#['but michael was only in like a quarter of it!!' yeah but the point is he's the SHAPE of evil not the MICHAEL of evil. the SHAPE. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bluejayblueskies · 3 years

Note

For the Touches Ask Game, if you can, a little Jonmartin with Touching/9?

Thank you so much, I love your writing!!! 😭💕

touches prompt list

9 - holding hands across the table

i did a season two lunch dinner date fic! cw for mentions of paranoia/stalking and murder (in typical s2 fashion)

They’ve been having lunch together for two months when Martin asks, with enough stuttering that it takes Jon a moment to process his words, if Jon would like to get dinner with him.

Jon hesitates only briefly before agreeing. Between finding out about Martin’s CV and the newly delivered CCTV footage, he’s almost entirely convinced that Martin did not, in fact, murder Gertrude Robinson and that his various attempts to make sure Jon eats and sleeps and drinks tea are simply a result of Martin being… well. Being nice, he supposes. If overbearingly so.

Why Martin feels the need to coddle Jon, he doesn’t quite know. But if he’s being honest with himself, he’s… not complaining. His frequent skipping of meals often isn’t an intentional thing, born instead of his tendency to get so wrapped up in his work that hours fly by without him noticing, and while sometimes he’s irritated when his flow is interrupted by Martin’s cheery greeting, more often than not it’s… a relief. To step out of the Archives, away from the feeling of eyes on the back of his neck, and pretend like he isn’t working alongside a murderer.

Maybe a murderer. He… he doesn’t know. According to the CCTV footage, Tim and Sasha and Martin and Elias all have alibis. But he still can’t shake the feeling that he gets, sitting in his office or walking down the corridors or reading through statements, that something isn’t right.

That there’s something in the Archives that’s not supposed to be there.

So, it’s… nice to get outside. And as much as Tim may joke about it—or… used to joke about it, at least—Jon does, in fact, try to eat three square meals a day if he can remember to do so. Try being the operative word. He’s been… caught up in work lately, and often he glances at the clock to see that it’s well past ten and he’s accidentally skipped dinner entirely. He hadn’t thought Martin had noticed, given that the man doesn’t live in the Archives anymore and typically leaves promptly at five along with Tim and Sasha, but evidently, he was wrong.

As Jon sits across the table from Martin at the small café they’ve chosen for lunch, he has the fleeting thought that Martin’s been sneaking back and watching him work and that’s how he knows that Jon has been missing dinner. He lets himself feel it, takes a deep breath, and pushes it away with considerable effort. No, that’s not… he trusts Martin. He does. Or he… he wants to. He’s trying.

“Jon?”

“Hm?” Jon blinks up at Martin, who’s clearly waiting for a response. “Sorry, I-I didn’t catch that.”

Martin’s cheeks are dusted a rosy red. He fiddles nervously with the black ring on his finger—a bit thicker in width than Jon’s, the metal smooth and bright where it reflects the sunlight. “Is—is this Friday okay? At—at seven? I-I can, um, meet you at the Institute. U-Unless you’d like to meet there! That’s, er. That’s fine with me too.”

“The Institute is fine,” Jon says, picking at his sandwich with a frown. The bread is damp and squishes under his fingers. “Perhaps we can go somewhere a bit less… soggy.”

“R-Right, yeah. I, um. I was actually thinking… you know that new bistro o-over in Clapham? M-Maybe not, it’s, er. It’s new. But I-I heard it has good South Asian food, which, um. I know you like.”

Martin’s face is fully crimson by this point. Maybe we should sit inside next time, Jon thinks. Or at least in the shade. The sun is rather intense. Martin picks up his mug of tea and takes a long sip, staring resolutely down at the table once he’s done. Jon waits, but it appears that Martin is done rambling, so he says, “Yes, that sounds fine.” Then, because it’s polite (and not untrue): “I am… looking forward to it.”

“O-Oh? Oh!” Martin looks at him, a wide smile spreading across his face. “Y-Yeah, um. M-Me too.”

We should definitely sit inside next time, Jon thinks as the back of his neck grows warm, the tips of his ears surely darkening. Good lord.

He doesn’t think the heat is responsible for the way Martin’s smile makes something in his stomach flutter. He decides to blame that on the atrocious sandwich because… well. It’s as convenient an excuse as any.

Because Martin is just looking out for Jon’s wellbeing. This is no different than him bringing mugs of tea when Jon is recording statements or accompanying him to A&E to get stitches after Michael or inviting him to lunch in the first place. This is not, he tells his ridiculous, over-zealous, butterfly-filled stomach, a date.

Because it’s not. Martin is simply a coworker—an employee—and a friend. Who he trusts. Maybe. Probably. And thinks about sometimes when he’s unoccupied. His hands, mostly, which look very soft and very capable. His smiles as well, each one like a gift meant just for Jon. The way he carries the heavier boxes that Jon can’t quite manage and can reach the top shelves to retrieve statements without even having to clamber up onto the bottom ones.

All completely normal thoughts to be having about a friend

So, when Jon wears the soft maroon button-down on Friday that he’s been told brings out his eyes and takes care to arrange his hair into something other than the haphazard braid he’s been managing lately and digs a bottle of peach nail varnish out of the bottom of his drawer the night before to coat his fingernails with, it’s just because he feels like it. Not because this is a date. Because it’s not a date. It’s just dinner. With Martin.

Who shows up to the Institute at quarter to seven wearing a nicer jumper than usual—cable-knit and mustard yellow, looking incredibly soft to the touch—and with small black studs decorating the lobes of his ears. He smiles widely when he sees Jon, also standing outside earlier than agreed upon, and Jon almost turns around to see if someone’s behind him. But there isn’t. That smile, unfettered and full of joy—it’s… it’s for him.

Surely, Martin is just… happy to see him leaving the office while it’s still light out for once. He’s certainly chided Jon enough times for his habit of falling asleep at his desk. (Which he’s been trying to do less lately, if only because it would be easy for someone to sneak up on him while he’s unconscious and slip a knife into his back or poison his tea or shoot him three times in the chest or—)

“R-Ready to head out?” Martin says, abruptly halting Jon’s train of thought. He tries not to look like he’d just been theorizing about his own inevitable demise as he mumbles his assent and follows Martin away from the Institute and into the still-bustling streets of London.

And if he presses close to Martin’s side while they walk, well. It’s just because every brush of unfamiliar contact against him feels overwhelming, enough so to make him flinch away. And if he takes Martin’s hand for a small period of time, well. It’s just because the crowd has thickened and he doesn’t want them to get separated. And if he feels particularly warm in his jacket when Martin laughs awkwardly at his own joke and rubs at the back of his neck, well. That’s just from exertion. It is quite a far walk to the restaurant.

The bistro is lovely. Jon typically doesn’t go for places like this—tucked between two nondescript buildings with a glass front that reveals soft, intimate lighting within and flowers planted in boxes outside—but once they’re inside and seated at their table, it’s… oddly charming. Jon shrugs out of his jacket, and even though it’s the same shirt he’s been wearing all day, Martin compliments him on it with a flush. The change from frigid winter air to the warmth of the bistro brings heat to Jon’s face as well, and he rolls up the cuffs of his sleeves to just below his elbows. Martin makes a choking sound, but when Jon looks up with a frown, he has his glass of water pressed to his lips.

“Sorry,” Martin says once he’s placed the glass back on the table. “Just, um. Uh. Tickle in my throat. A-Allergies, you know.”

Martin’s face pinches in what looks like a repressed wince, and Jon tries to be reassuring. After all, Martin is taking time out of his schedule to be here with Jon, and Jon doesn’t want to seem ungrateful. His grandmother taught him proper manners, and besides, he is… rather glad to be here.

His commiseration about his own experiences with seasonal allergies turns into a mini-lecture on the species of pollen-producing plants in their area. He only realizes he’s doing it when the waiter comes by with a cheery smile and asks if they’re ready to order.

Jon’s mouth snaps shut mid-sentence. He has not even opened his menu.

“I. Um.” Jon is about to ask for more time—which he strongly dislikes doing, as he’s had the waiting staff forget more than once about his table and he’s had to go through the mortifying ordeal of hailing them down like a-a bloody taxi—when Martin tilts his own menu toward Jon and points to an item in the middle of the page.

“They have chicken karahi and naan. I, er. I heard it’s good if you’re… interested.”

Jon blinks at the menu in surprise. “That… sounds great, actually. Er, medium spice, please.”

Martin orders his own squash curry, and the waiter takes their menus when he departs, leaving the spot in front of Jon oddly empty. Jon taps his fingers on the newly barren tabletop a few times, trying and failing to remember where he’d left off in his lecture. Ultimately, he gives up, deciding that Martin isn’t going to be interested in hearing about all of that and he’s already said enough on the subject.

Then, Martin says, “So, you were saying—about the pollen?” and something in Jon’s chest squeezes, an emotion he doesn’t know the name of. Relief, maybe, as Martin’s words manage to spark his memory and he picks up his train of thought again easily enough. Yes, that’s… that’s probably it.

The first few times they’d gone to lunch, Jon had made an effort to stop himself from rambling, as he was prone to do any time someone gave him the opportunity. He’d engrossed himself in his sandwiches and rice bowls and mediocre Chinese takeaway in order to keep from launching into an explanation of the origins of said folding takeaway containers or the documentary he’d watched recently about the Zhou dynasty. And the first few lunches had been… awkward. It wasn’t because Jon thought Martin was a murderer—he doesn’t think he’d have agreed to go for lunch if he truly believed that Martin might harm him. It was just… how things like this went when Jon was involved. He knows he struggles with casual conversation, and he’s never understood the purpose or execution of ‘small talk.’ He would be perfectly content to eat and exist in silence, except all too often he feels expected to provide some sort of conversation or entertainment, upon which point the silence becomes horribly oppressive and stress-inducing.

But he also knows that talking too much can be just as bad as not talking enough. His grandmother had always told him so. So he suffered through the awkward silences for the first few days, and Martin had let him, clearly assuming that if Jon wasn’t speaking, he shouldn’t either.

Then, around their fourth or fifth lunch together, Martin had begun to ask him questions. They were casual, genuine, and so clearly targeted at Jon’s interests that Jon was convinced that Martin was somehow following him home or searching through his computer history or—or something. On their eighth lunch together, Martin asked Jon about the newest exhibit at the museum—it had been about sharks, if Jon remembers correctly—and Jon couldn’t help asking how Martin knew that he’d gone to see it. He hadn’t explicitly asked if Martin had been following him, but he’s sure the sentiment was clear in his eyes.

The tips of Martin’s cheeks had grown red, and he’d said that Jon had mentioned a few days prior that he was planning on going. All traces of fear and paranoia had left Jon’s mind then, replaced by surprise and, beneath it, something warm and bubbly. Martin had remembered.

Their conversations had gotten a lot easier after that.

Despite how Martin seems to enjoy Jon’s long-winded tangents, he… does still make an effort not to hold a completely one-sided conversation. So, a few minutes into the continuation of his pollen discussion, he finds a natural stopping point and says, “So, er. You… like being outside?”

Not the most… articulated question Jon has ever asked. But Martin doesn’t seem to mind. His fingers curl around the bottom of his water glass, his palms smudging the condensation. “Yeah, w-when I can find the time, I suppose. I-I try to go for walks around my neighborhood if I can, if it’s not too dark by the time I get home, and there’s this park in—”

Martin cuts off with a small cough. He lifts his glass and takes a long sip, while Jon sits and drums his fingers against the table and tries not to bounce his leg too noticeably. “Sorry,” Martin says as soon as the glass leaves his lips, giving Jon an apologetic smile that somehow seems… artificial. Like it’s been plastered atop another, heavier expression. “S-Something in my throat again.” He hesitates, then continues, “There’s a park in Devon that I-I like, whenever I’m in that area.”

Devon’s quite a trip away, Jon thinks but doesn’t say. Why do you go to Devon? he doesn’t say. Is that where you go on Saturdays? he doesn’t say, because—well. It’s rather embarrassing, among other things, to admit to the fact that you’ve gone through your employee’s desk calendar because you thought he might have shot an old woman three times in the chest and had plans to do the same to you. Particularly when you are having dinner with said employee.

Ugh. Probably best not to think about the fact that he is technically Martin’s boss when he’s sitting three feet away from him at a candlelit table on what, to an outside observer, might look startlingly similar to a date.

But it’s not a date. Because Martin didn’t say it was a date, and he’s just trying to care for Jon, in that… over-the-top way that he does. Jon tries to muster up some irritation at the reminder that he’s likely being coddled, just for habit’s sake, but comes up empty.

He hasn’t been truly irritated with Martin in quite some time. He… doesn’t really know when that changed. When Martin became a source of comfort, rather than of annoyance.

“Jon?” Martin says. Right. Martin is still sitting across from him.

“Right,” Jon says, trying to sound like he hasn’t been drifting off in a hundred different directions. “That sounds… nice.”

Martin’s lips curl up into a small smile. “Yeah. I-It is. It, um. It makes the trip worth it, to be able to sit on one of the benches and just… write poetry.”

Jon has read some of Martin’s poetry, though Martin doesn’t know that. Jon doesn’t like poetry. Jon liked Martin’s poetry. These are, apparently, two truths that can and do coexist.

Jon does not mean to say, “Could I hear one?” But it appears that he is weary enough and relaxed enough and distracted enough that his verbal filter has small, critical holes in it. Damn.

Martin sputters. “U-Um, well, I-I suppose… I could, I-I do have a few, er. M-Memorized, if you—you really…” He trails off uncertainly. “You’re. Um. You’re sure?”

Well. Nothing to do but lean into it, Jon supposes. “I wouldn’t have asked if I weren’t sure, Martin,” he says, a bit snippier than he intends. The tips of his ears are hot, and he is deeply thankful that the dimness of the bistro hides the way they’re surely darkening.

“R-Right.” Martin clears his throat, looks down at the table. “I-I suppose I’ll just… do a short one?”

He proceeds to recite, in quiet, surprisingly stutterless lines, one of the poems that Jon already knows from the notebooks he’d left behind in the Archives. It’s… his favorite, if he were forced to pick one. But there is something different—something more—about hearing Martin speak the words aloud rather than simply reading them on a page. Martin pauses in places Jon hadn’t thought to pause, lingers on words he hadn’t thought to linger on, and adds a softness to the ends of lines and phrases that Jon finds himself enraptured by.

Logically, he knows that it’s not good poetry. He’d begrudgingly taken a poetry class during uni, had hated every minute of it, and had donated all of his books to charity shops the moment he wasn’t in need of them anymore. He’s read Dickens and Poe and Whitman—all the works that are considered great representations of their art form.

Martin’s poetry is nothing like theirs. His lines don’t follow the same rhythms; his words are clumsier, his images less profound. But still, even though Jon knows that it is technically not good poetry, he… he likes it.

He tries not to analyze that feeling too closely.

“So, um. Yeah,” Martin says after he finishes, rubbing his thumb over his ring. “I-It’s not really… great work, heh, you know, s-sorry.”

Jon is not the comforting sort. He’s been told that he’s too sharp at the edges, skin too full of spines and thorns. So he surprises himself, and probably his grandmother from beyond the grave, when he reaches across the table and takes Martin’s hand in his. It’s soft and big, the pads of Martin’s fingers lightly calloused from a past history of manual labor, and Jon thinks just for a moment how small his own hands look in Martin’s. He surprises himself even more when he says, honestly, “I enjoyed it, Martin.”

Martin blinks at him, eyes wide and owlish. His hand is rigid in Jon’s, like he’s afraid that if he moves, he’ll frighten Jon away like a skittish cat. “O-Oh.” It’s hard to tell in the dim light, but Jon thinks Martin might be blushing. “Well. T-Thanks.”

Jon nods once stiffly. He does not retract his hand. At first, it’s because he doesn’t think to do so, too wrapped up in the feeling of his skin against Martin’s. Then, it’s because it’s been long enough that doing so would be more awkward than keeping his hand there. He asks Martin about the inspiration behind the poem, for want of another conversation topic, and Martin talks about the trip he took to the countryside once and how it stuck with him, and Jon’s hand remains atop Martin’s. Martin takes a drink from his glass, and Jon takes a drink from his, but both of them use their free hands, as if in unspoken agreement that this is just how things are now. Jon’s hand is resting atop Martin’s and it will be until he has just cause to move it and that is just the way of the universe. Nothing to be done about it.

Their food comes, and looking extremely regretful about the fact, Martin extracts his hand from underneath Jon’s and reaches for his fork. They don’t mention the loss, and it’s quiet for a period of time while Jon eats his chicken karahi and Martin eats his squash curry and Jon tries not to openly moan at how good the food is.

Something must show on his face, because Martin smiles warmly at him and says, “Well? Was that Yelp reviewer correct when they said that the chicken karahi is ‘literally the best food they’ve ever eaten in their entire life’?”

Jon swallows a bite of admittedly very good chicken. “Well. I don’t know that I would quite go to that extreme, but it is rather enjoyable.” Reminds me of the way my grandmother used to make it, he doesn’t say. That feels like a date conversation, and this isn’t a date.

(It feels very much like a date.)

(It isn’t a date.)

“Good,” Martin says. Then, he smiles, wide and unabashed and like a ray of sunlight, and Jon quickly buries himself in his food again so he doesn’t say something foolish like I really like it when you smile at me like that or Is this a date? or I would very much like this to be a date.

They finish eating, and the waiter takes away their plates with the promise of bringing the check soon. Jon’s hands rest on the table, index finger fiddling with the edge of the cloth placemat in front of him. He’s in the middle of trying to convince himself that yes, it would be ridiculous to take Martin’s hand again, you should definitely not do that on this very much not-a-date, when Martin reaches out and takes Jon’s hand in his. Properly takes it, pressing their palms together and slotting his fingers easily between Jon’s and knocking their rings together as he squeezes gently.

“Um,” Jon says eloquently. He should very much not ask if this is a date. “What are you doing?”

Nope, that’s worse. That’s definitely worse.

“Oh!” Martin lets go of Jon’s hand immediately, and Jon does not try to chase Martin’s hand as it retracts, thank you very much. He’s more dignified than that. “S-Sorry, I thought… I, um. Never mind. I-I shouldn’t have… sorry. Again.”

“It’s fine,” Jon finds himself saying. Then, in an effort to do damage control: “I… didn’t mind.”

“You… didn’t?” Martin seems confused, which is understandable. If Georgie were here, she’d tell him that he’s giving, quote, ‘mixed signals.’ He’d never quite understood what counts as ‘mixed signals,’ and he doesn’t know that he ever will.

“I did not,” Jon confirms. “I just… I suppose I…”

He should not ask if this is a date. He really, really shouldn’t.

“Is this a-a date?”

It appears he’s found another one of the holes in his verbal filter. Lovely.

Martin’s eyes grow impossibly wider. He makes a series of sputtering sounds as Jon waits and tries not to bounce a hole through the floor with the heel of his foot. “You—you didn’t…” Martin seems to have a miniature internal debate with himself, his face cycling through a dozen different expressions over the next few seconds. Finally, he sighs and says, eyes fixated on the table between them, “I had… intended it to be. Though I suppose if—if you didn’t know it was a date, that. Um. Kind of defeats the purpose.”

“Does it?” Jon’s mouth says without his permission.

“I-I mean… you can’t really have a one-sided date,” Martin says with an awkward laugh. The waiter is nowhere to be seen, which Jon is grateful for and disheartened by in equal measure. This situation would certainly be easier with a convenient escape.

“I… suppose.” Jon worries at the edge of the placemat, pulling on a loose thread. “Though, it’s… if this were a date—or, I suppose, if I-I’d known it was meant to be a date—I… wouldn’t have acted much differently.” He pulls harder at the thread, feeling a bit bad for the way the fabric bunches around it. “I… would not have been… that is to say, I would have liked it if… rather, to say that I didn’t think about it would be, er… well, incorrect.”

Martin stares at him, clearly unable to make sense of Jon’s admittedly disjointed, half-finished sentences. Jon sighs and says, under his breath, “I am not opposed to considering tonight a date.”

Martin’s cheeks are red enough now that Jon can see the flush, even in the dim light. “U-Um. What?”

“I am not opposed,” Jon repeats, louder, “to considering tonight a date.” Lord, that’s mortifying to say out loud. How do people do this? To emphasize his point, he sticks his hand out, palm-up on the table. It’s stiff and awkward and he probably looks like a cat with its hackles raised. He focuses on the cable knit of Martin’s jumper so he doesn’t have to see whatever amused or mocking or disappointed expression is on Martin’s face as he realizes just how bad Jon is at all of this.

Martin is quiet for a moment. Then, just as Jon is about to pull his hand away and flee for the exit, he feels a touch against his palm. Martin’s hand settles tentatively atop his—not weaving their fingers together, not even properly holding it, just… pressing together, palm to palm. Jon can feel Martin’s heartbeat faintly against the tips of his fingers where they press against the inside of Martin’s wrist. “Okay,” Martin says softly, like Jon has just given him a precious gift. “Then it’s a date.”

It’s a date. Jon’s skin has absolutely no reason to prickle at those words, nor does his stomach have any reason to squeeze and sprout butterflies. He nods, a bit brusquely, and opens his mouth to say something—god knows what—when the waiter appears next to their table, somehow having both comically bad and impossibly good timing.

Martin pays, despite Jon’s insistence that he can cover his own share, and then they’re back out in the cool night air, making their way toward the tube station. The first few minutes are quiet. There’s a tension between them that feels more anticipatory than awkward. Their hands brush once, twice. Then, on the third time, Martin hooks his fingers around Jon’s and clasps his hand in his, and Jon lets out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding.

They hold hands all the way to the tube station, up until they have to part ways to take separate lines. Jon runs through all the things that he thinks he’s supposed to say in a situation like this—I had fun tonight or We should do this again sometime or… something—but ends up saying instead, “How long have you…?”

He trails off, squeezing Martin’s hand a few times thoughtlessly, like a warm, bony stress ball. Martin seems to infer the rest of his question, however, because he squeezes Jon’s hand in return and says, “It’s… new for me too, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Jon nods and squeezes Martin’s hand again. He thinks that’s going to become quite a habit if they keep this up. “Right.”

Martin hesitates, before letting his grip on Jon’s hand loosen slightly. “We… we don’t have to do this again if you don’t want to. I-I know things are complicated right now, and I…” He worries his bottom lip between his teeth. “I want to do this again, for… for what it’s worth. But I get it. If you don’t, that is. For—for any reason.”

“I do,” Jon says, surprising himself with his conviction. “I-I don’t… you’re right. Things are… complicated.” That’s certainly a word for it. “But I… I trust you, Martin. O-Or… I want to trust you.” He takes a deep breath. “I am making the decision to trust you.” It’s hard and it’s terrifying and there’s an animal instinct deep within Jon that’s telling him not to expose his vulnerable side, but… somehow, despite all of that, Martin makes him feel… well. Not safe, but as close to safe as he can get right now. Which is an accomplishment in its own right.

Martin exhales slowly and gives Jon a small, hesitant smile. “Thank you. I-I know that’s difficult, and I…” Martin squeezes Jon’s hand, just once. “I-I’m happy.”

And Jon finds that he means it when he says softly, “I’m happy too.”

Martin gets on his train, and Jon gets on his. And despite the ever-present itching beneath his skin and the persistent belief that something isn’t right and the knowledge that he is likely a hunted man, from the moment he lets go of Martin’s hand to the moment he closes his eyes and curls onto his side in bed, that happiness remains.

#tma #the magnus archives #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #jonmartin #ask #anon #this got so incredibly long... i hope you like it!#my writing #my fic

253 notes · View notes

buckleyblueyes · 3 years

Note

buddie + coming out

Jess this got...so fucking long. I'm putting it under a cut. (send me a ship and a word and I'll give you a head canon)

Okay, so Buck first. I imagine that Buck first realized he wasn’t straight when he was in high school. He didn’t mention it to his parents because it’s not like they were that interested in who he was dating anyway. But he did come out to Maddie back then. They were driving around her jeep (coming out in cars is Real okay) and there was some cheesy pop music on the radio (it was the early 2000s) and he didn’t have the word “bisexual” just yet, but she asked if he was dating anyone/if he had a crush on someone and he said “uh...yeah. His name’s Jamie.” and she just took it in stride. Just kind of “oh, okay.” and then he added quickly “I still like girls, too, though” and since she was already through college at this point, so she knew sexuality wasn’t just gay and straight, so she didn’t even blink. “So, tell me about him” and he did. When he was done, she grinned, told him she wanted to meet Jamie some time, and turned up the radio. They drove around some more singing along to whatever cheesy pop song played next.

As far as Buck coming out as an adult, at some point in his late teens or early twenties he found the word bisexual. He never really tried to hide it, but he also never went out of his way to broadcast it. He never felt ashamed of his sexuality, per se, but he never felt proud of it either. It was just like...sometimes he dated guys, y’know? Anyways so flash forward to when he joins the 118. He doesn’t make a big deal out of it, but at some point early on Hen describes him as “a straight white boy” and he’s like “bold of you to assume I’m straight” “you’re not?” “not even a little” and leaves it at that. Sometimes he mentions hookups with guys during his 1.0 phase, but other than that he doesn’t really talk about it. He comes out to Eddie sometime in season 3, when he’s bemoaning his loneliness and Eddie says “you’ll find the right girl someday” and Buck suddenly realizes he’s never actually told Eddie he’s into guys so he responds. “Right person, actually.” and Eddie blinks twice. “What?” and Buck sighs. “I’ll find the right person, I’m bisexual.” and Eddie blinks again. “Oh...Cool…” and then they just move on.

Which brings us to Eddie. Eddie does not come to the realization that he’s queer until much later in life. He worries he might be gay in high school, because everyone else is interested in dating and girls, and he’s just. Not. Everyone always tells him that he and his good friend Shannon would make a good couple, and he’s pretty sure she has a crush on him, but he just likes her as a friend. Until one day, the summer after they graduate from high school, he looks at her and his heart starts racing and his palms are sweating but it’s not from the Texas humidity and oh my god. Is this what liking someone feels like? This is terrible, actually. But he was right about Shannon having a crush on him, so they start dating, and it’s great. And Eddie is relieved because falling in love with Shannon means he’s straight. He was just a late bloomer, like his mom said.

Anyways, so flash forward about twelve years and Eddie is starting to think he was wrong before. Oh, God, he was so wrong. He’s not sure when Buck went from his best friend to someone he was falling in love with, but it’s too late to go back now. But it’s fine. It’s fine. Buck is straight anyway, so it’s not even worth getting worked up over because it’s never going to happen and--Buck isn’t straight. Oh, hell.

And then he meets Ana, and she’s, well. She’s pretty, and he likes that she guesses his name right, but then he blows up at her and also she’s his son’s teacher, so that’s kind of weird. And then the pandemic hits, and he’s forced into close quarters with Buck and it gets impossible to deny his feelings to himself any longer. But he doesn’t know what to do about it. The problem for Eddie is that he’s only really had strong feelings for two people ever in his life, and the word ‘bisexual’ doesn’t to fit. More like ‘these two people in particular-sexual’ but that doesn’t really make sense.

So, when Ana comes back into his life, it seems like the easy way out. Nobody has to know that he has all these weird, confusing, not-heterosexual feelings. He’s 33 years old, who has a sexuality crisis at 33? Of course, the universe has other plans. He gets shot, he almost dies, and he realizes he doesn’t really feel anything for Ana and he probably never will, and predictably by the time he’s finally ready to confront his feelings and sexuality, Buck is dating Taylor. Great.

Anyways, so Eddie goes to Hen for help figuring himself out because if anyone would be able to help, his married lesbian friend seems like a very good bet. And he’s right. He explains how he’s only ever been in love with two people and that gender doesn’t seem to be a big factor in it, and she points him to the concept of asexuality and aromanticism, and more specifically demisexuality/demiromanticism and it just clicks for him. He wasn’t a “late bloomer” after all. So, I guess Hen is the first person Eddie comes out to. And he doesn’t really feel the need to come out to anyone else at that point because it’s not really anyone’s business.

Eventually, he and Buck get together. And for Buck, telling people isn’t a big deal because he’s been out as bi for years. Eddie isn’t reluctant to tell their found family, or even the rest of the 118. But he is nervous to tell his biological family. He doubts they’ll be too happy about him being with a man, let alone understand the concept of demisexuality. He starts with Abuela and Pepa, the family he’s closer to (literally and figuratively). He comes out to both of them at the same time, at Abuela’s, over a home cooked meal. He tells them that he and Buck are dating, that he loves him. Pepa puts a hand over his and gives it a gentle squeeze. “I’m proud of you,” she says. “It was about time you put that boy out of his misery.”

Eddie chokes on a surprised laugh. Then he looks at Abuela. Abuela is quiet for a minute before standing and walking around the table to where Eddie is sitting. She pulls him up to standing and gives him a tight hug. “Te quiero.”

Next he comes out to his sisters, who are pretty chill about the whole thing, and lastly his parents. His parents liked Buck when they met briefly, so if Eddie was going to be with a man, at least he picked a good one. And given that the rest of the family already knows and is supportive, it’s not like anyone would be on their side if they had a problem with it, and they want to keep seeing their grandson. So they just say “okay” and accept it in the most passive way possible.

Anyways this got SUPER DUPER long and detailed, so I’m going to end it with this: After they’ve been out (both Eddie coming out and Buck and Eddie being out as a couple) for awhile, Hen drags them to that year’s LA Pride with her, Karen, and the kids, and they end up meeting up with Michael, David, Harry and May there (and Bobby who is wearing a t-shirt that says “Free Dad Hugs” in rainbow letters, Buck takes him up on the offer immediately).

#buddie #bi Buck #demi Eddie #you can pry my demisexual/demiromantic eddie headcanons out of my cold dead hands!!!!!!!!#coming out hcs #1331 words later lmao

153 notes · View notes

sorcererinthestars · 2 years

Text

A Christmas in Deep Space

A very merry Christmas to everyone who celebrates! This prompt was written in tandem with the @rtwritingcommunity and their Secret Santa writing exchange! I really am grateful for them, because it gets me to write these days when life is insane. This was written for @tallowandport and I hope they enjoy!

Summary: Human Gavin teaches his alien friends the meaning of Christmas. Chaos ensues. AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/35809723

“You do... what now?” The confusion that radiated through Geoff’s voice was enough to make Gavin snort as he rummages around in a big pile of Michael’s discarded tools until he found another knut to string on a spare piece of chain. “Hang ornaments on a tree! To make a Christmas tree, Geoffrey, it’s not that weird. Come on, you can’t tell me you don’t have Christmas on Sorola-6.”

Geoff wrinkles his nose as he looks at the decorations their resident human had tried to string up around the ship. Ever since Gavin realized at their last pitstop that it would be early December on Earth-That-Was, he had been dragging them all into what he called ‘Christmas Festivities’ - or rather, whatever version of that he could make do with on the Achieve.

There wasn’t exactly trees in space. Honestly, there were hardly enough trees on the hastily-terraformed planets in the back abyss, which was where they had been spending most of their time. Almost every planet did have some sort of celebration for the coming of the dark and cold, but humans, as Geoff had discovered, tended to make theirs cheery instead of the omnious settling-in of the cold and dark. Gavin had explained to the whole crew that this was (apparently) all to celebrate the birth of some god-child that some of the humans back on Earth-That-Was worship.

Jack, their navigator and human-enthusiast despite living the farthest out on the reaches of the universe most of his life, was quick to point out it was stolen from the ‘pagans’ that Earth-That-Was had and Gavin had just sort of waved his hand around like a broken flap. “Yeah, yeah,” he had said quick. “No one really cares about all that faff now anyways, right? We just wanna have a Christmas tree and open presents and sing carols and make cookies and put up LIGHTS!”

Michael had been the one to point out to Gavin - as gently as two lovers do, so shouting at him - that they already had lights and if he tested the electrical system again so help him, god...

Four days and two hundred solar leagues later, Geoff’s poor, poor ship was now adorned with hundreds of bits of the solar flares, which Gavin had painstakingly disassembled and poked at until they each glowed with an eerie red light. Alfredo, whose race could hover (not fly, as he reminded them), was set to work drifting towards the ceiling of the crew quarters and cargo bay until the whole ship was a kind of sickening red color. Jeremy, with his strength, followed along with boxes of machinery scraps that kind of glittered. Combined, they had a red-tinged ship with small flashes of metal. Michael had almost blown a gasket when he saw, but a few kisses from their enthusiastic human had been enough to - mainly - keep him at bay. But his face was green with frustration for days.

After that came the cookies. They were too far out to fetch any ingredients, now deep, deep into space. Trevor and Lindsay were roped into helping with this, working with the replicator and the food paste that was digestible by the variety of species on Geoff’s humble vessel until it looked... frighteningly... like little people. And snowflakes, although Gavin was the only one who had ever really seen snow that looked so geometric.

They didn’t have frosting, so Gavin melted down protein bars and kind of ... smeared the little humanoid figures in the brown paste until they were covered. Gleefully, he raced around the ship until everyone had taken one. Ky was really the only one that humored him, but she always tended to play along.

She didn’t show Gavin that she spit it out after his back turned. Whatever digestive systems humans had must be stronger than hers, because fuck, that shit was nasty....

The thing was, Gavin was happy. He’d only been on the ship about eight months, since they had rescued him from a slaving operation running out of one of the dark planets. He had told them, reluctantly, that he had been snatched from one of the few bastions of human life still existing on Earth-That-Was, in the bits of land not swallowed by the rising sea. He wasn’t meant for space, that’s for damn sure. He was a con-man, a good little thief, though. So Geoff had kept him on instead of abandoning him to life on a hardly-terraformed rock.

When Gavin and Michael immediately hit it off (when they weren’t shouting at each other) and Jeremy had stumbled upon them shagging in their bunk, well. The Human could stay until he wanted to leave. Besides, Geoff was growing quite fond of him.

How sex worked between a human and an alien from hundreds of thousands of solar leagues away, Geoff wasn’t sure, but he wasn’t about to pry.

After the cookie thing came their current situation, where Geoff was currently trying to help Gavin cover a coat rack in fraying wire, knuts and bolts draped onto chain, and other shiny do-dads. “It’s supposed to be a tree, Geoffrey,” Gavin insists again before sighing and dropping his hands to his waist. “I know it’s not exactly the same, but ...”

“Hey,” Geoff says quietly, sighing and pulling Gavin away from his ‘tree’ for a moment. “It’s good. It’s - uh. Festive.”

“It’s not, though,” Gavin sighs, shaking his head. “I’ve really arsed it. I can’t do anything right, not even give you guys a good Christmas.” His face falls and he plops down to the ground, looking up at the decorated coat rack. “I just...”

Geoff sits down next to him and studies him, seeing the sadness and frustration coil in Gavin like he was looking at an infrared camera. “Talk to me.”

Gavin slams his palms down on the ground and lets out a long sigh. “You all saved me, took me in, and I just -- Christmas is about family, yeah? It’s the whole bloody point. Family, found or blood, but its about sayin’ thanks and giving a faff about one another. And I wanted to do that here, with you guys. As- you know, since you’re ...” He trails off into a mumble.

Geoff watches the emotions coil and then smiles a bit, squeezing Gavin’s shoulder. “You make us happy. You don’t have to have a coat rack covered in glitter to do that.”

Gavin brushes his leakage off his cheeks - why did humans get wet when they felt emotions? Geoff would never understand - and leans closer into a hug. Geoff holds him tight. “Come on. You said we had to put presents under this ‘tree’, right?”

Immediately, Geoff sees the blue and green of Gavin’s body spike red and yellow and orange as excitement and happiness and warmth bloom through him. “Yeah!! Yeah, presents!”

He’s turning away from the tree when he nearly collides with another person coming up the corridor from the crew lounge. Matt, holding a big pile of boxes? All of them seemed to be painted strange garish colors, or wrapped in blankets from the crew quarters, or shoved into a pillowcase, or ... something.

Matt goes one way, the boxes go the other, and Gavin flies backwards with a squawk. It’s only Geoff’s reflexes that manage to keep things from shattering, helping to stabilize them. Matt, looking unphased in only the way a member of his species can, just nods. “Hey, man. These are our presents for the, uh - was it Secret Sinbad? The thing you had us do.”

“Santa,” Gavin says, but water is bubbling up in his eyes and he starts leaking again a bit. “Myatt....,” he whines, “you didn’t have to do that!”

“You ...” He glances at Geoff with a confused look. “But you literally said we did, though, so...” But he’s cut off by Gavin jumping, spiderlike, onto his front and clinging to him in a hug. “Thank you Matt Bragg!”

Geoff shakes his head. “Tell everyone to gather in the kitchen at 20:00hours, we’ll unwrap... presents then.” He still didn’t quite understand the significance, but if this would put an end to his ship constantly blinking with strange lights, well. He’d do whatever it takes. Oh. And to make Gavin happy too, he supposed. For a Dread Pirate, he certainly was getting to be soft in his old age... *** Michael runs his thumb gently over Gavin’s hand as they sit and wait for the others to arrive. The coat-rack is covered in his equipment, but he had restrained himself from getting explosively angry due to the smile on Gavin’s face. He had been particuarly gloomy for a few weeks before this, but this ‘Christmas’ nonsense had helped. Honestly, it had stopped them all going a bit stir-crazy in deep space, so whatever worked.

The kitchen was pulsing a bunch of strange colors when they all arrived, which was what happened when you told The Achieve she was about to hit something in the middle of space where nothing was around. Her sensors were going haywire, but hey... it did give them the ambiance they wanted once Alfredo disabled the shrieking alarms.

There is quickly a pile of various wrapped goodies under the coat-rack Christmas tree as everyone joins. It’s not often the whole crew gathers together at once anymore and Michael does feel a burst of fondness to see them all. Not one of them is from the same planet or the same species, but they’re all here. Their fucked up little family.

Before the presents can be handed out, Gavin shakily stands. “I just - uh.” He’s red. Humans liked to show off their blood when they got awkward. It was a strange evolutionary thing they did. “Thanks. Guys. For all of this. Christmas is always fun and it’s really not about some god-kid or a man in a big red suit..” “Who breaks and enters!” Jeremy pipes up until Trevor shushes him. “who breaks and enters, yeah,” Gavin says with a laugh. “It’s just about family. And you guys brought me into yours. So... thanks.” The resounding whoops and hollers are enough to make Gavin’s blood show under his skin again, and Michael yanks him down to kiss his cheek. “Gimme a fucking gift,” he says after a moment. “I want whatever someones’ got!” In the end, because they weren’t able to dock to prep for this event, the gifts are... unique. They range from personal artifacts exchanged, weapons given, and even coupons for dish duty trade and night watch avoidance. It’s dumb and Geoff almost blacks out from the amount of emotion coming from them all at once point, but it’s warm. It’s family. And as Lindsay and Ky direct them to the big table, there is one more big surprise. Ten fat, juicy strawberries. Everyone’s eyes nearly bug out. “How...,” Geoff mutters. “I bought a small incubator last time we were at port,” Lindsay says a bit awkwardly. “It’s in my chamber. I was hoping to grow some fresh food for Ky and I, but when Gavin said to share... I kind of maxed out the grow rate. Happy holidays?” Among cheers, they all sit down to eat. Michael leans over to Gavin and gently exchanges a soft kiss. “Good job, boi.” Gavin can’t stop smiling. “Thanks. Merry Christmas, Michael.” “Merry Christmas, Gav.”

#rtah #ragehappy #mavin #space fic #christmas fic #rt secret santa #rt writing community #my writing

41 notes · View notes

jamesbuchananxsteviegrant · 3 years

Text

She Who Shan't Be Named - Part 1 | Sugar Lips (Tony x Reader, Clint x Reader, ??? x Reader)

Category: Smut (Mandatory) Age: 18+ Trigger Warnings: Explicit language, oral sex (male receiving), suggestive language, alcohol, drunk sexual actions, casual sexual actions, flirting with a lot of people Ship: Tony x Reader, Clint x Reader, ??? x Reader Summary: Tony lets his life-long friend crash at the Avengers HQ while she has nowhere else to go. What could go wrong with so many attractive individuals living in the same home? Word Count: 1.7k Masterlist: LINK

(hmu if you want adding to the tag-list for this series)

---

“I, unfortunately, have someone I want to introduce you all to.” Tony begins as he’s gathered everyone in the living quarters.

“Unfortunately? Well, that always sounds like a good start, Stark.” Natasha jokes, sitting alongside Bucky and Sam on one of the couches.

Tony rolls his eyes and shrugs.

“Yeah, well,” He trails off. “This is (Y/N) (L/N).” He gestures, pointing to the woman leaning against a pillar in the back corner of the room.

She makes an effort to stand upright and walk further into the room.

“Well, hello. It’s nice to finally meet you all in person.”

To say everyone in the room falls speechless with their eyes wide and jaws dropped is an understatement.

“Oh my God, you lot are insatiable.” Tony groans, rolling his eyes once more.

(Y/N) can only smirk and wink at just about everyone in the room.

“You’re welcome, Starky Boy.”

“Put a sock in it, sugar-lips.”

“Sugar-lips?” Rhodey quizzes, amusement dripping from his voice.

Tony and (Y/N) can only stare at one another and grin as they remember where that nickname came from.

*** flashback ***

“One more for the road?” Tony suggests to the very, very drunk (Y/N) beside him.

It’s three-thirty-AM, they’re both at their favourite bar in Manhattan, enjoying a belated birthday weekend of (Y/N)’s which he regretfully missed due to Avenger work.

“You know how to tempt me, Starky-boy.” She teases with a wink, waving her hand up to catch the attention of the bartender, Harrison, who they’ve grown acquainted with over the years of drinking at his bar.

Tony falls into a comfortable silence as he simply stares at the woman he’s been friends with since he was a teen at Phillips Academy.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” The woman’s sarcastic comment pushes him over the edge. Within a second, his hands are grabbing her head and pulling her in for a harsh, desperate, passion-fueled kiss.

Harrison smirks as he sits their drinks down, watching how the pair have had ridiculous amounts of sexual tension coursing through them since they first started coming to the bar over ten years ago.

“What, the fuck?” (Y/N) manages to breathe between kisses.

“Stop talking.” Tony murmurs in response, only intensifying the kiss more and more.

“Tony,” She attempts but makes no effort to stop the man. No. Absolutely not.

She’s gotten herself off to the thought of this man too many times for her to want to stop.

Her hands are grasping at the black shirt that adorns his torso, his own hands moving down to grab her hips, itching to have her closer and closer.

“Jesus Christ.” The woman gasps as best she can. “Anthony!”

The man pulls back at the use of his full name but doesn’t let go of her hips.

“Tell me you haven’t wanted to do that?” He asks, voice deep. Low. Husky.

“Of course I wanted to fucking do it, you imbecile!”

His hand jumps up to grasp at her throat, a gasp escaping her lips.

“Watch your mouth.”

“Guys, you’re gonna make my customers leave; the back lounge is empty.” Harrison interrupts. Tony continues to make no effort to stop his actions. They’re both too drunk to care.

Not that he’d care anymore so when he’s sober.

The billionaire practically drags the woman off of their barstools, (Y/N) frantically grabbing their drinks, spilling half of them on the floor - to which she gives Harrison an apologetic look but he simply rolls his eyes with a grin.

A small shriek escapes the woman’s lips as Tony throws her into the room, her hands managing to sit the, now half-empty, drinks on the coffee table.

“On your knees.”

“Don’t need to tell me twice.” She grins, obeying the man’s order whilst quickly throwing her hair into a messy ponytail.

“Always knew you were a slut.” The man growls, unbuckling his belt and zipper on his smart trousers.

“You know me best, Starky Boy.”

She wastes no time in taking the man’s solid cock into her mouth, moaning at the feeling and taste, Tony groaning in satisfaction.

“Look how desperate you are for it.” He condescends yet continues to thrust into her mouth, fucking the back of her throat.

No words can be formed to give the man a reply. She’s too busy focusing on taking his impressive shaft down her throat, making sure her lips are touching his pelvis.

“Christ!”

He can’t help himself. His hands are in her hair, grabbing it and yanking her closer to his body, not thinking about anything other than the noise of her gagging.

“FUCK! You filthy fucking slut.”

She moans at that, working his cock more and more.

It’s not too long later before the man is releasing all over the woman’s face, her sticking her tongue out and taking as much of it as she can.

“This was a brand new blouse, Stark.” She complains, jokingly, as she licks her white lips. “Ugh, salty.”

“Don’t lie, you know it’s sweeter than sugar.” Tony laughs, re-doing his trousers.

“It definitely fucking isn’t.” (Y/N) groans, standing up and licking the rest of the mess off of her mouth.

“Whatever you say, sugar-lips.”

“TONY!”

*** flashback end ***

“A nickname I gave her once upon a time.” Tony vaguely explains, (Y/N) chuckling.

“Okay. So why’s she here?” Bucky asks, not taking his eyes off the most attractive woman he’s ever seen in his life.

“She has a name.” (Y/N) comments, quirking a flirtatious brow at the man.

The super soldier raises his brows but smirks.

“Why’re you here, doll?”

Now, that does something to her core.

“Starky Boy told me that y’all need a babysitter, so here I am!” She boasts, evidently joking but it makes everyone grin and not ask anymore questions.

“I’ve known her since I was in my teens, she’s a family friend.” Tony adds, reassuring everyone that she’s not someone to be cautious of.

“Pft, family friend? Don’t compliment yourself, Stark.” (Y/N) jokes, everyone laughing with her. “Anyway, in all seriousness, hello, I’m (Y/N). I’m temporarily chilling here if you’re all alright with it since I got nowhere else to be.”

“A pleasure, (Y/N). Steve Rogers.” Captain America begins, stepping forward and shaking the woman’s hand.

“Pleasure’s all mine, Captain.” She winks, the man smirking at her antics which will be refreshing around the compound.

“Bucky.” The Winter Soldier greets, nodding his head at the woman from his seat on the couch.

“Romanoff.” Black Widow follows, (Y/N) biting her lip at the red-head. “Natasha Romanoff.”

“Alright, James Bond.” Sam jokes, everyone laughing.

“Tony, I can’t believe this is the first time you’ve given me the opportunity to meet the Natasha Romanoff.” (Y/N) beams, winking at the woman who returns the gesture with a smug smile.

“Christ.” Tony groans, face-palming harder than ever.

“Sam Wilson.” The man smirks, reaching out to shake the woman’s hand from his position on the couch.

“Bird Boy.”

He gives a hearty laugh at that.

“Sure.”

“James Rhodes, but call me Rhodey.”

“So you’re the Transformer’s identical twin, right?” The woman quizzes, rhetorically, shaking the man’s hand.

Another round of laughter.

“Something like that.”

“Bruce. Bruce Banner.”

“The guy I don’t wanna piss off; got it.” (Y/N) smiles, watching the brunet give her an anxious smile and chuckle. “Or maybe I do.” She adds with a wink, basking in the entertainment that comes from his embarrassed expression.

“(Y/N).” Tony groans, semi-threateningly.

“Yes, Anthony?” She asks, smiling at him like an innocent child who’s never done wrong.

“Good day to you, beautiful mortal. I am Thor of Asgard.”

“Wowee…” The woman widens her eyes as the God leans down to kiss her cheeks. “The one and only.”

“That would be I.” He smiles, throwing her a wink also. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“Stop hogging the limelight already.” A voice complains from beside the God of Thunder.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the God of Mischief.”

“Well, well, well, a beautiful lady such as yourself knows who I am, huh?” Loki greets, taking her hand and leans down to press a kiss to her knuckles, Tony continuing to grunt and groan in the background.

“Hard not to when you get off on destroying New York.” (Y/N) grins, a chorus of laughter filling the room yet again.

“Stop hogging the limelight.” A female voice mimics Loki's previous words.

“Well if it isn’t the Scarlet Witch!”

“That is I.” Wanda grins. “Wanda.” She adds, holding her hand out for (Y/N) to shake, which she accepts graciously.

“Tony, do you know how pissed I am that you’ve not introduced me to these people until now?”

“Oh my God, I’m literally going to kick you out.” The billionaire responds, pouring himself a whisky from the bar at the back of the living quarters.

“Yeah, yeah.” (Y/N) retorts, winking at Wanda before turning to the couch beside her which a certain Archer is leisurely laid across. “Barton.”

“(L/N).”

“Long time no see.”

“Ya think?” Clint quirks a brow, jokingly.

“How’s Laura? How’re the kids?”

“Not bad, not bad. How’s Michael?”

“Dead if I had any say in the matter.” The woman casually threatens as the brunet mentions her ex-boyfriend.

He breathes out a laugh.

“Commitment issues as good as ever then?”

“You know me, Robin.” She jokes, using the nickname she gave me when he came on a night out with Tony and her many moons ago.

“You two know each other?” Wanda questions.

They both shrug.

“Somewhat.” Clint answers, (Y/N) giving him a playful slap on the shoulder.

“You love me!”

He grins and sits up before standing.

“You know I do, come ‘ere.” The man chuckles, pulling the woman in for a tight embrace.

“Missed you, Robin.”

“You too, Marian.” He responds, using the fairytale nicknames from Robin Hood.

“Those two have definitely banged.” Sam snarks from across the room, Natasha agreeing.

“Jealousy doesn’t look good on you, Wilson.” Clint teases, flashing a wink his way.

“Now, now, boys.” The woman settles, turning to the young gentleman on the other couch, staring at her with some much awe in his eyes. “Who’s the kid?” She asks, staring at him directly yet directing her question at Tony.

“Uh, hi, I’m Peter. Peter Parker.” He stumbles, standing upright and holding out his hand for her to shake.

She giggles.

“Corruptible.”

“(L/N)!” Tony yells, the woman only laughing as she shakes the young man’s hand.

“A pleasure, spider-boy.”

Peter’s eyes widen at her knowing.

“Right, are we done? That was exhausting.” Tony complains for the nth time.

“Oh, grow a pair, Stark.” (Y/N) retorts.

“I will literally kick you out of this building.”

“You ain’t got the nerve.”

Downing a swig of his whisky, Tony takes a deep breath but smiles at the woman.

“It’ll be nice to have you around, sugar-lips.”

“I bet.” She winks, everyone chuckling again.

And that’s just the beginning of her relationships with everyone at the Avengers HQ.

---

77 notes · View notes

real-fanta-sea · 3 years

Text

Prompt for the kiss no. 71

Prompt: "Not to be cringe or anything, but I really like the idea of the kiss 71 (height difference kisses where one person has to bend down, and the other is on their tippy-toes)...where Trevor is his true height. i.e. Ogg's height and Michael has to stand on his tiptoes to snog him."

I'm sorry, anon, but I saved the post as a draft and it just vanished into thin connection. So, I have to answer this way.

This work is more of a spur of the moment thing, but I kinda like the way it turned out, being it just my emotions spilt onto paper. If you'd like, you can read it on AO3 here, or under read more. I hope you'll like it as much as I enjoyed writing it! :)

tw: kissing, child abuse memories

It's been three weeks already.

An unhealthy greenish glow of flickering light tubes and the icy breath of an industrial refrigerator made him shiver as Michael, gliding on the orbit touching stars in his mind, put yet another box of ready-made microwave hamburgers into his shopping cart. If he were not a regular in this particular shop, he would have got lost. It resembled an anthill with seemingly infinite shelves and aisles, bursting with the merchandise, even though the depressed lights covered everything in the same shade of decay green. The same life outlook was shared with most of the shadows roaming around whose name tags qualified them as proud employees of Flormart.

It's been three weeks, and he still stuck around, hanging on his every word.

Michael pushed his cart further from frozen goods, and the pictures swirling and smearing all around transitioned from photoshopped vegetables to flashy fireworks of chips and other guilty pleasures he planned on indulging in later on. Some people would find the height of the shelves menacing, but to Michael, it was just a memory that pulled him from the orbit back to earth and placed him in the middle of a football pitch. The smell of sweat building up underneath his helmet. The crunch of the crisp lawn under his feet. The spotlight following him whenever he scored. Cheering faceless crowds in time with busty faceless girls' pompoms. But most of all, he felt happy again - needed, cherished, innocent, and with a bright future awaiting his embrace. But then, just as he crossed from the snacks aisle to the alcohol quarter, the football stadium lights flickered and turned bright red. All the faceless girls turned around, their mouths gaping as if someone dislocated their jaws, and the cheering turned into a hellish cry of pain. Where their eyes were supposed to be, he saw a flair, screwing itself deeper into their skull, and a stream of scarlet goo drip down on their immaculate white dresses.

It's been three weeks, and somehow, his puppy-like behaviour didn't irk him yet. Quite the opposite if he were honest with himself - he felt strangely peaceful in his company.

Michael gulped in a desperate attempt to wash down the horror that invited itself under cover of a happy memory. Shaking his head only did so much and dispersed the spectators and cheerleaders alike, in the same way shaking a snowy paperweight would. Michael's chest constricted as he felt unable to breathe in properly, people splatting and exploding upon impact all around him in his mind. Suddenly, he felt a pull under both of his shoulders and found himself flying towards the pitch-black sky, where instead of one moon, two shone down on him. As he flew closer, they shrunk into two amber irises - and Michael immediately knew who pulled him out of the memory. As he crashed into a mass of pink candy cotton clouds, his vision blurred just to clear up when he felt a solid surface under his feet and someones hot hands in his. Somehow, he found himself looking at the tips of abused old pair of sneakers he was wearing, the same pair Michael knew he wore that faithful day at the airstrip. A moment later, a couple of dark blue, equally run-down ones stepped into his field of vision. He slowly let his sight slide up on crumpled jeans, the hem of a military jacket, a pair of dog tags hanging around a slender neck, a sharp jaw, a pair of full dark lips and finally, to the pair of amber eyes, eyes that radiated worry, care and, at the same time, something he could only read as love and utmost devotion.

It's been three weeks since the incident, and anytime he woke up from a nightmare that played in his mind over and over again, he was there to soothe him; he was there waiting for Michael's tears to dampen his naked shoulder. He didn't bitch about it and didn't tell a soul in the morning.

Michael let out a shaky breath. Stopping his feet from casually continuing in their stroll proved harder than he thought, and he leaned on the shopping cart handle, running fingers through his hair. He couldn't decide what mortified him more - the creativity his brain proved to possess when playing out the horrible things he has witnessed in just a few years of his fresh adulthood, or the way it put his acquaintance on some fucking pedestal and presented him as the alpha and omega of his thoughts and desires.

"Hey Michael, are you ok?"

Speaking of the devil... "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. I just.." Michael breathed in again and turned towards the source of the voice, trying to display a small smile by twitching his tired lips "I need a smoke, that's all."

It's been three weeks, and he got that tingling feeling in his guts already. He could barely tolerate touch or prolonged eye contact without getting goosebumps and that ticklish feeling solidifying and slicing right into his groin. Michael wanted to believe it was just his weird head showing gratitude for saving his ass, but anytime he found himself in the company of that amber-eyed twink, the longing grew worse.

"Hey, how about a bottle of something to wash the cig down?" said the guy and his oversized jeans jacket hanging from his shoulders cringed into weird shapes as he took one of his hands out of his pocket and pointed his thumb towards the shelves. He looked so adorably dishevelled in all jeans, and with his silky hair framing his hopeful face, Michael couldn't have said no to anything he would suggest. Instead of mustering the strength to say no, Michael threw another smile towards his companion and turned his back to him to choose the dream crusher he wanted to numb them with before they went to bed.

To someone who grew up in a functional family, all the labels and bottle shapes would seem the same. To Michael, however, to choose the right brand and size meant the same as selecting the bananas or avocados of the proper ripeness would for them. It was a work of art; he learned so much in the ten years of living with his stepfather. While scrutinizing the shelves, index finger and thumb scrubbing on the sides of his chin absent-mindedly, he remembered how they would come to the similar shop together, he and his mother's second husband, and how he slipped behind the shelves. At the same time, Frank chatted with the clerk, and he stuffed his lunch box with a large flat bottle of Chief's Heritage Fire Water whiskey. He had to carefully close it to avoid disturbing the aluminium foil that served as a guard from the primitive electronic protection device they had to pass through on their way out. Michael would then tuck his stepfather's sleeve, babble some cute nonsense to get candy from the unsuspicious clerk, and after they paid for the two packs of cigarettes and a beer, they would leave. Frank would let him chug on whiskey then, and if he were in an exceptionally good mood, he would let him sleep through the night without beating the shit out of him.

Finally, spotting the whiskey he knew so well on one of the top shelves, Michael attempted to grasp it but only managed to graze his fingertips against the bottom of one of the bottles that rocked gently upon touch but otherwise didn't move an inch. "Fuck", he uttered under his breath, cracked his neck and stretched onto the tips of his toes, steadying himself by holding onto one of the lower shelves. But, again, he could only touch the bottle but not get a good hold of it. He even contemplated climbing the shelves to get it, as if the shame of his disappointing height haven't already painted his cheeks bright red and didn't make him want to leave the shop right away. Just as he braced himself for the climb, eyes fixed on that damn bottle, a gentle touch of someone's hand squeezing his shoulder made him turn around. It was Trevor's hand, and even though Michael still had to look up to meet his eyes, the small sympathetic smile put him in ease in a blink of an eye.

"Chief's, huh? Good choice, Mike!" the praise in his voice made Michael shiver, and he desperately tried to ignore the warmth he was receiving through the palm still steady on his shoulder and which upset his heart into beating twice as fast as ever before. "My old man used to drink this. It tastes like cat piss but knocks you out good for the buck." Trevor's grin felt like a warm touch sunrise after countless years of freezing darkness. Michael couldn't help but soak in the warmth, allowing himself to lose himself in the feeling completely. "Let me get it for you, eh?" he heard Trevor say from somewhere near, and before he could object, most of the light was obstructed by a jeans-clad chest.

It was then when Michael closed his eyes and tried to get hold of the situation. Trevor, the guy he only knew for three weeks, pushing Michael's back onto the shelves as he leaned for the bottle but also pushing his chest almost to Michael's. If it weren't for a couple of inches of hot air and fabric between them, their bodies would brush against each other. Michael could only gulp when he opened his eyes again, and his mind provided him with the maddening picture of Trevor's naked lean chest, peppered with dark brown hair as if puberty marked its way down towards his groin with it. Michael's head was spinning when he looked up to see Trevor still busy fetching the bottle. Michael's racing imagination saw him grabbing the guy's head, crashing lips with his and dissolving into what he thought would be the best kiss he would ever receive. Michael gulped again. He had to have him.

He was anxious about the way it was too easy to raise both his hands and grab fists full of other man's jacket as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Michael didn't fight it when he felt his muscles pull on the fabric and only turned his gaze up to where he expected Trevor's eyes to look once he would feel the movement of his clothes. Michael didn't have to wait for it at all, actually; the puzzled expression was already waiting for him to drink it up. However, he couldn't maintain the contact for too long as his eyes focused on something completely different; the dark lips, deliciously parted in the unspoken question. The distance between his own and them unnerved him, and in the sparking silence, Michael again propped himself onto the tips of his toes, pressed harder on the fabric to steady himself and, closing eyes, pressed his lips to Trevor's.

For a delicious moment, the world fell apart as if some invisible force made the dimensions crash down. The trembling soft firmness against his lips sent shivers down his spine with each cautious move. Whenever Michael recalled the moment years later, he could always sense the faint smell of cigarettes, petrol and sun mixing between their bodies and the way the ground shook and cried under his feet when he felt Trevor's palms slide down his sides and pull him closer, effectively sweeping him off his feet.

Trevor seemed to be relishing at the moment as much as Michael was, but when he felt solid ground under his feet again, and the pair of arms letting go of him, Michael reluctantly broke the kiss with a coquettish wet pop and tried to catch his lost breath. Then, leaning against the shelves again, he only dared to peek up when his cheeks stopped burning from what felt like a mixture of acid and a marathon run. Trevor's face might as well have been a mirror, for he looked down on Michael with eyes wide, face red and lips wet and trembling as if he didn't get a grasp of reality yet. Michael couldn't help but let the anxiety scream right to his face in the voice of his stepfather - and there were thousands of things he might have ruined then and there, just because he didn't fight his stupid queer side, because he let himself kiss another man, because by the twisted chain of mistakes he fell from what could have been a good life to longing after a rabid smuggler in the middle of a liquor aisle.

Just as he was about to duck under Trevor's arm and run away from the voice and feelings of shame it brought about, he was stopped by a gentle, almost shy touch of a hot palm on his cheek. The slender fingers brushed against his face in such a delicate way Michael's heart skipped a beat, and closing his eyes, he leaned into the touch, seeking the soothing silence it brought with the warmth. The hand fit his cheek like a glove, Michael mused as he relaxed into slow movements of fingertips on his temples. Right there, at that moment, everything felt so right, so natural. Why has he deprived himself of the delicious heat for three weeks when somewhere deep inside, where the beating of his heart always gave away the truth, he knew he needed it from the start - well, Michael didn't know. Instead, he slid his arms around Trevor's waist and buried his face into his chest.

"Michael?"

The vibrating echo of his name, spoken in such a husky yet caring way, made Michael squeeze his arms around Trevor even tighter. He sought the last bits and pieces of it before he dared to speak up himself, afraid of spoiling the delicious contentment of the moment.

"Let's get out of here."

A gentle kiss on top of his head and long arms lacing his shoulders later, Michael found himself too far from Trevor for comfort. But even with the newly gained distance between them, a quick glance sideways has provided him with a sight of a beaming smile and a fire deep inside Trevor's eyes that made his own lips twitch into a happy upwards bow. As they rolled into the checkout, Michael has noticed the world has changed as well. The depressing shade of green has somehow transitioned into a welcoming warm white; the shadows that they passed by on their way in suddenly bloomed into happy faces. The various packings of goods exploded in all the colours of the rainbow. As Michael and Trevor emerged into the darkness of the parking lot, ready to relive their revelation in thousands of ways, Michael has felt at peace with himself for the first time in forever. The days of the inner night were over.

#michael de santa #trevor philips #trikey #kissing prompts #gta v fic #real_fanta_sea.txt

31 notes · View notes

prettyyyboyluke · 3 years

Note

Umm I was wondering if you could maybe do an imagine where cal is like her brothers bad boy friend and the reader is innocent ... or that's what everyone thinks...umm idk if you're taking requests but if you could do this I would really appreciate it🥺

y/n’s brother’s a sophomore in college, and once he graduated high school, he had moved out and gotten his own apartment. one with two bedrooms so she could have a place to stay when going to visit him. granted, he was only two hours away, but it was still nice since she didn’t have her parents helicoptering her. y/n was lucky to have a brother like tyler, the two were very close and were open about lots of things. so of course, he didn’t mind her and a few of her friends joining him and his friends for movie nights or small kickbacks.

that’s exactly what tonight was, a kickback. y/n was more than excited because tyler invites his best friend over each time, and he’s the hottest guy y/n’s ever seen, at least that’s what she thinks. curly black hair with blonde streaks, tall and muscular, tattoos dispersed all over his body, she practically drools every time she sees him. she thinks there are no flaws for him, except he’s that “i don’t date,” type of guy, which leaves lots of girls heartbroken.

y/n always arrives early to help tyler set up since he’s very unorganized and needs help setting out snacks for their friends. of course, y/n is on aux because she swears by her spotify being better than her brothers, but no one has ever complained about the music.

“god tyler, how did you ever survive your semesters without me here.” she laughs.

“oh, shut up. i’m perfectly fine, just not as organized as you.” he jabs back.

their friends pile into the apartment, chatting amongst themselves about their last week of school. y/n’s about to pour herself a drink when calum walks through the front door. she stares longingly, her eyes following up his body and his movements as he says hello to everyone there. her friend nova gives her a hard jab in her side, emphasizing the fact that she is practically drooling over the new quarter zip-up sweatshirt she just purchased. she straightens up, pushing out her chest. calum looks her way, smiling at her and making his way over.

“didn’t know tyler suddenly had a bad girl of a sister.” he smiles at her smugly, and if y/n didn’t know any better, she’d say he was speaking in a malicious tone, but she knows him better than that.

she rolls her eyes at him, “shut up!” she swats at his bicep. “tyler told you about my car, huh?”

“yeah,” he laughs, “said that your whole bumper came off. i’m surprised they let you out of the house tonight, you know since you’re a little girl.”

y/n’s cheeks start to heat up, her body temperature rising as their conversation continues. “i am not a little girl, calum. just because you’re a few years older than me doesn’t mean anything!” she crosses her arms, looking playfully furious and calum wants to run his thumb across the pout on her lips.

“sure, pretty girl.” he takes her drink and takes a sip. he hums at the liquor that hits his taste buds, “i’ll be taking this,” he says, shaking her drink in front of her eyes.

when he’s a few feet away, her friends chime in. “god, he’s so hot.”

“you just know he’s packing.”

“hey!” y/n screeches softly, “he’s mine! find your own college boy to drool over.”

she makes her self another drink, thanks to calum, and joins everyone by the couch. she walks around to the end of the couch where calum is sat at, ready to sit on the love seat next to nova, but calum catches her wrist and pulls her into his lap. her cheeks heat up, again, relieved when tyler is preoccupied with the game they’re about to play.

“what’re you doing?” she hisses into his ear. “my brother’s right there.”

“and? amaya is practically sitting on top of him.” he points to the two in the small chair. she shivers and shakes her head. “see? so it’s perfectly fine if we sit together.” he moves over a bit, giving her room to sit next to him but still somewhat on his thigh, and she looks at him while she positions herself. “everything alright here, pretty girl?”

“yup! yup, everything’s fine.” she looks at the way their legs are tangled together. she cracks her knuckles, trying to calm some of her nerves. calum slings an arm around her side of the couch, making her lean subconsciously into him. she knows what he’s doing... and she loves it.

they’re about two and a half rounds into picolo, their favorite drinking game. and everyone has a very nice buzz going on. they’re on the caliente version now, so this round should be spicy.

“alright, alright!” tyler laughs, “if calum and y/n kiss, each of you can give out 2 sips. if not, you each have to drink 2 times.” tyler finishes.

her eyes widen. she had no idea what tyler was thinking at this point, the alcohol in his system streaming through everything. nova gives her that look of well! get on with it! she turns to calum, “we don’t have to, we can just drink.” she says, reaching for her cup, but calum stops her.

calum doesn’t say anything but puts his hand on y/n’s cheek, bringing her closer in. her chest is heaving, eyes flickering between his lips and his eyes. he finally closes the gap between the two, lips connecting and light smacking happening.

“it’s about damn time!” luke exclaims. the rest of the group also cheers and laughs. the kiss definitely lasts longer than it’s supposed to, but neither her nor calum mind. calum pulls away but returns for one more peck.

y/n takes her bottom lip between her teeth, racking her brain at the fact that that just happened. calum then gives her temple a kiss and returns his attention back to the game. the game continues giving everyone dares like y/n’s and calum’s, some a little riskier than others, but no one seemed to mind.

“alright alright, how about we change the game to ‘never have i ever’?” ashton suggests. the group agrees. y/n gets up to go grab a bottle of hard liquor and the small shot glasses she bought. she thinks they’re cute, they’re not the red ones like the solo cups, they’re the neon-colored ones. calum follows her to the kitchen.

he wraps one hand around one side of her waist, pulling her close to his front side. she jumps the slightest bit when his hand goes under her sweatshirt and rests for a moment before giving it a squeeze. “how was that kiss?” he whispered in her ear.

she swallowed before answering, “i-i liked it.” she said, her voice very small.

calum turns her around, “i knew you would. you think i don’t notice how you look at me?” lord, y/n thinks she’s about to fucking pass out when he traces the outline of her running shorts.

they walk back, calum’s hand low on her back. as always, she sets everything up, being a little soberer than everyone else. this time, calum sets her right on top of his thigh. she lets a small gasp leave her lips when he moves his lap up for a second. calum sits up, wrapping an arm around her stomach, making her move yet again. the material of her shorts is very thin and with calum knowingly moving his thigh against her core, he could feel what he’s doing to her.

“okay, never have i ever been so crossed i threw up in the basement of the Alpha Phi house,” michael says, clearly taking a hit at someone. y/n sees calum reach for one of the neon cups and takes a shot.

“that was dirty, i’ll get you back.” calum snarls. y/n turns around to calum, raising her brow. “it was freshman year, and those girls have still never let me back in.”

“i’ll go!” nova shouts, “never have i ever had a crush on my brother’s best friend,” she says, looking right at y/n. y/n doesn’t want to reach for a shot and take it, but she also knows that if she doesn’t nova will call her bluff. despite fighting her conscience, she sucks it up and takes a shot. she gives nova daggers while she racks her brain to think of something to get her back.

the kickback ended around an hour ago, most of y/n and tyler’s friends had left, and calum had asked tyler if he could sleep on the couch. y/n was still awake, cleaning up everything so her brother wouldn’t have to deal with such a mess in the morning. calum’s been helping y/n clean up, mostly just so he can flirt with her more.

“you know, i never really got a proper kiss from you tonight.” calum says, taking a pile of trash into the bag. y/n stands up, looking at calum.

“what do you mean? we kissed during picolo, how was that not a proper kiss?” she asks, clearly not getting what he’s hinting at.

calum takes her wrist, bringing her over to the kitchen, and sets her on top of the counter. “a proper kiss doesn’t involve all of our friends staring at us and cheering. it’s more like this,” he stops his sentence and goes in for the kiss he’s been talking about.

y/n’s caught off guard for a moment before she relaxes into calum. their lips move rhythmically against each other, their tongues going to explore the mouth of the other. calum places a hand on her thigh while the other is holding her cheek. both of y/n’s arms are around calum’s shoulders, moving closer and making his hand move up higher on her thigh.

they both pull away for a second, calum looks down at where his hand is and looks back up at y/n. she nods her head and brings his lips back down to hers. calum’s fingers make their way into her shorts, just petting over her clit while y/n rotates her hips against his fingers.

“i think we should move to your room, just in case someone decides to come out.” calum whispers.

and y/n can’t wait to see where this takes her.

#yo i really like this #👀👀#i could continue this if y'all want #neyahood #calum hood smut #calum hood imagine #calum hood preference #calum hood #calum #ch #let's gossip !!

226 notes · View notes

fandom-space-princess · 3 years

Text

Follow Where You Lead

midam week prompt 1: Impulsive - acting or done without forethought

Rating: General Audiences [1.6k words, fluff] Michael doesn't do impulsive. Being with Adam may just change that yet.

read below the cut, or on AO3

Adam is cooking when, for the first time since his return to life, he hears his favorite song.

The local DJ spins a set of mid-2000s pop hits. Rhythmic bass and powerful vocals simmer through the air, compel him into humming and tapping along with his hands on every available surface as he moves through the kitchen. Each song stirs nostalgia in his chest, a happy glow.

Michael putters alongside him, digging through a low cupboard in search of a glass baking dish. Adam, sliding past, transitions seamlessly from tapping fingers along the countertop to drumming on Michael's shoulders instead. From where his head is buried in the cupboard comes a faint huff of amusement.

Then the track change hits. Drums, precise and powerful. Commanding bass. A guitar intro that had been going for the jugular since 2005 and never, ever stopped.

Adam grins wide, all teeth. Reaches for his phone and fiddles with the volume - there has only ever been one way to listen to this song (loud). Tips back his head and all but shouts the opening line.

"Am I more than you bargained for yet?..."

Michael startles, bumps his head against the top of the cupboard. He sprawls backward with an oof, peering up at Adam from the floor with a look of such unearthly confusion that Adam can't help but laugh, even as he reaches down to clasp his arm and help him up.

"Man, I haven't heard this in ages! C'mon, Michael. Dance with me!" He's catching at Michael's wrists, leading him out of the kitchen and into the clearer space of the dining room. Michael follows, and even through his obvious hesitation he smiles. Adam's joy is infectious.

"I don't... know how to dance to this." Michael leans into Adam's space anyway, pitching his voice to carry over the sound.

"Nobody knows how to dance to this, that's part of the appeal." Adam rolls his eyes and just pulls Michael after him, swaying and spinning and singing along.

It's almost like time travel. For three minutes and 49 seconds, he might swear he's 15 all over again. Young and free and — he glances at Michael, draws him closer with hands on his hips and laughter in his eyes — in love, happier than a younger Adam would have ever believed his future self could grow to be. Dancing and singing in the kitchen with an angel. An angel who, though his brow still crinkles with amusement and his enthusiasm for this weird little artifact of human culture could never match Adam's own, is willing to cook with him and dance with him and stay with him and love him back.

The future, Adam thinks, is turning out to be pretty great.

-----

"I bet I can do it."

"I don't doubt that you're capable, I'm only saying that it may not be precisely wise."

The park is almost empty, save for a few sparse joggers or dog-walkers, and the old oak tree under which they stand spreads limbs invitingly down to them. In the warm spring sunlight, the soft leaves and strong branches offer a tempting perch, and the tree's position at the top of the hill on which they find themselves creates a natural overlook.

The view from up there, Adam thinks, is probably spectacular.

"I'm gonna do it." Adam grasps the lowest branch, then lifts his feet to let it take his weight. Solid. He grins. "Come on, Michael, what's the worst that can happen? You can't tell me you're scared of heights."

Michael appraises him skeptically, from where he continues to pointedly manifest standing on the ground. "What if you fall?"

"You won't let me fall and we both know it. Relax a little. This is what most people call 'fun.'" Adam clambers up onto the next branch, edges his way around the tree trunk, and pulls himself higher still.

"Adam you are attracting attention get down from there," Michael hisses through gritted teeth. He looks around. A woman and child pass them on the trail nearby, the child goggling up at him and tugging her mother's sleeve as she points. He waves. The woman smiles and shakes her head, chuckling, and they continue on their walk.

"See?" He says, leaning out to stare down at Michael. He arches an eyebrow, challenging, playful. "She didn't care. You shouldn't either. Come onnnn, Mike. The view up here is great. Live a little. Climb the tree."

The view from the top is, indeed, spectacular.

Adam nestles himself on a strong bough about three-quarters of the way up (past which the branches become too spindly for even his sense of adventure). Spread out in panorama below, the town is alive with the midday hum of people moving about their business: cars on the streets, pedestrians on the sidewalks, shopping and working and just... living.

Michael manifests next to him on the branch with a huff. He curls close to Adam, arm around his shoulders.

"No fair just appearing up here," Adam says with a grin. "You have to climb up it to get the full experience."

The expression the archangel gives him is dubious to say the least, but there's an underpinning of mirth there, too. He shakes his head at the foolishness of his human, and Adam tips his head onto his shoulder.

Michael leans his head back against Adam's, and hums thoughtfully. They sit in companionable silence for long moments. Then, with a fondness in his voice that melts through Adam's heart and stirs warmth in his veins:

"You were right," he whispers, "about the view."

-----

Adam dangles his feet over the edge of the sheer basalt cliff, peering out over the drop. "Ok, yeah. That's a long way down."

The waters churning over the cliffside rumble in profound natural agreement with the sentiment. Nearly 200 feet of uninterrupted freefall into the basin below; the river is well-suited to the landscape around it. Like everything else in this place, from the high dusty scrublands to the plateaus and canyons carved out of the Earth by glacial floods in eons past, the waterfall is a thing of stark, severe beauty. Power and inevitability have shaped it, without remorse, and the awe it commands is due as much to this as anything else.

Some things need no ornamentation to show their glory.

They have come out here, away from people, from civilization, to think, to just be. Michael often needs open spaces and solitude upon returning from Heaven. Adam understands. The few times he had accompanied the archangel back there, it had felt... not claustrophobic, exactly. But it was no longer the monastic haven of family of Michael's memories, and though the ghosts that roamed those halls weren't Adam's, in haunting Michael they haunted him as well.

"You don't have to keep going back, you know?" He prods Michael gently across their shared mindspace, at the place near the back of his consciousness where he is most aware of the archangel's brooding silence. "If it makes you miserable, you should stay away for awhile. They would understand."

I really can't, Michael sighs. His grace, where it brushes Adam's mind, feels exhausted, bruised, worn thin. It had been a long day. I have a duty to them. Every time I return it seems there is only more to be done.

Adam lays back onto the hard earth, crosses his hands behind his head. Closes his eyes. "There's always going to be more to be done, Michael. You need to set boundaries around how much they can ask of you. Even though they're your family." He pauses, considering. "Especially because they're your family."

Overhead, a pair of hawks circle each other, gliding along updrafts in the cloudless sky.

"When was the last time you made a real decision, an important one, that was just about you?" His voice is quiet. Adam presses a hand over his heart, where Michael most often seems a physical presence within his body, a weighty coil of energy and light. "Not for Heaven, or for Jack, or for your brothers. Or even for me. When was the last time you did something just because you wanted to?"

A handful of heartbeats pass, during which the only sound is the rumble of the falls and the breeze over shifting sands. Then Michael stirs within him, muted heat pressing back against his chest and the fleeting impression of a sly smile just behind his lips.

When I decided to stay with you, he murmurs, joy and gratitude suffusing through their body. Adam melts under the embrace of it.

"I love you, too," he says. A thought grabs hold of him, then, pulls him in and won't let go, and he stumbles to his feet with a giggle. "Hey, come out here a second. I wanna ask you something."

The archangel appears next to him, one hand tangled in his own, eyes soft and joyful. "Anything you like. What is it?"

"Do angels get married?"

Michael blinks, once, surprised. "Not generally, no."

"Do you want to?"

He looks back at Adam with a quizzical tilt of the head. Emotions roil within him: hesitation and confusion, yes, these by reflex, but underneath a vast resounding happiness that bubbles up within his grace and sings through their veins. Adam meets it with patience, and with love.

"I..." he starts, and looks away for a moment. But Adam squeezes his hand, gently, and it's like throwing a light switch: Michael is smiling back at him with a radiance to rival the sun. "You know, I think I do."

One long peal of laughter wells up out of Adam's throat, and then he's running, straight at the edge. He clears the precipice in one headlong leap, arms extended and laughter still ringing back to him off the canyon walls. Michael's voice joins with his own, and his wings burst into being at their shoulders.

Together they ride the air currents higher and higher, twisting up and away, into the sky.

#happy midam week y'all #this is just fluff #michael spn #adam milligan #midam #midam week #spn #fanfic #mine #my fanfic

36 notes · View notes

theshmeepking · 2 years

Text

A friend and I recently decided to watch the entirety of Arthur now that it’s officially over, and now that we’ve finished the first (and longest) season I feel the need to point out some things we noticed:

Bullying is a serious problem at Elwood Elementary. These kids literally bully each other over the stupidest shit every single episode.

Mr. Ratburn has always been gay coded, actually.

Also they really like pretending that he’s a bad teacher? Even though they also keep proving that he’s actually the best at his job???

Buster is neurodivergent. My god is that rabbit boy neurodivergent. No wonder he was always my favorite.

D.W. is an annoying brat but she also gets the best lines in the entire show. Like it’s not even a competition.

Arthur is kind of a narcissist? Like, D.W. will do something that is perfectly normal for her age and Arthur will think he’ll get bullied for it for some reason.

Muffy and Francine’s friendship is one of the most toxic things I’ve ever seen in a kids’ cartoon, honestly.

Mr. Ratburn and Francine’s dad are literally the only good adult figures in the show so far.

The show’s timeline is all out of whack. Like yeah there’s tons of flashbacks and stuff like that but I mean sometimes the characters will forget things they learned about the literal episode before.

It’s weird how fondly and vividly I remember Mrs. McGrady considering there’s an episode where she accidentally puts quarters in the brownies and nearly kills several children.

There’s another episode that’s probably about not being gullible or falling for scams or something like that but we honest to god read it as a cult allegory. Like the entire cast centers their lives around this fortune teller that seems to accurately predict the future and only stop listening to it when it tells them they can.

Prunella’s sister is clearly supposed to be a hippie who’s into the occult or something like that but like. She is actively spreading misinformation and harming the children of Elwood in the process. Same goes for Prunella.

Arthur’s actually always been a pretty artistic kid! I don’t know why we thought that was something they pulled out of their asses for the last episode.

Buster will refer to himself and other characters as human but also comments on the fact that he has fur. I am unsure what to do with this information.

Apparently Mr. Ratburn and Arthur’s dad went to school together and were on the same football team. Like, I was only saying that they fucked as a joke, I didn’t think it was actually a genuine possibility.

Arthur and D.W. are (or I guess were) both played by boys named Michael.

D.W. has exclusively been played by young boys, apparently.

George does not get a speaking role until near the end of season 3 but we’ve already made a game of pointing him out whenever he’s on screen. This isn’t an actual observation at all I just wanted to mention it.

Ice cream gives Muffy nightmares? That’s a thing that happens???

Sue Ellen can and will kick ass and I love her for it.

There’s also a great segment in the first episode centered around her where the cast are all sharing rumors they heard about her and one of them deadass thinks she used to be a master thief who has successfully stolen several paintings from the Louvre. I know this is definitely not canon but I am choosing to believe it is anyway.

D.W. gets a pet bird named Spanky who is almost immediately killed off.

I know this is probably common Arthur knowledge but Binky being a big, intimidating bully who’s really just a massive softie putting on an act is actually great and I genuinely adore watching him slowly make friends with the rest of the cast. Buster may be my favorite but Binky is definitely the most interesting.

There’s an episode where Arthur, Francine, and Buster draw a comic about ancient Rome for a class presentation that I distinctly remember watching in class in high school. They do in fact mention Julius Caesar’s assassination, and ironically we did in fact watch this episode on the Ides of March.

Literally every character D.W.’s age is awful, including D.W.

Apparently nobody checks to see if everyone’s left the library before locking it up at night because Arthur and Francine get trapped there at some point.

The realization that every single child on the show is a fully grown adult now.

Arthur, Binky, and Sue Ellen are all actually really good musicians!

D.W. has an entire character arc while she is lost in the mall. For five minutes.

I don’t know if this was like, a revolutionary concept at the time, but I really like how unapologetically pro sanitation and/or blue collar worker the end of season one is! Seeing kids be proud of their parents who are garbage collectors or plumbers makes me really happy!

It’s pretty minor (because you know, this is season one of 25) but there’s some actual character development! Like, Binky and the Brain both slowly work their way into Arthur’s friend group! And Binky also starts standing up for his younger classmates when his older friends try to bully them! Arthur starts acting ever so slightly nicer towards D.W.! Muffy slowly starts showing genuine empathy towards her less fortunate friends! The kids learn to appreciate their teacher! It’s really sweet!

The season ends with a cute little New Year’s episode where Arthur is trying to find ways to stay up until midnight. His friends tell him about their traditions and why they think they participate in them (like Francine thinking it’s illegal to keep old calendars after New Year’s because the first thing her family does is throw them out, for example) and it ends with Arthur reminiscing about all the memories he made with his friends the past year/season. Yeah it’s cheesy but it’s honestly a pretty satisfying end, especially when you’re watching the series in order.

There’s definitely more I could go into, but I fear I might repeat myself and this post is long enough as is.

Go rewatch Arthur.

#certified shmeepy original #arthur #might do this again when we finish season 2 #we've only watched the season 2 premiere (the mr. rogers crossover) and already there is. so much i want to say about it.

6 notes · View notes

elen-aranel · 3 years

Text

Lt., Phone Home Part 2 (Part 1)

The Engineer’s Adventures

1-1 • 1-2 • 2 • 3 • 4

A sequel to Lt., Phone Home For @autumnleaves1991-blog who said she’d read one if I wrote it. Pairing: Captain Christopher Pike x F!Reader (no Y/N) Warnings: none really! Canon typical injuries to other characters, alcohol consumption, plot WC: 1.6k A/N: I’m still so new at this!

If you’d been able to finish your level three diagnostic before the Layrians sent you to the past, you would have detected the fault and this wouldn’t have happened.

You only have a second to think that, though, because ‘this’ is a console exploding in Chief Engineer Louvier’s face, sending him, Ensign Devrin, a Tellarite newly transferred to the Enterprise, and Crewman Park flying.

“Engineering to sickbay! Medical Emergency!” You have your communicator in one hand, tricorder in the other, scanning. You want to check on Louvier, see if he’s okay, but there’s a fault in the EPS system and if you don’t get it locked down quickly, the warp core may blow. You look around to see who you have, and a lot of shocked eyes meet your gaze. You take charge.

“Harrison, see to Louvier and the others. Okorafor, vent the plasma manifolds. Mason, isolate the console from the rest of the system. Everyone else stand by.” You run through the checklists in your head.

“Engineering to Bridge, there’s a problem with the EPS system and we’re going to need to shut down the warp core immediately. Louvier is injured,” you add, explaining why you’re calling and not him.

“Yellow Alert. Helm, drop us out of warp. Keep us updated Lieutenant,” Number One’s voice is calm as you feel the ship’s vibrations change as you drop into normal space.

“Computer, emergency warp core shutdown. Authorisation Gamma Epsilon one-two-zero.”

“Unable to comply. Control circuits are offline.”

The console must have taken out the circuitry when it blew. No time to fix it – you need to do this manually.

You dash to the other central console, the one that’s still undamaged, and start entering commands.

“Michaels, if I can’t shut the core down we may need to eject it. Can you check those systems are running please?”

You really need someone to keep an eye on the impulse engine too, since if that overheats it can cause a lot of problems but you can’t eject it. You look around – a team of medics have arrived and are loading the injured onto stretchers, helped by a couple of engineering crewmen. You should be getting reinforcements soon now that the ship’s at yellow alert, but they aren’t here yet. You spy a gold uniform, standing out among the red and blue.

“Captain?” What’s he doing here?

“I was passing by when I heard the yellow alert. Number One told me the problem was here. Can I help?”

“Yes.” You point to a console. “Monitor the temperature of the impulse drive. If it gets above 400 Kelvin, increase the coolant. If it doesn’t come back down, let me know.”

“Aye, Lieutenant.”

You go back to your console, manually going through the power-down checklist. It’s stressful, especially when there are a few hiccups along the way with errors related to the damage that occurred, but you’re in your element here.

“Warp core offline,” you announce at last, as more staff arrive finally. Now you can get to fixing the actual problem.

“You have more than earned that drink,” Captain Pike says, as you walk down the corridor together some time later. The ship is back at warp, Louvier is in sickbay still recovering from plasma burns, but he, Devrin and Park will make a full recovery. Repairs are almost complete, and you would have stayed until they were done had Pike not gently remarked that you had mentioned you had a prior arrangement. You hadn’t mentioned it, of course, but no one else was to know. Pike had stayed in Engineering for the duration, fetching and carrying, checking readings and generally making himself useful. Having him around was good for crew morale, especially when you hadn’t known the prognosis for your colleagues. Your friends. Now the remainder of the work is in the capable hands of Lt Asher who came in a couple of hours early for gamma shift tonight.

“I need it,” you say, fervent. “This has been a day.”

“I didn’t think I was going to be able to drag you out of Engineering, but now that I have... would you like to get dinner? I think we could both use a decent meal.”

You suddenly realise you’re starving. “Thank you, Captain. I’d like that.” You smile at him, and he grins back, showing his dimples again.

“Call me Chris now we’re off duty,” he says as you reach the turbolift and he pauses to let you go first.

“Sure, Chris,” it comes out easier than it did on Earth in the past, somehow. Maybe you’re used to it.

The Captain’s dining room is spacious, and well appointed. It has a dining table and chairs, and sofa and low table with a vase of fresh flowers beneath a large window, showing the stars going by at warp. The lighting is soft, but a small spotlight highlights a model of the Enterprise on a shelf in the the corner. The overall effect is pleasing, but it seems a little impersonal, somehow. Except maybe the large earthenware pot on the shelf below the miniature ship. That doesn’t seem like the sort of thing a starship designer would put there.

“A traditional Navajo pot,” Chris says, following your gaze. “It’s from California, where I grew up. I don’t eat here often, but even here it’s good to have a reminder of home.”

He heads to the synthesiser. “Is chilli okay? It’s based on a family recipe. But I do keep tweaking it. It’s my go to comfort food, after a day like this.”

“That sounds really good,” you reply, letting him pull out a chair for you and watching as he brings nachos, sour cream, salsa, guacamole and two wine glasses from the synthesiser.

“It’s not beer, but it is real,” he says, opening a cupboard set beneath the synthesiser and withdrawing a bottle of red wine and a corkscrew hanging just inside the door.

He pours you each a glass. “Zinfandel, from California. Another taste of home. Cheers,” he says.

“Cheers,” you reply, clinking your glass and taking a sip. The flavour is bold and you taste berries, with maybe a hint of liquorice and vanilla. “This is good,” you add, taking another sip as he brings the food over.

“Given today, only the best will do,” he gives you a lopsided smile, blue eyes twinkling, and you can’t help but be charmed.

Conversation flows easily over the delicious meal – Pike’s chilli is good, and you tell him so. He tells you about growing up in the desert, and you chat about your former postings, swapping stories of engineering disasters. As the evening wears on you find yourself on the sofa, box of dark chocolate truffles on the table in front of you, with only a couple left. You yawn a little, and catch sight of the chronometer above the synthesiser – when did it get so late?

“Keeping you up past your bedtime?” Chris winks at you, and you grin back, totally at ease.

“You’ve got to admit, it’s been a long day. I can’t help thinking that if those aliens could’ve held off for a few minutes before pulling us through time, I could have finished my diagnostic, and the excitement in Engineering wouldn’t have happened,” you say as you stand.

“You were good, though,” he says, standing with you. “Not many days you can say you saved both the timeline and the ship.”

You feel yourself warming at the praise, and cover it by getting your jacket from where you’d shed it on the back of your chair earlier. Chris helps you put it on, lingering close.

“I believe it’s traditional at the end of the date to walk the lady home, but I’m guessing you can find your way,” he says with another little smile, voice a little deeper.

“Maybe that tradition wouldn’t be appropriate, but I can think of another that would work,” you say, and you feel your heart beating a little faster.

“Yeah?” He asks, his hands on your shoulders, and your eyes linger on his mouth before travelling up to his soft blue eyes.

“Yeah,” you say, and your voice comes out breathy but you don’t mind because he’s drawing you closer, one hand on your back, one hand moving along your jawline. He tilts his head and your hands come up to his chest, feeling the muscle there beneath his shirt. Your eyes flutter closed as his lips find yours and then the ship falls away and it’s just you, him, and the stars making warp trails around you. You gasp slightly and open your mouth, and his tongue brushes yours and you taste chocolate, red wine, and him. Your hands move round his neck as the kiss deepens, and you press against him.

Eventually you break apart, breathing heavily. There’s a slight look of surprise in his eyes, and you think it must be reflected in yours – you didn’t expect your good night kiss to be that intense.

“Well, good night, Chris. Thank you,” you say, fastening your jacket, trying to get a handle on your breathing.

“Dinner tomorrow?” He asks, eyes searching your face. “Maybe, uh... in my quarters?”

“Yes, I’d like that,” you say. “See you tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” he says, taking your hand and pressing a kiss to your fingers, eyes full of promise. You pull your hand away reluctantly, smile, and leave before you can get tempted into anything more. Even though you’d like to you have alpha shift in the morning and he has a whole ship to run.

You wonder what tomorrow will be like. Maybe another unusual day would be a good thing.

#Christopher Pike #Christopher Pike x Reader #Christopher Pike x You #Captain Pike #writings of the girl from outer space #fanfic #fanfiction #Star Trek discovery #star trek strange new worlds #writer wednesday #kind of #The Engineer's Adventures

45 notes · View notes

taehyungsgrowl · 3 years

Note

could you write something angsty with michael or duncan (or both 👀) using “was this all just a game for you?”

y’all know i love making duncan sad so i’m going w my baby dunc for this one just look at him... baby.

like always... italics indicate a memory/time jump i hope that makes sense

warnings: angst, oral (female receiving)

word count: 1,532

Duncan couldn’t look at her. Where he once saw love in her eyes all he could see was a betrayal. Lies. Empty promises.

“What don’t I understand, Y/N? Hm?” he pushed his hair back as he paced back and forth. He was so angry, he thought he was vibrating from it.

“Duncan,” she pleaded.

“Don’t!” he snapped, “Just don’t even fucking bother.”

“How did you find out?” her eyes dropped to her hand - still adorned with the hefty diamond that promised a life full of love with Duncan.

Duncan’s weight shifted on the bed as he rolled on top of her. His bare chest pressed against her. Everything was so quiet. The back of his hand ran down her cheek, caressing it softly, ending the soft touch by grabbing her chin and tilting it up to kiss her.

“You haven’t taken it back yet have you?” he chuckled, searching for her hand. His thumb ran over the ring - still making sure it was secured on her hand.

Y/N rolled her eyes, “Of course not,” she pecked his lips, “I love you,”

“I....” Duncan drew out the word, moving his lips down to her jaw, followed by her back, “love....” he kissed along her collarbones, “you...”

He continued to trail kisses down her bare torso, slowly inching lower and lower. Duncan’s hand found its way between her thighs, feeling her arousal coat his fingers. He smiled into her tummy as he continued his wet trail of kisses.

“Mrs...” he chuckled, his breath tickling her skin. He kissed her pussy, looking up at her through his dark lashes.

“Mmm, not yet,” she laughed easily. The sound that could make even Duncan’s heaviest days feel a million times lighter.

“Not yet,” he repeated, as he moved his lips to her inner thighs, smirking when he noticed her squirming from the anticipation. His words held a double meaning. “But I can’t wait until the day you become my wife.”

And with those words he dipped her head between her thighs and licked down her slit, not letting her get another word in. Whatever thought she had turned to mush as she gave in to the sensation of his tongue on her pussy.

Her fingers found themselves tugging on to Duncan’s locks - her bright diamond a sharp contrast to his dark hair.

“How did I find out?” he barked out a humorless laugh. Beyond the point of heartbreak - Duncan was furious.

“That’s what you decide to go with.. I can’t fucking believe you.” he pinched the bridge of his nose.

Y/N knew it was his telltale for how upset he was. She felt so small. It wasn’t supposed to be like this, she thought. She fucked up and knew nothing she said could make it right.

“But you want to know how I knew,” the word tasted bitter in his mouth, “You were reckless, Y/N” his voice echoed through the kitchen they stood in. “They saw you,” he shrugged, referencing the story his friends shared of seeing her with another man. “Couldn’t even have been a discreet enough whore and not been caught,” the venom spilled out of his mouth with that one. But he was too angry to care. Even when she winced at the word, he couldn’t bring himself to take it back.

Duncan’s oldest friend and colleague stood at the door to his office. “Duncan, do you have a moment?”

“Yeah, come on in,” Duncan closed his laptop as his friend closed the door behind him and took a seat across from Duncan.

“So, what’s up?” Duncan tidied up the papers on his desk.

His friend sighed, “Listen,” he looked so nervous - but he knew it needed to be said, “I guess there's no easy way to say this so I’m just going to say it.”

“Woah,” Duncan laughed easily, not taking the gravity of his friends tone, “I’m happily taken,” he joked.

His friend winced - did anyone really enjoy being the bearer of bad news?

“Duncan, this is serious,” he sighed heavily. “I think Y/N is cheating on you.”

Duncan’s smirk dropped from his face. “You’re being ridiculous. Why would you say that?” Duncan frowned.

“I wish I didn’t have to tell you, man. Eric and I were at lunch and I saw her! She kissed another man before they had lunch a few tables away. And,” he met Duncan’s eyes, “They walked into the hotel together. This was maybe 40 minutes ago - you can check if don’t believe me. Or talk to her, I don’t know! I just... couldn’t go on without telling you what I saw.”

Duncan felt like he was frozen.

“Dunc?”

His felt a lump in his throat. He didn’t know how to explain it, but - his instincts told him his friend was telling the truth.

Duncan opened his laptop, pulling up the Find my iPhone feature. The loading circle seemed to be taunting him as it turned and turned, pin pointing Y/N’s location.

Sure enough, she was at the hotel his friend said.

In an angry fit, he pushed the papers off his desk. There had to be an explanation.

“Duncan..”

“I just need a fucking minute!”

He nodded and left Duncan alone.

Duncan started to call. And text. And call again.

Baby, pls call me Call me Y/N?

Not one response.

He couldn’t be at the office anymore with his mind swirling with ideas.

He went home and waited.

Fuck, Y/N thought, seeing Duncan’s car. He was never home this early. She looked in the rearview mirror, making sure her makeup looked okay before she headed inside.

“Hey, babe! You’re home early! I just saw your messages. I was thinking we could go to dinner out in Midtown tonight?” she chattered along, putting her things away, not once looking directly at Duncan.

It wasn’t until she felt the utter stillness of the room that she realized something was wrong.

The look on his face said it all.

He knows.

Her heart dropped to her stomach.

“Babe? Is everything okay?”

“I don’t know Y/N. Is it?” his deep stare made her feel such shame. “Where were you? And for the love of god, please don’t lie to me.”

Tears started to fall down her face. She knew he knew.

“I’m sorry.” she cried.

“For what?” his teeth were clenched now.

“Don’t make me say it.” she pleaded. She reached out to touch him, but he flinched away.

“For godsake, Y/N!” he hung his head low, “Why? Why did you? Was I not enough? I fucking trusted you! I love -” he couldn’t finish his words.

“You don’t understand!” she cried.

“Was this just a game to you?” She’d never seen Duncan look at her that way. Disgust colored his tone, “Find some rich sucker to marry you while you continued to screw around?” He shook his head.

“You know it’s not like that, Duncan. I love you.”

“No, Y/N. I don’t know what it’s like because instead of explaining shit you decide to ask how I found out?” Duncan sneered, “Fuck you.”

“If you loved me you wouldn’t have done what you can’t even bring yourself to say,” he continued. “Get out. Two years of us - for nothing. I hope he was worth it, for your sake.”

Duncan stormed off to the guest room not wanting to be near her or the room that held warm memories of them. He couldn’t bring himself to lie down or keep still. He waited. Impatiently, but he waited.

Waited for her to knock on the door - to tell him it was just a joke gone wrong - or at the very least tell him why.

But the knock on the door never came.

He could hear her shuffling around. Every time he heard her sob, he fought himself from running out to hold her. He was too angry. Too hurt.

He tired himself out from crying and eventually fell asleep on the unfamiliar bed.

When he woke again, it was only a quarter past 1:00 AM. The house felt still.

He walked out to see if she were sleeping. The light in the kitchen was still on, but everything else was dark.

Sitting on the counter, he found her ring, the ring of promises he made to her, sitting neatly on top of a blush colored paper, scrawled with her handwriting.

I owe you an explanation - one that’s not just written down. I never meant to hurt you. It was never supposed to be like this. I love you.

Staying with my mom for a few days. Call me. xo

He took the ring in between two fingers recalling the dozens of shops, both vintage and new, he visited in search of the perfect one for her. Something delicate, but strong. Something beautiful that would last forever.

Something he thought represented them.

He dropped the ring on the counter again and traced the words on the paper. Duncan was too tired to think. He was too tired to know if he would call. He found himself on his couch, falling asleep mourning what he’d lost.

okay so i’ve had some writers block for a while and!!! ive been reading old request for some inspiration and this one had me typing away :)

so i hope you guys like it AND i hope it makes sense? sometimes i worry that my time jumps / memories don't translate well when they're typed and that they only make sense in my head?fvjnsrkv

anyway... tagging a few people who are regularly on my taglist + a few that interacted w my post!

@xavierplympton @desertsunflower00 @royalblueviper @dailylangdon @langdonswhoreprobably@rpwithjayn @xavierplymptonstan @spoo-per @wickedlangdon @leatherduncan @plsfuckmelangdon @bitchchatter @beautyiswithinchaos @blakewaterxx @littledemondani @little-grunge-flowerz @lovelylangdonx @sexwon131 @fckinsupreme @prophecy-is-inevitable @shenevertricks1831 @kissme-throughthephone @shyvirgoanon

#duncan shepherd #duncan shepherd x reader #duncan shepherd angst #duncan shepherd smut #cody fern #hoc #Anonymous

74 notes · View notes

marlinspirkhall · 4 years

Note

please tell me more about sybok never existing?

I apologise that I can't get a "read only" on mobile, maybe I'll wait until tomorrow to post this from a computer.

Extended Star Trek Universe:

- Sybok is never mentioned in Discovery? We see Michael being introduced to the other members of the household, so where is Sybok? You'd have thought he'd have interacted with her in at least some capacity, and, if the reason he's never mentioned is that he's already left to start his Emotional Cult™ that the VSA would have made some allusion to this when rejecting Michael from the VSA.

- Sarek in Discovery: "I am not prepared to lose both of our children in one day" (I know the counter point to this is "Ah but he was talking about He And Amanda's children," but there's evidence that Sybok was raised by Amanda (some star trek book has a picture of a letter he sent her as a young child when his biological mother died and he went to live with Sarek)

- "Ah, Marlin," you say, "If there's evidence that Sybok sent a letter to Amanda as a child, then surely you've contradicted your own point? He must exist, canonically."

- You are too clever an opponent and I concede the argument.

- EXCEPT:

- Star Trek V deliberately references dreaming, unreality and dream sequences many times (yeah I know shatner's the screenwriter, so it's flimsy evidence). Here we go:

Common things people do while dreaming:

- Symbolic representation of Overcoming Obstacles (Captain Kirk is Climbing A Mountain. Not only that, he's free-climbing)

- Flying unaided (Spock's rocket boots)

- Anxieties revealed (Kirk: "I need a shower". Spock: " Yes". Kirk: *looks crestfallen*)

- Loved Ones betray you/Are angry with you (Sulu, Uhura and Chekhov all fall sway to Sybok's persuasion. This is a symbolic representation of Kirk feeling upset that the Enterprise crew have told him to go to therapy, jealously that therapy has worked for them, fundamental misunderstanding of how 'easy' he perceives their recoveries to be compared to his/as an outsider looking in)

- Being Chased (Sulu: "Captain, come back!" This also represents anxieties about getting older and the inevitability that Kirk's going to lose his command (again) to retirement)

- Inability to move your legs due to sleep paralysis & therefore resorting to flying to help escape a pursuer who's about to catch up to you (see: Rocket Boots. I'm a rocket man, and it's gonna be a long long time-)

- Unfamiliar/Exaggerated/Labyrinthine architecture (Scotty: "I know this ship like the back of my hand" *immediately walks into a beam*, when Kirk/Spock/Bones ascend through the central tunnel, they zoom past a greater number of deck numbers than the Enterprise actually has)

- Things Chasing You can teleport to your location instantly (Despite taking a shortcut, as soon as Kirk tries to send a distress call, Sybok and Sulu burst in on them)

Conclusion:

Kirk is undergoing hypno-therapy. We see him working back through layers of his own trauma, finally reaching the core of his own issues at the climax of the movie. In The Conscience Of The King, we can see that Kirk believes he's resolved his trauma relating to Tarsus IV, so it's not quite as active a part of his subconscious reality at first. Sybok represents the voice of the hypnotherapist, which he initially resists. He first has to be "Captured" (called back to the Enterprise, taken to the brig by Sybok, escaping the brig, captured again) before we see him in familiar surroundings, somewhere he feels safe: his quarters on The Enterprise. Here, finally, he begins to open up: Sybok asks Kirk, "Spock" and "Bones" to open up about their trauma.

Kirk, the active dreamer, still resists, but his subconscious manifests his own trauma- relating to the death of a parent- as Bones'. It's unlikely that Kirk's parent died in the same way Bones described, but it is likely that Kirk feels some manner of grief over it. Plus, the first draft of The Conscience Of The King had Kirk's father being killed by Kodos (This is negated by Star Trek 2009, where Spock says George Kirk "lived to see Kirk become Captain of The Enterprise," but the point still stands: regardless of the cause, it's devastating to lose a parent at any age, and an individual is capable of feeling guilty even if they died of natural causes).

Next up, we have what Spock represents. Everyone always points out how nonchalant Spock is when Sybok creates a visual (mis)representation of Spock's birth (and the fact that it takes place in a cave- I apologise for pulling a Freud on you, but that's WOMB symbolism, babyyyyy), and Spock's response is that he resolved that trauma already. This is true. So why the hell would it get shown otherwise?

Because Kirk still has anxiety that Spock's going to leave him again. He did it before, when he underwent Kolinhar, and Kirk spent The Search For Spock trying to get him to remember aspects of their relationship which he'd forgotten, and you can see how he's hurt by this.

But Spock (and Bones) stand by him.

Finally, they pilot The Enterprise to "the centre of the Universe", I.e, Kirk's deepest trauma. The big one. Tarsus IV.

"What does God need with a Starship?"

Kirk, finally, confronts "God". Or, rather, he's asking a huge, existential questions. There's a bit of 'if there's a god he'd have to be pretty cruel to let Tarsus IV evil in general happen' in there and also some other stuff, but Kirk essentially concludes that: yes, God is evil, and promptly kills him. This really represents the shock of finding Kodos alive in The Conscience Of The King. Having no use for therapy anymore now that he's resolved all his issues (ha), Sybok is promptly zapped.

Oh, what's this? Kirk has a little more trauma to resolve? Yeah it's not like he lost a son in the previous movies or anything.

He tells Spock "I lost a brother, once", then we have what's, essentially, a t'hy'la speech, (Yeah Spock's your brother... And your lover, and your friend.) and "We're A Family" and lots of fluffy good stuff. Then they go back to the campfire and sing Life Is But A Dream again, because this film isn't subtle.

Ergo, Sybok- at least, Spock's brother, Sybok- doesn't exist.

Also, note how Kirk's not quite as angry with the Klingons in this movie as he is in the next? His rage is suppressed for now, because "Not In Front Of The Klingons" obviously represents: Maybe Don't Give Out Free Info To The Klingons That We're Married, but he's still in grieving for his son, because there's only so much you can cover in one therapy session, no matter how good Sybok claims to be.

#star trek #spock #spirk #kirk #star trek tos #sybok #sybok's band of weirdos #sybok isn't real

221 notes · View notes

agentsoftie · 4 years

Text

stitches and ditches

summary: y/n and spencer get in a fight. due to the fight y/n goes to the hospital where she gets taken. spencer has to find her before it’s to late

a/n: plot holes. plot holes everywhere. so i’m sorry for that, super sorry. also like i don’t really know how to write fight scene and stuff ig so sorry if it sucks. and i skipped like 3 classes for this, so don’t let it flop

warnings: fight, angry spencer, torture, a case, violent spencer (idrk what to call it) and whole lotta angst. i happy ending though! kinda, idrk

word count & pairing: spencer x (fem) reader & 4.1k

remember to like and reblog!!

It all started the day he came home from work. This was one of the longest trips he’d been on so you decided to make him his favorite. Pumpkin Pie. And god knows how hard it is to make pie, but you did it anyways, for him. It wasn't too late when he got home but It wasn't too early either. More like the time right after dinner and just before dessert. You had just got the pie out of the oven when you heard the door open and someone walk in.

“Spencer! Finally you’re home! How are you!” You said while he put his bag away. He didn't turn to look at you yet which was kinda weird since the first thing he does when he gets home is kiss you right on the lips. “Fine,” He mumbled while sitting down at the table still not looking at you. “Spencer, come on what’s wrong?” You asked while grabbing his hands, but he immediately retracted. Which made sense because of who he was, but you’re not gonna admit that it didn't hurt. “Nothing Y/N.”

You knew that something was wrong, and it didn't take a profiler to see that. Everything about him was just off. “Come on, it's me. You can tell me anything.”

“Y/N.” Spencer said in a deep tone. You’d never heard him like this or seen in that sense. He was always happy to see you, to be with you. And were with his too. “Spencer no, come on. I can see that you’re clearly not fine. So come on, open up.”

“Y/N I said I’m fine!” You were appalled. He had never raised his voice at you, but it was bound to happen one day, you just. You just were shocked. “Spencer,” You said in a low voice completely contradicting his loud yell. “What!”

“Spencer calm down!” You say yelling at him. Although you realized that yelling at someone to calm down probably wasn't the best way to do it.

“No Y/N, you need to just stop and shut up!” Shut up. That’s the first time he’s ever told you to shut up. Infact, you think it's the first time he’s ever told anyone to shut up.

“Spencer just talk to me! It’s not that fucking hard!”

“No Y/N it is. It's tremendously hard and you just wouldn't understand.”

“Just tell me. And I'll see if I understand. But don't just gatekeep your emotions and feelings.”

“Y/N I said no! Why cant you listen to simple fucking directions! It’s not that fucking hard!” Each and every time he yelled at you, it's like your heart physically broke. And you could feel it breaking. But how do you tell him to stop? All you wanted was to know how he feels. Was that really so hard?

“Spencer why the hell are you acting like this! I understand that your job is hard but that doesn't mean that you can pour all your anger out on me! And if you are gonna do that, you can at least do the kind thing and share how you feel! And what's wrong! I mean, is that really so much to ask!”

“Oh really, that's how you wanna play this! You think this is just a little game don’t you!”

“Game Spencer! You think I play this as a game! Well this game is my life!” You were drop dead angered at this point. “What in the world gives you the right to act like this! Please, explain!” All he does is scoff at you. “I'm not joking Spencer! Why the hell are you acting like this! You've changed!”

“Oh I’ve changed! Y/N you've changed! You're always trying to kiss up my ass! I mean jesus! All you want is money! Like god!”

“Oh I want money! Spencer! I don't need your pathetic money! It may not have dawned on you since you couldn't bother to care, but I make a good amount of money. Yeah, you’re not the only one who paid for this place. So stop acting like you are.”

“Oh wow! Haha, you sick son of a,” He stopped immediately after realizing what exactly he was saying.

“Say it Spencer! Finish the goddamn sentence!”

“Y/N, you know I wont.” He says in a shift of tone. Still equally as affecting though.

“Why? Huh? You've already said so much, just wrap it up with a nice little red bow on top!”

“Y/N, stop,” He said, his tone getting more and more demeaning by the second.

“Do it Spencer! Do it!”

“Goddamn it Y/N I said stop!!” He yelled before throwing a glass at the wall behind you. You both immediately shut up, as trying to process what just had happened. Did he actually just try to hurt you? No, Spencer would never do that. Would he? You touched the back of your head and felt blood on your ear. You looked down at the blood and Spencer walked towards you but all you did was pull back from his touch.

“Don’t,” You mutter in fright. Putting your hands up against his chest, but not touching. His eyes looked at you as if they were trying to say something but just couldn't. You grabbed your purse, keys, phone, a coat, and slipped into some shoes. “Y/N, where are you going?”

“To the clinic or hospital or whichevers open right now. To get this checked out and stitched up.”

“Y/N, come on just stay here. I can stitch it up. I can do everything. Just dont leave. Im sorry, okay. I- I don't know why I did that. I promise I didn't mean too.” He begs and pleads but you just can't say with him tonight. No, not tonight. Tonight was too bad, tonight was a dent that was not going to be fixed.

“I just can't, Spencer. Okay, not tonight. There’s some pasta in the fridge, and I love you… I guess.” And with that you got in your car and left leaving Spencer to just sit in his own tears. He just sat at the table thinking of everything he did wrong. Everything that went wrong. And the worst part is that absolutely nothing wrong or bad happened at work today. He was just exhausted, that's all. And instead of telling his girlfriend, he started a fight. And he knew that you were in the right, for everything.

“Hi, Y/N. I’m Dr. Michael Gray. And it looks like something happened to your ear.” He says while standing at the door.

“Oh hi! Haha. And um… I thought that nurses were supposed to, you know, stitch up stitches.”

“Oh yeah, well they are. But you’re just so gorgeous I pass up the offer.”

“Oh, haha,” You say, not knowing how to feel. Although there was one thing you knew, and that was that this was uncomfortable as hell. “Well, I mean I do have a boyfriend.” You said just so he wouldn't try to make any moves.

“Oh well hey! Do you have any siblings or friends? I'm fine with absolutely anyone and everyone.” He says while disinfecting your ear and pulling the glass out.

“You’re Pan?” You ask to distract yourself from the pain.

“Yeah. You’re not gonna request another doctor now right?” He asks while carefully taking out the glass and putting it on a white napkin in front of you. That was a big piece.

“No, of course not!” You say in offence. “How could you ever think that.”

“It happens a lot with people. Especially the pretty ones. They automatically get turned off when I tell them I like everyone. I don't care about your gender, just your personality and how you treat me.”

“Oh well I would never. And it sucks that-that happens.”

“Yeah. Okay, so here comes the fun part. Hey, how did you even get these stitches? Or, why do you need them? Like how did you get to this point?” He says while slowly stitching up your ear.

“Ha, I get it. You’re just fine. And all of this is due to my boyfriend.” You say in pain.

“Wait,” He stops doing what he’s doing and just stands there. “Your boyfriend did this?”

“Yes. And before you say anything else, I am not in an abusive relationship. Okay, he just had a bad day and I guess I made it even worse. And trust me, he didn't mean to do it.” You say as he finishes stitching up your ear.

“Do you have a place to stay tonight?” He asks while pouring out a liquid into a small cup.

“No.”

“Then, come stay with me. At my place. And here drink this, it’ll help with the pain. A lot.”

He says while giving you a small cup filled with what looked like to be a crushed up powder poorly mixed in with water. Or whatever that the liquid was.

“Oh no. We just met.” You spoke before drinking it.

“You got anywhere better to stay? Plus my shift ends in 5 so it would be the most practical decision.”

You knew that it was wrong. After everything that Spencer had told you. But for some reason you still went. Even though you knew you should have gone back home to Spencer. And god knows what he was doing right now. But you couldn't just let your pride fall and go home. That would be pathetic. “You know what, okay! I mean what the hell! You seem nice and I’m not in the mood to face him again. Or at least for now.”

“Sweet!”

“Just one question… are you gonna kill me?” It was a stupid question to ask, you know. But after everything that Spencer and his family have been through. And with what happened to haley, you just couldn't help but to ask.

“No Y/N, I’m not gonna kill you. Now come on, let me get logged out and let's leave this place. Oh and Y/N, you can call me Michael.” He says while taking off his lab coat.

“Okay Michael.”

He brought you into his car and the drive to his place felt like hours. Although you really couldn't remember most of it since you passed out a quarter way through. The last thing you do remember is him putting his hand on your thigh and looking over at you with a smirk.

It had been 3 days. 3 days since you left to get your ear stitched up. 3 days since Spencer had last seen you. Since you had seen him. Or any of your friends. 3 days since you left your life. In those 3 days, Spencer completely lost himself. All of the books were on the floor. The bed was an absolute mess. And the kitchen was left just as it was the night it happened. He, himself, was a mess. His hair had not been brushed. He was still wearing the same clothes. And he’d been surviving on coffee and granola bars.

“Guys, we got a new case, come on.” Penelope chimes as they all do paper work. Spencer can’t help but look at his phone every 2 minutes just waiting for a text or call or any sign of life and/or love.

“What’s wrong pretty boy?” Derek asks.

“Yeah, you've been acting tense lately.” JJ adds.

“Nothing, It’s just Y/N,” He gruffs.

“Do I smell relationship problems,” Derek says jokingly.

“Derek!” JJ scoffs. “What's wrong Spence?”

“Nothing I just… Look, something happened, and now she’s not answering any of my text and calls, and I'm starting to get worried. That's really all there is.”

“Well what happened exactly? To you know, make her leave I guess.” JJ asks.

“Um, we had an argument. A pretty bad one. I came home after the case. The Checkersfeild one. And um, I was just tired. And instead of telling her that, I got super mad and said some things that I regret. And also did a thing I regret. A lot. And I would explain everything to her if she answered whenever I called or texted but she didn't.”

“How bad was the argument?” She asks again.

“Pretty bad. It was our first, but it was really bad. Just words coming and pouring out.”

“Spencer, how long have you and Y/N been dating?” Derek asks in shock at the fact that he just said ‘first argument’.

“2 and half years now.”

“And you two have never fought? What's this secret that you're keeping from me.”

“Well you know, we had our mutual disagreements. And sometimes we argued a little but it was small and it lasted for like an hour. And right after we would apologize and everything would be okay. It would all be fine.” Spencer said, his voice got longer and slower as the words went on.

“Wow, um… Spencer. You really love her, don't you.” Derek asked.

“Yeah. I really do, don't I.” Spencer says while walking into the briefing room.

As everyone sat down Derek couldn’t help but to keep looking at him. He knew that Spencer was hiding something, he just didn't know what. Or how to figure it out.

“Okay everyone this is Isabella Stines. The latest victim of our new unsub. Police are calling him The Ditcher. Since, as you can see, they leave the body in ditches after what looks like hours and hours of tourture. 5 other people were found too. First was Mindy Kindle, then Jake Johnson. Next, Rosé Hinnings, then we have Jennifer Gordon. And last, and hopefully least, Kross Noing. The ‘K’ is silent.” Penelope says while everyone looks down at the picture of the crime scenes and blood smeared across the screen.

“Do they have anything in common?” Spencer asks just before his phone starts ringing. He immediately picks it up even though the rule that Hotch made up states that you can't answer phones when you’re in the briefing room getting briefed for a new case. “Y/N.” Spencer asks, not knowing who this was since he didn't have enough time to look at the caller ID. “No, this is Sharron Richard, her boss. She hasn't shown up to work for these past days and we’re getting worried. She has a case coming up and this is a big one for her. We’ve been trying to contact her, but she’s not answering. So we called you since she left you as her backup or whatever you call it. So, have you seen or heard from her?” Sharron asks over the phone.

“Um no I- I haven't.” Spencer mutters through the phone so no one except Sharron could hear it. Although that failed miserably.

“Oh, okay. Well if you hear from her, or see her anytime soon. Please tell her to contact us.” And with that the phone was hung up.

“Pretty boy what was that?” Derek asks.

“Uh, nothing. Just a call from Y/N’s work. Apparently she’s been missing. Although you already knew that so…” Spencer said while looking down at his phone more time, then putting it away. Everyone just gave him this weird look of dissatisfaction.

“Okay anyway, yes there are some similarities. And luckily, all of these are taking place here so you guys won't be flying out anywhere! Or wait, isn't that a bad thing?” Penelope exclaims.

“Garcia,” Hotch says in his natural stearn and damning voice.

“Sorry boss. Anyways, The ME found traces of propofol and thiopental in each of their systems. For those of you who don't know what that is, it's basically a drug that doctors use to get patients into a coma before surgeries and/or if it's needed medically.”

“So only doctors would have access to it?” Emily asks.

“Over here in Virginia, yes. There are no stores that sell it here due to too many people ODing.” Spencer answers. “Garcia, did the ME find any signs of sexual assault?”

“No they did not. Looks like it was just tourture.”

“Hey Garcia, did they have anything else in common?” Emily asks.

“Yeah check this out. Each of the victims have a medical visit to “The Charleston Hospital” the night before dying. Or getting captured at least. And, it looks like each of them came in after what looked like an action of abuse. It was hard to spot but luckily the bill got it.”

“Okay, thank you Garcia. JJ, Prentiss, come with me. We’re going to the crime scene. Rossi, you go to the ME. Morgan and Reid stay here and try to find some things and connections. And Garcia, you just do what you do best.” Hotch says while getting up.

Everyone was gone from the briefing room except for Garcia who was taking down some files, and Spencer, who was looking at the file. But one part in particular. Could it have happened. No, it couldnr have. Could it?

“Hey Garcia?” He asked.

“Yes sugar,”

“Can I get something?”

“Why of course, what is it that you need?”

“Um, I need records and security tapes.”

“Come with me my sweet child.” She says while walking out the door and into her office, or as she likes to call it, batcave.

“Okay here are the records for-” She got cut off by a frantic Spencer.

“No, not for them, but for Y/N Y/L/N.”

“Your girlfriend?” She asks.

“Yes, my girlfriend.”

“Um, okay. So yeah. It looks like she went to Charleston um about 3 nights ago for some stitches.”

“And the security tapes. From that night. Can you see where she went? Or if she got in her car?”

“You doubt me. Don't doubt me. Okay so here. It looks like she got into this car. But, it looks like there is someone with her. Im sorry Spencer.”

“Don't be. Just, what’s the licence plate numbers?”

“Um, 56HI90ZC3. Spencer, if you want, we can talk about it.” She says in a soft tone. Thinking that his girlfriend would be cheating on one of her friends.

“No not now. I just need you to track that car, can you do that?”

“Done. Okay so it looks like the last time the car was spotted was here, Cherry Ann Avenue. It looks like they took a turn in this field, and that's all.”

“Great, I need you to contact Hotch and Rossi, and tell them that we got the guy.”

“On it. But, hey do you wanna talk about it?”

“Garcia, we don't have any time. Someone I love is in danger and I don't wanna waste a single second.”

You woke up to the smell of blood, the sound of crickets, and a gut wrenching pain, everywhere across your body.. Crickets everywhere. You looked down to see many cuts. Cuts all over your body, everywhere. And in one place, you swear you saw a knife. What had happened? How long was I out? You tried to remember everything but all you could was getting in a fight with Spencer and then getting in a car with a doctor. Or a nurse, or whoever they were.

“Ah, so you're up.” Michael said as he walked up from the shadows behind him.

“Who are you and what do you want?” You say trying your best to back away from him but something ties you down.

“You forgot who I am already. I must have added a little more meds in there for you. Huh, well that's alright. I’m Michael. More professionally, Dr. Michael Gray.” You just sat there trying to hear him over the intense pain you were in. Almost as if you'd been stabbed 100 times, maybe you had, who knows. “You see, your boyfriend was being the abusive piece of shit he is and so now I'm helping you. Helping you get better.”

“You sick bastard. You're not helping me, you're causing me pain.” You say as he gets closer and closer to your face.

“Shut up!!” He says as he slaps you. “I know what I’m doing!! Do you know how many people I’ve put out of misery!!” He yells in your face. You can feel the spit reaching your face as he does this.

“You’ve hurt those people. You've put them through pain. So much pain. Instead, you could have helped them. But this, this is not help, no this is torture, abuse, assult.”

“I SAID SHUT UP!!” He yelled while throwing the metal tray on the table across the room. “YOU KNOW WHAT, MAYBE WHAT YOU'RE PATHETIC LITTLE BOYFRIEND DID TO YOU WAS GOOD. YOU DESERVED IT!! Don't deserve me, or my help!”

You were shocked. You were scared. You were terrified. But you didn't want to admit it. And the sad part is, all he truly wanted to do is help you. But just at that moment you heard sirens. Sirens everywhere, and they got louder and louder until you saw the colors. Flashing up against the brown wooden wall and the shag carpeting on the floor.

Suddenly you heard a loud bang, the door had come down. “Michael Gray!” You heard someone yell. “Michael, we know what you've done, and we know that you’re here!”

“No, this can't be happening. No no no no no. NO!” He yelled in panic. The most stupid thing to do when you’re trying to hide.

Suddenly 3 people came rushing to the room. One of them happened to be your boyfriend. Who ran over to you immediately without any hesitation.

“Hey Y/N, it's me, Spencer. You're gonna be okay.” He said while holding you. All you did was smile and nod. You wanted to tell him that you loved him, but you just couldn't. You were so sore and tired. And all you wanted to do was go to sleep. Even though you knew that you shouldn't have since, well, you know. You would probably die. But you just couldn't help it.

You woke to a bright light. Or multiple in this case. Why was everything so white. White hurts people. You felt a tug to your hand as you saw who was holding it, Spencer. He stayed. And for god knows how long. He was asleep, and you didn't want to wake him. Poor boy looked like he hadn't gotten any sleep for the past week or so. You checked the clock as the time read 10:37pm. Perfect, just the most perfect time to wake up. You tried to grab your phone, but you had to stretch to get it, and you were not doing that.

Spencer, although woke up from your failed attempt at grabbing your phone. “Y/N, you're awake.” He said dreamily with his eyes half shut.

“Hi Spencer.”

Once he truly realized what was going on, he jumped up from his seat and gripped your hand tighter than before. “Y/N baby, how are you? Are you okay?”

“Well, truthfully. No, I am not okay. I mean, I just got tortured for god know how long, and I think I’ve been asleep. But again, I don't know how long. And oh god, I had my case that I’ve been working on for the past 6 months that was supposed to happen and I missed it!” You say as if the world was ending. He just looks at you. No emotion, just stares.

“Y/N it’s okay. I sorted that out, don't worry. You’re just okay. Why did you go with them anyway?”

You don't know how to respond. Do you tell him everything, or tell him nothing at all. Do you leave out some bits? No, he deserves to hear the whole truth. “Spencer, after what happened that night, I was terrified of what was gonna happen if I came home. And my friends were out of town. So I really had no choice.”

“Y/N,” His voice cracked. “I am so sorry for what I did to you. I truly didn't mean to do that, it just happened. And I don't know why.”

“I know.”

“You probably hate me, and I get that. I would hate me too if I were you. I mean, look at what I put you through. I’m so sorry. And I understand if you wanna breakup and stuff. But, I just wanna say that I love you. I truly do.”

“Spencer,” You say while looking down at your hands, then back up. “I don't hate you. I could never hate you. Not after everything you’ve done for me. I love you, I do.”

He just smiled and kissed you on your forehead. “Y/N, you wanna about it?”

“Talk about what?”

“Everything that happened today.”

“Sure, but how about we talk about everything that happened the other day. I mean, I made you pie Spencer, Pie!” He just sat there while you were laughing looking into your eyes. “I love you.” He said. You just smiled and held his hand, “I love you too.”

tagging: @criminalmindsmoodrn, @marshmallowtraver, @ghostly-angelic, and @himarisolace

#criminal minds #spencer reid #reader x spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #mgg x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer #mira writes

140 notes · View notes

365days365movies · 3 years

Text

January 16, 2021: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2014)

I am a massive comic book nerd. Not unusual these days, to be fair. But I’m definitely up there, as far as my obsession with Marvel and DC go. And, yeah, I stick mostly to those two houses, and their various imprints.

Why do I bring this up? Well...remember this movie?

Kick-Ass was a pretty big deal when it came out in 2010, as it was a Marvel Comics movie that was completely unrelated to the relatively new Marvel Cinematic Universe. Based of a 2008 comic book written by Mark Millar and drawn by John Romita Jr., the film was directed by Matthew Vaughn, and featured a more realistic take on how real-world superheroes would actually work.

Vaughn and Millar by this point at least, were friends. Around 2012, they’re getting drunk at a pub together, and talking movies. The topic of spy movies come up, and how there hasn’t really been a good, non-parody, fun spy movie, and that there should be. And that was the bulk of their conversation.

Enter Dave Gibbons, a legendary comic book artist, whom you may know from drawing the comic book that was turned into this:

Oh yeah, he’s a big deal. Gibbons and Millar end up getting together to write a fun spy comic book based on this idea. Vaughn, meanwhile, is getting ready to direct X-Men: Days of Future Past, the sequel to X-Men: First Class, which Vaughn directed. That’s a good movie, by the way, even if I have...issues...with the treatment of the X-Men in film. Maybe one day I’ll get into that, we’ll see what happens. Ask me about it if you’re curious.

Anyway, Millar goes to Vaughn with this script, and Vaughan looks at it and realizes that he needs to direct this movie before somebody else makes it. So he leaves Days of Future Past, and he signs on to...

I feel like it’s an obligation, as a comic book dude, to watch this film. I should also read the book, but I didn’t do that with Kick-Ass, so to hell with it! Let’s get this recap started! SPOILERS AHEAD!!!

Recap

Starting off with some Money for Nothing, and somewhere in the Middle East, 1997! We go into a stone temple, where some kind of mission is taking place. A surprise grenade causes the loss of one of the agents. The surviving agents are Merlin (Mark Strong), Lancelot AKA James Spencer (Jack Davenport), and Galahad, AKA Harry Hart (Colin Firth).

Hart, feeling guilty over the death of this agent, tells his wife, Michelle (Samantha Womack) and child Eggsy (yes, Eggsy) of his sacrifice, and gives Eggsy a medal.

From there, we jump forward 17 years, to Argentina where...Mark Hamill?

Holy shit, it’s Mark Hamill! Apparently, he’s playing Professor James Arnold, and being held hostage by a group of mysterious men. Just then, he’s rescued by Lancelot, showing up with some classic James Bond-style swagger and asking for a cup of sugar, sardonically.

He kicks the asses of these guys, but is SLICED IN HALF BY A MAN WITH SWORD LEGS WHAT THE FUCK????

I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I was watching the best thing I’ve ever goddamn seen. And as if that weren’t enough, she’s working for Samuel L. “Motherfucker” Jackson, playing Richmond Valentine. I am...I am so pleased.

We go to the Kingsmen headquarters, where Lancelot is being mourned by the Kingmen and their leader MICHAEL CAINE, REALLY, HOLY SHIT

Ahem. Sorry, uh...the star-studded cast has basically caused me to have a minor aneurysm. Caine plays Arthur, the leader of the Kingsmen. Get it? I can dig it, I’m a sucker for a good Arthurian reference. Anyway, now that Lancelot’s dead, it’s time to find a new candidate. Apparently, the man that died 17 years ago was part of an “experiment” by Hart, which Arthur says has failed. Galahad calls Arthur a snob, and says that they need to evolve with the times. \

Speaking of that former candidate, how’s his son doing?

Not stellar, it seems. His mom is dating a very unsavory gentleman, and not really taking good care of her youngest daughter. Eggsy (Taron Egerton), on the other hand, is a carefree delinquent. After engaging in an entertaining backwards car chase with the police (it’s cool), he gets arrested. He refuses to give up his friends, and he instead asks for a phone call.He looks at the medallion around his neck, and remembers that he can use the number of the back to contact someone for help. He uses a specific code phrase, but it appears not to have worked. But then, Eggsy is turned loose with little more than a phone call. That’s when Eggsy meets Hart.

We find out that Eggsy has a high IQ and Olympic-level athletics, but has dropped out of the Marines, and has been arrested for drugs and other illegal activities. After being read out by Hart, Eggsy goes on an anger-filled diatribe about the differences in privilege between the two of them. Although it’s short, it’s a powerful speech.

But that speech is interrupted by the owner of the car that Eggsy stole the previous night, as well as his gang. They’re yearning for a fight with Eggsy, and they threaten Hart. He doesn’t take that well, as he shuts the doors and windoes to the pub. Time to teach a lesson.

youtube

Yup, I’m giving this fight the posted video award. It might be short, but it’s also one of the best and coolest sequences I’ve ever seen in a spy movie. And OH, it’s giving me that gadget shit I was missing from the Bond movies.

After one of the most enjoyable fight sequences I’ve seen in a while, Eggsy’s understandably stunned. So is his stepfather Dean (Geoff Bell), the leader of the gang that Hart beat up in the pub. He’s not happy, and he beats Eggsy in their apartment, and that scene is...WHOOF. Much to their surprise, however, Hart’s left a device on Eggsy’s back. He threatens Dean through the device, and tells Eggsy to meet him at a tailor that he’d mentioned.

Once Eggsy escapes from Dean and the gang via nest parkour tricks, he makes his way to the tailor, where Hart officially brings him into the fold, giving him the opportunity to become a Kingsman. He exposits the history of the agency as a private group of spies, meant to protect the world while not bowing to the bureaucracy that plagues government-affiliated spy institutions.

We get to go to Kingsman Headquarters proper, and yeah...yeah, it’s cool. As compared to the other recruits, Eggsy’s pretty obviously out of place. This, of course, is part of the point, as Hart believes the Kingsmen could use someone with different life experiences and background. That would be the experiment mentioned earlier.

Eggsy’s competitors include Roxy (Sophie Cookson), who appears to actually be polite to him, unlike most of the potentials. They settle in for the night...but not for long. Their quarters fills with water, as the entirety of the Kingsmen head towards the showerheads and toilets for air. While they all succeed, Eggsy is the one who actually gets everyone out, by literally punching the window.

Unfortunately, for one of the candidates...it’s too late. These candidates could die in the hiring process. Rough.

Sadly, Mark Hamill also doesn’t quite make it, as Hart finds him, surprisingly freed from Valentine’s capture. As he’s questioned, Valentine is forced to kill him via Suicide Squad implant, and barely escaped from his men. Valentine and his henchwoman, Gazelle (Sofia Boutella) are trying to figure out who the Kingsmen are, to no avail at the moment.

Back with Merlin, who’s training the Kingsman candidates! They’re all told to get a puppy! Aw. Eggsy chooses J.B. a pug, under the mistaken impression that it’s a bulldog. And I’m not a pug person...but that puppy is cute as shit.

Time marches on, and the Kingsmen continue their training. Eggsy’s colleagues continue to discriminate against him, especially Charlie (Edward Holcroft). Hart, who was knocked out by the explosion, eventually wakes up. Valentine goes around to political leaders and proposes his plan to “save the world,” whatever that’s about to mean. Apparently, that includes giving the King of Sweden a surgical implant of some kind. Huh.

This, of course includes some, uh...conflict with Gazelle.

Awesome.

Eggsy’s in the final 6! As Hart congratulates him over this, we finally get some exposition on Richmond Valentine’s plan. See, that implant is the Suicide Squad bomb that killed Hamill, and Gazelle also has one. Additionally, he’s released a plan to the world that will provide free internet and phone data...forever. Not ominous at all, that.

After a cool skydiving training sequence, only three candidates are left. Hart, meanwhile, poses as a wealthy philanthropist, donating to Valentine’s cause. As a result, he’s treated to an extravagant dinner...of McDonald’s. Yes, it is the best product placement I’ve seen in a while, in case you were wondering. That reveal was hilarious.

Anyway, their conversation turns from talking about climate change studies and concerns, to their opinion of James Bond movies, in a lovely little piece of meta flavor. At this point, they would appear to understand each other’s role in the play, as it were. Forgot to mention, Valentine’s been kidnapping anyone who disagrees with his goals, while also distributing his free internet cards. So, there’s that. But he’s also trying to figure out what exactly the “Kingsmen” are. Speaking of...

Our three remaining Kingsman candidates are assigned a mission to seduce a young dignitary. However, all three of them make a mistake, and allow themselves to get drugged at a party, by someone wanting to know who Hart and Kingsmen are. When Eggsy wakes up, he’s been strapped to train tracks. Uh oh.

Despite an oncoming train, Eggsy doesn’t give the man any formation. Which, of course, was the point. It’s Hart, helping to give the Kingsman candidates a little loyalty test, which both Eggsy and Roxy pass with flying colors. But Charlie...Charlie’s a coward who immediately gives everything up, including Arthur himself.

Eggsy gets to spend 24 hours with Hart, before being thrown headfirst into a mission. Hart explains that being a Kingsman means being a gentleman, which Eggsy isn’t. Hart, of course, plans to fix that.

They head to the tailor, and check out some spy gadgets. And much to their surprise, Valentine is also there, under the guise of getting a suit. Hart takes the opportunity to recommend a hatter, who gives him a top hat with built in listening devices. I love it.

Eggsy, meanwhile, speaks with Arthur at Kingsman HQ. He’s commanded to perform one final test: kill his pug, J.B. Which...yeah, damn, that sucks. He doesn’t do it, understandably. Unfortunately...Roxy does kill her dog. She succeeds...and Eggsy’s kicked out of the Kingsman candidacy. Which feels like a bullshit play, if I’m honest.

Eggsy steals Arthur’s car, then goes back home. As he’s about to confront his stepfather, Hart brings back the car via remote access, then explains to Eggsy that the gun was filled with blanks, and that Eggsy ended up giving up his shot. He also reveals that the first candidate to die...didn’t actually die! It’s been a ruse all along, meant to test the candidates under the strictest of conditions. Which sucks, obviously, because Eggsy’s out of the program.

And at that point, Valentine says something of note, revealing that he plans to go to a hate church in Kentucky to begin his master plan. Hart heads there, and tells Eggsy to stay put.

We get treated to just...just the loveliest of sermons. Disgusting. But then...

...that’s the point, isn’t it?

Because Valentine uses the SIM cards to create a signal that drives the parishioners crazy. Hart’s also in the church, however, and he also starts going crazy. Which leaves the question: what happens when a highly trained spy goes up against untrained civilians, has a bunch of gadgets...and has absolutely no restraint whatsoever?

A MASSACRE, THAT’S WHAT HAPPENS. And most surprisingly, it’s a massacre that we actually SEE. Hart basically kills almost EVERYBODY in the church. I’ll put the video up, but...y’know, be warned here. It ain’t pretty.

youtube

Hart comes to, and realizes exactly what he’s done. He leaves, only to be confronted by Valentine and his men. The Bond metaphor finally comes full-circle, explained directly by Valentine. But instead of explaining his whole plan and devising some complicated way to kill Hart that he’ll inevitably escape from...

He just shoots Hart in the head. Holy shit. And this is while Merlin, Arthur, and yes, Eggsy watch on through Hart’s home feed. Looks like a new Kingsman is needed.

Arthur tells Merlin to assemble the Kingsmen. But Eggsy...Eggsy has other plans. Thinking on Hart’s words about wanting to do something good with his life. He goes to Arthur to talk to him about Hart’s death. Arthur invites him in for brandy. And that’s...when my mind exploded.

HE’S FUCKING IN ON IT?!? Michael Caine, NOOOO! Turns out that Valentine’s convinced Arthur of his true plan: a culling. He believes that the Earth’s temperature because there’s simply too much humanity, like a body trying to kill a virus. And so...he’s going to make the virus exterminate itself. And that argument’s enough to win Caine over.

Turns out that the implant is meant to protect those individuals against a neurological signal emitted by the SIM cards, the same one that went off in the church. Arthur, realizing that Eggsy understands exactly what’s going on, poisons him, then asks if he would like to join them. Eggsy refuses...and Arthur sets off the remote poison to kill him.

But NOPE! EGGSY SWITCHED THE FUCKIN’ GLASSES! I love this movie. Arthur dies, and Eggsy uses the opportunity to dig the implant from his neck. He takes that and Arthur’s phone to Merlin and Lancelot, who realize that they can’t trust anyone at this point. And so, the three of them - yes, the three of them - go to stop Valentine.

And, yeah...I can dig it. OH HOW I CAN DIG it.

Roxy goes up in an experimental vehicle to bring down the satellite, Merlin is flying the plane, and Eggsy...Eggsy’s the one going in disguised as Arthur, in order to infiltrate the mountain lair of Valentine. Here, he and the other beneficiaries wait it out, while the world literally tears itself apart. Now wearing a bespoke suit and playing the role of a gentleman, Eggsy enters the lion’s den.

But as expected, it’s time to hit some snags. Roxy waits juuuuuust a little too long, and one of the balloons in her craft pops. As for Eggsy, he meets an old “friend” of his in the form of Charlie, who’s now working for Valentine.

The missile’s fired just in time, as Charlie’s taken out and Eggsy runs for the plane. AWESOME climax here as Eggsy escapes. I mean it; it is VERY cool. They succeed JUST in time, and the satellite is destroyed. However, Valentine’s still managed to partially start the process, and they can’t do anything about that.

Eggsy’s gotta go BACK in, before Valentine gets another satellite to trigger the signal worldwide. Now armed with Hart’s AWESOME umbrella, he makes his way there under heavy gunshot. They’re also teaming up against Merlin in the plane, so he’s not doing great. And that when Eggsy has the idea...to turn the implants on. ALL of them.

youtube

It’s amazing. Violence in fireworks. So, it’s too bad that it doesn’t stop the signal. It works, and people start to tear each other apart all across the world. But only for was long as Valentine has his hands on the desk. Eggsy manages to stop that by laying down some suppressive fire.

That provokes a response.

..This movie is, for lack of a better term, fucking rad.

Gazelle and Eggsy have an awesome fight, worthy of any James Bond movie, seriously. I really want to give it the video post honor, but I’ve done that too much already. For god’s sake, I literally JUST did that.

Gazelle dies (it’s kinda goofy how she dies, if I’m honest), and Eggsy kills Valentine with her prosthetic leg. It’s over, as the signal ends, and Eggsy even gets the girl. Not Roxy, the Princess of Sweden. Not going into it, but it’s funny.

And that’s Kingsman: The Secret Service! Honestly, I gotta say, that was a rad-as-shit movie, and...

Ooh, a mid-credits scene! Eggsy goes back home, to the pub, where his stepfather and mom are hanging out with the gang. And let’s just say...Dean’s gonna get a little comeuppance. Manners, after all, maketh man.

OK, THAT’S Kingsman: The Secret Service! And that, again, was pretty rad. See you in the Epilogue in a few!

38 notes · View notes

everamazingfe · 3 years

Text

The Kumbaya Approach

Fic Summary: Trevor is the captain of his own ship and is in need of a new pilot when his old one abandons the crew. Fortunately, his trusty engineer Gavin knows of a good one. Unfortunately, the cargo he brings along with him is a little more dangerous than they anticipated.

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

Words: 15113 Pairings: Michael/Jeremy, Trevor/Alfredo Warnings: Mild descriptions of violence and blood

Notes: This was written for the Secret Springfairy fic exchange in the @rtwritingcommunity discord for @doolray! This was a ton of fun to write, I hope you enjoy, and big thanks to @fornhaus for proofreading/editing! Check the source for a link to read it on A 0 3!

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

“What do you mean you quit?”

“I mean I quit. I’m done with this bucket of bolts. Every day there’s a new problem, a new critical failure, a new busted part, and I’m sick of it! What kind of commander can’t get a handle on his own ship?”

“Hey! Those problems aren’t my fault, it’s the-”

“-The ship’s AI, right. Heard that one a thousand times. But they’re part of the crew, too. Which means they’re your responsibility. And if you can’t keep them under control and keep your ship in shape, I’m out of here at the next port.”

The arguments had gone on like this for several days, nearly a week now, and it was the same thing every time. Jeremy would yell about how he was sick of being on the ship and lay down blame for its problems, and Trevor would defend himself against the barrage of insults instead of trying to change the other’s mind. He knew that was a futile effort, and he knew better than to fight losing battles.

The pair were silent for a long time, staring each other down. Jeremy was looking for a reason to get more wound up, to start yelling all over again. Telling off his commander for mistakes that everyone had seemingly let slide for far too long felt really good, and he wanted to keep going. Meanwhile, Trevor was calming down and calculating his next move very carefully. It was fine if his crew wanted to question his authority, they did it plenty and he never took it personally. But as far as he was concerned, Jeremy was no longer crew and no longer privy to that same mercy. After all, he’d quit.

“Fine. You can empty your quarters out and sleep in the observation deck, then. You’re no longer a member of this crew, so you no longer get to stay in crew cabins,” he stated after a few long moments, his tone cold.

Jeremy blinked in surprise, not expecting Trevor to actually do anything about it. “Wait, what?”

“You heard me. You don’t get a room anymore, those are reserved for the crew. If you’re unhappy with that arrangement, I can tell Lindsay to get the airlock open for you.”

“You know... If I leave, Michael’s gonna go with me. He goes where I go,” he reminded, though he was no longer yelling confidently. He was stumbling and faltering. Trevor had called his bluff effectively, and it was hard to keep up steam.

“Then you can help each other clean out your quarters and keep each other warm on the deck,” he responded, shrugging casually. “Finding a new science officer will be just as easy as finding a new pilot.”

“And just how do you expect to get to the next port safely?”

Trevor chuckled softly, smiling. “Lindsay is more than equipped with satisfactory navigational skills, isn’t that right Linds?”

The comms system beeped to life, and a cheerful voice was heard over the speakers. “That’s right, Commander! Jack’s charting us a course as we speak. We’ll be on our way shortly.”

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

There was some truth to Lindsay’s words. They were equipped with the best-in-the-market autopilot functionality, but Jack was not charting a course. The entirety of the crew was gathered around a large monitor in the communications bay, watching the whole ordeal unfold through Lindsay’s eyes. There were bets on how it would end. Most of the money was on it ending in blows at this point.

“Like hell I’m going with him!” Michael shouted, waving his hands and scoffing in disbelief as he looked at the screen. “I’m not idiot enough to throw away a good job when I’ve got it. I mean, sure the place is a shithole, no offense Linds-”

“None taken.”

“-But like… It’s not like we have to do anything. If I try and find another crew, they may make me do actual work! Can you imagine? I am not going anywhere.”

“I don’t think he’s going to give you a choice,” Jack said from beside him, the others all nodding in agreement. “I think you’re gonna have to go with him.”

Michael huffed, rolling his eyes and turning up the volume on the terminal. “If there’s one thing you fuckers should’ve learned about me right now, it’s this: I don’t have to do shit. Especially not for my boyfriend.”

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

Jeremy grumbled to himself as he packed up his things. Michael was, of course, no help. He just stood in the doorway and spectated, making snide remarks when he saw fit.

“You know, I’d really appreciate it if you could be on my side with this,” Jeremy said, balling up a shirt and throwing it at him. “Or at the very least, help me pack.”

Michael laughed, knocking away the shirt before it hit him in the face. “Fuck no, you dug this hole yourself. I’m not the moron who quit.”

“This place is a shithole and you know it.”

“Yeah, but you never have to fix any of it! You just have to sit there in your comfy pilot chair and wait for Gavin to do it.” Had Michael always been a little jealous of his boyfriend’s job? A little bit. The med bay was cold and unwelcoming, but the cockpit was cushy and warm. Plus, with Lindsay on board, the pilot didn’t really have to do much at all unless their systems went down. Which, to be fair, did happen a lot. “You pilots are always so snooty. You knew what you were getting into when you took this gig, you can’t expect it to be like the Ritz now.”

“Just fucking go,” Jeremy muttered, swiping up the last of his clothes from the floor. “Don’t even bother visiting, either.” The comment hurt them both, but that didn’t make him mean it any less. He didn’t want Michael to visit, he wanted him to stay at the port with him.

The other just laughed heartily and shook his head, turning on his heel to leave. “Wasn’t planning on it.”

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

The observation deck was, as it always was, cold and lonely. The warm blankets and fluffy pillows that were on his bed were technically part of the quarters he had previously taken residence in, so all Jeremy had to sleep on was the metal floor, cushioned by his clothing and a few other soft belongings. The things that he owned that were unfit for laying on were stacked around him. The observation deck’s window was huge, and as he laid there unable to sleep, the vastness of space no longer brought him the same comfort it had when he was in the pilot’s seat.

“Hey, Lindsay?”

The comms beeped to life once more. “Yes, Jeremy?”

“Am I making a mistake?” He asked, sitting up and leaning back against the stack.

There were a few long seconds of contemplative silence before they spoke again. “Yeah, you are. A huge one, I’d say.”

“That’s not really comforting... I don’t suppose Trevor would be willing to… Reconsider?”

“No, I don’t think so. You insulted the ship. The commander takes that personally.” Lindsay did too, but they figured that Jeremy already felt guilty enough without them piling on as well.

“C’mon, you know I didn’t mean it.”

“Do I, though? Because I really don’t think I do,” they stated. Maybe Jeremy didn’t feel as guilty as they had hoped, so their politeness parameters were temporarily suspended. “This is a ship made from stolen parts, what do you expect? For everything to run perfectly all the time? If you wanted that, you should’ve signed up for one of the legal spacefarers out there,” they quipped. If they had eyes, they would have rolled them.

Jeremy sighed heavily, sinking down the wall and burying his face in his hands. Maybe it wasn’t too late to take Trevor up on that airlock offer, he was sure he’d be happy to oblige.

“Is Michael going with you?” Lindsay asked after a few minutes, breaking the silence and sounding innocent enough. Jeremy couldn’t tell whether they wanted a yes or a no, but there was no use lying to them. They’d seen Jeremy packing alone, his quarters empty while Michael’s were still very much full.

“No,” he responded, shaking his head, “No, he’s not. He’s gonna be staying on board.”

“Oh, good. I like him. I’d be sad if he left.”

“But you’re not sad that I’m leaving?” There was no response to his words, just the comms beeping to signal that Lindsay wouldn’t be answering more of his questions. Jeremy sighed again and lowered his hands, staring back out at the stars. “I don’t even think that Michael’s sad that I’m leaving,” he muttered to himself, laying back down in his pile of clothes and shoving an old jacket under his head for a makeshift pillow.

He couldn’t exactly blame him for it, either. Maybe he could’ve been a better boyfriend, maybe he should’ve just bitten his tongue and held back whatever criticisms he had of Trevor and the ship. But part of this felt like it was inevitable, like he was always going to blow up like this. The worst part was that he didn’t even feel guilty about any of it, he was only sorry that speaking up had the consequences that it had. It was hard to have any regrets about it when he fully believed he was doing the right thing, though.

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

It only took them another week to reach the nearest spaceport, some podunk trading and tourist hub located pretty centrally to all the bigger colonies. Trevor liked it because they’d be able to stock up on supplies without having to scrounge or overpay. That was something that desperately needed doing, the last few ports had single rations sold for thousands of credits or reasonably priced ones that were nearly a century past date. Plus, they’d have pretty good odds at finding a replacement pilot there too. Jeremy liked it because it didn’t seem like the worst place to be booted onto, he could find work with another crew or in the port pretty easily. Everyone else liked it because being at port meant a few days of rest. Lindsay didn’t have to worry about some of the more power-hungry systems that came with flying a ship, which meant that Gavin didn’t have to run around making patchwork repairs at every hour of the day. But for some, their work didn’t stop. Matt always had to keep his ear to the radio for any incoming transmissions, and Michael and Fiona could only leave their experiments and samples unattended for so long before there were catastrophic results.

Reaching port this time was different this time around, though. They’d never had to say goodbye to one of their own before. Jeremy had been permitted one last night on the ship, but in the morning he’d have to go. To honor that last night, Gavin and Michael decided to organize a going away party for their fellow lad, complete with drinks and proper food (not just freeze-dried rations that pretended to be edible) and parting gifts.

It made Jeremy feel better about going when he saw how sad everyone seemed to be, how sincere they were in expressing how much they would miss him. He’d convinced himself that they all hated him for speaking out the way that he had, no one had come to speak to him in the observation deck and the only time he saw anyone was when he was brought his rations, but the party was a good indication that they didn’t hate him: they just pitied him.

Michael was certainly the most upset, despite the fact that he’d pretended to be unbothered only a week prior. Even if they had to do it from lightyears away, they promised each other they’d find a way to make things work. The communication technology was there, they’d still be able to talk. Michael was just glad that he wouldn’t have to worry too much about Jeremy while he was gone. It was a busy port, there’d be plenty of people around looking to hire a skilled pilot. And even if he couldn’t find work right away, it was safe enough that he could stay there for a while without running into any trouble unless he went looking.

Despite all the fun of the festivities, Trevor’s absence was hard to miss. Jeremy had to admit that he’d been foolish for expecting it, but not getting a final goodbye from his former commander stung.

However, Trevor had decided that his day was best spent working instead of partying, arranging for fresh shipments of supplies to be loaded into the cargo bay and beginning his search for a new pilot. The first task was successful, the latter one… Not so much. No one was really giving him the time of day, not believing him when he told them he captained his own ship and could afford to pay handsomely for work. Or they simply weren’t interested in the cargo that would need to be transported. After he was fed a lot of bullshit from people who clearly didn’t know anything trying to weasel their way onto his ship, he reached his limit and returned to the ship, thoroughly disheartened by the end of the night.

Trevor spent the evening in his quarters, agonizing over the situation for a few hours. There were a few solid candidates when he looked past all their unfavorable qualities, but he still wasn’t thrilled about any of them. Everyone was busy partying with Jeremy, he was grateful for the peace while he tried to work something out. The only thing that pulled him out of his thoughts was Lindsay’s chime. Usually that signaled that he’d been working for too long and it was time to get some rest, so he began to stand up, stretching his arms out over his head to ease away the stiffness.

“Commander, Gavin’s outside the door. Should I let him in?” They asked, sending a feed to his terminal of the lad standing outside the doors. He sat back down slowly, squinting as he looked at the grainy footage on the screen.

“Does he look like he’s carrying any stink bombs? I can’t tell.”

There were a few moments of silent examination before the comms beeped to life again. “Nope, he’s clear.”

Trevor waved in approval then, twisting around in his chair to face the door. “Let him in, then.”

The doors slid open to reveal Gavin standing there, fortunately empty-handed, with a smile on his face. “Commander! Missed you at the party, you should’ve been there! I saved you a bev, if you want it.”

“No thanks. Some of us had actual work to do, y’know.” He paused, looking the other up and down. It was always hard to read Gavin, he was always brimming with so much energy, it was hard to tell if his fidgeting was excited stimming or covering up for anxious nerves. There was no telling what he wanted to share. “I really hope you didn’t come here just to chastise me for not going to a party for someone who couldn’t stop insulting the ship every chance he got.”

“Nah, I get it. No one insults our Lindsay and gets away with it. But… I do think I can help with some of your problems.” Trevor arched an eyebrow at him, waiting for him to continue. “I know a pilot at this port. He’s one of the best. Well, actually, he is the best. And! He owes me a favor! So he’ll definitely be taking the job.”

“If he’s the best, how can you be sure he’s not currently in a crew?”

Gavin laughed at that, and Trevor’s face turned to one of confusion. “He’s rather picky about the jobs he takes. And, like I said: He owes me.”

He was quiet for a few moments, biting his lip as he thought it over. Gavin hadn’t led him astray before, it was how they’d ended up with Michael and Fiona on the crew, but it all felt a little too good to be true. Coincidences made him uneasy, but what choice did he have? “How soon can I meet him?”

“Tomorrow, if you’d like.”

“I’d like to, yeah. After breakfast. Lindsay, set an alarm for the engineering bay to make sure Gavin wakes up in time.”

“Yes, commander.”

“Hey!”

Trevor grinned as the other pouted. “Anything else, Gav?”

Gavin flipped him off before breaking out into a grin of his own. “Nope! That’s it. I should get back to the engines ‘case they bust again, but I’m happy to be of service. See you tomorrow, Trev.”

“See you tomorrow, Gavin. Get some rest, don’t stay up too late pestering Matt.”

“Will do, won’t do, goodnight!”

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

The next morning came soon enough, the crew having breakfast together for a change since Michael had been kind enough to grab some fresh ingredients and cook them a nice meal. It was refreshing to have real food, not just the usual freeze-dried rations or nutrient slurries they normally relied on. And real coffee was always a treat, though no one would dare insult Fiona’s synthesized seaweed coffee replacement for fear of losing the one caffeine source they had between stops.

After the meal, Gavin and Trevor set out as planned. They had a pilot to search for, and the lad wouldn’t stop ranting and raving about how great this guy was supposed to be. Trevor just hoped that he was going to live up to all the hype.

“When you said this guy is picky about the jobs he takes, just how picky did you mean?” He asked as they searched through the first hotspot. There were a few places this mysterious pilot liked to hang out in apparently, and there was no telling which one he’d be at.

Gavin chuckled softly, glancing over at Trevor with a smile until he realized he was being serious. Then, he just shrugged a shoulder. “I dunno. He won’t complain about the ship, if that’s what you mean.”

“Kind of. I just want to make sure he’s not too high class to run the sort of jobs we run.”

“Oh, trust me. He’s not. He is exactly low class enough to run these sort of jobs. But, y’know, like everyone else he wants to make sure the money’s real, and that he’s not gonna end up space dust.”

“Fair enough.” Those were reasonable requests, and ones that were easy enough for Trevor to guarantee. No one on his crew ever ran out of credits, and no one had gotten seriously injured on a job. The ‘on the job’ part was the most important part of that sentence, because injuries did still happen around the ship, despite everyone’s best efforts.

Spots two and three were as equally bust as the first one, but Gavin was just as determined as he’d been at breakfast. Trevor, not so much. It was well past mid-day by the time they reached the fifth spot, some sort of hotel and lounge for people to catch their breath and put their feet up.

The moment they stepped in the door, there was a big beaming grin on Gavin’s face. “Fredo!” He shouted, raising his arms as he cheered. “Took us long enough to find you!”

The man in question was seated casually on a sofa, nose buried in a magazine, though his attention was broken by Gavin’s shouting cutting through the ambiance. “Gavin?” He asked, raising an eyebrow in confusion as he set his magazine aside and stood. “What the hell are you doing so far out?”

“Ah, well, that’s a bit of a long story,” he said, waving a hand to dismiss the question as he walked up to the man and wrapped an arm around him. He dragged him over to Trevor, still beaming. “Trevor, this is Alfredo. Best pilot on this side of the universe. On both sides, probably, but he doesn’t like to brag. And Alfredo, this is Trevor. He’s the big boss of the Morrigan.”

“I, uh… Yeah, that’s me. I’m the cap- The commander.”

“Cat got your tongue, Commander?” Alfredo asked, smirking as the other’s face tinted red. “C’mon, let’s go somewhere else and chat. There’s way too many people listening in out here.”

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

They ended up in Alfredo’s room, crowded around the small table underneath a dim light. However, Trevor didn’t need a lot of light to get a read on someone, and he noticed a lot of things about their potential new pilot in a short time. He didn’t fidget like Gavin did, each movement seemed like it was with purpose, but sometimes he’d flex his fingers and roll his wrists. It told him that he was as experienced as Gavin said, because Jeremy had started to do the same thing after a long time behind the helm. His jacket was well worn, the red still bright in some spots but faded in others, and patched in places where it’d been damaged. That told him that Alfredo wasn’t afraid of a fight, and he was resourceful enough to not let good things go to waste. All good things, in his book.

“So, what’s your offer?” Alfredo asked, breaking the silence once they’d all gotten settled around the table.

“My… Offer?”

“Yeah. If I work for you, what do I get?”

Trevor and Gavin looked at each other for a moment, the latter stunned by the bluntness of the question, but the former was used to unprofessionalism like that. In fact, he preferred it. “Well, for starters, a spot on the ship. You get your own private quarters. However, you really are there as a backup to our ship’s computer in case things get extra… Challenging. They’re good, but there’s limits to every AI.”

Alfredo’s eyebrows raised at that. He’d never been on a ship that had a computer like that on it before. “Sounds like a fancy ship.”

Gavin snorted out a laugh, shaking his head quickly. “Trust me, it’s not. It’s all cobbled together, and the only reason we ended up with Lindsay was because their system was gonna be salvage otherwise.”

“Right…” He cleared his throat, looking back to Trevor. “What about money?”

“We all get an equal cut of the credits. We’re all important on the Morrigan, no one gets more or less than anyone else.” Everyone put in a lot of work to keep the ship running smoothly, sometimes Trevor felt like he wasn’t doing enough in comparison. Every now and then, he’d take less from his own cut to give everyone else a little more. It felt fair. “And we kind of just go wherever when we’re not running jobs.”

Alfredo was quiet for a few moments, thinking things over. He knew he owed Gavin a favor, but at the same time this whole deal seemed too good to be true. No commander was ever this reasonable, this good to his crew. “Can you go wait outside for a minute? I’d like to talk to Gavin,” he said finally, and Trevor was happy to oblige. He didn’t take his eyes off the other man until the door closing forced him too, then they were fixed on Gavin. “This smells like bullshit.”

“I’m telling you Fredy, it’s not. We all get an equal cut, the rooms are pretty damn lush, and the jobs are alright. I don’t do much but patch up the ship after them, but we haven’t had any major hull breaches yet.” He seemed quite proud of himself for that, but deflated when Alfredo didn’t respond in kind.

“Yeah, but what about your last pilot? What happened to them? No one just leaves a gig this good.”

“Ah, well… Actually, some do. There were a few… Disagreements. He wasn’t happy on the ship, and Trevor doesn’t like when people insult the Morrigan, or Lindsay,” he explained, choosing his words carefully. He wasn’t sure either of the men involved would be happy if the story started to get spread. “But it’s a good ship, a good crew, and Trevor’s a good man. Plus, you owe me.”

“I know, and that’s the worst part!” He groaned, slumping forward with his face in his hands. “I hate owing you, you always make people pay you back in the worst possible ways!”

“Oi! I’m getting you a job!”

“Yeah, and it all sounds shady as shit! I know you’re smugglers, but damn. Trevor’s cold.”

Gavin just chuckled softly, because he couldn’t exactly disagree with him. The commander had his moments, but didn’t everyone? “Look, Fredo. You need this, and we need you. So just… Take the job, would you?”

Alfredo chewed the inside his lip as he thought it over, letting out a long sigh after a minute. “Alright, I’ll do it.”

“Now that’s what I like to hear,” Gavin said with a grin, clapping Alfredo on the shoulder before yelling for Trevor to come back inside.

He genuinely couldn’t guess what they had been talking about in there, but judging by the look on Gavin’s face it was something good. “You’ve decided, then?” He asked Alfredo as he took his seat again.

“He has! He said that he’d joi-“

“-Gavin, dude. Let me talk,” he said, swatting at the other man to get him to shut up. “I’ll join your crew, on one condition…” He trailed off, wanting to gauge the other’s response before he continued.

“And that is?” Trevor asked, arching an eyebrow and waiting for him to go on.

“I have some cargo I need to get off this asteroid. It’ll be a win/win for the both of us: You get to see how good I fly, I get this job off my back, and you, me, and your crew get to split the money.”

It’d be a good reason to get out of the spaceport faster too. Trevor wasn’t planning on leaving until they had a job anyway and now one had fallen right into their laps with a new pilot in hand. “Sounds like a deal to me,” he said, reaching a hand out for Alfredo to shake and smiling across the table at him. It was a genuine smile, the facade of the stern negotiator falling away.

Alfredo grinned right back at him, taking his hand and giving it a firm shake. “Hell yes.”

“We can get into the details of the job back on the ship, but I wanna introduce you to your new crew first.”

“Oh, you’re gonna love them, Fredo. They’re all brilliant.”

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

The Morrigan welcomed its commander back onto the ship with a cheerful musical tone, the doors sliding open as he approached with Gavin and Alfredo in tow.

“Oh, now who’s this?” Lindsay asked, curious about the new arrival. If they were being honest, they hadn’t expected Gavin to be telling the truth about knowing a pilot, or for Trevor to be convincing enough to get him to join. Their expectations weren’t pessimistic, just realistic. They knew their crew.

“Lindsay! Hey there, perfect timing,” Trevor said with a grin as Gavin scurried off to go gather the rest of the crew. “This is Alfredo, he’s gonna be our new pilot! And Alfredo, this is Lindsay, our ship's computer, and your co-pilot. If you have any questions about the ship, they’ll be the one to ask.”

“That’s right!” They chirped, “Not to brag or anything, but I know more about this ship than anyone, except maybe Gavin. We’re about equal, but don’t tell him I said that!”

Alfredo chuckled, amused by just how much personality this supposed AI had. “Are you sure there’s not a person on the other side of those comms, commander?”

Trevor simply shook his head. “Nope, just a Lindsay!” He answered, motioning for Alfredo to follow him as he led him further into the ship. Doors opened and shut behind them automatically as they went, which meant that Lindsay was keeping a close eye on them. They’d really taken Jeremy’s comments about the ship to heart, and they had to make sure the new guy wasn’t going to say the same thing.

“No offense, but… How does a ship like this afford a computer like that? I know how much these jobs make, and how much those things cost, and… The math just isn’t adding up.”

The speakers beeped to life with a gentle tone, and Lindsay spoke up for themselves. “I was a rejected version of an even more advanced system, but because of how advanced I still was, they couldn’t just shut me down and wipe out all my data. So, they put me up for sale instead.”

“We got a pretty good deal on them, actually. No one really wants a buggy AI, too much of a risk or whatever, but for a smuggling crew who doesn’t care about perfection, they’re perfect.” The bugs that the programmers had rejected Lindsay for were hardly even bugs in Trevor’s eyes, they were just things that made them too hard to control. There was no speech filter, no way to control them or make them do whatever you wanted, which is why they’d been rejected. You had to treat them like a person, and their programmers had hated that.

Alfredo was genuinely impressed by the state of the ship, and how smoothly things seemed to run on the surface. Lindsay gave him a quick brief on the engine the ship was powered by and some tips for when he was at the controls to help work around some of its quirks. By the time their spiel was done, they’d reached the bridge where everyone had been gathered so they could get introductions out of the way all at once instead of hunting people down one by one.

The Morrigan was no small ship, and its crew matched it. It was, by far, the largest smuggling ship that Alfredo had ever stepped foot in. Probably the happiest as well. Every role had a person to fill it, and none of them seemed to have many complaints either.

The first person to speak up and introduce herself was Jack, the ship’s navigations officer. She worked with Lindsay to chart their courses, keeping in mind everything that they’d have to avoid ranging from rogue space debris to the ever annoying authorities. The three of them would be working very closely together, so Alfredo was glad that she spoke up first.

Michael and Fiona introduced themselves next, the former being the ship’s medical officer and physician while the latter was a scientist. She had her own experiments to run, but she also spent a lot of time helping Michael keep everyone on board the ship healthy. It was a much more difficult task than one would expect, apparently. Alfredo asked Fiona what she was doing on the ship, but she refused to say anything more than “nunya business,” and Trevor insisted that it was better if he didn’t know, so he dropped the subject.

The communications officer introduced himself after that. Matt was more quiet and reserved than everyone else seemed to be, but he still seemed quite content in his role. It seemed like there wasn’t much to do - there were no aliens trying to make contact, or even that many other ships for that matter - so he spent a lot of his time misusing the comms to catch up on radio shows from Earth or the other space outposts.

“Alright! Well, feel free to hang out with everyone for a bit,” Trevor said, noticeably relieved that everyone seemed to like Alfredo, and vice-versa. It was a good first step. Gavin was usually a pretty good judge of character, but one could never be too careful.

“You’re not gonna stick around?” Alfredo asked, frowning a little. “You can’t just leave me alone with these guys.” That comment was hushed, he didn’t want anyone else to hear.

“Sure I can. I’ve got some work to do, and besides, they don’t bite.” He looked pointedly at Michael. “Usually.” Alfredo whirled around to follow Trevor’s gaze, eyes going wide as Michael snarled at him. The pair broke out into laughter, making Alfredo huff in displeasure.

“That’s not funny, man.”

“Sorry, sorry, couldn’t resist. Just… Relax.” He put his hands on the other’s shoulders, giving him a little shake. “Everyone here is great, they’re the nicest people on this side of the galaxy. You’re gonna have to get to know them eventually, so you might as well start now. I got some work I gotta do to get us loaded up, but come up to my quarters later. We need to hammer out the details of that job so we can get outta here soon.”

Alfredo nodded slowly, mumbling a confirmation and watching as Trevor turned on his heel and walked out of the room. Michael and Gavin slammed a hand down onto each of his shoulders, snapping him out of his trance as they whirled him around.

“C’mon, Alfredo! We’ve still got some booze leftover from Jeremy’s going away party,” Michael told him with a wicked grin, “Jack makes the best drinks, you gotta try one.”

“I dunno... I just joined, is that really smart?”

“Is what smart?”

“Drinking.”

“Nah,” Gavin scoffed, shaking his head quickly. “Drinking’s always smart, trust me.”

Alfredo rolled his eyes. He knew firsthand that trusting Gavin was a bad idea when it came to alcohol, but on the other hand… Maybe it’d be a good way to get more comfortable around everyone. He was still a little wary, and a little overwhelmed by the sheer size of the crew, some help feeling more at ease was definitely welcome. It was called liquid courage for a reason.

And after a few drinks, he certainly felt more at ease. At the same time, it was weird being accepted so quickly. Sometimes he was stuck on his own, even when he was on a crew. Space had a tendency to be a very lonely and isolating place, it seemed like these people were well aware of the fact, and worked hard to make sure no one fell victim to its clutches. Fiona saw him standing off to the side, trying to edge away from all the excitement, and dragged him right into it. Jack gave him drinks when she spotted an empty cup, alternating between alcoholic and not to make sure he didn’t end up too far gone. And Michael and Gavin were something else entirely, wasting no time in filling him in on the latest ship gossip and ongoing pranks. Ultimately, he decided that he’d made a good choice in trusting Gavin and joining the Morrigan.

When the festivities died down and everyone began to clean up and retreat to their quarters, Alfredo took it as his sign to go and find Trevor and discuss the job with him. Finding his quarters was easy enough, but he hesitated outside.

“He already knows you’re there, you know,” Lindsay piped up, giggling when they saw Alfredo jump and search around for the source of their voice. It was all around them, coming through every speaker in that part of the hall. “He’s got a video feed that shows the hall outside of his door. Put it in after Gavin pranked him a few too many times,” they added, this time only speaking from the nearest speaker.

“Yeah, Gavin’s always been one for pranks.” He stepped closer to the door, but still didn’t go in.

They hummed softly, some sensors whirring in a far off room of the Morrigan. “Why are you hesitating?”

“Because.”

“Because why?”

“Because!” Alfredo gestured in exasperation, activating the door’s motion sensor. He jumped again as it slid open, staring through it and making eye contact with Trevor, who was seated at his desk and smiling knowingly.

“Thank you, Lindsay.”

“Any time, commander! That trick never fails.”

Alfredo looked at Trevor with wide eyes, stammering out an excuse that was immediately waved off. “Just come on in, there’s no use putting it off,” he told him. “The sooner we get things sorted, the sooner we can get out of the port.”

“Why the rush?” He asked as he stepped inside, the door sliding shut behind him with a loud thunk. “It’s pretty nice, as far as spaceports go.”

“Yeah, but I’ve got a disgruntled former pilot hanging around here now, and I really don’t want him deciding that he wants to get revenge.”

“Fair enough.” Alfredo sat down in the chair across from Trevor, watching him from across the desk. When the other didn’t speak right away, he took it as an opportunity to do so instead. “So, the job. It’s several crates of cargo, will you have enough space in the hold for all of that?”

“How many is several, exactly?”

“About ten, all pretty decently sized. A yard or two each way, at least.”

Trevor chuckled, nodding as he made a note. “Oh yeah, we’ll have plenty of room. I’ve got some supplies getting loaded up tomorrow, if you talk to a man named Geoff at the mercantile he’ll be sure to slip ‘em in, make sure no one suspects anything.”

Alfredo raised his eyebrows, impressed. “That’s it? No questions about the cargo?”

Trevor let out a long sigh at that, lifting his eyes from his notebook to look at him. “Usually, I don’t want to know. It’s not my business to know. I’m not paid to know,” he explained, waiting until the other nodded in understanding to carry on. “But, since you brought it up, I feel like I should ask… Is it alive?”

“Uh… Yeah, it is.”

“Is it people? Cause I don’t do that shit.”

“What? No. No! It’s… Well, it’s-“

“Is it gonna break out of the crates and kill us in our sleep?”

Alfredo didn’t have an immediate answer to that one. Trevor didn’t find that comforting.

“Probably not?”

They stared at each other for a few moments, gauging each other’s reactions until Trevor broke the silence. “Works for me! Like I said, talk to Geoff at the mercantile, let him know where you keep everything, he’ll get it all worked out.” He extended his hand, offering it to Alfredo for him to shake. “I’m looking forward to working with you, Alfredo.”

“Likewise,” the other man said, reaching out and giving Trevor’s hand a firm shake. “The Morrigan seems like a real nice ship, I can’t wait to see how they fly.”

With that, Alfredo took his leave, but Trevor kept his eyes on the door long after he walked out.

The comms beeped to life, and Lindsay spoke from a speaker on Trevor’s desk. “I like him already.”

“Yeah, I do too,” he said whimsically before shaking his head to clear the thoughts from his mind and pointing a finger at the speaker. “I never said that. You didn’t hear that.”

“Of course, Commander. I heard nothing.”

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

The cargo was loaded up without issue the following day. All Alfredo had to do was give the boxes a small mark once they were in the hold, that way they’d know what was the smuggled cargo, but that was an easy enough task. They spent a few more hours at the port, letting everyone do a small tour around for some shopping and giving Michael a chance to say some goodbyes to Jeremy before they set out.

“Alright, let’s see how this baby flies,” Alfredo said with a grin once he was in the pilot’s seat, cracking his knuckles. This was the one place where he truly felt confident and in his element, and it was so good to be back where he belonged. “Jack, we got a course set?”

“Yup, Lindsay’s got all the info, and there should be a copy of it there on your terminal,” Jack said from her station, turning in her seat to look at Alfredo and give him a thumbs up. She grinned as she got one in return.

“Sweet. Lindsay, you ready to take off?”

A few melodic beeps came through the speakers as they checked in with Gavin to make sure the engines were all in working order, then they spoke. “I am! Gavin’s on standby in case anything goes wrong, too.”

“Perfect, start the launch sequence for me, please?”

“Ooh, how polite! I like this one,” they hummed, and Jack laughed softly from her station at the way Alfredo’s cheeks tinged pink. “Sure thing, Fredo. One launch sequence, coming right up!”

The Morrigan shook and creaked as the engines fired up, groaning with effort as the sound roared through the engineering bay and echoed around the spaceport. It was a big ship that required a lot of power to get going, even more so to break away from the gravitational field surrounding the port, and every time they took the crew was terrified that it would come apart at the seams under the pressure. But, like it did every time before, it pulled through, and it wasn’t long until they were up in the atmosphere and out into space.

“Wow,” Alfredo breathed, slumping back in his chair once things had stabilized. He hadn’t even realized he’d been holding his breath. “Is it always like that?”

Trevor chuckled from behind him, smiling and nodding. “Yeah, pretty much.” He walked up and patted Alfredo on the shoulder, making eye contact with him in the window’s reflection before looking past it at the stars. “Get used to it, buddy.” The clanking of the ship he’d long since learned to tune out, but seeing the stars? It never got old to him. They were just as beautiful every time he saw them, and it was easy to get lost looking at them as they went by.

“Guess I’m gonna have to.” It was clear that Trevor was lost in thought, so Alfredo just nudged his hand from his shoulder and leaned to look around him at Jack. “How we lookin’? Smooth sailing?”

“Smooth sailing. No asteroids, no authorities, no other ships if we’re lucky. I’ll let you know if that changes, though. It’ll take us a while to get to our next stop, few days at the most.”

“Can this thing handle lightspeed?”

Jack and Lindsay both broke out into laughter, and even Trevor snapped out of his trance to join in.

“Absolutely not,” Lindsay told him, laughing brightly. They took great pride in the Morrigan, but even they knew its limits. “We’ve been trying to get our hands on a new warp drive for a while now, but no such luck. We’re stuck inside this solar system for the time being, unfortunately.”

“Put my cut from the job towards one, then.” Trevor’s eyebrows shot up, and he met Alfredo’s eyes through the reflection once more. “I’m serious. The further you can travel, the better jobs you can get.” And even for short distances, Alfredo wasn’t really one for travelling at a space snail’s pace. “The better jobs you get, the more money you make.”

Trevor couldn’t disagree with that logic, so he simply just nodded in approval. “I’ll start putting my cut towards one too, then.”

“Seriously?” Jack piped up, “like Gavin doesn’t have enough to fix around here?”

The commander turned towards her, arching an eyebrow. “Everyone’s free to spend their cut on whatever they like, and that’s how Alfredo and I are choosing to use ours. Do I say anything when you spend it on baseball cards just cause Geoff and Gav talked about ‘em?”

“No…”

“No, I don’t. So, you mind your business, and I’ll mind mine.” Trevor could take a ribbing as good as the rest of the ship’s crew, but there were some things he just wouldn’t take. The ship was still a very sore subject for him. Jack let out a long sigh but nodded, knowing that there was no use in pushing the matter further. “So, Alfredo. You don’t have to stay here all the time, Lindsay’ll put an alarm out if there’s any immediate threats you’re needed for. I don’t expect you to be sitting here all day, every day. That’d just be mean.”

Alfredo nodded in understanding, spinning around in the chair to get a look at Trevor. “I’ll probably hang out here most of the day, though. Nice view, y’know? Plus I wouldn’t want Lindsay and Jack to get bored,” he joked, cracking a smile.

“Good plan.” Trevor nodded in approval before he spun around to leave, though he lingered just out of sight. Alfredo was agreeable, almost too agreeable. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust the guy, or that he cared if he was a troublemaker, but it was certainly an oddity to have a crewmember that actually wanted to do their job. There had to be a catch. There was always a catch.

Jack scoffed from her seat once she thought Trevor was gone, glancing over at Alfredo from her terminal. “You let him walk all over you, dude.”

“He’s the boss, I’m gonna listen to him,” he responded simply, looking to her for barely a second before his eyes were back on the stars.

“Yeah, but you can push back a little, he’s not gonna bite your head off for it.”

“He gets enough of that from the rest of you assholes.”

“Whoa, okay. Just trying to help.”

Alfredo turned in his chair then, meeting Jack’s eyes. “I don’t need your help. Did you hear what Trevor said? ‘You mind your business, I’ll mind mine?’ That goes for me too.” He’d put up with enough bullshit from the other crews he’d been a part of and jobs he’d taken, and he wasn’t going to let this be like the rest of them. He knew the difference between letting himself get pushed over and keeping his head below the fenceline so he didn’t end up losing it.

They stared each other down for a few long moments, sizing each other up. Jack realized then that she’d misjudged Alfredo. He wasn’t some rookie pilot pulled off the streets, he was the real deal, and he wasn’t going to take any shit from anyone. On the other hand, Alfredo realized that he’d judged Jack correctly, and he didn’t like antagonists much. He knew he’d warm up to her eventually, he had to if he didn’t want this whole thing to fall through, but that was an awfully bad start.

Lindsay couldn’t stand the tension that was building in the room, making the air so thick that the vent system was having a hard time sucking it up for purification. So they did the only thing they could to break it: Sound a station-wide alarm. Trevor had to come out of his hiding spot then, running up to the main console to check the system.

“Lindsay, what the hell’s going on?!” He asked, having to shout over the blaring alarm.

“I don’t know, the alarm just started going off!” They shouted back, sounding panicked, although it was all an act. They pretended to flounder for a moment, making sure that there was enough time for the tension to fade entirely and that Alfredo and Jack had forgotten about their spat before they killed the alarm. “There! All sorted, I think it was just a crossed wire or something. Crazy, huh?” They could tell that Trevor didn’t quite believe them, but at least Jack and Alfredo had gotten back to work. “Maybe you should stick around for a bit, commander. Just to make sure nothing like that happens again.”

“Hm.” He hummed as he took a seat in the commander’s chair, kicking his feet up onto the console in front of him. There was no way to tell what they were playing at, but keeping an eye on the new recruit wasn’t exactly a bad idea, especially if Jack was going to be giving him trouble. “I think you’re right, Lindsay. Can’t be having any trouble on the bridge now, can we? Good call.”

“No commander, we can’t. And thank you.”

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

Things were quiet for a few days. Too quiet. There were the usual pranks and fights and other nonsense, but there were no large scale problems. Any commander would be happy about that and proud of their crew for avoiding disaster, but not Trevor. On the Morrigan, that meant there was a ticking time bomb hidden somewhere on the ship, and it was only a matter of time until it blew. He allowed himself to sleep, but only for a few hours at a time, and when he was awake he was on constant patrol. The previous longest record for going without a major incident was about three days, and it was now encroaching on a week. He wasn’t counting the detour they’d had to make to avoid some random authorities patrolling the system as a major incident, just a minor setback, so they were still due for something.

When it hit a week since their last incident, he was almost convinced that he could relax, that he could let his guard down and accept that there was nothing waiting just around the bend for him. Almost. Barely a second after that thought crossed his mind, he heard footsteps quickly approaching from behind him.

“Hey, Trevor-boy!” Gavin called out for him, making him spin on his heels. “So, got a bit of a problem for you.” It was weird seeing someone relieved to learn there was a problem, but Trevor certainly looked that way. “There’s a lot of uh… Banging, coming from the storage deck.”

“Have you gone down there to check it out?” He asked, already knowing the answer before he even asked.

“Absolutely not! Are you insane? Michael won’t go either, before you ask, you’re gonna have to go down there and look,” he informed him, and Trevor pinched the bridge of his nose. “Hey, don’t give me that! We don’t know what Alfredo brought on board, and I’m not trying to get eaten.”

“He promised me it wouldn’t kill us in our sleep.”

“That doesn’t mean it won’t kill us when we’re awake, though.”

Trevor sucked in a breath, holding it for a moment as he thought his next words over carefully. “Lindsay?” He called, his attention no longer on Gavin as he began to walk

The speaker system chimed to life, and Lindsay greeted the two of them cheerfully. “Yes, commander?”

“Where’s Alfredo?”

There was a beat of silence as they checked all of their ocular systems. “He’s in the bridge, why?”

“Have him meet me down by the storage bay, would you? And have Michael bring down a few weapons, I don’t know what we’re dealing with. Can you tell if anything’s started moving down there?”

“There is a lot of movement down there, but I think whatever it is, it’s still in the crates.” The comms system buzzed as they went quiet, searching the cargo bay to make sure they weren’t sending their crew down into certain death. “Yeah, no, it’s definitely still contained.” There was a beat of silence before they whispered, “for now.”

That brought some relief, at least. Still, he didn’t want to go in there with nothing, just in case. At least they managed to hit a new record. He’d have to mark it on his calendar when he got back up to his quarters.

He let Gavin get back to work somewhere along the way down to the bottom of the ship, waiting outside the door to the hold and tapping his foot as he waited for Alfredo and Michael to join him. As he opened his mouth to ask Lindsay to let them know he was waiting, he heard the telltale sound of yelling that signalled Michael’s approach. Alfredo was much quieter, but he had no doubt that he was in tow.

Still, he was impatient. Trevor always was when it came to the safety of his crew. If there was anything that had the potential to harm them, he wanted it dealt with as quickly and efficiently as possible. There was no room for wasting time. He already had his hand out as Michael rounded the corner, and he didn’t lower it until he felt the weight of a gun settled in it.

“Gave you your usual rifle, boss. Figured you’d want something reliable,” he explained, watching as Trevor inspected the rifle to make sure it was up to his standards. “Gave Fredo the harpoon gun, figured it might be handy and he said he’s used one of those before. Plus pistols for the both of you. Try not to miss your shots, though. Gavin’ll be pissed if he has to do a hull repair.”

“Thank you, Michael. We’ll take it from here, but…” He trailed off, noticing that Michael himself was also armed with a variety of weapons. “Standby out here, just in case. Lindsay’ll let you know if we run into trouble.” They nodded at each other in understanding, the doors to the cargo bay sliding open in front of them. “Let’s go.”

Alfredo could only give a tiny nod himself, following behind the commander as they stepped into the hold. It was bright, the lights at full blast to make sure there weren’t any shadows to hide in. But that wasn’t enough to stop him from being nervous. His hands didn’t shake, but he was chewing on his bottom lip so much that it was starting to bleed, and every little noise made him raise the harpoon gun and aim.

“You wanna tell me what’s in those crates?” Trevor asked as they worked their way towards the center of the hold, checking every nook and cranny as Lindsay kept them updated on any movement around them that was out of the ordinary. “I was fine with not knowing before, but-“ He was cut off by the sound of wood scraping against metal, dull thuds as whatever was inside of them grew restless. “But because of things like that, I can’t let things slide anymore.”

The other man hesitated, continuing to bite at his lip, but Trevor’s gaze was piercing and it made his blood run cold against his tongue. Nothing got past the commander, even the smallest of lies. “Plants. It’s plants.”

“Plants don’t move like that,” Trevor pointed out, and Alfredo couldn’t exactly refute his claim. “Now, what the hell is actually in these crates?”

“I’m being serious. It’s plants.” A beat of silence, more piercing stares, before he continued. “Mutant plants that were definitely overfed a ton of fertilizer and who only knows what else, but… Yeah. Plants.”

“Mutant… Plants?” The words fell slowly off of Trevor’s tongue, processing what they meant at the same time they left his mouth. “Just how mutant, exactly?”

“Depends. Some of ‘em are still pretty plant-like, but… Others are getting pretty close to Audrey II territory.”

“As much as I appreciate the comparison, I’d appreciate a little more seriousness even more.” Alfredo murmured an apology, but Trevor’s silence made it clear that the time for talking was over.

After a few more paces they reached the crates, specially marked to make it stand out from all of the other similar crates, but only to the trained eye. Sure enough, there was some banging coming from inside the crate, as well as some angry hissing, but it wasn’t exactly loud enough to be heard from the engineering deck, especially not over the roar of the engines either. If Gavin was able to hear it, it had to be something much bigger, much louder.

They began to inspect the crates one by one, making sure each one was intact and tightening whatever screws had started to get knocked loose by the thrashing within. All the noise and movement had Trevor on edge, his heart racing and normally steady hands shaking each time he had to touch one of the boxes.

“That’s all of them. Nine crates, all secure.”

Alfredo frowned, eyebrows furrowed together as his eyes flicked from crate to crate. “There should be ten here.” They both counted, and re-counted, and counted one last time for good measure. Sure enough, there were only nine crates with no sign of a tenth.

“Lindsay, double-check the manifest for me?” They did, which only confirmed that there was a crate missing. Trevor’s face mirrored the pilot’s then, concern etched deep into their features. “Alfredo? Any explanations?”

“Alright, this isn’t my fault.”

“I’m not saying it is, but I would still like an explanation. Or at least some way to make sense of… This.”

Alfredo shifted, uncomfortable under Trevor’s gaze. “Well… Best guess is that… Either Geoff miscounted or left one off the ship, or-“

“-Which is pretty likely-“

“-Or one of the plants escaped. Which is also pretty likely. Maybe even more likely.”

“Well. Shit.” They both hoisted up their weapons simultaneously, knowing that they couldn’t afford to get caught off guard by anything. “Lindsay, lock down the cargo bay! Nothing gets in or out of here, not even the two of us. If anything starts moving other than us or those crates, you tell us immediately, got it?”

“Sure thing, commander. There’s just… One teensy-tiny problem.”

Trevor groaned loudly, looking up at the speaker. “And that is what, exactly?”

“Well, you see… There’s so much movement in those crates that… I kinda can’t see any movement anywhere else in the ship, and especially not in the cargo bay. It throws my whole system off, I can’t see anything.”

He whirled around to look at Alfredo upon hearing that, rifle still raised, and for a second he thought that the commander was going to shoot him right where he stood. The thought crossed Trevor’s mind, he wasn’t going to lie about that, but he decided that it would be unwise. He needed someone to watch his back, even if that someone was the one who got him into this mess. Turning back around and marching on, he let out a very slow, very shaky breath as he tried to control his anger.

“Alfredo?”

“Yes, sir?”

“You and I are going to stay in here and keep watch on the rest of these crates to make sure no more of these…” He trailed off, glaring back at the crates before his gaze was back on Alfredo. “Things escape before we reach our destination. Michael and Jack are going to be patrolling the rest of the ship to keep everyone else safe. I don’t know what the hell these things are capable of, and I’m assuming you don’t either, so we need to be on high alert. Got it?”

Alfredo nodded quickly. “Yes sir.”

“Good. Now… Lindsay, how far away are we?”

“We’re about a day out. I’ll try and push the engines so we can get there faster but-”

“Don’t bother, I’d rather not blow the ship. Alfredo and I are just going to have to find some way to keep ourselves occupied.”

A day stuck in the cargo hold with the commander, who was very armed and very angry, really wasn’t ideal for Alfredo, but he acknowledged that there were worse punishments he could be given. He was just glad that he’d already opted to put his cut towards the ship, because there was no way he’d be given all of it after this.

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

“Got any sevens?”

“No, go fish. Got any threes?”

“Nope, go fishin’! Got any… Got any aces?”

There was a long moment of silence, and then: “This would be easier with cards. I don’t remember what I have or don’t have anymore.”

“Yeah, me neither.”

It had been several hours since the start of the cargo bay lockdown, and they were already running out of things to do. They’d searched the hold over and over until they found scrapes in the floor that lead to a splintered crate at the far end, but nothing that told them where the plant monster had run off to. Then, they reinforced all the remaining crates, doing what they could to make sure nothing else would try to escape and end up succeeding in their attempt. After that, they’d sort of run out of things to do to keep busy. “Imaginary Go Fish” was only entertaining the first time (though Trevor would disagree), and Lindsay had shut off all their sensors in the hold in an attempt to get everything else back in working order so they could help Michael and Jack. Not only were they cut off from the rest of the crew, but they were alone for the next twenty or so hours.

“At least we’re down here with the supplies so we don’t starve,” Alfredo muttered, trying to find any possible brightside to the situation.

Trevor hummed in agreement, standing up and shaking out his arms. “Yeah, at least we won’t starve,” he agreed, the slightest hint of mockery in his tone. He had yet to outright voice his displeasure, but he was sure Alfredo could put the pieces together. After stretching, he checked his watch. “Time for another walk around. You stay put.”

Slumping against a crate, Alfredo nodded, making sure he had his own weapon in hand as Trevor readied his own and walked off. They did this every half hour or so. Trevor made him do the first few, but he must’ve gotten tired of sitting around because it was the first time he’d offered to go.

His footsteps echoed off the thick metal walls of the hold, and Alfredo listened intently to them. The only other sounds were the dull thuds of the contained plant monsters and the usual creaks and groans of the Morrigan itself, but those were easy to tune out once they droned on long enough. When the footsteps stopped, it was like the hold went completely silent.

He was immediately on edge, standing up quickly and hoisting the harpoon gun up as he went. “Trevor?” he called, taking a few hesitant steps forward. When there wasn’t an immediate response, he took a few more, heading towards where he’d last heard the other’s footsteps come from.

“I’m fine,” Trevor called back after a minute, “Just stay there, everything’s fine!”

“You don’t sound too sure,” was the response he got, and he just let out a huff.

It was true, he wasn’t too sure, because in a corner Alfredo had surely overlooked on his previous patrols, the plant had taken over. Its thorny vines stretched across the floors and up the walls, writhing and squirming as it supported the weight of what looked like a giant flower bud but… Flowers weren’t supposed to have teeth. That was the one thing that had been consistent across the planets he’d been to. Plants didn’t have teeth. “I’m not,” he muttered to himself, wondering why the hell he’d agreed to take this job in the first place. You needed a pilot, he reminded himself as he took slow, careful steps back in an effort not to startle the thing. But I don’t think we needed one this badly.

“What’s going on? I’m coming over there.”

Trevor turned around slowly, carefully, just in time to see Alfredo running up. “No, don’t!” he shouted, putting a hand up to stop him, but something stopped him instead.

A vine wrapped itself tight around his arm, the thorns digging in deep and latching on. It had been resting peacefully before, able to slumber without being disturbed by the occasional movement and noise from the two men, but Trevor’s sudden shouting had woken it up. And it was not pleased.

He cried out in pain, instinctively trying to pull his arm free, but it only made the vine hold on even tighter. It reminded him of those finger traps Jeremy had brought on board one time: the more he pulled, the more it constricted his arm. But unlike those finger traps, it had no intentions of letting go once Trevor relaxed.

Alfredo stood there in shock, eyes wide and frozen in place until the commander barked out an order. He didn’t even register the words, just that he needed to move, and he needed to move now. Gavin was going to kill him for the damage later, but there was no time to aim the harpoon gun properly before he was pulling the trigger. Though it missed the bud by a few feet, the harpoon did manage to sever a few of its tendrils. The plant monster let out an ear-piercing shriek, untangling itself from Trevor in order to start scaling the wall and worming its way into an air vent. The metal of the grate covering it bent and snapped from the force, and the ends of several vines hung out through the remaining slats.

“Nice work,” Trevor managed through gritted teeth, trying to pretend like his arm wasn’t bleeding as badly as it was and didn’t hurt nearly as much as it did. Alfredo saw through the act in less than a second, retrieving the harpoon before dropping the gun and approaching Trevor.

“That looks… Bad. I should’ve given you my jacket,” he muttered, pushing his sleeve up to get a better look at the damage. Bruises were already starting to form where the vine itself had been, and there were several grisly cuts from the thorns, all bleeding pretty badly. “Fuck… Lindsay! We need Michael down here, now!”

Trevor pushed Alfredo’s hands off him before sinking to his knees and gripping his arm, trying to cover at least one of the cuts in an effort to stop the flow of blood. Whatever wasn’t soaked up by his shirt dripped down to the floor, creating a pretty sizable puddle beneath him that began to soak into the knees of his pants as well. “They can’t hear you… They shut down all their sensors for this room, remember?” There were a lot of flaws in their plan, he saw that now. But at least he knew that the beast was for sure in the cargo bay, not that there was anything that could be done about that right then. “There’s… There may be some emergency supplies by the door, Michael makes sure there’s some in every room.” Accidents happened everywhere, and the lad hated having to run all the way back to the medbay for a bandage every time someone got hurt.

Once Alfredo had retrieved the medkit, he helped Trevor to his feet and guided him back to their makeshift campsite. The further they were from that vent, the better off they were, though the plant monster would easily be able to follow the trail of blood Trevor left behind right to them. They sat down together there, Trevor still clutching his arm as he leaned back against the crates with a soft groan. He was feeling a bit woozy,

“I’m gonna… I’m gonna bandage this up for now, hopefully that stops the bleeding, or at least slows it,” Alfredo murmured, popping the kit open and breathing out an audible sigh of relief when he saw that it was fully stocked. “Thank the stars,” he breathed, almost smiling as he grabbed a roll of gauze and began to wrap up Trevor’s arm. He was silent as he worked, faltering when the other spoke up.

“Can we please talk?” he asked softly, eyes meeting Alfredo’s when he looked up. “I’d really like something else to focus on other than the pain.”

“I thought you were mad at me?”

“I was… I am, but… I’d still rather talk than sit in silence.”

“Oh.” He continued to wrap his arm, securing it with some tape once he was done. “What would you like to talk about?”

“Anything. Something. I really don’t care.” He held his arm to his chest, cradling it in an effort to soothe the pain.

“Well, how’d you become in charge of your own ship?” Alfredo asked, settling in beside him and leaning against the crate as he began to rummage through the medkit.

Trevor chuckled quietly, turning his head to look over at the other. “Now that is a very long story, but… I guess we’ve got the time.” He checked his watch, taking a deep breath. “I worked on a lot of ships that treated their crews like shit. Treated their ships like shit too, honestly. I bailed on one before my contract was up once I had enough credits saved up, hid at one of the starports until they stopped searching for me, and then… I bought a ship of my own. It was small at first, real small. Couldn’t do much with it, couldn’t really go anywhere with it either, but I managed to swing a few small jobs.” He stared off into the distance as he spoke, looking out the small port windows at the stars outside the ship. It had been a while since he’d thought about any of this, even longer since he’d talked about it, but there was a fond smile as he did. “I don’t miss any of the bullshit at the start.”

Alfredo listened intently, a small stack of things from the kit forming in front of him. More gauze, disinfectant, rags, a suture and thread. He wasn’t really thrilled about the prospect of stitching up Trevor, but those wounds were so deep that something more needed to be done. “I don’t think anyone here misses the bullshit at the start. I sure had my fair share.”

“How did you get started, then?”

“I used to be a pilot back on Earth. I was good at my job, really good, so they bumped me up to piloting shuttles between the colonies. After a while, I guess I got sick of seeing the same places over and over again,” he explained, letting out a soft ‘a ha!’ as he pulled a bottle of painkillers from the bottom of the kit. “Lotta ships need good pilots, and they paid better than the other gig, so I jumped ship, so to speak.” Shaking out a few pills, he passed them to Trevor who swallowed them down dry with a grimace. Anything to help the pain. “Never really wanted to own my ship, seemed like too much work, but… I was cool with piloting them. I get paid to see space, how cool is that?”

“It is a lot of work,” he agreed, still trying to get the pills down. “Sometimes, it’s too much work. But at the end of the day, it’s all worth it.”

Alfredo was quiet for a few long moments, the silence hanging heavy between them. “Will this be worth it?”

“Yes.” Trevor didn’t need to think about his answer as much as Alfredo had needed to think about his question. “Absolutely. You seem surprised.”

“But you got hurt. That thing could have killed you!”

“But it’s still in the cargo bay, and it didn’t hurt anyone in my crew. Better me than anyone else.” His crew was his family, and if he had to get hurt to keep them safe, so be it. It was a small price he was willing to pay.

Alfredo scoffed and shook his head. “I don’t get you.”

“What?”

“No commander gives this much of a shit about their crew.” No captain gave their crew an equal cut, they always took more for themselves. No captain would sacrifice themself for their crew, they always forced their crew to do the sacrificing for them. No captain would adopt a broken AI like one would a stray cat. It just didn’t happen. “Not a single one. I’ve been trying to figure out your game from the start, and I just… I can’t.” The laughing only added to his confusion.

“I know. No other commander does, but I do. And you’re gonna have to get used to it, Alfredo. All those assholes on the other side of the door are my family, and I’d sooner die for them than let anything bad happen to them,” he stated firmly, making sure the other was looking at him and meeting his eyes as he spoke. “There’s no game, no ulterior motive. You’re part of that family now too, so you’re just gonna have to learn to live with it.”

It had been a long time since Alfredo had been a part of any family, since anyone had accepted him so completely so quickly. While he didn’t fully trust Trevor just yet, he trusted him more than he had a few minutes ago. “Alright. I’ll learn to live with it.”

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

Alfredo was silent as he worked to stitch up Trevor’s arm, hands steady as he did so. He’d spent some time cleaning up the now dried blood, disinfecting the wounds and getting a better look at them. Some of the cuts were only surface wounds, already scabbed over and barely noticeable, but others were pretty gruesome. He didn’t say anything because he didn’t want to freak Trevor out, but he was pretty sure that he could see bone in a few of them. “Michael’s gonna have to redo these, but they’ll hold for now,” he murmured, tying off the last one and bandaging him up again before things got too bloody again.

“How bad am I, doc? Am I gonna make it?” Trevor asked, really glad that he’d taken some more painkillers because he couldn’t imagine all of those stitches would feel great in a few minutes.

“Yeah,” Alfredo said with a soft smile, taping down the end of the gauze. “You’ll make it.” I hope.

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

As hour six rolled around, the comms hissed with static and a few musical beeps, surprising Alfredo and making him lift his head. He and Trevor had decided that sleeping was a pretty good way to kill time, so the commander had ended up fast asleep and slumped with his head on Alfredo’s shoulder. The other man hadn’t been so lucky, wide awake and checking every few minutes to make sure that he hadn’t gone and died on him.

“Lindsay?” he asked softly, hoping they’d see the situation and match his tone.

“Alfredo! What the hell happened?” They could see everything the second their cameras were back online: The broken vent grate, the vines coming out of the grate, the severed tendrils on the floor, the puddle and trail of brown dried blood leading to Alfredo and a very injured Trevor. “Is he… He’s not dead, is he?”

“No, he’s alive. We found the plant, and it… It got him good,” he explained, tipping his head forward to make sure Trevor was still asleep. “I patched him up, but… He’s gonna need a lot more than some stitches.”

“I’ll get Michael to come down-”

“No,” he stated, and Lindsay let out a soft scoff of indignation. “No one else comes down here. If you lift the lockdown, that thing’ll get free run of the station through the vents. We’ll be fine… We’ve got food and water, this kit’s got enough supplies to last us, and… I think as long as we leave it alone, it’ll leave us alone.”

Lindsay hummed as they scanned the room. The plants in the crates had calmed down a little bit, and as far as they could tell the one in the vents was perfectly still, only shifting every now and then but not making any grand movements. “What should we do, then?”

“Make sure everyone else evacuates the ship the second we touch down and send Michael down here with a flamethrower. We’ll take a bit of a hit to our pay because we’ll be short a crate, but I don’t care. I want that thing dead.”

“I’m sure the commander feels the same way… Are you sure he’s gonna be okay?” They asked, dimming the lights a little. If it was dark, the plants would probably stay calmer. It would make sleeping a little easier for the pair as well.

Alfredo bit his lip, shrugging a shoulder before shaking his head. “No, but I’m trying to be optimistic.” He leaned his head back against the crate and closed his eyes, letting out a sigh of relief he’d been holding for far too long. With Lindsay back, it meant he wasn’t alone. There was a buffer between him and the commander, someone to help fill the silence.

They were quiet for a few minutes as they relayed information to the rest of the crew, before the comms crackled in the hold once more. “You should try and sleep too, ‘Fredo. Now that we know where it is, I can keep an eye on it.”

“No, I gotta make sure he’s still breathing.”

“I can keep an eye on him too. The crates are quiet, so all my sensors are in working order. His heart rate is normal, if a bit weak, but he’s breathing fine. You should rest.”

He didn’t really have the energy to argue with them further, so he relented. “Wake us in a few hours. I’m gonna have to change his bandages and clean those wounds. Michael’ll kill me if I let those get infected.”

“Yes, he will.”

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

As hour twelve rolled around, Lindsay brightened the lights slowly and chimed softly to wake the pilot and the commander. They hoped that the plants wouldn’t be disturbed as well, but considering how long it took the pair to wake up, they weren’t really too concerned.

“Trevor,” Alfredo said softly, jostling him gently with his shoulder. His ass and his neck ached from sleeping on the hard metal floor in such an awkward position, and he was sure that the other man would need another round of painkillers too. “Trevor, c’mon man. Wake up.”

He did so with great reluctance, groaning softly as he registered several different aches and pains. “Was this really necessary?”

“Yeah, it was. Gotta change your bandages so Michael won’t have to cut off your arm,” he said, encouraging him to sit up before reaching for the supplies in front of him. “Or my head.”

Trevor laughed softly, starting to stretch his arms out over his head before he stopped short, wincing and clutching his bandaged arm to his chest. “Fuck… I thought that was a dream,” he muttered, eyes squeezed shut.

“I wish it was,” Alfredo sighed, “But while you were sleeping, we got Lindsay back. So that’s good, at least. Told them everything. They wanted to send Michael down here, but I told them not to.”

“And why the hell did you do that?” Trevor winced as Alfredo started to unwrap the gauze. Despite how careful he was being, it still pulled at the cuts uncomfortably.

“Because,” he started, murmuring an apology when he saw him wince and trying to go slower. “If the lockdown gets lifted, that thing can go through the vents and go anywhere it wants, which is bad.”

Trevor hummed in agreement, but it was reluctant. He didn’t like knowing Alfredo had been giving orders while he’d been asleep, even if they were the same ones he would’ve given. “What’d you tell them to do, then?”

“Keep the lockdown going, evacuate everyone once we land, and then send Michael down here. With a flamethrower.”

“Good thinking.”

“Why, thank you.”

They fell into a comfortable silence then, Alfredo removing the last of the gauze and cleaning up his arm. The bleeding had stopped, thankfully, so now it was just a focus on preventing infection, which he hoped would be easy enough. It would be even easier once they got back on solid ground, when Michael could actually get in here and kill the thing. Bullets probably wouldn’t do the trick, they’d just piss Gavin off by causing damage to the ship, but fire was pretty damn effective in every circumstance.

“Lindsay?” Trevor called softly, feeling instantly comforted when he heard their voice over the speakers. “Where is the thing? Still in the vent?”

“Yep. Still in the vent. It’s almost cute like this, even if it did try to eat you.”

“It didn’t… It didn’t try to eat me.”

“Sure, sure. Whatever you say, commander. Oh, and Matt would like me to tell you that he thinks it’s hilarious you got your ass kicked by a plant.”

Trevor huffed, rolling his eyes and sinking back against the crates. Even when he was isolated from his crew, they still found a way to pester him.

Beside him, Alfredo shrugged off his jacket, flipping it inside out so the soft lining was visible before balling it up. “You should get some more rest,” he said as he held it out to Trevor. “It’s not much, but it’ll be better for your neck than the crate.”

He hesitated a moment before taking it, sinking right down to the floor to lay flat since he had a pillow now. “It’s weird seeing you without your jacket on.” Alfredo had been wearing it from the moment he’d met him until now, he hadn’t seen him with it off once.

“He even wears it to bed,” Lindsay piped up, laughing as Alfredo’s face went as red as the leather.

“I do not!” He shouted defensively, glaring up at the ceiling. “It’s just part of my style, that’s all.”

“Relax,” Trevor chuckled, reaching out blindly to pat Alfredo’s arm. He missed and hit leg instead, but neither of them said anything. “I wasn’t making fun of you. It’s a good style, I like it.” He turned his head, looking up at Alfredo with a small smile.

The other couldn’t help but smile back, getting comfortable against the box behind him. He didn’t know why that compliment made him feel so warm, but he was lucky that his face was already red from Lindsay’s teasing so it didn’t give him away. “Thanks, Trev.”

“Anytime, Fredo.”

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

The hours rolled by easily, the pair spending most of them asleep because there wasn’t much else to do. They woke up a few times so Alfredo could change the bandages, munching on some rations at one point since the last meal they’d had was breakfast that morning. Chatting with Lindsay was another good way to pass the time, too. They were able to keep the crew updated on the situation down in the hold, and keep the commander updated on things going on on the other side of the door. There wasn’t much going on, just a lot of worry, but Trevor still didn’t want to be out of the loop.

Once they’d slept as much as they could and talked to Lindsay until there was nothing more to talk about, they decided to do the only thing they could to pass the final few hours before the ship landed: Talk to each other.

“You said you used to work on Earth. What was that like?” Trevor asked, looking down at Alfredo. They swapped who got to use the jacket-pillow every couple of hours, and since they weren’t going to be sleeping anymore Trevor had decided to surrender it back to its original owner (even though it was still technically his turn for another thirty minutes).

“You’ve never been?” he asked, sticking an arm beneath his head to prop himself up as he looked back at the commander, who shook his head. “I mean, it was fine? I guess? Kinda boring compared to space. The sky was always the same, and there were way too many people. Have you seriously never been to Earth?”

“No, I grew up out in the Terra 2 colony. Then I got sucked up into a spacer crew, and that was it. Never saw any reason to go once I got the Morrigan, and now without a warp drive we’re too far out.”

“I’m shocked a job hasn’t taken you there, people there are always looking for stuff smuggled in from the far reaches,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief. Customs was a bitch to get by, but he still had a few buddies down there who’d be willing to let them through. He was sure of it. “Once we get that drive, we’ll pick up a few jobs that’ll take us there.”

“Whatever you say, man. But you didn’t exactly make it sound worth the hype.”

“Oh, it’s absolutely not, but still. I can’t believe you’ve never been!”

Talking to Trevor was a lot easier than it had been before. He wasn’t as scared of him, and a lot of the distrust had faded. The feeling was mutual, as well. The commander wasn’t angry at Alfredo anymore, because ultimately, none of this was his fault. He was the one who hadn’t checked in on the cargo sooner, he was the one who’d startled the monster, all of this fell on his shoulders because it was his ship and he was responsible for everything that happened on it.

“I’m sorry,” Trevor said out of nowhere, almost startling Alfredo with the suddenness of it. “I’m sorry I blamed all this on you.”

“It’s fine.” He hadn’t been expecting an apology from the commander. Maybe a month or two on bathroom cleaning duty, sure, but not an apology. “We both had our fuckups in this mess.”

“We did, but it’s unfair to blame the whole thing on you. Most of it, sure?” Alfredo cut him a look, and he just laughed. “Kidding. I’m kidding! Don’t give me that. It’s really more like… Fifty/fifty.”

“Sixty/forty. You’re the sixty.”

“Yeah, okay. Fair enough.”

They grinned at each other, oblivious to the way the ship began to creak and groan around them as Lindsay initiated the landing sequence. The plants in the crates kicked up again, but the one in the vents was still.

“You know what? You’re alright, Fredo. Gavin was right about you.”

Alfredo’s face matched his jacket all over again, and he had to fight hard to get the words out despite how flustered he was. Trevor hadn’t called him by any sort of nickname until now, it made him feel good to know that the commander was finally warming up to him. “What… What did he say about me, exactly?”

“That you were the best of the best. And he was right. Normally he’s not right about these things, but… He nailed it with you.”

“You sure you’re not still woozy from blood loss?” Alfredo asked, arching an eyebrow as he sat up, meeting Trevor’s eyes. “Because I know we just did that whole heartfelt apology thing, but… I definitely almost got you killed.”

He shook his head fervently. “No, you didn’t. You saved my life.”

“Well, I wasn’t going to let you die.”

“And I owe you big time for that.”

The ship jostled as it landed on uneven earth, and Alfredo grabbed onto Trevor quickly to prevent him from sliding around with the crates around them. Even as things settled, he didn’t let go, hearing something hiss in annoyance from the far end of the cargo hold.

“Lindsay… Please tell us Michael’s on his way,” Trevor said, sinking back into the pilot in an effort to hide as he scrambled to grab the harpoon gun.

“He’s outside the door, we’re just waiting for everyone to be off the ship so I can lift the lockdown. I suggest staying out of his way… He’s been wanting to use that thing for the last eighteen hours, and I don’t think anything’s gonna get in his way.”

“If he dies, Alfredo’s the new medical officer.”

“Noted.”

Using a flamethrower while they were in flight was unwise because of the oxygen rich environment, but back on terra firma it was the perfect weapon for dealing with unruly plant monsters. Michael’s cackles of delight echoed off the walls, mixing with the roar of the weapon and the shrieks of the plant as it burned. The noises kicked off another escape attempt in the other crates, but the reinforcements they’d made held firm. Only a few crates of supplies got caught up in the crossfire, and Michael was relatively unharmed aside from the ash staining his lab coat.

Alfredo let the harpoon drop from his hands once he realized he wouldn’t be needing it, instead helping Trevor to his feet and keeping him steady as they made their way to the bay doors. “Michael,” he said, watching as the man kept scorching the charred remains. “Michael!” He stopped firing quickly, whirling around with wide eyes. “Stop dicking around, Trevor needs help.”

“A thank you would’ve been nice,” Michael muttered as he dropped the weapon, knowing he’d need his hands free to help Trevor.

“Thank you, Michael. Now help him, please?”

“Yeah, yeah. Lindsay told me that you were trying to steal my job, I just hope you didn’t make things worse,” he said as he swapped places with Alfredo, supporting Trevor’s weight to make sure he wouldn’t fall. “Alright, Trevor-boy, let’s get you to the infirmary.” He started to lead him out of the cargo hold, and Alfredo watched them go for a second before turning to start cleaning the mess they’d left behind up.

Trevor stopped after a few paces, glancing over his shoulder. “You’re not coming?” he asked, the smallest hint of a frown etched into his features.

“Uh.” Alfredo blinked, not sure how to answer. “No?”

“Yes, you are. C’mon.”

“Why?”

“I need someone there for moral support. Michael’s not as gentle as you are and I need someone’s hand to hold while he patches me up.” Trevor cracked a grin despite the fact that he wasn’t telling a joke, and Alfredo mirrored the expression after a moment to process exactly what he’d said. “Come on, I don’t have all day,” he insisted, holding out his hand towards him as Michael began to pull him along.

Alfredo jogged to catch up to them, abandoning the task at hand in favor of taking Trevor’s hand. He was happy to have escaped the cargo bay alive, and even happier to know that he was back in the commander’s good graces. Their relationship was different, stronger and a lot friendlier than it had been now that they were no longer wary of each other. Trevor couldn’t think of a single member of the crew that he would’ve rather gone through that ordeal with, either.

“Thanks for not letting the boss die, Fredo,” Michael said, cutting into the silence once they reached the infirmary.

“Yeah, thanks for not letting me die, Fredo,” Trevor agreed, smiling kindly at him and giving his hand a squeeze.

“I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

#ragehappy #secret springfairy #rt writers #jeremichael #alfreyco #i hope those are the right ship names i have no clue #space au #oneshot #fic #fanfic #my fic #my writing #everamazingfe

16 notes · View notes