#was this whole thing just an excuse to draw another giant bill hand? maybe. i will not be stopped

[mikimuun]

kabedon!

[seasonsofeverlark]

$1 Smooches

Author: @alliswell21

Prompt: Everlark and a Kissing Booth [submitted by @mandelion82]

Rating: G

Author’s Note: Modern AU. ~1600 words _____________

“That game was rigged!” Katniss seethed.

“Lower your voice, Brainless! Do you want the carnies to curse you? I don’t, I’m standing right next to you!” Johanna hissed, slapping a hand over Katniss’ mouth. 

“I’m sure carnival workers consider that a derogatory term,” Prim sighed, done with her companions silliness.

“Anything is offensive nowadays,” said Johanna, winded, after Katniss shoved her away. 

Katniss scowled, giving another shove for good measure, “Cut it out, Johanna!”

Prim rolled her eyes. “You are aware, this is a charity event benefiting the hospital I work for, right? all booths are operated by volunteering hospital employees, which means the ring-the-bottle game wasn’t rigged,” Prim stared pointedly at her sister, “and nobody is getting cursed!” She glared at Johanna next, “Behave!”

There was nothing Katniss hated more than disappointing her baby sister. “I’m sorry, Prim, we’ll be better,” Katniss glared at her friend, “Right Jo?” 

“Fine! But I demand a greasy, deep fried treat, and a big sugary drink to go with it!” 

“Yay!” Primrose clapped, hooking her slender arms through her sister and friend’s elbows, “Lets have some fun!”

The trio came to a food booth, Prim piped in, “I’ll ordered us a funnel cake and two giant lemonades, you guys go find another game, I don’t mind waiting in line,” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yeah…and then we can go to the booth my department set up. My favorite nurse in the whole world is manning it!”

Katniss and Johanna walked past the inflatables and the bouncy castle, trying not to bump into families with rambunctious children, and then, they saw a ridiculously loud-excuse-of-an-eyesore-shack painted in pepto pink, decked to the gills with giant red and pink hearts sprouting from every corner of the stand, and a large, white sign crowning the top, announcing: “$1 Smooches”, spelled in blinking light bulbs, with a neon yellow arrow pointing downwards.

“A kissing booth?” Johanna arched her eyebrows, curiously. 

The queue to the booth was very long and to Katniss’ surprise, composed mostly by female patrons. 

“What. Is. that?!” Gasped Johanna, pointing to the booth while fanning herself with her free hand. Without further comment, Jo grabbed Katniss’ hand and marched straight for the kissing booth line.

“What—?”

“Come on Brainless, I have two singles in my wallet and a tube of chapstick ready for the hunk selling kisses!” 

Katniss was momentarily confused, until she saw a muscular man with a boyish, lopsided smile, taking a crisp dollar bill from a very enthusiastic woman; a second later, the man puckered up his pink lips, and leaned forward, just outside the big window of the booth, forearms flexing deliciously against the sleeves of his polo shirt; a wayward curl of his ashy blonde hair fell over his forehead in just the right way.

“Oh!” Katniss gulped, falling into step with her best friend. 

The line advanced impressively fast, for how long it was. In a matter of minutes, which was truly appreciated, since nobody particularly enjoyed being sandwiched between the baking sun and the suffocating blacktop of the lot. The girls were second to next line, but Johanna started sneezing uncontrollably, thanks to the cigarette smoke of a passerby. 

“Ugh! This is a hospital’s parking lot! A no smoke zone!” Jo rasped angrily, “Here!” She shoved a balled up wad of cash into Katniss’ hands, and before her friend could stop her, she went after the smoking a-hole, to rip him a new one. 

Katniss found herself at the front of line very suddenly, and the man beckoned her forward, lopsided grin, so inviting, she stepped up without consciously deciding to.

The man studied her quizzically for a moment, “Hello, there,” he greeted, “Are you an employee at Panem General, or are you a guest? You look familiar,” he said.

“Guest,” Katniss answered, a little too fast. She stepped backwards, rethinking her situation, the woman directly behind her, gave her a weak push forward, to keep her from stepping on her toes. 

The man looked at the ball of cash in Katniss’ hands and smiled brightly. “Would you like to make a donation to Panem General’s pediatric wing? Every dollar counts,” he said softly.

Katniss nodded bashfully, not really understanding his words, too preoccupied with how velvety soft the man’s voice was. She handed him the whole wad, which apparently was $5 in crinkled $1 bills. 

The guy took only one, and placed the rest of the money on the counter, next to Katniss’ hand, before leaning forward to brush his lips against Katniss’. 

There was no telling how long the kiss lasted, but judging by the aggravated buzzing of complaints coming from behind Katniss, it had been long enough to warrant an annoyed calling out.

“Hey! Stop holding up the smooches!” 

Katniss opened her eyes, shifting down to the ball of her feet. She hadn’t realized she’d closed her eyes and stretched on the tip of her toes during her kiss. She stared at the guy, who looked slightly dazed as he admired her back; his smile seemed even more crooked than before. 

“Oh my gosh, you found our booth!” Prim cried out, startling Katniss. “Oh, and you met nurse Mellark!” 

“What?!” The crowd behind Katniss grew restless and annoyed by the second. “I haven’t met any nurses—“

Katniss peered back at the booth suspiciously, expecting to see this nurse her sister spoke so much about, but the only person currently in the booth was the kissable blonde man, watching his sister with arched brows and surprise in his deep blue eyes. 

“Hi, Peeta!” Prim waved, the guy in the booth waved back, but the next person in line stood in front of him, blocking his view.

“Wait…” Katniss pulled Prim further out, before the mob of angry women throttled them, “That man is nurse Mellark?” She asked, pointing back as discreetly as she could; the man was looking at them with badly veiled concern, while still trying to do his job, as host of the smooching booth. “You mean to tell me, the handsome man kissing half the fair is the nurse Mellark you’re always gushing about, with the home baked cookies and the cute little drawings for the oncology patients?” Her gray eyes x-rayed her sister.

“Uh, yeah,” Prim sounded a bit too nonchalant. “He’s amazing, let me tell you,” she sort of mumbled, studying her cuticles. 

“Hey! What did I miss?” Johanna came back munching on a box of nachos, swimming in melted cheese. “Oooh! Elephant ear!” She said, snatching the funnel cake Prim was holding awkwardly. 

“Primrose forgot to mention that her most favorite nurse in the whole world is a HE!” Katniss snapped. 

“What?!”

“What’s so wrong about that? Men can be nurses,” Prim shrugged.

“But you didn’t tell me he was a man!”

“Well, you didn’t tell me you were a sexist pig, Katniss.”

“I am not!” 

Johanna giggled, stuffing her face with fair food. 

“Nurse Mellark is a great care provider who loves children and does his absolute best to bring joy during the worst time of our patients’ lives…What does it matter if he’s a guy? He’s great! What did you expect anyway?” Prim countered defensively, stubbornly.

“I don’t know! An elderly lady, with lots of motherly wisdom or something… I mean, every time you talked about nurse Mellark, you mentioned delicious homemade pastries, and finger paints, and sweet bedtime stories… I never pictured nurse Mellark to be so…”

“Manly,” Johanna finished, looking at the man in the booth, dreamily, finally having caught on. “He’s more of a tall tree trunk I’d like to climb like a koala bear in heat… now where’s my cash, brainless, my lips are ready for some smacking,”

“Johanna!” Katniss growled, but her friend waved her off. A thought occurred to her just then. “Prim…” Katniss whispered into her sister’s ear, “Are you…okay with this?” She said motioning to the 20 or so women in line. “Are you okay with all these people kissing nurse Mellark?” 

Primrose’s lips twitched, “Why wouldn’t I be? This booth was sort of my idea… it was actually more about  Doctor Odair selling the kisses, but nurse Mellark was very good sport, volunteering, ” She rolled her blue eyes. 

“Mmm… I just thought, maybe you had a thing for him?”

“For Peeta?!” Prim said loudly, before laughing hysterically. 

Katniss’ eyes shifted everywhere, and to her chagrin, the man in question— Peeta, apparently— looked up at his name.

“Not so loud!” Katniss hissed, but got interrupted by a booming voice. 

“Ladies, it is time for me to take a break.” Announced nurse Mellark— Peeta— A chorus of disgruntled patrons filled the air, but the man raised his hands placatingly, “Not to worry everyone, my pinch hitter, Doctor Odair, is ready to take over!”

As if by magic, the most attractive man Katniss had ever seen in her life— besides the beautiful male nurse, of course— popped from beside nurse Mellark and a collective swooning sigh rapped over the small crowd. 

Prim laughed. “Come on, I’ll introduce you guys properly. You’re going to love Peeta!”

“Hell no! I’m paying double for the new guy! You gals go ahead,” Johanna called, wolf whistling at the newcomer, waving two dollar bills in the air. 

A moment later, Prim had dragged Katniss to meet her most favorite nurse, secretly crossing her fingers as she made introductions…she thought Peeta and Katniss were perfect for each other, and she wholeheartedly hoped they would kick it off right away, so when she was wrinkly and white haired, she could tell her grand nephews and nieces the story of how their grandma paid a dollar to kiss their grandpa for the very first time. 

[ardentmuse]

Perchance a Parchment (George Weasley x Reader) - Part 5

Harry Potter - George Weasley x fem!Reader

Wordcount: 2.7k

Summary: In the aftermath of their failed meet-up, MC builds the confidence to do a few things she’s always needed to do and George finds the courage to follow his heart.

Series Masterlist // Masterlist

A/N: Not how I expected to spend this morning, so I hope you all enjoy this surprising update.

As you hung the last of the signs advertising your last big hurrah, a bookfest filled with live readings, stage performances, children’s theater, and sales galore, Patricia finished sending the last of the owls to the authors you wished to be featured.

You slumped down on your respective chairs in the middle of the store. But you only got settled when you heard the chime of the doorbell.

“Where’s my sweet girl?” Tom called from the door. It was hard to see his head over the giant pile of boxes and bags from the various local sellers. With two great strides, he dropped the bags unceremoniously upon your counter before turning and offering you both a giant, cheeky grin.

But his face fell the minute he saw the decorations and posters you had placed around the store advertising your big event this weekend.

“What’s all this?”

“Our last push to try and save the shop,” you said as you stood to offer him a hug, and to ask a few questions.

He huffed, “Don’t bother.” And before you could process the shock of those words, your face contorting into a horrible scowl, he barrelled forward with his own monologue. “Bill Weasley was promoted this week, something regarding ministry relations--”

“Don’t say the name Weasley in my shop, Thomas,” you mumbled under your breath. But Tom was a bulldozer, completely ignoring your obvious cues of discomfort.

“-- but it doesn’t matter. With his promotion comes my promotion! Gringotts has decided to transfer all of his territories to me. We leave for Egypt Saturday!”

Your mouth fell open in shock.

“Isn’t that great, babe?” Tom asked, clearly dissatisfied with your response, though it seemed he would have been dissatisfied with anything that wasn’t you flinging your arms around his neck, kissing him profusely, and deeming him your savior.

After a few seconds of you still not saying anything, the only sound the movement of Patty to excuse herself from the clearly tense situation, Tom pressed forward. He reached a hand into one of the bags, pulling out a lovely powder blue silk scarf, woven with silver string in the shape of stars.

“For the sand. Don’t you like it?”

You took a deep breath, trying to process the level of anger you are feeling. Tom just assumed you would drop your life to pursue his dreams, didn’t even once stop to ask you first. You always knew Tom was ambitious and loved your desire to adventure, but you were older now, more boring maybe. You wanted stability, to dig deep and make roots. After years of living light, your heart called so strongly to be heavy. And you had hoped Tom’s heart called for that too…

“Tom, I’m not going to Egypt with you.”

“Oh, Merlin, babe, I’m--” he stopped his cheerful ramble when he realized what you had actually said. He dropped the cloth upon the counter. “Are you serious?”

You sighed, “I have a shop to run.”

“That will be closed in a week!” Tom protested. “I know you are worried about money, but don’t be, Y/N. I’ve got us covered. You don’t need to do anything but let me take care of us.”

“This isn’t about money, Tom!” you found yourself screaming, “This is about having something that’s mine. I don’t want to just follow you around my whole life. I’m my own person. I have my own goals.”

Tom grabbed your shoulders in his large hands, trying to stabilize you. It was a gesture that would normally feel supportive but today only made you feel suffocated.

“I know, I know, and I want you to. You can write a book or do charity work or focus on starting our family. Come on, sweetie. Be realistic. I love your drive, but does it have to be here in this crudy shop over some old books?”

You found yourself being lulled by the sweet timbre of his voice - maybe travelling the world again and writing a book beside him wouldn’t be a bad thing - until he said that one word.

“Crudy?”

You pulled away harshly.

“We both know this was just a pipe dream. Very few businesses make it on Diagon Alley. Most of the shops have been here hundreds of years. Well, except the Weasleys.”

“DON’T SAY THE NAME WEASLEY IN MY SHOP, THOMAS!” you screamed this time, causing your boyfriend to throw up his hands in mock terror.

Realizing how much things had escalated, you both pause and breathe. You take a seat down upon your chair, processing what Tom just told you. He never supported you or your dream. You loved him, yes, and he loved you, too. But it seems you may have loved shadows of yourselves. Tom loved the you of three years ago, the one who found more happiness upon his arm than on her own two feet. And you loved a Tom who helped you find home after years of running, the one who taught you what connection was, even if he wanted that connection to only be with himself alone.

“I don’t love you,” you breathed out loud, only now realizing the freeing weight of saying the words out loud.  “I mean, I love you the way I love any friend but I don’t love you.”

You looked up from your hands to take in Tom’s face, blank and cold and only slightly confused.

“You don’t love me?”

Your eyes scanned his square jaw that you used to love running your fingers across, the lips that used to draw yours forward in lust or longing, the curls you used to pull in passion or pat in comfort, and the eyes that bore into you now in question, and you couldn’t help but wonder how long you had hoped he might be someone else. Had it been always? Had you been so blind to not see that what you loved was having someone, not this someone in particular?

“No,” you whispered with a slight shake of your head.

Thomas let out a deep breath before staring at the ceiling of your shop. His back pressed hard against the counter as he let his grip grow tighter. After a moment, his gaze turned to you once more. But you didn’t see the pain there that you had imagined. Just a stray tear and something akin to relief.

“I don’t love you either,” he admitted. “I hoped I might someday, but–” he cut himself off with another huff before taking a step towards you. “You are my best friend. You’re funny, you’re smart, you’re beautiful. We were perfect for each other.”

Tom flung himself down into the chair beside you. His hand inched towards your own and for once you didn’t feel the desire to pull away.

“Where’d we go wrong?”

You laughed, gripping the fingers of your best friend tightly for the first time in a long time -- not that you hadn’t held hands recently. Sometimes it felt like you were attached at the hands because that was what couples do. But it had been a very long time you only now realized that you could call Tom your best friend.

“Maybe in thinking friendship wasn’t enough for us? Not everything nice on paper makes sense in practice.”

Tom smiled at you genuinely before kissing your knuckles.

“You’ve always been wiser than me,” he said while returning your hand to you. “I think in the back of my head I always knew but–”

“This was easy?” you asked. He simply nodded in confirmation.

Tom stood and walked towards the counter. He collected the bags he brought in but upon picking up the blue scarf, he placed it back on the counter again with a pat.

“You deserve better than easy, Y/N. I hope you know that.”

You smiled at him, the full weight of the situation hitting you finally like a freight train. Was it possible to feel relief so acute and sadness so intense that they cancel each other out like two trains hitting head-on until each was halved and mangled, much smaller and much more dangerous?

You felt the tears begin to hit your eyes now but not at the loss of Tom but at the loss of all the stability you had spent years creating – your store, your relationship, your community, and your Rhubarb.

Tom tapped the scarf once more. “In case a vacation to Egypt seems like your next adventure. I promise you’ll have a couch to crash on, friend.” The last word sounded strange on his tongue, like a test more than sentiment. You found you could get used to it.

“I’ll take you up on that, once–”

“I know,” he said as a tear fell down his cheek. He moved forward and leaned it to kiss you like he always did when he left the shop, though this time he paused and redirected, his lips finding your forehead with precision. He held himself to you long and lasting, his tears salting your head.

You couldn’t even look at him as he walked towards the door. You heard the chime and felt your heart clench as your world fell apart in earnest. You let yourself cry now for real, letting the waves of sorrow rake your body.

“I’m sorry but I have to ask,” Tom started from the door.

You popped your head up and rubbed your eyes, damning that this would be the last he’d see of you before you reunited as friends, a gross snotty mess unable to compose herself.

“Is there someone else?” he asked, almost embarrassed at himself for asking the question, realizing he had no right now to care.

But you smiled despite yourself.

“I hope, someday.”

Tom nodded, the smile on his lips, too. “Me too.”

And with that he walked out of your shop and your life for the foreseeable future, one more part of the pristine life you had built for yourself disappearing down the lane. But unlike everything else, this one felt right and good, like you were regaining part of your strength. There was hope now for that passionate love you had told Rhubarb your heart desired, even if you had no prospects at the moment. Rhubarb, Tom, and the insufferable George Weasley you angered yourself at realizing, had given you a gift in showing you not to content yourself with just okay ever again.

George sat at the desk of his childhood home, nursing slowly the tea his mother had given him staring at a blank parchment. He was in love he now realized. And the right thing to do would be to let his love move on with her life. He had caused enough harm already.

With a huff, he crumpled the paper and tossed it into the bin.

“Leave her be, you git,” he said to himself, “You destroyed her business, you led her on and stood her up. You hurt her and she deserves so much better than you.”

“Better than George Fabian Weasley?” Fred said from the door, “There is no such thing. Well, other than his more dashing twin.”

Fred threw himself down on his own childhood bed. The mattress was the same but the linens were now pink and the duvet a brilliant mint green with silver sparkles, prepared for Victoire’s monthly sleepovers.  

It clashed with Fred’s hair greatly.

“So what are we going to do about this?”

George turned in his chair to see Fred reclining on his side, his head propped on his arm and a hickie prominent upon his neck. George felt the anger grow in him just a little at how easily Fred could find a woman to warm his bed– not that George wanted a bed warmer. He wanted a heart warmer, a life warmer. He wanted you, not that he had any right to.

“There’s nothing to do. We’ve done enough.”

Fred tisked loudly.

“Nothing is set in stone, Georgiepoo.” And with a flourish, he pulled a flyer out of his pocket and tossed it to his twin.

The flyer laid out upon the desk, pristine and thick just like the parchments you always send his way.

“Story Extravaganza?” George read out loud. “What is this?”

Fred just smiles, relaxing further into his bed. “It’s your girl fighting back.”

George smiles at Fred’s phrasing. He inspects the flyer carefully, impressed by how well you seem to know your customers to provide him so many things they might enjoy.

“And,” Fred begins, his voice growing more sly, “She may be fighting for you, too.”

Fred lays another piece of parchment on the desk next to Fred, one in your own script with the same flourish he’d grown so accustomed to seeing on the parchment.

Rhubarb,

I waited for you last night and you didn’t show up. I felt so foolish. I wish I understood what held you back, but I may never know.

Even if you wish to cut ties with me, I wanted to let you know that these talks of ours have given me the courage to do something I wasn’t sure I ever would be able to do. I spoke my mind to someone last night, someone who probably didn’t even care to hear what I have to say. This big shot business guy came by while I was waiting for you. I was probably not as nice as I could have been but I was direct with what I thought. I didn’t shrivel away out of fear of how I might be perceived. I fought for what I feel I deserve. It may not have been my proudest moment mouthing off to my enemy but it meant the world to me to know that you had part in building in me that kind of strength.

Thank you.

With Fred at his back, George tried to put pen to paper once more, this time knowing what he actually needed to say.

You were busy in your office intercepting a ton of notes from various local authors, almost all of whom were excited to make an appearance at the store either to promote new work or engage with readers. A few were even bringing excerpts of unpublished manuscripts to read and one of your favorite children’s authors was bringing along a band to perform some songs for the kids.

Everything was falling into place for a big celebration. Even if you didn’t make enough money to keep the store open — hell, you weren’t even sure your landlord would consider leasing to someone other than the Weasley’s at this point — it would be a great last hurrah. This was why you started the shop in the first place— to give the community a place to celebrate stories, creativity, and imagination. At the end of the day, it was always about community.

So when a certain snowy owl dropped a letter upon the incoming stack and greeted Diomedes with soft nips of her neck feathers, you didn’t notice. It wasn’t until you had sliced through the seal and saw the handwriting that the air left your chest.

My dear Cherry,

There’s no excuse for letting you sit there alone yesterday. I can’t explain where I was but I pray you will forgive me for leaving you.

I am proud of you and I can guarantee whatever you said did not fall on deaf ears. The break from your kind spirit could not have gone unnoticed. Whatever transgression he caused you surely deserved the words you tossed his way and I am sure you looked beautiful doing it.

I regret that you found yourself in that situation, though. You were expecting a friend and found an enemy instead. I am sorry for causing you that pain.

I’ll explain some day. I promise. But in the meantime, I am still here. I am still listening. Talk to me, sweetheart.

Rhubarb

All tags: @fangirlandnerd, @aerdnandreaa, @thisisbullshytt,  @cancerousjojian, @whovianayesha, @themarauderstheoutsidersandpeggy, @luna-xxxxx, @sleepylunarwolf, @starryrevelations, @potter-thinking, @all-by-myself98, @bananafosters-and-books, @cutie-bug, @igotmadskills​, @hazelandcoconuts​, @yallgotkik​, @amberkay284​, @13ofjuly​, @daft-not-punk​, @sapphireorchid​, @geek-lass​, @ietss​, @garbdump​, 

Harry Potter tags: @tessimagines, @0-lost-in-stereo-0, @whysoseriouspadfoot

Perchance a Parchment tags: @cucumberinmyass, @justducky0423, @thequeen-ofnerds, @yuaasa, @comic-creature, @hermionebennet, @semicharmedkindofali, @sugerquill, @can-i-fangirl-yet​, @doct0rstrange, @igotmadskills, @otherthingsinhead, @olixerwxxd, @caramiriel, @gryffinclxw, @lizmar20, @indicisive-af, @confettidreameryouwhoreo-blog, @hellizhelusive2, @kaitsubaki, @dooriha, @justfollowtheroad, @memogorgon, @xxsophie-raabxx, @madamcadaver, @bookscoffeeandracoons

[aboyandhisstarship]

SICON verse: we hereby withdraw

It’s the end of the bug war arc!

Watson:

The Alien pulled out a something about the size of a dinner plate holding up, Churchill whinnied As Ericson eyes went wide sprinting forward tackling he Alien  yelling “CODE 9 authorization Dagger 1 Alpha PI 9”  

The ships light went red as he demanded “Sargent get them out of here now!”

Francis dragged the squad out as the door sealed behind them with a clunk a few seconds later the ship rocked with an explosion

The PA system crowed “Warning code 9 has been initiated, a hostile presence on board the Watson Security teams follow your planned routes…”

Francis tuned out the Pa as he said “Depoint!”

The medic was already grabbing an emergency kit saying “ready Sarge.”

Francis wheeled “Futuba!?”

The Techy was already working on the door panel “working on over riding the LT’s command codes and getting in there.”

Francis nodded “Abebi!”

The handler was already nodding saying in Dutch “Churchill Check!” the dog started to sniff moving to a different part of the ship leaving only T’Mai and Kvella not doing anything.

Francis sighed “Hitchhiker what was that thing?”

T’Mai answered on a daze “Fuilgrtum.”

Francis frowned “excuse me?”

T’Mai sighed “it’s a mining explosive…not accessible to the public.”

A couple of security personal arrived and Francis sighed “Take these two to holding.”

Kvella said “Sarge!”

Francis answered “it’s for you own protection…the council just tried to bomb an SICON ship do you know what that means!?”

Before either Alien could answer Francis stormed away saying “I have to brief the captain,” he looked at Depoint “make sure he lives Corporal.”

Depoint nods “yes sir.”

SICON Command:

A General stepped into the Main room of The Strategic Coordination center Saying “Sir, we received a transmission from the Watson.”

The Prime minster of the Strategically integrated coalition of Nations looked up “must be something serious if you involved me Bill.”

The General nodded “yes sir it is…” handing over a data pad.

The Prime minster read it over saying “is this Legit?”

The General “It has been verified by the Ground team that was given it, the Ship it self and ourselves…it is real Sir.”

The Prime Minster sighed “the implications of this…are massive.”

A Yeoman ran in saluting “sirs…The Watson has just been bombed by a council Intel officer.”

The Prime Minster took a deep Breath “Cover up?”

The General nods “seems likely Sir.”

The Prime Minster nodded “Bill…”

The General sighs “you know what you need to do sir.”

The Prime Minster sighs “Get me our ambassador to the Council, Bill Get our people out of there.”

The General asked “full with draw?”

The prime Minster sighs “bill we might be about to fight a war with the Council.”

The General nodded “yes sir.”

 Watson: Captain Hernández walked down the Corridor saying “Confirm orders?”

The Officer walking to her says “we are to withdraw from Council space and detain all Aliens until no more Sabotage can be confirmed.”

Francis cut in “Ma’am Specialist T’Mai and Kvella are already in the brig and Churchill is making a sweep now, but for the record I don’t see them trying to hurt us.”

Hailey nodded “Agreed, hold them there for now through…we don’t want any angry humans making mistakes.”

Francis nodded “The council officer was killed in the blast The Lt…Lieutenant Ericson is currently in Surgery.”

Hailey stopped touching his shoulder “I’m worried about Will as well but Depoint is with him.” Her face went serious as he spoke again on the record “Sargent you are currently the ranking Orbital Assault Core officer onboard this ship correct.”

Francis nodded “that is correct ma’am.”

Hailey nodded “I want you leading those sweeps not missing anything.”

Francis sighed “yes ma’am” as he went towards engineering as she kept walking saying “Commander how is our propulsion?”

 The Galactic Council Floor:

The tension in the room was palpable as the Ambassador entered flanked on all sides by a detail of Orbital Assault core in full power armor, The ambassador Adjusted her suit as she stood in the middle of the room, A Kalber spoke “you have called this meeting Ambassador.”

The human took a deep breath before she held out a tablet causing the evidence of the council misdeeds to appear in holographic form in the massive room she spoke saying “this Evidence was presented to us at 1600 hours earth time. It has been verified and it shows clear intent to harm humans and use us for this council own ends. As Such Effective as of now The Strategically Integrated Collation of nations hereby withdraws from the Galactic Council , and all Person’s or things considered Assets of this government will be ejected from any position of Military or governmental power within SICON, including Intelligence officers, Exchange program Soldiers, Council sponsored News reporters among others, these Person’s will be returned unharmed to Council space, any attempt to harm any human will be met with extreme force…the joint chiefs of staff suggest that you do not test our resolve on this point…Good day.”  

And without another word the Ambassador left the building where a ship was waiting to take her back to earth.

 Watson Infirmary:

Futuba sighed “so that’s the word LT.”

Ericson Lay in his hospital bed Churchill in his lap as he saying “at least we did not declare war.”

Depoint adjusted the IV bag saying “Parliament did not approve that course of action.”

Will smiled “that’s always good.”

T’Mai and Kvella were escorted inside and armed guards looked they were going to say But Ericson said “you can leave”

The guard said “sir…”

Ericson sighed “That’s an order.”

The guards nodded “yes sir.”

Kvella said “LT…”

Ericson smiled at them saying “None of that, neither of you had anything to do with this mess your good people and it was a pleasure serving with you both.”

Francis stopped playing with his Paddle ball “so what now for you both?”

T’Mai sighed “I’m resigning my commission first chance I get…it can’t stay not after what I learned, maybe get a job on Kalbus somewhere.”

Kvella shrugged with her tentacles “they will chew me out, I’m going to quit…maybe go independent…the Council controls to much of the News service anyway.”

Depoint said “LT you need to get some sleep.”

Will sighed “right…hey listen if I cant be there for when you guys go back…I just wanna say…”

T’Mai smiled “I know sir, but honestly I should be thanking you. You saved my life and showed me something worth fighting for.”

Kvella took the LT hand saying “you won’t get out of being interviewed by me that easily Will.”

Will felt himself falling back to sleep saying with a chuckle “the hitchhiker and the Tourist…just be careful out there not everyone is as nice we are.”

T’Mai chuckled “you got it Boss.”

Kvella squeezed Wills hand Gently as Hailey entered the door, the humans snapped to attention but Hailey waved her hand “I didn’t interrupt anything did I?”

T’Mai shook his head “no Ma’am just saying our goodbyes to the LT.”

Hailey nodded “for what it’s worth I  was very impressed with everything you guys did this last year.”

The guards reentered saying “you are going to have to come with us again.”

 Fleet station nine:

Kvella and T’Mai approached the shuttle to see Dagger waiting for them.  Francis stepped forward saying “T’Mai…Listen about what I said this past year…”

T’Mai stopped him “were good Sarge.”

Francis smiled handing him the Paddleball saying “something to remember our time among the death worlders.”

T’Mai gave Francis a slight hug as He turned to Kvella “hey look at it this way, no more being ordered not to fly your drone around.”

Kvella hugged him briefly with her tentacles, before the Irish man whiped away some tears saying with a smile “look I got to go file some paperwork cause the LT is laid out stay out of trouble huh?”

T’Mai shook his head “your one to talk.”

Francis walked way chuckling. T’Mai turned around to see a barely holding back Tears Futuba who says with a small voice “you will call right…”

T’Mai nods to Futuba saying “whenever I can.”

The girl lunches herself at him saying “I’m going to miss you!”

T’Mai adds “And I you.”

Futuba still hugging T’Mai says “Don’t just stand there Kvella Get in on this.”

The Squad like alien Adds her tentacle’s to the large mass Futuba said again “I’m really going to miss you guys!”

Kvella flexed one of her tentacle’s saying “it is not over yet, I have a feeling we will meet each other again.”

Futuba nods “I hope you are right.”

Futuba reluctantly Lets the two go allowing them to advance closer to their shuttle. Depoint says with a smile “Well looks like this is it.”

T’Mai nods “so it seems.”

Depoint reaches out shaking their paws/tentacle “Thanks for not getting hurt too often.” She finished with a chuckle

T’Mai returned “you already had the LT we figured you had that quota filled.”

Kvella flexed her tentacle “thank you, for what you told us on earth…for helping me to look at the stars not us as a simple place that exists but a roadmap of possibilities.”

Depoint shook her head “Happy to do it…even if you don’t have long to enjoy it.”

Abebe said awkwardly “I didn’t know you guys that long but still I’m sorry you lost your place here with us.”

T’Mai smiled roughly “it is alright, as you humans say all good things must come to an end.”

The two looked back at Fleet Station nine for a minute shuttle which wasted no time taking off and jumping into hyperspace.

 Kalbus:

T’Mai wondered the streets of his home world most people didn’t look at him with anything more than whispers about him being among the humans, the word traitor was thrown around but T’Mai didn’t care. Just an hour earlier he had turned down the promotion they tried to give him and resigned his commission in front of the whole admiralty, he felt good laying out his displeasure with everything they have done before leaving without anther word. T’Mai looked up at the Night sky of Kalbus seeing the Gas giant his world is a moon of he sighed as he saw how close the stars were.

[chromecutie]

Not A Ghost - part 13

A/N - Multi-part fic. Colossus x OC where OC has come home after being wrongfully imprisoned in the Icebox. Warnings for whole fic - references and flashbacks to harsh prison environment, including various types of abuse. Takes place shortly after events in Deadpool 2. Whole thing will end up on my AO3 eventually.

Taglist: @emma-frxst  @ra-ra-rasputiin  @holamor ​  @empressme-bitch  @marvel-is-perfection  @hazilyimagine ​ @marvel-forever-17 @rovvboat @angstybadboytrash ​ @whitewitchdown ​ @master-sass-blast ​ @mori-fandom @mooleche @dandyqueen . Wanna be added or removed? Holla at me.

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

Wade insisted he wanted to play games, and Pictionary was the lowest effort game they could get him to agree to with the least chance of him inflicting property damage or bodily harm. And, as it happens, Piotr and Rhonda were absolutely unbeatable at Pictionary. Piotr could convey complex ideas quickly, with his honed skills, and Rhonda knew well enough how he thought that he usually didn’t even have to finish his sketch on the big dry erase board before she guessed correctly. Rhonda herself wasn’t much of an artist, and though her inelegant diagrams were inscrutable to Wade and Cable, they were very clear to Piotr.

For Rhonda, playing a game felt nice, but a little strange and uncomfortable like slipping into old clothes from when her tastes were very different. Recreation in the Icebox had been limited to fighting rings, giving or receiving tattoos, and making and hiding the most extreme shivs. Of course she remembered all the times she enjoyed playing Pictionary with her husband, but she also couldn’t shake the last few years being dangerous to focus on anything without also checking over her shoulder every second.

Wade and Cable made a chaotic team. No matter what he was supposed to be drawing clues for, Wade mostly drew penises and added different clothes or props to them. The correct answers for all of Wade’s drawings were a stretch -- several penises with biceps were supposed to be the Summer Olympics. A group of excessively hairy penises was supposed to be the Amazon rainforest. A penis wearing a beard, a sweater vest, and a Rage Against the Machine tattoo was supposed to be a political science professor. And so on.

Rhonda shook her head with a quiet laugh, despite herself. For a long time, she was the most mischievous person Piotr would keep close in his life, and Wade was orders of magnitude more impish than Rhonda had ever been - even counting the time she smuggled in some weed brownies to eat with Ororo and Ilyana. As Wade drew a penis with insect wings that was supposed to be Jeff Goldblum, she thought he was an unusual choice of friend for Piotr. But then, Piotr had also started dating a telepath, so maybe he had a few changes himself that she didn’t understand.

Cable huffed, “That’s it. I wanna switch teams.”

“Fine,” Wade said, voice completely level, “but I get Colossus.”

Cable and Rhonda exchanged a cold glare, before the four of them rearranged on the sumptuous leather couches according to the new teams. Her chest was tight and it was getting harder to stay calm as she gripped the dry erase marker. Her hand absently found her neck and rubbed where the collar used to sit. Cable drew out his stick figure diagrams - he had precise geometry with perfect circles and straight lines. It took Rhonda a few guesses, and time almost ran out for their turn, but she eventually guessed correctly.

Piotr’s turn was next, to draw for Wade. He had only roughed in a few simple shapes before Rhonda was sure the correct answer would be Claude Monet, but Wade seemed determined to guess everything but the correct answer. Piotr had practically recreated one of the water lily paintings before time ran out and Wade shouted his last guess, “JURASSIC PARK!”

��NO!” Piotr barked, frustrated.

Rhonda looked at her prompt while her husband argued with his friend. She carefully considered the best strategy to draw this out in a way Cable would correctly guess. They set the timer going and she quickly got to work making a rough representation of a werewolf fighting a vampire. Cable floundered through some guesses that weren’t even close, so she slashed a big line through the first one. In another corner of the board, she made her best drawing of Hades from the Disney version of Hercules, with fire around him. She looked over at her teammate and saw his brows knit together so tightly he could hold a half dollar coin in the furrow.

Time was running out. Rhonda twisted her hand in a circle, urgently encouraging him to keep guessing. She started a third drawing with some blocks to represent a city street with skyscrapers, and an arrow pointing under the street, with a lot of crude dollar bills. When she felt the push in her mind, an unwelcome other-ness like sticky fingers crawling along her spine, she froze.

“Underworld,” Cable finally said with complete confidence, two seconds before the timer started beeping.

Rhonda clenched her jaw and capped the marker. She snarled, “Stay out of my head, telepath,” and hurled the marker straight at Cable’s chest.

The marker halted, frozen in space with Cable’s telekinetic ability. He plucked the marker from the air and stood, gently setting it on the coffee table. His gaze fixed on Rhonda in a hard stare. One eye flared with bright orange-gold light.

Rhonda couldn’t stop the fight-or-flight rising in her chest. He looked just the way he had when he came into the Icebox and started shooting up the place. He looked like every other inmate or guard who had set eyes on her with murderous intent.

She shifted her stance and some whispers of lightning laced over her clenched fists. They both ignored Wade chattering about the movie Underworld and how it was a cinematic masterpiece.

Piotr moved quickly to get between them, throwing an arm in front of his wife in case she lunged. He shook his head at the silver haired soldier, “Please, Cable, don’t press her. Leave my wife alone.”

Cable’s brows quirked, then softened. “You’re scared of me?” he asked, but it didn’t sound much like a question. He eased a step backward. “You’re scared of everyone,” he said with more certainty.

“STOP IT!” she yelled.

She flicked her hand. Wade cocked a handgun. Cable shifted and raised his fist, ready to deflect.

Piotr caught her around the torso, immobilizing her, and raised his voice, “Wade, Cable, no!”

But instead of a bright streak of electricity arcing through the air, only a few paltry sparks flew and died no more than eight inches from her fingers.

Cable was never in any danger from her.

Wade giggled, smirking, “What is that, a warning shot? Or are you about as vicious as a nine-volt battery?”

“Drop it, Wade,” Piotr was desperate to de-escalate. It was so unlike Rhonda to lash out like this. He regretted putting her in a room with his friends when he knew she was uncomfortable with Cable, and Wade could be an abrasive jackass who wouldn’t leave well enough alone. This was a mistake.

Rhonda tried to wrench herself from her husband’s grip, only managing to bruise her ribs against his arm. “Let me go,” she growled.

“[No fighting. Relax,]” Piotr rumbled in Russian close to her ear. He kept his tone calm with her.

She lashed out with her legs, trying in vain to squirm out of his arm. “[Take your hands off me, now!]”

“[Not until you relax.]”

Wade raised his gun, but didn’t point it. “Uh, should I…?”

“No!” Piotr and Cable said at the same time. Cable took a few steps backward, palms up.

Rhonda huffed, winded from struggling against a giant vice grip.

“I promise it’s airsoft!” Wade said indignantly, “Look.” With a soft hiss, a small plastic pellet hit Cable in the chest. Cable grunted and before anyone could respond, Wade puffed his airsoft pistol again and shot Rhonda in the forehead.

The sting was enough to startle and stun her, and she halted her struggle against her husband’s grip. Still, he didn’t let go until she mumbled through a clenched jaw, “I’ve got an appointment with Hank. I should go.”

Finally, Piotr released his hold around her torso and gave her space. She took a deep breath, wincing at her sore ribs. The floral paint on her right arm had cracked all over from the motion, and was flaking off to reveal the Xs lurking underneath. Without looking anyone in the eye or saying another word, she stalked off, snatching her cardigan off the couch on her way out.

Cable watched her go, and when the door to the lounge shut, he turned to Piotr. “That’s all she’s got, isn’t it? The sparks. There used to be more.” It wasn’t quite a question. He knew. He had read her dread and humiliation and disgust and heartbreak.

Piotr swallowed and forced himself to speak evenly, “The power dampening collars in the Icebox.”

Wade shrugged and crossed to a shelf that had a bowl of mints. He picked through them until he grabbed a half dozen that were shaped differently from the rest. “Hellooo my little friends! Daddy needs some Percocet!”

Piotr looked at the candy dish in horror. He quickly set to laying into Wade for hiding pharmaceuticals in the candy; Wade insisted it wasn’t a big deal since it was in an adults-only room, and he was probably doing the X-Men a favor.

Rolling his eyes, Cable politely excused himself and headed for the infirmary.

--

Rhonda’s follow up with Dr. McCoy went well enough. He didn’t ask her why she had shown up so early, nor did he prod her about seeming agitated. “Take things as slowly as you need,” he reminded her, “Your relationships with your friends, with yourself...it will all come back.” Hank gave her a reassuring smile.

She nodded, but her jaw didn’t relax. Her gaze set on the paper bag full of medication for injuries and infections that hadn’t quite healed on their own. The paper crinkled in her fist. “Thank you,” she forced herself to speak.

Pointing at her arm, Hank said, “This looks nice. Piotr?”

Her expression flickered brighter when she followed his gesture to the flowers on her arm. “Yeah, we were playing with paint this morning,” she explained. “It was gorgeous when it was fresh.”

Hank watched her smile fade and fidgeted with his stethoscope. He went to the supply drawers and took out the spare lightbulb from a few days ago. “Try this again,” he held it out to her.

Rhonda heaved a sigh loaded with hesitation. “No.”

The doctor’s encouraging smile didn’t falter. “Why don’t you take it with you, then?” He set to putting it back in its flimsy cardboard box. “That way you’ll have it whenever you’re ready. When you can light this bulb, we’ll move on to other things. How does that sound?”

Crinkling the bag and letting out another slow breath, Rhonda begrudgingly took the boxed lightbulb. “It feels like I’ll be like this forever.”

Hank saw the chance to get her to elaborate, “Be like what?” When she gave him a pointed look, he didn’t push. “It will feel like that sometimes,” he conceded, “even when you know you’re doing better. I think it helps to remember you have a lot of people who love you, no matter what you’re able to do.”

Rhonda returned a weak smile. “Thanks,” she said, “I’ll try.” She gestured a loose salute with the lightbulb, and backed out of the office.

She almost backed right into Cable, but he sidestepped her and cleared his throat. Startled, she spun, ready to drop her things and throw punches right for his gut, but he took another step back and raised his palms.

“I want to apologize,” he began.

Her jaw worked, chewing on her emotions as she tried to remember she was home and to keep her manners. Rhonda took a moment to study the opulent wallpaper over Cable’s shoulder before meeting his eyes. “And?” she prompted.

“I have a...condition,” Cable gestured with his left hand, which was metal, but a little darker and less polished than Piotr’s steel. All the way up his arm and over his shoulder, the metal crept up his neck, where his skin puckered and pinched as it gave way to the metal. He continued, “I use my psionic powers to keep it from getting worse, and sometimes that makes it harder to control my telepathy.” He lowered his hands and let them rest on his belt. “I’m sorry I got in your head. There’s...some heavy shit in there. It’s harder to avoid than most people’s thoughts.”

The tension in Rhonda’s shoulders eased just a hair. “Most people can’t feel a telepath poking around,” she warned, “I can.”

Cable nodded, “So it’s hard for you to trust us.” At Rhonda’s sharp inhale, he added firmly, “That part’s obvious, ma’am, I don’t have to pull for it.”

“Ma’am?” she scoffed, trying to force herself to loosen up.

“Just tryin’ to be respectful,” he took a step to the side, starting to edge away. “And maybe,” he added, fumbling for words, “Try practicing to music.”

Her brows twitched together and she tilted her head. “Okay?”

Cable shrugged, “Just something my daughter would probably say if she met you. She used to say music made everything better. A lot of good advice.” He gave a warm smile that didn’t show any teeth, but made him look years younger and with half of whatever worries he carried now.

They exchanged curt nods and went their separate ways. With her meds and the lightbulb in hand, Rhonda headed to her room. She shook her head wondering why, as a dancer, she hadn’t thought of practicing to music herself.

[pizza-is-my-buziness]

I'm not a huge horror movie fan, but I would love to see a Skimmons Zombieland AU! Something funny/scary, with maybe one of the avengers doing the bill murray cameo thing?

Happy Halloween! I mean…happy first of October.

Thanks for the movie suggestion! I figured it would be a perfect way to kick off my 31 Days of Horror Movie Ficlets (I need a better title I guess?)

Check it out below the cut or all ficlets will also be posted on AO3! {x}

Movie: Zombieland

Soundtrack: “Salute Your Solution” by The Raconteurs

“So, Daisy Johnson,” Jemma intones in a serious voice, asclose to the newscasters that she remembers from when the news was actuallyrunning, “you finally made it to California. What’s the first thing you’regoing to do?”

“Well…” Daisy draws the word out, as though contemplating heroptions, “probably sleep for twenty-four hours straight.”

Just to punctuate her point, she takes a running leap andjumps onto the king-sized bed in middle of the room and, of course, it feelslike heaven. She even bounces just a little, sighing contentedly as she sinksdown onto the mattress. And is that…ugh yes…a down comforter. “Jemma, you have to come feel this,” Daisy sighs,patting the space on the bed beside her. “I don’t know if I’ve ever feltanything so amazing.”

Jemma smirks but she climbs into bed beside Daisy. “I’m sureyou’ll say the same thing when you finally take a shower.”

Daisy’s eyes grow wide. “A shower,” she breathes. “Do youthink the water still works? Do you think it’s still hot?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Jemma says. “Look at this place. Imean compared to the other places we’ve seen, it looks practically perfect.”

Daisy had thought the same thing when they’d finally settledon this house. Or, well, house might not be the right word to describe it.Mansion is far more fitting, given the three stories and the basement levelthat Coulson and Ace are currently exploring. She feels a little nervous being separatedfrom Ace, seeing as they haven’t been apart since this whole apocalypse andzombie drama started but she trusts Coulson enough to hope that Ace is safewith him in this large, perfect, unexplored house.

“I mean…it’s a little weird, right?” Daisy says, frowningslightly as she studies Jemma. “Maybe it’s just not as bad over here.”

Jemma doesn’t say anything but Daisy can see the skepticismin her face. They’ve driven halfway across the country and they’ve seen enoughdeath and destruction to know that it’s bad everywhere. Honestly, Daisy hadn’teven realized that there were other people still in the world until she’d runinto Coulson and then, days later, Jemma. She’d never intended to join up witha group; there were too many unknown factors when you added other people intothe equation and her priority was Ace and trying to get him to California andhis aunt’s house. She’d promised Mike that she would look after him. Butsomething about Coulson and Jemma…it had seemed easier to let her guard downaround them. With Coulson, Daisy had just desperately wanted someone else totake charge for a little while, to look after them and do the protecting. Andwith Jemma…well.

With Jemma, her thoughts are definitely not zombie apocalypserelated.

“Maybe we should investigate the shower situation,” Daisysays, though she makes no move to leave the bed.

Jemma nods. “Maybe we should.” She doesn’t move either.

Daisy smiles. “Maybe in a minute,” she relents. “I’m just sofreaking comfortable.”

“It has been a long time since we slept in a bed, hasn’t it?”Jemma says with a sigh of longing. “Not that I haven’t been enjoying thebackseat of the car.”

“I mean forget sleeping in a bed,” Daisy says, “how long hasit been since you had a real, nice shower? Or had clean clothes? Or actual hotfood?”

Jemma rubs her stomach, groaning. “Don’t talk about food.”But there’s still so much of the house they haven’t explored so thepossibilities…her stomach rumbles at the idea.

“Maybe Coulson can finally find his Twinkies.” Daisy grins.

“I’m sure he’s searching for them right now,” Jemma says.

“He can have the Twinkies,” Daisy says, “but I call dibs onthis bed.”

Jemma gives her a playful shove. “Excuse you. We found thisroom together.”

Daisy lifts an eyebrow. “Looks like there’s room for two,”she says.

Okay so she’s feeling bold here in this bedroom, in an actualhouse, where she doesn’t feel like she has to be afraid for her life at thisexact moment.

Jemma smiles at her. “So it would seem,” she says. After apause, she adds, “I’m glad that our paths crossed. You know…safety in numbersand all that.”

Daisy nods. “Oh, of course.” But she’s smiling and so isJemma and maybe it’s not so terrible after all, to be here after the world hasended on a really comfortable bed in a giant house with Jemma here beside her. “Youknow, I’m-”

The sound of floorboards creaking immediately causes Daisy tofall silent. She and Jemma both sit up in unison, looking toward the openbedroom door. Her heart is already hammering in her chest and she immediatelymisses the way she had felt just seconds before: safe and content and a littlelike she was falling in love with the woman lying beside her.  

Now none of that stuff really matters, seeing as there’s apossibility they’re about to die a horrible zombie related death.

It could be nothing, of course. Could just be Coulson or Ace.But Ace is never quiet, at least, not quiet enough to sneak down the hallway.

Daisy slips off the bed and Jemma follows suit, both of themreaching for their weapons of choice: Jemma, the gun she always keeps withinreach; Daisy, the baseball bat she’d left leaning against the wall.

They step into the hallway just as the zombie rounds thecorner and they both scream in surprise, though the noise is quickly drownedout by the firing of Jemma’s gun. The bullet catches the zombie in the chestand it stumbles backward, snarling.

“Double tap!” Daisy says, hefting her bat in case Jemma needsbackup. “Don’t forget.”

Jemma rolls her eyes at her before leveling her gun at thezombie and pulling the trigger. The bullet lands neatly between the eyes andthe zombie drops to the ground.

“Nice shooting.” They whirl around toward the unfamiliarvoice. “I thought I’d cleared-”

Further words are silenced by another crack of the gun andthe thud of another body hitting the floor. The groan that escapes thisparticular zombie sounds more human than zombie-like and Daisy is pretty sureshe’s never heard a zombie talk before and…

“Oh my god…” Daisy furrows her brow as she steps closer tothe figure on the ground. “Is that Tony Stark?”

Jemma’s eyes go wide and she looks down at the gun in herhands, a guilty look crossing her face. “Did I just kill Tony Stark?”

Carefully, Daisy nudges the body with the edge of herbaseball bat. Nothing. “I…I think you might have.”

“Oh my god.” Jemma presses a hand to her mouth, standingbeside Daisy and studying the body. “Where did he come from? Why is he dressed…likea zombie? That’s zombie makeup, right?”

Daisy’s eyes grow wide. “This must be Tony Stark’s house!”She grins. “We must be in Tony Stark’s house! Holy shit! No wonder everythingis so nice.”

“I think you’re missing the point here.” Jemma points back toTony Stark, former billionaire, genius, playboy, philanthropist. “I shot TonyStark.”

Daisy pats Jemma on the shoulder. “He could have been azombie,” she points out. “You were just trying to save our lives. From TonyStark! Holy shit!” She grabs Jemma’s hand, tugging her back in the direction ofthe staircase. “Let’s tell Coulson. He’s going to get a kick out of this.”

Jemma rolls her eyes but allows Daisy to drag her down thestairs. She feels bad for the whole Tony Stark snafu but she definitely doesn’tregret any of the things that have brought her to this moment, with her hand inDaisy’s, facing down the end of the world with her, and a former schoolteacher, and an eight-year-old boy.

Honestly, Jemma figures, there are worst ways to spend theend of the world.  

[kaesaaurelia]

oh hey how about Alphys and Sans' chat in your "When Life Hands You Enantiomers" fic for that fic meta ask?

OH MAN so this was my first Undertale fic ever!  I originally started noodling around with writing Sans and Alphys genfic for Yuletide, the small fandom exchange that happens every Christmas – at the time of nominations, Undertale was still a small fandom! and I got into it during the writing period, so I hadn’t thought to ask for or offer it.

I’d wanted to write a treat, but I ended up looking at all the Undertale requests and none of them quite were what I wanted to write, which was mostly chemistry puns and friendship.  So I wrote it, figured I might gift it to someone if it happened to suit their letter, and… it didn’t, really?  I figured I’d just post it.

Anyway, that’s the fic background.  Onward!

“You look like you need a break,” he said, decisively, going past her into the lab.  He paused at her desk, evidently looking for somewhere to put the box of donuts and finding nothing but her vast mountains of clutter.  "I like what you’ve done with the place,“ he said finally.

Basically this was my dad’s reaction to my first apartment every time I tried to show him how clever I’d been making furniture out of cardboard boxes.  Eventually I got sick of responding with “oh fuck off” and made him drive me to Ikea to get a desk.

“It’s, uh.  S-sorry, it’s kind of a mess.  I’m just really busy with – with Royal Scientist stuff?” she finished hopefully.  "You – you know how it is, I g-guess.“

"Yeah,” he said, tonelessly.

and this is the start of me not being able to decide whether or not Alphys remembers that Sans used to work with Gaster in some capacity in this fic!  I think I eventually decided it comes and it goes.  I like to keep things ambiguous on the topic of What The Fuck Is Even Up With Sans??? in my non-AU Undertale fics – I find the ambiguity interesting, I like that everyone has their own theories, and other people have covered that ground better and more thoroughly than I will.

“Anyway,” he said, a lot more brightly, “let’s relax and have some donuts.”  He pulled a picnic blanket from literally nowhere and spread it out on the floor of the lab.

So one of the things I appreciate about writing from Alphys’ POV is that it feels completely tonally appropriate to have her say she facepalmed, or use the phrase “literally nowhere,” and other diction I guess I associate more with informal internet communication.

“Does, uh.  Does Muffet know you made off with all her donuts?” Alphys asked.

“Eh,” said Sans, waving a hand dismissively.

Again, I really like leaving Sans’ bullshit ambiguous, and kind of shady.

“So.  You still working on that horrible tile puzzle?”

“It’s.  …yeah!  It’s going really well.  It's….”  She sighed.

“You’re stuck, aren’t you?” Sans asked.

“Yeah,” she admitted.

“You know you don’t have to do it, right?” he said.  "I mean… Papyrus knows you must be really busy, he’s not gonna be upset.  Plus, I have to say, I’m not real excited about fishing him out of the middle of it if he gets stuck on a puzzle.“

I like how Sans assumes Alphys’ real concern is letting Papyrus down.

"Ha,” she said, joylessly.  "F-funny you should mention the, uh, fishing.“

To her horror, he took this entirely the wrong way.  "Aw, come on, Undyne’s not gonna hold it against you either,” he said.

“N-no, that’s, that’s n-n-not what I –”  Words failed her and she just buried her face in her hands for a moment.

“Although, now that I mention it, Undyne did seem kinda worried about you,” he said.  "You’re not answering your phone, or something?  She said maybe you were mad at her.“

"Oh no,” said Alphys, diving for her phone.  Those four texts.  "Augh, I am the worst kind of trash, I’m a terrible friend, I c-can’t do anything right!“ she moaned.

Oh god.  Please tell me I’m not the only person who leaves texts unread because what if I forget to respond to them when the notification is gone? and then don’t ever look at them out of crushing guilt and anxiety, until people start to worry.  Please.

(Another note on diction: I actually really, really don’t like it when people call themselves “trash.”  I grew up unironically – and really shittily – using the phrase “white trash” to describe certain cousins of mine, and it’s too loaded down with those classist connotations for me to read it as just harmless self-deprecation.  This may just be because I am An Old, though.  Anyway, Alphys uses it – and it’s definitely how she actually thinks of herself – so I kind of gritted my teeth and used it too.)

Sans was managing to make a perma-grin look dismayed.

I have to say, I was impressed with the unhappy-smiling Sans sprites in the game!  I try not to ever describe Sans as frowning, but probably something’s slipped through at some point in the vrillion words of fic I’ve written.

She brought up the texts, ignoring him for the moment.

hey, was wondering if you wanna do a human history movie night with me and Pap tomorrow???

Then the next day:

super last minute, sorry.  watched Cooking w/Killer Robot marathon.  maybe next week? something w/giant swords??? YEAH!!!!!

And then:

Is everything ok?  Miss you.

And finally:

Did I do something wrong?

"Oh no,” she moaned.

“That bad, huh,” he said, sympathetically.

“Oh nooo,” she repeated.  "Oh no, oh no, now she probably thinks I’m terrible and –“

"Alphys.  Wow.  Relax,” said Sans.  "I came over to check on you and make sure you hadn’t been, I don’t know, eaten by lab rats or something.“

Sometime I really need to write the companion piece to this, where Papyrus and Undyne come up with this terrible idea for a puzzle.  And I have to work in a scene where Undyne is worried about Alphys and goes from dashing off carefully carefree-seeming texts to VERY CAREFULLY PUNCTUATED TEXTS BECAUSE WHAT IF ALPHYS THINKS SHE’S A BIG DUMB LUNK??? but it never occurs to her that Alphys might be anxious about replying to her.

"Eaten?!?” she asked.  Did he… did he know?  Augh, when had she last fed the amalgamates, anyway?  Two days ago, maybe?  Ugh, that was too long, they were going to be all grumpy when she went downstairs next.  She tried to keep breathing and not panic.

He held up his hands to pacify her.  "Hey.  Hey.  I don’t know why but everything I say’s making you panic.“  He nudged the box towards her.  "Look, have a donut.  Everything’s better with donuts.  It’ll make you feel hole again.”

Hole puns are the hole reason I included donuts in this fic.

Alphys winced despite herself, then sighed.  "Okay, yeah.  Sorry.  I’m.  It’s – it’s been a hard few days.“

"Yeah?” he asked.

She nibbled at the donut half-heartedly.  "So uh.  You mentioned the tile puzzle thing?  I’m having trouble with the piranhas.“

Sans snorted.  "I’m sorry, just  – there are piranhas?  Why are there piranhas?”

“They were in the specs Undyne gave me!” Alphys said, trying not to get defensive.

“Sounds very fishy to me,” said Sans.  "Anyway, why not just make robot piranhas?  I mean, that’s your forte, isn’t it?“

man, Alphys hasn’t told Sans about anything in this fic, and he apparently doesn’t tell her about anything either.  I like how they’re friends who lie their faces off to each other on the regular.

Oh god, robot piranhas would be about ten times worse.  "It’s not making the actual piranhas, as such,” said Alphys.  "It’s getting them to distinguish between lemon scent and orange scent.  Because, see, the request was to make sure they go after anyone who smells like oranges but be repelled by anyone who smells like lemons.“

Sans stared for a moment, and then, to her dismay, started laughing.  "What?  What?  You’re serious.  Oh man, I bet Papyrus came up with that one.  He’s – he’s pretty picky about his cleaning products, I guess that little difference is important to him.”  His grin widened a little.  "Papyrus is so great at those little details, you know?“

He’s laughing, but this praise of his brother is totally in earnest.  Sans may be the one who pays the bills, but I’m pretty sure Papyrus is the only reason their house isn’t disgusting.

"Sans, this isn’t f-funny!” said Alphys.  "Have you ever tried to train killer fish to distinguish between d-limonene and l-limonene when all they care about is smelling blood?!?  Because I have!“

"Yeah, that sounds like one l of a problem,” said Sans.  "A terrible knot you have to d-tangle.  Orange you glad I stopped by?“

"Sans,” said Alphys, beginning to lose patience.

There are several naming conventions for enantiomers, and originally this was S-limonine and R-limonine, with corresponding puns (I forget what they were, I just remember it was a pain in the ass coming up with new puns) but I think I googled and the d- and l- notation was more popular for limonene.

Like I’ve said elsewhere, this whole fic was largely an excuse for chemistry puns.

“It sounds like you need this problem like a fish needs a by… cyclohexane!  Lemon know if you think of anything I can do to help.”

“Sans,” she said.  It was starting to become more of a whine.

“Citrus me, I got this.  I don’t rind helping you at all,” he said, because he was a merciless bag of bones.

She glowered at him.  Then she took the box of donuts away from him.

CAN YOU BLAME HER THOUGH.

“Hey!  I was eating those!” he protested.

“Tough,” she said.  When he leaned over to try and reach them, she harrumphed and stood up.  Getting to his feet was apparently too much for Sans, because after one last halfhearted sitting lunge, he gave up and sat serenely on the picnic blanket.

Alphys carefully balanced the box of donuts on top of a stack of papers on her desk, then slid an empty mug underneath it for added support.

If you have never done this with a stack of papers, ….I envy your tidiness.  And if you’ve never done that dumbass thing where you try to lunge for a thing just out of your reach and then try to spontaneously develop telekinesis to bring it over to you… you’re fucking lying.

With a few keystrokes, she brought her computer out of sleep mode and was drawing up her data on the piranhas.  "I’m not really sure h-how you can help?“ she said.  "I-I mean, if you can it’d be great, obviously, b-but… don’t you do, uh, physics?”  Her memories were kind of fuzzy on this.  Why did she know Sans again?  When had she met him?  It wasn’t that important, was it?  Everyone knew Sans.

AND AGAIN, I can’t decide what Alphys knows about Sans in this fic.

“Yeah, but, everything’s physics in the end, right?” Sans said, a shrug in his voice.

She finished her donut before saying, wryly, “That’s what physicists tell themselves.  I g-guess if it helps you sleep at night…”

For whatever reason I was fortunate not to hear this much from the physics majors in school.  (The math majors, on the other hand….)  But I’ve seen them do it a lot on the internet and so I have to admit I’m kind of fond of writing chemists and biologists being dismissive about it.

“I sleep all the time,” Sans said cheerfully.  She wondered if he was ever going to get up and come over here eventually.

“Undyne has mentioned,” she said.  "So, uh, w-what exactly do you think is so physics-y here?“

"Well.  It’s not so much the physics, I guess,” he said.  "It’s just that I’m really good at cheating.“

She reached absently for another donut, opening the box without looking at it and reaching inside.  Her claws closed on something rubbery, and before she could stop, it was making a ridiculous farting noise.

She pulled the whoopee cushion out of the box, and turned to look at Sans.  He hadn’t moved an inch from where she’d left him, and was snacking on a donut he definitely hadn’t had before.

She sighed.  "Y-yeah, I can see that.”

I think at this point I’d seen a lot of Sans-being-badass art, and kind of wanted someone to react to him with an eyeroll.  Not that I don’t think Sans isn’t badass!  Just, you gotta have that one friend who will call you on your bullshit.

She turned back to her computer screen and skimmed the data she had on her attempts at training the piranhas.  Ugh.  No statistically significant difference between any of the training methods she’d attempted and the control groups.

Sometimes she wished science worked more like it was presented in fiction: less waiting around for something to happen, more moments of genius and day-saving.  On the other hand, as it turned out, horrific abominations of science were a real thing.  Who knew?

notice how I carefully avoid references to specific anime!  because I’d pretty much only watched Ouran High School Host Club in full!  I think I remember double-checking with @thinkatoryprocess that horrific abominations of science was a thing in anime?

I have since learned many things about Fullmetal Alchemist, and in particular why I wasn’t supposed to watch it just after my dog had died.

“So, h-how exactly were you thinking of cheating?”  Her mind wandered to some of those weird diagrams she’d come across deep in the lab files, presumably belonging to the previous Royal Scientist.  "Are you thinking, um, t-time travel?  Because if I could find some way to breed selectively for citrus recognition they could evolve to–“

MY THIRD INSTANCE of “what the fuck does Alphys even know?  why bother making it consistent?”

"No,” said Sans, and she leaped back with a squeak of shock, because suddenly he was standing right next to her and he was speaking in a freaky hollow voice, and also the light in his eyes had gone totally dark and, and, what the fuck, Sans?!?  "…Heh, sorry,“ he said, and the little glowing dots returned, and the grin looked more natural.  "Just.  Trust me.  Time travel, not a good idea.”

She knew she shouldn’t ask, but she kind of had to.  "…Why?“

"Time flies,” said Sans.  When she frowned at him, he added, “They’re even more annoying than fruit flies.  And they get stuck in your teeth if you go faster than light.  It’s a real problem.”

Okay, yeah, she wasn’t gonna get a straight answer out of a guy who wore bedroom slippers everywhere he teleported.  Fair enough.

This last sentence is still one of my favorite summations of Sans as a character.

“Out of curiosity,” he said, “why didn’t you make robot piranhas?”

“Ugh,” she said.  "You know, I thought about it?  B-but then I’d have to invent the scent organs and I’m n-not sure I’m up to it.“  She wasn’t up to a lot of things, honestly.  She wasn’t sure why Asgore hadn’t noticed.  Or Undyne.  She was really surprised Sans hadn’t noticed, though.  He was weirdly observant.

So I did like no research on robots for this.  IIRC machines that do something similar to smelling are a thing, but I have no idea how they work.

"Nah,” said Sans.  "Just think lazy!“

A favorite motto of my boss, weirdly enough.

"But I don’t want to leave the piranhas out!  Then Undyne and your b-brother will be d-disappointed and I won’t be the ‘g-great Dr. Alphys’ anymore, I’ll just be a f-fraud.  They s-specifically requested piranhas!”

“So give ‘em piranhas,” said Sans.  "But play to your strengths.“

"I d-don’t know that I have any strengths,” she pointed out.

“Sure you do.  I mean, right now you’ve only been using biology.  Maybe you wanna get down to the nuts and bolts of the matter.  You made Mettaton, right?” he said.  She tried not to wince.  "And if you can make that guy a star, you’ve gotta be good.  Plus, I can’t help but notice you’re, uh, pretty good with optics.“

She blushed.  "The c-cameras?  They’re for – uh, for scientific observation?” she said.

“Riiight,” said Sans.  "I know what you’re up to.  You just wanna steal all my best knock-knock jokes, don’t you?“

"There’s no s-sound!” she insisted, but Sans was chuckling.  "…is that what you do at the door all day?“ she asked, frowning.  "I just thought you were, uh.  T-testing the structural integrity of the door.  And… talking to someone?”

“Nah,” said Sans.  "Who would I be talking to?“

"On the other side of the d-door?” she suggested.

both of these people, liars.  I’m not sure Sans will be wholly surprised to find out Alphys didn’t make Mettaton, but the robot body’s still pretty damn impressive.  And in the true pacifist ending Alphys didn’t seem real surprised there was someone behind that door.

He shrugged.  "Anyway.  Just some suggestions.  But if you wanna give up… hey, I can’t blame ya.  Papyrus will recover from his disappointment.  Undyne probably knew it was a crazy idea in the first place.“  He reached around her to grab another donut.  "Anyway, I gotta go on my lunch break before she finds out I’m slacking off here.  Text her back, though, she seemed pretty worried.  And try to do it before she and my bro burn the house down with her stress-spaghetti-ing?”

And obviously when all else fails, Sans’ go-to solutions are 1. taking a break, and 2. giving up.  Not always in that order.

“Thanks,” said Alphys, half-heartedly.  She turned to ask another question, but found she was sitting in an empty room.  "…I think.  …well, hey, at least I have donuts.“

Having donuts means she’s definitely better off than where she was at the beginning of the fic!  Also I appreciate Sans having the ability to just vanish, because for whatever reason describing people walking to the door and saying “goodbye” is really boring to me and always trips me up.

[peach-and-willow]

Foxglove - Prologue

Look, dude, I know this is a dark alley and all, but that guy is one of my customers. N-not like, drugs, though, trust me. I-I just sell crystals, y’know, for chakras. It’s fine, just… back off, please?”

Slowly, my friend was let out of the choke hold a guy had been holding him in. The assailant looked ashamed as he apologized, but my friend responded good-naturedly with a wave and let him walk out of the alley undisturbed.

Once the intruder left and we could no longer hear his footsteps on the cold concrete, my friend and I let out the breath we had been holding in. Postures relaxed, we leaned against the walls of the buildings, facing each other. I tossed him what looked like a crudely made cigarette. Taking one for myself, I got my lighter out of my pocket as well. Activating the “potion” with the flame, I inhaled the smoke, feeling my lungs take in the energy.

“And what is this?” He asked, fiddling with the potion I gave him.

“Condensed energy potion. Kind of like a cigarette, just a lot less likely to kill you. It doesn’t contain any of the gross stuff in actual cigarettes, just made in a similar way.” As I spoke, green smoke blew out of my mouth, floating up along the gray bricks of the walls surrounding and up into the sky.

“Huh. Non-addictive, right?”

“Guaranteed,” I assured him, lighting a flame once again. As he leaned in, I watched as it glowed with a dim green light. “Lighting it activates the potion,” I explained.

“Pretty genius,” He complimented, and we sat there “smoking” for a while.

“The chakra thing is a good cover, isn’t it?” I commented, “Makes us look like hippies, sure, but it’s not like we’re not, right?”

“Yeah, it’s clever enough. Call me a hippie, though, and you’re not selling me anything, Mallory,” he joked.

I smiled slyly, “Joke’s on you, Fergus-I’ve got some raw emerald today and this is your only chance to get some. My price is eighty.”

“Fine, done,” Fergus agreed excitedly.

He handed me a stack of bills as I took the small green rock from my bag. I sighed as I counted the money, “I said eighty, Fergus. Potion’s on me.”

Fergus immediately took back a portion of the money. He was a generous guy, but he knew from experience that I didn’t take any more than I asked for.

After our exchange, we said our goodbyes and headed our separate ways. I lived a few neighborhoods away, while this was Fergus’s block. However, I felt much more at home here, where half of the houses were cottage sized and the other half were being swallowed up by the brush in front of the forest. It was much less… “snooty” than my neighborhood, where we mowed the tidy lawns of our pristine, gigantic houses daily. I ran my business underground, figuratively, selling witchcraft supplies to those who knew, because no one suspected the rich girl from uptown to be a witch.

Two hours later, I arrived at my empty house. My boots, jeans, and jacket were covered in dirt and other stains from hiking through the forest, not to mention finding every excuse to doodle in my journal while sitting in trees. My parents hated when I did this, but it was an easy way to get anywhere in town and the best place to get away from people, and therefore my natural habitat. I walked through the forest almost every day, observing the plants and animals. In fact, I kept a journal on the forest recording its condition, sketches of wildlife, and anything strange I found.

From the outside, my house seemed perfectly normal, with a stone garden and various lawn ornaments. The inside, however, was as cold and boring as my parents. Although they were good people with good intentions, they often expected me to conform to their every belief and whim just because I was their daughter. What they call my “rebellious phase” is what I call my realization that I don’t deserve to be treated like someone’s property. So, we had our screaming matches and periods of complete silence, and eventually came to the conclusion that I should be left alone to do my own thing. Now, my parents were barely there, and didn’t really care what I did as long as it wasn’t illegal.

It was with this lack of supervision that I was able to start my business about a year and a half ago. With my weekly allowance, I bought my own witchcraft supplies plus surplus to sell. I started with small things-books, some inexpensive crystals, incense, and altar supplies. Then, as I started earning money on top of my allowance, I began selling crystal jewelry and small trinkets I made.

Even as I started to build my business out of my own space in the house, it never felt like home. My room was the only place in the house where there seemed to be any life. In fact, my room was filled with plants for that singular purpose. I never felt comfortable in places where there wasn’t nature and things growing and living.

My walls were a dark shade of green, except for my giant bookshelf covering the entire wall behind my bed. On it, my gigantic collection of books was organized by subject on each shelf, then by color. Empty spaces were filled by clay sculptures and pots I had made in Fergus’ art classes, small plants, and some photos from my photography class. One shelf held my stereo, with wireless speakers nearby. However, I had a whole five shelves dedicated to my crystal collection, each of them separated on a different section of the wall. So far, I had collected nearly every type of crystal from Agate to Unakite.

Despite it not being my preference, there were many perks to living in a house as large as mine, such as the large windows that let in plenty of light for my plants, and the fact that I had my own office next door, which was only accessible through the false wall in my closet (which was installed when I was a kid, originally the entrance to my playroom). I keep nearly my entire business in that room-supplies and tools for crafts, the many boxes of all the things I sell, and records of everything I order.

Was my business completely legal? Probably not, but it supported an entire community of witches. Despite the large number of us in the area, there weren’t many witchcraft or Wicca shops in town. The closest thing was incense you could get at a dollar store or the crystals sold at tourist attractions. So, I ordered anything a witch might need in bulk, keeping some for myself and selling everything else.

I entered my room, drained from such a long day and an eventful meeting with Fergus. Tossing my dirty jacket onto the bed, I followed suit, flopping on top of it and rolling onto my back. Taking out my phone, I connected to my stereo, and played a bit of music. For a few minutes, I just sat there, listening to the sound of a perfectly in-tune choir. Then, the song switched to a traditional Scottish piece that reminded me of Fergus.

Suddenly inspired, I stiffly rose from my position on the bed and grabbed a sketchbook from a low shelf behind me. Flipping through one and walking back over to my bed, I took a pencil from a pot on my larger bookshelf and sat on my bed once again. I could visualize all of the subject’s features-Fergus’s scruffy beard on his long, thin face, his perpetually tired eyes, and the trace of his cleft chin. It was hard to draw, but I tried my best in getting his long, tied-up-and-under a-beanie hairstyle right. It was a rough sketch, but once I finished it had turned out better than I had expected.

My style was pretty realistic, and the sketch captured him well. Since I was in a portrait mood, I decided to do another self-portrait, which I did many of. I began with the outline of my head, but then had a brilliant idea. Remembering a photo I had taken in photography class, I decided to draw a copy of it.

A few months ago, we were asked to photograph a few tamed animals in the local petting zoo. Everyone loved to compare me to a fox, with my short, red hair, which was cut to the length of long fur. I also had a squarish face with a long, thin nose and thin lips, which strengthened the similarity. So, I was paired with the domesticated fox for the project, and they positioned us to face the camera in mirrored positions as if to emphasize the resemblance.

When people started to call me nicknames like “fox,” or “vixen,” I embraced it. It was a childish thought, but I always wanted to believe that the local foxes were something special, and my resemblance to them made me special, too. Often in my walks through the forest, I saw foxes through the bushes and trees, doing whatever it was that wild animals did. They minded their business, and I minded my own, but I could never explain why they seemed to be so comfortable with my presence. This made my fantasy seem valid, as if our similar features bonded us.

It was almost eerie, how alike to the fox and I seemed in my drawing, once I had finished. While the picture pointed out the simple similarity in our features, the expressions, positions, and details in the portrait I had drawn pointed out so much more in common between us. As if pouring a bit of my soul into the picture, I stared outward from the portrait with a mischievous and coy expression. As if I had learned it from the fox, it wore the same expression with a wiser, more learned glint in its eyes. I had almost forgotten that it was a self-portrait as I was about to add more freckles and whisker-like markings to my face.

I stared at the finished picture. A thought recited itself in my mind: the fox was commonly a symbol of adaptation, cunning, and mischief. Maybe that was something I could learn from them.