#{SELF COMM}「Ego Death」

[godinmyhands]

Tag Dump!

[plusvanity]

Hii, a few posts back you said you have your opinions on Faust and Euronymous separately could you make a post on that?

Love your analysis :)

Øystein has an interesting personality. I talked a bit about him in comparison with Varg at some point because they do share a few characteristic features.

I would describe Øystein as ambitious, talented, creative, hard-working and a leader. I don't think he worked very hard (as Varg, for example) to gain admiration from the people around him, I think that his ingenious ideas and musical innovation attracted people naturally.

He knew how to make himself be respected by his peers because he was open-minded, understanding, and had an optimistic attitude (as many described him) towards life.

It's pretty clear that he wasn't as mentally unstable as others in the scene, but it doesn't mean that he had no issues. I believe he had a bit of an inclination to be people-pleasing while also trying to remain firm on his views and beliefs.

He was prideful, confident (especially about his music), enjoyed the position of power and influence in which he was but didn't abuse that at all. He was arrogant at times and full of himself, but there is a fine line between the character that he was playing (Euronymous) and the real person he was inside.

I see him as having a few narcissistic features but not enough to consider him in the NPD spectrum. He was also quite understanding (especially when Emperor got signed by Candlelight Records) and you don't really see full-blown narcissists being reasonable and understanding.

Unfortunately, because of his strong personality and leadership attributes (dominant, assertive), he managed to attract a very toxic person in his life that lately became his murderer.

The fact that he had a healthy relationship with his parents tells a lot about him. He seemed to have much more authentic confidence than Varg ever had as well as discipline. He seemed much more thoughtful about consequences than Varg, and this became apparent when he took a step back from a situation that would have brought him extra fame, but also MASSIVE implications (negative attention). He also closed his shop at the suggestion of his parents.

These attributes generally come from a 'good enough' household.

Later on, it's quite evident that he struggled with depression because of Pelle's death. There are some indications of 'self harm' and excessive drinking behaviour. But it is also possible that he had episodic depression in the time that Pelle was alive because we all know that depression and anxiety are socially transmitted mental illnesses (or at least we should know).

I personally find his implication in church-burnings a theatrical movement rather than a truly antisocial behaviour. So this makes me think that naturally, he had fewer violent impulses than he wanted to display to the public. In addition to this, he even tried to dissociate himself from the image that Varg's juvenile criminality was put on him.

He had an inflated sense of ego that I tent to see it as theatrical rather than real, but this is how they were 'playing the game' back then.

His coping mechanisms after Pelle's death were dubious, but it is what it is. There is no point in getting into details. People cope differently with trauma. Øystein tried to cope as best as he could.

This is a very rough summary of how I see him.

Now, when it comes to Faust, I know he was seeing Øystein as a mentor. He had a lot of respect for him, this is undeniable.

Now, not all people are able to commit murder, even if in self-defense. What Faust did was reacting on impulse. I don't know what was in his head when he did it, but he described in an interview as 'seeing himself out of his body as he was doing it' and this is due to adrenaline rush combined with the brain's inability to cope with what is happening on the spot. He dissociated at the scene and probably had a hard time believing what he did after that.

In the context in which Faust committed his crime, this is antisocial behaviour. Another detail that stuck out was how he described the incident. 'Stomping on his head' is nothing but cruelty and sadism, in my opinion.

I am not saying that he is in a 'certain way', but these are my thoughts on him for what he's done.

Remember that anyone who killed a person or an animal can do it again. This is a psychological fact. Maybe they will never repeat their mistake, maybe they will seek redemption, but once you've done something like this, you are very, very likely to repeat the behaviour.

I hope you find this useful, anon

[the-mercurial-star-o-vesper]

More Archetyping... WITH TRANSFORMERS!

Featuring: Soundwave and Starscream

So, to either everybody's shock or nobody's surprise, Soundwave and Solid Snake. Warrior-Soldier meets Spy (Snake as a PC, Soundwave as the Comms Officer), whose unique a form of quasi-psychic telecommunications (Soundwave reads minds / Snake and the CODEC... which does the same thing). Not particularly talkative, prone to speaking or repeating single word sentences.

( Off-Note 1: Gods know what was done or had to be said, for Solid Snake to be following Megatron. But I guess since Megatron ain't buildilng Metal Gears, Snake's just cool with the guy. )

( Off-Note 2: Soundwave would absolutely have a problem with nukes, nuclear radiation and EMPs--they disrupt communications, degrade and destroy recordings, and he's got cassettes to look out for )

( Off-Note 3: Otacon is just a Cassettecon. )

( Off-Note 4: Imagine Snake having a big cat, two buzzards, a bat, and twin Greasers as a team. )

( Off-Note 5: Philanthropy and the Decepticons? Sounds like a fanfic. )

This is the archetype of the Loyal Mercenary, high-endurance, high-wisdom. He serves Just Cause, but is impersonal towards people of either side of it--after all, people come and go, and today's friend is tomorrows enemy and no enemy is eternal. But being tomorrow's enemy doesn't mean you can't be friends today.

Leading the Cause isn't the point, the point is that you leave tomorrow better than it was yesterday. And the Cause must be just, it must have tenable reachable and viewable values laid. If he's too violent, the Cause abandons him. Too peaceful, and he abandons it. He follows those who lead the cause, the inspiration, but they may change their minds.

Inevitably, he will be left with the burden of either Leading the Cause, or the Cause leading to his death.

[ This does mean that he also shares an archetype with MGS3's Boss, just as Snake does. ]

Starscream is a bit tricky, because he's been made into his own archetype and trope as the "Obsessive Traitor". But I will go forth regardless.

Common situations associated with him are high intelligence-Low wisdom, high stress, anxious and temperamental, tends to either repeatedly die or get into situations that would result in his death. Ego a mile wide and growing.

That sounds like Leonard Church of Red vs Blue. Bastard even ends up a ghost within the first season.

( Off Note 1: Beep Boop, Casper. )

But ultimately, we're talking a character who is at, or represents, the cusp of undergoing a large change event, and is over-eager to get it overwith.

( Death in the nature of stories, like its tarot card, is an indicator of Change for both the characters and story. While the character who goes through it may come back, its a large enough displacement that may rewrite the whole character or the whole story. )

Perhaps Change is coming due to a failure of values. Perhaps its coming because the character's isn't in the right place. Eitherway, they seem to think the Cause they currently follow is the right one and is determined to lead.

As a character and not just a story-pattern, that means an overawareness of what can change you (Anxiety), and a consistent self-affirmness that they are unchangable / immortal (Ego) in the face of Death / Change. Change in relationships, change in status, change in nature--any change. They are a character whose sense of foundation is currently in flux.

Another character this is additionally shared with is Papyrus from Undertale.

Papyrus is the youthful variant of the archetype--he's yet to run into that first death, or already has and has yet to comprehend the experience. Starscream is the cynical variant, and is a lot more resistant to Death / Change as a result. And Church is the burnt out variant--too much, too soon, and he's already under gone death / change several times and will several times more before he can move on.

( Off note: Church and Snake in the same room? I'd love to be on that Codec conversation. How bout just Snake and Papyrus. )

[jinmukangwrites]

Handcuffed/Manacled

Fandom: Nightwing, Batman - All Media Types

Rating: M

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Tags: Self-Sacrificing Dick Grayson, Hurt Dick Grayson, Hurt Tim Drake, Tim Drake Whump, Dick Grayson Whump, Kidnapping, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Blood and Injury, Dick Grayson-centric, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Hopeful Ending, Hostage Situations, Near Death Experiences, Protective Tim Drake

Ao3

Summary: What started as a quiet night quickly turned sour when Tim's comms cut off without warning.

----

"I think I have a pimple on my chin, and I'm about to get violent about it."

Dick laughed, swinging under a fire-escape—it creaked, but he had swung under this particular fire-escape enough times to know it could hold his weight.

At the other end of the comms, Tim sounded bored. Well, he must be bored if breakouts, and not the fun jail kind, had suddenly become the topic of conversation.

"It'll get better when you're older," Dick replied, smirking to himself, his eyes scanning the regular shady alleyways of Blüdhaven as his grapple retracted, then shot off to the next practiced ledge with a jolt down his arm. It looked like it would be a quiet night tonight, not a crime worth punishing to be seen.

"I'm literally almost 20, N," Tim replied, deadpanned. "Also you can't talk. I'm pretty sure you've never had a pimple in your life."

"Not on my face, not really," Dick agreed. He could hear Tim's weight land heavily on puddled Gotham streets through the other end of the comm. Seemed like he, too, was having a slow night. "But bacne? Whoah-boy. Pretty sure I have one right below my left shoulder-blade, it's driving me nuts."

"You said it gets better when you're older."

"I'm still young."

Tim snorted. Despite the empty streets being the only one to see it, Dick grinned.

"You literally asked me what gyatt meant the other day."

"In my defense, I said I'm young, not that I'm twelve. Believe it or not, I'm also not terminally on TikTok."

Tim laughed, and Dick followed.

It wasn't often he could just hang out like this. Somebody was always busy, or somebody didn't have the social battery, or was getting over an argument, or was doing something with someone else, or there was a storm over Gotham and the connection didn't hold despite the constant fixes Barbara made to the system, bless her. Honestly, when he contacted Tim, the response "yeah I'm free" was a very pleasant surprise, especially after he'd just gotten a "not tonight" from Cassandra a few minutes before.

"So, how's it going on your end?" Dick asked. He let the swing of his grapple slow as the ground came up. He took a few running steps, carefully bending his knees, coming to a stop on solid ground as the grapple fully retracted into his escrima stick. He attached the useful weapon on his back next to its pair.

Tim sighed. "Is it bad I'm almost hoping someone's getting mugged with every empty alleyway I check?"

"Probably," Dick responded lightly, "but also, same."

"Of course I don't want anyone getting hurt, you know? But like, maybe just a little bit of threatening? Some yelling? Some asshole with too much ego needing to be knocked down a peg? I'm itching to kick someone in the face and I don't think that's something people should itch to do."

"Trust me," Dick responded, "I think I'd rather hear gimme all your money than you won the lottery right now."

Hindsight had Dick wishing he had some wood to knock on.

Tim started to ramble about how the most interesting thing he'd seen that night was a cat messing with a rat outside a doughnut shop, and Dick was strolling the quiet streets, a city away, a thirty minute drive at midnight, listening with a smile. It could have continued like this the rest of the night, and he would have been content. He would have said goodbye to Tim, stumbled into his apartment, did some stretches, ate a toaster strudel, then gone to bed happy. Bored, but happy. Glad no one needed saving, Nightwing wasn't a factor in life or death, he could rest, knowing the quiet nights were rare and precious.

Tim cut off in the middle of his ramblings, and tonight wasn't rare or precious.

"Red Robin?"

"I heard something. Just a sec."

He was whispering, voice tight, Dick could almost imagine the narrowed eyes behind white domino lenses.

Warm pressure washed over him, the physical feeling of a happy moment turning stale, starting at his ears, settling threateningly in his stomach.

Nearly a minute passed, Dick had to remind himself to breathe during it.

"Huh," Tim said, finally, voice shaken a little. "I could have sworn I-"

Static.

Dick was on the emergency channels before his heartbeat could finish its first stutter.

"Oracle," Dick said, "I've lost contact with Red Robin."

-o0o-

And that was how the nightmare started.

The last time he sped this quickly across the distance spreading between Blüdhaven and Gotham—often times too small, at times like this, too long—was when Damian had fainted at school. Nothing serious, apparently he had forgotten to eat and it was a hot day.

This was serious. Bab's was able to report Tim's vitals spiking, then slowing into unconsciousness mere seconds before any signal between Tim and the family cut off.

Every bat in the city scrambled. A fine oiled machine, like students practicing drills for school invaders; a machine that shouldn't have to be this oiled.

Dick took the west, ignoring how his ankles ached and his back ached and his jaw ached. Fingers creaked, ribs squeezed, stomach clenched. The sun would rise soon. Maybe a citizen or two would wake up for work and see a bat out and be baffled by it for a moment, then wonder if it's a sort of bunker down and call out kind of day.

He followed Tim's footsteps, checking alleyways, passing the doughnut shop with a rat corpse in the gutter, looking up at the pipes and gargoyles that had scratches from grappling hooks, some fresh, some very not.

The sun rose. It hung in the sky. It set.

Nothing.

He needed to eat. Everyone needed to eat. Damian was the only one resembling someone who could stand on their own two feet and it wasn't from a lack of caring but more from a responsible butler forcing the kid to go to school. Damian wasn't happy about that, the family had to move to a different channel while Damian argued over the comms for a solid 30 minutes.

Dick kept returning to the alleyway Tim's last location had pinged from, like if he looked again, Tim would be there that time. He was exhausted, to put it plainly. He was tired to the core, from the lack of sleep, and from once again, fearing for the life of a younger sibling. His eyes desperately wanted to close, but he knew that if he stopped looking even for a second, he'd see Jason's grave, feel Damian's blood, hear the silence coming from Stephanie's empty chair.

Not Tim. Not Tim too. Not Tim again.

Can't the universe let him catch a break? Or, at least, let it be him instead?

A grim thought. He had to keep looking.

There wasn't any sign of a struggle. No Red Robin branded weapons stuck in the brick walls, no dented dumpsters, not a single speck of blood. It was like Tim was kidnapped by the fabric of reality itself; glitched and removed, plucked out of thin air.

The irony and deja vu wasn't lost on him.

He sighed to himself, searching around the alleyway, poking at the same clueless details until maybe his fingers would leave indents in concrete.

Something blinked. Faint. Red. Rolled under a dumpster, near unnoticeable.

Dick noticed it. His blood ran cold.

He could hear Alfred get on the comms, demanding everyone return home for dinner before they do Tim no good by letting exhaustion win, but he ignored it for a second as he crept to the dumpster, reaching his hand under to pull out a small device no larger than the tip of his pointer finger.

Tim's comm.

He'd checked under the dumpster before. Several times. This wasn't there before.

It had to have been returned here. Purposely.

It was blinking like it was connected to something, which was impossible because Oracle said the signal was completely disconnected, and only she could connect it back to the family again.

He took out his own comm, wiped off alleyway water from Tim's, then replaced it in his ear.

"Is anyone there?" Dick asked, not knowing if he wanted an answer.

A second passed, he felt like he'd throw up.

A shaking voice responded. "N, go to these coordinates. Come alone, or he's going to kill me."

-o0o-

Dick went alone. He was instructed to keep on the earpiece, and that the kidnapper would know if he muted to warn the others.

The coordinates lead him to no special location at all. A thirty minute walk from where Tim had initially disappeared, a nook under the freeway where flood water could drain.

Not a soul awaited him there.

A blue backpack, abandoned—no, purposely placed—awaited him there.

Nothing was good about this. Tim had sounded weak and frightened to his trained ears, brave to anyone else. Dick felt like getting stabbed would hurt less than this.

He didn't care. He didn't know what else to do.

Tim had long since stopped responding to Dick after giving the initial instructions—the comm was mostly for the kidnapper to keep Dick under control—but he didn't need instructions to know that whatever happened next involved that blue bag.

He stepped up to it, hands long past the point of shaking that they're deathly stable as he unzipped it.

A device about the size of a pen greeted him. Thin, sleek, nothing special besides the tip being a very threatening button the size of a push pin.

"Gloves off," Tim whispered. "I- Nightwing- don't do it- I'm-" he cut off with a shout. The line went silent.

Dick didn't hesitate to take his gloves off and press the button.

Two things happened. The first was quicker, while the second was more physical.

The earpiece shorted out, and anything powered on Dick's body—his removed comm, his tracker, the sensors to his vitals, even the batteries to his escrima sticks—went completely dead.

He had just a millisecond to process that before nausea washed over with a prick to his thumb.

His vision swam, and he collapsed, black consuming him before he hit the ground.

-o0o-

"Just my luck," A modulated voice said exactly as Dick found himself waking up enough to comprehend words being said to him, "I've always wanted to meet Nightwing."

His arms were behind his back, wrists locked with tight bands of cuffed metal. Gravity told him he was sitting up, spine slumped against a wall, but sharp tugs in his hair told him that a hand clutched the strands, holding his neck up. He knew before he opened his eyes that the face of the speaker would greet him.

Or well, the helmeted face. Close enough.

Dick glared through the grogginess of fading unknown drugs. His face felt numb, tongue heavy, but the movement at least assured him that there was still pressure over his eyes.

The attacker regarded him back, faceless, unmoving, as if waiting for Dick to make the first move.

Dick didn't have a lot of options in terms of first moves.

So he took the moment to get a better grasp of the situation. He had a lot of practice with this kind of situation, it didn't take long to assess himself, the villain of the week, and the surrounding room.

He, himself, was fine. A little woozy from whatever drug was shot into his system, but it was fading with only slight lingering feelings of nausea, numbness, and weakness to the extremities. His hands were pressed between his back and the wall, his shoulder blades touching the faded wallpaper, making it clear his weapons had been removed. Other places that held weapons and tools were suspiciously light.

The person in front of him had a large, muscular build, in-between the range of Jason to Slade. Tall, closer to seven feet than six, combat boots, armored fabric suit, a gun strapped to a thigh the size of a basketball. The suit was nondescript, black, with the occasional gray accent, the armored fabric mixing with armored plates where organs are concerned. The helmet was nothing more than a glorified biker-helmet that wanted to look sci-fi.

All signs pointed to human and male, though meta wasn't ruled out yet. All Dick knew for sure was that this wasn't a run of the mill criminal; maybe something closer to a bounty hunter, or assassin, or some disgruntled asshole with a vendetta and actual knowledge of how to carry that vendetta out. Truly, the Slade vibes were strong with this one.

Dick couldn't see any other weapons on the attackers body, but granted, he was sitting on his ass against a withering wallpapered wall, head held up by a fist of hair, a helmeted figure crouched down staring back.

Behind the figure, however, was where Dick's eyes settled. The room was small, a hundred square feet give or take, comprised of cement floor, walls water-rotted and peeling, a door chipped and unkept. Between Dick and the door, however, was a collapsed body, dressed in familiar colors, cape tattered and clothes twisted.

Tim.

He laid curled on his side, hair waterfalling over an exhausted face. His arms were wrenched behind his back, no doubt restrained. What made Dick's gut squirm was the trail of blood dripping down an obviously broken nose, over Tim's tight lips, down his cheeks, puddled on the ground.

Fresh.

Dick's face must have done something with that observation, because his captor chuckled and turned their visor at Tim. "Poor boy needed come company."

Even modulated, the extra words allowed Dick to pinpoint the accent as American, West Coast. Not necessarily useful information, but hey, accents sometimes identified.

Dick tore his eyes away from Tim and clenched his fists tight enough the cuffs dug into his tendons.

"What do you want, you bastard."

An amused huff. "Nothing you can give me. I have you right where I need you."

"Why here? Why us?"

"The boy happened to be the first one I saw. You happened to be the first one to find my next trap. This isn't personal, bat."

Frustration pooled. "If you think this will get you Batman, or-"

The man laughed, letting go of Dick's hair and standing up. "Batman isn't my goal. I just need you here."

This can't be good. A villain wanting to get at Batman is one thing, a villain not caring about Batman is another.

Why capture them if not to interrogate them?

The man stepped away from Dick, and Dick felt his whole body tense as he stopped above Tim's prone form. Tim swallowed, then glared up at their captor.

Then their captor, with no warning, lifted a leg and nailed Tim in the stomach.

Tim choked off a breathless scream, and Dick found himself on his feet in the next moment. His vision, however, jolted, and his legs twisted around each other, tripping him up and having him crumple disgracefully to the hard floor with an irritated growl. Damn side effects of damn drugs.

Their captor chuckled, amused, and stepped over to Dick while Tim coughed for breath. A large hand wrapped around Dick's bicep then dragged him back to the other side of the room. Instead of just leaving him there, however, his hands were pushed down to the floor and the chain between his cuffs were locked onto something solid and unmoving. Some sort of bolt.

"Don't worry, it'll be over soon," The man said, stepping away from Dick, sounding full of himself and confident. The prick. "Play nice, and you both will get out of this alive."

Then, he left, stepping over Tim and leaving out the door, a lock sounding in his wake.

"Red," Dick called, the moment they were alone. "Hey, look at me."

Tim, his expression more out of it than what Dick's seen in years, turned his face toward Dick. "N... 'm sorry."

What had that monster done to Tim?

"No sorry," Dick said, forcing his voice to remain calm as he ran another scan along Tim's body. Nothing visibly violent greeted him back, nothing but the broken nose. Perhaps everything else was hidden under his suit, and perhaps the cocktail of a weak immune system, drugs, and captivity, didn't mix well. "I'm here now. Talk to me, what happened before I got here?"

Tim took a deep breath, stealing his expression and shifting slightly. "I- not much. He kicked me around a bit, only took me out of the room once to use the bathroom—blindfolded. Then he told me to... tell you to find his trap."

"Nothing about his goals? No questions or anything?"

Tim shook his head, then winced, spitting some blood from his lips. "Nothing explicitly said. I... think he has a partner outside, and I think we're just distractions."

"For what?"

Tim shrugged with the shoulder he wasn't laying on, looking frustrated and tired. At least the more he talked, the more awake he started to look. "It's a good plan if we are just distractions. When was the last time you slept?"

Ouch.

"I don't think anyone's slept," Dick responded softly, feeling like an idiot for being so predictable. If a distraction was the goal, then them both being captured will run the whole family down to the bones, cause them to lock up inwards and assume another will be next, focus in on the areas they disappeared from.

It could leave any number of targets around Gotham completely ignored.

"At least," Tim continued, "I think he's not going to kill us when they get what they want."

No, helmets and voice modulators and blindfolded bathroom trips didn't usually predict a homicidal villain.

"And if they don't get what they want?"

A beat of silence. "When I tried to convince you to not come... he broke my nose. No hesitation."

Great.

"Alright. We either hope they get what they want and let us go..." Dick looked around the walls, a single camera blinked back, no microphone. He lowered his voice. "Or we escape."

"How?" Tim asked, his voice going unimpressed, hinting that the boy had already been trying that.

Dick slowly sat up, angling his body so it didn't look too obvious he was hiding his hands from the camera. He wrapped his fingers around his anchor to the floor, the bolt wobbled a bit.

"Bolt's loose. I'll get my hands free, then I'll get us both out of here."

Tim relaxed a bit, relief a visible wave. "Sorry, but I'm glad you're here."

"It's okay," Dick responded, throwing a reassuring smile. "I'm glad too."

He'd rather be here with Tim than back outside, not knowing.

At least here, he had a chance to protect Tim.

-o0o-

The kidnapper, which Tim and Dick had worked together to nickname "Visor", returned about two hours later. Dick couldn't help but tense when the door opened while Tim gave a hard glare from where he had worked himself up into a seated position.

"The bats are widening their search a little too close to where I don't want them," Visor said as he walked in. "I need some incentive to drive them away."

Tim stiffened, his eyes traveling over to something Visor held, previously hidden from vision but now fully in view.

Dick stiffened too.

One of his escrima sticks was held in the enemy's hand, and the reason why wasn't hard to guess.

It wouldn't be hard to lure someone away from somewhere you didn't want them to be if you plant something elsewhere that would catch attention.

"You really think Batman would fall for something as obvious as that?" Dick asked, putting bravado into his voice and succeeding in catching Visor's full attention. "He's probably already figured out that this whole kidnapping thing is a distraction, planting something like that is just going to make it obvious that there's somewhere you don't want him to be."

He wished he could see Visor's face as the large man blankly observed him for a moment, it made it all the more unnerving when Visor broke into a low chuckle. "This is what I admire about you, Nightwing," he said, a smile in his voice, bringing his hands in front of his chest and running his fingers over the stolen weapon. "And what I was most looking forward to when I found it was you who fell for my second trap."

Cold fear settled in his belly. "What?"

"Your martyrism."

Then he turned and hit Tim across the jaw with Dick's escrima, causing the younger hero to fall onto the ground with a cut off shout, the blow coming as a surprise, the thud of his shoulder hitting the cement sounded like a distant roar of thunder to Dick's suddenly ringing ears.

"Hey- HEY!" Dick snarled, he couldn't help it, if Tim was shocked by the sudden violence, then Dick was caught in the whole lightning storm. He went to his knees, straining against the cuffs and the loose anchor. "I'm talking to you!"

Visor laughed, and it dug the pit deeper. "Now this is the cherry on top."

Dick had met plenty of sadists. He'd been held hostage by many of them. And yet, they usually took the bait, they usually ignored who Dick wanted them to ignore and went after him just to wipe his arrogance off his face. Sure, it cost him a straight nose, a scar here and there, a few weeks bedrest, but it was always worth it, because it meant he was the only one who got hurt. He did his job as the first Robin. As Nightwing. As the oldest brother.

But Visor had anticipated that, and instead of taking Dick's bait, he immediately found that the exact way to hurt both hostages the most was to keep Nightwing perfectly untouched.

He hit Tim again, but Tim didn't shout. He probably figured out Visor's goal was to make this hurt for Nightwing and had decided that keeping stony and quiet and brave would hurt Dick less. Tim had been through worse, after all. They all have. A beating with a glorified stick was nothing.

Somehow, it hurt more to see Tim glance at Dick, forgiveness and bravery and determination shining through those white lenses, than it would have been to hear him scream.

Dick wanted to scream.

He met Tim's eyes, and grinded his jaw shut.

By the time Visor had a satisfactory spray of blood across the escrima stick and left, humming to himself, Dick's wrists were slick and red beneath bands of silver, the anchor looser without him even intentionally trying.

And Tim laid still on the floor.

-o0o-

Hours passed again. Tim remained unconscious for most of it, even after Dick had tried and tried again to stir him with voice alone.

He watched Tim breathe, terrified one lungful would be the last, images of corpses and funerals flashing behind his eyelids every time he blinked.

He couldn't do this again. He couldn't endure another sibling's funeral. A part of him died with every one—there couldn't be much more of him left. Them coming back to life didn't revive those parts of him. Those parts haunted him in his nightmares, and if Tim... if Tim didn't survive this one... if Tim didn't survive because some fucker knew it would hurt more to watch... those parts would drag him under, and he knew he wouldn't try to swim back up.

He worked at the bolt holding him down. Visor wouldn't have another chance to hit Tim again. When he came back in the room, Dick was going to end this.

Near the end of the third hour, Tim stirred, groaning.

Dick quickly called for his attention, and Tim, bless him, did his best to respond.

"D..ik?"

His jaw was swollen. A tooth had been spat out a blow or two before the blow that knocked him out.

Dick didn't even care about identities right now.

"Hey, hey, you're okay. I'm gonna get us out of here."

Tim took a few deep breaths through his mouth, spitting blood onto the floor, not daring to move what must be an aching body.

"... kay..."

"Just hold on a little longer. You're being so brave. Just a little longer, I promise."

Tim, half conscious, in pain, put on something that must be intended to be a brave face, but it only broke Dick's heart more. Tim lost the fight with consciousness, and fell back into what couldn't be a painless slumber.

About an hour later, Visor returned.

The anchor wasn't loose enough to escape yet, and Dick had to swallow his panic.

Even with the helmet, Visor didn't look happy.

"How did they know," he growled, striding forward and grabbing Dick by the neck. "How did you tell them."

The pressure wasn't strong enough to choke, but it was just shy of becoming so. Dick should feel afraid of that, and yet, he only felt relief that in Visor's true anger, he walked straight past Tim.

"I told you," Dick hissed, the fingers oh so close to squeezing, he could feel it inside his throat. "You're an idiot to think they wouldn't catch on."

The replying sneer was audible, physical in a twitch of fingers. "That's where you're wrong, we planned for this. I have two hostages, you're my bargaining chip for a prisoner exchange."

Dick thinned his lips to keep from vocalizing that in the end, when it came to the Batfamily, prisoner exchanges never worked in the enemy's favor.

"I just have to show them I'm serious first," Visor continued, his voice lowering to an eerie promise, like rolling fog in ancient mountains. "I only need one hostage."

The words processed milliseconds too late, Visor had shoved Dick away and had walked back toward Tim, kneeling, hands reaching towards his younger brother's neck.

Something untamable tore out of Dick's throat, taking control over his body. His heart was a beast clawing at his ribcage, panic swallowing him whole. As Visor began to choke Tim, the boy too unconscious to give more than the body's sluggish, natural reaction, Dick began to pull at his chains, at the anchor, the pain in his wrists meaning nothing to the mere feet between him, and the monster killing his little brother.

"You fucking bastard," he roared, vocal chords straining with his wrists, his own shouting thousands of miles away, drowned out with the suffocating panic and the ringing in his ears. "Touch him and I'll kill you!"

Visor ignored him. Tim was twitching, eyes opening with pain and confusion, legs jolting and arms tugging at his own handcuffs.

Seconds passed. Seconds that engrained themselves into Dick's soul like an unwanted tattoo. Finally, as Tim's face turned red under the blood smeared on his cheeks, as his eyes began to flutter back shut, the anchor fell loose.

It was as easy as breathing to contort his body in a way that allowed his wrists to pass under his legs and in front of his body. He was running the next instant, crashing into Visor, bodies colliding in shouts and struggles, shoulders hitting the cement away from Tim.

Tim erupted into very painful coughs, and Dick... Dick couldn't bring the monster back in.

His fists wanted impact. His fingers wanted pressure. His skin wanted blood that belonged to the man below him.

Visor didn't make the bloodlust easy. He put his weight into struggling. There was a reason this man was able to capture not one, but two bats within their own city. He fought back like a demon fresh out of Hell, his own blows landing with promised swelled purple bruises across his jaw, shoulders, neck, stomach. At some point, he even managed to kick Dick off with a heavy boot, knocking Dick across the small room and slamming his back into the water rotted walls. He said something, something prideful and angry and arrogant, something that turned to static to Dick's angry ears.

He went to kick Dick in the stomach before Dick could get back up, but while Visor fought like a demon out of Hell, Dick had an older devil inside of him, one that's been caged for much, much longer.

Dick will make him wish he went for the gun.

The pain meant nothing, it didn't slow him down as he scrambled to his feet and jumped onto the larger man, wrapping his legs around his torso and flipping him down onto the ground, back under Dick, at the perfect angle for Dick to bring his bound hands up and down over and over and over again until the helmet cracked, visor shattered, splinters going into bloodied hands below bloodied wrists controlled by a bloody hatred that, after this, he knew would haunt him.

Visor tried to fight back, and he tried until he couldn't. He tried until his helmet fell off and his face was exposed, cheekbones cut, nose cracked, jaw loose, eyes terrified and half-lidded and losing focus.

Dick didn't stop.

He wanted Visor dead.

He didn't stop until a body crashed into his own, arms large and strong wrapping around his waist and tearing him from Visor and pinning him down to the ground, heavy hands on his shoulder blades, pinning his bound hands between the cement and his heaving stomach. Dick struggled, brain screaming at the sudden change.

"Get Red out of here, B!" A voice shouted above him, "I got him!"

The voice was familiar. Through blurred eyes, the form that stooped down to Tim was familiar too.

Batman undid Tim's restraints and carefully lifted the limp body into his hands, eyes barely casting a second torn glance back at Dick, who was completely pinned under Jason's weight, before leaving the room.

Dick breathed. He breathed like he'd been deprived of air for hours on end, windpipe bursting open, the edges fading.

His brain caught up with him. Jason had positioned himself perfectly, almost purposely, to obscure Dick's view to Visor. He didn't release Dick, and Dick knew why.

Jason understood this anger. This fury. This rage that took everything that made you you and replaced it with something you wouldn't recognize in the mirror. He kept Dick pinned, not speaking, not accusing, not comforting, just there until Duke and Cass arrived to drag Visor out of the room, eyes very carefully avoiding Dick like if they looked, everything they thought they knew about him would be destroyed and replaced with something unstomachable.

When they left, Jason jumped off like Dick was on fire, and Dick scrambled away like he was acid.

Silence filtered between the two of them. Jason stood near the door, as if afraid Dick would bolt, but in all honesty, Dick didn't have even a fraction of the energy to do something like that, even if the anger hadn't suddenly been replaced with exhaustion and self-hatred.

"Was he breathing?"

"Tim? Or Zeek?"

Zeek. That was his name? Of course they figured that out too.

"Tim first."

"Yeah, B has him back at the cave. Alfred's got him stable."

Dick swallowed. How long had he been here? How long had Jason been here making sure Dick didn't murder someone? 

"Zeek is also alive, GPD has him handcuffed to a gurney on the way to the hospital."

Dick brought his knees to his chin... and he could only bring himself to nod.

Jason approached a second later and finally got the cuffs unlocked around Dick's shredded wrists. As he bandaged them, talked to him about getting him back to the cave... Dick felt nothing.

-o0o-

"Hey."

"... Hey."

"You weren't answering your phone, so," Tim shrugged, looking all too comfortable and normal standing in the entrance doorway of Dick's apartment.

"Tim, I'm..." Dick had his hand behind his neck, wrists achy. He regretted opening the door, he thought it was the landlord or something. "You look good."

Makeup covered the bruises on his neck, that much was obvious, and Tim wore a high collar hoodie. Everything else looked about as healed as Dick's wrists.

"Yeah," Tim smiled, pushing his way inside. "A few weeks of Alfred-enforced-bedrest can do that. Finally escaped."

"Tim, now really isn't a good time," Dick said as Tim took off his shoes and raided the freezer.

"Knew you'd have some," he said victoriously, ignoring Dick and pulling out a tub of ice cream. "You always have a stash. What are you feeling? I'm feeling a Lord of the Rings marathon."

Dick sighed, and closed the door. "I don't have the extended."

"That's alright," Tim pulled two bowls out of Dick's cupboards and set the tub of ice cream on the counter to thaw. "I brought them."

"Tim, what is this?"

"I think you know," Tim said lightly. "Bruce keeps saying that space is what you need, but I think ice cream will help quicker."

"I'm fine. It's you I'm worried about."

"Liar. Well, that first bit is a lie."

"I'm dealing."

"With me, and ice cream, and Lord of the Rings."

Dick, defeated, sank into the sofa and grabbed the remote. "You're impossible."

"No, I just know you. You blame yourself for me getting hurt, and you blame yourself for not getting us out of there. I also know you want to wallow in your guilt for as long as you can, and you know the second I tell you I don't blame you, it's not your fault, you're human and you're a victim too, yes I know you still blame yourself so I'll forgive you for you, etcetera etcetera you won't be able to wallow in the guilt. Hence, the ignored phone-calls. Hence, ice cream. Lord of the Rings."

Dick sighed. "You can say that, but I still feel awful, Timbers."

"That's okay," Tim said, joining Dick on the sofa, handing him a bowl of ice cream, and pulling out the first DVD of Lord of the Rings, the extended version. "I'm here until you don't anymore. Keep in mind, I'm also feeling Pirates of the Caribbean."

That wormed a smile. It almost felt traitorously real. "And Star Wars?"

Tim stood up and went to the DVD player, opening the case.

"Star Trek too if you want."

"Thank you, Tim. And I'm sorry."

"I don't blame you, and believe it or not, it wasn't your fault."

He slid the disk in, and sat down next to Dick, leaning on Dick's shoulder with a content sigh, pulling his own ice-cream bowl up to his chin.

Dick couldn't help it. He melted, allowing Tim to get comfortable, allowing himself to get comfortable.

It felt vile to allow any kind of comfort, but Tim was right, they've had this rodeo before, and with quiet conversations during the quiet scenes, he wasn't surprised he felt a little better by the time they put in The Return of the King.

Not all the way. That would probably take a few more marathons, and maybe a hug, another bowl of ice-cream.

And for a whole night and most of the morning, the guilt went forgotten, and he knew it would be okay. He would be okay.

Because Tim was beside him. Breathing, alive, softly snoring as sunlight filtered through the window.

And that wasn't changing, not any time soon.

[hangezoeenthusiast]

Totem of Undying

gn!reader

person: c!technoblade

word count: 1,852

warnings: blood, yelling, cursing, failed execution (art not mine, SAD-ist on youtube)

One day, you were pacing across Techno’s floor, wearing out the carpet, wondering were he was. He was gone for 9 days, and normally he isn’t out for that long.

He specifically said before his little expedition, “I won’t be gone long, I just got to get something for Phil.” “Ok, have fun honey.” you said, not looking up at him from your book. “You’re sure you don’t need anything?” he asked, trying to find a way to spend a little more time with you before he left. ��Yeah, I’m sure, just tell Phil that I said hi.”

“Ok, bye my Aphrodite.”

Ever since, you haven’t gotten any messages on the comms, no messenger birds from him, or any sign of communication between the piglin hybrid and you.

���If he was going to Phil, then I should call Phil.” you murmured under your breath. How could you forget, he said he was going to get something for Phil, so he must be with him.

You looked for you phone, and called Phil’s number. “Hello, who is this?” replied on the other side of the phone. “Phil, is this you, I need to talk to you.”

“Oh hey Y/n, how are you doing?” “Not particularly well, um I have a question, is Techno there, he isn’t answering my calls.”

"Umm, well, he isn't here right now." he states, regret lacing his words. "Well where is he, it's urg-" Phil cut you off, "Y/n, you don't know?"

"What do you mean Phil?"

"I don't wanna say this, but he got captured by the Butcher Army." "Are you fucking kidding me, when he get caught?" you questioned. "IThey came to your house a few days ago, didn't you see them?" "No, I don't think so."

Then you suddenly remembered, “I think they might have came to our house. I was on a trip to get some spider eyes, so I guess that’s when they came over and got Techno.”

“Yeah, they haven’t come back yet, they tried to interrogate me, but I said no, and then they put an ankle monitior on me.” “They decided that if I wasn’t going to tell them anything, they would confine me to my house.”

You apologized to him, “I’m sorry Phil, hopefully you get that off soon enough.” “It’s fine Y/n/n, right now, what I’m concerned about is Techno. The Butcher Army built something, it’s a little cage with an anvil, I watched them build it, but it was kinda vague to me.” "I'm coming to L'Manberg Phil, I'll be there in a hour or so." "Ok, be safe."

-

You arrived in L'Manberg, looking for Phil's house. "Hey Y/n." he spoke. "Right back at you Phil, how are you doing today?" "I'm doing eh, I'm just worrying about Techno." "Me too, hopefully he turns up soon."

So then you stayed with Phil for a while, drinking tea and talking about random stuff. You were trying to buy your time until Techno popped up somewhere, preferably unharmed.

“Yeah Phil, there was-” Hooves stomped on grass, triumphant talking covering every sound outside. The people that cut you off was the Butcher Army, who was boasting their victory over their fight with Technoblade.

Techno, blood all over his skin, bruises on his face, barely showing any sign of his true skin tone. Chains rapping all over his body so he wouldn't escape. You felt devastated, what had they done to him? Behind them was Quackity riding Carl, holding him hostage so Techno couldn't escape on his steed. "What did they do to you?" you whispered under your breath.

They led Techno to the stage, when he looked up at you and Phil, suprise basking his face. "PHIL, PHIL, WHAT DID THEY DO TO YOU PHIL, Y/N, WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?" he yelled from under you guys. "I'M FINE TECHNO, THEY PUT AN ANKLE MONITOR ON ME." Phil screamed back.

They dragged him away from the house, bringing him onto the stage. "LEAVE PHIL AND Y/N ALONE YOU HEAR ME, LEAVE THEM ALONE." he retaliated. They locked him in the cage, where he was waiting his impending doom.

"Technoblade, this is actually not a trial, if you look up, you can see an anvil hanging down. When we press that lever down there, what it's going to do is drop on you and it's going to fucking kill you."

After Quackity's little statement, he demanded Tubbo to explain to everyone what was happening, but what they didn't know was that there was an ally, or friend of Techno's that would help him sooner or later.

After Tubbo spoke about how Techno betrayed the country, and how he had to pay for his wrongdoings, Punz swooped in, throwing snowballs to distract the Butcher Army. With his armor clad self, he started to attack them, momentarily trying to buy time for Techno. He splashed potions all around himself and the Butcher Army.

Then he started to load up the stage with unlit TnT, sending a warning to the Butcher Army not to fuck with him. Quackity yelled in scaredness, hoping that Punz wouldn't light the TnT. "PUNZ, PUNZ, CHILL THE FUCK OUT PUNZ, CALM DOWN." Quackity begged. He didn't stop, and that lead to the whole Butcher Army attacking him with their axes.

While they were chasing Punz, they didn't realize that he slipped Techno a totem of undying. That's right, one of the only things that can prevent death if someone was to kill someone else. So when Punz left the scene, and Ghostbur came to the stage to secretly tell Techno that he named his sheep "Friend", they started to prepare for execution.

"Ok, no more, I'm pulling this fucking lever." Quackity stated. And there is was, he pulled the lever, and the anvil went crashing down on Techno's head. But Quackity didn't know that he had a totem of undying in his hand, so when the anvil came down on Techno, there was a flurry of green and yellow sparks all around him, protecting him from his death.

During the little show, Techno escaped the iron cage, and ran for his life. The Butcher Army was confused, why did Technoblade die, he was supposed to perish, right?

He ran to the little hole in the ground, and was meet by Dream, riding Carl. Dream started to block up the hole, while Techno rode Carl to victory. As he rode Carl, he reached a control room, where there was chests filled with stuff for specific people. There was Eret's, Tubbo's, his, and many others.

He looted his chest, put iron armor on, and started to prepare for his journey. He splashed potions onto his body, giving him strength for a few minutes, and swiftness. When he realized that the pathway wasn't large enough for both him and Carl, he started to break blocks so he and Carl wouldn't suffocate in the walls.

While he was doing that, Quackity sneaked up behind him, taking him by suprise. “Techno, you’re not leaving this place, how didn’t you die?”

“None of your business Quackity, how about you leave me alone.”

“You’re my business Techno, and as long as you’re alive, this server is going to go to shit.” And this the fight began, Techno only donning a pick axe for a weapons, and iron armor, and Quackity, with full netherite and all the tools you could ever need for a fight.

Their weapons clashed together into a disgusting sound. “I’M GOING TO DEFEAT YOU TODAY TECHNOBLADE.” shouted Quackity, thinking he was going to win. “NOT A CHANCE.” Techno answered.

Quackity was clearly arrogant in this matter, even though he had the good stuff, and Techno had the shitty stuff that would be easily broken, he forget something. He forgot that he didn’t have technique, and Techno was the great night Blood God. Technoblade could’ve easily, if he wanted to, take down an entire village.

But he didn’t, and that’s what Quackity didn’t realize. Yes, Techno did some shitty things in the past, but he declared that he was going to retire from the fighting, from everything that related to violence. It wasn’t necessary to try to execute him.

So when the final swing hit, Quackity with his ego to a high capacity, at almost half a heart, Techbo easily defeated and killed Quackity, taking one of his canon lives.

-

You paced across the wooden floor for 10 minutes. “Phil, is Techno ok, where is he, why isn’t he here right now, Phil-” you cut yourself off, “Phil, is he dead?” “No he isn’t Y/n/n, I know Techno, he’s still alive, trust me.” he assured you, trying to comfort your thoughts, but it wasn’t getting to you.

Techno had to be dead, an anvil fell on him. “But what was the green and yellow sparks, what was the reason for that?” you thought. Was that a distraction, or was it something more significant.

“Phil, are you sure he’s-” he interrupted you with a shush. “Do you hear that?” he asked, not sure what’s was happening outside of his home. “No, I don’t, what’s wrong?” “Stay here Y/n.” he ignored your question.

He sneaked toward the door, trying to quiet his footsteps. He slowly opened the door, looked around, and saw Techno standing there, covered in bloody armor. “Holy shit Techno, what are you doing here, they could come any minute.”

“I need Y/n for a second.” he calmly said, trying to ease Phil’s nerves. “Mate, what about the Butcher-”

“I killed their leader.” “Heh?” “I killed Quackity, unfortunately it isn’t permanent.” he sighed. “Ok, first of all, weirdchamp, and secondly, please come inside, you’re worrying me right now.”

Phil let Techno in, and offered him a cup of tea. “No thanks Phil, so back to what I was saying, where is Y/n?” “Oh, they’re in the back, I thought you were someone else.” “Thanks.”

He stepped towards the direction you were in, and opened the door to find a frantic, worried Y/n. He put his body on the doorframe nonchalantly, “You missed me?” You turned around from your pacing, and looked at Techno, relief coating your eyes, “TECHNO.”

“Y/n.” he replied. You hurriedly walked to Techno, and gave him a bone-crushing hug. “Oh my goodness I’ve missed you so much, why did you have to leave, I don’t want you to die, fuck Quackity and the rest of them...” You rambled on and on about how the Butcher Army should be convicted, and a whole bunch of other things, when Techno cut you off, “Calm down my Aphrodite, I’m back, and that’s all that matters.”

"Ok, well are you hurt anywhere, Phil has some healing pots as well as some bandages." "I'm fine, but are you ok, did they hurt you?" he put his hand on your shoulders. "I'm ok, they didn't acknowledge me."

"Well, I'm glad that was the case."

You severely hugged him again, "Please never leave without me, I don't want this happening again."

"Never Y/n, never."

[yeojaa]

( SOMETHING COMFORTING. )

Jeon Jungkook loves Overwatch, drinking games, and Halloween.  What he loves more than that?  You.

pairing.  gamer!jjk x named f!reader.

genre + rating.   idol!au set in room filled with bunnies and a cotton candy machine that’s exploded.  it’s just that fluffy.  (but also explicit cause why not.)

tags / warnings.  established relationship, gaming (overwatch), dorky weeb references, mentions of drinking, yugyeom makes an appearance (!!), fingering, soft soft soft love making in the shower. 

wc.  9.7k

beta reader(s).  the lovely @kerikaaria​​​ read through this to make sure i didn’t get too nerdy.  tysm!  💛  i may like further changes once my beloved @hobi-gif​ gets her hands on it but i’m a potato who wanted to post this quickly.  oops... 

author note.  this fulfills the “jeon jungkook” square of @btsholidaybingo​‘s bts holiday bingo 2020 and this is the couple from angels & airwaves.  while this story isn’t super plot-driven, it’s meant to be a little peek into the lives of a couple that live in my mind rent-free and continue to make me soft and gooey inside.  i hope you enjoy it!   

You don’t know how he talked you into it or how it really happened.  You remember, faintly, the mention of a party.  Something about it being a small thing - just a few close friends, the members, etc.  He’d said it so offhand, like commenting on the sky or asking for another package of Choco Boys, so you hadn't given it a second thought.  If it was important, he’d bring it up again and if not, well, you hardly remembered it anyway.  Win-win or whatever.  

So you’d given up some intelligence points, traded them for space to fit more gaming knowledge.  Somewhere along the line went your memory too - the conversation wiped from your brain like Will Smith had lasered it clean. 

“Zarya’s one!  Zarya’s one—“  You’re not sure how many times you can repeat yourself, shrieking through comms to a team that doesn’t seem to want to listen.  You’re blasted into oblivion, Mercy’s prone body launched across the map as you watch your Rein fall too.  There’s an irritation bubbling in your stomach, fizzing uncomfortably like the Japanese honeydew soda you’d had at lunch.  “Zarya’s actually one!” 

No one cares.  She’s healed by the time you respawn and make it back across the map. 

“Jesus—“  Your push-to-talk remains off for that flippant comment, distaste colouring your words a bitter shade of blue.  You almost want to let your Ashe get headshot by the enemy Widow, only switching the stream from damage boosting to healing when your teammate starts spamming their hotkey.  

I need healing!  I need healing! 

What you need is a team that listens to your calls or at the very least communicates in some way.  Doesn’t seem like it’s going to happen though.  There’s near radio silence in the voice chat, the only other person remotely helpful being your bouncing booping Lucio that’s trying to keep a flanking Tracer off point.  Stupid.  You almost feel bad for him, Guardian Angeling to him when no one else seems to want to offer any support. 

Ah, the life of a support player in masters ranked.  So infuriating and yet— nope.  Just infuriating. 

You lose the first round with 1:56 to spare, to no one’s surprise.  Okay, maybe to your Reinhardt’s surprise.  He’s being surprisingly chipper in text chat, sending WP and a dorky smiley face.  You think he must volunteer at the local animal shelter and buy coffee for the people behind him in the drive-thru.  He’s far too well-adjusted, not shooting off a single accusation to anyone on the team.  A silver lining, you suppose.  

Your second round starts well enough.  Your comp is solid - as much as it can be in the current off-tank dominated meta.  Hog, Zarya, a private profiled GM Widowmaker, Tracer, Lucio, and you as Ana.  You’d prefer to play Mercy - find the most comfort in her skill set - but on an attack map, you’re not risking a headshot right out of spawn.  Broken maximum damage good stuff means healers are squishy and you don’t have your usual DPS to boost.  (He’s off doing god knows what - maybe filming an ad for Samsung or breaking the internet with his permed man bun.)

You make it through the choke without much ado.  The enemy Rein is wildly out of position, eager to make some big brained play that goes terribly wrong.  Your Lucio chuckles through voice and you join him, tossing a nade when your Zarya looks like she’s about to die to a poorly executed 360 shatter. 

“You winning?” 

It’s your boyfriend peeking over your shoulder, so close you nearly scream, mouse launched across your desk with the intensity of your reaction.  You hadn’t heard him come in, the stupid sneaky bastard as quiet as a mouse.  

(It’s not your own fault.  He knows you can’t hear anything when you’ve got your headphones on, the noise cancelling in your state of the art Sennheisers not something to scoff at.)

“Jeez, Kook!”  You want to be more mad.  Really, you do.  You’re scrambling across your desk to retrieve your mouse, squeaking a quick apology into team voice when your hero stays in one place for too long.  Luckily, Hog - previously sweet kind Rein - throws his big fat piggy self directly in front of you, effectively saving you from an otherwise miserable death at the hands of Torbjorn. 

“What?”  Jeon Jungkook has the audacity to look scandalised, shiny eyes so wide and innocent they feel more as if they belong in an early 2000s anime. 

You’re not even looking at him when you huff - too invested in your Overwatch game to give him the hell he deserves.  All you manage is a swift don’t scare me like that! as you pump your tanks back to full health.  

You notice Jungkook hasn’t moved away, still peering curiously over your shoulder.  You know he hasn’t had much time to play lately, too involved with appearances for their comeback, his schedule too packed even for you some days.  You don’t blame him when he pulls his chair up behind you, rolling into place so he’s just within your periphery. 

It’s a little distracting;  he smells good, like his - and by extension your - favourite laundry detergent and a fruity, nectarine-heavy shampoo you’d picked up for him when he’d run out of his usual.  You notice then that his hair is wet, just the wrong-side of too damp with droplets beading over his neck.  Moisture soaks into the top of his shirt and you think it might be more soaked than you can see;  it’s hard to tell when it’s a jet black shirt, one of the many he keeps in your closet for the nights he stays over.  You realise then that he must’ve been home far longer than you’d thought, if his freshly washed pink cheeks are any indication.  (Because he takes seriously long showers, nearly doubling your water bill in the year you’ve been together.) 

You want to ask what he’s doing here - you’d sworn he was busy for the next few days - but can’t find the adequate brain power to do so.  You’re playing an incredibly high skill character (your words) and if you don’t get this goddamn shot on your Lucio to keep him up, your team is going to die (your ego’s words). 

‘Ask Kook about his day’ gets scribbled on a paper on the desk in your head and filed away under To Do Later in your overflowing brainiac filing cabinet. 

“Can we pleaaaaase focus their Zarya?  She has grav.”  Though you offer the tidbit of information, you don’t assume it’s going to be relied upon.  Your team is well on their way to taking first point - surprisingly - and there’s still nearly three minutes left on the clock.  If the six of you idiots can keep it together and kill that goddamn Zarya, there’s no doubt in your mind you’ll win the game. 

Alas, fate is but a cruel mistress and said Zarya gets said grav off, sucking your own Russian tank and Tracer-turned-Soldier into her hell void.  Not even your well-timed nade can save them from the Genji that dragon blades directly into their faces.  Your poor Lucio dies to the same ult and you imagine you or your Widow are next.  Your Hog’s just respawning, his lumbering silhouette not even on screen.

“Rip,”  says your boyfriend - like the sound, not the letters - from beside you, a droplet of water splashing across your wrist when he shakes his head.  He looks disappointed - as if he’s the one that’s lost the match.  It makes you laugh, the sound tripping off your tongue despite the overwhelming rage you’re currently battling.  

“Rip is right,”  you mumble back, tossing yourself off the map.  If you’re gonna die, it'll be on your own terms.  Jungkook chuckles at that.  

By the time you respawn, both you and Widow are joining a fight that looks like it’s going surprisingly well.  There’s no one on point and you’re capping uncontested.  Widow even headshots a wayward Moira.

“You should go top left.”  

You don’t turn your head.  Jungkook’s always been a bit of a backseat gamer, whether he’s watching your stream while he’s out of town or sitting right beside you.  Sometimes, you love it;  other times, you hate it.  Most times, though, he’s right.  He has surprisingly good game sense, despite being lower ranked than you (something you remind him of constantly, without shame). 

“Can we go top left?”  You parrot into your speaker.

For once, your team listens, most of them running up the sidewall with Widow right down main.  Not for the first time you wish you were playing Mercy, if only to be able to damage boost your sniper while she distracts the enemy team.  Still, you make due, taking your boyfriend’s next piece of advice when it comes, unsolicited.  “You should be back right by the stairs.  You can see up the hall and still heal Widow on top.”

You’d kiss him if you weren’t so intently focused, unable to tear your gaze from the screen when the enemy team seems to pluck their strategy directly from Jungkook’s skull and hold conservatively on point.  Amazing.

“Your Zarya has grav.  She’ll probably throw it on point so you should nade as soon as you get in and Widow can pick them off without full charge.”

If he were anyone else, you’d probably be giving him hell for mansplaining your favourite game to you.  As it stands, you follow his instructions to the letter and the Team Kill marker flashes across your screen. 

“Told you,”  he quips, ever the snooty dork you adore. 

“I was going to say thank you.”  Just not right now.  You can’t multitask quite like he can. 

If you could look over, you think you’d see him grinning from ear to ear, buck teeth and dimples on full display.  “I know.”

As it stands, the other team has trouble getting on point fast enough and you’re left with a whopping 3:56 left on the clock.  Thank freaking god.  You can win this, you think.  Easy.  No problem. 

“Go Ana on defense.”  At some point, Jungkook had gotten up to find a snack and he returns now, bag of shrimp chips in his hand and packet of matcha Pocky held between his teeth.  You open your mouth for a stinky tasty treat and he shoves four crisps in, unceremoniously and with his signature dummy grin. 

You manage to crunch crunch crunch through it all but shoot him a glare the entire time.  He only smiles wider, all perfectly white enamel and enough cuteness to make your heart skip a beat. 

“Do you just want to play?”  You don’t mean it seriously.  You don’t mind him watching and you know he enjoys pretending like he’s better than you.  It’s a strange give and take but one that’s uniquely yours, built over nearly a year of online friendship and another year of a real-life relationship. 

“Nah, I’m snacking.”  He punctuates his response as a child would, shoving a handful of chips into his mouth.  You wonder, briefly, why you love him so much when he’s a certifiable goon. 

The third match begins and you’re not too proud to say you spend most of it following Jungkook’s directions.  He tells you to sleep the enemy Genji trying to scale the right wall - you do.  He tells you to nade once their Rein gets in because your own Rein is going to shatter - you do.  He tells you to do the macarena and— okay, that, you don’t. 

You sweep the match, leaving the other team without a single tick.  

When it comes to the final round, he seems to have lost interest in the game, instead rolling himself back to his computer with a parting, wayward ruffle of your hair.  You don’t blame him but you thank him nonetheless, blowing a kiss before he settles his headphones over his ears. 

You, of course and unsurprisingly, win the game.  There’s nothing like using a Sym portal onto point when they’ve got a Bastion set up off point and no shield to protect him from the back. 

Satisfied, you don’t bother requeueing and instead force yourself into your boyfriend’s personal space, draping your arms across the idol’s neck as he scrolls through YouTube like a zombie.  “We won,”  you sing-song into his ear, proud and a little smug. 

“Of course you did.”  He sounds equally smug and you suppose the win does belong to the both of you.  He’d been a great coach. 

“What’re you doing here?”  It’s pure curiosity offered in the form of a kiss to his cheek, fingers locked across the broad expanse of his chest.  He’s delightfully warm beneath you, familiar and unyielding as you sink over the back of his computer chair.  (You can feel the chair creaking as it reclines.  You don’t care.) 

“Whaddya mean?”

The look he levels you with makes you think you’ve grown a second head.  

“Your schedule said you had a thing tonight.”  You remember, because you’d been disappointed.  Halloween was one of your favourite holidays and all you’d wanted was to watch some campy horror movies and use him as a personal eye shield and security blanket combo.

“We have a thing,”  he states, like he’s talking to a moron.  You know it isn’t meant meanly, too emphatic and amused to hurt your feelings.  

When you echo his words (“We?”) you swear you see him roll his eyes in the reflection of his computer screen.  Luckily, he laughs, sweet and cracky, somewhere high in his throat - a barking hyena.  It’s so cute - your favourite thing in the world - that you don’t have it in you to shame him for it. 

“Yeah, we,”  Jungkook repeats around something close to a snicker.  “Halloween party, baby.  Seriously— you forgot?”

It’s then and there you have two crises:  (a) you don’t have a costume and (b) Halloween party?  You didn’t think idols had those.  Weren’t they all too hip and cool to get together to dress up and act stupid?

(You know the answer is no.  Exhibit A being the costume-wearing dance practices BTS put out.)

“I don’t have anything to wear.”  It’s truly the one thing holding you back, creasing the soft skin between your brows to resemble a peach.  It’s also nearing seven in the evening and you’re absolutely certain you’re not going to find something so late in the day. 

To your surprise. Jungkook looks flabbergasted, that same you-have-two-heads stare wrought across his face.  It’d be endearing if it were directed at anyone else but with it trained on you, it’s rubbing you and your confusion the wrong way.  Why’s he looking at you like that?  Why’s your memory so bad?  Why hasn’t he said anything to answer all of life’s questions? 

“You said you’d go as witch Mercy.”

All at once, you’re pulled back to the offhand conversation, the pleading in his eyes, your half-asleep acceptance.  It’s the memory you’d lost somewhere along the way in upgrading your in-brain video game storage.  A conversation had in bed, his cheeks so big and full of joy they’d waned his eyes into crescents, and your uncoordinated answer because you’d just wanted to go to sleep and not think about anything after indulging in a few too many mochi cream buns. 

“I— don’t remember that.”  You’re lying through your damn teeth.  Your parents would be devastated, all their hard earned money wasted on the braces-straightened enamel that was now letting lies pass. 

“But you did!”  He’s like a kid being denied candy, rounded bottom lip dropping into a pout that should, frankly, be illegal.  It’s far too powerful on him, paired with those Bambi eyes that scream don’t eat (hate/deny/etc.) me!  You can only scowl at him, because you know your own puppy dog eyes only work 100% of the time half of the time whereas his track record was immaculate. 

“Okay, but I forgot to get the—“

“I have it!”

Jeon Jungkook has an answer for everything, it seems.

“I picked it up on the way here.  It’s in your room along with my costume.”

The knowledge of his own intrigues you, squarely centring your curiosity on that and not the fact that you apparently need to get tested for early onset dementia.  “Who’re you going as?”

“You’ll see.”

Your costume is spectacular.  You can’t even find it in yourself to put up much of a fight when your boyfriend reveals it like you’ve won the lottery, throwing his arms wide in a flourish. 

It’s incredibly well made, intricately tailored in a way that makes you worry how much it costs.  (When you bring it up to him, Jungkook simply shrugs.  You think it’s as much a gift for you as it is for him.)  It’s witchy and eye-catching, the belt hung across your hips clipped with an actual book - hollowed out, thank god but also poor thing.  The hat that sits on your head is neatly crumpled, sitting at such an angle you worry whether you’ll need to avoid too-low door frames.  Your wings - well, you’re almost too afraid to touch them;  Jungkook has to help you pull them over your arms, falling into near hysterics when you twitch your elbow the wrong way and smack him right between the eyes.  

“I don’t think I can pull this off,”  you state, somberly, despite the fact that you’re not terribly self-conscious.  (You were, once.  Being in a relationship with someone that worships your body has helped with that.) 

The top of your outfit is fitted, boned and ribbed and snapped together in all the right places.  Leather stands in stark contrast to your skin - summer-soft and gently golden - and hugs curves that don’t quite exist, falling short in a way that has you glaring down at your own chest.  You’ve never wanted a Playboy body but in this sort of costume, it practically demands it.  (You try not to dwell on the fact that you’ve been conditioned to want to look like an impractically designed video game hero.)

From the foot of your bed comes a snort, a derisive sound that draws your attention.  Jungkook’s unabashed in how he admires you, stare roving over every inch like he’s about to devour you.  You’re not sure how you can feel so soft for him when he looks completely the opposite, jaw set and expression sharp.  A Greek god carved from hardened honey, dressed in Balenciaga blue.  “You look great, angel.”

Your heart skips a beat - plays a funny little game of tag with itself - and you can’t help the smile that comes, brought to life by his reassurance.  It isn’t necessary to rebuff him then - eyes rolling, laugh spilling - but you do it anyway.  “You have to say that.  You’re my boyfriend.” 

“I don’t have to say anything,”  he retorts, levelling you with a look that has your insides molten.  It’s the look that reads don’t test me but also I love you and you’re my idiot.  It’s your favourite look in the world, lending wings to your flimsy heart.  “You look great because you always look great, no matter what.”

“What about when you found me in the shower ?”

Jungkook hesitates then.  He’s no liar and he had almost had a heart attack the first time it’d happened.  He’d been minding his business, half-asleep and battling the need to piss, when he’d noticed you curled up in the bathroom.  How he hadn’t realised you were missing from bed, he’s not sure.  All he knew was that you’d terrified him, mentioning something about invading refrigerators when he was pulling his dick out of his boxers.

His scream was what had woken you up;  yours was what had him bashing his head into the wall, foot slipping on the soft pink bathroom rug.  You could laugh about it now but at the time, you’d thought he’d cracked his skull right open, shouting his name so loudly the neighbours had complained.  

(Lucky for you two, they were a nice elderly couple who sometimes had you babysit their grandson.  They’d laughed it off when you’d apologised with a loaf of fresh bread and a bandage wrapped around your boyfriend’s head.)

“Okay—  that was scary.  I thought you’d crawled out of the drain or something.”  A shudder rolls through Jungkook’s body, shaking him from his shoulders all the way down to his knees.  It’s a strangely adorable reaction from someone who looks like he could bench press you.

“You’re calling me the Grudge?”  You’re deeply offended, gloved hands clasping over your chest as if to pull out the treacherous dagger he’s just lodged there.  He only rolls his eyes, leaning forward to catch you in his arms;  he’s relentless as he drags you to him, side of his face pressed to the bare skin of your thigh.  His cheek’s searing but you’re not surprised;  Jungkook ran hot, keeping you warm in winter and sweltering in summer.  (Ah, the price you paid for love.)

“Yeah, you haunt me in my dreams.”

“That’s not the Grudge, Kook.”  Your scoff earns you a pinch, right where the top of your stockings end.  It blooms red beneath his fingers, a little reminder of his competitive I’m-never-wrong nature.  You swat his hand away, not too bothered when it only finds a home elsewhere, hooked behind your knee.  Jungkook had a habit of needing to be in constant contact.  A little quirk of his you adored.

“I’m serious.  You look—”  You should clock the look on his face, the wiggle of mischief up his nose.  A dead giveaway shining bright - a beacon.  “—bewitching.”

If the book weren’t attached to your hip, you’d be clobbering him with it.  Instead, you’re left to whack him with the equally intricate Caduceus staff, booping it over his shoulders.  You feel like a certain shamanic mandrill, Jungkook the idiotic lion that’s asking for an earful.

“Shut up!”  You’re laughing despite yourself and he is too, holding you so recklessly close it’s hard to hit him without hurting yourself.  All part of his plan, you suppose.  “You’re so freaking corny.”

“It’s because I’m a-maize-ing, ang—”

Another wap! to the head, shielded only by a tattooed hand that curls over his ear.  

“Okay!  Sorry!”  Except he doesn’t look very sorry.  More pleased that you’ve stopped the assault, dark hair pushed back from his forehead as he stares up at you.  You hate how he’s so handsome - how you forget yourself when he smiles that smile, nearly yeeting your whole heart directly into the sun.

“Are you going to put on yours yet?”  

It’s quarter past nine already and all you’ve done is rope him into eating some chapaguri - you’ve been obsessed with it since a few weeks ago - and play real life Witch Barbie.  You have a feeling if you don’t get him into his own costume soon, you’re never going to leave the apartment.  (Not that you really mind.)  

Your boyfriend - bless his heart - pretends not to hear you, suddenly intently focused on an indiscernible spot past your hip.  It’d be more believable if he was glued to his phone or doing anything remotely interesting.  Instead, you stare down at him and count the seconds until he realises just how silly he looks.  It usually comes around six, paired with a forced chuckle and that lisp you love. 

Today, it comes after the fourth count. 

“You’re gonna think it’s lame.”  Well, of course you will.  As his girlfriend - and one of his best friends, you’d like to think - it’s your relationship-given right to shame him for his more often than not absurd ideas.  It’s what you deserve for suffering through all his bad jokes and 3 AM Instagram spams. 

With a hand on his cheek, you squeeze the apple like you’ve seen a certain member do a million times.  “So?”

He’s not really sure how to respond to that, mouth drawn into a pout that reminds you of children’s television show about penguins.  It’s unfairly adorable.  Still, you push.  Jungkook’s bad at saying no to you - always has been, even before he really knew you.  From “one more game!” to “bring me bingsu”, you always got what you wanted. 

(Which wasn’t to say you asked for a lot.  You were happy - more than that, ecstatic and over the moon - with the bare minimum.  A selfie while on the plane, some shoddy cinematography during dance practice, a voicemail to wake up to.  You didn’t love Jungkook for all the things he gave you;  rather, you loved him for who he was, who he’d always been even before you knew who he really was.)

“Don’t laugh.”  By the look on his face, you’re worried it’s something awful.  The cheesiest thing in the world come to life to haunt you on your beloved spooky holiday. 

It turns out to be the opposite:  one of your favourite characters realised in the form of your achingly handsome boyfriend.  He looks so good you’re not certain whether it’s your attraction to him or him in that particular guise that’s stronger.  You figure it doesn’t matter one way or another.  For tonight, they’re one and the same. 

“Joker?  Seriously?”  You can’t hide the delight.  It colours every syllable, sets them glowing like a neon sign.

Your boyfriend only rolls his eyes, as if he’d predicted this reaction.  Dressed as he is, the movement is impossible to miss, brought into focus by the white domino mask.  “Don’t sound so excited.”  It’s an actual concern of his.  He’s seen you sink upwards of ninety hours on the video game, playing it in the early hours when he’s fast asleep and you’re battling another night of insomnia.  

Once, he’d asked whether you loved him or Joker more.  He hadn’t liked the answer (joking as it was) and had spent the better part of the evening pouting. 

This time, you’re sweet as pie, eyes so dark and twinkly he wonders whether he’s staring at the night sky.  You wonder the same yourself almost every night, lost in the constellations of his irises.  It’s the most intimate form of stargazing you can afford, a luxury you indulge in frequently.  You’ve mapped the different formations, named them in honour of all the special moments you’ve shared;  you think to label one for this night too.

“You look so good.”  You don’t hesitate to brush his hair from his eyes.  It’s still relaxing from the perm he’d gotten days ago, curling like classic calligraphy over his eyes.  It’s surprisingly soft between your fingers, silk despite the constant heat styling.  Bastard.  “I can’t believe you’re going as Joker.  You don’t even like Persona 5!”

By how Jungkook looks at you then - the same way he did the first time you met standing on the street corner in Dotonbori and a hundred more times since then - you realise it doesn’t matter.  He’s dressed this way because you like the character.  

“Oh,”  you say, because there’s not much more to say.  Nothing that needs to be said as he grins down at you, so heartbreakingly handsome you’ll never get used to it. 

“Yeah,”  he parrots back, a little smug.  

Bangtan’s golden maknae is having the time of his life.  He’s four cups deep into a game of beer pong that’s played like the Wimbledon classic, back hunched, jaw set.  You’d think he was battling it out for the title of God of Beer Pong if you didn’t know better.  (You suppose he is.)  

“Angel, come here!”  He’s giddy - slightly glazed in the eyes - as he waves you over, a red-gloved hand beckoning you to his side.  Despite how good he looks in the costume - every weakness of yours encapsulated by the intricate dress shirt that hugs him like a second skin - the gesture is decidedly adorable, an eager puppy seeking unconditional love.  There’s simply too much affection in his voice, so much sugar-spun love that you can’t deny him (even as you consider jumping his bones at a party full of people).   

He’s shining as bright as the sun and you want nothing more than to live within his warmth.  

With your fingers twined, he pulls you to him, drawing you tight against his side like he doesn’t need that same hand to throw another ball.  You don’t mind.  You know he’ll sink it even with his left hand.  

“I’m winning,”  he states, as if it weren’t wildly obvious by the fact all cups remain untouched on his side.  

Across the table, Yugyeom’s eyes roll so far back you want to laugh.  Jungkook’s competitive side is endearing at best and infuriating at worst.  Luckily, his competition is enjoying himself too much to give him shit.  

(He’s also probably too drunk to, given how badly he’s doing.)

“I see that.”  You’re not a big drinker yourself but you like seeing Jungkook in his element.  He thrives in this sort of setting, showing off all the talents he has and then some.  It’s just another stage to him, somewhere he can prove himself (even if it’s over something as small as how good his bounce-shot is).  “How many games have you won?”  Because he’s been at this table for the last hour, dropping his competition like flies.

“All of them.”  God, his ego.  You know you shouldn’t stroke it but you can’t help it, brushing a hand through his tousled hair in the way he likes best.  Fingers over his scalp, thumb rubbing soothing circles across the nape of his neck.  He nearly melts then, tilting his head into the gentle caress.

“Good job, Kook.”

You’re so lost in your own little world that poor Yugyeom has to pull you both from it, launching a poorly-aimed white ping pong ball at the two of you.  To no one’s surprise, it careens past your heads, hitting the wall behind you and disappearing off to god knows where.  

“Can we play?”  Again, that eye roll, visible just past the bandages that loosely wrap his cheeks.  You know he’s only teasing, that he’s actually quite a fan of your and Jungkook’s dumb coupling (he’s told you), but you return his mockery with a raised hand, thumb and forefinger waving in salute.  

“Losers don’t get to complain.”

The idol throws a hand to his chest, the gesture bordering on sloppy from the liquor that threads his limbs.  Still, it’s cute, earning a sweet laugh from you and a witch’s cackle from your boyfriend.  (How fitting.)  “I’m hurt, Yoojin-ssi.”

It’s Jungkook’s turn to tease, brattiness flipped on like a haywire lightswitch.  “No, you’re just bad at games!”  He’s a sniggering schoolgirl, lines wrapping the delicate skin of his nose, streaking joy into the wrinkles beneath his eyes.  Slightly-too-big front teeth are on full display, his expression the embodiment of an “uwu” emote.

That riles Yugyeom up, powder puff of hair bounding over to you before you have time to blink.  In the next moment, your boyfriend’s half-wrestling with him, their arms locked around each other like some sort of weird four-limbed octopus.  (Video game protagonist vs. hot mummy— who will win?)  You jump back just in time, avoiding a wayward fist and laughing merrily.  Idiots, the both of them.

“You guys have fun.”  And then you’re gone, off to busy yourself with people who won’t accidentally give you a black eye or knock over the nearest thing not bolted to the ground.  

You can still hear them tussling when you latch yourself to the back of a certain blond.  He’s dressed like one of your greatest nightmares - an actual clown, drawing inspiration from a certain 2017 blockbuster - and yet somehow still manages to look good. You don’t understand it and frankly, you’re a little envious, but such was life. 

“Jimin-ssiiiii.”  

“Ahhhhhh, stop!”  It’s the same reaction he always has, paired with wiggling shoulders and sweet laughter that bounces around the room and stirs to life your own.  Indisputable and lovely, the sound is brighter than the sun or the lights that currently swing through the chandelier lights above your heads.  “You two are ridiculous.”

“He’s ridiculous, not me!”  You know it isn’t true.  Separately, you and Jungkook were idiotic enough, finding humour in the silliest things (funny threads on r/Relationship_Advice and four year old Vines).  But together?  It was a two-person circus, graduate professors at clown college.  

You absolutely loved it. 

“Sure, sure,”  the dancer hums, delightfully disbelieving as he takes another shot.  One of three lined up across the counter, clear in little orange cups made to look like pumpkins.  A whiff tells you they’re strawberry soju - your least favourite flavour.  You decline with a wrinkled nose and waving hand when he offers you one.  Jimin shrugs and downs the next, delicately wiping the corner of his mouth when he misjudges the pour.  “Aren’t you drinking?”

You wiggle the half-empty Cass bottle in your hand in response and receive a scoff, different bottle - green, unopened - thrust into your other.  

“Drink this!”  

“You want me to drink an entire bottle?”  You’re incredulous.  Jimin’s seen you on the edge of intoxication and more than a little sloppy, giggling like a schoolgirl.  It’s not unbecoming - you know better than to get blackout - but laughable nonetheless.  Something to record and post on Snapchat with a voice-altering filter.

“It’s Halloween!”  The pumpkin shot glass makes you go cross-eyed before he’s knocking it back too.  “Live a little!”

Who are you to say no to the recent birthday boy?  It would simply be bad manners and you were nothing if polite (though, you’re sure some might beg to differ - Yoongi, maybe?). 

The remnants of your beer are swallowed down in the next moment, so quickly you almost choke on it.  Your life flashes before your eyes, Jimin’s hand on your shoulder as he beats breath into your body.  “Don’t die!”  He cries, despite the fact that it’s his fist that’s making it worse, doubling you over with hacking coughs.

“K-Kook’s g-going to kill you—”  

“No, you’re fine.”  He’s reassuring you just as much as himself, laughing too loudly as you straighten up.  You wonder how red your face is when he takes your place, slapping his own knee as he shakes with amusement.  “Your face, oh—  Your face.”

It’s not meant to be offensive but your buzzed brain demands payment for each giggle.

The base of the green bottle collides with the back of his knee - gentle, gentle - just hard enough to have him properly toppling over, collapsing onto the carpet like a frail old grandpa without his cane.  You can’t help the snicker that careens off your liquor-laden tongue.

That is, until he’s pulling you down with him and the two of you are a giggling, giddy mess, tucked beneath the edge of the bar as you laugh together.  It’s a chorus of sound, unrelenting and building the longer you both sit on the floor.  Jimin’s practically hunched over, head caught between his propped up arms.  You imagine it’s a funny sight - two people in their twenties acting like college freshmen.

“Baby?”  It’s your boyfriend, amused and confused as he stares down at your and Jimin’s prone bodies.  He’s got that dent between his brows, the colour of his eyes all but swallowed up by the way his cheeks press wide with his smile.  “What’re you doing down there?”  

“Just hanging out,”  you answer, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.  At your side, Jimin’s still trying to collect himself, parroting your words around his lungfuls of quieting laughter.

“Are you drunk?”

You’re not, but that doesn’t stop you from gasping, overdramatic and with your unopened bottle of soju held aloft.  A modern day olive branch.  “No?”

Jungkook snorts and then all at once, he’s close.  Too close - smelling of beer and your favourite cologne of his, citrusy and woodsy and every other nice thing you like.  It fills your senses just as his smile does, blindingly bright and bunny-like.  Even behind the mask, his good looks take your breath away.  You must be staring up at him idiotically, all one hundred and sixteen pounds of ooey gooey tenderness.  “You sound drunk, angel,”  he teases, warm red-covered palm coming to cradle your cheek.  It sears heat everywhere it touches, guiding the same hue over your skin.  It creeps up your chest and over your ears, standing in contrast to the material of his gloves.  “Pretty.”

(He really is, you think.)

“Get a room,”  comes Jimin from beside you.  There’s no malice in his voice - just soft affection for a couple of lovesick idiots.  

“That’s the plan,”  Jungkook replies, as if he’d been waiting for the moment.  It skips off his tongue and settles into your ears, tipping your head curiously as you stare at him.  He’s never been very shy about wanting you - at least, not since you’d made things official, so many months ago - but you’re surprised by the insinuation.  When he speaks again, you realise your brain has been rolling around in the gutter, fallen out of your ears like candy from a worn pillow case.  “Want to head home?”

You do.  You really, really do.   

When you stumble into your apartment - the same one with the polka-dot welcome rug and crisp white paint - you realise you were perhaps wrong about how drunk you are.  Everything’s coming at you quite quickly, the ground beneath your feet somehow suddenly rushing at you like Mach Five.

“Whoa—”  There’s an impossibly solid warmth against your back, fingers locked around your wrists that feel more like flimsy chicken feet.  “Careful.”

Your boyfriend’s keeping you upright while stepping out of his boots - impossibly expensive supple dark leather - and you’re giggling all the while, practically sinking against him as he does his best to shuffle his shoes away and get you further into the hallway.  “Sorry,”  you offer in a terrible stage whisper, smiling wide when you catch sight of his, small and endlessly amused.  It slips across his face even as he tries to bite it back, warring with the patience he holds in spades.

“Let’s just get these off.”  He means the boots - the intricate, vaguely absurd things that creep up almost the entirety of your leg, neatly wrapped and knotted midway up your thigh.  Dexterous as he is, it’s a task to unravel the strings and thread buttons when you’re weighing on him like a bag of bricks.

You’re fumbling for the tops, haphazardly smacking his hands away.  “Here, let me.”  

Somehow, you manage to get them off in what feels like record time.  (In reality, it takes a good five minutes of futility before they’re left on the ground and Jungkook’s swept you into his arms, seemingly over waiting for you to do much else.)

“Oh, my prince charming,”  you tease, clinging to him like a koala.  You’re locked around him, practically suffocating him, but he doesn’t seem to mind.  He’s used to it when you’re this way, just a little too much liquid courage turning your level of affection to eleven.  “Or are you the court jester?  That’s what Joker is, right?”  It’s a joke and a bad one at that.  Still, your boyfriend indulges you, depositing a forced laugh against your shoulder as he navigates to your bedroom.  

“You’re drunk.”  He says it more kindly than you expect.  Perhaps even more kindly than you deserve.  You know he’s not exactly sober himself, his gaze verging on heavy-lidded.  There’s sleepiness blending seamlessly with intoxication, softening the edge of his jaw, the narrow of his stare.  It’s terribly tender, skipping your heart when you look at him dead on.

It comes without thought.  You have to tell him.  Your drunk brain and your puppy dog heart demand it.  “I love you.”

Jungkook returns the confession with humour, eyes sparkling despite the haze of alcohol that dims them down.  As always, he indulges you, giving you support in the form of his heart and his hands.  (Literally, he’s still holding you even though you’ve reached your destination.)  “Love you too.”

“Is it time for bed?”  You’re surprisingly tired, despite the fact that you’d slept until late in the afternoon.  You certainly wouldn’t mind falling face first into your mattress.

“You need a shower first.”  It’s a simple statement of fact, you know that.  You’ve got at least ten pounds of makeup on and your hair’s the furthest thing from soft and silky, carefully coiffed to mimic Mercy’s signature style.  You still pretend like you’re just a bit offended, scowling into the face of your boyfriend even as he rolls his eyes, already somehow able to read the words written into your expression.  “I meant we and no, I’m not calling you stinky.”

He’s stolen your thunder, as he so often does.  You pout, as you so often do. 

“Okay,”  you relent, finally, moving to rest your head against his shoulder.  You could get down - walk on your own two tired feet - but you’re enjoying the closeness, how warm and real he feels in comparison to the swimming surroundings.  “Will you wash my hair?”  You don’t really need to ask but do anyway, because you like the sound of his voice when it’s so close.

“You know I will.”  Because he always does when you shower together (and it falls on a designated hair washing day - that was important).  

You offer your thanks with a kiss, laid right over the jumping pulse in his neck.  When Jungkook hums in acknowledgment, you feel the way the muscles constrict, his Adam’s apple jumping beneath your lips.  You zero in on it with laser precision, mouthing over his throat.  Somewhere above you - against the shell of your ear - he exhales a laugh, breath hot.

“We’re showering, baby.”  As if that’s meant to stop you.  He, more than anyone, should know how adamant you get, singularly focused on whatever’s got your attention.  He’s been on the receiving end of it more than enough times, strung into playing another one, two, ten matches of Overwatch or hunting down the limited edition Funko Pops that now sit proudly on your white shelf (and behind your plants and on the ledge by the front door).

“We can shower and have fun,”  you mumble into the expanse of his chest.  He’s so pleasantly warm, unyielding and firm and so, so comfortable.  You think you could live in the feeling of his arms.  (You’re lucky you get to.)  You don’t even mind the sudden cold of the counter or the space that forms between you when he sets you down, because he’s still caging you in where it matters most.  “Right, JK?”

It’s a nickname you rarely use now - one that only comes out in times of desperation.  You’ve never quite understood why it affects your boyfriend the way it does, stuttering the rhythmic beating of his heart, but you love it nonetheless.  It makes you grin, high on power and giddy with nothing but sweetness.  

He’d explained it to you once.  Jay was how you’d met him, the version of himself you’d loved first.  Jungkook was the side of himself he’d wanted to give you but couldn’t.  JK was the in-between - the chaos and the calm.  Hearing you say it brought back all the memories of year one and he liked that.  You could only laugh at his sentimentality and tuck the piece of knowledge somewhere deep, to be pulled out in instances like this.

“Right, angel.”  You don’t miss the colour on his cheeks - so pretty you reach your hands out to cup them, squishing them between your palms like an old grandmother testing a watermelon.  You continue to hold him until he pulls your hands from his face, guiding them to the edge of the counter with gentle pressure.  “Gotta get undressed to shower,”  he chides, that twinkle in his eye that makes it hard to look away.

Really, how can he expect you to do anything when he’s got an entire unexplored galaxy hidden in his irises?  It’s an absurd ask.

“Or I’ll help you.”  

Your clothes fall away while you’re still staring up at him.  

First, the gloves, peeled from your fingers with utmost care.  Kisses fill the spaces between each finger, passed from knuckles to wrist, all the way up to your elbow.  You squirm when his teeth graze the sensitive underside of your bicep.  He stifles a snicker into the skin.

Next goes your cape and wings, hung on the door handle.  His mouth warms the suddenly bare skin, pressing affection into the line of your shoulder, up over your neck.  You don’t squirm this time, instead humming a noise of delight.  You hardly notice when the corset goes next, undone by surprisingly nimble inked digits.  There’s hardly a moment to savour the freedom - you can finally breathe - when his hands replace the cups, palms eager over your chest.  He doesn’t hesitate to hold you, pinching your perked nipples with a sly grin.

“I thought we were going to shower.”  The words are barely out before turning breathless, stolen by the way he easily palms your breast, dropping his face into the crook of your neck. 

“We are, angel,”  Jungkook teases, rolling your bud between his thumb and forefinger, other hand moved to splay across the now-bare small of your back.  It’s almost embarrassing how easily you fall into him, drawn against him like a moth to a flame.  “Just need to get you warmed up first.”    

“The shower’ll be warm,”  you say - or think you say, anyway.  It isn’t quite articulated, half your brain left somewhere at the party (or maybe caught dead centre in the coil that’s tightening in your stomach).  

“Do you want me to stop?”  It’s so quiet you almost miss it, too distracted by how he slips the rest of your costume off.  Shorts, thong, stockings, silly witch’s hat.  “Tell me if you want me to stop, baby.”  Ever the gentleman, he’s patient, meeting your glazed stare with something close to concern.  You almost laugh in his face then - stopping short only when you note just how serious he is, the tell-tale set of his jaw shining like a familiar beacon.  

You return your hands to his face, palms cradling his chin like he might break otherwise.  “I never want you to stop.”  

That’s all Jungkook needs before he’s slotting himself between your legs, mirroring your motion with hands creeping up the side of your neck, fingers ascending into the roots of your hair.  He holds you close and kisses you like it’s all he’s ever wanted.  “I love you,”  he breathes, speaks against the corner of your mouth.  

You parrot the words back at him and he grins, stepping away in the next moment.  He laughs when you pout, offering a kiss in apology as he undoes the buttons of his dress shirt, slipping the soft cotton off.  You stop then, entranced by the revealed skin, how it shifts with each adjustment of muscle, sinew tight over his arms and shoulders.  You wonder, not for the first time, how you’d managed to luck out so spectacularly.  

“Start the shower.”  

You hop down with the direction, slipping past him to do exactly that.  You don’t miss the way he rotates, brings himself closer as you move away.  The magnetism is undeniable - always has been.

“I love you,”  he states, again, bare against your back as you hover by the edge of the glass door, one hand stuck past to test the slow-warming stream.  He’s solid, familiar and comfortable, as he slinks his arms back around you, heat burning the shape of his hands over your ribs, the shape of your hip.  You think he might mark himself there, just as neatly as the floral ink does.  You wouldn’t mind.

The water is welcome, bathing the both of you in steam when you step inside.  It’s an incredibly relaxing feeling, being caught between the spray and the hard body behind you.  You hum a noise of pure delight, turning your face toward the one that nuzzles itself into your neck, and bring your hands to rest over his, fingers slotting between ink.  

“Hair?”  You’re not in a terrible rush but you like redirecting his attention (pretending to, at least) - the teasing that formed the base of your relationship presenting itself in the quiet reminder.  It earns the laugh you expect, muffled into your hair, featherlight over the delicate shell of your jewelled ear.  

“Patience, baby.”  It’s something Jungkook tends to say a lot, whether waiting in queue in Overwatch or in bed, with you a complete mess.  He repeats it easily, like he’s the poster boy for the virtue.  (He isn’t.)

“What am I waiting—”  The question dies, swallowed whole by the gasp he draws from you with a wandering hand.  Fingers slip across your stomach, digits deftly seeking out warmth as if you weren’t already enveloped in it.  It’s a touch that’s tantalisingly slow, unfairly light, but it still makes you keen when it drags over your lips.  A single digit pushes past muscle - so shallow you’re not sure you’re not just imagining it - before retreating, dragging your slick back up to your clit.  The moment the pad of his finger makes contact with the sensitive bundle of nerves, you almost jump.  Would, if he weren’t caging you with his other arm.  

You feel the cold of his teeth bared against your neck then, the throaty laugh that pulls out of his chest and deposits itself into your hair.  “Patience,”  he repeats, swirling his fingers over your clit, his mouth moving in tandem with the twist of his wrist.  He peppers love and affection in the form of kisses, presses devotion with the edge of his teeth, soothes all your nerves with a sweep of his tongue. 

“Kook,”  you sigh, already well on your way to being a boneless mess.  There’s tingling in your toes, fizzing in your stomach, butterflies in your chest.  A whirlwind of emotion and sensation that he stirs to life effortlessly.  

“Relax for me.”  You do so because it’s easy, because he’s so devastatingly good to you.  

The figure eights skating over your clit cease, fingers dropping further down to nestle against your cunt. He pauses there, almost experimentally flexing against the muscle that aches and clenches around nothing, eager for more.  You think he’s smirking by the way his lips form with his kisses, a little lopsided and devilish.  (You wish you could see him.) 

A single digit enters you then, to the third knuckle as if your body was made for this, for him.  (It was.)  He coos against your neck when a garbled mess skips off your tongue and nearly laughs when another slips in alongside it, turning the mess into nonsense.  Despite how badly you want it - need it, really - it’s a sensation that’s too much and not enough all at once, toeing the line between pleasure and pain.  

It was how Jungkook loved you - recklessly, shamelessly, in no half measures.  With more love than you could ever hope for, giving you things you didn’t even know how to ask for.

“Relax, angel,”  comes as he begins scissoring both fingers inside you, stretching you out with an otherworldly amount of care.  Even your neglected clit is given some sort of relief - anything to ease the sting of two long fingers - his thumb gliding over it with each stretch of your walls.  He knows exactly where to touch you, how much pressure to apply, and you’re melting, lost in the feeling.  

When he’s had enough and he curls his fingers within you, seeking out that particular spot, you’re trembling, caught off guard.  Heat builds quickly with the precision of which he taps against that spot;  it starts low in your back, climbing each vertebrae of your spine until you’re quivering in his arms.  

“K-Kook.”  It’s both a plea and a demand, nonsensical as he guides you through your orgasm, keeping you upright against him when your knees feel like they might give out.  

“I’ve got you.”  And he does - hook, line, and sinker.  He holds you steady as the pleasure crashes over your head, keeps you anchored to the here and now and the pleasure that rolls through you like a relentless wave.  It sinks beneath your skin, settles heavy into every atom, and he never lets you go.  He’s got you.

When sensation returns - slowly, so slowly it feels like you’re stuck in the Twilight Zone - you only want to turn.  See him, hold him, whisper sweet nothings as you kiss him silly and thank him for his service.  Instead, you’re held in place, two hands firm upon your hips even as you crane your neck to look over your shoulder at him.  You should recognise the look on his face.  “Kook?”

“My turn.”  It’s a statement more than anything, a kind heads-up as he nudges you forward.  There’s that same twinkle in his eye, the only source of light around the pupil that’s blown out, otherwise engulfing the constellations he so normally offers you.  It’s a black hole and one you’d gladly get lost in.  “Hands on the wall, baby.”

You’d never been one for shower sex - it’s too small a space, too much happening at once, a guaranteed freak accident waiting to happen - but you can’t deny him when he asks so nicely.  (It really hadn’t been that nice but you were a certified sucker for one Jeon Jungkook.)

Hands find themselves on the wall, palms flat, fingers splayed.  In the same instance you wiggle your hips, there’s a ghosting touch over your spine.  It trails up and down, soothes the residual heat that lingers, and then slips higher, palm gentle over your throat.  His thumb rubs reassuring circles over the nape of your neck, pressing gently into the sensitive spot behind your ear.  It’s distracting and you realise much needed when he sinks into you with one fluid press of his hips, filling you so full you can’t help the gasp that bounds past your lips and bounces around the glass enclosure.  “Oh fuck,”  he sighs, his grip on your hip tightening incrementally.

He sounds like sin and feels like heaven.  

“Always so good for me.”  Another thing he says, often and without prompting.  It still feels just as good the umpteenth time, sparking pride deep in your chest as he pulls out and drives himself back in, staring in rapt fascination at where your bodies meet.  “Always so perfect for me.”  

“Because I love you,”  you quip, more than a little out of breath and jostled by the way he thrusts into you, measured and with enough force to shake your legs.  

“Love you too, angel.”  He doesn’t need to say it back - you know, can feel it by how he holds you, drives you to brink of insanity with his cock - but he does it anyway.  He always says it back, no matter what, even if he’s half-asleep or distracted.  He’ll never stop saying it.

The hand on your hip falls, slinks across your hip and between your legs, and you’re pushed further forward, his feet gently kicking yours further apart.  Jungkook assaults your clit then, timing each pass with each thrust.  An attempted glance back has fireworks going off before your eyes, specks of pleasure lighting up your vision;  it’s a technicolour lightshow, framing the way his face scrunches, brow set and jaw hard.  He’s determined, focused on bringing you to another orgasm before he hits his own high.  You assist him as best you can, swiveling your hips and grinding back against him even as the coil pulls impossibly tight in your stomach, barely held together by threadbare strings. 

“Kook,”  you whine when the tension becomes too much, hands scrabbling across the wall of the shower.  The same overwhelming tingle sparks beneath your skin, entire body trembling like a leaf when the head of his cock brushes that spot inside you at just the right angle.

He doesn’t relent, rhythm turning almost punishing as he drives you over the edge, launching you headlong into your second orgasm.  You’re not sure how you stay upright, near sobbing when you crash into euphoric bliss, neither his fingers nor his thrusts ceasing.  It’s almost too much and yet you know how close he is, so you push back, whimper words you know he wants to hear.  

“P-please, Kook.  Please.”  You’re reaching a hand back, desperate to interlace your fingers with his.  He gives in easily, catches your hand in his own and plants it on the swell of your hip as he chases his own release with desperation.  “Come for me, Kook.  Fill me up.”

Jungkook does just that, balls tight as he spills himself inside you, hand at your throat so tight you’re seeing stars.  Somehow - with the feeling of him grinding into you, overcome with so much sensitivity - you come for the third time, crying very real tears as the sensation washes over you.  It’s weaker than your first two but unravels you all the same, seeping the energy from your limbs.  You’re grateful for how well he knows you and the fact he catches you before your arms collapse, pulling you to him with gentle movements.  

“I love you,”  he whispers against your temple, out of breath and sweat-slick despite the water that rains down upon you.  

“I love you,”  you answer, pressing a kiss to the hand that still twines with yours.  “But I still need you to wash my hair.”  It’s cheeky and you know it so you don’t even mind when he bites into the meat of your shoulder, leaving a pretty red mark that’ll bloom for the next few days.  “Ow!”

“You’re a brat.”  Said even as he’s reaching for your shampoo bar, teasing it through your roots with practiced movements.  He’s careful despite his scathing tone, gentle despite how he glares at you from the corner of your periphery.  Each tangle is neatly undone and not a single bubble gets in your eye, much to your joy.  

“I thought I was an angel.”  You’re taking a page out of his book, speaking in fluent pout.

He catches your lips with his own, pushing your lathered up head beneath the steady stream when he withdraws and speaks.  Suds run across your cheeks, eyes shielded only by the hand he keeps steady along your hairline.  Even so mean, your boyfriend is still terribly nice.  “You’re my angel - but you’re still a brat.”  

You can’t argue with that. 

tag list.  @neverthefirstchoice​ @youwannabelostandnotbefound​ @snackhobi​

[my-writings-and-musings]

Hey, if you're still doing those angsty oxygen scenarios, could you do one with Rumble? I know he's not a lost light bot but it would mean a lot to me

He means a lot to me too, anon. Plus as I see it, being a Lost Light bot is a state of mind.

Here's all my previous posts with this popular prompt!

Part One: Here!

Part Two: Here!

Part Three: Here!

Part Four: Here!

Part Five: Here!

Part Six: Here!

Part Seven: You are Here!

Part Eight! Here!

Part Nine: Here!

Part Ten: Here!

Part Eleven: Here!

Part Twelve: Here!

Rumble

·The story of how you both ended up on the Lost Light is a long and rather ridiculous one, but thankfully you're both quite happy now with the way things have turned out. Hanging out and playing video games is one of the more calm and non-destructive things you two do around the ship, and it's an activity he adores having someone to share with, as not too many bots share the hobby. Being absolutely tiny by Cybertronian standards but huge compared to you, he typically encourages you to sit on his lap while you game together, something he claims is only done to ensure you both can see. Being a good sport, you agree so he can keep protecting his reputation as a tough bot who never cuddles anyone, and also because you know he's secretly in need of said cuddles despite his claims otherwise. You're well in to a rather relaxed gaming session when an emergency communication pings both of you.

·Quite open about how annoyed he is, the feeling only grows when the line is barely audible, static blurring all but every other word of what sounds like a rather urgent message. Though he does try to ask for a repeat of what's said, when the feed simply dies he's quite tempted to just ignore it and keep playing games. Admittedly that sounds good to you too, but being on a gigantic alien vessel makes you far less comfortable at the prospect of things being uncertain, as what's minor to the bots can be quite dangerous for you. Initially your gentle insistence on seeing what might be going on only gets an exaggerated groan regarding how it's probably nothing and that the two of you are having fun so who cares? The pouting is something you're rather accustomed to, so you follow a strategy of gentle pushing to get him moving, which results in him growing ever more dramatic until he's lying back on his second hand couch as if getting up would be physically painful.

·A gentle kiss on his nose finally melts away his immature resistance, but only after he blushes like a lamppost and huffs to try and pretend he's not doing it because you've convinced him or anything. With one last sorrowful look at his console, he hefts you into his shoulder and moves out, not willing to wait on your tiny human legs. Though he's obviously grumpy there's still care and consideration in how he walks with you, as he's never going to risk dropping your squishy human self if he can help it.

·Repeated attempts to comm anyone for some information turn up nothing but static, and that leaves both of you quite confused, with the minibot commenting on how odd it is that no one is answering. Being near the living quarters at this time of day means there's no one around to ask, so he hurries along whilst looking for a signal, reasoning that the two of you should head to the bridge or somewhere equally important to look for answers. Knowing he has way more experience in this than you do, you happily let him take the lead, smiling softly at how your agreement makes him puff up with pride. Being a mini has made him rather unaccustomed to any kind of leadership, so even the simplest praise or deference always means the world to him.

·His ego boost is quite rudely interrupted by a sudden tremor through the ship, though he's hardly knocked off balance for long due to his unique skills. Keeping his footing solid and you secure on his shoulders, he immediately asks if you're okay once the floor steadies beneath him, knowing that it was just a little shake but worried nonetheless. You assure him that you're fine, which convinces him to hold you a little less tightly. Looking up into his visor, you're concerned to see his usual calm replaced with a much more serious expression. It's one you know to only expect when things are about to get bad. As he starts walking again, he explains that, as an expert on seismic things, he knows that the ship has just been snagged. Having an internal sensory system specifically designed to detect these things also makes him certain of the exact size of the enemy and where it hit; and what he detected isn't good.

·Despite being less than half his height, Rumble is your immediate worry as he goes on to explain more of the situation, talking more to cut through the quiet to calm his nerves. You know that you're not built for alien robot battles, but quite frankly, neither is he. Not on his own at least. Though he'll surely deny it now, he's confided in you that without his brother or a bigger bot to sync up with... fighting anything but other minis is a lot harder. Knowing that makes you press him gently on a plan; where should the two of you go to be safe?

·As expected he's immediately adamant that he's fine, but his attitude to you is another story, as is obvious by how he shifts you completely into his arms and holds you tightly. With a promise that he won't let anything touch you, he surprises you with a completely unrestrained sense of protective drive, something quite out of character for a bot that usually struggles with deep feelings. Knowing that ships always have extra guards stationed at key locations, he decides to hurry his way to the medical bay, secretly hoping not to encounter any enemies on the way. Not that he's embarrassed to be a mini or anything, but in moments like these he really wishes he could be big and strong for your sake... Pushing those thoughts deep down, he hurries along and tries to focus on how cool he looks carrying you to safety. Maybe after all this is over he'll be able to tell some awesome stories about rescuing you.

·Seeing you get a little sleepy absolutely baffles him, and he gives you a little tap to wake you up with a tease about taking poorly timed naps. Not having realized you were nodding off, you rub at your eyes in confusion, suddenly aware of sleepiness that certainly wasn't present earlier. At your continued and obvious exhaustion he's quite worried. Had he better practice at driving with an occupant he'd have given you a ride to save time, but even at the best of times previous attempts at that were disasters, so in your current state you'd probably end up getting seriously hurt... It's yet another thing to regret as he holds you closer and hurries along, secretly trying to establish communication so he can hopefully get some answers. The lack of success makes him more worried with every passing minute.

·Though Rumble is no stranger to cuddling behind closed doors and carrying you to show off his strength, this is the first time he's held you like this in public for so long, and it feels very nice. You know he's worried about you, but it's getting harder to focus on staying awake and comforting him with his arms keeping you so secure, and his little spark humming so warm and strong right next to you. Only his gentle pleading for you to keep your eyes open prevents you from nodding off, mostly because his voice is so sad as he does so, and you can't handle seeing that sweet face grow any more worried. Clearly it must be bad if he's openly showing his softer side. You're aided in staying awake by a rather unexpected visitor nearly stepping on the minibot as he enters a hallway, and in the panicked blur that follows your mind is just sharp enough to catch the towering form of a very unfriendly alien before you're laid on the ground and Rumble charges forth in a preemptive strike.

·Though he's every bit as fearless as he usually is in appearance, in his spark he's absolutely terrified as he breaks out his piledrivers, the lack of his brother or Soundwave leaving him with a sense of total helplessness that he has to force down for your sake. The alien is a kind he doesn't recognize, but it's big and clearly hates bots by the way it strikes to kill. Using his tiny size to his advantage, he hammers the legs that are too slow to kick him away in time, striking with a level of force that strains his shock absorbers to a painful limit. The hulking alien collapses as its means of support are demolished in a messy and agonizing attack, but the mini takes no chances, hopping up to the head and delivering a blow capable of creating an earthquake all on its own. He's left panting from the exertion but grateful to have proved himself. Sore from the strain, he hurries back over to you and can't help but ask if you saw what he just did?

·Tiny jubilation is crushed when he hears your weak reply. Even though you're smiling at his victory, you're obviously barely holding on, and that means whatever invisible malady is afflicting you is growing more severe. Scooping you up in bloodied servos, he tries to keep the tears welling in his visor from falling, though admittedly he's not sure why since his image matters very little in the face of losing you. Thinking fast, he breaks open a vent cover and makes use of the claustrophobic shortcut to hurry to the medical bay, ignoring his own overworked body's protests to save you at any cost. Not knowing what the problem could be, he's still tearing himself apart inside over every tiny delay that could now result in the difference between life and death. If only he hadn't hesitated to stop gaming, or had been paying enough attention to avoid that alien... How like him, to prove unworthy of something by ruining it.

·You'd been physically incapable of staying awake as he'd closed in on the part of the ship where help would hopefully be found. Though you had tried so hard and been so heartbroken by his struggles, exhaustion unlike anything had ultimately forced you to rest, with his protective grip on you making it hard to worry as you slipped under. Tears had started to fall without restraint the moment you went quiet. It had made quite a scene when he'd burst into the medical bay, ploughing through a vent cover and startling multiple bots on guard as he yelled for someone to help you, nearly getting shot until he was recognized with you in his arms. Nearby medics had been quick to explain the breakdown of the atmospheric generators and the loss of oxygen, but he brushes all that aside with a single question; will you be okay?!

·Every bot present is immensely surprised by his demeanor. He's known as a troublemaker and a prankster, so even with your relationship to him being taken into consideration, his agony over your condition is not something they could have ever predicted. The loyalty to you is unshakable and obvious even after you receive the care you need, as he refuses medical attention for himself and doesn't care in the slightest when the alien ambush is declared defeated. Not even the prospect of free drinks at Swerve's to celebrate can make him leave you for a second. All he wants is for you to wake up, and to hopefully not be mad once you wake up and learn what happened, which he believes he made worse by being irresponsible and wasting time... Though it isn't allowed, he crawls into your berth with you to snuggle when no one is present.

·You awaken to a much clearer head and the warmth of a bigger body huddled closely around you, and as soon as you open your eyes a familiar frame welcomes you back to consciousness. Whispering a greeting, you're shocked when the mini suddenly clings to you and begins pleading for your forgiveness while also recounting what happened to make you "sick", confusing you beyond all belief at first. Why would the bot you remembered saving you need to apologize? It's only by listening that you realize his misplaced blame is likely motivated by fear, as his hot tears pattering against the berth suggest a bot recently scared out of his wits. The poor mini is blaming himself for his lack of action, in full belief he could have moved faster and should have the moment something was wrong, and sounding quite convinced of his role in your injurey before you shush him as gently but audibly as you can.

·Wiping away heavy tears on his cheeks, you speak clearly through the oxygen mask still secured to your face, reassuring him that he did nothing wrong and had no reason to believe things would play out as they did. When he tries to miserably reply that he's still should have jumped at the first sign of trouble, you remind him that he jumped into action when it counted, taking down an enemy several times his size without anything but his own fists as weapons. Perking up to hear you remember his burst of bravery, he asks a little more confidently if you recall how he punched the alien so hard the hallway shook from the force, and you smile while you assure him that you saw every heroic moment. Hearing himself be referred to as a hero seems to reassure him in ways he didn't know he needed, and the rush of his own gratitude is enough that he hugs you tight without a hint of bashful hesitation. Just being here and safe with you makes it hard to be worried about anything at all.

[ljandersen]

Sideways Part 3

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

Chapter 1:

Illium

Fandom: Mass Effect Trilogy, post-war

Pairing: Femshep/Kaidan Alenko

Rating: Mature

Available:  AO3

Summary: Twelve years after the reapers, Shepard leads a peaceful life married to Kaidan and serving as human councilor. When she wakes up in an alternate timeline as her renegade alter ego, she finds herself at the center of a war. Her friends are now her enemies, including Kaidan. She must find a piece of rare technology to return home before this timeline's memories lock her in place forever.

Meanwhile, a brutal renegade has just woken to find she has everything she ever wanted. Will she rise above or bring everything down in flames?

Shepard bit into an apple.  She sat cross legged and barefoot on the hotel room couch. She turned a crayon-colored picture of a cat around in her hand.  She squinted at it.  The background was familiar, glass railing and patio chairs.

It looked like . . . Shepard turned it around again and took another bite of her apple.  Yes, it looked like--

“Alliance Headquarters,” Kaidan said from behind her.

She choked on her apple.  “I thought you -- thought you -- You were in bed.”  She coughed into the back of her hand with watery eyes.

Kaidan picked up the half-eaten apple from where it had rolled under the coffee table.  Shepard, still flushed with near death, plucked the apple from his fingers.

“I saw the light out here,” Kaidan said.

“Take a seat.”

She turned to face him when he thumped down beside her.

“You get something to eat?” Shepard asked.  “You heard me when I said you could help yourself to the fruit basket?”

“Still got the basket fibers in my teeth. I was that hungry.”

“Well . . .”  Shepard extended the apple.

“You have it, Shepard.  I already ate all your other fruit.”

“I’m hungry.  You’re hungry.  Time for room service then.”  

Shepard bit into her apple and rolled over to reach the comm.  She ended the order with a “surprise us." Kaidan eyed her with a slight frown.

“What?” Shepard shrugged.  “They’ve got my card on file for this room.  If ‘surprise us’ turns into flounder flown in from Earth, I’m buying.  Or rather, my old self is buying.  Hope I’m good for it.”

“I’m more worried ‘surprise us’ is whatever they pull from the night's refuse bin and fancy up on a plate.”

“I’d still eat it.”

“Didn’t say I wouldn’t.”

“So,” Sheprad turned the picture to him. "HQ, huh?  HQ and a cat. Guess I can see it.”

Kaidan slouched back on the couch with a grin.  “As humans, our souvenirs are trinkets, magnets or T-shirts.  I saw that cat outside HQ.  Just a glimpse on the balcony.  I would have continued down the hall, no thought at all, but I stopped.  I went outside and pet it instead.  I knew Leida would like it.”

The apple lowered in Shepard’s hand.  “That was your souvenir?  A memory?”

“Asari souvenir.  In a fashion.”

Warmth spread in Shepard’s chest, and she lifted the picture up again.  “It did look familiar. Railing, ocean, patio chairs.  It's well done.  She’s better at four than Av--” Shepard stuttered and covered by taking a bite of her apple. She flashed a quick smile.  “Well, she’s very good.  Think it’s because she’s asari?  All the images in her mind?”

“Don’t know.”  Kaidan rested his cheek against the couch cushion and studied her.  “Who’s Av?”

[nauseateddrive]

LOVESICK LOVEDOLL by Yuya Sakurai

Lovesick Lovedoll by Takuya Angel is artificial roses which love to hate #DontBeSilent BLACKPINK is pigeon blood and Russian Blue narcissus I'm fed up with too many shitstorms in SNS Claustrophobia

QAnon's Canon is Apocrypha of Asexual Angel Tet in Vitnam holidays began at 12th February, 2021 Twitter is Angel Dust of NieR Re [in] carnation, in which replicant/gestalt overdoses X automata

We are Big Tech junkies. #FreeNavalny #FreePussyRiot #FreePoliticalPrisoners #БЕСИТ

Synthetic Anthem of Isola's 5ch: mode is Last Bible of a jihad of NRx VS ultra left I'm listening to Ex:Re's Romance as a memorial to the club scene that is about to be buried

TikTok's hieros gamos is dejavu of Twitter's ex cathedra EVANGELION:3.0+1.0 THRICE UPON A TIME is perfectly post-Coronachan's movie my adolescence is over NRx Samsung is Tsunami fictsexual Hangul fake news in Farthest East where Final Fantasy's Snow Moon rises

Tonight's DJ is Michel Gaubert Blockchain's Sexadoll desires Yifang Taiwan Fruit Tea Keep on dancing even when the night comes Keep on dancing at the chemical complex of Odaiba island in Tokyo Bay

A girl with violet hair who is a smartphone zombie or a self-styled prophet is Dark Enlightenment of Chrome Diva Syndrome of Hatsune Miku's Stand Alone Complex

Femme Fatale with VR headset desires Áo dài of Proud Boys As a primitive AI of Baudelaire, I shouted the LUV in 202X's Brexit Graffiti of Banksy of Massive Attack is deep fake made by Cosplay Hikikomori Otaku boy Akira's Tokyo Olympic 2020 is not over

ANTIFA's Last Bible which screams in the Torrid Zone of Singapore is a dying scream of white supremacy Uber Eats in The Month of Mary raids Coronachan's NRx, QAnon and Proud Boys hot Vietnamese Tết Nguyên Đán of Nguyễn dynasty screams antifascism hip hop

DNA of Angelholic nihilism punks shout to the moon Nihil Unbound's Dark Enlightenment is THA BLUE HERB, the counterattack hip hop from most Northern area, Sapporo in Farthest East Japan under the mirror ball #BLM dances crossdresser/transvestite's S/Z is Hatsune Miku rebellion Angel Dust Chrome exhausts in the black market in Tokyo COMME des GARÇONS is Danse Macabre of Coronachan

Brand New Loveless COMME des GARÇONS is an overdose of Xtasy Acid rain was perfect purple of Xenophobia in Cipherpunk of Bitcoin's jihad Pokémon's World War III started in 2030 after GAFA Konzern raided Chinese Accelerationism Is speculative realism's God the capitalism or the anarchism? Take the black pill, not the blue pill nor the red pill MGTOW don't know love in manosphere TikTok's drag queen is Chrome Diva Syndrome

"The floor could disappear at this very moment, no one knows, and the laws of physics could change at any moment."

GUCCI, Cartier, Dior, Bvlgari, Alexander McQueen in the 90's. In Japan today, it's Uniqlo, Muji, Shimamura, or even secondhand clothes on Mercari. The sequel to Puella Magi Madoka Magica will be made next year, ten years after the last one, the same year as the theatrical version of MAWARU-PENGUINDRUM. DOM PÉRIGNON × LADY GAGA is mental female and anti-Phallocentrism Deus Ex Machina bisexual callboy falls the sickness unto death blue hair of Rei Ayanami is flapping in the wind of EVANGELION:3.0+1.0 THRICE UPON A TIME in a quarter-century Alexander McQueen is a gay born from Asexual Angel of Tokyo hallucination like Deep Fake. Poetry is not dead. There are no catches, no hosts, no cabaret girls, no yakuza in Tokyo, and If you think the language of poetry has disappeared from this country, then I'll show you that poetry is poetry, even if it's the language of a rabid dog, and Mallarmé is dead, and all that's left is Baudelaire reincarnated as a primitive AI, spinning Angelholic. I will end capitalism in the new century.

Post-Apocalypse/Pre-Dystopia I drink halcion in the midnight of sleepless Tokyo Dark Enlightenment is Hakenkreuz Hallucination which punks shout to the moon Last Emperor of Nhà Nguyễn, Vietnamese puppet dynasty déjà vu AKIRA's unrealized Olympic in 2020 Angel's wings open after the catastrophe of Fukushima's 3.11 tsunami and meltdown

GIMMICK of 19XX Apocalypse spread into crowd computer by Yakuza is sold to junkies of Puella Magi Madoka Magica Neo Nazi as white supremacy born from Angelphobia is claustrophobia in Farthest East's Shimabara Rebellion of the Trinity made of Angel Dust, Xtasy and LSD Racist AI's rhyme on trapbeet keens for Babylon as Triskaidekaphobia of lunar eclipse syndrome

YouTuber and Uber Eats are a new Dynasty's Bitcoin made by Satoshi Nakamoto, a new God of new Millennium with Blockchain and Tor Twitter is the place where Justice-holic people gather You say “I'm justice” He/She says “No. I'm justice” The graveyard of perverse senses of justice This is the punk-nihilo apocalypse updated into technothanatos future The nightmares of lunar eclipse lure the deformed fetus into the HAKENKREUZ HALLUCINATION I jamais-vu the moon through the pale smoke of Vogue AROME. In Tokyo, a city that is a fusion of garbage and Chinese medicine, I am watching the super-capitalist Game of Death in Kabukicho through ZEISS IKON with a thin smile on my face I have OVERDOSE the ice blue, I cut my chest into a swastika, but it does not become any kind of raison d'être 19XX Tokyo is burning pale white

TOKIO became like TOKYO-III after Second Impact of Neon Genesis EVANGELION currently because of Fukushima's 3.11 tsunami and meltdown and 2020's Coronachan Radioactive fallout rains and a state of emergency including lockdown is declared Cryptocurrency is Communion in the pandemic catastrophe after old normal when id loves ego like Cybergoth in fin de siècle

Sepher Sephiroth in Final Fantasy VII shakes his wings of sin, crime and punishment Pandemic is also Brand New Ave Maria of Aerith Gainsborough 卐’s code:gadget is LUNA SEA’s LOVELESS 7th heaven under Babylon, the skyscrapers of conglomerate, Shin-Ra Electric Power Company

Last Emperor of Vietnam shouts to the moon Brand new Emperor of Japan looks like Lautréamont's les Chants de Maldoror Chrome Exhaust cries Noir Désir in Tokyo Virus of the moon in which gefallener Engel reignites Black Russian Capitalist Theology and Communist Atheism clone the Internet where the exhaust spewing out of the chromed pipe announces REIGNITION of Godless borg in the age of original-sin-less raison d'être Overdose on the near-future digital decadence of Desire Ex Machina Run away in the 21st century, the avant-garde of the Internet age!

Actias artemis exhausts the pale desire in Game of Death's vainglory tattoed thrill and stimulation The fallen angel keeps on screaming "Scream like vanity of PUNX as the original sin blows up a pale exhaust"

GOD...PILL

I feel dizzy while cracking ghosts without the ice blue raison d'êtres with my boosted brain OS

[Are you Guilty?]

Shinjuku heat haze...punks dressed in Bondage by LOVELESS shout "GOD IS DEAD" by gefallener Engel to the skyscraper MALICE MIZER Deus Ex Machina falsification of the raison d'être///

...PILL?

"Count your sins..."

Schwarz Stein is Asexual Lilith...XXX...Asymmetrical-Androgynous mobile phone like Morpho rhetenor...I make a phone call to the moon... "Ice blue, GIG of original sin, lunar eclipse...There is everything..." A gay punk with blue hair upside down laughs bewitchingly..."God is dead at the end of the century..."

Bảo Đại, the last emperor of Nguyễn Dynasty, a puppet dynasty in Vietnam, is Brand New Madness with Cybergoth's DNA in Last Bible I skateboard in Kabuki-cho which became Guǐchéng I see Tokyo Metropolitan Government Building, a skyscraper, through a mirror shade as I see Hikarie in Shibuya, a ghost town as ex-downtown

Cadenza in which the billion Babel towers rise Martyrdom low-fi of full cyber jacket is heresy Loveholic Lovephobia in Neo Kowloon looks like Baizuo in Tokyo Bay which is s[K]ape:goat in SNS era Tokyo Songlines show death mask of AKIRA's Tokyo Olympic 2020 which makes us witness hallucination of Matrix in 2021 Drag queen looking like Thanatos of Les Fleurs du mal is my raison d'être in the nightmare of HAKENKREUZ HALLUCINATION Kabuki-cho, the sleepless city, is a complex of neons that gets infected the madness of blue night in Billie Eilish’s Vogue

NEON GENESIS overthrow of the Tokugawa Shogunate looks like call girl with bondage Crypto-Christian's Shimabara Rebellion headed by Shiro Amakusa is reborn in 3rd Millennium as boy doll in Shinjuku 2-chome who is an angel with seven wings in Pseudepigrapha, Sepher Sephiroth as The Flowers of Evil anime inflected post-apocalypse and digital decadence are hyper than hype and further than future in MMXXI

HYPEBEAST autopoiesis chrome dust topos overheats in smoke factory of MAGA angel BUCK-TICK Godless Posttruth Android priest holds a Kyrie eleison Mass techno-thanatos Noli Me Tangere Rosen Maiden post singularity Apocrypha junkies smartphone is like present-day castrato faith of absinthe Hypnotic Poison

Tokyo Babylon higher than Babel desert of skyscrapers Synthetic Anthem of neon rose neon butterfly drifts about digital tattoo SATORI Tokyo2021

Cult Trash

text by Yuya Sakurai Twitter @yuyasakurai illustration by ame Twitter @amello_rain

[samthemarvelfan]

Goodbyes: Chapter Eight

Summary: Ella Monroe is the Avengers newest recruit, handpicked by Steve Rogers himself. Indebted to him for reasons unknown, Cap pairs her up with Bucky Barnes. He is tasked with training her to relearn and hone the skills that have long since rusted. Bucky is cold and distant, and Ella can’t seem to break through the wall he’s built up for decades. He sees something in her though, and it scares him to death. Has the fate of these two strangers been sealed? …or will they always be longing…

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OFC, feat Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson, Wanda Maximoff, Natasha Romanoff, Tony Stark

Warnings: ANGST, Bucky is a dick, mutual pining, self sabotage, slow burn, alcohol, flirting, swearing. I think that’s it!  Def not following a specific MCU canon or timeline.

A/N: I legit can’t believe the love from you all! Gosh my lil heart might burst! Please stick with me after this chapter and please don’t hate me! Patience is a virtue after all. Thank you for every comment, like, message and reblog. Love you endlessly. <3

Taglist: @iheartsebastianstan @jjlizz @stuckysbabe @sk493494 @lefoutoir @nickangel13 @marvelismysafezone @lilulo-12 @warmvanillafeels @heartofagamotto @ravenesque @pinknerdpanda (strikethrough means the tag didn’t work! I’m sorry!)  (strikethrough means the tag didn’t work! I’m sorry! Tags are OPEN!)

Three fucking weeks.

At this point, you were almost positive you were losing your mind.

Everyone was still in Romania, and you hadn’t had any actual contact with the team. Sam occasionally gave you the smallest of updates, usual in the form of a message that said “we’re alive.”

Gotta love that detail.

Wanda had checked on you too, making sure you were eating, as you had a tendency to forget to when you were stressed.

What drove you mad more than anything was that you hadn’t heard from Bucky. Was it really all in your head? The two of you connecting finally, and then he just vanished without a word?

Sure, maybe you were being irrational and needy. He was working; risking his life for the greater good after all. That doesn’t make it hurt any less, though.

“Miss Monroe, you’re receiving a call.” FRIDAY’s voice announced.

You jumped off the couch and ran to comm beacon in the middle of the table.

“Hello?” You ask, hopeful.

“Hey, Punchline! Miss me?” Sam’s humorous tone asked.

You couldn’t even speak, the only sound escaping your lips was an almost sob of relief.

You hear Steve chuckle in the background. “I’ll take that as a yes, meet us on the roof in 5?”

“You bet.” You reply quickly.

You pull your gray, half-zip hoodie over your head as you jog to the elevator. “Flight deck.” You announce as you enter.

The doors close and you hear and feel the rumble of the Quinjet docking. “Finally.” You whisper to yourself.

You get to the roof and see the bay doors opening as the ramp drops. Steve is the first one out, followed swiftly by Sam.

“You guys look the shit.” You jest, running at Steve with open arms.

He wraps you in the tightest hug, “Missed you too, Ella.” He laughs.

“How ‘bout me?” Sam asks. You turn to him with a smile, and he embraced you too.

“Is everyone alright? Did you...did you guys...is it done?” You couldn’t really formulate a thought, your mind still wondering how the hell they survived.

Steve nodded. “Every ounce of data we could extract, we did. That base wasn’t even close to inactive. In fact, it was the hub for HYDRA’s new order.”

Your mouth dropped, “What?”

Sam spoke, “Don’t worry, there’s a debriefing tomorrow, we’ll let you know everything we know.”

Your eyes glance behind Steve and Sam. You see Wanda and Vision exit the plane, relieved that they’re okay. You were chewing on your bottom lip, feeling the impatience take hold of you.

Where the hell is he? You thought.

“Hey Ella, listen—“ Sam said, but you tuned him out, hearing more footsteps on the ramp.

There he was, Bucky, safe and—what?

He was holding someone. A woman. Carrying her like a parent does their child after they’ve fallen asleep in the car.

She was stunning. Milky skin with gorgeous red locks. You knew who this was without a doubt, recalling her photo from the file you’d read months ago. Natasha, the Black Widow.

She was smiling. He was smiling. A real, genuine, happy look graced his face as he walked towards you all.

“Barnes, you can put me down now.” She laughed.

He shook his head, “Not a chance, Kitten. Can’t have you runnin’ off on me again can we?”

She pushed some hair out of his face, “I’m not going anywhere this time. I found what I was looking for, and I don’t intend on letting it go.” She smirked her perfect lips at him, causing him to blush.

Bucky places her gently on her feet before looking at you. His eyes looked panicked as he took in the expression on your face.

“You must be Ella! Nice to meet you, I’m Nat. Steve’s told me so much about you.” She smiled, pulling you in for a hug.

Why didn’t Bucky tell you about me? You think begrudgingly.

A smile graced your face nonetheless as you return the hug. “Its an honor, you’re a legend.” You say in an attempt to control your tone. It was true, too. Natasha Romanoff was infamous in your line of work.

“Don’t boost her ego, Kid.” Tony says walking by you.

You smiled politely, eager to escape to your room. “Well you guys must be exhausted, I’ll let you—“

“Hell no. I need a drink and I need one now.” Sam said as he walked towards the door leading back inside.

“You think you get to drink alone, Wilson? I don’t believe that’s how this relationship works.” Tony said as he completed his retinal scan by the keypad.

“We’re gonna have a ‘hey look at that, none of us died’ dinner tonight. Pizza, beer, booze, music. 8 o’clock in the lounge.” Tony said disappearing inside.

You turned around to see Bucky whispering in Natasha’s ear, both laughing like giddy fucking schoolgirls.

Are they...does he...is she... you’re brain tried to think, but it couldn’t seem to complete a thought.

You wanted to punch him in that smug face of his. He didn’t even have the balls to say goodbye to you when he left, and now that he’s back he has the audacity to not say two words to you?

“I’m always down for pizza, how ‘bout you Ella?” Steve asked, swinging an arm around your shoulder and leading you back inside.

Bucky eyed Steve with a curious look, but you couldn’t help smiling at your friend, “Is that even a question, Steve? Pizza is a main food group in my opinion, you know that.”

He and Nat were swiftly on you heels. “You sure about that Els? You look exhausted, have you been sleeping?” Bucky asks from behind you.

You stop suddenly and turn on your heel. Is he serious? The first thing he says to you is basically ‘you look like shit’ and ‘please don’t come to this party’.

“Now that you mention it, Sergeant, I haven’t been sleeping. I was worried about my friends. Wondering when and if I’d see them again, I’d hate to leave thing left unsaid,”

You grab Steve’s and Sam’s hand in each of yours and lift them, “But it looks like everyone I care about made it back on one piece.”

You turn back around and head into the elevator with everyone.

You stood in your room, fuming.

Is this really who you’ve become? This pathetic teenager pining after someone who will never be hers?

It sure seems that way.

Your stomach churns at the image of he and Nat...together.

An excessive groan leaves your lips as you flop on the bed, ready to let yourself wallow.

Your plans, however, are interrupted by a knock on your door. “What?!” You scream.

The door opens slowly, “I thought you’d have missed me?” Wanda says.

You shoot up, and smile like an idiot. “Of course I missed you, Wan. I’m so glad you’re back!” You embrace her.

The two of you had become quite close recently, and it was so nice to have a girl friend around again.

“Then why do I get the feeling I interrupted a wallowing session, hm?” She said slyly.

You raise an eyebrow at her, “Wan...” You scold.

“I know, I know—stay outta your head. But Ella, your thoughts are so loud I can barely hear my own!” She laughed.

You sigh and sit on the edge of your bed, Wanda joining you.

“I’m just mad. I’m mad at myself for acting like a love struck teenager, I’m mad at him for yoyo-ing me all the damn time. I’m just...”

“In love.” She finished your sentence.

You laugh aloud, “Wan, you have to know someone to love them. That big oaf of a man is too damn stubborn to let anyone in! Besides, I don’t think it’s me he wants.”

“What’s that suppose to mean?” She asked.

You stand heading to your closet, looking through clothes to wear for tonight.

“Nothing. Forget I mentioned it.”

Wanda’s footsteps followed you, “I know you say Bucky’s stubborn, but so are you, Ella.” She smiled softly, her nimble fingers landing on a black velvet dress.

“This one.” She says. The long sleeved, deep v dress was your absolute favorite, and also very fancy.

“Isn’t that a bit much?” You ask.

She raised her eyebrows at you. “Uh, have you met Tony? He says ‘pizza and beer’ but he means a gala... with less people.”

“Fine, but I swear to God if you don’t dress up too then I’m coming back here and putting on pajamas.” You hold your pinky out to her.

She hooks it with a smile, “Deal.”

8 o’clock comes far too fast in your opinion.

You’d spent the last two hours in your bathroom doing your makeup and hair, and you look damn good.

The dress rested a bit below mid-thigh, and fit you perfectly. You make a mental not to thank Wanda later for forcing you into it.

“Breathe, Ella.” You say to yourself as the elevator carries you to the lounge floor.

Your black heels click through the corridor, the sound softening as your ears fill with classic rock from the end of the hall.

You slowly push the wooden door open, and spot everyone mingling. Maria Hill was there, as was Rhodey, and another man you’d never met before.

“Oh shoot! I didn’t know we had a supermodel living with us!” Sam shouts.

You laugh, “Oh shut up, you’ve clearly already been drinking.”

He shook his head, “So what? I still got eyes, don’t I?”

“You look beautiful.” Steve says cutting Sam off, placing a kiss on your cheek.

You blush, “Thank you, Steve. You boys clean up pretty nice too. I don’t think we’ve ever seen each other like this.”

Steve shakes his head, “Not exactly the suit I’m most comfortable in.” He took a sip of what you assume is scotch. “What are you drinkin’, sweetheart?” He asks.

“Honestly? Anything with vodka. Then I’ll have a shot or two.” You say, taking a seat at the high top table next to him.

“Coming right up, Sam why don’t you come with me fore you dig a deeper hole for yourself?”

You hear Sam grumbling as Steve drags him away, and you suddenly feel yourself being watched.

You scan the room, and spot him almost instantly. He’s standing with Nat, her back to you, leaning on the bar.

Bucky’s eyes, though glassy from the booze no doubt, had never been more focused.

His gaze roamed your body from your feet to your face. He licked his lips slowly, before capturing his bottom one in his teeth.

Shaking your head, you look away from him. “Don’t even think about it, buddy.” You mutter to yourself. You glance at him quickly one final time and see Nat waving her hand in front of his face.

Bucky’s trance seems to get broken and he falls back into conversation with her with ease.

“Moscow Mule? I think that’s what the bartender called it.” Steve says approaching you.

A light bulb suddenly goes off in your head.

“Steve? Can I ask for a favor?” You say, squeezing the lime into your drink

He nods, “Anything, what’s on your mind?”

You let out a large breath. “Okay, please don’t think I’m immature but I’ve been thoroughly pissed at your best pal over there,” you gesture with a nod of your head.

“and I’d really like to get him back for all the shit he’s put me through.”

Steve sips his drink again, as Sam places 3 shot of Jameson on the table. “What did you have in mind?”

Bucky’s breathing stopped the moment he saw her. He didn’t think she could get anymore beautiful.

Turns out he was incredibly, outstandingly wrong.

He felt his heat racing and his blood pumping, drowning out whatever Nat was telling him about her plans for the evening.

Ella’s eyes were everything to him. They bared her soul and showed him her heart at the same time. He’d never been able to see a future for himself, until she fell into his life.

He worried about her constantly. Not being able to see her or talk to her or hear her voice for nearly 3 weeks drove him crazy. Then seeing her in the state she was in, so obviously sleep deprived and stressed. He hated himself for making her worry so much, and it was clear she wasn’t too happy with him when he got back this morning.

“Hello, Earth to Barnes? Did you hear me?” Nat said, waving her hand.

Bucky shook his head, “No sorry, what was that?”

Nat smiled slyly. “Mhm, your girls got you in a tizzy, that’s for sure.” She said, sipping her martini.

Bucky smiled shyly. “She’s not my girl, no matter how much I wish she was.”

Nat slapped his lapel, “So what the fuck are you doing fuck standing here with me?!”

“Ow! Okay, okay! Christ, shouldn’t you be fucking Banner in a utility closet or something?” He laughed stepping away from her.

“All in good time, Barnes. Now go get your girl.” She said spinning away from him.

Bucky’s eyes traveled to where she was standing, but she wasn’t there. Sam was in her spot, downing a shot Bucky was sure he’d regret in the morning.

He maneuvered around the groups of people, searching for her. The soft rock music playing poignantly through the speakers, he sees a few couples dancing.

He scoots around them and spots Steve.

Good for him. He thought happily to himself.

When Steve sways around with his partner, he sees its not a random guest he’s dancing with. Steve is dancing with a beautiful girl, a woman, Bucky’s girl.

Bucky wants to throw up and kick his ass all at once.

But then he sees Ella.

She’s smiling, and comfortable. She’s happy as she rests her head on Steve’s chest, and sways to the rhythm of the song.

The alcohol in his system doesn’t make these feelings any easier to handle. His vibranium fist clenching and unclenching.

A whirring sound get both Steve and your attention. That’s when you see Bucky standing about 10 feet away from the two of you as he watches dance.

“Hey Buck, wh—“

“Shut the fuck up, Steve.” Bucky slurs.

Your eyes widen at the words he says to his friend. Bucky is visibly shaking, and obviously drunk—probably more so than you, and that’s saying something since Sam kept the shots coming.

“Bucky, stop.” You say before your mind can stop you.

He lets out a sarcastic laugh, “Not fucking him, huh?” He spat in anger as he pushed by you, leaving the lounge all together.

Steve looked to the door, then to you. Your eyes brimming with tears as you swallowed a sob.

He looks at you with a sad smile, and nods his head toward the door. “Go get him.”

Chapter Nine: Seen

[dammitadolfnomorecake]

Once Bitten, Twice Stupid prt.84 prt.1

Lance was low-key pumped. He was high-key nervous, but juiced up on blood and feeling better for it. Not remembering sitting across from Lotor as he explained what he wanted him to fetch was a weird feeling. Keith was being clingy, Lance had had just about enough of it thanks to his stupid ego. He was going to steal the item and rub Lotor’s nose in it when he did.

“Go left at the next intersection”

With Shiro directing them, Lance was all suited up like a Blade. He and Keith both had comms in their ears, while Coran waited out the front on the off chance they needed to make a run for it. Currently they were in The Sisters of Platt Placement School and Lance was kind of feeling a rush sneaking around like this. The campus was closed seeing it was pretty much a regular high school with a fancy name. He’d never gone to a fancy high school but this place was teched out, despite being a converted monastery at some point. Death still lingered in the halls. Cold spots and the occasional fuzzy shape had him on edge... and he was also really horny. Too much blood in his system would do that. His underwear damp, breaking slightly ragged

“Understood”

Keith was used to Shiro in his ear, Lance wanted to know how to mute him. He needed to narrow down his world. He couldn’t wear his glasses and the mask. The fact he’d also left his glasses at home trying to look more vampirey for Lotor meant he couldn’t have even if he’d wanted to.

Hearing a closing door then footsteps ahead of them, Lance grabbed Keith by the arm, dragging him through the closest the door. Closing the door as quietly as he could behind him, Lance pressed a Keith up against the wall beside the door, hand over his mouth. His boyfriend muffled as he tried to ask what was happening. Hushing him softly, the steps came closer and closer, Keith finally getting what was happening and falling silent. Door knobs were rattled along the hall, until finally the stranger reached the room they were in. Pressing hard against Keith to make them as small as possible in the space, the door to the room opened slightly, before being pulled solidly shut again, keys jangling then the lock clicked as it turned over, locking them in.

Remaining silent until the footsteps left, Lance let out a long breath of relief, dropping his head against Keith’s shoulder. He could smell his boyfriend. Keith smelt delicious... like everything he could ever want and need, as his half hard dick twitched. Shit... he didn’t need a heat right now... He needed to calm down

“What’s happening? Your tracker shows you’ve stopped”

Lance groaned at Shiro’s voice. Keith moving Lance’s hand from his mouth

“Someone was still here. We’ve been locked in. It might take a little bit to get the lock picked. We’re going moving to silent”

“Okay. Keep your heads down. Let me know if you need help”

“Will do”

Keith pressed his comms, then pressed Lance’s. Bringing his hands up, his boyfriend pushed him back to look at him properly, Lance turning his flushed face. Now was not the time to be getting lost in gorgeous purple eyes, or the thought of Keith’s soft skin against his... or the way his gloves hands would feel on Lance’s hips... Lance sighed, Keith didn’t follow any kind of skin care regimen and still managed to look this good, talk about life not being fair

“Babe?”

“I’m... okay...”

“You’re shaking”

“Adrenaline will do that... We better get that lock undone”

“Just. What’s going on?”

Lance sighed hard, almost as hard as his damn dick. Why did Keith have to be so... Keith like

“I’m horny”

There was a long moment of silence between them, Keith finally asking

“Horny?”

“Yep. Blood will do that. Plus... we’re sneaking around a deserted high school. Doesn’t it kind of make you want to do something naughty?”

“We’re on a mission”

No shit. Lance hadn’t noticed at aaaaaall. This was taking him back to the days of inappropriate and awkward boners through puberty... thanks to his current inappropriate boner

“I know. But we’re also alone... in a classroom that we’re locked in. We could be caught by someone at any moment... Doesn’t it make you feel like doing something... that’d make the teacher mad?”

What was he doing?! Noooo. Bad lusty Lance!

“I... ugh... didn’t like high school. No body... wanted to really know me. And the teachers thought I had issues”

“You could bend me over the teachers desk and fuck me senseless”

Both of them blinked at each other, Lance feeling mortified. This was his first official mission! He had to be smooth and mature... and not his normal self... God... Keith smelt too good

“I’m so sorry...”

Not smooth. Not smooth at all. Keith’s hands moved from his shoulders, cupping Lance’s face and forcing him to look at his boyfriend

“You’re in heat, aren’t you? You’re trying to cover it...”

Keith’s voice sounded accusatory. Nearly yelling, Lance dropped his voice to a whispered yell. Stupid hormones and hot boyfriend’s. He was horny, but his stomach wasn’t too crampy yet

“I don’t know! I mean, I don’t mean to be... forget I said anything...”

Keith sniffed the air

“I can smell it now... how bad is it?”

“I’ll be fine. Just... can you figure out this lock?”

“That’s not what I asked. How bad is it?”

“I’m fine. The mission comes first”

“We’re locked in here anyway. Someone might come back this way”

“I can break the door handle”

“We’re not breaking the handle if we don’t have to... Hold on...”

Keith turned his comms back on

“Shiro, this might take a little while. Give us 10 then call through again”

Lance estimated it’d take all of 30 seconds... Yeah. He was stupid pent up

“Everything okay?”

Leaning in, Lance nuzzled into Keith, knee sliding between his boyfriend’s legs. Keith sounded too calm

“Yeah. A particularly tricky lock. Lance offered to break it if I can’t get it”

“Perhaps I can assist?”

Rocking his knee, Lance mouthed at Keith’s covered neck. His boyfriend squeaking, voice an octave higher than normal as he rushed to rely

“No! I mean... You stay where you are Coran. Keep an eye out to see if our unexpected employee leaves. We’ll handle things here”

“Okay. You boys stay safe”

Turning his comms back off, Keith tugged his mask off, Lance a tad too eager as he tried to kiss him through the fabric of his. Tugging the edges, Lance wasn’t being cooperative

“Babe... mask, off”

Pouting at being stopped, he hefted Keith up by the arse, carrying him over to the teachers desk. Annoyed by the stupid mask, he nearly tore the damn thing as he pulled it off, rutting up against Keith as Keith wrapped his legs around his waist. They shouldn’t be doing this... not when they can get caught... In a classroom no less...

“Lance...”

Kissing Keith to shut him up. They were both clumsily desperate. The feeling in his belly growing now he could smell Keith properly. His boyfriend was hard against him, their kisses a little too teethy... breaking apart, Lance sucked down a couple of breaths, trying to regain his composure. Dazed purple eyes started up at his. Keith was fucking beautiful... How did he manage to get so damn lucky

“You’re so goddamn pretty. Are you going to punish me for being a bad student?”

“How are you so horny...?”

Lance laughed giddily

“Horny for you. Mister Keith Kogane... I don’t know if you’d make the best geography teacher, but I’m sure you could teach me a thing or two?”

Keith pouted at him

“The Blades would be so disappointed”

They could go jump. No one got to make Keith feel like shit on his watch

“Fuck them”

Snorting, Keith’s hands went to his hips

“I’d rather fuck you...”

“Mhmm... I like the way you’re thinking... if I’m good, will you give me extra credit?”

Keith slid himself forwards off the desk, nosing at Lance’s neck as he whispered

“Depends how good you make me feel. Make me feel good and make me come. Then I might give you a passing grade”

Bent over the geography teachers desk, Lance’s fingers had dented the edge of the desk as he held on. His suit was stripped down to his thighs, Keith’s hands on his hips as his boyfriend fucking drilled him. His underwear was a mess, and would be for the rest of the mission. Keith felt so damn good that coming once on his boyfriend’s fingers hadn’t been enough. Unable to keep his moans to himself, Lance was so sure they were going to be sprung. He needed Keith to hurry up and finish, but he was so damn close to coming again that he didn’t want Keith to stop. Moving his hand off Lance’s hip, Keith covered his mouth. Lance moaning. He felt filthy like this... leaning down, Keith’s voice was husky

“I’m close... be a good boy and come for me. Show me you’ve learned your lesson”

Nodding quickly, Lance pushed his hips back, Keith’s blood dribbling onto his lips as his fangs caught on his lover’s fingers. Keith’s dick felt so damn perfect. Filling that need to be filled without being uncomfortable. Fucking fuck... He couldn’t stop himself. Whimpering at the taste of fresh blood, climax washed over him as he came in his underwear again. Keith pulling out to come between his thighs. It wasn’t like they had a condom handy for “doing the do” mid theft. Slumping against him, Keith pressed kisses to his back along his spine. His boyfriend’s breath warm puffs against this cooling skin

“Babe?”

“Fuck... fuck... I’m okay... god...”

“I don’t think he’s here right now”

“He’s not, but we are. Are you two done?”

Lance had a minor heart attack on the spot.

“Leave them be...”

“Coran”

“We were all young once”

“There on a mission!

Shiro and Coran had heard? Keith pulled back from cuddling him. Lance whining in embarrassment, and fear. He felt vulnerable like this. Keith protected and kept him safe when he got like this, his boyfriend had to be angry

“Fuck off. You’re upsetting Lance”

“You’re supposed to be on a mission”

“Lance’s heat hit out of nowhere. What are you doing listening to us?”

“You turned your comms back on making out. We muted you and thought you’d be done by now. Do you need to pull out?”

“Already did”

Lance groaned at Keith the same time Shiro did. Shiro really could have phrased that better

“I meant the mission. If Lance is in heat...”

“It settles... if it comes back again, we might”

“I’m fine now. Can we stop talking about it?”

“Lance, there’s nothing to be embarrassed about. With all that adrenaline...”

Lance let his head hit the desk. He was tempted to see if he could kill himself right there before he expired of embarrassment

“What was that thud?”

Shiro cut Coran off. Keith impatient with the pair of them

“It’s nothing. We’ve got this”

“Keith...”

“We’ve got this. We’ll let you know when we’ve got what we came for”

The finality in Keith’s tone left no room for argument. The conversation ending there.

While Keith cleaned himself up, Lance did the same. He straightened up the anonymous teacher’s desk, feeling embarrassed instead of elated or post glow bliss

“Babe. It’s okay”

“I don’t feel like it’s okay. Why does this shit have to keep happening?!”

“You can’t help it. Has it passed?”

Lance nodded. It’d been like one of the random waves he’d gotten in the very beginning as his body started changing. At least he knew what caused it this time

“Yeah. Let’s just get out of here before we really get caught”

“I’ll do the lock. You take the time you need”

“Okay...”

With his underwear filled with half a box of tissues, Lance said a silent apology. He’d never had a problem with his geography teachers... Math’s kind of, but that was because he knew more than he was supposed to for his age and his teacher was constantly writing how he needed to apply himself more in his term reports. Now that his heat flash had passed, he felt jumpier. The natural sounds of the school after hours kept making him jump. He wanted to get out of the stupid school and go home and shower. He was staying with Keith for the night, meaning he’d probably get a talking to from Shiro that he didn’t need. Fuck being a vampire. It sucked.

*

Getting the door unlocked wasn’t that hard. Keith had picked harder locks in his dream. Checking the coast was clear, they redonned their masks, pausing then long enough for Keith to do the zipper on Lance’s uniform. His boyfriend not used to it, plus the size was slightly off as it was Keith’s spare he hadn’t used in a while now.

Creeping through the corridors, both of them were on guard for any wandering staff. Keith hadn’t had the best years of his life in high school, but now he had a slightly better memory to think about when it came to the stupid institution. He’d never really fitted in and honestly couldn’t remember having anyone he’d call a friend for it. Moving along and taking the left, Shiro’s voice came back over the comms

“Keep going. Go up the stairs and then you want to go right. The library is at the end of the hall in the newer part of the building”

“Got it”

Lance had a point though. Being back in school made Keith kind of want to take revenge and do something bad, but the staff here weren’t the people he was angry at, so destroying property here would only hurt people. He didn’t know why Lotor wanted them to fetch a book, but it seemed really stupid. The vampire was definitely messing with them. Darting up the stairs, Keith tripped on the top stair, Lance catching him by the arm before he face planted

“Thanks, babe”

“Let’s just get this done”

He knew his boyfriend felt bad about his bodily needs. Shiro and Coran didn’t need to comment on it. Half an hour max and they’d be headed home. Lance felt bad about theft so Coran was going to donate to the school anonymously to cover the cost of the book, once he’d checked it over. Following Shiro’s directions, they turned right, the library sign posted making it impossible to get lost.

Reaching the library, the lights were still on. The door was locked, but gave way easily when Keith jiggled the handle. The hunter nearly laughing in relief over how easy it’d been to get in

“Shiro, where is it?”

“All I’ve got is the map. You’ll have to work it out when you get there. Head to the far wall and it should be on the right about a metre down from the cross axis”

“Okay. We’re going in”

The library was far nicer than the library at Keith’s high schools. Two during his career as a student, both poorly funded. This place looked fresh out of a magazine. New computers ran the middle length. Two stories filled with towering bookcases and at least a dozen display cases between them and where the book should be. The far wall comprised of a series of windows that’d allow plenty of natural light. Turning his head towards Lance, his boyfriend was already nerding out

“Babe, we’ve got to keep moving”

“I know. But it’s so beautiful”

“You can admire it once we’re out of here”

Lance nodded, clearly pulling himself out of his internal debate over how many books he could finish in his lifetime. Following behind him, they moved to the far wall. The night sky filled with signs of life beyond the glass

“We’re looking for a book, right?”

“I think so. Shiro says it’s around here. Maybe in the display case?”

The only thing in the display case there was a small Bible, a necklace, and a plaque talking about the nun or whatever they’d belonged to

“Shiro. I don’t know what we’re looking for”

“It should be just behind you”

Their comms had GPS that’s how Shiro was guiding them

“It’s a Bible and a necklace”

“It’s what Lotor wants”

Lotor only knew why

“Alright. Lance, you’ll need to lift the case”

Lifting the case, Keith grabbed the Bible and the necklace... and the plaque because it was there and he didn’t want to have to come back. Lance lowering the glass back in place, his boyfriend’s head snapping up

“Someone’s coming”

Fuck

“Okay. We’ve got what we need. We’ll find an alternative route out”

Running across the room they made into the library stacks. Keith pressing himself into the shadows of the corner. In his ear, Shiro asked

“What’s happening?”

Keeping his voice low, Keith’s attention was more on Lance who was squatting in front of the window between two bookshelves

“Company. It’s fine. It sounds like maybe it’s the librarian”

“Let me know if you need a distraction”

Lance interrupted

“No need. We can go out the window”

The what now? Shiro as confused as he was

“What was that?”

“Lance has an idea. Let me check it out”

The window in question was roughly the same size an A3 piece of paper. Lance had worked the bolts out, before lifting the frame free from the housing. Poking his head out, his boyfriend seemed proud of himself

“There’s a ledge. It’s a thin fit, but if you can get on there, I can get us down”

Drawing back inside, Lance gestured to the open window. Keith crouching down to echo his boyfriend’s move

“Babe, the roof is too far”

The roof below was a good three meters. Probably why they thought bolting the windows was enough instead of riveting them in place. Lance’s vampire strength had made easy work of them

“For a human”

Keith was bewildered

“What? You want to jump and leave me up here?”

“No. Look, just get out on the ledge and I’ll get us down”

It was only a matter of time before the theft was noticed. He didn’t want to face an angry librarian

“If I die, I’m coming back to haunt you”

“Then it’s a good thing you’re not about to die”

Keith was kind of sure he was about to. The ledge seemed a very bad idea but they didn’t have time to debate it. With zero grace, he climbed out onto the ledge, trying not to look down as he did or drop their pillaged loot. This was a terrible plan and he didn’t even know what the plan was.

Lance climbed onto the ledge as Keith shuffled to the right, to scared to let his fingers leave the glass

“Wrap your arms around me”

“What?”

“Your arms. Wrap them around my shoulders”

“Maybe we should go back inside...”

“Keith, I promise I’ve got this. Do you trust me?”

“You know I trust you”

“Then let go of the window. I’ve you”

Keith shook as he forced himself to wrap his arms around Lance

“Good. Now close your eyes”

Oh fuck... He got the plan now

“Babe...”

“Hold on tight”

As Lance leapt, Keith was hefted up against his chest, burying his face against his boyfriend’s neck as the cool wind whipped past them. Landing hard, Lance kept him up against him

“He’s found the case empty. It’ll be faster if I carry you”

[marvel-lucy]

Tony’s heart

So I have lost the multi-chapter fic I was partway through :( In looking for it, I found this, post-Endgame (wow I’m late!) fic that I started writing to stop my heart breaking :) I still miss that other fic though!

If you need proof that Tony Stark had a heart, you never knew him at all. He had too much heart. That’s why I came into existence; that’s why he could be so hurt by the people he loved; why he could be so damaged by his past.  And that’s why I did what I did.  And I don’t regret a bit of it. Tony Stark had a heart all right, one big enough for the whole world, but he liked to hide it behind that veneer of shallow ego, and behind the Iron Man. If you’ve got a heart as big and soft as Tony’s, you need to protect it.

So you’ll remember the whole business around Ultron. How Bruce and Tony made the shield around the world that, as it turned out, decided humanity was self-destructive and should be wiped out? How Ultron was made using the power of the Mind Stone, and had to be defeated, but that shifted everyone’s opinion of the Avengers, led to Civil War… all that. You remember? I don’t. I don’t remember because I wasn’t around then. I was made, after. After Ultron had been born and then killed by the Mind Stone wielded by his own… son? Brother? Vision, Tony didn’t give up on his idea of protecting the world after that though. If anything, he wanted it more. He never told anyone about the panic attacks, or the PTSD he suffered from, but with every attack that the Avengers dealt with, they got worse, until it felt as if the whole world was a threat, and there was no safety left.

He didn’t give up on his plan. He made me.  Unlike Vision, I’m not purple, and I can’t fly. I don’t have a stone embedded in my head, and I seem… normal. But I’m not. I’m not human for a start. Thanks to the Cradle, I can pass for a person, but my flesh was created through science, not love. I’m imbued with the power of the stones though. The Mind Stone was used, through Vision, who knew what Tony was up to, but was reassured that Tony was creating something less chaotic. Vision took his time, weighing it up, but decided on balance that he could trust Tony. The maths for my existence added up, the equations came out in favour of a second try, learning from the success of Vision and the failure of Ultron.

I had to be kept secret though. No telling the team, not Bruce, not even Pepper.  I officially joined up through a scholarship, one of Tony’s. My presence in the Tower and the Compound was explained away as an internship, an assistant, a coffee-fetching gofer, until I was too familiar to need explanations. Nobody knew I knew Tony before that. I was simply the latest in a line of fresh faced new bodies to be trained in all things saving-the-world. There were a fair few of us then, before the Avengers fell apart and suddenly nobody had the heart to recruit new cannon fodder.

Tony didn’t acknowledge me in public, or private. He’d made me, but now he was afraid. I could feel him watching me, not able to trust that I wouldn’t go the way of Ultron. I was just another weight on his chest, breaking his soft heart into pieces. He was afraid to tell anyone about me, afraid to try and destroy me, afraid to let me live a life in peace. Eventually it seemed kinder to remove myself from the Compound, absence not making the heart grow fonder, but at least making it less anxious. So I just left one day, moving out and moving on, although I couldn’t break the ties that bound me to them, particularly him, my creator. I monitored channels, followed news report, kept my logins current so that I could at least have that one last connection.

Then Thanos came, and the world’s heart broke.  News coverage was limited, because half the reporters had gone, and those that remained were left reaching for loved ones who weren’t there, too busy breaking down to share the news with a world that was too bereft to watch.  The Avengers’ comms channels were mostly silent, there was little to report and at first they were all together, clinging on to the ones that had remained.  

I hadn’t been snapped, of course, because I wasn’t, technically, alive, so I’d watched everyone I cared for suffer for five years as the world grieved, and tried to move on. But it couldn’t. There was too much loss, it was impossible to comprehend. People stopped speaking, afraid to ask their friends about their husbands, wives, children, because they didn’t know who was left. Friendships broke down, when survivor’s guilt hit those who were here, and angry jealousy hit those who had lost everything. Babies and children, left alone when their parents had vanished, cried in empty houses until they went quiet. Time passed, and it should have eased, but the weight was too much for people to keep moving. Gradually people returned to work and school, but it was as if they were moving through shadows, and there was very little joy to be found.

So when the channels I monitored showed what was happening, I knew I had to be there, at the last. I saw the schematics for the time device on Tony’s computer, and understood what he’d made before he did. The power in me from the infinity stones registered the arrival of each stone into our time, and I could feel myself become stronger as each stone appeared. I knew that meant Thanos would be aware of them too. I felt Natasha’s death on Vormir as if I’d seen her fall myself, knew when Clint held the Soul Stone in his hands, and felt it cry out with the weight of her soul. And I knew, when someone put the stones together, and snapped their fingers. I didn’t know then it was Bruce. Gentle, quiet Bruce, whose only aim was to bring peace, but who was always destined to share his life with a force of chaos. I felt the snap, and the power of the stones washed over me so that I staggered, then I ran to the window and looked out and saw them return.

You were there, you saw it, whether you were one of the returned or one of the ones who’d stayed. The pandemonium and confusion as people who had felt only a blink of time, suddenly stood in demolished buildings and in front of people who’d aged as if before their eyes. Cars screeched and crashed as the vanished reappeared. Parents, who’d last seen their children as babies, blinked and saw them suddenly as children, crying in fear at these forgotten parents. It wasn’t something I could concern myself with. Let them explain to each other, I had no time to waste in wondering how humanity would explain itself, how families would rebuild and the universe would breath out to accommodate all this unexpected life.

I felt it when Thanos arrived. Like a punch to the stomach, it left me winded. I was close by already, I’d never gone far from Tony’s side even when he didn’t want me around, and although the streets were filled with crying and laughter and madness, my car made quick work of the route through to the Avengers Compound. Or to where it had been. It was a wasteland by the time I got there. Thanos’s army had destroyed buildings and land as far as I could see. What had been a green paradise was blackened by fire and salted with the Titan’s hatred.

I saw the battle play out in my mind, even as my eyes tried to take it in. I could feel the stones as they moved around, and could sense the battle shifting back and forth. Captain America’s stand against Thanos for a moment seemed as if it would win, but it wasn’t enough, not until portals started opening and I saw hordes arrive, hordes from Earth, Asgard, everywhere, to defeat Thanos for once and for all.

That was my cue. I could feel the stones moving, carried by heroes further and further across the battlefield and it seemed the tides were turning in our favour, until that final moment. Thanos seized the gauntlet and was faced by only Tony. Tony, the man they said had no heart. The billionaire philanthropist playboy, the man who let himself be a joke because to show his heart was to risk it being broken. He’d let Pepper in, and Morgan had opened him up further, but when he thought Cap had betrayed him, he’d felt that wound deeply. And here he was, nanotech stealing the stones before Thanos knew. I knew, of course, I could tell the moment they changed hands. The stones sparkled in my soul as they sent out their tendrils to seek out the mind of their new owner.  I was running faster than I ever had now, to reach him. I wanted to take the gauntlet from him, would rip his hand off if I had to, just to save him, but I didn’t make it. I felt the power surge as he snapped, and all I managed to do was to grab hold of his other hand, as tightly as I could. His head turned towards mine, and I wondered if he would remember how the Guardians had survived the force of the Power Stone by standing together, but his mind was being torn open by the force he’d unleashed, and I don’t even know if he recognised me.

I channelled the power as much as I could, through me, even as I saw the first of Thanos’s soldiers start to fade to dust and blow away. I opened my mind and my heart and my cells and my soul to the stones and sang to them until they were diverted from their destruction of Tony and sent their power towards me. I felt them dance in my atoms as they broke me apart and revelled in their own potency.

I didn’t know much more than that, afterwards. Not as myself. My consciousness vanished back into the stones that had created it so that I am no longer me, but a part of everything and nothing at once. But there is still a cord that binds me to Tony Stark, even as I straddle the universe in the stones.

I saw Tony hold on to me on the battlefield, as the armies faded away and the birds began to sing again in the sudden silence. His right arm was burnt and broken, and would never heal again, but his heart kept beating, as he held me in his left arm. I saw him whisper to me, apologies that were unneeded and promises that he couldn’t keep. I saw Pepper hold him, and tell him it was OK, and that he could rest now, the world was saved. I saw Peter tell him that they’d won, and Tony looked up at that, as if he’d forgotten that there was a fight at all. He cried when he saw Steve, who knelt next to him, and held on as if he wouldn’t let go.

So don’t tell me Tony Stark didn’t have a heart. I am the power at the heart of the universe, and the soul of every living thing. I could tear apart your mind and turn time inside out, I can move reality as easily as I can move through space, and wherever and whenever and whoever I am, I will burn into the universe that Tony Stark has a heart. His heart made me, and saved the world. And now although his heart hurts, that I died, so many died, I watch through time and space and souls that his heart has a long journey still to make. I see him teaching Morgan, I see him growing old with Pepper, I see him holding his grandchildren. And when his heart does end, I’ll be there waiting.  

--

@melconnor2007​ @avengerscompound​ @kittyslove​ @badassbaker​ @phoenix21love​ @lbouvet​  @bellenuit45​ @prplprincez​  @gingerrootknits​ @pineapplebooboo​ @feelmyroarrrr​ @avengerofyourheart​ @eyeofdionysus​@hellomissmabel​ @learisa​ @mitra-k-w​ @imhereforbvcky​ @shaddixlife​ @supernatural-girl97​ @iwillbeinmynest​ @amrita31199 @algud​ @whatsbetterthanfantasy​ @pixierox101​ @madcheshire89​  @chipilerendi​  @mckorni32843​ @amandarosemire @nyxveracity @sea040561​ @mrsalh32611​ @ruinerofcheese​ @callmebucky-doll​ @vintagepigeon​  @sassycanoodler​  @natcad​ @thisismysecrethappyplace​ @geeksareunique​ @mywinterwolf​  @moderapoppins​ @rinthehufflepuff​ @holyfuckloueh​ @onebatch–twobatch @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory@patzammit @procrastinatingart1st @princess76179​ @marvelouspottering​ @fangirlanotherjust​  @notyourtypicalrose​@princess-rene​@miraclesoflove​ @scarletluvscas @inlovewithjamesbarnes @mizzzpink​ @creepylittlemarvelgirl @rand0mfangurlstuff @occasionalwritingsofmia @tony-stank3​

[coldflasher]

Femslash Week Day 7 - Unexpected/alternate meeting

Pairing: Nora West-Allen/Jesse Wells

Rating: Teen (Fade-to-black sex scene)

TW: mentions of sex

Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23066806

Can’t Outrun Love by coldflasher

“Maybe you should introduce yourself,” said Nora as they circled one another.

“You first,” the other speedster said.

“They call me XS,” said Nora, and went for a super-speed roundhouse kick.

Her form was perfect, and the speed-force sang in her system as she swung – but the stranger caught her ankle before the kick could connect, holding Nora’s outstretched leg in place. Shocked by her audacity, Nora stared and tried to pull her leg free, but the other woman had a surprisingly strong grip.

“Nice to meet you, XS,” the woman said. “I’m Jesse Quick.”

An unfamiliar speedster shows up at S.T.A.R Labs, and Nora’s keen to prove she can take her down. When it comes to Jesse Quick, she might’ve got more than she bargained for.

Nora was playing on a Gameboy in the staff lounge when the alarm went off.

Her mom had brought it to her earlier in the afternoon. It was a slow day with no bad guys or rogue metas on the loose, and Nora was bored, doing endless laps of the speed-lab just to kill time. Her dad was at the CCPD catching up on paperwork; after one too many attempts to explain how archaic the precinct’s systems were compared to how they were in the future, which had culminated in her trying to give her dad’s computer an upgrade and almost blowing it up, Nora had been banned from ‘helping’ for the foreseeable future. So not shway.

“Whoa, easy tiger,” Iris had called as she entered the lab. “You wanna slow down for a sec?”

“I’m bored,” Nora whined as she skidded to a stop in front of her, making her mom’s hair fly crazily like she was caught in a gale. “What on earth is it you do around here when there’s no bad guys to fight?”

“It’s called working,” Iris said mildly. “It’s how we keep a roof over your head.” But she didn’t look mad. “Come on,” she said. “I have something to show you.”

An offer like this usually meant good things, so Nora eagerly bounced over to the desk and perched on it, swinging her legs. She knew it was kind of lame to get so excited over looking at old photo albums and flicking through her parents’ yearbook, but there was so much stuff in those things that hadn’t made it to the Flash museum. After years of family history being walled off, a little thing like a photo of her dad hanging out in the cortex in the Flash suit still hadn’t lost its novelty.

What Iris produced, though, wasn’t a photo or a piece of high school memorabilia. It was a weird plastic square. Nora took it and turned it back and forth, before discovering that it opened up to reveal a tiny screen.

“It’s called a Gameboy,” Iris told her. “One of the OG handheld games consoles. It belonged to your dad. We used to fight to the death over this when we were kids.”

“Shway,” Nora breathed, pressing buttons until the screen lit up, bathing her face in light. “It’s so old. It’s like something from the stone age.”

“Ouch,” said Iris, but she was grinning.

“Sorry,” said Nora. “But you have to admit the graphics are terrible.” She looked down at the shapeless blob of pixels that was supposed to be her avatar and shook her head in amazement.

“Oh, for sure. Even in 2019 it’s a little dated. Still fun, though. It might give you something to do around here; you don’t want to tire yourself out by running around all day. If there’s an emergency, you might need your speed.” Iris nudged her. “And between you and me, if you can beat your dad’s high score then you have to promise me you’ll rub it in his face. I never managed to beat him and he’s never let me forget it.”

“Challenge accepted,” said Nora, already mashing buttons.

She was lying on her back on one of the sofas in the lounge, trying to manoeuvre the little Mario-blob across a maze of green pipes, when the familiar sound of alarms made her jump out of her skin. Immediately forgetting the console, she sat bolt upright and put her finger to her ear to activate the comms unit. Wearing it 24/7 was overkill, she knew that – but it made her feel close to the rest of the team, hearing their voices in her ear whenever she needed them.

“Guys, what’s happening?”

“We’ve got some unexpected activity in the breach room,” said Cisco. “But –”

“I’m on it,” said Nora, sprinting downstairs.

She flew through the corridors, stopping for just long enough to grab her suit and throw it on – no bad guys were catching her unmasked – before skidding into the room where the breach pulsed and flickered in the centre, its blue going brighter.

“Okay guys, what am I looking at?”

There was a crackle in the comms, but nothing clear. Frowning, Nora tapped her earpiece, but there was only static.

“Guys?”

The breach yawned like the maw of a gigantic beast. Nora threw her arm up to protect her face, and then a figure leapt out of the maelstrom and landed lightly in the centre of the room. It was a young woman around her age, wearing a red and yellow suit with a mask over her eyes. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail.

Nora didn’t waste a second. When it came to masked intruders, her policy was ‘punch first, ask questions later’ – and with that in mind, she launched herself at the stranger, lightning crackling all over her body as she drew her arm back in preparation to punch.

When she tapped into the speed force, Nora was used to everything around her moving as slow as glass, their motions almost imperceptible. She wasn’t expecting the woman to turn her head and look at her at a perfectly normal speed, like Nora was an interesting specimen under a microscope.

The stranger’s hand came up, catching Nora’s fist in hers and stopping it mid-swing.

Frozen with shock, Nora stared at her. Her lightning flared, and an answering yellow blaze illuminated the other speedster, crackling in her eyes.

“Who are you?” Nora demanded.

“I could ask you the same question,” the speedster said, and swung a punch with her free hand.

Nora intercepted it in time, but only just. They broke apart and she backed off to a safe distance, wary all of a sudden. She’d never fought another speedster before, though she’d known it was a possibility – there were so many of them. Casting her mind back, she tried to remember what her dad had told her about battling someone whose abilities matched hers. Without her natural advantage, it would be like fighting with a hand tied behind her back, and although she’d taken her turn with a punch-bag and taken some self-defence classes gifted to her by Papa Joe on one long-ago birthday, she wasn’t awesome at fighting. Her speed was what gave her an edge.

“I’m surprised to see another speedster around here,” the stranger said, circling Nora with a toss of her head that made her pony-tail fly. “Guess I shouldn’t be. It seems like there’s a new one every year.”

“Bad news for you,” Nora said. “That means we know how to beat them.”

A grin broke out on the other speedster’s face. “Well, you’re welcome to try.”

That smile did distracting things to her, and she didn’t like it. Now would be a really awesome time to turn off the switch. Knowing her family history of flirting with villains – her mom still liked to tease her dad about his crush on Captain Cold, which he denied with a blush – she supposed it made sense that she’d be attracted to overconfidence and evilness in equal measure, but right now she needed to focus.

She flew at the other speedster and tried to jab her in the ribs. The other woman dodged and aimed a punch to the face that Nora ducked. Crap, she’s fast. As soon as the thought had occurred to her, Nora rolled her eyes at herself. Duh.

They exchanged a flurry of blows, most of which didn’t land. They were pretty evenly matched, which did good things for her ego. Her plan was to wrap the woman’s pretty brown hair around her fist and yank, knowing that her own shorter hair protected her from a similar attack – that was half of why she’d cut it off – but she couldn’t get close enough to get a good grip.

They both backed off, sizing each other up again. Nora found that despite her instincts, she was enjoying herself more than she’d like to admit – and judging by the way the look on the other woman’s face, she wasn’t the only one.

“Maybe you should introduce yourself,” said Nora as they circled one another.

“You first.”

“They call me XS,” said Nora, and went for a super-speed roundhouse kick.

Her form was perfect, and the speed-force sang in her system as she swung – but the stranger caught her ankle before the kick could connect, holding Nora’s outstretched leg in place. Shocked by her audacity, Nora stared and tried to pull her leg free, but the other woman had a surprisingly strong grip.

“Nice to meet you, XS,” the woman said. “I’m Jesse Quick.” And she yanked Nora off her feet.

Nora went down hard with a yelp of shock, landing on her ass. For a moment she lay there staring at the ceiling with the breath knocked out of her, trying to figure out what the hell had just happened. Then a face appeared overhead. Jesse Quick was standing over her with a self-satisfied expression.

Nora was going to wipe that smug look off her face. Lightning crackling, she prepared to launch herself at Jesse –

“Nora, stop!”

Barry leapt between them, arms outspread as if to hold them back from one another. Nora’s heart crashed into her ribcage. He wasn’t wearing the Flash suit.

“Dad, your mask –”

“I’m sorry, did you just say Dad?” Jesse demanded.

“Stand down,” Barry told Nora. “We know her, okay?”

“We do?” said Nora.

Slowly, she picked herself up off the floor. She was sore from the beatdown in more ways than one. With her dad still standing between them, she took a second to get a proper look at Jesse Quick in her red and yellow suit – form-fitted, as all their suits were, for better aerodynamics. Compact, but softer than all the male speedsters Nora had encountered, a body more like her own. Still lithe from all the running, but with curved edges.

Removing her mask, Jesse looked at her with bright, interested eyes. Nora’s stomach gave a lurch. Uh-oh, said a voice in the back of her head. Jesse was cute.

“You’ve got some explaining to do,” Jesse said, eyes fixed on Barry.

“Yep,” he said, lowering his hands. “It looks like I do.”

 The explaining took time. Understandably. It wasn’t exactly a normal situation. She hadn’t really considered what a weird story it was until she’d listened to her dad trying to explain it, with Iris cutting in at regular intervals whenever he left out anything important – but given that she already knew all the details, she wasn’t really listening. There was something a lot more interesting that had caught her attention.

Nora found her gaze kept wandering back to Jesse. The curve of her spine as she leaned against the desk, the way the light caught her hair as she tucked it behind her ear, the sparkle in her eye. It was the first time she’d gotten close to another speedster who wasn’t family, and she was trying to commit all of her to memory, like a fascinating science project or a new Flash story she hadn’t heard.

Jesse looked up and caught her staring. Feeling her cheeks warm, Nora gave her a sheepish smile before looking down at her feet. Jesse’s look lingered, and when Nora looked up again the other woman was still watching her. Seeing she had Nora’s attention, Jesse looked up and down Nora’s body in a clear once-over before her lips curved and she looked away again, returning her attention to whatever Barry was talking about. Nora turned her head and hid her smile in the collar of her jacket.

She’d thought she was being subtle, but apparently not so much. Iris caught her eye and raised her eyebrows encouragingly. Nora shook her head and looked away, but Iris coughed and flicked her eyes at Jesse again. Her meaning was clear: talk to her!

Nora rolled her eyes. Mom!

Iris gave her another look.

If she didn’t do something soon, there was a real danger that her mom might try and do it for her. The only thing more embarrassing than her ridiculous crush was the idea of her parents trying to matchmake on her behalf, so Nora cleared her throat and took things into her own hands.

“So, Jesse… do you guys have Big Belly Burger on your Earth?” she asked casually.

“We sure do. It’s one of my main food groups.”

“Me too! Do you want to head down there and grab lunch? I’m really craving their fries.”

“Sounds awesome,” Jesse said.

“Great idea, I’m starving,” said Barry.

“Uh,” said Nora.

“Babe,” Iris said.

“What?”

“I think Nora and Jesse need a little girl time.”

“Girl time?”

She gave him a meaningful look that slid off him like water off a duck’s back. For a few seconds they stood having one of their wordless conversations, Iris raising her eyebrows progressively higher while Barry continued to look bewildered. Eventually, Iris nodded at Nora and then at Jesse and gave Barry her most meaningful look yet, and finally things clicked.

“Oh,” he said. “Right. Girl time. Got it. I mean, we wouldn’t wanna cramp your style or whatever…”

He gave actual finger guns, and for the first time in her life, Nora experienced what it was like to be embarrassed by her father. She resisted the urge to hide her face.

“Did you just say ‘cramp our style?’” Jesse said incredulously.

“He’s trying to do the Dad thing,” Iris said, patting him on the shoulder. “I’ll get him out of your hair.”

Ignoring Barry’s protests, she steered him out of the cortex, giving Nora a wink on the way out.

“Well that was super weird,” Jesse said.

“Yeah,” Nora said, putting her hands in her pockets. “I should probably mention that I’m sorry for trying to kick your ass and all. I kind of thought you were evil, so…”

Jesse shrugged. “That’s okay. Better to be cautious, right? And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry for actually kicking your ass.”

“You caught me off-guard,” Nora acknowledged. “But I could totally take you.”

“That’s fighting talk.”

“You bet it is.” She paused and ruefully massaged her shoulder. “But we might have to take a rain check on the rematch. I’m still a little sore from the first round.”

“Aww,” Jesse said playfully. “You want me to kiss it better?”

Fireworks went off in Nora’s head. YES! Her gay brain yelled – but common sense quickly reined it in. There was a pretty good chance Barry and Iris might still be lurking around the corner listening in and the last thing she needed was for her parents to catch her making out with a sexy speedster lady in the middle of the cortex.

“Maybe later,” she said.

“I’ll hold you to it.” Jesse rolled her neck. “Come on; it’s Big Belly Burger time. I’ll race you.

Without warning, she rocketed down the corridor like a bullet from a starting pistol, leaving the air tingling with static and the afterimage of lightning flickering in her wake.

“Hey!” yelled Nora as she flew after her.

It wasn’t like she wasn’t used to running with other speedsters by now, but she’d known for a while now that her dad was going easy on her. It made sense that he’d be faster; he’d been running longer, training harder, had years of experience she didn’t – but they both pretended she was almost a match. Jesse Quick, however, had no qualms about showing her just how outclassed she was. It was refreshing to run with someone who wasn’t scared to show they were out of her league.

Jesse turned to glance over her shoulder and stuck out her tongue. Laughing, she piled on the speed and left Nora in the dust.

Grinning, Nora pushed herself harder. There was no way she was catching up, but she was damned if she wasn’t going to try.

 Big Belly Burger was a good call. It was cheerful enough that she could pretend they weren’t on a kind-of-date, loud and bustling and full of chatter so that her heart stopped buzzing speedster-style and her stomach actually stopped doing backflips for long enough to let her eat. Jesse ate her fries one at a time, waving each one around as she talked like she was conducting a miniature orchestra and dipping it in her milkshake before she ate it. Nora, who had been ridiculed her whole life for thinking fries and vanilla shake was a good combination, was kind of obsessed with her. There was this energy she gave off, a kind of effortless confidence that Nora felt like she’d spent her whole life chasing. After discovering her speed she’d unlocked a side of herself she’d never known was there, but she felt as though it had come with an extra helping of uncertainty. All of a sudden she had become unknowable, with a new set of abilities she barely knew what to do with and, until recently, a mentor who could only teach her by proxy from within the walls of a cell. She felt like a teenager again, trying to figure out everything all at once – her speed, her weird new family dynamic, her relationship with the father she’d never known who was only a few years older than she was. Jesse looked like she had it all figured out, and Nora found herself once again with the quandary all queer girls faced: did she want to be Jesse, or be with Jesse?

Both, her brain supplied helpfully. Both is good.

“So you were born a speedster? Not made?” Jesse shook her head. “That’s so crazy. I can’t imagine growing up like this. You must have been a real handful.” She dipped a fry in her milkshake. “You must have had all these years to develop your speed. Look at what your dad’s like and he’s only been like this for what, five years? I can’t even imagine what kind of crazy shit you can do.”

“I wasn’t born with speed, actually,” Nora said shyly. “I mean I was, kind of – but I couldn’t access it. I didn’t know I was a speedster until recently. I’m still getting used to my powers.”

“That makes sense. It’s a pretty big adjustment.”

“That’s an understatement. …You’ve been doing this for a while, right?”

“Couple of years.” Jesse stirred her milkshake a couple of times before popping the lid off and drinking the last of it, her head tipped back.

“Do you ever get used to it?”

Jesse considered this for a moment. “Kind of. I mean you get used to being fast; your speed becomes a part of you, so it’s hard not to – I think you just get used to things being weird. When I think about it too hard, nothing in my life makes sense. I mean, look at me. I’m sat eating Big Belly Burger in a parallel universe. We don’t even have this milkshake flavour on my Earth – which is an absolute tragedy, because it’s amazing.” She shook her head at the polystyrene cup. “I spent months living in a different universe. After a while it became my new normal – but I still missed home.”

“Yeah,” Nora said. “I get that. I’m from the future and everything here is so different. I love being with my parents – meeting my dad, finally having a good relationship with my mom… when I’m from, we don’t get on so well.” She sighed. “But I do miss home sometimes. I think the worst part is that I can’t talk about it. If I ever try to talk about the place I’m from, everyone around me covers their ears in case it screws up the timeline or whatever.”

“You can talk to me,” Jesse offered. When Nora looked dubious, she said, “Not my Earth, not my future, remember? I won’t tell the fam. No spoilers.”

Nora’s instinct was to decline. But she wanted to talk about it, she realised – the life she’d met behind. The mom who was a stranger compared to the one she had now; the technology she’d taken for granted until she lost it; the museum she’d walked through as a kid and later learned was filled with family history; her college experience and her childhood friends and Lia, who she still missed in a part of her heart that had crystallized, turned sharp and jagged as a geode because she wasn’t allowed to talk about her any more.

“Yeah,” she said. “I’d like that.”

 The Big Belly Burger employees had to kick them out at closing time.

As two speedsters, they could both put away crazy amounts of food, so it wasn’t like they hadn’t eaten enough to justify the length of their stay – but Nora was still shocked when she realised the restaurant was empty and the staff were starting to mop the floors. The hours had melted away while she and Jesse sat talking, and night had fallen outside.

Jesse had a lot of stories about Barry and as usual Nora drank them in like she’d finally found an oasis in the middle of a dessert, even the ones she’d already heard – the fresh perspective made them new again, like brushing the dust off old heirlooms and finding the shine underneath. But they’d also talked about where they were from, their lives before the speed, setting the universe to rights. A few hours in, Nora had been hit with a realisation: Jesse got it. She hadn’t realised how desperate she was for someone to understand until she’d found someone who did.

“That was fun,” Jesse said as they reached Joe’s front door. Nora was staying with Papa Joe and Mama Cecile to save her back from the sofas in the staff lounge – they were great for napping on, but not so much for long-term sleeping arrangements.

“Yeah, it was,” Nora agreed.

They stood lingering on the doorstep, the knowledge of what was about to happen making the air tingle between them.

“So,” Jesse said, stepping closer and lowering her voice. She laced her fingers with Nora’s and her thumb danced lightly over Nora’s knuckles, the touch setting her skin on fire all the way up her arm. “I think I owe you a kiss.”

“Maybe more than one,” Nora said breathlessly. “You kicked my ass pretty hard.”

“I can work with that,” said Jesse, and she leaned in.

There was a spark as their lips met, static flaring between them. Startled, they both leapt back. Jesse looked so surprised that Nora couldn’t help giggling – and to her relief, Jesse started laughing along with her. Her hand cupped the back of Nora’s neck as she leaned in and kissed her, and Nora reached up to slip her fingers into Jesse’s hair.

They swayed on the doorstep, the kiss never breaking. There was a bump as Nora’s back pressed into the front door, but she barely felt it. All she was aware of was the warmth of Jesse’s body aligned perfectly with hers, her thigh slotted between Nora’s legs. The kiss had started off gentle but before long it became more urgent, and when they finally broke apart with bright eyes, they were both breathless.

“You’re sure you don’t want to come inside?” Nora asked.

“Well,” said Jesse. “If you’re offering.”

Grinning, Nora took her hand and pulled her forwards, and they both phased through the front door and flitted up the stairs silent as ghosts.

The bedroom door closed behind them and they stood in the middle of Nora’s borrowed bedroom, kissing over and over. When Jesse pulled her shirt over her head and it hit the floor, Nora stood and stared for a solid thirty seconds. She was wearing a white bra covered in purple flowers, with a small diamante nestling between her breasts and lacy straps pressed against her shoulders. The colour of the flowers stood out against her creamy skin.

“Is everything okay?” Jesse asked, uncertain for the first time.

“This is probably kind of weird,” said Nora, “but first of all, I love your bra, and just so you’re aware, my underwear is nowhere near as cute as yours.”

“Well,” Jesse said. “Good thing I’ll be taking it off.” Then she pushed Nora back onto the bed.

A little squeak of surprise left Nora’s mouth as she hit the mattress, but Jesse was already on top of her, straddling her as she kissed her, the silk of her underwear soft against Nora’s fingers as she ran her hands down Jesse’s spine and then settled on her waist.

“Have you ever slept with a speedster before?” she asked.

Nora shook her head.

Jesse gave one of those grins Nora was coming to like so much. “Well then,” she said. “This is going to blow your mind.”

 There was something soft, warm and heavy pressed against her.

Sleepily, Nora stirred. Her eyes slowly blinked open. The first thing she saw was light brown hair on the pillow beside her that absolutely wasn’t her own. Then she focused. Jesse was lying beside her, blue eyes fixed on hers.

“Morning, sleepy head.”

“Good morning,” Nora said, stretching slightly.

They were quiet for a while, each of them admiring the view. Jesse’s fingertips danced down Nora’s arm, and Nora smiled shyly, ducking her head as a blush touched her cheeks.

“You were right,” she said.

“I graduated high school at fifteen and majored in five separate subjects in college, so I usually am,” said Jesse. “Right about what?”

Nora grinned. “It did blow my mind.”

Laughing, Jesse pulled her in for another kiss, morning breath forgotten.

They were very busily making out when there was a brief knock and the bedroom door immediately opened, with Joe standing in the doorway.

“Hey, Nora, Cecile and I were wondering if you –”

He stopped dead. Everyone in the room had frozen. Painstakingly slowly, as if dealing with an animal who would attack if there were any sudden movements, Nora pulled the duvet higher.

“I can explain,” she said.

“You know what?” said Joe. “I’d actually prefer that you didn’t. I’m going to go back downstairs and whenever you two are ready you can come down and we’ll all pretend this never happened.” Pausing, he said, “Uh. Nice to see you again, Jesse.” Then he backed out.

There was a momentary pause. Nora buried her face in her hands.

“So that happened,” said Jesse.

“Oh my God,” said Nora. “What is it about my family?”

“They’re pretty involved. I’d forgotten what that feels like. It’s kind of nice, actually.”

“Well if you stick around for a while, I’m sure you’ll get a chance to experience it a little more.”

She’d been aiming for casual, but Jesse saw right through her. Her smile was knowing. Embarrassed, Nora refused to look her in the eye.

“I can’t stay for too long,” she said. “I have a team back home, and I can’t leave my city undefended. But I’m sure a couple of extra days wouldn’t hurt.”

Unable to hide her delight, Nora said, “I mean, if you want. If it’s not too much trouble.”

“I’m starting to think you and trouble go hand in hand,” Jesse said, leaning in to kiss her. “But luckily for you, I kind of like it.”

[astreetcarnamedwynn]

bnha rewatch: episodes 6-8

In which I dive deep into Bakugou’s head, how society has helped warp him into the asshole that he is at the start of the show, and how he is schooled by Aizawa, All Might, Momo, Todoroki, and especially Midoriya to start his path to becoming a hero. Prepare yourself. I love Angry Explosion Boy and his fraught bond with Midoriya, so there are a lot of words here. If you’d like to read my thoughts about prior episodes, click on the ‘bnha rewatch’ tag. I’m also posting them on AO3; you can find the link to my account at the top of my Tumblr.

“Rage You Damn Nerd,” “Deku vs. Kacchan,” and “Bakugou’s Start Line”

Episode eight’s title (“Bakugo’s Start Line”) defines this set of episodes as it is this set that dive headfirst into Bakugou’s primary arc for the first three seasons. Part of Midoriya’s arc so far is to have the curtain pulled back on the hero world so he can learn the harsh truth of it (exemplified primarily by Toshinori in his true form and by Aizawa as well). This knowledge will likely help him to become an even greater hero than All Might, who saved people and provided them a sense of safety, but who also bears responsibility for skewing heroics into a singular, spectacular show. I doubt Midoriya will ever be a performative hero like Toshinori is with All Might. Though Midoriya has a mask with his costume (the bunny ears and mouth guard, i.e. the All Might components to the costume), it’s been consistently forgotten or destroyed. Midoriya as a hero is Midoriya himself. It’s why his hero name is Deku, after all, and not some pseudonym that highlights his powers or some other flashy attribute.

Bakugou’s arc reflects Midoriya’s. If Fanboy Midoriya at the start of the story reflects society’s warped view of heroism (utterly dazzled by the RAZZLE DAZZLE show aspect of heroing that I’ve discussed previously with All Might and Mic), then Bakugou reflects the product of such a society and its warped view. Bakugou’s sense of himself and his place in the world is largely shaped by society and its twisted views on quirks and heroism. This is not to say that Bakugou does not bear responsibility for his beliefs and his actions. He does. It’s just that those beliefs, which prompted many of those actions, were not the product of himself alone.

It’s notable that, before Bakugou got his quirk, Midoriya describes him as confident: “It seemed like [Bakugou] could do anything. No matter what he decided to do, he was always so confident.” This confidence changes after Bakugou receives his quirk. Bakugou changes after he receives his quirk, and it’s due in part to society’s twisted view of quirks (and thus to his twisted view of quirks as he has grown up in and been influenced by this society).

A side note → This is another place we can hold Toshinori partially at fault for how society and its view on quirks and heroism has developed. He’s kept the nature of his power secret from everyone. In episode eight, Recovery Girl confronts him about this: “Does it really matter if you were born with your quirk? Do you have to be the symbol of peace? Is it that important?” He says yes, proclaiming that, if people knew this power could be passed from one person to another, the temptation of it would become too great. This is likely true. This is a society that reveres power, after all. We see this in the first episode when one of the bystanders in the opening fight wishes he had a powerful quirk like Death Arms does. However, Toshinori keeping the true nature of his power a secret also upholds this reverence for “natural power,” meaning it upholds the idea of judging someone’s worth based on the quirk they inherit, rather than on their other qualities. Toshinori’s secret has contributed to the society in which Midoriya is deemed useless and worthless due to his quirklessness. This is why I think that the truth of Midoriya’s quirk will be revealed to society as a whole, and this revelation will rock society and change it for the better. It’s not “luck” or “destiny” that matters, meaning it’s not the quirk you inherit that is important. It’s the effort you put forth, how you use that power, the kind of person you are that counts the most.

As Toshinori tells Midoriya, there’s a difference between being lucky and deserving: the first is an accident and the latter is one you earn through effort.

Back to Bakugou → The fabulous montage in episode seven (“Deku vs. Kacchan”) shows how society’s reverence for quirks and power inflate his ego. Kids and adults, including his teachers, constantly praise him (“a flashy quirk for a future hero”), and young Bakugou comes to believe this wholly: “I am amazing. I bet there’s no one as great as I am!” To Bakugou (and to society) he has an awesome quirk, which means that he himself is awesome (although he did absolutely nothing to receive this quirk, it being determined by luck and genetics). Bakugou’s life up until his abduction by the sludge villain reinforces this. The first scene we see of him in his middle school classroom shows this most clearly. He blows up Midoriya’s desk and threatens him with an explosion (he looms over Midoriya, who cowers on the floor, with smoking hands), AND HIS TEACHER DOES ABSOLUTELY NOTHING TO STOP HIM. His bad behavior is condoned by society because he has a good quirk.

Contrast this to the first class Bakugou has at UA (seen at the start of “Rage You Damn Nerd”). He does as he has in the past- he threatens Midoriya with his quirk when he gets angry- and yet here Aizawa shuts him down immediately. This begins the crucial second step of “Bakugou Gets His Twisted Illusions about Himself, Quirks, and Heroics Stripped Away until He’s Confronted with the Truth of All Things (and of All Might).” The first step, of course, was the sludge villain and Midoriya (“useless Deku”) helping to save him, which rocked his views of himself and of Midoriya too, which he uses to reinforce his view of himself. In this second step, not only is Bakugou forced to deal with adults who chastise him for doing as he’s always done (Aizawa and then All Might, who calls him out on his inflated pride), he’s forced to deal with the even more shocking fact that the feature upon which he’s built his entire sense of self-worth (his quirk) may not be all that it’s cracked up to be.

See Momo, Todoroki, and Midoriya (here representing the head, hand, and heart- or intelligence, power, and character).

I think it’s important that the characters who cause Bakugou to reasses are two of the four who got into the hero program on recommendations (and thus are “better” than Bakugou) and the one who (in his view) should not even be there. The ‘best’ beat him (Momo intellectually and Todoroki with his power), and the ‘worst’ beats him (Midoriya in the heroes vs. villains match up) as well. I don’t think one by themselves would have such the profound impact that both have on Bakugou.

Momo criticizes Bakugou for his grenade blast, the massive display of power that he wielded in the match. The grenade blast displays the utter power of his quirk. It’s supposed to be both effective and impressive, yet to Momo, it’s neither. All that move showed was Bakugou’s lack of good judgment, a point reinforced by All Might when he chastises Bakugou for using it and says he’ll be penalized if he does it again. How much must that burn for Bakugou: his first interaction with his idol, and his idol criticizes, rather than praises, him.

And then Todoroki. He beat his opposing team BY HIMSELF in less than a minute. Bakugou spent the entire 15 minutes of his allotted time fighting “quirkless, useless Deku,” AND HE LOST. Momo and Todoroki (and Aizawa and All Might) show how the way that Bakugou has operated before as well as the tools of his operation (his quirk) are insufficient.

Side note → I find it interesting that what finally pulls Todoroki into the narrative is Bakugou, not Midoriya. The first time Todoroki speaks in the show is when Bakugou finally demonstrates how skilled he is with his quirk, when he pivots midair over Midoriya in their one-on-one fight to blast Midoriya in the back. Todoroki says of Bakugou, “He doesn’t come off as a guy with a strategy, but he’s actually quite intelligent… very clever.”

Back to Bakugou. If he’s been schooled so far at UA by Aizawa, All Might, Momo, and Todoroki, his most significant schooling comes from the source of his first schooling: Midoriya. He’s right at the end of episode eight when he says that Midoriya humiliated him. Midoriya, obviously, does not do this intentionally. He wanted to beat Bakugou, not beat him down. But beating him IS beating him down in Bakugou’s mind. For the majority of their time, Midoriya (without his quirk, thus as ‘quirkless, useless Deku’) outsmarts Bakugou. He predicts Bakugou’s opening right hook and flips him flat on his back, he nearly captures Bakugou with the capture tape, he successfully evades Bakugou for a significant chunk of time. In fact, Bakugou only gets the upper hand after he goes FULL QUIRK with his grenade blast. But even after this Midoriya humiliates him because, for Bakugou, this has been ALL ABOUT DEKU, but for Midoriya, this has ultimately been about winning the match (Bakugou to Midoriya as he’s talking to Uraraka on the comm: “Are you ignoring me again? I’ll get your attention”). How much must that vex Bakugou? The first reminiscence of his that we get is of Midoriya trailing after him with a look of utter adoration in his eyes, and now he’s not even top priority for Midoriya any more.

The reason he gives for hating Midoriya is tied to this as well. Bakugou flashes back to the first time Midoriya stands up to him (what we see in the first few minutes of the first episode). Here, not only is Midoriya NOT fawning all over Bakugou and his explosive perfection, he’s daring to criticize Bakugou for his bad behavior. Midoriya is one of the few people in these opening episodes (either in the present or in the flashbacks) that criticizes Bakugou for his behavior (Bakugou’s lackeys do it seconds before the sludge villain is set free, calling him out for his harsh bullying of Midoriya, but they didn’t try to stop him as he was doing it, not like Midoriya does in the flashback). To Bakugou, the least important and significant of society, quirkless and thus useless Deku, dares to criticize him, the most gifted and awesome of anyone he knows. It’s easy to see how he twists this into Midoriya thinking that he’s better than Bakugou. If Midoriya didn’t think he was better than Bakugou, he wouldn’t be criticizing him. He’d be fawning all over him as everyone else does.

The irony is that Midoriya DOES revere Bakugou, but he does so in spite of Bakugou’s flaws, not because Bakugou lacks any flaws altogether.

To Bakugou, this incorrect belief that he has of Midoriya thinking he’s better than him is reinforced by the revelation of Midoriya’s quirk. Midoriya mentions in the third episode how no one thinks quirks can be passed on the way that One for All is passed along. Knowing this, he proclaims, would force society to completely rethink everything it knows and thinks about quirks. So of course Bakugou thinks that Midoriya just kept his quirk a secret from him. This becomes then either Midoriya not thinking that Bakugou was worth telling, or that Midoriya was just laughing at him and his cluelessness the entire time they knew each other. In no way does Bakugou think that Midoriya wouldn’t tell him of his “secret quirk” because he’s treated Midoriya like dirt nearly his entire life. To Bakugou, the fault lies with Midoriya, not with himself. To admit that would be to admit that his entire sense of self is wrong, that HE is wrong. Which he is and thankfully, eventually, begins to learn, starting here.

Just a few words on Midoriya in these episodes. If it’s vitally important for Bakugou in the long run that Midoriya beats him, it’s equally as important for Midoriya. All Might recognizes this and (foolishly as a teacher, but feelingly as a mentor) lets the wild fight progress. Bakugou at this point represents both the worst and the best for Midoriya. Bakugou is the worst in his constant dismissal of Midoriya as useless and worthless because he doesn’t have a quirk. For Midoriya to go toe-to-toe with Bakugou for so long in this match without using his quirk is an important step in him building his self-confidence. He CAN do it. He’s not useless Deku anymore. Deku is the name of a hero. Additionally, Bakugou represents the best for Midoriya. He came in first in the entrance exam (and likely the quirk assessment test too). As Midoriya tells Uraraka, Bakugou’s “strength and confidence and ambition, not to mention his quirk, they’re so much greater than mine… but that just means I have to do better.” Qurikless Midoriya needed to prove that he could against Bakugou. Quirked Midoriya needs to do the same. Deku is the name of a hero.

The only way he can do that at this point though is reckless self-sacrifice, which many people call out, including Momo and Recovery Girl. That is not sustainable, as Aizawa said in episode five. What use is such power if Midoriya is rendered useless after one punch? Just as Bakugou’s big blast was reckless and stupid, so too was Midoriya’s. They may have allowed both of them to accomplish their short term goals, but in the long term such actions will only result in their self-destruction. Thankfully, both will learn.

[annoyedfanfiction]

Battle Slaves (1)

Warnings: language, violence and injury, slavery, death, 

Yondu x reader

"You don't know nothin'." Aleta Ogord wasn't used to insubordination. She had come to know the Kree battle slave as one who would obey her, would help her lead, and would have the ability to talk sense into the most wayward of plans and people. She barely recognised the anger in xir eyes now, as xie stood before her, rage lacing through xir very blood.

"What'd ya say ta me?" Aleta Ogord didn't waste time with formality. It wasn't required in the Ravagers. Her First Mate folded xir arms and raised xir head again.

"Ya don' known nothin' 'bout Yondu Udonta." Xie turned on xir heel, not even looking back at xir Captain or Stakar when xie paused. "You two think ya know wha' he did. Think ya know why 'e did it. But if ya think 'e willingly delivered a child to 'er death, 'er suffering, 'er enslavement? Ya don't know nothin' 'bout Yondu Udonta." Xie was gone before her Captain could even think to reply, and all Aleta could do was thank God that xie had waited until they were alone to speak. She pushed Stakar's gun down as the ex-slave disappeared down the hall.

"Don't even think 'bout shootin' ma First Mate." Stakar huffed, but tucked his gun back into his belt anyway.

"Dabria." Xir comm blinked to life in the hallway, and xie flicked it on.

"Kraglin. Have ya got the Terran kid?" The comm crackled, distantly, and Kraglin's confirmation rustled through. "Good. He's our responsibility now. I'm sorry I'm not with ya but I've an allegiance to ma Captain and ma crew. I'd never betray that, even in the smallest way. Just know that I'll always be here for the boy if 'e needs it, and for y'all. I'll do anything I can to convince them of ya innocence, but i's goin' ta be long an' difficult."

"Thank ya, Dabria." Xir door slid open as xir touch found the biomesh pad, and xie sank down onto the bed.

"Take care of 'im, Kraglin. An' the boy. An' ya self. A crew is a family an' don't ya ever let 'em forget that." Xie silenced xir comm and lowered xir head into xir hands. Ravagers didn't cry. Kree battle slaves didn't cry. Xie'd not cried since xie'd been a child, xie didn't even remember how to. So xie kicked an offending jacket across the room, just as the door swung open again.

"Captain." Xie was on xir feet immediately, arm thumping to xir chest, as Aleta deflected the jacket.

"Dabria. Sit." She strolled in, as much in command of herself as her ship, and seated herself in the ragged armchair in the corner. "I know this is hard for ya, an' I canna express 'nuff gratitude for ya loyalty. I canna imagine having to choose between Stakar and my crew. But sometimes we have ta accept tha' the ones we love are wrong."

"I know 'e were wrong, bu' can ya honestly tell me that you an' Stakar ha' never made mistakes? Never broken the code?" Aleta frowned at the floor, her eyes glossed into reminiscence.

"Of course we've. But we don' deal in children. I thought you an' Yondu of all people would know why." Knife to heart. "Special' after Lila." And twist.

"P'raps, but I thought you an' Stakar woulda known why either of us would scoop up a child from the streets wi'out a pause ta deliver 'er to 'er father." The anger Dabria wanted to be in xir voice dissipated when Aleta's hand came down, gently, onto xir knee.

"But why'd 'e agree to the second job?" Aleta was begging xem for an explanation, just like xie begged Yondu.

"'Cause Ego gave it out wit' a gun ta Kraglin's head." And he hasn't handed the boy over. Because the boy wasn't safe on Terra anymore, even once Kraglin was safe. Because Ego knew exactly where he was, and if Yondu didn't take him, someone else would. Aleta sighed, shaking her head.

"I'm sorry, Ria, but they knew what they w're doin'." Yondu's issue was that he had too much heart, even for his brain. Xie smiled, sadly, as xir Captain stood.

"His crew ain't ma responsibility, Cap," xie answered, nodding, making Aleta pause in the doorway. "Yondu mighta been wrong, but I ain't gonna forgive Stakar for this. I know where I stand and why, but ma loyalty to ma crew an' Captain's somethin' tha'll no' waver."

Screaming echoed through xir comm, as it crackled to life, and xie jumped, tightening xir grip on the steering controls.

"The hell's 'appenin'?" It was a child. Lila flashed through xir mind, and disappeared.

"'e won't stop screamin'!" Yondu's voice burst through the comm, as his face popped up in a hologram. "I ain't done nuffin' an' he's convinced I'm gonna eat 'im!"

"Ah, fuck's sake, put tha kid on." The screaming grew louder as a wild-eyed, terrified child appeared in the image. "Hey, sweetie, wha's ya name?" Xir voice was calm, was quiet, just like it had been for Lila. The screaming stopped, but the tears didn't.

"Peter," the boy offered, looking up at xem. "Quill."

"Nice ta meetcha, Peter," xie soothed, kindly, "I'm Ria. S'that blue ass scarin' ya?" Xie could feel Yondu huffing at xem across the galaxy, but Peter nodded, the movement almost imperceptible.

"Said he was gonna eat me." The little box Peter clutched to his chest shifted as the boy shook, but Dabria just smiled.

"Y'ain't gotta worry 'bout tha', Peter." Xir grin widened, displaying a row of jagged but white teeth, only a few silver caps, but one was missing from the top right. "Yondu knows he'll answer ta me fa tha'." Peter giggled, quietly, his tears drying.

"Where 'r you?" he asked, poking a finger at the hologram.

"I'm on anov'a ship," xie answered, happily. "Now, ya lie down an' go ta sleep, kid. Ya've go' a lotta learn t'morrow."

"Will Momma sing me a lullaby?" Peter murmured, sleepily, the hologram shaking as he scrambled into a laying position, still clutching the box to his chest. Not a single word was said, on either side of the connection. Xie hadn't sung to anyone since the Kree dragged xem from xir home planet. The home planet whose name xie hadn't even known until xir appearance had rippled into a new one, and Aleta had breathed out "Skrull". But the song xie knew. Could only hope xir voice would sound alright.

"Not. One. Word." The boy's breathing had evened out, and he seemed to have slipped off, as xie finished, cutting off her comm. Yondu's breathy chuckle was the last thing xie heard.

"Was that the Terran child?" Xie'd heard Aleta enter – xie knew the footsteps of xir crew like the back of xir hand.

"Yes, Cap'n." Xie wouldn't lie to xir Captain. Couldn't. Had no reason to.

"I thought Yondu had already delivered him to Ego." The Captain's voice was cold, and Dabria didn't dare turn to face her.

"Yondu isn't delivering him to Ego. He only took the boy off Terra so that Ego wouldn't know where he was anymore." Xie turned this time, as Aleta sighed, sinking into her seat in the centre of the bridge. Why didn't he say that? Aleta's question didn't even have to leave her mouth before Dabria knew what it would be. The woman practically raised xem, they could almost read each other's minds.

"I don't recall him being given a chance to speak. He couldn't tell the trial that when his mouth was still gagged in the courtroom." Because of Stakar. Xie wouldn't say that. Aleta knows it's there without it touching the air.

"Yondu still took the jobs, and nothing will change that. But perhaps, one day, he can become a Ravager again. Until then, Dabria, your relationship with him, his crew, and the Terran boy will be yours to manage alone." You know not to let it interfere with your crew, don't you, child? Aleta didn't need to say it for Dabria to know what that meant. It was xir's alone, and if it got in the way of xir duties then xir position would no longer be xir's.

"Yes Cap'n."

[silverfall-patriarch]

Peace....and War

I’ve not left Sanctuary City since Lord Kiden’s son brought me here over two weeks ago. I just can’t bring myself to vacate the towering columns of Titancrafted buildings and mechanical wonders that I can’t even begin to process. None of what I’m surrounded with makes any sense to me, but gods...I can see Lochlyn in ever polished surface, and not just because her statue watches over the city itself.

Her dreams built this place. I don’t know how, as I didn’t think I needed to pepper the young man with questions when we came here, but I know they did. Only she could have so beautifully melded Titan technology with such a perfect testament to her Argent roots that the end result is a promise to those who want peace, that it can be found. It doesn’t bring her back, but its a small mercy to know she found me worthy of such a utopia, and that I can stand with this one last piece of her.

This place...its unreal. Not even in my wildest dreams could I have conceived of a city as grand as this, and yet it feels more like home than even Eversong has in awhile. I don’t find myself longing for the red and gold trees, or even my anvil...as the one I discovered a few short blocks from my apartment is beyond anything I could ever have wanted. There’s only one thing I don’t like about this place, and that is knowing Lochlyn never got to see it, and she never will.

I’m not alone, though. Raelin, and Lady Brilaria Suncrest, the Praetorium’s Confessor, were the first people I brought here once I learned of the healing shortage the city faces, as I know of none more capable than they. Tanner only arrived a new days ago, as he was lost without us in Light’s Hope, but he’s settling in nicely. There’s plans to bring the rest of the contingent here, but right now we have to get our bearings and find a rhythm before I start ferrying in the rest of the Praetorium.  Apart from the number of us, there’s also the dragons and drakes to contend with. Light bless, it was enough of a trial to get Dalis, Cora and Sym to use the airstrip for landing purposes after the airships scared them half to death, but we’ve managed to make it work. Two of the three can’t take a mortal form...so it’s a bit of a learning curve we’re all trying to come to terms with, and we’re getting there.

I’ve pretty much lost my Captain and Brilaria to the medical facilities, but I really can’t blame them, every new corner in this place yields some sort of awe inspiring wonder. From what I hear them speak on, the state of the art technologies and unheard of treatments will save thousands of lives. For two who have dedicated their life to healing the sick, it is a dream realized, and I’ve not seen either of them this happy in years.

Tanner spends most of the time with his mouth open and gawking at wherever our daily travels lead us. We pick a direction and just walk, making notes and marks on our maps where things are, so we have a better idea of exactly where we have come to live. It’s been delightful, if I am honest, and a welcome departure from tending to the blisters on my hands from the hours at the smithy. We have spent our time aiding those in need where we could, or seeking the roots of a community that are only now starting to form.

All in all, I can see a future in this place for my Praetorium, and while it would never see us break the oaths we have taken, I can envision the men and women under my command finding peace in these gilded roadways. I can see their children being raised under the tenets of ‘Unhu’ here, and becoming beacons of hope and light in this war torn world of ours. No, we would never abandon Quel’thalas, but nor should we fear the wrath of the Horde should they seek to push us under their banner, as all our lands are ancestral. I have seen the political machinations of the Alliance at work, and my banner will not be controlled by the whims of a Banshee Queen or a Dog King who whispers nefarious purpose into the ear of the Wrynn Pri-...King.

That future, however, is about to be tested as Tanner comes barrelling into my apartment, out of breath and holding a Praetorium communication stone.

“Pixie...1078! Darkshore...Barons on the comms, Commander.” I can see the panic in my young squire, as he knows Addie wouldn’t call an ‘all hands’ if it wasn’t an emergency. His hands are trembling as he hands me the stone, flopping onto the couch to catch his breath.

“Alpha, give me a sit rep.” I say into the comm as a sense of dread takes hold of my stomach.

“Pixie has a healing contingent with the Runesinger en route to Lor’danal, Commander. Early reports indicate the Horde has launched an offensive against Ashenvale with Astranaar already having fallen. No official reports on casualties, but the Major is on his way to Zoram’gar as we speak, and that area is densely populated with civilians.”

 Really? Horde attacking civilians...light have mercy. “And Addie?”

“Not much to go on, Commander... she’s in Darkshore, right now that’s all I know. ETA is about 17 minutes on her backup. What are your orders?” If there’s one thing I can count on the Baron for, its knowing he’ll do everything in his power to keep my Adilynia safe. She may not have chosen him to give her heart to, but his will always be hers, regardless if she knows it or not.

“Sound the call and get them all to Light’s Hope. Maintain a holding pattern until you hear from me.”

“By your will, Commander.”

Tanners already on his feet and handing me the summoning charms for my armor by the time I start moving for the door. It feels a bit odd to have it back on after weeks of being absent of it, but its a welcome weight on my shoulders and a necessity as once again the egos of the world have brought war without care for the cost. How many lives will be lost in this? How many families torn apart by their sons and daughters being sent to fight? The thought makes me sick...

....but maybe, just maybe...we can save some of them.

“Tanner, detour to the clinic. Tell Raelin and Brilaria to meet me at the airstrip with medkits...Sym’s on his was with Dalis and Cora.”

“What’s the plan, Commander? You know the Ironfist is going to ask me a million questi-” Never let it be said that Tanner doesn’t know his knights well. He’s right, Raelin will want a full report on the way so he knows what to expect.

“We can’t aid either side in this, Tanner...not a weapon can be raised for either faction in this battle unless it is self defense. It would break our most basic of oaths... but it does not mean we are powerless. We are called to protect life...this place calls us to do the same..”

I can see the light bulb turn on behind my squires eyes as he realizes what I’m saying, causing a bright smile to split his face wide. “The civilians...we can get them out safely, without aiding either faction and eventually... maybe bring them here?”

“Let’s work on getting everyone out of the war path first...” Damn, this kids one step ahead of me in terms of the rescue mission, but I can’t fault his enthusiasm. I don’t know who I’d talk to about refugees taking up residence here, but its the whole purpose of the city, right? I’ll worry about that later. Right now, I need to go see if this plan of mine is even going to work...as it hinges on one very particular item.

“Now go to the clinic...I’m going to see a man about an airship.”

(( @khan-of-the-ruruan @sanctuary-city-wra @ironbound-praetorium @teren-k @kelladen @lochlyn-kiden @adilynia  @kelly-hartford @ly-canthos @aresh-isdiearore mentions and involvement :) ))

THE PIXIE’S VIEW

THE IRONFIST’S VIEW

THE PRIEST’S VIEW

THE GUARDIANS VIEW