like you needed to know before I told you.” He considered the option about whether or not to tell her, but what the hell did he have to lose?

“I’m sorry I left. There was a hostage thing at GC and- and I know you were super scared on that stage, but those people were gonna die and,” he rambled, but Y/N cut him off.

“Peter, it’s okay, you did what you had to do,” she moved her arms around the back of his neck and looked lovingly into his eyes, “I thought you left because you realized you didn’t like me-“ this time, it was Peter’s turn to cut her off.

“I love you,” he boldly confessed, placing his hands on her hips gently, “and I didn’t want to tell you until you knew about, this.” He said referring to the suit and his identity.

Y/N had no words, nodding her head to what he said. She gathered her thoughts quickly, “did you happen to pick up the… the stupid song I sang?” She bit her lip, now she was the one who was nervous.

Peter’s cheeks flushed red as he looked down his shoes, “I’m sorry, I was distracted because of the news.” Y/N chuckled breathlessly because of her nerves.

“Well, umm” she stumbled through her words, “I don’t know how to put this.”

Peter smiled encouragingly, “whatever it is, I will still love you. Unless you told me that you killed someone or something.” Y/N shook her head, mirroring his soft smile.

“I’m just gonna say it,” she practically dared herself, “I’m bi. And the song was about girls liking boys and girls. And since I like boys and girls, I thought it was fitting to do that for our anniversary.” She spoke very fast, but Peter was able to understand it all.

“Wait, really?!” He excitedly asked, pulling a way to get a better look at her face. Y/N did not expect that reaction at all. “Yes?” She answered questionably as she gripped Peter’s shoulders. He smiled, “I’m glad you told me, Y/N. After a year with you, I’m just glad you got the courage to tell me.”

Her heart melted as she didn’t expect such a sappy answer. “I wish I told you sooner, I just didn’t really know how to do it. So, MJ helped me plan the whole thing at the restaurant. Even though that completely backfired.”

“Yeah she called me basically telling me I’m a shitty person,” he laughed due to the classic Michelle Jones behavior. Y/N’s heart filled with joy at the thought of her best friend defending her. “God I love MJ,” Y/N said as she laughed with Peter.

Their laughter died down as they just admired each other. “And I love you,” Y/N expressed as Peter softly raised his eyebrows. “You mean it?” He asked as if it wasn’t real.

“More than you’ll ever know,” she whispered leaning in to finally kiss the guy she loved with all of her heart.

AN: I’ve lived in Florida for most of my life, and recently Pride month has meant a lot more to me due to the Pulse shooting in 2016. Under one common ideology people from Olrando, all over the state then soon all over the country showed their support. The LGBTQ+ community grew stronger as everyone united under the idea that love wins.

Which is kind of the reason I really wanted to write something like this.

So I hoped you liked it!

[rayadraws]

Hello this is the shitty princess squad anon. AAASHSHDHHSHHDSHSJS THANK YOU SO MUCH AHSHDHAJSDDHSSH I LOVE YOU SJSHSUSHHSSHSSBAHAHSHSHSSH. Yeah Garou as Belle 'cause he is a monsterfucker is a work of galaxy brain. Nobody want to mess with that frying pan, nor its owner. And thank you so much for that Jasmine! Garou. You make him look good in her outfit.

Hehehe you’re VERY welcome and thank YOU for giving me lots of inspiration! In fact...

(2k, SG/GS, swearing otherwise no particular warnings)

”Y’alright?”

Genos looked up at the sky. Silently counted to ten.

He’d messed up - of course he had. Same as always.

”Heeey.”

The call was followed by a foot roughly prodding his side where he laid on his back, on the cracked asphalt. Monster was somewhere off to his left, very dead.

”I’m not carrying you home, get up.”

With a sigh, Genos finally pulled himself into a sitting position, looking down at his torn leg and his missing foot. It wasn’t a large injury in the grand scale of things - he’d certainly been through much worse, plenty of times - but the timing was exceptionally bad. If he’d lost an arm to that stupid sentient road sign he could have replaced it easily, he had several spare sets stuffed in his side of the closet, but a foot… he’d need Kuseno for that, and a visit to the lab would take hours, hours he didn’t have. Not today.

”Oi. People are starting to flock, now that that thing is dead,” Garou grumbled. Crowds of civilians were still… difficult for the former villain.

”Fine.”

Pushing himself to his remaining foot, Genos grabbed Garou by the shoulder for support, slowly limping back towards his and Sensei’s apartment.

-

”I’ll just have to cancel. That’s all there is to it.”

”Oh boo-hoo. I thought you didn’t even want to go, and now you’re doing the sad cyborg eyes at us?” Badd gave him a pointed look.

It was true - he initially hadn’t been especially pleased to receive the invitation from the HA. A donation drive in the form of a masquerade - as if most heroes weren’t already dressed in questionable outfits on a daily basis! Every S- and A-ranked hero had received an invitation, as well as the B- and C-ranks most beloved by the public. Saitama-sensei was not one of them. Not that it made a difference - each invitation included a ”plus one”, and after considering his options, Genos had naturally insisted that Sensei come with him. He could count it as date night, Genos had argued, one that included free food and entertainment. And as Saitama-sensei agreed to come, Genos found himself growing cautiously optimistic about the whole affair.

Badd, probably simply to be difficult, had invited Garou. The man was still viewed with great distrust by the HA and the public alike, but Genos supposed if he did manage to behave himself, being seen along high-ranked heroes might improve his reputation. And if he didn’t... well, it’d be amusing to watch the chaos go down.

Genos hadn’t been too concerned about the dressing up part. He’d planned on wearing his trusted bunny ears and tail paired with his suit, the one with the suspenders. What he really looked forward to was spending the evening with Saitama-sensei. Maybe they could even dance together…

Except now there’d be no dancing, or walking, or even standing up unaided.

”What’s the big deal? Just have your mans carry you around, I know you’d love that,” Garou snorted. Looking at him, Genos quietly wondered what he had planned to dress up as. Maybe he still had that faux wolf head stashed away somewhere…

”Yeah man, that’d be romantic as shit, right? It’d be just like Cinderella!”

”Cinderella lost her shoe, not her goddamn whole ass foot!” Garou countered, throwing a pillow in Badd’s general direction.

”Yeah, well, this is the cyborg version so there!”

Genos tuned out their bickering, looking down again at his torn leg. It had stopped sparking and it wasn’t painful, but it was damned inconvenient. He didn’t have anything to stick into it to make a temporary peg-leg, did he? Doctor Kuseno would certainly not approve of that kind of repair, but on the other hand, he did often tell Genos to try to get out more and do more fun things... He wasn’t even sure if this would even qualify as fun, but the doctor did also say that he’d try to catch the drive on TV and see if he could spot Genos, and yes, Saitama-sensei too of course, and… well...

He looked up with a start, broken from his train of thought as the door slammed from the end of the room.

”What’s happening? Where is Badd going?”

”To pick up your dress, Cinderella.”

”What?”

”I told him you weren’t listening even if you were nodding!”

-

”This was not made with cyborgs in mind.”

”Yeah, well, I don’t think any costumes are. Just… don’t make any sudden movements and you’ll be fine.”

Genos wasn’t wrong - the dress clearly was not made for someone of his size, nor his long legs. The skirt ended just below his knees rather than his ankles, and it strained dangerously tight over his chest. He’d put on the most slender arms he had at home and the elbow-length gloves did fit, but only very barely.

”Look at me, and hold still,” Badd continued, hairbrush in hand.

Mildly confused, Genos twisted on the chair so that he looked straight at him, then froze as Badd brushed his hair for him. With deft fingers, he tied a large bow - matching his baby blue dress - into his hair. He seemed so at ease - as if he’d done it a million times before. It wasn’t a skill set Genos would have expected S-rank hero Metal Bat to possess, but-

”Oh. You do your little sister’s hair.”

”Yuh,” Badd muttered through the bobby pins in his mouth. He put a couple into Genos’ hair to keep the bow in place, then stepped back to admire his handiwork.

”A beautiful princess,” Garou muttered from where he laid sprawled across the folded futons. ”Where’s your prince tho’?”

”Shut up,” Badd told him. “Go find a broom.”

”A broom?” Genos asked, carefully prodding the bow. He wasn’t accustomed to having something in his hair. Even though the bow weighed so little, he felt very aware of it.

”Don’t touch it!” Badd warned, then jutted his chin at Garou in a nod as thanks when he returned with the broom.

”Yeah, it’s your cane, Cinderella.”

”Oh.”

”Fits your character and all! We put thought into this!”

Carefully Genos took the broom into hand, standing up. It looked dumb. He looked dumb in an outfit so poorly fitting but… well, it’d have to do, he supposed.

The bag Badd had come back with didn’t look even half-empty yet and he leaned forward, trying to get a peek.

”What’s the rest?”

”Well, we decided we should all match n’ shit. That should rake in the donation money, right? They said we should divide ourselves into teams to fight over who gets the most donations, so we figured hey, team Princess!

Genos stared as Badd extracted two more dresses, one bright yellow and one in alternating pink and purple.

”Hell yeah! Time to be a monsterfucker princess!” Garou cried out happily.

-

”What’s your name supposed to be again?” Genos asked.

”Ra-pun-zel. Ugh, don’t you have a fancy computer brain to help you remember stuff?”

”No,” Genos huffed, feeling oddly vindicated as Garou thumped Badd on the back of his head and tsk-ed.

”Ow! Okay, so, I’m Rapunzel, Garou is Belle and you’re Cin- Deshiderella.

”Disciple-rella? Fine.”

”See, we’re all doing great.”

Genos was not accustomed to walking down the street in a dress, but despite limping along on one leg in a far too tight outfit, he seemed to be faring better than his companions.

”...the fuck you keep your balance in heels?!” Garou yelled as he once again near lost his balance on a bit of uneven asphalt.

”Just shut up and be grateful they had heels in your size!”

Their bickering continued the way it always did, sharp but well-meaning, until they finally reached their destination.

There was… a lot of people. And paparazzi. Of course.

Genos blinked as the cameras turned to the trio of princesses. Was he imagining things, or were they going off much more rapidly than when the previous group of heroes had passed through?

”Demon Cyborg! Metal Bat!”

”...the Hero Hunter..?”

”Such glamorous costumes!”

“You look precious! Absolutely precious!”

”Demon-sama, what happened to your foot?!”

”He’s Deshiderella now!” Badd yelled as he pulled the other two through the door.

-

Garou and Badd found Genos a chair that could actually hold his weight, mercifully placed him near one of the snack tables, then wandered off to do who knew what. Bother someone, probably.

Slowly chewing on a small sandwich, Genos contemplated how different the evening was turning out compared to how he’d originally planned it. He was supposed to have shown up looking his most dazzling, impressing Sensei not only with his looks but with the surroundings - the music, the people, the… everything. Who cared about donation drive competitions, that had never been what this was about, not for him anyway.

And now here he sat, in a too-short dress with a broom for a cane and no sensei at all. Where was he? Before they’d left, Badd had called Saitama as he was on his was back home, to tell him something - he wouldn’t tell Genos what. But he had promised him that Saitama would meet up with them at the party. But they’d already been here for 18, 19… almost 20 minutes now...

He was once more startled out of his thoughts as another chair was pulled up near his, together with a pleased ”Cyborg princess!”

”Fubuki.” He crossed his arms over his chest, fabric straining over armoured shoulders.

”You look wonderful. That shade of blue suits you. It is a little short, though.”

”We didn’t have time to shop around,” Genos replied, attempting to subtly pull the skirt down. He lifted his eyes to take in all the... sparkles. ”Your dress is very… shiny.”

”Mhm. Is the food any good?” As she asked, Fubuki had one of the little sandwiches float through the air to herself.

”It’s fine.”

”So, where’s your prince?”

”I… don’t know. I came with Metal Bat and Garou.”

”Ah, yes, last I heard they were bothering Amai Mask.”

Genos smiled faintly to himself.

”Which donation team is in the lead?”

”Ah,” Fubuki grinned at him. ”Well, ’Team Princess’ has made a strong impression it seems, but so has the little joint project Sweet Blizzard, despite not being as… coordinated as you three. It’s about evenly tied, right now, between the top A slash B ranked heroes and the three little nobles.”

”Four!” Badd happily corrected as he stepped up to them. His hair was a mess and he looked sweaty, but pleased. ”How’re doing?”

”Fine. Bored.”

”You won’t be for long,” Badd nodded towards the main entry, a ridiculously large set of double doors covered in (probably plastic) gold. There was still a steady stream of people dressed in all manners of costumes passing through, if gravitating towards sexy versions of Other Things. Genos wasn’t sure what he should be looking for, unless- oh.

As was often the case, it was the shiny bald head you noticed first. What was Saitama-sensei wearing… a crown? How did it stay on..?

The most powerful man in the world looked almost small as he carefully stepped into the grand room, easily lost in the crowd despite his brightly coloured outfit. Somehow, he’d managed to find clothes that broadly corresponded with his hero outfit - most of it was yellow, with white accents and if Genos wasn’t mistaken he’d attached his hero cape as well. The boots were different though, and the gloves, and there was a sash across his chest.

Despite the poofy shoulders and knees and loud colours, despite clearly not feeling at ease in this new outfit, Genos was certain he was looking at the most handsome prince in the world.

Prince Saitama.

He stood up, putting his hand on the armrest for support, ready to call out to Saitama-sensei when Badd pushed him back down into the chair.

”Let him come to you!” he growled, and Genos reluctantly obeyed.

It took him a moment, but then Sensei finally spotted Genos and his whole demeanour broke out into relief. He pushed himself through the crowd until he reached the waiting trio.

”Hi,” he waved.

”My lord,” Genos bowed his head from where he sat, noting how his prince blushed at the title.

”My… ’borg. Wanna dance?”

Genos pointed to his leg. ”I can-ah!”

As he spoke, he felt an invisible push, and suddenly he was standing, as if held up by a great pair of invisible hands. It was familiar, but it also wasn’t. How strange to think that different espers could have their own signature… feels. Fubuki was not Tatsumaki.

Gingerly, he took Prince Saitama’s outstretched hand into his own and walked oddly to the dance portion of the hall - he and Fubuki weren’t quite coordinated, so it was somewhat tricky to walk, but at least he could get around without the broom.

He felt Saitama’s other hand against his waist, enjoying the light squeeze he gave him. He looked even more wonderful, up this close.

”Er, Genos? I have no idea how to do this…” he muttered, beginning to sweat.

”Then, let me lead,” Genos smiled, adjusting their positions and hands accordingly. He leaned forward, whispering into the other man’s ear. ”Follow me, my prince.”

-

”I can’t believe we lost the donation drive challenge to, to them. To a cyborg on one leg, a ruffian and a villain. Not to even mention, Caped Baldy!” Amai Mask groaned, downing the rest of his drink. His cat ears had gone askew on his head, but he couldn’t be bothered to fix them. It was rare for him to be this chatty, especially with anyone in a class lower than himself, but that number of drinks would do that to you...

”Well,” Fubuki smiled back, taking a sip from her own. ”They did all coordinate their outfits, and they looked very cute… especially when the prince danced with his princess…”

”How did he even manage that, on one leg?!”

Fubuki smiled at him. ”I haven’t the faintest idea.”

[contentwerewolf]

Me: I'm going to do something for Odaiba day!

Also me: ...time to revive the dumb Detroit: Become Digital AU from last year!

ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

This was kinda weird to write in a way. The combining of DBH and Digimon elements made my brain go.. “heeey, hol up” haha.

I decided to call the Digivice in this world a CyberTechD, so when you see CT-D that's what it is. ^^ Also, Tamers can summon various, temporary, items to assist in battle because....-shrugs-.

TW for uh...major injury I guess. An android gets disarmed. >;3c

  A tip about the series of Digimon kidnappings was what brought Gavin and Nines to this suspiciously empty house, in the quieter part of town.

  “Well,” Gavin tsked, “Isn't this sus?”

  “This some kind of shitty prank?” Dante huffed.

  Nines began scanning the area. “Or a trap?”

  Gavin made a noise of agreement, the uneasy feeling -that everyone else fuckin' dismissed- was getting stronger. “...So how about we leave since this a bust?”

  “Agreed.” Dante tugged his neckerchief. “I'm getting the heebies.”

  “Duck!” Was all the warning Dante got before the roar of blue fire shot past him.

  Dante yelped, hitting the ground and covering his head. He glared at Arc. “What the hell was that?”

  Gavin spun, stumbling back a bit, his surprise swiftly turning to anger as he saw what Arc shot out of the air. On the ground, still smoldering, was a weakly sparking control collar.

  “What the fuck!”

  “We'll head them off!”

  Nines and Arc were off like a shot towards the alleyway between the houses.

  It took a few beats before Gavin and Dante scrambled after them.

  “Nines!” Gavin called to their retreating backs. “You asshole! We talked about this!”

  Dante -naturally faster- glanced back, sticking out his tongue. “Ha! Come on, speed up human!”

  “Fuck off!” Gavin growled. It wasn't his fault that all his partners possessed inhuman abilities.

   Nines and Dante were probably parkouring about like the showoffs they were. Thank the gods that Arc took pity on him and stayed within range so Gavin didn't get completely left behind. The alleyway took a few twists and turns before opening up into a large semi-empty lot, a few abandoned shipping containers littering the area. They arrived in the lot a minute or two after Nines did, Dante perched on his shoulders.    

  “H-hey.” Gavin panted. “What ha-have I...fuck...said about leaving me behind?”

 Nines smirked at him. “Perhaps we need to rework your work-out regimen.”

  “Y-yeah? You can shove-”

  “Our assailants fled this way. We didn't want them to get away.”

  Placing his hands on his hips, Gavin frowned as he looked around. “Then were the hell are they? What do your android eyes see?”

  Nines' lips thinned. “I'm...not entirely sure. There's some sort of interference.”

  ��Tch, so much for “advanced technology”.”

  Nines tsked. “Detective, you know perfectly well...”

  Dante rolled his eyes as the two began to bicker. Hopping off of Nines' shoulder, he toddled over and pat Arc's arm.

  “Good job frying that collar buddy. You sensing anything?”

  “You are welcome.” A slight smile graced his muzzle. “The growing frequency of these collars is getting...worrying I must say.” Sniffing the air he frowned. “To your other question. Yes and no. There is a faint trace of Digimon in the area, but it does not smell old. Just like the last time.”

  “Right.” Dante looked around, knowing exactly what Arc was getting at. “Not good.”

  Looking back at their humanoid partners, Dante rolled his eyes again. Nines was staring passively -with a hint of amusement- as Gavin scowled up at him. If this was any other time Dante would’ve tried to smash their stupid faces together because god damn.

  “Yo! Deal with your UST some other time. We've got company.”

  That snapped them out of their little stare down. They didn't even have time to be properly flustered as two Digimon materialized out of the darkness caused by the shipping containers.

  Since the kidnapped Digimon were more frequently shown in their rookie or in-training forms on their missing reports. These Digimon being in their higher form made it harder to find the exact match; only a rough estimate given how chaotic 'volution lines tended to be. Then again, the glowing red collars they wore gave them a pretty good clue that these were more than likely their 'mons.

  “Ah, hell!” A hidden voice groaned. Unfortunately, Nines couldn't pinpoint from where. “We were promised a rare prototype 'mon and a mutt that would fetch a good price!”

  Another laughed mockingly. “And all we got was some half-blind devil and a shaggy mutt. What a bust!”

  “How 'bout you come out and say that to my face!” Dante growled.

  “Wait, wait.” The first voice hissed quieting down and completely ignoring the irate Impmon. “Take a closer look at the scruffy mutt, man. Wasn't Cyberlife experimentin' with those crazy x-antibodies or whatever?”

  “No shit? That one of them?”

  “I think so.”

  Nines' eyes narrowed, his sensitive hearing catching the thugs conversation. “They're planning something.” He muttered to his team.

 “Tch.” Gavin's hand hovered over his CT-D.

 All the while, the Digimon watched them with a blank, unblinking gaze. Standing unnervingly still. Certainly not the demeanor of a Digimon ready to fight.

 “We can't attack them.” Nines hissed, nudging Gavin's arm. “They're the missing partner Digimon. I'm sure of that.”

 “You think I don't know that?” Gavin hissed back, eyes darting around attempting to catch even a glimpse of the kidnappers. “They're going to attack, you know that. We can not, not fight back.”

  “Don't worry. We'll go easy on them.” Dante winked.

  Gavin gave Dante a warning look. “You better.”

  Arc nodded. “Rendering them unconscious would be sufficient.”

  At once, the Digimon unfroze and began to trot stiffly towards him.

 “Shimaunimon and Gaogamon.” Nines scanners told him. “Both Champion level.”

  “It's only two, this shouldn't take too long.” Gavin scoffed.

  As if on cue a couple of flashes came from the far corner of the lot, behind a row shipping containers. A Blackgreymon and Peckmon joined the fray.

  “Fuckin' really? Hey, you catch that Nines?” Gavin nodded towards the flash.

  Nines frowned. Why would they give up their location so readily? “...Yes.”

  “Oh?” Dante smirked, bouncing on his toes readily. “Four against two? I'm game!”

  Then braced himself. “Let's do this Arc!”

  Arc nodded. “Let's go.”

  (Cue Brave Heart ( •̀ω•́ ))

  Impmon digivolve to...   Gabumon digivolve to...

  “..Blackgatomon!”   “...Garurumon!”

~(too lazy to write battle)~

  “Lightning Paw!”

  “Two down! Two to go!” Dante cried as he incapacitated the Blackgreymon, their control collar snapping.

  Arc just shook his head at his rambunctious partnermon. “Actually, three more.” He growled, before bounding off to intercept the Gaogamon and newly digivolved Aquilamon, shooting off Howling Blasters as he went.  

  “Fuck! Another?! How many do these assholes have? What is this? Gotta kidnap them all?” Gavin rushed to gather the unconscious Pagumon to set them beside the Elecmon. “Hey! Remember to hold back, yeah? They're not fighting you willingly!”

  “Spiral Claw!”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Dante tsked, dodging the Peckmon. “Don't have to tell me twice! Lightning kick!”

  A Pinamon hit the ground. Scared and confused, but still conscious.

  “Grand Horn!”

  “I wouldn't have to- Oh, fuck!” Gavin growled, summoning a gun to shoot electrified blasts to stun the Aquilamon. “-keep telling you! If you would listen to me once in a while!”

  “Cat's eye!”

  Aquilamon dropped to the ground. Stunned and asleep.

  Gavin eyed it, as he kneeled down to sooth the Pinamon. “That's better, I suppose, but for fucks sake. Nine and Arc are blood thirsty bastards and even he's going easy on these guys.”

  “Who's blood thirsty? Would you like several examples of why you're confused?” Came Nines' voice from his ear-piece.

  “I want them alphabetized and chronological, jackass. How goes it?”

  At the start of the battle, while the kidnappers were presumably distracted with whatever the hell they were doing to the Digimon, Nines began to sneak over to their last suspected location. Nines convinced him that this was a good plan. Didn't mean Gavin didn't hate it though.

  “Our suspects are hiding in an abandoned house near the light we saw, but if I go in now I have a 48% chance of success. They’re up to something. How is the fight going?”

  “Damn it.” Looking around at all the collars littering the ground. “I...think we're done? Maybe?” He looked up as Arc set a Gaomon into the pile. “Does this seem way too easy? It's feels too easy. Did they just throw fodder at us? We'll come to you.”

  Dante and Arc were panting, and a bit scuffed up yet neither looked all that exhausted despite the battles they just fought. Collared ‘mon were usually a bit harder to fight than this. That bad feeling from earlier came back full force.

  “No. You remember last time?”

  Gavin's jaw tightened. Last time they successfully found a group of kidnapped digimon they were only able to recover two of the six. They let down their guard during the fight, only taking their eyes off them for a couple of minutes and in that time the digimon vanished back into the grip of the kidnappers.

 “Shit, I know but...”

  Nines sighed. “Let's just-” An odd noise in the background caused Gavin to tense. “Oh, no.”

  “What!?” A shiver raced down Gavin's back.

  Dante and Arc bristled, their pupils pinpricked.

  A crash. “I'm h-di-g back to-rds you! G-- --ady!” Interference caused the connection to crackle and then cut out.

  “Nines? Nines! Fuck!!”

  The air crackled with energy.

  They waited. One beat. Then two. When Nines appeared around a corner, they all let out a relieved breath. Relief only lasted a moment. Arc shot forward with a snarl, Dante perched on his back.

  Gavin began to run forward, then stopped. He looked back, then at Nines, then back again.

  “Well be back. Promise.” He said to the Pinamon. “Keep watch.”

  Pinamon chirped at him, and puffed up. “Right!”

  Gavin nodded then took off after them.

  A digimon appeared out of the shadows. “Karatenmon – Ulimate.” His CT-D pinged into his ear. This one had not one, but three collars.

  'Fuck! How did they force it to go that high?'

  They were going to have to digivolve again.

  When was the last time Dante had to go past champion? A couple years at least. Could Arc even do it? The previous battle wasn't that hard but did they have the energy? Fuck!

  Arc intercepted the flying 'mon before it could reach his partner. Slamming it to the ground with a freezing fang. He was quickly thrown off, skidding across the asphalt with a snarl. Dante yowled, leaping off of Arc's back.

  Lightning paw!

  Satori!

  Karatenmon dodged out of the way at the last moment. Dante collided with the wall behind them with a pained yelp.

  “Nines!”

  Nines looked over his shoulder to see his partner running towards them, his own weapon at the ready. “I told you to wait!”

  “When do I ever listen to you!” Gavin called back.

  Nines face twisted with displeasure. Turning his attention back to the battle, he was relived to see their partners back on their feet. “They need to evolve again!”

  “No shit!”

  Scorpiomon – Ultimate

  Gavin skid to a halt, his eyes darting around. 'Where's the other one?'

  The 'mon appeared out of the ground, a couple feet behind the distracted Nines. Gavin cursed and began sprinting towards him.

  “Behind you!”

  Nines was able to dodge out of the way off the pincers. He changed his weapon to a gun, but it was a few seconds too late.

  Tail blade!

  Gavin reached Nines just as the attack hit. Nines screamed. Blue blood splashed onto Gavin's face and front as the tail blade cleaved through Nines' shoulder and took a chunk off his side.

  In a split second Gavin summoned his gun, firing electric blast after blast into Scorpiomon. They hissed as electricity coursed through their body. 

  “Son of a bitch!”

 They hit the ground, stunned. For now.

  Feather flare!

  Arc hit the ground with a cry, sharp feathers sinking into his ice hardened fur. He had been distracted by his partner's pained scream, he wasn't able to dodge in time. Then they dived at him, ranking their claws down his side.

  Arc snapped at the foe, catching a leg. Ice traveled from the bite, encasing it and the collar around their leg.

  They screeched, flailing in Arc's grip. Their other foot slashing Arc’s face. After being released, they flew up. With a mighty flap of their wings, more sharp feathers were driven into Arc.

  Arc de-digivolved with a pained cry.

  Lightning paw!

  Dante's claws raked across Karatenmon's face as they readied another attack with their swords.

  Lightning kick!

  The swords clattered to the ground -as did one of the collars- as Dante landed in front of Arc, snarling protectively.

  Gavin dropped to his knees beside Nines. He was curled up on his undamaged side, a hand pressed against the spot where his arm used to be; the cut, exposed wiring sparked and popped dangerously. He whined in pain through clenched teeth.

  “Oh fuck-fuck-fuck! No-no-no-no-no!” He slammed the emergency button on his CT-D then began to struggle out of his jacket. The operator barely got a word in. “Officer down, I repeat officer down! Get someone down here! Right fucking now! Sending location!”

  The operator's words were muddled in Gavin's panic. He began to bring his jacket over the gaping wound.

  “St-stop.” Nines groaned, his LED burning red. “'s Dangerous.”

  “I don't fucking care!” He pressed his jacket to the wound, assisting Nines in stemming the blood. The knees of his jeans were already getting damp.

  “I will, ha, will shut down i-in about 10 minutes. If I-ah fuck!”

  The pain in Nines' voice made Gavin's heart constrict, and he couldn't do a fuckin' thing about it. His eyes darted around. Karatenmon was recovering from Dante's stun and he had no fuckin' idea how long the blasts he delivered to Scorpiomon would last -he was surprised they lasted this long-. Hell, he wasn't even sure if he had it in him to fire another round, Besides that Dante still needed to evolve, and he needed energy for that.

  “You'll be alright, you'll...”

  A tiny pained, smile tugged at Nines' lips. “..yeah.”

  Anger, sharp and sudden, struck him. “Dante! Digivolve! Now!”

  “I know!” Dante snarled back, behind him Arc was pushing himself up shakily. “I'm trying!”

  “Try harder! Nines is...we're going to die if you don't! DO IT!”

  “I KNOW!!”

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BAym9zRXOZs

  Nines opened his eyes a blood-red light lit up the darkening lot; at first he thought it was back-up, but the lack of sirens dashed that hope. The light emanated from Gavin's CT-D, blinding in it's intensity. First surrounding Gavin then shooting out and enveloping Dante. Arc looked horrified. Even Karantenmon briefly looked as if they wanted to run.

  “Gavin...what...”

  His voice was drowned out by the cries of pure rage.

  Back under the collar's control, Karatenmon took the opportunity to dive for the vulnerable digivolving Dante. A blue blaster barley slowed it down. It didn't stop him from trying again and again.

  With a deafening roar a huge, clawed paw shot out of the light sending their foe into a nearby container. The light died down and where Dante once stood was a huge, hulking lion-man digimon. His thick, jet black mane hung messily over his face. From the darkness his burning, blood red eyes glowed hauntingly bright. Another roar of pure anger, then he was charging the Karatenmon.

  Sato-augh!

  The last collar had snapped with that attack. Gavin had to call Dante off.

  Nines pushed himself up slightly without resistance, the hand previously pressing the jacket down was now lax as all his focus was on Dante.

  “Get them!” Gavin snarled. His eyes had taken on the same horrifying glow.

  Nines knew he shouldn't be moving so much, the more Thirium he lost the faster his timer towards shut down went. He was past caring through. He had to get through to his partner.  

  Necrotoxic claw!

 Karatenmon was barley to block the attack with their swords.

  “Gavin! Stop!” Nines reached out his hand and gripped his partner's arm, shaking him.

 Nothing. He was too entranced with the fight.

  “Gavin! Snap out of it!” He tried again, tugging him forward and nearly unbalancing himself in the process.

  This time, Gavin's eyes -red and burning as they were- locked with his briefly; it was unsettling. Sanity returned for a second before a sound behind them grabbed his attention. The ugly snarl twisted his face once again as he brandished his weapon.

  “Try it! I fucking dare you!”

  Stinger su-augh!

  A roar and a lion head shaped blast was shot.  

  Blue blaster!

  The attacks sent Scorpiomon flying back, their two collars shattering and clattering to the ground. Karatenmon was kneeling on ground, a sword thrust into the ground to keep themselves upright. They had won and the digimon were freed. They were also confused and terrified.

  But Dante was still out for their blood. Gavin snarling right along with him.

  Nines then noticed blood dribbling down Garvin's cheek. When had that happened? That's when he noticed the flying feathers from the scared Karatenmon, the origin of the cut on Dante's maw. Dante roared and so did Gavin. It suddenly hit Nines that they were linked in a way he'd never seen. They were lost in their combined pain, fright and rage. It would burn them both out if they weren't stopped.

  “Arc!” Nines called, he used his grip on Gavin's arm to both pull himself up and to knock Gavin off balance; Gavin fought against his grip. “We need to knock some sense into them!”

  After sending another purposely weak blast at Dante, he looked as his humanoid partner and nodded hesitantly.

  Nines' CT-D flared with white light, then shot over into Arc. He pushed as much energy as he could spare into it – many overflowing emotions passed between the two of them. Pain, determination, fear...love.

“Gabumon digivolve to...Garurumon digivole to...”

“...Bladegarurumon!”

  Arc brought his swords up just in time to block the attack aimed at Karatenmon. Claws screeching as they hit the golden blades. “Dante! Please! Snap out of it!” he growled.

  Ah. So that wasn't the best idea. Nines saw his time drop from 4 minutes to 2 and a half. Damn.

  Gavin froze. A strangled noise of conflict breaking through the blind rage.

  Good, he needed this opening. “Look at me Gavin.” he pressed his bloody fingertips to Gavin's cheek. Wide eyes darted to his, the burning less intense -he knew one wrong move could ignite it again.

  “Good boy.” He breathed in relief. “Now listen to me. I need to shut down on my own, if I’m forced then, well...I need you to calm down, so I can do that. Come on love, focus on me. Breathe.”

  Gavin let out a shuttering breath. 

  Necrotoxic claw!

  Another screech of metal and a set of growls.

  “No.” He ordered firmly, moving to grip Gavin's jaw as his head began to turn. “Don't look.”

  Gavin blinked, as if coming out of a daze. Slowly but surely coming back to himself. The horrid light fading away.

  “Just focus on me. There you...Ugh..shit.” He hissed, teetering over.

  Gavin caught him before he could hit the ground, his voice rough from screaming it hoarse. “Fuck. I-I didn't..I lost control, I...” He shuttered, breathing ragged. “I didn't know you could feel pain.”

  Nines snorted bitterly. “Nearly being sliced in half...Is...ah...fuck!”

  He pressed his face into Gavin's thigh, groaning in pain as Gavin put pressure on the wound.

  Head clearer and the overwhelming rage in check for now, Gavin dared to look up. A crow-like digimon was cradling a clam-like digimon, while they watched the battle warily. Dante...Dante was merciless, blind with the rage Gavin himself had been entrapped in only moments before. Sparks flew from Arc's blades as tried his best to defend against the blows. He didn’t know how long Arc could keep that up.

  “Dante!” Gavin called but it was in vain, his voice was shot and Dante was too far gone. He didn’t even seem to recognize Arc now.

  Nines shuttered under his touch. “I’m going to shut myself down for now.”

  With his free hand, he blindly soothed back Nines' fringe. He couldn't pull his attention away from his partner. “Y-yeah. Do what you have to. They'll be here soon.”

  Nines went limp, his breath evening out. His burning-red LED fading to soft white.

  The blood-chilling roars nearly drowned out the approaching sirens.

  “You'll be alright Nines.” Gavin promised. “Please be alright.”  

[sterekchub]

Part 1.

A/N: I’m really sorry. This got SO far away from me and....yeah. 

OCTOBER:

Legend has it that that the Being created the Gods and Goddesses to bring balance to the newly created Earth. Heaven was split into two groups – the Virtues and Sins. The God of Giving and the Goddess of Greed. The Goddess of Moderation and the God of Gluttony. Chastity and Lust. Forgiveness and Wrath. Truth and Heresy. Peace and Violence. One day, Greed decided she wanted total dominion over the Earth. Joined by the other Sins, they tried to overthrow the Virtues.

As punishment, the Being cast the Sins out of Heaven. Unable to destroy immortal beings, they were sentenced to their own domain in the Circles of Hell. The Sins would be cursed for all eternity, unable to partake in their own sins,  only able to watch over other sinning souls.

Once every hundred years, on All Hallows Eve, the Sins can cross from the Circles of Hell into limbo into the mortal world. Only by possessing a kindred soul can the Sins stay in the mortal world for twelve lunar cycles, before returning to  - .

The last word got smeared out by a large blob of ketchup.

“Shit!” Stiles hurriedly grabbed a napkin to clean off the offending strain. He only succeeded in turning the majority of the page a dull red. Shrugging, he stuffed another handful of fries in his mouth, marking the page down as he did so with a blue sticky note, indicating a true myth, rather than a “myth likely to be factual.”

“How’s it going?” Scott stopped and sniffed the air. “Your room reeks like a drive-thru. Have you been eating fast food all week?”

Stiles waved a fry at him. “Hey, this is all brain food.  Deaton gave me all these books and I think half of them are all nonsense. Werewolves and banshees and wendigoes are one thing, Gods and circles of Hell are just made up stories.”

“Have time to take a break and catch a movie? It’s the Halloween double-feature: Scream and Nightmare on Elm Street.”

“Hell yes, Dude!”

***

NOVEMBER:

Two weeks after Halloween, Stiles finally caved and went to see Deaton. It took a while to explain his problem. He wasn’t being possessed like he had been before. There were no periods of time he couldn’t remember, no second voice in his head influencing his decisions. He wasn’t watching helplessly as someone else controlled his body. There was, however, something in his head constantly suggesting foods, regardless if he had just eaten or not. Stiles would eat his usual Chinese take-out order and suddenly find himself desperately craving pizza, his mind buzzing and unable to focus on anything else.

Deaton, as his usual expressive self, didn’t say a word until Stiles was finished his explanation. Then he pulled out the book Stiles had been pouring over weeks ago and opened to the ketchup-stained, blue tagged page.

“Are you kidding me? I thought it was a myth.”

“Most of the supernatural world is a myth.”

“So I’m possessed by an immortal being. Again.”

Deaton nodded. “Gluttony is not malicious in nature. The Sins only possess humans to ah – live vicariously through them. It cannot control you.  Likely it will seek to share and intensify any of you experiences, not try to manipulate you into new ones.”

Stiles’ stomach grumbled. “Really?’

‘It can offer suggestions and perhaps forceful persuasions but aside from the cravings, it holds no actual power.”

“Great. So I’m a demon’s personal eating machine.”

“You could try fighting it. It will only last a year. It may be beneficial. Typically Demon possession does offer the host with extra strength and stamina to ensure their health.”

“Wonderful.”

***

DECEMBER

Stiles had never been happier to have a job that allowed him to work from home. It turned out the trick to keep the cravings down was to either eat a lot at once, or be constantly snacking. So long as Stiles kept munching on things every few minutes, he could actually focus on his work, rather than focusing on his next meal. It had taken him a few weeks of trying to fight against the constant grumbling of his stomach and fleeing images of food running across his head, but finally Stiles had gotten into the swing of living with a Gluttony Demon residing in his head.

It started with Oreos. Stiles had pulled open his desk drawer to finish off the last row of Oreos, needing something sweet after his afternoon of munching on chips. Apparently, finishing those off wasn’t enough and Stiles found himself compelled to run to the store for more. Stiles felt a thrill of excitement that definitely did not belong to him when he saw just how many varieties the stored offered. Stiles supposed that, not having tasted food in a hundred years, the choices of the 21st century were overwhelming.

One of everything went into his basket, Oreos thins, mini, double-stuffed, golden, birthday cake, mega stuffed, mint, red velvet, cinnamon bun, lemon, mystery flavored, peanut butter, chocolate, chocolate hazelnut, chocolate peanut-butter, brownie batter, apple pie, fudge covered, and completely unnecessarily, regular. Stiles gave the Demon credit – he wasn’t picky and wanted to be very thorough in his attempts to try everything possible.

The boxes were finished by the end of the week. It really wasn’t a hardship. Stiles always had a big sweet tooth. Plus, who didn’t love Oreos? He tried not to think about how it took a few seconds longer to force his button his pants on Sunday. Or about how his normal junk-food cravings were becoming alarming frequent and a staple of his daily diet. Stiles’ always had a fast metabolism. For the amount of pizza and cafeteria food Stiles ate during college, he only had put on the freshman fifteen. So he could handle a few hundred Oreos. No problem.

“It’s really not that bad,” he told his father one night on the phone. “It’s an excuse to eat anything I want.”

“You have always been a model of restraint,” John replied sarcastically.

“Someone had to keep the unhealthy stuff away from you.”

‘Just take care of yourself, kid. And don’t call me when you get stuck in a doorway.”

“Haha. It’s under control, Dad. Don’t worry.”

***

JANUARY

Things were becoming less “under control” when the Demon had gone through all the possible snacks Stiles could think of and progressed to wanting full meals. Multiple meals. Several times a day. It was becoming increasingly frustrating to try and work on his novel. He was either focused on what he was going to eat or was sleepily watching dumb videos online as he fell into a food coma. Optimistically, he told himself it was just a phase. Last month it had been snacks, this month it was meals, next month maybe it would be fruit or salads or something.

Currently, he was laying on his couch, polishing off the last of his Chinese takeout order, with reruns of some HGTV show playing in the background. He really did feel like a glutton when he ate like this. He should have stopped a container of sweet and sour pork and five egg rolls ago, but he had kept going. It was hard to tell if the cravings were the Demon in his head or the subconscious need to finish everything. Just to see if he could. Just to feel the weight of having his gut filled, swollen and protruding over his waistband, forcing him to take a few more bites of food, pushing the final egg roll into his mouth before leaning back against the couch with a soft moan of relief. He closed his eyes, listening to woman on television debating what house she wanted. He nodded off before finding out what house she picked, an arm resting over his belly.

Stiles dreamed of pizza. He was in the pizza parlor, sitting at a lone table in the center of the restaurant. Servers stood around him, each offering him different slices, acting like he was some grand judge on a food competition, insisting he had to try them all before he made his decision. Stiles was reaching for piece after piece, stuffing them into his mouth impossibly fast while his belly started to push out in front of him. Another couples of pizza slices, or maybe entire pizza’s later, his stomach knocked over the table in front of him as it kept growing in size…

He woke up with a start and reached for his phone. He already had the pizza place on speed dial.

“Thank you for calling Charlie’s Pizza. What can I get for you?”

“A medium meat lover’s pizza and an order of wings.”

“Is that it?”

“Ye – ” Another craving hit him. Stiles rubbed his still full belly and added resignedly.  “ – and an order of breadsticks. And garlic bread.”

‘Your total will $21.27. See you in a half-hour.”

***

FEBRUARY

“Look, I get it. I’m getting fat and turning into a pig. You don’t need to bring me my – my daily feed or whatever!”

Derek stared at him. “What are you talking about?”

“You! I know you’ve been having the pack cook for me! Even Jackson dropped food off. From his personal chef!”

Derek set the bag of carefully packaged food he was holding on the counter. “We figured you were getting sick of takeout.”

“I can cook for myself.”

“You haven’t been cooking.”

“And how do you know that?” Stiles asked angrily. “Busy stalking me but couldn’t be bothered to actually say ‘Hi, Stiles, want to do something?’ Or do you just get a laugh watching me do nothing all day but eat alone?”

“I can tell by the trashcan overflowing with take-out containers, Stiles. Don’t blame me for this. I’ve been texting you. Scott has been texting you. You’ve ignored everyone.”

 Stiles shoulders sagged in defeat. “I know. I’m sorry. I thought I could handle this.”

Derek pulled the younger man against him, burying his face in the Stiles’ neck. “I’ve missed you.”

“Missed you too, Big Guy.” He wrapped his arms tighter around Derek. “I do appreciate the food.”

“Good. You shouldn’t be eating only junk-food.”

“Yes, Dad,” Stiles said playfully. “I make sure I’m eating vegetables.”

“Fried vegetables don’t count.”

“They sort of count.”

Derek growled. Stiles stayed still for a few more minutes, content to just be in Derek’s reassuring embrace for a while longer.

“Hey, Der. What if – what it I don’t really mind this?”

There was no answer for a few seconds. Derek merely stiffened, then pulled pack enough to press a gentle kiss to Stiles’ lips. “It’s okay.”

“And I don’t mind getting to eat so much.”

“Okay.”

“And maybe I like being this heavy.”

“Okay.”

Stiles swatted him on the arm. “Forget how to use words again?”

“Ever think I don’t mind either?”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Thank god.” Stiles squirmed out of Derek’s grip and started pulling Tupperware containers out of the bag. “Because I’m starving.”

“Wasting away.” Derek agreed.

Stiles response was lost behind the food he had already started shoveling in his mouth. “This is amazing. Have I ever said that you’re my favorite person?”

“Hmm. Nope. Never came up. Good thing we aren’t dating, or anything.”

“Ass. But I forgive you for making this amazing food.”

“They’re my mother’s recipes. I don’t know if I got them quite right, but I thought you might want something new.”

“Any free food is good food. My entire paycheck has been going to food and new jeans.”

“You know I can pay – ”

“ I am not being the sugar baby in this relationship.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“But you love me,” Stiles grinned. He tossed the empty container into the sink and grabbed a second one. “Sorry, I’d offer you some but –” Stiles gestured to his protruding middle. There was a clear few inches of pale skin sticking out from under his shirt. Time to size up. Again. “Unless you want to hear this complaining all night, I need all the food I can get.”

The food Derek had brought was sufficient enough to keep Stiles’ stomach from growling through the night. In the early hours of the morning, before Stiles was even awake, his stomach started rumbling. Derek left him a stack of pancakes and bacon. Next to the plate was a credit card with a scribbled note: Use it. Please.

***

MARCH (Sorry for Derek and Stiles both being a little bad about respecting each other’s privacy in this section. Not that either of them mind…)

Derek never had a very interesting browser history. He had left it open on his computer, which was just unfairly asking for someone to take a quick peek. Stiles felt mildly guilty about it, comforted only by telling himself Derek eavesdropped on most his conversations and always pointed out when he was lying. Granted, Derek couldn’t exactly lose his werewolf abilities, but still, boundaries. Stiles considered it even.

The browser history had, unsurprisingly, nothing interesting.  A few recipes, a couple of monster lore searches, a least once a week a visit to his credit card statement… That seemed unusual. Derek didn’t even have that card on him; it was the one he had left for Stiles (which he had reluctantly agreed to use after a few arguments. Stiles wasn’t a starving artist per say, but nor was he independently wealthy).

Now it seemed like an even trade off. His boyfriend pays for his food and then – Stiles grinned. Really, it was a miracle Derek hadn’t gotten possessed by the Lust demon. There must be a level of hell reserved for getting off this many times to their boyfriend, without telling them….

Stiles was still sitting in front of the computer when Derek came back to the loft. “So, worried I’m spending too much money, or just very interested in how much I’ve been eating?”

Derek turned so red Stiles was concerned he had forgot how to breath for a few moments. “I can explain.”

“That you’ve been getting off to how much food I’ve ordered? That’s pretty kinky, Derek.” He lifted up the hem of his shirt, letting his belly wobble out. It took up a considerable amount of space in his lap now. “I’d say you like thinking about how fat I’m getting.”

“Jesus, Stiles, I can’t pay my bills without being turned on. Do you know how many times you’ve ordered food in the past month?

Stiles grinned wider. “Just think that isn’t all I’ve eaten. I’ve been putting groceries on my card, and Lydia dropped off some pies and Mrs. McCall made the best mac&cheese casseroles for me….”

“I know,” Derek groaned. “Look at this, Stiles.” He knelt in front of Stiles, lifting his belly up, struggling to undo the button of his jeans, before letting it thud back into his lap jiggling. “You haven’t – stopped – eating.”

“Can’t help it. A glutton has to eat. ‘M getting so fat, Derek.”  “Can’t believe how much food you order in a day. How much does it take to fill this belly now, Stiles? 

“Why don’t - ah” Stiles moaned, leaning further back in his chair as Derek started mouthing at Stiles’ sensitive underbelly. “Why don’t you order some food and I’ll show you.”

[cywscross]

Pt.1 | Pt.2 | Pt.3 | Pt.4 | Pt.5 | Pt.6 | Pt.7

Lookee what my brain coughed up~~

Peter stays the night again. The man cooks for the two of them, Stiles finishes his homework, Peter uses his shower and poaches more of Stiles’ clothes, and they end up in the fort again, knees and arms knocking together, blankets piled on top of them.

“Should we be expecting your father tonight?”  Peter enquires idly, not sounding like he cares much either way.

“Mm, no, he’s working on a case out of town.”  It’s instinct to check his phone, but there’s no text message waiting for him, and that’s to be expected too.  He sends one off to Scott though, just to check in, just to ask how he’s doing after everything that went down.  He doesn’t get a reply this time either, which doesn’t surprise him one bit.

He tosses the device aside and sighs before pulling his laptop over.  “Wanna watch a movie?”

He feels more than sees Peter shrug, so Stiles goes about setting up Tangled.  He wants fun and light-hearted, and if Peter doesn’t, the werewolf can deal.

Peter mostly just seems entertained though, and interested because oh yeah, coma equals six years of missed media.  Amongst other things.

So they watch Rapunzel venture out into the world and beat people up with her frying pan and defy her mother and finally get her happily ever after, and it’s a nice distraction from the death and destruction here in good old Beacon Hills.  After that, he goes further back and puts on Enchanted.  Stiles has a soft spot for musicals, so sue him, and he refuses to be embarrassed by it even when Peter slants an amused look at him.

As it turns out, Peter doesn’t mind a bit of singing and dancing either, especially when the movie gives such a unique twist to the classic fairy tale, combining live-action and animation together.  Still, he must’ve been more tired than Stiles thought because by the time everyone gets their happily ever after in this one (except the bad guy, obviously), Peter’s dozed off, still sitting but slumped against the wall behind them.

The movie ends, everything goes silent, and Stiles just sits there for a while, watching Peter sleep. Then he sighs, powers down his laptop, and sets about getting ready for bed.  It takes two trips out of the fort because he forgets to line all the windows and doors in the house with the bag of mountain ash under his bed, at least for the night.  He doesn’t feel like dealing with any werewolves who might swing by and break into his house just because they can.  Granted, it isn’t likely.  Scott’s (getting) busy with other people, Boyd and Erica have run off to god knows where, if Isaac shows up, Stiles might actually strangle him with his scarf, and he hasn’t even seen Derek since that night with the kanima and Gerard.  But just in case, Stiles does it anyway.  If any of them do show up, it’ll be because they’ll want him to do something for them, and helpful is about the last thing he feels like being right now.

Peter’s the exception only because the dude’s already inside, and it would be a hassle to shove him back out the window.  Besides, it’s pretty clear the werewolf doesn’t want anything from him aside from a place to bunk, and even if he does, Stiles figures Peter’s allowed to at least ask, if only because he’s cooked for Stiles and even taken his pain a few times.

Although admittedly, the former was still on Stiles’ dime.  But not even Peter Hale can produce money out of thin air, or he wouldn’t even be in Stiles’ house right now.  He came though, to check on Stiles.  Which, pathetically enough, is more than anyone else has done.

What exactly does it say about Stiles that the only one who cared enough about him to come at all is the formerly dead former psycho on a former vengeance bender?

Probably nothing good. Best not to think about it then.  And the pain-drawing thing is true enough.  He’s done that pretty regularly as Stiles’ injuries heal at glacial speeds.

He crawls back into the fort and starts prodding Peter into something more horizontal.  Blue eyes flicker open, hazy to sharp in about 0.5 seconds, but they go drowsy again when they recognize Stiles, and Peter doesn’t do anything to stop him from piling a couple blankets on top of him.

It only takes another minute for Stiles to get comfortable himself, and another few minutes for sleep to creep up on him.  He doesn’t even open his eyes when he feels the bedding shift and the warm line of a body press against his own.

The rest of the week goes about the same.  Peter camps out in Stiles’ bedroom, cooks him meals, and spends the hours between nine and three probably apartment hunting and doing other hopefully not too illegal things.  Stiles goes to school, sits through his classes, and doesn’t bother eating in the cafeteria anymore because it makes him feel like he’s trying too hard to get Scott’s attention, and that’s just pathetic.  Downside, he hasn’t been this alone at school since junior high when Scott transferred in and Jackson stole his inhaler so Stiles tripped him down the stairs.  But on the other hand, every other hour that he isn’t in school means he’s with Peter, and Peter… somehow, Peter makes it very hard to feel lonely, even if they’re not doing anything except sitting side by side and working on their own thing.

By the weekend, Peter’s found a place, a small apartment building on the corner of Wisteria and Clove, near the edge of town.  The paint is faded, the floorboards creak, but the place seems sturdy enough, if a bit shabby and actually not at all what Stiles would picture Peter choosing to live in. It isn’t smack in the middle of downtown either so there doesn’t seem to be many tenants.  Still, even though Peter’s the one who suggests giving Stiles the grand thirty-second tour of the single bedroom, bathroom, and sitting room and attached kitchenette in the first place, a defiant, defensive slant remains in his shoulders the entire time, and he watches Stiles like he thinks Stiles might laugh at him or something.

The mighty ex-Alpha brought low.  Stiles wonders if Derek would taunt him about it.  He’d like to think no, ’cause that’s just kicking someone when they’re already down, and… yeah okay, Stiles is exactly the type to do that if the person is high enough on his shit list, but he’d never do it to his dad no matter how… absent the man is from his life or how much he drinks, or even his mom, no matter how many times she hit him, or even Scott, even though Stiles doesn’t know where they stand these days.  And he won’t do it to Peter.

Peter’s family to Derek though, no matter how much history there is between them, and yet Peter seems used to expecting the worst from those around him.

Of course, then Stiles remembers Derek ripping Peter’s throat out without a beat of hesitation just a month ago, remembers him leaving his crippled uncle behind all those years ago, remembers each and every one of his own interactions with Derek and how Derek’s go-to methods were always to threaten or insult or use violence to get Stiles to do what he wanted or even just to tear him down for whatever reason.  He even remembers the tiny smirk on Derek’s face as he stood by and watched Erica mock Stiles like he thought it was funny.

Right.   Never mind.  Christ.  No wonder Peter killed Laura.  Leaving him to rot was enough of a crime.

Stiles’ absolute favourite part of the tour is the collection of furniture Peter’s amassed. There isn’t much, and it’s not overly expensive stuff, but what the werewolf has somehow managed to get his hands on are new and elegant and moveable, and if he turns all of it over and throws a couple sheets over it, the resulting fort would be almost as spacious as the sitting room.

“I love it,” He announces before he can stop himself, already eyeing the furniture greedily.

Peter blinks, follows Stiles’ line of sight, and then his shoulders finally relax, as if Stiles has passed some sort of test.  He even huffs a laugh and overall looks pretty happy for someone whose guest is more excited about building furniture forts in their home than complimenting the decor.  Then again, Stiles is sort of doing that.

“I thought you might,” Peter smirks.  “Feel free to do some… rearranging anytime you want.”

Stiles gapes at him a bit because he didn’t actually think Peter would- “Wait, you’re gonna let me build-”

He cuts himself and flushes a bit.  Saying furniture forts out loud makes him sound a lot more childish than he’d like.

But Peter just shrugs. “You’re welcome to it.  It isn’t as if I need to sit down to watch the evening news, Stiles.  I don’t even have a TV, and I’m not planning on getting one.”

“…Oh.”  Stiles pauses, uncertain of what else to say.  Thanking the man for something like this just feels plain awkward.

“On one condition of course,” Peter continues, all smug cheer again.  “I get free entry and sleeping space in there.”

Stiles sort of just stares, because for an adult, Peter is so weird.  Only his mom ever called Stiles creative when he upended the house’s furniture, and she was sort of obligated to, being Mom and all.  Dad always called it a mess, exasperatedly amused at first, then just… long-suffering at times, annoyed at others, and forever confused over why his son never seemed to grow out of this phase even as he got older.

“…Well,” Stiles flaps his hand in the vague direction of everywhere.  “It is your place.  So yeah.  But don’t you want to sleep on a bed?”

“I don’t have a bed,” Peter points out, because yeah, Stiles did notice that, but he just thought Peter hadn’t gotten around to buying that yet.  But the werewolf only glances thoughtfully at the sitting room.  “And I don’t think I’ll buy one.  Who needs a bed anyway when I have my own personal professional fort designer?”

Stiles’ ears go pink. Peter grins but it lacks bite despite the teasing.  Stiles rolls his eyes at him.

“I’ll bring my spare blankets over then,” He offers.  So you won’t have to buy any, he doesn’t say. He thinks about the text he got today from Jenna.  “Dad’s case is wrapping up and he’ll be returning sometime late tomorrow anyway so I have to clean the house before he gets back.  Actually, we can do it now.  I mean I guess it’ll look kinda weird since neither of us has a working vehicle but we can just stuff them in bags and carry them over here.  You’re a werewolf anyway so it’s not like it’ll be too heavy for you.”

Peter arches an eyebrow and looks like he wants to say something sarcastic.  But he restrains himself and just nods.  “We can straighten up your house first.”

Stiles blinks at that, startled, but Peter’s already heading for the door.  He hurries after the werewolf, tripping over the doorstep and almost doing a faceplant before Peter catches him by his good shoulder and hauls him back up without missing a beat.

He didn’t actually mean for Peter to help him with the cleaning, but he can’t complain either.  It’s always just been his job though, household chores, for almost as long as he can remember.  Nobody’s ever given him a hand before, even in the early days when he was messing up the laundry and burning the food and his fingers.  It’s weird that Peter’s willing to help.  Peter is just… weird.  So weird.

He gives himself a hard mental shake and shunts it all aside.  Whatever. Four hands make faster work than two anyway.

Peter stays one more night at the Stilinski home, and they end up hauling the blankets over to the man’s new apartment in the morning instead, and then Stiles just goes to town on pushing furniture together with all the glee of a five-year-old on a sugar high.  Peter sits at the kitchen counter, half his attention on whatever he’s doing on his laptop, the other half on Stiles, a fond quirk playing at his lips that Stiles pointedly does not look too deeply into.

Noon comes around, and Peter cooks them lunch.  Then they both hole up in the fort with part of the blanket-ceiling pulled back to let the sunlight and breeze filter in through the open window.

It’s four in the afternoon before Stiles finally gets up to leave.  Peter sees him to the door, expression indecipherable, but he reaches out to cup a hand around the back of Stiles’ neck for a last pain extraction before they say their goodbyes.  Stiles wants to ask when (if?) he can come back, and when would be a good time, but in the end, the words get stuck in his throat, and he scarpers without voicing his questions.

He’s back in his bedroom and shucking his sweater before he realizes there’s an extra key on his keyring.

He’s still smiling when his dad walks in through the door.

[spotlightsaga]

Kevin Cage of @spotlightsaga reviews… Orange is the New Black (S05E05) Sing It, White Effie Airdate: June 9, 2017 @oitnb Ratings: @netflix Score: 8.75

**********SPOILERS BELOW**********

OITNB has a habit of having white folks tell black folks’ stories… Normally you can kind of sense it right away, but after watching ‘Sing It, White Effie’ I had to look up the primary writer. I’ve talked about this a few times but never on this grand of a stage. I know that this has been addressed by many in previous years including Essence Magazine (which, yes I do read). It’s true that we as human beings, of blood and guts and organs and bones, are for the most part the exact same, sans a few genetic defects that only affect a certain race… And it’s true that some of us in different parts of the world have very different experiences due to environment. For instance, for over a decade in Miami, my only friends have been ones of color… Literally 98% Latin & Black… Despite how other parts of my family live, I live very differently. Growing up a 'sexually fluid’ ginger with a mother who was a very young teenager in high school gave me a vastly different experience than most. I’ve always celebrated my fucking weirdness. In high school I was literally a walking oxymoron, wearing 90 inch GAT pants I stole from the mall or borrowed from my friend, GlowGirl (yeah in the late 90s we all had Rave Names, didn’t you know?), paired with an oversized button up I found in my step-dads closet and a vest from Structure and Brooks Brothers eyeglasses that my Grandmother bought me on a visit… Not to mention spiked up Backstreet Boy haircut (that may or may not have been blue), tousled in the front, and fucking candy and jelly bracelets from the base of my thumbs up past my elbows. What the fuck, right? You’d think I’d look back and hate it, but all I see is a RAD fn’ Rave Star with 'anti-anti’ 90’s culture embodiment… Serving up Rave-Tastic Soccer Playing Prep Freak “on a Lemonade budget”…. Thank you, Shea Coulee!

Diversity has always been a part of my life in one way or another. I love to trade perspectives. I ask questions and offer up personal experiences instead of telling people their way of thinking is wrong, because I want people to understand me and I want to understand them. I truly believe that if we all at least tried to understand each other instead of this 'This opinion is right. This opinion is wrong,’ divisive mindset so many have seem to have adopted as of late the world would be a much better place. That being said, I just wrote a few articles on the 3rd Season of '60 Days In’ and stated there were certain topics I couldn’t completely speak on, even being a diverse ginger gringo faggot or whatever anyone wants to throw my way. On the internet today I was told I have a PHD in Cock Sucking (and other things that literally just look like letters on a page to me) and on the bus just last Monday, I let Snapchat take a quick, disappearing peak at a woman attacking my partner and I on the bus with an umbrella who called us 'stretched out asshole faggot cock sucking mother fuckers that will fry in hell’, I couldn’t make this shit up even if I tried. She had gotten a glimpse at my partner helping me on the bus because I have some issues moving around on Monday’s due to some disc issues in the upper parts of my back and went in for the kill when my partner asked if she could please turn the music down that she was blasting from her phone like she wasn’t aware that one can totally sonically invade someone’s space. None of these experiences give me the proper perspective needed to make a complete series featuring an episode that looks through the lens of a woman of color’s standpoint on Culture Appropriation on an all white 'DreamGirls’ production at the 'White School of Rich Bitch Privilege’.

Don’t get me wrong, this is probably the best take on racial issues I’ve ever seen on OITNB. I was moved, accomplished NYC playwright and television writer & editor Molly Smith Metzler, whose worked on two of my favorite Streaming Only series (OITNB & Hulu’s 'Casual’) is a raw talent that streaming networks would be lucky to have work on their exclusive series… But it all still felt like it was missing something. Some might tell you that the 'diversity’ plays itself out in front of the camera, but I assure you as a writer that it takes a village. When it comes to television particularly, everything is filtered through a lens after a lens after another lens…. As the showrunner draws out a storyboard with producers and then oversees the writing of a script which is handed to an editor and then off to a director which directs the actors who have their own interpretation of that character who are then filmed and framed by a cinematographer who hands over the multiple takes to an editor, who then slices and dices and puts together the final product that the network may possibly need to approve and by now I’m out of fucking breath. And I didn’t even mention the composers, casting directors, production designers, art directors, set decorators, costumes, makeup, the fn’ art department, sound department who collaborates with special effects people, not to be confused with the visual effects crew and the dozens and dozens of others who’s lens it funnels through to make a finished product. Did I make a point yet?

'Sing It, White Effie’ is by far the best of #OITNB5 but just like the tears that filled my eyes during the final moments when a young Janae has an epiphany when she realizes what her trip to a private school that has a trio of rich white girls playing the main characters of 'DreamGirls’ truly represents…. Just like Taystee’s beautiful, enthralling speech that I’m sure we all applauded and were worked up over emotionally… It just could have been better. No matter what you know, no matter what you’ve seen, no matter how intense your empathy radar is, no matter how many shoes you have traded with other people… We can write out someone else’s story, we can do our research, we can firmly believe the things we say, we can identify pieces of a puzzle of someone else’s story through idiosyncratic experiences, but we’ll never be able to put the entire puzzle together without the missing piece.

I don’t want it to seem like I’m complaining, I’m only imagining that a fantastic show could be even bolder, even more intense, even more 'on the nose’ with it’s ironic comedy style, that’s sometimes dark so that it fades into the drama with more ease. I love OITNB, I do. I would go as far as to say that this is the most bingeable show ever created. The hardest thing I’ve had to do in the past few months (thank god) is to decide to go to sleep instead of watching and writing about another episode of this very show. Slowly but surely, the inmates of Litchfield are shown to notice little things that are waking them to the impending consequences that are sure to devastate these women in a major way.

Right now it’s the little things, like Suzanne (Uzo Aduba), the usual most 'out of touch’ resident of Litchfield, observing the fact that she’s not being fed during regular hours. Gloria (Selenis Leyva) has come to a point where she is completely overwhelmed, she can’t carry on her normal duties anymore. Her genuine concern for Daya (Dascha Polanco) as well as her inner turmoil she’s experiencing for generally losing control paired with the backfiring of attempting to steal the gun from Daya to impede the takeover is a weight she can no longer carry. Her phone call to Diaz (Elizabeth Rodriguez) was another truly successful, relatable, and dramatic moment that puts the audience inside Litchfield for an oh-so important instant. I think we can all relate to a point in time where we are completely at a loss for what to do in a situation, maybe we want to ask for help, but we don’t know how, or even where to start, or even if we could be helped at all… So you just need a familiar voice on the other end of the line. The family dynamic is so strong with this one, and as a person who lives in a Latin Dominated city, there’s a certain way that pride is carried here that I see in these characters. These actresses are truly amazing to bring their distinct perspective into a script that is not their own, essentially that is what makes this show so special in these dramatic points of reference. It is bigger than the writers, who are great, but just not as diverse as we would like.

If it’s one thing that a talented white woman would write with a pristine birds eye view, it’s satire of a what it would be like to be a rich white woman turned into a slave by white supremacists… Oh yeah, and one white nationalist. Judy King (Blair Brown) looks completely insane with her messy hair, ketchup stained face, and belt leash around her neck. I literally can’t stop laughing as I write this. The image will be forever stored in the memory banks of my brain. Taystee is PISSED. The Helicopter Press snapping a photo of Judy King tied to a cross on top of a roof by skinheads wearing hijab’s has interfered with Taystee’s intentions, which means everyone’s intentions, but most importantly… Justice for Poussey. She means to buy Judy off of the skinheads and grab 'The PR Guy’ Josh (John Palladino) to issue a statement, but the skinheads make Taystee & Friends work for it, holding a ridiculous auction, which doesn’t really work… But for the sake of moving the core narrative onward in what is as close to real-time as possible, I suppose it’s fine…. I’m just not sure where everyone else came from considering in one scene they were alone and the next minute the area is full of potential bidders. Just goes to show you even some of the best shows are fat from perfect.

Pensatucky (Taryn Manning) has yet another memorable moment, again the drama is really what is setting this season ablaze. Big Boo (Lea DeLaria) catches Pensatucky & Coates (James McMenamin) making out. Of course, this not only enrages Boo for obvious reasons, but it also has her worried for Pensatucky’s safety. A lot of people seem incredibly uncomfortable with this subplot, but Manning delivers the true Pensatucky 'thought process’ in a 'methamphetamine metaphor’ that’s just divine. 'No matter how much I wanted different, I had to respect the chemicals… Because Lye doesn’t feel anything until it touches ephedrine’, Pensatucky means this… And even if you don’t understand the white trash chemistry behind the metaphor, she delivers it in the most earnest & steady manner. There’s a beauty to it. She continues… 'Have you ever wanted somebody that you shouldn’t?’ Boo doesn’t have it, 'Of course. It’s called masturbating. Now say goodbye and walk the fuck away, son.’ Pensatucky is a character that we’ve already explored so much throughout the past 4 ½ seasons, but there are so many notes to this character and to Manning’s delivery that they could literally go on forever. This is the very opposite of Piper (Taylor Schilling) who literally seems like a new person, someone completely alien to the Piper who kicked off the show in S1. Even her interactions with Alex (Laura Prepon) feel off key. Maybe prison is changing her? Or maybe they have no idea what to do with the character. They certainly know what they want to do with Alex, as she has started a bit of an 'outdoor prison’ revolution… Grass Roots, if you will!

We should mention that Coates escapes by way of Pensatucky stealing the gun from 'The Incompetent Queens of White Trash’, Angie (Julie Lake) and Leanne (Emma Myles), who don’t even realize that their 'secret hiding place’ they stored the gun while on a massive DXM trip is actually the back of the belt that Angie had no idea she was wearing. Coates actually takes the gun with him… All of these events have me worried for Pensatucky and there is really only so much that Boo can do. Right before his grand escape, Taystee and company lead Judy out for a press conference. Taystee begins and Danielle Brooks delivers her words like a Viola Davis or Meryl Streep in the making. She hands it over to Judy but pulls back when she realizes that Judy lying about her ill treatment will only hurt their cause… And to roll back to my original point, which I rolled off on a bit of a passionate tangent… Taystee literally says the words that I positioned that first point around… Judy King cannot speak for Taystee or any of the inmates, for that matter. This isn’t exactly a Pensatucky 'Methamphetamine Metaphor’ but dammit… In the face of previous controversy the show, particularly the writers room, has been accused of, you’d think that they’d hire equally as talented women of color to write this speech, portions of these episode, entire episodes. Once again, I take nothing away from the talented Molly Smith Metzler, she did an excellent job here… I just think that this scene, as well as others, could pack so much more power and benefit from the proper frame of reference.

[megsblackfirewrites]

Two For The Road: Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Camp wasn’t anything special. A tent, a little firepit, and something to keep the bugs from swarming. Hanzo thought it was oddly adorable, a perfect little hideaway for them while they explored the park. Jesse was still fast asleep in the tent, his snores loud but comforting. Hanzo kissed his cheek before slipping out of the tent to go relieve her bladder.

She realized she was being followed on her way back to camp. She slowed down, scanning her surroundings. She spotted her attacker a few seconds before they slammed into her and managed to get her hand clenched in their shirt. She brought her feet up to push the assailant over her head, but they held fast to her hair.

She snarled as they rolled across the ground. The attacker’s hat tumbled off their head and gray-streaked, shoulder length brown hair tumbled in her face. Hanzo swung a punch, but the other woman grabbed it and headbutted her. Hanzo groaned in pain, stars dancing in front of her eyes as the other woman hauled her to her feet.

She was slammed against a tree, the front of her shirt balled in the woman’s fists. “Now, care to tell me what yer doin’ out here?” the woman growled.

“Fuck you,” Hanzo growled.

“Hun, I’m sure you’d love to, but I don’t swing that way,” the woman grinned viciously.

Hanzo blinked at the woman’s eyes. They were…no, that wasn’t possible. It had to be a coincidence.

“Oiy!” Jesse shouted as he came charging through the underbrush. “Put ‘er down!”

“Well look who finally decided to roll outta bed?” the woman snorted as she dropped Hanzo to the ground. “Never took ya as a late sleeper, puddin’.”

Jesse came to a stop and blinked at the woman. “Van?” he asked.

“Who else is gunna come huntin’ fer yer useless ass out in the ass end-a nowhere?” the woman snorted.

“Someone want to fill me in?” Hanzo asked as she held her head. “Oh, dragons, that hurt.”

“Hanzo, this is Vanessa. Van, this is Hanzo, my girlfriend.”

“Oh,” the woman chirped. “Sorry about that, hun. Thought ya mighta been tottin’ my little brother around in hopes of turnin’ him in.”

Hanzo’s head snapped up. “Little brother?” she parroted.

Vanessa gave her a blank look before she rounded on Jesse. Jesse had an inch of height on her, but he still managed to look cowed under the glare. That was equal parts embarrassing and hilarious.

“You never told yer girlfriend about yer siblings?” she demanded.

“Siblings? As in plural?” Hanzo stared at Jesse. “What the hell?!”

“It never came up in conversation! Jack never mentioned ya either!” Jesse yelped.

“Jack had an organization to run, shit fer brains,” Vanessa crossed her arms over her chest. “And yes, Hanzo; plural. Older brother out in L.A running a tech company. State of the art shit; real expensive and real purty. Likes his privacy.”

Hanzo climbed slowly to her feet, holding her head as she glared at Jesse. “I can’t believe you never told me you had siblings,” she growled. “Come on, Vanessa. We’re about to have breakfast.”

“You sit tight, hun; I knocked ya around good. I’ll do the cookin’,” Vanessa smiled as she looped an arm around Hanzo’s shoulders. “Don’t know what you see in my kid brother.”

“He grew on me,” Hanzo smirked as they walked past Jesse.

“You would get along with her,” Jesse whined. “Thank Christ you ain’t a lesbian.”

“I wouldn’t try to steal your girl anyways, Jesse,” Vanessa shook her head. “I ain’t an asshole. Well, that big-a one anyways.”

Hanzo laughed as she took a seat by the firepit. Vanessa had a fire going in no time, whistling as she set a cast iron frying pan over the flames and started cooking up ham, potatoes, and eggs. Jesse returned to camp with some fresh wildberries, grinning as he dumped his shirt-load into a bucket for them all to share.

“So, Van, what brings you this far from Texas?” Jesse asked.

“Makin’ sure my idiot brother was still free,” Vanessa replied as she popped a dark blue berry into her mouth. “Heard a lot of talk about you bein’ hunted down in the area around Santa Fe and got worried.”

“Aw,” Jesse smiled. “You were worried about lil ol’ me?”

“Yes,” Vanessa glared at him. “You have the self-preservation of a grouse. And when you wound up at the same motel as me with some strange woman in tow, I thought you’d been caught.”

“Ah, yah; never did get around to finding that new number-a yers,” Jesse smiled.

“You were off the grid?” Hanzo asked.

“Mission went sour about a year before Overwatch went belly-up,” Vanessa shook her head. “Gabe thought it was best to lay low. Took up bounty huntin’ in Texas to make a cover and turns out I’m damn good at it.”

“And you and Jack?” Hanzo asked.

“Saw him like a big brother,” Vanessa smiled. “Don’t worry about him not talkin’ to ya about me; he’s good at keepin’ his mouth shut. Wouldn’t have mentioned anythin’ since he knew I was safe.”

“You worked with Blackwatch?” Hanzo asked.

“On occasion,” Vanessa said. “I was stationed mostly in Grand Mesa as the leading criminal psychologist.”

Hanzo gawked at the woman. “Seriously?”

“Yup,” Vanessa shot her a grin. “Got a fancy little ‘Ph.D’ on the end of my name.”

“That’s amazing!” Hanzo grinned. “What’s it like working with Overwatch with qualifications like that?”

“Amazin’,” Vanessa sighed. “Best work-a my life. Helped get so many people’s lives turned around, mine included.”

“Overwatch is good at that,” Hanzo agreed. “Will you head back to Texas now that you know Jesse’s okay?”

“Probably go see how Tom’s doin’,” she said as she dumped food onto plates and handed them out. “Haven’t heard from him in a little while. Want to make sure he’s takin’ his meds.”

“Oh, he finally got somethin’ fer his depression?” Jesse asked.

Vanessa nodded and popped a potato into her mouth. “He’s flighty with it though; on and off it depending on how he’s doin’. Boy needs a keeper.”

“You could stay with him,” Hanzo said as she chewed on the ham.

“I could,” she agreed. “But you don’t know Tom. Real independent and would just be insulted that I didn’t think he could look after himself.”

“Which he can’t,” Hanzo smirked.

“You got a big brother?” Vanessa smirked at him.

“Jack,” Hanzo tipped her head to the side.

“That bastard adopted another sister and didn’t tell me!” Vanessa growled. “Fuckin’ asshole. I can’t even box his ear for that.” She let out a long sigh before she shook her head. “Anyways, older brothers are damn stubborn, at least if their last name’s ‘McCree’. Couldn’t get him to take a shower if he didn’t want to.”

“Seeing a familiar face should help,” Jesse shrugged. “We’ll swing over to L.A when we can and drop by his house. Still livin’ in the same area?”

“He is,” Vanessa nodded. “Now, enough talk of that shit. Tell me about my adorable little sister and how you managed to convince her to date yer sorry ass.”

“Love you too, you bitch,” Jesse pouted.

Vanessa winked and pointed a finger-gun at him. “You know it.”

Hanzo frowned as her cellphone went off. She answered it as soon as she saw that it was Genji’s number.

“Hey,” she said. “What’s wrong?”

“We need to talk,” Genji said. “How’s your battery?”

“Fully charged,” Hanzo said. “Genji?”

“Hanzo…Zenyatta thinks Jack and Gabriel might still be alive,” he said.

Hanzo sat up straight and stared ahead. Vanessa and Jesse looked at her, both of them tilting their heads in the same direction. They looked like a pair of brown-furred foxes waiting for a mouse to move under the snow. Hanzo would have smiled if her head wasn’t spinning.

“That’s impossible,” she said. “Genji, I…I’m going to put you on speaker-phone. Jesse needs to hear this. Don’t freak out at the other woman’s voice; she’s a friend.”

She flipped the setting over and lifted her phone up with the mouth piece turned towards the other two. “Repeat what you said.”

“Zenyatta thinks that Gabriel and Jack may still be alive,” Genji said.

“What?” Jesse demanded.

“Sonnovabitch,” Vanessa growled.

“Mondatta thinks there is some weight to his idea,” Genji added. “I…I don’t know what to think.”

Hanzo closed her eyes and gently rubbed at her forehead. Jack and Gabriel, still alive? It was almost too good to be true. It was damn near impossible, but what if they were? She’d never seen Jack’s body; the casket had been sealed shut to keep him from being desecrated. If they were still alive, why hadn’t they contacted them? Why hadn’t they said anything?

“Gabriel was decapitated; there’s no way she survived,” Hanzo said after a moment.

“You sure?” Vanessa frowned.

“I was the one that found them in the rubble,” Hanzo shuddered and covered her mouth.

“Oh. Sorry.”

“And Jack?” Genji asked.

“Never did get to see the body after it was rushed to medical,” Jesse said slowly. “Could be possible he’s still alive.”

“If he is, he would be one pissed soldier,” Vanessa shook her head. “Jack loved Gabriel with all-a his heart. If Gabe’s gone, he would-a torn wherever he was apart. Might not be the Jack we knew walkin’ around.”

“Who is that?” Genji asked.

“Jesse’s sister.”

“JESSE HAS A SISTER?!” Genji shrieked. “The fucking hell, dude?!”

“And he’s got an older brother, too,” Hanzo smirked.

“JESSE McCREE! I AM KICKING YOUR ASS WHEN I FIND YOU!” Genji shouted. “You had siblings and you didn’t tell me?!”

“I’ve already given him the what-for,” Vanessa laughed. “Nice to meet you. Genji, was it? Old Japanese name, right?”

“Very old,” Genji agreed. “Same with Hanzo. I really don’t know what our father was thinking naming us like this.”

“You’re implying that he was thinking at all,” Hanzo snorted.

“Ooh, issues with the old man?” Vanessa grimaced.

“I killed him, if that helps sort it out,” Hanzo smirked.

“Ooh,” Vanessa pursed her lips. “Well, ain’t that just a shit deal? Sorry yer pa was that much of an asshole.”

“Ours wasn’t much better,” Jesse murmured.

Vanessa opened her mouth and Hanzo watched the snarl play across her face. She snapped her jaw shut just as fast, grinding her teeth together in frustration. Hanzo glanced at Jesse, but he shook his head. Some things were better left unsaid, it would seem.

“Still, if Jack’s alive, there’s some hope in the world,” Vanessa said. “That man won’t let injustice go unpunished.”

“And if Gabriel isn’t there to keep him stable, would he even think to contact us?” Genji asked.

“Probably not,” Jesse lit up a cigarillo and took a deep drag. “He’ll be lookin’ fer answers. Want to know why Gabe died and who orchestrated it. Would love to help him.”

“As would I,” Hanzo sighed and rubbed at her eyes. “Genji, get a hold of Reinhardt and Lena. Let them know what’s going on. Call Torbjörn and Angela if you get the chance too.”

“Right,” Genji sighed. “You be careful, okay?”

“I will,” she promised. “Take care.”

She hung up and dropped her head into her hands. “I need to sleep,” she said as she got to her feet.

“I’ll be right there,” Jesse promised.

She smiled and ducked into the tent. She curled up under the blanket on their cot and tucked her nose under her arm. Jesse crawled in beside her a little while later, murmuring that Vanessa was continuing on to L.A.

“Love you,” Hanzo murmured softly.

“Love you too,” Jesse replied. “Just sleep, okay? We’ll worry about everything in the morning.”

Hanzo smiled and closed her eyes. She tucked her face into his chest and tried to relax. If Jack was alive, she would find him and kick his ass.

[cabeswater-kid]

Muscle Memory || Jake & Beau

“I know you don’t like him, but he loves me and I love him and my kid loves him so it’s pretty damn permanent, Mama D.” He kept the phone pressed to his ear as he rolled out dough; one ear listening to the browning happening in the pan next to him, the other listening to a tiny despot warn against the charms of men who think they know everything. It was comforting that even while he was thousands of miles away in America, she was still looking out for him.

“Smells good”

Jake looked over the top of his glasses to see Beau leaning against the side of the kitchen door, looking through his shaggy hair at the carefully controlled chaos of Jake’s domain. It seemed a singular talent of the mysterious man; to appear both perfectly at home, and indescribably separate and loftier than any room he found himself in.

“I gotta go, Mama. Someone’s in my throne room.” He grinned to himself, face-cleaving cicatrix drawing tight, as she yelled that she could hear his spices burning before hanging up and sliding the phone in the back pocket of his shorts. “Want to help?”

Before the somewhat random and Anita-funded trip to America to a music festival he had absolutely no intention of going to (crowds made him profoundly uncomfortable still. Too long spent in the grand spaciousness of the Department) his run-ins with Death’s majordomo had been fairly few and far between. He’d mostly heard the man mentioned obliquely; Victor making sure he got Beau’s coffee order right when he swung into Jake’s shop before his shift at Perry’s, one of his urchin employees talking about how Beau had held their hand on the walk from Perry’s to Jake’s. It wasn’t until this trip that they’d actually spent any time around each other; and deep-flowing connection to death or not, Jake had the inkling tickling the back of his brain that he and Beau were more alike than they were different.

“I thought I was the only one still here until I smelled garlic and heard you laughing.” Beau sidled into the large rustic kitchen, dark eyes catching on the worn wood of the counter, and the brushed nickel of the fixtures before leaning on the counter next to Jake, “Not going to the concerts? I’m sure Anita is disappointed in you. I thought I saw your husband get into the chopper earlier.”

It felt nice to laugh without inhibition, and Jake did as he swung around Beau’s solid presence to snag a cast iron skillet from the hooks hanging above the kitchen, standing on tiptoes to reach the cookware that looked like it hadn’t seen use in its life. “There’s a small Indian woman back in London who just got angry and she doesn’t know why. Hawke’s not my husband. He’s my partner at best but we’re still on a little bit uneven footing right now.”

Beau didn’t ask for clarification and Jake didn’t offer it, but instead he watched the man remove his watch and set it carefully on the far side of the counter, moving around Jake to wash his hands in the sink, “Fair enough. What can I help with?”

Pausing his ceaseless, bouncing orbit around the mother star that was the kitchen, Jake idly twirled a knife between his fingers, watching the glittering death-in-potentiality spin in the effusive light of bulbs that undoubtedly cost more than the shop made in a day. “Dice potatoes?” The command came out more colored by questioning than imperative, Jake wasn’t used to having stable adults in his kitchen, he always worked better with the young men and women that were sent to him for rehabilitation after Bas and Quinn had burned the paragon from their veins. He went back to kneading the dough in front of him, occasionally jostling the pan filled with pungent spices, garlic, and onions before turning to look at Beau next to him. “We’re making empanadas for them to take tomorrow. They’ve got salmon today, but I looked at the schedule for tomorrow. They’re all going to be bouncing between stages too much to have a real time to sit down and eat. So they’re getting finger food that tastes just as good at room temperature as it does warm.”

They worked in silence for a few minutes, the soft aqueous crunch of potatoes being sliced punctuating the susurration of simmering spices in a metronomy that never failed to set the speed of Jake’s heartbeat. His pulse was tied to that of his kitchen, and it was only there that for the first time since exiting the Department, Paragon turned to ash in his veins, he truly felt at peace.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Beau finish with the small mound of potatoes Jake had set him to and he gestured towards the spice-filled pan, flicking a dollop of butter in with his knife, “They can go in there. Just give them a good shake every minute or so. There’s a side of beef on the other counter, can you pat it dry with some towels for me?”

Watching Beau work carefully, Jake set the dough he’d been kneading in a glass dish and slid it back in the proving drawer, he’d have to remember to thank Anita for renting a house with a restaurant-calibur kitchen, before pouring them both mugs of coffee, “I know why I’m not at the Festival. But what’s your excuse?”

The coffee was a welcome bitterness and as he savored its grounding effect he watched Beau work, fingers carefully drying, plying the paper towel with a delicate care that belied the man’s rough and ready exterior. “She’s too much of a presence there.” Jake didn’t need an introduction to who the pronoun referred to, he already knew. “She’s here too. Every time you spin that blade, step near the flame on the stove, stretch to get a heavy pot down she’s there winking and smirking. But she’s more at the concerts. Every pill, every swig of booze, every drunken fight. She’s got a million iterations and they’re all swelling in that place. She’s here with you too, but she’s a little easier to ignore.”

Jake’s dry chuckle interrupted the peaceful calm of the kitchen as he stepped next to Beau to relieve him of his duties, careful knife darting quicksilver and sharp through the muscle; carving out fat with little waste, reminding him for a moment of when he carried a bigger blade, and carved through meat-not-yet-dead. “I’m not surprised she’s here. I sacrificed enough on her altar when I lived below and behind.” It was never easy to talk about his time in the Department, but for some reason it felt easier with Beau around. They were both children of the impossible, forged in crucibles of the unimaginable, and it left them able to carry on a conversation about the unspeakable, because they were colored with its shadow, “When I burned blue and bright she was the goddess that guided us; sword and spell wielded in her name, baptized in blood and ichor and things we don’t have names for. Now that I’m free and I’m clean…. The shadow’s lifted, a little, but that chill, I’m fairly certain it won’t ever leave.”

The weight of Beau’s appraising gaze was heavy on his shoulder but not heavy enough to make him falter; he’d born heavier burdens than this. The meat was tossed into the pan and the flame burned hotter, searing everything with a char that was armor and insulator; a guarantee of flavor in times yet to come and after a minute he pulled the pan from the stove, turning back to his sous. “You can pull that dough out now. We’re gonna make the empanadas and then we can fry them and we’ll be done.” He rolled the dough out and passed a cutter to Beau, pressing out his own circles and laying them carefully out to the side.

When the dough had all been cut they started filling the pastries, Jake keeping one eye on the amount of filling, one on the heating oil in the large pot, and another one he didn’t actually have but liked to pretend he did on how Beau was sealing the savory parcels of meat and spice. “Here’s how I see it.” The silence between them had stretched on for so long that the sound of his own voice startled him. He sealed several more empanadas, feeling the weight of Beau’s infinitely patient gaze on him as the other man waited for him to speak again. “I did my killing. I did a lot of it. Nearly all of it on things that weren’t human…. Or at least weren’t human anymore. But now I’ve got a different job. I sustain. I nurture. I promote growth. I served her for a long time, or if I wasn’t serving her directly, I was serving her best interests.” He gathered up the completed empanadas and dropped them, four at a time, into the boiling oil, watching as the pale dough turned a deep brown.

“I had blood in my hair and death in my veins for too long.” A broad sweeping gesture encompassed the kitchen that was his throne room and monk’s cell, “My penance is delicious and sustaining… and that’s all I need now. She might not like it, but that’s just the way the cookie crumbles.” Topping off both their mugs of coffee he leaned back against the counter and sighed contentedly. Words had never been his strong suit but he knew deep in his heart that Beau understood him perfectly. He’d have to seek the clairvoyant out more often; the conversation had been minimal over the last hour but it had been cleansing. That was something he could definitely get used to.

[sportinnovation]

A day in the life of Eddie Izzard

They recognise you everywhere and expect you always to be funny. From interview to interview, they whirl you. People tug on your patience, but you never get angry. For a day, we walked in the footprints of Eddie Izzard: comedian, actor, marathon runner, and charity patron.

Aliens, giraffes, and slapping people in the face with fish – it’s half six in the morning and Eddie Izzard is serious.

As he pecks away at a breakfast of sausage and scrambled egg, Eddie digests as much information as possible. In an hour, he will appear on BBC Breakfast to speak about sports volunteering and Join In’s BigHelpOut campaign and he needs the message settled in his head.

Pale blue eyes stare into nothing as he listens to the plan. Seven out of ten sports clubs need more help. We aim to get 10,000 new volunteers by Christmas. Somehow, he must thread these stats seamlessly into his couch-side chatter.

This is not the Eddie Izzard you expect. On screen, he seems frantic and scatty. In person, he is understated, pensive, and particular. Everything is on point. Not a hair on his blond head rests out of place. The eye makeup, suit jacket, tight jeans, high-heeled boots, and handbag all marry tidily.

Fingernails clack on the table. Each is painted burgundy, except for two: a fingernail of Union Jack and another glossed in the flag of Europe. After several minutes, he has digested enough. Eddie is ready. And when he speaks, everything changes.

He goes from studied to theatrical in an instant. Richness comes to his voice. Hands flutter by his face. Like a gymnast on the parallel bars, his rhythm builds. With every passing second, he becomes more fluent. Funnier and funnier – until his speech is alive with 10,000 volunteers, giraffes, the Big Help Out, aliens, and fish-slapped faces. So that is what all the fuss is about.

Portrait of a patron

Indeed, fuss follows Eddie wherever he goes. Even when he’s inside BBC Manchester at half seven in the morning, the buzzing is never far away. There’s a film crew, snappers, campaign managers, pens wittering, and gawking – lots of gawking.

You can measure the madness of his morning by counting his spare moments. In a two-hour period, he spends a minute staring at Boris Johnson on the TV and a few moments skimming the paper. The rest is spent in the eye of a storm, starting with breakfast-time TV.

When the first questions come, he is well prepared – the minutes spent ironing the creases serving him well. This time there is no need to limber. From subject to subject Eddie flits in a blurring 10-minute journey.

He talks greed…

‘I was a kid. You were a kid. You’re greedy. But as you get older, you get this wonderful feeling when you give.’

 …the devilry that is refined sugar…

‘I lost more weight by dumping refined sugar than by running 43 marathons. No animal eats refined sugar and they’re fit, fit, fit, fit for life. We think that fitness is a running around kid thing and then you let it go.’

…before, inevitably, moving onto aliens…

‘Volunteers can be all ages, all colours and creeds, even from different planets. Anyone. Giraffes.’

In these few, short minutes we see why Eddie Izzard has endured where other have faded. The absurdism, the scattershot delivery, and playful charm make him unique. 

But that isn’t all of it. Watch Eddie for a while and you realise that he is a technician. The hand movements, the way he hangs on some words and rambles through others, the bits and bobs from of his day that re-appear later on stage – none of this is accidental.

It goes well. The country loved it, yet this self-awareness follows him outside the interview. For a moment, he seems troubled. Did he speak too fast? Because he needed to, he said, for his intonation.

But he doesn’t dwell on it, nor does he seem bothered by the scrum that greets him when he leaves the studio. Social media folks take pictures of him and a camera’s unblinking eye captures it all for a behind-the-scenes film. Eddie quite literally takes it all in his stride, answering questions about the time his toenails fell off as he is whisked away for his next appointment.

When Eddie’s face turned cola brown

In a room full of BBC employees, Eddie is bellows master, whooshing the laughs out of his audience.

You get the sense that he could be in his living room. One minute he talks about his favourite footballer – former Crystal Palace, Arsenal, and England left back Kenny Sansom – the next he recalls the time his face turned Coca-Cola brown after taking cholesterol pills.

You notice also that he polishes and repurposes a couple of jokes that worked well earlier. Other snippets from his day are pasted into this lunch-time Q&A. Like corks pushed into a wine bottle, phrases and subjects stick in his head and do not leave. Once, twice, we hear talk of disposable time, the volunteering bug, and his emancipation from the wicked world of refined sugar.

Then he is freewheeling again. First, he lilts into a Belfast accent before pondering aloud this year’s marathon undertaking: 27 South African marathons in 27 days, one for each year Nelson Mandela spent in prison.

Combine the standup comedy tours, acting career (he recently ate his own leg in an episode of Hannibal), political work, marathon training, and charitable endeavours, and you wonder how much time he has for anything else.

Yet there is no mention of a holiday. When his manager heard about the 27 marathons in 27 days, she pled with him, “Why don’t you take a month off,” she said, “and not die?”

The toll of time and tiredness

You can be forgiven for forgetting that Eddie Izzard is 53 years old; but as day meanders into evening, the schedule weighs heavily on him.

Two more engagements follow the staff Q&A: an interview for a news feature and 90 minutes spent cooped inside a tiny sound-proofed studio (or giant coal bunker) spreading the volunteering gospel to 11 regional radio stations.

Despite the demands placed on Eddie’s time, he never once complains, though he does come close. The moment arrives on a picnic bench in Trafford Athletics Club, as he devours a salad and listens to the itinerary.

During the course of the evening, he will act in a dozen short pieces to camera in various volunteering guises. The crew will film him shooting a starting gun, making tea for club members, raking a long jump pit, and dipping for a photo finish with former 5,000m world record holder Dave Moorcroft. These he expects.

And then he is told about a 45-minute newspaper interview. This he does not expect. His head twitches and his eyes flash like blown embers. An interview? For how long? You can hear the strain in his voice and a flash of the eyes. For a moment all is silent, and then he nods... and goes back to his salad.

As he eats, Trafford Athletics Club comes alive for the evening’s Grand Prix. An hour earlier rain peppered the track, but now there is a brightness to everything. Runners jog and chat and stretch along a track hidden by towering trees. The waft of frying burgers and chips lures the less active to the yellow-white clubhouse.  

People pour through the gates, gabbling as Eddie rises to stretch. A light blue running jacket and shorts have replaced his suit. Vigorously, he shakes out his limbs as if tricking his body out of tiredness.

He is not built like a runner – too much sturdiness around the shoulders and arms, not enough of that willowy long-leggedness; and yet Eddie owns an athletic feat that few on the planet can match: the running of 43 marathons in 51 days.  

Ten minutes later, he sits on a hurdle in the middle of the track with a mic hovering by his head. A camera lens points two feet from his face and a crew fusses. But he doesn’t see them. Once again, the cheeks lift and his eyes brighten as the camera rolls. “We’re here today,” he says, “thanks to plenty of blood, sweat, and volunteers.”

Dapper as an Italian policeman

There are scripts for each film, yet he sticks only loosely to them, allowing space for his fluid streams of consciousness. The pace, however, is relentless. After 12 hours of non-stop talking, Eddie’s brain is slowly starting to scramble. Tiredness slithers among his sentences. When he speaks, words slur and clash against one another.

Hands flitter by his temples in a frantic moment, as if he is taking several imaginary throw-ins. ‘There are so many things in my head,’ he says. Around him, the ground swells with athletes and well-wishers. For Eddie and the film crew, it will only get busier – and noisier.

For a flawless half minute, he delivers a piece to camera as 20 club members wait on him. To be a film extra is a novelty in the beginning, but the shine quickly wears off. A bird’s squawk interrupts him. For how much longer, you wonder, will these club members sit easily? Eddie resumes. An aeroplane whistles overhead. Unruffled, he says something to make them laugh and starts again.

Sometimes you forget that he is in his habitat. The speed of thought – the ability to work a crowd – he has been doing it for so long that it flows. Like when he is mid-monologue and a baby gurgles. He pauses and speaks to the infant. ‘Indeed,’ he says, and keeps going as if it is all part of the script.

And yet, as with most of us, Eddie is not easily read. He seems to love entertaining strangers and conversing with an easy charm, but he can also be detached. A vacant, pensive air comes over him as he stares for a minute at an athlete’s footwear or wonders aloud about why he never had a BBC sitcom, talking as if to no one but himself. Finally, the evening reclines into shadow. Eddie’s day – this marathon day – is almost done and everything is winding down.

The camera crew fiddles; the campaign folks discuss the script; and the club members watch the most magnetic event of all: the 100 metres.

Eddie stands with his little blue jacket perched on his shoulders, ready to take it off when it is time to film. But then a change comes over him. Suddenly, the jacket is alive on his shoulders. He turns to the lady beside him pretending to be an Italian policeman in love with his own uniform.

He smiles. “There could be a bank robber going by and he would still be admiring his uniform.” She laughs and Eddie Izzard seems happy. At the end of the day, he’s still doing what he does best.

Making people laugh.

 Eddie’s day in numbers 

18 – hour working day

2 – salads

10 - films

11 - regional radio interviews

1 – TV interview

10,000 – the number of volunteers he is trying to get into local sport

£0 – how much he gets paid for all of this