#the kids menu is for Val

[notherpuppet]

Let’s Dance

Part 1/12

Part 2

Takes place in the radioapple human nanny AU 📻 🍎

[helix-enterprises117]

Halo Reloaded: Origin

In the spick-and-span, oh-so-serious halls of the Spartan kiddie boot camp (also known as the Spartan training facility for those lacking a sense of humor), the sound of youthful jeers and muffled giggles was as common as the scent of industrial cleaner.

Amidst this cacophony of pre-teen bravado, one particular mini-Spartan, John-117, was conspicuously silent. Six years old and lacking the extra two years of life experience that apparently made a world of difference in the high-stakes world of child soldiering, John was the unofficial Omega, the bottom of the Spartan puppy pile.

While the other kids were busy flexing their tiny muscles and practicing their best war faces, John's days were a marathon of 'try-harder' exercises and 'don't-cry-in-front-of-the-others' mental gymnastics. The other kiddie commandos, high on their own burgeoning testosterone and combat boots, would often poke fun at his expense.

"Hey, diaper sniper, lost your pacifier?" a particularly obnoxious recruit would quip as John passed by, puffing out his chest like a pigeon in a pecking order contest. "Bet he still counts sheep to sleep," another would add, earning a round of giggles as imaginative as their future military strategies.

John, however, was a fortress of stoic determination (or maybe just really good at zoning out). He bottled up his feelings tighter than the secret recipe for the facility's mystery meatloaf. But when the lights dimmed and the barracks took on the tranquil ambiance of a mausoleum, John would seek refuge in his personal fortress of solitude – beneath his bed. Here, surrounded by dust bunnies and the occasional lost sock, he found the tranquility of a monk in meditation... if monks wore combat boots and dog tags.

On one such night, while John was contemplating the meaning of life, or maybe just what was for breakfast tomorrow, Dr. Halsey found him in his cozy hideout. Her visits were like comet sightings – rare, awe-inspiring, and a bit unsettling. "John," she whispered, like a librarian in a library of secrets. "This isn't a game of hide and seek."

Peeking out from under the bed with the suspicion of a cat in a new home, John's eyes met hers. "I'm... strategizing," he retorted, his voice uncertain. Halsey, holding back a smile, played along. "Oh? And what grand strategy does the under-bed realm hold?"

"To be the best," he said, louder, puffing up a bit as his nervousness slowly fades. "That's the spirit," she encouraged, her eyes twinkling with a mix of mischief and maternal pride...

———

Days later...

"Ring The Bell," a Spartan favorite that was part obstacle course, part sadistic PE teacher's dream. The rules were simple yet brutal: race through a gauntlet of hurdles, leaps, and climbs to ring a bell perched high above. The catch? There was always a catch. The last one to ring the bell faced consequences, usually of the stomach-rumbling variety.

On this fateful day, John, already battling the twin demons of youth and inexperience, found himself trailing behind. His limbs felt like they were made of lead, and the bell seemed to be mocking him from its lofty perch. As he finally reached it, his hand slapping the cold metal a moment too late, a sinking feeling settled in his stomach. Not just from the impending hunger, but from the crushing weight of failure.

As he climbed down, the murmurs of his fellow recruits filled the air, but one voice cut through the rest like a knife. It belonged to Val-015, the self-proclaimed golden boy of the group. Val, with his swagger and over-inflated ego, approached John, a smug grin plastered on his face. "Guess dinner's off the menu for you, Johnny boy," Val taunted, his voice dripping with condescension. "Maybe if you spent more time training and less time daydreaming, you wouldn't be such a slowpoke."

The other recruits snickered, but John's face remained an emotionless mask. He was used to jabs and jeers, but something about Val's words, the pointed cruelty of them, struck a nerve. "You know, Halsey thinks you're special, but I just see a little kid trying to play soldier," Val continued, poking John in the chest. "Why don't you run along and find a nice corner to cry in?"

That was the straw that broke the camel's back. John's stoic facade shattered like glass under a sledgehammer. Tears, unbidden and hot, sprang to his eyes. He turned on his heel and bolted, his sobs echoing in the training hall. The other recruits fell silent, watching as John disappeared from view. Even Val's smirk faltered, replaced by a flicker of uncertainty.

He hadn't expected his words to cut so deep, to elicit such a raw, human response from the stoic John-117. As John ran, his vision blurred by tears, he felt a maelstrom of emotions churning inside him – humiliation, anger, sadness. He was a Spartan, trained to be unbreakable, yet here he was, undone by words and his own vulnerability...

———

Later, on that same night...

John sat alone in the open barracks. The distant clatter and chatter from the cafeteria wafted through the hallways, a cruel reminder of what he was missing. The tantalizing aroma of roasted turkey, a rare treat in the Spartan menu, mingled with the sweet, tempting scent of chocolate-fudge ice cream. It was a feast fit for kings, or in this case, mini super-soldiers in training. But for John, there was only the empty silence of his room and the gnawing emptiness in his stomach.

He sat on the edge of his Spartan-issued cot, his head in his hands. The room felt smaller somehow, more confining. The walls seemed to close in on him, echoing his sense of isolation. John was used to solitude, but this was different. This was loneliness, a feeling he couldn't simply shake off with push-ups or training drills.His mind wandered to a place he hadn't allowed it to go in what felt like ages – home. The real home, not this sterile, unforgiving facility. He remembered the warmth of a bed not meant for training a soldier, the softness of a genuine goodnight kiss, the comforting murmur of a bedtime story. He longed for a time when the biggest worry he had was what toy to play with, not whether he'd be strong enough, fast enough, tough enough to survive the next day.

But that home, that life, was a world away now. A distant memory, fading a little more with each passing day in this harsh reality. "This is home now," he reminded himself, but the words felt hollow, a poor substitute for the home he truly yearned for.He didn't like it here. The constant drills, the relentless pressure, the unspoken expectation to be more machine than boy. It was a life chosen for him, not by him. A life that demanded everything and offered little in return, except the promise of becoming something... something more than just John.

As he sat there, wrestling with thoughts too heavy for a child his age, a small part of him acknowledged that this Spartan program was shaping him, molding him into something formidable. But at what cost? At the cost of his childhood? His innocence?

In that large, quiet room, with the sounds of his peers' laughter and chatter as a distant backdrop, John-117 felt a profound sense of loss. A loss of normalcy, of the simple joys of childhood, of a life he would never get to live. This was his reality now, and while he might grow to accept it, even excel in it, a part of him would always long for a home that was more than just a place to sleep between training sessions. A home where he was just John, not a number, not a future soldier, but a boy with dreams and fears like any other.

———

The following morning...

The dawn of that fateful morning at the Spartan training facility brought with it a heaviness that hung in the air, palpable and suffocating. John-117, the boy beneath the soon-to-be legend, navigated the morning with a heart burdened by the previous night's solitude. The Spartan breakfast, bland crackers and lukewarm milk, sat untouched before him, a stark reminder of his isolation.

With a spirit as grey as the hallways of the facility, John trudged towards the obstacle course, a place where physical pain often drowned out emotional turmoil. But today, destiny had etched a different path.As he approached the communal area, a strange sight caught his eye. A cluster of recruits, usually dispersed like disciplined ants, were huddled around the television. The air crackled with a tension that made John's skin crawl. Pushing through the crowd, a sense of dread growing with each step, he strained to see the screen.

The news anchor's voice, usually dispassionate, carried a weight that stopped John in his tracks. "Breaking news: Eridanus-II has been glassed by the Covenant." The words fell like hammer blows, shattering the fragile veneer of normalcy. Eridanus-II, John's home, the place of his childhood dreams and memories, now nothing but a charred memory in the cold expanse of space.

A collective gasp rippled through the recruits, then silence. Slowly, like the tide receding from the shore, they turned to face John. Their eyes, wide and unblinking, bore into him. They whispered among themselves, words lost in the buzz that filled John's head.

"He's from there, isn't he?"

"Can't imagine what he must be feeling..."

In that moment, John felt a loneliness deeper than the void of space. The room seemed to stretch into infinity, the faces around him morphing into distant stars, cold and unreachable. His heart, a stoic soldier's heart, faltered, betraying him with a surge of raw, unfiltered anguish.

Tears blurred his vision, a floodgate opened against his will. He stumbled backward, his Spartan training forgotten, his body no longer a weapon but a shell, hollow and cracked. He sank to the floor, the cold tile against his skin a stark contrast to the heat of his tears.

"I want to go home," he whispered, the words a ghost of a thought, a wish upon a star long extinguished. "Please, I just want to go home."

But there was no home. Not anymore. Eridanus-II, with its blue skies and laughter, its nights filled with stories and dreams, was gone. Consumed by a war that had no room for the innocence of a child's heart.The other recruits, hardened by training but still children themselves, watched John with a dawning realization. The war was no longer an abstract concept, taught in strategy classes and simulated in drills. It was real, and it had just claimed one of their own.

@empresskadia, @makowrites.

[slashingdisneypasta]

Are there any new villians or characters that you are obsessed with?

Hmm, new villains... /: I've mostly been re watching stuff lately, but I do have a list of villains I don't really talk about but really want to!

Here it is! ^^ Bolded ones are the ones I'm REALLY REALLY into XD

Stuntman Mike, Death Proof

Look at him !! I could get lost in writing about a nasty creep like him. I want him to kiss me but I also wanna smack him; I dunno XD

Agent Eddie Zane, Man of the House

He's Bo-age Brian Van Volt (Literally the same year) and his character is a sneaky scoundrel who pretends to be the protagonists friend so he can get close to his daughter (And he calls her doll)- need I say more?? No, I don't think I do. Damnn.

Steve Abnesti, Spiderhead

Not gonna lie, I wanna write some really dark stuff for Steve.

Eleanor, Do Revenge

David Harris/Unknown, The Stepfather 2009

I love this movie so so much!! It always makes me want peanut butter toast, which is a little weird if you've seen the movie. David, though, oooffffff. He's so AWFUL. And he's got this shit under control, and his energy is so soulless, but ohhh boy, when he finally loses it?? I'm so obsessed. This is honestly one of my favourite movies and his character is played perfectly.

Suzie Marie Toller, wild things

MEAN GENIUS. MEAN GENIUS. MEAN GENIUS-

Rusty Nail, Joyride

LakePlacid3!Reba, Lake Placid

Gary Sitterson, Cabin in the Woods

I don't know, there's just something cute about him XD He's not full villain, but I'm very very intrigued.

Helene, Tony, and Becky Le Domas, Ready or Not

Chef Slowick, The Menu

He's so sad, I just wanna give him a cuddle and encourage him to cook at a soup kitchen. He's the kinda character where you just wanna be his favourite person- the only person not expendable to him (Including himself!!).

Chase McKinney, Now You See Me 2

Detective Wayne Bailey/Kirsch, Scream 6

Warwick, Graveyard Shift

Another one I could write some really dark stuff for... :D :D :D Sorry, haha XDD

Alexis Butler and Val, We Summon the Darkness

They're so crazy. I wanna be friends (Or more) with them so badly XD I just love any crazy women in horror movies- we need more crazy women in horror movies. I just love watching them to be gross and terrible, theirs something cathartic about it.

Pearl, X + Pearl

Pelle, Midsommar

Norman Bates, Psycho

Brenda Bates, Urban Legend

Another crazy lady. Rebecca Gayheart just did so amazing as Brenda, and she's so much fun, and just... yeah. I love funny Slashers.

Mulgarath, Spiderwick

Have you heard his voice? Its Nick Nolte.

... Count Olaf... Series of Unfortunate Events

Look, leave me be. He's just so GROSS. I love gross, irredeemable villains that you know the writers really just went 'I am going to make this character so unlikeable'. Truly top tier.

Capricorn, Cockerell and Flatnose, Inkheart

I always thought Cockerell especially was pretty XD Kinda Otis B Driftwood-Style.

Dag, Barnyard

I MEAN?? Ugh. I'm sorry. I know he's a coyote. But he's such a bastard and I love it. He's been a favourite of mine since I was a kid!

Lady Van Tassel and the Hessian, Sleepy Hollow

I know one person especially will be happy to see the Hessian on here- XD

Velma Von Tussle, Hairspray

She's so mean... Agh. Haha XD I wanna write that Wilbur scene in the joke shop with reader in his place XD

The Colonal, Spirit Stallion of the Cimarron

Verosika Mayday, Crimson and Paimon, Helluva Boss

Nathanial Demerest, Wishmaster

The Trapper, Dead By Daylight

T.G. McCabe, S.W.A.T 2003

Little greedy coward that he is... I so wanna write for him XD

Please, anyone, if you're interested in any of these guys please tell me about it!

[saketoge]

hello YOU 💗 for the spotty game 7 10 and 24

VAL!!!!! OMG HI HOW ARE U 💗💗

7. god’s menu - stray kids

10. as it was - harry styles

24. lights up - harry styles

send me a number and i’ll tell you what song it is on my spotify wrapped!

[angie-long-legs-moved]

@cannibalxroses

Angel gave a dismayed sigh as the limo pulled up outside the venue. He wasn't particularly thrilled to be attending the Cannibal Overlord's classy affair with his boss. Being Valentino's date translated to being arm candy for him to show off to the other guests, an entertaining trinket that he would undoubtedly get bored of once he found some potential new recruits to schmooze with.

He raised an eyebrow as the Overlord appeared to be psyching Angel up for their grand entrance. Or perhaps this little moral booster was purely for his own benefit. That seemed far more likely.

"I know, Val. I ain't the one freakin' out thinkin' I'm on tonight's menu. It's a masquerade ball, not an all-you-can-eat Sinner buffet." Besides, Angel was pretty certain the majority of guests were not cannibals, meaning Rosie, generous host as she was known to be, likely served some food that wasn't demon flesh. Still, Val was Val, and he wouldn't be dissuaded from stopping at the drive thru just in case.

As the burgers were shoved into his lap, Angel let out a yelp in protest. "Ya gotta be kiddin'! These things are messy as shit, ya want me ta prance around a classy fuckin' party with hamburger grease all over my dress?!" he complained. "You've got pockets, why do I gotta take them?! I didn't even want the goddamn burgers!"

The look on Val's face told Angel he was definitively not kidding. He wasn't sure what he even expected Angel to do - his voluminous skirt didn't exactly come with a secret burger-stashing compartment. Which left him with his tried and true option of stuffing them into the plush depths of his chest fluff. Wonderful: he was going to spend the whole event lugging takeout in his tits and smelling of warm meat. Maybe the cannibals would mistake it for some enchanting perfume.

"Yeah, I got everything," Angel grumbled, a quick glance around the limo telling him what he already knew. It wasn't like he'd brought much with him - he didn't have any money, seeing as Val wanted to play up the pimp role and insisted he handle all of the night's expenses, as well as their drugs, and Angel still didn't have a phone after the destruction of his last one. He was going to be painfully starved for entertainment after Val inevitably ditched him. At least he could rack up a hefty bill on the moth's bar tab and spend the night drowning his sorrows.

Squeezed tight against the moth demon, the pair entered the venue. The party was already in full swing (Val had insisted on then being fashionably late), and the atmosphere was far more sophisticated than the raunchy sex parties and drug-fueled shenanigans Angel was more accustomed to. Despite his elegant attire, he was overcome with the uncomfortable sensation that he didn't belong.

As he was herded towards the host of the evening, looking chic and glamorous in her blood-red gown, the feeling of discomfort grew into embarassment. Which grew into full on shame as Valentino introduced Angel to the Overlord herself, emphasising his celebrity status as an obvious brag. Angel wasn't usually so sheepish regarding his work - quite the opposite - but in this unfamiliar upscale environment, surrounded by such elegant guests in all their finery, he was undeniably a fish out of water.

He slapped on his most winning smile and held out a white gloved hand. "Pleased ta meet ya, Miss Rosie!"

Or was it Lady Rosie? Madam Rosie? Why did he feel like he'd fucked it up already?

"Real nice party, ma'am," he continued, trying not to let his nerves get the best of him. "Ya look like a million dollars! Killer dress ya got there."

@angie-long-legs @cannibalxroses Connected to x. 🌹

{ If we remember to tag each other, the post order can go Angel Dust, Rosie, then me again? }

"Remember, Angie: nosotros podemos hacer esto. We're better than everyone here."

Valentino's limo was parked outside the venue, and within it sat Angel Dust and Valentino himself, side-by-side and looking quite smushed because of the utter size of Angel's flowery dress. Valentino's outfit complimented it, though... at least somewhat. His blazer was also light pink, and rose-themed, for what it was worth. It was where the harsher black and gold aspects of the getup came into play that the moth branched off into his own realm.

Anyway, whatever had possessed him to give the porn star this little Cannibal Town pep-talk was unknown even to him.

"Nobody's going to eat us. We don't have to eat any gross food unless we want to. Just keep repeating that."

Speaking of food, he reached for the drive-thru burgers they had acquired on the trip over, still fresh in their wrappers, and urgently passed them off to Angel.

"Hide them in your dress!"

Smuggling food in may have been sketchy... but could he be blamed? He didn't know if they would be serving anything normal here! He hadn't even read the invite-- Vox had! All he knew was what the dress code was, and that the Cannibal Overlord was hosting it!

He waited for Angel to comply, and then pushed the car door open and stepped out, scanning their surroundings through black-tinted heart glasses. The mask could wait until they actually got closer to everybody-- he didn't need to obscure his vision even more.

"Do you have everything?" he asked, and cast a glance down at Angel Dust.

When the spider was ready, Val wrapped an arm across the other's shoulders and together they entered the venue.

The party was bustling. There was an odd smell in the air. Everyone was dressed to the nines, but in a weird way, like they were in a fantasy flick or some shit.

Valentino put his gold-feathered mask on, and squinted, hard... trying to seek out the masquerade's gracious host.

"I think I see her," he hissed to Angel, and cupped his fingers around his eyes. "Yeaah, that's definitely her. Come on, we gotta go say hi before we get settled in."

The moth stalked through the ballroom toward the woman clad in red, intent on greeting the older Overlord. Didn't want to make enemies, now, did he?

When he reached her, he mustered up a huge, feigned, pink-toothed grin.

"ROSIE! Mamacita! Long time, no see! How have you been, girl?"

Hopefully the mask would obscure the fact that his eye was twitching. Valentino continued his praise.

"Great thing you've got goin' here! You're looking fabulous!" he said, and then waved at his plus one. "This here is Angel Dust. You know, like from TV?"

Did she even watch TV?

[pedropascallovebot]

Let's Kill Tonight

summary: You're a bit out of practice, but being entrusted with the retrieval and return of Helmut Zemo shouldn't be too hard, right? Even if he is your old sorta-boss and you still are nursing unfortunate loyalty towards the team. You can manage. And him being... slightly more attractive than how you last left him won't be a problem.

Right?

warnings and a/n: i have.... no clue what this is if not a complete rewrite of mcu canon purely for self-indulgence. reader has a kinda shady past and in result will talk graphically about violence in later chapters and there's lots of gun action in this one. very fun, very cool! alright. i hope y'all enjoy teehee

—

The weather where you're at doesn’t usually vary much from a sunny sky, but alas, you’re absolutely drenched by the time you step inside the diner. You hadn’t expected the rain. Your usual five minute walk to work turned into a hike through muddy sidewalks and water droplets that kept hitting your eyes, and by the time you tied your apron around your waist the day felt over before it even started. Your boss gives you a closed-lip smile and glances at your empty section of tables, and you just know you’re going to be late on rent again.

For what it’s worth, Lüleburgaz isn’t the worst place to slip under the radar. It’s not underpopulated by any means, but it makes it perfect to blend in with the crowd as best you can. Honestly, you're just trying to make it a day without a proper therapist. Your roommates are great listeners, don't get it twisted- but all they really know about you is you're Sokovian and they don't really need to hear about the stuff that happened before your country was crushed by some guys in tights and iron suits. They don't ask you much, and you're grateful.  After an unfortunate five-year gap in employment (which isn’t your fault- it’s kinda hard to find jobs when you’re reduced to dust unexpectedly) you were lucky to find somewhere that was willing to hire you without a legally issued identification card and that was also willing to pay in cash under the table. You broke out the books and attempted to learn the language as best as you can, and while you're struggling a bit, you can at least understand the menu and what a customer is ordering. It was far from ideal- ideal would be completely erasing any trace of memory regarding you and your… history, so to speak, from anybody who has the potential to be a threat to you. Ideal could also be an island somewhere, maybe Praslin or Nassau, where you could swim in clear waters and drink copious amounts of fancy fruity drinks instead of whatever liquor your roomies had hiding under the counter. But until that happens, being on the sorta-run for some questionable past career choices seems to stick.

Said questionable career choices led you to be introduced to a network of interesting people, some less horrible than others, but all of them carried the same unmistakable signal of danger displayed in flashing lights above their heads. When you hear the bell to the restaurant door jingle, signaling the arrival of someone new, that weird gut feeling activates and your eyes flicker up to see a pair of high heels and sunglasses, even though the sun hasn’t been out all day. Everyone else eating their food don’t even spare a glance to the door. This should comfort you, it should tell you that you're fine and that there's nothing to worry about, but it absolutely doesn’t and suddenly you’re inconspicuously making your way to the back, muttering something to your boss about taking your break early. Ripping off your apron, you throw it to the side and let it land on the ground next to you, and you lean your head against the brick wall behind you. Your fingers are twitching as the pressing issue of impending doom continues to rise in your gut. You barely register the creaking sound of the back gate opening.

“Do you want a cigarette?” Suddenly, you’re in fighting stance as an unfamiliar voice speaks less than a foot away from your ear. You don’t recognize this new face, but she looks expensive and entirely too out of place for a diner that receives in its eggs already prepared and frozen.

“I’ll take that as a no, then,” she continues, and fishes a lighter and pack out of her coat pocket. “Good choice. These things will kill you- and so will this godawful food you serve here. What a relief that after today you won’t step foot in this place ever again, huh?”

Your mouth opens to say something, but you decide against it. Instead, you slightly lower your fists, keeping your eyes trained on her seemingly unbothered expression. She takes a long drag of her cigarette before giving you any more information. The silence is deafening, and you mentally take note of the clear path you have through the open fence and towards the street if you chose to run. Something tells you this lady didn’t arrive here on foot though, and she probably had an expensive vehicle waiting out front waiting to catch up to you if you chose to make a break for it.

“You’re jumpy- probably a little bit out of practice from the whole ex-assassin thing, right? I can work with that. I have to applaud you: as far as hide and seek spots go, this wasn’t horrible. We’ll have to improve your people skills, but-“

“Who are you?”

You grow increasingly frustrated as it starts to sprinkle again, leaving you cold and wet as your company opens an umbrella she had previously stored away in her coat.

“I don’t like being interrupted, so let’s not make it a habit, hm? My name is Valentina Allegra de Fontaine, and you’ve become annoyingly important to my cause. Come on, we’re leaving.”

She begins to walk towards the gate, but you stay put, beginning to toy with the idea of unsheathing the knife stored in your boot.

“I’m not going anywhere with you, lady.”

This makes her turn around and sigh in frustration.

“The way I see it, you have two choices. Go back and finish bussing tables so you can make an extra couple dollars, or come with me so we can talk real business. As far as I’m concerned, you’re the only one between the two of us that poses a threat. I’m not the one with weapons hidden in my clothes, am I?”

Your eyes narrow, but you don’t argue. Instead, you hesitantly join her in her path towards a gaudy car (you knew it) that looks way too out of place to be in this parking lot. For a split second you consider going back and giving your manager somewhat of a notice of your absence, but Valentina’s walking so fast that you don’t really have time to continue considering.

“By the way, I distinctively said my name is Valentina Allegra de Fontaine- I don’t like to repeat myself, don’t make me do it again.”

-

You barely have time to sit down before Valentina is barking directions at her driver and scolding you for getting rain water in her backseat. You remain silent, and a little bit uncomfortable as Val finishes her cigarette completely before bothering to inform you of whatever the hell she’s got going on.

“Tell me what you know about super soldiers,” she finally gives, crossing her legs and glances at you expectantly.

You search her face for any kind of indication that she’s kidding, but she seems serious. It kinda feels like your soul is being stared into and you want to look away but you can’t. What does she not know about super soldiers that she can learn from you and not from literally anywhere else? Admittedly, all you know is what clips of newspapers would give you. Something about rogue experimentation, something-something Winter Soldier, and then, most recently, the Flag-Smashers and the rumors flying around that they've got some serum floating around. All of this seemed to be public knowledge though. Nothing a woman who’s willing to corner people in the backlots of their jobs couldn’t find out from a simple Google search.

“I asked you a question, didn’t I?”

“I can’t say I know much.”

For what feels like the millionth time in the span of twenty minutes, she sighs, bringing out her cell phone and starts punching some buttons.

“And what about this man? Does he ring a bell?”

You do your absolute best to not look as tense as you feel when out of the corner of your eye you see a familiar face in a tiny, grainy picture. She shoves the device in your hands, and right there center of the screen is-

“Zemo, right? That was a trick question. Hard to forget the face of your old boss, I’d assume.”

Suddenly, you’re upright in your seat, the earlier feeling of danger settling right back into place. Valentina, of course, just lets out a laugh, while you’re planning on swan-diving out the damn window.

“The Colonel isn’t my boss,” you protest, and a burning sensation makes its way to your throat.

“Isn’t he though?” Valentina is now fully turned towards you, her hand reaching to grab the phone back. More buttons are pressed, and she’s reading your name from an official looking online database. “It says here you’re wanted in a lot of countries, huh? I wonder why that is- oh, look at this, would you? Seems like your name and EKO Scorpion are mentioned in the same sentence at least three times just on this page.”

Your eyes narrow, and you waste no more time in grabbing your gun from your coat pocket, and Valentina seems to have the same idea, the phone  in her hands is now replaced with a much newer and nicer pistol than you’re carrying. It’s silent in the car for a few seconds, and the driver in the front dares not move a muscle. Val is the first to break, and she lowers her weapon with a shit-eating grin you’re growing tired of seeing.

“Let’s start over. You’re associated with an elite death squad assigned to defend the interests of a country that’s no more than a pile of rubble and dead memorial flowers on the ground. You never had an official invitation, but they paid you good enough money for you to get your hands dirty for them. Too bad that without a leader, your little syndicate fell apart, didn’t it? Unfortunate, what happened to him really. And how inconvenient it must have been for you- I’m sure the law doesn’t usually side with individuals associated with terrorists. Luckily for you, you had a five-year break from being on the run.”

The urge to fall back into old form and pull the trigger at the slightest sign of trouble starts to rear its ugly head, but you take a deep breath and try to align your focus to your current situation. This doesn’t have to be deadly. She knows your history, she knows your name. She could just be blackmailing you. Easy fix, offer her better information on individuals that are far, far away from you. You’re sure you can think of something juicy enough to entertain her and fray her interest in you. This doesn’t have to end in a gunshot. She has access to all of the shit you’ve done. You don’t know what she knows. She could be from the American government. Kill her, and lessen the risk of being thrown in a prison cell to rot.You’re desperate, and you’re scared, and it’s making you vulnerable. You take another deep breath in, and lower your gun.

“What do you want?” Valentina falls back into her seat, clearly very amused by the entire situation now that guns weren’t drawn.

“The Flag-Smashers are becoming increasingly difficult as they’re forming alliances with seemingly every gang of mercenaries for hire. The serum belongs in the hands of someone who knows what to do with it, don’t you think?”

This lady is clearly out of her mind, but you’re too far in now and you don’t feel like questioning her on her morals or the ethics of this situation.

“I don’t want any business with Morganthau, and I don’t care about super soldiers. If that’s all you need me for, you might as well find someone else.”

“Who said anything about you dealing with Flag-Smashers? No, for you,” she starts, grabbing the phone once more and resuming that annoying clicking as she searches through various links, “I have a slightly less… hazardous task. No killing involved, sadly. I’m sure your lovely skillset will keep until it’s needed, but you will be finding Zemo for me, where I can pay him far too much money so he’ll kill the Flag-Smashers for me.”

It’s your turn to laugh, now. “In case you haven’t heard, Helmut Zemo is rotting away in prison for the rest of his life. How is he going to be of any help to you?”

Valentina doesn’t bother giving you a verbal response, just shoves that damn phone in your face again. You glare at her before your eyes skim over the article. Breakout. Zemo. The Falcon. Prison. You curse internally, and she lets her arm fall back to her side. You realize you haven’t been paying too much attention to where the driver was taking you both until you feel the vehicle holt to a stop, and you look up to realize you’re in a parking garage, and the faint sounds of airplanes fly overhead.

“As of now, you and I are a two-man team, but this won’t be the case for long. Zemo is with Sam Wilson and James Barnes in a safehouse in Riga. You and I aren’t the only ones looking for him, however, which makes your job a little tricky, but I don’t have much faith in the guy assigned in returning him to Berlin.”

“Who is he?”

“I assume the name John Walker doesn’t need an explanation?”

You shake your head.

“Walker can be of use to us, and we’re gonna need him- just not yet. What I need from you at the current moment is to make sure you get to these coordinates,” the driver is suddenly handing you a slip of paper with numbers scribbled on it, and you take it, “before Walker gets Zemo.”

You inhale, and Valentina gives you a look.

“I assume you have a question?”

“Wouldn’t it be easier to get Walker on your side sooner? Maybe if you could say the right thing, persuade him to bring Zemo to us-"

Valentina cuts you off with a scoff. “What? That if we tell Captain America to hand over an international prisoner so we can extract information and hire him to kill for us he’ll do it? Walker wants one thing right now: he wants that serum. Coincidentally, your friend Zemo wants that serum gone. IF we get to him first, which you will, he’ll be more than happy to oblige. Walker is at a tipping point, but he’s not useful to us. Yet. We just have to wait until he's vulnerable.”

She takes your silence as an okay to continue. “Get to Latvia, find Zemo. Use that pretty face of yours to charm him into coming with you, maybe share some war stories around the campfire. I don’t give a damn how you get it done. Walker’s already halfway there by now.”

You are really starting to question how Valentina is getting her information, but before you can say anything else, she’s motioning for her driver to slide another piece of paper in your hand. Your eyes go wide at the numbers listed after a dollar sign.

“I assume this would be enough to cover your services?”

You look up at her, nodding your head slightly.

“Half now, half when you bring him to me,” she finishes, and the driver is unlocking your side of the car. “It looks like we’re in business then.”

[ducknotinarow]

All Of The OC Questions For: Richard uwu

| OC Questions

🩸 - Does your OC believe in blood being thicker than water? (meaning family relationships and loyalties are the most important)

"No not anymore, as a kid was made to think this but I see that isn't true now, I can see connection outside your blood can be far more meaningful. Like my son we share no blood but that kid is my son if anyone tries to harm a single feather well they will get a punch with about 275 pounds behind it" Richard comes from a family of old money, meaning the family's wealth has been passed down for generations. Mainly through the Evans Ensured company. Richard was raised to feel all is worth was thanks to being born an Evans. Causing a lot of heartache and more for him growing up. Richard has found more meaningful connections through friends, and non-blood-related family. Such has his friend Val, or his adoptive son Buddy.

✂️ - What kind of thing would have your OC cut someone out of their life? How likely are they to let someone back in? "I have in truth only cut out two people in my life, my parents. And that took a lot to do if it weren't for Bailey pleading with to me to do so because of well.." he sighs " Because of the abuse they put me through as a kid that has left me with some pretty bad ..scars into my adulthood. I will never let them back in, there is also my ex but that can be tricky." Sadly it takes a lot for Richard to cut someone out of his life thanks to his inflated ego having a need to prove he is better off without that person as a way to him to get back at them. For a time Richard was going through his family company for insurance on the café. He only stopped because of his husband intervened there. As for letting someone back in? I feel Richard is a bit too petty but the people he has cut out I just don't see having the reason for even being considered back into his life.

🎭 - Does your OC show different sides of themselves to different people?

"I am as I am no matter what, I am perfect having the honor and privilege of knowing me. Though Bailey dose get a different side of me I guess, hard not to be different around them though." Yes and no? I feel Richard shows off his ego no matter what, but his more genuine side I feel would be the one that he has only shown to a few. Bailey and his son of course get this side of Richard the most, but even at that, it's not often. As he is often teased over being a sap (lovingly) by them when he does get just a little sappy with them. I feel him around Vlad is also a different side Richard is far more aggressive. Not in that he wants to physically punch them okay he doesn't act on it at least. But the more In he's verbally combative the more calm approach he has is gone. Bailey also gets to see Richard in a more vulnerable state even if Richard utterly hates showing that side, he at least knows he can be with them.

🩺 - Does your OC accept help easily? Are they willing to admit when they need help? "..No." He does not. He is a very stick my heels in the dirt kind of person and once he plants himself getting him to budge? you'd have better luck with literally anything else. Richard struggles even mentioning he may need some help having to force that out when at his wit's end. Richard has become so fierce and independent to a fault thanks to his ego once more he struggles to let anyone see him as he sees as being weak. Richard would much rather push himself till he can not any more than simply say he needs help.

💡 - How does your OC enact plans? Do they plan down to the smallest details, or do the wing it? "I have a very well organized and perfect system when it comes to making plans. Charts, timetables, calendar reminders. I plan every second out if you think I ever just wing something no I thought it a while back and even plan when to show it. I work on my menus months ahead just to stay on top even. when I wish to gift something? I looked into it a long time ago as well, sudden dates with my pollito? ha, I plan that as well." Richard is a giant ass nerd. Do not be fooled by his face. This man loves having things all planned out. Richard is that person who plans out his weeks two months ahead, he lives for meal prep and journalling. When he has to break route he's not always happy to but hard to say no when your husband has the most amazing eyes you have ever seen, or your son simply said please. On the gift bit that a slight lie sometimes gifts are sudden that when he nearly buys out shops of thier flowers or stuffed toys.

🌋 - What’s your OCs temper like? Are they a slow boil, or an instant explosion?

"I'm a refine grown man I have my temper well handled......unless bailey's in a mood to piss me off. Or Starducks get mention.. or someone doesn't finish thier coffee. The few times I got out for coffee and my trust barista isn't there." Richard is a slow boil but when he does come to his temper but once he is mad he is mad. He is crossing his arms, clicking his tongue letting feathers bristle up, and giving a lot of attitude. Unless your Bailey and you know how to piss him off with one word alone but he is the husband who has the power of being a brat so I don't think that should count.

⏰ - What is your OC like at timekeeping? Are they punctual, or always running late?

" Always early never late. Im only late when I show up on time." Richard can get anxious when it comes to appointments or shifts for work anything that needs him to be somewhere by a certain time so he leaves earlier than needed so he can be early. Always making use of every second of this day this is why this man has a hard time resting and relaxing he's too busy thinking of a clock and every second spent not doing something is a waste of time and he needs to correct that. The only other thing to keep Richard from being on time is Bailey uwu once the rooster got him he's trapped u3u

🎁 - What kind of gift-giver are they? Do they give thoughtful gifts? Expensive gifts? Practical gifts?

"I don't think I'm amazing with my gifts, I deffently never miss with them though. But I do try to keep in mind what they like. For Bailey, I'll just spoil him and get him tons of bath bombs and such so he can have an at-home spa days. or update frame photos of the family, us, me. Buddy, I'll maybe get them new books. Or something more personal like the family portrait I had commissioned or Buddy's apron." I Feel Richard is far more thoughtful which out seeing it that way, to him, he's just getting something he knows the other person may like or can make use of. But simply cause he paid enough attention to be able to make that guess.

📎 - How organised is your OC? Do they keep on top of responsibilities, or leave things to the last minute?

"I may own a label maker..in blue with my name engraved into it." Richard Is very much a type A person he is competitive, and work obessed and just likes things a certain way I wouldn’t be surprised if this man dose a lot of cleaning up after his husband. He just likes to be organized everything has its place and if it is not in its place he grows upset.

🧸 - On a scale of 1 - 10, how ‘soft’ is your OC? 1 being the edgiest of edges and 10 being a literal teddy bear that cries at everything? (Bonus questions, where on the scale would your OC place themselves, and where would they like to be on the scale?)

".... I am not a marshmallow Bailey"

He is though. Richard on the outside is a grump, he is stoic and stern. But he can be very soft as well and just pours out all the love he holds for someone out in a second. Bailey is right to call him out on it too. Bailey does or says one nice thing for him and Richard isn't nothing but a sap for the rooster. Extra kissing, tighter hugs lots of sweet nothings being said Bailey's way, the love feast has begun and you can not stop it now.

💬 - Is your OC much of a talker? Do they only speak when spoken to? (Or not even then?) Do they ever talk over others?

"Depends on the topic, but if it's something I like sure. If it's about me? even more. Bailey does most of the talking when we're together, however. I find it annoying for most people, but I like listening to that dork so I don't mind when he rambles on for hours about nonsense." Not too much, I find it funny but Richard is not all that social a person. He doesn't hate social events or anything if anything he enjoys going out and about a lot. He just doesn't talk all that much it's okay I'm sure his husband says plenty to make up for it. Richard is just kind of a quiet person generally and it is a way he can sneak up on others which he finds funny.

🌅 - What is your OCs favourite time of day? Are they a morning person or a night owl?

"mm when I first wake up alarm hasn't gone yet, the sun hasn't risen. I have time to just lie in bed, and Bailey is asleep. Nestled in my arms still softly breathing hair was a mess not a speck of makeup on his face. He looks so at peace and I enjoy holding him close. Or when I first get home from work and Bailey is there ready to welcome me back home from a long day. When Bailey comes to the café, when laying back in bed for the night together," Richard, Is a bit of both he wakes up at the crack of dawn but he is also know for pulling all nighters, or just struggles to get to bed. For as much as he loves work. His favorite part of his days is when he is with Bailey. Bailey is the safe space he doesn't need to be anything but himself when around the rooster. He always can make Richard laugh, he accepts Richard's flaws and just knows how to cheer him up. Bailey is not just his husband but his best friend they can tell them anything even if Bailey might not get it he'll listen. Sitting around together even doing thier own thing Richard just generally loves Bailey's company.

🥦 - Does your OC eat healthily or live off junk food?

"Well, I happen to be a fan of white meat, chicken being my favorite meal to indulge in." Richard is pretty good about eating healthy being a golden eagle however he does tend to favor his meats so red meat, beef, fish, and white meat. In the least, he makes sure to make the sides up with veggies and rice. He can have a bit of a sweet tooth, seeing how one of his favorite foods is conchas Of course he also gets a lot of chicken in his diet too uwu.

🍹 - Does your OC drink? If so, what’s their drink of choice?

"I would like to replace every blood cell with coffee.” He starts off with “I know this is about alcohol but I haven’t gotten to mention my love for coffee. I was never much of one in the first place but when I do I prefer Scotch neat. Mix drinks the closest I go is things like a coffee martini." Richard isn't against drinking he likes to pair wine with his meals, and he loves a good scotch to go with a good smoke from time to time. He never was a party guy so binge drinking or bar crawls are just not things Richard ever took part in even in college. So he has a pretty low trolanace. Since Bailey went sober, however, Richard has decreased his own drinking even more than it was in support of his husband trying to clean up.

🍺 - What kind of drunk are they? (e.g. talkative, sleepy, flirty etc.)

" I am none I am completely fine after a few drinks in my system." Around his husband a flirty drunk uwu Once Richard gets enough in him he doesn't just lower his walls he just dropkicks them out of his way. Far more talkative and open when he has enough in him. I feel relaxed drunk is the best way to word it he doesn't do anything risky. However, because alcohol can affect the chemicals of one's brain and Richard does have ptsd so drinking can also bring his mood down even worse.

[apaise]

with her mom cracking down on the training recently, it’s been a while since andy’s gone to the diner with the girls. for once, she had been looking forward to it, always reveling in the cozy atmosphere of the old eatery: the familiar sights of kids plucking cherries off their milkshakes, or old couples splitting a melty grilled cheese. in some ways the diner’s more sanctuary to andy than her own home; at least here her mom can’t make her study while jogging on the treadmill or climbing the stairmaster. squeezed into a squeaky booth with old menus and a table jukebox, andy’s safe from the world of track for a few moments. 

or so she hoped. all expectations for a nice evening go down the drain when andy sees who’s working tonight. she spies haley sousa immediately -- her shock of pretty brown curls standing far apart from the eastwooders’ tight ponytails and braids. andy’s come once in the past when haley was working, and it had been expectedly dicey with some teases from the girls. but she never knows what to say to haley away from their battlefield, uttering “just a cheeseburger please” when it’s her turn at the table. 

briefly, she had wondered what it would be like if they met outside the competition, but . . . it’s hard for andy to separate haley from track, too. as the fastest runner andy’s ever met, haley seems like the epitome of a star athlete, blazing her own hot trail on or off the track. in a funny way, she seems like the person who should have been the famous val thompson’s daughter -- rather than andy, who always seems to be dragging her feet.

with all these thoughts percolating whenever she comes face to face with haley, andy’s often left tongue-tied in her presence. but it’s different from her usual silence with the girls, when andy simply finds she has nothing to say. with haley . . . andy’s curious, even when haley’s goading her on minutes before a race. she had lost to haley at the last track meet, coming in just four seconds behind, but that doesn’t feel new for andy anymore. it always seems like a coin toss who’s going to win between them. but she likes that uncertainty.

what she doesn’t like is the behavior it evokes in the rest of the team. this time they’re much nastier to haley, giving her more complicated orders and repeatedly asking her back to the table for extra plates, napkins, forks -- whatever they can think of. andy just tries to enjoy her burger, but when the tension escalates and they pull her into the fight too . . . she finds herself inwardly almost siding with haley, unable to detect a fault in the other’s argument. trapped, andy attempts to brush off the fight as a whole, earning her some angry huffs from taylor and casey after. 

at the end of this very unpleasant meal, taylor treats the team, earning cheers from the girls and a quiet “thanks” from andy. but then andy sees the two crumpled dollars taylor sets as the tip on the plastic tray, and . . . the amount doesn’t even come close to making up for the mess of lipgloss-smeared napkins and gum they left behind ( as well as how long they’ve loitered near closing hours ). the guilt’s too much for andy to take, so after the gang leaves the diner and they all go their separate ways . . . andy sneaks back, hoping to make some amends. no matter their position as rivals, haley didn’t deserve any of that. 

the girls had lingered so long that the diner’s practically empty upon her return -- just haley left behind to deal with their mess. andy approaches her awkwardly, a bill pinched between penitent fingers. when haley notices her, andy realizes she hadn’t even planned what to say to the other -- gaze falling to the floor before she glimpses up again with an apologetic wince. 

❝ hey, uh -- sorry about that, ❞ andy starts, holding out the twenty dollars after. maybe a ridiculous amount, but they had been ridiculous customers -- and she doesn’t do much with her allowance, anyway. ❝ here. ❞ || @feveredblurs​

[angst-fairygodmother]

Idiot (Affectionate) ~ A Bad Samaritan Fic

CHAPTER ONE: FIRST DAY

When your cousin Sean and his friend start up a valet business at Nino’s, where you work as a waitress, you don’t expect it to lead to any of what happens next.

Pairing: Derek Sandoval x Reader Word Count: 1893 Rating: T - mild language, reference to harassment

Masterlist

“So, how does it feel, your first big boy job?” you teased, elbowing your cousin in the ribs. 

“Oh haha,” Sean drawled, swatting at you. “You’re hilarious.”

“And adorable.” You dodged out his reach, and the two of you proceeded to chase each other around the podium for several minutes.

“I’m serious though, Sean. Suggesting Nino start doing valet parking, organizing the whole thing. I think it’s great. Better than car washes and dog walking. It shows initiative, and it’ll get Don off your back a bit.”

“How’d you know that was one of the goals?”

“Because I know you. Really, my only disappointment is that you brought him along.” You gestured over your shoulder to Derek who was just walking up. 

“Hey, come on now!” he cried.

“Derek’s my best mate, you know that Y/N,” Sean sighed. “And I think you two would get along if you gave him a chance.”

“Yeah, but he’s so...him,” you sighed, making a face of mock disgust. 

“Yo, hold up, what’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Are you sure you want me to answer that question?” You cocked an eyebrow at him, whether he took it as a warning or challenge was up to him.

“Yeah. If you got a problem with me, I wanna know what it is.” 

“I don’t have a problem with you, per se. It’s just that...you’re arrogant, and loud. Not even your voice, just, the way you are. You act like you’re hot shit, but you’re not half as clever as you think.”

He scoffed in disbelief and even though you knew you should leave it there, something made you want to keep pushing, almost to see what happened if you got him riled enough. 

“If you were, you wouldn’t be working nothing but a string of dead-end jobs.” You shrugged. “Frankly, I think both of you are wasting considerable talent being valets instead of looking at the bigger picture.”

“Wait, hang on!” Sean protested. “A minute ago you were praising my initiative.”

“Better to start your own idea than working someone else’s, sure, but I was mostly trying to be nice.” You flashed an apologetic grimace, nose wrinkling. “You’re my favorite cousin and I love you?” you continued in a rush, hoping to cover up your admission of insincerity with charm.

Sean rolled his eyes fondly at you.

“Well if you’re so smart, how come you ain’t doin any better? You’re just like us, Miss Waitress,” Derek said mockingly.

“Except I’m doing this because textbooks cost like four hundred bucks a piece and I don’t have an extra kidney to sell. Unless you’re going to give me yours?” You gave him another challenging look before sighing. “As soon as I have that degree in my hand, I am outta here.”

“Some of us got families to take care of, can’t just run away when we get bored.”

“I…” you took a deep breath, deflating. “I didn’t mean it like that. All I was trying to say is I know Sean’s got talent and someone else is bound to notice eventually, and there’s probably a brain in that head of yours somewhere. I find it hard to believe that you want to do this for life. Family first sure, I get it, but don’t you want...don’t you deserve more?”

Derek and Sean both frowned, unsure of how to answer you. Of course neither of them wanted to be valets or car washers or grocery baggers forever. But they had bills to pay, food and rent and electricity to afford. If they didn’t keep up with here and now, all the bigger picture thinking and dreaming of the future in the world wasn’t going to help. 

Something inside the restaurant caught your eye and you shook your head.

“I should probably get in there. Nino’s got Val doing place settings, and we probably don’t want to be auctioning off butter knives.” You shoved your hands in the pockets of your black slacks and flashed them both a smile. “Good luck tonight.”

Derek made no secret of staring at your ass as you walked away, a fact that Sean definitely noticed. 

“Come on, seriously?” he asked his friend, making a gesture of both annoyance and defeat.

“What dawg? Your cousin’s kind of a bitch sometimes, but she’s hot as hell. I’m just appreciating.”

~

“Nino,” one of the chefs asked a few days later. “How come you don’t feed those two boys parking cars? You feed everyone else. They must be starved out there all night.”

Nino looked thoughtful, as if it hadn’t occurred to him before. You frowned, loading your tray with table seven’s appetizers. 

“Well, they don’t really work for Nino like the rest of us, do they? They’re independent contractors,” you pointed out.

“Cold, Y/N,” the busboy, John, teased. “Throwing your cousin under the bus.”

You shrugged, weaving your way out of the kitchen. “If he wants food he should learn to put it in his contract.”

About an hour later, Nino was flagging you over, for the third time that night.

“Y/N, Y/N,” he said, rushed. “No one is eating the lasagna.”

“I can try to push more of it, talk it up or something?” you offered, not sure why he was telling you.

“No, no. It’s fine. I just don’t want to see it go to waste.” He smiled like an idea was suddenly dawning on him. “Why don’t you take some to the boys out front. David is right, they must be hungry.”

You rolled your eyes with a laugh. You should have suspected as soon as it was brought up that Nino would cave. Nodding, you went back to the kitchen to relay the order and wait.

With the two plates, rolled silverware tucked in your apron pocket, you made easy work of weaving through the restaurant and elbowing open the doors, only to grimace uncomfortably when you realized it was just Derek at their podium.

“Hey,” you said awkwardly, making him jump in surprise. “Uh...Nino thought you might be hungry and no one was eating the lasagna so he sent me out with some for you and Sean...where is Sean?”

“He’s just parking somebody, he’ll be back in a minute. Nino’s givin' us free food?” you tried to suppress a smile at the excitement in his voice. 

“No, I just brought these out to taunt you,” you joked, rolling your eyes as you handed him one of the plates and dug into your pocket for his fork. 

You were silent for a minute, shifting awkwardly, from foot to foot, still holding Sean’s plate and not sure what to do with it.

“About what I said the other night,” you said finally, chewing on your lip. 

Derek stopped, fork halfway to his mouth and looked at you.

“I may have been...unreasonably harsh…” you said hesitantly. “And I…”

The words died on your throat as you found yourself wondering if you were actually sorry. You felt guilty, but you still meant what you said. Sean and Derek were both smart people, and you thought they could do better. You had been working at Nino’s since you were nineteen, and had seen so many people insist that a job was just temporary, only to still be there almost a decade later. You didn’t want to see that happen to either of them. 

You were trying to remind yourself that it wasn’t about you, when Derek cut through your thoughts.

“Don’t sweat it, I’ve already forgotten,” he said. “It’s all good bro.”

“Oh.” He seemed so genuine in his reassurance and you weren’t sure what to do with that. Instead you changed the subject. “Where is Sean? Shouldn’t he be able to park a car quickly if he’s going to be a valet?”

“I can just hold onto his food, if you gotta get back in there.”

“Please,” you shook your head. “I’m in no rush to return to Awkward First Date, Going to Ask for a Divorce Any Second, or Family With the Twins from The Shining.” 

“How come you only got three tables when the place is packed? Don’t you handle five or six like a breeze?”

 “I got moved off two, one of them was my fault. So instead I get anyone that wants to eat at the bar. And my section has the last empty table. How’d you know how many tables I usually have?”

“Uh...I overheard some people talking when I went for a smoke break.” His eyes shifted to the side, avoiding your curious look.

“Riight.” You nodded exaggeratedly. There was no way in hell you believed that, unless they’d been gossiping about you losing tables, but he didn’t seem to know about that. 

“Anyway, why’d they get pulled?”

“The one that was my fault or the one that wasn’t?”

“Both,” he sighed, making a somewhat impatient gesture. “Sean is out parking the first car that’s showed up in an hour. Talkin’ to you’s at least something to do.”

“Glad to know I rank above staring at the sidewalk or counting the windows across the street.” You rolled your eyes.

“That’s not what I meant.” 

You leaned back, resting your elbows against the edge of the podium, bringing your faces surprisingly close together. He shoveled a bite of food into his mouth to distract himself from that fact, and the things he was thinking he could do.

“Couple of suit-and-ties celebrating some sort of business deal. One of them asked the new kid if she was on the menu, a few other lewd comments. They made her really uncomfortable, so Nino switched us around, figuring I could handle it.” You shrugged. “Same guy got a little...grabby for things that aren’t his. Nino spotted it and decided to take over the table himself. That’s one down.”

Derek frowned. He’d known plenty of people that worked in restaurants. Managers, and owners especially, didn’t typically move someone off a table for a little handsiness. But maybe Nino was one of the rare ones that went above and beyond for his staff. And if not and you didn’t want to tell him the whole thing, who was he to judge?

“The other was a complaint that I was ‘belligerent.’”

“But you’re cuddlier than a kitten, how could they ever think that?” he laughed. 

You stuck your tongue out at him childishly, laughing along. 

“All I did was correct them on my name,” you protested. “...every time they called me Sweetcheeks.”

For some reason, this only made Derek laugh harder, nearly choking on a mouthful of pasta. 

“Definitely not hostile.”

“Whatever, you dick.” You shoved him playfully and suddenly the two of you froze.

This was a shift in dynamic, a tipping point. Would he let you get away with it and tilt the scale from acquaintance to friendship? Or would he take offense? 

Sean found you in that waiting tension, shattering it with his greeting as he finally returned from parking the car. You awkwardly explained the meal delivery and sighed that you had to get back to work, someone would come get the dishes in a bit. 

Derek locked eyes with you as you turned to go. You flashed a quick smile back. 

“Did I miss something?” you heard Sean ask, lilt exaggerated by his confusion.

[ghostly-penumbra]

DannyMay 2020. Day Twenty-eight

“Diner”

“Welcome to the Nasty Burger, what can I get for ya?” Valerie asked in her fakest, cheeriest voice to the three men sitting in a booth.

“The Nastiest Burger ya got.” One of them snickered and promptly yelped when he was presumably kicked under the table by the man across him, who was watching him in silent judgement. “A cheese burger with extra everything.” He firmly said with a pinched smile, finally turning to Val.

She nodded, writing it down as she eyed the man next to him.

This one was odd. From the way he stopped staring at his friend and turned to his menu for a second and then to Valerie and then stopped. And stared at her, tilting his head.

Yup, total space case. But being honest to herself, the messy black hair and curious blue eyes did remind her a little of-

Well, maybe she shouldn’t judge him too harshly just like that.

Then his friend elbowed him, softly enough to not make him flinch and only turn his head again. “Cas, we’ve talked ‘bout staring; don’t, man.” Then he turned an apologetic look to her and said, “Sorry. He, uh, grew up sheltered. Just some fries for him.”

Valerie nodded knowingly, because she didn’t know what else to do besides look for this Cas’s affirmative nod and write his order down before finally turning to the longer-haired one.

“Just a salad, thanks.” He said with a polite smile.

Val ignored the mumbling about rabbit food and wrote that down, too, and then she finally left.

Through all of this, she held her smile firmly in place, not faltering. If she couldn’t deal with direct contact with customers, it was mascot duty again.

Fuck no.

- - -

Valerie didn’t expect to see these men again so soon, nor in such circumstances.

Around town, yeah. For what she had overheard, they wanted to see some ghosts, just like many tourists were doing as of late.

But in the middle of her beating the Box Ghost, in a moment where he had gotten lucky and managed to slip from her for a second, in this abandoned warehouse filled with –you guessed it– boxes, in the middle of the night? Please.

And yet.

“I AM THE BOX GHOST! BEWA-Aaahh!”

That had been a gunshot.

“Is this guy for real, Sammy? Ghosts aren’t usually this lame.” Said burger-guy.

“Focus, Dean.” That was salad-dude.

(There already was one salad-lover-Sam kinda-sorta-in-a-way-somehow in her life.)

Another gunshot.

“Dean, Sam, there is somebody else here.” Said fries-Cas.

But Red Huntress hadn’t really heard him, because at that point she had jumped back into the fight.

“Hey, dumbass!” She yelled, and didn’t wait for the ghost to turn around to start shooting her ecto-beam.

The ghost shrieked, and tried to fly away, but was stopped by the ecto-lasso that had caught him in the middle, and yanked, (with a strength Valerie knew wasn’t all hers), making him crash against a wall when he couldn’t focus in phasing through it.

“I AM THE BOX GHOST AND I WILL NOT BE CONTAINED!!! EVEN IF YOU DO LOCK ME IN ONE OF THOSE CILINDRICAL-!!!”

But he was cut off as Val effectively captured him and sealed her Thermos before you could say ‘beware’.

Then she turned her full attention on the three men. The brothers (they had to be, with how similar their gobsmacked-wary expressions were) had been holding shotguns at the ready, but now they were pointing at the floor (but could come back up any second she showed in-humanity), and fries-Cas gave a few steps in her direction.

“You are the girl from before, in the poorly-named diner. Your name-tag said Valerie.”

And gone was that curious oddness from him, replaced with laser-sharp concentration and intensity. Just like she had seen on Danny when they had gone to rescue their parents from that damned cruiser.

“You kid a Hunter?” Dean asked in a weird tone, looking at her height with new, (sad,) eyes.

Red Huntress grunted. They weren’t really questioning their friend’s claiming. He had said it was her, and they believe it. So she willed her mask off and glared at the three of them. “How the hell did you know that?” She said, rising her chin defiantly. Right now, they weren’t customers, and she wasn’t working that work, so she didn’t have to play nice. “What are ya even doing here?”

“Same as you, it seems.” Injected salad-man, looking at her Thermos. “Although I think our methods may not be the same.”

Red looked back at their weapons, and a corner of her mouth twitched in amusement. Had they really come after a ghost –no matter which one– with a regular gun?

Or had they found another way of hurting them she should know of?

“Maybe.” She conceded.

Whatever it was, they didn’t seem stupid (dumb, yeah), and they had talked about other ghosts, so they had to know something. But they wouldn’t be talking about it in a dark and lonely warehouse.

“Come to the Nasty Burger tomorrow at half past one. Sodas will on the house.”

And without waiting for a reply, she summoned her hover-board, and flew away.

[lovelyirony]

“Dance with me.” For brucethor please!

Bruce didn’t dance. Ever. For all of his illustriously short career as a human being, Bruce had danced probably once, and that was at his Aunt Rebecca’s wedding. When he was three. 

After that, there was no dancing. A little something along the lines of “my dad fucking sucks and I hate him a lot, he’s too controlling” etc., with added trauma blah blah blah. 

“You going to homecoming this year?” Tony asks. Tony Stark is someone who Bruce never thought he’d be friends mainly because a.) Tony Stark is not afraid to act like an asshole to literally anybody, and b.) Most of the rumors are not true and started by Tony himself, who likes to weed out the people he doesn’t want ot hang out with. 

“No,” Bruce says. “I have a college exam to study for.” 

“How many are you taking, fifty? There’s not that much. Besides, you want to go to Culver and they’re practically offering to pay you a livable salary to go there.” 

“No college pays a livable salary to students, they’re delusional,” Bruce says with a shrug. “But I want to make sure my back-up colleges will accept me as well.” 

“Just apply for a school in Florida, they take anyone. Case in point, Justin Hammer got offered a place at Florida State.” 

“I’ll check that one off my list.” 

Tony laughs, taking another cracker out of his lunch. 

“But seriously, you should go to homecoming. Everyone does, and it’s your senior year. You should get some new experiences in besides studying for a new biology course that you’re taking online.” 

“Harvard let one out, I think I might apply for that.” 

“Ugh, you’re so boring.” 

“You’re the one who sits with me at lunch every day,” Bruce reminds him. “I’m so sure that Bucky Barnes would just be dying to have you sit with him. Or just be with him.” 

Tony turns to see Bucky staring at him across the table. 

“That’s ridiculous. He’s probably looking at the lunch menu for tomorrow. Speaking of, if it’s cheese pizza I’m going to barf.” Bruce rolls his eyes, but doesn’t bother to tell Tony that Bucky thinks he built the universe. 

“You’re a millionaire, I’m sure Jarvis could get you some caviar or whatever it is our government officials eat.” 

“I’m not part of the government, darling.” 

“You’re made of money, you have more sway than the president,” Bruce says. 

Tony thinks it over, humming. 

“True. Think I could get sustainable energy bills passed if I make the conservatives think it’s their idea?” 

“Possibly. You’d have to dumb it down way more than you did for Rumlow.” 

“Shoot me,” Tony moans, slumping down on the table. 

Bruce snorts, glancing to the clock. He starts gathering up his things and taking all the trash and recycling to the correct bins. 

They walk together, and Bruce tries very hard not to see Thor barging down the stairs, laughing loudly with Brunnhilde Valkyrie and Carol Danvers as they go for the next lunch shift. 

“I think Thor doesn’t have a date to homecoming,” Tony says. “And you’d be great arm candy.” 

“About as good as Red Vines,” Bruce mutters. 

“Your hatred of that candy knows no bounds.” 

“It shouldn’t even be legally called candy, I think anyone who eats it is a freak of nature.” 

“Very true. We should banish them to Siberia.” 

Tony and Bruce don’t share the next class. Tony is taking some anthropology class solely so he can have a class with both Rhodey and Pepper. Bruce doesn’t know why people think Tony is this suave asshole who has no friends, because Tony is about the most affectionate guy on the planet. 

The last hour of the day is Bruce’s favorite. It’s a cinema class, one that’s required this year because Bruce has exhausted the school of every possible science credit and math credit. 

“You need to take some arts,” Bruce’s counselor, Mrs. May said. Melinda May is a very terrifying woman who has deceptively nice desk decorations that usually indicate a woman who likes to talk about tea. Mrs. May asked Bruce if he knew how to throat-punch someone, and if he would like to learn. 

“Um, how is that relevant?” 

“It’s not. But you do well in school, it’s clear you care about your grades. I have nothing to discuss with you since you’ve done college applications early and applied for financial aid and scholarships. You’re basically a very responsible eighteen year old. So, do you want to learn how to throat-punch someone?” 

He does learn, and he also learns that he needs at least one more art credit. 

But the cinema class is one of the easiest classes. Everyone knows that it’s basically just watching a movie, writing a one-page reflection, and you occasionally get to nap. Bruce usually finishes up some applications, gets a snack in, and stares at Thor. 

Not in that order. Sometimes he needs to stare at Thor first. 

Thor is a very attractive person. He is smart, compassionate, and has very nice arms. He also knows how to care for long hair. This is a plus in many people’s books, Bruce’s included. 

Thor loves watching the movies and talking with friends in low tunes. Bruce sometimes gets involved in this discussion if they’re watching an interesting movie. Bruce likes that, that Thor turns and asks him what he thinks. 

The movie they’re watching currently is a musical, something Bruce rarely likes because he was forced to take a theater class last year, and now he legally can’t be around theater kids if he wants inner peace. 

It’s The Sound of Music. Bruce likes looking at the scenery. 

“Bruce, what do you think about it?” Thor asks. 

“Um…I really like the scenery. And Julie Andrews is always a good choice.” 

“I agree.” 

It’s quiet after that, until the DVD player shorts out and the teacher runs to the IT department, which probably won’t do something unless they pull Tony out of his class to fix it. 

The conversations flow evenly over the classroom, and Bruce focuses back in on his application for a new science course for the summer. If he can fit in one more credit hour, it shortens his college by one year, meaning he can graduate in three years instead of four, and then look onto graduate school. 

“What about homecoming?” Sif asks Thor. “I’m taking Jane, we’re shopping for suits soon. Who are you taking?” 

“I’m not sure,” Thor says. “Haven’t found anyone since Val decided to take Helen.” 

Bruce perks up a little bit. He doesn’t know why he does, because it’s not like he wants to go to homecoming anyway. 

Well, he wouldn’t mind it. Sure he’d need to buy a too-expensive shirt, but then he could use that shirt again for any official business meetings when he applies for internships, so–

“Bruce, what are you doing?” 

Bruce blinks, looking at Thor. 

“Um, right now I’m trying to sign up for a new biology class, so uh…” 

“I meant for homecoming.” 

“Oh!” Bruce is surprised. “Um, I don’t know. I was thinking about staying, but I’m not sure yet. I heard that Pepper’s really trying hard this year to get better decorations.” 

“Dude, then it’d be totally worth it,” Sif says. “If Pepper’s in charge, that means this homecoming won’t be the fiasco it was last year.” 

Last year, they did not have a good homecoming, Bruce heard. Pepper had an extended leave due to personal circumstances. She’s basically the backbone of the planning committee, and she had not started seriously training the newbie, Darcy. The homecoming the worst in existence, especially since the principal chose the music and all of it was from the early 2000s. 

“I might, I don’t know. I have no idea what Tony’s doing. He wants me to go, but I think Bucky might ask him.” 

“Barnes thinks Tony Stark hung the world on its axis,” Thor says, grinning. “But hey, you could always come with us.” 

“Um…okay. That’d be great.” 

So Bruce has homecoming plans. 

Tony doesn’t know about this until a week later, when they’re sitting at lunch together and Tony is telling him all about the homecoming ask that he had gotten from Barnes, which was very ridiculous and completely made Tony cry when he got home. 

(Not that Tony would ever admit to this, but he snapchatted Bruce at least fifteen different videos of what were essentially keysmashes in vocal chords.) 

“So, have you changed your mind about homecoming?” 

“Um, Thor asked me to be part of his group.” 

Tony’s eyes bug out. 

“Thor asked you out?!” 

“What? No!” Bruce says. “He just told me I could join the group. So I need a shirt.” 

“If you decide to wear that ugly yellow one your grandmother got you two years ago, I will literally kill you.” 

“It’s not that ugly.” 

“That yellow is from 1978 corporate business in Milwaukee, it’s disgusting.” 

“I’ll be sure to find something else, then,” Bruce says dryly. “Maybe eggplant purple.” 

“I will make sure you go in Versace if you keep this up.” 

But Bruce goes shopping Friday afternoon with Pepper and Tony and Rhodey, who all have looks in mind. 

“What are you thinking about, Bruce?” Rhodey asks. 

“Um…I don’t know. A shirt? Maybe a tie?” 

“You’re not a tie guy,” Pepper answers. “We’ll find you a nice shirt that compliments your eyes. Also, how do you feel about a haircut.” 

“What kind of haircut?” 

“A good one, obviously,” Tony scoffs. 

So they sign him up for a hair appointment Saturday morning, and they look for nice shirts. 

Bruce will not dare wear anything that’s bright, like red or yellow or god-forbid the dark green shirt that Tony said made him look “amazing.” 

“That’s just…no,” Bruce says. “Green really isn’t my color.” 

“I think it fits you,” Tony says. “But whatever.” 

Bruce actually starts texting Thor, who is very funny and knows the memes that he likes. They talk about dinner plans for homecoming, and what restaurant to go to. 

“I just don’t want there to be a lot of people, you know?” Thor says at lunch. Bruce and Tony have started to merge their two groups of people now, who get along quite well after the initial groupchat make via Tony. 

“Yeah, me either,” Bruce says. “I really don’t want to run into someone like Rumlow.” 

“Well, what about fixing a dinner at someone’s house?” Pepper asks. “That way, it’s more cost-effective.” 

Tony agrees to host it because he and Rhodey are wanting to try a new pasta recipe and they can get the ingredients in bulk. 

“Did you end up picking out a shirt?” Thor asks. “I know that you hated the green one. I thought that looked good.” 

“You did?” Bruce asks, trying very hard not to blush. 

He failed. 

“Yeah,” Thor says. “Made the eyes pop. But you didn’t like it, so it doesn’t matter. What color are you wearing?” 

“Um, purple. A light one, though. Not anything that’s gross or anything like that.”

(Sometimes, Bruce really wishes that he could just. Speak normally in front of his crush. Actually, all the time.) 

“Cool. I bet you’ll look handsome.” 

“Thanks,” Bruce manages to get out, taking a sip of water. “And you’re gonna look great too. I mean, you always do, but like with a suit it’s different so–” 

“You think I look great?” 

“I’d be a fool not to,” Bruce answers automatically.  Then immediately regrets it because who the fuck says that???????? 

Tony gives him a look when he gives him a ride home. 

“You’re in too deep,” Tony says. 

“Quit quoting Sum 41 at me.” 

“Then quit avoiding the subject,” Tony says. “And I wasn’t quoting Sum 41. I just think you’re majorly crushing on Thor and you’re not going to do anything about it.” 

“Why would I?” Bruce asks. “This is the last year of high school, and he’s probably going to go somewhere else for college. You know I don’t like long distance.” 

“You don’t mind long distance, you do it all the time,” Tony says. “You push people away because you can’t imagine people wanting to care for you.” 

“Since when did you pass psychology with an A?” 

“Since I made Freud my bitch. I don’t wanna make you mad, Bruce, but I still think you should at least try with Thor. You deserve it.” 

Bruce sits in the car, sipping on his water. 

“I’ll consider it.” 

And he will. Because despite Tony usually making a joke out of everything and giving Bruce very useless advice all the time, he does have some moments of clarity. This is one of them. 

Tony’s one of the few people who knows why Bruce studies so much and wants to go far away from his house and why. Tony doesn’t blame him, because Tony hates being in the same room as his father and is uncomfortable when people show him affection without wanting something. But they’re both getting better. 

Besides. Bruce has a little bit of a feeling that usually people don’t say that they liked you in the green shirt if there’s not something there. But he’ll wait for the dinner. 

Bruce is glad that Pepper told him not to get a tie, he’s having trouble buttoning the shirt itself. He doesn’t know why he’s so nervous, or why he hopes to god that he doesn’t get pit stains on the shirt. He put on deodorant six times throughout the day, and nothing has happened, but he’s nervous. 

He gets to Tony’s half an hour early to help get the dishes and silverware out, and also hopefully be convinced that things are going to be fine. 

Dinner is nice. Thor sits next to Bruce specifically, and Bruce even gets so bold as to laugh out loud and ask if Thor will save him a dance. 

“For you? Of course,” Thor says. 

The dance looks beautiful. Pepper is making sure everything is good, make sure the sophomores deny Tony’s requests to play the most obscure songs he can think of, and that no one is getting too drunk with the drinks they smuggled in. 

Thor dances easily, while it takes Bruce a little bit to warm up. 

“Time for the couples dance!” A teacher announces cheerily. 

Bruce thinks to step back, watching as Bucky shyly takes Tony’s hand and leads him out. 

He’s surprised when he gets a tap on his shoulder. 

“Would you, ah, care for a dance? With me?” Thor asks. He seems nervous. Bruce blinks. 

“Um, shit. Yeah.” 

Bruce is not eloquent, but he feels it as Thor takes him around the room. He grins as he looks at Thor. 

“So. A couples dance. That mean anything?” 

“If you want it to,” Thor says. “I’d like to take you out on a date sometime, if you’re interested.” 

“I am,” Bruce says. “Most definitely I am. Besides, you said I still need to try the bakery by the bookstore off fiftieth.” 

“That can be our first destination.” 

They smile at each other, and for the moment everything is perfect. They don’t know what the future holds, but that’s okay. 

[classlesstulip]

So, You Called for a Handyman?

(A little medly of a day in the life of a ‘handyman’ in the mob. One who doesn’t really take his job too seriously.)

     “*che,* a tall and shadowed figure snorted as he flicked the long blade he held. The wet, viscous sound of blood flying through the air and splattering onto concrete was heard, the whistle of metal short but sharp.  

     Tiberius looked around the room he was in, sharp ears pricked, listening for any of the tell-tale sounds of life: breathing, twitches, the shuddering gasps one gives when in great pain. He was only satisfied when he heard nothing from the collection of bodies spilled around him.

     'There’s a group of Mick’s boys over on 8th and North. Go and fix them.’

Heh, they’re fixed now, alright, Ty thought. Now he just needs to call in Lenore for disposal; he needs to pass over that new fertilizer recipe he’s got, using these mooks may be just what her flowers need.

*****

     Storing his machete in one of the many caches secreted in Sepulveda territory, Ty swapped out his fingerless leather gloves for a new set. A quick check showed that even after all these years he’s still got it; not even one drop of blood on his 3-piece.

     If even ONE of those mooks had spilled on his Armani, he would have rioted. This suite was a gift!

     His internal rant was cut off when his phone chirped. Pulling it out of an inner pocket, he saw a new text from Little Cruzi: seem’s their Apa is done putting up with Jericho. Needs to have the jackass fixed. And-, oh!

     'Apa says make it messy. The wetter the better.’

     Ty can do that. He’s pretty good at getting things wet.

     Oh, that was a good one! He’ll have to try that one on Val; the poor dear’s been wound up tighter than a spring the last few weeks. A good laugh followed by a good fuck should fix that.

*****

     "Hey, Ty? Boss has a new stop for ya!”

     What the fuck? Seriously!? "Uh, Amber? Ya can see I’m currently up to my elbows right now, yeah!?“ The wet squelch and Ty’s grunt as he pulled on Jericho’s lungs rung through the warehouse. It was dark and dusty; the perfect backdrop for a Splash-n-Dash.

     Currently, Ty was bent over a stack of pallets, the beaten corpse of Jericho splayed across them. Scattered on the walls and floors around them were gouges and bullet marks, with streaks of blood interspersed, belying that a scuffle had taken place, the loser of which had his chest cracked open and Ty cleaning the innards like he was preparing a chicken to get roasted over open coals.

     The driver held up their arms, shrugging. "Hey man, I’m just the messenger. Turns out, Jericho was fucking with not just the Sepulveda’s, but the Alnazar’s AND Satrinava’s.” Amber looked a little green at the sound of flesh and ligaments ripping as Ty finished his impromptu vivisection. He went even more green when Ty overhand-hurled his double-handful of offal at one of the far walls with a loud 'YEET!’, the wet splat and fanning of blood from the impact causing Amber to jump back with a heave. “Dude, what the fuck!?” The thick gurgle he swallowed back after his outburst showed just how DONE he was with Ty’s nastiness.

     “Hey, Val says wet and messy, I deliver wet an’ messy! Now keep your pants on and drag over my duffle. My shirt is ruined.”

     Keeping an eye on a blood-soaked Tiberius, Amber did as bid. It took him a few minutes to locate said bag, during which Ty lit-up a cig.

     “Move it, cupcake.”

     “Alright, alright, jeez. Go fuck yourself, asshole.”

     “I HEARD THAT!”

*****

     “Alrighty then,” Ty propped his feet up on the desk in front of him, ignoring the glare Asra shot him. “So, we gots a case of ol’ Jerry boy putting his fingers into too many pies, both literal, figurative, and colloquially. Drugs, rent girls, and laundering, right?” He pulled in a big drag from his cigar, having lighted up the moment he entered Fluff'n'Stuff’s digs.

     With a grunt, Asra pushed the big booted feet off of his NICE mahogany desk. Getting a few smoke-rings blown at him in retribution, he glared at the 'handyman’ sitting across from him, but knew any more fussing on his end would be futile; the only reason Asra isn’t currently a smear on the wall is that Ty thinks he’s adorable AND they go way back.

     That and Val and Asra once had a Thing, but that’s none of his business.

     “Yes,” leaning back, Asra pulled out a thick manila file folder and dropped it onto his desk. The poor thing was only kept together by a single rubber band, and Ty’s surprised it hasn’t snapped already. “These are the places that Jericho’s Number Two and Three have holed up. Taking these two out will cause the whole operation to fall apart.”

     As Asra was speaking, Ty secured his cigar between his molars, propping his jaw open as his fingers started pulling apart the file. Flipping through the first few cover papers, he soon got to the meat and potatoes of the lot. “As you can see, Vinny is in the heart of the Garment District…” Ty stopped paying attention as he looked through everything, Asra’s voice becoming a low, soothing drone. He leaned back in his chair, holding up a few A4-sized photos.

     “Now, Illian was able to-” Asra was cut off at a loud, 'interested’ hum from Tiberius. Seconds later, the handyman turned the papers in his hand’s landscape, and a few sheets accordioned down. A slightly lewd chuckle floated up from behind the papers before Asra snatched at them, Ty letting out a disappointed 'awww’ at the loss of his smut.

     “A-HEM!” Crinkling the purloined pornography in his fist, Asra pinned Ty with A Look. “This is no time to be looking at, at, uh,” he peeped at the rag, “PLAYBOY!”

     “Azzy? That was IN the file. I had nothing to do wi-”

     “REGARDLESS,” tossing the magazine at his wastebin (and making a mental note to speak to his son about leaving his 'reading material’ out and about), Asra huffed. “Just, get out of here and fix 'em. Oh, and…”, rifling through his desk, he pulled out a box. He pushed it across his table, a curious Ty picking it up gingerly, “wear this. We need proof of the job, to be a warning.”

     “A body cam? Shit son, y'all mean business.” Snorting, Ty threw himself out of his chair, tossing the little box in the air before catching it and slipping it into his suitcoat pocket. “Got it. The usual fee to the usual account. Give hugs and kisses to yer fam for me, yeah?”

*****

     Walking down a softly carpeted hall, a slight shadow was seen. Soft curls were piled atop their head, and one hand held a glass of wine while the other pulled their robe tighter. Light filtered through shuttered blinds, car head beams and static lamps fighting the darkness of night. Occasionally, the honk of a horn or the revving of an engine sounded out, despite being muffled by layers of brick and insulation.

     Sipping their wine, they stopped just outside a cracked door. Peeping in, a soft smile curled their lips as they spied one of their little ones (though, being nearly twenty, they are fairly certain that Sol would object to such an endearment). Seeing them softly snoring away, the door was pulled shut. Checking on their other child, Cruz, showed the same result.

     Once satisfied that their children (grown though they may be) were tucked away safely snoozing, Val continued down the hall. A few twists and turns later and they were in their office. Opulently decorated with heavy dark wood pieces and bold colors, it was quite a large and stately room. Near the far wall was their desk, and on the blotter was a thumb drive.

     Knowing that it must have been left by Tiberius, Val plucked it up. Wandering towards the entertainment center, they plugged in the drive, turned on the screen, and got comfortable on the couch, sipping more wine as they navigated menus with the remote.

     “Hey, is this thing on?” The sound of someone tapping a mic was heard before the picture abruptly turned on. A large brown eye was center stage, the corners crinkling briefly before the cam was pulled back, revealing the familiar face of Tiberius. “Alrighty, then! So, the usual drivel: Tiberius working on behalf of Don Valentino of the Sepulveda Family, yadda yadda yadda,” Ty’s eyes rolled, and his body moved like he was waving his hand. “Here to fuck some shit up and make a statement. So here’s,” he tapped the screen, “the mutherfuckin’,” more taps, “TEA,” a final tap. “Vinny’s been baaaaaaaad. Not only,” Ty brandished a finger, waving it around his head like a conductor, “has this bonafide dickfuck fuckface been doin’ Jerry’s dirty work, but this FUCKER has also been bringing in kids. KIDS I TELL YA! Now c'mon, Vinny, baby, ya don’t bring kids into your prostitution ring! Fucker! So, time to clean house! And Val?” Ty winked at the camera, “I’ll have a nice little pressie for ya when you finish this!”

     Some fumbling and cursing later, and Val had a chest-high view of whatever was in front of Ty. Currently, it was the door to what may be a warehouse. The video jumped up and down a few times, and the cocking of a gun was heard. Something very familiar was playing in the background, and it came to a hard beat as Ty kicked in the door-

     “Some-BODY ONCE TOLD ME,” duel-wielding, Ty buried a bullet into the head and gut of the bouncer standing guard as the kicked-in door bounced off of the wall. “THE WORLD WAS GONNA ROLL ME,” two steps down the hallway. “I AIN’T THE SMARTEST TOOL IN THE SHED,” one guy burst out of a room and got pistol-whipped for his stupidity, getting a few slugs to the back as he fell.

Hopping over the new body, Ty continued his song. “SHE WAS LOOKIN’ KINDA DUMB WITH HER FINGER AND HER THUMB,” this time, he peeped around a doorway into a room, squeaking out a startled 'Errol!?’ as a knife buried itself into the wall behind him. A feminine voice started spewing curses as he backpedaled, hands still clutching Glocks up in the air. “Aight, aight, I got it! Sheesh!” Huffing, he continued his journey down the hall, bellowing an 'IN THE SHAPE OF AN L ON 'ER FOREHEAD!’ behind him as he went.

Now Val wants to know what she was doing there. Did Jericho piss off Lucio, as well? They jumped as Ty continued his bit of Musical Mayhem.

     “WELLLLLLLLL THE YEARS START COMIN’ AND THEY DON’T STOP COMING!” At some point, the handyman had swapped out his handguns for a combat shotgun, opening up rounds into the chests of three forgettable thugs in beat to the last three words of his stanza. “FED TO THE RULES AND I HIT THE GROUND RUNNIN’!” Coming to the end of the hall, Ty blasted through the door, revealing the large, empty space typical to warehouses was replaced with a sort of hotel-like setup. An open-air lobby, with staircases spiraling up, leading to floors with open walkways. It looked like someone tried to recreate the lobby of the Waldorf Astoria, but it just went up and up, with each floor being closer to a balcony than a full floor. All of the open space allowed for the panicked cries and screams of the brothel inhabitants to echo in upon themselves.

     There were also a LOT of fine rugs, marble, and gilt furniture. How long has this operation been going on, and how did fucking JERICHO of all people get this set-up on the DL?

     “DIDN’T MAKE SENSE NOT TO LIVE FOR FUN,” *boom!**boom!**boom!*; a rapid release of shots into a group of mobsters as they tried to rush Tiberius, giving Val a front-row seat to the amount of kick a combat-class shotgun has as one man went flying, streamers of blood shooting from the stump that used to hold his head. “YOUR BRAIN GETS SMART BUT YER HEAD GETS DUMB! HAHA, FUCKER!” Ty’s voice was starting to get difficult to hear over the amount of sheer NOISE in the background.

     “SO MUCH TO DO!” *blam!* “SO MUCH TO SEE!” *blamblam!* “SO WHAT’S WRONG WITH TAKIN’ THE BACKSTREETS!?” The bodycam started shaking at Ty charged over to a staircase, plowing shoulder-first into a group of people storming down it while waving their guns. The picture blacked out and the muffled scratch of fabric rubbing over the built-in mic took up a few seconds of footage before a bright light cut through. Val had to squint their own eyes, and everything came back into focus just in time to see Ty hurl a middle-aged, half-dressed wanna-be mafioso over one of the balcony floors, singing out 'YOU’LL NEVER KNOW! IF YOU DON’T GO!’ as the man plummeted. He landed with a rubbery thump.

     “YOU’LL NEVER SHINE IF YOU DON’T GLOW,” more singing/screeching from Ty as he tossed a grenade down another balcony/hall. As it erupted, it covered the huddled gangsters in liquid fire. “HEY NOW! YOU’RE AN ALL-STAR! GET YOUR GAME ON! GO PLAYEEEEE! C'MON ASSHOLES! YOU WANTED TO BE A ROCKSTAR! HOW NOW! YOU’RE A ROCK STAR! GET THE SHOW ON! GET PAIIIIIIIIIIID! HA HAHAHAAA!”

     Val made a quiet note to themselves that Ty, while very funny, can also be downright sinister.

     “AND ALL THAT GLITTERS IS GO~OOOLLLLLLD!” And that Ty should also never attempt a falsetto that high ever. AGAIN.

     “ONLY SHOOTING STAAAAAAAAAARS BREAK THE MO-OLLLLLLD!” Another flame-spewing grenade was thrown, this time hitting what looked to be a fire extinguisher. Seconds later, foam started jetting out of the damaged, high-pressure steel canister, turning what was once a life-saving device into a literal missile, which shot off and plowed into the chest of a woman in Jericho’s colors, launching her airborne before the canister exploded, spreading shrapnel and viscera into a mist.

     Smothering their face with their hand, Val let out a disbelieving laugh as Ty continued to wreak unholy havoc on the hideout to the tune of an upbeat, mid-aughties pop-rock song. Knives were thrown, bullets buried in brains, and it all came to a crescendo as Ty unloaded a stereotypical tommy-gun down into a group of wannabe gangsters that had jimmied themselves into the lobby. The last note to the song was capped off with a tossed Molotov, the ring of shattering glass pairing well to the last guitar chord.

     Chuckling in satisfaction, Val finished their wine before shutting off the television. Wandering out of their office, they refilled their wineglass before heading toward their bedroom. Humming in pleasure after taking a fresh sip of chilled wine, they gently opened their door, stopping in the doorway before raising a sculpted brow. “So,” they queried. “Is this my 'pressie’?”

     It’s quite a nice present, Val thought. Tiberius was lounging on Val’s obscenely large bed, on his side and completely nude. If not for a strategically-placed pile of rose petals, the fit man would be putting on quite the show. As it was, Tiberius decided to take a page out of every cheesy romance novel/movie and had bedecked the bedroom in dozens of low-burning candles and scattered roses, capping-off the trope with a single rose clenched between pearly whites. It’s something the Valentino of twenty-some years ago would have swooned over.

     Although, the Valentino of now is feeling quite swoon-y, now. "Heh,“ they chuckled as Ty wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. "I’ve got to say, this is a nice surprise, viejo amigo.” Quietly shutting the door behind them, they leaned against the slab of wood-encased steel and gave their 'present’ a heated stare. “What gives?”

     “Eh, nothing much.” Pulling the rose out of his mouth, Ty tossed it aside with a flick of the wrist. “Just, ah, you wanted a job wet and messy, and I decided that you could use a little 'wet 'n messy’ yourself.”

     Val barked out a laugh. “Oh, but that was horrible!” Wandering closer to the bed, they held out a hand, gently cupping a warm cheek. “What am I going to do with you- MERDA!”

     Yanking Val towards him, Ty rolled them, stopping on his back with Val perched on top. “Well, first things first! Let’s fuck!”

*****

     The room stunk of sex, and all of the candles had burned themselves out. Entwined under a thin sheet, a sticky but satiated couple cuddled. Bite marks and hickeys decorated soft skin, and Val laid with their head tucked under Ty’s chin, one set of fingers lazily tracing circles over the larger man’s lower back.

“So,” Val lazily purred. “Aside from the cam footage, did you learn anything else?”

Ty hummed. “You may want to speak to Head in the Clouds.”

“…about?”

     A hoarse chuckle. “Seem’s someone’s son has a little crush on our Cruzi. A Playboy got mixed into my briefing file, and a VERY well-worn page had a model that looked startlingly like our bambino was on it.”

     “…really?” Ty hissed as sharp nails dug into his back, relaxing when Val apologetically rubbed them. “I’ll need to set-up a meeting. But, that can wait until tomorrow.”

     The last thing Ty thought as they both dropped off to sleep was that he was glad he didn’t let on that he’s pretty sure Lucky and Cruz have a thing.

     But he’s not sorry for telling Cruz’s Apa. Serves the little brat right for shitting all over him as a baby and giving him heart attacks every week since they learned how to walk.

     HA!

@agent-darkbootie @thraxbaby @lazyvoyager @magicianapprenticelyra @plaguedcount

[summahsunlight]

This Way Became My Journey, CH. 3

Word Count: 4363

Pairings: Janeway/Chakotay, Paris/OFC

Characters: Kathryn Janeway, Chakotay, Tom Paris, Sarah Barrett (OC), Harry Kim, B’Elanna Torres, Kes, Neelix, the Doctor

Master List

Against her better judgement, Kathryn Janeway has taken her children with her on the trip to the Badlands to track Chakotay and the Maquis rebels. But when the ship is thrown into the Delta Quadrant, Janeway is forced to join with the Maquis in order to survive the treacherous, unknown part of the galaxy.

Voyager's conference room wasn't as grand as some of the other ones he had seen in his day, but Tom Paris reasoned it was functional. Sarah Barrett herself had requested that he join the senior staff for a briefing. She hadn't said what admiral would be briefing them, but she had mentioned something about a conference call. She had made it a point to walk in with him; she wanted the officers who opposed of him to know she wouldn't stand for it.

"What is he doing here?" Commander Cavit asked hotly.

Sarah raised her chin slightly as she took her seat. "I asked him to be here, Commander. He is after all here to help us find the Maquis."

Derek Evans, the Chief Engineer, leaned back in his chair with a scowl on his face. "We're perfectly capable of finding the Maquis in our own," he grumbled.

Tom noticed Sarah's response was a hard glare at that man, which made him divert his eyes. She's two for two, he thought whimsically as he took his seat next to her. He was happy for the support, he needed all of it that he could get. Glancing across the table he met the eyes of Harry Kim. He was certain at some point during this three week mission that even young, ambitious Harry would see him for what he really was, a screw up and no body wanted to be friends with a screw up.

Kathryn Janeway walked briskly into the room and called the meeting to order. "We'll be receiving an update from Headquarters any minute. Has there been any sign of the Maquis?"

"None yet," Kim replied. "Short and long range sensors are picking up nothing; we appear to be the only ship in this sector of space."

"I haven't detected any other warp trails in the vicinity," Stadi said. "We're still following the trails of the Gul Evek's ship and the Val Jean."

Janeway curtly nodded her head. "Keep all sensors scanning for that ship." The comline beeped then and she pressed a button on a panel near her chair. "Janeway."

"We're receiving a transmission from Admiral Hanson, Captain."

"Patch him through."

"Aye Captain."

Tom turned his chair about, not looking forward to this message. Hanson had been one of the admirals adamant that he be ushered out of Starfleet permanently. The good Admiral was probably not happy that Janeway had asked to use him on this mission. The Admiral's face soon filled the viewscreen. He looked older and more haggard than Tom had last seen him.

"Captain Janeway," Hanson began, "I wish I had some good news to bring you. Unfortunately we still haven't heard from Mister Tuvok. Headquarters believes that the ship was lost in the Badlands. It's your mission now to bring in the wreckagec for further analysis."

"What exactly are we looking for?" Janeway questioned.

"Leave that for us to determine, Captain, Hanson out."

The screen went black and Janeway quickly ushered the senior staff back to work, except Sarah. Tom caught a glance of her lingering behind to speak with the Captain before the doors shut and he went about his business.

Janeway stood at the head of the table, palms leaning against the surface. "Your opinion on that message."

"I'm not sure how they could determine that the Val Jean had been destroyed when there has been no sign of wreckage. As for what we're looking for, I'm not sure. There's been speculation that a Federation ship was responsible for shooting the Val Jean down, but it's just speculation," Sarah answered. "If it was, then Headquarters has a bigger problem that the Maquis on their hands."

The Captain shook her head. "A ship just doesn't disappear without a trace like this."

Sarah stiffened slightly. "Captain, the Badlands aren't your average trip through space. Plasma storms could completely destroy a ship without leaving a trace. There have been lots of ships that have disappeared without a trace."

Janeway grinned sadly. "At least in those cases traces of something had been found. We're grasping at straws here."

"Isn't that part of our job, ma'am?"

"I suppose it is, Counselor," Janeway said, with a wave of her hand. "Thank you, you're dismissed."

Sarah left the room to find Tom standing outside waiting for her. "Thanks, for sticking up for me."

"I'm just doing my job," she said, getting into a turbo lift.

Tom followed her. "I know what people think of me, it can't be easy doing your job."

"Deck two," Sarah ordered the lift. She looked patiently at Tom.

"That's where I'm going too."

Sarah didn't think it was coincidence. "Perhaps you don't know a lot about me Mister Paris, but I'm not a fan favorite around here either. My job was going to be rough from the start whether or not you were here."

"You wound me, Counselor," Tom said. "Here I thought it was because you liked me."

The lift doors opened. Sarah led the way out, glancing over her shoulder at Paris. His grey-blue eyes were fixed upon her face in a look that she had seen far too often from men, but there was something different about his look, she just couldn't put her finger on it. "Tell me something, Paris, were you born this arrogant or did you learn it over time."

Tom quirked a grin. "That's not arrogance, sweetheart, it's charm."

"Sorry, I get them confused all the time," Sarah said, typing in the access code to her office.

"Don't worry about it; join me for lunch?"

"I have a date...with a few personnel reports," Sarah said, slipping into her office. The door slid shut and she closed her eyes and sighed. She shouldn't like him, he really was cocky, arrogant and self-centered, but she couldn't help it. For whatever reason Sarah liked Tom Paris but there was no way she was ever going to admit it to him, that would only make him even more cocky, and the ship didn't need that.

The mess hall seemed to be the place if you wanted a lot of social interactions. There were at least twenty people in the room when Tom Paris had entered, one of them being Harry Kim sitting with the First Officer and the Doctor. There was no doubt in his mind that the officers were telling young Harry all about what he had done previously to land him jail. He found that it made his blood boil, because Harry had been the only one to be civil to him, with the exception of Janeway, and that pretty counselor, Sarah Barrett. Paris tried to ignore the angry feelings as he went to one of the replicators.

"Tomato soup," he ordered the computer, his eyes glancing over his shoulder at the group. The CMO and Cavit were facing him and both saw him looking their way. For a brief moment their eyes met in glares, but Tom turned back to the computer when it started to babble at him.

"There are fourteen varieties of tomato soup available from this replicator," the computer responded, beginning to list off all of them. Paris rolled his eyes. All he wanted was a bowl of tomato soup and the blasted computer had to go into a full blown out menu.

"You need to be specific," a small voice said.

He glanced down to see a small boy standing next to him. He was unaware that there were children on board the ship and the sight of a five year old shocked him. The kid was of average height for his age, with short dark hair and dazzling blue eyes. Paris couldn't help but feel he had seen the boy's face somewhere before.

"Plain," Paris instructed the computer. It stopped its listing.

Before the computer could reply, the boy said, "You're going to have to be more specific than that."

"Hot or chilled?" the computer asked. Sure enough the kid had been right.

Paris found that he did not like it when the boy was right. He scowled at the replicator. "Hot, plain, tomato soup!" It materialized before him and as he took the tray in his hands, he saw the Doctor and First Officer get up to leave. But as he tried to move, he found that the boy was still standing there looking at him. "Can I help you with something?" he asked, stiffly.

"Mama says you're from jail," the child quipped.

"That's right," Paris said with a huff. "Who's your mother kid?"

"Captain Janeway," the boy replied.

Paris raised his eyebrows. No one wonder the kid had looked familiar to him; he was a spitting image of Janeway. Paris had not even been aware that the Captain had a child on board. Guess I should have paid more attention to the gossip that wasn't about Sarah Barrett, he thought, as he tried to move away to go have a seat with Harry, but the kid just would not move. "Is there something else?" he asked, exasperated.

"You worked for the Maquis," Michael stated.

"Yeah, not for long though."

"Mama says you got caught, that's why you were in jail," the boy said.

Is there anything that Janeway has not told her kid about? Paris thought suddenly, with a little bit of anger. Apparently nothing was going to be sacred on this trip; even a child knew about his past. "Yeah, I worked for the Maquis," he said, bitterly. "And got caught; now can I go eat my soup?"

"Sure, but you're not going to like it," the kid countered. "The replicator's food is awful."

"Then why are you down here?" Paris couldn't help but snap.

"Ava wanted chocolate milk."

"You couldn't have gotten that in your quarters?" Paris questioned, wondering who Ava was. Did the Captain have more children that he wasn't aware of?

"Well…" the boy began to say as Cavit stepped up.

"Michael you've wasted enough of Mister Paris' time," he said. "Move along now; your mother made it clear that you're to stay in your quarters, unless you're with her."

The child scampered away. Cavit just gave Paris a stern look before he too left the mess hall. Tom was finally able to go and have a seat with Harry. He set his tray down across from the young ensign who was looking at him sternly. He immediately knew what had transpired. It was only a matter of time before someone told the young Harry what Tom had done. "There you see, I told you it wouldn't take long," he said, sitting down.

"Is it true?" Harry asked.

"Was the accident my fault? Yes. Pilot error, but it took me a while to admit it." He took a bite of his soup and found that Michael Janeway had been right; it was awful. He pushed the tray away from him. "Ugh, fourteen varieties and they can't even get plain tomato soup right."

Harry ignored him. "They said you falsified reports."

"That's right."

"Why?"

"What's the difference?" Tom asked. "I lied."

Harry frowned at him. "But then you came forward and admitted it was your fault."

Tom straightened slightly. "I'll tell you the truth Harry. All I had to do was keep my mouth shut and I was home free. But I couldn't," he looked at Harry mockingly. "The ghost of those three dead officers came to me in the middle of the night and taught me the true meaning of Christmas."

Harry rolled his eyes at the sarcastic remark.

Tom looked down at the table for a moment, thinking of what to say next. "So I confessed. Worst mistake I ever made, but not my last. After they cashiered me out of Starfleet I went out looking for a fight and found the Maquis. And on my first assignment I was caught."

"It must have been especially tough for you being the son of an admiral," Harry replied.

Tom looked angry. "Frankly I think it was tougher on my father than it was on me." He picked his tray up and began to leave, looking down at Harry. "Look I know those guys told you to stay away from me, and you know what? You ought to listen to them. I'm not exactly a good luck charm." He started to walk away again but Harry turned around to look at him with a slight smile on his face.

"I don't need anyone to chose my friends for me," he informed Tom.

"Janeway to Paris," the Captain's voice came over the comm.

"Go ahead," Paris said.

"Report to the bridge. We're approaching the Badlands."

When Kim and Paris entered the bridge, Janeway was the one to inform them that they had approximated the Maquis' course. The two young men exchanged glances before Harry went to his station to take over. Janeway went around the tactical station and down the steps to sit in her seat; Cavit was instructing Stadi to adjust their course to the new coordinates.

Sarah Barrett was seated next to Janeway's chair, a PADD in her hand. Her deep blue eyes were running over the report, but Tom knew she was watching him. He had called her service record up after meeting her in the ready room. She was a lot like him in certain senses, the child of an Admiral, spent some time in prison for dereliction of duty and drug rehab afterwards. Janeway had probably asked her to come on board for her expertise in terrorists, not for her counseling skills. Although, he didn't doubt she knew what she was doing, since she had been one of the first people in Starfleet to issue a report on the psychological mind of the Borg Collective. If she could break down the Borg, she could break down a simple human.

"The Cardassians claim that they forced the Maquis ship into a plasma storm where it was destroyed," Janeway was informing Paris, who was following behind her to the command station. Her voice brought him out of his intense thoughts on Barrett. "But our probes haven't picked up any debris."

"The plasma storm might not leave any debris," Paris offered.

Janeway looked at him thoughtfully from her chair. "We'd still be able to pick a residence trace from the warp core." She faintly heard a warning beep going off at the ops station.

"Captain," Kim said, studying his controls. "I'm reading a coherent tetryon beam scanning us."

Janeway looked up at him. "Origin Mister Kim?"

Kim shook his head, typing at his controls. "I'm not sure, there's also a displacement wave moving towards us."

"On screen," Janeway ordered, turning to look at the view screen. The Badlands came into view, but with an energy wave spanning the pink clouds, quickly approaching her ship. She felt a lump forming in her throat.

"That's no plasma storm," Barrett bluntly stated, anxiety laced in her voice.

"Analysis," Janeway ordered Kim, feeling her own anxiety growing.

"Some kind of polarized magnetic variation," Kim answered her.

"We might be able to disperse it with a graviton particle field," Cavit suggested from his position behind Stadi.

"Do it," Janeway ordered him. He moved away from the conn and quickly moved to tactical. "Red alert," Janeway said, standing up, Paris behind her. The lights on the bridge dimmed as the alarm sounded, flooding the cabin in a red glow. "Move us away from it Lieutenant," she ordered Stadi.

Stadi quickly complied. "New heading four one mark one zero eight," the Betazoid announced.

The ship lurched to its new course trying to outrun the displacement wave.

"Initiating graviton field," Cavit announced from tactical.

Janeway watched on the screen as the graviton field was dispersed into the displacement wave. A warning blare from Ops told her what she needed to know before Kim announced that the field had no effect. The wave was still moving towards them. "Full impulse," she told Stadi. However faster they seemed to go, the wave seemed to match. She felt her heart quicken. The wave had the potential to tear her ship apart, killing her crew along with herself and her children. I should have listened to my mother! My children are going to die because of my selfishness!

"The wave will intercept us in twelve seconds," Kim announced. It sounded like a death sentence to Janeway's ears.

"Can we go to warp," she asked, anxiously.

"Not until we clear the plasma field, Captain," Stadi replied, nervously looking up at the view screen at the fast approaching displacement wave.

"Five seconds!"

"Brace for impact!" Janeway ordered turning about to find her chair as a bright light engulfed the bridge. She was just getting there when there was a flash of white light and the ship was thrown about violently. She grabbed a hold of whatever she could but it was no use. The power of the wave hitting the ship forced her hands to lose their grip on the arms of her chair that she was clinging too and she was slammed onto the deck, where for a few brief seconds everything went black.

When she came too she managed to crawl up on her knees. There was smoke in the cabin, mangled pieces of pipes hanging down from the ceiling, and sparks emitting from broken power lines and conduits. The lights were low. Glancing about she noticed her First Officer lying on his back near the conn station. Janeway pushed her self up onto her knees and crawled towards the injured Cavit. He had been trying to get back to his chair as well when the wave hit. Hair in her face, she placed a hand to Cavit's neck to find a pulse but there was none. Taking the dead officer's hand in her own she closed her eyes briefly and said a silent prayer.

"Report!" she yelled over her shoulder to a hopefully unharmed Harry Kim.

Kim had been thrown from his station but was not hurt. He quickly rushed over to his beeping controls. "Hull breach, deck fourteen. comm lines to Engineering are down. I'm trying to reestablish," Kim announced.

Janeway got to her feet and went to the nearest station, moving Paris out of the way by gently touching his arm. "Repair crews seal off hull breach on deck fourteen," she ordered, accessing the computer to hopefully locate her children. Oh please, don't let them be hurt, she prayed to herself. She heard an "Aye captain," come over the comm. line but she was not sure who it was. Her mind was in a state of flux; she had to find the children.

"Casualty reports coming in," tactical said. "Sickbay is not responding."

"Bridge to sickbay," Janeway called. There was no answer. "Doctor, can you hear me?" she asked, glancing to her left. She noticed Paris at her feet, leaning over an injured Stadi. The young woman's dark eyes were frozen open in pain and horror; blood covered her face and uniform. "Paris how's Stadi?" she asked, fearing the answer.

"She's dead," Paris answered, softly making eye contact with the Captain. The older woman looked away from him. He moved about on the floor trying to gain his bearings. That's when he saw Barrett, laying on back at the foot of her chair. She had a gash running down the length of her face and from where he was situated it appeared that she was not breathing. He crawled towards her and checked for a pulse. It was fairly strong and she was breathing. He guessed that the blow to the head had knocked her out and she had a concussion.

Pulling out his tricorder he hoped that he could get some form of readings on her even if the instrument he was holding in his hand wasn't a medical tricorder. The tiny device managed to give him her vitals but other than that, he wasn't sure the extent of her injuries.

Barrett groaned and her eyes opened slightly to look at him. "Paris?" she whispered.

"Hold on," he told her, putting the tricorder away. "You have a nasty cut on your head, maybe even a concussion and it looks like you took a pretty good tumble out of your seat there. You should lay here until we can get you to sickbay."

"Help me up," she instructed him.

"Counselor, you really shouldn't move until a crew can take you to sickbay."

She reached out and grabbed a hold of his upper arm and used it to force her self up into a sitting position. "Damn it, Paris, I'm fine! Now help me up! That's an order!"

He hated how she had pulled the rank on him to get what she wanted but did as he was told, stating, "I don't think your in much a position to be ordering me around, but have it your way." She made it to her feet, but not without a few wobbles before she could gain her own bearings. Immediately she went to help the others. Like a true Starfleet officer, Paris observed going to stand besides Janeway who was furiously running her fingers over the conn.

"Is the main computer up?" Janeway was yelling at tactical. She had a frayed tone to her voice and Paris immediately thought of the little boy in the mess hall. The woman was trying to find her kids. He came to stand besides her and began using the controls, while Rollins replied that the main computer was off line.

Of course, it would be too easy to ask the computer where the kids were, Tom thought as he accessed the internal sensors. It would be easy enough to refine them to search for two human children, since they were the only youths on the ship; it was just going to take a little bit longer than asking the computer.

Janeway was growing increasingly more frustrated. All she wanted to do at that moment was locate her children but everyone yelling different reports at her kept her from doing what she desired. It was making her mind go in what felt like five thousand directions. She wasn't sure what problem she should focus on first; there were just so many of them she didn't know where to start.

"Captain, there's something out there," Kim announced.

She rolled her eyes. "I need a better description than that Mister Kim."

"I don't know… I'm reading," he paused, "I'm not sure what I'm reading."

Janeway felt helpless, confused. The wave should have ripped the ship apart in the Badlands but somehow it was here, all in one piece, mostly. It was something that she was going to have to figure out later. Right now, they had more pressing matters. She opened her mouth to say something to Kim when Paris whispered, "The kids are okay, they're in your quarters, and life signs are strong."

She looked at him gratefully and silently acknowledged him. "Can you get the view screen operational?" she asked Kim.

"I'm trying," Kim responded. Suddenly the static on the view screen disappeared to show a massive array with several arms in the middle of space. It was dispersing a pulse of energy every few seconds that shot out into the distance of space. Janeway or anyone on the bridge for that matter had not seen anything like it ever and it was mesmerizing. What is going on? Janeway thought. There were no reports of a space station anywhere near the Badlands. She heard another beeping noise from the operations station.

"Captain if these sensors are working. We're over 70,000 light years from where we were. We're on the other side of the galaxy," Kim announced.

Paris glanced at Janeway whose eyes were locked on the array. This is not what I had bargained for, he thought.

"Captain, the Maquis ship is out there, but I'm not reading any life signs," Kim reported.

Janeway stepped around a crew taking Stadi's body off of the bridge. "What about on that…that array?" she questioned stepping up to Kim's station. She glanced over her shoulder at the alien array. A few minutes ago they had been in the Badlands and now her new operations officer was telling her that her ship had been hurled across the galaxy, over seventy thousand light years from home. This isn't how she had envisioned the mission to retrieve the Maquis to go. Then again, she reasoned, nothing every seemed to go right when you were a Starfleet officer. It was just a part of the job.

"Our sensors can't penetrate it," Kim's voice cut through her thoughts.

"Any idea what those pulses are coming from it Mister Kim?"

"Massive burst of radon energy. They seemed to be directed towards a nearby G-type star system."

"Try hailing the array," Janeway said, making her way up to the command station. There was a comm. signal as she did so.

"Engineering to bridge. We have severe damage. The Chief's dead. Possibility of a warp core breach."

Janeway took a deep breath before turning about. "Secure all engineering systems! I'm on my way." As she passed by Kim he looked at her gravely.

"No response from the array," he told her.

"Ensign, get down to sickbay. See what's going on," Janeway ordered Kim, she looked over at tactical. "Sarah the bridge is yours," she said disappearing into the turbo lift.

Paris turned about to see Kim get into another turbo lift. He sprinted towards the lift, calling, "Harry, wait for me." He grabbed a hold of Sarah's arm, who had been helping Rollins. "Come on Counselor, time to get fixed up, and I won't take no for an answer. You're not going to be able to pull rank on me this time."

"But," Sarah sputtered, "Captain Janeway left me in charge of the bridge."

"And you're not fit to command right now."

His grip was too tight for her to attempt to break free. As he yanked her into the turbo lift she managed to yell out, "Mister Rollins you have the bridge!" She was just going to have to go unwillingly with Paris, throbbing head and all.

[areyoureadyforsomemeatballz]

You’ve Got Mail (4)

Summary: You find yourself falling for stranger on an anonymous messenger app created for students at your college. What happens when you discover that they’re not a stranger after all?

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Word Count: 1900

Warnings: Some swearing. Two dumb asses in love.

A/N: We’re coming to a head my friends! I’m so excited to share this next part with you. Please, please, please let me know what you think! Talking with you guys and hearing your thoughts makes me ridiculously happy. This is part of my entry for @spideywhiteys 1000 follower challenge, go check Jem out.

Natasha leads you into a booth at the diner across from your apartment building. After the waiter drops your drinks off at the table she gives you an expectant look. You stir the straw around in your glass absentmindedly and take a deep breath. Your hands drop to the sticky table, avoiding her eyes.

“I want what you and Clint have.” You look up from your clasped hands. “Hell, I want what Bucky and Sam have. I want someone who knows me inside and out and loves me for it-”

Natasha reaches across the table for your hand and cuts you off. “Honey-”

“Nat, its fine. I’m fine. It’s just hard not to think about it when I’m surrounded by happy couples.”

She squeezes your hand softly. “We’re not always happy.”

“I know that,” you say. “No relationship is going to be perfect. But, in the end, you make it work and you can’t deny that you’re not happier with Clint in your life.”

Her eyes soften, and she nods her head. “He’s my everything.”

You smile at her. “I kinda met someone.”

Her eyes go wide, and she grips your hand again, tighter this time. “What? When? Are they hot? Have you slept together?” She pauses briefly, and her eyebrows shoot up to her hairline. “Oh my god, was it Tony’s app?”

Your cheeks heat up and you busy yourself with the menu in front of you. “Yeah, it was the fucking app,” you whisper. “God, I feel so stupid.”

She tugs the menu away from your face. “One, you get the same thing every time we come here. Two, why do you feel stupid? Who cares how you met someone?”

“We’ve never actually met,” you mumble.

“Come again?”

“I’ve never actually met him. I don’t even know his name.”

Natasha’s jaw drops and her brows furrow. “How long has this been going on?”

“Since the night of the release party.”

“That was weeks ago,” she shouts, much to the annoyance of the couple in the booth behind yours. The old woman whips her head around to glare daggers at the two of you.

You clap your hand over her mouth with wide eyes. “Natty shh. I know!”

You drop your hand from her face when you’re sure she won’t yell again. “I didn’t even know you were still using it! I figured you stopped as soon as I talked to Clint. I mean that was the deal, right?”

You nod your head and pull out your phone. “Yeah, but I got attached.” Your head drops onto the table with a quiet bang. “I really like him, Natasha.”

“I’m not seeing the issue? Besides you not telling me ‘till now.”

“I don’t even know him! What if he’s a serial killer? What if he’s a terrible frat guy?”

She rolls her eyes at you and presses against your forehead, forcing you to sit up. “You’ve been talking for over a month, I think you’re a pretty good judge of character. So, when are you meeting him?”

“Do you think I should?”

“Do you think you shouldn’t?”

“You’re not being helpful,” you whine.

“You’re the only one that can decide if you should meet this guy,” she says. “Does he make you happy?”

“Yeah, yeah he does.”

The waiter comes back to take your orders and after Natasha launches into a story about one of her coaches. You set your phone off to the side, not noticing the vibration signaling a new message. Once you’re home you unlock your phone, grinning at the screen when you realize you have an unread text from your mystery man.

CaptainDumbass: OH MY GOD

ActualWitch: ???

ActualWitch: Are you okay

CaptainDumbass: It took you like a year to respond

ActualWitch: I haven’t had my phone all morning

ActualWitch: Why were you freaking out?

CaptainDumbass: OH YEAH

CaptainDumbass: WAIT

CaptainDumbass: WHAT HAPPENED LAST NIGHT

ActualWitch: you declared your undying love for me

CaptainDumbass: Yes

CaptainDumbass: Wait, no

CaptainDumbass: I…

ActualWitch: Im messing with you gramps

CaptainDumbass: I do like you though

CaptainDumbass: But I didn’t mean to spring it on you like that

CaptainDumbass: I was in kind of a weird place

ActualWitch: But you still like me?

CaptainDumbass: Yes

ActualWitch: We’re on the same page then

ActualWitch: I like you too

CaptainDumbass: I thought it was a dream that I told you

ActualWitch: Are you okay?

CaptainDumbass: Yeah

CaptainDumbass: I just had a rough night

CaptainDumbass: Is that too vague?

ActualWitch: A bit?

CaptainDumbass: I was confused about my feelings and one of my friends decided it would be a good idea to get really drunk

CaptainDumbass: but not so much

ActualWitch: I think we’ve all been there

CaptainDumbass: I don’t regret it though

CaptainDumbass: I think it would have taken me a lot longer to get the courage to tell you

ActualWitch: You don’t even regret the hangover?

CaptainDumbass: I don’t even regret the hangover…

CaptainDumbass: not if it means you know how I feel

ActualWitch: you’re a fucking sap

ActualWitch: I wish I could bring you coffee or painkillers or something...

CaptainDumbass: is that your way of saying you want to meet me?

CaptainDumbass: because I’d love nothing more

CaptainDumbass: … Please answer

CaptainDumbass: I take it back

CaptainDumbass: I’m so sorry

ActualWitch: I literally didn’t answer for thirty secods

CaptainDumbass: Are you still mocking me?

CaptainDumbass: OR DID YOU MAKE A MISTAKE?!?!?!

CaptainDumbass: GRANDMA!

ActualWitch: Why do I want to meet you again?

CaptainDumbass: You want to meet me?

ActualWitch: I was trying to say that and then you had a small meltdown

CaptainDumbass: When are you free?

ActualWitch: Tuesday night?

CaptainDumbass: I have class then

CaptainDumbass: Wednesday?

ActualWitch: Class :(

CaptainDumbass: What about tonight?

CaptainDumbass: Is that too soon??  

ActualWitch: I mean that works for me

CaptainDumbass: There’s a little coffee shop on main, does that work

ActualWitch: Are you talking about Val’s??

CaptainDumbass: Yes?

CaptainDumbass: Have you been there?

ActualWitch: I might be in love with you….

ActualWitch: VALS IS MY LIFE

CaptainDumbass: Well then

CaptainDumbass: See you tonight

ActualWitch: Look for the girl with the roses

CaptainDumbass: Oh smart. So I know its you

ActualWitch: I WAS KIDDING

ActualWitch: Oh my godddddddddddddddddd

ActualWitch: See you tonight dummy

You toss your phone down and notice a draft of one of Steve’s assignments on your desk that he must’ve left after your last study session. You squeeze your eyes closed and lean back against your bed. You’d been able to push Steve out of your thoughts all morning, but now he was at the forefront of your mind. You push yourself up off the bed and scoop his work up. You march down the hall to his door and take a breath before tapping on the door.  

Steve swings the door open and his eyes light up briefly as he takes in the sight of you. The circles under his eyes seem darker and he leans against the doorframe with a quirked brow. “I uh- I missed you at breakfast,” his voice is rough as if he hasn’t spoken all day. “You and Nat- we missed you and Nat this morning.”

You shrug your shoulders and your lips quirk up. “Sorry, Stevie. We weren’t feeling up for it.”

Steve runs his hand over the back of his head and his cheeks dusted with a blush. “Oh, did you end up going out last night?”

Your nose crinkles and you shake your head. “I would’ve texted.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know what forget I said anything.” You thrust the stack of papers in your hand into his chest. “You left these at my place.”

You spin on your heel to leave, but Steve’s hand closes around your wrist. “What are we doing?”

“Well, I was trying to go back to my apartment.”

Steve groans and drops your hand. “You know that’s not what I meant!”

“I don’t know what to say, Steve.”

“You don’t have to say anything, I just miss my best friend.”

Your eyes dart down to your feet. “I miss you too.”

He tugs you toward his chest and you breathe in deeply as you settle against him. Steve nuzzles his nose into your hair, making you laugh. The two of you stay wrapped in each other’s arms until you hear approaching footsteps. You are torn as you step away from him.

“Are you busy right now?

You look down at your phone and notice that you need to head to Val’s soon. You look back up and can’t deny Steve’s pleading eyes. “I uh- No. No, I’m not busy. Why?”

Steve nods his head toward his door with a small smile. “Do you want to come watch movies with me? I’ll even get Chinese food from that shit-hole down the street.”

“Excuse you, that ‘shit-hole’ is so much better than the place you like.”

Steve’s smile grows and leads you into his place, grabbing your favorite blanket and getting you settled on the couch. “I’m going to go order the food. Pick whatever you want to watch, okay?”

Steve retreats to the kitchen and you glance behind you quickly. You open up the Campus Chat app to cancel your plans for the evening.

ActualWitch: Please don’t hate me

CaptainDumbass: I could never?

CaptainDumbass: Oh shit….

CaptainDumbass: Something came up can we reschedule?

ActualWitch: Yes!

ActualWitch: That’s why I texted you

Actual Witch: My friend is having a crisis

CaptainDumbass: Same here.

ActualWitch: When do you want to switch to

CaptainDumbass: What about this time next week?

ActualWitch: 5 next Saturday?

CaptainDumbass: works for me

ActualWitch: okay

ActualWitch: That’s a long time to wait…

You hear Steve puttering around the kitchen and turn back to your phone waiting for a response. Steve’s voice fills the apartment as he calls in your order and you snatch up the remote to find a movie before he gets back. He flops on the couch next to you, resting his head on your thigh.

“What took you so long in there?”

A blush dusts his cheeks as he looks up at you. “I had to send a quick text.”

Your smile falls for a split second, but you school your features before Steve sees. “Oh, to that girl you’ve been talking to?”

He nods his head in your lap and you decide to drop the conversation. As you continue the search for a movie you can feel Steve’s eyes on you. He sits up to help you look and you pass him the remote.

“I have to go to the bathroom, I’ll be right back.” You stand quickly and retreat, hoping that a break will let the tension out of the room.

Steve watches as you rush to the bathroom with a small frown on his face. He pulls his phone out and his frown drops when he notices a new message on Campus Chat.

CaptainDumbass: Absence makes the heart grow fonder

Your phone buzzes on the coffee table right after he sends the message. Steve’s eyes widen, and he reaches for your phone. He drops his hand, rethinking his action, and instead unlocks his phone again.

CaptainDumbass: …

Another buzz sounds from the table.

CaptainDumbass: Hey

Another buzz.

Steve plucks your phone off the table and his eyes dart down the hallway. He unlocks your phone and his heart stops when he sees a very familiar text thread. Steve drops your phone as if it had bitten him and all the color drains from his face. He was fucked. 

Part 3

Part 5

[the-reborn-galaxy484]

A Lesson For Therapists

,Okay so...some of y’all might’ve noticed our reblogs, lack of personal posts, & essential silence for a bit now.

We’ve been in a state of system-wide distress, anxiety, depression, & severe lack of sleep.

We now work night shifts at Taco Bell (could be anywhere from 6pm to 9pm through 12am to 6am depending on what they need) so we don’t sleep much if at all on the weekends. We can’t comment on corporate secrets or explain why corporate decides to change the menu (though some is to simplify it so that our service workers have less to learn & lower stress) because that’s illegal, but we will acknowledge they hired us & don’t know we have multiple personalities (they think we’re an ADHD, constantly smiling 19yo because they met Nico on a good day when the interview fell in mid-August).

On top of that, we are taking a level 356 history class. For those of you who don’t know, level 100 classes are typical freshman (year 1) level classes & level 200 is sophomore (year 2) and so on. We are a sophomore, and most of us are kids. Around that class is public speaking (anxiety for our socially anxious kiddos), Digital Technology & Culture/DTC 201 (we took level 100s last year) & Spanish (Nico & Matías love that class because it’s easy & it helps the rest of us understand them). Our DTC teacher automatically assumed when Nico slipped we’re multiple that we’re dangerous & reported us to the DTC department lead, who contacted the Vice Chancellor of the school and caused a TON of excess stress.

Nico, Val, Markus, Jason sometimes, & now Davide have all been cutting. Nico age slides between 5 and 17 years old, and the older he is the more suicidal he is. Our depression just keeps getting worse.

We’ve had around 20 new splits in the past 3 weeks, & also had around 10 people come back out of the subconscious. Kaden is among them; he’s posted a couple times, just reblogs. For reference, typically splits happen maybe once every few years but we’ve already had about 25 in the past year.

We finally overcame severe anxiety and guilt about the concept and started therapy a couple weeks ago, when school began.

There is only one therapist we trust enough system-wide to talk to. She’s been fantastic & has ideas to lower our anxiety & help us better cope with emotions.

However.

Here’s a shoutout to any therapists, medical professionals, or education professionals.

In today’s session she got us to laugh, which is a strange feeling. But after that, she also brought up that she wanted to lower the number of dissociations, with the eventual plan of integrating us once she gets the anxiety lower. She also said “there aren’t really seventy-three people walking around in your head, it’s just various levels of dissociation.”

We’re going to address both things, because of the severe anxiety it caused us...

We just sort of laughed awkwardly & mentioned we have severe anxiety & would be unable to function. We do NOT want to integrate. We are a system, a team, a family. We are our own friends. 

We don’t want to merge into one quote-unquote “whole” person. We will never be normal anyway, people will still think we’re strange. This is one of the reasons we didn’t want to go to therapy; they think they’re helping you when they integrate you, but all that would do is cause us crippling anxiety.

Nico has Social Anxiety Disorder, Davide has Generalized Anxiety Disorder, Jack has Panic Disorder, most of us have PTSD or Complex PTSD, and even we don’t know the others since we only have access to 42 of the 73 personalities in our mind. 

We don’t want to integrate.

That was the only thing she’s said that’s shut us down.

Our mother told Nico (about one of our friends, whose personality Cassandra/Esther has adopted Nico as her child & genuinely loves him) “he does realize they’re not real, right? They’re just figments of a broken child’s imagination. They help in the short term but they can always go away.”

That mention caused Nico to spiral in anxiety, because he is an alter. To him, that means he’s not real and thus nothing he says or does matters. It’s what made him start cutting.

That same concept was brought up in today’s session with integration & “there aren’t really” those people in our mind.

Yes, we are various dissociations in originally Alec’s (now Jason’s) mind. We are fragmented for a reason. We never learned how to be a person, how to empathize, how to interact the “right” way.

However.

Leave our mind alone.

Have you ever considered maybe we want to be multiple?

Maybe it helps us more than just in the short term.

Maybe it makes us feel less alone,

More whole,

Less insignificant.

Have you ever thought about that?

No,

Because you believe you job is to cure a broken child’s imagination,

Give them tools to survive in a world that will only break them again,

And dust your hands off of their trauma.

But at the end of the day...

Does that really help?

No,

No it does not.

We will continue to break,

To split all over again,

Because we help each other cope.

We can’t do this alone.

Leave our mind alone.

~The Vedette System

[ducknotinarow]

[BuddyRichy]  « go lay down. i’ll go make some coffee for you. »

| concerned and protective The year was coming to an end in just a few more days, and where yes the idea of ending the year off with his family was something to look forward to. Richard also was just too busy to think about that fact in the forefront of his mind. Even with Christmas over the busy time wasn't over for him, just yet. If anything this was crunch time. The café was still bustling with guests coming in. Sure the shopping frenzy was over but not everyone can meet up with everyone they knew for the holidays. It had become a common practice over the years for people to use the café as a meeting place for that reason now. The café seen as an ideal meet-up for friend groups to meet and have gift exchanges at. So tables filled up quick and fast with these larger groups trying to squeeze in the last holiday meet up's before the year ended. Which lead to a sudden influx of foot traffic into the building. There was also the fact they had all the remaining ingredients from the holiday menu items to finish off. So they had to push those items as much as possible. Special deals and offers just to help sweeten the deal on getting people to buy them up. Richard just hated the idea of any of it going to waste. Sure he could always let his staff take what they wanted but even then most only took what they needed or could use if they did. That still left a good amount behind. There was the option of him taking it himself he supposed, except that didn't make any sense to do seeing that Richard nearly had a mini coffee shop back at home already which was always stocked. So it would just end up in the same situation. Not to mention Having all those surgery syrup flavors at home pretty much just invited Bailey to do God knows what with them. Even with their ongoing deal right now Bailey was past the two weeks of no used foods. And Richard wasn't ready to lose the peace he had for that time just to add to Bailey's temptations because it "looked or sound good so I had to have it" logic his husband seemed to have. Sighing out heavily as he and Val stood in the back looking over thier stock. "We still have a lot, and we tend to retrie the hoilday stuff come January even if we let it extend as secret menu items for a bit I fear well still have too much leave by the time thier shelf life ends." Richard went on to say the robin nodding beside him. Val spoke a bit in turn as he just nodded. He lifted up his hand and rubbed at his forehead trying to keep away those anxious thoughts that love to rear around. It was one thing to let Bailey see him like that but not here and not now. Tail feathers were hanging low as he was mentally taking in the time they had still he saw no way for it to work out in the end as Val was purposing to him. All he saw was a loss in numbers. All he saw was a failure. Lifting up his head when he heard Buddy's voice chime in calling to him, he looked down to find the little eagle clinging on to his leg and giving a slight tug to get his attention. Seem neither he nor Val noticed them slip into the stock room. Richard placed his hand on Buddy's head to ruffle up their hair. "Lo Siento Mijo didn't think I'd be back here so long." he apologized as Val just smiled and gave a hello to the small andoird before excusing herself telling Richard not to worry they will figure it out. Richard just hummed slightly as he looked back towards the shelf, knowing well enough he would do the opposite of that. Buddy gave another tug and took Richard back out of his thoughts as he moved to kneel down now. So the poor kid wouldn't have to stare up at him anymore. "You're getting as bad as your dad when it comes to waiting for attention Mijo." Richard teased as he fixed them with a slight smile, earning a slight giggle from Buddy. They both knew how their other dad could be. But soon Buddy's smile faded as they looked down and went to speak now that they had Richard's attention. Richard quirked his beak a bit as he lowered his head down more to look at his son. "Is something wrong Buddy? you can tell me you know

that." Richard was a bit surprised when instead of Buddy saying what was wrong they repeated the question back instead. Saying they overheard him and Val speaking. Giving a brief sorry for eavesdropping, they didn't mean to they just sort of could hear them and didn't know what to do. "Don't, worry Mijo," Richard cut in with so they wouldn't get worked up "we were just talking about work, anyway so it's not a big deal besides we were talking loudly." Richard offered to try to reassure Buddy didn't do a thing wrong. "But why does that make you think something is wrong?" Buddy pointed out Richard looked like something was wrong. It was such a simple answer but still left him confused. Richard just offered a smile as he lifted his head and placed his hand on Buddy's shoulder. "You worry too much about your Papá you know that right?" playing it off as nothing as he stood back up now. "I was just worried about all this going to waste, we can't keep it in the store after a certain time. And I'm not sure how the other two buildings are looking as well so I was just figuring out the cost of loss that will count against it all." Richard paused a second "I don't like the idea of so much product going into the trash." he reworded trying to make it a bit easier to follow. Buddy was smart of course but they were still just a kid. "Since my job is under food we have to follow certain rules you see?" Richard added in Buddy nodded as they listened, there was more to his job than just making coffee after all. "I'm just trying to rack my mind around how to not have to lose out on so much is all. But I can't find an answer right now. No reason for you to worry so much over your Papá for though alright?" he added in thinking he had made his point but one look towards Buddy was enough to say the complete opposite. Stubborn as both he and Bailey, though maybe it was better to say it was like a combination of their own stubbornness. As Buddy offered maybe Richard should take a break, help him to think of something later. "Hmm I don't know Mijo I don't have much time before this becomes more of a problem it's likely for the best I just focus on this instead." even if he was having issues thinking of a solution. Buddy moved around to Richard's other side now and gave a slight push against his leg as Richard looked down to them. "What are you doing?" Buddy pushed even more throwing all their weight against Richard's leg and still nothing as they told Richard again he should take a break. Richard slightly crocks his right hip to slightly bend to better look at Buddy, arms crossed over his chest as he just looked at Buddy assumed with how much they were trying to get the eagle to bug right now. Thier feet basically slid over the floor as they were nearly laying up against his leg attempting to get Richard to move. Slightly huffing when seeing they weren't getting anywhere. Stopping as they pursued their beak and started to pout slightly, huffing once more. As they stopped and just rested against Richard's leg. "Worked it out of your system yet?" Richard slightly challenged towards his son only for them to look up with their blue and pink eyes determined as they seemed to gain a second wind and try again. This time opting to hug Richard's leg as they looked up to their dad firmly. "go lay down. I’ll go make some coffee for you." Richard just stared at them blankly as he watch them both puff up their cheeks and sternly speak to him. "You're not going to give up till I agree are you?" he simply asked only for Buddy to nod, Richard just sighed, as he turned slightly taking Buddy with him as he did. "Fine, fine I will take a break Mijo." Giving Buddy a chance to let go of his leg as they smiled taking in their win just now, Slight little hop as they took hold of Richard's hand and pulled again it to lead Richard to his office now. "I'm not laying down though, I will accept the offer for coffee though since you make it very well."