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hermannsthumb · 4 years ago

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Could you please write #43 grandparents/neighbors one?

43. we’re having our family meal at my grandparents’ house this year so fingers crossed your parents still live next door and you grew up to be even hotter

from winter writing prompts here

oh god this one got so long. sorry everyone! thank you to @k-sci-janitor for the alien bit because it was so fucking funny

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Holidays have gotten a little weird to manage since Newt transformed into a fully-fledged adult with an apartment and a job and stuff, so while he hasn’t made it to the big Geiszler celebration in Germany every December since starting college out of elementary school, he still tries to make a point of dropping by his dad’s for dinner and a movie or something to fill his holiday quota. It’s fine by him; he loves his family, but they’re definitely overwhelming, and trying to submit final grades and work on syllabuses for the next semester all while distant relatives ruffle his hair and ask him when he’s going to hit his growth spurt is not his idea of a relaxing time. It’s a constant point of contention between him and his dad. This year more than most, apparently.

“Your grandmother misses you!” he tells Newt sadly over their Chinese takeout. “She calls me every week to ask how you are, and why you never visit with them. Every week.” He waves a fork at Newt. “You’re breaking her heart.”

“I’m in the lab, like, twenty-four-seven, dad,” Newt sighs. It’s a well-rehearsed conversation at this point, but it doesn’t get any less tiresome. Especially because he knows his dad is lying about the phone call thing—Newt is a great grandson and texts his grandmother plenty, thank you very much, he would know if he was breaking her heart. “I’m working straight through winter break this year. Seriously.”

“That’s what you did last year,” Newt’s dad says. “And the year before that…” Newt turns the volume up on the TV to cut his dad off before he can segue into the next part of his argument, which is (usually) that Newt needs to work on his personal life, maybe settle down, produce some grandkids of his own. Or at least adopt a cat. Also well-rehearsed.

He’s not sure why he says what he does next—maybe in a desperate attempt to distract his dad further. Maybe because of the sudden onslaught of childhood memories the mention of his grandparents’ house brought on. “Hey, do you remember that boy who used to live next door to grandma?” he says. “He had the weird haircut and always dressed kind of funny?” Old-fashioned, and a little too formal for the sort of things that little kids tend to do, climbing trees or playing in the mud—sweatervests and polished loafers and starched-white knee-highs.

Newt’s dad blinks at him. Newt half expects him to declare that Newt is nuts, and that he has no idea what he’s talking about, like this is one of those horror stories where the childhood friend turns out to be some ghost who died fifty years prior. The clothing would match up, he guesses. But he smiles in recognition a moment later. “You mean the Gottlieb boy?” he says.

“Gottlieb,” Newt echoes. It sounds familiar enough. “Hermann, I think. When I’d stay with grandma for the summer we would play together every day. I wonder what he’s doing now.” Hermann was a smart guy, a real geek like Newt; he used to carry a graphing calculator around in his pocket and build the most goddamn pristine model spacecrafts Newt had ever seen. Hermann’s dad shipped him off to a prestigious boarding school the last summer Newt spent there, when they were around twelve or so. Newt started at MIT not long after. “Dude’s probably designing rocket ships by now or something.”

“You could ask him yourself if you came with me,” Newt’s dad laughs. “The Gottliebs never moved away, and their children actually visit. I’m sure your Hermann visits, too.”

“Ha,” Newt says. “Yeah.”

It’s snowing by the time Newt and his dad finish their movie, and Newt (fearing his dad’s driving even in ideal conditions) declines the offer of a lift home to trudge his way through it to his T stop instead. It’s nice to have the chance to be alone with his thoughts, anyway, because he can’t seem to get funny little Hermann Gottlieb out of his head. What is he doing now?

A quick Facebook search on the train produces a few Hermann Gottliebs, but none of them promising—none of them have the brown eyes or strangely angular face (devoid of any baby fat even that young) Newt remembers, none of them are from the right German countryside, none of them went to a preppy English boarding school. Google (utilizing the information Newt does have) is a little more rewarding, and by the time Newt presses the button to request his stop, he’s scrounged up a decent amount of info: Hermann Gottlieb has a doctorate in astrophysics, Hermann Gottlieb publishes papers at a slightly terrifying rate, and Hermann Gottlieb turned out kinda hot.

As Newt stares down at a slightly grainy current photograph of his old friend—haircut and clothing unchanged, a cane in hand, some round librarian glasses perched on the end of his nose, wide mouth twisted into a scowl—he suddenly recalls another thing about Hermann Gottlieb: the summer Hermann was sent away to boarding school was the summer that Hermann kissed Newt goodbye, shyly and tearfully, under the shade of the tall maple tree in his yard. It was the last time Newt ever saw Hermann. It was Newt’s first kiss.

“Oh, boy,” Newt says.

He texts his dad when he gets back to his apartment. When do we leave?

Newt feels like the belle of the fucking ball when he steps into his grandparents’ house a week later, snow dusting his shoulders, small suitcase clenched in his hand. His cheeks are kissed; his scarf and hat and leather jacket are brushed off and tossed onto a coat rack; his hair is in parts smoothed down (too messy!) and ruffled (too flat!); he’s hugged more times than he has been in the entire last year, probably. “Still playing around with bugs in the dirt, eh, Newt?” his grandfather booms, tucking Newt into the crook of his arm with enough force to knock Newt’s glasses off.

“Actually,” Newt squeaks, scrambling for both what he remembers of his very rusty German, and his glasses before they can hit the ground, “entomology isn’t really my main focus at—”

“Newt’s studying jellyfish now,” Newt’s dad declares proudly. “He went on a diving expedition this July.”

“Diving? How exciting,” Newt’s grandmother says.

“Yeah,” Newt says. He pushes his glasses back on. “Yeah, it was fascinating, I was lucky to get the funding for it. You wouldn’t believe the sorts of—”

“Isn’t that dangerous?” Newt’s cousin says.

“My little Newt’s a daredevil!” Newt’s dad says.

“It’s not that dangerous,” Newt says. “As long as you’re—”

“What happened to that nice man your father said you were dating?” Newt’s grandfather says. “With the, the what was it, the poetry? The poet? We thought you’d bring him!”

Newt flushes. Trust his dad to talk up some random guy Newt dated in March like it was a long-term affair and not an elongated one-night stand that fizzled out after three weeks. Though maybe that one’s on Newt—it’s not like he mentioned the one-night stand part to his dad, after all. He definitely didn’t mention that the guy ended it with a poem, too. “We broke up,” he says, weakly. He wriggles out from the throng of the crowd. “Look, it’s so great seeing you all, but I’m actually, like, really tired, soooooo…?”

“Oh, of course you are,” Newt’s grandmother says. She pats his head. “What a long flight you must have had! We’ll send someone up for you for dinner—you can have your old guest room.”

“Cool,” Newt says.

He scurries up the stairs.

The guest room he slept in during those summers is almost exactly the way he remembers it, but a little dustier—the floral quilt on the bed, his grandma’s sewing table crammed into the corner, the bookcase stocked with a weird combination of kid’s books and illustrated encyclopedias that Newt used to pore over for hours as a kid, often with Hermann. Newt draws back the embroidered curtains and peers out the window at the Gottliebs’ snow-capped house next door. Hermann’s window was directly across from his. It still is, technically, though the curtains (these navy blue and embroidered with little constellations) are pulled tight, and Newt has a feeling that Hermann hasn’t set foot in his old room in well over a decade. Two decades, probably.

He remembers the one summer he showed Hermann how to make a soup can telephone, and they managed to string it all the way across between their windows before discovering it kinda didn’t work as well as Newt said it would. He remembers when Hermann’s dad banned him from the Gottlieb house for tracking water all over their front hallway after he and Hermann went wading in the creek, but it was really Hermann who did it, because he forgot to take his shoes off and they got soaked, and Newt just took the fall for it so Hermann wouldn’t get in trouble. And when Hermann asked Newt to play astronaut with him, and Newt insisted on being an alien and mimed the chestburster scene from Alien, and Hermann freaked out so bad he fell in a mud puddle and got grounded for ruining his clothing, and Newt got grounded for that and for watching Alien when he wasn’t supposed to, and they spent the following few days staring sadly out across at each other before Newt’s grandma finally got tired of his moping and sent him to work weeding the garden. He remembers knotting a little friendship bracelet for Hermann out of embroidery thread he found in his grandmother’s sewing basket and Hermann vowing to keep it until he died.

Newt’s half of the soup can phone is still on the windowsill, though the string snapped and crumbled apart years ago. He picks at the peeling Chicken Noodle label, so distracted that he almost doesn’t notice the light suddenly seeping through at the edges of Hermann’s curtains, or the way they’re pushed open—almost.

Hermann—real, live, adult Hermann, botched haircut and round glasses and all—stares out at Newt with a shocked expression on his face. Newt drops the can with a clatter.

Then he waves.

“Hey, Grandma?” Newt says, poking his head into the kitchen. Tonight’s dinner is a massive pot of soup boiling away on the stovetop, dessert a mountain of cookies and tiny pastries on serving platters on the counters. Newt hasn’t had food that looked this good since he moved out, to be honest. The intersection of Newt’s sad lack of cooking skills and his attempts at vegetarianism means he eats a lot of boxed mac-and-cheese and frozen Vegetable Lovers’ pizzas. “Are you—?"

“Oh, Newt!” Newt’s grandmother says. She sets down her wooden spoon. “Are you feeling rested, then?”

“Yeah,” Newt says. “Grandma, I was wondering, could I—uh—maybe run some food over to the Gottliebs? To be…neighborly? We just have so much, and—”

“That’s a wonderful idea,” Newt’s grandmother says. “They keep to themselves, mostly, but I can’t imagine they’d turn it down. You might even see your little friend again! What was his name? You were so fond of him.”

“Hermann,” Newt says, quickly shoving cookies into a red-lid plastic container. “Thanks, Grandma.”

He tucks the tupperware under his arm and nearly wipes out on the icy front path he runs to the Gottliebs’ so fast. Before he can so much as catch his breath and knock, their door swings open; Hermann, dressed in a tacky Hannukah sweater, arches an eyebrow at him. “I saw you sprint over here like a bloody madman,” he says, in blessed English. He must’ve remembered how shitty Newt’s German was when they were kids. “Hello, Newton. What’s so terribly important?”

His voice got deeper—expected—and he swapped out his German accent for an English one somewhere along the way. Probably at his stuffy boarding school. He also got taller—he’s got a few inches on Newt now, but Newt admits that’s not exactly hard. God, he’s even hotter in person. “Uh,” Newt says. Why is he here? Oh, right. He thrusts out the tupperware. “I brought some cookies over for you?”

Hermann peers down at the offering over his glasses. His forehead wrinkles. “How considerate,” he says. He pulls an olive-green parka on and steps out onto the porch, tugging the door shut behind him. He taps at a peeling porch swing with the end of his cane. “Just leave them there. Would you like to take a walk?”

It’s freezing, and snowing, but for some reason, a walk sounds like the best idea in the world right now. “Yes, please,” Newt says, and chucks the cookies onto the swing.

“I must say,” Hermann says, after their meandering walk around the Gottliebs’ yard takes them to the old maple tree. The branches are bare, but thick, and shield them from most of the falling snow. Hermann’s breath puffs out white in front of his angular face. The last time I stood here, Newt thinks, he kissed me. “I really did not expect to see you.”

“I didn’t expect to see you, either,” Newt admits. “From what I remember, you and your family weren’t—uh—well, very close. I didn’t think you’d be coming back to share in the holiday cheer with them, is what I mean.”

The corner of Hermann’s mouth twitches up. “That’s certainly one way of describing it. Yes, I suppose you’re right—my father is a bit of a bastard, isn’t he?” Newt laughs awkwardly, unsure whether to agree or attempt to weakly the defend a guy who openly hated him for being a bad influence on Hermann most of his childhood; he’s grateful when Hermann continues and saves him the choice. “This is the first year I’ve come home in a long while. My brother’s just had a daughter, you see, and I thought I should start getting used to playing uncle.”

“Oh, congrats,” Newt says. Hermann shrugs, and Newt has the distinct feeling that this is Hermann’s older brother, who used to dissemble Hermann’s telescope and hide the pieces around the house when Hermann annoyed him, and tattled on Newt and Hermann to Hermann’s parents the one time Newt snuck in to see Hermann after he got banned. He always made Newt thankful that he was an only child. “Same here, actually. Not the uncle thing—I mean I haven’t visited since I was in college. Too busy.”

“I know,” Hermann says, and then adds teasingly (in a way that makes color flood Newt’s cheeks and his heart beat just a little faster), “I’ve looked you up online. Er—quite a bit recently, in fact. I was curious. You’ve made quite the name for yourself, haven’t you, Dr. Geiszler?”

“I,” Newt squeaks, and then coughs. “I mean, I guess? I like…science.”

“I oughtn’t be surprised,” Hermann says. “You were always giving me bugs, and salamanders, and funny little frogs—”

Newt liked bugs, and salamanders, and frogs, but he liked Hermann more, and the gifts had a lot more to do with the latter than the former, because what kid wouldn’t want bugs or salamanders or frogs, right? Not that Hermann ever appreciated them—especially not the worms Newt would pluck from the sidewalks after rainstorms. He thinks he got grounded for that one, too, because his grandma wouldn’t believe that he really wasn’t trying to terrorize the poor Gottlieb boy. “And what about you?” Newt says. He pokes his elbow into Hermann’s side. “Dr. Gottlieb? Guess those model rockets paid off.”

(“No, Newton,” Hermann would snap at him on the rare occasions he would allow Newt to watch him piece one together, “the glue hasn’t dried yet. You have to be patient, or else it’ll fall apart.”)

“Not yet,” Hermann says, “but I hope soon.”

Hermann smiles at him. A snowflake catches in his eyelashes—his long, pretty, dark eyelashes. “Do you remember when you kissed me here?” Newt blurts out.

“It’s hardly the sort of thing I’d forget,” Hermann says. He reaches out and tucks a piece of Newt’s hair up into his hat. “I like your tattoos—I saw the photographs on your social media accounts. They suit you.” Newt wonders if this means Hermann saw the shirtless selfie he posted on Instagram. “I’m also pleased to see you’ve gotten your braces removed. It wasn’t a very pleasant experience last time.”

Then he leans in and kisses Newt. Again, technically. It’s so light and brief Newt hardly believes it even happened. Their glasses clack together, and when Hermann pulls away, he straightens out Newt’s.

“I confess,” Hermann says, “that I’m wholly pleased to see how you’ve turned out. I hope that wasn’t too forward of me. I’ve been thinking about doing it all night.”

“Jeez, dude,” Newt says, blinking at him, his head swimming just a little. Hermann looks smug. “Not, uh, not too forward. So. Uh. You wanna get dinner or something this week and catch up?”

Hermann snorts, and nods.

#newmann #maria's fanfiction tag #Anonymous

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lazypeachsoul · 4 years ago

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Smut marked with **; smutty-ish marked as *

SAM WILSON; the one with goals.

Mission kind of accomplished*

BUCKY BARNES; this man got fifty times hotter when his life fell apart.

HELMUT ZEMO; get in bitch, we’re going to therapy.

I chased you all the way to Riga **

YELENA BELOVA; i like her, she’s got girl balls.

Character alphabet (r & u)

Character alphabet (II) (l & x)

You never gave me your name...or your number.

You messed with the wrong woman

LOKI LAUFEYSON;

Who you really are. Chapter 1.

NATASHA ROMANOFF;

I wouldn’t want to spend a minute loving anybody else.

#since there are so many marvel characters i’ll add them to the masterlist when i write for them #sorry for clogging your dash #marvel fanfiction #marvel x reader #marvel imagine

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anousiemay · 4 years ago

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The Angel & The Devil Ch. 1 A Lie Burns Many Bridges

Guardian and The Red Hood are hot on the trail of Black Mask. Trying to find just what he has invested in this time. In an attempt to find answers, The Red Hood does something he instantly regrets, putting his relationship with Guardian on the rocks. Can he salvage their relationship or will he lose another person in his life? Another gorgeous commission by @symeona and another fic by yours truly! While the moment I pictured this image doesn’t appear till chapter 4 I thought it’d be a good placeholder hehe. Another Jason x Anita fic cos I’m in love with them being in love. This fic is also on ao3! https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anousie/ ----- "Are we going to be meeting this 'Angel' you keep mumbling about?" In the little time Jason had spent with his new teammates, he'd learnt that Artemis is not one to beat around the bush. In fact, she'd most likely beat the metaphorical bush to bits if need be.

The long flight back to Qurac had eased Jason's mind but left his body weary. It was the first time in years that Jay had ever felt so tired. Especially after facing his past and stopping a crazed Amazonian from killing hundreds with the Bow of Ra. It could be said this was all in a day's work for someone of his profession. But as the plane’s wheels touched Gotham Airport tarmac, his heart began to ache. For now, he was back in Gotham with his relationship with Anita most definitely on the rocks. "Yes, Princess. You both will, but I'd prefer if I was alone with her first." "Red Him am embarrassed by Red Her and Bizarro?" Oh Bizarro, precious, brutally strong Bizarro. Jason was much more embarrassed in himself. "No of course not, big guy. But Guardian and I probably aren't on the best terms right now." "You are lucky we are in a public place or I would have thrown you fifty yards. Do not call me princess." Artemis spat as she rose from her seat on the plane. Ah yes, he forgot about that. That's what he'd say if he was lying. "Sorry," He really wasn't. "Well, I guess I'll take you guys to one of my safehouses. C'mon, I need a shower." "Oh good, I swear your jacket was becoming a part of your flesh." "Red Him am made of jacket?" "No, Bizarro. I am not."

- - - - The safehouse was surprisingly spacious enough for all three of the Outlaws to occupy. Artemis had placed her axe in the kitchen when they arrived. To which Jason had promptly asked her to leave it in her room. Bizarro on the other hand, was fascinated by the PS4 currently humming and the controller Jason had placed in his hand. "Give it a shot, B. Skyrim's a pretty good game." Then, once sure the two were settled and not putting their weapons in kitchens; Jason grabbed some spare clothes and jumped into the shower. How good it felt to be under hot water. Jason took this moment of solitude to reflect on the past few weeks. Two weeks ago, Anita, known as Guardian to the public, and himself had been hot on the trail of Black Mask's latest investment. The Angel and Devil (aptly named by goons due to her wings and his red helmet) were scaring thugs and opening crates of 'funky techno shit' as Anita had called it nightly. But neither were getting anywhere. Dead end after unconscious thug with no real lead on just what Black Mask was planning. That's when Jason had turned to Bruce, asking him to trust his wayward son with taking down Black Mask himself. "You want me to pretend I know nothing? She won't buy it for a second, Jason." Bruce had been rather shocked by Jason’s latest proposition. "I know, I don't need her to buy it. But if she knows what I’m doing she'll hold back. It's the only way." "Wasn't it a while back you and the others were adamant, we'd be honest with one another?" Bruce uttered as he opened a few files on the Bat Computer. Jason laughed then, Bruce did too. Neither were that good at being honest. "She won't be happy, Jason. She's not like us. It was hard for her to get her around being a meta and now you're doing this?" Jason sighed, how could he forget? Anita had been a mess, he had let her down and couldn't save her in time from the bastard who implanted the meta-gene. But now she was Guardian, a symbol of hope for Gothamites and himself. She was a good person; mask on or off. But Jason well, Jason wasn't always a good person, even if she disagreed. He left soon after, his response dangling in the air. "I have to, Bruce. It's the only way."

- - - It was April 12th and the moon was hung high in the air. No clouds in Gotham meant there'd be a lot of evil out tonight. Guardian peered through her night vision binoculars for the third time in 3 minutes, she was insanely bored. Red Hood had briefed her that The Bowery had seen a lot more foot traffic than usual in the construction site across from the apartment building roof she sat on. They were to watch the place for any unusual activity. At least she had some food to keep her occupied. "So, what do you think of Gina's Kebabs?" She asked through her microphone, trying not to stain her white outfit as she took another bite.

A small crackle from her earpiece, then Red Hood’s deep voice cut through the midnight wind: "I think it's more grease than lamb, Angel. I'd give it a 3 sober. What about you?"

Guardian giggled, "Well my chicken one is actually pretty warm still, so I give it a 5 for its longevity."

"You're definitely the nicer mark out of us two." Red Hood responded, an airy chuckle leaving his throat. "Oh, Red. I'm the nicer everything out of us." "Excuse you? I have a hotter bod than yours." Guardian faked a gasp, but he had played himself into a trap: "That’s not what’cha said last night." "I wasn't sober!" "Exactly, you were drunk on this fine glass of wine." Guardian stood up and shook her hips, knowing the vigilante on the building across from her was watching. "Just shut up and watch the roads."

"Aww, you're precious, babe." Guardian teased but resumed watching the roads below. 30 minutes passed before finally, something happened: a large truck reversed into the opened shutter of a warehouse next to the construction site. 5 minutes later, two men came out on motorbikes and sped off towards Founders Island. Bingo. "Shall we give chase?" Guardian was already extending her wings before Red Hood surprised her. "No, let's see what they've left. Bats can handle them." She spotted his silhouetted figure grapple down from his building. "Are you sure the grease in that kebab didn't poison you? This is our chance to get some info!" Guardian questioned as she flew down to the warehouse, meeting her partner who was already trying to lift the metal door. "Or break some bones for absolutely nothing." He huffed out, Guardian sighed and grabbed the metal door, throwing it up with one hand. "Since when were you against breaking bones?" "Anita." His voice was stern, Red wasn't kidding around. "Jason?" She shot back; this wasn't like him. The tall man sighed and took off his helmet, he only ever did that when he wanted to get a point across. Or make out, but she doubted that was the reason this time. "I just think it'd be better for us to keep our eyes on whatever they've bought here. We can catch up with them another time, but what if what's on this truck is the answer to what Black Mask is up to?" "But why would he leave it here unguarded if it was, Jay? It makes no sense, it'd have to be some dud shipment, right?"

Damnit, she was too smart for her own good. But Jason had one more card up his sleeve.

"Just humour me?"

The two stared at each other for a few beats before Anita finally sighed and walked into the warehouse. "Fine, but you owe me a Banana Split from Freddie's when you see that I'm right." "Yes ma'am." Jason affirmed before clicking his helmet back on. The two waltzed over to the back of the truck and Anita ripped the metal back off, placing it next to them. "Your super strength is getting easier to handle?" Jason questioned, pressing their bodies close as they peered into the trucks back. "Yeah and the wings aren't playing up as much either." Anita admitted, in fact her powers had been functioning well these past few nights. Jason smiled from under his helmet, running a gloved hand along her feathers. "You do look beautiful with them, you know?" Anita blushed at the compliment, still feeling rather insecure about them. "You trying to butter me up, so you don't have to get me a Banana Split?" "No! Maybe… Is it working?" "Tell me I have a better bod than you and I'll reconsider." Anita teased as the two began grabbing crates and opening them on the warehouse floor. "I'd have to perform a full examination to know." He poked back swiftly. "Ugh, men."

After going through all the crates, Anita let out an exasperated sigh. "See? I told you it was a dud shipment. But why would he have one? What do you think Red?" Anita waited a few moments; hearing Jason unlatch one of his guns from its thigh holster. "Red?"

A small click then a loud bang. Guardian fell to the ground in pain, looking at her leg she saw a bullet lodged into her kneecap and blood staining her suit. But Guardian doesn't bleed, she hasn't since she got these wings. Just what the hell was in these bullets? Her head started feeling light but willed herself to look up at the shooter: Red Hood held his pistol at her now sweating forehead. Pulling the chamber back and wrapping his finger tight on the trigger. The only thought that passed through Anita's head was: ‘What the fuck?!’

#Jason Todd #jason todd x oc #red hood #red hood and the outlaws #oc #fic #fanfic #ao3 #dc

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stydiamccall · 7 years ago

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When She Became the Monster

Requested by @arcticmalfoy

Editor’s note: A big thank you to my best friend who helped me with the “blank blank...” just keep reading and blame the emo shit on her, she’s amazing though I love her. Follow her on twitter: @dissolvethan

Eleven finally entered the cabin after telling Mike to meet her there, two hours ago. He waited the entire time sitting in silence on the couch. He felt absolutely terrible for what he had done, but he had a reason for it… he also understood why she would be angry, and why she would scream at him. Because he deserved it. He deserved all of it.

Eleven barged in the room, stomping her white converse across the wooden floor as she shut the door loudly with her mind.

Mike gulped some air before standing up from the couch ready to explain himself. “El I-”

“Sit down!” She ordered. And so he did.

Eleven paced back and forth across the room, her footsteps being insync with the clock ticking made Mike feel a little uneasy.

“Mike why? Why would you do that?” she finally let out in a whisper.

He tried to hold her hands and pull her closer towards him but she took a step back. “I just- I didn't want to risk losing you again.”

She felt more angrier between his words. “But you made me risk loosing sister.”

Mike shook his head “I didn't mean it like that! Look El, she lives in Chicago and it's not so far from here. I had to tell you she was somewhere else… somewhere far out of your reach-”

“You lied.” she interrupted with a cracked voice. Eleven could feel herself breathing a bit heavier, her heart beating even faster.

Mike felt absolutely heartbroken to hear those words come out of her mouth. You lied. He was her first friend ever, the first person to tell her the most sacred friendship rule of all: friends don't lie. And here he was now, looking up at her nearly in tears. Regretting everything in seconds.

“El you just have to- just listen to me please” Mike began to feel a little shaky. He couldn't say the wrong thing to her, he couldn't lose her again. “I had to tell you she was far away, because- because I knew you would try to see her again. And after what Hopper said… about how the bad men are still looking for you. I just don't want to risk it again.”

“Mike! She's my sister!” Eleven replied with a tear streaming down her face. “She's my only family left.”

Mike dropped his head down and moved it from left to right.

She crouched down in front of him, and lifted his chin up to hers. “Mike, you have to understand…” her lips began to tremble. “Imagine you lost Nancy. Imagine you lost her forever.”

“That's different!” He quickly said. “I've lived with Nancy all my life, she's my biological sister. I'll obviously love her more than-” He cut himself off.

Her breath got hotter as she blew some of his hairs out of his face. She stood back up and looked down at him. “TAKE IT BACK!” She screamed as he jumped not expecting her to.

“Take what back?” Mike exclaimed.

“TAKE IT BACK… take back what you said. About how you love Nancy more than I love sister! TAKE IT BACK!” her screams began to linger.

Mike quickly stood up, keeping the coffee table between the two of them. “WAIT! Eleven I didn't mean it like that! I swear I didn't mean that.” He tried to explain.

Eleven violently shook her head back and forth, covering her ears from all the loud flashbacks her mind was unintentionally going through. Flashbacks of her killing people in the lab, breaking walls, breaking silence, hurting Lucas, flipping the van,moving the train, closing the gate, crying and crying until it all finally stopped. “IT HASN'T BEEN EASY MIKE!” She screamed.

He took a deep breath out, trying to keep his voice calm. “I know El. I know, but you can't just disappear from town one night and expect things to stay normal!”

“I only did because YOU made me think she was in trouble!” She jabbed her pointer finger into his chest.

“I only said she moved… that didn't mean any sort of trouble. THAT DOESN'T MEAN YOU LEAVE TOWN NOT TRUSTING MY WORD!” Mike's voice got louder within seconds.

“HOW COULD I TRUST YOUR WORD! HOW COULD I TRUST YOU WHEN YOU LIE TO ME!”

“YOU TRUST ME WHEN I'M MEANT TO PROTECT YOU! OKAY, THAT'S ALL I WANTED TO DO! I COULDN'T DO IT FOR THREE HUNDRED AND FIFTY THREE DAYS DAMN IT SO LET ME DO IT NOW!” He screamed and cried all at once.

“I DON'T NEED PROTECTING! I COULD KILL MIKE! I DONE IT BEFORE AND I COULD DO IT AGAIN!” She screamed back.

Water formed between Mike's eyes. He actually felt scared to be in a room with her, with how angry she was feeling it was unpredictable for what she could actually do. “El you don't mean that. You're not a monster.”

Eleven sobbed some more, holding her ears from all the noisy flashbacks to stop. “MAYBE I AM THE MONSTER!” the house began to rumble. “MAYBE THIS IS WHO I AM. WHO KALI TAUGHT ME TO BE. I'M ANGRY MIKE! SO ANGRY!”

He stepped forward “At me?”

“AT EVERYTHING!” She screamed back. “KALI HELPS ME. SHE HELPS ME USE IT FOR MORE POWER!” the furniture vibrated out of place.

Mike was in tears watching her scream and breakdown. She was becoming harder and harder to handle. What scares him the most was the fact that those secret agent services that came by his house the night he lost her warned him about this. They warned him how she was dangerous, how she was out of control, how she lied to him, and despite all of that he still chose her. And even now, he will only believe her.

“El you don’t need more power. You don’t need any power at all. That’s what makes you unique, yes. That’s what makes you Eleven. But you use it for good, and only good. Kali is teaching you the wrong things, you have to understand… you have to stay away from-”

“KALI HELPED ME CLOSE THE GATE MIKE! Okay! Without her, Will wouldn’t be alive! Would that be better for you?!”

Mike dropped his shoulders, everything she was saying… it wasn't her. The cause of her destruction wasn't because of her. It was everyone around her, and he realized at that moment he was actually hurting her more. He softened up his voice “El, I'm sorry okay. I'm sorry do you understand?”

With her heating rage, she did not understand. The one boy she ever loved, did not agree with her. The one boy she ever loved, lied to her. She hated it, but she didn't hate him. She hated that he lied to her, and would try to keep her apart from her family. But she couldn't understand his reasoning behind. She chose to not understand, but instead go back to anger as her only use of self defense.

“I DON'T CARE MIKE! YOU LIED!” She cried. “You once told me ‘friends don't lie’. But here you are, BREAKING YOUR OWN RULE!” She walked into him and started punching and slapping.

No telekinesis powers were used, just the physical form of expressing human anger. Mike could take it without getting hurt. He tried to quiet her down by rubbing her arms and back, but she continued to hit him.

"FRIENDS DON'T LIE!" she screamed, slapping Mike's chest. "FRIENDS DON'T LIE! FRIENDS DON'T LIE! FRIENDS DON'T LIE!" she repeated over and over as she kept slapping his arms. He tried take a hold of her hands. All he wanted to do was pull her in a hug, and whisper sorry one hundred times.

"El please. El I'm sorry. Just stop! Just stop! Please." Mike hovered his body over hers, almost having her between his arms. "FRIENDS DON'T LIE! FRIENDS DON'T LIE!" she screamed some more, as her cries grew even louder. Windows shattered around them, doors violently swung open hitting the walls. "FRIENDS DON'T LIE!!!!!" she screamed one last time before sending Mike ten feet into the wooden wall. His head smashing against the ceiling as his lanky body fell unconscious to the ground. "Oh my God! Mike!" She screamed running towards him as fast as she could. She slid on her knees towards his limpy body, gently picking him up by his upper half. “Mike” she said in a quiet whisper.

She broke out into more tears seeing his hair soaked in a pool of his own blood on the floor. She did that to him, she became the monster. Everything he was trying to protect her from, she became.

She sobbed quietly, holding the unconscious boy in her arms. His head resting on her shoulder, staining her flannel with fresh blood. “Mike.” she whispered again into his ear as she stroked the back of his hair with her hand. “What did I do.”

When Eleven finally felt the weight of his body taking small breaths into hers she cried in relief, with a broken smile. “Mike… I'm so sorry.”

With his eyes closed, he just continued to breath on her shoulder.

The rooms sound had entirely focused to his breathing and her quiet sobs repeating “sorry” over and over again. And in that moment she hated herself more than she ever had before. Her anger did make her more powerful, but it hurt and destroyed the one thing she loved the most.

Eleven clenched onto his hair even tighter, holding him closer as she buried her cheek in his. She shut her eyes tight, as all the horrible memories came flooding back into her mind.

You have a wound, Eleven… she hears as she crushes the can of coca-cola. A terrible wound… as she kills the two guards at the lab, and kills the person driving the van towards her and her friends. And it's festering… as she makes everyone surrounding her friends with guns at the school bleed to death. And it will grow… as she hurts the man at the gas station, and the man who once hurt her mom but now has a family. Spread… she hears as she remembers hurting her friend Lucas. Eventually, it will kill you… she finally sees her papa saying those last words to her. She opens her watery eyes to find Mike still weak in her arms.

Hopper came back home earlier that night, he drove and carried Mike to the hospital with Eleven following shortly behind. Everything else was a blur to her after that, she wanted to believe it was a nightmare… that she never really hurt Mike. But the reality was she did, and now he was in a hospital bed all stitched up because of her. He would wake up soon enough, and the entire time Eleven remained seated at his bedside holding his hand.

Mike slowly opened his eyes, first seeing the lights in the ceiling. His sight became focused when Eleven came into frame, hovering over him with a smile.

“Mike! Mike, you're okay.” she softly whispered as she brushed through his hair and kissed his cheek.

“Eleven?” he weakly asked. “El? I- I’m so sor-”

“No. No, I'm sorry.” she quickly said before a tear escaped her left eye. She began to shake her head from side to side. “Mike I hurt you. I became the monster.” she cried holding his hands up to her cheeks in a prayer.

He pulled her arms and kissed the back of her hand over and over again. “No El, listen to me okay? You are not the monster, you are never the monster.”

Eleven continued to quietly cry, “But I hurt you” she repeated as her nose began to bleed.

“It’s okay, everyone gets angry once in awhile. And look, you had every right to be mad at me.” he replied wiping the blood from her nose. “and next time you ever feel like that. Don't let anyone hold you back. Okay? Scream, cry, use your powers. You need to get it out, but maybe not at me. I mean… breaking the doors and windows wasn't so bad right?”

He made her laugh.

“I mean maybe it hurt Hoppers paycheck a little, but you'll learn to control it next time.”

Eleven shook her head agreeing. “Mike, I didn't understand before, but I do now.”

Mike gave a confused frown.

“You stop me from being the monster. You were right. This whole time, you were right.”

“I wasn't though, I lied and friends don't lie, even boyfriends.”

“Yes, even boyfriends.” Eleven repeated softly, shaking her head.

Mike gave her a small smile. “If you want to see your sister. Tell me first, and I'll come with you. I just want you to be safe.”

“Me too.”

Mike gently stroked her forearm to her wrist, rubbing her hand in small circles with his thumb. “I don't ever want to fight with you again.”

Eleven looked down at their hands, then back at his eyes. “Me neither.”

With saddened eyes he said “I can't promise we’ll never fight again though.”

She shook her head understanding his words, “It's okay.”

He pulled her closer and spoke to her as gentle as possible “But just promise me this- promise me you'll stay safe no matter what.”

“I promise.” she replied, giving him a small peck on the lips. Mike sunk deeper into his pillow.

Eleven brushed his hair back as he fell asleep to her touch. “Get rest Mike.”

She dimmed the lights, and turned around one last time before closing the door. There was something about how peaceful he looked, how safe and protected he was in that bed. She wanted to keep that image of him in her memory forever. Because in that moment, she wasn't a monster.

Mike was right about her, she will never become what Dr. Brenner, Kali, the Ives family or the Demogorgan intended her to be. Because she was El. El Hopper, and that was all.

#requested #stranger things #mileven #mileven headcanon #couple fight #eleven hopper #mike wheeler #monster #demogorgan #st headcanon #mileven fic #finn wolfhard #millie bobby brown #mine

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myaekingheart · 5 years ago

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56. Welcome to the Club

read the scarecrow and the bell on ao3

index | from the beginning | < previous | next >

Do you think you're the only one who feels the way you do? We're all fifty shades of fucked up! Well join the club, yeah, join the club! -Join the Club, Bring Me The Horizon

In one swift moment, the entire world seemed to no longer make sense. Young Rei Natsuki blinked as she watched a brawny woman step foot into the academy classroom, staring at her expectantly. Naru had already bounded down the steps, with Sekkachi trudging behind. “Are you coming or not?” the woman asked, and Rei knew she had no other choice. This was her life now. If she wanted to achieve her dreams, she was going to have to wade through the mud first. She climbed down the stairs and joined the others, unsure of what lie ahead. They were officially genin now and anything was possible.

Chikara could feel their eyes on her as she led them out of the academy. She could feel the stares from the rest of the faculty, as well. An impending disaster, the portrait of a shit show. She knew better. These girls had scores of untapped potential. She was going to make them incredible.

“Okay” she announced, standing attention with hands on her hips, “first things first: introductions. I’ll start, and you follow my lead, got it?” The girls nodded. “My name is Chikara, I will be your sensei, and from this point forward I expect nothing less than perfection from the three of you. You will work until you bleed, and there will be no sympathy for whining. The shinobi world is fast and cruel and if you can’t handle it, then you don’t deserve to be here. Do I make myself clear?” She was met with vacant, perhaps numbly horrified expressions, before receiving frantic nods. A stark smile touched her lips as she then urged the others to continue.

The young blonde stepped up first. “My name is Naru Fuzuki and I’m eleven years old! I’m good at ninjutsu and taijutsu but I really like genjutsu! My favorite jutsu is—”

“Time’s up” Chikara interrupted. Then she stared down at Rei expectantly. The young redhead’s eyes widened as she tried to compose herself.

“My name is Rei Natsuki, and I’m ten years old” she started. “I’m not particularly strong or brave, but I want to work hard to become the best ninja I can be. That’s my dream.”

Chikara nodded once, and then turned to Sekkachi lounging back on the stairs carelessly. “The name’s Fumeiyo. Sekkachi Fumeiyo” she started, meanwhile obnoxiously chewing a piece of gum. “If I don’t rise in the ranks and become a solid shinobi, I’ll probably jump off a bridge and kill myself because there’s nothing else worth doing in this world. If I can’t be a badass, then there’s no use being at all.”

Their sensei pursed her lips a moment before kneeling down in front of Sekkachi and holding out her hand. Sekkachi shot her a peripheral glare, then sighed and sat up and spat her gum out in the woman’s palm. Naru cringed. How barbaric. “Tell me, Sekkachi, how old are you?” Chikara asked.

“Thirteen” the blue-haired kunoichi replied.

“And at thirteen, do you really think that this devil-may-care attitude of yours constitutes badassery?” Chikara asked. It was clear that no matter how hard she tried to hide it, Sekkachi was growing increasingly more uncomfortable with this interrogation. They stared each other down for a long while before Chikara rose to her feet, towering over her with arms crossed. “I’m not interested in teaching someone who doesn’t want to be here. If you’re not going to take this seriously, then you might as well just go home.”

A look of disbelief struck Sekkachi’s face, then was quickly replaced with a scorching glare. “I have every right to be here” she said through clenched teeth. “I need to be here. And I will become a strong kunoichi, no matter what anyone else has to say about it.”

As the temperature gauge on this interaction rose to a fever pitch, Chikara’s expression suddenly changed drastically. A sly smile touched her lips and she hummed a happy little laugh. “That’s all I needed to hear.”

Administering the bell test provided a true gauge for just how difficult these girls would be to manage. Chikara presented the exam with unwavering confidence but deep down, she was unsure if any of this would really work. She was operating merely on Minato’s suggestion, who advertised it as the benchmark of measuring teamwork. Despite her hesitance, Chikara admired Minato and therefore trusted his judgment. She scrutinized their every move as they attacked, making a mental note of each of their weaknesses. The little redhead was clumsy and temperamental, the blonde was self-absorbed and lazy, and the blue-haired girl cared far too much about her own success to cooperate well with the others. Molding them into model kunoichi would be difficult, but Chikara had faith. And if not faith, then gumption. She refused to be pegged a failure by men who knew nothing of her determination. If she couldn’t manage to do things their way, then by all means she would just have find a different route. Pave her own path. But under no circumstances was she going to let these girls fail.

“Get out of my way, Carrots!” Sekkachi screeched, elbowing Rei into a bush. She had her eyes locked on those bells and she’d be damned if she didn’t get ahold of one.

“What the heck, you idiot!” Rei shouted, swatting at the branches that slapped her face. She struggled to get up, only for Naru to come to her aide and pull her to her feet. She smiled at the blonde, who quickly ran off toward their sensei with plans of her own.

Naru leapt over Sekkachi gracefully, a mischievous smile on her face, as she reached for one of the bells. “I’d hate for the whole village to find out you’re a failure, Sekkachi!” she giggled, but she had spoken far too soon. The bells were just out of reach, and she stumbled into the ground empty-handed.

Sekkachi stood over her, rolling her eyes. “Is that all you know how to do, Fuzuki? Gossip?” she asked. “Keep it up and someone is going to cut your tongue out one of these days.”

The process was long and arduous, but eventually they fell into a pattern of working together whether they realized it or not. As much as Chikara claimed that she had faith, it wasn’t until those moments when she truly understood that together, these girls could achieve the world. They were imperfect and of course unskilled but that would improve with time. It was what made them different, their perceived weaknesses, that would allow them to shine.

“It’ll never work, you know” their instructor had said, glancing from Chikara to Lord Third and back. “They’re the lowest of the low. It’s destined for failure.”

Chikara tented her fingers and narrowed her eyes. “Tell me: what exactly makes these girls such horrid students? You see them every day so I’m sure you must have valid, unbiased answers.”

The young man cleared his throat, obviously intimidated, and looked to the hokage for reassurance. Hiruzen Sarutobi motioned for him to continue. “Well, personality-wise, the three of them are crazy incompatible. The short one, Rei, can’t do anything right and that one, Naru, is popular among her peers but talks to much and causes drama. And then Sekkachi”—here, he sighed as if her story was far too long to even bother with. “Sekkachi has been here for six years and I don’t see her making enough improvement any time soon. She’s from that clan.”

Chikara blinked, trying to decipher what he meant. She hadn’t been in Konoha very long and therefore was not well-versed in the social politics. She looked down at Sekkachi’s academy registration picture, then to Naru’s and Rei’s and back. A sickening realization dawned on her. “Sir” she began bluntly, a fire in her eyes, “Are you trying to say you’re a racist?”

The academy instructor panicked, his eyes darting across the student files as it hit him just how badly his words had been misconstrued. Sekkachi’s dark skin definitely set her apart from many of her peers, but that meant nothing to his concerns. Granted, it didn’t help that the woman before him in that very moment was only a few shades lighter—no wonder she was evidently offended. “N-no, it’s not that at all!” he frantically exclaimed. “Sekkachi is—she just—her clan—” The more he tried to explain himself, the harder and hotter Chikara’s glare became before Lord Third lifted a hand and took over himself.

“Sekkachi is of the Fumeiyo clan” he explained, “which has long-since had a reputation for being talentless and harbingers of bad luck. Every Fumeiyo who has attempted to become a shinobi has either died in the line of duty or caused the death of a teammate due to their sheer lack of skill and strength of mind.”

Nodding, the instructor added, “I have had three other students from the Fumeiyo clan who were all removed from the program for not making adequate progress, and Sekkachi is no different. If she doesn’t make genin this year, she’ll be removed, as well.”

It was a lot of information to absorb in one sitting. Chikara turned her gaze back to Sekkachi’s picture and contemplated the history of this young girl. The look on her face, her stance, everything about her constituted a sense of guarded determination. In a way, she saw herself in this young girl. A small smirk tugged at the corner of Chikara’s lips as she leaned forward, locking eyes with the instructor, and replied, “Well then I suppose there is no choice but for her to succeed.”

And succeed they would, even if it killed her. She wasn’t sure if it was the lack of faith from others that was motivating her or her quickly instilled passion for these young girls but a fire had been ignited inside of her. She was going to prove that they all had what it took to be exceptional shinobi, because she truly believed they did. Naru was a gossip, but she was also extroverted and persuasive. Chikara caught a certain magnetism in her that exemplified her ability to manipulate. No matter what Sekkachi’s background was, she had guts and was clearly willing to do whatever it took to achieve her goals. She was truly a force to be reckoned with, and Chikara saw great things in her future. And then there was Rei. It was true that she lacked the basic skills most genin had grasped, but there was one thing she had that nobody else did. She was the granddaughter of Teiko Natsuki, the Arrow Ninja of Konoha, and therefore had inherited her innate chakra abilities. Chikara wondered if Rei herself even knew of her lineage and its significance in the shinobi world. She was a goldmine of untapped potential, completely raw and capable of so much more than she could even comprehend. With hard work, the three of them would be absolutely unstoppable.

The tinkling of a bell drew Chikara from her thoughts. Then the harsh realization: in her deeply contemplative state, she had let her guard down. She turned to find the three girls standing proudly, each of them holding the two bells in their hands together. She could barely keep the smile off her face. Standing proud, she announced at once, “I want to see you all bright and early tomorrow morning for our first mission. If it’s not already blatantly clear: you all pass.”

#kakashi hatake #rei natsuki #the scarecrow and the bell #naruto #naruto oc #fanfiction

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saints-row-2 · 8 years ago

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Toast

Short (2000 word) fic taking place after SR2.

BossGat, domestic, cute. No plot this time just Johnny and the Boss!

Boss wakes up to the smell of burnt toast. They do not remember if they dreamt. They lie back in bed and stare up at the ceiling, a blank white canvas marred only by a couple of bullet holes. Not enough to spoil the place. The bed they’re in could sleep three, but right now it’s just them, the man who should be lying behind them is too busy in the kitchen, burning toast.

Boss rolls out of bed, dragging the sheets along after them, shivering in the cool air. The clock on their phone says it is 1:12 pm. They quickly put on some shorts, and then a T-shirt when they see the goosebumps on their arms. The room itself is a mess; clothes spread across the floor, bottles and glasses left lying around, discarded fast food cartons next to – but not inside – the bin. They used to be a lot tidier, when they lived alone, but they don’t anymore and the mess doesn’t really seem like such a problem. The furniture is still expensive and new, shiny polished wood and metal. Boss will never stop loving being able to buy the best just for the hell of it.

They leave the bedroom and walk across the vast space of their penthouse apartment. Through the huge bank of windows on the wall, they can see the whole Stilwater skyline. The sky is burnt orange by the summer sun scorching the city, but the air conditioning must be on full blast, because Boss can’t feel any of that heat. They almost feel frozen, until they walk into the kitchen and see the source of the burnt toast, and then they feel warm all the way through.

Johnny Gat is in his underwear, moving loudly sizzling bacon and eggs around a pan while the offending toast smokes gently on a plate next to the stove. Boss grabs one of the stools from the bar and drags it over to him, parking it next to Johnny and leaning on the counter beside him.

“It was supposed to be a surprise,” Johnny says.

“I’m surprised the fucking fire alarm didn’t go off,” Boss says.

“Yeah, I fucked the toast up,” Johnny says, “but this bacon is gonna be perfect.”

Boss eats a slice of burnt toast anyway, because they don’t like wasting food, and because Johnny made it for them. They watch him, half the cooking and half just admiring how good he looks when he’s stripped down. In the background, the radio plays The Mix just loud enough to be heard.

“What’s on the to-do list today?” Boss says.

“Nothing,” Johnny says. “We’re on vacation.”

“Fuck.”

“Only you would be upset about time off. You’re a fucking workaholic.” It’s said with love, not anger. Boss knows Johnny admires how much they get done. It doesn’t need to be said.

There’s plenty the Boss could still do, even if it’s ‘time off’. They’re halfway through a painting they were going to send to an art show next month, they still haven’t signed off the final few pieces for the Saints fall fashion line, they need to kill that journalist who was spreading rumours about them – but looking at Johnny, they decide to pass on all of it. It can all wait another day, and today’s a good day. The sun is out, Johnny is making breakfast, they just bought a fresh load of ammo and the cops are paid off for the rest of the month.

“What do you wanna do?” Boss says, as Johnny dolls out bacon and eggs to them both.

“I dunno,” Johnny says. “We should go out for a drive.”

“Yeah, good idea.”

Maybe they’ll drive up Mt Claflin with a cooler of beer and some good weed. Maybe they’ll end up doing a drive-by. Boss is open to ideas. They pour themselves and Johnny some coffee.

Karma Chameleon comes on the radio and Boss laughs suddenly enough to make Johnny jump.

“What?” He says.

“Don’t you remember?” Boss says. “This fucking song was on the radio all summer long when we first came back.”

“Yeah…” Johnny says, eyes lighting up. “This and… What was that one you loved?”

“Gangsta Bitch? That’s still my shit.”

“No, I know that one. The one about ruling the world.”

“That’s it. Everybody Wants to Rule the World. Tears for Fears.”

“Right, yeah. Now that was a good song. This is fuckin’ garbage.”

“Karma Chameleon is great.”

“You got no fucking taste.”

“Explains why you’re here.”

Johnny laughs, punches them on the shoulder. Boss leans in, kisses him on the cheek, then on the lips, and then on the lips another time, for good measure.

“Maybe the first thing we do today should be go back to bed,” Johnny says.

“We can do that,” Boss says. They finish their coffee. “Can you turn the AC down? I’m freezing to death in my own fucking apartment.”

“What are you talking about?” Johnny says. “It’s hotter than Hell in here. Why do you think I’m in my goddamn underwear?”

“Looks good,” Boss says.

Johnny just laughs, and does not turn down the AC. Boss decides they will put on more clothes, which is punishment enough for them both. They look outside again, through their big beautiful windows, and see that it is suddenly lashing down with rain.

“Oh, what the fuck?” Boss says. “Guess we won’t be driving a convertible.”

Convertibles aren’t really their style, anyway. They’re about to say this, before they turn around and see Johnny fucking around with the radio. They didn’t notice when he put jeans on.

“What are you doing?” They say.

“Sound’s all fucked up,” Johnny says.

The radio keeps making an odd chiming noise every few seconds, like the announcement before someone speaks over the intercom.

“We’ll buy a new one,” Boss says. “We could buy fifty.”

They don’t care about the radio. They can do anything now, anything they want. They got money and they got power and they got Johnny Gat to back them up. Boss has never felt less worried in their entire life, and they weren’t a person prone to fear in the first place.

“You don’t like boats,” Johnny says.

“Not fond of them,” Boss says, “given my history.”

“If you can’t ride boats, and you can’t ride planes, how are you going to escape this time?” Johnny says.

“The fuck you say?” Boss says. They can’t remember the last time they rode a plane. It was probably when they came to Stilwater, taking a plane from the mainland. Before that, when they came from America to England on a flight that took half a day they spent in a state of near hysteria. They don’t really remember it that well.

Johnny blinks, confused. “I said ‘why can’t we drive a convertible today?’ Are you ok, Boss?”

Boss glances back towards the window and sees Saint’s Row baking under the sun, looking like it’s hot enough to melt paint off the side of the old Church.

“I thought…” Boss trials off. “I think I might be kind of fucked up.”

Johnny studies their face with concern, touches their forehead like they’re a sick child.

“You’re freezing,” he says. His hand feels scalding hot to the touch.

“You’re burning up,” Boss says. “Are you sick?”

The smell of the toast is starting to make them feel sick. Johnny snorts derisively, and they wait for him to say some tough man bullshit about never being sick a day in his life, but then he says;

“You ever learn how to fly a plane?”

“What?” Boss says. “Yeah, I can drive anything. You feeling alright, Johnny?”

Johnny is staring at them, all while the radio loudly shouts the same chiming noise over and over. When is someone going to speak through the intercom? Boss is waiting for a message, but there’s no one on the other side. Maybe they’re hallucinating. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“I can’t hear you,” Johnny says. “Did you give up talking again?”

Johnny is standing in the middle of Boss’ nice shiny kitchen wearing blue jeans and a white button up shirt, and he is soaked to the skin. Ultor took all the graffiti off the Church, their agents convinced Johnny to cover up his tattoos. Boss can’t explain why, but in that moment, those two events feel so obviously interconnected that they feel like they’ve hit on some great new discovery They want to tell Johnny about it, but he’s not listening to them. He’s mouthing words they can’t hear.

“You have to press the button on the intercom,” Boss says. “It only goes one way.”

Johnny holds a radio to his mouth and his voice comes in loud and clear through every speaker in the room; the jukebox, the TV, the radio in the kitchen that once played The Mix.

“Do you think I bled out, or do you think I drowned when you crashed the plane into the ocean?” Johnny says.

The Boss jumps back, and then they’re falling as their stool tilts backwards and throws them down onto the floor, hard. They lie there, breathless for a moment, staring up at the counter and their spilled coffee spilling down the side and onto the floor. Johnny leans over them.

“Jesus, are you alright?” He says.

He bends over and effortlessly hoists them off the floor and to their feet, letting them put an arm around his shoulders to keep them steady. His shirtless skin is soft under the Boss’ hand, and he smells the same as he always does; gun oil and cheap cologne.

“Yeah, I just fell,” Boss says. “I’ve lived through worse.”

“You need to go the fuck to bed,” Johnny says.

He spins them around and places a hand on either shoulder, marching them out of the kitchen and back across the huge expanse of their apartment, towards the bedroom.

“Only if you come with me,” Boss says.

“I plan on it,” Johnny laughs. “I ain’t going nowhere without you.”

A commercial for Freckle Bitch’s starts playing on the radio, and Boss is about to ask Johnny if he’s heard this one before, because it sounds familiar to them, it sounds old to them, but then they get a good look through the open bedroom door, and out into the open screaming skies above Steelport. Johnny’s hands on their shoulders are so strong, and try as they might, Boss can’t fight back against his grip. He keeps on driving them towards the door.

They can almost feel the wind on their face, the closer they get to the door, feel the force of the hungry sky pulling at them and trying to drag them away from Johnny, away from their beautiful apartment in Stilwater, to spit them out into hostile skies above a city they don’t know and never wanted to know.

“I don’t want to,” Boss says.

“Do you ever think about Hell?” Johnny says. “Did you think, when you were on that boat, burning, that it might be like Hell?”

“Johnny, stop,” Boss says. “Let’s just stay here. Let’s not go anywhere.”

They have never heard themselves beg before.

“Right on,” Johnny says. “I’ll see you in Stilwater.”

“How can I go back there without you?” Boss says.

Johnny is still pushing, and they are still struggling, still fighting to stop themselves from being propelled across the room and towards the door. They fight, but the weight of his hands on their shoulders is immense. They push to try and turn around, against his grip, against the immeasurable weight of him dragging them down, but when they finally manage to just look up behind them, Johnny isn’t there at all. And there’s nothing left to hold them back as they fall out of the door and into the empty skies below.

The bed in Shaundi’s ex’s place is tiny. When Boss wakes up, with a start like they’ve been scared awake, they’re curled up on the mattress so tightly that they’ve pulled a muscle in their neck. They force themselves to uncurl, once their eyes are open, to stretch out and take up the little of the room that they have. Their back hurts.

Boss can smell burning toast. Already fully dressed, they clamber out of bed and out of the bedroom to look over the rest of the tiny apartment. But once out of the bedroom door they realise it must have been one of the neighbours, because there’s no one there with them at all.

#saints row #bossgat #johnny gat #gatboss #rants writes row #nicolae anghelescu #dunno if ill post this on ao3? its just fluff

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