princess-nell replied to your post “I can’t focus on anything, so here’s a snippet from each of my current...”
I have been waiting for your Spider-Gwen. I don't know if you're doing fics for charity anymore, but if you are I'll give fifty dollars to the charity of your choice for the final Spider-Qwen story. Seriously.
Oh gosh, I feel like a bit of a fraud even accepting this because I am going to write it regardless, but if you’re serious, please make a donation to the Hispanic Federation for disaster relief for Puerto Rico and Mexico! Show me a screenshot of the receipt and I’ll bump this fic to the top of my queue.
And heck, why not, let’s open up it up to the crowd! Fandom Together rules apply: donate $10 or more to disaster relief and send me the receipt and the prompt and I’ll write you at least 500 words of fic!
Caveat: I’m dealing with some RSI/CTS flareups right now that make typing painful so I’m not sure how fast I’ll be able to get to any requests, but I will do my best to work through them quickly.
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Here's a $20 donation to the ACLU: imgur<.>com/cNTrU6P for the prompt: how about a barry/cisco holidays fic with barry being really sappy and doing over-the-top things for cisco? (bonus points for creative use of powers?)
This took SO LONG, I’m so sorry! But here it is! Obviously the holidays have passed us by so I took some liberties:
Barry was acting weird.
“Hey, you’re gonna be at the lab on your birthday, right?” he’d asked Cisco on Monday, fidgeting with one of Caitlin’s pencils until it became a yellow blur in his fingers.
“Considering it’s a Thursday, which is traditionally a weekday, yeah, that was the plan,” Cisco said. “Is that a problem or something?”
The pencil burst into flame; Barry yelped and dropped it. “Yeah! Yeah, of course, work birthdays are the best birthdays. It’s cool. I’ll see you later.”
He blitzed out of the room.
Caitlin walked in and frowned. “Why is there a small fire on my desk?”
*
“If you could pick one food to eat for the rest of your life, nutritional value be damned, what would it be?” Barry asked on Tuesday, bouncing on the balls of his feet like he was about to set a long jump record.
Cisco paused the simulation video he was running and looked up at the ceiling to think. “Pancakes. Really good ones, with the lacy edges and lots of real maple syrup.”
“Cool,” Barry said. “Oh, hey, I gotta go.” He vanished in a burst of air, then reappeared just as quickly. “Hey. Bacon on the side?”
“Obviously.”
“Great. Bye.” And he was gone again.
H.R. tilted his head at Cisco. “Is he okay?”
Cisco started up his video again. “Honestly, I’ve given up wondering.”
*
“Hey, what’s your favorite color?” Barry asked.
“Is this really the time to be asking me this?” Cisco asked, then winced as security footage showed Barry zipping out of the way of a hail of bullets just in time.
Barry wove gracefully through the eight heavily armed bank robbers like a prima ballerina through a field of stupefied water buffalo. “It just occurred to me.”
“You couldn’t figure it out? I picked it for your suit. Bogey on your six, by the way.”
Barry spun, ducked, and knocked out his attacker with a much sweeter right hook than he would’ve thrown a year ago. “Aw, really?”
“I mean also red’s the color of speed and, and firetrucks and...I don’t know, Lightning McQueen, but yeah. Don’t be too flattered.” The fact that Barry happened to look even more like some unreal sylphan creature in Cisco’s favorite color was just a coincidence, and not one Cisco planned on sharing out loud.
“I like red too,” Barry said warmly.
Julian leaned in towards the mic, shoving Cisco out of the way. “If you two are through flirting, maybe Barry could wrap this up so that the CCPD can move in?”
Cisco elbowed him as Barry spluttered. “Aw, Julian, I can flirt with you too if you’re feeling left out,” he said, and hoped no one noticed how flushed his face had just gotten.
*
All of Barry’s weird jumpy questions made sense on Thursday.
“Well, I’ll be darned,” Cisco said as he walked into the lab. The entire place was festooned in red balloons and streamers, with a huge sign hanging over Cisco’s workstation reading “HAPPY BIRTHDAY CISCO” in giant glittery red letters. There was a birthday cake in pride of place on the center of the table, but it almost disappeared under the plates and plates heaped with towers of buttery, syrupy pancakes and surrounded by endless rashers of bacon.
“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” everyone - wow, everyone - crowed, H.R. through a mouthful of bacon.
“Thanks, guys!” Cisco said. “You did all this for me?”
“Well, Barry, mostly,” Caitlin said, stepping forward to give Cisco a hug. “The rest of us were just supposed to be here on time.”
Cisco looked over Caitlin’s shoulder to where Barry was rubbing the back of his neck and kicking at the ground. “Well, you know, birthdays only happen once a year. And. It.” He shrugged as if the last two words had been coherent and universally relatable sentences. “Who doesn’t like pancakes, right?”
“Who indeed,” H.R. cut in before Cisco could call Barry on his weird diffidence. “You know, this reminds me of something that happened on my Earth, don’t think it happened here, the great Syrup Strike of 1987…”
Cisco disentangled himself from Caitlin and went to get a plate of pancakes and bacon before H.R. put him off of them forever with whatever weirdo story he was about to tell.
It was safe to say no one got much science or superheroics done that day. H.R. ate too much sugar and fell asleep under a desk. Jesse and Wally went off together somewhere, giggling, and Joe, Iris, and Julian all got called in for work-related issues. Even Caitlin made her excuses early - she was having an attempt at a reconciliatory dinner with her mom and didn’t want to be too full to eat.
Barry refused to let Cisco clean up on his birthday, so Cisco perched on a desk and picked at the last of the bacon while Barry blitzed around the room in a frenzy of tidying. Within minutes the lab was clean - not to the original Wells’s standards, but certainly more spotless than any room at Cisco’s place.
“I can’t believe you did all this for me, man,” Cisco said as Barry slowed to a normal pace.
“Yeah, well.” Barry was flushed, but that might have just been from the cleaning. There was red glitter in his hair. “You’re my best friend. And things have been...I don’t know. You’re special to me and I wanted to make sure we were okay.”
Cisco felt his ears heat up. You’re special to me. He couldn’t believe he was so swoony over such a cheesy Hallmark statement, but “cheesy Hallmark” was so very Barry, and Cisco had been swoony over Barry since approximately four seconds after Barry woke up from his coma.
He hopped down from the desk. “You’re special to me too,” he said, and reached out to pull Barry into an affectionate bro-hug -
- and Barry leaned down and kissed him.
Cisco froze, startled, and Barry jerked back. “Sorry!” he said. “I thought - I didn’t mean to - I thought you were going for a kiss and I - uh, I’ll just go now.”
He turned and would have zipped away if Cisco hadn’t rallied and managed to vibe the doors until they shook closed. “Wait!” he said. “Wait. Can you just - wait? For a second?”
Barry turned to face him, his face as red as his costume. “I really am sorry, Cisco,” he said.
Cisco shook his head - not refusing his apology, just trying to make sense of this. “You thought I was going to kiss you?” Barry nodded miserably. “So were you kissing me back to be polite, or…?”
“Not…” Barry sighed. “Not just to be polite.”
“So…” Cisco glanced at the remnants of the cake, the decorations stuffed into a garbage bag by the doors, Barry’s pink cheeks and shifty eyes. “So you did all of this because you like me.”
“No!” Barry said quickly. “I mean, I didn’t - you’re my friend, Cisco. That’s true no matter what.” He glanced at the ceiling. “The other part...might be true too.”
Cisco nodded slowly, taking this in. Then he took a step towards Barry.
“I’m gonna make this really clear,” he said. Barry swallowed, looking like he was facing a firing squad. “I’m going in for a kiss this time.”
Barry stared at him. Then he absolutely lit up.
“Happy birthday, Cisco,” he murmured as he stepped in and gave Cisco a real, solid, superhero-style kiss.
Cisco pulled back and grinned at him. “You know what?” he said. “It really, really is.”
Anyway, if you're up for some good old-fashioned Boostle banter and smooching, anything Darkwing Duck, or some found-family fluff with the STAR labs wonder trio (shippy or not) I think that would be delightful. <3 (3/3)
This turned out less banter-y and more “the beginning of a 30K romcom I’ll never write” but I hope you like it anyway? :D? It’s set in the Rebirth universe, which, if you’re not reading it: Ted is, uh, “mentoring” Jaime (who thinks he’s annoying and wants him to go away) and had a brief superhero career himself, and Booster is...well, he hasn’t been seen in Rebirth yet but I’m assuming he’s still basically the shallow showboater we saw in New 52. Ted throws a little shade at him in passing in a recent issue, it made me smile.
ANYWAY ENJOY (I HOPE):
“Mr. Kord? There’s, uh...somebody here to see you.”
Ted sighed and pressed the speakerphone button. “I thought my schedule was clear for the rest of the afternoon, Connie. I was just about to head down to the lab.” He was already loosening his tie as he spoke. Among other things, being in the lab instead of the office meant not having to wear a monkey suit a second longer than he had to.
More importantly, it meant getting to study whatever the hell was going on with Jaime’s scarab instead of P&L reports, but that wasn’t information he could share with his hardworking staff.
“He doesn’t have an appointment but he’s, um, very insistent.”
Ted frowned. Connie sounded more flustered than alarmed, so the guy couldn’t be too much of a kook - and even if he was, Ted hadn’t forgotten all of his aikido. He was probably just a pushy reporter or job candidate. Ted could handle either of those options quickly enough, and it sounded like he wasn’t getting out the door until he did.
“Fine. Send him in.”
Ted hung up the phone and went back to shutting down his computer, tugging his tie the rest of the way off as he did. He heard the door swing open.
“I’m flattered, but no need to get undressed on my account,” said an amused - and oddly familiar - voice.
Ted glanced over, and then did a cartoonish double take. Standing in the doorway of his office was none other than Booster Gold, the self-promoting laughingstock of the superhero set. There was no mistaking him, even if his face hadn’t been plastered all over every billboard and magazine ad from here to L.A., since he was wearing that ridiculously shiny costume - though the effect was ruined a little by the backpack slung over one shoulder.
“Uh, I, um,” Ted stammered, thrown. “I...can I help you?”
“I certainly hope so,” Gold said, closing the door behind him and taking a seat in the chair opposite Ted’s desk, even though he hadn’t been invited to do either of those things. “I need a favor, Teddy. Can I call you Teddy?”
Ted’s eyes narrowed. “No,” he said.
“Fair enough,” Gold said, unperturbed. “See, I have a little technological problem on my hands, and I think you’re the man to help me with it.”
Ted folded his arms. He was tempted to throw this walking toothpaste ad out on his ear, but heaven help him, he kind of wanted to hear what the guy had to say. “Is that so?”
“Yeah, see, this particular problem has to do with technology from the future. My era. The twenty-fifth century.”
“Right, well, I’m from the twenty-first century, so I’m not sure what qualifies me to work on something you claim won’t be built for four hundred years,” Ted replied.
Gold put on an expression of mock surprise. “What? Where’s the self-confidence, Teddy? Where’s that rulesbreaking young turk of the technocorporate world I read about in Forbes? Aren’t you supposed to be one of the brightest minds of your generation?” He leaned forward. His smile was, Ted was dismayed to realize, even more dazzling in person than on those billboards. Photoshop had told no lies. “After all, you figured out Blue Beetle’s scarab, didn’t you?”
Ted fumbled his attempt to pick up his briefcase. “I...I don’t...I’m not...what?” he asked intelligently.
“Now, here’s what I’ve never understood,” Gold mused. “A kid powered by a magical scarab calling himself the Blue Beetle - that, I get. But you came first, and you didn’t use the scarab. So how’d you get the name?”
Ted gaped for another minute, then slowly closed his jaw and put his shoulders back. Mentally he ran over every power of Booster Gold’s he’d ever heard about on the news. Strength, flight, force field… He’d rather not fight a guy who could fly from his fortieth floor office, but he’d faced worse odds.
“What do you want?” he asked.
“I told you,” Gold said. “I need your help.”
“If you think threatening me is the best way to - ”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, that wasn’t a threat!” Gold said, sitting forward and dropping the lazy facade.
“You come in here and tell me you know not just my secrets, but those of people who trust me, and that’s not supposed to be a threat?” Ted asked. “How did you even know? Have you been following me?”
Gold spread his hands. “I’m from the future, remember? It - some things about you - they’re common knowledge.”
Ted blinked. “My...my superhero career will be common knowledge in the future?” That was a surprisingly thrilling thought.
“Ah, no.” Gold rubbed the back of his neck, looking embarrassed. “That’s sort of a footnote in most of the biographies. But you’re a landmark inventor. I shouldn’t tell you details, but...”
“Wait, for what? Something with Kord Inc.? Something with the scarab?” Ted asked, then caught himself. Gold could well be making all of this up. “Never mind. Look, what exactly is it you need me to do?”
Gold picked up the backpack he’d left on the floor by his chair and opened it up. Ted took a wary step back, but all Gold did was place something metal on Ted’s desk. It was about the size and shape of a football and as gleamingly gold as the man himself, with three little fins on one end and a darkened black screen on the other.
Gold looked up at Ted, and for the first time since he’d walked in, he looked serious.
“His name’s Skeets,” he said. “He’s my friend. And you’re the only one who can fix him.”
Hey so I donated to Planned Parenthood in Mike Pence's (FUCK YOU SIR)! Hurray! Can I prompt you matt/foggy office shenanigans? Thank you, you're the best :D
(This isn’t really compliant with Season 2 but let’s ignore that, shall we?)
Five Things That Aren’t Allowed in the Offices of Nelson & Murdock (But Usually Happen Anyway):
1. “Testing” Matt’s Powers
“But it’s such a nice day,” Foggy whined.
“It’ll still be a nice day after you finish reading up on those precedents and we are present for our two o’clock meeting like responsible attorneys who want to eat this month,” Matt said calmly, fingers moving steadily over his refreshable braille display.
“I want a snack.”
“Karen is getting coffee.”
“Come on, teach. Can’t we have class outside?”
Matt’s lips twitched, but he heroically fought off the encroaching smile. “Sorry.”
“You’re no fun,” Foggy pouted.
A second later he was balling up the nearest piece of scrap paper and tossing it at Matt’s head. Matt snatched it out of the air without looking up.
Foggy gave a delighted laugh. “Actually, come to think of it, this could be pretty fun.”
“Do not,” Matt started to say, and caught Foggy’s thrown pen, “start throwing,” a crumpled-up napkin, “random things at me,” an apple.
“I’m helping you,” Foggy said. “Think of this like training. We have to know how good your senses are at detecting projectiles aimed at your head, right?”
“I’m well aware of their range, thanks,” Matt drawled. “You know I don’t actually need your help with this.”
He had the feeling Foggy was raising his eyebrows. “Huh. Sounds like someone don’t think he can take everything I give him.”
Matt paused.
Then he pushed his chair back and stood up. “Okay,” he said. “Bring it.”
Ten minutes later he was parkouring around the office, bouncing off the walls and furniture to catch every random item Foggy lobbed into the air. Foggy giggled breathlessly as he scooped up a calculator and chucked it at Matt’s head - just as Matt head footsteps in the hall outside.
He froze.
The door opened. “ - think you’ll be very impressed with Mr. Murdock and Mr. Nelson,” Karen was saying to their new client as they walked in.
The calculator bounced off Matt’s forehead and clattered to the ground.
“Eep!” said Foggy.
*
“Oh well,” said Foggy twenty minutes later. “There are other clients.”
*
2. Culinary or Scientific “Experimentation” Involving the Kitchenette Microwave
“I am going,” Matt announced dramatically, “to die.”
Karen frowned at him. “You said you only got stabbed ‘fleetingly’ last night. Which I don’t think is an appropriate modifier in this situation, but still.”
“Not from that,” Matt said, waving a hand as if his skin being perforated by goons with knives was an implausible cause of death. “No, I’m going to die because somebody - ” he raised his voice “ - decided to use the office microwave for his audition for Chopped last night.”
“You know, I may not have super hearing, but I can still tell when you’re being passive aggressive at a normal volume,” Foggy said placidly from his office. “You don’t need to shout.”
“Curries from three different cuisines do not go together!” Matt said. “In fact, curries from any cuisine should not be reheated in the office microwave! Do it at home!” He paused. “No, wait, I visit your apartment. Do it at Marci’s.”
Foggy batted his eyelashes at Karen, because it would’ve been a wasted move on Matt. “I didn’t realize this was an open relationship, but all right.”
“If you could smell what I smell…”
“Is it better or worse than gunpowder?” Foggy asked.
Matt’s mouth snapped shut. Karen, who had been giggling behind her hand, looked from Matt to Foggy and back to Matt again. “Wait, what?”
Foggy rested his chin on his hands, smiling beatifically. “Matthew, did you not tell our silent partner about the homemade explosives you created here last weekend?”
“WHAT.”
Matt glowered in Foggy’s direction. “Dirty pool, Nelson.”
“MATT.”
Matt turned back to Karen, spreading his hands with a guileless expression. “Okay, in my defense they were just flash grenades, and they worked very well in stopping those arms dealers I took down on Tuesday.”
Karen scowled at him. “...I’m giving myself a raise.”
“That’s fair.”
*
3. Excessive Bleeding
“...so Matt and I will speak to the opposing counsel, and I think we’ll be able to settle this in your favor by the end of the week,” Foggy said, smiling at Mrs. Gupta across the conference room table.
She beamed. “Thank you both so much. I know how hard you’ve worked on this, and I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.”
Matt gave her his good Catholic boy smile. “It was our pleasure,” he said, reaching across the table to shake her hand.
Foggy glanced over at Matt and blanched. “Yep, yep, it was great, love that hard work, but I’m afraid we have another meeting coming up so Karen will just show you out. Karen!”
Karen appeared in the doorway, looking perplexed. She wasn’t the only one - Matt had his “confused terrier” expression on, and Mrs. Gupta was staring at Foggy. “Yes?”
“Can you please help Mrs. Gupta with any paperwork, at your desk, and then walk her out?” Foggy said, lifting his eyebrows at her significantly.
“Uh...sure. Right this way, Mrs. Gupta,” Karen said, gesturing to her desk.
The minute they were out of the conference room, Foggy closed the door, locked it, and yanked back the side of Matt’s jacket to reveal that his white shirt was soaked through with blood - visible only when Matt leaned forward just right. “Matt!”
Matt winced. “Stitches aren’t holding, huh?”
“I can’t believe you,” Foggy hissed, pushing the jacket off Matt’s shoulders and helping him ease out of it. “You said you were fine!”
“I thought I was,” Matt protested. Foggy started to unbutton his shirt. “Hey, no hanky-panky in the office.”
“You really wanna test me right now, Murdock?”
Matt bit his lip. Foggy got his shirt unbuttoned and tugged it back to reveal a three-inch gash in Matt’s side, bleeding merrily on one end through popped stitches.
“Jesus.”
“It’s not that bad,” Matt tried. “Even Claire said so.”
“Couldn’t you tell it was bleeding again? Couldn’t you smell it? Didn’t it hurt?” Foggy asked. Matt hesitated. “What.”
“I always smell at least a little bit like blood, these days,” Matt said. “And…”
“...And you always hurt,” Foggy finished for him, and Matt nodded. Foggy sighed and leaned forward to rest his forehead against Matt’s temple. “Oh, Matty.”
“I’m sorry,” Matt said.
“You’d hurt worse if you didn’t go out there,” Foggy said. “Of course, that doesn’t mean we can have you scaring our clients away by bleeding all over them. I’d say I’ll check you over before our meetings, but that might lead to breaking the hanky-panky rule.”
Matt smiled, and turned his head to meet Foggy’s lips. “I’m willing to risk it.”
*
4. Pets
“A dog,” Foggy said.
“You know I don’t need a dog, Foggy,” Matt said.
“Screw you, Murdock, I want a dog!” Foggy said. “This office could use a mascot. Besides Daredevil, I mean.”
“I am not a mascot,” Matt said, hiding a smile.
“Well, then, we definitely need a dog.”
“Oh, can we please get a dog?” Karen asked. “A therapy dog! Who in this office doesn’t need a therapy dog, honestly.”
“Or therapy,” Foggy pointed out.
“Dog’s cheaper.”
“True.”
“No dogs!” Matt protested, but he was laughing outright now.
“Cat?” Foggy suggested. Matt shook his head.
“Parakeet?” Karen tried.
“Chinchilla?”
“Bunny?”
“Iguana?”
“Stop!” Matt said. “You two really want an animal in here, don’t you?”
Foggy as he perched on the edge of Karen’s desk. “What gave you that idea?”
“Would you like me to tell you exactly how many rats I can hear in the walls at this exact moment?”
Foggy and Karen exchanged glances. “You know what, why don’t we just get a few more plants?” Karen suggested.
*
5. Hanky-Panky
“Karen’s gonna yell at us,” Foggy panted as Matt loosened the knot in his tie to get better access to his neck.
Matt nipped at Foggy’s pulse. “Karen’s a block away already and getting further as we speak.”
Foggy huffed. “I can’t believe you’re hyper-sensing someone else while trying to get in my pants.”
“I wasn’t trying to get in your pants,” Matt said. He dropped his hands from Foggy’s tie to his waist and started untucking his shirt. “Now I’m trying to get in your pants.”
“I’ll have you know, counsellor, that...mm...this is a respectable place of business...oh, fuck...and these shenanigans will not stand.” Foggy’s protests would probably have sounded more assertive if he hadn’t been using a two-handed grip on Matt’s ass to haul him closer.
“They don’t have to stand,” Matt suggested. “There’s a perfectly good desk right there.”
“Ugh, that’s your worst line yet,” Foggy groaned, head tipped back. “Done. Dumped. Divorced. Fuck, do that again.”
Matt pulled back - just a few inches, but back. “I thought we were divorced.”
Foggy glared, hair wild and cheeks red. “Get back here and put your tongue back where it was.”
“But what about Karen?” Matt asked innocently.
Foggy paused. “You’re sure she’s not going to walk back in for a while?”
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For Fandom Together, I'd like to request some Matt/Foggy epistolary fic (or voicemail or email or what have you). Anything from a college AU where they've never met but keep using the same study carrel and start leaving each other notes, to post s2 messages that are thinly coded because they're Not Talking to each other.
I really wanted to do the college AU but couldn’t figure out how to leave notes Matt would be able to both read and write without totally destroying the carrel, so Post-S2 voicemail it is!
“Hi, you’ve reached the cell phone of Franklin Nelson of Hogarth, Benowitz, and Chao. I’m unable to take your call at the moment, but leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible.”
“...Oh. Uh. You. You changed your outgoing message, I wasn’t expecting...uh. That is. Sorry. It’s...it’s Matt. You probably already knew that but...well, anyway. I know you’re defending the ex-wife in the Lowenstein murder case. I...I got a tip from, um, through...that friend of mine, the one you don’t like, who helped us on the Fisk case. He...I know you don’t like what he does, Foggy, but...look, just dig into Lowenstein’s brother’s finances, would you? I...my friend thinks you might find something useful there. So. That’s all. ...Bye.”
*
“...Hey Matt, it’s Foggy. I, uh, I got your message, and we looked into it and...well, you probably already know. Anyway, thanks. Uh...stay safe. Yeah.”
*
“Hey, it’s Foggy. I, uh...shit. I saw you on the news, that you were involved in that hostage situation down near Port Authority and they thought you’d been shot and Claire’s not picking up and I just...just call me when you get this, okay? I just want to know you’re okay.”
*
“Hi, Foggy. I’m...I’m all right. It was just a graze and Claire...well, I’m okay. I...thanks for checking. It, uh, it means a lot.”
*
“Hey, it’s Foggy. I saw you at the courthouse today...well, I’m sure you know. You probably smelled me or...well, whatever. Anyway, I heard you won that tenancy case. The defendant is a friend of Bess’s and...well, congrats. You did good, bud--uh. You did good.”
*
“...Thanks, Foggy.”
*
“Hey Foggy, it’s Matt. I got...it’s probably a mistake, but I got an invitation to your parents’ anniversary dinner? I won’t go, of course, but if you could just tell them that I...I mean, tell them whatever you feel comfortable with, I guess. But, uh, say hi for me, and congratulations. If you don’t mind. Please.”
“Matty, Matty, it’s Foggy. I’m. Matt. I’m so drunk right now because we won and that deserves celebration, right? Congratulations, Mr. Hartfield, Franklin Fucking Nelson found you a technicality and you can keep right on fleecing your investors until someone smarter than me catches you out. And that’s not going to happen, because the only lawyer smarter than me is too busy backflipping off roofs to take a case against you, am I right, Matty? Buddy? Right, this is voicemail. ...I don’t care. I don’t care. I won and this whiskey is so expensive and I earned it and I don’t...I can’t...I just really miss you, buddy, you know? Shit, I’m so drunk. Shit.”
*
“...Hey, Matt. I suppose it’s too much to hope you didn’t already listen to whatever I said to you last night, but if you can’t actually delete it off your phone unlistened-to, maybe you could pretend to delete it out of your brain? Ugh, I’m sorry, just...yeah, man, sorry about that.”
*
[missed call, no message]
*
[missed call, no message]
*
“Hey, Fog. I...I miss you too.”
*
“Foggy. Fog. I...ah, shit. Sorry. Pulled my stitches. I’m fine, I just...tonight was bad and I...there was a moment there where I didn’t think I was gonna make it home. And I was lying there thinking about...about everything I never got to tell my dad, and everything I never got to tell Elektra, and I didn’t want you to be...I never want you to wonder. If I’m sorry. If it was all a lie. It wasn’t, Foggy. It meant everything to me. And I’m so sorry that I didn’t show it well enough, but it...I wanted you to know. That I cared. That I still care. You don’t have to call me back, but I just...I wanted to say that. That’s all. Thanks.”
*
“Hey Matt, it’s Foggy. I...I think we should talk. In person.”
Not a silly question! It’s a little fundraising thing I started after the election: donate $10 or more to one of the organizations I listed here and I’ll write you at least 500 words of fic!
