#I can’t stop thinking about a hospital AU where the rogues run the hospital

[robot-carl]

@acapelladitty per our conversation. This is what happens when I watch the exorcist 3 and have Batman ‘89 on the brain. 🦇🦇🦇

[earnestly-endlessly]

Cherik angst!

Ooooh the angst!! The cherik fandom has an abundance of angst fics and I could probably make a list of hundred fics to recommend, but these are some of my favourite angsty cherik fics. I should warn you though, some of these require tissues.

Cherik Angst

Everyday Love in Stockholm – tahariel

Summary: Magneto is the ruler of the posthuman world.

His only secret? Charles Xavier, the human he's kept locked in his bedroom ever since his right-hand woman, Mystique, came to him pleading for mercy for her stepbrother, who accepted her mutant form and protected her as a child. The human he started fucking after Mystique was killed in battle, despite the guilt he feels at contaminating even this last promise to the woman who was integral to his life's work and happiness.

Boden’s Mate – kaydeefalls

Summary: "Shaw has information that we need, and we need him alive to extract it," Moira says, and there it is: the job is on the table. Extraction.

XMFC/Inception fusion AU. Erik is an extractor, Alex is his point man. They're assembling a team to go after the most dangerous mind in dreamsharing: Sebastian Shaw. But unless Alex and the team can keep him in check, Erik's desire for vengeance might just rip the whole job apart around them -- and then there's the shade that haunts his dreams...

Ritual Self-Torture – TurtleTotem

Summary: Shaw is King, Charles is his royal consort and Erik is a Knight/Lord. Shaw is sterile but his kingdom can't find out, so he asks Erik to impregnate Charles.

He doesn't know Erik and Charles are in love.

The Winter of Banked Fires – Yahtzee

Summary: Charles Xavier has returned from the dead -- but is lost within his own mind. Rogue has cast aside her own power and doesn't know where she fits in the world any longer. The production of synthetic Cure means mutantkind itself is newly at risk. And Magneto, turned human against his will, is in despair until the day he feels a familiar consciousness tugging at his own

Us – Pangea

Summary: “Charles,” Erik says, and if his voice hits a pleading note then who can really blame him, “Charles, it’s me.”

It takes several longer moments before Charles musters up the strength to answer, breath stuttering horribly as he tries to breathe. He’s shaking, entire body trembling.

“Erik,” Charles says, his voice cracking, “Erik, I want to die.”

Enigma – Yahtzee

Summary: Erik dies, or finds a reversey-time mutant, or a magical time travelling device, and wakes up in the past. This time, though, it's before he ever met Charles - in fact, it's before his mother died.

He can save his mother that one time (thanks to his mastery over powers carrying back), but what does Erik do after that? Does he stick around, or escape and run to find Charles again (and hope everything doesn't go wrong)?

By Faint Indirections – kianspo

Summary: Erik is in his ~50s, and lonely and bitter. He survived the Holocaust and was only ~14 when the war ended; and even ~40 years later, living in a country that helped to end WW2 and the Third Reich, homosexuality is still a taboo topic. Then one day, he stumbles over Charles, who is young(early 20s) and bright and smart and cheeky and full of energy and beautiful. And moving in the same street where Erik lives.

Lonesome on the Shelf – ikeracity

Summary: After three years of marriage, Charles has to admit that his relationship with Erik has significantly cooled off. These days, they're barely ever home at the same time and it seems like every conversation they have turns into an argument. Charles misses the way they used to be, misses the spontaneous dinner parties and the surprise morning sex and the wake up calls in the early mornings to catch the sunrise. But it's going to take two of them to fix this marriage, and some days, it seems as if all Erik wants is to be rid of him.

A fic about rekindling marriage.

When the Spell Breaks – kianspo

Summary: Erik, a high-profile lawyer with a successful career, meets a 21-year-old grad student in a bar, and within a few short months marries him. He and Charles are blissfully happy, until Erik's boss runs a background check on Charles and discovers he's been cheating on Erik. Charles denies everything, as there was no affair, but Erik doesn't believe him and throws him out. As Charles tries to figure out how to survive and stay at school that he can no longer afford and makes a lot of bad if not plain dangerous choices, Erik has to fight his own battle of discovering the truth and winning Charles back.

The Tower and the Hurricane – dreamlittleyo

Summary:(Post-movie AU.) Five years after Shaw's death, Erik's predictions prove painfully accurate. Violence rages on both sides of the human/mutant conflict. In a world ravaged by war, it doesn't really matter who's more at fault. Charles struggles to teach his students a better way, but what choices will he make when peace really isn't an option?

The Attempt – Yahtzee

Summary: Charles knows everything about Erik, knows how obsessive and self-destructive he is, how Erik would do anything, give anything, in his quest for vengeance against Shaw. But he also knows that Erik loves him in ways that aren't exactly platonic.

I'd like to see a completely straight!Charles, out of pure love and care of Erik, initiate a romantic relationship with him. It can be because he wishes to give Erik something positive in his life or because he thinks it might help change Erik's mind about Shaw, the reason is up to author. Also, while Charles finds intimacy with Erik strange and awkward, he does enjoy the new, non-romantic layers that have developed in their relationship.

Apple Seeds – pprfaith

Summary: Charles, Erik, apple seeds and Shakespearean love affairs.

Ashes, Ashes – winterhill

Summary: Post-apocalyptic AU — When the bombs fall, and mutually assured destruction occurs, it turns out that Shaw was right and radiation does enhance mutant powers. Snapshots of the XMFC main ensemble in the time after the bombs: Erik decides to stay, Moira thinks she might be the only human left, Raven is having trouble sleeping, and Charles is losing his mind.

Warnings: nuclear holocaust: death (death in general, not a specific character), cancer, burns, medical procedure, mutant powers gone awry

Five Bullet Points – Sperare

Summary: It was supposed to be Erik locked away in a prison one hundred stories below the ground.

Charles was never supposed to be there with him.

Tequila on a spaceship – faerie_ground

Summary: In 2014, Charles Xavier gets brutally murdered and Erik Lehnsherr spends the rest of his life mourning his death.

In 3014, Captain Lehnsherr and CMO Dr Xavier are colleagues, best friends and maybe a little more besides that aboard the Magneto I.

The Tower and the Hurricane – dreamlittleyo

Summary: Post-movie AU.) Five years after Shaw's death, Erik's predictions prove painfully accurate. Violence rages on both sides of the human/mutant conflict. In a world ravaged by war, it doesn't really matter who's more at fault. Charles struggles to teach his students a better way, but what choices will he make when peace really isn't an option?

Simple and Uncomplicated – Pookaseraph

Summary: Erik and Charles had been fuck buddies for some, but when Charles is in an accident he figured their relationship would be over. Erik's visit to his bedside in the hospital changes his assumptions even as he has trouble believing Erik is sincere.

Lazarus – Clocks 

Summary: Erik is 19 when he says ‘I love you’ for the first time.

It would take five long years before Charles says it back.

Broken Eternity – CractasticDispatches

Sumnmary: It starts with being alone. It shouldn’t, perhaps, but it does because, of course, alone is what no one ever wishes to be.

Shout it Out Loud – dreamlittleyo

Summary: (Movie-Concurrent AU.) When Charles forges a telepathic link between himself and Erik, the two men find themselves bound together by more than just destiny. With the world on the brink of war, Charles and Erik struggle to cope with a psychic connection that may well be permanent.

Call Me By His Name – sinuous_curve

Summary: Charles wakes from the absence of noise.

There is an empty space in his room, beside his bed. Not quiet as in an abandoned room, but utterly, featurelessly blank. Like a box made of unblemished, impenetrable metal and Charles knows before he opens his eyes.

The Longest Word – septicwheelbarrow

Summary: "I'm Charles Xavier," he says, smiling from ear to ear. Then he gestures to his wheelchair. "Terminal spinal osteoblastoma, reaper due to collect in a year."

After some time, the man gestures at himself with a sardonic smile. "Same, one year. Lung." And then, reluctant, as if trying to keep his name to himself, "Erik."

I reject your reality and substitute my own. Doesn't really work that way, both ways.

Copy – chantefable

Summary: Charles wakes up without his memory. His sole caretaker, Erik, claims to be his husband, and tells him he's recovering from a car accident on their honeymoon.

Slowly falling for Erik again, Charles begins to regain his memories. He starts to notice strange things about his body, Erik, and their secluded mansion.

Myosotis – SomeCoolName

Summary: When Charles got back from Cuba, he lost the two things which made him stand: his legs and the love of his life, Erik Lehnsherr. Charles can get used to the wheelchair but he won't ever be able to get pass the loss of Erik.

"I wish I never met him" is something Charles says one night, maybe a bit drunk, absolutely wrecked for sure. It's a bit silly but Charles figures out his only solution is to use his own powers to erase Erik from his mind, progressively.

Except one day Erik comes back to the Xavier mansion to win him back. And even if Charles doesn't want to stop forgetting about him, Erik will do anything he can to convince him otherwise.

Das Haus am See – sareyen

Summary: The Lake House AU:

Erik is an estate planning lawyer who takes some time off to get away from the big city after his marriage fell apart. He lives in a picturesque lake house by Chautauqua Lake for almost two years, before moving back to New York City. This is in 2019.

Charles is a famous but very private author stuck in a creative rut, and moves to his lakeside estate for a short while to try and find a reason to write again. This is in 2017.

By magic or fate, Charles and Erik discover that the letter box at the lake house has the ability to send letters through time, between Charles in 2017 and Erik in 2019. Through letters that transcend the barriers of time, Charles and Erik fall in love. Charles vows to find Erik two years in his future, and Erik promises to wait for him. Two years - just two, meagre years.

But, fate is fickle, and time waits for no one.

Appropriate Boundaries – Yahtzee 

Summary: Charles has been having serious problems with back cramps in the year and a half since he's been in a wheelchair. His doctor prescribes massage therapy. But when Charles meets his masseur, Erik, in some ways they begin to heal each other. So how do you cross the boundaries between professional touch -- and the personal?

Unbound – Cesare, helens78

Summary: Thousands of miles apart, Erik Lehnsherr and Charles Xavier form a soulbond. But when that bond is severed five years later, they have to spend the next ten years trying to rebuild their lives alone.

Do You Love Me – cgf_kat

Summary: Charles and Erik have been married for 25 years, thrown together by a mandatory post-apocalyptic pairing system attempting to increase and strengthen the population. They have seven children. They have never spoken of love, but change is on the horizon.

A Quiet Riot – cloudstroke (aQuired)

Summary: Erik can't stand the fact that his father has brought home a boy less than half his age.

But mostly because he's madly in love with Charles Xavier himself.

[iphoenixrising]

The Demon You Know

Day 1 Urban Fantasy AU | Magical/Supernatural Creatures | Time Travel

So, something a little off the grid for my first day of DickTim Week 2021. Special thanks to my wonderful babe @vellaphoria for the beta and the incredible peeps on the Capes and Coffee discord (looking at you @themandylion, @strawberryjei and others). Also need to show my undying love for @chippon because babe, we are making it work.

**

When the sun creeps up over the sky in Gotham, then it’s time to GTFO. Capes in the daytime aren’t the usual for the city, and Red Robin has been playing it too late, staying out far past O’s warning to bring it in for the night. So, really, he’s only got himself to blame.

His penthouse perch has seen more use in the last few months since, welp, Gotham and the fact he likes to get away from the team mentality sometimes, like to return to his roots and run the rooftops like when he was still that Robin. His trips to the Manor had become more frequent since B was back in the cowl and things in the family seemed to be returning to some semblance of normal. 

Well, as normal as it could get, really.

But all that goodwill and positivity is literally ghost. Red’s hands are shaky and his inner calm is absolutely blown. He’s ducking into his perch to throw his suit off, grab his duffle bag full of sundries and fake idents, then he’s going to hit the airport as fast as he can get a flight the hell out of town, away from the terrifying sight.

(He should just call Bart or Kon or Cassie, tell them he needs an out faster than he can arrange it himself, he needs to get away from–)

He knows he fucked up when the slight sounds, small and metallic in nature, make it past his pulse thumping in his ears.

Like a horror flick, he slowly turns as the front door gives a groan and is pushed open by a very familiar palm.

Dick’s blue eyes fall on him like a ton of bricks, on Red Robin’s feet frozen to the floor, his suit only half on, and no way he can get far enough to throw himself out a window.

Fuck.

“So,” Dick keeps his voice soft, footsteps easy as he steps inside Tim’s penthouse and closes the door behind him, “you finally found me out.”

Keeping his mouth shut in times like this has really saved his ass before, so Red doesn’t say a word, keeps every muscle in his body ready to spring for the right second –

Watching the would-be robber struggle in Dick’s grip, watching the light show brighten overwhelmingly, seeing what had to be-had to be feeding.

“I figured it would be you if anyone, actually, so I’m not really surprised, just… disappointed.” Dick continues softly, only in jeans and a t-shirt since Nightwing was oddly missing from the patrol roster last night.

And Red is apparently the only one that knows why.

“But that doesn’t mean I can just let you go, Timmy,” Dick isn’t stopping, his whole body lax while Red is wound tight, backing away from the man he thought he knew. “I really wish you hadn’t found out like this. I...I had other plans.” 

Whirlybirds and pellets aren’t going to help him here. Hand-to-hand and martial arts, aerial acrobatics, none of it is going to make a difference. 

His throat goes dry when Dick’s eyes get more and more blue, when his former mentor doesn’t stop advancing, and Red Robin is running out of room to back away.

“I tried to save you, Timmy. I tried so hard to get you away, out of Gotham, even if you went because you thought you had to find Bruce, I’m the one that gave you the compulsion to leave.” The low laugh is edged with something desperate, “why the hell couldn’t you stay away?”

“This is my city, just as much as Batman’s. You taking my fucking cape wasn’t enough,” Red Robin bites out, back thumping against the kitchen counter, realizing Dick had backed him into the corner. “How did you keep it from him? Constantine, Zatanna, all the magic users he has on speed dial and he never figured you out? No one in the JLA or Titans did?”

That makes Dick pause.

“He never had to. He knew what my parents were before they ever died, Timmy. Haley’s Circus came to Gotham regularly. Bruce always knew.”

The information blast hits him painfully, that Bruce didn’t bother to tell him and look at where they are now.

“And he didn’t try to help you?” Red, Tim, gapes at the still silhouette that used to be someone he thought he knew like he knew himself. Someone that’s always had this secret. “He didn’t try to –”

“Cure me?” Dick’s mouth lifts in a semblance of a smile Tim knows. “There is no cure for this, Timmy. It’s what I am. What my parents both were, the curse of the Romain Bababiljos. It’s unfortunate for me both of them were cursed, that just makes the...the hunger two-fold.”

And it’s just a few more steps, a raised hand that makes Tim flinch back, but only a fingertip taps the edge of the domino, makes the whiteouts raise.

Automatically, with everything he’s learned, studied, experienced about supernatural creatures, he ducks his head so he isn’t looking directly into those eyes. That doesn’t stop Dick from bracketing Tim in, both hands on the counter, their bodies a breath apart.

Dick laughs softly, close enough for Tim to feel the breath on his face. “The Titans...I never had to tell them. By then, I could control myself, at least mostly. The JLA? I’m one of the Batman’s proteges. I’ve been fighting crime since I was eight. They believe in me. There was never a reason for any of them to look too deeply past the surface.”

“Wh-what do you mean mostly?” Tim’s heart slams in his chest, “how many people have you killed, Dick?”

“Do you have any idea how awful the hunger is?” And the lower Dick’s voice goes, the harder Tim’s heart starts to pound. “Surviving on hugs and family affection is tantamount to starvation for someone like me. It’s so easy to kill someone during sex because the hunger is so much I can’t control it sometimes. Anyone I’m with is in danger.  That’s why I couldn’t stay with Babs, she’s too human. The one time I came close–” 

Dick breathes again and all Tim looks at is the span of throat, thinking of the soft, vulnerable parts, anything he can use to get the fuck away.

“–but I didn’t. I have...willpower sometimes. I drained her so close, though. She was-was so fragile, Timmy, and I was so hungry. I’d been starving for so damn long. She was hospitalized for longer than she’d been when the Joker shot her, and I said never again. But Wally and Kory were...different. I could go further with him without killing them, I could get more full than I’d been in a long time. It was still dangerous for them, but I was so far gone by the time...”

“They’re both still alive. Babs is still alive. Does she–?”

“Remember? Of course not. None of them do. I made sure of that, Tim, so none of them would be afraid of me.”  And the air changes when Dick gets closer, his eyes get brighter, and Tim almost chokes with the almost touch to his body under his suit. “But, you are going to be different, aren’t you? I’m not going to be able to convince your mind that what you saw was a dream.”

“So what? You’re going to make me “disappear”? You’ll give Bruce some sob story about how I got tired of the vigilante life and left for college or some shit? Going to bury me where no one will ever find me?” He isn’t looking at Dick’s face, can’t see his own end coming, can’t believe he’d put all his faith and belief in this man only to have it all come to this.

Tim laughs wetly, blinking rapidly, and everything suddenly comes together. “He won’t ever come looking for me anyway. You made sure of that when you made Damian your Robin. Nice plan, Dick. No one is going to give a shit if I’m never seen again anyway.”

And it’s stupid not to at least try, not to duck and kick out, trip up whatever Dick really is, to break a window and fucking run, try to get Bruce, Clark, Kon and Bart and Cassie, to get anyone to listen to him about what Dick really is, to try to save himself.

(If you’d never figured out Dick was Robin, if you never put yourself in front of him, you’d be safe now. Miserable but safe.)

Even if it’s his own brain pan spitting this out, he knows it’s bullshit. 

If he’d never approached Dick Grayson with proof Batman was losing his mind, Tim Drake wouldn’t have reached twenty-one. The way his life was going, he would have probably hung himself long before getting to this stage in his life. If he’d never had Bruce or Alfred or Dick or Steph, if he’d never had Robin, never had Young Justice or The Titans, if he’d never had the Clench, never felt the rumble under his feet as Gotham had fallen, if he’d never had the agony of losing everyone in his life, if he’d never had the drive to prove his adopted father was alive…

The civilian Tim Drake wouldn’t have had the strength to make it through life alive.

So if this is the way he goes out, if Dick is the one that ends it for him–

There’re worse ways to go.

He’s not going to be the Joker’s next victim or Ra’s al Ghul’s heir with a mix of Lazarus Pit crazy. The HIVE, the Light, the mass of aliens he’s fought, any number of Rogue Gallery thugs, none of them will be the ones to take him out.

But this?

His career as Robin started out with Dick Grayson, so maybe...maybe it’s fitting this is the way it all ends. 

He sucks in a breath and finally tilts his head up, looks up into those electric blue eyes, and lets his breath out so so slow.

Because Dick is looking at him with watery eyes, with a grimace, with something Tim can actually recognize.

But those eyes light up in his penthouse perch, take on a supernatural glow, Dick snatching his wrists in bigger hands, pulling Tim closer, the heat getting through layers of Kevlar and Nomex. And just like that, he can’t pull away, can’t pull back.

There’s no way to defend himself when Dick pulls him in, when he expects to get his throat ripped out, his neck snapped, something important crushed, for the darkness to take over and his heart to slow down to a sad, weak pitter patter.

He can’t defend himself when Dick kisses him, opens his mouth, and stuns him into going completely slack.

“I told you,” Dick growls softly when he pulls back, bends enough to get Tim laid out over his shoulder, “I had other plans.”

But Tim can’t reply, can’t do anything other than lay across Dick’s back as the Romani love deamon strides down the hallway and kicks open the bedroom door.

**

And if Tim Drake survives until morning, shocking the hell out of the both of them, staring up at Dick’s surprised face and glowing blue eyes, if the soft touch to his jaw contrasts sharply with the bruises and red marks blossoming all over his body from an intense night with his supernatural mentor and best friend, if Dick doesn’t whisper, “finally, finally, my mate,” before kissing him. 

If the power Dick drains from him doesn’t kill him, doesn’t do more than give him the most amazing span of unending multiple orgasms to ever happen, if Dick isn’t fully satisfied for the first time in his life. If Dick doesn’t call them both off patrol for the next three nights, carts Tim back to his apartment, refuses him clothes and computers and tech, tells the Titans they’re taking a break from crime fighting while Tim is tied and gagged in his bed, sated enough to listen hazily with half-mast eyes. 

If Dick doesn’t hand feed him while he’s getting feeling back in his legs (finally) and give him the full run-down about his parents. If the strange mark on his abdomen doesn’t get warm whenever Dick’s hand is on it, fingers tracing the edges, making those blue, blue eyes dilate in possessiveness. If Tim doesn’t eventually escape with his sanity intact and a little terrified how much his body craves only to have Dick chase after him with single-minded purposes to convince him they’re meant to be.

Then only the man with cameras all over Gotham, waiting and watching with bated breath and fear for his Robins, unmitigated relief when his theory proves true, would be able to give all the details.

[metalbvcky]

*Shows up late to the Stucky/Marvel fandom Post-EG with Starbucks and dozens of fics that I’ve read in hand* So you guys like fanfiction?

Yeah so, because of quarantine I’ve been consuming a ton of fic. I’ve probably read over 1.5 million words in just a couple months. So why not share what I’ve been reading! Note that some of these are older (popular) fics so veteran Stucky peeps will probably know of them since I not too recently delved into the realm that is Stucky fanfic. :)  

Down below are over a dozen fics with different tropes, Canon/AU’s, and what not. Please do heed the tags on some of these. For the curious: My AO3 bookmarks. 

Also shoutout to @stuckylibrary, the mods over there are doing the lords work. 

Key:  ♥ = My fave, S = Smut, DS = Dom/Sub 

Heroes are Easy, People are Hard ♥ by Halbereth, Lorien - Words: 152,284 | CW Fix It, Slight Canon Divergence, Recovery, Slow Burn

Shuri and Wanda cleared Bucky's triggers shortly after Killmonger's attempted coup, and he and Steve went on the run. But it turns out there's more to "fixing Bucky's head" than "getting Hydra out of it." When a group of rogue scientists manage to neutralize the serum and make Steve very sick--pre-serum "this is bad" kind of sick--and they're cut off from contact with Wakanda, Bucky knows only one person with resources to help. He calls Tony and surrenders on the condition that Tony tries to help Steve.

From there, it's basically three variously messed-up guys’ trajectories from "This Is Fine", "Reasonably Speaking I Know It’s Fine", "I Will Be Fine With It" to actually being fine, guest-starring a far-better-adjusted teenage boy who climbs walls, a 1957 Ford Thunderbird, two women with a keen sense of the absurd, and Bruce, the Zen master of “it’s fine that it’s not fine.” Add in the fact that Bucky's been secretly in love with Steve since the thirties and things only get harder. Learning to be a person is the hardest thing Bucky Barnes will ever have to do--but he's got company along the way.

Reap The Whirlwind by Cristinuke - Words: 18,221 | Canon Universe, Post CW, Domestic 

Bucky finds a cat. Or rather, a cat finds him.

Your Favorite Ghost by augustbird - Words: 21,013 |  Canon Divergence, Post TWS

It's harder than Steve ever expected to bring Bucky home.

Despite the threatening sky and shuddering earth (they remained) ♥ by praximeter (Zimario) - Words: 71,532 | Canon Divergence TWS, Body Modifications 

“They really didn’t want the mask to come off.” Hill thumbed through the scans, and pulled out a film that she then handed over to Sam, face mostly expressionless but for the flat line of her pursed lips.

Sam accepted the film and held it up to the light, angling so both he and Steve could see it, squinting at the outline of the Winter Soldier’s skull, and the blips of unnatural white that showed up, God, in his brain, not to mention about half his teeth, plus the mask, with its thin protrusions—

“Those are pins,” Steve realized. He looked over at Hill. “The mask—it’s nailed to his face.”

Hill’s face was as unmoved as ever. “Like I said. They really didn’t want it coming off.”

This city bleeds its aching heart ♥ by Renne - Words: 34,537 | Canon Universe, Fake/Pretend Relationship 

The one where Steve and Bucky pose as a happily married couple while on a mission for SHIELD, to catch an international arms dealer hiding in a suburban neighbourhood.

The Best Way to Wake ♥ by LeeHan - Words: 42,293 | Post TFA, Canon Divergence TWS, Recovery 

James Buchanan Barnes lay in a glass pod in the middle of the table, frozen since he fell. Steve’s hands were on the glass before he realized he’d moved. “Wait, Captain!” “Get him out,” Steve whispered, his hands searching for a clasp, a keypad, something. “Captain, we need to keep him in stasis—“ “I said get him out!”

Infinite Coffee and Protection Detail ♥ series by owlet - Words: 264,438 | Canon Divergence (sort of) 

The mission resets abruptly, from objective: kill to objective: protect

Undersell, overcommit by silentwalrus - Words: 10,222 | Canon Universe 

Steve goes so hard for Bucky that he becomes a licensed, practicing massage therapist.

Sparked Up Like a Book of Matches by Sena - Words: 26,734 | Post-TWS, Canon Universe 

Steve lives in Stark Tower and doesn't have much to do when he's not going after Hydra strongholds. He attends charity events to make Pepper happy. He goes hiking with Sam. He hangs out with Clint in Bed-Stuy and watches Dog Cops. Sometimes Tony gives him super alcohol in a sippy cup. Sometimes he sees Bucky out of the corner of his eye and wonders if it's real or if he's starting to lose his mind.

Alternately, the one with terrible jokes, a foot chase through the Lower East Side, and a tiny little robot named Shitcan.

Sugar Sweet ♥ from the Red Velvet series by ColorCoated - Words: 173,400 | Modern/Sugar Daddy AU, Age Difference, Slow Burn

"What's your name?" It wasn't even a line. He was just pretty and Bucky wanted a name to go with that face. With that strong jawline. With those deep blue eyes. A little smirk, "Steve."

Awww, Steve. He looked like a Steve. Bucky pursed his lips in a way he hoped was attractive, "You should buy me a drink."

College Student Bucky finds himself immediately attracted to Steve. He knows that Steve's a bit older than him, and that Steve himself is put off by the age difference. . . But that doesn't stop Bucky from wanting to climb him like a tree.

Steve and Bucky Go Away for the Weekend (and cook a lot) ♥ by E_Greer -  Words: 30,126 | Canon Universe, Domestic 

In which Steve coaxes Bucky out of the Tower for a birthday weekend away and sweet, fluffy domesticity ensues. Phlintasha helps keep Bucky calm, Steve has Opinions about how you set the table, stories are told, greenhouses are toured, baths are had, books are read, tears are shed, stars are gazed upon, and everyone makes Bucky feel loved. Includes Friday night dinner, Saturday morning breakfast, Saturday lunch, Saturday dinner, and Sunday brunch.

Dona Nobis Pacem by thegraytigress - Words: 65,214 | Canon Universe, Recovery 

"This job... We try to save as many people as we can. Sometimes it doesn't mean everybody, but if we can't find a way to live with that... Next time maybe nobody gets saved."

An incident on the battlefield exposes how much Steve's falling apart under the crushing weight of leading the Avengers after Sokovia. Now Bucky's adopting a new mission: save Steve before he destroys himself completely, even if it means the end of Captain America.

Give 'Em Hope ♥ by L1av - Words: 130,022 | Modern/Hospital AU, UA/Age Difference 

Dr. Steve Rogers likes to think that if his patients have hope- their chances of survival will increase. Bucky Barnes has a 20% chance of survival and a desperate yearning to experience life. Against Steve's better judgment, he develops a relationship with his patient. It's illegal. It's wrong. But it's giving Bucky the hope to keep going, so Steve's going to keep giving it, because he wants Bucky to survive. He needs him to.

You belong (to me) by hermionesmydawg - Words: 29,759 | S, DS, Canon Compliant, Post CW

"Hold on." Bucky lifted a finger and backed out of the doorway, returning a moment later with his cell phone. He snapped a photo of Steve, typed a few words, and then returned to his apple. "What the hell were you doing at a sex club last night?"

"Not having sex, if that's what you're wondering." An alert sounded from Steve's nightstand - a new Snapchat message. He rolled his eyes and unlocked his phone. Sam was always sending stupid Snapchats and frankly, Steve couldn't figure that goddamn app out and cursed whoever created that piece of shit.

The chat wasn't from Sam this time, however. It was a picture of himself, not looking guilty at all, with the caption "when your buddy catches you looking at p*rn."

Circling Back from the It’s Not Linear series by chaya - Words: 59,642 (Series Total: 136,782) | Canon Divergence

Steve looks for Bucky, Bucky finds Steve, Steve tries desperately to put Bucky back together. Bucky tries desperately to let him.

Continuing Education by 743ish, romanticalgirl - Words: 14,443 | S, Canon Universe/College, Shrunkyclunks 

Steve is invited to be a guest lecturer on the WWII unit for Bucky's college course. Bucky's more than happy to glean any extra knowledge (in more than just history) from Steve, and Steve's happy to eductate him. But then Bucky has to decide if he can handle the fact that Steve throws himself into danger, and if the sex is worth it. Or if it's not just sex anymore.

Salt & Sugar by GoldBlooded, stfustucky - Words: 19,598 | Modern/Restaurant AU

Steve Rogers is a bigshot celebrity chef in New York City, and Bucky Barnes is a classically trained pastry chef in Moscow.

When billionaire and mutual friend Natasha Romanoff calls on them to collaborate for her Memorial Day Benefit Gala, they both brace themselves to spend the week working with some jerk they're bound to hate. Except... Steve makes a burger that could bring Bucky to tears, and Bucky makes tartlets so beautiful Steve's sure they qualify as art. Maybe, just maybe, together they could make this a night to remember.

@/sgtbarnes1917 and @/cptrogers1918 by BayleyWinchester - Words: 114,203 | Canon Universe, Social Media Fic 

Bucky Barnes broke Twitter with one photo

Proprietary Information ♥ from the Additional Information series by notlucy - Words: 85,141 (Series Total: 165,871) | Modern AU, Age difference, Slow Burn

Okay, so Bucky Barnes has a crush on Steve Rogers. The guy's gorgeous, talented and, oh yeah, the Chief Design Officer of the biggest tech company in the world. In other words: he's so far out of Bucky's league that he might as well be in a different stratosphere.

Deep in the Woods (Where My Heart Has Been Waiting) by SilverMyfanwy - Words: 15,353 | Pioneer-AU, Shrinkyclinks 

Steve Rogers gets lost in the woods in a snowstorm. Bucky Barnes takes him in. Pioneer-era AU ish with Shrinkyclinks, evil chickens and a cabin in the woods.

A Bucky Odyssey by inediblesushi, thorstbench - Words: 9,952 | Shrinkyclinks,  Cap!Bucky, Nurse!Steve  

Bucky Barnes, Captain America, has a plan to make Steve Rogers, SHIELD nurse, fall in love with him. Confiding in the Internet might not be the best idea, though. So when the bad pick up lines do not work and Steve looks determined to staying single, he decides to be more himself and less what he thinks he should be.

At first I wanted to wait to post this until I finished a few more fics from my ever growing read-later list but what the heck, now or never! I’ll probably end up making a part 2 reclist by the amount of fic I’m reading these days. 

Happy reading and stay safe out there fellow Stucky trash members!!

[sunnywritesstuff34]

Found

(Working on my wips??? never heard of it. Hears an entirely different au then the other one I posted, which I will write more of. At some point. For now, Boruto brain rot has gotten to me, so here’s a weird au where Hinata had the two kids and then died and then Naruto took the kids and left the village under mysterious circumstances. Have fun, try to follow it as best as you can. You don’t need to watch Boruto to know what’s going on here. Just know that Naruto left the village with his kids in tow and they have no idea that they’re from Konoha. Oh and just like everything else this will probably be sns at some point because I am weak. Tell me if you like this one)

TW and CW for: potential parental death, implied past parental death, cursing, death, blood, children navigating traumatizing situations, probably medically inaccurate but its a fanfiction about gay ninjas so sue me, tell me if I miss anything this one isn’t too bad. 

His father is dying and Boruto can't think. 

He should do something, say something. Come up with a funny, stupid one liner or whatever. But he can't. He can't do fucking anything at all. Sometimes his brain feels like it's made of jelly, sloshing around uselessly in his head when he desperately needed to use it. The rain was coming down in torrents, a downpour that they hadn't expected. The giant trees stretch out above them and form a canopy as they stand at the forest floor, but the canopy isn't enough to stop the rain from reaching them. Boruto’s clothes are soaked through; sticking to his body. Thankfully the storm was warm, a summer downpour rather than an icy tsunami. But he didn't notice the rain, and he probably wouldn’t have given a damn anyway. His father was laying in the grass, the wound on his chest staining the green with crimson. Boruto desperately tried to use every healing technique he could remember, funneling chakra into his hands in a desperate attempt to close the wound. He was sixteen years old, his father had trained him in almost every technique he knew (mostly for defense), but truthfully, Naruto had never been good at healing jutsu either. So, Boruto’s skill was lacking in this area, and it was going to get his father killed. He couldn't weasel his way out of this one like he usually did, and that was becoming abundantly clear. His father had gotten nervous, Boruto was aware of that when they went there. They needed to draw close to Konohagakure to get across the Land of Fire and back home to Wave Country before winter set in, and that had immediately set Naruto on edge for some reason. Boruto didn't bother questioning it, he knew he wouldn't get any answers. Everything had been going fine, they were making good time, but then they got ambushed by bandits, and everything had happened so fast. It was all Boruto's fault, really. If he hadn't kept his father up so late the night before, he would have realized something was wrong earlier and managed to fend them off easily. Typically any opponent was no match for Boruto’s father, but none of them had been paying attention and the ambush was almost perfectly timed. Naruto scared them off and nearly got himself killed in the process, and now Boruto was here, stuck in time. He dimly felt a tug on his sleeve and vaguely registered Himawari talking to him. 

“Is he gonna die?” she whispered. Boruto didn't even think about the question.

“No,” he answered immediately, letting the chakra fade from his fingertips and opting to just stop the bleeding manually instead, pressing on the wound. He was running out of time, there was so much blood and he could hardly get it to slow down and what would he do if- he felt the presence of ninja before he saw them, and that fully snapped him back to reality. Boruto forgot about his father for a second and whirled towards the other side of the clearing, shoving Himawari behind him. He had to protect her, that was the prerogative. He threw kunai blindly in that direction, three of them. The shinobi dodged the blades easily and then began advancing. 

His eyes settled on the squad of shinobi standing in the grass as they assessed him. He grabbed another kunai from his pocket and flipped it into his hand, angling it outwards. Boruto narrowed his eyes. Ninja were never good news, rogue or otherwise. These didn't seem rogue, and that was probably for the best. Still, loyal shinobi could be just as dangerous. Could be even more so, and he had Himawari to think about. The clouds in his head seemed to clear. There was a woman heading the group, with platinum blond hair pulled back into a ponytail. Her eyes were light blue, a different color from theirs, and she seemed… welcoming, almost. Still, she had the scrutinizing gaze of a shinobi. Boruto watched her movements, careful.   

“Don't come any closer,” he growled, trying to sound as threatening as he could manage, well aware of what he looked like. The hand holding his kunai was shaking. Who was he kidding? He’d gotten injured before while his father was fighting, he couldn't protect himself in this condition, let alone Naruto and his little sister as well. Still, he had to try. “Hear me? I said- I said stay away.” He gripped the kunai tighter, waiting for them to strike, make a move, do something. His father didn't trust ninja, they were to be avoided at all costs, even if he never seemed to have any necessarily malicious feelings towards them. Still, they were never to be trifled with under an circumstance. Never let them see what I taught you, he’d tell them, the few times where Naruto was serious. Ninjutsu are considered very dangerous, especially by shinobi. If they see you using ninjutsu it could get us in serious trouble. I mean it, Boruto. God, he wished Kurama was here right now, but by the looks of it, the demon was doing everything it could just to keep Naruto alive. Fine, they could do it on their own. Of course they could. The leading woman put her hands in the air and started edging towards him slowly. Her smile looked warm. He still didn't trust it. He gritted his teeth. What was she playing at?

“Hi there. My name’s Ino. What's your name?” she asked calmly. He didn't answer. 

“It looks like something bad happened. You have someone injured behind you, it looks like they need help. If you let me I can heal them. What’s your name, kid?” Boruto hesitated. It was too good to be true. This was a trap, it had to be. She had two people behind her, two men. Someone with black hair pulled into a stark ponytail and a frown. The other looked a bit more kind, he had brown hair and welcoming eyes. He still didn't trust them, he couldn't trust this-

“Please!” Himawari shouted. Boruto blinked and before he could do anything about it, Himawari had ducked past him and was running towards the woman. 

“Himawari! Get, get back here!” he shouted desperately, mind racing. They were going to kill her, what was she thinking? Himawari was usually more cautious, smart about these things despite her age. But the shinobi seemed surprised, not angry or poised to hurt her. She ran to the woman and tugged on her sleeve. Boruto froze. 

“He’s- he’s hurt and Boruto can't help and there's blood- I, I mean i've seen blood before but this- he’s- he’s going to die, please-” the woman crouched down and smiled again, clasping Himawari’s hands gently with hers. 

“Don't worry, I'm a medical ninja. I can help your father, okay?” She glanced at Boruto as if asking permission, and he found himself stepping aside, silently urging Himawari to come back to him. He moved out of the way and she ran into his arms. He should have been thinking about her more. She was clearly terrified, and he had been too psyched out to think about it. He scooped her up easily, suddenly more at ease now that he could confirm she would be safe. Boruto watched the medical ninja like a hawk as she moved over to his father, letting the other two approach as well. When the woman got a good look at him she gasped. “By the sages! What the fuck?” she demanded, sounding more juvenile all of a sudden.  

“What? What is it?” the plump man asked, trying to get a better look. 

“It's… it's Naruto.” Boruto stiffened, holding Himawari closer to him. 

“How do you people know my dad’s name?” he demanded. He felt lightheaded, and the indignant shouts of ‘what?’ from the other ninja weren't helping. The woman ignored him for a moment, checking Naruto’s wounds. It didn't take her long to stop the bleeding and close the wound, and she stood right after and turned her attention back to Boruto.

“Listen kid, it's… it's a long story. He’s going to be alright but he needs further treatment at the hospital. We can help him if we take him back to the village.” Boruto hesitated again, but concluded he didn't have a choice. He was outnumbered and if he didn’t accept the help, whatever the ulterior motives were, Naruto would die. So Boruto nodded mutely.

“F-Fine. But you better answer me when we get back to… wherever you're taking me. And- and she stays with me,” he said, nodding at Himawari. The woman smiled shakily, clearly rattled by some realization about Boruto’s father. The larger man picked him up and carried him easily. So Boruto watched, hopeless, as they took his father away, and followed close behind, arm still wrapped around Himawari. He would lecture her about rash actions later, now wasn't the time. The man with long black hair was studying him, and he didn't like it. Boruto glared. “What?” he snapped. The man raised an eyebrow. 

“I'm Shikamaru Nara,” he said. “What about you?” Boruto looked away. 

“I… B-Boruto… Namikaze,” he said with finality. Boruto Uzumaki, he wanted to say. Descendant of Uzushiogakure, grand daughter of Kushina Uzumaki. But he didn't trust these people to share his real name, instead going with the one their father used occasionally. Shikamaru snorted.

“Original name,” he muttered. Boruto only frowned. “Well, alright. Your sister, it looks like she has Byakugan. Does she?” Boruto blinked.

“Byaku- Byaku… what?”

“Hm. Nevermind. C’mon, while your father’s in the hospital, i'll take you to see the Hokage.”

[realtacuardach]

Acts of Bravery

Entry 4 for Obiyuki Bingo - Medical Drama AU

...

Zen leaned against the counter as he watched Shirayuki grind at her medicines with a pestle. “Isn’t that a little old school?”

The pharmacist looked up from her work. “Better get off of there before Garrack sees you.” Zen smiled sheepishly and pushed himself away; lead surgeon or not, no one messed with the director of pharmacy. “And it might be old school, but if I’ve got the spare time, I like using it. It makes our ointments and medicines more potent.”

“Always working, even in your spare time,” Zen shook his head grinning. “No wonder my brother says I need to learn from you.”

“Really? I didn’t think he was too wild about me.”

“No, he wasn’t too wild about us dating - big brother’s snobbish.” Zen shrugged. “He never had anything but respect for your skills.”

Shirayuki flushed. “Well, thanks. I think.” She busied herself with the pestle.

Zen reached up to the ceiling, and she could hear his shoulders pop. “I’m taking advantage of the rest while I can. i know the medevac went out not too long ago, so it’s a matter of time before I get paged back in there.”

Right on cue, his phone began vibrating and buzzing on his hip. He undid the clasp holding the phone in place and looked at the screen. His face went pale.

Shirayuki felt her blood run cold. For as dramatic as Zen could get off the clock. While on shift, he was as cool and unflappable as they come. For him to have any sort of visceral reaction was out of character and concerning. “What is it?”

“Medevac’s coming in; the OR just got radioed by Torou.”

“Is it bad?”

“Kids having to get to the hospital by helicopter is never good, but his injuries aren’t too bad.” Zen continued in a level tone. “The other injuries, though -”

“What other injuries?”

The look in Zen’s eyes as they met hers made her heart stop. “It’s not good, Shirayuki.” He sighed, and his voice just barely wavered. “It’s Obi.”

“Obi?”

...

The day had started out so normally - with their colleagues in the hospital cafeteria struggling awake to be alert and ready for the upcoming shift. Shirayuki was rubbing her eyes and yawning as Obi was reaching the end of another story.

“And I leapt out of the window, just out of reach of the flames, and made it to the helicopter in the nick of time!”

Shirayuki turned to Torou, who watched Obi’s storytelling with a resigned detachment. “The window?”

“Don’t ask me,” Torou shrugged, her large earrings clinking softly against her shoulders. “He went inside through the window too, even though there was a perfectly serviceable door not far away.”

“You want me to give the fire more oxygen, Torou?” Obi asked. “The window was open and available, and I saw an injured person. It made sense.”

“Whatever, rogue,” Torou snorted, examining her manicure, “you just like living dangerously.”

“How,” Mitsuhide asked, “did you get the patient through the window? I didn’t see a scratch on him when I assessed him.”

Torou rolled her eyes. “Because we carried him out through the door.”

Mitsuhide groaned and turned back to his perfectly portioned, well-balanced breakfast. Kiki raised an eyebrow over her plain bagel and dark roast. “Can’t do anything the easy way, can you?”

“Nope,” Obi replied cheerfully, taking a big bite of his bacon, “that’s why I don’t fly the helicopter.”

“You don’t fly the helicopter,” Torou countered, slight fire in her eyes, “because you’d crash in two seconds, rogue.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, “I leave the fancy flying to you - lets me get to jump through windows and be all heroic.”

Zen rolled his eyes. “Just try not to get yourself or our patents killed being a hero.”

Shirayuki snorted into her granola and fruit at Obi’s affronted look. “Boss,” he lay a hand on his heart dramatically, “I would never -”

“Don’t worry, boss,” Torou interjected, “I’m also there to keep him in line.”

...

Shirayuki had managed to smother her impulses towards worrying until she and Obi were in the locker room. “Did you really need to go through the window?”

“It made sense at the time, Miss,” Obi closed the locker and looked at her seriously. “I didn’t know if it would be safe to go through the door, and when I saw someone unconscious, the first thing I had to do was check on them.”

That made sense, but Shirayuki still felt uneasy. It must have shown on her face, because Obi took a step forward and placed a hand on her shoulder. “I’m always safe, Miss.”

Shirayuki didn’t say anything, but her eyes strayed to where the pale lines of long-healed scars gleamed past the sleeves of his shirt and above his eye.

“I know my limits.”

Shirayuki sighed. He was good at what he did, despite his bravado there was no doubt about that. But she spent as much time worrying about his stunts as she did being impressed by them. And by his bravery. Maybe she could be brave, too. She opened her mouth to speak, but stopped.

Obi looked puzzled. “Miss?”

Do you maybe want to go to dinner with me? She sighed. Not brave enough yet. “Just be safe, please?”

He grinned at her, making her wish she was braver. “Cross my heart,” he promised, “I’ll always come back to you.” He coughed and blushed, turning away just as Shirayuki to hide the own hopeful burning in her cheeks.

...

Shirayuki was a seasoned professional, and had seen her fair share of blood and injury, even as far removed as the pharmacy was from the OR. But it was with trembling legs that she stepped outside after she could no longer force herself to focus on her medicines. She took a deep breath of air, and felt it burn her lungs as she shut her eyes. There had been so much blood...

“Head wounds always bleed a lot,” she muttered, continuing the mantra that had kept her from storming the OR or breaking down crying. “It might not be as bad as it looked.”

“Here’s hoping.”

Shirayuki gasped and turned to face the source of the sound. Torou sat at one of the picnic tables, a lit cigarette smoldering between her fingers. As Shirayuki looked over, she brought it to her lips and took a deep drag on it. “Hey, Red.”

“What happened?” Shirayuki asked, rushing over to where she sat. 

“Kid was hurt.” Deep drag. “Got himself stuck up a tree. Crying, scared.” Another drag. “I know we should have landed, but that damn fool swore to me that he could make it. I believed him too.” She let out a laugh that sounded like she was close to becoming unravelled. Shirayuki noted her hair, normally somehow contained in its chaos, was in disarray. “Two damn fools. Climbed that tree like a monkey, got the kid to laugh and let go of the trunk. The limb could hold one, but not two. Next thing I knew, he was throwing the kid through the open hatch. And then he was gone.”

She sniffed. “He hit a lot of branches on the way down, so that hopefully slowed him down.” She took another drag, and looked to where Shirayuki was staring at her cigarette. “I know, I know, these are going to kill me one of these days.”

Shirayuki didn’t launch until her typical lecture on the addictiveness of nicotine. She simply reached out a hand. “Give me one, please.”

Torou drew back in surprise. “No chance, Red. Obi would never forgive me if I got you hooked on this stuff.”

Shirayuki had to swallow hard. Torou never referred to Obi by his name, just by a myriad of colorful and occasionally bizarre nicknames. And she never cried, but neither woman could ignore the tears building up in her eyes

The redhead reached forward to place a comforting hand on the pilot’s shoulder, and she was so upset she allowed it.

“He’ll be okay, Torou.”

“Yeah,” she sniffed roughly.

Shirayuki bit her lip. He has to be.

...

She settled back in the uncomfortable chair and stared at where Obi was resting in the hospital bed. It hurt to see him lying so still, when he was usually by energetic and full of life. Only the slight rise and fall of his chest, and the reassuring beeps of the monitor showed he was alive.

Boldness and desperation made her reach forward to take his hand in hers, to feel the warmth and pulse beneath her fingers. Please wake up.

His face was mottled with bruises, his head wrapped snugly with bandages, and the stark white of the casts stuck out beneath his hospital gown. She shuddered and began rubbing her thumb against the back of his hand, whether to comfort him or herself she wasn’t sure.

“I wish I had been in there,” she whispered, “I wish I could have been more help.”

It had been all hands on deck to care for the injured. The child fortunately only suffered a wrist fracture and skilled knees from being flung into the medevac. Obi had taken much longer, and the faces of her friends had been grim when they came out.

“I’m not going to lie to you,” Zen had said with an expression that looked painfully like the one he wore when passing bad news to grieving loved ones. “It was touch and go for a while. But it’s up to him now.

Why did I have to be a pharmacist? She thought bitterly. I could have been in there. I could have helped instead of just waiting and feeling helpless.

A tear dropped. “I’m so useless.”

“Don’t...say...that.”

Shirayuki jumped at the slight pressure on her palm. “Obi?”

“Don’t ever,” he opened his eyes blearily, “ever say that. You could never be useless.”

She held back from hugging him with an effort. “You’re alive!”

He tried to strike a pose in the bed, but winced and coughed. “Mostly.”

Shirayuki could have said a lot of things right then.

Don’t ever do that again, you idiot.

So did, You nearly scared me to death.

And, I love you.

Instead, she settled for - “Do you want to go out for dinner with me? Once you feel better?”

Obi looked puzzled, and then inordinately pleased. His grip tightened almost painfully, but Shirayuki didn’t care. “Yes.”

[juvian]

A turn of events - Chapter 1

Header cr.

Summary : Korimi Lockser always been one of the best students, but one day when her crush decide to come visit his friends more often, including her sister. She decide do to the dumbest thing she’s done in her life… fake being stupid to get is attention.

Disclaimer : This a fic I wrote 3 years ago, posted on wattpad and redoing it again, so i’m posting it here !  It’s mostly a fun, humorous story which i’m proud of, but it need to be taking lightly ! There’s a lot of swear words so if you aren’t confortable with that you will sadly need to skip it. The main character is also my own oc, which I talk about a lot, so if you don’t like that either you’ll need to skip.

Also Fairy tail belong to Hiro Mashima !

Main characters : Korimi Lockser (Oc), Rogue Cheney, Sting Eucliffe, Juvia Lockser, Lyon Vastia.

Shipping(s) : Oc X Lyon Vastia, Gruvia.

Genre : High school au, modern au, romance and humour.

Words : 1342

Chapters : Masterlist // Chapter 2

Chapter 1

As much as I like school… I can’t wait for this hell to end.

The last month of high school is the worst thing you can ever experience in life. Everybody is stressing out over the simple things and having no more social life. High school is pretty much like hell on earth at this point of the year. Especially for seniors like myself. The last year in high school is the moment when you have to decide what you are going to be for the rest of your life, some already know the path they are going to take and other students… not so much. Me? I always wanted to be a writer, but since I don’t want to live poor for the rest of my life, I decided to become an English teacher and write on the side. I have the best grade someone could hope for, so I am not one of the students stressing out for this last year in hell, in contrary to some of my friends…

“Can we reach the end of the year already?!” one of my best friends said, fake crying into my ear. “The exam starts in only a month and I already feel like dying honestly.”

“Sting can you just shut up for once?” I said, checking if my ear was still intact. “You probably pierce my eardrum.”

“I just said that I was feeling like dying and you don’t care?!” He said, putting his hand on his heart and looking so shock about this no fucking idea why. “What kind of friend are you?”

“The kind that hates you, but is forced to see your stupid ass because you have a cool brother.”

“Rogue cool? Are we talking about the same one?” Sting said, pointing to his step brother that looks extra done with life, which we are probably are the reason why.

“You only have one as I know.” I said, opening my locker.

“You know that this cool dude like you say, wears a pink one piece, which matches with the one he put on his cat and actually cries if he doesn’t know where she is in the house or when she does anything cute…?

“Yes? And? He’s still cooler than you.”

“You kidding me Kori?! I am the coolest guy that ever existed, nobody can resist me!”

“Sting… Shut up.” Rogue finally said to his brother whose face was probably the funniest he ever made today.

I have been friends with Sting and Rogue since we were 12. They were new in the city and while Sting was trying to show how stupid he was to make the most friends possible, his brother alone with a book and it was making me curious, so one day I decided to go talk to him, still the best decision of my life, except that I have to deal with Sting every single day of my life now , which is a real burden. Sting’s dad and Rogue’s mom married when they were five and they became really close, it’s not like they had a choice either.

I took my bag and put everything I needed for my homeworks and studying. I was going to close my locker when I received a text from my cousin.

«Hey Kori, do you think cats talk in every language that exists?! :o »

What the… was she really asking me that? I love my cousin, but she can be really weird sometimes, probably the reason why Sting is in love with her. She’s still more intelligent than Sting, this is probably why she hates him.

«Why are you asking me that??? I don’t know! Probably not »

“Who are you texting to?”  Sting asked, looking at my Phone.

“Do you know what privacy is, idiot?”

“I am your best friend! I have the right to know!”

“Can you two stop? I am getting a headache.” Rogue said, starting to walk away from us.

I closed my locker’s door and followed Rogue, Sting not far from us.

“So did you have news from Elleira lately?”

“Yes, but not for you.”

“Aww… What did I do! I want to see her again!”

“Sting last time you met my cousin you almost finished at the hospital… again.”

“And? She’s still a goddess!” He exclaimed and everybody looked at him like he was on drugs.

“Oh Sting, I didn’t know you were a masochist.”  Rogue said, with a smirk.

“For Elleira I could do anything she wants.” He said, giving us a wink.

“I so didn’t want to know that! God Sting, keep your thoughts for yourself please.”

“We don’t need to know your dirty thoughts Sting.”  Rogue said, opening his locker.

“But!”

“Just shut up and take your bag in your locker please.”

***

“So want to do something tonight?

“Like what study together? Korimi I don’t have your brain, how do you want me to do anything else other than Study?” Sting cried again.

“Do you really study anyway? And I am pretty sure your cat is smarter than you so even if you study, it’s pretty much a waste of time.”

Sting looked at me with a hurt face, but I ignored him, I said the worst in the past. We crossed the road to go to my house, we lived on the same road but mine was closer to school.

‘Actually, we can’t.” Rogue said. “My mom wants to talk to us about something, I think my cousin is returning to town with his fiancé.”

“You mean Gajeel and Levy? Meeeen… it will be hell in the house.”

“Oh yeah I think Juvia told me about it, she was too excited, I didn’t really understand when and why.”

The rest of the way Sting proceeds to cry about the fact that Gajeel was coming on his territory. We can say that they never really loved each other, plus Rogue was ignoring him when his cousin was there. Sting loved having the attention, his brother’s attention even more .

“So I’ll see you guys tomorrow?” I said giving a hug to Rogue and ignoring Sting to make him mad.

“Yes, see you tomorrow.”

“I am not going without my hug!” Sting said, forcing me into a hug and running away from me a second after with a stupid grin on his face. What did I do to deserve to meet this bitch?

Rogue smiled at me and followed his brother who was now two houses away from mine waiting for the darker one to reach him. I walked to the front of my house and saw a car that I didn’t really recognize in my parking lot. I opened the door, I knew my sister was already home, so it wasn’t locked. I put my bag on the floor and called for her.

“Juvia, you’re here?”

“Yes Kori-Chan! Juvia is in the kitchen with Lyon!”

DID SHE SAY LYON?!?!?! I AM GOING TO DIE! You are asking who the fuck is Lyon and why I am going to die? He is my sister’s boyfriend’s brother. Pretty much one of the most handsome man I ever laid eyes on. Also one of the most intelligent men I met too and a future veterinarian. Kind, but also kind of a bitch to some people, but I am not different so who cares.

I walked to my death to see my sister in an apron. Juvia is not the best cook to exist, but she is not bad, but she likes to cook to impress people. desserts are her specialty. Just in front of her, were Lyon seeting on one of the  bench of the kitchen island.

“Kori-Chan! Juvia is so happy to see you, I made some cookies. Do you want some?”

“Yeah why not?” I said shyly when I saw Lyon turning aroun,  smiling at me.

‘Hi Korimi? How was your day?”

“It was good! Thank you, and you?”

“It was good.”

I was really stressing out… Did I say that I had the biggest crush on him?

[gothamincarnate]

REDBREAST: UTRH/HUSH AU

“Don’t mind that bird.  It just lays in the middle of my tunnel. The stupid thing is gone and dead!” exclaimed the mole. Thumbelina was filled with sadness at the sight of the beautiful ROBIN REDBREAST lying in the middle of the dirty tunnel. She covered the meek animal as much she could.

She wept quietly and hugged the bird.  Suddenly she could hear the bird’s heartbeat. Ba bump!  Ba buMP!  BA BUMP!  

It was a low, dull, quick sound –much such a sound as a watch makes when enveloped in cotton.

Jason Todd has crawled from his grave in the back acre of Wayne Manor, there is no pit, no brain damage, he is simply alive.

And then I flew back home, but the window was barred, for my father had forgotten all about me, and there was another little boy sleeping in my bed!

His father didn’t learn from his mistakes, had brought one even younger than him to be hung by the bloodied yellow cape.

In panic and pain he recreates his death. A fake hostage with gory, visceral theater makeup mimicking his old wounds. The hostage taunts Batman, slipping out as the timer counts down on the dynamite. A father trapped inside, realizing he’s failed again.

Batman survives, somehow. Survives where Jason hadn’t. Maybe if Robin’s uniform had the same heavy kevlar, he could have. He hadn’t done enough to protect Jason, had he?

Well, Redbreast had planned for that. He is going up against Batman, he knew it would be a long game. Enjoys it, the panic he sees build as the weeks stretch on.

There’s whispers of a man named Redbreast working on uniting the rogues into something stronger, more unified and dangerous. But Bat’s efforts are met with red herrings and carefully written lines that the rogues spit back perfectly. Is Robin truly returned from the grave?

Phase two: Watch the bat soar around in circles, picking up breadcrumbs that have been left. Other rogues play their parts, tormenting him in whatever ways they feel fit.

Clayface plays the role of the second Robin, leading Bruce down alleyways, into the sewers past the Deacon’s old hideout, up to the streets, leading him to a fourth story balcony.

-Did he fall, or was he pushed?

-Guess I spooked him. He slipped.

Batman’s body is still and broken, replaying at least a fraction of the pain Jason had gone through. The ghost-Robin stays with Batman, talking to him as he comes in and out of consciousness. As reinforcements arrive, Robin runs. As Bruce is loaded in the Bat mobile, he tells Oracle that he’d seen Jason, he really had, it was him!

Bruce is taken to the hospital, patched up by a team of surgeons, including Dr. Elliot..

Then, bang, a loose end tied up, Hush has been quieted forever. Redbreast sets Joker lose, stages Dr. Elliot’s body nearby. If Batman won’t kill for Jason, for Barbara, for his children, maybe he’ll kill for his old childhood friend.

Jason watches nearby. Bruce is angry, nearly feral. He comes close. His gauntlets are bloodied and he’s angry and Jason feels something hopeful swell up in his chest. Joker’s going to die. Finally, it’ll be over.

Then Gordon intervenes, stopping Bruce. Damnit. Nearly isn’t good enough.

He’d had a different final act in mind. Simply showing up at the Manor and telling Bruce everything. Spoiling the mystery for the great detective. Ask to come home if Bruce had killed Joker. Ask Bruce to leave him the hell alone if the clown’s still alive.

Jason hadn’t wanted to get Tim involved. This wasn’t his fight. This was Bruce’s fault, for letting the kid think that Robin was safe. For continuing to think it was okay for a child to be in such violent situations without the proper protection, guidance, teamwork. Tim is just an idealistic kid, just like Jason was. Had been, once. Maybe he still was, but it was buried deep.

Bruce’s fault, for leaving the little bird alone. It had been simple to knock him out and nab him. See, he wasn’t trained well enough.

He held the kid hostage alongside Joker, though Joker was restrained enough Jason didn’t have to worry about a repeat.

Jason wasn’t going to hurt him. Not going to beat up a kid. But Batman didn’t know that. Tim didn’t know that. Well, not at first. Jason had tried to keep up the tough guy act, but then Tim had started freaking out, so Redbreast dialed back on the rage. He’d been an abused kid, he knew what it was like.

He lets Tim keep the communicator, destroys the tracker. Let Bruce hear the panic in the replacements voice, the Joker laughing in the background. Then Jason pulls his own mask off, keels down and tells Tim to deliver a message.

Tell Bruce the good news: His son’s back. And if Tim wants to keep breathing, Batman needs to come get him.

It takes a while, which is funny because they’re camped out in the old Todd residence, it shouldn’t have been that difficult. Jason Todd doesn’t touch a hair on Robin’s head. However, in his boredom he drags Joker to the former bedroom and beats the hell out of the clown.

“Maybe he’s abandoned you too, kid.” Maybe Redbreast is going to have a Robin of his own to look after, bring in from the cold. Not that he’s going to force the kid to join him, but where else is Robin going to go after being abandoned by the Bat? Who else would understand that ache but Redbreast?

Phase three: the final act. Redbreast abandons the domino mask, slipping a red hood on. His killer’s face, worn to taunt and ruin and upset his father. Look at what you’ve made me become.

Then Bruce trips a proximity alarm. Jason meets him a few blocks away. They fight, because Jason needs to show Bruce how strong he is after everything he’s suffered, how much Batman failed him as Robin. Bloody and bruised, he leads Batman back home, jumping through the window. By the time Bruce follows, Jason has unmasked himself. There’s a batarang held at Tim’s neck. Joker is tied to a chair.

Kill Joker, or kill Tim. And even if Bruce decides on Jason, he’d have to pray Jason goes down fast enough to keep from slitting the bird’s throat. It’s too risky, Jason knows it. Bruce knows it.

Of course Bruce is going to pick his new bird over Jason’s pain. He hasn’t killed Joker yet, but now he will. And that hurts, but the end result is the same. Joker’s still going to die.

He doesn’t give Bruce a gun. He gives him a crowbar and an explosive. He gives Bruce a choice, all these wonderful toys that had killed his son. With the state Joker’s in, it won’t take more than a few swings to finally finish him.

YOU HAVE TO DECIDE. YOU ALREADY LET ONE ROBIN DIE, YOU WANNA GO FOR TWO?

Bruce goes for the explosion, two charges planted on Joker. They’re small, one against his stomach and the other nestled against the atlas/axis vertebra.

There’s blood on Tim’s face, even as Redbreast had mercifully covered the boy’s eyes. The kid screams, Bruce is– utterly horrified. He drops the detonater and takes a step back.

Redbreast, true to his word, wipes the blood off Robin’s cheek with his glove and lets him go. Tim rushes to Batman, embracing him, half standing behind him. Redbreast stumbles back, and Bruce is saying something but he can’t hear it.

The explosion flashes in his vision and rings in his ears and, and oh man, he really didn’t think this through.

He’s not going to be allowed back home, he knows that. Sees it in the revulsion on his father’s face. He’d made him kill. Not just Batman, but Bruce. He’d broken him, taken his father and twisted him.

Jason turns and runs.

[therubyjailcell]

Strong - [Spiderverse Roman centric & Prinxiety angst]

Okay, so, old fic again, written in the TS Spiderverse server back in January (12th I think), and then modified and edited afterwards. I then proceeded to forget where I had put the fic. I’m organised, I swear. Anyway. Based of a prompt by @not-cam-pad, as most of my Spiderverse fic, and as always, written for @sugarglider9603 and @ask-spiderverse-virgil‘s AU. Angst with a happy ending for Sugar.

Word Count: 1792

TW: angst, self loathing, anger, description of injuries, description of a panic attack, probably swearing (I can’t talk without swearing)

On January 12th 2019, Cam said in the Discord “Roman? Everyone thinks he’s afraid of failure. Maybe he’s afraid of succeeding. Maybe he’s afraid that one day he’ll go too far Because he’s always been reckless But maybe one day He’ll just do one thing worse. And break the one rule he can never break Roman’s always been known for pushing the limits physically He always goes a little too hard fighting the bad guys Because they’re bad, right? And He’s Good But the look Thomas gives him They way Patton edges around him after a hard fight Makes him wonder if maybe he’s going too hard And it just Hits him somewhere So he starts trying to hold back, pull his punches But then one of them gets too close to getting Virgil, or one of the others And he snaps And by the time they get him off the man He has to go to the hospital Over ten broken bones Concussion He’s nearly dead.”

To what I answered… A small fic. Angst, as usual.

–

Everyone looked at him after The Incident. They all stayed away, kept their distance. Virgil had been in danger, the villain had grabbed him and was going to hurt him, and Roman had just snapped. Roman could feel how they looked at him, how Patton flinched slightly whenever he moved too fast, how protective Logan was of Patton and Virgil, how he stared and studied each and every of Roman’s move, how Thomas looked at him with worry and sadness. And Virgil. Virgil was silent.

Roman didn’t see it, but Virgil tried talking to him, except Logan wouldn’t let him be alone with Roman. Roman didn’t see it, but Virgil didn’t talk to anybody else either. Roman didn’t hear it, but Virgil cried silently at night every night, in the kitchen, because he wasn’t allowed to sleep near Roman, and he couldn’t sleep without him. Virgil didn’t know what to do. And Roman stayed alone, went to train on his own, punching walls in to be destroyed buildings and places where nobody could see him.

Roman was angry, and it showed. Roman was angry, and his eyes were always furious, it was like he barely paid attention to anyone anymore. Roman was angry, and he didn’t notice Patton’s worried glances directed at him (not the others), nor Logan grabbing Virgil’s arms to prevent him from going to his boyfriend. And when the next enemy appeared, Roman took all his anger out on him, and none of the others dared to try and stop him. None except Virgil. He stepped in. He walked up to Roman and forced him to let go. Only then did the Spidergang push Roman away from the bad guy. Thomas and Logan lectured him afterwards, once they got home. Patton stayed silent. Virgil wanted to disappear. Roman left without listening to any of them. He was angry, Thomas and Logan were too, and nobody noticed Virgil walking out of the room in silence.

Roman didn’t came back. He was gone, Virgil didn’t talk, and Patton felt like everything was broken. Thomas and Logan were angry, but Thomas felt guilty, while Logan kept saying “it’s better this way, at least we’re safe.” Patton noticed Virgil leaving the house every so often, without warning anyone. Nobody but him noticed how little the young man slept anymore. Virgil searched the town, everywhere, to find Roman. When he did find him, he didn’t try to talk to him, didn’t say he was there. He watched Roman being angry, he watched him train on his own, he watched him destroy things. Virgil didn’t know what to do, he felt like he had lost Roman, and he felt guilty, so guilty, because he hadn’t managed to help him before, and didn’t deserve to talk to Roman anymore. And Roman was angry at the world, but mostly at himself, and he destroyed things and stayed on his own. Virgil was barely with the others anymore at this point. He knew it wasn’t good, that they were worried, but he watched Roman, because that was all he could do by then. He watched, and nobody asked where he went all the time, because that’s what they were now, a broken family.

Roman turned rogue. He felt like it didn’t matter anyway, and nobody was there to stop him. He turned bad, as in destruction bad. He didn’t attack people directly, but he attacked buildings, and if there were people in it, well, they should’ve gotten out before. Soon, the Spidergang had to fight him. And Patton saw Virgil’s world break when he learned the news of the imminent fight, but the young man didn’t look shocked. Virgil saw Roman breaking and he didn’t do anything, and he felt like he deserved his world breaking. Nobody else noticed.  Thomas and Logan would fight, they were ready. Because they could see Roman as an enemy now, after all he had done. Of course, they were sad, they didn’t like it, but he was dangerous. Patton wasn’t sure. He was scared. Virgil didn’t look like he cared.

Before they knew it, there was already so much damage done. Patton made sure all civilians were safe, he couldn’t bring himself to fight Roman. Logan and Thomas weren’t in the best of shape, Roman was stronger. Virgil had dodged. He had stayed apart, and nobody had noticed. He had watched the destruction of the buildings around the fight, made sure nobody would get hurt by the things falling. But then, with Thomas and Logan hurt and Patton unable to fight Roman, he had to come in. Virgil walked up to Roman and fell on his knees. He wouldn’t fight him. Not Roman. He couldn’t fight him. So he took a deep breath. And he spoke. Because that was all he could do, because he would not hurt Roman. Not again.

“It’s my fault. I give up. You win. I won’t fight back, just get your victory.”

Roman froze. He hadn’t planned this. He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know how to react. Logan and Thomas got up and were about to run to him, but Patton prevented them from doing so. “Virgil is a big boy, and if he doesn’t want to hurt Roman, then we won’t hurt Roman. We’re family.”

Virgil looked at Roman, and he shook his head. “I won’t fight back, I promise.”

And because Roman still didn’t move, Virgil kept speaking. He was crying, and you could hear it in his voice. “I need to pay for what I’ve done, I know I do, I won’t fight back.”

Roman could very well picture Virgil’s face behind the mask. He knew what Virgil looked like when he was crying, when his voice sounded like that. And Virgil was speaking again, to him, for the first time in forever. And Virgil was there, and Virgil was crying. And for the first time in months, Roman wasn’t angry anymore. He was sad, and desperate, and lost, and confused, and terrified, and he had done so many awful things, and Virgil was crying.

Virgil sobbed. Once. Twice. Roman fell on his knees. Virgil was slouching, on his knees, begging Roman to end this and make him pay for everything, because it was his fault (at least that’s what he said). He was shaking, violently. Roman wanted to reach out. He wanted to protect Virgil from the world, but Virgil didn’t need that, Virgil needed protection from Roman himself (at least that’s what he thought).

Thomas stayed silent, on the side. He could feel it, in his heart, that it was Roman, their Roman, not the ball of anger and hate they were previously fighting. Logan stopped trying to get to Virgil, because he could see Roman gave up. Patton cried, because he could see his friends hurting, so bad.

Virgil sobbed, and gasped for air, and cried, and he looked to Roman and saw him on his knees, shaking and crying too. And Roman’s hand, halfway through reaching to him but not quite there, as he stopped in the middle of reaching to Virgil. And Roman. Roman looking at Virgil through his tears, and unable to speak, or to move now, frozen, terrified.

“Roman…?”

Virgil’s voice was broken, and small, so small. It was the voice he had when he was having a panic attack. It was the voice he had when he was asking if the world hated him. All he said was Roman’s name, and yet it sounded like he was asking if the world hated him. The question was clear, it was “Please don’t hate me”, it was “Please don’t break me”,  it was Virgil’s guilt, and terror, and Roman broke a little more, over and over. He would never forget that sound, the way Virgil said his name. Roman simply nodded, the smallest nod in the world, and he wasn’t sure if Virgil saw it, but he couldn’t do more than that. Virgil saw it. He took Roman’s hand, slowly. And Roman held it with both of his immediately, slouching over, shaking, crying, sobbing, mumbling apologies and begging for help and forgiveness.

Logan, Patton and Thomas slowly made their way toward Virgil and Roman. They were slow, didn’t want to startle any of them, but the two others were just shaking, and crying, and holding onto each other, and never letting go. Patton was the one who hugs them first, followed by Thomas, and finally Logan joined. Thomas helped them get up, Roman holding onto Virgil, and they looked like they would never let go of each other, ever. They didn’t want to let go. Ever.

When they got home, Roman sat on the couch, his head in his hands, not meeting anyone’s eyes. Virgil sat right next to him. Everyone was silent. Roman whispered a broken apology. Nobody spoke again for a while. Thomas decided they all needed to eat and rest, that they needed to talk but it could wait, because it had been hard for everyone. Patton threw Logan a warning look, but Logan didn’t even try to ask if Virgil and Roman were going to stay together. Obviously they would.

And there, laying together, next to each other, holding onto each other and tight, Roman apologised again. He couldn’t not apologies. He felt awful. Virgil stared at him and asked what for. Roman started listing, with how violent he got, how he left, how he hurt everyone. Virgil simply caressed his cheek softly and whispered he never felt safer than in his arms, and wasn’t ever afraid of him. Roman cried a little, and Virgil told him they’d get through this together.

After that, they talked. Together, then with the others. Roman wasn’t allowed on missions for a while, he didn’t care. He took care of them when they came back. He took care of Virgil, always. And when they went on a mission one day, and Thomas looked at Roman and smiled slightly, “Come on, get ready, we had some ass to kick”, Roman felt like they gave him the world. He thanked Virgil and Patton, because he knew they were the ones who convinced Thomas and Logan to let him come back.

And when Virgil told him he was watching him, all this time, when he was training, then Roman felt a little better. Because he wasn’t all alone. And when Virgil asked him to help him train, Roman agreed right away. And soon, Roman was helping everyone train. And that was how he took out his anger. By helping the others.

It wasn’t perfect, obviously. Sometimes Roman got angry. But Virgil could always reach out to him. And he always got better. They were all together in this.

~~

Gen Taglist:

@sweetsweetemo @emologan @croftered-with-jam

[splendidlyimperfect]

Sting’s entire life changed when he was eleven years old and his best friend Rogue told a secret that he’d promised to keep. Taken away from the father who abused him and the best friend who’d tried to save him, Sting tried to start a new life with his uncle. But the trauma wasn’t easy to escape, and eventually Sting turned to drinking to forget the things that hurt.

Now he’s an adult, and he hasn’t been sober in years. But when drinking nearly kills him and a near-stranger saves his life, Sting has a chance to turn his life around, and maybe become the man that Rogue deserves to love.

Chapter Summary: Things with Gray and Joel come to a head, and Sting has to push past his own trauma to help. 

Chapters (20/?): 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Rogue Cheney/Sting Eucliffe, Natsu Dragneel/Gray Fullbuster, Natsu Dragneel & Sting Eucliffe, Gray Fullbuster & Sting Eucliffe, Sting Eucliffe & Weisslogia   Additional Tags: modern au, childhood friends, angst, emotional hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, child abuse, alcoholism, drug use, recovery

*tw for description of injuries from abuse *this chapter runs parallel with chapter nineteen and twenty of how to become a wildfire.

-----

res·cue | \ ˈre-(ˌ)skyü transitive verb : to free from confinement, danger, or evil

.

xx winter age twenty-four

.

When Kelly’s name shows up on Sting’s caller ID at two in the morning, he immediately knows that something is wrong.  

“It’s your friend,” Kelly says when Sting answers. “We got a call from the hospital.”  

Continue reading on AO3

A cold sense of dread creeps up Sting’s stomach and through his chest. “I’ll be right there,” he manages. Rogue rolls over, frowning at him and yawning. “It’s Gray,” he says, and Rogue’s awake immediately, pushing himself up and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Sting stumbles out of bed, cursing when he trips over the carpet on his way to the closet. His hands are shaking so badly that he nearly drops his phone.

“I’ll stay up,” Rogue says as Sting tugs on his uniform and runs a trembling hand through his messy hair. “Text me if you can.”  

“I will.” Sting exhales, rubbing his face and giving Rogue an uncertain look. “What if he…”  

“It’s going to be okay,” Rogue insists, but Sting’s thoughts are racing too fast for the words to sink in. His mind is filled with tears and terror and his dad shouting, and his head aching while his fingers went numb.  

His phone dings again and he looks down at it. It’s from Natsu.  

Natsu [02:25] im at the hospital w gray. he left joel.  

Natsu [02:26] hes hurt pretty bad but he’s okay. hospital called the police.

Sting stares at the message as anxiety and fear battle for space in his stomach. ‘Okay’ can mean so many things. Sting was ‘okay’ too, even with thirty-six stitches and a broken arm.  

Sting [02:26] I know, they just called me. I’m coming in with Kelly.  

“What can I do, love?” Rogue asks, touching Sting’s elbow. He flinches, then shakes his head in embarrassment.  

“Sorry—”  

“Don’t apologize.” Rogue waits for Sting to step forward before wrapping his arms around his neck and kissing his cheek. “I love you. You’re so brave and I know you can do this.”  

Sting nods, trying to believe him. “I…” His phone lights up again and he stares down at the words.  

Natsu [02:28] im so scard hes gonna change his mind.  

“Go,” Rogue says gently, nudging Sting toward the door. “I’ll get the guest room ready.”  

Sting gives him a grateful look, then presses one last kiss to Rogue’s cheek before taking the stairs two at a time down to the garage.  

Sting [02:30] I’m on my way.  

~

As soon as Sting steps into the hospital room, he wants to cry. Gray’s sitting on the couch with Natsu’s arm wrapped around his shoulders, staring at the floor with a blank expression on his face. His lip is swollen, and his face is bruised, and Sting’s stomach aches when he sees the reddish fingerprints on Gray’s throat.  

“Hey,” he says gently, pushing aside the anger that rises into his throat as bile. He crouches down next to the couch. “How’re you doin’?”  

Gray shrugs. He looks exhausted. Natsu’s holding him tightly, as if Gray will fall apart if he lets go. Sting’s eyes flick up to Natsu’s face, but Natsu isn’t looking at him. His eyes are on Gray, and they’re so filled with love and pain.  

“I know it hurts, but I’m proud of you,” Sting says to Gray, hoping he can convey the same love through his voice. “We’re gonna do everything we can to help, okay? Do you know where Joel is right now?”  

Gray stares at the badge on Sting’s uniform, eyes dull. Up close, he looks worse – his eye is bloodshot and there’s still a streak of blood by his nose, and there are half-moon fingernail marks on the side of his neck. Sting grits his teeth and counts backward in his head. Anger is the last thing Gray needs right now, even if it’s all Sting can feel.  

“Home,” Gray says. His voice is rough and raw. “When… he passed out. Drunk. Probably still asleep.”  

Sting bites the inside of his cheek as memories start to surface.  

He’s eight and hiding in his bedroom, pushed back in the closet with a hand over his mouth. Quiet, quiet, quiet. Footsteps pound down the stairs, loud and uneven, and Sting waits and waits. He doesn’t move, just makes himself as small as possible and counts to a hundred over and over again.  

Sting exhales, letting the memories wash over him and then dissipate. He’s not there anymore. He’s safe, and he’s here, and he’s going to help Gray.  

“Does he have any weapons in the house?” Sting asks.  

“I… don’t think so.” Gray sounds so small and uncertain. Sting nods, and then Gray looks up at him, expression desperate. “He… Bella. My dog, she… I had to leave, she… s-saved me, and I just, I left her, and…” Tears spill down his cheeks and he pulls in on himself, resting his head on Natsu’s shoulder.  

“I’m going to do everything I can to help you, and her,” Sting reassures him. He touches Gray’s knee carefully, and when there’s no flinch, he squeezes. I’m here for you, he thinks, hoping Gray can feel it through the touch. You’re safe now. I promise.  

Then he stands and turns around, giving Kelly a nod. They usually work together to take statements, but Sting’s too close to this. Kelly squeezes his arm as she passes by and he turns on his radio.  

“Dispatch, this is Eucliffe,” he says, trying to keep his voice steady as he heads out the door. “Requesting officers at 6 Willowdale Crescent for domestic disturbance and assault.” 

~ 

Sting cries the whole way to Gray’s apartment. They’re quiet tears, but they just won’t stop, no matter how many times he wipes at his face. When he arrives at the apartment and sees the other cruiser parked in the lot, he takes a deep breath and pinches his arm until he’s focused.  

“What’ve we got?” Kim gets out of the car as he pulls up beside them, and Sting breathes a sigh of relief when he sees that Lev is with her instead of Janson.  

“I’ll wait down here,” he says quietly once he’s given them all the information he has. It’s dark enough in the parking lot that he hopes they can’t tell he’s been crying. “Call me if you need backup.”  

Then they’re both gone, and Sting is left with nothing but a seething anger and a head full of memories. His phone buzzing is a welcome distraction and he quickly pulls it out of his pocket.  

Natsu [04:03] were leaving the hospital now. rogue called, were going to your place. u ok?  

Sting exhales noisily and runs a hand over his face. Relief tempers the anger – at least at his house, they’ll be safe.  

Sting [04:04] I’ll be fine. How’s Gray?  

Natsu [04:05] not good. is that fucking asshole in jail?

Sting [04:06] I can’t say anything yet. I’ll let you know as soon as I can.  

He’s about to put his phone away when it starts to ring. The picture on the screen pulls a smile from Sting’s fears – it’s the one of him and Rogue and the dandelions.  

“Hey, darling,” he says quietly. He’s not supposed to answer his phone on duty, but he needs to hear Rogue’s voice.  

“Are you okay?”  

“No,” Sting says honestly. “I can’t tell you much yet. Natsu said him and Gray are on their way.” He looks up at the apartment building – a light is on in one of the windows, but Sting isn’t sure if it’s Gray and Joel’s place or not. “He...” Sting swallows. “Gray. He’s... it’s bad.”  

“He’s safe now,” Rogue reassures him. “And so are you. You’re so brave and I’m so proud of you, and I love you so much.”  

Sting swallows, willing himself to not start crying again. He has a sudden, desperate urge to call Uncle Wes, but then there’s movement in the front of the apartment building.  

“I have to go,” he says quickly. “I love you, too. I’ll text you when I’m on my way home.”  

He shoves his phone back in his pocket as the doors to the apartment open. Joel looks surprisingly docile as Lev leads him over to the cruiser, but when he sees Sting, his expression turns sour.  

“You,” Joel growls, and it’s clear that he’s still a little drunk.  

“Me,” Sting agrees, pushing his anger back behind a wall of calm. He’s about to ask Lev about Kim when the apartment door opens again and there’s a loud woof. Sting quickly makes his way over to where Kim is holding the leash of a large, friendly-looking Rottweiler.  

“Hey, Bella,” Sting says, crouching down and reaching out his hand. Bella sniffs him, then quickly headbutts him and moves in to lick his face. “Good girl,” he says softly, stroking her head. He reaches out and takes the leash from Kim, nodding in thanks. “I’ve got her,” he says. “I’ll meet you at the station.”  

~

Bella sits patiently next to Sting’s desk while he fills out his paperwork, eventually curling up under his chair. The precinct is nearly empty this early, and the quiet helps to clear his mind as his pen flies across the forms.  

He finally makes it home at nearly ten in the morning. As soon as he walks in the front door, Bella bolts down the hallway toward the living room, nails clicking on the hardwood floor. There’s a moment of silence, and then Sting’s heart cracks as he hears Gray’s quiet sob.  

“Hey, love,” Rogue says, appearing next to him and reaching out to touch his cheek. Sting quickly pulls him into a hug, tucking his face into Rogue’s neck and letting out a shaky breath. “It’s okay,” Rogue says quietly, running his hand up Sting’s back. “We’re all okay.”  

“I love you,” Sting mumbles into Rogue’s sweater. There’s something about Rogue that always feels like home, and Sting wishes he could just stay in Rogue’s embrace forever. Gray needs him, though, so he pulls back reluctantly.  

“I love you too,” Rogue says, kissing his forehead. “They’re in the living room.”  

Natsu’s on the couch, looking sleepily at Gray, who is sitting on the floor with Bella nearly in his lap. He looks worse in the morning light – his eye is almost swollen shut, and the marks on his neck are turning to fingerprint-shaped bruises. Bella is licking his face, tail pounding against the leg of the coffee table in excitement.  

“Thank you,” Gray whispers when Sting crouches down next to them.  

“He didn’t hurt her,” Sting reassures him, setting the leash down on the table. “She had lots of fun riding in the back of the police cruiser, didn’t you, girl?” Bella licks his hand happily, then headbutts it until he scratches behind her ears.  

Gray’s voice is rough and quiet when he asks what happened, and Sting does his best to explain custody and bail hearings and a no-contact order. When he offers to take Gray back to get his things from the apartment and Gray shakes his head and starts to cry, Sting’s heart breaks a little more. He can’t help thinking of a smashed TV, and broken glass on the floor of his dad’s living room. He’d never gone back there, either.  

“You’re safe now,” Sting says. He’s heard the words a hundred times – from Kelly while she held his hand in the hospital, from Uncle Wes when his dad got out of prison, from Natsu when he thought he couldn’t stay sober, from Rogue when he woke from nightmares and cried. Now they’re his words. His promise.  

The look on Gray’s face is somewhere between disbelief and tentative hope, and when he reaches out and pulls Sting into a hug, Sting nearly starts to cry. He returns the embrace carefully, settling down on the floor next to Gray and holding him close.  

“I know,” he says gently, hoping that Gray can believe him. “You can do this.”

Natsu slides down to the floor and takes Gray’s hand, and the three of them sit like that for a long time – a wall of hope that Sting hopes tempers the fear and anger in Gray’s heart.  

[ghostbustermelanieking]

au where scully is reassigned from the x files but mulder isn't?

1. Shortly after the incident in Antarctica, Mulder and Scully get the news that the X-Files have been reopened. They both apply for reassignment immediately. “This is it, Scully,” he tells her that night at her place, sitting on her couch. “We testify to OPR about what we know, and we’ll get the Files back in no time. We’re finally close to finding the truth.”

She shakes her head with an eye roll and a small smile, frostbite still visible on her cheeks. She tells him she hopes so, patting his knee absently.

But it doesn’t happen the way that they’re hoping. Of course it doesn’t. The next morning, they go in and they are given the news that only Mulder has been reassigned to the X-Files. Mulder and Diana Fowley. Scully is meant to stay under Kersh.

Mulder is furious, initially, ranting angrily to Scully on the bench on the hall, not caring who hears him. They’re splitting us up again, Scully, they’re trying to weaken us. Scully is surprisingly quiet, her arms crossed over her chest and her mouth set in a hard line. He remembers, involuntarily, a few weeks ago when he told her to go be a doctor and she told him that she wouldn’t quit. Now it feels as if their positions are reversed again. Except the decisions have been made for them.

He wonders, briefly, if this is what was supposed to happen. If this is his way of saving Scully, by moving on without her. He wonders if he needs to let her go or if that’s the worst possible thing he could do.

He says instead, “This isn’t the end, Scully, I’m not going to let them do this to us. This isn’t over yet.”

She purses her lips and nods, but she doesn’t say anything. He gets the sense that she doesn’t quite agree.

2. It should be the end, Scully thinks. This whole thing, everything that happened after Dallas, it should be a sign. Mulder’s ex-partner and ex-girlfriend has come back, has taken her rightful place on the Files, and Mulder never tried to kiss her again. She feels out of place here, like she is intruding. She doesn’t want it to end—god, she doesn’t want it to end—but she doesn’t know how else it can go, now. Mulder has a new partner, a partner that believes him, and she can move on with her career. She hates even acknowledging these prospects, but it seems to be the situation.

But Mulder won’t let things go. After everything, she probably should’ve expected him not to let things go, but she really thought he would. But he keeps making excuses. Keeps calling her on the Bureau phones and distracting her, asking her to lunch (she starts declining when Diana begins to accompany them, even though Mulder’s face falls every time she does), asking her for opinions on files. (“This is what Diana thinks, Scully, but what do you think?”) He asks her to movies or over to the Gunmen’s for poker night, and the Gunmen make faces whenever he mentions Diana’s name, and she feels a rush of gratitude. On a case in Nevada, Mulder is abducted by a man ordering him to drive west, and Scully follows the story the the news, white-knuckling her coffee mugs and ignoring orders to work, calling Fowley and snapping directions at her over the phone. As soon as Mulder’s safe, she calls him and listens to him tell the story over the phone, his words muted, on the verge of tears. She harbors a quiet fury for Diana’s apparent helplessness, refusal to do anything but send state police after Mulder. She wishes she had been there.

In November, Mulder goes rogue. Apparently he’d gone into the Bermuda Triangle in search of a ghost ship with the assistance of the Gunmen rather than Diana. The Gunmen lose him. Scully pursues the information through the halls of the Bureau. She goes down into the X-Files office and finds it empty; no sign of Diana. The smoker calls down to the office looking for Fowley, telling Scully about the information she’s given to Kersh, but midway through, he realizes that he isn’t talking to Diana, and Scully immediately hangs up. It’s the kind of thing she’s been suspicious of since the summer, but she has no time to pursue it. Skinner gets her the info, and she and the Gunmen race off and fish Mulder out of the ocean. Sitting on the deck of their boat, Mulder stretched out on his back breathing raspily and Scully holding his wet hand in hers, she wonders why Diana didn’t come for him.

In the hospital, he speaks of Nazis and The Wizard of Oz and tells her she saved the world. She looks down on him affectionately and starts to leave so he can rest, but he calls her back. “Hey, Scully?” he calls.

She goes back to the bed and leans close, replying, “Yes?” in a half-serious, half-indulgent voice.

He doesn’t speak for a moment, just looks at her, his eyes dopey with the painkillers. And then he says it, as serious as she’s ever heard him: “I love you.”

Her heart leaps on instinct, with excitement, before she tamps it down. He’s high as a kite, she reminds herself. He’s out of it, and he has a partner. He doesn’t even know what he’s saying. “Oh, brother,” she says, rolling her eyes.

She turns to leave the room again and nearly runs into Diana, a look of panic that she can’t tell whether or not is staged on her face. “Oh my god, Fox,” she says, and Scully can’t stop the grimace moving across her face. She keeps moving, her eyes half-shut.

“Hi, Diana,” she hears Mulder say, sounding a little dismayed. She looks back, in the doorway, in time to see Diana sit on the edge of the bed and Mulder touch the blooming bruise on his cheek, not really looking at her. He looks at Scully instead, something like pleading in his eyes.

She looks away. She leaves the room and pretends that regret isn’t twisting in the pit of her chest. Tomorrow, she tells herself, he’ll have come to his sense.

3. On Christmas Eve, he calls her out to a haunted house. He tells her a ghost story full of tragic, star-crossed love, and she scoffs and rolls her eyes, and it feels just like old times until she says, “Shouldn’t you be bothering your partner with this, Mulder?”

He thinks, You’re my partner, automatically, and even after months of working with Diana, it still feels true. He still misses her. He doesn’t know how to be around Diana, as much as part of him wants things to be the way they were before she left; part of him wants to investigate with Diana and Scully, but the rest of him knows that it is a bad idea. He doesn’t know how he’s supposed to handle things here, but mostly, he just knows that he misses Scully. That he wants to work with Scully.

The truth is that Diana couldn’t come even if he wanted her to, because she’s spending Christmas with her father and sisters in Connecticut. “I haven’t seen them since I moved to Europe,” she’d said the other day, and Mulder had thought that was strange because Diana had stayed protective over her father after her mother’s death, on into adulthood. But strange or not, she is in Connecticut. He doesn’t tell Scully that, though, because it doesn’t matter. He’d want her here whether Diana was in town or not. He says instead, “You are my partner, Scully. I don’t care what the FBI says.”

His chest lifts when he sees the corners of her mouth lift in a small smile. She spends Christmas Eve ghost-hunting with him, and gives him a present that he didn’t expect in the early hours of the morning even though they hadn’t discussed presents at all this year.

4. In early January, they send Scully to New York for a case alongside a green, brown-nosing young agent. Kersh indicates that this case may be a chance for her to improve upon her career, and though a part of her feels a loyal pang towards Mulder and the Files at that, the part of her that is filled with rage every time she goes to the basement to meet Mulder and sees the new nameplate—Agent Diana Fowley—on the door hopes that this will be a new chance for her.

That silly, stupid, traitorous hope is squashed after a little while on the case. She realizes that this is an X-File. She denies it at first—Mulder gets ahold of the file somehow, and calls her at the airport, teasing her about how he should be investigating this case along with her—but it becomes more and more undeniable as she keeps digging. Mulder does some digging for her, too, keeps taking her calls. At one point, she asks, “Don’t you and Agent Fowley have a case?” and he simply says, “No.”

He calls her while she is alone with the suspect, Fellig, and she asks him to do some more research for her. Within the next hour, she is sprawled on the floor of Fellig’s apartment, a bullet through her gut. She thinks of a lot of things as Fellig instructs her to close her eyes, as Ritter calls an ambulance. She wonders if anyone will tell Mulder.

—

Later, when she wakes up in the hospital, Mulder is there, sitting at her bedside in a chair. She shouldn’t be so surprised to see him, but she is.

His eyes light up when he sees her, and he seizes one hand in both of his, holding it gently. “Scully,” he whispers, his voice soft and tender; he leans down to press his cheek to her pale knuckles.

“Mulder?” she rasps, still in disbelief. “You came?” She wants to ask, What about the X-Files?—really wants to ask, What about Agent Fowley?—but every word hurts.

His eyes are teary. “Course I did,” he murmurs, and he leans in to kiss her forehead. Her eyes slip close, exhausted and in pain and somehow contented, despite it all.

5. Cassandra Spender reappears, asking for Mulder. Scully gets wind of it by whispers across the bullpen, by passing Jeffrey Spender’s desk on the way to the lunch cart. She convinces Mulder to do it; she feels out of place, considering she’s not his partner anymore, but after nearly a month cozied up on her couch with him watching old movies and eating takeout he’d brought her, she feels more comfortable with him. And anyways, she’s as involved in this conspiracy as he is, had as much reason to see the truth brought to light. She urges him to do it on the basis of answers about her own abduction, and he agrees. She notices that Diana is gone; he tells her that she’s gone to visit her sister in Oklahoma and he can’t get in touch with her.

Cassandra Spender tells them stories of alien colonization and of her own husband’s involvement in it. Mulder invites her down to the X-Files office to do research on the Spenders, though Scully protests that they don’t want them working together. (She’d had to stop making calls to Mulder at the office, stop having lunch with him, at Kersh’s insistence. It almost harkens back to their first separation in 1994; Scully’s almost surprised they’re still hanging out outside of work, instead of being reduced to signals and dark parking garage meetings like before.) As she predicts, they’re quickly caught and she’s threatened with dismissal. Jeffrey Spender claims it’s by request of Agent Fowley, and Scully’s face grows red with anger. She can’t look Mulder in the eye.

Mulder protests that this is ridiculous, that Diana would never, and he’s immediately cut off. Apparently, they’ve gotten tired of the trouble Mulder and Scully have gotten into together. They’re reconsidering Mulder’s position on the Files and within the FBI as well.

It’s revenge, Scully knows, for talking to Agent Spender’s mother, but pointing that out would do no good. They’re both sent home.

Scully knows she should probably just leave things alone, but something inside her doesn’t want to let things go. She knows that Fowley is involved with the men who have done these things to them; she’s suspected it for a long time. So she keeps digging. She shares her research with Mulder, and they pass it on to Skinner. She stays at Mulder’s apartment probably longer than she should, drinking a beer he found at the back of his fridge and trying to figure out whether or not, now that she’s shared her suspicions about CGB Spender, she should share her suspicions about Fowley, when Cassandra bursts in. She wants Mulder to kill her, and for a long moment, Scully is afraid he will. And then, before she knows it, the CDC is bursting in to force them into quarantine. Diana Fowley, fresh back from Oklahoma (or, as Scully suspects, somewhere that is notably not Oklahoma), is on their tails, with an excess of lies that Mulder believes. She lies from Mulder’s apartment to the military base that they’re taken to, and Mulder never stops to question it. He actually seems fucking disappointed in Scully for questioning Diana. And that is the moment when Scully is finished trying to protect his feelings in this whole situation. It’s been obvious to her for months; now she needs to prove it to him.

—

Scully goes to the Gunmen. She’d desperate at this point. She may not be Mulder’s partner anymore, but she is still his friend, and she is not going to let a woman who is likely consorting with the men who abducted and assaulted her continue to manipulate him. They find information that proves every suspicion she’s ever had.

But Mulder doesn’t want to hear it. She tries to make him understand. She gives him evidence of Fowley’s activity in Europe. She points out the convenience of Fowley’s sudden reappearance, of their being partnered on the X-Files. She points out all the convenient times that Diana has been missing, that she has provided little to no help in maintaining the Files. That she is basically sabotaging him from the inside. And Mulder won’t hear it. He scoffs, he waves off their defenses. He says that Scully has given him no reason not to trust Diana, and something in her just snaps. She says, “Well, then I can’t help you anymore.”

“Scully, you’re making this personal,” he says, and every word feels like a slap across the face.

Seething with rage, she says evenly, “Because it is personal, Mulder. Because without the FBI, without the X-Files, personal interest is all that I have. And if you take that away then there is no reason for me to continue.”

She turns and walks away, her heels clacking on the floorboards. For a second, she thinks: This is it. This is when he’s finally going to let me go. And then he catches up to her. He catches her shoulder gently, saying, “Scully, wait.”

She turns on him hard. “Wait for what, Mulder?” she snaps. “We’re not partners anymore.” He flinches immediately, but she doesn’t care; this is the way she’s been feeling since her reassignment. She says, “You want to keep this impersonal? Fine. Speaking from a strictly professional standpoint, I don’t see why you need me anymore. You’ve got the X-Files, and you’ve got a partner who probably believes you, whether she’s working against you or not.” She bites her lower lip, hard, her hands in her pockets. “Where do I fit into that equation?” she asks.

And then she’s gone, slipping out of the Gunmen’s apartment and going down to her car.

6. She gets home and tells herself that it is over now. She’s serious this time. She’s going to stay at home until she hears about whether or not she is keeping her job.

But as she should’ve expected, that plan more or less blows up in her face. Agent Spender calls with information for her. He wants her to intercept the transport of his mother by train at the Potomac yards. Scully is tempted to say no, partially out of not wanting to be involved and partially out of contempt for Jeffrey Spender, but remembering everything she and Cassandra have been through, she finds herself unable to.

Mulder calls her en route to Cassandra. He wants to come pick her up, to go somewhere with him and Diana. She laughs bitterly at that. “That’s not going to happen, Mulder,” she says, teeth gritted. She tells him she is going to find Cassandra. She refuses to come with him. He decides to come with her instead.

Against her better judgement, she decides to go pick him up. For Cassandra, she tells herself. No other reason. They make it to the Potomac yards, but they can’t stop the train. Mulder tells her and Skinner that something bad is about to go down at El Rico Air Base. And by morning, everyone at El Rico Air Base is dead.

Scully goes home. Even after everything case down, after Mulder tries to apologize, she still goes home. She’s tired of the whole thing. After everything, she couldn’t even save Cassandra. She doesn’t want to hear Mulder’s apologies; she can’t do this anymore. She just wants it all to be over.

—

The next morning, she gets a call from Skinner. “Agent Scully, I’m calling to tell you that your suspension had been lifted,” he says solemnly. “And that you’ve been reassigned to the X-Files, by request of Agent Mulder.”

Scully bites down on her lower lip so hard that it bleeds. “Excuse me, sir,” she says, “but I believe that the X-Files are currently at their maximum capacity of agents.”

“I’m afraid they’re not. Agent Fowley requested a transfer,” says Skinner. He clears his throat. “And I’m afraid there’s worse news. Agent Spender’s blood was found all over the office. It will be a while before either of you can begin work.”

Scully grimaces. “That’s horrible. Do they have any idea who did it?”

“No, but I can tell you who Mulder suspects,” Skinner says.

Scully nods, staring at the rug, tears blurring her vision. She knows who he’s talking about, and she’s too exhausted to consider it. It’s been some of the longest few days of her life. And now they’re offering the X-Files back, and she’s not sure that she wants it, after everything that’s happened. At one point, she didn’t, and then she didn’t, and now she doesn’t again. She doesn’t know what to do now. All she really wants is for things to be the way they were before all of this started. Before Diana Fowley came back, before Mulder had essentially rejected her and her trust.

“Is… everything okay, Scully?” Skinner asks on the other end. She sniffles quietly and wipes her eyes; she’d almost forgotten he was there. “I thought this would be good news.”

“I… appreciate you calling to give me the news, sir,” she says quietly. “But I don’t know that I can accept the position.”

Skinner is quiet for a moment on the other end. And then he says, “You know, Mulder’s been making requests for you to be transferred back to the Files since the beginning, you know. The whole time he was partnered with Agent Fowley. He’s been asking to work with you the whole time.”

Her eyes blur further; she’s not sure if she’s grateful or extraordinarily embarrassed that Skinner managed to see through her act, see what she’s been worried about. She thanks Skinner quietly and hangs up quickly, rests her chin on her hand across the arm of the couch. She tries to tell herself it doesn’t mean anything. She tries not to think of her and Mulder on this couch a week ago, her half-asleep and him stroking the bottom of her foot absently from where it lay across his thigh, kissing her hair absently as he left. Of his teary eyes in a hallway last summer as he begged her to stay.

7. He’s at her door by that night. Of course he is. He’s apologizing before she can even get the door all the way open. “I’m sorry,” he says.

She sighs wearily, leaning against the door. “What do you want, Mulder?”

“I’m sorry,” he says again, reaching out to stop her from closing the door, although she’s made no move to close it. “I’m so sorry, Scully. You… you were right. I was an ass, and I’m sorry.”

Her hands clenched harder around the doorknob. She looks at him without saying a word.

“I-I’m sorry that they partnered me with Diana,” he says softly.

“It wasn’t your fault,” she mutters, resentful and remorseful all in the same breath.

He isn’t finished. He begins, “It's… it’s been hard for me to know how to deal with this. Part of me wants things to… to be the way they were before Diana left. She… she meant a lot to me, and it’s tempting to try and look past everything else and just remember what it was like before. But even from the beginning, I… things didn’t feel right. I didn’t want to work without you. I didn’t know how to work without you. I kept making excuses to hang out with you because I missed you so much.”

She looks down, away from him, at the doormat. She doesn’t know how to talk about this. She’s thinking about it, every lunch and mid-day phone call and movie night, and the memories are almost painful. “Mulder…” she says softly.

“You said you didn’t see why I needed you anymore, but I do need you, Scully.” His voice breaks a little. “I always need you. You’re my partner.”

She sniffles. She remembers when, while high off his ass, he told her that he loved her. She’s still not sure she believes him. She says, “You still trust her.”

“I…” He’s hesitating. He reaches out gently to touch her shoulder. “I don’t know anymore, Scully. I trust you. And I should’ve listened to you, and I never should’ve told you that you were making it personal, because it’s always been personal with us.” He rubs a circle along the back of her shoulder, steps a little closer. She doesn’t step away. “I’ve really, really missed you,” he murmurs. “And I’d love to work with you again, if you want.”

She gulps. She lifts her chin a little to meet his eyes. “I missed you, too,” she whispers, the back of her neck reddening.

He squeezes her shoulder. “I… I was wondering if we could talk about things,” he murmurs. “You and me. I was wondering if we could try and work on them.”

She wipes one eyes with the tip of her finger. She takes a deep breath and steps aside in the doorway so he can come in.

[dbphantom]

[inhales] fuck it junpai-7 time

I feel apathetic instead of anxious so here’s a ~bit~ from the H2O AU. It’s a good scene with Clay and Zane (and Quietfoot). Personally, I like the bar scene too (takes place 2 scenes before this one) but the intro to that one is kinda self-indulgent and I am not a brave enough boy for that yet. Listen, I’ll be honest, I picked this scene a) because there’s like no H2O content outside a few throwaway lines and you solely borderlands folk can enjoy it without needing to understand the Deep Merfolk Lore and b) I never write fight scenes and I’m proud of it. I know how can a person write borderlands fanfics and not be comfortable writing fight scenes, I’m such a heathen.

Anyway. Context? Uhhh, this is in the past. Meant to elaborate on that one line about Clay and Zane crossing paths on a smuggling job on Junpai-7 (a water planet). I thought it’d be funny if it turned out they were on opposite sides of the job. I’m also a big fan of a one Cutlord Karuu being the resident pirate queen. Because pirates are cool and her name is kickass.

“Where the..?”

Clay blinked open his eyes at the whisper, tried to move his hands to his throbbing head, and realized he was tied up. Yup, if he wasn’t awake before, he was definitely awake now. And, apparently, sitting on the deck of his ship, tied up against the mast, with nothing but the wide expanse of Junpai’s ocean surrounding it.

Well, damn. That wasn’t good.

He pulled against the binds, but they didn’t give- weren’t even in a position to grab so he could untie them. Whoever did this knew what they were doing.

“The hell’s going on?” He snapped at the disembodied muttering, shaking his head to get the exhaustion out. He’d been drugged, and he always hated that. “Domino, you there?”

The same whirring as earlier returned and Clay finally got to see the source- a small drone hovered before him, chirping merrily and spinning in circles.

“Zoomer? Oh! He’s up!”

A figure moved into view and Clay blinked, because he recognized him. The stranger from the bar a week ago. He was still around?

“Hello again! So sorry about this, didn’t think you’d be the one I had to target. But, hey, remember, I promised- no killing!” He showed his hands, free of any weapon, and grinned.

“What the hell, man, I bought you a drink. Where’s Domino?”

“Domino? Oh, the one on the dock? He’s still there, I think. I took us out to sea so the other two couldn’t come back yet. Don’t worry, I’ll be gone soon!”

“What are you here for? It part of that contract?” Clay had a pretty good idea. The one thing every spot of trouble they’d encountered lately was after.

Zane nodded, opening the lid on a crate next to the cabin door and poking around inside. “Yeah, yeah. From a one Cutlord Karuu. Sure you’ve heard of her.”

Clay groaned, leaning his head back against the mast. “Yeah. Pirate queen. She’s been keeping an eye on our ring for ages. Whatever she wants, we don’t have it.” He noticed movement out of the corner of his eye and glanced to look at what it could be.

Quietfoot was perched up on the sails, crouched and following the man below. He held up the alien compass they were supposed to be dropping off in Mariejois and put a finger to his lips.

Clay returned his sight back to the intruder. “So, what are you looking for?”

Zane sighed. “Ah, you know, a small, little, bobbly alien thing. Points north. What’s the word?” He paused in his searching, putting the lid on the crate down and leaning on it. “Actually, it doesn’t point north. Supposed to point to a Vault Key. You know, one of those things everyone’s losing their minds over these days? I don’t get it. But the actual ones point north.”

The hitman frowned and scowled at the drone as it bobbed around the ship, mouthing something to himself.

Clay watched, confused and slightly worried he had noticed Quietfoot above them.

“COMPASS!”

Clay jumped and whispered a quiet curse. “What is wrong with you?”

“Sorry, sorry. Remembered-”

Thump.

The two stopped and looked over to see what the noise was. The Eridian compass was spiraling in a small circle, and the two watched it fall without saying a thing.

“… Huh,” Zane finally managed, and looked up at the sky. “Didn’t think I had that pow-”

Quietfoot landed on top of him, sending him to the floor, and snatched the compass back, stashing it in his digistruct pack.

“Holy-! Where did you come from?” Zane asked after he got his breath back, pushing himself up off the deck with a cough.

Quietfoot had already pulled out his shotgun, and he fired it in response.

Zane’s shield took the brunt of it, a few pellets hitting the wall behind him, and he smirked despite the breath being taken away from him again. “You don’t talk much? That’s fine, I can cover for both of us!”

He tossed out a small disc that landed at Clay’s feet, which then projected another, flashier shield.

“What the hell?” Clay demanded, struggling to get out of his binds in order to help his partner.

“Get it?” Said Zane, hands on his knees as he laughed. “’Cover’? Ah, you guys are a tough crowd.”

Quietfoot pulled the trigger again and the barrier absorbed the blast, burning pellets falling around Clay. He felt lucky he was wearing his leathers today.

Zane grabbed the barrier from midair with a button press and bolted towards the rogue, bashing him with it while the man reloaded. He dropped his shotgun and Zane kicked it away, letting it bounce off the railing of the ship and skid across the deck.

“Come on, just give it up! Don’t make me hurt you!” He got a look at the man’s bloodied nose as Quietfoot steadied himself. “Uh, more. Don’t make me hurt you more! … So sorry about that- you seem like a cool fella.”

Clay glanced down at the electronic disc at his feet, then the flashy light shield, and had an idea. He lifted up his left boot and smashed it down on the thing, watching the sparks fly. The barrier Zane held fizzled out of existence for a split second. The hitman seemed surprised, turning his head to see what was going on with his tech.

“I- hey, I just got that fixed! Quit it!”

Clay grinned. He did it again, just as Quietfoot reared back for a sucker punch to the man’s jaw. The barrier vanished moments before his fist reached Zane’s face. He staggered back from the blow, blinking rapidly and touching the blood now dripping from his split lip. “Ow! What was that for? I’m trying not to kill you!”

Quietfoot lunged for his shotgun while Zane was distracted, finishing the reload from his crouched position on the deck.

“Shite,” Zane muttered when he finally looked up, as his barrier still hadn’t returned after Clay reacquainted his foot with the projector. He pulled out another device and pressed the button on its side, and then there were two of him standing side-by-side.

Clay blinked.

Quietfoot blinked.

One of the Zanes grinned and the other one waved.

“What the…” Clay managed. “How many tricks do you have?”

“Enough,” said one, and Quietfoot pulled the trigger on him.

The deck behind him gained a nice fourteen hole pattern, with splinters to boot.

“You know,” said the other, “we don’t have to do it like this. You can just give me the compass and we’ll all go on our merry ways! I’ll even untie you, Clay,” he said, turning his head to grin at him.

Quietfoot whirled around, pointing the barrel of his gun at the talking one and keeping an eye on the other, who was studying him, just in case.

The other opened their mouth to speak and Quietfoot took no chances, quickly firing off his gun. That one stumbled back, shield audibly breaking from the hit. “… Ow!” He wheezed, doubled over from the blow to his stomach. “That’s gonna bruise tomorrow.”

Quietfoot had reloaded while Zane was lamenting over his new injury, and lifted his gun to shoot once more. The hitman looked up and suddenly- instantly- he was standing straight, glaring at the other man.

No, Clay realized. That was the clone- the dude could switch places with it. Oh, now, that was just unfair. And also explained a lot.

“That’s the double!” He warned Quietfoot, who nodded, quickly removing his finger from the trigger, and turned to face the real one. But the original was gone, having dashed off somewhere while his attacker was distracted.

“So,” came a whisper from next to Clay, taking cover behind the mast from Quietfoot’s shotgun. “What do you see in this guy? I mean, not to be rude, but he’s not very hospitable, is he? Or did I do somethin’? ‘Cause, honest, no hard feelings here- just work.”

Clay’s head whipped around to see Zane standing with his back against the mast, peering out from behind it. “What in the- how did you-? Damn it, man, if you’re going to scare me, at least let me fight back first!”

“Oh,” he sucked in a quick breath through his teeth. “No can do. I’m trying to not kill you guys, remember?” He snapped his fingers and his drone buzzed down from its place above them, settling on his shoulder with a small wiggle. “You can play dead, though! It’s like a game!”

Quietfoot had advanced on them while they were talking and Zane grinned at Clay when the man rounded the mast. “Gotta go!”

“Quit running!” Clay yelled, struggling against his binds and kicking his feet as Zane darted out onto the deck again.

“Hell no! He’s got a gun!” The Hitman laughed.

Quietfoot sighed and re-rounded the mast, entirely done with the intruder and stopping first to assess Clay’s whole situation. At the moment, Zane was no threat, just a nuisance.

“You want help?” He asked.

“Holy shite,” Zane said, popping up next to them. “He can talk? For real?”

Quietfoot shot him, but it didn’t do much since the man simply teleported away and popped back up behind him seconds later, leaning over his shoulder.

“Wow! I can’t believe you can actually talk,” Zane rambled with a grin as Quietfoot undid Clay’s binds. “Do you just not like to, or is it something I said? Because I was asking Clay earlier if it was something I said and I’m just not sure. This whole thing we’ve got going on right now is only work, you get that, right? When I’m done with my contract, we should all get a drink together. You all seem like a pretty cool group of fellas. Like your friend, Domino! I remembered. Haven’t met the other two, but they seem neat. I like your shapeshifter- I know what that’s like. Must be cool to do it on command.” He paused momentarily, brain seeming to catch up with his mouth as he blinked. “Uh, I know what the tricking people’s like. Not the- not the other thing. So, what do you say?”

Clay pulled his hands loose and rubbed his wrists with a quiet mutter of thanks, then pulled his pistol from his digistruct pack as he stood. Quietfoot readied his shotgun and the two turned to face Zane, who looked particularly dumbfounded.

“Is that a ‘no’ to the drinks?”

“Listen, man,” Clay said, pulling the hammer down on his pistol and pointing it at him as he backed up towards the railing. “You’ve got three seconds to sit down and shut up, or else things are going to get really, really bad for you. I like your style, don’t get me wrong,” he admitted, “but nobody messes with my crew. And, here’s the thing: I think I don’t want to see your brains lying on my deck, so sit the hell down while we get this ship back to port.”

“Alright,” Zane said, raising his hands above his head with a grin. He held his clone’s device in one hand, and his silver digistruct pack in the other. “You got me.”

Clay glanced down at the man’s hip, because he could have sworn his digistruct pack was black.

… It was.

That wasn’t his.

Quietfoot cursed from beside him and began reloading his shotgun, pack blatantly missing from his belt. Clay understood, then, why the man didn’t stop Quietfoot from untying him and instead decided to talk nonsense. He went to take the shot for his partner, but the stupid drone flew over and latched onto his arm, throwing off his aim.

“Kidding. I was kidding!” Zane tossed his digiclone device into his own pack and saluted them with two fingers and a grin, hopping backwards onto the railing and balancing there for a moment. “This was fun! Seriously, let’s get together later!”

“What the hell are you doing? Get off that!” Clay yelled, still struggling to get the robot off of him. “Don’t be an idiot!”

Going overboard on Junpai-7 was a death sentence- everybody who lived and worked here knew that. But the hitman? He was just some stranger from Pandora. He’d have no idea the consequences. And Clay did, admittedly, have a soft spot for the guy, despite his thievery and overly talkative personality; he wanted to make him pay a little, maybe even recruit him into the rogues when all was said and done, not watch him get brutally ripped apart by sea kings and flash whirlpools.

But Zane didn’t seem to care about what Clay said. He looked him in the eye, did a dramatic, sweeping bow, and dropped backwards with a grin and a whistle.

The bot relinquished its death grip on Clay’s arm and flung itself over the railing of their ship with reckless abandon. The clone, too, vanished after a second, as did the broken barrier disc lying forgotten on the deck beside a smattering of bullet holes.

The two rogues were left staring at the place the man was standing, until Clay broke their stupor by rushing to the railing and leaning over.

There was nothing in the black waves.

Clay had half expected them to be pink with blood, or at least see the hitman struggling to stay afloat in the brutal current, but it was like he had vanished into thin air. What, was this another one of his tricks?

“Stay alert,” Clay told Quietfoot, who nodded. “Don’t know where he went.”

“That’s just great. He better not still be on the ship- I’ll blow his damn head open. Now we’re out twenty mil and all my guns. Sorry, Clay, I should’ve untied you sooner. Might’ve been able to get the bastard at the start if we were both up and at ‘em.”

Clay shook his head. “He was a real crafty son of a bitch, don’t feel bad. ‘Sides, one of those Vault Hunting bastards was bound to be strong enough to get what they wanted eventually.” He sighed, putting his pistol away. “Domino was right, it’s probably for the best we don’t get involved in all this alien stuff. Maybe twenty mil is a small price to pay to learn that.”

“Maybe,” said Quietfoot, looking out at the water. “May-be.”

[feel199x]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚apple of my eye ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ VII

I   II  III  IV  V  VI  VII VIII IX X  masterlist

gang!au, gang member!han jisung, band!au, florist!reader

a/n: this chapter is written from a different perspective again;;; also seven chapters but the series is almost coming to a close!

warnings: blood and gun mention, cussing, angst but fluff if u squint hard enough

                              ┍━━━━━━━✿━━━━━━━┑

Minho was the first person Jisung had called, Minho was always the first person Jisung would call. Jisung was bleeding pretty badly, gripping his thigh as he sat behind a counter. He couldn’t go to the hospital, not with everything he thought he had done- so he just sat there, waiting for Minho. Jisung cried because he couldn’t do anything but wait, there was nothing else he was capable of doing. He couldn’t take care of himself, so he waited for Minho. And because he was waiting for Minho, there was nothing he could do to help you- so, he had to wait. Jisung was never good at waiting, patience was not something he was fond of. If he wanted to do something, to understand something- to be good at something, he needed that to happen urgently. Because of that, he tended to drop habits quickly, before he could really tell if he was truly good or bad at something. He only really learned patience after you, watching and observing you. You didn’t complain when he was gone, never scolded him for having other responsibilities. Even after having the only things you really cared about taken away, you didn’t rush to have the construction finished or the insurance to pay you back. Jisung was crying harder now, wiping away his tears with bloody hands as the record continued to play. He didn’t want it to keep playing, but he also didn’t have the heart to stop it.

Minho had arrived as soon as he could, running red lights and avoiding as many cops as he could. Jisung’s eyes were getting heavy as Minho put him in the back of the group’s car.

“How the fuck did this happen?”

“I don’t know, it was probably N/S.”

“Oh fuck, you don’t actually think-?”

“Where’s ___?”

Jisung could barely keep track of the conversation and who was speaking, but when he heard your name, he sputtered out a weak answer.

“He took them.”

Jisung couldn’t make sense of the loud conversation after that, just trying to focus on staying awake until they reached the hide-out.

 “Jisung, this is Chan, okay? I’m going to clean the wound and take the bullet it out. It’s going to hurt.”

“Woojin, get the cloth ready. Minho, keep him quiet until we get to the hide out.”

Chan was cutting the fabric of Jisung’s pant leg to find the wound. It was only a slight graze, and the wound wasn’t very deep. Still, Jisung was bleeding with more blood than they could manage. “He’s bleeding too much, I don’t know if he’ll make it-”

“Letting him die is not a fucking option!”

“Here, okay- let’s calm down- Chan, I’ll stop the bleeding, just get the tweezers ready.”

The song from the record was still playing in Jisung’s head as he weakly hummed along. He wasn’t making sense of what happened, he didn’t want to make sense of what was happening. He just missed you. He wanted to hold your hand, feel it’s softness in his and he wanted to peck your lips- he wanted to do so much more than time allowed him. Jisung was still crying, soft tears streaming down the sides of his face and he could feel it pool in the creases of his ears.

“Fuck, there’s someone following us- Chan hurry up before they-!”

“You wanna come down here an-”

“Shit!”

Jisung wanted to sing, he wanted to rap, and he wanted to dance. How could all of these things be taken away from him? Why were the only things that mattered slipping away from his hands? He worked so hard to get here, he got restless whenever he couldn’t finish a lyric or nail a dance move. He wouldn’t stop until he perfected them, because really, that’s the only thing he did have patience for- the only thing he would practice until all his bones turned to dust.

“Felix, Seugmin, pop your head out the window and sh-.”

“Are you insane?”

“Just do it!”

“Hyunjin, step on it- lose them.”

Jisung’s eyes were getting heavier by the second, drifting in an out of consciousness. It felt like he was in a dream state, he couldn’t even feel the pain from his thigh anymore. It felt okay like everything was okay because none of it seemed real anyway.

“Jisung, please, please stay awake, okay? You have so much to live through, stay awak-”

“I can’t lose them, they’re right on our ass.”

“Felix-!”

“Kinda hard to shoot their tires when we’re going a hundred and fifty miles per fucking hour!”

Someone squeezed his hand, but Jisung’s eyes were already drooping. At the very least, Jisung was before he felt a shooting pain go up his thigh, pain like he had never experienced before- not even the last time he was shot. So, he screamed.

“Minho-.”

“On it. Sorry, Jisung.”

Jisung went to pull off the hand on his mouth, muffling his screams. But his body couldn’t take the stress, going limp from everything that had gone down in less than half an hour.

“Jisung? Jisung-!”

---

It had only been a week later when Jisung had finally woken up. Minho hadn’t left Jisung’s side, everyone lingering around the bed and room. They only really left to make something to eat, but returned to the bedroom when they were finished, refusing to leave Jisung out of their usual activities. Minho kept checking Jisung’s pulse nearly every hour, to comfort himself with the slow but significant beating pulse of Jisung’s arm. Everyone was scared out of their minds, even if they wouldn’t say it out loud. Somehow, this situation seemed a lot worse than the previous time. Chan hadn’t known anything about medicine then, and it was only by a miracle that they were able to take out the bullet. But that wasn’t the only problem. Eventually, the group had to leave, they had to face the music. Tension only seemed to grow thicker the longer they isolated themselves out of society, and they all had responsibilities that unfortunately, couldn’t be abandoned.

“I think that maybe we could negotiate with him, right?”

“He shot Jisung, he wanted to kill him. And plus, are you forgetting about ___? Who’s going to report them as missing persons?”

“Minho’s right, Chan. Maybe this is out of our hands.”

Both of the boys looked back at Woojin, impatience and displease in their eyes. “We won’t be able to make music if we’re all in jail. Plus, we,” Minho gestured to everyone in the room, “haven’t killed anybody or even attempted to.”

“Right, we can stop selling- that’s what we’ll tell them.”

“What about ___?” Jisung asked quietly, voice emerging from the bed. Everyone in the room rushed to his bedside, clambering on to sit beside or around him. “We can talk about that later,” Jeongin spoke, “Are you okay?” Mutters of agreement flooded the room, a variety of ‘are you okay’s and ‘how are you feeling?’ was asked without breaks, overlapping one another as they spoke.

“How long have I been out?” Jisung asked, “Did you find ___?”

“A week,” Minho answered calmly, “and no. Not yet, the guy went rogue. We’re working on a negotiation.”

The room went quiet as everyone watched for Jisung’s reaction.

“I’m sorry,” his voice didn’t waver, firm like never before, “for making a mess, for putting you all through this.”

“Hey,” Chan patted Jisung’s back, “it’s not your fault. We’re all at fault here.”

Jisung moved to get up, ignoring the throbbing pain from his thigh. “You need to take your time,” Minho said sharply, “If you push yourself before you’re ready, you’re just going to fall apart. Who are you going to help them.”

“Love you too, Minho.”

“Then stay in bed, and we’ll get you some food.”

 But Jisung was unnerved, as much as he wanted to focus on himself and pace himself to be in his best condition to come and help you- you were all he could think about. Even as he ate, light, distracting conversation filling the room, the record’s song still floated through his memory. He could still feel his head resting against your chest as you stroked his hair. He wish he could have prepared, done something to have prevented the situation.

But there was nothing he could’ve done, nothing indeed.

Minho knew that Jisung would be beating himself up. When Jisung was younger, everytime something bad happened- he would cry and cry. After he found the dead baby bird, he insisted on giving it a proper burial in a special place in the playground. The boys begrudgingly joined, not wanting Jisung to mourn the death all alone. Even after they had made a special box and a stone grave, even after they dug a shallow hole and buried it, Jisung lingered around the tree. He insisted that he was okay, just making sure that no one would dig the baby bird back up. But no one commented when they saw him wipe silent childish tears off his cheeks when they all had to go back to class. Jisung got rejected, and often. But instead of feeling bitterness towards the person, or trying to pursue them again- he beat himself up. He was a hopeless romantic, teddy bear inside and out- believing he would meet ‘the one’ soon. But that didn’t make the rejection hurt less, because, in his mind, something had to be wrong with him in order for him to get rejected all these times.

“Minho, what if my soulmate rejects me?”

“Then they’re not your soulmate, Jisung. Anyone who rejects you isn’t worth your time.”

Jisung knew that what Minho was saying had some truth to it, but at the time he just couldn’t see himself fall in love. Not because he had sworn off of it, but he was just so busy these days, breathing, eating, and sleeping music. It felt like his youth was slipping through the cracks of his fingers like sands of times. And he loved it, he did. It was his dream to be successful in music, and he was, they were. Even if their start was less than graceful, they didn’t even need the drug bribe to convince people to come listen to their music anymore, people were genuinely interested in their music. So, the thought of love was eventually pushed into the depths of his mind,

Until he entered your flower shop.

He was just picking up flowers for his grandmother, he didn’t expect anything special to happen. The truth was, he was slacking off on visiting his grandmother- so his parents called him, urging to pay her a visit. The first thing his grandmother did was make him go on a bunch of errands, with the promises of good food if he had gotten everything done without getting distracted. And what was a better motivator than food? Only love.

He had expected to see an elderly lady like his grandmother running the shop, but instead, he saw you putting flowers into a vase, and his first reaction was to hide behind a pot of flowers. But the windchimes at the door betrayed him, and you had called out to him, asking if he needed any help. Jisung believed in love at first sight, and this? This was love at first sight.

“Jisung!” Minho snapped Jisung out of his thoughts, “We don’t have time, you need to follow me.”

“Minho-?”

“Jisung, we don’t have time!”

There was nothing he could’ve done to prepare, nothing indeed.

                             ┕━━━━━━━✿━━━━━━━┙

[i-miss-trr]

"Ours?"

Setting: This is kind of in an AU where they all make it out of the island safe and sound and Rourke doesn’t take over the world.

Pairing: Jake x M!MC (Taylor Mckenzie)

Summary: The day that Jake and Taylor thought would be the best day of their lives turns out to be the worst. They set out thinking they are going to get the greatest gift ever but at the last minute that gift is snatched from them. 

Rating: Angst

Word Count: 890

Author's Note: This was my first fic (that I posted on my old account) that I was proud of and nt only that, some people have even told me this is their favourite fic. So here is a repost of my fic from my previous account. I would like to submit this fic to @mariamulroney‘s #choicesmarchchallenge for Day 13 Rain (sorry this is late). Here the weather, Rain kinda reflects their emotional turmoil I hope I was able to do the symbolism justice. ANY AND ALL FEEDBACK IS MUCH APPRECIATED.

(Also, I added the 'Read More' tag but I just realised it's not working in the app. Idk why so sorry about that😅)

———————————————————

*the phone rings*

“Top Gun can you get that? I’m a little busy,” Taylor requests from the kitchen. He hears Jake mumbling something but picking up the phone nevertheless. Taylor giggles thinking how Mike always says Jake is wrapped around Taylor’s finger. “Taylor!” A shout breaks Taylor’s thoughts and he drops the plate he was wiping. Hearing Jake call him by his name, which almost never happens, Taylor leaves everything and rushes to the living room. There he sees the phone lying on the floor and Jake standing next to it and looking at him with glistening eyes. Taylor immediately understands everything, after all they were waiting for that phone call for weeks. “It’s time, isn’t it?” Taylor asks quietly, and Jake nods meekly. Taylor gasps while Jake runs to him and hugs him with glee. “We don’t have time. We have to hurry,” Taylor declares and they grab their pre-packed bag and rush to the hospital.

*8 hours later*

The night sky opens up, mirroring Jake and Taylor’s emotional turmoil as they pull into their driveway. Jake turns off the engine and they both sit in the closed car not knowing what to do or say. Outside, the loud cracks of thunder and lightning fill the sky but inside their car, a deathly silence surrounds them. Wiping away a few rogue tears, Jake exits the car with an umbrella and opens the passenger door for Taylor. Jake’s heart breaks watching his Boy Scout sitting there motionless and emotionless. “Boy Scout,” Jake ushers in vain. “Taylor, baby,” he taps his shoulder, “let’s get inside.” Like a robot going through the motion, Taylor gets under the umbrella and allows Jake to guide him towards their front porch. Jake closes the umbrella and unlocks the front door.

“SURPRISE!!”

Taylor blinks as his eyes adjust to the bright light. They both stop dead in their tracks when they read the huge banners, ‘Congratulations Top Gun & Boy Scout’ and 'Welcome home baby McKenzie’. Taylor’s heart sinks as his eyes span their friends’ excited and happy faces. The gravity of the situation finally sinks in and Taylor breaks down crying. Seeing his husband fall apart next to him and not being able to do anything about it, fills Jake with uncontrollable rage and he takes his frustration out on the banners. One by one he rips every banner, every card, every gift to sheds as the mother’s earlier words and Taylor’s crying ring in his ears.

“Jake...”

“What hap...”

“Wh...”

Their friends try to intervene, but he keeps on tearing down the decorations like a man possessed.

“J..,” "JAKE!“ Mike steps into his blurry vision forcing him to stop.

Feeling overwhelmed, Taylor turns on his heels and runs outside. Even the roaring sky and pouring rain don’t stop him as he runs into the forest surrounding their home. He can hear Jake’s footsteps and shouts for him to stop behind him but they only make him run faster. He can’t deal with anyone right now, not even his own husband. Right now all Taylor wants is to get away from everything. All the disappointments, all the heartbreaks, the emptiness. Not able to see clearly in the dark, he dashes into a tree forcing him to come to a halt. He can feel Jake’s presence behind him and for a few minutes they just stand there heaving quietly as the sky continues to soak them. "Boy Scout” The sympathy in Jake’s voice aggravates him. “What Jake?” He turns around to look at face him for the first time that evening. A ray of lightning illuminates the sky and in spite of the rain, Jake can make out the tear stains on Taylor’s cheeks. He opens his mouth but no words come out.

“I’m sorry? Sorry?! Sorry doesn’t change the fact that she stole our baby.” Taylor balls his fists as he recalls her exact words. For the first time, Jake doesn’t know how to console his husband.

“That was our baby, Jake! She chose us! We are her parents! Not her and her high school wannabe boyfriend!”

“But they are...”

“No! Don’t you dare!” Taylor points a finger at him accusingly.

Another ball of lightning followed by thunder breaks out but neither Taylor nor Jake seem to notice. Jake moves closer to Taylor but he shrugs him away. Jake wraps his arms around his husband and Taylor’s tense shoulders slump against him. “Why us, Jake?” Taylor’s voice barely is barely audible this time. “After all the rejections, all the waiting, all the disappointments I thought we were finally going to complete our family.” Taylor clutches Jake’s T-shirt and sobs into his chest. “And all she had to say was 'I’m sorry?’” Jake hugs him tighter than he has ever before. He keeps him close to his chest, wrapped in his warm embrace as Taylor’s muffled voice repeats like a tape, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry” Unable to hold it back anymore, tears mixed with rain water pour down Jake’s face as they stand in the rain in an attempt to wash away all their pain. Taylor’s horse voice eventually dies down but their tears don’t seem to stop. Feeling helpless Jake merely kisses the top of Taylor’s head and whispers, “I’m sorry too.”

Too lost in their own world, they fail to notice another presence until one by one they feel many arms envelop them. All of their friends hug them in silence while Raj opens a huge beach umbrella over their group.

[setaripendragon]

Snily AU - Book 2?

So, here I go again, on a massive long ramble about this stupidly self-indulgent AU I’ve come up with. If you want a recap, I think I’m going to tag this AU under ‘role swap AU’, which is what it’s turned out to be, even if it started as just a simple ‘what if Snily instead of Jily?’ AU, so just search for the role-swap-AU tag on my blog.

And, as before, putting this monster beneath a read more, because, really, I’m writing an entire not!fic here. This is longer than some of the actual oneshots I’ve written, fml...

I’m just going to pick up where I left off; the summer holidays at the beginning of book two. Of course, a lot of what we see in the books is going to belong to Neville, now. I honestly can’t decide if Dobby would think to try stopping Neville’s mail, since he’s not quite as isolated as Harry was. Maybe he tries some other mischief. If he does end up showing himself, I can only imagine Augusta hitting the roof over this interference. (Maybe she even recognises Dobby as a Malfoy elf and gives Lucius what for about it?)

I like the idea that Neville is just as clumsy with the floo as Harry is, and the whole Borgin and Burke’s scene happens pretty much as per canon. Idk if Hagrid would find him or not, but either way he would, eventually get back to Diagon Alley safely (because he, unlike Harry, grew up in the Wizarding World and knew roughly where he was).

But I don’t know if he’d meet the Weasleys there. He certainly wouldn’t have needed rescuing, so what if instead of going there with a friend, it’s more of a coincidence. What if he just happens to bump into Harry there. Harry, who’s there with Sirius and Remus, of course, but also with the Snapes. Lily and Severus and Maeve, and her two younger brothers, Azrael and Gilgamesh. Because Maeve is starting Hogwarts this year and they’re making a big day of it, and Lily invited Remus & co because why not? So Neville bumps into them in Flourish and Blotts, right before he gets recognised by Lockhart.

And, of course, Lucius Malfoy still has his massive beef with the Weasleys for being blood-traitors and poor as dirt, as per canon, but in this AU, I think he’d have an even bigger beef with Severus. Severus, who Lucius was supposed to recruit, Severus whom he groomed for the role and made promises of everything the Dark Lord would give him if Severus fought for him, Severus who embarrassed him so massively in front of the Dark Lord when he picked a mudblood bitch over all that power and promise.

So it’s not Ginny Weasley who gets the Diary, it’s Maeve Snape. Lucius slips it in among her books while making snide comments about Severus sullying himself, how very like his muggle-loving mother, a legacy he must be so proud of- Lily shuts him up by punching him square in the jaw. And probably makes a comment about how does Lucius like being put on his ass by a mudblood, with muggle fighting techniques. Not so inferior now, huh? And Remus makes a quip about Lily being a healer, and wasn’t there something in her oaths about not doing harm? And Lily’s like ‘I swore to fight parasites and diseases, and that’s exactly what I did.’

And I want Draco to have a very complicated problem here, because on the one hand, he’s been conditioned to side with his father, and his father doesn’t like Severus Snape. But Draco, canonically, likes alchemy and potion-making, and Severus has, in this verse, had the opportunity to become a rather world-renowned name in the field. Draco, deep down and so secretly he barely admits it to himself (right next to where he hides his massive, debilitating crush on Harry), wants an apprenticeship with Severus when he’s older. So he’s bitter about it, and even more bitter because he’d entertained hopes of befriending Maeve, selling it to his father as luring her away from her family, but honestly mostly just in the hopes of getting an in with famous Potioneer and Alchemist Severus Snape. But no, she’s friends with Harry Potter, the bane of Draco’s entire existence. So he’s an even more pissy little shit than usual.

And that’s the summer, so now they’re off to Hogwarts. Except, of course, Dobby. And this is where things start getting complicated. Because I think Dobby would still stop Neville going through the barrier, since it’s one of the surest ways to stop or delay him, a point he has to pass through, and there’s no way around, and there’s a time limit. He probably has sneaky ways to make sure the Longbottoms are late, so there wouldn’t even be drama of there being a lot of people stuck, not just Neville. But would Ron be with him? Was any of the delay the Weasleys suffered Dobby’s fault? Do they get there earlier? So here’s the real important question:

9) Does Neville fly the car to Hogwarts? 9a) If the Weasleys are even there, does Ron even get stuck with Neville? Or is it someone else? The twins? Ginny?

I hadn’t thought of that before, but that could be interesting, actually. The two of them would be so shy around each other, Neville just naturally timid and self-effacing, and GInny over-come by her hero-worship crush. But Ginny is bold, when she’s not intimidated by trying to impress her crush, so if Neville did mention waiting by the car, I think she would be daredevil and stubborn enough to suggest flying it to school. I think the lure of all that time alone with her crush would be enough to make her push, even if Neville was hesitant and dubious.

Still, the question stands. Either way, he gets to Hogwarts eventually. And Ginny, Maeve, and Luna are devastated to realise they’re all in different houses, but Harry encourages them to not let house divisions come between them.

Which, speaking of house divisions, brings me to a plot point I really like. Of course, because they’re both in Slytherin, Harry and Draco can’t have their epic Quidditch rivalry. There can only be one Slytherin Seeker, after all. So, of course, they both try out, and it’s a furious competition, and they’re almost neck-and-neck. And eventually, Marcus Flint decides one of them is reserve Seeker, while the other gets the actual positions. So, of course, before every match, the reserve Seeker tries to sabotage the actual Seeker so that they get to play in the match. So of course, when the next year rolls around, and the reserve Seeker gets to be on the actual team, the new reserve Seeker sabotages them right back.

I think that, behaviour-wise, it makes more sense for Draco to be the reserve Seeker in their second year, to start off the whole sabotage-drama? I think Harry would be petty enough to try sabotaging Draco (remember, he is a Slytherin this go around), especially if he thought Marcus Flint had shown favouritism by picking Draco. (Maybe because of the broom-bribe?) But I haven’t even begun to think how it might play out in later years, so I’m not sure.

And following on from the quidditch-related questions; given that Neville doesn’t play quidditch, there can’t be any rogue bludger, so there really need to be other ways for Dobby to attempt to injure Neville enough to get sent home. I have no idea what they might be, though. I mean, Neville is already clumsy, so maybe he just seems to be having an Extra Clumsy Year or something, but that doesn’t seem like enough? I thought maybe, that if he didn’t fly the car to Hogwarts, this might be a good way for Neville to encounter the Whomping Willow? He is, after all, really interested in Herbology. Dobby might engineer an incident there?

I really ought to reread the second book (or listen to the audiobook, at least), because I’m a bit fuzzy on the order of events, but I think the only crucial plot point before the whole rogue bludger thing was the Deathday Party, right? I think that would all happen pretty much the same. No reason for it not to, really. And then, of course, because Dobby is trying to injure Neville, even without the bludger, he probably would end up in the hospital wing eventually, and Colin Creevey would try to visit him. But hey, would Ginny go with him? I kind of like the idea that they became sort of friends, bonding over their shared crushes on Neville. But if she goes with him, does she get petrified, too? That kind of ruins the whole only-muggle-borns streak right out of the gate, but it might be an interesting avenue to explore?

10) Who gets to be Slytherin Seeker first? Harry or Draco? 11) How does Dobby attempt to not-kill Neville? 12) Does Ginny go with Colin to visit Neville in the hospital wing? 12a) If she does, does she get petrified? Or does she avoid it? 12b) If she does avoid it; how?

And then we come to the duelling club. No Sev here, he’s free of that blasted classroom, so who does Lockhart rope in as his ‘assisstant’? My first thought was Flitwick, since he’s the renowned duelist on staff. But then I thought: McGonagall. Can you imagine McGonagall getting stuck having to deal with Lockhart in full on show-off mode? I think it might even be as entertaining as the actual canon dueling club.

Draco still summons a snake, and Neville still talks to it, and everyone still thinks he’s the Heir of Slytherin, as per canon. Only, in this verse, Neville actually has sort-of-friends in Slytherin. They’re not close, but they know and like each other, and Slytherin house is losing it’s collective mind at the notion of an actual real life parseltongue at Hogwarts. Jealousy and awe run rampant, and Harry and Tracey can tell Neville all about it. And most importantly, when Neville starts angsting over how it’s a Dark Art and maybe he is just a failure and an awful person deep down, Blaise, a well-educated pureblood from a Slytherin family can tell Neville all about the good parseltongues. (I really hate how inconsistent JKR was about that sort of thing. Dumbledore says “It is our choices, Harry, that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities.” and yet JKR doesn’t have one example of a natural born parseltongue being good. Fuck you, madam. Fuck. You.)

When I was a kid, one of my favourite books was D’Aulaires’ Book of Greek Myths, and one of the stories in it that stuck with me was the story of Melampus, who nursed a nest of orphaned snakes, and in return they licked his ears so clean he could hear and understand the language of animals. If that isn’t a perfect ‘origin of parseltongue’ story (Blaise: The muggles got it a bit wrong, of course, it wasn’t all animals, even snakes aren’t that wise, but they did teach him their own language) I don’t know what is. And he used the knowledge he gained from talking to them to heal. That, in fact, Parseltongue was known as a language of healing until only very recently. (Snakes are literally part of the symbol of western medicine ffs.)

And that maybe in other countries, like India and China, parseltongue is practically revered. They have their own parseltongue lines, and they’re honoured and maybe even rulers. (Are Chinese/East Asian Dragons snake-like enough to speak parseltongue? Do they speak dragonese? Are they bilingual?)

And Merlin, okay. I headcanon that Merlin was a parseltongue. Because I don’t care what JKR may have said on the subject, Merlin existed sometime around 500AD, which is five hundred years before Hogwarts even existed. He could not have been a Slytherin. However, I do really like the idea of him being Slytherin’s ancestor. (Which would also help explain Slytherin’s reputation for being obsessed with lineage. If I had Merlin in my family tree, I’d fucking brag about it, too.) And modern witches and wizards who aren’t historians only know vaguely that he’s associated with Slytherin, which then gets mistaken for him being in Slytherin. And any sufficiently educated witch or wizard (Hermione) will get so frustrated with that misconception because the dates don’t even match up you uneducated nitwit.

And of course Slytherins have a different opinion on Slytherin himself. Maybe when Hermione hears Tracey, a muggleborn like herself, defending the most famous hater of muggleborns in history (besides Voldemort), she gets all geared up for a Research Project, and she and Tracey disappear into the library together for hours on hours looking for unbiased sources and historical accounts of what Slytherin was actually like.

Sorry about that tangent, I just have a lot of feelings about parseltongues and Slytherin and Merlin and Greek Myths. Anyway, back to the plot; I think the whole Christmas drama with the polyjuice potion should just be scrapped. It just doesn’t work when the Boy Who Lived has friends in Slytherin and can just ask. I think Harry would definitely be of the opinion that Draco really probably isn’t the Heir (Harry: If Malfoy were descended from Slytherin himself, I think we would have heard about it by now. At great length. In detail. Every day.)

But maybe there was still a bit of an incident over Christmas, because Draco was mouthing off about how he hopes the next attack kills someone, and Harry argues with him, and it turns into a massive thing, with students from all years weighing in on this side or that. And Maeve is just sitting in the corner shrinking in her seat because she’s really starting to think ‘what if it’s me?’

So she tries to get rid of the diary. Maybe she confides in Ginny and Luna. (Or, just Luna, if Ginny is petrified...) I think she probably actually showed them the diary in the first place, and Luna made some vaguely disturbing comments about it, and Ginny thought it was neat, but they didn’t get sucked in like Maeve did, and they’ve been really kind of worried about her, so when she goes to them and explains - not all of it, she’s too frightened to admit to all of it, but she does tell them she thinks there’s something wrong with the diary, that maybe it’s hurting her - they’re (Luna’s) really relieved to help her get rid of it.

But does Neville find it? I mean, the whole thing is such a damn coincidence, but... hmm, Harry did find his way right to the diadem in the Room of Requirement, so if we work on the basis that Horcruxes are at least somewhat aware of each other and possibly even drawn to each other, then I think Neville would have to find it. (Whew, at least that’s one plot-bending point avoided.)

Next is Valentine’s Day. Ugh. This all depends on whether Ginny is petrified or not, doesn’t it? That’s probably an arguement for her not being petrified, because I can’t think of anyone else who has the right connections here. Of course, what the hell would happen if Neville kept the diary? Or would Maeve just steal it out of his bag at some point? I think she would have to. But if Ginny’s awake, then it goes basically like it did in canon, only Maeve is with Ginny when Neville’s bag splits, and she’s the one who panics over Neville having it, and she’s the one who convinces Ginny to help her steal it back. (Because if Tom was hurting Maeve, he might end up hurting Neville, and Ginny would love the idea of getting to be the hero that saves her idol from some soul-sucking diary. You can imagine the pre-adolescent daydreams the entire escapade fueled.)

Speaking of daydreams and romance, I love the idea of the entirety of the male-attracted population of Slytherin getting into a vicious fued over whether Lockhart is crush-worthy or not. Because, like him or not, the man is devious, and successful, and that’s got to be attractive to a lot of Slytherins. On the other hand, he wouldn’t know subtle if it jumped up and whacked him over the head with a brick. (I’m really torn as to what side of the equation Draco would fall on. On the one hand, he isn’t exactly subtle either, so there’s really good grounds for thinking he might be just as bad as Hermione about it all. On the other hand, I can’t help but feel that he’s much more likely to have a teacher-crush on Lupin, and obviously massively resent it and be a little brat about it just like he is about his crush on Harry. ...Although I suppose ‘why not both?’ does sort of apply here XD) Blaise is obviously very anti-Lockhart, and so is Daphne, Pansy is very pro-Lockhart, and so is Millicent. Harry, Tracey, and Theo just do not get what the fuss is all about, leave them out of it, please. That’s how Harry makes friends with Theo.

And then Hermione gets petrified. Only it’s not Penelope with her, it’s Tracey. Because they’ve been spending so much time together in the library researching Slytherin. (And also because Dean’s ‘just chuck out all the Slytherins’ speech pissed me right off, and I really wish JKR had actually put effort into debunking all the forms of prejudice in the books, not just the ones she set up to be distasteful. Not all Muggles are magic-hates, and not all Slytherins are Death Eaters.) And Tracey getting petrified would change a lot of the school’s attitude, because suddenly, no one is safe. The Slytherins aren’t All In On It, they’re just as much at risk as anybody else. No one knows where to look or where to point the finger.

And then there’s the whole thing with the spiders that I don’t even know where to start with. Obviously, Neville is going to get told by the Diary that Hagrid was the one to unleash the monster, so he would go talk to Hagrid, but... Not only is there the question of whether he would have stayed long enough to hear Hagrid’s warning without the Invisibility Cloak (which I still dunno if he has or not?), but... Would he really actually go looking for ‘answers’ in the Forbidden Forest? Which is where he was almost mauled by Voldemort once already. Ron certainly isn’t going to encourage him. If he does somehow go, how does he escape, given that maybe the car isn’t there? Argh. This whole thing becomes a complete mess with the possible changes of earlier and I have no idea what to do with it all. I just know that he does, somehow, need to be inspired to realise that Myrtle is the one the basilisk killed.

Or maybe he doesn’t? Is there some other way Neville could find the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets? Maybe Neville just... asks a snake? He could do that. There have to be some snakes at Hogwarts, and they must have heard the basilisk roaming about. Or, hey, maybe Luna helps? If Ginny was petrified, it might inspire her to investigate, in her own way, and she might find things others would miss. (Maybe she would just... go around asking all the ghosts if they know what happened fifty years ago.)

And that’s not getting into the whole issue of the adventure in the Chamber. Obviously, it’s Maeve that gets taken this time, so maybe it should be Harry that goes with Neville to the Chamber? Or maybe (if she’s not petrified) it should be Ginny? ...I feel I should mention that I don’t ship Ginny/Neville, and that’s not going to be end-game. She’s going to get over her crush and stay over it. And maybe actually getting to go on an adventure with the Boy Who Lived, getting to know how awful it is, how not-heroic it all it, how it’s just desperation and fear and muddling through as best you can, would help take the shine off her hero-worship and let her really start seeing Neville as a person, not a hero.

And then there’s also the problem of Lockhart. Do they take him along? Does Neville even think to go to him or does he just go on his own (or with Ron or Harry or Ginny or Luna or someone) because Someone Has To? I have no idea what to do with Lockhart, but given the curse something bad has to happen to him, right? And if the Flying Car thing didn’t happen, Ron’s wand isn’t broken, which means an obliviate wouldn’t backfire.

13) How does Neville find the Chamber of Secrets? 13a) If he goes to ask Hagrid about it, how would not having the Invisibility Cloak change things? 13b) If he does go into the Forbidden Forest following spiders, how the hell would they get out of it if they didn’t fly the car to Hogwarts? 13c) How involved in the process is Harry and/or Blaise, given Tracey got petrified? How involved is Luna, if Ginny got petrified? 14) Who goes with Neville to the Chamber of Secrets, if anyone? 14a) Does Lockhart go with them? 15) How does the curse get rid of Lockhart? Is it the same backfiring memory charm as canon? 15a) Does the basilisk kill and/or eat him? If so, how would that change the later story given he wouldn’t be able to reappear in book 5? (I don’t think it would change it very much? But my memory of book 5 is the fuzziest, and I can’t remember ^^”) 16) Does the basilisk have to die? Or can Neville somehow steal ‘control’ from Diary!Riddle and/or free the basilisk from his control? 16a) If the basilisk does die, should Neville and/or Maeve find baby basilisks and decide to raise them to replace the dead one?

No matter what happens, in the end, Neville kills the Diary, Maeve wakes up, and they meet her parents in Slughorn’s office. Lily and Sev are both relieved and furious, and when Lily finds out that her daughter was possibly possessed by Voldemort’s memory, she threatens to just go back to Italy. Lucius shows up, Neville realises what happened, frees Dobby, etc. The petrified students all wake up, Hagrid gets back from Azkaban, and probably Gryffindor wins the House Cup, regardless of who actually went down to the Chamber with Neville? Idk. If anyone can remember more details about exactly how the points stood in second year lemme know. So, a couple of bonus questions, because I’m a forgetful dumbass:

17) How would Slughorn being Potions Master affect all of this? Would he make much of a difference? Or would he just be bumbling about in the background, and have as much effect on the plot as Flitwick, or Sinistra? 17a) Who’s in the Slug Club? Who got recruited right away (like Neville, obviously), and who gets picked up in later years as they grow and mature and their skills come to light? 18) Who wins the House Cup?

Aaand on to book 3. Good god, what the hell am I even going to do with that, given, like, all of the major players just... aren’t, in this AU? I’ll think about that, and try to get a semi-coherent ramble full of yet more obnoxious questions written soon. ...Ish.

...Why do I do this to myself? XD

[larksinging]

i might as well go ahead and post this tonight and stop fussing about it. a while back @rorykillmore suggested “margot/alana but killing eve au” as a shitpost but the idea kind of stuck with me so. here you go

this is kind of tonally a mess because how do you even balance those two tones, stuff has been condensed for time, and characters are assigned kind of haphazardly but.... (shrug.jpg) enjoy??? this is just part one, the rest will come. later. uhh trigger warning for just the stuff you’d expect 

heres the ao3 crosspost

Beverly leans over to her conspiratorially. “Twenty bucks said it was one of the victim’s dads.”

Alana thinks she should be offended, but she’s too absorbed in the idea. “No, it was definitely a woman.”

“Really?” Bev looks at her. “Alright. I’ll take that bet.”

It’s not that Margot doesn’t have the nerve to kill. In fact, that’s the only part of this equation she really has down. After all, there are worse things than killing. And she’ll do what she has to do.

Whatever stops her from killing Mason isn’t the act itself. Maybe it’s fear. Maybe it’s some twisted ounce of familial loyalty from the most fucked up part of her psyche. Maybe it’s a lack of practice. But it’s definitely not the idea of killing.

Mason doesn’t forgive her. Or rather, he doesn’t consider her enough of a person to be angry, so forgiveness isn’t necessary. He just sends her off to a psychiatrist. He even pretends to let her pick one.

On first impression, Dr. Lecter is like any other psychiatrist. She plans to scare him by being too honest, makes an internal bet with herself how long before he refers her. So color her shocked when, in the first sessions, he tells her that killing Mason would’ve been therapeutic.

A couple sessions later, she reveals that pesky little detail in the will, and why killing Mason is a bad idea. Hannibal just looks at her with his inscrutable eyes.

“You could make a life outside the Verger fortune,” He suggests.

She pretends to pause thoughtfully. “Mason would have me followed if I tried to run.”

“Surely you can come up with a way around that.”

“It’s not that easy.”

“Things that are worth it rarely are,” Hannibal says with a silent smile in his voice.

One day, it builds up again. After one of her sessions, she drives home with murder on the mind. She creeps up the stairs towards his bedroom, a knife in one hand and the intention to butcher him like his precious pigs weighing heavy on her. The sound muffled voices, deep and dark against Mason’s sickly bright laugh, kills her nerve.

Margot can’t take his guests, if she could even take her brother. She shuts down before she can feel the sting of defeat, and instead hastily packs her bags before Mason can notice.

When she gets to driveway, Hannibal’s standing there.

“You couldn’t do it,” He remarks as he notices the clean knife still in her fist. “That’s alright. Every skill requires some practice to build up confidence.”

She just stares at him.

“You seem desperate. Do you want a new life, Margot? ” He smiles without his eyes. “We’ll have to fake your death first. No worries. It’s quite simple.”

Hannibal holds out a hand in a silent offer and, for once, Margot doesn’t have the urge to bite. Not him, at least.

The Verger legacy is built upon slaughter. Really, she’s just going into the family business.

Her new life isn’t what most people would consider pleasant, but it’s much better. Her job comes easily to her, as she’s already practiced in all the compartmentalization she needs. She uses her money to rent a big apartment and buy fancy dresses. On her days off, she finds pretty girls at bars to occupy her, even if she sends them away half the time.

Her only real friend is Hannibal, and even then, he’s more of a work friend. She finds him weird, and pretentious, and often condescending. She’s pretty sure he finds her spoiled and insolent. Of course, nobody in the killing business is all the pleasant.

The day goes like any other: she’s lounging on her couch when Hannibal knocks, and then lets himself in. He invites her to dinner, she politely refuses, he hands her a postcard with the details are hidden in code.

“Your train leaves later tonight,” He says curtly.

“What’s the matter? Ignored by your favorite again?” She doesn’t actually know the name of his favorite, but she knows it’s not her, and she knows Hannibal gets sulky about him. It’s an easy target.

“It’s not very becoming to pry, Margot.” The alias she picked is Magnolia, which is pretentious and stupid but she might as well indulge if she’s an assassin, but it’s hard to get used to it when he won’t even call her that.

“I heard he enjoys fishing. Do you cook fish as well as you cook... pork?”

He doesn’t respond, as if he doesn’t want to sink to her level. She’ll consider it a win anyways. “I think you’ll enjoy this one,” Hannibal says, and leaves.

Sure enough, when she looks up the mark, it’s some asshole father. Those are some of her favorites. One of theirs gone rogue and turned to serial killing girls who look like his daughter. Just the thing to cheer her up.

Normally Alana doesn’t do this sort of thing. She defers politely to the FBI when she needs, gives Jack the referrals he needs. It’s what she did with Will, and with Hannibal. But this time he’d asked her to come in for a witness, poor daughter of a victim, he could use someone to keep an eye on her just until someone figures out where to send her.

Of course, she can smell ulterior intentions a mile away. Jack has a way of doing that. But sure -- she doesn’t doubt the girl could use some help.

When she actually stops by, Jack manages to just happen on catching her in the hallway. While she’s here, maybe she could help out? He could use another opinion on this case, if she could just take a crack at profiling.

Alana represses a sigh, figure it’ll give Will a break from this sort of thing, and follows Jack to where he’s got the evidence put up. Will’s not there, good, but the room isn’t empty -- Hannibal’s looking it over too, and Beverly and the boys are already in a hum of speculative conversation.

It’s a strange case, to be sure. Dying had outed the victim as a serial killer they’d been tracking. She can’t say she’s too broken up about his death, but the professionalism of the kill is alarming. Almost in broad daylight.

Beverly leans over to her conspiratorially. “Twenty bucks said it was one of the victim’s dads.”

Alana thinks she should be offended, but she’s too absorbed in the idea. “No, it was definitely a woman.”

“Really?” Bev looks at her. “Alright. I’ll take that bet.”

Then she realizes the room has fallen silent and turned to them. Jack and Hannibal both watch her. “What did you say?” Jack asks.  

“That the killer was a woman.” She fights back a defensive streak. “He was targeting young women. If the killer matched his victim profile, he’d be too busy thinking of her as prey to consider her a threat.”

“Interesting theory,” says Hannibal.

The pay from her last job had gone to some luxurious new sheets. Well, in part -- she’d had to use part of her advance to buy a new outfit. She needed to blend in at the opera, after all. Good thing she hadn’t gotten blood on it. Margot rewards herself by sprawling out on her bed like a cat.

Hannibal knocks, enters, and doesn’t bother to invite her to dinner. She sits up and waits for the lecture.

“The bad news is that your stunt with the Minnesota Shrike has drawn the attention of the FBI.”

“Is that what they’re calling him?” Margot doesn’t bother to sound worried.

“The worst news is that your stunt at the opera left a witness.” He waits the right amount of seconds to try and fish a reaction out of her. She doesn’t rise to the bait. “It seems our cello player had a friend.”

“Unfortunate.”

“You need to be more careful, Margot,” Hannibal chides, “Or they’re going to catch you.”

“They won’t. I’m rather good.”

“They might.” He pulls a postcard out of his jacket. “The witness is staying at a hospital overnight. It’s a chance for some spring cleaning.” He glances around her apartment. “You could certainly use some.”

As if she could care any less about his veiled digs at her style. Good thing she’s never tried to cook for him. “I haven’t had time to do much organization. I’ve been too busy, you see.”

Hannibal isn’t amused. He begins to leave, but pauses a few steps away from the door. “Oh, and Margot?” “Hm?” “Make it look like a suicide.”

“It’s a shame about your theory,” Hannibal says without looking at her as Jack’s pouring over the Tobias Budge case. “The CCTV came in. The killer was clearly a man.”

“What?” Alana turns to look at him, and then to Jack. “Yesterday you told me there was no CCTV.”

“It must have come in yesterday,” Jack says, clearly disinterested. “I told Will to look it over if it did. I assume he told Dr. Lecter here.”

“It was a good guess,” Hannibal says with a smile. “But it occurred near the hospital where Dr. Chilton works, didn’t it? You know how the good doctor feels about maintaining surveillance.”

“Aren’t you going to take a look at it yourself, Jack?” None of this is sitting right with her. She can’t quite put her finger on it. “If this is related to the opera case--”

“Not unless there’s footage from the opera house too,” He responds curtly. “There’s not proof they’re connected. I’m more worried about maintaining protective custody for the main witness.”

Alana remembers distinctly Will mentioning the witness being admitted to the hospital. The same one Abigail’s at.  “I’m going to go check up on Abigail,” She says.

“Should we have brought flowers or... something?” Abigail glances over at her as Alana slows to a stop outside the hospital room.

“That’s-- a good idea,” She replies. It’s not like her for these things to slip her mind. It’s a bad sign when a serial killer’s daughter is more on point with social niceties than her. Especially since poor Franklyn laying in the hospital bed in the next room doesn’t have any flowers or balloons or anything to indicate having been visited, save for the agents providing protection. “Why don’t you go see what you can find?”

Abigail shuffles off to find a store or at least a vending machine, and Alana opts to stop by the restroom to try and clear her head a bit.

Alana runs her hands through her hair and wonders what the hell she’s even doing here. If Jack hadn’t seemed so eager to drop it, would she care so much? She stares at her reflection in the mirror as if it will answer.

Maybe it’s her own restlessness. She senses a change in the air lately that she can’t recognize. The feeling gripes her and as an idle reflex she pauses halfway through running her hand through her hair to imagine how it would look with a haircut.

A woman emerges just then from one of the stalls and takes her place at the only other mirror, only a few feet away. They catch each other’s gaze in the corner of their eyes and look at each other.

There’s something striking about this woman, even if she’s just in nurse scrubs. If Alana’s a flower in the middle of winter, all gentle curling against the sharp edge of snow, then this woman is like a cherry tree just after the bloom. The ghost of something soft and beautiful.

Alana’s too caught up in feeling poetic to look away. The stranger doesn’t either. “Are you alright?” She asks, though it’s not like she’s not staring too.

The woman doesn’t answer. Her eyes catch where Alana’s hand is still lingering in her hair.

“Cut it short,” She encourages, and then leaves the room as if she was never there.

Of course, Alana doesn’t think much about it after she gets the call from Beverly that there was no CCTV and the bloodbath she walks out into only moments later.

Everything from there is a bit of a blur. People sit her down at clean tables in dim rooms and tell her the facts like she doesn’t know. Five people dead, including the witness, Abigail was in danger, what were you thinking? Jack tells her in his professionally gentle voice that you won’t be advising on this case anymore, and Hannibal adds maybe you should stop seeing patients for a while. Of course. Of course.

It’s not until Jack shows up at her doorstep, well after dark, that things come into focus. Not that it makes any more sense.

“Do you need anything at the store?” He stands awkwardly on the step, a little too close to be polite. “Maybe some milk?”

“What?”

Jack just smiles and dips his head to indicated that she should follow. Alana fumbles her keys locking the door and follows him in a half-daze to the nearby market. They make it to the dairy isle and Jack leans against a shelf, idly pawing a carton of milk.

“What is this actually about?” Alana has the composure to ask.

He doesn’t answer immediately. “I can’t officially condone you continuing the investigation,” He says. “But if you’re still interested, maybe there’s another option.”

“Interested -- in our killer? Shouldn’t you be talking to Will, or literally anyone else?”

“You were onto something,” He says evenly. “I need that kind of intuitive. Especially when I’m limited in what I can do. I need you, Alana.”

This is probably a mistake, but she writes down the address he gives her anyway. It’s barely been 24 hours and she’s already restless.

Margot’s woken up by the sound of a polite but impatient knock. She’s already out of bed by the time the woman next to her (whatever her name is) groans. And when she gets to the door, Hannibal stands there and looks dismissively between the clothes she’d thrown on and the bed.

“Am I interrupting something?” He taunts. He catches her guest’s eye, and Margot glances back just enough to shoo her along. The woman hurried snatches up her belongings and awkwardly slinks out of the apartment. She glances back at Margot. Margot doesn’t bother to look at her.

“No,” She answers flatly. “Would you like to come in.”

Hannibal wanders into her kitchen to be safely away from the door and any curious eavesdroppers. “You were supposed to make the hospital look like a suicide,” He remarks.

“Didn’t it?” She’s already pouring herself coffee.

“So he slit his throat and removed his kidneys by himself?”

“Those were a gift. They’re in the back of the freezer, by the way. You seemed like you could use a good dinner party to cheer you up.”

“How kind of you,” He doesn’t sound amused. “I think you should take a break.”

Margot freezes. She looks up at him. “What?”

“You’ve been rather reckless lately.” Hannibal paces slowly over to the fridge to check her ‘gift’. “Do you have any idea what might have motivated you to act that way?”

Therapist-talk is only for when he’s feeling particularly dismissive and expecting her to be volatile. Well, fine. She can push back.

“I’m feeling restless,” She drawls and hops up to sit on her counter. “Maybe I need a vacation. Maryland’s supposed to be lovely this time of year.”

“Margot.” His tone is measured. “All in due time.”

“It’s been years,” She snaps. “There has to be some way that Mason’s death would benefit them, I could just stop by and--”

“Patience, Margot,” He says in that careful way that is very distinctly a threat. “You’ll never get what you want if you don’t behave.”

Honestly, Margot’s become tempted to slit the throat of everyone who tells her to behave. But the retort dies on her tongue and she simply stews in her fury while he paces closer, smug as ever, and pulls out a postcard.

“If you can do this with some subtlety, there will be no reason to worry.” She takes it stiffly from him. He pauses and backtracks to the fridge. “My sincerest thanks for the meat. Despite everything, you are my favorite butcher.”

“But not your favorite,” She adds idly.

There’s not a lot of space in this new office, but Alana will take what she can get. Beverly and Will agree to help out (it’d might be good for Will to get a chance to do something less... close, as far as she’s concerned), and Jack stops by quite often despite not being able to “officially help.”

Except Will doesn’t seem as eager when he actually arrives and sees the wall of theories and the state of this place.

“This isn’t like you, Alana,” He remarks. “What are we going on, your-- your hunch?”

“I thought Jack worked off of your hunches all the time.” Alana counters.

“That’s different. It’s not--” He sighs and gives up. “What’s gotten you so fixated on this one woman? She can’t be that important if it really is some larger conspiracy.”

“She’s our only lead to whatever this is,” Alana insists. “If we want to make any progress, we have to find her.”

That satisfies Will, or at least seems to. But Bev breaks the silence. “Right, so, where do you want us to actually start?”

“The hospital. I saw a nurse just before... before it all happened.” Alana pauses heavily. “Can you get the hospital records? Maybe she saw something.”

The next job goes by without a hitch. The mark had been so kind as to work late at his office in the hospital. Margot had even left him all torn up and dramatic, they way she knows amuses Hannibal. The media will be too busy scaremongering about serial killers to worry about assassins. Everything’s fine.

Or so she’d thought.  Hannibal enters her apartment without even knocking this time.  Margot grips a knife behind her back when she hears him come in. Her warnings that he had to knock or they wouldn’t be friends anymore is apparently worth disregarding when he’s annoyed.

“I told you to be subtle,” He sounds awfully cross.

“This will throw them off the scent,” She replies smoothly, “You’ve never cared how I do it before.”

There’s a strained silence as he eyes the knife in her hand. Then he sighs and folds his hands behind his back.

“There’s a woman leading an offshoot department of the FBI just to find you.” Hannibal fixes his gaze on her when the thrill of that idea lights in her eyes. “It’s not a good thing. We just need you to be inconspicuous until we find out what they know.”

“You underestimate me,” Margot replies. She gets out a bottle of wine from her fridge, the nice stuff that she keeps for charming women and when Hannibal comes over. She avoids his eyes when she pours him a glass. “What’s her name?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“You know me. Always curious.”

Hannibal takes his glass of wine and smells it. At length. Drawing things out before he decides to speak. “Dr. Alana Bloom.”

“Alana Bloom,” She repeats, tasting the name on her tongue.

“Doctor.” He sets the glass down again. “You’ll continue working, just be cautious.”

When he leaves, she immediately pulls out her laptop and searches for that name.

Coming in this late maybe isn’t healthy, but the mystery (or is it curiosity?) needles Alana. Beside, Bev said the files on the hospital staff would be in later tonight. It sure is later.

When she settles down at her desk, the room dark except for the blue buzz of her computer monitor, she begins the arduous task of looking through the personal files. If nothing else, monotony will kill her anxiety.

Except, with each passing face that she doesn’t recognize, something begins to dawn on her.

‘Alana Bloom’ doesn’t bring up many results. A few misplaced images of flowers, a few random people who don’t seem old enough to have a doctorate, let alone work with the FBI. When she adds on ‘doctor’, that at least brings up a group photo. Some kind of faculty picture from Georgetown. Margot opens it without really thinking.

Then she sees it. Or thinks she sees it. She zooms in, not once but twice, onto a face in the middle.

The woman’s hair is just as long and silky here as it was in the hospital bathroom.

Margot practically throws the computer away from her.

The door opens just as the realization crests over Alana. She half-startles and looks up to see Will.

“You too?” Her smirk is tinged with exhaustion and something else.

“Couldn’t sleep,” He doesn’t quite look at her. “Are you looking into an abyss, Dr. Bloom?” He’s mostly teasing.

“Not quite.” Despite everything, she finds herself repressing a smile. She shouldn’t be smiling. “I think I’ve met her.”