#i. am once again. going to do a hair mask. literally the only emotional cure all i know other than booze. which is. bad. obvs

[soldier-poet-king]

Ughhhhh

Like tried to open the "hey I'm thinking abt moving out" discussion and it just. Hm

- why leave when you can save so much money living here

- implications of them being hurt because I'm leaving more because this house is slowly killing me and less because of my horrific 2.5hr daily commute

- I need to live in a community again. I can't do suburbs anymore. Even urban loneliness is better than this. At least there are people about. I can go pop into little shops. Join a club. Deadass wandering around a mall would feel less isolating than this. ANYTHING

- unspoken but present "no one in our family has moved out until they got married", ESP for the women on my mother's side, and even then they moved literally down the street and formed a weird codependent dysfunctionional situation that I can't seem to extricate myself from

- it's expensive but I am going to kill someone and then myself if I have to stay here longer. I haven't had a life since 2020. And yeah partially that's covid and even more so it's Living Here and slowly dying a bit everyday after having been free and on my own for 8 yrs

- I spent those 8 yrs putting myself back together slowly and figuring out who I wanted and needed to be and within a year of being back I came the closest to forced involuntary psychiatric hold that I've ever been and I don't think that's a coincidence. The move is not entirely to blame. But it's hard to help myself in an environment like this one. I'm going to need a whole lifetime to piece myself back together and I still don't think it'll ever sit right or be whole again

- but if I leave who'll look out for bro 3. The baby. The sensitive one. The one most similar in temperament to me. Or it'll hurt my parents feelings and what little progress they've made will backslide and everything will get worse again and maybe my dad will *** and it'll just be. My fault.

-bro 2 fucked off across the country without guilt and I wish I could just not care but unfortunately I was raised to be the therapist and carer and my whole purpose of being is to sacrifice myself for other people's comfort so what else am I supposed to do. I have to make up for myself somehow

- my parents bought a starter home with shitty jobs when they were younger than me. I'm maybe NEVER going to be able to afford property, but if I don't start "wasting" money every month on rent I'm not going to live long enough for that to BE a problem. Let alone things like investing and retirement savings. But what if I lose my job or smthn goes drastically wrong and I end up back here with my tail between my legs anyways. Idk if I could survive that again

I am so goddam tired of every decision I make being the wrong one for my family. Of none of my (significant!) accomplishments mattering because they're not the traditional milestones. No I've never had a relationship, I've never even been in a date or been kissed. I'm a weird unattractive person and that's fine because I'm particular and peculiar about relationships anyway. Even if I hate that and I'm defined by hunger and grief. No I'm not engaged or married with kids. I'm tired of me appearing years behind my peers socially because I had to spend so long recovering from wanting to die all the time that I don't feel my age or maturity level even tho I AM comptent at my job and also just good and social lying to appear friendly and normal. I'm tired of being nanny and therapist and mom and all of these horrible gendered responsibilities that I never wanted and can't escape and have shaped me and ruined me and idk what I am without them and I can't even feel resentful without guilt because isn't that what I'm FOR. What else am I for than that. That's my purpose and my Duty and Obligation and I'm weak and selfish for chafing against it. I'm not allowed to love parts of my family and culture and then hate and resent all the ones that have hurt and trapped me and will continue to do so until either I, or all of them, are dead.

All I did was hurt and/or upset both my parents which makes everything worse for everyone in this hell house and maybe that's not my fault or responsibility but it sure feels like it is, and I can't escape it regardless.

I'm so goddam tired

#franposting #just whining its. #yeah #suicide mention cw #IM FINE DW IM TAGGING TO BE SAFE FOR OTHERS #im deeply miserable but im fine. i even ate dinner AND fruit #AND made lunch for tmrw #im just. gonna go watch arcane. or read naruto. both of which will hurt me #but maybe it needs to be external rn #work tmrw. and soo many meetings bc my boss is back and i have to like. showcase that i was ok left alone for 2 weeks #and was actually productive #why am i here. whats the purpose. the reason. the goal of it all. what am i supposed to be doing #beyond simple hollow pleasures to keep me going #so i can drag myself out of bed everyday out of a sense of duty #and that i have to keep going bc maybe itll make the world even the slightest bit better than i found it #and im now allowed any easy outs #i. am once again. going to do a hair mask. literally the only emotional cure all i know other than booze. which is. bad. obvs

[patchworkstateofmind]

Returning a Favor | A Marvel AU Fanfic, Chapter 1

Uhm, Ive never actually posted on tumblr before, and also never written about Marvel, so I hope if anyone even reads this, you will hopefully be nice ^^

So, anyways, this is a scene from an Idea I had, it takes place in the time between Spiderman Homecoming and Avengers Infinity War. If you like the idea or my writing style, make sure to let me know, so I can continue my Idea^^

I actually recommend to listen to some music while reading this, I suggest a dark academia, royal core playlist on youtube. (I think its suits this story the best, but you do you)

Okay I should stop blabbering, Lets go!

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Title of Chapter: Ballroom Talk

Word Count: 2,4k

Other Chapters: Ch.1, Ch.2

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The music hangs heavy in the air, as you leaned against the wooden railing of the staircase. Dozens of couples twirled and turned over the marble floor and the golden chandeliers, lit with real candles set the ballroom in a magnificent golden light. Golden specks of dust whirled through the air and the movement of the puffy skirts only made them twirl even more.

You looked down your crystal glass, hmm, empty. Sighing you placed your glass on the platter of a waiter that walked by you. Your gaze crossed the room, looking at the majestic oil paintings, probably worth thousands of dollars. Decadent.

Your eyes met brown. Great, the eyes you were trying to forget. You adverted your gaze and turned around, the skirt of your dress swaying as you made your way down the side of the ballroom, trying to get away. “Excuse me.”, said a voice behind you. You sighed.

“look, I don’t have time for this right now.” You turned around and he stood in front of you. Towering at least 2 feet over you normally, he now was eye to eye with you. Heels do seem have a good point. “I know, I’m really sorry, but I was told to do this.”, he said, so he knew too, that it was just an annoyance, rather than a mission. Gosh, he sounded so much like a teenager, it was almost embarrassing.

“I know too. But I am not joining your little team of ´Revengers´”, you painted quotation marks in the air and even though the half mask on his face managed to hide his emotion quite well, you were sure you could see him snarl. You chuckled lightly. “Let me guess, your friends are right out there, ready to crash the party any moment”. You nodded your head towards one of the stained-glass windows. “Okay, kiddo.”, you began. Actually, you weren’t quite sure how old he was, he seemed at least your age, if not older, but you liked the way it railed him up.

“I know that normally, we would have a nice fight of words and then your teammates come crashing in, saving you, because you obviously aren’t strong enough to handle me on your own. You and your friends set everything on fire, I get away and yet again you think you’ve won because you’ve killed another ten old bastards, that don’t mean anything to us. But you need the accomplishment, and we don’t want you to feel like you always destroy everything without any results. And yet you do.”

He opened his mouth, trying to defend himself, but you simply talk over him. “Let’s face it. You couldn’t find a point to start your search, so you thought you would show up here, thinking that we are dumb enough to not disguise a hidden meeting better than a ball. And you thought you could crash this meeting but then noticed, that it is a real ball. And now you want information, so they sent you in her, totally blending in with everybody here.” You reach for his neck and fix the collar of his button up.

“But now you noticed that there is no one important here, that actually has information. And I know that your teammates probably realised this, but I’m not quite sure if you are intelligent enough to do too, so I’m throwing you this bone.” You make an eccentric pause. “Peter, have you noticed that not even one important person is here.”, you pointed towards the dancefloor. “And you know why? Because there is a hidden meeting, but we all know that you and your little team aren’t even remotely clever enough to even think about this, so we sat up this ball. Of course, that’s not the only reason, its also to get rich old bastards on our side, feeding them with bacon wrapped dates and hors d´oeuvres and telling them that we are this”, you pinch your fingers together. “Close to curing cancer.”

“Are you serious?”, Peter brushes his hand trough his hair. “So this is all a setup to lead us into the false direction?”. “You look distressed”, you say and reach for the tablet of yet another waiter that walks by. “Here, try some of that, it will calm you down, but yes, this is just a setup”. You take the glass and press it into Peters’ hand. He doesn’t seem to pay attention to you though, his hand lays on his ear and the other, with the glass, he raised up to his mouth. “Did you hear that Mr Stark?”, he asked.

You try to swallow a giggle. “So, I was right”, you say and turn around, making your way down the corridor. “You really couldn’t think one step further and realise that we aren’t dumb enough to hide secret things better, tsk.”

It takes Peter a few seconds to notice you are leaving, but when he does, he is sprinting down the corridor after you. “Wait!”, he yells. “Come on Peter”, you answer annoyed, it comes out as a snarl. “Why are you so relentless? You had the mission to get information, I gave you information. Its not my fault that the information is that you suck”

“Hey! We don’t suck!”, he defends and jumps around, side to side, trying to move in front of you, but your massive skirt is blocking his way, making him dance around you. Though you must admit that even though this tight corset and the puffy skirt annoy you, you can’t seem to help but thank the 18th century fashion for making people stay away from you.

“Why don’t you just go back to your friends outside, because as you can see, there is nothing interesting here, just a bunch of old dudes, dancing with young and impressionable girls on the search for a rich sugar daddy”, You say. You are really done with this shit.

“I don’t think we have that what we want yet”, a voice came from in front of you. To be fair, you didn’t expect anybody else here, which made you stop in your tracks. You needed a Minute to calm your muscles again, trying to keep your masquerade on. “Oh, thank god”, Peter huffs out from behind you. Great, you are stuck.

You raise one side of your mouth to a smirk. “Captain America, didn’t expect to see you here. Thought you would be busy with squeezing yourself into those tight spandexes.”, you say. “Though I must say, tailcoats suit you much better, you should make them into your uniform, rather than that ridiculously patriotic Costume you always wear.” “I could say the same to you, oh, wait, you look like the wallpaper of my grandma exploded on you”, he says and grins. “Ouuh, burn”, You say mockingly. “You know you could just say you like me better without clothes”, You say and glance back over your shoulder. Only to find that Peter is blushing, you look back at Cap, he’s blushing too. Double kill.

“Well, if you would excuse me Gentleman, I’ve got a dinner date to keep”, You try to manoeuvre your skirt around Cap, but he positions himself right in front of you. “I don’t think so.”, he crosses his arms over his chest. “That’s not very nice, to keep a lady from following her plans”, You say and try once again, but he takes a step sideways, blocking your path yet again. “Let’s see it like this”, Cap begins. “You can either talk with me right now, or we will take this outside and you can see if you were right with the assumption that it takes more people than one to fight you.

You sigh. “Nice move, America. Taking advantage of the girl in heels, so it can’t run away.” You turn around and look at Peter. He has taken off his mask and you lock eyes with him. “Well then kiddo”, you say and open your hand. “Give me your glass, if you don’t use it, then don’t mind if I do” He hands you the wine glass and you throw your head back, downing it in one swift motion. You place the glass onto a side table and motion for Captain America to follow you. “You want to dance?”, you ask. He lifts an eyebrow. “So, you really wanna fight”, he asks. “Nah, not now. I mean it literally, if I have to spend more time here, then why don’t use it”

He turns around to look at Peter. “Go outside, I will meet you there, if I don’t come out in ten Minutes send them in” You can’t help but snicker at this and now its your turn to cross the arms over your chest. “Are you so afraid of me? The mighty Captain America- Oh wait, the mighty one was Thor, wasn’t it? Well anyways, I’m gonna spend the rest of my evening on the dance floor”

With those words you make your way back to the ball room. The music is still the same, eerily beautiful, like from an old historian drama. You reach the end of the hallway and look at the Captain. He reaches into the inside of his tailcoat and pulls out a velvet mask. “Glad to see you thought about bringing one yourself, I counted on the fact that I would have to lend you one of mine.” You tap onto your mask. A light beige, velvet half mask, adorned with blue pearls and light blue lace. It matched with your dress.

He holds out his elbow and you interlock your arm into his. You make your way to the dance floor, its not a formation dance, so you don’t stick out when you two join in in a free space. He places his hand on the side of your body and you reach out to place your hand in his. You begin the turn around the floor, not thinking about a choreography.

“Okay, Mr. America”, you say, now quieter, although the music and the chitter chatter all around you should make it hard for anybody else to hear your conversation. “You have this one dance, if you want to talk any longer, we will have to fight. And we both know that a fight will end in at least on person to be hurt. And I don’t know why, but I don’t think it will be me.”

He meets your stern gaze with just as much aversion. “I do think too that one dance is more than enough”. “By then, start your questions”. You turn outwards and twirl yourself back in under his arm. “Why are you doing this ball?”, he asks. “Like I said, its easier to have meetings that shall not be interrupted, if you have something where the people that could interrupt are occupied” “So, I guess that’s why you are here too, because they don’t want you to interrupt either?”, he asks and you can hear his intention right through. “I am really sorry, but I think we both know that you will not be able to question my loyalty”

He leaves your hand to place his on the other side of your waist and you place yours on his shoulders. With a swift motion he lifts you up as the music reaches its climax and with a turn puts you back down on your feet. “Next question”, you say. “You are running out of time”

“Why this masquerade?” You sigh. “I know, it’s very cliché isn’t it; I also don’t know why it has to be in this Victorian style, but I guess it should make the people here feel more at home, old people like old stuff, don’t they? But of course, I shouldn’t tell you about old stuff, I mean, you’re the 100-year-old” He rolls his eyes. “You know that’s not what I meant”. “Ugh, I know, you see, this is a disguise for a meeting, but its also a coming together of really rich people, and really rich people tend to do really bad stuff. Its easier to gather blackmail bait when people feel safe because of a mask that isn’t hiding anything.” “So, it’s a trick to steal money from the rich?” “No, its to steal Power from the rich. If you want to really win this game of power, you got to have the rich and powerful on your side, not only the handymen. And based on the facts I do know; you don’t even seem to have the handymen on your side. The Avengers, always there for the people”, you sigh mockingly. “but doing nothing more,  than leaving a trail of misery and destruction. Cut to the chase, what is really the reason you and your friends are here?”

“Where is the secret headquarters of Hydra?”, he asks, and you drop your smile. “Oh, straight to the point I guess”, You say and take a step away from him. He grabs your hands and pulls you back in, this time his hand lands on your back, holding you firmly in place. He leans down to your ear. For other people it must look like you are a couple, but the snarl in his voice is more than enough to find out the real affirmation between you two.

“Cut it, we know that you and your little crew have connections to hydra” You lean back, trying to bring space between you two and snarl back. “You should be careful who you make assumptions about, some people are not very happy to be affiliated with those people.” “Those people!?”, he gets louder. “Last time I remembered you blowing up a part of Siberia, destroying everything in a 100-mile radius. You are nothing better than Hydra.”

“I am not in affiliation with Hydra, but remember this for the next time we meet, America.”, you hiss and now you lean into him. “I will rip everything you love apart if you don’t keep your dirty hands of my business. And I think we both know that I won’t hesitate. But maybe I shouldn’t threaten you” You lean back and push against his chest, stepping away. “If you dare once again to interfere with my business, I will destroy everything any of you are fond of. Your little boy, Peter. This naïve and sweet boy. How about we start with him? Or maybe start with something that hurts. I come to know about a certain woman named… What was it? Peggy?”

With these words you turn around and storm of, you don’t hear footsteps behind you, and you are really sure that he won’t be following you.

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Thank you for reading!

Have a great day!

#mcu #marvel #marvel cinematic universe #marvel au #marvelfanfic #the avengers #marvels the avengers #marvel captain america #captain america #spiderman #marvels spider man #captain america fanfiction #marvelfanfiction #peter parker #marvel imagine #peter parker fanfiction #iron man

[sinkingorswimming]

CONGRATION FOR 600 FOLLOWERS U DONE IT

more X-Men coming through, maybe not so “soft” anymore @linneakou

He could be doing a gig in DC at the 930 Club right now, but Ciao Ciao and his teammates are playin’.

An old friend of Celestino’s, Dr. Mireya Thomas, mentioned during a lunch date to check in and catch up her close neighbor’s son disappeared six months ago. She’d been searching for him—Leo had confided in her that he was a mutant, having moments where flames would appear on his body. Leo was a kind kid, she told Celestino—went to mass every Sunday, was in the church band, good grades in school, helped his local Kiwanis chapter—but he’d come to her because Mireya is a leading geneticist in the field of human mutation.

He prayed every night for a cure, he said then. 

Celestino handed her a tissue to dry her stoic tears and said he would try to find out what he could, keeping an eye out for posters or social media posts.

Thanks to some creative computing on Seung Gil’s part, they have the following—

1) There is some shadow org called The Right taking recently mutant-presenting teens.2) They have some kind of crazy financial backing that no one can properly trace. (”Yet,” grumbled Seung Gil with some acid.)3) Blackwater looking goons with masks do the aductions, and some shady dude who speaks only in a mixture of German dialects calls the shots.

Yuuri is in a costume that’s mostly different from his stage outfits. It’s black and made of some fabric Seung Gil calls “unstable molecules” so it’s fireproof, waterproof, bulletproof, shockproof, and Andre Leon Talley’s scathing critique proof. Chris handled the design, making a point to compliment its inventor on how it goes through a serger like a hot knife with butter. It’s a black-form fitting number covered in prismatic crystals, mesh inserts, and fingerless gloves so he can still use his Laser Hands (TM Phichit, not to be confused with his Laser Pants, also TM Phichit) and he puts in red contacts instead of the UV purple ones. His hair’s gelled back and the make-up that obscures his features is charcoal and crimson. 

Yuuri could dance before he could run, which is how he keeps ending up the point man. Little rainbow shimmers float in the air around him, a sublte method to distract people from paying too much attention to his voice or face. 

“I hate this.”

I know you do, Dazz, replies Phichit over their special earpieces. Just know Forge and I are right behind ya’ once you clear the security systems.

“He really can’t just hack it?” Yuuri arches his back, holding his right foot above his head in a Bielmann. The boots he wears have split soles like dance or wrestling shoes.

Sure I can, if I want the FBI on our door in two minutes, comes the inventor’s scating reply.

Yuuri stretches his other leg. Standing at the wall behind him, Longshot clears his throat. 

Yuuri gives him a look. Since he doesn’t have a secret identity at all really, he just lets his face show with nothing to conceal his features. 

His suit’s been modified by Chris to use the same fabric as Yuuri’s—instead of hot pink, he now wears a purple top attached to black fingerless gloves that begin at his elbows. His pants are a tight shimmery black like oil slicks, but his boots are more traditional combat style unlike the Dazzler outfit. The embellishments on his top are actually weapons—the cord doubles as a whip, the “braiding” is actually those short silver darts he throws, and so on. 

Longshot smiles, his eye glimmering with the gold burst for a moment. “Your lucky charm’s on stand by, beautiful,” he assures Yuuri with a wink.

Yuuri turns forward again so he won’t see that his cheeks now match his make up. He coughs, takes a look at the grid, reminds himself of his forays into acrobatics, aerial silks, and capoeira…and goes.

Phichit should really be doing this, he thinks as he manages to get a hold in a cloth banner above the laser grid, climbing it and then doing a triple somersault to the next one. He’s the one who can cling to surfaces that have friction and can freaking teleport. His eyes are better in the dark, too, but since they couldn’t get the schematics on where the grid stopped or if they continue inside the rooms in the facility (since if Phichit BAMFs into a room full of them, they’ll go off), Yuuri has to do it. 

He tumbles through, avoiding a moving grid with a randomized pattern using the steps from a Paso Doble Minako insisted he learn. There’s not much sound here, but it’s enough and when a random beam almost hits him, he manages to shield himself with a bit of white light at a differeing optical density so it refracts around him. 

Nice, Forge and Nightcrawler say in unison.

Only after doing a full split under the last few does he make it and disables the grid. He’s oddly not sweaty or throwing up or anything. Huh.

Longshot saunters to him, and when they’re face to face, he picks up Yuuri’s right hand, kissing his ring finger and then his cheek, the day’s stubble prickling against Yuuri’s skin in a way that makes his breathing stop and his heart stutter. 

The smell of sulphur and a black bit of smoke heralds Nightcrawler and Forge. Phichit doesn’t need a mask since his daytime appearance with the Image Inducer is one—his gold eyes, deep blue fur, and short fangs make him cute in a sinister manner. His costume is deep red and gold, while Forge wears a sedate gray-blue and black jumpsuit as Chris vetoed his idea for a loud costume like a rainbow.

They find an office with a terminal, and Forge cracks his neck and sets to work. It only takes him a few minutes before he can copy the relevant data. There’s a guard rotation but they timed their entrance with the shift changes. 

It only takes three minutes and they have six more before the gig is up. 

“Done,” Seung Gil says. He pockets the HD. 

“Jěng âh!” Phichit grins and his tail swishes like an excited puppy. The four of them link hands, Longshot giving Dazzler a particularly happy look, and they’re BAMFed out to an alley a couple blocks down.

Longshot pitches forward with a pain-filled cry. 

“Sorry,” Nightcrawler says with a sheepish shrug. “It’s hard on passengers the first…eighteen times.”

“I threw up twice,” Seung Gil adds in a voice that has no comfort whatsover.

Dazzler helps Longshot get back upright. “You okay?”

“It’ll be alright, beautiful,” he answers as Phichit sings some of the lines from Ellie’s “Something in the Way You Move” in the background. 

Yuuri might add it to his rotating encores after he punches Phichit for the heckling. It’s a moot point he forgets, because they end up back at the house Chris bought them—it’s a Park Slope multi-million dollar home that the Giacomettis have owned since it was built. 

Chris perfers a skyscraper’s penthouse so he can stretch his wings…literally, so since this was in disuse, they all moved in. There’s seven bedrooms—Celestino has the master, Seung Gil’s converted the parlor into his sleeping area and work shop, and Phichit keeps waggling his eyebrows that Dazzler and Longshot should double up.

Their rooms are the two on the second floor, which take up the whole thing. They share a bathroom and Yuuri let Victor have the room with the terrace access. 

The cellar has been expanded through the backyard, outfitted with steel walls, soundproofing, and Seung Gil’s hologram tech. It’s a gymnasium on steroids for all of them to refine their skills with their gifts, and boy did Seung Gil get a sour expression when Phichit called it the Danger Room.

He twitches every time someone else says it. He twitches a lot, because it’s caught on.

Chris happens to be waiting in their living and rec room when they get back—he’s discussing something with Celestio. Since he’s not acting as the face of Intoxicated by Giacometti or as a board member of Giacometti Corp, he’s wearing a shirt with a low back so he can have his wings out. 

Seung Gil boots up his computer to run the analysis of what they got. and Phichit BAMFs into the kitchen, returning with a bottle of Mekhong and glasses for everyone filled with ice. He pours and they all take one, though Victor looks at his from every possible angle like it’s poison.

“Mote gaow!” Phichit shouts, and they echo it as they drink.

Victor stares at his glass after his initial sip. He looks confused. 

“It’s more or less rum,” Yuuri explains. Victor doesn’t look like he understands better. Right. Alien. Not from Earth. “Uh, it’s a…sugarcane beverage that can get you drunk.”

Victor lights up. “Ah!” He takes longer sip, and things seem pleasant enough until Seung Gil does a literal sitcom-style spittake at his montior.

“That’s not gonna be fun to clean,” Phichit deadpans. 

“What happened?” Ciao Ciao asks with a serious tone.

“Chris—” Seung Gil begins. “When’s the last time you reviewed GC’s R&D budget?”

Chris pauses, thinks. “Five years ago, if I’m honest. Josef insisted on handling the line items and minutiae so I can be free to do the public appearances and philanthrophy without conflicts.” His expression shifts from thoughtful to grim. “I’m not going to like what you say next, am I?”

“…Let me ask a follow up in that…you’re sure Josef is okay with mutants?”

Yuuri’s spine goes rigid. Even Phichit stops smiling. 

“He’s always told me he is since I presented,” Chris answers with no emotion in his voice.

“Well—” Seung Gil says. “He’s clearly lying. GC-0963 Project: The Right. There’s dozens of mutants in here that have either been abducted for experiments or—”

The silence hangs heavy, leaden with horror and dread.

“How many?” Chris says.

“Chris, maybe—” Ciao Ciao begins.

“How. Many.” Chris snaps.

Seung Gil gives Chris a look uncharacterisically filled with sympathy. “198.”

Phichit gasps, dropping his drink before catching it with his tail.

“They’re imprisoned at a facility out in Montauk,” Seung Gil says. “It’s similar to Supermax but for mutants—they have power dampeners most likely, or they’re sedated.”

“Well, we’ll get them out,” Victor says with resolution and stilted cheer. “It’s a good old fashioned jailbreak!”

“No.” Chris stands, reading the data on Seung Gil’s screen. It all bears out, it seems given the pallor in his face. His eyes look haunted. “We’ll do this in a softer way.”

“You’re hitting him in the board room, then,” Ciao Ciao answers.

“Yeah.” Chris nods. “There’s a nuclear option I can employ with the Board to get him out—and I’m sure we can kill this Project: The Right easily enough too. I don’t want my family name aligned with bigotry or human rights violations, and I’m fairly confident they’ll agree.”

Chris narrows his eyes.

“Plan B though,” he begins. “You all are my Plan B.”

#domokunrainbowkinz #asked and answered #dazz and longshot au #dommi's fic #victuuri fic #yoi fic #dazzler!yuuri #longshot!victor #lost in your light #prompt fills

[mosylufanfic]

Reading Faces

So obviously I saw the promo pics. And obviously I had some Feelings. Luckily this was perfect for Season 4 Day of Killervibe weekend.

Reading Faces

When Caitlin walked in the staff door, the afternoon bartender was in the stock room, pulling down a case of Dos Equis for the cooler out front. "Hey," Allie said, glancing up. "You've got an admirer out front.”

“You’d think after what happened when he groped my ass, jean-jacket guy would steer clear,” Caitlin said absently, clocking in.

“Not jean-jacket guy. Long-haired dude at the end of the bar. He came in half an hour ago asking for you."

Caitlin frowned at her. They had pretty strict rules about telling people their schedules, because that was how a female bartender got stalkers. She wasn’t in the mood to scare someone off today. "You didn't tell him I'd be here, did you?"

Allie shrugged. "I said maybe you'd be around later, and he said he'd wait." She flipped a bar towel over her shoulder. “Do me a favor would you? Don’t break his pinky. He tips real good.”

Of course he did.

She walked out to the front of house and spotted Cisco right away, perched on a stool at the end of the bar, nursing a beer. A bowl that had held bar mix sat empty in front of him.

She stood in the shadows a moment, soaking him in. His hair was longer, falling in curls to his shoulders. He didn’t have any visible bruises, and he sat on the stool easily, without any stiffness that might indicate he was in pain from the epic throwdown on the docks a few nights ago.

(She'd really just seen it mentioned in passing, online, browsing her phone during her break. She wasn't keeping tabs on them. She wasn't.)

He looked - older. Not in a bad way. More certain of himself, more certain of his place in the world.

With a pang, she wondered if all he’d ever needed was for her to leave.

He looked up and his gaze unerringly found her.

She felt pinned to the floor, sick with dread. His face, usually so expressive, was a calm mask of nothingness. He didn't look happy or sad or angry or . . . anything, really.

But he'd come here.

He tilted his glass. “Hey there. I could use a refill.”

She stalked across the back of the bar, her boots sticking to the floor in a few spots. Allie must have spilled again. “You got a tab?” she asked - the first words she'd said to him since let me go, under a tree in a cemetery, six months ago.

“Yep.”

She pulled another beer - Tecate, she knew without asking - and plonked it in front of him, then turned to the register to add the drink to his tab.

“Great service here,” he commented. “So warm and friendly.”

He probably hadn’t meant warm in that way - probably. But all the same, it jabbed at something in her chest. She turned to him and crossed her arms. “What do you want?”

“Hi,” he said. “How are you doing? Oh, just fine. Thanks for asking.”

“You’re here to drag me back.”

“Maybe I came by to catch up with an old friend.” He looked her up and down. “You got a new look. It’s . . . interesting.”

She snorted. “You’re here to drag me back because it’s what you do. After Ronnie died, you came to my apartment with your whole sob story about Wells and the coma guy, and how much they needed a doctor. After the singularity, you came to Mercury Labs with your weird drained ID card story. You even tried to drag me back - “ She bit her own tongue, hard, and felt blood flood her mouth.

From the look on his face, he knew what she was stopping herself from saying.

Her memories of her time as Killer Frost were foggy. Mostly she remembered how free she'd felt. She'd been loose, wild, unshackled from the chains of caring about anyone or anything.

And a small, hideous part of her missed it even now.

Clearer memories surfaced sometimes, with a sound or a smell. She remembered attacking her friends. She remembered taking Iris (who she thought was Iris) to be murdered. She remembered HR dying.

She wished she could erase all of it. Wipe it away, wipe Killer Frost away, wipe Caitlin Snow away. She wished she could be a person who’d never known or hurt any of them.

But she remembered Cisco. His face when she'd attacked them in the pipeline before escaping Star Labs like she should have done years ago. His face when he'd faced her down in Tracy Brand's lab. His face when she'd said she never loved any of them. Devastated, longing, disbelieving.

His face when he’d thrown the cure at her feet, that last night in the forest. That time, his expression had been different. Sometimes she thought it had been anger. Sometimes, she thought it had been contempt.

(A relationship can survive anything but contempt, she’d read once, and the words gnawed at her now, like the eagle gnawing at Prometheus's vitals.)

He swirled his beer in the glass. A little sploshed over onto his hand. “It's been six months since you walked away from Star Labs," he said to his hand as he wiped it clean with a bar napkin. "I’ve left you alone like you asked.”

She grabbed the empty bowl in front of him and dumped the crumbs into the trash before pouring it full of bar mix again. She slapped it down. "And now you're back. Let me guess. Barry needs help."

His eyes flickered, and she nodded, moving down the bar to refill more of the bowls. Allie had a bad tendency to let them get empty by the end of her shift, because she knew it was one of the first things Caitlin did. "It's always Barry first, isn't it? Your word is good only so long as Barry's not involved."

"No," he said. "I know what you think, and I’m not having that fight right now."

"He hung up his cowl after Savitar, didn't he? Turned over the mantle of protector to you and Kid Flash?" You're doing a good job, she wanted to say, and didn't. "What does he need now?"

Cisco poked at the bar mix, picking out several of the little honey-flavored twists. "He went into the speed force the night of H.R.s funeral. To protect us all."

The plastic of the bar mix canister crumpled briefly under her fingers.

Oh, god, Iris.

Maybe she should -

What was she thinking? She was the last person Iris would want commiseration from right now.

"Of course," she said, carefully loosening her grip. "Of course he did. That sounds just like him." She made herself set the canister down and screw the lid on, even though she hadn't filled all the bowls yet.

She leaned against the bar, staring across the room at the light-up beer ad with the naked pinup girl. Once upon a time, she would have fought to get it taken down. Now, it was wallpaper.

Barry had been in the Speed Force all this time and she hadn't known.

Slowly, as if the words were wrenched out of him, Cisco said, “We need Barry back because Vibe and Kid Flash aren't doing it, okay? We're holding this city together with string, and it's fraying faster by the day. Central City needs the Flash, and you can help us get him back."

When she didn't say anything, he snapped, "Last time I checked, this was your home, too.”

She snapped back, “And don’t you think I've done enough damage to it?” To you?

“We need you,” he said. “Just help us this one time.”

“I’ve heard that before.”

“Poor baby, all alone in your turtle shell, and here’s mean old me trying to get you back out into the world again. God, I’m a monster.”

“No you’re not,” she said. “I am. Remember?”

His face contorted with a mix of emotions, too much and too fast for her to parse out.

He didn’t contradict her.

She turned away. “Drink your beer and get out."

At the other end of the bar, someone hailed her. She went and took an order for a round of shots. The vodka they wanted was at the end of the bar near Cisco. She set up the tray and poured them out, avoiding his gaze.

He waited until she'd delivered the tray and was wiping down the bar to say, “So you’re not coming back?”

“I can’t imagine anyone's a fan of the idea," she said, scrubbing at the gummy splotch just under the soda gun. It dripped no matter what anybody did about it. "Did you bring backup? Did you tell anybody where you were going? What if I turned you into a popsicle?”

He ignored that. "So you'd rather stay here working a shitty job and looking like an extra from Coyote Ugly?"

She slid him a dark look. Clearly, he'd never dressed for tips. It was amazing how fast your high-minded ideals about sexualization and objectification eroded when you had to make rent. "For a guy who runs around in head-to-toe leather as much as you do, I don’t see how you have anything to say about my new look.”

"You're not denying it's a shitty job."

"This is about all I’m qualified to do."

"You're a literal doctor."

"I was never board-certified, remember? I never had any business treating any of you." Maybe it would have been better if she never had.

“Still, this gig is like the anti-Caitlin. You're serving assholes and working crazy hours. Are you punishing yourself?”

"I'm used to working crazy hours, and this place offered me a job with very little experience.”

And she’d gotten knocked down several more pegs, learning how to do it. She’d thought she was all the way down at the bottom but she’d found deeper, somehow.

"You could have gone back to Mercury Labs."

"I quit Mercury Labs, remember?” For you, she didn’t say. Because you came with your puppy eyes and your tantalizing mystery and I couldn’t resist and you knew it.

“Like they wouldn’t take you back."

"My life and my choices are none of your business."

He stood up. He hadn't touched his refilled drink. “I left you alone because you asked me to,” he said. “Like I did all the other times.”

She slapped the washcloth onto the bar and spun to face him. “Until Barry needed help. Like all the other times.”

“No. Until I had a good enough reason to come see you.”

Their eyes held. It was too dim in here to read the expression in his. Or maybe she didn’t want to.

He said, “Tell me to leave you alone.”

She opened her mouth. The words snarled her tongue.

He waited ten seconds, thirty, a minute. Then his shoulders and his mouth softened. Relief? She didn’t know. “You know where to find us,” he said.

“I won’t.”

“Sure,” he said, turning to go.

“Cisco,” she said.

He turned around.

“You need to close out your tab.”

“Oh,” he said, his exit ruined.

She avoided his eyes while she printed out his receipt.

She could have covered it, actually, but he was here for another few seconds as he took it from her and pulled a pen out of his pocket. She stared at the one long curl that fell out from behind his ear as he bent his head to sign the receipt.

I do miss Star Labs. I miss being part of something. I miss being in your life. I miss being your friend. I miss you.

She didn't say any of that. Instead, she said, awkwardly, “How - How’s it going with Cindy?”

His head popped up. Surprise flickered across his face. “How do you know about that?”

“She showed up from another dimension to rescue you when I tried to kill you,” she said very evenly. “And she's been in Central City a few times since then. Helping out. I figured there had to be something there.”

“It’s going okay,” he said after a long moment. “Good, actually. Long distance is hard, but I think we’re making it work.”

Months ago, before Killer Frost, she would have asked another question or two, and they would have ended up talking it out for hours. But she didn't have that right anymore. “Good,” she said instead.

He handed the receipt back, took a five out of his wallet, and tucked it in the tip jar. This early on a Tuesday evening, it was the biggest denomination in there. She immediately resolved to give it to Allie.

She didn’t watch him go. She could at least tell herself that.

For the rest of her shift, she pulled drinks and rang up tabs, filled bowls of bar mix and fended off come-ons, and pored over every moment, every blink, every twist of his mouth.

It was only as she was walking home early in the morning that she thought of the one expression she hadn’t seen on his face -

Contempt.

FINIS

#Caitlin Snow #Cisco Ramon #Killervibe #killervibeweekend17 #mosylufanfic lives up to her damn name #fanfiction #I have Feelings okay #the flash