#/you have no fucking clue how i've been waiting for this opportunity

[kumquats-are-gay]

sparing with Johnny, and you pin him down only to find that he's rock hard, maybe some teasing/sex? idk idk

(TF YOU MEAN “idk”?? THIS PROMPT IS HEAT AND I’M ‘BOUTTA COOK!! 🔥💯😤)

Johnny Cage x gn!reader (SFW/NSFM)

NOTE: This will be a two-parter because I just couldn't wait to post what I had already, lmao. This first part only has sexual themes and foreplay, while the second part will have actual smut (also, while this first part is totally GN, the second part will be mentioning afab anatomy, but I will still be using GN pronouns). I'm sorry this took so long to get to; I've been working almost every day for the past two weeks and ya girl is tired, lol. Was super excited to write for this though! :D

ALSO I HAVE NO FUCKING CLUE HOW ACTUAL FIGHTING WORKS I JUST MADE SHIT UP LMAO PLS DON'T COME AT ME

Pasted straight from Google Docs and NOT proofread, so please excuse any grammatical/continuity errors/syntax and formatting. I am also still VERY much an amateur writer so pls go easy on me <3

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51869623

Come On With a Come-on

         For a ‘professional’, Johnny Cage is about the least professional person you’ve ever met. Propriety must be a foreign concept to him with how frequently he flirts with you, especially on set—you know, in front of all of your colleagues and crew? The man was shameless in his relentless pursual of you, like a goddamn dog with a bone. And worst of all? You liked it, and this fact frustrated you to no end. 

         How could you possibly be attracted to someone who is so insufferably arrogant, loud-mouthed, and impossibly far up his own ass? An ass that, admittedly, you find yourself staring at whenever you think he isn’t looking. But, because you’re an actual professional, you’ve rebuffed his every attempt to seduce you thus far. Plus, you had a reputation to keep and dignity to hold onto; you weren’t sullying either when the likely outcome would involve your face and name on countless tabloids. 

         Without warning, his stupid, smug, and incredibly handsome smile invades your mind, and you suddenly find yourself wanting nothing more than to punch it off of his unfairly chiseled jaw.

         …or maybe kiss it off.

         “Grah!” you abruptly shout while burying your hands in your hair, momentarily tugging at the roots in annoyance. God, you had a problem. 

         Bzzt.

         “Huh?” You look down at your hip where your phone had just buzzed in your pocket. You pull it out and flick your finger across the screen to unlock it, then tap on the messaging icon.

         Johnny Cage: Hey, wanna spar later? 👊👊

         You raised a brow. You and Johnny worked in the same sphere for a reason. Action films were your guys’ bread and butter since the both of you knew how to fight as well as do your own stunts. 

         You and Johnny hung out casually here and there, but the two of you had never sparred before. You sensed an opportunity in his proposal, though: an effective way to get your frustration out on the source of said frustration. Shrugging, you figure, ‘why not?’

         You: Yeah, I’m down. But I hope you know what you’re getting yourself into b/c I won’t be holding back!

         Johnny: Woah, don’t go threatening me with a good time ;) 

         Your stomach twirled in unbidden delight at the cheeky response, and you internally chastised yourself for being so easily affected by this man. You and Johnny sorted out the details of your meetup—his place, late afternoon—and returned your phone to your pocket. You would just have to kill some time until then.

~~~

         “Of course you would have your own gym, and of course it’s fuckin’ huge,” you joked with a bit of sarcasm, yet enough lightheartedness as to not offend. Though, you doubt Johnny could be so easily offended; he’s got way too much self-confidence (for better or for worse) to be put down that easily.

         “Oh, honey, you haven’t seen ‘huge’ yet,” he boasted with a smirk. The wink that followed did nothing to abate the heat that was slowly taking over your body, but you did your best not to let the effects show. Since when were easy, immature innuendos such a turn on for you? You just closed your eyes and shook your head.

         “Alright, I am definitely knocking you on your ass for that one.”

         “Hah, see if you can, sweetheart!”

         The two of you stood in your  respective corners and took your stances. One quick little countdown later, and the game was on. 

        You knew Johnny was a very good fighter being a martial arts expert and all, but you didn’t realize he was that good. In all honesty, you figured he was more bark than bite, and that you’d have no real problem going toe-to-toe with him. Unfortunately, it seems like you may have underestimated him. It turns out that Johnny Cage was one of the rare few you had met who could back up their arrogance. Bully for you.

        Furthermore, this shithead was fighting dirty! Well, okay—technically he wasn’t fighting dirty. He was just talking after all, and there’s nothing wrong or “illegal” with that. But it was a dirty tactic regardless, and it only infuriated you further with how helpless you were to try and block him out.

        You pivot sharply on one foot and  use the momentum to lift and swing the other around, aiming the kick at his head. You expect him to duck under such a high-reaching maneuver—maybe he’d follow up with a low sweep with your single foot planted on the ground—so you prepare yourself to counter this. See, before you went into acting, fighting was your primary activity; you won many tournaments and managed to make a decent living off of it. One of the main things you were known for were your notoriously powerful kicks; few would risk trying to outright block them rather than moving out of the way.

         You must have forgotten who you were up against; that was the only reasonable explanation for your short-sightedness. You were not distracted by him or anything like that, thank you very much. Johnny-fucking-Cage just lifts an arm and grabs your leg. With one hand. Like it was nothing.

         The impact creates a loud smack! that briefly leaves you dumbfounded; you felt the force of that blow against his palm, and it was enough to leave the skin there tingling unpleasantly. Johnny didn’t look phased in the least bit with a crooked smile dancing across his handsome features, just gripping your ankle. Casually. Like you weren’t currently being held in the near-vertical splits.

         Johnny took this fleeting opportunity to give you a quick once-over, and his smile only grew. “Nice legs,” he quipped, “bet they’d look a lot nicer over my shoulders.” You openly gaped at his brazenness, and he used your shock to his advantage, flipping you in one fell swoop. You grunted when your back hit the mat underneath you, but the heat that overwhelmed your person (caused by your anger and fury, obviously) had you back up in a flash.

         “Best two out of three,” you nearly seethed. Johnny had the audacity to appear as anything but intimidated. In fact, he seemed rather amused.

         “You know, you’re like, really hot when you’re mad.”

         You nearly flung yourself at him in a mindless bout of rage, but caught yourself only a split moment before you could make such a devastating mistake. A delightful idea quickly sprang to mind—two could play at this game. 

         You kept up the facade of indignation and outrage in order to trick Johnny into thinking that you actually were going to make that blind charge at him. You stepped off of your dominant foot, using the momentum to make a lunge for him. He braced himself to counter your head-on attack, but you feigned right at the last possible second, swiftly gripped his shoulder with your left hand, and brought your right leg in against the back of his knee to buckle it. Johnny was quick to recover, though, keeping enough of his balance to twist and grapple with you as his leg nearly gave out. 

         Ah, so it was time for plan B.

         Before he could finish off the move, you brought your face right up to his, making sure that the two of you were making eye contact, and looked at him with sensual purpose. It was almost enough to disarm him, so to ensure you had the upper hand, you threw him another curveball with a breathy, “I wonder if you fuck as good as you fight.” 

         That did the trick. Johnny’s mind was sent reeling with your seemingly out-of-pocket comment, and you jumped at the chance to knock him flat on his ass. Johnny got the wind knocked from him as he landed with a resounding thump. Not wasting a minute, you straddled yourself across his hips and held his wrists against the floor mat. While Johnny had more raw strength than you, you hoped that the KO would leave him dizzy enough to keep him subdued.

         “Ha! Gotcha!” you barked out in triumph. Johnny just blinked up at you in a daze as his response. “I knew you wouldn’t be able to handle the taste of your own medi-” you had cut yourself off when you felt something stiff beneath your pelvis. ‘What…? Wait, is he…’

         “Are you hard right now?!” you squawked incredulously. Johnny just shrugged his shoulders and gave you an audacious smirk, as if to say, ‘Uh, yeah I guess so. What about it?’ You were flabbergasted. “I can not believe you right now!” You released his wrists and made to get up, but he grabbed your hips before you could get away. Damn it, his body was so warm, and…holy shit he felt big.

         “Woah now, hang on just a tick,” he spoke like he was trying to soothe a startled horse. This fucking asshole! Why, just why did you have to fall for him? “It is very difficult not to pop a boner when I’m getting up close and personal to the most gorgeous person I know,” he spoke with an immense amount of charm and a surprising measure of sincerity. Your eyes widened comically before you squinted at him with a healthy amount of suspicion. 

         “Oh, really now? And I don’t suppose you’ve used that line with every other person you’ve taken to bed, hm?”

         Johnny just sighed like he was the exasperated one here. “Darling, I’ve been laying it on thick for half a year now. There’s no way I’d still be after you just to get into your pants.” He looked at you with this sort of ‘duh’ expression on his face, like he couldn’t possibly understand your confusion. “I mean, don’t get me wrong: you’ve got just the kind of body that I love,” he added, and you nearly clocked him then and there, but you relaxed again as he spoke further, “but I’ve come to really like spending time with you. There’s never a day that I don’t look forward to working with you on set, you know.” And, just like that, you felt like the stupidest person on the planet for denying yourself something that you evidently could have had for a long time now. 

         You hung your head low and shook it from side to side in disappointment of yourself. You fool. You buffoon. You absolute imbecile. “Oh, you have got to be kidding me.” Johnny took this the wrong way, looking offended, and opened his mouth to say something. However, you were quick to shut him up with a short yet firm kiss of which he wasted no time in returning. He ground his hips against yours in short, desperate thrusts like there would never be another chance to do so, and you eagerly mirrored his movements like they might be your last. Without warning, he rolled the two of you over to flip your positions. Sprawled out beneath him with your hands held beneath his own, Johnny thought you looked like a dream.

         “By the way, I think you’ll find that not only do I fuck as good as I fight, but I fuck like I fight, too—hard n’ fast,” he intoned in a voice nearly an octave deeper. 

         You squirmed in anticipation at his words, and retorted with equal huskiness, “let’s see it then.”

[ghxstlly]

Ego Death

I've decided I worked too damn hard on this to not share it publicly, so here's a tidbit of story related to our good friends, oblivious Mr. Poole and temperamental Mr. Becker :')

Warning for swearing, and for Mr. Becker overall being really mean

“Wait, Mr. Becker— Ira, please—”

Nearly tripping over his own feet as he scrambled along the polished courthouse floor, Mr. Poole reached out in desperation to catch the arm of the prosecutor, who was all too quick to jerk himself away, halting and turning fast enough that Poole nearly crashed into him.

“What, Poole, what more could you possibly have to say?” His tone sharp as a blade, his eyes sharper, Becker fixed the other lawyer under a glare that made him flinch.

Swallowing hard against the dryness in his mouth, Poole took a quick step back, clasping his hands together in an attempt to hide their trembling.

“I—I just… I wanted to apologize. For— For what I said, I didn’t mean to make light of an… uh, exhausting trial, I was just trying to be lighthearted, you know, I didn’t mean any offense—”

“You don’t have a clue what you’ve caused, do you?” Becker’s words suddenly cut like a knife through his words, and Mr. Poole found his voice dying in his throat, his face paling.

“S… Sorry—?”

“I needed to win that case.” Becker’s voice was low, dangerous— it set a shiver crawling up Poole’s spine. “He was guilty, Poole. You know he was. And you let him walk.”

“Mr. Becker, I—I don’t… Th—there was no way for you to prove that, not beyond reasonable doubt—”

“He was guilty.” Becker repeated, interrupting him. The look in his eyes was nearly murderous, his jaw set tight as his words came through clenched teeth. “And you let him fucking walk.”

“I didn’t let him do anything.” Mr. Poole quickly retorted, though his tone was hardly assertive, wavering subtly as he fought to hold Becker’s gaze. “The jury declared him innocent. My duty is to protect the rights of my clients, and I did my job. That’s all. That’s all.”

“Oh, spare me, Poole, I’m not a fucking idiot. You think I don’t know what this has all been about?” Becker took a step forward, and Poole instinctively took one back. “You think I don’t see right through you, through your fucking charade?”

His stomach twisting into a knot, Poole’s heart skipped a beat, his mind racing as he tried to find the right words to respond.

Becker didn’t give him the chance.

 “I don’t wanna hear you talk about your duty. You don’t give a shit about your clients.” The prosecutor spat, his eyes blazing. “You don’t give a shit about justice. All you care about is yourself, and the little power trip you get from winning over me, from taking every goddamn opportunity to undermine my work and make me look incompetent.”

“What— incompetent?” Poole sputtered a nervous sound that was something between a scoff and a laugh. “Ira, please, it’s not like that at all—”

“No, ‘course not. You’d never admit it if it was, but regardless of whether you’re willing to say it out loud, you know it’s true. And that murderer got away with what he did because of it. Because you were too damn focused on beating me to give a shit about anything else.”

“I wasn’t— Ira, it’s my job. If there was evidence to convict him, you would have presented it— but you didn’t. So he was acquitted. End of story. I-I don’t know what you want from me.”

Poole didn’t miss the way Becker’s eyes narrowed, his jaw working tensely as he regarded the other in a small moment of bitter, uncomfortable silence, a storm brewing just behind his eyes.

“...Is that how you ease your fucking conscience, Poole? Is that what you tell yourself— that the blood is on my hands? That I should have tried harder?”

“W-well, I mean…” The defense attorney hesitated, a few seconds too long. “You were the prosecutor…”

It was a simple statement, nothing more than a fact, and yet in the moment immediately following, he saw Becker’s expression darken to something wholly unreadable, the tension in his shoulders building as his fists clenched at his sides, and felt that it might have been the most foolish thing he’d ever said.

“That’s— I didn’t—” Poole stammered quickly, the words spilling from his mouth before he could catch them. “I didn’t mean it like that—”

“Then how did you mean it?” Becker hissed, the question almost accusatory, as if he were daring Poole to answer. “Enlighten me.”

“I—I only meant, uhm—” He took a quick breath. “Sorry, I just— All I’m trying to say is that it… it isn’t my fault that you didn’t have enough evidence to convict. I didn’t mean to imply that you weren’t— uh, doing your best, or anything like that, you just— you had no case. It was my job to make sure the jury knew that. And that— that’s it. 

“All I can do is represent my client to the best of my ability, and I did. I’m sorry you didn’t get the outcome you wanted, but, uh… you know, that’s… that’s the job. It’s nothing personal.”

“It’s nothing personal.” Becker echoed him through a mirthless chuckle. “And yet you had the balls to gloat about it to my face after the fact. To make a goddamn joke of it and act like it didn’t fucking matter.”

Poole opened his mouth, a weak protest already half-formed on his tongue, but before he could speak, Becker continued, his voice rising slightly.

“And now you have the fucking nerve to stand here and lie to my face, like I didn’t see the look in your eyes every time you thought you caught me slipping, like the pleasure you get isn’t so obvious. You’re an embarrassment.”

Staring at the other lawyer in stunned silence for a moment, Poole wasn’t sure how to respond, a flurry of indignant protests swirling through his head, his mouth dry, the lump in his throat keeping him from making a sound.

“You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Poole.” The prosecutor spat the other’s name like a curse. “What you’re doing isn’t justice. Not even close. And if you think that I’m going to just... let you pretend that it is just because you’ve convinced yourself ‘it’s just a job,’ then you can go fuck yourself.”

And with those words, Becker sharply turned and started down the hallway, leaving no room for Poole to protest, the sound of his footsteps echoing off the polished tile as he stomped away.

It was all Poole could do to not collapse where he stood just then, his legs weak and unsteady, his chest constricting painfully around his thudding heart. He felt nauseous, his stomach churning with a kind of hollow, numb dread. 

He wanted nothing more than to curl up and disappear.

But there was something else, too— something that kept him grounded in that endless moment that burned in his throat much hotter than shame or guilt, rising in his chest like bile and choking the air from his lungs, saving him from the urge to come apart at the seams. It was unfamiliar, ugly— it left a foul taste in his mouth, made him cringe— but he was all the same entirely consumed by it in that moment, possessed.

And as he stared blankly after Becker’s retreating figure, his thoughts racing nearly as fast as his pulse, the feeling bloomed in his heart and erupted, searing his tongue as it did.

“I—I—I don’t get you, Ira, you know that!?” 

The words rushed from him almost involuntarily, and the sound of his own wavering but defiant voice piercing the tense silence nearly made him flinch.

Becker stopped. Tensing as soon as he registered the words, he went rigid, the faintest hint of movement in his shoulders the only thing giving him away. 

But he did not turn.

Even so, the fact that the other had heard him was enough for Poole to blunder forward, stumbling over his words as an angry warmth rose in his cheeks.

“All I’ve done, all I’ve ever done is try to be on good terms with you, to try to be friendly, and I— I can’t understand how you manage to take even that and… twist it into some sort of personal attack. I’ve tried so hard to understand you, to make peace with you last, but you won’t have it. You don’t even want to try. I-it’s like you’re determined to hate me no matter what, like in your eyes, everything I do is somehow wrong when all I’m guilty of is doing my job the best way I know how— just like you. 

“I m-mean— why is it so wrong of me to want to succeed, to put my clients best interests first, but it’s perfectly fine for you? Why is it so immoral when I try as hard as I can to win when that is exactly what you do, what any lawyer does?”

Poole stopped for a breath, a momentary pause during which Becker still did move nor speak, standing eerily motionless, as though he were carved from stone.

“A-and you know what, Ira, while I’m on the topic of hypocrisy— you say that I’m the one obsessed with winning, but maybe you should take a look at yourself! You lose one case to me and—and all of a sudden I’m an embarrassment, I’m the scum of the earth and I should be ashamed because it’s somehow all my fault instead of yours. Like I went out of my way to make sure you’d lose, just to spite you. For what? What exactly do you think I stand to gain from making an enemy out of you? I admire and respect you! I always have! I’d never deliberately do anything to humiliate you or sabotage your work or— or anything else like that.

“I m-mean— yes, I’ll admit, what I said to you after today’s verdict was inappropriate. I was excited, and in hindsight, I shouldn’t have tried to joke with you. But you know, I don’t think that’s what got you upset, no. Y—You want to know what I really think? I think you’re just a sore loser.”

Poole fell silent then, trembling, a little out of breath. His eyes stung, tiny beads of frustrated tears going unnoticed as he stubbornly willed himself not to fall apart under the pressure of his own boldness.

He would come to regret what he’d just said— it was the one thing he knew to be certain in the long, fragile seconds that followed. Before him, Becker was perfectly still, the air surrounding him thick and heavy, tense. It was impossible to tell how he was taking the words Poole had carelessly flung at him, how damaging they might be to their already shaky dynamic, to any future relationship they might hope to have.

“A sore loser.” When the prosecutor finally spoke, he repeated Poole’s words slowly, his tone empty, dull, devoid of any inflection. Within it, a concealed darkness. “Yeah. You’re absolutely right.”

Poole felt his stomach lurch, and held his breath, watching stiffly as slowly, very slowly, Becker turned, facing Poole with a stare so empty that for a split second he was unrecognizable. Then, unpredictably, he laughed, a low, mirthless rumble, carrying an audible edge of resentment, of grief, lifting off his lips like a whisper.

“You still don’t get it, do you? Tell me, Poole, are you the one who had to apologize to the victim’s family? Are you the one who promised them justice, only to have a jury of good, smart people decide to free a killer anyway? Do you have any idea how that feels?”

Poole didn’t have an answer, staring in stunned silence instead, feeling his face grow pale. Becker shook his head, the barest hint of a smile still ghosting his lips, rueful, sardonic.

“A murderer walked free today. You understand that? I gave everything I could to try and stop that from happening. I went after him as hard as I could. And it still wasn’t enough. He got away. Every goddamn effort I made, everything I worked towards, it was for nothing.”

“Ira—” Poole began softly, instinctively.

“So yeah, I am a fucking sore loser.” Becker ignored him, almost as if he hadn’t even spoken at all, his voice rising as he took a sudden step forward. “If nothing else, that is exactly what I am, because I do nothing but fight my damned hardest to help make the world a better place, to keep this shithole from getting worse, only to constantly fail and have you treat it like a fucking joke. 

“I’m fucking sick and tired of it, Poole, I’m sick of all my hard work being constantly thrown back in my face by a spineless dickhead who can’t be bothered to grow the fuck up and take anything seriously, a piss-poor parody of a lawyer whose head is so far up his own ass he can’t see the damage he’s done— can’t even begin to understand, or care.”

“That’s…” The defense attorney murmured, and nearly choked on the words, feeling his face grow warm with indignation as he fought to keep his composure. “Th-that’s hurtful.”

“Hurtful? You wouldn’t know hurtful if it came up and spat in your smug fucking face. You want to know what’s hurtful? Do you have any idea how painful it is to have you constantly up my ass, pretending you give a shit about me when after all the work I do, all the sacrifices I make trying to bring a scumbag to justice, you fuck me over and then celebrate when I fail?”

“I didn’t celebrate—”

“You did!” Becker roared, the rage hiding just behind his tired, bitter eyes suddenly breaking free as he took another step closer and shoved Poole as hard as he could. In that precise moment, stumbling back, Poole could smell smoke. “I saw you today, after the verdict. I saw the way you looked at me, with that cocky glint in your eye, and I know that I wasn’t imagining the self-satisfaction in your voice when you ran your mouth at me, because you somehow think it’s funny to look me in the face and act like this is all just a stupid game, knowing that my work is everything to me. That is what’s fucking hurtful.”

“Wh—what do you want from me, then?!” Poole cried, a raw, wavering sound. “I tried to explain, to apologize, but you made it rather clear that anything I could possibly say means less than nothing to you!”

“And why shouldn’t it?” The prosecutor shot back. “Why the fuck should I believe a single word out of your pathetic mouth when all you have ever done is string me along?”

“B—Because…! Because o-of our hist—...”

Poole silenced abruptly, as though he’d caught himself on the cusp of saying something unspeakable, something he couldn’t take back, color rising in his cheeks before he quickly looked away.

Eyeing him guardedly, a fleeting confusion passing over his face, Becker found himself perceiving in the other’s expression what had gone unsaid after just a short moment of search, and immediately scoffed.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Poole, I know you’re not that stupid. What makes you think I give a rat’s ass about our so-called history?—”

“S—Stop it—” Poole quickly said, his tone sounding a little more defensive than he intended. “Whatever you’re going to say, you’re wrong. Maybe it doesn’t mean anything to you, maybe you want to act like it doesn’t matter, but I know that it matters, and so do you.” 

Exhaling a shaking breath, Poole risked returning his gaze to the others, and found that Becker’s steely gaze had narrowed slightly at him, studying him almost warily. Behind his eyes, a strange flicker of emotion, an unnameable turmoil, betrayed itself, and in the very same moment, something else took the place of rage in his expression. Something equally unpleasant, but subtler, harder to understand.

“I can’t forget what happened between us that night,” With another quivering breath, Poole went on, squirming vaguely under Becker’s eyes working to dissect him as he spoke. “I tried to— I know that’s what you probably… w-wanted me to do— but I just can’t, because what you and I had for just those few hours was real, whether you want it to be or not. 

“What I feel is real. And I know you believed me when I told you that night, I saw the look in your eyes when I said it, Ira, y-you knew it was the truth. How does that not lend any weight to the sincerity of what I’m trying to tell you now?”

The prosecutor averted his eyes. As if reluctant to acknowledge even the memory, there was a brief period in which he stared wordlessly down the hallway behind them, his mouth set in a hard, stern line.

“Look, I... I know you don’t… really understand me.” Poole ventured, his tone softening, his heart aching in a way it couldn’t bear to name. “But if nothing else, after what happened that night, you at least know that the last thing I’d ever want is to hurt you.”

A heavy silence fell over them then.

Where anger had once been was now a tense, palpable void— a mutual reluctance that settled in the space between them, thick with something bittersweet and unfinished. Though it shook his resolve, Poole did not look away.

Before him, Becker had grown stiff where he stood as though the other’s words had physically pained him— his gaze sharp and cold, a hollow quality to his face that made it impossible to know for certain what it was he felt, if anything at all.

He was silent for what felt like a long time, his jaw set, his stare fixed intensely on nothing as the storm behind his gaze raged on, hidden, sapping the fire from his eyes until nothing was left but a terrible coldness. And when he finally spoke again, Poole wasn’t sure which he hated more— Becker’s rage or the emptiness that had replaced it.

“...You know something, Poole?” He asked, his voice almost toneless as it rumbled between them. “What good does knowing your feelings do me now, after everything you’ve done? What good is your sincerity to me when you and I will never be on the same side? 

“Maybe I did understand you, once. Maybe I even trusted you. Maybe I believed you were capable of doing the right thing. But I sure as hell don’t anymore, because I have no idea who you are, or what the fuck is going on in that head of yours. All I know for certain nowadays is that you only care about yourself, and you can’t even begin to imagine how sick that makes me feel. I really do wish you could see that through your fucking naivety, because every word that comes out of your mouth means fuck all to me when you’ve proven time and time again that you’re a goddamn walking contradiction.

“You’re a fraud and a coward, Poole, a selfish, spineless liar with so much damn gall that you can stand there with a straight face and pretend I ought to be moved by anything that you have to say after all the ways that you have trampled over the last shredded fucking scraps of respect I may have had for you. And yet that still isn’t even the worst thing you’ve ever done to me, is it? Is it?”

An awful, wrenching moment passed in which Poole did not— or perhaps, simply could not— respond to those cruel words. His heart twisted, a familiar stinging welling in his eyes against his wishes. 

He held his breath.

“No,” Becker said quietly, a subtle pain coloring the sound of his voice. “The absolute fucking lowest you have ever stooped, Mr. Freddie Poole, was somehow getting me to actually care about a shameless, two-faced prick like you.”

“Ira…—” Poole pleaded desperately, fighting a losing war to choke down the lump that now ached painfully in his throat.

“Save it— you need to listen to me very fucking carefully now, because I’m only going to say this once. Don’t come near my office, don’t come near my cases, I don’t even want to see your sorry ass in this fucking courthouse. I want you out of my goddamn life for good. Do you hear me?”

Shakily exhaling, struggling against the tears gathering in his vision, Poole found himself in that precise moment going wholly numb, as though something within him had just then given out, had died. It was a moment of unreality, an abrupt shift as the weight of those final, decisive words washed over him and took hold. 

“Y... You don’t mean that,” Poole whispered tremulously, a feeble denial. “You can’t.” 

Becker, however, did not humor him, did not even hesitate, delivering his next words with a cold, unfeeling finality as he turned and began to walk away.

“Try me.”

[those70scomics]

Fictober Day 9: "don't listen to me, listen to them"

That '70s Show Fanfiction

Hyde paced W.B.'s office at Grooves's headquarters. Angie was present, as was Jackie. She'd taken time off from her busy-as-hell schedule for this meeting.

"It's a dumb idea," he said. "I shouldn't have even brought it up."

"It's not dumb, and I'm happy that you told us about it." W.B. grasped Hyde's arm, stopping him near W.B.'s desk. "You're turning twenty-nine in less than two months. You're engaged. You should want more."

Angie's facial expression showed that she'd been waiting for this day. "I dreamt of running a record store since I was a kid. Then of running all of Grooves someday, and now I'm the company's senior VP of operations. You're allowed to pursue your dreams, too."

"I've already got more than I ever freakin' dreamed." Hyde glanced back at Jackie, who'd remained silent so far. "It ain't fair to to risk it all."

"You don't think creating Grooves was a risk?" W.B. said. I was married to Angie's mother, who was pregnant with Angie. We needed the security of a regular paycheck, but her mom wanted me to be happy. And my risk eventually paid off more than anybody could've imagined."

Hyde gestured in defeat. "I can't imagine this workin'."

Jackie stepped toward him and touched his hand. "Neither can I."

"Exactly."

"But don't listen to me. Listen to them."

Hyde stared at her. "Who the hell are you, and what've you done with my chick."

"Steven." She jostled his hand. "I'm redesigning my whole spring collection. I can't imagine that working either, but I'm doing it anyway. This time next year on October ninth, 1990, you'll have put out your first record on your own label."

"A sub label of Grooves Records, of course," Angie said with a smirk.

Hyde bowed his head and hunched his shoulders. "That's nepotism."

"That's expanding the family business." W.B. patted Hyde's back. "I'm not taking an opportunity away from anyone else. You've earned this. The demos you've played me, you have the ear, son."

Hyde sat in the closest chair. His legs were shaking from what was being said, being offered.

"You've been apprenticing under Frankie Branch to learn audio engineering, music production, for how long?" W.B. continued. "Picked up the guitar expertly in three years of lessons and learned as much by listening to songs. Taught yourself bass guitar. Became Cam's favorite drum student, and that's saying a lot."

Angie gazed at the high ceiling and shook her head. "Edna and Bud gave you no chance to realize you have perfect pitch. You didn't understand what you were capable of. You've had to play catch-up in your mid-twenties."

Jackie stood in front of Hyde and rubbed his arms over his long sleeves. "Your childhood was stolen from you. You once told me all the doors were locked for you but one. Your family, your true family, has unlocked so many. You've walked through a lot. Don't shut this door and walk away."

Hyde covered his face in his hands. His emotions were getting to him, breaking through his defenses. As a kid, Formans' folks signed Forman up for jazz guitar lessons, which he abandoned. Only the acoustic guitar remained, and Hyde played that thing every second he could at the Formans' house.

He used Forman's beginners' workbook to learn tabs that were printed alongside sheet music. Hyde couldn't read music for shit, but tabs he got. Songs on the radio, on records, stuck in his skull like recordings. He figured out how to play the guitar parts himself and, back then, had no clue why could do that.

He understood now.

"Son, are you all right?" W.B. said.

Hyde raised his head and wiped his eyes. "Yeah. Just ... when ya don't believe something's possible for you for so damn long -- and then it happens? Kind of a mind fuck."

"So you'll start your label?" Jackie smiled at him with such hope, such support, he would've fallen in love with her if he hadn't already fallen twelve years ago.

"Yup."

Jackie cheered, and W.B. congratulated him in a proud, fatherly way Hyde was still growing used to.

"What are you going to call it?" Angie said.

Hyde grinned. "Burn-Out Records."

[sky-kenobye]

Wait wait wait. I HAVE to ask about the obikin FMK! Also very curious about the Vinyard au. So anything you'd like to share on those! Also, hope you got a good night's sleep. Lol.

@underacalicosky also asked about the vineyard AU which I've answered here, but here are my notes on what's supposed to happen after the snippet I shared:

"[Anakin arrives at the (vendangeoir), OW is distracted by the other workers, Anakin takes the opportunity to look at him and list all the way he has changed (he started to get more grey hair, especially at his temples, and his crow's feet got deeper. Anakin is unwell), until OW notices A and suddenly beams at him, completely ignoring who he was talking to. He comes over and they hug for a looonnng time (everybody is side-eyeing each other because that’s not a very platonic hug. The regulars smirk because they know what’s up, the newbies think ‘uuuh, that’s kinda gay/those dudes are in love). This year Ahsoka starts working for OW too. She’s the only other English speaker so OW asks Anakin to show her the ropes, and they hang out together. She’s also not subtle at all and keeps making comments about them being into each other/an old married couple/a couple in their honeymoon phase (maybe she thinks at first that they really are together)"

The "obikin FMK" is a silly little oneshot that has a beginning (Anakin and Padmé playing Fuck Marry Kill and Obi-Wan walking in just in time to hear (without context) Anakin say he would fuck him), and an end (Obi-Wan and Anakin cuddling after sex, and Anakin admitting they were just playing FMK), but I have no clue how to link the two together (without writing smut), so it's been sitting in my WIP folder for ages.

Here's a couple of sentences from it:

""I also can't marry the Chancellor. I mean, he's my friend, but he's old."  They both made a face at the thought. Gross. "So, I guess I'm marrying you." He winked at her.

Padmé raised her brows. "I hope you know that's a shitty way to propose.""

[what-gs-watching]

"One fabulous kiss and we're good. I have a plan."

So far this week I've cleaned out all of the cabinets in my kitchen and our master bathroom, did some sadness shopping, attempted to clean out my car, and packed up my stupid fucking laptop. So. I guess it's time to get back to Good Omens (even though I've been playing Supernatural in the background just to have something...we'll get into that entire situation eventually).

Right, episode 3. Wherein we get more adorable interactions, a yellow Bentley, an absolutely clueless angel, more meddling, and laudanum. I love this one, if only for laudanum!Crowley. And the look on Crowley's face during the awning of a new age...but we're getting ahead of ourselves.

At the shop, Aziraphale is listening to the Buddy Holly record when he gets a knock at the door, opening it to a person appearing to be a police officer, but dressed completely in white. The 'police officer' tells him that because they are a police officer, they can monitor him without raising suspicion and Az is already on the uptake it appears, so when they ask if they can come in because it's loud outside and they can't hear anything, he lets them in. 

The entire scene with this 'police officer' is hilarious, Az offers a cup of tea and says that a human police officer would definitely accept it. Crowley shows up with a box of his plants that he's pulled from the Bentley asking why Aziraphale can't go by train, "you LOVE trains" he says, and then he just exclaims "who's THIS now" but he quickly figures it out as well. The two of them are so sweet about it, even if they're highly amused. Crowley sits on the arm of Aziraphale's chair (again, swoon, it's so natural) and the laugh he emits is so sweet, and they both just make little moon faces at the angel that's shown up before excusing themselves to another room. 

Aziraphale thinks this angel is going to figure out quickly that the lie he told about their extremely powerful miracle is untrue, and Crowley says they just need to get Nina and Maggie to have "one fabulous kiss" and they're done. 

The angel bursts in to interrupt them of course and Crowley asks if they're interested in humans being in love, especially Nina and Maggie over the road. The whole point of this interaction is that Crowley says that you can only tell if they're in love by waiting a few days because humans are weird and that's how it works (ya know, to buy them some time), and then he announces "don't hesitate to ask me if you have any other questions about love" and y'all. Aziraphale's reaction. Like, baby girl, you are thirsty. You legit looked him up and down and stuck out your lip and you did not look away. I see you.

Anyway, Aziraphale takes the Bentley and he heads off to Edinburgh to investigate his Clue, leaving poor Crowley behind. 

We're then flashed-back to an entry in Az's diary from 1827, wherein he and Crowley were in Edinburgh doing this and that. Crowley took Az to a statue he's found of Gabriel in a graveyard. They stumble upon a young girl trying to steal a fresh body from a grave, and Crowley puts on a hilarious Scottish accent, and offers to help her in her endeavor. Aziraphale is shocked by this of course, and he wants to stop her so he trails behind them whining about how wicked her actions are. 

They find out that she's doing it because she's living on the street with another woman, but Az still isn't moved. He says that people have opportunities to prove how good they are by resisting the temptation to do wicked things, and poor people have even more opportunities to do so. Crowley of course knows this is ridiculous, but black-and-white Aziraphale just says it's "ineffable". 

Back in the present, Az is bonding with the Bentley, talking to it about how they've come to an understanding. He's very proud of himself until Crowley comes blaring through the speakers to tell him he can feel when he drives the Bentley under the speed limit. He tells him to speed up, so he tries, but Az says it seems the car doesn't want to, and he grabs himself a little treat from the dash. Crowley is incensed, asking "was that a travel sweet?" This man knows what's going on, he can feel Az has done something to the car. And he has of course, the Bentley is now a beautiful shade of yellow (it's his favorite color because of, possibly, a certain demon's eyes?) but Crowley isn't having it. He says it must be changed back and Az whines "but it's pretty" so Crowley resorts to threatening to sell some books if he doesn't, these two know how to push each other's buttons clearly. 

Meanwhile in 1827, Aziraphale and Crowley follow the grave robber Elsbeth to her destination and clueless little Az is determined to ruin her mission. They're introduced to MISTER (he's a surgeon, not a doctor) Dalrymple and when they're let inside Az does a little miracle to ruin the corpse and he's so proud of himself. Elsbeth runs off because she can't get paid but Az wants to stop both supply and demand so Crowley stops time to convince the surgeon to let them stay and talk about his work. (The surgeon has started calling the angel and the demon 'doctor' which I love, so many Who easter eggs.)

However, it doesn't go to Aziraphale's plan - he learns that Dalrymple is just trying to save lives, he needs corpses to do so, he needs them to teach and to learn. He shows them a tumor he pulled from a 7 year old boy and Az is devastated to learn the boy died, he clutches the specimen to his chest, and things are shades of grey baby boy, not the perfect black and white you cling to. So he changes his mind and decides Elsbeth's actions are holy after all, and offers to help. Because now it's somehow good. 

Coming back to present-day Edinburgh, Az rolls up to the pub with the haunted jukebox and he's wearing a cute little getup, he's so pleased with himself. Boy is cosplaying at being a reporter and he thinks it's a fun little jaunt. He learns from the owner that Gabriel definitely had been there about a year ago, and that he was with someone else. He's giddy. I really feel the need to point out that Aziraphale is still under the impression that he's investigating a cute little mystery and there isn't really anything on the line at all. Which is honestly insanity. 

In the 1800's Crowley and Az go back and gather up Elsbeth's friend Wee Morag and off they go back to the graveyard, but things go wrong. A grave gun gets tripped and Wee Morag is shot, and they try to get the girl to safety in a nearby tomb, but she dies. And Elsbeth decides to just sell her body to get the money she desperately needs, that's what she'd want. 

She goes back and delivers the body, and gets less money than she'd expect, and she's angry. So she sees some laudanum on the counter and she nicks it, and then goes off to buy some wine to toast her friend. Crowley and Az show up back at the tomb to join her, and things start to go off the rails. 

They both see the laudanum of course, and as she's explaining that she's going to drink the wine and then the laudanum so she can join her friend in the afterlife, Crowley grabs it and downs it. She's horrified, says he's going to die and Crowley exclaims "constitution of an ox" (oh really? An ox? Didn't we just see Aziraphale devour an ox......)

I can't decide what my favorite part of laudanum!Crowley is. He starts rambling about no more dying, "No dying! no more dying! it's just....wrong!" He sings the Scottish national anthem(?). He makes goat noises (all the Job references), he unexpectedly shrinks. I love him yelling "I'm small aren't I?" and the faces and the growling and the dance he does to return himself to a normal size, but just kidding, not a normal size, he bursts through the ceiling of the tomb. 

He tells Elsbeth "you've sinned very bigly!" (and I'm totally going to use that) he says "Trying to kill yourself...I mean....it's NOT ON!" He asks the angel how much money he's got - 90 guineas. He tells Elsbeth she can atone by taking the money, buying a farm, and being good, properly good ("gi'er the money, angel!") And so, she promises she will and runs off. 

Afterward Crowley yells "Laudanum, oooh wee! Last time I do that!" and he stumbles around and he's afraid he's lost Aziraphale who snakes an arm around his waist and tells him he did a really good thing. Which he denies, of course. He was off his head on laudanum, not responsible for his actions. But Aziraphale is worried that hell must have noticed, and Crowley says if they had he'd already be....and then he's sucked down, and away. In his diary, Az says he doesn't see Crowley for a long time after that. 

(And if we think about the timeline, we know that in the 1860's Crowley appears again, and he's now asking for holy water. What happened to that poor baby?)

Meanwhile, Aziraphale calls the bookshop after he finds himself staring at Gabriel's Edinburgh statue to catch Crowley up, who answers the phone by saying "Fell's bookshop - we probably don't have what you want, and we wouldn't sell it to you if we did" because he's very good at protecting his angel's interests. More swooning. Az is excited because Gabriel was with someone, but they're not really listening to each other as usual and Crowley hangs up because he sees an opportunity to enact his Nina/Maggie plan. 

Which doesn't work, of course. He gets the rain going, he gets them under the awning, and they are having a heart to heart. Crowley's smile watching the two of them is so pure, he's convinced this is all it's going to take but shit does not work like that, he and Aziraphale are so dense, and instead of vavooming, the awning breaks and the girls get drenched. 

And then Shax shows up. Crowley goes outside to find out what she wants and she insists that Beelzebub knows that Aziraphale is hiding Gabriel in the bookshop. He insists that he isn't, and we learn that Shax can't cross the bookshop's threshold and Crowley tries to keep his cool, but Shax says that hell is going to declare war - not on him, mind, but on Aziraphale. 

Ya boy is once again in panic mode, he flys at Gabriel and starts threatening him over harm coming to Aziraphale but then he deflates just as quickly, saying "It doesn't matter. It's too late for that now, isn't it? It's always too late."

Y'all. Crowley knows they're living in an extremely dangerous situation and Aziraphale is just off dressing up and having fun and enjoying himself. I understand wanting to protect Az however possible, I do, but he's just making it worse. They're both just making it worse...

[belokhvostikova]

Right. Well. I hope you're ready for this because I have a lot to talk about for yearbook 🤣

Firstly, I loved the structure of this chapter. A day in the life of Eddie, centered around his session. How Ms Kelly has had to draw him out over a few days. Because yea, he's made it there in the first place, but it doesn't automatically mean he's gonna be a model of open conversation and spilling his guts straight away. Felt very real that, like 'well I've shown up, what more do you want from me?'

Him just having a minute and sitting observing everyone from his van. Like his little moment of calm. It actually was like a scene from a movie, it reminded me of the first episode of season 4, as Robin is getting out of Steve's car and we're dipping in and out of everyone's conversations and goings on. Loved this.

Then his view of R coming into school, how he held back but still gave her that sign of solidarity with the thumbs up. He's so precious, I can't cope. And she needed that so much, her thinking about it later on to get her through the shitty parts of her day was perfect.

R's dad telling her that she basically deserves anything awful that happens to her, just for being a good person. Urgh that guy has some serious issues. Of all the people that need some therapy...

Then Chrissy! She made so many smart choices in this chapter. You've characterised her really well in this. Like she's presented as this really sweet and kind person in the show, but would she have stayed true to that when it mattered in a difficult situation with an audience? I love that you have her do that. Their lunch scene with Dustin was hilarious. Eddie's 'WHAT?!' After the marriage talk 🤣 pal, you would have her in a hot minute.

Really enjoyed the coaches comedy relief after the Jason/Eddie confrontation, and that R and Eddie had more conversation. Especially when it's flirting, could read them like this all day 😍

Honourable mention to Wayne again, for basically being a solid parent and showing Eddie what 'stable' looks like. I hope R meets him at some point and thinks 'oh shit, this is what a dad's supposed to look like'

Strange note for me to end on but I love how you full name everyone when they're not in direct conversation with each other, I've noticed it the past few chapters and it feels very 'Morgan Freeman doing a narrator voice over' and I'm here for it. Can't wait to see what happens next! 🖤🖤

Yes! I've been waiting for you. *in ominous voice*

Let me tell you, when I first began writing this chapter, I just completely free-balled it, I had no clue what was going to happen. I began writing the first couple of paragraphs, when it hit me. This story should totally revolve around Eddie's session AH- I felt like a fucking genius!

I honestly loved that added detail of him just observing. When I write I feel the need to just insert the most meaningless details, but I think it does a good job with just setting the mood around the story. If anyone is every struggling with writing, truthfully, adding specific details can really help!

And the little thumbs up 😭 everyone needs a little thumbs up from Eddie Munson! Especially after that sick interaction with her father, ugh 🤮

Our Chrissy Cunningham redemption arc has been completed! 🩷 I loved how sweet her character was in the show, and I definitely wanted to stick by that, but of course, I wanted to emulate a changing relationship between her and Jason, one where the other person is just someone who's not who they used to be. And given that it's implied that her mother is taking quite some control over her life, I really wanted to be able give her the opportunity to do what she wanted.

And we loved their little "girl talk" with a clueless Dustin.

And I love the idea of Reader meeting Wayne. Especially since we already got extremely intimate moments in her bedroom, I can definitely add some raw moments in his house.

And I think I've said this before, but I FUCKING RAGE OVER USING CHARACTER'S FULL NAME!!!!! Makes me feel like an actual fucking author with merit, lol. And I'm falling onto my knees knowing you get that feeling, too, and you noticed it in the first place! 😩

Thank you so much for your support! 🥹❤️

[jodilin65]

We can't figure out how the hell she knows, but Tinkerbella can tell when groceries are about to be delivered. She always gets excited when they're on their way. It must be something in the way we behave that clues her in.

Either way, it scares me to think I might suffocate awake anytime I feel anxious, CPAP or not (though I'm so desperate to get normal sleep and energy that you bet I want that CPAP to see if it makes a difference!) I've been anxious for most of the past decade, and it’s terrifying how anxiety can manifest in new ways, even now that I’m postmenopause. Just when I think I've conquered some issue or another, it returns to haunt me.

Looking back, it presented differently over the years. When I first started seeing Stacey, it felt like butterflies in my stomach. Then, in 2016, it shifted to my chest. Now, I’m so short of breath that I “suffocate” awake. What's next on the torture list? Oh, I know, I know! How about throwing in some seizures?

A little later…

I'm definitely more short of breath tonight than last night, and again my mind wanders to the Levothyroxine. It’s possible, though it seems out of character for me to suddenly feel so breathless, especially postmenopause. I’ll skip tomorrow’s dose. Luckily, labs are done for a while unless she wants to check for diverticulitis. Afterward, I’ll cut the waiting time to 15 minutes for two or three days to see if it helps. We know it takes time to feel better when Levothyroxine is the issue. I can't say for sure it’s the Levo, though.

Later still…

My computer restarted for an update and automatically launched Skype. I took the opportunity to read through Aly’s and my old messages from the last few months before her death. It had me in tears thinking about how much she suffered in the end and how hard she fought to live. I guess not all fights are meant to be won.

It's scary and depressing, and it makes me wonder if I’m meant to win my own battles. I don’t have the same problems she did, but she had a lot of the same symptoms I have now. The more I think about it, the more I suspect that damn poison—Levothyroxine—is why my lungs feel tight. I still don’t think the nasal spray caused it, but I do think years of using it damaged my nasal tissues.

I miss Aly so much! I miss our chats, keeping each other updated on how we were feeling and what we were doing. Anyway, I’ll know in a few days to a week if I’m right about the Levo. I looked back and saw that I made a couple of skips and cut the waiting time a couple of times to help with my lungs. I’m not saying that’s definitely the issue, but it’s looking more likely. It’s hard to believe anxiety alone is causing this. Sure, I’m anxious, but something is triggering it. This doesn’t feel like normal stress. If I’m right, I might need to skip a few doses every couple of months to manage the buildup. It might bump my weight up a little temporarily, but I’d rather that than tight lungs and the sensation of suffocating so bad I can barely sleep.

I got more sleep the last time but it still wasn’t uninterrupted or energizing. I’m horribly tired. I wish I had more in-person support. It’s not that Tom isn’t enough—it’s just that sometimes I wish I could magically bring Aly back or even have my fucked-up parents here. Believe it or not, one of the few things they were good at was caring for us when we were sick. It’s silly, but it would give me a sense of safety, like how a hospital feels comforting to someone unwell, even if doctors aren’t perfect.

Oh, to think all I might need is to skip a couple of doses every few months, get a CPAP and adapt to it, and deal with my nose once I can get into an ENT some century. Maybe then, I’ll finally be done with some of these problems for a while. But I’m afraid to dream. Especially since I’ve had sleep issues all my life.

I just hope the rest of my issues are easier to manage before I die. When I say “easier,” I mean things like my gallbladder surgery. Costly, yes, but easier to deal with. Same with the shoulder pain and possible diverticulitis.

For $16, I ordered five tiny aloe vera plants that will arrive on my birthday. It hit me: if getting the money tree could help with our finances, and it did a bit, then maybe there’s something similar for health. I searched online and found four possibilities. Aloe vera is said to have magical healing properties, so I’ll give it a try. I know it’s good for the skin.

[missionoffruition]

I Just Needed Fruit

My dad came into town for Thanksgiving weekend. Whenever he comes down from North Idaho, he stays with me. It's great - he gets to spend time with his grandson. Being able to see their connection actually helps me in reframing the relationship (or lack) we had when I was little.

My dad is definitely the best example I've seen of changing for the better. He had to hit his version of rock-bottom to realize that he was standing in his own way of healthier relationships. But ever since he decided to actively pursue a more meaningful life by reflecting on recurring issues, and then learning how to show up for people (including himself), I've seen a much, much better person.

We have a relationship now that is a complete 180 from what it was for so many years. He shows up for me now before I even have to ask. That's something I needed from him as a child that I never got, and I'm happy I have given him the opportunity to make amends. It would have been miserable for the both of us to continue on in life, avoiding one another and carrying our own pains from our relationship.

Carrying painful memories is not something we have to do. I think part of life's journey is learning that. I don't know why we store pain, but we do. And then It becomes work to try and rid ourselves of it. When we do carry painful memories with us through life, they start to weigh us down. When we're down, every single thing we do (aware of it or not) is affected.

The #1 reason I journal is to help myself.

It helps me to pull thoughts and feelings out of my head and put them in front of me. It is soothing in the moment and it gives me an opportunity to come back, re-read something that I offloaded in the heat of the moment, and to ultimately pinpoint and recognize what the fuck was going on in me. It's very validating once you've gotten past the first few journaling "sessions". It helps me to understand myself. It helps me to see motives I might have been hiding from myself (we all do it, don't think you're immune). And it's been putting a lot of my memories, experiences, and conceptualizations that I've formed of people into fuckin' check. It's wild. And it's okay.

So anyways, we cruised into the grocery store tonight.

We stopped in to get Hayden some fruit. As we turned the corner into the produce area, boom. I almost smacked faces with my brother. Let me tell you about surreal/out of body experiences.

I think we were all in shock. It was a super weird, unemotional, yet riveting experience for me. I'm pretty sure it made my dad's heart swell. And I have no fucking clue what my brother thought. His face was deadpan, but I have a feeling he was borderline heart-attack mode. My senses were tingling.

Some backstory: my brother completely isolated himself from our family. He started doing this more than 10 years ago. It started with our grandparents. And then our dad. Then his best friend. Then Mom. Then me. Then his son. Then his twin. Literally every close relationship he's ever had.

My dad hasn't had contact with him or seen him in 7 years. It's been two years for me. My dad and I both experienced heart-breaking, traumatic, and unexpected exits from him. Everyone has, to be honest.

Imagine growing up with someone your entire life - having the same friends, going to the same schools, riding bikes together on warm weeknights - and then one day (what feels like out of the blue for you) they decide to tell you that you mean absolutely nothing to them, and then they cut you off.

I watched my brother and dad have their first exchange in over 7 years tonight. My dad gave him a hug, and asked to reconcile because he missed his son. He actually said, "yeah, okay. I have your number still. I'll call."

He looked over at me once. Neither of us said anything to one another. He saw Hayden and went, "Woooow, that's Hayden! So big!"

I felt nothing, seeing him. I kept waiting for some type of emotion to emerge - maybe a tear, maybe anger, maybe even excitement to say hello, but no. I felt flat. Indifferent. Part of something surreal.

I know now that I felt nothing in that moment as a result of hitting my "freeze" zone. You should Google: "Fight, Flight, Freeze, & Fawn." There's two stress responses that our educators left out in school. All of them are defense mechanisms deployed by your nervous system.

As I recall that fleeting moment from tonight's grocery store run, I feel sadness. I also forgot to grab my fruit.

[funandexploring]

Tw: suicide mention - vent post

I wanna quit my job so bad but I can't! It's stress inducing, but it pays me enough to keep my housing. If I quit my job for a different one, I run the risk of no longer having housing. None of the other jobs in my area pay as much, remote or otherwise. There's actual bile in my mouth whenever I have to clock in but I'm held hostage until a better opportunity comes along

Even if i took the risk of switching jobs for lower pay in the hopes the job would also be less stressful, I'd also have to have an added expense of driving to the other jobs. I'm working from home right now and haven't had a car since an idiot ran their red light and tailboned me 😑 I'd have to take a pay cut AND THEN ALSO add an additional expense of a car payment, insurance payment, and gas payment that I didn't have before. The stress will still be there, just for a different reason!

I could get a roommate but I haven't found anyone who's willing. All my friends are either in a 1 bed with their partner, a 2 bed with their kids, and/or have leases that don't end until months after mine and I'd have to finish my lease (and stay in this job anyway) and THEN couch hop for a few months AND THEN hopefully join up with them on a new lease for a larger apartment if the offer still stands and they haven't found partners and changed their minds on me like has happened before

I could wait for the glorified revolution but if it doesn't both start and END by October 2024 so there can be better job opportunities to choose from with unions that have already forced companies to fair pay for employees and better Healthcare for all attached to it then I'll still be in this mess in a way I'll have to fix on my own...except for the options listed above that already have issues

Honestly I miss being able to say I'm gonna fucking jump when shit like this really hits me. I can't leave a shit job cause no one in charge in any industry cares about paying their employees a living wage and they keep experimenting with how few people can run the place without losing revenue so even if the job pays for housing, you still wanna jump ship anyway from stress

I've been different levels of depressed for long enough that I can notice when it gets worse and I'm honestly so close to quitting and risking homelessness and a potential eviction on my report instead of staying at my current job cause I just straight up can't do this anymore but I know the homelessness would be worse and I CANNOT go back home. My mother literally yelled about never being able to get rid of me TWICE!! I don't care how nice she's been since - moving back isn't necessarily the "better, cheaper, surrounded by love" option other people have. I'm not going back. But I also can't afford to keep going. And I also can't afford to shift direction. And I have absolutely no money for school and no clue what it'd be for anyway

I'm so tired. I may have an actual breakdown the next time someone asks me "how I'm doing." I'm just...so done with this place

[ultravariety]

i decided to pay for linkedin premium since i thought it would help my chances of getting a job but it's really not helping. i keep seeing different posts from people, not just on linkedin but pretty much every social platform talking about how hard it is to find a job. and the amount of times i've gone out for food and the person before me is asking if they are hiring.

i'm still watching the bear season 3 but napkins... i cried. tina's struggle was so real and i was sobbing. and the coldness you encounter during the entire experience. it's so rare to feel like you are getting anywhere.

i've generally just been depressed about the world.

america and it's government for one. it's hard to watch. i think it's even harder to watch the vote blue no matter who crowd. i used to be a staunch believer in being an active participant in voting but ever since i saw that comment that was like "they encourage you to go through their systems for change so that you are stopped in the system" (not exactly but you get the gist) made me rethink it. why bother voting for the change we need when no one is bringing it to the table? it's hard to watch someone BEG for "vote blue!! vote BLUE!!" when active genocide and disenfranchisement has been happening under blue. like.. on god... are you dumb? blue or red you are FUCKED.

i love taking the opportunity to criticize the american government so it's hard to listen to people reinforce the system. voting isn't even equal!!!!! should've been your first clue that it's all fucked up!!!

maybe controversial, but we should start killing people. i wish death upon my premier. may his dumbass choke and fall down several flights of stairs.

i'm so serious tho. it's liberal brain rot to think we can hold hands and peacefully reach a "proper solution" to any issue. we need to start throwing bricks

OMG and the supreme court!!! kill them fuckers too!! everyone is so old and lame, i'm convinced if a firework blew up next to them they would go into cardiac arrest. honestly that goes for all of them, presidential candidates, government employees. all old asses need to GO. yes i am being ageist on this one. no i do not care, get them to do a cognitive function test before they get to work.

i hate it in canada too. and it's so fucked bc the problems just keep compounding and no politician is for the people. pretty much every politician is either a landlord or related to a developer so the housing crisis will never get fixed. and every monopoly insists of making life unbearable here. why was my phone bill $63? because they can. groceries? so expensive. and public transit is dogshit. and they are taking away culture centres too.

i expressed wanting to move away. my shortlist is spain, portugal, the netherlands or brazil

brazil seems to be controversial anytime i talk about it but it feels like people don't think south americans are people sometimes. "so much crime, corruption, it's dangerous, you can't trust".... i have to wait 3 years for 750m of road to be repaired. cops are always just lounging at construction sites. there are way too many charities and foundations set up by billionaires for tax write offs. assaults on transit are so much more frequent. healthcare is getting less and less funding people need to pay for services. kids are stupid as hell because education is also underfunded. mass immigration is burdening social services because we don't have enough resources to accommodate these people AND immigrants who are mostly international students are being targeted by universities and colleges so they can charge ridiculous tuition and leave them with no support. so as if it's really any better here.

and yet, when i talk about wanting to leave, everyone has an opinion. "oh it's not really that great there, it's over hyped" "it's still expensive to live there" "you won't have anyone" pls. i barely have anyone HERE.

i don't feel supported on decisions i want to make for myself. they are selfish wants so yeah i get it, but i don't care. i want it for me!!!! i am miserable!!! my mental health is in the gutter and the more time i'm subjected to living at home, the worse it gets. i'm drowning and people keep high fiving me instead of throwing a life support.

and more than anything, the lack of support makes me doubt my ability to do anything. maybe i'm not capable of finding a better job? maybe i'm not even deserving of better? is this just my burden to bare? will i never escape?

it makes me wish i was dead instead. rather be dead than live through all this. not even a glimmer of hope. there is not light at the end of the tunnel. i rather be dead than have to live all these years just for the pay off to come when i'm 50 or something. that's 20 more years of pain? no thanks.

all this to say, i know im not alone on this. many people are in my scenario. they are probably handling it better than i am. i'm not good at this - i'm not patient, and clearly not optimistic. i feel like i'm reaching the end of my rope.

[casspurrjoybell-33]

Taming Arrogance - Chapter 29

*Warning Adult Content*

The host seats me just twenty minutes shy of the reservation put in place for Blake and Phil's dinner.

Of course it's a table in the private, side room of the restaurant, a room where only the cream of the crop are allowed to eat.

Everything is pristine and the waiter offers me a complimentary glass of wine as I pull my chair up to the table.

'Free liquor? Hell yes. A second glass in which Blake or Phil will have to pay? Bring it on.'

My foot bounces up and down, eager to see the look on both Phil and Blake's faces when they see me sitting at their table.

After securing the reservation with the concierge of the hotel, it was easy enough to call the restaurant to request that an additional chair be added to 'Mr. Benson's reservation.'

'Neither of them has a clue. Really though, what's the issue?'

Blake dropped me off at the hotel earlier as a favor or so he claimed.

He could see how tired I was getting and wanted me to get some rest before allowing me to do as I pleased with my evening.

Besides, Blake never specifically said he didn't want me around for those later appointments.

So here I am, rested and prepared as fuck to 'enjoy my evening.'

In just under five minutes, both of my wine glasses find themselves empty and in need of a refill.

I glance around the sparse tables in this private room.

Most of them are empty except for an older couple seated near the back.

Both of them look bored, neither caring that every bite of food they slip past their crusty lips costs more than a new T.V.

The waiter visits my table again, this time offering me a piece of bread.

"I'll pass on the bread," I say.

"But I'll take another refill. On each."

He blinks and studies my overactive foot tapping.

A curious grin tugs on the edges of his lips but he simply gives a nod of consent before walking away.

'Dude must think I'm a lush or a Wine-O, at the very least.'

Truth be told, I've always hated the taste of wine.

Jared used to tell me that once you got used to the flavor, the beauty of wine is endless.

I lick my lips, the remnants of the bitter liquid festering in my mouth and reminding me of the smell of week-old garbage but hey, it's expensive as hell and racking up the bill for Blake's dinner tab.

In other words, it's bittersweet garbage.

A familiar voice catches my attention and all thoughts of wine disperse for the main attraction of this evening.

My heart thrums against my chest and I stand, turning to greet the other two members of this dinner party but it's just Blake.

He glances around the room, his gaze ending with me.

Just having his eyes clashing against mine turn my insides to liquid.

Half of me wants to greet him with open arms, begging him to take me back to the hotel and pick up where we left off this morning.

The other half wants to clock him square in the jaw.

I can't help but notice that my boss did in fact take the time to change his outfit.

His earlier suit has been exchanged for an all gray one, grey slacks, gray pants, a light grey undershirt shirt and a dark grey tie.

'He looks 'fuck me' good, yeah, never said that before.'

I heard Jared say it a few times and I never wasted the opportunity to chide him for it.

This time though, it kind of fits.

Blake adjusts the cufflink on his left wrist and breaks our gaze to study the multiple glasses of wine in front of me.

"I see you've been waiting on me for awhile?"

"A bit."

"Hmm. Well, I must say I'm quite impressed at your sudden change in punctuality."

My blush deepens, I have conveniently put myself in the middle, forcing Blake and Phil to sit across from one another, whenever Phil shows up, anyway.

Blake takes the seat to my left and pulls up to the table with a slow grin.

The waiter waits until Blake settles in before rejoining our table.

He sets my double refill of wine in front of me, sweeping away the empty glasses with a finessed touch and Blake raises a brow.

"Thirsty?"

My spine straightens and I glare back at him.

"Parched."

The waiter clears his throat, offering up both Blake and I a black menu.

He prattles off the specials and nods when he's finished.

"I'll give you both a minute to look over the menu. Can I offer you anything to drink, sir?"

Blake shakes his head and waves him away, muttering something about how this table already has enough wine glasses.

If we weren't at such a fine dining establishment, I'd probably be delving out a swift shin kick at his snarky but totally valid, comment.

I pick up my glass of wine, downing it almost as quickly as the one before it.

I can feel Blake's eyes on me, e doesn't seem puzzled that I'm here, then again, not much fazes the guy.

He knows how to keep a cool head and a professional attitude whenever the situation calls for it, it's annoying as hell.

Instead of using my napkin, I wipe any remnants of wine away from my lips using the back of my hand.

"So where is he?" I ask, trying to hide the anger in my voice.

"Where is who?"

"The guy you're supposed  to be having dinner with."

Blake leans back in his chair, he flattens out his tie against his stomach and the gesture reminds me of our morning together.

I know exactly what that stomach of his looks like beneath those clothing.

It's lean, firm and... 'focus. Stay focused, Callum'... I grab for my wine again.

"He's here," Blake says.

My grip on the glass tightens and I glare at the deep red liquid sloshing back and forth.

Of course he's here, e's probably checking his coat or taking a piss as we speak.

"He's sitting right next to me," Blake adds.

'Wait. What?'

Blake fidgets with his cufflink and a small blush blooms in his cheeks.

He purses his lips, debating on the right words to say to me.

Then he folds his hands together and rests them on the table.

"I have a confession," he says quietly.

"And before you get more upset than you already are, I want to apologize for not just telling you on the phone earlier," the words catch me off-guard with unwanted uncertainty.

So this is it, he really was planning a date with Phil.

Did the hotel inform him last minute that I'd be here and then he canceled with Phil because he knew I'd be here?

My pulse speeds up slows down at the same time.

Maybe he's here to tell me he wants Phil instead, maybe they're getting back together.

Just thinking the words makes a knotted ball form in the pit of my stomach.

This... this right here is exactly why I don't do relationships, it's why I don't do feelings, it's why I don't...

"I was the one who sent the note to the hotel," Blake whispers.

"Not Phil."

I freeze and then my eyes flicker to him in disbelief.

Blake reaches over for my spare glass of wine and nods at it.

"May I?"

I give him a stiff nod in return and he brings the edge of the glass to his lips, taking a large sip before setting it back on the table.

His Adam's apple bobs up and down with sheer masculinity.

"I knew and still know, that you need time to sort things out, Callum. I know you need time to choose but after our morning together, the thought of you flitting off to have an evening with Cade didn't bode well with me."

All the puzzle pieces begin to settle into place.

It seemed odd that Phil would leave a message at the hotel, especially since I knew they have could have just as easily texted each other, yet it still seemed plausible.

Perhaps Phil was just trying to be romantic or maybe Phil knew I would be the one to read it and wanted to piss me off but all along, it was Blake?

My cheeks flush with embarrassment, I acted like such a fuckin' idiot earlier.

When I was on the phone with Blake at the hotel, he must have heard how upset I was and yet he played the fool, he acted like he was clueless, when really?

He sat there listening to me in pain and knew he was the root cause of it.

"Why?" I ask him.

"Why the fuck  would you do something like that? What, couldn't you have just asked me on a date like a normal fuckin' human being?"

Blake grimaces and picks up his wine again for a second sip and guilt lines his features.

"If I had asked you on a date and you had turned me down for him, I just, the thought of it was driving me crazy but I figured if you knew I might be out with my ex, maybe you'd make the choice for yourself to turn down plans with Cade to be with me. I didn't want to guilt you into a dinner, Callum. I wanted you to want it for yourself."

I blink back at him.

His words are sincere and his voice is tinged with enough guilt and regret to sink a ship.

His blush deepens the longer I scowl at him and he fidgets with his cufflink again.

"I know," he continues.

"I'm a jealous prick. I know I am. I never used to be but now I am and damnit, Callum I am sorry. I really am. Hearing how hurt you were on the phone made me feel like the smallest man on earth."

'I feel angry, stupid, played but above it all, I feel relieved, I feel wanted.'

Only minutes ago I was clutching onto the fear that Blake was planning on leaving me for Phil.

Yet all along the purpose of tonight was simply to get me to go on another date with my very clever and very over-the-top boss.

Granted, he's still a fucking idiot but he's kind of a sweet one.

My shoulders relax and I pick up my glass of wine.

I nod for Blake to do the same and he follows suit with hesitant fingers, holding his breath to wait to hear what I have to say.

"To us," I say, lightly tapping my glass against his.

A wave of astonishment passes over Blake's face and he readily accepts that for a toast.

"To us indeed."

A comfortable silence settles over us until the waiter returns for our order.

Blake sends him away once again, instructing for him to please not return until we wave him over.

The waiter looks between the two of us and backs away from our table without question, though I'm sure a million and one questions are pummeling through his mind.

'Hahaha, if he only knew.'

"And I want you to know that I still realize you need to spend time with Cade. It's only natural that."

I lift my hand to stop him.

"I'll stop you right there. I won't be spending any time with Cade."

Blake blinks back at me, his posture stiff.

"What?"

Whether it's the wine, Blake's confession or observing the boring old couple near the back, I realize I've waited too long to say the words that I knew to be true months ago.

"You're a fuckin' idiot," I say with a breathy laugh.

"But Cade, he isn't you, so I don't want him."

Blake stares at me and beneath his dark eyes is a look and an emotion I didn't realize I had been missing or wanting, all of these years.

"What are you saying, Callum?"

I shrug and my pulse quickens admitting my own confession.

"It was you all along. I choose you, Blake, just you."

[libertyreads]

Book Review #113 of 2023--

Iced Out by Veronica Eden. Rating: 2.5 stars.

Read from September 2nd to 6th.

Before I get into anything about this book, can we talk about how I got sold on it by a Tumblr post about hockey romances, bought it, completely forgot the premise, and then when I went to write up my TBR month got it confused with another book also called Iced Out? I wrote up a synopsis for that other book. Ugh, why am I the way that I am? I have no clue. Let me know if you ever figure it out. I also spent way too long (for me in particular) trying to read this one. I started it on Sunday and got one chapter in before I couldn't focus anymore. My husband and I are starting the house buying process and the sheer stress I've been under has turned my brain to rot. I read one chapter (11 pages) of a hockey romance but then put it down for the weekend because I couldn't focus. Huh? This genre takes the least amount of focus for me and I couldn't do it? That's not a great sign for the rest of the month.

However, focusing on the book, I want to mention that I had a sort of love/hate relationship with this one. I had so much fun in the beginning with watching Easton attempt to woo Maya since she had sworn off of hockey players following a bad break up years ago. I loved how slowly her guard lowered and seeing her try to avoid getting feelings. And the way he was instantly all about her and just waiting for her to decide to give him a chance? Ugh. Yes please. But that was only about a third of the novel and it wasn't enough of the angst. We all know I'm an angst driven reader. I don't know when it happened, I don't know why it happened, I don't even WANT to know what it means about me. But I could have easily read another 50 pages of the 'Will they/won't they?' I also really enjoyed all of the side characters/hockey players and the hockey house seemed like so much fun. Which really makes it sound like this book should get a higher rating from me. But wait. There's more.

Between the sheer volume of sex scenes and the kinks that are explored in them, I could hardly read this book. I DEFINITELY had to stop reading it on my breaks at work. I swear I looked like a fucking stop sign while sitting in the break room and reading about things I do not like. I get that everyone is different with what they enjoy, but as an asexual reader who sometimes likes to pick up a spicy sports romance? It was way too much for me. Which sucks since I enjoyed almost literally every other aspect of the novel. I just cannot get over the things this author made me read with my own two eyeballs.

I think part of it is a me thing, but, in this rare instance, I also think I wouldn't be alone in saying that the sex in this book is just too much. Too many scenes, too many kinks. It's a lot. I think this had an opportunity to be a great read for me since this is one of the few hockey romances I've read that doesn't make me want to sit the author down and explain how the sport actually works. But if anyone has any other hockey romances to recommend I would really appreciate it.

[the-blind-assassin-12]

I'm late reblogging this and for that I am sorry but let me take this opportunity to IMPLORE anyone who hasn't read this story yet to hop on board (literally, this is a ship you DEFINITELY want to be on) because even though things are just getting started here, this story is already SO DAMN GOOD.

First of all, it has been my PLEASURE to get to read parts of this story before you posted it, and I am HONORED and DELIGHTED to be an Oberyn resource, even though you have such an excellent grasp on him and his speech patterns and what makes him tick yourself. This - like all of your carefully crafted stories - is one that is VERY worth telling, and I will happily repeat that every day until it's finished.

Secondly, I'm always blown away by the way you so effectively immerse us in whatever world/situation you're writing about. You slip into the GoT world so seamlessly with your descriptions and dialogue that it's easy to imagine that I'm Reader, living in a world and experiencing things that I've never seen or felt or heard but it all feels very real and tangible.

Waking up in this situation is an absolute nightmare. Surviving the shipwreck was terrifying on its own, but being the only survivor and not knowing if or when or how help is coming? Having to wait out death on the open water? That would be truly awful. I don't blame Reader for thinking about an exit strategy here, because sharks and sea monsters would definitely be preferable to the elements after a while. But I am very glad that it didn't come to that, and even MORE glad that my savior came in the form of a soaking wet Dornishman. I'll be thinking about him climbing into the boat with that wet shirt clinging to his muscles for the rest of my life, so THANK YOU for that image specifically.

Waking up in a comfortable bed with all her wounds tended to and feeling MUCH better than she did previously would be a very welcome way to wake up for Reader - getting to do all of that and then immediately see her handsome hero sitting there? Knowing how concerned he was about her? That's best case scenario. Well I guess best case she'd know her identity and all that, so we'll call it less than ideal but still VERY MUCH improved case scenario.

You know what else I'll be thinking about forever and a day? The palm to palm fingerlaced salve application method. That is so... AUGHHHHH GOSHHHHH IT'S SO HIM IT HURTS. (no it doesn't, because he's using the good stuff from Dorne so it actually feels heavenly) I just love how compassionate and caring you always write him. That is one of my favorite things about him as a character, and you always highlight that aspect of his personality so well and this is just one really excellent example of it.

I love that this story is part mystery on top of it being a high seas adventure. I love the way Reader is trying to piece together the clues she wakes up with - the coins in her boots, the little carved birds (I'm actually obsessed with those) the stamped metal symbol - to try to figure out who she is and where she was going. I love that this heroic captain is on her side. And yes, I would LOVE a tour of this ship. Let's fucking GO.

Rachael, this story already has me hooked like a tuna. The anchor has be dropped in my heart. The sails are - okay you get the idea. I love it a whole heck of a lot. Thank you for writing and sharing yet another wonderfully written story for us to get lost in.

Fool's Gold 1: Weight Like Waves

Pairing: Pirate Oberyn Martell x Female Reader (with a twist)

Rating: M for now - but that will change later.

Word Count: 5,024

Summary: Adrift on the water, you're forced to confront some difficult thoughts - and realizations. Help appears when you least expect it, but with that help comes many, many new questions.

Author's Note: I'm so glad that people liked the intro. I hope you continue to enjoy this story, and where it goes. As the chapters continue, you'll start to see the differences between this Oberyn and the show's version and just how much I've adjusted things.

Thank you to all for the feedback and the response. I'm so excited to post more of this. If you want to talk about this story (or any of my others) please feel free to pop into my inbox or DMs!

Many, many thanks to my go-to Oberyn source @the-blind-assassin-12 for reading through the entire draft of this story (so far!) for me and assuring me that it's a story worth telling - and that Oberyn's as he should be. I trust no one more than you when it comes to him.

Chapter title comes from "Salt" by Caligula's Horse.

Fool's Gold Masterlist

The sun rose for the third time, and as the light hit you, you groaned. 

There was little to protect you in the boat, and through it was only portions of your skin that were exposed, they hurt. 

You knew that you were suffering from exposure - both wind and sun, and that you had burns on your back from something - if the scorched material of your dress was anything to go by. You also knew that you’d hit your head, thanks to the lingering, throbbing pain and the crusted-over wound on the back of your skull. 

But you had no idea why you were alone on the sea. 

You remembered nothing concrete from before the moment you’d come to, a small pool of blood sticky beneath your head and your clothing mostly dry. There were flashes - flames and screaming, high stone walls and a tidy bedroom, along with a smiling, dark-haired woman and green eyed man - but nothing else. You didn’t know your name or how old you were, or where you came from. You didn’t know how you’d managed to find yourself adrift, or where you were. 

The contents of the bag at your waist only served to confuse you more, though the jeweled handle of the dagger inside was well made, leading you to believe that it was worth a great deal. It gave you something to trade when - and if - you ever reached shore. Through the waves of nausea and pain, you wondered if the mark on the bottom of it would help anyone recognize the smith that had crafted it, potentially pointing you in the right direction toward someone that knew who you were. 

You knew other things, though - and as you laid on your back and stared up at the cloudless blue sky, you repeated facts to yourself. You listed previous kings and queens, rattled off information about the different cities in the Seven Kingdoms and on Essos, and told yourself stories about who you might be and where you could have been from. 

It kept you occupied, and for the entire first day and night, it kept you from focusing on the pain and discomfort you felt. The second day was worse, and when you forced yourself upright for a few minutes at a time throughout the day, you were only able to focus on the sea and horizon briefly, using one hand to shield your eyes from the glare as you looked around for any sign of land. 

You figured the wound on your head was interfering with your memory, and hoped that with time, things would come back to you. If I have time. 

During the second night, you forced yourself to tear a portion from the back of your skirt so that you could cover your bare shoulders when the sun rose the next day. Even the lightweight cloth touching your skin made you hiss in pain, and despite the way you fought to keep your hands hidden in the folds of material, and as much of your face beneath the crude bench in the boat, it didn’t help when you passed out from the exhaustion and pain and didn’t wake even as the sun moved in the sky, heating you without anything to obstruct the light. 

On the third morning, you forced yourself upright again and swallowed, wincing at how dry your throat was and how much your cracked lips pulled, even with the small movement. A look down at your hands showed blisters and scrapes, and when you spread your fingers to investigate the spaces between them, you felt more pain there, too. 

Part of you wanted to stand and jump into the sea, letting the current carry you away from a prolonged death. It was likely that you wouldn’t survive that, either, because of how exhausted you were. But the boat - with no water or food, and nothing to protect you from the elements - semed more dangerous. 

“At sundown.” You sighed, wincing at the sound of your voice, the thin tone unrecognizable. “When the predators in the water are more active.” With another groan, you leaned back against the side of the boat and reached into your bag, pulling the wooden figures free and running your fingers over the surface, lingering on the broken beak of one of them. 

You wondered if someone had made and then given them to you. 

It gave you comfort to think that there was someone in your life that had cared for you enough to carve the birds so carefully. But the comfort turned to sadness as you realized that whoever they were, they weren’t with you. You figured that you’d been on a ship and that something had happened to it, but even that didn’t explain why or how you were alone, because the likelihood of you being the only person to make it into a boat seemed low. I hope you weren’t on the ship, friend. 

Blinking, you realized that you weren’t even able to cry properly. You ignored the pain as your fingers closed around the wood, curling your hand toward your chest. Lowering your chin, you sighed - only looking up at the sound of a distant bell ringing. I’m imagining things. 

You felt hope for the first time in days, but with the way that the rising sun was glinting off of the water, you couldn’t see the source of the bell. “It was just a trick of the mind.” Your voice cracked, the hope in your heart dashed. “There’s no one coming.” 

Admitting that hurt, but you reminded yourself that you only needed to make it through the day, and that gave you the strength to tuck the carvings away. While you focused on that, trying not to move your fingers too much, the sound of the bell came again … and that time it was closer. 

You shot to your feet, the movement sending a fresh wave of dizziness through you. Forcing yourself to stay upright, you turned in a slow circle, trying to balance your weight against the rocking of the waves … and then you saw it. 

It was a good distance away, but it was a ship, and when you squinted, raising your hand to shield your eyes, you saw that based on the look of the sails, it was headed in your direction. The hope flared in your chest again, and using the last of your strength, you lifted both arms and began waving them, ignoring the pain in your shoulders and back - as well as in your other aching joints. 

You collapsed a minute so so later, though you kept looking in the direction of the oncoming ship. When it rang the bell again, that time continuously, you allowed yourself a smile. They see me. They see me and they’re coming. 

You dozed in the time that it took the ship to sail closer, your body exhausted from the last motion you’d pulled from it. And when you finally opened your eyes all the way again, you saw that the ship was close enough that you could make out details - the sigil-less deep red sails, the gleaming hull, the carving of a giant, coiled serpent on the prow. Even your addled brain was able to put together the truth of what was coming for you. 

“Pirates.” Licking your lips, you moaned as you tasted salt and copper. You hoped that they’d be merciful, but knew that you couldn’t expect anything, and so when you heard a shout of man overboard, you didn’t open your eyes. 

It wasn’t until a few minutes later, when the boat you were in rocked violently that you pried them open, watching as a man came into view, inch by inch. 

You saw his hands first, fingers adorned with rings clinging to the side of your boat, followed by tanned forearms as he hoisted himself up. The top of his head was next, his dark hair plastered to his skull as he kept his chin down, grunting with the effort it took to climb into the boat without tipping it over. 

You stayed motionless as he tumbled in and then sat up, and could barely focus on anything but his body - the upper half of it encased in a button down shirt that was also molded to the shape of his torso, the collar of it lined in a dark, golden yellow. 

He breathed deeply and then turned his head up and toward the sky, giving himself a moment before he lowered his head and finally looked at you. You watched his eyes widen, the man taking in your appearance and parting his lips in shock as he assessed your condition. 

You were almost delirious with fatigue, but you still recognized that he was handsome - even waterlogged - and a small part of you was disappointed that you were making such a terrible first impression. Maybe a last impression. 

“Thank you.” You whispered the words, slumping over further against the side of the boat. “Thank you for finding me.” 

And then unconsciousness took you again. 

— 

The next time you woke, you were almost certain that you’d died and were in the next life. 

Everything was soft - from the pillow beneath your head to the sheets you laid upon to the clothing and light blanket that covered you. Your tongue moved to wet your lips and you tasted honey, the sensation forcing your eyes open all the way. 

You were met with hazy sunlight as it seeped through curtains, and when you turned to your side, you saw a pitcher of water and a cup sitting on the bedside table. Lifting one hand to reach for it, you winced at the pull of the skin covering your shoulders, and the illusion was broken. 

“You are awake.” The sound of an accented voice startled you. Despite your condition, you shot upward and into a sitting position, scanning the room for the source of the speech. You found it moments later, the man from the boat reclining against a cushioned chair in the far corner, his eyes on you. “That is good.”

He stood and moved toward where you sat, and though your first instinct was to shy away, you forced yourself to stay still, watching as he approached. He was wearing what looked like the same shirt he’d had on when you saw him for the first time - though since it was dry, you could see that it was a buttery, golden yellow in color, and that he preferred to leave some of the buttons undone. “Where am I? Who are you? A-”

“I am this ship’s captain, and you are in my bedroom.” He took a seat on the edge of your bed and reached for the pitcher, pouring water into the cup. “We brought you aboard yesterday. You slept and my healer tended to you. The crew quarters would not do for someone with the head wound you have, so I had you brought here, where it is quiet.” He held the cup out and you reached for it, but the man shook his head. “Let me. You’re still weak. You have not eaten.” 

It made you angry that you couldn’t do it for yourself, but you let him tip the cup to your lips, one of his brows arched as he watched you. You sipped from it, and before you’d had a chance to take too much, he pulled it away, murmuring that you needed to go slowly. “Thank you.” The water was cool and crisp, and you thought you tasted lemon, which surprised you. “And thank you for -”

“There will be time to say thank you later.” He held the cup up again, letting you take two longer swallows before he eased away. “Rest now.” Closing your eyes, you took a few deep breaths, thinking. Your head was clearer, though the pain still lingered, and when you lifted your hand to touch the wound, the man reached forward, his fingers closing gently around your wrist. “You won’t want to touch that.” 

“Why?” He was close when you opened your eyes, and you had to tilt your head back to meet his gaze. “What did -”

He didn’t let you go before he spoke, and he didn’t move away, either, giving you a small smile to go along with his words. “It was a deep cut. She cleaned it and stitched it, but it will be tender for a long while.” He held your gaze and you caught the sight of his tongue moving over his lips, yours unconsciously mirroring the action. “And you may call me Daavos.” 

Daavos? Alright. “Where are my clothes, Daavos? My bag? My boots?” The longer you were upright, the stronger you felt, your voice coming back. “What am I -”

“The healer and one of the other women onboard undressed and then redressed you after they tended to your wounds.” Women on a ship? He let you take the cup from him, releasing your wrist and then sitting up straight, both of his hands dropping to his thighs. Daavos gave you a chance to take another long drink before he said anything else, his eyes focused on the way you needed two hands to lift it to your lips. “You know my name and where you are … will you tell me yours? Where are you from?” 

“I…” You thought for a few seconds, eyes narrowed. “I don’t know. The first thing I remember is waking up and I was adrift. I don’t remember anything before that. I…” You trailed off and he refilled the cup, his chest rising and falling in deep, even breaths. “I don’t know anything about myself.” It stung to admit, and you understood that telling a stranger - a pirate - the truth likely put you in danger. But it doesn’t matter. I can’t run, where would I go? 

“The wound on your head must have done that.” He took a deep breath and held it. “It will come back. You just need time. Time and rest, and -”

“You sound Southern.” You bit your lip, ignoring the pain. “I’ve met men that talk like you before. I know … I know that.” He tilted his head to the side, eyeing you. “Where are we?”

“We are on the Narrow Sea, sailing south, and maybe a day’s journey from Dragonstone.” Your chest tightened at his words, but you ignored the feeling and nodded, your hold on the cup steady. “We’re sailing for Tyrosh, and that will take us a while.” The Stepstones. We’re heading for the Stepstones. “Let me see your hand.” You reacted to the command without hesitation, extending one of your hands toward his and watching as he took it gently between his own fingers, turning it over to get a closer look. “You have blisters.” He looked up, brow furrowed. “I’ll be right back.” 

He stood abruptly, letting go and then turning away from the bed after setting the pitcher back down on the table. You watched him leave, letting out a shaky breath. If he was a pirate, he was nothing like the ones you’d heard about, though you figured that his behavior might have been a ruse. But there was no reason for him to have put you in an actual bed, or to have taken the time to have someone clean and dress your wound if he intended to be cruel or do you harm. Unless he’s going to use me as a bargaining chip in Tyrosh.

You took a longer look around the room and saw your dress hanging from a hook on the wall, lips parting in a gasp at the sight. Your bag was with it, and when you craned your neck, you saw your boots on the ground, too. You were relieved that your things were there, but at the same time, confused, because it meant that someone had gone through them and then decided not to keep them from you. Strange behavior from a ship full of pirates. 

Moving the blanket away from yourself, you realized that you were in an oversized shirt. There were no buttons, but the front did cinch, giving you some modesty. It fell to mid thigh, and you were also wearing a loose pair of breeches, the knot tied tightly near your waist. 

He reappeared in the doorway a few minutes later, and you saw a small, round container in his hands. “Something for the burns.” He held it up. “If you will let me.” Dumbfounded, you nodded as Daavos sat back down and then set the container on top of the blanket, taking the lid off. “I spent time at The Citadel in Oldtown. I studied medicine, among other things.” He used one finger to scoop some of the contents from the jar and then held his other hand out to you. “This will ease the pain.” 

He worked methodically, coating the space between your fingers in the substance. You felt a cooling sensation as soon as it touched your skin, but Daavos didn’t stop there. He did the same with your other hand and then slowly eased his fingers between yours and bent them, the gentle pressure of his touch catching you off guard and ensuring that the salve reached everywhere. “Daavos, that feels…” You hummed when he pressed his palms to yours, finally looking away from your joined hands and back at his face. “What is it?”

“A secret.” He murmured the words, one side of his mouth lifting in a smirk. “It will not hurt you.” You believed him, and though the thought crossed your mind again that it was stupid for you to trust a stranger, you didn’t care. You were better off on his ship than in the boat - or in the sea - and so for as long as possible, you wouldn’t question your good fortune. Or refuse his help. “If you’re going to be on this ship, I’m going to need to call you something. Girl or woman won’t do.” His thumb moved slowly against your knuckle, and the man sighed deeply. “You will remember. But until then…”

“What if I don’t?” Your fingers curled, breath catching in your throat. “What if I can’t remember? Will you leave me in Tyrosh?” The thought of being on your own scared you, and for a few seconds, you wondered if anyone was looking for you - or if you’d actually lost anyone when whatever ship you were on had gone down.

“No.” He shook his head, tightening his grip on you. “I would not leave you there alone.” “Why? You don’t know me. You have no responsibility for my -”

“I saved you, and I am this ship’s captain, so yes. I am responsible for you until I know I do not need to be.” His smile widened and Daavos released your hands, using two fingers to scoop more of the substance out. “Lean closer.” 

You did, though you were unsure why you were so willing to do as he asked, but when he reached out and swiped his fingers carefully over one cheekbone and then the other, you gasped. 

“The blisters here are not as bad as the ones on your hands, but I’m sure they still hurt.” You nodded, closing your eyes at both the sensation of his touch and the way the medicine felt as it soaked into your skin. “There.” He hummed, and when you opened your eyes again he was sitting up straight and looking you over. “I’ll leave you now. Think about what you would like me to call you.” 

“Is there …” You took a breath, thinking. “Is there any way I could get something to eat? It’s been days.” He winced and then swore under his breath. 

“Of course. I’m sorry. I’ll have someone bring you something.” He stood then, picking up the container before he held it out to you. “Use this every few hours. It will help.” Nodding in agreement, you kept your eyes on him even after you closed your fingers around the jar. He said goodbye and headed for the door, but before he could leave, you stopped him, your voice stronger than it had been. 

“If I’m in your bed, where … where will you sleep?” 

“With the crew.” He leaned against the door frame, putting a hand on his hip and grinning. “Don’t worry about me. I will be fine.” He winked then, and before you could reply, Daavos was gone, the door closing behind him. 

You sat where you were for a few minutes, looking around the room and trying to decide what it said about the man. 

It was luxurious - the curtains were soft and gauzy, as was the bedding. The colors you were surrounded with were vibrant and rich - red and orange and yellow accented with gold. Wanting to get a closer look, you eased yourself out of bed and walked slowly across the room and to the window, pulling the curtain back. 

The water stretched out as far as you could see, small white-capped waves glimmering in the sunlight. It was beautiful, and when you closed your eyes, inhaling, you let your mind drift. 

The pain in your head was dull and manageable, and despite the sunburn on your hands and face, you felt better, thanks to the fact that your clothing had been changed and you weren’t exposed to the elements anymore. No new memories came back to you, and when you tried to force yourself to remember something, your thoughts turned to Daavos instead - and the memory of his kind smile and the way he’d touched you. 

That made you shiver, and even though you knew it was inappropriate, you couldn’t help it. He was handsome - his eyes bright and skin sun-kissed, the curls atop his head threaded with silver, as was his facial hair. He was a good swimmer and seemed strong, and if he was to believed, he was smart, too. The mention of The Citadel was proof of that, and for a few moments, you tried to imagine what could have made a man that studied there for even a short time resort to a life on the sea. 

Moving to where your clothing was, you bent over and picked up your boots, which were still damp. Tilting one toward you, you were surprised to hear the clinking of coins from within it. Dumping the right one out and into your hand, you gasped at the sight of four gold dragons and a few silver moons and stags. Your other boot was filled, too, with two more dragons and some copper stars. They cannot be pirates, this would be missing if they were. 

The dagger and the wood carving were still in your pouch, as were the other items that you’d found after waking up in the boat: a comb, two smooth, polished stones the color of bone, and a flat piece of metal stamped with a four pointed star that had a smaller one in the same style in the center. Could this be my house sigil? Rubbing your thumb over it, you frowned. 

Nothing came back to you, and with a snort of disgust, you stuffed everything back into the bag and turned toward the bed. Captain Daavos seemed certain that you’d remember things with more time and rest, and you wanted to believe that it was the truth. 

Lowering yourself onto the edge of the mattress, you set the bag down next to you and stared at your bare feet, still frowning. The rumbling of your stomach echoed through the room without warning, and you automatically moved to cover your belly with both hands, opening your mouth to apologize. But there’s no one to apologize to. Blinking, you relaxed and then lowered your hands, resting them on the blankets. 

You had no time to think through what that reaction might have meant because there was a knock on the door and a young man entered moments later, a small tray in his hands. “I brought you food.” Sniffing the air, you nearly groaned at the scent that followed him into the room, craning your neck to see what he carried as he got closer. “Captain says to eat it slow or you might get sick.” 

You mumbled a thank you and took the tray, setting it down on your lap. There was no spoon but you didn’t care, closing your eyes as you raised the bowl to your lips and took a small sip. You had no way of knowing if it was actually delicious or if you were just so hungry that anything would have tasted good. 

It didn’t matter. 

By the time it was gone, you felt much better, your stomach full and your entire body pleasantly warm. You were still dehydrated, though, and so you you drank another half cup of water before climbing back into the bed and curling yourself around one of the pillows. 

You didn’t want to fall back asleep because you felt like that was all you’d been doing for as long as you could remember, but you couldn’t help it. Only a few minutes later, you were sleeping deeply, your body resting for the first time in days. 

— 

You woke up later, gasping as you bolted upright in bed. The light was different, and you figured that it was nearing sunset, which meant that you’d slept for hours. Rubbing at your face, you stretched, rolling out your neck. You felt good, and with a tiny smile you stood up again, heading back for the window. 

It was a relief to feel that your body hurt less when you moved, which - to you - meant that you were improving. And that’s good. It’s really good. 

The sea was calmer than it had been, and as you watched the water you remembered a few seconds of the dream you’d been having - smoke in the air, the scent of scorched wood and the sound of something roaring. It made no sense to you, the fragments little more than flashes in your mind, and you hung your head in frustration and sighed, gripping the window’s ledge. 

There was another knock at the door and you spun to see who it was - but no one entered. That’s strange. The knock came again, and after clearing your throat, you finally spoke up. “Come in?” 

It didn’t surprise you to see Daavos’ face peering around the edge of the wood, his smile widening at the sight of you standing. “I just wanted to check on you. It’s good to see you out of bed.” He pushed the door open all the way and you saw that he was carrying a small stack of cloth over one arm. “I also thought you might want to put on something that fits you.” 

“I… yes. Thank you.” Stepping away from the window, you came to a stop in front of him. “That would be nice.” He set what he carried down on the bed and then gestured to the pile. 

“I collected a few things from some of the chests on board. They won’t be missed, but I had to guess at your sizes, so…” He tapped on his lips with one slender finger. “I’m sure not all of them will fit.” 

“I can always just put my dress back on.” You gestured at where it hung, frowning. “I know that’s the right size.” 

“It’s stiff with dried saltwater.” Daavos shook his head, not breaking eye contact. “It won’t be comfortable for you.” 

“But you’re wearing the same clothes you were in when I met you.” You gestured to his outfit, scoffing. “And you were in the water, too.” 

“Are they the same?” He stepped even closer, using one hand to touch the material at his chest. “Or is it possible that I have more than one of these shirts?” You had to laugh at that, the sound quiet and quick, but it was nice to hear it again. With some surprise, you realized that you were genuinely amused - your response wasn’t just for show. 

“I guess I just thought that on a ship like this, changing clothes often wouldn’t be necessary.” You shrugged, eyes on the V of skin visible at his chest before you looked up again. “I must be wrong.” His lips twitched but Daavos kept silent, waiting. “What should I do with the things I don’t wear?”

“I’ll wait for you in the hall.” He pointed, the smile back on his face.”When you’re dressed, come out. I’ll give you a tour, and I can send someone to take whatever you don’t choose.” That excited you, and you couldn’t agree fast enough. 

True to his word, he stepped out and into the hallway, closing the door behind him. It didn’t take you long to pick clothes. You settled on a pair of high waisted black pants that were made of a soft fabric and would tuck into your boots as well as a shirt similar in style to the one you’d woken up in, but in a different size. The sleeves were long and tapered near the wrists and it was light in color, unlike the dark blue of your dress. 

Stockings and your boots - which were almost completely dry - were the last two pieces you pulled on. When you stepped out into the hallway, you found Daavos leaning against one wall, arms crossed over his chest and his feet crossed at the ankle, head lolling to the side - and toward the bedroom door. Was he watching the whole time? “Are you ready?” 

“I am.” He pushed off of the wall and then turned to face you, extending one hand. 

You took it without hesitation, Daavos’ grip gentle as his fingers closed around yours and pulled you closer. There was no stopping your audible inhale, and unless you were mistaken, you saw his grin widen at the sound. But he said nothing about it, instead nodding once at you, his smile broadening. 

“Come. Let me show you my ship.” 

— 

[thedetectiveofinaba]

Naoto what is your opinion on the "Ace Detective" Aiga Hoshiidake?

“Sadly that name doesn’t directly ring any bells - but I DO remember one irritating person I met one of my cases at LAPD. He stuck to mind due to his… arrogance and ridiculous antics. His name is Luke Atmey and he was supposedly a self-proclaimed ‘Ace Detective’ who was supposed to catch a certain criminal called DeMasque. It was something he’d dedicated his life to and only did cases on that subject.” The thief she referred to stole expensive and valuable items from museums and exhibits and mr. Atmey always miraculously returned the items, but despite that he never caught the thief due to amateurish mistakes. It sounded plain suspicious and smelled fishy - and she, like Phoenix had been right in that matter. 

She doesn’t mince her words when saying how he brought disgrace and shame to private detectives like her and her colleagues in this industry. “His actions were unforgivable and simply put… insulting. To create crimes yourself so you can solve them and seem a genius is more foolish than starting small and proceeding eventually. Not to mention his attitude got the better of him and he even took a life to protect his stance.” She clenches her fist - even remembering the smug look on his face is enough to enrage her.

“I dearly hope he will rot in prison and after his sentence ends his reputation will be in pieces, unable to ever return to the area of expertee I am in. The only reward he deserves for his fraud efforts is a metaphorical ‘death’ and him losing every piece of respect he had.” Not that he had any after the whole murder case, his life was basically in pieces.

@thousxndpxths So I heard Akechi wanted to see Naoto roasting Luke Atmey? Here you go fam, you’re welcome~

[shankss-magnificent-ass]

Imagine earning your keep with the Beast Pirate

You: *gets dumped, face-first, on Kaido's ship by the weirdness of the grand line*

Kaido: *watched you eat shit on deck when you fell*

You: *doesn't move*

Kaido: You okay?

You: I think, I'm a little afraid to move. *Makes a small attempt* oh I'm fine.

Kaido: good good, now how did you get on my ship? You: your what now? *Looks round* Oh, I have no clue how I got here.

Kaido: I'm feeling generous, I won't throw you over board, but you'll be put to work later. In the meantime, join us for a shooting competition.

You: I don't know how to shoot.

Kaido: I'll show you.

A week later during a battle onboard the ship

You: *holding your own dual wielding pistols*

King: *getting ganged up on by several strong opponents and is struggling*

You: *finished off your opponent, and takes the opportunity to snipe all but three of them*

King: *smirks at you because you've exceeded his expectations*

Really large enemy: *scoops you up and throws you at King*

You: *grabs onto the nearest thing to stop yourself from falling, which happens to be King's wing.*

King: *jerks back when you scramble up his wing, onto his shoulder*

You: Don't mind me, *uses his shoulder as a snipers nest to pick off enemies*

At the end of the battle

You: We make a good team *grins over at him*

King: get down

You: of course *climbs down*

A few days later on an island to restock the pantries

You: *combing the stony banks of a delta when you find a fossil geode*

King: *taking a breather from gathering wood when you surprise him*

You: King! Do you have your katana?

King: it's right he- wait, why?

You: I need help breaking this open *shows him the stone*

King: *plucks it out of your hands and cracks it in half like it's an Oreo.* What's this?

You: what'd I get? *Stretches up onto your toes, trying to get a look at it.*

King: *shows you the shimmery fossil within* Where'd you get this?

You: Oh cool! That's an opalized trilobite! I found it on the shore, along with a bunch of other cool stuff. Anyway, that's for you. *Hopping down off his shoe*

King: for me?

You: yeah, it's a “Thank You” gift for not throwing or incinerating me during the battle the other day.

King: oh, no problem I guess, but how did you find this?

You: gotta know what to look for, come on I'll show you.

Later that night at dinner

Kaido: *Sitting with his all-stars watching you examine and sort your rock hounding haul on deck* What are they doing? *looks at King* What the fuck are you doing?

King: *also sorting and examining his rock haul.* hmm? Oh uh, they know about rocks and fossils and shit. They showed me a little about how to find them, see? *Shows Kaido his new collection like an excited crow*

Kaido: Since when have you two been buddy buddy?

King: *shrugs his shoulders and hands Kaido the fossil you gave him* look what they gave me for not incinerating them during the last battle.

Jack: you're running a protection racket on Kaido-sama's ship?

King: what no, they got thrown at me, and then they used my shoulders as a sniper's nest.

Queen: a protection racket is a good idea.

Kaido: *smacks Queen* I've never seen anything like this... Did they find anything else?

King: I don't know, they said they were going out again tomorrow.

Kaido: (y/n)! I'd like to go look at rocks with you tomorrow.

The next day

Kaido: *rummaging around the bank for precious stones* Is this a fossil or bone, I can't tell.

You: let me see *puts it on your tongue* it sticks, so it’s bone.

Kaido: There's no fucking way you can tell that way.

You: *shrugs* it's the way I was taught, and it's never failed me, you can also tell by the weight, a fossil is heavier than bone. But if it's not a fossil, who cares. If it makes you happy, keep it. *Hands him the bone back.* Oh! Mushrooms! *runs off into the tree line.

Kaido: *grumbles and shoves it in his pocket *

At the end of the afternoon

Kaido: *now considers you amongst his most valuable subordinates after he watches you dig up a large branch of fossilized wood with amber sticking out*

[bumblesimagines]

Green Thumb

Part 13

Request: Yes or No

~

You stared in awe as the jet flew into Wakanda. It had been even more beautiful in person. Most of the places you went to were cities. Wakanda had a lot of pretty views so you hoped you could at least stay for a day or two. You noticed the statue of a panther, humming softly before the city came into view.

"This place is gorgeous." Sam breathed out. You nodded, smiling softly.

"I bet you're more excited to see Bucky, huh?" Sam grinned, looking at you. You rolled your eyes, glancing at him and shrugging.

"So?"

"As long as he treats you right.. I won't fuck with him." Sam said, patting your shoulder. You shot him a look, raising your brows.

"Okay, I'll probably fuck with him a little." Sam winked, chuckling softly as the jet landed. You bit your bottom lip, trying to fight back a smile as you followed everyone off the jet. T'Challa and the Dora Milaje waited for everyone.

"Seems like I'm always thanking you for something." Steve said, shaking T'Challa's hand. Bruce cleared his throat, going to bow. You chuckled, shaking your head.

"We don't do that here." T'Challa said, waving him off. Bruce glanced at an amused Rhodes.

"How big of an assault are we expecting?" T'Challa asked, turning and walking towards the palace. Your gaze flickered around, looking for Bucky.

"Uh, sir, sir, a pretty big assault." Bruce responded. You met Wandas' teasing gaze, looking away with a soft huff.

"How we looking?" Natasha asked, glancing at T'Challa.

"We have my Kings Guard, the Border Tribe, the Dora Milaje, and..." T'Challa trailed off, motioning to Bucky. You smiled widely.

"A semi stable a hundred year old man." Bucky finished for him, smiling as he hugged Steve.

"I brought you a friend, Buck." Steve smiled, stepping aside. Buckys' smile widened when his gaze landed on you, arms opening. You walked forward, hugging him.

"Not the circumstances I expected but.. I'm glad to see you again." Bucky said softly, leaning back. You smiled up at him, feeling him gently touch your cheek with his new metal arm. Your gaze softened, gently leaning into his touch.

"Uhm.. When- When did this happen?" Bruce asked quietly.

"No clue." Rhodes answered, staring at you and Bucky. You stayed outside with Bucky and Sam, wanting to spend more time with him.

"I'll show you my place after all this. You'll be able to meet Aang and Korra in person." You giggled at Buckys' words, nodding. You had helped him name the goats he had bought after T'Challa got him a plot of land he could peacefully live in.

"We'll finally be able to watch the show together." You cooed, hand gently coming up to play with Buckys hair.

"Yeah, I can show you how to tend to the goats and you can help me start a nice garden." Bucky said softly. You raised your brows, grinning.

"Oh? So does that mean I'll be moving in with you?"

"Maybe.. If that's what you want, doll." Bucky replied, metal thumb gently rubbing your cheek.

"Yeah, I'd like that. You'll have to come with me to the family farm though. Everyones been dying to meet you." You told him softly. Bucky raised a brow.

"That's a first." He mumbled.

"So, are you two a thing or what?" Rhodes asked, motioning to you and Bucky. You looked at Bucky, waiting for him to answer though Bucky looked right back you. You stayed silent, head tilting slightly.

"Great answer, guys. Made me tear up a little." Sam said, watching you and Bucky. You rolled your eyes at him, feeling Bucky slither an arm around your waist, a cheeky smirk on his face.

"You two are big babies." You said, arms crossing. You looked up at the sky, frowning.

"Hey, guys?" The two looked up, seeing the chunk flying towards the city. Luckily, there was a barrier protecting the city.

"God, I love this place." Bucky whispered.

"(Y/N), come up. I'm gonna need you here protecting Vision." You heard Steve say, nodding. You licked your lips, hesitating before giving Buckys' cheek a quick peck. You quickly walked away, following one of the guards to where Vision was. You could hear Sam teasing Bucky through the earpiece, chuckling softly. You entered the room as the others left, glancing at Vision.

"You'll be okay." You said softly. Vision nodded, though he was unconvinced. You stood beside Wanda, watching from the window. Your brows furrowed when you noticed the millions of creatures running at the barrier. The first few died but some eventually made it in.

"I should be down there." You said softly. You turned your head when Shuri asked if T'Challa wanted to open the barrier. You swallowed, looking at Wanda.

"I'll be fine." Wanda said, giving you a nod. You turned, leaving the room. You quickly left the building, using wind to boost you into the air and towards the battle. You landed near Bucky, raised your hand and getting the stream of water to shoot forward, catching a bunch of aliens in it. You raised up the water, seeing the aliens trying to get out of the large bubble.

"Sam!"

"Got it!" You made the water let the aliens go, Sam shooting rockets at them and making them explode in the air. You moved your arm, moving it forward in a swinging motion and making the aliens infront of you fly back to the barrier, getting electrocuted and fried.

"Damn.." Bucky whispered. You grinned, shrugging lightly. You rose up into the air, hands moving in front of you and shooting out fire at the ones entering through the part of the barrier that was open. A spear like weapon came flying at you so you dodged it, only for it to come fly back and hit you. You got electrocuted, losing focus and falling to the ground.

"Fuck, that's gonna leave a bruise." You groaned, sitting up and rubbing your shoulder.

"You okay?" Bucky and Sam asked simultaneously.

"Yeah, I guess. Surprised my shoulder didn't get dislocated cause of that alien bitch."

"Woah, (Y/N)." Sam chuckled, shooting at some aliens.

"What? She threw that spear shit at me. She kind of deserves it." You noticed the aliens rushing towards you, bringing your hand up and above you. The ground below you broke off and rose, making you sigh in relief.

"Sam!" You shouted when he was knocked down by an alien. You lifted him up with air, glancing at Bucky. Sam was able to fly again so you focused on Bucky, bringing him to you.

"You okay?" You asked softly.

"Thanks for asking, (Y/N). I'm doing amazing." Sam said sarcastically as he flew by. Bucky rolled his eyes, panting softly. He had a scratch on his cheek.

"Kiss it better?" Bucky breathed out, head tilting.

"Not very hygienic." You replied, chuckling softly. You plucked a flower from the hovering chunk, resting it against Buckys cheek. It withered as the scratch healed.

"Thanks, doll." Bucky breathed out, picking up his gun and pointing it forward. You shielded your eyes when a beam shot from the sky, an axe flying out and hitting the aliens. When the beam went away, you spotted Thor. Thor and his two odd looking friends charged forward, attacking every alien in sight.

"Hop off, Bucky." You said, watching him nod and jump off. You let the chunk of ground drop on the aliens below you, cringing at the guys and blood the spewed out.

"That's nasty." You muttered, turning to face the others. You focused on a group of aliens attacking some Wakandans, one hand rising and using the air to make the Wakandans rise before the other hand moved to open up the ground beneath the aliens. You made the ground close again, safely placing them down. You felt the ground begin to tremble, seeing the trees being knocked down. Something rose from the ground.

"What the hell is that?" You watched it, noticing it looked like wheels with spikes. More rose up, taking out both aliens and people. Wanda flew down, saving Natasha and Okoye. You focused on one, making large roots fly up, raising the machine and wrapping around it until it was crushed completely.

"Guys, we have a Vision situation." Sam called.

"Someone go help Vision!" Steve said, punching an alien.

"I got him!"

"On my way-" You heard Wanda cry out, turning and seeing her rolling down at small hill. Natasha and Okoye were there so you weren't too concerned.

"I'll go too." You called, rising up and following Bruce to the small wooded area. Bruce took care of the big guy so you focused on the other guy.

"Nice seeing you here again, asshole." You mumbled as you landed. The alien sneered, glaring at you. He ran forward, swinging a staff around. You raised your hand, blasting him back with fire. You heard Bruce trying to get Hulk to help but it was useless.

"Useless without your powers, huh?" The alien stood.

"Yeah, I've heard enough of that in movies. I'm happy using my powers to kick your ass." You shrugged. He scowled, charging forward again. You let him get close, grabbing his staff thing when he swung it and grabbing him by the throat with a burning half. You could feel and hear his skin sizzling, staring into his eyes as he groaned. You cried out when something stabbed your thigh, letting him go briefly. He took the opportunity to knock you onto the around. He raised his weapon but Vision quickly threw him back.

"Are you alright, (Y/N)?" Vision asked. You slowly sat up, grabbing the handle of the dagger.

"Well, I just got stabbed but other than that, I'm pretty good." You breathed out, pulling the dagger out. Blood quickly spilled out of the open wound but stopped once you began healing yourself. You looked up, seeing Vision being tossed to the ground. Steve came running at the alien, shoving him back. You stood up, slightly limping towards Vision and helping him up.

"You can't fully heal yourself, can you?" Vision looked at you in concern.

"I'll be fine." You assured him softly, looking over at Steve. You thrusted your hand forward, making a root impale the aliens head.

"Thanks."

"No problem, Cap."

~

Tags: @geek-and-proud