“Is everything alright? You sound…off.” Race asked with a concerned tone.
You shrugged and then realized that you were on the phone. “Yeah.” You mumbled.
“Okay, I’ll let you go now, even though I really don’t believe you.” Race sighed. There was a pause over the phone, neither one of you having the heart to end the call. Race spoke up. “Will you open your window?”
You slid off your bed and trudged over, pulling up the blinds. Race was standing there with his hands in his pajama pants and a concerned look on his face that quickly melted into a smile when he saw you. Your concerns softened and you gently smiled back, too.
“Goodnight.” He said softly.
“Goodnight.” You replied. You reached over to pull the blinds back down.
“I-” Race spoke, and then stopped himself.
“What?” You asked.
“Nevermind. Sweet dreams, (Y/N). See you tomorrow.” He said, walking back over to his bed. You watched him sit down before you lowered the blinds.
“See you then.”
You turned off your bedroom lights and got into the bed, plugging in your phone. Closing your eyes, you tried to sleep, thinking of Race. Keyword: tried. But you couldn’t. (Y/F/N)’s stupid words were still rattling relentlessly in your brain. You picked your phone back up and sent Race a text.
Y/N: can i sit w you at lunch tomorrow?
Race: ofc
Race: why don’t u wanna sit where u usually do?
Y/N: tell you tomorrow
Race: ok
You sat your phone back down, only to hear it buzz again as you closed your eyes. You picked it back up.
Race: be warned the boys may not be on their best behavior…
Race: but are they ever lolol
Race: i’ll talk to them tho
Race: ok. i’ll stop spamming u now
Race: gnight
Race: ♡
Now smiling, you rolled over again, finally falling asleep.
In the following week after Race had asked you to prom, you weren’t entirely sure where you and Race stood. You were always texting or calling each other, you sat next to each other during classes, and had almost held hands in the hallway once. Almost. Your feelings for each other were pretty obvious, but neither of you had flat out said it yet. Perhaps you didn’t need to, but still, it would be nice to hear. Prom was only a couple of weeks away, so you decided to shoot your shot during your and Race’s nightly phone call.
“Dance was fun. I think I’ve finally got fouettes down, but they still need some work. My teacher told me the reason I crash into Albert so much is cause I point my toe too hard.” Race said, chuckling. You giggled in response, letting your limbs spread out on your bed. “It sounds fake but I swear it’s a real problem.”
“Well, I’d like to see that sometime.” You said, smiling.
“I bet you would.” You could practically feel Race rolling his eyes through the phone. He twisted back and forth in his rolly chair. “Hey…have you picked out your dress yet? For prom, I mean?”
“Ya.”
“…Can I see it?”
“What’s the fun in that?” You teased.
Race sighed with a smile. “Alright, but I need to at least know what color it is so I can get somethin to match it.”
You sat up on your bed, debating if you should open your window or not and just show it to him. You decided against it but wandered over to your window anyways. “It’s (y/f/c).”
“Any specific shade?” Race questioned, who had moved from his desk chair to his window, which he proceeded to open, hoping you would hear it over the phone and do the same. You didn’t.
“Yeah, I mean, I’ll just send a picture. It’s not that big of a deal anyways.” “No, it’s alright! I don’t mind being surprised! I’d like that, actually…kind of exciting, y’know?”
The thought of Race getting excited about seeing you in a fancy dress was enough to make your face turn red. “Yeah, I know.”
“I just want to make sure my tie matches.” He said. You slid over to your closet and unzipped the dress bag so you could at least send a corner of the dress to him. “By the way, do you prefer a bow tie or no bow tie? Or no tie?”
“Whatever you’d like is fine with me, Race.” You said as you snapped a picture over snapchat and tapped on Race’s name. You’d be lying if you said there wasn’t a heart emoji next to it.
“Alright.” Race said, still resting by his window. There was a pause as he opened your picture. “Oh, wow…”
You laughed. “What?” A notification that Race had screenshotted the picture appeared at the top of your phone.
“You’re gonna look beautiful in that color.”
Race had been flirting with you like this for months, but now it just felt more special. Like it was more than flirting. It was genuine excitement and happiness. You figured now was as good a time as ever.
“Thank you, Racer.” You said quietly. Before Race had the chance to say anything else, you continued to speak. “Hey…before prom, do you maybe want to go on a date? Like, maybe go see a movie or something?”
“Oh, yeah! That’d be fun! I’d love that!” He said enthusiastically. “Does Friday work?”
“You mean, tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow? Tomorrow is Friday? Friday’s-what?”
You giggled. “Yeah, I’m free tomorrow.”
“Awesome! So we can go see…what, the 7:30 show?”
“Sounds good to me!” You said, sitting down on your bed.
“Awesome.” Race said quietly. There was a pause in the conversation as you two smiled on the opposite ends of your phones. “Hey, open your window.”
Slightly confused, you pulled up a stool and pulled up the shutters. “Why?” There was Race, head in one hand, phone in the other, staring out his window.
“Just wanted to see you.”
Running your fingers through your hair one last time, the doorbell rang, and you made a mad dash for your wallet and the front door. “Hi, Race.” You said with a smile.
“Hey, (Y/N). You look pretty, as usual.” Race never failed to flatter you, and tonight was no exception. It was your first real date, and you were both excited. He wore jeans with a gray shirt and a light blue flannel over it. The blue of his flannel with the combination of his blonde hair made his eyes pop, and you were definitely here for it. “Here, I…I got you this.” Race held out a single, yellow, long-stemmed carnation.
“Thank you so much, Race. This is too sweet. Give me just a sec to run and put this in some water. I’ll meet you in the car.” Closing the door gently, you made a mad dash for the kitchen and threw the flower in a water bottle from the fridge. You would give it a better home when you got home. Right now, you had to focus on not screwing tonight up.
Stepping out of the door once more, You walked towards the passenger side of Race’s car. He stepped out and ran around the front, opening your door for you. You knew Race was a gentleman, but this was just too cute. You flashed him a smile while you stepped in, and relaxed into the seat as Race walked around the front of the car once more.
“Here, I trust your music choices.” Race said, handing you the AUX. “Anyone that can jam out that hard to Taylor Swift has a good taste in music.” You both laughed at the memory, though yours was more of an eye roll. You turned on a favorite playlist, hoping that Race would genuinely enjoy your jams. “So, how are you doing?” Race asked as he backed out of the driveway and pulled onto the main road.
“Good, kinda tired from today’s test. How’re you?”
“Honestly?” He started. “Kinda nervous.”
“THE Racetrack Higgins?” You giggled. “Nervous? About what?”
Race glanced over at you before looking back at the road. “This date. Impressing you.” You hid your butterflies with a scoff.
“Well, you don’t have anything to worry about. I should be the one worrying.” What were you even saying?! What kind of conversation was this?! A worry-off?!
“You’re telling me that I have the most beautiful and hilarious girl in the country in my car, on a date with me, and I shouldn’t be worried?” Race argued with a grin. You smiled.
“You think I’m the most beautiful and hilarious girl in the country?”
“Nah, that was a lie.” Race said with a smirk. You playfully hit Race on the arm with a laugh. He glanced back over at you, quickly scanning you up and down before turning back in his seat. “I think you’re the most beautiful and hilarious girl in the world.”
“Aw, well now you’ve made me feel bad for hitting you.” You said with a pout.
“Really?”
“No.”
You sat down in your seats, Race carrying the large bucket of popcorn that he bought for the two of you, and you carrying both of the drinks. The lights dimmed, and the movie started. Everything had gone well for the most part, but you just wished that Race would make a move already.
After about a half hour, you placed your arm on the armrest next to Race, strategically leaving a little room for his arm, too, not moving your eyes from the movie screen. When you felt his arm touch yours, your heart leaped. Slowly, your hand slid closer to his until your pinkie fingers were intertwined. You waited for him to take your hand, but after a few minutes of the slightly awkward position, you realized he probably wouldn’t.
Taking in a deep breath (and silently cursing the armrests for making this more difficult than necessary), you flipped your hand over and placed your now intertwined hands on Race’s thigh. You never took your eyes off of the screen, but you could swear you saw Race glance down at your hands with a smile.
from the Alex/Caleb au I’ll maybe eventually fully write
alex is early 20s, dealing with home life + coming out + religion; caleb is a coworker that lets him stay with him when being home isn’t comfortable anymore, idk. I have the most minimal of ideas for this au, okay, but this scene wouldn’t get out of my head so here we are
age difference obvi, blah blah blah, enjoy
//
the clock strikes midnight, the club around them starts to erupt in cheers and singing, and alex gets lost in the beauty of it all for a moment.
even from his seat in one of the corner booths, the joy in the air is palpable, magnetic - so fucking alluring, and it doesn’t make his heart race with fear. he isn’t worried about being caught. doesn’t feel his spirit being shackled with guilt as he watches couples share small moments together, free and happy and proud.
alex wants this to be the year he finds that joy for himself.
“happy new year, alex,” caleb says warmly, squeezing alex’s elbow before handing him a beer.
alex takes the bottle and looks over at caleb as he slides into the booth next to him, holding his gaze for a moment and then breaking eye contact when he feels his cheeks pinking up. “happy new year. I’m, um. I’m really glad I’m starting it here.”
“it’s a fun place for a new years party, isn’t it?“ caleb asks, looking out at the dance floor below them.
“yeah,” alex agrees. he takes a quick sip from his bottle, takes a breath to steel his nerves, and then - “but I meant - I’m glad I’m starting the year here with you.”
when alex looks up, caleb’s already watching him. his eyes are somehow more blue from the lights overhead, and it’s midnight on january 1st, which means it’s entirely appropriate to ask for a midnight kiss, right?
“alex.”
alex claps a hand over his mouth. “I said that out loud.”
smiling, caleb nods and runs his thumb over the rim of his glass. “you did. but - alex, I don’t think it’s the best idea.”
“because of the whole ‘dealing with being kicked out of my parents’ house, living with my out and proud coworker’ thing?”
“certainly part of it.”
alex decides to risk it. “is the other part that you kinda wanna kiss me, too? cause it’s just a kiss, caleb. a new years kiss between friends.”
caleb smirks a bit, eyes on his glass like he’s considering it. when he meets alex’s eyes, he lifts an eyebrow and confirms, “just a kiss?”
“a very platonic kiss to celebrate new beginnings and - y’know. living this year completely out. might as well start with kissing a guy, right?”
“there’s plenty of guys closer to your age in here.”
“they aren’t as handsome as you,” alex answers honestly. “but mostly - I trust you.”
caleb’s gaze softens at that. he scoots closer and alex can suddenly hear his heartbeat in his own ears.
“sweetheart,” caleb breathes, one hand coming to rest on alex’s cheek. “relax. just a friendly kiss. right?”
alex exhales slowly, nodding. his eyes drop to caleb’s mouth. “yeah. okay. I’m okay.”
when caleb leans in, alex lets his eyes fall closed. caleb’s fingertips are light on his jawline, dragging gently over the stubble there until they come to rest beneath alex’s chin. alex feels his chin being tipped up and then caleb’s lips are against his, soft and warm and tequila-sweet.
when caleb breaks the kiss, alex leans forward on instinct, but caleb’s hand is on his cheek again to slow him down. “alex. hey.”
“sorry,” alex offers, swallowing and sitting back. “sorry, just - “
he doesn’t finish the sentence, but based on the flush on caleb’s cheeks, he probably doesn’t need to.
“thanks,” he offers, twisting one of the rings on his fingers. “not a bad way to start the year.”
caleb’s grin is slow and amused, almost a little bashful as he agrees, “yeah. not bad at all.”
Ignore that it is May 2022. This was in my drafts from last years challenge.
“What happened?”
Kerry wasn’t sure who said it, but she found herself awkwardly positioned on the ground, head in her hands, a knee pulled close to her chest as she finally heard it.
“I…” her heart was beating fast; her voice stuttered. She could feel panic setting into her like a fire burning in her stomach, only she didn’t know why.
She couldn’t think straight at all, so she just kept her head down. It was easier that way. And maybe when she looked up it would make sense when she was ready.
Her eyes were shut tight as she thought back, trying to remember what exactly had happened. She didn’t know why this question had been directed to her.
Could they not tell she didn’t know?
Everything was silent. Not peaceful. But silent. This silence was heavy. She could feel its pressure all over her body. She felt around her head, her hands sequentially going over each recognizable feature as she tried to ground herself. She could feel her glasses. The mundane finding brought a wash of relief throughout her body.
She had her glasses. Something was normal.
But her head still ached. That wasn’t normal. A dull ache contrasted against the stinging feeling on the forehead. She moved her hand up. It was sticky.
“I’m bleeding?”
Her words sounded distant even to herself. Everything was dark and muddled, she wasn’t even sure she had spoken aloud. The only confirmation was when the voice returned.
“Are…are you okay?”
For the first time, Kerry noticed that the voice sounded just as unsteady as she felt. It was strained, forced out with an abnormal amount of effort. Something was wrong.
Kerry turned on the ground towards the voice. It whimpered. But this time it wasn’t as clouded, she recognized the voice.
With growing concern, she started to crawl towards it. It was still dark and the area she was in was cramped. She extended a hand outwards, pressing down into the carpet and pulling herself forward. Only it didn’t feel like carpet.
She felt the pool of blood. The pool of blood she was leaning on. The pool of blood that was holding her upright.
“Oh god, Susan!” She called out, her brain making connections without her. She didn’t know why she had screamed the woman’s name. Nothing made sense.
She slowly pulled herself to sit upright, opening her eyes. And for the first time, it wasn’t dark anymore. It was right there in front of her. The answers to all the questions.
Kerry’s eyes meet the blondes, wide, scared, and wet with tears.
“Is…is that your blood?” Kerry asked. It was a stupid question. She knew the answer.
It was quiet, and then, “It is. My head, my back, everything hurts.”
Susan was clutching at her wound, her other hand over her mouth and eyes closed.
Kerry watched in horror as blood seeped through her fingers as she pressed them against Susan’s neck.
It was then the world rushed back into focus.
And it all came back to her with violence.
The seminar. The terror. The screams.
Susan.
“Please don’t move!” Kerry sputtered out, swapping out Susan’s weak hands for her own and pushing down on the entry wounds. “I’m here. I’m here.”
“You be careful with that television. It’s one of those fancy, smart tvs,” golden red hair glistened under the summer sun, and sandals skidded sharply on the concrete as she directed the men carrying the box inside the door, “now, you can put it in the living room, Rob!”
Leola moved hurriedly behind the men like a hungry cat. Her hair fell in ringlets, not a strand of grey could be found, and she chewed her bottom lip. The two men pushed through the open door, never losing their grip on the television box, and stepped into the living room where her husband sat in the easy chair near the window.
“What do you think?” She walked behind the chair. Her nails dug into the smooth fabric, “It looks nice right, and Little Lee is here to set it up for us, aren’t you sweetie?”
“Yeah, sure, I know how they work,” the men crouched against the wall where the former television used to stand only a few days ago. A vacant space it had been, and now, it was suddenly filled.
Her mother’s salary didn’t pay for this. Her father’s salary certainly didn’t pay for this. Leola watched the men put the television box down, and she sat on the sofa, starting at the white cardboard box. Her fingers tapped her knees quietly, thinking of what wires and programs would soon be available. Her mother was picky with shows. Her father was even pickier. Television wasn’t something they didn’t often watch together, but she felt the aesthetic of having a fancy new television appealed to them.
“Alright, you two,” Leola chirped excitedly, “I’ve got my checkbook right here, I’ll go write them down.”
Her mother disappeared into the kitchen where the two work men followed. It wasn’t a fair description to call them two men when they were in fact her older cousins, but she hadn’t seen them in years. Left in the room with her father, she reclined on the sofa uncomfortably.
The walls had been repainted. The carpet with its vague, indescribable stains was completely removed, and in its place were polished mahogany floors where light reflected brilliantly. A new chandelier lined with gold and crystal illuminated its far away glow from the kitchen, and Leola’s head fell on the armrest, eyes closing as she imagined her mother’s soft bounces as she wrote the checks to her nephews.
“Dad, how did you afford this?”
“Momma got a raise,” his grumbled response was as close to the truth as she was ever going to get. He rose quietly from his chair and reached for the box cutter on the coffee table in the middle of the room.
“Daddy, I can do that.”
“No.” Like his movements, his voice carried the quiet threat of violence, “I’ll do it. You sit there and get ready for the other stuff.”
Leola did as she was told. Her head lied on the armrest, watching her father’s burly hands tear the cardboard apart. Fluid hands stroke down, tore roughly at the center, and the grunts breathed in between made her heart sink for some reason or another. Her mother’s chirps continued in the background, and she heard her cousins’ laughter at their good, kind aunt.
“Don’t lie about, Lee.” Sandals couldn’t make a sound on the polished floor, “We’re going to need you to do this soon once your father gets all of it out.”
“Yeah.” She moved her hand from her eyes and stared, “Dad said you got a raise, congratulations.”
Her mother blinked. Her pretty, green freckled eyes were kissed with grey under the right light, and her thick eyelashes, all true and not glued, fluttered innocently. She laughed, breathed like a guff of air was shooting straight through her, and she took a seat on the sofa beside her, slipping her lap underneath her feet.
“I did get a raise.” She winked, “A good raise, and we’re going to work on the kitchen next. The renovations I’ve always wanted, y’know Rob.”
Using his hands, the cardboard yielded, and he threw the pieces to the side. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and the yellowish tint of his skin turned pink in the rush, “We can get a new sink for the bathroom,” he mumbled, “we need it.”
She looked at her mother, then her father, and finally, looked at them at the same time. They were consciously handsome people, now having reached middle age, but there was always something forced about their attractiveness. She couldn’t identify it then, certainly not now, but she felt it imposed on her.
“I’m glad.” Leola nodded and walked to the other side of the television, “It’s good that you’re able to afford these things. You’ve worked for it, both of you.”
Maybe her parents breathed sighs of relief, maybe they were just satisfied to maintain balance, “Thank you, sweetheart, now, you two can work on that while I call Lili. She’s on her way to Texas for some concert.”
“You think you can call the cable company?” Her father asked as she hooked the wires together, “I want to make sure we get the right thing.”
This could be an offering, and if it was, Leola knew she didn’t want to take it, “I called this week. Someone should be here today. It’s close to four anyways.”
He nodded stiffly, a brief smile on his face, “Good girl, always thinking ahead,” he walked away from her, holding the boxcutter in his hand.
Pieces of cardboard littered the floor, and Leola sighed, going to the kitchen to grab a trash bag.
25 years old and drifting through jobs without a mission. I don’t know if this program thing is going anywhere, but if Doom is success, then I could be the next big thing.
My steady supply of rock and rap keeps me sane in these moments, and I don’t have my old band around to sharpen my drumming skills, so it’s been a drag. Not even going into the political shit going on. My philosophy of voting the current guy out of office every 4 years is better than getting sucked into that rich snob world.
This town really sucks the fun out of you, and I’m looking for that next kick in the ass to get me out, having some fun before I get chained down and have my hair cut. If I have to settle down, I don’t mind if it’s with the cute record store owner with the raven tattoo.
Something cool happened the other day at least. The blue house by my apartment started glowing. I thought it was the TV but it was the entire thing! Not my business either way, but I’d laugh my ass off if it’s aliens.
It was the late 70s, midway into Carter’s term, and I’d been on my post-college Finding Myself Odyssey. It was a weird time in my life and in America’s life. No more Nixon, no more Vietnam, but the counterculture and enlightened awakening was also absent. Not dead, but missing.
Everyone was lost with only a map and whatever their parents drilled into their head. Some went off the rails with the activism and started fighting each other. Others became too much like the American Dream and married out of high school, got piss-angry when they realized love meant less sex and more compromise, and saw work as the only thing from killing boredom.
I saw the remains of my parents’ generation fade away or cling on like an STD. It’s sad. We took away the heroism and kept the nationalism. There’s relics here and there like Dean Martin billboards torn up by nature, entertainment venues abandoned, a chipped mural with a 1940s Western painting with a Marlboro Man-looking cowboy. But then you have war freaks and Jesus freaks and all sorts of John Birch copycats alive and well. I’m just glad that fossil Reagan lost. Like we needed our country to be even dumber and crueler.
Lamar King was the only human inhabitant of a small moon surrounded by an asteroid belt. In a tall obsidian tower, a robot assists him out of bed to change the glowing neon light to signal help, stranded in a makeshift lighthouse with the universally accepted blinking code of Orange-Blue-Orange.
A frail man saving his rations, Lamar depended on his skeletal-looking robot to go out and find alien parasites to kill and blend into a tolerable shake, leaving himself to look little more than skin and bones. To kill boredom and add to the signal, Lamar played all sorts of music from a loudspeaker, hoping to entice travelers with smooth jazz or raucous heavy metal. But he hasn’t seen another human for years.
He feels his body getting harder to move around, his hair thinning, his optimism dying. His bedroom He turned to the cylindrical robot hovering around in coded paths.
“Mark,” he said listlessly. “Any sign of life?”
“Processing.” A series of radars and satellites pop out of the robot with monotonous blips and whirring. “Negative. No advanced organisms for 5 marks.”
“Shit,” he sighed, drinking parasite puree with a heavy stare and an expression of disgust. “If we ever get out of here, I’ll…”
“Yes?”
“Forgot what I was going to say. Getting hard to concentrate. Probably wasn’t that important. I just need to get out of here and pig out on real food.”
“Very well, sir.”
A louder blip came from Mark as the robot began shaking.
“What’s up, Mark?”
“A sudden spike in velocity has been detected and it appears to be heading our way.”
“You’re kidding! Keep spinning the colors. Oh, and change the music around every 10 seconds. Don’t want them thinking we’re some abandoned diner or something.”
“Understood, sir.”
Within minutes, a red dot approached closer to them, appearing larger until Lamar could see out the window that there was indeed a ship coming. He did not care who was in there or their intentions. If it was bad enough, he could at least escape to more civilized places.
He saw the rather small ship land, with its features resembling a large motorcycle. Riding atop was a heavyset figure with a pink and white jumpsuit with gold jewelry surrounding the limbs. The person looked around, presumably for goodies while on a pit stop.
Lamar was too incapacitated to get up and wave so he ordered Mark to wave into the window. The stranger saw the sign and headed on in with a hobbling stride. They opened the door and the oxygen generator’s sound meant it was safe to take off their helmet.
The newcomer was a woman with long black, curly hair. She came upstairs to meet the two and was surprised by the sight.
“Are you alright? I was just looking if you had fuel or food.”
“Oh, I’m dandy. Much better now that you’re here.” He didn’t have much to offer, but he had to think of a bargaining chip in case she’d just run off. “I can’t do much from here, but I can show a good route to the nearest station.”
“Hell, that sounds fine! But I’m low myself, and the seating is snug. I’m not privy to taking along any hitchhiker.”
“Ma'am, you could be a wanted fugitive, I can take my chances.”
“Hmm, can’t say it looks much fun here. Alright you can tag along for a while.”
“Great, thanks a lot! And uh, if you don’t mind, I need room for my robot here. He’s something of a mobility aid for me.”
“Now you’re pushing it. My clunker isn’t a cruiser. This really needs to be worth my while.”
“As you can tell by the lights and music, I know a thing or too about machinery. I can’t do much physically but I can help out with any problems you have.”
Her expression was tensing up, looking around with quickness. She didn’t want to stay long, but Lamar didn’t know why, and he figured he’d do what he could to ease in.
“Damn. Alright. But you better be telling the truth. And I’m only dropping you off after we hit the station. Now come on. The uh, the engine needs to get going.”
With the proper adjustments, Lamar hopped onto the woman’s ride and held onto her back, with Mark supporting the two of them.
“By the way, what’s your name? I’m Lamar and this is Mark.”
She smiled and said, “Lola, honey. Now hold on tight!”
The bike-ship revved up and they were launched into hyperspeed, dodging asteroids like mere potholes, and they were into the pitch black galaxy. Still, he was unaware of her watching behind, looking for something trailing them. He could soon hear a new noise, but he was unsure of what it was, only that it sounded big. But no going back now.
The plan is simple enough; Leave the planet. It’s just harder when every ship is being used for warfare. I don’t plan on dying for anyone but myself so I need to steal one when no one’s looking.
I’m not the strongest person so I can’t just beat up everyone in my path. And with my body feeling like shit 24/7, I have to think of the best way to get these chucklefucks to lower their guard and then escape before I become another production liability.
Thankfully I’m much more mobile in technology than without it. I’d rather avoid gunfire in the sky with unlimited freedom than be grounded with a bad back and leg. I got enough rations to tide before retrogression sets in, and as much as I’d like to stay in bed with pounding migraines from explosions and people screaming, I realize that I’d rather wake up to the serene sea of the stars.
It’s been a while since I flew after my accident, but I had my scaly pal Durak schedule in training sessions, with the only rule was that I didn’t tell his superiors that he didn’t kill surrendered soldiers. He’s not great at piloting but he’s the best fighter around so his clout was invaluable. I offered to bring him along but he wants to continue fighting for whatever weird reason.
Durak told me there’s a weak spot around the outskirts that’s essentially just a robot junkyard. If I can convince enough jarheads that I’m still part of the recon team, then I can pilot my ship around there, and then fly away undetected by the sentries that’ll eviscerate me into ribbons. If I’m going to die, I’m going to do it by escaping and flipping them off.
Quick oneshot sometime post 7x10, and pre finale, it is a little darker than normal, not quite as full blown angst as I had first planned, but that would have been probably triple the word count and didn’t have the time for that.
Definitely not what will happen in the show, not with only 3 ep’s left! But was just annoying my brain until I wrote it out.
The fight to get Jemma back had been tough and gruelling, but ultimately successful, if success was measured simply on the fact that her, Deke, and the Zephyr all returned alive and in one piece. But Nathaniel still managed to get away, weaker and with minimal supporters, but alive, they were still stuck in the 80’s and everyone was quite worse for wear.
The parting words of Enoch were starting to appear more and more likely, with the team barely hanging on, barely a team, and Coulson was fairly certain that they would all need a long break at the end of this; if they survived the end that was. The team, still a family when it counted, had gone off to their separate corners of the light house, had gone off on their separate ways to cope and prepare in their own ways for the end of the mission; however it panned out.
Simmons hadn’t spoken much about what they had done to her while they kept her hostage, just that they had been after Fitz and had not been able to remove the memory device before the rescue, but even without remembering, what Daisy had told her about when she did remember had thrown her. Daisy and Coulson were the only two that remembered those screams, and they were just another something that kept them up at night, the unknown, the fear and the worry for their teammate haunting them.
Even if she didn’t know anything further regarding Fitz or her missing time, Simmons was shaken from her ordeal, the longer she went without Fitz, answers, and now Enoch, the more her optimism was fading. Deke was keeping close to his Nana, watching out for her, trying to help, and trying to give her hope, where hope was desperately needed.
The two of them spent most of the time going over anything and everything on the base and on the Zephyr, in an attempt to get or send a message to Fitz, to find something that might help or just keep themselves busy enough to not have the chance to think about what the truth could be. Running off caffeine and energy bars, they would work for days straight until finally crashing, or until one of the others stepped in to force them to rest, more oftenly being May.
With Deke not leaving Jemma’s side, Yo-Yo had taken over the supply runs, her powers allowing her to get in and out of the nearby town easier than anyone else and she was glad for the breath of fresh air, the chance to have a moment away from the doom and gloom type feeling that was settling across the underground base. She knew the team needed a moment, needed a bit of time to get back up and finish the fight, and made an effort on every trip to find something new or exciting to take back to them to share a little bit of happiness amongst them.
Mack and Coulson were spending any spare moment pouring over any documents, history texts and shared knowledge, trying to come up with a plan, a way to save the timeline, and finish the mission. They had turned one of the walls into what looked more like an elaborate conspiracy theory, not a S.H.I.E.L.D. assignment, and the two were also working as the central command for any information Deke and Simmons came up with in their lab, or anything Daisy had hacked for them. Yo-Yo constantly stopped in with food, making sure they took some level of care for themselves, as she helped collect them whatever files or books they didn’t have.
Between training with anyone that wanted to, and going over every last bit of the Zephyr, May was bouncing back the quickest, something that surprised no one, but with her new found gift, she was struggling with the first row seat to how the team was handling it. Initially, this had her hiding in the plane under the guise of making sure it was as it had been before Nathaniel took it, but as time went on, she used it to her advantage for the teams well being; taking the extra time to make sure Daisy got some fresh air, Mack had someone to vent about how Coulson annoyed him that day, and to just check in with Simmons.
After everything that had happened, and only just coming away from Simmons’ rescue mission in one piece, Daisy had gone quieter and more determined than ever, but she was still drained. She had gone from tougher mission, to tougher and now to the toughest she had had to face, and that was saying something. The others noticed but were all on similar wavelengths and for the most part, left her to herself as she readied herself for the fight.
She had taken to sparring with either May or Yo-Yo any chance she got, leaving the lighthouse with May for their daily runs whenever they got the all-clear, or just trying to stick to the other agents insane treadmill settings, and it almost felt as if she was getting simultaneously fitter and tireder as the days drew on. But she knew that for them to have any shot at succeeding at this mission, one that they had no choice but to win, then she would have to be stronger and more ready than ever.
Making sure to stay clear of anywhere near the room they were holding her sister in, while they were still undecided of her loyalties and what exactly to do with her. Daisy tried to keep herself from dwelling on the topic right now, and keep herself from the discussions involving her, she just wasn’t ready to reach out to yet another member of her family who could very well let her down once more, and she wasn’t ready to face the half sister who had gotten the relationship with her mother that she done anything for; but instead, Kora had thrown away so quickly to side with the same person who had tortured Daisy and killed their mother.
A part of her routine involved slipping into Sousa’s bunk every night, the first time he had hesitated, as she thought he would, not wanting to take advantage of her – ever the gentleman, but he, along with the rest of the team, quickly got used to that being her bunk too, not that anyone ever questioned it. That was something she was glad of, she wasn’t sure she had any answers and if she thought to much on the subject right now, she wasn’t sure she could handle that.
There were times that she felt that she was the one taking advantage of him, of his kindness to her and his desire to look after her, and sometimes in the middle of the night, instead of sleep, she would be kept awake with concern that she might just push him too far away before she has a chance to decide if she could risk going all in, and she wasn’t sure which scared her more. Likewise, she knew she would either be surprised or not surprised if at the end of all this, he was still there by her side; both options, although opposites, seemed like they could be the outcome.
But, for the moment, he was letting it slide and she was grateful, knowing that if he pushed to talk about what they were, or to take some space to decide, that she wouldn’t be able to either, and probably just end up ruining something that could see was potentially good for her. So, instead she tried to let him be there for her, like he had told her he wanted to be in the loop, accepting his help, accepting his comfort, and trying to show him that she was thankful, that she just wasn’t able to focus on much more than the mission until it was over; until they had won.
If there was one thing Sousa was sure of, it was that this team he had found himself in, had not had a second to breath in a long time. He had complained about being pulled from his time, but the rest of the team had been too, and by the sounds of it, they had been pulled right at the end of a hard mission; that was right after another hard mission and it just seemed to repeat back like that, and yet, they still seemed to be regrouping; slower, but steadily.
Early on, he had felt himself pulled more toward the one team member in particular, and as time moved forward, that pull strengthened. Sure, the team was a good one to be a part of, and he was always ready to help them, but he only felt that he fitted in, that he wanted to actually keep jumping through time, because he felt like he had found his place alongside Daisy, and the more time he spent with them all, the more he realised just how much that was something she needed.
He knew that she was struggling with it all, and a part of him was worried that she would burn out, or that it would all get too much, and she would push him away completely, because she didn’t see herself, her own well being as higher than the mission. So he did what he could to show her she was worth it, to show her that he wouldn’t leave her, and for the most part it seemed to be working, she seemed to be letting him be there and really that was all that he could ask of her right now.
He always made sure to find her throughout the day with an energy bar or a piece of fruit, just something simple and easy that she might actually eat and would leave a selection of snacks on her bedside table in their bunk. He made extra sure to not spook her, or judge her when she would show up every night, not pushing the subject and definitely not turning her away, letting her have her unimportant small talk or listening when she did broach something more serious, or just giving her days of silence.
Choosing instead to focus on the wins, the positive, like the way she accepted the food with a small smile, or the nights that she would curl up next to him, without initiating anything further, or the times in more public spaces, where she would lean into his brief touches, or the biggest win of all; that she continued to come back to him, to seek him out. Because as snappy as she could get, as cold as she could seem to him occasionally, she was still there, still by his side, still trying to know him, she was just also trying to mend and win a war at the same time.
The rest of the team never questioned him on it either, they all seemed to know about them and either were too caught up in their own things to say anything or didn’t want to risk ruining it, but they knew. Yo-Yo always left anything she had gotten in town for Daisy in his bunk, May would tell him any changes to pass on to her training schedule with her, and Mack would sometimes give him tech stuff to give her, Simmons did once touch on the subject, in her own distracted way, but only to tell him she was glad he was there for her.
Coulson raised the topic with him once, and he thought he was about to cop an earful about taking advantage and that it wasn’t proper, but instead the man that was like a father to her, thanked him for being her person, for not shying away from her. That it was something she needed, whether she would admit it or not, and that it made him happy someone was in her corner more than the missions, and that she was sometimes sidelined on that front in the team because of the strong front she puts on and the others having their own issues.
She had offhandedly made a comment once, a throwback to something that had happened in one of her loops that he didn’t remember, about knowing that it all fazed him too, and that she might not be ready to talk, but she could listen, should he need it. And it in that moment, that he knew that the girl he had been following through time, he would follow anywhere she let him.
war knocks on your door with ironed clothes and clipped greetings, jaws closed around your father’s throat like a noose before he can even try to invite it in. your mother doesn’t tell you much, but you’ve heard the news on the wireless, heard the words your father sent you away for, heard them from your perch atop the stairs, nails digging into your older brother’s shoulder and silent tears begging for your other siblings not to wake.
war shakes your father’s hand and drags him out before he can let go. your mother’s shaking fingers brush down her skirts with care. she asks you to help her with the chores, her smile too wide and eyes too wet. you pretend not to hear her at the kitchen table late at night, trying her hardest not to let you hear her grief. she joins the factory, irons her work clothes with a sigh, and comes home to scrub her hands until the skin is raw.
war pushes down on your family like lead. your siblings drag their feet, their shoulders curved forward and down in slouches that make your chest ache. you brush down your dress and tell them to straighten up, to take steps with purpose. it doesn’t work often, your voice far different than that of your mother or father. you don’t know how to make them listen. the binding of the book in your lap creaks under your curling hands, your brother rolls his eyes and stomps up the stairs like a wild animal, his shoes a tripping hazard for all that dare come after him. your sister—curled up in that armchair nobody else dares touch in your younger brother’s presence anymore—cries into the bear your father presented her with on her sixth birthday. your older brother stumbles after you all like a shadow with a cracking voice, failing as much as you when it comes to commanding order. he makes your mother tea, carries the laundry, tries his hardest to fix the sink. he yells when things go wrong, as desperate as you to help. it doesn’t make a difference.
war draws shadows under your mother’s eyes as she brushes her thumbs over your cheeks and tells you to be a big girl. your younger brother doesn’t listen and your sister cries. you don’t know how to do this, how to hold yourself like the woman sending you into the unknown to keep war’s blood-stained grip away. you brush down your clothes, straighten your brothers’ jackets even as one flinches under your touch and the other almost crumbles between your shaking fingers. you hold your sister and pray for war to walk away.
war hands you weapons amidst melting snow, your older brother’s hands stain red, your sister sobs into the fur of a lion you can’t help but curse just a little, and your younger brother’s bruised face won’t look at you straight on.
your bow creaks under your curling hands. war greets you with a smile.
Ever wondered what TAZ Balance would be like if Barry Bluejeans were secretly a dragon? That’s what The Last Bond Dragon series is about. We’ve retold the entire podcast with all the differences having a Bond Dragon on board might make. The series starts with Lup wanting to meet the dragon she’s seen around and dragging her ol’ pal Barold along for the hunt.
Now, in part 10, Seeing Red, the crew of the Starblaster land in another new plane. What seems like another in their seemingly endless cycle is not what it first appears. None of them can fully comprehend how much their lives are about to change.
Read Seeing Red, part 10 of The Last Bond Dragon series here:
Summary:Draco prepares a romantic bubble bath for Valentine’s Day…
**
Draco uncorked the bottle, relishing the little ~pop~ that echoed off the walls of the bathroom. It was still smoking slightly, as he had only just finished brewing it a few moments ago. He reached his arm over the tub and poured a generous amount into the rushing water. The liquid potion immediately transformed into thousands upon thousands of bubbles.
With a satisfied smile, Draco turned to light the red candle he’d infused with a few drops of his most powerful Amortentia potion. He struck the muggle match, his hair standing on end at the sizzling sound, and brought flame to wick. The smell of treacle tart, the wood of a broom handle, and vanilla filled his nostrils. After extinguishing the match, he sank into the steaming tub and disappeared under the bubbles.
He let out an elongated sigh, his eyes fluttering closed as he savored the feeling of the hot water prickling against his skin. The bubbles enveloped and caressed him, their soft kisses encouraging him to sink deeper into the water.
“You haven’t started without me, have you?”
The voice came from the doorway, and Draco opened one eye to peek at Harry. His lover was stripped bare, the candle casting shadows on his beautifully toned body—Harry joining a Quidditch Club had been an excellent idea, in Draco’s opinion.
“Come in,” Draco murmured, spreading his legs.
Harry settled into the tub, leaning against Draco who eagerly wrapped his arms around him.
“Why does the entire room smell like you?”
Draco snorted. “The Amortentia candle,” he explained.
Harry chuckled. “Well, that explains it. Happy Valentine’s Day.” Harry tilted his head back, and Draco tenderly pressed his lips to Harry’s.
“Happy Valentine’s Day."
**
~ My contribution to the February 2021 Drarry Drabble Challenge!~
The List: carrot, eggplant, arbi, capsicum, green peas - press one for more options - apples, new list apps applesauce and ketchup not Heinz but the cheaper one, a new pressure cooker because the whistle doesn’t work And with each tweak it tizzles out more, theek nahi hai, yaar no matter how many times you take it in, it’s just jugaad again, a permanent temporary fix, so we need a new one, stainless steel and big, bara to cook all of your dreams. grand total rages against your wallet, paper thin but it’s digital, anyway, your eyes glaze, blaze as the bag boy, too tired, too hassled, too underpaid squishes the eggs beneath the cooker the shells quake in your eardrums the smell of something rotten beneath all those discounts.
-it’s what you don’t see that matters, Kelsey Ray Banerjee
forgotten, egg yolk splits, sautées golden sun between butter and pepper white halo hardens, boils bubbling a leper browning while the one yellow eye runs with the clock hands carefully I peel the rubbery flesh away lay it on saucer, slather bread with butter already wondering what wry churns the day brings.
plastic straight, good posture white and abrasive as baking soda thrifty, ideal of motherhood hosting new years parties and other get-togethers for the kids while sipping, socially, of course, a margarita, she buys her children, ruddy-nosed devils, gifts while their friends stand with empty hands, letting those other kids, kids with empty pockets, sit to the side, and know their place.
steel another mother she drives thirty miles to pick up a daughter’s friend, male, lanky, and for cops the wrong color at midnight from a gas station in the wrong part of town which is really just code for poor and less white and she takes him home to sleep on the sofa gives him hot tea and in the morning pancakes with eggs she doesn’t ask about the bruises on his forearms or his heart she just feeds him and drives him to the library with a sandwich in old Tupperware he doesn’t need to return although he does with a thank-you note and gratitude in his heart, despite all the bitterness around him.
she handles memories like a crime scene, each shared photograph shows a clue - oil stains on armchairs, misplaced magazines she’d mistake a sob of despair for laughter, love for pity. every remembrance she mars with red ink, as if to tell her side of a story that never existed.
our shadows mature faster than us, curve towards the light edges sharp fringes of empty pomegranate shells and even when the night consumes them they wait beside us.
Astrid Grímsdóttir was thankful that her sister Dagmar remembered the lamp, for she knew he would come once the lights from Njardarheimr faded into the black night to retrieve it. It was near the end of summer, the rolling hills and vegetation at the glistening fjord walls were lush and vibrant. She had seen them in the morning.
She sat among a pile of stones, fiddling absentmindedly with a collection of marbles.
Dagmar and herself used to sit her in the evenings, just as a dark streak lined the horizon, telling ghost stories. Whether daugrs were more frightening than haugbui. Dagmar was terrified of both, but Astrid knew the difference.
Mama would call them both from their house at the edge of the village. Her mother would be angry with her, sitting plainly in the dirt, in her finest wool dress and petticoat. Astrid always wondered how she noticed such things, given that her dress was that same earthy brown as the soil, the shades blending together like how the waters mirror the sky. They never told her about their discussions on ghosts, knowing would only make her anxious. Bad luck follows those who mock the dead.
There were no stars, and for that she was glad. Only a sliver of the moon offered any light. When the last light died, Astrid stood and sighed. He would keep her waiting, she knew. Her mother complained for the same reason: he was a good-nothing, with no sense of time or goodness. Yet he always brought her berries, and for that Astrid had kept a warm place in her heart for her uncle, her father’s brother.
He sought, perhaps, to become her father, too.
But it was too late for that now.
Astrid noticed a small light, red and low, like a smoldering coal near the gates. She held her breath. She knew he would come.
And he did.
Erik Sturluson, her father’s brother, blue eyes and blond, like herself, dressed in a pair of ragged pantaloons and tunic, a shovel at his side.
Astrid said nothing, but watched him as he began to dig into the soil, freshly turned.
Dagmar, her sister, had listened. They were not a rich family, not even a moderately well-off one, but she had told Dagmar about her love for that silver lamp, often in the presence of mama. It would fetch a good price, Astrid knew.
That’s why her uncle had come.
She snuck closer to him, aware that when she walked, only silence echoed. Astrid shot her hand out and grasped Erik’s wrist with all her strength.
He nearly jumped back, his thin frame, eyes wide in terror. His lips began to tremble, in the same way after Astrid’s mama would criticize him. When she had been younger, only eleven, it used to make her laugh, that pitiful tremor. Perhaps that’s why he pushed her into the lake and let her sink.
She took from her belt a knife and plunged it into his neck. She watched him squirm and wither beneath her grasp, croaking out the word, haugbui, haugbui. Ghost, ghost. Mound-dweller.
Astrid did not like the term, and yet it was better than a drauger. A haugbui only disturbs grave robbers and thieves.
She watched as his face took on a cold, waxen parlor, blood leaking into the soil. And she was thankful Dagmar remembered the lamp. Otherwise, he would not have come.
_______
I send out fresh flash fiction every Sunday along with a poem. You can sign up for that weekly newsletter here: bit.ly/31S6OaJ
an obstacle they said of the mountain its white peak piercing moonlit tapestry trembled against the stone, their complaints nothing but twigs in feasting campfire.
I regret listening to white Jesus when before a bully whose vocabulary limited blood and bone. it would have been better if my palms wept with red oil knuckles smashing her nose into a ground cashew, taught her that justice exists somewhere because, I didn’t know it then, but those children grow up to kill.
in this scorched, sun-baked season we prayed for rain and when it came summer heat blazed as if blooming, polyester chaffed against cotton, against skin sticky. we filled our teacups with humidity and decided the earth knew itself better than we.
From the desk her spine creaks, each rubbery cartilage like a phone pole. each breath realigns bone and belief she types away her thoughts knuckles thinking faster than brain cells, and with clacks. it’s only been four hours, starting into screen light she wonders when she’ll see the sun.
how many rapes jokes does it take to be funny? he knows the answer is none. no one had to tell Amnon the sin in taking Tamar, nor was Duryodhana confused when he patted his thigh mocking Draupadi, nor Dusshasana dumb when attempting to disrobe her. yet you chant men need to understand, to read and watch our unending torment to understand evil.
directionally challenged athens is the only city her feet knows, she wanders down alleyways undiscovered but familiar and sits beneath an orange tree. she takes one plump sunset shaded fruit, peels back thick skin, juice gushes down her arm. yet she smells cypress trees, olive oil offerings, and cinnamon. she whispers prayer, nimble fingers pressing a golden owl.
