#I like how they work with the little visible countdown when you hover over them

[lunarrwolf]

prompt #21: “I’ll sleep when I’m dead.” *gets killed* “Oh.”

word count: 1,061

summary: you just wanted to play drunk among us

prompt list

—

With the process of moving hundreds of miles away from home and needing to settle into the new apartment, you hadn’t been able to play (let alone stream) Among Us for at least two weeks. The gaming community was riddled with mentions, tags and memes about how long you were away and what in the world it was that kept you at bay from posting or recording. Scrolling through it all one day, you realized it really had been a while. All that time spent unpacking and making sure everything was set really took longer than expected.

It felt like way more than fourteen days passed before finding yourself in the computer chair, systems on and accounts logged into. Out of the many texts received from friends about joining lobbies or multiplayer games while they recorded for their own channel, you were finally able to agree to one sent earlier that morning.

Corpse Husband began drunk run-throughs of the mobile and computer game not too long ago, and you’d been dying to take part ever since watching the first video. It took a few extra days of tying up loose ends in your home state before being able to let him know you could finally do a few rounds, and by then you were raring to have your little astronaut play survivor or murderer. Especially taking into consideration the lack of practice that was able to go into it lately.

“Look who’s finally among us! Miss YT/N herself!” The sound of groans was clear in your headset as the man made his pun, including emotes dropped in by your stream’s chat.

You gave a short laugh. “Oh man, Dream. I didn’t know you longed for my presence that much.”

“Of course I did. Who else am I gonna gang up on?”

“Wow—mental note for game time.” You stated, earning a weak comeback from the faceless YouTuber as he struggled to find something clever. Everyone spent a few more minutes waiting for the last couple of people before Corpse started the countdown, resulting in the group already guessing who was going to be the impostor.

CREWMATE

“Aw, man..” You muttered, disappointed that the revenge on Dream’s joke would have to wait. The only thing left to do was run around, find allies that hopefully wouldn’t kill you (even more so during one of the long tasks) and weed out the fakes.

Thanks to proximity chat being another factor, you took great advantage every time the lights were turned off during the first three rounds. Even with the dark screen, the dimmed figures of the other characters running around were always visible enough for you to avoid them. Not that it mattered when you had no idea who was deemed as either impostor, but you planned on hiding around the ship to figure it out.

It was already the third time someone shut off the power after the last voting session, which fueled a lot of sarcastic remarks from each person you passed about how often it was happening. And with the eject confirmations turned off, it was that much harder to know who was left to expose in the final five. Ethan and Sykkuno were hanging out in the back of the cafeteria this time around, and out of curiosity you trotted up to eavesdrop, being grateful you stole the color black from the deep voiced gamer. Parking yourself in the corner closest to them, you listened closely. “I think Y/N is one of them. I haven’t seen her the whole game and every time I do she’s a freakin’ jet plane.”

After an involuntary gasp, the guys stopped talking, Ethan’s blue space boy now facing your direction along with Sykkuno’s dark green one. “Oh, sorry, did I interrupt something?”

There was a short second of silence before one of them spoke up. “Hey Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“What are you, uh, doing on the vent?”

 You could only stare at the two young adults’ astronauts dumbfounded as it set in that you actually were standing on top of a vent. Clearing your throat, you took another swig of your drink and hovered your hand over the buttons that helped you as impostor in case you had to prove yourself. “I know what this looks like, but I can explain.” You began, taking the silence and still animations as the signal to continue. However, any planned words got caught in your throat, resorting to nothing but a very broken sentence. The small giggles rang so clear in your headphones they caused a pout that surfaced many comments from the chat. “Can’t an astronaut take a nap in the cafe of their spaceship anymore?”

“Maybe in the lobby? That way you don’t get killed.” Sykkuno suggested. Being one of the only ones not having anything pertaining to the drunken aspect of playing tonight, he was completely sober and wanted to keep you from becoming a ghost. A fact that went over your head seeing as—even though you weren’t fully drunk, just a bit tipsy—you were less responsive than usual.

It didn’t even occur that he was trying to help when you went on a tangent about how tiring moving day is when it turns into a moving month, and how you would stay up to binge a new show you found that would have otherwise distracted you from working if you played it during unpacking hours. The lights turned back on while you went on and on for the next few seconds, just for you to be interrupted by Ethan. “Just go to sleep, dude.”

“I refuse, Ethanol.” You countered, grinning when exasperation could be heard from the other end at your nickname for him. A small purple sprite with cat ears ran up beside you, and you all took a second to greet one another before you continued. “I’ll have you know that I am committed to finding the culprit. I’ll sleep when I’m dead, and that’s final.”

“I got you.” The low voice chimed in.

“Shit, wait. H-hold on a second.” Your eyes widened as they snapped to the one standing next to you, turning into slits as they narrowed. “Corpse don’t you dare—”

He did dare. And out of all the profanities and insults swimming through your slightly jumbled brain, the only thing that came out was:

“Oh.”

#corpse husband #corpse #corpse x reader #corpse among us #corpse imagines #youtube #youtubers #corpse x you #ethan nestor #crankgameplays #sykkuno #among us #fanfiction #fanfic #x reader #reader insert

[hopelesshawks]

History of Us Part 13- Your Fathers’ Children

Summary: Once upon a time Todoroki and (y/n) were best friends. Now they haven’t spoken in years. When (y/n) is forced to transfer to UA, will she and Shoto reconnect or will their troubled past keep them apart? A childhood friends to enemies to lovers hybrid fic.

If you don’t want to see History of Us content blacklist #hopelesshou

Warning for canon typical violence

Masterlist Kofi

“Don’t tell me I gotta compete with Shinso now too,” Sero groans as he leans over your shoulder. “Aww, scared of a little competition?” you tease him. “No but if you could be a little less alluring that’d be great. It’s hard enough trying to compete with Denki,” Sero jokes. “Who even said Shinso is a suitor? Maybe he just wants to be friends.” “A suitor? Don’t make this sound like the 1800s or something and we’re fighting for your hand in marriage.” “Don’t act like it and I won’t!”

Shoto watches you joking and laughing with Sero from a few rows behind, something angry simmering in him. Sero’d been beaten by Kirishima in the round of 16, so now he’s free to flirt and joke around with you as much as he’d like between your rounds. Denki is currently holding his own against Bakugo but after their battle concludes he’s sure Denki will similarly hover around you. The more he thinks about it the more it annoys him. A small voice in the back of his head reminds him your distrust of him largely stems from his own actions whereas Sero and Denki have done nothing wrong. In fact they’d reacted to the news of your father exactly the way he should have all those years ago. Round after round starts and ends and Shoto pays no attention to any of them except for yours, too caught up in looking at you and wishing he was the one making you laugh like that. His own matches are a blur, even when he faces Midoriya in the semi finals. By the time he’s been declared the victor he realizes he can barely remember any of it. As he helps his friend up off the ground, Midoriya gives him a concerned look. “Are you ok Todoroki? I haven’t seen you that pissed since our first year,” he asks. “Yea, I’m fine,” Todoroki lies, determinedly not looking at the stands.

He doesn’t want to risk looking up and seeing you laughing with the others instead of watching him.

The next round is you and Bakugo and you’ve already descended to the tunnel by the time Shoto’s returned to his seat. Watching you and Bakugo once you begin is mesmerizing in its ferocity. You both respect each other too much to hold back and the amount of firepower you both are executing in your own ways is devastating. Shoto can’t help but wince when you hit the ground particularly hard and he’s sure you must’ve broken something but before Bakugo can land on top of you to pin you down you roll out of the way and stagger back to your feet, giving just as good as you got. It’s too bad the two of you met up in the semi finals in all honesty. It’s a devastatingly close match through the end but Shoto sees the exact moment both you and Bakugo realize you’re going to win. Cementoss looks like he’s a second away from calling a halt as you pin Bakugo down, your forearm to his throat as he attempts to blast it off, looking almost feral as you use your quirk to hold yourself down on top of him. It’s the longest five seconds anyone in the stadium has experienced. Finally the airhorn blows to signal the end of the fight. You ease off immediately, chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. You stand back up gingerly before reaching down to help Bakugo up. Shoto expects the blonde to smack the hand away but to his surprise Bakugo accepts the hand up and only manages to scowl at you for a moment before he gives you an almost feral grin, saying something that makes you laugh although it’s impossible for Shoto to hear it from where he’s sitting. You wince as the laugh aggravates one of your injuries and Bakugo rolls his eyes before helping you off the field.

Nezu announces that you’ll be given twenty minutes to recover before they have the final. After about five Bakugo comes back up to the stands. “Damn Kacchan didn’t expect to see you knocked out before the finals,” Denki teases. “Shut the fuck up Pikachu, (y/n)’s the only one of you idiots that had a shot against me,” Bakugo scoffs. “Is she good?” Mina asks and to everyone’s surprise Bakugo barks out a laugh. “Oh she’s fine but she’s pissed,” he snickers. “What why?” Jiro asks. “They’re letting the kid help recovery girl with injuries and she accidentally rewinded (y/n)’s hair back to its natural color too. The two finalists are gonna match,” Bakugo explains, causing several heads to swivel to Shoto as if trying to picture what you’ll look like with half white hair. “I’m going to prepare,” Shoto says, quickly standing and leaving his classmates and their gazes behind.

Time passes quickly and before Shoto knows it it’s time for the finals to start. He walks out to the cheers of the crowd and moves to the start. Shortly afterwards you emerge from the opposite tunnel. He sucks in a surprised breath when he sees you. A memory surfaces of the two of you being six and begging Fuyumi to take a photo of the two of you before your fathers returned from work. You had insisted on standing on Shoto’s right side. He can practically hear you whining “Sho-chan our white sides need to be touching! The mom sides!” He’s shaken from the memory when he notices you’re not looking at him but behind him. He turns to see what could possibly hold your attention right now and sees you’ve locked eyes with his father who’s standing at the railing with his arms crossed. The melancholy the memory had brought forth was swiftly and suddenly swept away by a burning rage. The moment “start” is called Shoto lashes out with his left side, scorching flames shooting in your direction that you just barely manage to dodge. “Of course you started with your flames,” you scoff as you retaliate but he manages to dodge as he begins to close the distance between the two of you. You prepare yourself for an ice blast but are surprised as he instead chooses to tackle you, you’re quick to make sure he doesn’t have you pinned, both of you rolling along the ground. “You’re such a fucking hypocrite,” he spits out as he tries to freeze you in place. “Excuse me!?” you reply incredulously finally managing to push away from him before launching your own counter. “You heard me,” he responds, his voice sounding almost lethal despite his even tone. “How, pray tell, am I a hypocrite?” you question as your quirk responds to your growing outrage at the accusation. Shadow and fire meet and begin to swirl around the two of you, creating a vortex that whips your hair around your face. “You go on and on about not wanting to be defined by your father yet you have done nothing but define me in terms of mine since you got here,” he accuses. “You chose to align yourself with him, not me!” you spit back. “Bullshit!” “Fuck you!” You both dive at each other, the sports festival all but forgotten to you both as you each continue to lash out. “I am not my father,” Shoto bites out. “Nor am I!” you fire back. “I have never once thought you were!” “Then why were you afraid of me!” you finally sob out. “What?” Shoto asks stunned. You’ve got him pressed flat against the dirt beneath you but the vortex continues to swirl around, hiding you both from view as Shoto stops fighting back. “Is that what he told you?” Shoto presses. “I mean it was understandable I guess but I just.... I thought if anyone would know that my father being a monster didn’t make me one, it would be you,” you confess. “I have never been afraid of you,” Shoto tells you and as your (y/e/c) eyes meet his blue and gray ones you can see the honesty there.

Only then do the two of you seem to realize how much your quirks have spiraled out of control. Your arm is burning where it touches Shoto’s left side which has been burning consistently since the two of you had started your shouting match. The black veins have expanded well past your forearm, up your neck, and onto your face. You realize Shoto’s overheating, if the sweat pouring down his face is any indication. Both of you have tears on your cheeks, although you can’t be certain when either of you started crying. As your emotions calm down and you both process what’s been said the swirling vortex slowly dies down and dissipates. The countdown starts as the two of you finally become visible to the anxious audience but Shoto makes no move to push you off. Instead the two of you just stare at each other as all of the hurt and anger finally drains out of you both. The airhorn blows to signal your victory but neither of you notice. “I’m sorry,” you breathe out, chest still heaving from exertion. “I’m sorry too,” Shoto responds and next thing you know you’re both laughing incredulously with relief, as if a thousand pound weight has been lifted for the first time in a decade. You roll off of him to starfish out next to him on his right side as you’re both racked by the laughing fit. Considering the display of violence you’d both just presented it’s probably a disconcerting sight, but neither of you can help it, too giddy with relief. When the laughter finally subsides to hiccuping giggles you both turn your heads to look at each other.

“I missed you.”

“I missed you too Sho-chan.”

A/N: When (y/n) and Shoto were trapped inside the vortex everyone was freaking out cause they couldn't tell what was happening. Cementoss thought they should end it before things escalated any further but Aizawa told him to just let it be. Present Mic then questioned why all the feral students end up in Aizawa's class and Aizawa just kinda grinned in response kjhbadvehf

Taglist: @sorrythatspussynal @miss-bakugo-writes @pixelwisp @larkspyrr @sokkaandzukosimp @akkaso @sunaispretty @mindofess @todoplusultra @oliviasslut

#hopelesshou #shoto torodoki #shoto smau #shoto x reader #shoto x fem!reader #shoto x y/n #todoroki smau #todoroki x reader #todoroki x fem!reader #todoroki x y/n

[peaches-writes]

member: hyunjin  genre: best friends au, long distance au, birthday au, implied confession au (i mean if u want it to be lmao) wc: 1k note: a little something extra for today it’s not that good but i wanted to give something else besides sept. special for today :(((((

[11:57] Hyunjin has been playing the same meme EDM remix of Happy Birthday on his phone for the past five minutes now since he wanted to have background music when the time turns 12 AM but couldn’t be bothered to make it accurate to the second. It’s just the two of you on the Google Meets call now, or at least the only two looking visible since most of your friends had to leave and sleep early for Saturday online classes or have their microphones and videos off to cram their work until midnight. Counting your friends who have their microphones or videos off, Yeji, Seungmin, and Jeongin are still on call but they’ve been making weird faces in front of their screens since you finished a round of Among Us a while back—probably cramming something for their classes. 

The online countdown party Hyunjin has organized for you naturally comes to its comfortable calm as the minutes draw nearer to your birthday and the sight makes you clutch your blankets closer to you. You can’t help but miss seeing your friends in these moments. 

Hwang Hyunjin: Two minutes!

You roll your eyes at the message, laughing into the microphone of your earphones which makes Hyunjin look up from his phone and laugh along with you. He’s been counting it down by the minute on the meeting’s chat too which makes you wonder more why he still won’t bother matching the Happy Birthday to the second so it would sing the right word at exactly 12 AM. 

Picking up your phone, you type a reply for him on your private chat anyway. 

y/n: you could at least play happy birthday right, hyunnie :( 

hyunjin: nope, hard pass ~ 

hyunjin: two minutes! ur nineteen!

On your video call, you then look back up to see your other friends unmuting their microphones and turning on their video. When Yeji reappears on your screen, she immediately squeals, “Oh my gosh, two minutes left! Thanks for reminding, Hyunjin!” 

“So, how are we doing this again?” Seungmin asks next, fixing his laptop down to a better angle while fixing his messy hair. “We’re going to sing then end the call after, right?” 

“Ya, you’re so mean!” You scold with a chuckle. “Stay a minute longer, at least, so it doesn’t feel so lonely when we end the call.” 

“We can’t stay a minute longer—” Yeji tries to say until Jeongin seemingly glares at her from your video call.   

“We’ll leave at 12:04 AM, how does that sound?” The younger boy suggests instead, leaning back in his seat and pulling on the strings of his hoodie.  Glancing down on his phone briefly, he then reminds, “One minute! Y/N, do you feel like you’re nineteen yet?” 

“I feel sleepy.” You joke, pulling your covers up to your chin. “Sleepy and tired from online classes.” 

“Ooh, then we should play that one nineteen song!” Yeji suggests, picking up her own phone and furrowing her eyebrows. “Wait, who sang that again?” 

“There’s like thirty seconds left.” Hyunjin muses, eyes trained down on his phone and occasionally glancing up at you with a small smile. “Open the link I sent on chat instead.” 

And, as if on cue, you see Hyunjin sending another link on your video call chat. You hover your mouse pointer over it curiously until you’re suddenly interrupted by the sound of ringing from your phone alarm. 

[12:00] You don’t get to open the link Hyunjin sent as your phone alarm chimes to midnight, briefly tearing your gaze away from your laptop screen to turn your phone off. When you look back at your friends, you see them cheekily waving virtual candles in front of their screens as they sing Happy Birthday in different speeds and keys, making you topple over in laughter. 

“...happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Y/N! Happy birthday to you!” They all sing in between laughs. 

“Happy birthday!” Hyunjin exclaims, shaking his phone screen teasingly. “Now blow on all the candles!”  

“What?” You chuckle in disbelief. “All of them?” 

“Yeah, then we’ll leave the call!” Jeongin teases, making you scowl at him. 

“You’re so insisting on leaving the call.” You pout, making a wishing gesture anyway before dramatically blowing on all the candles you see on your screen. One by one, your friends remove their phones from view as you ‘blow’ on the candles, still chuckling at your comment. “Don’t you want to hang out with me longer? It’s my birthday!” 

“Well, we’re not on part 2 of the party.” Yeji comments once all the candles are off the screen, eyes widening and hand clamping her mouth shut when she realizes the slip up. “Wait, no—”

“Hm? Part 2?” You raise an eyebrow. 

You then see Hyunjin’s, Seungmin’s, and Jeongin’s eyes widen simultaneously, the latter two then proceeding to type something aggressively on their laptops but nothing appears on your video call chat while your best friend types something on his phone.  

“Ya!” Seungmin hisses as he types, most likely at Yeji who’s quickly turned her microphone off in her panic. 

“Yeji, oh my God!” 

“I’m so sorry!” 

“I have a part 2? Am I getting ambushed here in my house?” You laugh nervously, shifting in your position laying on your side. “Because you know they still won’t let visitors in our building until next week.” 

“N-no, it’s not that!” Jeongin assures unconvincingly, shifting uncomfortably in his desk chair. “Um—”

“Okay, Y/N, goodnight! Happy birthday!” Seungmin then hurriedly bids you goodbye, blowing a kiss your way before turning off his camera and leaving the call. 

You raise an eyebrow, frowning even more when Jeongin and Yeji haphazardly follow, leaving only you and Hyunjin by 12:02 AM. 

“Huh, they said they’d leave at 12:04.” You huff tiredly, turning to Hyunjin’s screen. “Anyway, what’s this part 2?”   

“Oh, uh...” Hyunjin trails off, hand going up to the nape of his neck nervously with a chuckle. “It’s just...ah, they said they’d leave at 12:04 AM, I’m two minutes unprepared!” 

“You have something for me?” You smile, leaning closer to your laptop screen. “What is it and why does everyone have to leave?”  

“I have something—I have to something to tell you.” He confirms in a shaky tone, leaning closer to his laptop screen as well. “But it’s too early yet! Let’s wait two more minutes, I need to prepare.” 

“What?! No, tell me now!” 

“One minute!” 

#stayverse #districtninewriters #inkidz #stayhavennet #skzwriternet #stray kids #skz #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #stray kids au #stray kids oneshots #stray kids drabbles #stray kids fluff #skz imagines #skz scenarios #skz au #skz oneshots #skz drabbles #skz fluff #hyunjin #hwang hyunjin #stray kids hyunjin #skz hyunjin #hyunjin imagines #hyunjin scenarios #hyunjin au #hyunjin oneshots #hyunjin drabbles #hyunjin fluff #not september special

[mageicalwishes]

Read on AO3: Here

Rating: General Audiences

Summary: Oovoo Javer? Oovoo Javer. AKA: Baz is Simon's slightly dickhead-ish Uber driver. "I kept trying to talk to him - Asking about his night, and whether he always listens to Classical music, or if it was just for show - but he ignored me. Staring unamusedly at me in the mirror, eyebrow raised and lips tilted downwards. He got 2 stars for that trip." Carry On Countdown, Day 16 - Meme/Crack @carryon-countdown​

Key Info: Inspired by this prompt from @cyberbullyingz​

Tags: Meet-Cute, Fluff, AU - Normal Life, Oovoo Javer Vine, Uber Driver Baz, Overworked PA Simon, First Kiss, Meme/Crack, Short & Sweet, Carry On Countdown 2020 Day 16

Words: 1,287

Simon

The day I met him, everything was awkward. Basilton. My driver.

His profile came highly rated, and his picture was … nice. But, he turned out to be a bit of a dick.

I kept trying to talk to him - Asking about his night, and whether he always listens to Classical music, or if it was just for show - but he ignored me. Staring unamusedly at me in the mirror, eyebrow raised and lips tilted downwards.

He got 2 stars for that trip.

The next day, he answered my request again. Parking his unreasonably sleek, black car in front of my flat, just as it turned 2AM. Eyes fixed forward, and frown firmly in place (He wasn’t much of a charmer, at first).

He got 3 stars for that trip.

And, after that, it became routine. Every time Davy called me out for one of his absurd late-night favours (That he insists all PA’s do unpaid. Which I know is bullshit), Basilton was there. My own stoic chauffeur.

The first day he talked, beyond his normal cursory ‘Hello’, was a revelation.

“Don’t you ever sleep?” He’d asked. And fuck, I nearly died. He sounded so posh - So lavish - his voice all Champagne and Velvet.

“I have to work. And … you’re awake too. So, you’re really no better than me.”

He’d hummed at that, dismissively. So, I just kept rambling on, hoping to spark some kind of lasting conversation. We’d been seeing each other most days for, like, 3 weeks at this point. So, I didn’t think it was weird to want to get to know him a little. But … apparently he did.

“Are you always this chatty?” He’d asked. The indignant bastard.

“I don’t know. Are you always this freakishly quiet? It’s a bit creepy, to be honest.”

He flicked his eyes over to me in the rear-view mirror. Cool, unbothered grey, assessing my reflection. “I respect people’s boundaries. Give them space to breathe. Perhaps you should try it?”

“Knob,” I chuffed (Failing to consider that, he could probably report me to Uber for being rude, and get me perma-banned, or something. Which would be completely shit, ‘cause then I’d have to go back to using Taxis, which would probably leave me bankrupt). “I just wanna’ talk to you a bit. Come on, Basilton. Aren’t you bored of sitting in silence?”

“Don't call me that, Snow.”

I smiled at the back of his seat. Pleased to have finally drawn a reaction from him. “Why not? That’s your name, isn’t it?”

“Technically.”

“Technically? How can it ‘technically’ be your name?”

He turned his head around (Which he really shouldn’t have, considering that the light wasn’t even red. Which was definitely worth dashing a star, me thinks) and scowls.

“It is my name. But, I prefer to be called Baz.”

“Oh. Well. Call me Simon, and I’ll call you Baz.”

“This isn’t a negotiation, Snow. If you insist on talking to me, you could at least have the decency to refer to me correctly. Alright?”

“Fine,” I huffed. “But I’m gonna make you call me Simon, somehow. Whether you like it, or not!”

He got 4 stars for that trip.

As it turns out, getting him to call me Simon was easy enough. All I had to do was cry (Although, that wasn’t what I had planned. I was just gonna annoy him into saying it, to be honest).

About 2 months after he relented to my nattering (In which we’d had many long, not-really-meaningful conversations about our jobs and families. Our friends and shared television interests), I ended up breaking down in the back seat of his car.

I probably should’ve just walked home - Since I knew that I wasn’t going to make it without blubbing. But, I didn’t really want to risk getting shanked, just so I could preserve my dignity. And … more than that, I just didn’t want to be alone. And Baz … Well, he was the closest thing I had to a friend (What with Penny and Agatha both thriving in America.)

He was happy to see me, as he always was at that stage. But, I’d never seen a smile drop as fast as when he turned around and saw the state of my face - All reddened and wet.

“Simon,” he’d breathed. “What’s wrong?”

I looked up at him - At his forehead creased with worry, and that long-lost frown plastered across his face, once again. And, I knew that it was a mistake to have sent out a driver request.

“I - I don’t. Davy. Penny. Everything.”  

That’s all I managed to get out before I was properly sobbing.

Without hesitation, he’d unbuckled his seat belt, and got out of the car. Pulling open the passenger door and squatting down besides me, hovering his hand above my thigh. So close.

“Shove over, Snow. We can sit here for a little while, alright?”

I did as I was told, and he slipped in besides me.

“Do you … want to talk about it?”

I shook my head, and he didn’t push it further (Thank, God). Simply, sitting besides me, while I waited for the storm to pass. And letting me lie my heavy head against his shoulder, until the noise died down.

“Hey, Snow,” He’d whispered, breath tickling the shell of my ear. “Want to go and get some scones? Ebb’s café is open for at least another half an hour, so we can make it if we leave now.”

“How do you even know I like them?” I’d asked, scrubbing at cheeks, in a failed attempt to remove the evidence of my embarrassment.

“Because,” he drawled, leaning his face in towards me - My heart jumping up into my throat, foolishly, at his proximity. “I’m the one who has to hoover scone crumbs out of my backseats everyday, you menace.”

I’d returned home, well fed and happy, that night. Happier than I’d been in a long time.

So, he got 5 stars for that trip.

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

After that things just … happened. First, he’d given me his number - ‘Only that way, Uber won’t take a cut, and you’ll get me directly,’ he’d said. The sly fox. He only managed to keep up the the false ‘strictly professional’ pretence for a week, before he cracked and asked me about my opinions on Jane Austen (Of which, I had none). And then … he invited me out with him.  

I could tell he was nervous about it. Since he kept on assuring me that he only meant it in a friendly way - That he wasn’t pushing me into anything. But, he ended up taking me to the most expensive Italian restaurant in town, so I made my own assumptions.

Then, a few days later, I kissed him. We were walking home from town (After a trip to the cinema to watch the new Marvel film), when he lobbed a snowball at the back of my head. And then, before I even knew what was happening, we’d broken out into a full on war. Cheeks red, and chests heaving with the exertion. The hot mist of his laughter visible against the chilled winter air. He was beaming over me - Eyes bright and crinkled - and I just … did it. Finally.  

And now we’re here, in our own little flat, being proper boyfriends. Pushing his grabby hands away from me, and squabbling over contact names (Because apparently, having him saved as ‘Oovoo javer’ is insulting, given the fact that I’m entered as ‘love’ on his phone).

I threaten him with a 1 star boyfriend-rating for being stroppy. But, he manages to snog his way back up to at least a 4 by the end of the evening.

He’s definitely the hottest Uber driver I’ve ever had.

#carry on #carry on countdown #coc 2020 #co/ws #snowbaz #wayward son #my fic #my writing #simon snow #baz pitch

[forgadgetsandgizmos]

It Pulls Me Back into the Night

Written for Day 2 of Alex Manes Week 2020 | Prompt: AU/Canon Divergence

Read it on AO3

When Alex woke up at five in the morning to a text from Max of a location and-

>>come quick

-he has to admit that the first thought to cross his mind was something along the lines of again? His second was annoyance at having to wake the sleeping bed of curls beside him in order to attach his prosthetic.

At no point did he expect to drive to a cave in the middle of the desert and find himself staring at a glowing, mystery alien device, a Max lookalike, and one Mimi Deluca. Or that the three of them would precede to ask him to plan a heist. . . in 1948.

Yet here he sits, plans for said heist spread out in front of him, aided in his endeavors by a bearded, country version of his alien boyfriend’s alien brother.

Antarian, not alien, he corrected. Because the mystery planet Mimi had deemed ‘that place with the red skies’ was called Antar.

At least it was according to Jones-the-alien-lookalike, who had yet to provide another name.

Jones’ cave hole hideaway has its own pod and consul set-up. According to him, his consul was the original one linked to Michael, Isobel, and Max’s pods, and therefore stored their missing seven years of memories, like a back-up on a computer. Jones was locked out of the interface and while Michael, Max, or Isobel should have been able to access it, the memory of exactly how was just as lost as everything else about their past. Hence, a power-borrowing, time-walking heist to find Nora in 1948 and have her give Michael a psychic impression of her mind, allowing him to gain access to the consul and restore his own memories. Which will include how he can restore Max and Isobel’s. According to Jones. Whose trustworthiness Alex remained on the fence about.

Plus, just thinking about the physics of it all for too long made his head spin.

“I think the plan is as good as it’s going to get based off seventy-year-old information,” Alex finally announced. In the last three hours, they had created a timeline of everything they knew about Nora’s day at the harvest festival in October of 1948, even calling Sanders to ask for his recollection of events.

“Are you sure?” The real Max stood to the side, leaning against the cave wall. In the time Alex had been here, he had barely taken his eyes off of Max-lookalike.

Alex shrugged. “As sure as I can be.”

“Finally,” Jones exclaimed; the word drawn out near the end from his exaggerated accent. Alex had to resist rolling his eyes every time he heard it.

“I’ll call the others,” Max directed to him. He headed outside for cell reception since this cave was a complete dead spot.

It was a fact Alex had been cursing every five minutes of their little three-hour research project. The only skill Alex brought to the table and Max brought him to the one place in miles it was useless. Although if he’s being honest with himself, it was perfectly on par with every other insane event during the past few months.

Forty-five minutes later, Michael and Isobel were running in, Kyle, Liz, and Maria not far behind.

Michael rushed straight to his side and pulled him into a quick kiss. “Leave a note next time.” He shoved Alex’s shoulder lightly. “I didn’t even realize you had left this morning when I got Max’s call.”

“I didn’t wake you when I put on my prosthetic?”

“Busy day at the junkyard, I was exhausted. Slept right through.”

“Is anyone going to explain what’s going on?” Isobel questioned, waving her hand in a hello, remember me? gesture.

And that was how Alex ended up explaining theoretical time travel to the gaping faces of his friends before he’d had his (second) morning coffee.

-

He had to hand it to Liz and Kyle; they had managed to set up a mini-hospital room in a cave with bare-bones equipment and an extension cord hooked up to Max’s car battery outside.

Liz was comforting a worried Maria who was hovering over her mother while Kyle connected her to vital monitors.

Max had conveniently ducked out, leaving him to explain Jones’ plan to Michael and Isobel.

“Let me get this straight,” Michael started. “You want Isobel to link my mind to Mimi’s so I can steal her powers- “

“Borrow her powers,” Alex corrected.

“-steal her powers and use them to time travel-“

“Time walk.”

“-into creepy Not-Max’s past to get a psychic impression from my dead mother that will make the glowing alien machine return my missing memories?”

Alex grinned, unabashed by Michael’s bewildered tone. “That about sums it up.”

“Are we sure this is possible?” Isobel appeared to be taking this more seriously than Michael. She had dropped her previous look of exasperation in exchange for the intense concentration she displayed now. After she recovered from the shock of Alex saying, ‘back in time,’ of course.

Alex sighed. “That’s where it gets dicey. Theoretically, yes. Jones said that Mimi’s ability to walk through the past of people in her direct line is a common power among Antarians. The thing is, Michael’s going to be going backwards through Isobel to Mimi to Jones. It’s is a lot of hoops to jump through in order to make this work.” Alex didn’t try to hide his displeasure at his next words. “There’s a slight chance that when Michael tries to come back to his body, he can’t ground himself and gets stuck between times.”

Michael’s eyes shot to him, wide as saucers.

“We have a plan for that,” Alex reassured him.

“Yes, your boyfriend.” Jones’ booming voice echoed around them.

Michael scowled, turning his body in a vein effort to block Jones’ view of Alex. A pointless gesture in the cramped cave but it made Alex smile, nonetheless.

“Boyfriend goes in connected to you, separate from the other two, giving him a straight shot back. Your connection to him,” he directed to Michael, “will allow you to travel with him and use to him anchor you. As long as he can ground himself, you’ll both wake up safe and sound.”

Michael ran a hand through his hair. “And it has to be me because...”

“You aren’t physically traveling back in time,” Max answered, finally back from his car to join the growing group. “You’re traveling back through Jones’ experiences. If I went, Jones would be the only person who could see me. Your familial connection with Nora should theoretically allow her to see you as well. Isobel has the same connection with Louise, but she has to link you and Mimi.”

“You get to meet your mom,” Isobel realized.

A guilty expression flashed across Max’s face. “I’m sorry, Isobel. You’re the only one who can make the connection between Mimi and Michael.”

“I offered,” Jones added snidely.

“We aren’t letting you in their heads,” Alex snapped, his annoyance obvious. He and Max vetoed this hours ago and Jones had repeatedly brought it up since then, especially since the other five arrived. “I’m not comfortable with it and frankly, Maria isn’t either.”

A rough hand grabbed his and thumbed over his skin in soft circles. He squeezed back firmly.

“We’re all set up,” Liz announced, drawing their attention to the opposite wall. Mimi sat calmly, hooked up to a heart and blood pressure monitor beeping steadily. Maria held her hand beside her, looking significantly more concerned about the next few minutes than Mimi.

Liz rubbed her hands together and looked between Michael and Alex. “Remember, you’ll have eight minutes, maybe nine. Longer than that and I can’t make any guarantees about how well Mimi will hold up to the stress.”

“Time limit.” Alex nodded and raised his wrist to show the room where the pre-set timer was blinking on his watch. “Timer. We got it.”

“Time travel,” Michael muttered, shaking his head.

Alex grunted his agreement.

Yeah. This was insane.

-

He was standing.

It was the first thing Alex noticed when he opened his eyes. He had been laying down in the cave beside Michael, holding hands with their arms pressed together to make sure they didn’t break contact when they lost consciousness.

Now he stood in the midst of a bustling fall festival. His head spun behind his eyes from the sudden, blinding sunlight and loud screeching of children laughing.

The first thing he noticed when his head had finally calmed enough for him to crack his eyes open was the color. The movies always show the ‘40s and ‘50s in pastel, as if they had been painted in faded watercolor with age.

The real ’48 was nothing like that.

He stood on a bed of hay. Tents selling crafts and food formed makeshift streets around him. Vibrancy was everywhere, the scenery adorned in neon colors and strong patterns. Men and women alike wore bright colors with clenched waists and high-waisted denim. Young women passed by in coveralls with bright shirts for a pop of color.

He jumped back as a child in bright blue pants and a yellow shirt burst past him, a woman in a polka-dotted dress following close behind. He stepped back on his prosthetic, so that had made the jump at least. Good. He’d been worried.

Michael placed a steadying hand on his back. “Are you seeing what I’m seeing?” he whispered.

Alex nodded dumbly.

Shoot, the timer, he remembered. Alex clicked a button on the side of his watch, starting the countdown from seven minutes and thirty seconds. Jones had suggested the thirty-second cut, figuring they would be disoriented and need the cushion. It irks Alex to know he was right.

Jones had been telling the truth about them not being visible. Despite knowing they must have suddenly appeared standing in a spot that was empty seconds before, no one had spared them a second glance.

It was definitely for the best. With him in his leather jacket standing next to Michael in worn jeans and his black hat, they certainly didn’t fit in with the tailored suits and squared shoulders of the men here.

“We need to find Nora,” Alex said finally. “The longer we’re here, the more the connection fades and the harder it’ll to get back.”

Michael nodded his agreement. Neither of them wanted to risk Mimi’s health.

“Okay. According to Sanders’ timeline, Nora, Louise, Roy, and Walt got to the pumpkin contest around two o’clock today, while Jones said he’d been here since twelve. Assuming our version of the timeline is correct, we’re in the thirty-minute window between when Jones sees Nora at half-past two but keeps his distance and when he speaks to her at three. After that, he gets too far away.”

“I was there when you explained it the first time, Alex,” Michael remarked with a poorly stifled laugh.

Alex rolled his eyes and stepped forward. “Excuse me for knowing my boyfriend has a tendency towards selective hearing.”

Michael caught Alex’s hand, pulling him back. “My boyfriend.” Michael’s eyes glinted mischievously. “I like that.”

“Think we can tell it to your mom?”

Michael’s face softened at the mention of his mother, forming an almost wistful expression. “I hope so,” he mumbled.

Alex squeeze his hand reassuringly and tugged him forward. He didn’t have any experience with coming out to a parent – his dad had seemed to know he was gay before he did – but they had still daydreamed together, usually in bed, usually blissed out after sex.

Some things were too painful to even think about. His mind drew a blank when he tried to imagine his dad’s reaction to Harlan murdering Tripp and building a shed to hide the body. But other things, like Christmas with grandad Tripp, who’d be accepting and warm, or telling Nora about them together and her being overjoyed that they found a cosmic love to match her own? Those daydreams were perfect. And in a way, this was their chance for one of them to be real.

Despite Michael’s cool attitude before they’d left, Alex could tell he was nervous about meeting his mom. Whether it was excitement, embarrassment, her meeting Alex (assuming she could see him as well), her meeting Alex as his boyfriend, or some combination, he wasn’t sure. Alex didn’t blame him. He couldn’t meet Tripp, who was human and therefore unable to see or hear them, but the sentiment was there.

It was barely a half-minute of walking before they saw the sign from the picture reading ‘Roswell Fall Festival.’ Nora was easy to spot; she stood beside an overly large pumpkin and the only non-white man in the small crowd. He noticed Nora’s eyes on them seconds before Michael did.

Alex paused next Michael’s frozen body. Nora’s posture mirrored Michael’s, stiff with shock.

He spun and met Michael’s eyes, a dozen, churning emotions reflecting back to him. As much as Alex wished he could him be, to take a second and soak this in (he was seeing his mom, alive and healthy), they had already wasted precious time getting here. They didn’t have more to waste.

“Ms. Nora? Everything alright?” A child beside her – Sanders, Alex presumed, as a child and before he’d lost his eye - noticed her distress and was tugging on her skirt. The man beside her – Roy Bronson – drew his eyebrows in.

Nora shook her head. “Everything’s fine, Walt.” She swatted his hand away. “You know not to be pulling on my skirts,” she admonished half-heartedly.

Michael’s hand tightened suddenly in his.

“Sorry Ms. Nora,” Walt said, seemingly unapologetic.

“I need to excuse myself,” she announced. “I’ll just be a minute.”

Roy reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Louise will be back soon,” he protested, “and the contest is about to begin.”

“I’ll be back in time,” she answered, turning away. She looked over to where the two of them stood, oblivious to the rest of the crowd, and tilted her head towards a closed barn to her right. With another glance to Michael, who seemed to have a better hold over himself, he followed her.

They stopped once they had reached the back of the barn, hidden on each side by large stacks of hay decorated in fall-themed leaf print outs strung together.

Michael and Nora stood facing each other.

Mother and son in a bittersweet reunion, Alex realized. Nora would understand how they were here. She could see their strange clothes and must realize what it means.

They couldn’t warn her about what would happen tomorrow. Jones had explained again and again before they left. To everyone else, everything happening around them is real. To Alex and Michael, they were experiencing a memory as if it was projected around them. Or more accurately, as if they had been projected into it. They couldn’t change anything because this was had already happened. Even if they spent the next five minutes explaining to Nora, in painstaking detail, everything they know about the next seventy years, she would forget the second they left. They’d arrive back at the same future they left empty handed, having wasted their time.

“Hi, Mom.” Michael’s voice was barely above a whisper.

“My son,” Nora said softly. She reached a hand up to cup his face before it fell as if for a moment, she had forgotten he wasn’t here and then reality hit. Alex watched her eyes trace Michael’s body, catching briefly on his tight grip of Alex’s hand. “You’re alive. And healthy.” She beamed at them.

“We’re not really here,” Michael started to explain, his voice dripping with unspoken apologies.

She shook her head. “I know. You won’t have long. What do you need?”

“I’m not really sure, something about accessing a consul. We found Jones-“

“He’s still alive?” Nora asked suddenly, eyes snapping to Michael’s.

“He was in pod, like ours, hidden away.”

“You stay away from him,” Nora demanded. Her voice took on a sharp edge to it. “He’s a stowaway who took a dangerous stance in the war on Antar and I don’t want you near him.”

“I don’t really understand that, but, well. That’s what I’m trying to say. When we woke up, we didn’t remember anything from before. Jones said that you can give me some psychic link to trigger my memories with the consul he was found with?”

Alex saw Nora’s face crumble before she could steady it. “It unlocks with a psychic connection that’s tied to me. I can transfer it to you.” She reached out a hand, palm up. “Hover your hand about mine,” she directed.

With a glance towards Alex, he placed his hand palm down above Nora’s and both their hands light up with the same faint, iridescent orange and purple that the ship pieces glowed with. After a few tense seconds, the colors faded.

“It’s done,” she announced, taking her hand away.

Michael followed suit.

“Rath - “

Alex tilted his head.

“- listen to me. This is for you and only you, alright? Get your memories back but you can’t give it to Jones,” she implored, a hint of a scowl (a very familiar scowl, Alex noted) appearing when she said his name.

Alex’s watch beeped. One-minute warning.

Michael looked at him, eyes suddenly frantic. Not enough time. It won’t ever be.

“Rath?” Michael’s voice was small, timid.

Nora didn’t seem to know what to say to that. “Yes? That’s you. That’s your name. Do you,” she trailed off. “What do you go by?”

He swallowed. “Michael.”

She repeated the word a few times as if she was feeling it out.

“There’s 3 of us,” he continued, “Isobel, Max, and I.”

“Vilandra.” She was blinking, rapidly. Blinking away tears? “And the other. Zan.”

“Rath,” Michael repeated.

Nora looked at Alex properly for the first time since they’d arrived. “And you?”

Michael had her eyes, Alex noticed. They shared the same shine when they smiled.

The unexpected question seemed to shock them both into silence.

“This is Alex. I love him, Mom. So much.” Michael answered the question with confidence, the first Alex had seen since waking up here.

Alex let his grin show. It was his Michael again, emerging from this shell he had climbed into roughly six and a half minutes ago.

Michael had dropped Alex’s hand earlier when Nora asked for it. Now, he took it again.

“Manes, Alex Manes,” Alex said again. He winced, realizing what he had said. The first thing he does when he officially meets the love of his life’s long dead mother is copy James Bond?

“I see,” Nora said softly.

“I’m Harlan’s grandson,” Alex answered her unspoken question. “I don’t agree with his values.”

“I can see that,” Nora said with a wink, motioning towards their hands. She flattened her hands over her skirt. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Alex Manes. I’m Michael’s mother, Nora.”

“It’s nice to meet you too, ma’am.” Looking over at Michael, he didn’t think either of their faces could smile any bigger or brighter.

His watch beeped again. “30 seconds,” he said apologetically. And they’d have to go or risk getting stuck here or Mimi getting hurt.

“I understand.” Nora took a step closer and placed her hand over Michael’s chest. Had he really been here, they’d be touching. “Michael, I’m so glad you’re safe. It’s all I’ve been worried about for a year and to know that you survive, and you’re healthy and loved is a blessing I will treasure, even if I don’t remember it for long.”

“You see me again,” Michael choked out. “Right before…”

Nora placed a finger over his mouth and shushed him. “I wish I could’ve been with you and raised you, watched you grow up into this handsome young man. I’m so sorry I couldn’t be. Know that I fought for you. You go and be the amazing, intelligent, compassionate boy I know you to be. I love you, dear heart.”

Michael choked back a sob. “I love you too, Mom.”

Nora looked to Alex. “You’ll keep him safe, now.”

“With my life,” Alex agreed.

“I’m glad he found his family,” she said softly. “Time for you to go then. I have a pumpkin contest to win.” She put on a brave face and gave them a wink.

“I’m not ready for you to leave, Mom,” Michael cried, reaching out to her.

“I know baby. I’m not ready to leave. But parents never are, and it’s the job of the kids to keep going.”

BeepBeepBeep. BeepBeepBeep.

Alex cut the sound off quickly.

“I assume that means it’s time for you to go?” Nora supposed.

Alex nodded.

“I can’t be here when you do,” Nora said, backing up to the edge of the hay wall sealing them off from the rest of the crowd. “I love you, Rath.” Alex caught Michael’s shoulder, wrapping him in his arms as the figure walking away from them faded from view.

He let Michael hold onto him for a few seconds before placing his hands on either side of Michael’s face and pressing their foreheads together, both their eyes clamped shut. “Baby, we gotta go,” he whispered.

A shaky breath. Then a nod against his head.

An orange glow filled Alex’s vision. He squeezed his eyes shut as the light built and the sounds of the festival faded away. The sound of his own heavy breathing filled his ears. The feeling of Michael’s stubble under hand was gone, as if it somehow faded beside neither of them moving.

Alex didn’t dare move his hands despite not feeling anything under them. Michael hasn’t moved – if he had, Alex wouldn’t be able to go back – and letting go might mean Michael losing his anchor.

The light dimmed.

This was his part. He had to ground himself in his body - without actually returning to it – and then link himself to Michael so he could return as well.

Without opening his eyes, he turned his attention to his other senses. He could feel the damp, cool atmosphere of the cave against his skin and rock digging into places where he remembered it when he laid down. His prosthetic was just slightly digging into the top of his leg from laying down with it on for too long. He could hear muffled speaking, though he couldn’t distinguish it as any specific person or words.

He focused his attention on his right hand, the one that was supposed to be in Michael’s. He remembered the feeling of warmth against his arm, the places the hair would tickle against the crock of his elbow, and the way Michael’s thumb always caught on his finger when they held hands in bed.

And then Michael was squeezing his hand and he flung his eyes open and the room erupted in his ears.

-

Alex tightened his arms and rolled over, slowly pulling away from Michael’s sleeping body on the other side of the bed.

It had been a hell of a day. But as exhausted as Alex’s body felt (it turns out that time walking with borrowed alien superpowers took a toll. Who knew?), he couldn’t get his mind to catch up.

As soon as they got back, everyone had begun yelling, wanting to know if they were okay (Liz and Max), how seeing Nora was (Isobel), and if Michael got what he needed to access the consul (Jones). Isobel and Max had taken to learning their birth names with as much grace as one could when said names are delivered through their time traveling brother’s conversation with his dead mother seventy years in the past. Jones had wanted Michael to try and get his memories right then and there, but it turns out that the seven and a half minutes in 1948 equated to seven and a half hours in 2020.

Liz’s calculations had been right for Michael and Alex’s part, but she hadn’t factored in the time dilation. After the initial panic when nine minutes past and they didn’t wake up, but Mimi’s vitals held steady, Liz and Kyle figured it out pretty quickly.

And god, they’d been exhausted. Alex had been about to kill over where he stood. The only thing that kept him standing was his training and knowing that Michael was just as tired, only with acetone substituting for military experience.

He had never been happier to be in his own bed. With Michael too. He had persuaded Michael to come with him instead of going to his airstream, claiming if Michael wouldn’t come to Alex, he’d have to go to him and the bed there would make his already hurting leg worse.

He had gotten a dirty look for it but getting to be here, now, the mop of curls he’d cuddled to sleep peeking out from under the comforter?

He didn’t mind all that much.

Alex stared at the ceiling fan spinning above him in the dark. As soon as they could leave that cave, they’d had. Stopped by the Crashdown for to-go food and eaten it in bed while watching Animal Planet on Disney Plus.

They hadn’t talked about those seven and a half minutes yet, him and Michael. Alex wouldn’t blame Michael if he never wanted to acknowledge them again. They didn’t need to talk about the bad things to understand.

But Nora wasn’t a bad memory. She’d been good. She’d been great.

He supposes, in a few days when the wound wasn’t so raw, when they were cuddling in the dark, blissed out after sex, Michael would talk about it.

And he would listen.

See it on AO3

#alexweek2020 #roswell new mexico #alexappreciation2020 #malex #alex manes #michael guerin #roswellnm #roswell nm #rnm #fic #malex fic #my writing #ao3 #alicewrites

[dracosollicitus]

You mentioned something about a pie POV for At The End of All Things. Did I miss it? I’ve been looking all over your blog for it. That would be absolutely delightful!!!

Ahhh, that is so funny - two anons messaged me with the same question within five minutes of each other!!! 

Here’s the POV from the beginning of the Here at the End of All Things, where he’s waiting for Rey to come back from her supply run/he finds out what happened. 

If people want to see the POV from the countdown, well, let me know!.

Word Count: 2239

Rating: Mature (Cursing/Violence)

“Be back in two!”

Rey had waved out the window of her favorite truck approximately three hours and forty minutes ago, promising to be back in two hours.

“Be back in two!”

Bile rises in Poe’s throat as he desperately tries not to think about the time, about the hour and forty minutes that have passed since the alarm on his watch went off, alerting him to the fact that Rey would be back soon.

She should be back already.

“Get a grip, Dameron,” he mutters to himself, bouncing a tennis ball off the inside of the office on top of the guard tower. It’s not that he doesn’t trust Rey to handle herself, it’s that…it’s that…

Well, the world’s gone to shit, hasn’t it? And Rey’s the last good thing on this wasted earth, and she’s out there by herself because it was her turn to go out, and she had fought with him for an hour last night, entirely indignant at his suggestion that they go together - “someone has to stay back at the house, Dameron, and I’ll only be gone for two hours” - and it’s all his damn fault because he caught a cold, of all things, a cold in an apocalypse, and when he was lying in bed with a fever last week, Rey had taken it on herself to give him the last of the Tylenol, and -

Three hours and forty-five minutes.

Poe can’t breathe. He can’t. Where are you, Rey?

He doesn’t even know her full name.

To be fair, she doesn’t either - apparently the world had been falling apart for years before the outbreak, and he just hadn’t been paying attention, too surrounded by a father and mother (eventually just a father) who loved him, living in a nice house in a good neighborhood, near the nation’s capital. He’d had a decorated military career, and he’d met the president at one point, and all this while in other parts of the country, neighborhoods fell apart and children starved and men grew more and more depraved.

In all honesty, there’d always been that kind of evil in the world, but most people had ignored it as it grew worse and worse over the last few years -  and Rey had been left to watch the world crumble around her, never knowing any kindness or comfort, growing stronger and more gentle in defiant rejection of the cruelty offered to her -

He doesn’t know her name, but he’d given her a new one.

He remembers the first day he called her Sunshine. They’d been sitting in the little greenhouse she built - surrounded by all this life, all this green that she’d made out of nothing, that she nursed through the end of the world - and the sun had come through the window, illuminating the reds in her hair. She’d laughed at a story he’d been telling, some stupid nonsense that he and his squadron had gotten up to, two continents and a decade away, and he’d put down the crossword he was working on, and said, Thanks for laughing, Sunshine.

She’d blushed to the tips of her cute little ears and had gone back to tending to her herbs, but a minute later she’d whispered, No one’s ever given me a nickname before. A laugh, a bitter one, and then, Not a nice one, anyway.

He’d made it his mission to use her nickname as much as naturally possible. He’d also had to fight back the instinct to call her more intimate nicknames, like sweetheart or gorgeous or baby.

Poe grabs his rifle, which he’s been cleaning while he waits, something to keep his hands busy, and then slings it over his shoulder. Pacing is the next option, but he’s done that already, more than a few times, and he stares out into the forest, his eyes straining as he tries to catch a glimpse, a sign of anything. They’re acres deep back here, miles from the main road (he’s still not sure how they stumbled across this place, but he’s thankful every day they did), and the trees are honestly too thick to see much of anything.

“C'mon, Rey.” He braces his hands on the windowsill and hangs his head, feeling the tension between his shoulder blades. He breathes in through his nose and out through his mouth, desperate to calm himself, to maintain self-control, to not think about where she might be, what might have happened –

There’s a loud, distinctive slam, the sound of something hitting the steel gate that lowers for cars to enter. Poe jerks upright and runs for the door, heaving it open. He stumbles out onto the platform surrounding the guard tower and looks down. Sure enough, there she is.

No sign of the truck, and -

“Jesus Christ.” Poe swears under his breath, violently, and Rey looks up at him, visibly shaking from fifteen feet away. “What the fuck happened?” He lowers the rope ladder to her, and watches her panicked face briefly cross with pain when she puts pressure on her left ankle - he’s already thinking about where the ice packs are - and he’s trying desperately not to think about why she’s covered in mud and grime and blood and Christ, that better not be brain -

He seizes her outstretched hand when she nears the top of the ladder, hauling her up, and then the ladder, which he wraps up quickly while Rey struggles to catch her breath. Poe gives her a second to do just that, and eventually she pushes herself upright, an arm wrapped around her middle, pain and terror and exhaustion at war in her lovely face, obscured by muck and filth. He can’t wait any longer for her to start explaining on her own, though.

“What happened?” He runs a hand along her arm and shoulders, and she doesn’t answer, staring blankly at him. His hand hovers near her face - get a grip, Dameron - and then he gently pushes her matted hair out of her wide, hazel eyes and tries to get it behind her ear, half-failing, so he can look her in the eyes. “Rey, talk to me - what happened?

“I want to shower,” Rey’s voice cracks, not rising above a whisper as she pulls the duffel bags free from her shoulder - he hadn’t even noticed she had them - and offers him one. He doesn’t want to know what it costs her to stagger upright and walk through the guard tower, down the stairs. Poe hurries (as much as he can while being thorough) to lock up behind them, securing the tower’s exist and entrance, and then he’s jogging after her across the lawn, desperate for answers.

“Rey, what happened? You’re – you’re two hours late—”

“I’m sorry.” Her voice, usually low and sweet and confident, cracks again. She must think he’s angry. He’s not angry, he’s fucking terrified. How had she gotten all the way here on foot? Where had she lost the truck?

“No, no – it’s – but Rey, where’s the car?” Her only response is to shake her head, and he softly calls her name while they stumble up the front steps.

She’s in no shape to open the door, her hands trembling terribly, so Poe enters the access codes, watching as Rey walks in and drops her bag immediately.

“Rey?”

Bee chooses this moment to appear, and thank God because she actually responds to the dog. Rey procures a crunchy dog biscuit out of nowhere and feeds it to his dog, who munches away and receives a pat on his muzzle.

“Good boy.“ Rey’s voice is still chillingly distant, and she moves away before Bee finishes his Milkbone. “Good …”

Terror has yet to let him go, and Poe follows her, his feet driven by the need to know, to know what happened to her out there. He reaches out to tug her sleeve. “I’m not mad.” She ignores him, and walks to the bathroom on the second floor. “Seriously, we have – we have like five other cars, Sunshine, you’re just…you’re freaking me out.”

“Sorry.“ He just wishes she’d speak in full sentences, tell him something, anything, he isn’t sure his blood pressure can handle any more waiting.

“What happened?” Rey seems to steel herself, sighing audibly with her hand on the bathroom door. She’s still obviously in fight or flight - and with her childhood, he really needs to make sure she understands that he’s - “I’m not mad, I swear, but Jesus Christ, I am scared. Come on, talk to me, please—”

“I ran into Teedo. And the rest of Unkar’s old gang.”

The name rings more than a bell. Unkar had been her guardian, and later, her boss of sorts. He’d forced Rey to work for him, forced her to loot and pillage, beating her and belittling her until she couldn’t take it anymore and got out of that life (and while she’d been light on the details, Poe has a feeling Unkar doesn’t inhabit space on this planet anymore, something he’s mostly relieved about, considering he’d hunt him down himself otherwise).

A horrible idea occurs to him then, and he stares at her, her disheveled appearance, clothes torn, mud and dirt in her hair. No. No, no, no - I should have gone with you, I should have gone instead of you -

Her eyes are hauntingly lost when she looks at him.

“What? Holy fuck, Rey, what—”

“No.” In the middle of her crisis, she still finds it in her to give him a small, sweet smile, and he tucks the memory away desperately. “No, not that kind of bad.”

Poe nods, gritting his teeth - he flushes when he realizes his hand had gone to his rifle, the rifle he’d taken off downstairs, as though his subconscious was already planning to hunt down the men who’d tormented her.

“They saw me. They swarmed the car and forced me to get out and give them the keys.” He hisses between his teeth when Rey lifts the front of her shirt and shows off a mottled bruise already forming on her lower stomach - what if something ruptured, Christ. “They didn’t like it when I tried to stop them.”

She ignores it when he lets out a stream of curses in Spanish, and clears her throat, eyes drifting shut as though she’s in extreme agony. And with what she’s telling him and showing him, she most likely is.

“That’s not the worst part.”

How could it be worse? He’s about to discover that it can be much, much worse.

“I just – I’m not sure what happened, but they weren’t being quiet, so…they came.” Rey’s crying, and that alone is such a rarity that his whole body goes cold, a high-pitched whining starting up like a warning in his ears. “I’m – I’m sorry, I didn’t have time to grab the keys, and they swarmed us, and they went for the men first because they were being louder and they were grouped together, so I ran as fast as I could—”

“Don’t apologize.“ Who gives a shit about the car, when she’d faced Rotters - God, she could have -“You got out. You’re way more important than a car. They didn’t get you, that’s what matters.”

“That’s the thing.” Rey sobs into her hand, shaking her hand, unable to look at him. Dread creeps along his spine, settling into every crevice of his being - “They did get me.”

No - no, that’s not - that can’t be -

“What? They – did they bite  you?”

Panic makes his voice sound cruel, and he regrets it immediately when her whole body flinches away from him.

“No.” Relief. Sweet, sweet relief. It’s only temporary, of course, because then she adds, “But I think one of them scratched me.” He’s frozen while his world falls apart around him - any transfer of genetic material from a Rotter can trigger the viral infection, and if that’s true, then that means…his Sunshine…

“I’m sorry,” she says brokenly when he can’t say anything. “I – I know you needed the supplies, so I tried to get b-back, even if you didn’t want me to, I figured … I don’t know what I was thinking, but it took me so long because I kept leaving false trails, so they couldn’t find us…and now…”

The part of him that can still think realizes that Rey’s half an inch away from a breakdown, but too much of him is caught up in the sheer, blinding terror of losing her, and Rey pushes open the bathroom door and disappears inside, the door clicking shut behind her.

The water starts to run, and he can hear her crying over it, a horrible, quiet crying that he knows comes from years of practice of hiding grief, swallowed sobs, swallowed most likely for his benefit. Poe drops his head to the door, trying to control his breathing, trying to be useful for her - she needs him. No matter what happens next, she needs him. His Rey - no, not his anything. Just Rey. Sweet, kind, ferocious Rey who’s had his back more than he can count.

His palms press to the cool wood of the door, and Poe finds himself praying for the first time in a year, begging the universe to not take her away, not her, anything and anyone but her - I should have gone with her, it should have been me -

Poe pushes away from the door and goes to get the med kit. She’ll need it when she gets out of the shower. She’ll need him.

Focus on that.

#damerey #jedipilot #fic #ao3 #ask #anon #here at the end of all things #zombie au #angst #rated m #poe dameron x rey #horror #mutual pining

[mizmahlia]

An interesting ‘what-if’

Inspired by this post here from @oh-mother-of-darkness

"Considering the canonical camera in Bruce’s cowl, his tendency to preserve everything (including painful memories), and their open access to the batcave It’s pretty likely that both Jason and Damian have seen recordings of their own deaths. Think about it."

I borrowed some of the dialog from 'A Death in the Family' and I fudged the details about the fact Bruce is talking to Alfred the entire time this is going on.

Because I like to make myself sad, apparently. And I decided I didn’t want to be alone in that, so.. here you go!

Warning: lots of angst, some mention of blood/injury/gore, and a swear word or two.

Jason rarely worked from the cave, but as luck would have it, Tim wanted some help with a case he’d been working on. So here he sat, perusing the video archives of the Batcomputer on a Wednesday night, researching Bruce’s files while Tim worked through his own intel. The files were from the feed from Bruce’s cowl that he saved for this exact purpose.

Two hours in, Tim yawned and said he needed a break and left to help Alfred finish making dinner. Jason hummed a reply and continued going through the files Tim flagged for research, but he needed a break from watching them. As fascinating as it was to see things from Batman’s perspective at first, it got old quickly and everything blurred together.

He leaned back in his chair and stretched, groaning when long-inactive joints popped loudly. He drained the last of his now-cold cup of coffee and settled back in, ready to go through the next batch of files. He backtracked and went to open the next archive. The naming convention for each archive was straight forward and he scanned the massive directory; Bruce’s archives had footage going back for years. He opened the next archive on his list, one for several years prior. As he scanned through the files, one caught his attention. It was a large file and based on the date Bruce uploaded it to the archive, it was an old one. His eyes widened as he re-read the file name.

It was cataloged as 27-Apr-Joker/Ethiopia. It was the footage from the night he died. No way Bruce would have kept that... would he? Jason hesitated, his index finger hovering over the button on the mouse, his eyes glued to the monitor. He didn’t want to see it. And he knew he shouldn’t watch it because whatever recovery he’s managed since he came back, this might set him back years. But he was morbidly curious. And since Bruce was out on patrol, Tim was upstairs and Damian was at Dick’s for the weekend, he had a chance he might never get again. How did Bruce react that night? What really happened? He’d never been able to ask Bruce about it and Alfred never gave him more than the barest of answers. He glanced behind him, checking to make sure he was still alone, then he turned the volume down to a level he could still hear, and double-clicked the file.   The footage began with Batman speeding toward the warehouse on his motorcycle. The whine of the engine was loud, as was the sound of the wind rushing past his face. Jason watched as Batman roared up the hill toward the warehouse, knowing it was seconds away from exploding.

He paused the video and leaned back in his chair, shutting his eyes. He could still close the file. He could still not watch this. He could pretend he never saw these files and go back to the case Tim had him helping with. But then he heard the Joker’s voice in his head, crystal clear. “That last one looked like it really hurt, kiddo. Do you want me to give it a rest for a little while?” Jason looked up at him from his spot on the floor and he winced as he rolled onto his side. His one eye was swollen shut and he felt a loose tooth with his tongue. He spit a mouthful of blood to the floor, adding to the puddle that was already there. “Screw you, clown. Batman will beat you to a pulp when he gets here.” His broken jaw throbbed as he spoke, but it was the least of his worries. He could feel broken ribs grating against each other. One of them had likely punctured a lung already. The Joker tapped the crowbar against a gloved palm stained crimson with blood. There were bits of fabric caught on the rough metal. He plucked the fabric from the end and flicked it off his fingertip, wrinkling his nose in fake disgust. “Oh, kiddo. He won’t make it here in time to save you. This party is officially over.” He nodded toward Sheila. She was barely conscious halfway across the room. He pulled a small remote from his vest pocket and held it up for Jason to see. He waved it around a moment before hitting the single red button in the center of the device. A loud 'beep’ echoed from somewhere behind Sheila and Jason saw a bright red timer start a countdown. “See you on the other side, Robin. If Bats does somehow get here early, tell him I said hello.” Jason shook his head to clear the memory and inhaled deeply. He needed to know what happened after that. He needed to see it for himself. Before he could talk himself out of it, he clicked 'play’ again. “Alfred. What can you tell me about that warehouse?” “It’s empty, sir. It hasn’t been operational in five years. The company that owned it went bankrupt.” The cowl looked down at the speedometer on the bike. Bruce was pushing one-sixty with no sign of slowing down. He looked up at the top of the hill. “Damn it. I can’t make it go any faster!” “Master Bruce, you’ll get there in time. Just focus.” “Alfred, he’s in there? What if—”

“No what-if’s, young man. Just get up that hill and get to your son.” Jason shivered and folded his arms over his chest, the air around him carrying a chill that hadn’t been there earlier. He’d never heard Bruce use that tone. It was unnerving to hear him so worried. He looked behind him to the top of the stairs and saw no one, so he continued watching. The data feed from the cowl up said he was six hundred meters and closing. Five hundred meters. Four hundred. Thee hundred. Jason’s breath hitched in his throat as Batman closed the distance to the warehouse. By his estimation, the timer was down to less than twenty seconds and he’d been crawling over to Sheila, reassuring her they would be all right. Two hundred meters. One hundred. Fifty meters.

At twenty-five meters, Batman launched himself from the bike toward the warehouse, the snap of his cape opening crackling sharply over the audio feed.   “ROBIN!” The moment his boots hit the ground there was a flash of light and a deafening roar. The video feed went white and the audio cut out for three or four seconds. Jason flinched at the sound and swallowed hard, watching as the blast wave blew Batman backwards and he rolled to a stop. He didn’t move for almost ten seconds. The video feed wobbled as he stood up. “JASON!” He stumbled forward and threw himself into the wreckage, heaving splintered wood and broken concrete blocks out of the way. The footage was shaky until Batman calmed down enough to focus. “Jason! Can you hear me? Where are you?” Jason looked away from the screen the moment Batman saw an arm come into view, waving weakly to catch Batman’s attention. But it wasn’t his arm. He closed his eyes, refusing to open them again when he heard her voice. He felt bile rise in his throat and he fought the urge to be sick. “Help… me…” “Sheila!” He could hear Batman clearing more debris as he tried to keep her calm. “Sheila, it’s okay. I’ll get you out. Where’s Jason?” Jason cringed as he heard her try to speak before a thick, wet cough forced her to stop. “He’s much... better… than I... deserve.” Jason opened his eyes, inhaling sharply at the sight of her. His mother. She had massive contusions to her face but could still open both eyes. She focused on Batman as he tried to dig her out of the rubble. “Where’s Jason? Sheila? Where was Jason when this happened?” Batman’s voice was noticeably calmer than earlier, but Jason could still hear the panic now that he recognized it. “He… he threw... himself… in front of me,” she wheezed, her head rolling forward as she struggled to stay conscious. “He took... the main brunt… of the blast.” Sheila stopped moving and Batman leaned down to check her vitals, the cowl shifting as he tilted his head to the side to listen for breath sounds. Jason moved to the edge of the chair and covered his mouth with both hands when he saw it. In the near distance there was a tattered yellow cape and a head of black hair visible in the rubble. “Oh my god.” His voice was only a whisper, yet it sounded so loud in the solitary confines of the cave. Batman hadn’t seen him yet, which Jason confirmed when he turned to look at Sheila again instead of moving toward what Jason had just seen. He watched as Batman closed her eyes and stood up, frantically looking around for a place to begin his search. “JASON!” he screamed. “Jason! Can you hear me?” The full-fledged panic in his voice was back. Jason felt dizzy as he watched as the camera shifted quickly. He jumped when Alfred’s voice merged again with the audio feed. The blast wave must have knocked out the communication between the cowl and the feed to the cave. “Master Bruce? What happened? Are you all right? Where’s Jason?” Bruce didn’t answer, and he didn’t have to. Jason watched, horrified, as Batman stumbled through the wreckage toward what Jason had seen earlier. His breath started coming in ragged gasps, his chest heaving with panic as he witnessed what Batman saw next. “Jason?! JASON!” Batman was on his hands and knees now, ripping through the rubble and trying to get to Robin. “No... no no nonono….” Jason stood in front of the console now, tears stinging his eyes. He still had a hand over his mouth, trying to keep himself quiet. Batman cleared away enough debris and he’d ripped his gloves off, carefully taking Robin’s bruised and battered face in his hands. “J..Jason? Jason? Please. Please wake up.” Batman was straight up pleading now and it freaked Jason out to no end. He watched Batman check his head, neck and torso for injuries, but it was clear to Jason there was nothing Batman could have done to save him. From what he could remember about the injuries Joker inflicted during the beating, they were likely fatal to begin with. Even if he’d survived the blast, he never would have made it to a hospital. He’d never held Bruce responsible for not saving him, but seeing this somehow made him feel better. Like he’d needed proof there was nothing more Bruce could have done. On the screen, Batman knelt next to Robin and pulled him into his lap. Neither Batman nor Robin were on screen after that; the camera angle from the cowl focused on the mountains in the distance, the footage rocking back and forth like they were on a boat. “Jason... no. I…you can’t...” The tears Jason was trying hard not to shed were trailing down his cheeks now. He’d crossed his arms to smother the sobs he could feel deep in his chest as he listened to Batman break down. Alfred’s voice came through again, steady but broken. “Master Bruce? You need to get the two of you out of there. I see local EMS was dispatched to your location.” Batman shook his head, looking down again. Robin was still cradled in his lap and he was tucking the battered remains of his cape around his body. Batman no longer tried to disguise his voice when he acknowledged Alfred. “I... I can’t. I can’t move him, Alfred. He’s hurt.” Jason heard Alfred sniffle and take a moment to compose himself.

“He’s gone, sir. There’s nothing you can do for him now except to bring him home. Bring him back to me and we’ll take care of him. But you have to move."   Batman shifted Robin and picked him up, glancing down at his face. There was so much blood. "I’m so sorry, Jason. I…” Before the footage could continue, Jason closed the file and collapsed onto the chair. His shoulders shook as he sobbed, leaning forward against the console and burying his face in his arms. He knew some of the details of what happened that day, most of what he knew was from someone else’s account of how Bruce dealt with what happened. But neither Bruce nor Alfred had ever really spoken much about the specifics, even when Jason asked. He hadn’t known this footage existed until now, but as surprised as he was at what he’d just seen, he also wasn’t surprised Bruce had it recorded. He heard the rumble of the Batmobile entering the cave a few minutes later, and by then he was sitting back in the chair, slouched and staring at the computer keyboard. The rustle of a cape made him focus and he blinked, his eyes red and swollen. “Jason?” Bruce approached carefully; Jason heard his footsteps lighten and his pace slowed considerably. But he was too numb to move, too stunned to process anything other than that. “Jason? Are you all right?” He slowly turned toward Bruce, his gaze rising to meet Bruce’s. He paled noticeably before looking back at the monitor and shaking his head. Bruce pushed the cowl back and knelt in front of him, a large, gloved hand gripping his bicep gently. He studied Jason’s face, trying to find something that would tell him what was wrong. When Jason didn’t look at him, he turned and looked up at the monitor. He winced when he saw which file Jason accessed and he spun the chair until Jason faced him and put a hand on each arm rest. “Jason? Look at me. Did you watch that footage?” Jason nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah.”

Bruce sighed and closed his eyes. “I wish you wouldn’t have."

Me too, Jason thought. Bruce let go of the chair long enough to take off his gloves and gauntlets. Jason looked at him, frowning. "Why not? It’s my death.” Bruce’s shoulders sagged, and he shook his head, reaching one hand to Jason’s forearm and squeezing gently. Jason stared at his hand. The fingers on his other hand twitched toward Bruce, but remained on the arm rest. “No one should have to see their death, especially not yours.” “Why would you keep it, after all this time?” Bruce was quiet for a moment, trying to come up with an answer that wouldn’t start yet another argument. He settled with the simple answer. “It’s a reminder.”

Jason visibly deflated, their previous arguments reminding him he was just a lesson to Bruce. A cautionary tale for those who came after him. “Oh, so you show it to the new Robin recruits, so they don’t fuck up like I did?” Bruce shook his head again and grabbed Jason’s hands, waiting until he looked at him before he replied. “What happened to you wasn’t your fault, Jason. Do you understand that?” Jason tried to pull away, but Bruce held firm. “I need you to understand that. Your death was not your fault. And I’m sorry you ever felt like it was.” Jason jerked his arms away from Bruce and wheeled the chair back before standing up. He was furious, but thoroughly confused. He turned from Bruce and raked his shaking hands through his hair. His chest heaved with anger and he inhaled and counted to five before he let the breath back out. When he was calm enough to speak, he spun on his heel and stepped closer, pushing Bruce back a few steps. “What? What the hell is that supposed to mean?” He was shouting now, but he didn’t care. “What was all that talk about me being your greatest failure, then, huh? That was all I ever was to you!” Bruce stood and scrubbed a hand over his face, willing himself to stay calm. He took a cautious step forward. “You’ve never failed me, Jason. Despite everything we’ve been through, how we’ve fought since you came back, you’ve never failed me. I never should have phrased it that way.” Jason shook his head, tears threatening again. He held a hand out in front of him, trying to keep Bruce back. If he let Bruce hug him now, he’d completely fall apart. “No. After all the things I’ve done. The things I did to you. To Dick. To Tim and Damian…god...” he trailed off, staring at the floor. “After what I’ve done to this family, how can I not be a failure, Bruce?” Bruce gestured to the monitor. “What you saw up there was my failure.” He tapped his chest, his fingers against the bat symbol. “I’m the one who failed you, Jason. I need you to understand that. I’m the one who couldn’t protect you.” “You don’t owe me anything, Bruce. I don’t deserve...” Bruce didn’t wait for him to finish. He stepped forward and held Jason’s face in his hands. He studied him for a moment, waiting until Jason looked at him. Bruce met Jason’s apprehension with a teary-eyed smile before he hugged him, squeezing as tightly as Jason needed, until he understood. “Yes, you do. You’re my son.” 

#Angst prompt #Jason Todd #Bruce Wayne #A Death In The Family #Bruce is a good dad #MizMahlia's Fanfiction #fanfic #tw: violence #writing prompt #fanfic prompt #Batman #Robin

[sad-trash-writing]

Who’s The Hero Of Your Story?, Ch. 12

AO3 Link 

The helicopter hovered low over the rooftop. Garrett jumped out first and waited for Jemma to hand down the first of the machines. How she got roped into being the moving crew she didn't know.  She wrapped half of her vines around the base of the machine and the other half around the seat in the helicopter to keep herself from getting pulled out of the helicopter. Those machine were heavy.

Once Garrett and the machine were situated on the rooftop, he waved them off and they flew to the next one.

Jemma’s was apparently the second one.

She lowered the machine onto the corner of the building and Quinn landed the helicopter long enough to hook it up for her. Raina, in full thorny regalia,  waited inside and appeared uninterested in the interaction on the roof, but Jemma noticed a gun resting on the seat beside her that Raina kept a hand near.

Quinn poked a few buttons and the display on the tower lit up. It was completely self-contained. No wires were sticking out anywhere that was easily accessible, so Jemma scratched that off her plans. The base was a solid, steel cylinder with no visible seams. The top was clear, so Jemma could see the little sphere of her spores resting beneath the cone shaped mouth at the very top. The whole thing stood about as tall as Jemma.

Attached just below the clear glass part was a large screen and keyboard. Beside that was a smaller blue panel with a grid printed on it. Jemma peered over Quinn’s shoulder to see if she could figure out what he was doing.

“Okay, should be good to go. Now, put your hand on that little blue pad,” Quinn instructed.

Jemma hesitated. She wasn’t sure what that would do, but it wasn’t like she could refuse.

She reluctantly placed her hand on the pad.

A tiny padlock icon on the far left of the screen unlocked and the formerly blank screen popped up a dozen little blue icons and a countdown for 30 minutes. The base of the machine whirred lowly.

“The computer is configurated to your handprint. It won’t work unless your hand is on that pad. You shouldn’t have to do anything, but, on the off chance something goes wrong, you can unlock it and override the error,” Quinn said. “Then, once, they all warm up, they’ll automatically sync and activate and the hard part will be over.”

Jemma smiled tersely and nodded. Quinn adjusted his tie and his tiny mask, climbed back into the helicopter, and took off. Jemma waited until they were out of sight..

Once the helicopter had disappeared into the horizon, she bolted back over to the machine. She scoured the outside, looking for any weak points. The whole structure looked airtight. Even the glass on top looked bulletproof.

She darted around to the screen and placed her hand on the pad. Instantly, the display lit up and she started pressing buttons. Nearly all the buttons were various status bars; core temperature, synced devices, RPMs. The countdown stayed in the top corner of her screen as she tapped away. One was a manual override button. When Jemma pressed it, the entire screen filled with code.

She growled and slapped the display in frustration. Of all the technological skills Jemma dabbled in, she had never touched coding. Sure, she knew basic HTML to format her reports, but anything more complicated than an underline was out of the question.

And this was a lot more complicated. Jemma went back to the menu screen to try to find a different option.

Before she could select one, she was knocked off her feet by a shockwave that blasted her across the roof.

When she looked for the source of the shockwave, she saw Quake striding across the rooftop towards the machine. Jemma hadn’t even heard her show up. Quake started tapping at the keyboard trying to get it to do something.

Jemma groaned. Luckily most of her back was covered by her suit, but her vines took the brunt of the damage from skidding across the roof and they stung.

She pushed herself up and glared at Quake. “No witty banter today?”

Quake shot her a glare back. “Witty banter is reserved for people who haven’t tried to kill me in the past week.

“Well, I obviously didn’t try very hard,” Jemma muttered under her breath.

Across the roof, Quake held her hands out towards the machine and let loose a shockwave. Jemma internally cheered that maybe she wouldn’t even have to stop the Plan, Quake would do all the work.

No such luck. When the shockwave hit the device, it glowed blue for a moment, then blasted the shock back at Quake.

Jemma tried not to be a little self-satisfied when Quake skidded across the roof on her back, like Jemma had done moments before. It meant she was back to square one on stopping this. Her advisors really had built in some safeguards.

Quake dusted herself off and grumbled at the machine.

Then she turned her attention back to Jemma.

“Tell me how to stop it,” Quake demanded.

“Not likely.” But also not impossible.

Quake growled and launched herself into the air. Jemma initially thought she was taking off, but then noticed Quake descending directly towards her, fist raised and face scrunched up in a glare. Jemma only had time to think, whoa,  before Daisy’s fist collided with her face.

Luckily, adrenaline and Jemma’s recent training kicked in after that.

Daisy--No, Quake aimed for another punch which Jemma blocked with a vine and then countered with an elbow to Quake’s chin.

Jemma countered a flurry of punches and kicks from Quake as well as getting in a few of her own. Whoever trained Quake in hand-to-hand combat was insanely good. Jemma got the feeling that whoever they were, they could obliterate Scarlotti and barely break a sweat.

While Jemma blocked a roundhouse kick from Quake with her arms, Quake went in for another punch. Jemma’s vines kicked in and snapped around her wrist before she could make contact.

Quake glared at them and twisted her wrist so she was grabbing the handful of vines, instead of the other way around. She yanked sharply, which made Jemma stumble off-balance and roughly jarred her spine where they attached.

Jemma’s vision went white with pain for a moment and she gasped. Her back was to Quake now, so she harshly jammed her elbow right below Quake’s ribs in retaliation.

Quake hissed and doubled over in pain and released Jemma’s vines. Guess we’re both going for weak spots, Jemma thought. Jemma squared up and prepared for another attack.

Quake launched herself at Jemma again, staying low this time, and tackled her.

Jemma let out an oof as her back collided with the rooftop again.

Quake wasted no time. She kneeled on either side of Jemma’s waist, pinning most of her vines to the ground, and pinned Jemma’s shoulders with one hand while raising the other in a fist.

“Just give up,” Quake panted. “Tell me how to turn off the device, or a lot of people are going to get hurt.”

If only it were that easy. Jemma had to keep up her ‘villain’ attitude for a bit longer, or Quake would probably think it was a trap. And Jemma was really tired of being punched by the girl she had a crush on.

A terrible idea popped into Jemma’s head and her mouth started moving before her brain could catch up.

“Fine, I’ll tell you how to turn it off. But only on one condition,” Jemma hissed.

“And what would that be?” Quake asked, exasperatedly.

“You have to kiss me. On the mouth.”

Daisy’s face went from an angry grimace to utterly confused in a split second. “I-I….what?!”

Well, Jemma should have expected that.Jemma didn’t know what she was thinking. She rolled her eyes, mostly at herself, but partially at the blush creeping up Daisy’s cheeks as she stuttered out more questions. At least Daisy was caught off guard for a moment.

“We don’t have time for this,” Jemma growled. She wrapped a free vine around Daisy’s raised fist and yanked just hard enough to toss her off. She pushed herself off the ground and marched over to the device. Fifteen minutes left.

She heard a whispered, “Holy shit,” behind her and glanced back at Daisy, who was staring at the plant on her back. Jemma shot her a glare and looked over the machine once more.

Jemma groaned. “I’ve already tried everything I can think of to shut this thing down, but they’ve built in too many safeguards.”

“Wait.” Daisy pushed herself off the ground. “You don’t want this plan to succeed?”

Jemma huffed. Now is as good a time as any to be honest. “I never wanted any of this.” She gestured to herself. “I just got sucked in because getting a doctorate is expensive and my advisors happened to be the biggest supervillians in the city.”

“You’re doing all this….for a degree?” Daisy asked.

Jemma glared. “Why we’re here is not important at the moment. In fifteen- fourteen minutes, this and the three others will be warmed up and disperse a mind-controlling substance into the air strong enough to control the entire city. So unless you know how to reprogram the override code and hack the device…”

Jemma trailed off when she noticed the wicked grin creeping up Daisy’s face. “Did you say hack?” Daisy asked.

Jemma’s heart lurched. “Do you know code?”

“It’s kinda my thing.” Daisy shrugged. “But there’s no way to access the programming on this device, I tried.”

Jemma smirked. “It only unlocks if my hand is on the sensor.”

They both darted to the device. Jemma slapped her hand down on the pad, jabbed the override button, and shifted to the side so Daisy could work.

Daisy scoured the code for a moment and then started frantically typing. She deleted a few lines here and there and punched in a few of her own, her eyes flicking between the screen and the keyboard. Jemma tried to stare at the code and not Daisy.

A few times, her vines started defensively creeping up her shoulders and towards Daisy, but Jemma yanked them back. Well, the last time she and Daisy were this close and not trying to beat each other up was right after the accident, so it wasn't an unfair assumption that her vines would need to defend her. Jemma was pretty sure Daisy’s eyes flicked over to them once or twice, trying to determine if this was a trap.

Finally, Daisy hit the last key and the low whirring of the device stopped.

“We did it!” Daisy announced.

“And I’m officially dead,” Jemma muttered to herself. She knew her advisors would see the second her device went offline and they would be livid.

“Now, we just have to catch the other three,” Daisy said, not hearing Jemma.

“I have something,” Jemma realized. “It’ll block Raina’s powers, probably not for long, but long enough to apprehend her.”  She ran over to the bag she had stashed and pulled out the ICER.

“Whoa!” Daisy held her hands out.

Jemma rolled her eyes. “Relax, I’ve played nice this long.”

She pulled out the vial of the blocking compound she had accidentally tested on Daisy and snapped it into the gun. She then flipped it over and handed it to Daisy.

“I’ve only got the one, so I hope you’re a good shot,” Jemma said.

Daisy cocked the gun and pointed it at Jemma.

“It won’t work on me, so please don’t waste it,” Jemma said.

“Why won’t it work on you? You have powers,” Daisy asked.

“They’re not the same as you and Raina.”

“What do you mean, me and Raina? How are we the same?”

Jemma groaned in frustration. “If you want to catch them, you need to stop asking questions and go?

“How do I know it’ll work and you aren’t just trying to get rid of me so you can run?” Daisy probed.

“Where would I go?” Jemma replied exasperatedly, “Now, for Garrett, most of his biology is electrically powered, so just give his system a high-powered shock and it'll temporarily shut down. Quinn, just point a gun at him and he’ll be on his knees, begging for amnesty.”

“But--”

“Daisy, will you just trust me?!” Jemma cried.

The silence that fell over the rooftop was deafening. The only sound Jemma could hear was the honking of car horns far below. Daisy was so still that the only sign that she wasn’t suddenly a cardboard cut out was the slight movement of her hair blowing in the breeze.

“How do you know my name?” She asked, he voice threateningly low.

Jemma gulped. It was only then that she realized her slip. “It-It’s...not important. You should go or they’ll get away.”

Daisy advanced on Jemma. “How. Do you know. My name?”

Daisy was inches away now, staring at Jemma with a combination of anger and fear in her eyes.

Jemma sighed. She dug her fingers under the sides of her mask and tossed it to the ground. She met Daisy’s eyes with the same ferocity Daisy had before.

“Because your Secret Identity disguise is terrible,” Jemma replied.

Daisy didn’t say anything, she just gaped. Her eyes searched Jemma’s face, as if willing it to be some kind of trick. Jemma just let her process.

Daisy took a step backwards and put a hand up to her ear. “Coulson, I’ve got something you might want.”

Jemma furrowed her brow. Who was Coulson?

Before Jemma could ask, hands were on her face and lips pressed against her own. All of her senses were suddenly filled with Daisy; touch, sight, smell, whatever that little tingly one in her stomach was called.

Daisy’s hands were firm, but gentle. Jemma swore she felt Daisy’s thumbs softly caressing her cheeks, but she was more distracted by her mouth. Her lips were so soft, pressing into Jemma’s with urgency.

It was over in a moment, though it felt like a lifetime to Jemma. Still, Daisy was stepping away too soon.

“I owed you that,” Daisy said, nodding towards the stagnant device behind them.

A whirring noise in the distance answered her earlier question. When it sounded like it was right overheard, Jemma glanced around but didn’t see anything. The next moment, a small jet flickered into view above Daisy that made half the noise of the helicopter and seemed twice as agile.

And had way more firepower, if the massive guns pointed at her were any indication.

“Stand down! She’s with us,” Daisy hurriedly shouted into what was apparently some kind of earpiece.

So, Daisy was being serious when she talked about that organization that she knew.

The guns powered down and the jet perched on the edge of the building and a cargo door opened up into a platform.

A dark-haired, middle-aged man stepped onto the platform in tactical gear. He shot a suspicious look over to Jemma, but she was sure she didn’t look too intimidating, as she was still stunned by that kiss.

Daisy hopped up the platform, handed him the ICER, and seemed to be relaying the instructions Jemma had given her. The man, Coulson probably, nodded and retreated into the plane. The moment Daisy was off the platform, the cargo door went up and the jet shot in the direction Jemma had last seen Raina and Quinn headed.

The now-familiar whipping of helicopter blades behind Jemma knocked her out of her reverie.

It was Quinn. The helicopter was headed straight for Jemma’s rooftop.

“Get down!” Daisy cried. She lunged at Jemma and knocked her behind an air-conditioner right before the bullets started pinging off the rooftop. He was too high up to tell for certain, but Jemma was sure Quinn was screaming profanities at her while shooting.

“May? You’re up,” Daisy said into her headset.

Another jet whirred overhead and pursued Quinn’s helicopter. It seemed like he was going to try to run, but as soon as the giant guns on the jet locked onto him, he set the helicopter down on a rooftop a few blocks away.

Neither Jemma nor Daisy said a thing as they caught their breath. Jemma did a quick once-over and determined the neither of them had been hit.

“I hate that guy,” Daisy grumbled. She unconsciously rubbed the spot on her abdomen that Jemma had jabbed earlier. There must be a story there.

Daisy stood and helped Jemma to her feet.

Daisy held up a hand to her earpiece to listen to what someone else was saying and smiled. One of the jets circled back towards them and slowly landed in the middle of the roof.

“They’re all in SHIELD custody now and I feel like we have enough evidence to put them away for good,” Daisy informed Jemma. “So, you can probably get back to your old life. As long as you don’t fall back into your villainous ways.” Daisy smirked.

Jemma chuckled. That was one weight off her back at least, knowing her advisors were going to be somewhere secure for awhile.

“The offer still stands, you know,” Daisy fidgeted with her hands while she spoke.

“Offer?”

“The one about coming with me. To SHIELD. They’re good people. They can help you, keep you safe,” Daisy clarified.

“Oh,” Jemma replied, lamely.

The cargo door of the jet opened again and this time, a handful of agents emerged and marched over to the device to disassemble it.

Daisy strolled over to the open door, cast a look to Jemma, and held out a hand.

“Last chance. Do you want to come with?”

Jemma glanced over the skyline of her city. Did she want to go back to her old life? Would she even know what her old life was anymore? It had been awhile since she’d had a ‘normal life’ where she didn’t have to worry about what morally compromising thing she would have to do next. Now, she could go back to that simple life, get a normal degree, and a normal job.

She turned back to Daisy. A girl who can make earthquakes was inviting her to join a secret organization because she technically has super powers.

Jemma didn’t think she could go back to her old life if she tried.

She jogged over to the jet and took Daisy’s hand.

#skimmons #bioquake #aosficnet2 #Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. #superhero au #supervillian au #who's the hero of your story fic