#your fucking recruiter had to take me to my father daughter dance because you were deployed !!!!!!!!!!!! isn’t that sick

[slivingland]

knowing my father - sgt first class in the national guard, the chief of the fire department he built - voted for our neighbors to be deported along with native people, gulf of mexico and denali being changed, etc etc. he’s so fucking brainwashed i cannot take it <3 like what do you mean you have sworn to go into fires to save people but you voted to have millions fucking killed

he and my mother bought christmas presents for my transgender boyfriend. isn’t that a shame

[cloud9in]

The Half of It

A Mc x Poppy fic inspired by the film 

Summary: Bea, the town’s outcast is recruited by the school jock to win Poppy’s heart. But what happens when she starts falling for her as well?

Author’s Note: So this will be a multiple part series that includes scenes heavily inspired from the movie “The Half of It”. I certainly recommend watching it. My version will have different twists and a different ending, and definitely more angst. It will include mature themes as the story progresses.

Warnings for this chapter: Swearing. This is a good thing for now.

Chapter 1- 

“Love is simply the name for desire and pursuit of the whole.”

                                                   - Plato, The Symposium

It is said that when one half finds its other, there’s an unspoken understanding. A unity. And each would know no greater joy....than this. 

 ...Except this is highschool. And in my opinion, there is no other half. Maybe the other half is a paper on Greek God philosophy due at midnight. But make that four papers, including mine. 

 My name is Bea Hughes and let’s just say...this is not a very happy story. Well maybe some parts are, but you’ll have to read to find out. I come from a small town called Farmsville, and when I mean small, I mean really small. Except the highschool seems fucking huge, with never ending hallways and when you do somehow find the end, there’s usually two inbreds eating each others mouths off. Lucky for me I am the epitome of antisocial, reserved, an introvert, or whatever the inferior beings, aka every other senior, calls me when they think I can’t hear. But I hear everything, including that one time Bradley Denbrough, upcoming hotshot actor, or so he claims, found out about a crush a poor unsuspecting freshman had on him. Everybody knew what Bradley and his goons did to that boy, even the adults, but no charges were pressed. This town is as conservative as it gets, but no one knows of my secret. I carry this school on my back when it comes to having everyone graduate, but that’s all I am to them, a pawn. And that’s all I wanted to be, nothing more and nothing less. I preferred to be in the shadows. 

 ***

 ...Except the mandatory Senior Talent Show forced Bea out of her hibernation hole. The thought haunted her as she sat in the dance studio, the last fucking place she wanted to be. Dance was so not a Bea kinda thing, but the blonde knew exactly why she granted herself the misery of picking the class. Poppy Min Sinclair, the golden girl of Farmsville High, the preacher’s daughter on a more serious note. She is...the most fascinating girl Bea ever laid her eyes on even if her boyfriend was a complete asshole who sermonized his duties as her future husband. Like seriously? Poppy has got to have some screws loose to date such a fake loser who plagiarizes all of his speeches at sunday church, and once literally begged Bea to write an apology letter to his father for him after completely upending their summer cabin. Except the blonde wrote the opposite of an apology, it went something like this…

 Dear beloved donkey, I mean dad,

 I am terribly sorry for inviting 20 hookers to the summer cabin. I have these strange impulses and you should at least be grateful I didn’t invite the big boss as well. His wife came though, in many, many ways. You should get the carpet changed. 

 Sincerely, your STD free son

 It was safe to say that Mr. Denbrough had a near heart attack after reading it, and Bea did kinda feel bad, kinda. He never mentioned the letter to Bradley though, instead silently calling up the owner of Teopoli Catholic Summer Camp and essentially deporting the boy to Canada for the summer. No son of his would end up in hell was what the old man preached everyday from then on. It was the quietest summer Bea had ever experienced. 

 Being the towns outcast, Bea could have her fun when she so chooses to, but that didn’t pay the bills. In fact, the multiple essays that people paid her to write was her way of surviving and taking care of her mother. They weren’t very rich but Bea worked with what she had, helping her mother manage the farm, which included getting on her knees and wrestling the pigs. And that’s how she was gifted the name “pig girl”, stupid Bradley and his fake friends just had to wander too far and catch Bea in the act. She swore a remixed video of her hog calling surfaced the web at one point and that gave the blonde her five minutes of fame. Boy was it an awful time in her life. 

 Bea worked her mother’s previous job as station master or signalman for the trains that passed through, even if it barely paid her shit. The secluded feeling of sitting in that booth and having a moment with her thoughts was enough to give her purpose. Bea was fond of poetry and it usually helped her come up with song lyrics.

 Song lyrics…

 That she would have to sing at the talent show. A huge sigh escaped her lips as she slumped further into the ground, maybe hoping she could bury herself six feet under. It wasn’t that Bea hated singing, no she absolutely loved it. Playing her guitar at night and belting out lyrics that only resulted in her mother banging on the ceiling below in efforts to shut the blonde up. But the mere fact that she’d have to sing in front of the ruthless seniors rubbed her the wrong way. Something would go wrong, it always did. Bea was shaken out of her thoughts when Poppy crossed the center of the room, moving her hips slowly to the sound of Rihanna’s voice. The class chose a slow r&b song to choreograph today and of course all eyes were on Poppy.

 If i’m your girl say my name boy

let me know i'm in control

 Her silky blonde locks swayed as she danced to the beat, hands thrusting sensually along her sides. Bea stared in awe, almost like Poppy was the only one in the room and a spotlight illuminated every movement, every curve. Except she definitely wasn’t the only one picturing Poppy in that way. Carter, the school quarterback leaned against the railing, arms crossed and eyes trailing the rise and fall of her chest. 

 Got me wondering, I’m wondering if i'm on your mind

 Bea sat up straighter but nearly lost her bodily functions when Poppy locked eyes with her before spinning away. It was simple eye contact Bea, don’t let it get to your head. You already have multiple lyrics inspired by Poppy offering the bare minimum in human interaction. She doesn’t actually like you. Poppy is popular and has the perfect life...and boyfriend, even if Bea heavily disagrees. Poppy was a bitch of course, but not a bitch bitch. Unlike the other wannabe mean girls, the blonde didn’t give Bea hell, well that was because the girl paid her zero attention. She seemed distant, off in her own world, or well in her parents world learning the strategies of business. Poppy was expected to follow in her parents footsteps and keep up with her reputation of being the richest in town, and of course a faithful future wife. So fun. But the blonde had other prosperous dreams of travelling and following her passion of music and dance. Highschool was her only outlet and she took advantage of it any chance she’d get. Bea knew this because she would ride her bike every friday night to the school and watch Poppy dance from outside the glass window. Maybe Bea realized it was kinda creepy, but she’s dumb enough to not realize her obvious growing attraction. I mean who pedals miles just to watch someone trip on their feet? 

 ***

 The sound of the bell caught everyone's attention and the teacher slowly lowered the music. Bea watched as Bradley approached Poppy and smothered her with kisses and praises. She rolled her eyes painfully, this kind of PDA definitely wasn’t it, she could have gone her whole life without seeing that. She walked silently through the crowd of kids in the hall, everyone was laughing and talking to their friends. All Bea could allow her mind to focus on was the very intimidating billboard of names a few feet across from her. 

 Winter Talent Show Sign-Ups (Mandatory For Seniors)

 Bea glared at it quietly before signing her name on the sheet, sealing her inevitable fate. Through the hustle of students, Carter watched the blonde with a yearning look from afar. This should be great…

 The next few classes were a blur and Bea eventually found herself getting up to hand Ms. Kingsley her paper. The older woman looked at her with a knowing glance as she took a generous sip of her coffee, which was 75% tequila.

 “6 different interpretations on Plato? Colour me impressed Miss Hughes.” 

 Bea shrugs nonchalant, “yeah well would you rather read their actual essays?”

 “Oh hell no.” Kingsley feigns shock as she looks at the stack of papers with a comical expression. She takes another sip, watching her younger, prodigy of a student carefully. “You know there are places outside of this godforsaken town where you can put your talents to use... Real use. I teach at Belvoire University occasionally.” Ina winks and slides Bea an application, studying her initial reaction. “It’s...in New York.”

“Damn right! The Big Apple.”

 “Kingsley you know I have to stay here. It’ll be easier for me to manage the farm and be close to home”, Bea says confidently even though her body language displays otherwise. She predicted the big sigh filling her ears before it actually happened and it still managed to faze her. “Who ever said you had to do anything? What about what you want to do?” Bea doesn’t make eye contact with Ina, that woman could convince you to do just about anything with a certain look. “No we are not doing this. You can take your reverse psychology and shove it where the sun doesn’t shine. I’m outta here.” The blonde stomps out of the classroom, the sound of Ina’s chuckles still ringing in her ears.

 “Hey! Everyone in this town fears God, but you know what God fears? My ability to hide a bottle of Don Julio in my left boot.” Ina pulls out the newly bought bottle and cradles it. “Come to mama.”

 ***

 Bea rode her bike alongside the dirt road, Kingsley’s words on replay the entire ride. Maybe she did deserve to experience something more than what this town had to offer. But would her mother manage without her? Sacrifices, sacrifices. Bea was used to making those for her mother after her father’s death. What would her dad think of all of this?

 “Hey!”

 He’d surely smack Bea upside the head for the little antics she pulled occasionally. And then he’d buy her vanilla coconut ice cream and ask for every single detail of what happened as they sat and laughed together. That’s the kind of relationship Bea would have had with her father, she liked to assume so. She also liked to assume that she’d get home safely everyday without a scratch, but then there’s Carter.

 “Hey wait up!” 

 The jock seemed to be running ridiculously fast and crashed right into the rear end of Bea’s bicycle, sending her face first into a mount of dirt. The initial impact was enough to boost the blonde straight back up like nothing happened and into a fighting stance, fists out and eyes wild. Very scary Bea. When she realized it was him...well it only pissed her off even more. “What the fuck Carter! You asshole!”

 “I’m sorry Bea! Here let me help-”

 “No! Move away! You- my bike- I…” Bea groans frustratingly, stepping away from the wreck as she tries to catch her breath. Carter watches her sheepishly, rubbing an envelope between his fingers awkwardly. After a few minutes of painfully uneasy silence he speaks up, “Okay...I didn’t want to ask you this way but I was wonder-”

“Oh, so you practically break my ass and now you want me to do you a favour? Real nice way of communication you have there Mr. Quarterback. What is with you and those freakishly large muscles anyways? Maybe it’s my fault I didn’t hear your avalanche built ass coming from behind.”

 “Hey! They are not freakishly large!”

 “I hate to break it to you Jackson but mine are significantly more appealing to look at.” Bea smirks widely, flexing her arm as best as she could. It’s a work in progress… just bare with her.

 It didn’t take much effort for Carter to break out into a smile and look at her fondly. Maybe there was more to this girl than just being a human dictionary. Well that’s what people called her, and he maybe believed it at first.

 Bea noticed the lack of response and shifted awkwardly, clearing her throat. “Listen, its $10 for three pages, $20 for three to ten, I'm not in the over-ten-page biz.”

 “No..no I’m not here to cheat!” Carter blurts out. “But I’ll let you know if I do plan on- anyways. I uh..” He hesitates before handing her the envelope. “What’s this?

 “Well you see it’s a letter..”

 “Yeah but who writes letters these days?”

 “I thought it seemed romantic..”

 “And I thought women writing Jeffrey Dahmer letters in jail seemed romantic”, Bea says sarcastically, her smile dropping instantly after catching a glimpse of Poppy’s name at the top of the paper. It was like the blood stopped flowing through her body for a few seconds as her mouth went dry. This had to be the work of the so-called God everyone praised in this town, or it was one cruel coincidence. Bea wasn’t sure why seeing her name made her heart beat ten times harder, but it also wasn’t a necessarily uncomfortable feeling…

 “I- I can’t help you.”

 “But if you just add a few more words-”

 “I’m not writing a letter to Poppy Min Sincla- to..to some girl for you. Letters are supposed to be authentic, from the heart, your own words, your...feelings.” Bea hurriedly turns to grab her bike, suddenly losing all interest in being social. 

 Carter was afraid this would happen. But he was stubborn. “But I can pay more for authentic!” 

 Too bad Bea was stubborn as well. “Just get a thesaurus...Good luck, Romeo.”

***

 Bea sat in her room, strumming away softly at the strings of her guitar. Some of the keys were off but the old thing still worked, and that was good enough for her. She could hear the tv blasting downstairs, her mother most likely watching the news. There’s something about old people and news, were they secretly ogling the news anchors? Just like Bea ogled Poppy any chance she could. The blonde frowned to herself, her eyebrows crunching together in question. What so hard about writing a letter to Poppy? It’s not like it's coming from her. Well it technically is, but Carter is taking the credit and Bea never had a problem with people taking credit for her words. So why did this very thought prove to be such an inconvenience? Lucky for Bea, her mind drifted elsewhere when she heard a painful snap. Even if it wasn’t physically connected to her body, she felt a horrible ache. Slowly peering down at the guitar in her hand, Bea found that the neck of the guitar had miraculously split almost clean off, a splinter of wood just holding it intact. She wanted to scream but nothing really came out, except air of course. Much to her disapproval, this was definitely a result of her strength. Stupid muscles couldn’t contain themselves at the thought of Carter being with Poppy. Now how could that be? 

 But now she had no guitar. And no guitar means no strings to strum, and no lyrics to sing, and no talent to show at the talent show. Now she was in trouble. Probably because she knew that the only way to get the money to replace the guitar would be through sealing the deal with Carter. Oh fuck it!

 ***

 “One letter. And enough money to buy a new guitar.”

 “Deal!”

 Bea turns away with a sigh, completely ignoring Carter’s high five. Now all she had to do was write this letter, and pray that Poppy wouldn’t completely consume every fiber of her being in the process.

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

End note: So how we feelin’? Carter and Bea Brotp??

Tags: @samanthadalton @somewillwin @clowneryme @baexpoppy @zigxryanz @uselesslesbianfr @aleiramacaii @thedaft1 @alexlabhont @iamsimpforpoppy

[avengerscompound]

It’s You and Me - Chapter 9

It’s You and Me: A Hawkeye Fanfic

Series Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing:  Clint Barton x  F!Reader

Word Count:  1556

Rating:  E

Warnings:  Mentions of past abuse

Synopsis: You and Clint Barton go way back.  Since you joined the circus as a child, he took it upon himself to keep you away from the people who really wanted to hurt you.  For years the two of you danced a line between dark and light.

When he chooses light the two of you go your separate ways.

Fifteen years later he tracks you down.  Those feelings the two of you shared never went away, but now he is not only an Avengers but a single father.  Can the two of you make it work after all this time when your lives have gone in such different directions?

A series told in flashbacks and current day.

Chapter 10: Now

You had fallen into a slightly uneasy truce with yourself.  The part of you that had been adamant that you not fuck up any kids’ lives had been soothed down by the part that was really enjoying being back with Clint again.  Some things made it easier to compartmentalize.  Children weren't by default terrible and the problem you had was never hating kids.  It was hating your childhood.  Besides, if there were any kids you were going to love instantly it would be Clint’s.  Maybe it was never going to be in a motherly way, but they were his and you loved him.

Clint seemed to be making sure you never got put into the parenting role.  You were never the babysitter or decision-maker when it came to things they should or shouldn’t be doing.  If they wanted to go out for ice cream he’d decide if they could on his own and then ask if you wanted to as well, instead of asking you what you thought about the idea.  That made things easier too.  It meant you could avoid the step-mother role even if it did occasionally haunt you.

Cooper, Lila, and Nate seemed to take to you dating their father pretty well.  They were good kids generally speaking, but the concern that they might see you as a step-mother worried you.  The two older two definitely seemed to treat you as an entity in the house that they needed to be aware of.  They didn’t come to you to ask for things, but they didn’t straight up ignore you.  They’d say good morning when they saw you first thing and goodnight when they went to bed.  If they were getting themselves a snack they might ask if you wanted some and they’d make general conversation about music or tv shows with you.  However, it wasn't the same level of excitement as when they were with Natasha Romanoff, who they were very close with, or the same level of deference when Ebony was in the room.  You hoped that didn’t mean they resented you, or they thought you didn’t like them.

Nate, however, seemed to be completely different.  He’d seek you out more and want to share things with you, like what his favorite toys were or the pictures he’d drawn.  He’d come and sit on the couch with you and flop himself against you.  It was a little scary considering how you felt about everything.

Clint kept pushing for you to join the Avengers, taking you to the Tower and ‘randomly’ having you bump into people who would then lecture you about using your abilities for good.  It had the opposite effect than desired.  The longer the lecture went the less you wanted to be subjected to further lectures about anything ever again.  You still kept going in - partially because it was funny to see how frustrated Clint was when you’d say no, but mostly because now you were burned, you were very interested to see where this data you’d helped steal went.  Not that they’d tell you anything.  You weren’t an Avenger, so you weren’t privy to that kind of information.  It seemed to have something to do with the circus people, and you were curious to know why none of them had approached you about their underground dealings.

That was all for weekdays though - unless it was the end of the world, Clint was home on weekends.  That didn’t mean you were free from him trying to recruit you.

“So you’re just not gonna get a job?”  He asked.  He was sitting beside you on the couch with Lila sitting in front of him while he put her hair in a halo braid.  There were some half-formed plans about going out in the afternoon, but everyone was just taking their time.  You were eating cereal despite it being 11.30, Cooper was still in his pajamas, and Nate was hanging upside off the side of the couch with only his underwear, a t-shirt, and one sock on.

“Maybe I already have a job,” you teased and he looked at you with his eyes narrowed.

“You don’t, do you?”  he asked.

“No.  I don’t,” you agreed.

“The Avengers have really good medical, and a great 401K,” he said.

“Yeah because no one ever lasts long enough to cash out,” you snarked.

“She doesn’t have to be an Avenger if she doesn’t want to dad,” Lila said.

“Yeah, Clint,” you agreed.  “Listen to your daughter.”

“Gee, thanks for your help, Li,” he teased.  “You should see her though, she can shoot an arrow while doing a handstand while riding a horse.”

“You can do that,” Lila said, sounding bored.

“Wow,” you deadpanned.  “Ruined the only cool thing I can do with your over achievement.  Thanks, Clint.”

He pulled a face at you and was just about to say something when his phone rang.  He stuck a bobby pin in Lila’s hair to hold it in place as he answered.  “Yeah? - No, but I can’t… Fuck!  … Are you shitting me right now?  Ebony is off today.  I think she went… no, I get it.  Yeah.  Okay.”

He hung up the phone and got up.  “Gotta go in.  Can you watch them?  It’s an emergency.”

“What?  But Clint…”  You argued.

“Dad, you haven’t finished my hair!”  Lila yelped.

“You can finish it, right?”  Clint said to you as he grabbed his keys and tried to evade Lucky who was now dancing around his feet.

“Clint!”  You yelped.

“You know I wouldn’t ask you if I didn’t have to,” he said and kissed Lila on the top of the head and then you, before blowing a raspberry on Nate’s tummy.  The little boy squealed and fell off the chair in a heap.  “Thanks, sugar.  I’ll owe you one.”

“The biggest one ever!”  You shouted as he ducked out the door.

Lila sighed and started to unwind her hair.

“I can do it,” you said.

She rolled her eyes.  “You sounded really excited about the idea.”

You flinched.  “I’m sorry… it’s not… I’m not… I can do your hair.”

She looked at you like she was trying to get a read on you.  “We don’t want you to be our mom either you know?”

“Lila!”  Cooper scolded.

You ran your hand down your face.  “I know.  I know… that’s… that’s part of the reason I’ve been the way I’ve been.  I don’t not like you guys.  If anything it’s because I like you a lot and I hate that you lost your mom.  But I don’t want you to think I’m trying to be your mom or take her place.”

“Well, good,” Lila said.  “We don’t want that either.”

“You want me to do your hair and I’ll be real with you?”  You asked.

She nodded and moved into position.  “So here’s the thing,” you said, as you started taking up where Clint had left off.  “Me and your dad… we had pretty crappy childhoods.  The people who were supposed to care for us - they hurt us instead.  And I guess… your dad decided that when he grew up he’d have a family and make sure they never got hurt the way he was.  But I decided that I didn’t want to risk ruining any kids' lives.  We ended up breaking up and going our own separate paths and they went just like that.  I never had a family and he got married and got you guys.  But now we’re back in each other's lives and I care about your dad.  I always have.  And I am really scared that that’s gonna mean you guys get hurt and I’ve been trying really hard to just… let you be so it won’t be me that hurts you.”

“You really never wanted kids?”  Cooper asked.

You shook your head.  “Not because I don’t like them though.  I think you guys are awesome.”

“You can be our friend if you like?  We have a mom.  She might have died but she was still our mom.  But we also have an Auntie Nat and an Auntie Wanda and an Auntie Kate and an Ebony.  You can just be whoever you are,” Cooper suggested.

You smiled and laughed softly.  “You’re pretty smart, you know?”

“Yeah, I know,” Cooper joked.

“Friends then?”  You asked.

“Yeah, friends,” he said.

Lila nodded.

“Okay, but here’s the thing,” you said.  “There’s a thing that friends have that adults in charge don’t.  You’re allowed to tell me off.  Okay?  If I overstep, or I do something that upsets you, you can tell me. I won’t be mad and because friends can’t punish each other the way your dad can.  Right?”

Lila turned her head and looked at you. “Right.  Okay.”

“I’m sorry I’m dating your dad,” you said lamely.

She laughed.  “No, you aren’t.  But that’s okay.  He… it’s been a while since he’s not just been faking being happy.”

You smiled and went back to fixing her hair.

“You should tell us about the criminal stuff you’ve been doing if we’re friends,” Cooper said.

You started laughing.  “I’m sure your dad would love it if I told you about that.”

“Come on,” Cooper begged.  “You said we have to tell each other stuff.”

You laughed harder and shook your head.  “Okay… where should I start?”

// NEXT

[vincentmacmillan]

Good luck and I hope you can play for a few more years in the Eastern Conference.

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[zwiezraczek]

Hey love!:) are you still taking requests? if so, can you do 8 &10 she/her with four?:D

Out The Window [Blurb]

8. “Why are you doing this to me?” 10. “I'd like to kiss you... Joking... Unless?”

~~~

You blew the strand of hair from before your eyes, after hiding the unconscious guy in the closet. Another day in your beautiful hitman life. Nobody saw you getting in, nobody would see you getting out. And as you entered the elevator, your phone rang. You took it from your purse, looking at the screen to know who dared interrupt your flow at the end of a mission. One, of course One.

First of all, what a stupid idea to go by code names; you knew him in the orphanage, you were way younger than him, but you became friends pretty quickly. You still looked, impressed, at his magnetic inventions, and followed the grand finale a year ago on the boat where they stopped Murat. A great masterpiece, and you were pretty angry at him for not inviting you, as he promised to. But you couldn't blame him: you refused to be Two. When he explained his fucked up story, telling you that he was dead and that you should die too to be able to work with him, you didn't hesitate for a second: it was a solid no, for obvious reasons. Dying, faking its own death wasn't fun to you, it was mire troublesome than anything else. You had to hide in the desert, with him, and his little team. It was a big no to you. But you helped him recruit Three. Because you heard about Javier many times, you even spoke with him when he was a hitman, but that was all before he killed that father almost in front of his daughter and began to withdraw from the job. So you gave One Javier's number and current location. The rest, is history.

“What do you want,” you asked after answering the phone.

“I need help Extra,” he whispered.

“What is wrong with you with these code names,” you said, after the doors of the elevator closed and you clicked on the first floor.

“No time for talking about that, I'll need you for a mission, you in?”

“Oh, now when you're a famous savior you call your old friend Extra,” you teased him, the elevator stopped, two men stepped in, looking suspiciously at you. You had to lie low. “So, what's the problem darling,” you cooed, your hand on your hip, playing it seductive.

“You're in trouble,” he asked.

“Maybe yes, maybe no, depending of what you think,” you whispered into the device, sensually as the men in front of you turned bright red. Bingo.

“Calling you later Extra, I already have two fucking in who-knows-where and I don't want to do that,” he replied, a bit disgusted.

“Love you too,” you whispered before turning off the phone. “'Twas my baby,” you said to the men in front of you, a big smile on your face, “can't wait to see him again!”

They went silent, still bright red. You had your small revenge on One, and now you needed to know what he needed you for so badly.

~~~

Great you thought, as you had to find a way out of there, running on these heels. Fuck, you continued bare foot. You had no way to communicate with One's crew, who apparently knew who you were. More or less. And the only thing you knew that there was Seven, the sniper who eliminated half the guys who were trying to kill you on your way up there, and Four, the parkour expert. You still were pretty curious to know why One decided to put this guy right here, and not Javier or Two, people who would help you inside. A mystery.

You stopped by the corner, hiding behind a curtain, sitting on the edge of the window, as you heard men running to find you. You held your breath, closing your eyes and hoping the wouldn't notice you. You could hear them talk about you, about not knowing where you were, in these dark hallways. You heard footsteps, running away. Great. You sighed, relieved and stood on the ground, opened the curtains. Shattering of glass behind you, somebodywas getting inside, almost falling on you. The dark figure stood in front of you, you began to push him towards the window, holding him by his collar, not far from letting him fall down.

“Why are you doing this to me,” the guy almost yelled looking you right in the eye, eyes glowing in the pale moonlight, “I'm Four! Don't you fucking try to kill me, Extra!”

“Next time don't scare the shit out of me,” you told him, pulling him inside, as he looked at you dusting his hoodie. “So this is your escape plan, you asked, arching an eyebrow, “not subtle.”

“Not my idea,” he defended himself.

“She's funny,” Seven said into Four's ear, chuckling a bit after this exchange. He still looked at them, the path was still clear, nobody seemed to hear the breaking glass.

“She almost killed me, mate,” he retorted, you looking at him.

“Oh, it's Seven? Tell him that he does a neat sniping job.”

“Yeah, compliment one of the guys who comes to save your ass, Extra,” Four complained, rolling his eyes. “This way,” he headed going through the window as you followed.

“I'll thank you when I'll come out alive from this fucking mess One put me in.”

~~~

You heard your heart beat to the beat of the drums. From all the things you could have imagined, a party that One agreed to go to with his whole crew and you, this would never came to your mind. You put on your little black dress, dancing with a glass of champagne in your hand, right next to Two who brought you the glass you held. The crew was pretty nice, and you asked yourself if being with them wouldn't be a better life choice than living your hitman life – especially after the small conversation you had with Javier, who was absolutely glad that he stopped all of this, not being longer held by the missions and the contracts, but you loved this adrenaline, even if it meant working for the bad guys the most of the time.

The party you went to wasn't held by One, it would be a miracle, you just managed to go through the security together, with confident smiles on your faces and the looks needed to enter the place. The music blasted into your ears, and heart. And dancing with Two was a true pleasure, and even more than that. She seemed so cold but in fact she was the one to know how to have some fun with all these things around, with people, and taking advantage of who to get what she wanted. A true hitman indeed.

As you were dancing with Two and a flute of champagne, Four looked at you from afar, drinking another flute of champagne next to Seven. Probably too much flutes, because he stopped counting them. Mostly because you were the one intriguing him, on his mind since you almost threw him out this window when you first met. An instant crush. Four had something for dangerous women, he knew it – this was why his girlfriend dumped him from this building when he was in Ukraine stealing the necklace, too dangerous woman.

Seeing you climbing behind him, in that dress and bare foot, this was a new kind of experience he never knew he needed in his life. Your hairdo becoming messy as you jumped on the zipline he prepared, without any fear and he looked as your bun undid itself as you flew above the buildings. A truly magnificent view.

“Stop devouring her with your eyes and go to talk with her,” Seven said, elbowing him, “or otherwise you'll be wallowing for the next few years.”

“Wanker,” Four replied, putting the flute on one's server tray. “She's dancing with Two, she has fun with Two, and she likes Three. What the fuck am I to her? A youngster, One would say.”

“She's younger than One,” Seven remarked.

“Everybody is younger than One.”

“Don't be so over dramatic.”

“She tried to kill me.”

“That almost turned you on,” Seven remarked as Four made big eyes, “you said so, I noticed? Stays between us.” Four mouthed a thank you, before disappearing in the crowd to go and see her.

He had to breathe in, and breathe out. He was a total mess, a stupid mess. You were older than him – not much but still, it impressed him a lot, okay? – and he looked at you, having fun with Two before saying “fuck it” and going up to you.

Kesha. Great. “Oh what a shame that you came in with someone.” “We're gonna die young.” He was about to. He could feel butterflies in his stomach, his dizzy head as he approached you, sheepish and timid. You turned back, and saw him in his white collar shirt, standing in front of you. You tilted your head, curious to know what he wanted, Two having her full attention on Javier now.

“I'd like to kiss you”, he whispered, and he caught you off guard. He stood there, like a child, harmless.

“What,” was the only reply you could give him at that precise moment.

“Joking,” he pursued, playing with his fingers as you leaned closer to look at him. He looked so cute.

“Four, what do you want,” you asked him, maybe a bit impatiently. You too maybe wanted to kiss him. Maybe just a bit. Or maybe even more.

“Unless,” he continued, plunging his beautiful crystal eyes into yours.

“Fuck it,” you said, as you took him by his waist to kiss him.

Your lips against his, alcohol scented, as much as yours. He ran his fingers through your hair, delicately biting your lip as you parted to catch your breaths. He smiled against your lips, satisfied that you didn't throw him out that window, but almost.

[talatomaz]

divided pt.i | team arrow x lance!reader

a/n: this takes place during season 6 where nta is formed. (dinah isn’t in love with vincent)

warnings: mentions of death

word count: 2.1k

masterlist | request list | request rules

pt.i | pt.ii

r is a lance!sister aka baby!lance and has the powers of teleportation. she works with team arrow but is also in a relationship with dinah. she has always been loyal to ota as they’re her family but when they betray dinah, rene and curtis...who’s side will she take? the love of her life or her family?

i do not give you permission to repost or translate my fics on any platform - likes/reblogs are okay and are much appreciated

“To Oliver and Felicity!”

Rene toasted so everyone, including you, raised your glasses of champagne in honour of the newly wed couple.

As everyone clapped, Pink’s ‘Raise Your Glass’ began playing and everyone started to dance. You watched for a minute as Dinah, your girlfriend, and Quentin, your father, danced together. You smiled at them and saw Oliver and Felicity standing above you all on the balcony.

Once you made your way to them, you congratulated the couple and asked to speak to Oliver alone.

You had known Oliver your entire life as he and your sisters grew up together and he even went out with both of them but, let’s just say, that didn’t turn out well. You had mourned him and Sara when the Gambit went down. You did so once again when he returned after 5 years but Sara didn’t. You celebrated when she finally returned and cried when you lost her again.

Then you and Laurel had brought her back to life, only to lose your eldest sister soon after. But through it all, Oliver was there. You were the first to find out his secret identity, even before Felicity and Diggle, and you were his first partner, helping him work his way through his father’s list. Since then, the team had grown substantially, Rene, Curtis and Dinah being the newest recruits.

“I‘m so proud of how far you have come, Ollie. I just can’t believe all of this started with us.” You gestured to everyone below the two of you, dancing away.

“Thank you, y/n. We’ve really come a long way from the people that we were when we were younger.”

“Hey, you were the spoilt rich kid. I was just the nerdy kid who looked up to her sisters.” You both laughed as you leaned against the pillar.

Sighing, you continued speaking,

“Despite the mess that happened between you and Laurel, I know she’s happy for you and Felicity.”

Oliver placed a hand on your shoulder,

“She’d be proud of you, y/n. You may not be the Black Canary but you are your own hero and Laurel wouldn’t have asked for anything more.”

You didn’t respond, tears simply filled your eyes. You reciprocated his smile,

“I lost Laurel and though not a day goes by that I don’t think of her, I’m glad I have you. I may have a lost a sister but I gained a brother.”

Oliver’s eyes welled with tears as he pulled you in for a tight hug and choked out ‘thank you’. During the embrace, Felicity returned, shocked at the change in your emotions,

“Wow, y/n. What did you say to make Oliver cry?”

You hugged the hacker and stood on your tiptoes so you could place a gentle kiss on the vigilante’s cheek, his beard lightly scratching your skin as you did so.

“Just the truth.” You replied matter-of-factly before leaving the duo to find your father.

Upon finding him, Dinah told you she had to leave to take care of something so you kissed her goodbye and started to dance with Quentin.

As you both swayed to the music, your father spoke, “You know I love you, y/n? And whomever you love doesn’t change that.”

You stopped to stare up at him, confused at his words before you realised,

“Of course, Dad. I know...Oh, you know about your Nazi doppelgänger, don’t you?”

He nodded, “Cisco let it slip after Barry told him.”

You shook your head in contempt, “You’re the best father anyone could wish for. That Earth Xer is nothing like you. No one could ever live up to you.”

Quentin hugged you close and you both continued dancing until he spotted Donna, his ex and Felicity’s Mum, and approached her to make amends before being interrupted by a phone call.

***

“I still think Dinah should have been with us, hoss.”

You had all returned from a mission with the exception of Dinah who was at the SCPD, according to Oliver.

“Hey. Did you guys just get back from the field? Why didn't I get a call?”

Dinah entered the bunker, staring at you all in shock.

“I thought you were stuck in an important meeting at SCPD. Right, Ollie?”

You asked the vigilante who didn’t answer and instead requested to speak privately with Dinah.

When she refused, he cleared his throat and approached her, “I know that you’ve been meeting with the vigilante in secret.”

“You followed me?” She questioned in disbelief.

“I did.” He answered making you and Dinah to freak out.

He explained, or rather, shouted that someone on the team had betrayed him and believed that person to be Dinah.

“I think you have given me no reason to trust you.”

At this point, you had had enough and stood between Oliver and Dinah to prevent a physical confrontation.

“Ollie, if she’s meeting with Vince, it’s none of your business.”

“Oh, so you knew about Dinah meeting Vigilante?”

You winced at the venom in his voice before replying with the same level of spite, a sneer painted on your face.

“No, I didn’t. But whether or not I knew makes no difference. It’s Dinah’s business and her’s alone. She would have told me when she wanted to. The fact remains that she has been a part of this team for almost a year, has saved your life, mine and everyone’s here’s countless times. Or did you forget that, Oliver?”

Now it was the latter’s turn to wince. You rarely called him by his full name, opting to call him by the nickname you had used since you were a child.

His mouth opened but no words came out so Curtis began speaking and mentioned there was no way of knowing who betrayed the team which ended in Diggle letting slip a secret.

“Wait, you followed us? Even me?”

They didn’t answer because Rene had shouted to quieten you all. He revealed that he was the witness testifying against Oliver because he was threatened that his daughter would be taken away from him. Oliver, understandably angry, kicked him out causing Dinah and Curtis to follow.

That left you standing with OTA who were all staring at you but you had no words for them. You knew you had to work with them because your father had been kidnapped by Cayden James and you would do whatever it took to get him back. But it didn’t stop you being frustrated with them.

You turned around and started to leave before stopping when Felicity called your name.

“I can’t be here right now. I am so angry with all of you.” You said over your shoulder and then left the bunker.

Taking your phone out of your pocket, you called your girlfriend who answered on the first ring.

“Dinah, I’m so sorry for what they did. I didn’t know.”

“God, y/n. How the fuck could they do that?”

“I don’t know. I just left,” you sighed, “Look, this is a messy situation for me and I don’t want to be caught in the middle. Just know that I love you.”

“I know you didn’t have anything to do with it. I appreciate you sticking up for me.”

“Of course. I’d do anything for-”

Before you could finish your sentence, you heard someone come up behind you and as you turned to face the assailant, you felt a prick in your neck. You immediately felt woozy, your legs weak as you fell into someone’s arms as Dinah’s voice became muffled.

“Y/N?!”

***

You groaned as you came to. Your head was cloudy, your vision blurred. You heard muffled shouts of your name and when you started to gain consciousness, your head lolled to the side and you saw your father tied up and a familiar face standing beside him.

“Dad? Laurel? What happened?”

You started to become more alert, taking in your surroundings as you realised that you were chained to a chair. You had been kidnapped by Cayden James too. Fuck’s sake, that’s all you needed.

“How could I be mad at you, Dad? I’ve done way worse.”

You had been gone for a least an hour or two, and by now, you knew the team had figured out that you had been taken. Cayden James had ordered a reluctant Laurel to keep you just barely conscious to stop you from using your powers to escape.

With you reaming in and out of consciousness, you had just about managed to explain to Quentin what had happened before you were taken. You had learned that he was the first to know about the mole and had told Oliver, agreeing to keep you out of the loop. If it was any other person, you would’ve been angry but in this moment, you couldn’t be.

“Laurel and I lied to you about Sara’s death and we lied again when we didn’t tell you about us bringing Sara back. And I didn’t trust you to tell you that I had tried to bring Laurel back the same way we did Sara when she died. So how can I be mad? You’re my father.”

“Run.”

Laurel freed the cable ties that bound you and your father. You both stared in shock and the three of you turned when Oliver aimed an arrow at your sister’s doppelgänger.

“Thank you, Laurel.” You said quickly and she screamed her cry and disappeared.

***

After Laurel allowed you and your father to escape, you went back to the bunker; your father went back to his office to take care of some business.

And once again, Oliver kicked Rene out which led to Dinah and Curtis also quitting the team for good. She smiled at you before leaving, a quick gesture letting you know that she wouldn’t hold your decision against you.

It was like deja vu.

Just yesterday, you were in the same position. Left standing alone with OTA, except you decided to get some answers this time.

“I want to know the truth. Did you track me too?”

“No, I swear.”

At Oliver’s answer, you walked up the stairs leading to the centre of the bunker where all the computers were situated and began typing. Not nearly as good as Felicity but still experienced with computer systems, you pulled up the records and saw folders on Dinah, Rene and Curtis but not one on you. Granted, they could have erased it but there wasn’t any indication of that in the line of code.

“You don’t believe me?”

“No.” Your voice broke with that word, the feelings of betrayal coursing through you.

“Y/N-“

“No. Let me speak. Please.” You added in a whisper.

“I’m not angry anymore. I’m hurt. It would’ve hurt knowing that you had tracked me but what hurts more is the fact that you didn’t trust me enough to tell me. I’ve known you my entire life, Ollie. And I’ve known who you were long before Felicity and Dig knew. And yet, you couldn’t come to me with this.”

Oliver slowly approached you, as if you were a startled animal; Felicity and Dig opting to remain where they were.

“You hurt me, Ollie.” You repeated.

“You made me a fool. I gave you that whole speech at the reception and you just threw it back in my face. In the entire 24 years I have known you, not once have you ever betrayed me. Not ever. Until now.”

You quietened, the uneasy silence filling the air, and you turned to leave when Oliver grabbed a hold of your arm to stop you.

You looked into his eyes and saw they were filled with unshed tears, and in a sudden movement, he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close to him.

Reluctantly pushing him away, you wiped your tears away,

“I need time, Ollie.”

He softly nodded and his hold on you relented, allowing you to leave the bunker.

Part 2 ->

[southsidewrites]

Seven Years Later || Part One || Sweet Pea

Part One | Part Two | Part Three

summary: Seven years after leaving Riverdale and your boyfriend behind, you rush home after your father is hospitalized for a heart attack.  It’s been seven years since you’ve even seen Sweet Pea, and now you’re not sure you’ll be able to avoid the onslaught of painful memories.

words:  2159

Masterlist || Requests are Open

~~~

When I stepped off the plane to see none other than Jughead Jones waiting for me, one thought crossed my mind: Why the fuck is he still wearing that goddamn beanie?

"Hey, you," Jughead greeted me, pulling me into a warm hug.  He was taller, broader, no longer the skinny kid I graduated with, but a man.  Guilt washed over me when I saw the simple gold band on his finger.  

"Jughead, I—you didn't have to."

"I wanted to." He took my bag from me. "This has got to be hard enough right now, and a taxi ride back to Riverdale would've cost you a fortune."

I bit my lip and nodded. "Thanks.  Any news?"

"Well, he was definitely feeling better when I left." Jughead chuckled. "I mean, he was cursing up a storm about how he had to have a goddamn heart attack to get his daughter to come home."

Guilt washed over me again, and I wanted nothing more than to march myself back to the ticket counter and buy myself a one-way flight back to Chicago.  I was already missing my cozy apartment, my fluffy dog that had been with me since I rescued him as an undergrad.  

"I don't know how I'm going to face him, Jughead."

"Your dad?  What are you talking about?  He's not mad, not really.  I mean, you fly him out to Chicago like twice a year and you meet him in New York all the time.  It's--" He stopped when he saw my face. "Oh, you didn't mean your dad."

I shook my head. "No.  Dad gives me shit, but he doesn't mean it.  I'm more concerned with--" I couldn’t bring myself to even say his name.

"I know."

"Has he been there?"

"Hasn't left his side.  He's the closest thing he has to a father, you know."

"I know, which is why I almost didn't come.  I can't bear the thought of facing him." I clung tightly to my purse, and my head started to throb.  When we stepped out of the airport into the cool night air, it was bone-chilling instead of refreshing.  I sucked in a breath, and my lungs burned.

"He hasn't been mad in a long time, like six years, eleven months."

I scoffed. "It's not his anger I'm worried about.  I broke his fucking heart."

"You broke each other's hearts," Jughead corrected. "He would have hated himself if he didn't let you go."

"We could have been happy together," I said softly.

"Not if you were stuck in Riverdale." Jughead led me to his car and put my bag in the backseat. "No matter how much he loved you, you would never be happy in Riverdale, going to Sweetwater Community.  You knew that, he knew that, we all knew that.  You had to go."

I bit my lip, holding back tears as I buckled my seatbelt. "We could have made it work."

"It's been seven years.  When are you going to stop telling yourself that?"

Resting my forehead on the cool glass of the window, I shook my head. "Probably never."

"That's not healthy."

"My therapist keeps telling me that." I sighed, my breath fogging up the glass. "I don't know why I can't let go of a one year, high school relationship from seven fucking years ago.  It's downright pathetic.  Like, day to day, I'm fine.  I have friends, a social life, a great job, everything, but then I try to start a relationship, and I turn into one big basket case of unresolved emotional baggage."

Jughead sighed slowly. "You're going to have to face him, you know.  It's not like you can spend any length of time in the Southside, with your dad, surrounded by Serpents, and avoid him completely."

"I know." I sat up and reached over to squeeze his hand. "And Jughead?"

"Yeah?"

"I am so sorry for missing your wedding."

~~~

"Dad!" I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw him sitting in his usual armchair, a glass of water in one hand and his phone in the other.

"Hey, kiddo." His face cracked into a smile when he saw me. "It's been too long."

I rushed over and pulled him into a hug. "I was so fucking worried when the doctors called me, Dad.  Don't you ever scare me like that again."

He laughed, holding me close. "No promises, kid."

"I swear to god, Dad, I will move my ass home to burn every last cigarette and toss every last beer," I warned. "Don't think I won't."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, kid, don't worry.  You're not the only one purging the house." He gestured at the fridge. "Take a look—the kid cleared out everything that he deemed bad for my heart."

My heart thumped in my chest.  Even he wouldn't say his name in front of me.  It must have been obvious how much of a basket case I was.

"He left when I told him you landed," he said. "First time I've gotten him out of here since the doctor's cut me loose."

Biting my lip, I shook my head. "I guess he doesn't want to see me as badly as I don't want to see him."

"Not true.  His eyes fucking light up when he heard you were coming home.  He only left because he knew you'd want him to.  I mean, the kid's no moron about why you never visit."

I sighed, walking into the kitchen to pour myself a glass of water. "Dad, this visit is about you, not him."

"And how long do you plan to stay?"

"I took off the rest of the week."

"And you plan to avoid him for that long how?"

I shrugged. "A combination of hiding myself in my room and drinking exclusively on the Northside."

"So you're not going to visit Toni or Fangs, maybe F.P., Laura?"

"I don't know, Dad." I clenched my jaw in frustration. "I mean, yeah, I'd love to see them, but I'm sure as hell not setting foot in the Wyrm."

"Whatever you say, kid, whatever you say."

I sat down on the couch, fixing my gaze out the window.  It was the same view from seven years earlier.  It almost made me feel like nothing had changed.  Of course, that wasn't the case.  Everything had changed.

~~~

After three days in Riverdale, I was going stir-crazy.  I had gotten to the point of getting in the truck and just driving down the Sweetwater River highway.  It used to be my go-to route when I needed to get away, and it still worked well.  Unfortunately, Laura hadn't stopped texting me since I was home.  Although I had seen her semi-regularly since I moved, it had been months since we'd seen each other.

My phone rang from the seat next to me, and against my better judgment, I picked up.

"Hey, Laura."

"Hey there, Miss Social Recluse.  Come to the Wyrm."

"Not likely."

"Oh, fuck off.  He's with your Dad, which usually means he'll be gone 'till the old man goes to sleep."

I rolled my eyes.  While everyone else felt awkward enough to dance around the subject, Laura was not having it.

"Fine."

"Finally.  I'll have a whiskey-coke waiting for you."

"Make it a double."

I could practically hear her smile. "See you soon."

"See you soon."

~~~

When I got to the Wyrm, it was just starting to get dark, and the familiar glow of the bar made my chest hurt.  I wondered if that was what a heart attack felt like—after all, it might run in the family.  Steeling my nerves, I pushed open the door, and it was like going back in time.  

The bar looked almost exactly the same—the same dingy bartop, the same red barstools, the same neon PBR sign behind the bar.  The only thing I could spot that was different was the TVs.  They had been replaced.  I couldn't help but smile—the cracked TVs had always been a pet peeve of his, so it made sense that he replaced them when he took over as manager.

I pulled my sleeves down past my hands, grateful that I had worn a long sweater.  I could practically feel the snake insignia burning a hole in my forearm.  I'd never gotten rid of it, even when it meant I had to be extra careful what I wore to work.  A lawyer with a gang tattoo wasn't exactly a good look.

"Well looks who's here," a deep, sing-songy voice called across the bar. "Back from the dead."

I looked over to see Fangs sitting on a barstool.  My jaw almost dropped.  I didn’t think it was possible, but he had somehow gotten both bigger and hotter. "Fangs!" I walked over, my low heels tapping the wood floor. "Oh my god, it's so good to see you."

He stood up and pulled me into a tight hug, his muscled arms wrapping around me that felt infinitely familiar. "It's been too long."    

"It has." Before I could get another word out, I felt a soft touch on my shoulder.

"Alright, my turn."

"Toni." I couldn't contain my smile.  Toni had barely aged a day.  Her pink hair was gone, replaced with her natural brunette, and her style had grown up a little bit, but she was still the same Toni.

"Hey, girl." She hugged me, and she still smelled like vanilla. "I've missed the hell out of you."

"I've missed you too."

"Okay, okay, everyone's had their turns, and now it's mine."

Recognizing the voice immediately, I turned, my grin growing. "Laura Fogarty, you better be glad I came."

Laughing, she nearly tackled me in a hug. "You don't know how good it is to see you!" Lifting me off my feet, she swung me around as I shrieked with surprise.  

"Laura, you bitch!" I laughed.

She laughed harder, setting me back down for another hug. "God, I fucking missed you.  It is so good to see your Ivy League ass in Riverdale again."

I rolled my eyes. "I guess it's not the worst thing being back."

We settled in for a drink, and the conversation flowed easily.  Jughead got there a few minutes later, and it almost felt like old times again.  If anyone was hyper-aware of the ex-boyfriend sized hole in the group, no one showed it.  

As we talked, I could practically feel his arm around me, resting in the spot just above my hips, holding me close like he needed the contact.  I swallowed the lump in my throat and washed it down with another sip of my drink.  Laura had lived up to her promise, and it was strong.

"So, how's Chicago?"

I shrugged. "So far, I like it.  I don't know how long I'm going to be there, though, because I've been getting some recruitment calls from firms in New York."

"I bet your dad would love that," Toni observed.

Smiling, I shook my head. "Yeah, he's made it very clear where he'd rather I work.  It's hard, though, because I do really like the firm I'm at now."

The conversation was light, easy, and the drinks flowed freely.  We talked about Laura's job teaching, Fangs's promotion to manager at the garage, Jughead and Betty's latest house drama, and Toni's new Master's degree.  After a while, the phantom arm faded, and I finally started to relax.  That should have been my cue to get the hell out.

Behind me, the door to the bar opened, and Laura cut off mid-sentence.  The look in her eyes told me all I needed to know.  As my heart sped up to a lightning pace, I gulped down the rest of my drink and turned around.

He was older, for sure.  His hair was longer, and slight laugh lines creased his eyes.  There was a new scar close to his hairline, and he seemed impossibly taller.  The Serpent coat he was wearing wasn't new, but it wasn't the same one I'd borrowed so many times.  Clearly, he was too big for that one, having filled out from a teen to a man.  His lips were the same, as were his hands.  I couldn't look away from his hands.  Then, I was forced to look at his eyes.  Of course, they were the same, exactly the same.  In fact, they even held the same hurt expression I'd last seen over seven years earlier.

"Hey, Sweet Pea."  

~~~

[rainbowtransform]

The Means to An End

First Part here, or read it on AO3

It’s years down the line before Shuri finally cracks the code in Tony’s game. She’d locked away the phone and didn’t even glance at it until her children pulled it out of its hiding spot and show it to her.

“We can’t crack it,” they told her, staring. Her fingers shake, and she opens the familiar game. The Black Panther comes on screen and it meows like a kitten. Shuri’s eyes fill with tears and she sinks down, cradling the game.

Her children go to find their father.

KuKhanya, May, and Ubomi come running in with Peter. He stares at her, glances at the game and tells their children to go to their rooms. “Umama is just thinking  of someone we used to know. Go.”

“Listen to your father,” Shuri chokes out, and they turn, fleeing. Peter sits next to her, doesn’t glance over, and says, quietly “I still miss him.”

“I know.”

“It feels like he’s still here.”

“Yeah.”

“Did he make that?”

“I got it when I was sixteen. He’d given it to me. Told T’Challa that I would crack it when I’m older. When he died, I…” She swallowed.

“You stowed it away.”

“Yeah.”

“You know Karen?”

“The first suit Tony’d given you?”

“Yeah. You know why I asked you to make me a completely new one and not upgrade my old one?”

“Because you’re a boy.”

“Excuse you,” he shot back in a snooty white voice. “I’m a man.”

Shuri giggles.

“No. It’s because the suit’s the first thing Tony gave me. It… reminds me of him.”

The game feels cold under Shuri’s hands. “I’m suppose to crack it,” she whispers. Peter nods, and offers his own hand. “If you’re going to try, I’m not going to stop you,” he tells her. “But I’m not going to let it mess up your sleep schedule.”

Shuri’s lips curl into a smile. “You sound like my brother,” she says.

“Considering we haven’t heard from him in a few weeks, that’s an improvement.”

“He’s taken a vacation.”

“Yeah, from everything.”

“He deserves it.”

“Always.”

Shuri shrieks, throwing the game away from her. “This is impossible!” She screams. The children are in school, and Peter sighs. “NADĚJE, monitor Shuri’s blood pressure.”

“Monitoring Creator’s states.”

“Ha, ha,” Shuri scowls. “NADĚJE, cancel order.”

“Order canceled.”

“Still haven’t figured out how to get them human-like?”

“Nope.”

“You’ll figure it out.”

“Do you know?” Shuri asked, jabbing a finger at him from behind, eyes locked on the code streaming steadily from the computer screen.

“It’s Tony’s secret.”

“He took it to the grave,” Shuri smiles grimly. “I would have loved to know it.”

“NADĚJE, could you order some pizza?”

“From where, Creator’s Second?”

“I don’t know, surprise me?”

“I am not programmed for that.”

Peter sighs. Shuri bangs her fist against the computer’s desk. “Hey,” Peter says grabbing it gently. “We’re not hurting the computer; it hasn’t done anything.”

“This is one of the reasons I hate Tony. But the code is beautiful and complex, and it seems just like… something I’ve seen before.”

“Why don’t we try it, together?” Peter suggests.

“I’m smarter than you, Peter.”

“I know, Shuri. But maybe you need a fresh set of eyes. You’ve been working on this as a sixteen-year-old, and,” he checks his watch. “Now it’s been six days, four hours, thirteen minutes, twenty-six seconds. Twenty-seven seconds. Twenty-eight. Twenty-nine. Thirty. Thirty-o”

“I get it!” She says yanking her hands back.

“You’re also running on six hours of sleep, spread across those six days. An hour a day, Shuri. An hour.”

“It isn’t my fault,” she mumbles. “My mind runs through eighty-thousand scenarios per minute.”

“Yes, which is why I want to help.” Peter leans over, pressing his lips gently on Shuri’s. “Let me help you?”

She pushes him away. “Fine, you puppy-dog boy.”

It takes them three months to finally crack the code, and they both are wide-eyed, slack-jawed as they stare at the hologram.

“Hey, Shuri,” Tony Stark says. He’s in his lab, eyes bright and he smiles. “This is going to be pretty weird, huh? But, listen, do you have Peter there? You do remember Peter right?”

The two adults grip each other’s arms. “Ah, you guys are basically inseparable. I’m even sure that you guys are going to get married, too. Maybe have a couple kids. Four, I’d guess. This is for everyone I’d left behind, basically. I’m not going to lie to you guys. I don’t expect to win this fight. I’ve… got something Thanos really wants. Something he’s been craving. But he’ll have to kill me before I reveal anything to him.”

“I’m going to go with Rhodey, because he’s my best friend. Rhodey’s been with me through thick and thin, wouldn’t take my shit or my money. ‘Charity,’ he’d called it. But… he’d invited me to his room, put up with DUM-E for years. I really hope his kids know what a good father he’s going to be.”

(Rhodey’s been dead for three years.)

“Pepper… she’s the love of my life. She couldn’t take me being a hero, and honestly? I never expected her to. She’s different. Doesn’t take my shit, keeps my mind on track, has 12% of my company,” Tony’s smile is thin. “She’s the best thing anyone could ask for. Happy’s being intertwined with her because he’s the best boxing buddy-slash-driver I could ever ask for. He’s the best person to talk to.”

(Both Pepper and Happy left the country. Last Peter and Shuri heard of them, they remet up and had been tanning by the beach together drinking and swapping stories of other places they’d been since the kids took over the company and they’d left.)

“The Avengers,” here Tony’s face darkens just slightly. “They’re following Roger’s lead. I don’t know what they’re doing now. Hopefully some sense has been knocked into them. Scott’s got a daughter, and Clint’s got a whole fucking family. They’ll grow soon.”

(They’re still together. The only difference is that there’s no one to be their scapegoat anymore. It’s rather sad.)

“The New Avengers are the my pride and joy, honestly. They’re the best team anyone can ask for, and they act like a family. They’re teens, but their better together than apart. I’m proud of them, and I hope they know this.”

(They do, they really do. Shuri swallows, hard, and Peter’s arm tightens.)

“Peter’s my first ‘mission’ so to say. Clint’s not the only one to recruit Avengers. I know Peter, and he’s going to do things with or without someone’s permission. I just hope he knows the sacrifices, and how hard it is. Especially if you’re dating a civilian. Pretty sure Shuri’s okay with that, though,” Tony smiled bitterly. “Just know… I’m always going to be proud of you, kid. Anything you do. Except the things I did, and the things I wouldn’t do.”

“Shuri…” Tony huffed. “You’ve either turned forty-seven, which is when the code gets easier, or you’d finally asked for help.” He raises an eyebrow. “What took you so long? The game’s designed to know if you’re working with someone else, and it’s better to figure out… you know. A place. How’s Vision, by the way? The Bots? FRIDAY?”

(Vision disappeared, years ago. Peter heard a rumor, once, about a man with a stone in his forehead who was helping others. When asked, he’d reply “It’s what my grandfather would want,” and turn away. They haven’t heard from FRIDAY since she’d broken the news that Tony was dead, and the bots are still shut down. They’re clean, spick-span even though they aren’t ‘alive’ anymore.)

“Vision’s gone, if I’m really thinking ahead. He’s… upset, probably. Angry, scared. Hopefully he’s going to a therapist. If FRIDAY’s shut down, you just got to rewire her to accept you as her new boss; she’d understand. The bots are different, and you can’t trick them into coming back online. The only ones who can do that is JARVIS. I didn’t have enough time to implement it. She’s learning, and she’ll continue learning.”

“That’s probably it. Um. Oh! Kit-Cat said you liked this one video of me dancing. Welp, here’s a side-by-side of me as sixteen, twenty-five, thirty, and thirty-five doing it. Oh… tell T’Challa that it didn’t matter he’d kept the Exvengers. It was better that they were in Wakanada rather than them loose on the world.”  Tony sighs. “If I survive this, I’m thinking maybe, maybe, I’ll consider going on that date with you.”

And Shuri understands. After Tony died, T’Challa grew distant for a time before coming back. He didn’t marry, despite the councils’ insistence that he “must have a wife, or husband,” and T’Challa had laughed with Shuri.

“They can’t make me,” he tells her. “I can’t, Shuri. For right now, I can’t.” And his eyes were distant, in a place Shuri couldn’t follow.

“Who broke your heart, brother?” Shuri had asked. “Who held your heart tight in their grip, and hurt it?”

“Someone who is longer with us,” T’Challa told her. (And for all her genius, she didn’t ask for help for Tony’s game, and didn’t figure out it was him that T’Challa gave his heart to.)

Shuri and Peter replay the message twenty times over. So much that KuKhanya had come downstairs, and blinked at the sight of her parents watching a strange man. “I’ve seen him,” she said. “On TV. They said he was smart.”

“Not smarter than me,” Shuri jokes.

KuKhanya shrugs. “I don’t know, Umama, he seems smarter than Father.”

Peter mock-gasped and Shuri burst into a round of giggles.

The next time T’Challa visited, Shuri showed him the video. He swallowed, reached out and brushed through the hologram.

“Why didn’t you tell me, before?”

“He must’ve made some last-minute additions to it before he’d died. See? The code of… dancing is decades old, but the one where he’s talking? That’s the day before he died. See? See the difference in color of the code?”

“Yes.”

There’s silence, and then Shuri asks. “Why didn’t you tell me about you and him?”

T’Challa’s smile is bitter, small, and he replies with: “There was no point, sister. Remembering and loving the dead like family is different from a lovers’ death. It’s more painful.”

“Especially since you’re… the Black Panther?”

“Yes, Shuri. Especially since that.”

When they turn and exit the lab, they go to the children sitting around eating dinner. Peter has a Kiss the Cook, He’s Spider-Man apron on and is serving chicken parasame around the table. “Uncle T’Challa!” They all shriek, and he smiles.

“Eat,” Shuri tells them, giving them the mother-eye. KuKhanya sighs, and Shuri looks at her.

“You are the Heir to Wakanda,” she tells her daughter. “You have to do things you don’t like, KuKhanya.”

KuKhanya pokes at her food. “I don’t want it,” she mumbles. “Not if there’s all these rules and things to go with it. Especially making a heir?” She scowls. “Why can’t Ubomi or May do it?”

“If you don’t marry, that’s okay. But that means making a heir falls onto one of your siblings’ shoulder. They’re still young, aren’t they?”

“May’s three years younger, and Ubomi’s a year younger than May.”

“Don’t talk back to your mother,” Peter says from the kitchen.

“Daaaaaaaaaaaaaad,” she whines playfully.

After dinner, T’Challa asks if the children wish to hear a story. They are excited, elated, because ‘Uncle T’Challa’s stories are the best! Better than Dad’s!’

“There was once a boy, young and full of life. But life was cruel to the boy, and gave him a bad father and a neglectful mother. But, mercy was kind, and gave the boy a nice frien-”

“What’s his name?”

“His name?” T’Challa smiles. “It’s Tony.”

No one notices a spark fizzing from the game they’d left on. No one sees something traveling through wires and electrical places. There’s something in the lab, but no one sees it.

DUM-E, U, and ButterFingers come online, slowly, sensing something unfamiliar yet fatherly. FRIDAY overrides NADĚJE and with a whispery, fluttery, little-girl-meeting-her-father, whispers:

“Boss?”

[laweizhu]

Walk The Line

1/? Cross posted on AO3 but I don’t know how to link in mobile so have fun searching!

Sara Lance just landed a job in Central City Police Department as their newest cop, after a 3 year stint abroad. She didn’t expect to walk the line with the morally ambiguous criminal Leonard Snart, but when he lends a helping hand, she can’t seem to walk away from him.

–

She had only been on the job for 4 months and already her life was going to shit. Sara Lance, newest recruit to Central City Police Department; graduated top of her class and spent 3 years of combat training abroad to get away from her life in Star City. The 5'6" blonde was a force to be reckoned with and she had no qualms about taking down men three times her size.

Her first few weeks in Central were spent reconnecting with her mother, finding an apartment, and making sure she didn’t get on anyone’s bad side at the precinct. Her father always told her that she was not one to shy away from danger, which tended to land her in many pots of hot water over the years, but she wasn’t here to stir up anything, just do her job and catch the bad guys.

The boys at the shop respected her enough, especially with her years of combat training, but she had yet to prove to be one of them. She was closer to Detective West’s daughter than she was with some of her colleagues. She was on her way up though, at least, until she landed her last assignment.

Drugs were not such a commodity in Central like they were in her hometown. More robberies and arson than anything related to an underground drug ring, but here she was, playing arm candy to one of the pushers. Marc Mancini was a thug, through and through, but he knew what he wanted, and that was drugs on the street and beautiful women on his arms.

Sara, though she loathe to admit it in this situation, was just his type, with her head full of blonde and the truest of blue eyes. Her small frame gave her the advantage of looking vulnerable, but she knew she was anything but, especially with the heat she was packing in her small black dress.

There was a deal going though, and Sara had the next to best seat in the house, right next to Mancini himself. She spent weeks sidelining at the strip club Mancini frequented (Thank God for all those years of dance and gymnastics) and finally got a fill in when he wanted some beautiful women to show off.

Sara, as much as she hated playing the simpering damsel, batted her eyes and nudged her way into his crowd. She luckily didn’t have to put out for him, yet, anyways, as she suspects he’ll want something after giving her a show of his power.

“Well gentlemen, are we ready to get started? I’ve got the real deal in these crates and all I’m asking is for a couple mil. Any callers?” Mancini called the attention of the crowd that was in the warehouse. Sara was the only one on assignment that was actually able to pull a legitimate invite to the selling, and she couldn’t risk contacting anyone else on the team, being in such close quarters with Mancini.

The blonde cop spotted quite a few big names in the crowd, some she recognized the faces of in reports she’s read and some that looked a little to green to be buying this high up. She spotted one man in the far back of the warehouse, his fur hood up so his face was shadowed, but tall enough to still catch her eye. He suddenly looked up at her and was internally startled by how piercing his eyes were. Her attention was pulled back when Mancini pulled her with him to start the bidding.

It was essentially a waiting game at this point. She couldn’t make a move because as good a fighter as she was, she wasn’t able to take on the amount of men here. She had to memorize who bid on what, and follow those leads to get the best amount of these criminals off the streets as she could. She wasn’t usually a patient person, but patient she would be.

At least until everything went to hell in a hand basket. The tall hooded man finally made his presence known when he shot his gun in the air and fired out what she saw as a ray of ice.

“What the hell is this?!” Mancini pulled away from Sara and approached the crowd, “who the hell are you to come fucking up my business meeting?!” Sara had read the reports and files before arriving in Central, Leonard Snart was a household name in the criminal underground, and his newly acquired cold gun was no joke. At least, according to sources at S.T.A.R. Labs and the news outlets.

“I go away for a few months and this is what happens to my city?” Snart pulls his fur hood down and waves his gun disapprovingly at Mancini. He slowly walks his way through the crowd, the people parting away like Moses parting the red seas.

“We don’t do drugs here, Mancini , I thought I made that clear when you first moved in.” Snart stepped up to the platform Sara and Mancini were standing on. She pulled her shrug tighter around her to conceal grabbing her gun. Snart side eyes her for a second before returning to stare Mancini down.

At this point, some of the crowd begin slowly leaving, not willing to come in between Leonard Snart and his rule in town. Mancini, himself, was getting flustered and trying to convince Snart that drugs would bring more money into Central.

“C'mon now man, you’re about the money right? More drugs means more buyers, which means more money in our pockets. Don’t ya see the appeal Snart?” Captain Cold gave a smirk as icy as you could get,

“No, drugs mean competition, it means people moving in my city that I don’t want here. It means that the real money makers are gonna leave Central high and dry if they start sniffing the drugs. So, you get these crates outta my city by tomorrow or you can see why they call me Cold.”

The tall man spun around and looked straight at Sara. He gave her a once over that sent shivers down her spine, and approached her as if he hadn’t just threatened to ice someone.

“Birdie, you staying or going?” Sara wasn’t about to become on the receiving end of Mancini’s anger for the deal going south, so she took the arm that was bring offered to her and kept playing her part, at least until she could get away.

—

They had been walking for a few minutes, and no ride or getaway in sight. Sara knew, at least with one person, she had a better chance of escaping but she didn’t get the sense that he was going to harm her.

“So, what’s an armed bird like you, doing on the arms of that idiot Mancini?” He begins to make conversation without any hitch in his stroll. He pulls her along when she pauses to look at him, and she doesn’t respond for a minute to process what he said.

She deflected instead, “Why? Should I be on your arm instead Mr. Snart?”

He chuckled, pulled her close and whispered in her ear, “Well, as nice as you are on my arm, I like to keep my distance from a cop.” Sara froze as he said those words, never having been caught in a situation like this before. She didn’t quite feel threatened by his response, but she wasn’t exactly excited to have her cover blown.

He pulled away from her, and she noticed that they had stopped by the edge of the harbor. She was only wearing her revealing black dress, one that where the hem just teased at the muscle in her leg and showed off an ample amount of cleavage. The thin shaw she wore did nothing to stop the breeze that came from across the water. She had enough self control to stop herself from shivering, but was unable to stop the goosebumps that rose across her arms and legs. She wasn’t quite sure if they were from the air or from the man standing in front of her.

Sara stayed silent, while Snart made his way around her, as if sizing a piece of meat, or in his case, a rare, beautiful, and expensive piece of jewelry.

“Well then, Miss Cop? No answer, is there?” The man in the blue parka came to a stop in front of her and made a move grab a stand of loosened hair. What he wasn’t expecting was the sudden movement from the woman in front of him. She had suddenly grabbed his arm, twisting it inwards to cause a shock of pain while using her other hand to hold the small throwing knife she had concealed in her garter up to his neck.

“Well then, this little bird has some claws does she?” Leonard showed surprise on his face, but only slightly. He gave a smirk towards her, and if she were in any other situation than this one, she might have even found it attractive.

“Tell me why I shouldn’t have you cuffed and brought down to the station.” Sara gripped the arm he brought to hold her hair tighter, and only put a minimal amount of pressure on the knife close to his throat.

“Look, I’m not usually in the line of work to collaborate with the cops, but we both have the same objective here.” Leonard slowly began to hold up his arm that wasn’t held in her grip in the air.

“I want these drugs off the street as much as you, and actually have some evidence to help get rid of it. But you have to make a deal not to take me in. What do ya say, Birdie?”

Sara gave him a hard stare, and maybe in other circumstances, the harbor, the moonlight, it might even be romantic. But what she saw was only truthfulness in his eyes, maybe a hint of something darker, but she didn’t want to think about what it was ot the implications of it.

“Fine,” she whispered. “But you have to tell me what this evidence is first before I remove my knife.”

“Okay, sure. In my back pocket is a thumb drive I grabbed just before leaving the building. It has a video and audio recording of Mancini auctioning off the drugs as well as a nice shot of all the faces in the crowd. How’s that for evidence?” Sara had to admit, that was a hefty sum of evidence for her to get Mancini and even a couple others convicted and jailed.

She bit her lip as she considered her options, not realizing Leonard’s gaze drifted down to her mouth as she did it.

“How can I trust you?” She stared back at him, her heels making her eye-level with his nose, so she still had to glance up slightly.

“You can’t. But if someone is going to ruin this city, it’s because I’ve robbed it blind, not through dirty drugs that only drag people down.” Leonard spoke with passion on this topic and she had no other choice to believe him.

“Fine. But no sudden movements. Your hands stay up in the air and I grab the drive from your pocket.” Sara slowly released his right hand and he brought it up to join his left that was now resting on top of his shaved head.

“It’s in my right back pocket.” Sara nodded her head and reached her left hand around his frame to dig into his pants. The movement caused her to step closer to him than she anticipated and she couldn’t ignore the tension in both their bodies that had nothing to do with the knife that was held to his throat.

She looked straight into his eyes as her hand slowly drifted into his back pocket to grab the thumb drive. She really shouldn’t have, but her fingers caressed his lower back as she brought it back out, his eyes only narrowing and the hint of a dangerous smile sitting on his lips.

Sara pocketed the drive right in the cleavage of her dress, but Leonard made no other movements with his eyes except to keep staring into hers. She didn’t know why she was taking so many chances, but she slowly released the knife from against his neck but trailed her fingers down his collarbone and chest before stepping back from him.

She took a few steps back from him to regain a level head, but he continued to stare straight into her, even as he brought his hands slowly down to his side. He made no move for his cold gun, and she made no move for her concealed gun.

He only began to walk back towards the warehouse, still looking at her, before saying, “Catch you on the flip side, Birdie.”

He spun around and walked briskly back in the direction they came from before pausing when she said, “The name’s Sara, not Birdie.”

He looked back at her, with her arms held around her, looking like an angel of death in the moonlight. “Well then, Sara , hope to see you around sometime.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, before giving him the first hint of a smile he had seen all night that wasn’t fake. As he walked away, all Sara could think was that she was in deep shit.

[placetobenation]

Ladies and Gentlemen, I begin this article tipping my hat to two podcasters who equally match wit and chemistry.  The podcast they share, on episode #561 of print, is one that others often try to emulate.  Financiers will spend tens of thousands of dollars in advertising budgets to build a brand that these two organically developed through talent alone.  That trinity of talent, chemistry and attitude ushered in a new era.  That effort has captured the entire globe in a cult following of professional wrestling and pop culture.  We quickly learned talented people are standing by to place pillars of excellence to further build upon.  This all started with a crackling into an MP3 file called “The Place to Be”.  Stumbling upon the new movement of radio on demand and jumping on the bandwagon these two were encouraging in the ProBoards format.  That is where I met Derek Cornett for the first time.  Then I met Jay Ouimette.  We will talk about him later.  The privilege in podcasting genius has made entertainment fun again, and we have had a decade of laughter in the process.  I can honestly say my quality of life is better because of that nucleus moment in February 2011.  Hence penning an article and being honest in my words.  To be accepted by a wide audience without judgement.  That, to me, is the Place to Be.  

             I woke up at about 9:45am on Tuesday Morning, September 11, 2001.  I turned on the news, hoping to hear more about Michael Jordan returning to the basketball court, and I see Peter Jennings on the local ESPN channel.  I am probably getting ready to smack my remote when I see a building standing amongst a billowing cloud of smoke.  I was trying to figure out where it was, and I saw New York on the scrolling headline. There is only one place in New York that looks like that.  Beginning to imagine the horror taking place before my eyes; this is clearly an act of terrorism before Mr. Jennings said it.  Not even 15 minutes later, another building collapsed. This day changed my life forever.

            My father has experience in emergency management as a career firefighter.  He has also served loyal and faithful duties to the United States.  On top of those, he is also a veteran. His service was interesting, due to his ability to duck and dodge a draft.  He enlisted in 1971; taking the test like his life depended on it and got college money as a bonus.  He spent a hair over two years in the United States Army as a welder in Germany, all the while when a Palestinian terror organization kidnapped and held hostage the Israeli Olympians.  No attempt in getting political, but these events have happened close to home for me all too often.  Coming back to that moment, as I am watching Mayor Rudolph Giuliani walk through the streets of New York, directing everyone away from the destruction, I have had enough.  As the days and weeks lumbered on, the more despair I felt because I wanted a piece of the action.  We have seen the shenanigans of the Al Qaeda terror network for far too long.  We watched the Beirut bombing in 1983, the first WTC attack in 1993, 1998 twin bombings of U.S. Embassies on the horn of Africa, and the 2000 bombing of a Naval Ship off the coast of Yemen, killing 19 Sailors in the process.  Osama Bin Laden has been practicing what he has been preaching for far too long, and by hell or high water, I wanted to be part of the solution.   We all watched the same terror training camp videos on the news, and I was hook, line, and sinker in to getting my hands on those bastards.  

            This decision to join the military happened fast, and over a six-month period, all at the same time.  I was deliberately not watching the news to cognitively process my emotions. Is this a decision I am ready to make?  Do I want to risk my life to take another?  These were questions I was saying yes far too easy to.  Hearing bag pipes at funerals for the next three months were a serenade to my thoughts.  

            What did not help in my congitive thought process was living so close to something like that, the entire community was hurting. In the summer of 2002, fresh off a split with my ex-wife, I went down to the World Trade Center site for the first time, out of respect and reflection.  What stood out to me were the flyers of loved ones everywhere. Old, young, man, woman, and child.  People were there crying over losses and having a hard time moving on.  These things that I was experiencing with my senses: the smell of a disaster, the sound of construction workers and crying, the vision of the enormous hole in the ground, and looking left and right and seeing the flyers. It was not necessarily my calling, but it was a gut feeling that I have never experienced before.  I just simply knew what I wanted to do, and I what I felt I had to do, for my own personal closure to such a horrific event that impacted not only America, but my community.  If these men can give their all for a greater cause, then why the shit shouldn’t I?  John Fogerty said it best, “Put me in Coach.  I’m ready to play”.     

            My real life was imploding because of my obsession to join the military, to defend a lot of different things I could not express openly, because I was not able to do so. I was only a civilian.  I had no credentials.  I wanted to defend our children against bullshit cowardly attacks that destroy our lives.  I wanted to defend the people who decided to jump to their death instead of using anymore time to save their life.  I wanted to defend the mothers, wives, daughters who lost a brave man to careers that scream danger.  Most of all, and I carry their mantra with me to this day and beyond, I will defend those first responders and civilian heroes on the battlefield (volunteer efforts and United 93 Passengers), who died attempting to save others.  The average reaction time for all the heroes, professional and volunteer, of September 11th was an incredible and astonishing FOUR SECONDS.  That is all the time they needed to cast their vote and say, “Not on my fucking watch”.  To me, those moments of pure adrenaline and selfless service were the first victories in the Global War on Terror campaign. Those heroes of the battle showed me the courage needed to take on a terror organization.  

            To describe my demeanor, at best, I am socially inept.  I am admittedly way more Dwight Schrute, or Andy Bernard than the cool guy Jim Halpert.  With that said, on September 17, 2002, I deliberately walked up to an Army Recruiter in his office and proclaimed, “I want to jump out of airplanes and kill the Taliban”.  I will never forget his response. “That is terrific, but you kind of have to sit down and watch this video first and discuss options”.  We discussed options, and the best he could do for me was an MOS (Military Occupational Specialty) of 11B, which was an Infantryman.  If I wanted to go to a Special Forces detachment, I would have to meet their qualifications after initial service.  I accepted, scored well on the test, background check squeaky clean, signed the dotted line for a First Blood match with some Iraqi and Syrian forces, and only one walks out victorious.  I was headed to Fort Benning, GA for the first round of qualification bouts to step into the arena and dance with the Devil himself.  

            For the next 18 months, I trained and trained hard for a deployment to Iraq, with the 2-5 Cav (2nd Battalion, 5th Cavalry Regiment, 1st Cavalry Regiment).  We went through grueling simulated combat operations for weeks at a time without so much as a shower, let alone a beer.  We were not simply going through the motions, we had leadership from the top down that firmly believed that combat training should be more difficult then real-world combat operations, so the fog of war will be easy to operate in.  We received our orders in November of 2003 that we will be headed to Sadr City, Iraq.  Everyone was pumped and excited to get their hands on these same individuals who believe that democracy must be defeated in war.  There was also motivation to let out aggression for the months of grueling training.  I was primed and ready to go.  

            To be prepared for battle in which a known enemy has you in its sights and ready to destroy you, you must have a certain mind set.  We were a highly trained unit, but only a handful have seen combat in Afghanistan since this was the beginning of Operation Iraqi Freedom.  We would talk amongst ourselves about being able to look another man in the eyes and pull the trigger.  The answer always came back to “its either you or him that is going to die.  Have a vote in the outcome”.  We all had that swagger in the tent in the days prior to actual combat, but none of us, commanders included, had no clue on what we were about to embark, a life changing moment for every single man in that formation.  

Through the Place to Be, I have been able to meet so many wonderful people who inspire me to be a better man.  JT has never left an empty message, even if it were to simply send a DM about a great show he had.  Andy Atherton for allowing me the opportunity to write this article.  Will from Texas, I was a fan of his before I discovered the Place to Be when he had Good Will Wrestling on Blog Talk Radio.  He allowed me to do one of the “For Your Consideration” podcasts.  Not only was that a gift in itself, but it was a three-man booth with Johnny Sorrow posted on the Fourth of July, 2017.  I listen to it back once, but the live experience was so good, that could never be duplicated.  Aaron Stolz and the genius he brought to the Saturday Morning Spectacular, and we served together in the same unit in Iraq.  Ben Ivanson, Steve Rogers, Chad Campbell, J. Arsenio D’Amato, Derek Cornett, Justin Rozzero, all guests on the Spectacular, all come from the Place to Be genesis.  I say thank you to you all, and most importantly, thank you ALL for YOUR service!

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There’s a Storm Inside of Me

I checked in that pocket, like five times, and the number 7 wasn't in there

Brad talked to a lot of girls tonight,  but few talked back

Of course all the ones I chose talked back, but only because I choose humble women

I checked my jacket

Not really

They hunted me down and said you have to check your jacket

And of course it was 3 dollars

But I wasn't sweating

I pulled out the huge stack of ones that we didn't spend at the strip club because the strip club was dead

Kitty didn't remember us from last time

That hurt

Harmony was awesome though. That almost sounds like a fucking Christian name

We wound up on the loudest club in the big city

Brad seemed hesitant to wait in line. I told him, look through the fucking glass

It will be worth it

It was

We lit that fucker on fire

I was dancing with chicks like crazy

Black girls

31 year old hipster girls

I turned out a 31 year old hipster girl

She was super timid and STILL

till I approached

And then she did all the shit she can't do with her hipster husband of 13 years

That mother fucked probably works at a factory designing modern furniture

He has a beard

And somehow, he hasn't gotten her prego yet

Where

The

Fuck

Is

The

Kid

Bro

But it's ok

She had the time of her life celebrating her friend's 30 lb weight loss

Brad got me some girl's number at the club before

We were the only white dudes in that one

We even asked the bouncers and they were like, yeah, you're the only white dudes in here

Brad says she was nurse and going for nurse practitioner

But aren't they all

He said she's from Columbia

This is the drunkest I've ever been

We'll see what dyhydromyrecitin can do

I'm on the floor

What the fuck

Who got me sick

I think it was Brad

Fuck

It had to happen

So that

I can go to Africa

Healthy

By my calculation

drinks

Bumping into things

Brief moments of intimacy

Sharing lip balm with a 13 year married woman

Grabbing her hands from behind and grinding ass to ass for a whole song

That was hours after the stripper kissed me

Harmony

Harmony

Brief moments of intimacy

Tonight was the last night

I'm done

No more drinking

Ever

It's time to go to work

---

I just watched Zero Dark Thirty

2018 has been huge for me

The most valuable take away from this year

I have absolutely no shame or hesitancy left in my body

Last year I would have feared to look my father in the eye and say, no, dad, I'm not going to work a single day as a doctor in the United States

Now I'll be proud when I do it

I almost want to add, "

Dad, I don't dream about the Island every night, but I do dream about it every week. All the worst years of my life, all the most horrible human emotions and all the darkest corners of the world - they were and are all here in this shithole country. This country has a simple story - Europeans came and killed native Americans to take the country (and eventually pretended to make reparations to them and apologize). Then the descendants of those Europeans destroyed entire societies in Africa to steal people from there and build America into a superpower (and eventually pretended to make reparations to them and apologize). Now, the descendants of those Europeans live in a divided country, because some of those who they enslaved and oppressed have shone a bit of truth on the national narrative. The question that you and I should ask dad, is, if we didn't participate in killing native Americans or enslaving Africans - or sit idly by as our peers did so - what great travesty are we complicit in? The wars of this country, and the lack of economic outreach to communities of poverty - communities in our nation and abroad - is just as abhorrent as the slavery or genocide our people committed in the past. I choose not to stay here and attempt to tune out my people's evil. I choose instead to trade my life for the lives we have destroyed - and become a slave to what is righteous and right in this world. I am limited only by what I can believe is possible. You are limited by what you have seen in your life. Look at my life, father. It has already exceeded yours. By not listening to you, look what I have accomplished. I will not back down. I will not bring my Father shame."

I need to fix the organization financially. Eventually I'll get sued. And if we're incorporated, I can kill the name and put up a new name. Maybe. I'm trying to build in ultrasound training next. And after that, a program to take pre-med students overseas and get them medical experience working with refugees in refugee camps.

We have to keep making money

And I need to work on my personal financial situation

Most of the loans to do the things the Organization has done have fallen back on me.

I'm concerned about my next tuition bill.

I am dedicated to finishing my MD.

So I need to keep my ducks in a line.

I think it's funny that Brad's big brother (don't remember his name) isn't responding to texts much anymore. He's done. He's finally encased his pride in gold. Finally, a staff surgeon. Finally, a wife. Kids soon I hear. A dog. A big house.

So what's next.

I know the answer to that. Mediocre medical work overseas or an affair.

In his case, probably both.

And for Brad, his divorce is underway, his daughter is becoming more and more like her mom, and he's about to start the Academy to be a government operative.

I tip my hat to them all. They've accomplished everything they ever wanted by 30 or 32.

Now it's my mother fucking turn.

Very few questions still remain:

-Can the organization's profit over the course of a year be stabilized, or will there be big, inevitable downturns?

-How should the organization be staffed? How should I recruit and hire?

-Can I finalize our legal standing? Can I find people to come on board and stand behind this organization?

-Will my personal finances place a limit on what can be done through the organization and it's growth?

-Can I diversify our streams of income so we are not so vulnerable to changes from outside actors

2018 has come to a good end, because none of those questions,

"Can I make it alone? Will I kill myself? Can I cope with bipolar? Should I take meds?"

Those questions were around a couple months ago. Then I put shit in high gear, and I've grown our organization, hired new employees, and excelled in school.

Yes, the low points of this year did not leave me unscathed. I probably spent $5,000 on girls and on fucking around with Brad this year. And it damaged my health and my mind.

The damage to my hearing was completely unnecessary. But maybe the psychological struggles were necessary.

I feel strong now. I feel like I don't need a woman.

And I know God will back me up and keep them away from me.

We're a team.

When I think of Barack Obama's presidency, I think of how one extremely well intentioned and dedicated individual ran some positive projects and helped some people. Most of all, he did not make everything worse in a time and place of extreme greed and evil.

I'm going to shoot for the stars. If I don't save a whole nation from poverty, it's ok. At least I'm not perpetuating evil, or standing idly by as it occurs.

An abusive mother and a book called The Devil Came on Horseback made me who I am. I will continue what they started. I will force people of this sick land to see what their parents committed and ignored. I will show love to people in the places our people have ignored or raped.

The evil of this shithole country runs deep. And affected by it, and part of it, I understand and rise above it.

--

"There's a storm inside of us. I've heard many team guys speak of this. A burning. A river. A drive. An unrelenting desire to push yourself harder and further than anyone could think possible. Pushing ourselves into those cold dark corners. We wanted that fight at the highest volume. A loud fight. The loudest, coldest, darkest, most unpleasant of the unpleasant fights."

He proposed that maybe rather than continual exposure to mild violence, it may be better to expose them to extremes of violence. He responded, “It's the opposite. What will happen is I'll just overwhelm you with violence. If you're overwhelmed, you won't do anything, you'll just become prey. You'll have a fear for violence. I don't want you to have a fear for violence, I want you to thrive in violence. I want you to treat it as if it's ordinary."