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rxsing-agxnts · 3 years

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Memories Of An Unseen Future..

Location: Avengers Campus, S.W.O.R.D Training Grounds State: New York Time: 4:00 PM ___________________________

Summer has come on Avengers Campus, which means a few things. Many students are either getting ready for their summer classes, going home for summer break, or they are just hanging out on campus until next semester. However, for the S.W.O.R.D Agents this is Finals Month for them. It is make or break for any agent in training and every cadet is putting their all into the last couple of days of training until the beginning of their final exam. One agent on the other hand was doing just that. Shooting down one target after another, Asher’s eyes quickly snapped to another hitting the mark on it carefully, almost methodically in a way. Which after shooting the last target he placed his weapon down and looked towards his trainer who was smiling. “Well Asher, I think thats it. You got the speed down and not to mention your hand to hand combat training is good enough thanks to some improvement and clean up.” His trainer watching the young Agent in training put his pistol in his holster.

“You know it too well bruv. Currently Im feelin’ mysel’ blood. Cant wait to be a full fledged agent an’ maybe I can call up’ m’family and take them out to go celebratin’ yeah?” He said which his trainer got a bit of a chuckle out from it. “Well Asher, I think Director Fury will seriously like you and who knows... maybe he may recommend you to S.H.I.E.L.D one day.” His Trainer spoke. “Yeah Blood, once that happens thats when I-” Asher spoke feeling a bit faint putting his hand up to his head grunting softly feeling faint, his body weak, and his knees turning to that of spaghetti which fell to his knees.

“Asher?!” His trainer spoke with worry as he fell face first.. only hearing the shouts of his trainer...

“ASHER!!!!”

then nothingness..... _________________________

Location: Avengers Academy Campus, Med-Bay State: New York Time: 12:00 PM __________________________

“What happened then, Asher?” The therapist asked looking at the Agent in training who was sitting on the couch just trying to think about what was going through his head at the time.

“Well what happened next I ‘ear someone callin’ man Agent Phoenix... which I wake up... an’ I see these dead soldiers inside some sort’o gunship thing or wha’not. So I get out an’ I see this fairground on fire along with an Academy...called Beacon also on fire.. like smoke bloody everywhere.. windows on fire an’ stuff.”

“So what happened next in your dream Asher....” “Yeah, man ‘ears the voice again tellin man like, they found a target cause of sum’ Atelier Intel.... or shite like that an’ I got huntin’ like killing these creatures in black... like they look like animals of some kind yeah... So man’ gets to where the target is... an’ I open the door I see this woman with a red dress with gold accents on it, orange eyes, white skin, an’ black hair.... and I pull out my modded pistol and tells her to drop her weapon.... and thats where it ends.” Asher explained looking back at the therapist of the Psych Department.

“I see, so Asher. I think this dream must be related with a premonition of some sort.. or maybe even something else.. or it could be stress related.” She said “Still thank you so much for taking time out of your busy schedule to come here for this meeting.” She poke with Asher standing up and shaking her hand as he left the room with a soft sigh. “Just who was that woman in my dream?” Asher said to himself walking down the hallway and sighing softly.

#[Rising Up Like A Phoenix- Main]#afm.task

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heidiamalia · 5 years

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Split Sutures

the ‘speculation of some bts TPs2 photos’ ffic!

words; 1998 [read it on Ao3 instead]

“If you attempt to leave that bed again, Karen, I will call the nurse back and have her strap you down.”

Her eyes are closed to avoid the harsh overhead light, not him.

He seems pretty sure of himself.

“Mm,” she manages. “Kinky.” Her right arm covers her face, the crook of her elbow dimming the view of the red behind her eyelids. The hospital bed she’s in is set flat, all the way down, a protest she couldn't fight for in the past three days she's been stuck here when the remote is unplugged. Her nurse this morning kept the shades open and the fluorescent above her on high all night. Karen isn't exactly sure how she got on her shit list but she really misses her own bed. “All we need then are handcuffs and it's like the day we met.”

Frank scoffs lightly, and she can imagine him turning his head to the side like he does when he smiles. She lifts her chin to hide her mouth in her elbow when he does respond, humor soaked in his words. “Yeah yeah, I got those, too.” Metal rattles together from his hip.

Karen takes a peek at him in the shadow her arm makes, squinting away from the bulb above her and sees him for the first time since she arrived with a stab wound to her abdomen, another puncture in her opposite thigh. Her whole body aches, covered in scratches and marks from the ambulance crash. He's still in an NYPD officer uniform, a hat in his left hand. It's bouncing lightly off his right knuckles as he takes a look at her, his head tilted. His shirt is tight across his chest, the stretch in the blue fabric prominent on his arms. She can see that the holster at his hip for a gun is empty but his boots are full.

Karen decides this isn't his worst outfit.

“Turn the lights off?”

He nods, ducking his head before turning to the door, hitting the switch. “This gonna keep you in bed?” Maybe, the thought flies through her mind. Frank is already crossing the room again, chucking his hat on the windowsill, roughly grabbing at the heavy curtains, shutting the streetlight reflections out.

“They won't give me any coffee,” she complains. His shadow comes closer, leaning over the bed to look at the wall of plugs and wires behind her, figuring which to touch first. The lines of his face grow as he looks down at her then, hard but still disbelieving. The gash on his cheek has healed a bit since he pulled her out of danger - again. “Forgive me for trying to take a walk down the hall to get it myself.”

The light flickers, dimming down to a soft yellow. He lowers, his head disappearing bedside, cords shuffling on the floor before the bed remote indicator light turns red. Yes, she thinks, grasping for it and hitting the button to raise the bed to a reasonable sitting position. Frank settles into the armchair next to her, a foot wrapping around a chair leg and dragging it closer. She stop-go-stops the mechanics a few times before he tugs it from her hand, snatching it away when he catches a hiss escape her mouth when she takes it too far. He shoves it into the crevice between the mattress and the lowered bed rail, out of her reach.

“You've been here for three days and you've ripped your stitches in twice as many times,” he accuses. It's empty of irritation, but she can tell he's frustrated. He's staring at the deep purple marks tracking down her right cheek, a blue thumbprint hiding beneath her jaw. The nurse yesterday tut-tutt-ed at her when she replaced all her dressings, mumbling about such a pretty face, what a shame. “You gotta stay put.”

The pain in her left leg is palpable, a reminder, and she thinks of the young med student who eyed the sutures on her ribs warily the first time they split. “That's not entirely my fault.” Frank is leaning forward, fingers interlocked and elbows on his knees, shaking his head with a small laugh like he doesn't believe her. “No, c'mon,” she mutters, easing to stretch her good leg, trying to avoid the constant feel of pins and needles. “Billy got me in a once-in-a-blue-moon spot, like a slice in your elbow,” she explains, lifting her left hand and waving it to bend and show him, the skin taut. Karen thinks of the news station announcing his capture. “I'm gonna be okay, though.” After a moment she drops it back down to her stomach.

Karen can only clearly remember the moment he apprehended her, his arm gracing itself casually around her shoulders as she walked out of the coffeeshop. She had just chucked the last dregs of her hazelnut latte into the bin by the door and he had merely slipped out from the corner of her eye. It was not nearly as crowded on the sidewalk that day as it could have been. His smug face was marred with scars, bumps of uneven skin - wearing combat boots and a camouflage cargo jacket - a stark opposite of the last time he smiled at her, 8 floors up in the Roosevelt hotel.

His grip was harsh and bruising as he told her low and charming, to come with me, Miss Page. Billy was flush to her side, access to her weapon in her purse had been a pinch, his finger hooked around the strap and dropping it from her reach and onto the pavement. Karen flexed her hand on instinct, an attempt to catch the handles on its way down. No need for you to get hurt. She should have been watching for it when she resisted the way his fingers slid across the back of her neck, tight and nearly choking. The knife up his sleeve had pressed against her ribs as a warning, Frankie needs a chance to save his girl.

She's freaking bait, again, god. Where are we going? Her voice was light but strained, as she made for casual while his thumb pressed into the meat of her throat, fingers dug up into her scalp. Karen tried to sidestep him after a few minutes as they made their way down the sidewalk, to show it as if she tripped, to get any semblance of a distance between them before running. She was wearing flats today, she could do it.

Billy stopped abruptly, and yanked her towards him, his eyes black and his sneer worse than the deep jagged grooves in his face. You need to settle down, he said, stop sticking your nose in places it doesn't belong. He must have meant her recent hunt for information at the docks. Karen jolted - gasped - in pain. The tip of the knife slipped in and glided across her side, which ripped a part of her blouse to expose the red of her insides.

Lookit that, he told her then, pointing off to the street with his arm as she braced her own against her side. Perfect. Just in time. The shock of her hand coated in thick burgundy rivulets allowed him to drag her forward and into the back of an idling ambulance, his hands had grasped to reach her legs and lift her as she fell forward from the pain. It had slid through her skin again - this time in the underside of her thigh - and he let out a laughing whoops when he had taken a step into the van.

Karen?!

Hey, eyes forward, Billy shouted to the driver. Get going. She rolled her neck to see just who it was when he stopped pinning her cheek to the cool metal wall of the truck. Brett Mahoney sat in the driver seat, his hands duct taped to the steering wheel. A bruise formed beside his nose, and his eyes were decidedly not forward but wide and panicky on the increasing puddle of red against her cloud-gray top.

Brett, she whispered when Billy moved away, what's happening?

It's a muddled blur from there - the constant ebb of pain in her side, the surprise wound that pooled beneath her pencil skirt, the bloody trail behind her knee. The shouting, the medical equipment Billy used to hold her down to the bench that bit into her wrists. The cabin jostled as they moved quickly into the streets.

Things within eyesight had crashed together as they swerved around until soon her view of the windshield was distorted, tires squealing, pop pop pop, a loud metal scrape noise against the side - they'd turned sharply, halfway around in highway traffic - before tilting.

Billy had already been making his escape out from the passenger door before the van had begun careening off the overpass - Brett was screaming - and flipped them upside down.

Something heavy and sharp smacked her hard in the face before it tumbled down to the metal ceiling. The silence when everything came to a halt was long and deafening. She was still bleeding. Her legs were a tangled red mess in breathing masks and aluminum blankets on the side of the van, her hands still trapped against the underside bar of the bench. It was difficult to hear anything besides the rush in her ears. Glass in the windows had shattered when they landed, littered on her skin. The back doors bounced open, a slow sway off their hinges. Her choking sobs felt tight and wet in her chest. Frank. Frank was there somehow. His hands on her face. His hands covered in blood.

Shh shh shh. I got you.

Frank's face falls short, and his eyes close, a small shake, the end of his freshly stubbled chin rubbing back and forth against his hands. She takes his silence for a moment to grab the cup of ice water on her bedside tray, tucked flush to the wall beside him, and take a sip before prying. The ice chips have melted. “How's Brett?”

“Alive,” he grunts. He meets her eyes again, exhaling deeply through his nose. His gaze is far away, a slight nod as if he’s agreeing to something. Frank reaches slowly across the blanket for her bruised right hand after she sets the cup back down. Their fingers touch. “Nothing broken. Couple of bruises leftover, though.” Karen looks on as he hooks them towards the edge of the mattress, towards him. “Already back in uniform.”

She can tell how cold her hand is, but he doesn't pull away. His hand is hot and it radiates against her hip beneath the hospital blanket. It's not a stretch for her when he leans in, holding her hand to his jaw as he set his elbows onto the mattress. “And you,” she manages to get out, “are you okay?” Frank sighs and shuts his eyes, inhaling the scent of her palm before kissing it softly, leaning into her touch.

Karen tries to breathe in out in out as his right hand rests on her lifted forearm. His fingers hesitantly soothe over the scabs and bruises left behind by the shattered glass and whatever else that hit her before keeping still to feel her pulse.

Frank is quiet for a short time before humming his acknowledgement. Her thumb on his cheek rubs against the stubble, the sharp pin pricks on her skin a gentle comparison to the hazard she felt she was when he was pulling her out of the wreck.

She lifts her left hand to stroke his hair, long enough now to lose her fingers in. For a moment it's all she can focus on doing while she listens to him breathe beside her. Frank's eyes open again to watch her after her right hand creeps slow under his to wrap around his neck, her thumb still petting his jawline. Karen catches him looking and smiles with her teeth.

“Yeah,” he whispers. “Yeah, I'm okay.”

#kastle #frank x karen #kastle fic #my writing #onlykastle #speculation for tps2 #put my shit in the tags goddamnit

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whatwouldfrogsdo · 7 years

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1 in 4 (and maybe more)

Prompt: Gender/Sexuality Headcanons

“This girl said something to me yesterday. And I just… So… That one and four thing about Samwell. It's not true, is it?” Chris stilled. One in four students at Samwell, and maybe more, identify as LGBT. It was why he was here. That couldn’t be what Dex was referring to, could it? “What do you mean?” Holster asked, and his voice was icy, as if his thoughts were in a similar place to Chris's. “I mean… there's twenty-three people on our team, right? So that would be six… gay people. That's not right.” “What's not right about it?” Ransom asked sharply.

- Fresh, chapter 3

Set during chapter 3 of Fresh, immediately after the conversation at the Haus about Samwell’s 1 in 4 statistic. I’m fairly sure that anything said in that which is important for understanding this is repeated, at least enough for it to be inferred, so it should be okay to read without having read Fresh! Here are the tweets the original conversation was based on.

Content warnings: detailed discussions about sex, and sexuality

AO3

Derek finally caught up to Dex halfway back to their dorm. Dex had left the Haus at the first opportunity he had been given, and Derek had only realized after he had gone, but now he jogged to fall into step with him so that he could say, “That wasn’t cool, bro.”

“I have homework.”

“I don’t mean leaving. All that shit earlier about one and four. It’s so hypocritical.”

Dex span to face him. “ Hypocritical? How did you figure that?”

“‘That makes six gay people on the team and that’s not right’. When you’re…”

“What am I, Nurse?”

“I don’t know. Gay? Bi? You tell me.”

“I can’t be—” Derek cut Dex off with a frustrated noise. Dex held up a hand. “No. Listen to me. I can’t be out, and I don’t want to tell you why. But I wasn’t being hypocritical, and I wasn’t being fucking homophobic. I’m gay. I know that, I can say it to myself, to you if you won’t tell anyone else, but I can’t— I didn’t mean not right as in immoral I meant not right as in— It’s hard for me to understand a world where one in four people could be like that. LGBT or… can I... say queer?”

He looked lost, and Derek sighed. “You can say it if you want to reclaim it. If you were straight you couldn’t. Some people use it as a slur, and some people don’t like it being used about them because of it. I think it makes things easier.”

Dex frowned, but didn’t push the issue. “Before I came here the only gay people I knew were me and the three people I’d been with. The only gay or bi or… or anything as far as I knew.”

“You probably knew others, you just didn’t know that they were.”

“Yeah. But still. I knew four people total, including myself, and now I’m expected to believe that more people than that are on our hockey team? It just doesn’t sound right. Which I know it’s… hetero… whatever Holster said, but—”

“But now you’re confused. Holster knew about four before he found out about me. Then you make six. Six out of twenty-three that we know about. There's your one in four, and maybe more. A quarter of the people on our team identify as something other than straight or cis and it doesn’t line up with what you thought you knew.”

“And there’s all these terms I’ve never even heard before and I feel— I feel so fucking stupid for not knowing them.”

“Cis is to trans what straight is to gay.”

“So I’m cis?”

“If you’re male, then yes.”

“And you?”

“Yeah. I’m pretty sure I am.” Dex flashed him a look, and Derek bit his lip as he searched for the best words to explain it. “I’ve met a lot of people who’ve made me think about it. The more I do the more gender just seems meaningless, but I’ve never experienced any sort of dysphoria about it or anything like that. It’s more that the more I think about it, the more stupid labels and the gender binary seem. It never felt real to me, but I don’t think I’m agender either. I’m not sure how people know if they are. For simplicity’s sake, it’s easier to say I think I’m male and stop thinking about it before it gives me a headache. Especially when so many people would just say that I’m just trying to be different and progressive. Maybe… quoigender. If that’s a thing. I know quoisexual is, anyway. But I still don’t like labeling it.”

Dex didn’t say anything until he had swiped them into their building and they were in their room. “You need to give me like a dictionary or something.”

A smile appeared on Derek’s lips. It was good to see Dex trying, even if he only felt comfortable to ask the right questions when it was just the two of them. “I’ll make you one.”

“Hey, did you— Were you kidding? Am I the only person you’ve slept with or—?”

Nursey closed his eyes. He had been hoping Dex had missed that slip up. “Yeah.”

“And you’re… asexual?”

“I don’t know. Yes. No. Not completely. Because I really fucking wanted it with you, and it’s not just when I’m horny or whatever. Or maybe I first noticed it when I was horny, but I am—” He rubbed his face awkwardly.

“You have the hots for me?” Dex supplied. “Because that’s— I mean, I have the hots for you, too.”

Derek let out a laugh. “That’s one way of putting it, yeah. But I don’t normally… have the hots for people. I can count on one hand the ones I have, and I don’t know what it is that determines it because it’s not like demisexuality. Uh, that’s like you only feel sexual attraction when you have an emotional connection with someone. So I guess I’m ace with exceptions? Gray-ace. Or. I don’t know. Does it matter?” He bit his lip. He hoped it didn’t matter, and that Dex was just trying to figure out all the new language he had been trying to absorb since coming to Samwell.

“It does if you regret it. If you feel like I pushed you into it, or- or something.”

Derek shook his head. “I don’t regret it. I just don’t understand why I wanted it. Or why I still sort of want it.”

“I don’t know. It’s weird to think you’d feel that for me of all people. Like you say, we don’t get along. And it’s not like I’m— But I do think— I think if we both wanted to do that again, then there’s no reason why we can’t, but if you’re not really into sex…”

“I’m into it. Just because I don’t feel that attraction usually, doesn’t stop me getting horny. I’m just not into it with as many people, or if I’m not feeling horny anyway. I guess? I don't fucking know. I don't know how to describe it. Are you serious?” He stepped over into Dex’s half of the room, curiously. Dex grabbed his hand and pulled him onto his bed, so that they were sat down.

“No strings.”

Derek thought about it. It was debatable whether he really wanted to start something like this with Dex of all people — someone who had a lot to figure out still in terms of sexuality and who harbored some internalized homophobia and transphobia, no matter how much he denied it. On the other hand, it was so rare for Derek to find anyone who he was attracted to, and his libido had a tendency to go a little haywire when he was taking his meds. A sure way to channel that would be good. “Okay. Except when you say there’s no reason we can’t, Jack would kill us. The team and—”

“Jack’s not gonna know, Derek. Maybe a couple of strings. Nobody finds out. We just have sex, if and when you want to, and we don’t worry about what it means for us because that’s part of our deal. And the other thing is that we talk about shit. We’re going to talk about this loads and loads before we do anything else, okay? It’ll make things easier for the team if we’re not feeling all tense and wanting to yell at each other all the time because of some shitty communication over this. But we don’t tell a soul.”

“You’ve got such a way with words,” Derek told him with a grin. Dex hit him lightly in the arm. Derek grabbed his wrist and pressed his lips against the bone there, eliciting a sigh as Dex collapsed onto his back. Already breathless at the sight of Dex spreading himself out for him, even fully clothed, Derek leaned down to kiss the smirk off his lips, but all too soon there was a hand on his chest, pushing him gently away.

“I want to talk boundaries. I need to know you’ll be able to tell me if you’re ever not feeling it, or if you think this thing for me has gone. I already know that there’s more things you’re uncomfortable with than I am in terms of what I say to you when we’re having sex and… and stuff like that. I think all my lines like that are pretty extreme in comparison, so I wouldn’t expect you to be near crossing them, but I don’t want to risk hurting you because I got carried away.”

Dex’s words had Derek’s eyebrows flying up. He might know more about sexuality and gender, but Dex had been constantly surprising him at how mature he was about sex itself. He had never once questioned it when Derek had told him no, and he had been vigilant from the very first kiss about checking in for consent. More so than Derek himself, who wondered how that hadn’t been a blatant sign that he was much less experienced than Dex. “I want us to be equal. Not necessarily in what you do to me, I’ll do to you, because there’s definitely stuff I’m more comfortable, uh, giving than receiving or vice versa, but I don’t like it when it feels like one of us is getting more dominant than the other. Even if we… do anything after a fight, which honestly I’ve fantasized about so if you’re into that, too, it’ll happen, but it’ll only be good for me if we’re on level ground.”

“Okay. Good. That’s really useful for me to know. I’m not going to lie, I do like it, the whole dom/sub thing but that won’t play into it if you’re not okay with it. Equal’s good, too. And, uh, it’s probably a bit messed up that the fighting is a turn-on, but it is.”

Derek found himself searching Dex’s face for any hint that he was over-compromising, before he mentally berated himself. Both of their tastes were important, but it was more important to respect what someone didn’t want, than to indulge a desire or kink.

“I only want you to touch my hair if I give explicit consent.”

For a moment, Derek thought that Dex was going to ask why, but after a pause he just nodded. “Noted.”

“And that’s unlikely to happen.”

“Okay.”

“I think those are the main things? I’m not into anything weird, though, and there’ll definitely be times I just don’t want to.”

Dex chuckled. “Okay. If we’re not going to do anything crazy, we can probably manage with just asking before we try anything new? I’m happy both top and bottom, so obviously we’ll go for what you’re in the mood for, and I’d never assume consent for anything anyway. If you just want to cuddle, we’ll cuddle; if you want to fuck me into the mattress, you can definitely do that; if you need space, I’ll never push it; and if you want to make out like teenagers, that’s cool, too. One thing I’m still concerned about, though, is that we moved too fast last time. If it was your first time, uh, even then, it’s not supposed to hurt . Okay? If it hurts we need to do more prep, and we need more lube. I need you to tell me if anything doesn’t feel right at any time.”

“I— Oh.” Derek chewed on his lips. “Okay.”

Dex sighed. “I’m sorry. I should have pushed it at the time.”

“I told you I was ready. You didn’t know that I had no experience with it.”

“So? I still should have made sure.”

Derek shrugged, and looked at the pattern on Dex’s bedspread for a moment. “How about you? What are your lines?”

Dex thought about it for a moment before answering. “My main thing is condoms. I don’t care if both of us are definitely clean — either version of clean — it’s still important and not using condoms is like some weird commitment thing that I won’t do with a hook-up, and anyway I guess we’re still going to be able to sleep with other people if we want to, so we should be safe. Plus, the anus has so much bacteria in it. Even if you definitely don’t have an STD—”

Derek couldn’t help it. He burst into laughter. Dex hit him again, whining, “Stop laughing at me,” but his voice was weak and he let Derek lie down to spoon him.

#nurseydex week #nurseydex #omgcp fanfic #check please!#stephwrites #freshverse tag

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