#IM SHAKING THE METAL OFF ITS HINGES

[slurmpinheimer]

I am very normal. I am so normal looking at these super cool doodles. I am so normal. I extra normal. I’m SO n

Disco Elysium in between commissions… felt a lot better while doodling these.

I like Kim a normal amount I promise.

[the-writings-of-a-kiwi-bird]

Sorry, Reenie~

tags: angst/comfort, crack treated seriously maybe (not really taken seriously actually), medical inaccuracies probably (dont have the spoons to do research, im pretty vague though), kidnapping, referenced past drugging but in a lighthearted way and only once near the end

a little bit of Aventurine/Topaz at the end if you squint, but it can be interpretted as platonic, too

(i think thats it? idk)

this is 100% based on one of the numerous plotting/fic situations @silvercaptain24 and I think up/ping pong off each other in our DMs lol. im also only posting mainly this because its the easiest way to share with her XD

fic below cut (about 1400 words i thkn?)

Aventurine pushed his chair away from his desk and stood. 

I’ve been staring at these documents too long, I need a break. 

He exited his office, making sure to lock the door behind him, and began to make his way towards the end of the building where Topaz’s office is. 

Maybe I can talk her into lunch. It's been a while since I ate. 

He rounded a corner and was immediately grabbed and pulled into a janitorial closet. 

Before he could respond, a hand holding a cloth covered his nose and mouth. 

Aventurine held his breath and struggled, fighting to break free. 

“Oh come on, that’s taking too long!” An unfamiliar voice complained. 

Something hit his head hard, and the world turned black. 

~~ 

He awoke lying on his side. 

Everything hurt, and his mind was clouded with fog and pain. 

Aventurine tried to move his arms, only to painfully discover that they had been bound behind his back with rope, rather tightly. He did his best to remain silent and fought his eyes open. 

The floor he was laying on was dirt, which would explain the musty smell. It was dark, too dark to see much beyond the rusty iron bars in front of him. He could hear faint voices, but couldn't tell what they were saying or even what direction they came from. 

Panic fought to overtake his already limited mind, and he struggled to fight against it. 

I’m trapped. I can’t get free. Even if I could, those bars look strong. Everything hurts. What had I been doing? Where am I? I can move my feet. What good will that do? They’ve probably confiscated all my things. I can’t even call for help. I don't know if I’m even strong enough right now. I'm trapped. It’s so dark— 

His eyes threatened to close, and the room kept spinning. His wrists burned, the pain overpowering even the rest of the pain and making thoughts difficult. Painful memories threatened to surface, and he forced himself to focus on the pain instead. 

Aventurine’s whole body trembled, heart beating fast and loud. His neck burned, a phantom pain from memories long past resurfaced. 

Pistols fired somewhere in the distance, and the nearby voices turned to far away shouts. 

He was shaking, and not just from the cold. 

A familiar voice said something nearby. Or maybe far away? He wasn't sure. 

Panic swirled in his mind, drowning out all other thoughts besides the pain. 

He heard metal clangs, and the creaking of rusty hinges. That familiar yet unplaceable voice said something else he did not register, more insistent this time. 

Aventurine shut his eyes and struggled to try and get his breathing even. If they think he's asleep, they’ll leave him alone. Right?

The voice spoke again, definitely closer this time, and still not understandable. 

The pain in his wrists flared and he heard someone whimper pathetically. 

On second thought, that may have been him. 

The voice kept speaking to him, and he barely registered that a tension around his wrists had been broken. The searing pain lessened slightly. 

More speaking. He thinks. 

Icy cold water splashed Aventurine in the face, and he shot his eyes wide open with a gasp.  

“Geez, it’s ‘bout time!” A familiar metal hand waved in his face. “Are ya with me now, Fancy Pants?” 

Aventurine moved to sit up, but the pain in his wrists inhibited that. Someone lifted him into an upright position. 

Finally, he looked up. “… Boothill?” 

The space cowboy flashed a toothy grin. “Oh good, that little brain of yours is working again. C’mon kid, let's get you out of here.” 

Boothill lifted Aventurine with ease, one metal arm beneath his legs and the other supporting his back. Aventurine vaguely heard the space ranger mumble something about ‘muddle fudging son of nice ladies shirt bags ash voles’. 

Aventurine found himself relaxing somewhat, fighting to keep his eyes open as he bounced slightly with each step Boothill took. 

Boothill sighed. “Relax, kid, just get some sleep. You’re safe now. I’ll hold you for ransom when you wake up.” 

Aventurine relaxed fully, drifting off to sleep before the words had even fully registered. 

~~~

Aventurine awoke in a room he shouldn’t even recognize, much less be all too familiar with. 

“Ugh, so much for getting some work done today.” He groaned and stood, clutching his head with one hand as he waited for the room to stop spinning. He walked to the door and hesitated as he grabbed the handle, cherishing his last moments of peace before his headache inevitably gets much worse. 

~

“Well hello there, sleepyhead,” Boothill greeted. 

Two metal hands clasped each shoulder and not-no-gently steered him into a chair at the table, the biggest plate Aventurine had ever seen situated in front of him. It was overfilled with his favorite foods. 

He glanced back at Boothill, eyebrow raised skeptically. “There is absolutely no way I can eat all that. And I don't remember the ipc having any confidential files that list what my favorite foods are,” he added. 

Boothill smirked and simply shrugged. “Wow, favorite foods huh? What a coincidence! Anyways, Fancy Pants, you’d best get to eating, won’t know how much you can eat til you try!” 

Aventurine glared suspiciously at the food and drink in front of him. “Please tell me you didn’t drug it this time, i think i've had enough sleep for today.”

“Nah, you got plenty of sleep already, not necessary this time.” Boothill waved a hand dismissively, gaze never leaving Aventurine. “You should start eating though, I already sent the message to that Topaz lady and she’s usually pretty quick at sending the random money.” 

Aventurine began to eat, doing his best to refrain from wolfing it all down immediately. “You do know she transfers that from her personal account so she doesn’t have to go through Jade every time, right?” 

“It's okay, every time this happens that exact amount of money mysteriously disappears from the IPC’s bank account and appears in hers.” 

Aventurine froze, then turned his head slowly to look at Boothill. “You can do that. This whole time. What’s even the point of ransom then???” 

“More fun this way,” Boothill said with a toothy grin. “And it gives me the opportunity to make sure my Greatest Competition And Nemesis is Taking Care Of Himself well enough that we can be evenly matched still.” 

Aventurine rolled his eyes and continued eating. “I thought you were done with that ridiculous title.” 

Boothill chuckled. “Why would I be done with it, O Greatest Competition And Nemesis? It's the most fitting, after all.” 

Aventurine groaned, and Boothill watched closely to make sure he actually ate everything. 

~~ 

There was a knock at the ship’s door, and Boothill opened it to reveal a very exasperated Topaz. 

“Alright, Boothill, you’ve got the money. Can we have our dumbass back now?” 

“Hey!” Aventurine protested. Both ignored him. 

“Yeah, yeah, sure thing little lady.” Boothill patted Aventurine on the back forcefully, sending the man tumbling forward. 

Topaz calmly stepped aside and let him fall. 

“Thanks. I assume he’s been fed again?” 

“Obviously. Make sure the muddlefudger uses the healing ointment I gave him for his wrists, which were absolutely not my doing for the record.” 

Aventurine stood and dusted himself off, grumbling about loser friends who clearly hate him and not being a child who needs supervision. 

“Will do. See you next time, I unfortunately assume?” Topaz asked. 

“Yep!” Boothill replied cheerfully. “Nice doin’ business with ya.” 

Topaz nodded and turned, grabbing Aventurine’s arm. “Come on idiot, let's go.” 

She turned back to Boothill one last time, expression much softer for a split second. “…thanks for taking care of him.” 

She turned again, all but dragging Aventurine with her. 

“Hey, this time really wasn’t my fault,” he insisted defensively. 

Topaz glanced at him, a brief moment of concern on her face before she returned to that annoyed expression she always wore around him. “Yeah. I know.” She hesitated. “And… I’m glad you’re okay. I guess.” 

“You know,” she added quickly, “because I don’t want to be doing my and your workload. That's all. Definitely.” 

Aventurine smiled fondly. “Sure.” 

They took a few more steps before he paused. 

“Wait what do you mean you know? How?” 

Topaz groaned. “Mister Boothill demanded more credits than usual for, and I quote, ‘saving you shirt bags from having to rescue him from some forking muddle fudgers, and saving y’all the trouble of taking care of the ash voles.’” 

Aventurine smacked his forehead with his palm and sighed. “Of course he did. Why am I not surprised.”

Topaz shrugged. “That Galaxy Ranger really confuses me sometimes, you know.” 

“Only sometimes?” 

She smacked his arm. 

“Anyways, you owe me big time. Again.” 

“Yeah, yeah. The usual Lunch for a week I assume?” 

“Make it two this time.” 

“… fine, two.” 

~~~~~

[monkeysmashonkeyboard]

Stealing a Murdered Royal's child (NOT CLICKBAIT)

The castle was basically in chaos as Techno and Phil retreated to the catacombs, them stretching for hours.

Philza had an easy step in the darkness , that was something Techno began to notice with his travel companion and right hand man in his crimes, he didn't fear the dark arts he embraced them.

"Why did we choose this path again?"

Techno asked, trying to get rid off the blood of the Royal they just murdered

"Oh, it leads to many forgotten and abandoned places for a secret escape."

Philza simply stated , as he moved to another pathway

"You know, Im starting to think your just an evil wizard that wanted to fuck around."

The man just shrugged, then suddenly stopping.

"I hear something."

He whispered as he then began walking a different path , Techno scrambling to get to him

"Seriously? Do you know where your going, Phil if we get caught I swear to the Goddesses above-"He got stopped by a hand, them finding a very much barracked door.

"-Huh. Did he keep a monster under here?" Techno said as Phil mentioned him to barge down the door. He was starting to question Phil's judgement but sighed as he took out his sword.

"Stay back" He said , the Elytrain calmly walking out of the way as Techno began to use an incantation on his sword, then opening his eyes and basically tearing it off its hinges.

The room was dark , as Techno sighed in exasperation and whispered into his hand, a fire popping out and lighting the room- no the jail sell.

Techno stepped back as it was truly filthy it smelled like someone died in here , or didn't take at least the basic cleaning to not making smell rotting.

"Yeah I am not entering here." Techno said as he walked back, with Philza just nodding , gently taking the flame from Technos hands and entering himself.

Techno decided he didn't want to be near that god forsaken shithole , moving as far as he could , still making him visible to the other man.

After a while of waiting and a bit of whispering , there were the sound of metal being cut trough, the distinct sound of Philza's weapon.

"Techno, can you come here?" Philza asked as Techno sighed

"F-fine. I don't like this place at all though Phil." He said , coming back to the jail cell and the smell, him trying to not burn this place to the ground as he pinched his nose.

When he opened his eyes again , he was met with the man holding… something, vaguely human..ish. He took the thing by the rag they were warring , shaking it a bit

"What is this thing?" He asked , as the tiny human as Techno described it hang in the air, their limbs like noodles.

"That's a human toddler Techno." Philza sighed as he grabbed the "toddler" again. They had long pale blue hair,them seeming shaking as a horn stuck out on the side of the forehead. "And she is definitely malnourished and dehydrated." He said, worry in his voice

"Ok why the hell did he have a… mini human in his basement?" Techno asked , getting more and more happy he killed the man.

"I'm not sure , but we are definetly not leaving her here. Let's head out, the nearest exit is close." Philza stated, his seeming more determined then before as he began walking down the hallways, Techno following without any issue.

[finitevoid]

I was tagged by @sparrowmoth to share the first few lines of my last 10 fanfics. i dont post half of what I write so to save my sanity from boosting exclusively the relatively old stuff on my ao3 account im just going to include WIPs in progress

Hummingbird Heartbeat

WHAT REMAINS OF CENTRAL CITY, A REACH LABOR CAMP, SPRING 2056 “Did you get it?” Nathaniel frets, clenching and unclenching his fists. “Yeah,” Bart replies, pulling the aforementioned piece of tech from it’s hiding spot tucked into his shoe. It’s small, so it fit against his skinny ankle— long and thin and light.

Warchild (HH's sequel)

GATEWAY CITY, OCTOBER 3RD, 2001, 10 AM He’s looking at her, Helena can tell. She can feel it on the back of her neck. His gaze is heavy, and it almost— burns. When she turns to look back at him, his eyes are scarlet.

Blueberry Bruises

She feels the explosion. Of course she feels the explosion; everyone does. The ground had been wracked with tremors for a good half an hour, but that shaking was paltry compared to the devastating, cacophonous shaking caused by the explosion. She felt it in her teeth, in her bones, in her eyes, and most of all, in her magic. 

Strawberry Split Lip

There is not, actually, zero contact between the Isle of the Lost and the United Kingdoms of Auradon. Both sides may act like there is— the put-upon ignorance of the royals, the cursory sneers of the villains— but the Isle and Auradon are linked; you can’t have one without the other.

From a doc only titled 'SHAME'

Ruggie scratches the pen against notebook paper, filling out a packet of calculations for his Magical Runes class. It’s due in about— he checks his phone—five hours. The test, too, is in about five hours. And Ruggie doesn’t intend to get any sleep between now and then; he gets all his best test scores after an all-nighter spent cramming. 

Diasomnia Fairytale

The boy, Lilia comes to understand, is human. He had seemed unreal, when he found him; not so much a human as something out of a faded, and yet glittering dream. Tiny eyes squeezed shut, pale cheeks and small hands clenched into equally small fists. Pale skin like metallic ichor with hair as light as spun spider-silk.

From a doc that's a pun on the ship name "Ikesoren" and the word "eyesore"

Ike watches as his blood stains the bathwater pink. It sloughs from his skin where the water kisses his sides, lapping gently. The cuts sting, but he can’t bring himself to mind.

A fic I am writing at an irl friend's behest due to his utter glee at my ability to mimic bad ao3 smut

Alhaitham pinches the bridge of his nose, sighs harshly through his mouth, and watches as Kaveh explodes through their front door and into their home. He slams the door behind him with a violence; it rattles in its hinges.

Ruggie Bucchi's Unwitting Foray into Rest and Relaxation

“You work too hard,” Leona’d said, as if he wasn’t lounging, half-dressed, on his unmade, king-sized bed. “It exhausts me just watching you. You should take some time off.”

Prince Kingscholar's Unwitting Foray into Community Outreach

Leona Kingscholar’s life gets significantly weirder after he finally graduates Night Raven College at the ripe age of twenty-two. Well— it doesn’t get weird at first. At first it gets, in retrospect, extremely boring.

i tag uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh myself from the mirror dimension

[fantastic-mr-corvid]

i forgor wip Wednesday, but im making a timeline change to Celia& co and one of my wips i was struggling with is now out of 'canon', but was very whole apart from it didnt continue, so as a belated wip Wednesday, have over 1000 words of Celia describing like 5 minutes of actual time. its plot-less domesticity with a worried Celia. 100% a look inside charecters head piece

Celia is doing paperwork in the flat alone late into the evening, when Rametto arrives home, clearly upset about something. Celia tries to set him at ease by cooking a fry up dinner for them both, all while thinking about the child before her and how to not scare him off. [it ends before the conversation starts] [warning for mention and internal discussion of disordered eating due to lack of food]

-

It's dark in the flat, Celia hunched over the kitchen table. A lone table lamp illuminates the paper she's been scribbling maths equations on all evening, the scratchings of pencil on paper occasionally broken up by the sound of her punching numbers into a calculator beside her.

She had been sitting like that for a few hours now, doggedly chipping away at the paperwork, when the sound of soft footsteps ascending the stairs reached her ears.

From the gait, she knows its Rametto, shuffling up the stairs after a long day of school, and longer doing after school ‘activities’. 

Golden eyes flick to the report cards pinned with touristy magnets on the fridge- and the part of Celia that raised Cecio wonders if she needs to stop him staying out so late, but the part of her that sees who Cecio is now knows there isn't much hope. Not for Rametto, not for the little brother of Conficcare, the protege of Muro, for the boy who will become a man and step into a whole new world of violence. At her orders. 

Her head shakes- trying to banish the thoughts from her face- as the outer door clicks, and she settles back into stillness, waiting to see what Rametto does.

Pause, unlace his shoes, then try and place them on the floor quietly is the first part of that answer. He opens the inner door and treads carefully- avoiding floorboards like he's seven and superstitious again- making his way towards the cupboards. He puts his bag on the floor, letting it lean against the side of the counter- leaning down himself to unzip it and taking out the battered metal box Celia remembers Conficcare taking to school, still with the dent from where she threw it at his head but changed trajectory at the last second, hitting the metal pole he was leaning on instead.

A squeal of rusted hinges follows the boxes muffled landing on the counter, as he dutifully sorts the food waste from the wrappers, before striding over to the messily labelled bins, clicks and thuds as he deposits the trash.

He turns back around, pivoting on one foot, like Cecio does sometimes, walking with a sway and rhythm that seems almost like a dancer. Walks like Celia used to, like her mother used to, a chain of habits passed down and picked up through proximity.

He stops, eyes wide, the faint ring of blue widening as his pupils adjust to the light of the lamp.

She lowers her head and eyes in acknowledgement, as well as giving him a lazy wave of her fingers.

She's prepared for him to wander upstairs, to be loud with his silent lack of excuses, to turn around and ignore her, or even just crack a small hypocritical joke at her expense for staying up so late.

Then she rights her head, lets her eyes blink back open, and sees the glint of light on his cheeks, sees the stain of run eyeliner, and she can't help but frown in concern. Her heart aches, her mind trying to guess the right choice, how best to deal with this.

He's still standing there, like a deer in headlights, and the stone in her chest cracks a little.

She gestures to one of the other seats at the table, carefully weighing her words before she finally speaks.

Her voice feels heavy, disused, clumsy, as she speaks “Gonna fry up whatevers leftover, pulled a long day and didn't have time for a hot dinner. You're welcome to a plate-, you know I can't do portion sizes propa,” it all comes blurting out, words rushing out after each other, tumbling into the still air of the kitchen, she can only hope they won't disturb the late night calm or shake him more than they reassure.

She wasn't lying, the pan was still out, and the leftover tomatoes, chorizo and mushrooms sliced messily from when sitting still got too much and she had to do something.

It felt strange, using the same excuse she used on Conficcare. Both of them favour too small portions, and she knows she could break the elder brother's heart by telling him that their precious copied that from him, just like he copied the burden of being a breadwinner.

She knows it's in their genes, has had enough biology rants from Conficcare, but she worries. She's still growing, years after she should have stopped, and not just up, but out, growing into broad shoulders and long legs, when she was just as worryingly thin as them when she was younger. It's something about her body making up for childhood malnutrition, now she has the food, but she doesn't see why it might not be true for those two, why they still stick to small portions and hungry stomachs. 

Habits are nasty things, is the answer- mother above she knows- but she still doesnt let them skip meals, serving them herself, so she can make sure they have enough on their plates, because they may favour small portions, but they would never waste food.

He's still standing there, shock turned to confusion, and Celia collects herself, neatening her askew stacks of paper, placing her pen and calculator parallel to the pile, before slowly standing up, walking past Rametto and sliding sideways into the kitchen proper. 

She leans over as she opens the fridge door, squinting at the bright light, and reaches for the butter. It's cool to the touch, with just a little bit of condensation, and she can't help but smile at the thought of butter fried mushrooms, just like Mama used to make. 

Butter in hand, she turns, closing the door with her shoulder, and makes her way to the counter where the shopping list is, sliding the butter past the still open lunchbox, to the counter opposite the stovetop. Pencil in hand, she thumbs through the pages, until a barely legible ‘domenica’ is scrawled atop one of them, and at the bottom of a long and messy list she scrawls ‘plantain’, suddenly craving it.

Pencil placed back down carefully- as to not roll down the counter- she parallels the butters path down the counter, until she reaches the chopping board covered with cut up chorizo, mushrooms and tomatoes. 

The knife is dirty, the blade covered in juices, with flakes of mushroom and the occasional scrap of chorizo fat still clinging on. Still, it’s good enough to cut the butter. The slices are haphazard, thinning the chunk of butter she sliced off in one motion so it would melt quicker, in pieces.

Rametto clears his throat, before cutting off the sound halfway, self conscious at how it echoed in the late night quiet. 

Celia finished up the slice she was doing, gently bringing the knife down to the cutting board, through the butter, before placing it down on the side, careful to let the blade not touch the counter, or the handle make a loud thud on contact.

She's careful, not reacting too fast, lest she scares him, and thus her head moves so slowly it has to be clearly telegraphed to him, even in the dim light. 

He's still standing, breathing shallow and quick like they are playing hide and seek, or just hide. 

It gets her, every time, just how much he looks like his brother. 

Fear warps their faces the same way, and if she lets her eyes unfocus, she can pretend the darkness above his eyes is just shadows, not smudged eyeshadow, that his nose is broken, that his hair is shorter- 

- and in his place stands his brother, a memory from years ago, from months ago, from a week ago, standing in the kitchen looking shocked, mind overcome with fear, thoughts too much, yet not enough to extort by voicing them, yet.

She could, if she felt like making her heart ache more than it already was, conjure images of him afraid, not in the safety of their home, not just needing time and comfort until he confesses everything to her, but scared, in a way he rarely lets himself be, frozen, not fighting, silent, not hurling insults like blades.

A blink and the image shatters, swept away behind her own lashes, her heart unable to take it anymore. It was unfair to both of them, comparisons, but- well. It was too easy.

She needed to help Rametto find his voice, feel comfortable enough to bare whatever thoughts had him shaking like a leaf, and getting him to sit down would be a good step towards her goal.

[beyondspaceandstars]

That Black Tee

Relationship: Bucky Barnes x Reader Warnings: SMUT, NSFW, penetrative sex, fingers, slight metal arm kink, sex against a wall, semi-public sex, dirty talk - 18+, minors DNI. Summary: It was such a simple thing. Just a simple black tee-shirt. But the way Bucky wore it had you practically melting -- and he seemed to realize it, happily granting your needs A/N: idk guys there was just something about that black tee-shirt bucky wore in episode 4 of TFATWS. it got my mind wandering. and i love practicing writing smut i hope im getting better at it lmao

Masterlist

You knew you absolutely, utterly fucked the second Bucky took off his jacket, revealing that damn black tee.

So simple yet so fitting, so accentuating. He looked casual and cool yet incredibly powerful and dominant with that metal arm fully on display thanks to the short sleeves. Between that damn shirt and the hard expression he wore, you were pretty much done for. It took all you might to not march over to him right that second.

Bucky appeared to be aware of all this as he turned to you, feeling your eyes wandering shamelessly over him in that shirt. He just looked so… him. Not a soldier, not some asset, just him. And he was hot.

He shot you a little smirk, making your eyes widen, suddenly unreasonably worried your boyfriend could read your mind.

You two must’ve been too caught up in your silent communication because the next thing you heard was Sam asking if you were okay.

You jumped and forced yourself to look away from Bucky. "Yeah, Sam," you nodded, "I’m fine."

He hummed, suspicious. "Are you sure?"

But before you could answer, Bucky felt it was his time to chime in. "She’s a little distracted."

Your eyes widened again, this time sending a signal to your boyfriend to shut the hell up. He wouldn’t look at you and instead just laughed to himself.

"Distracted?" Sam questioned.

"I- I’m fine, really-,"

Bucky cut you off, "Actually, I need to talk with her about something."

Your jaw went slack as you tried finding some words of explanation, something to save yourself from this situation as you could see Sam’s concern growing. But nothing was able to come out before Bucky was grabbing your hand.

"You can’t talk to her out here?" Sam asked.

Bucky shook his head, profusely. "It’s a very private matter. Incredibly serious. Just between me and her."

"Bucky-," you just about yelped as he started walking to one of the off-shoot rooms from the living space. Sam tried asking more questions but Bucky promptly shut him down by slamming the door. Hard. It was a miracle the thing didn’t just fall right off its hinges. For whatever reason, that suddenly turned you on even more.

You stood there in the middle of the room watching as Bucky slowly turned to you. He had a playful glimmer in his eyes as he took in your nervous yet needy state. Your thighs were practically in pain from how hard you were trying to squeeze them together, wanting some relief to your core that was set ablaze by him. Him and that damn outfit. That damn hair. His damn face- God, you just needed your boyfriend right now.

Bucky walked towards you slowly, intensely. You tried averting your eyes to save yourself from crumbling but he stopped you. His fingers came to your chin, forcing you to look him in the eyes. He appeared to be just as eager.

"What happened back there, doll?" He asked just barely above a whisper. He held your chin firmly.

"What- What do you-,"

He chuckled. The fucker chuckled at your flustered state. "What do I mean? I mean that look you were giving me. How those eyes were peeling off my clothing piece by piece. Made me want to take you right there."

Bucky’s words went straight to your core. The wetness was pooling profusely, practically soaking through your jeans. You let out a little whimper as his thumb brushed over your lip.

"It’s your tee-shirt," you whispered, surprised that you could even find any sort of words in your dazed brain. He was way too intoxicating.

Bucky’s face shifted in surprise. "My shirt?"

You nodded. "It just… looks good on you."

He couldn’t help but let out another chuckle. You pouted at his reaction which he took as the opportunity to quickly place a kiss on your lips. You tried moving into him, grinding your body with his to beg for more, but he stopped, forcing you two apart.

"Oh, doll," he mumbled as his hand left your chin and slowly made its way down your body. Over the curve of your clothed breast, down your stomach, to your hips… the hand finally dipped under the waistline of your jeans. Without much warning, two fingers traced your folds, dipping slightly in to collect the wetness. He gave a few thrust, teasingly. Bucky groaned. "You’re this wet just from how I look in my shirt?"

You gasped, nodding. Embarrassment wanted to coarse through you but the pleasure from Bucky tracing his fingers to your clit was too much. Slowly, he started with circular motions, making your body jolt. You squealed in surprise. Bucky smiled down at your reaction.

He kept it up, adding pressure every now and then as he continued. Your legs began to shake forcing you to grip his arms in support. Bucky noticed this and brought his metal hand to your hip, steadying you.

He picked up the pace, his eyes boring into yours intensely. You let out a breathy moan at the sight of him, looking at you so hungry and aroused.

"Come on, honey, cum for me," he mumbled, still working on your clit. Every now and then he’d stop to dip a finger in as if gaging your wetness. In those moments you’d groan, waiting for the contact to come back. He never let you suffer long, though, finding his way back to your clit quickly, keeping the pressured motions. "Be a good girl and cum for me, doll, and I’ll fuck you real nice against the wall just like you deserve."

That was the final straw. His words alone practically sent you over the edge. Your body shook as the first orgasm pulled through you, lighting fire throughout your body. Your hips bucked and twisted uncontrollably, almost trying to get away from the touch but Bucky didn’t lighten up. He worked you through it, whispering sweet praises in your ear, making you lose it even more.

Once you came down from the high, Bucky wasted absolutely no time gripping your hips and pushing your back to the nearest wall. You yelped in surprise before his lips attached to yours, rough and demanding.

He lifted you up and grabbed your legs, circling them around your waist. You took the opportunity to grind into him feeling his erection hit your covered core. It lit a new fire in you making you gasp at the feeling.

Bucky moved his lips down your face to your neck, kissing and nipping at your skin. You whined and grabbed onto that fucking tee shirt, still trying to push into him, wordlessly begging him to speed up.

"Eager, doll?" Bucky asked. You could practically hear the dumb smile on his face and it made you want to slap it off. But all you could do in response was nod.

He placed one more kiss on your lips before his hand made its way back down your body. This time he popped the buttons of your jeans open. Briefly, he placed you back down to pull your jeans to your ankles. When that task was done, you were back wrapped around his waist, now feeling the erection more prominently. You let out a deep, uncontrollable moan when it hit.

As if he understood your annoyance, Bucky quickly undid his own jeans. In your dazed state, you must’ve zoned out because the next thing you knew, your panties were just pushed to the side and his cock was breaching your walls. You two were in sync letting our moans and groans at the warmth, the wetness.

His arms held you tight as he began his thrusts, so precise and strong. You were backed into the wall forcefully, enjoying the pressure and pleasure combining into one. Your boyfriend groaned above you, sounds going right to your core which was made evident by the squelching sounding in the room.

Bucky kept his thrusts up as his metal hand left your hip and made its way to your clit. His body held you up with his other arm, giving you a second to marvel in his strength. It was always such a treat when it came out in the bedroom. How he could hold you down or hold you up had your mind spinning half the time.

As his thrusts began to pick up, his metal hand started with the circular motions again on your clit. The coldness meeting your warmth was enough to drive you crazy. Your hands fisted his shirt, trying to keep yourself grounded. You let out a surprised moan at the whole sensation which Bucky seemed to like as he gripped you harder. Your brain was going fuzzy, drunk even, as he pounded you into the wall flawlessly.

"Bucky… B-Bucky…" you choked out.

"Hmm?" You could tell he was staring at you despite your eyes being fluttered shut. He was taking in every inch of your face contorting in glorious pleasure. It seemed to drive his thrusts faster, the circular motions on your clit picking up as well.

"I- I’m gonna-,"

"You gonna cum again, doll?" He asked, a little mockingly. You would’ve bit back if you weren’t in this state but you couldn’t do anything, just take what he was giving. You nodded weakly. "Alright, honey, that’s it… Cum for me, come on. I got you."

It was like Bucky flipped that last switch as his strength and speed picked up. You yelped, clinging to his shirt even tighter.

One final push on your clit was all you needed before you were crumbling in his arms. Your body shook as your orgasm flooded you with ecstasy. Bucky didn’t want to let up with the trusts, though, chasing his own orgasm and thoroughly working you through your second. He kept pounding, his hand opting to leave your clit to grope at your breasts under your shirt. The metal hitting your skin in a new place made you squeal again.

The sounds and motions were it for Bucky as the next thing you knew, he released inside you, coating your walls and thrusting in and out, letting it leak onto your skin. You moaned at the sensation.

Bucky gave a couple more weak thrusts before he let out a final groan and stilled inside you. Both his arms now were around your waist, pulling you close as you two panted, coming down from the pleasure.

Bucky leaned forward, his head resting on your shoulder. Your hands left his shirt and came up to his hair, where you ran them through his short locks.

"Was that what you needed, doll?" He asked, voice breaking through the heaviness of the room.

You giggled, "Exactly what I needed."

"Hmm," he sighed and straightened back up. He pecked your lips. "Guess I gotta wear this shirt more often."

You gasped, slapping his chest lightly as he laughed. But you couldn’t totally disagree. "I wouldn’t complain if it made an appearance every now and then."

Bucky shook his head, "I don’t understand how a black tee shirt can get you going, doll."

After he spoke, he slowly removed himself from you, letting you down from the wall. Warm wetness began soaking your thighs feeling so intimate, so hot, it almost made you almost suggest round two right then and there but that didn’t seem on the table after Bucky handed you some tissues to clean up. Not to mention the fact there were people in the living area.

You shrugged, readjusting your shirt and pulling your jeans back on. You watched as Bucky also readjusted his appearance. "It’s because it’s on you," you insisted. "You could walk around in the most ridiculous outfits and I’d still beg you to jump my bones."

Bucky let out the most joyous laugh at that. He walked back towards you, securely wrapping his arms around your waist. You placed a kiss on his lips, which he hummed happily into.

"I’m flattered," he mumbled. The light blush across his cheeks confirmed his words.

You smiled, "What can I say? I got a hot boyfriend and he should know it."

Bucky placed another kiss on your lips. "Oh, trust me, I think he knows it now."

You let out a giggle and pulled away from his grip, despite a little protest. "Come on," you said and motioned towards the door, "we should probably leave this room before we get any shit from them."

"Oh, you’re getting a lot of shit once you come out of that room," Sam called from the other side of the door, making both you and Bucky jump. "Might as well stay in here."

You groaned at the words, your face and neck suddenly becoming hot in embarrassment. Bucky just chuckled, somehow finding everything amusing, and wrapped an arm around you.

"Worth it, though," he whispered before placing a kiss on your cheek. You rolled your eyes playfully but couldn’t at all argue. Just glancing between the wall and that black tee made you suddenly hot and bothered all over again.

Bucky picked up on your gaze, once again practically reading your mind. With a suggestive smirk, he asked, "Round two?"

You bit your lip as his hand began running over the curve of your ass.

"Fine."

Bucky didn’t waste a single second before whisking you off your feet

[loviatars]

The Highwayman

pairing: astarion x female npc (reader, not the mc!) warnings: vague references to abuse and torture that will become less vague in future parts rating: teen for the above reasons, for now <3 word count: 1,388 notes: so i think this’ll be my first astarion mini-series, as this’ll definitely have another part (and hopefully soon)! i just wanted to toy around with what might happen to astarion should the mc sell him out to the monster hunter... part two. ao3.

You are scared to touch him. You think he will cry out in pain.

He might be warm, you continue to think. Like skin. Or cold from the night seeping between the bars of the cage. His doublet looks frayed and unloved. The man is hungry behind the eyes, but also afraid. But also angry.

“You,” he spits, “who are you? Where am I?”

With troubling speed, the man hurls himself against the side of the cage. The metal rattles and shakes under his pale hands but they do not budge. You watch, wide-eyed and horrified as he grits his teeth against an unseen pain.

You’re stunned to silence, slack-jawed with fear. With a grunt and a mournful sound, the man behind bars slumps down away from them. His palms are singed red, you notice. Whatever the cage is made of is poisoning him.

“Outside the Dying Gull,” you whisper. The man driving the covered wagon didn’t look too friendly, you’d rather he not know you’re speaking to his travelling companion. Or captive. “It’s an inn on the highway, about a week’s hard ride from Baldur’s Gate.”

The man sounds flat, pressing his injured palm to his forehead and being careful not to touch the bars with the back of his neck.

“Well,” he sighs, “I’ve heard far worse news in the past three days. That just leaves who you are.”

“Just the barmaid,” you admit. After a pause, you continue, “If you don’t mind, can I ask a question now?”

“Were I in your position, I may have a few,” the man says. He’s still slumped over, you’re beginning to worry. His hand now covers his eyes, like they hurt. However, his tone is oddly sarcastic for his apparent exhaustion. “By all means, ask.”

“What’s happened to you? Why’s that man got another man locked up in the back of his wagon?” once you’ve opened your mouth you can’t quite stop. The man huffs, either in amusement or annoyance.

“That is two questions, in fact. So now you’ll have to pick just the one,” he says.

“I answered two,” you reply. But you’re inclined to take pity. “Fine, the second one.”

“I am in the company of a very incompetant bounty hunter,” the pale man begins, “who has wrongfully determined my identity to be that of a criminal.”

“Oh,” you tilt your head to the side. Looking into the cage, you see two red eyes swimming in the centre of his pale face when his hand moves. “A criminal might just say that. Are you lyin’ to me?”

“Of course a real criminal would lie, but I am not one in the least,” he insists. He seems to gain a little energy defending his morality, either that or he’s a capable performer. The man sits up until he’s moved away from the bars at his back. “Whatever that Gur says, I am not who he thinks I am.”

You say nothing for a moment, peering through the dark at those deep-red eyes. You decide that he’s lying. But to his credit, he’s a man in a cage. And you find something other than pity welling up in your chest once more.

His anger seems mostly gone now that he knows it was misdirected. The creature looks tired and gaunt, hungry and in pain. Your heart lurches.

“One more question?” you ask. He heaves a sigh.

“Very well, what was it?” he starts, “Right, what in the world has happened to me, well--”

“No,” you stop him. “Not that one, I don’t really want to force you to make up more lies. I just want to know your name. Can you tell me that?”

He seems stricken for a second. And only then does it occur to you that he’s begun to peer back. It’s what sways you to find him innocent, you decide. He looks at you, stares at you and tries to decide if you’ll be the third person to hurt him in as many days.

“Astarion,” he says. “My name is Astarion.”

“Good to meet you, Astarion,” you say. He seems troubled by your good-natured smile, not the least bit comforted by it. But it’s better than a grimace or a look of fear, he seems to reconcile.

Especially when you put your hands on the cage. Then, it appears as if hope’s caught in his eye. The bars don’t burn you, you notice. And you frown. But only for a moment, only as you’re thinking. 

“This won’t be easy to open,” you say. You bring your knuckles down on the metal, eliciting a hollow sound. “Were the whole thing pure silver, it’d buckle under its own weight. But it’s platin’ somethin’ sturdier--”

“And how do you know that?” Astarion asks. You look down at him, your eyes are no longer sizing him up. 

They’ve decided he is neither predator nor prey, as he has with you.

“Da was a goldsmith, he worked with all sorts of precious metals,” you explain. “Means I can identify ‘em, but I’ve not the strength to rip the door straight from its hinges.”

“And I’ve been starved for days,” he confesses, “so I’m far too weak to be of any help.”

The look of empathy on your face is unprecedented. It seems to make Astarion uncomfortable, so you stop it. You turn instead to the door that’s locked tight. A cruel, rusted padlock bolts it shut.”

“Could nick the keys off ‘im,” you muse. You’re not watching the stranger’s face, but it’s more expressive now that it’s been since you tugged the curtain covering the cage aside.

“You would do that for me?” he asks. “You believe me, you would free me?”

“Please,” you huff, “you’re bein’ treated cruelly. And I’ve no reason to trust the man who’s keepin’ you hostage, either. I won’t aid him.”

“Good to know that there’re still a handful of decent souls to be found,” he says, “even if I’ve only noticed a dearth of them.”

“But I don’t believe you in the slightest,” you add. Astarion squeezes his eyes shut.

“I swear to you that I am innocent, what more--” he starts, you cut him off with an unexpected smile.

“I know you’re innocent, I’m choosin’ to believe that. But I also know you’re far from honest,” you say. He cocks an eyebrow.

“Then we have an understanding,” he says. He sounds relieved and you nod.

“I’ll need the key, but I can steal it. Once you’re out, I’ll take you to the barn behind the inn. There’s cattle there,” you tell him. But Astarion bristles with feigned disgust.

“What’s that got to do with anything?” he snaps. 

You try your best not to roll your eyes. Lying, it seems, comes too naturally to him. With the plan laid out before you, you drop the padlock.

“I’m not stupid, Astarion. And you’re a poor liar,” is all you say. And it’s all that he does, too.

When you move to tug the curtain back over the cage, however, Astarion sits up. Panic is back in his eyes, you dislike the sight.

“No. Don’t, please,” he says. He holds his hands out, perilously close to the silver that burns him so badly. “I-- I haven’t seen outside in days. Leave it.”

“Of course, I wasn’t thinkin’,” you say. “I’ll be back in an hour or so, try to stay out of sight of any passers-by.”

You make a point to tug the curtain a little further back, giving Astarion a view of the Gull after dark. He watches you turn away.

The inn glows, light spilling out of its square windows. The Gur inside is still boasting, drinking himself into a stupor that he’ll have to sleep off eventually. But whether he’ll do it here is what worries you, what pushes you back inside and in search of the key that fits the padlock.

As you walk, you can hear the awful voice rising above the din. Part of you wonders if the vampire in the cage is lying to you about everything, for he is a liar at heart. Another knows that either way, what’s being done to him is evil. You pause before you open the door.

It’s time again to commit theft, which calls for a different arrangement of the face.

[doctors-star]

hi its me im back again #43 for lister/rimmer? (a non-cowboy alternative)

“I’ve never met a more stubborn person in my life.” “You like it.” “Do I?”

-

Lister taps his fingers against the iron girder. It’s painted the same red as the Dwarf, but chipping and loose - probably also like the Dwarf, only he’s not been out to have a gander in a while. Always seems to be something else to do these days.

He sighs heavily. Picks a flake of paint loose. Resists the urge to fidget.

“I spy-”

“Oh, Christ, we’re not that bored already are we?” Rimmer whines, and Lister allows his head to loll to his right. It puts his face within inches of Rimmer’s cheek, and though it makes him go a little cross-eyed to do so he can clearly see that yes, Rimmer is that bored.

“Well, we’re trapped for the foreseeable future in a pile of rubble and girders in an abandoned derelict, with no comms and no hope of rescue until Krytes and Cat can be bothered to come lookin’,” Lister points out calmly. “We can play fortunately-unfortunately instead if you want, but I don’t think this is going to get less boring quickly.”

Rimmer sniffs and glowers at the ceiling of their weird rubble igloo. It had, of course, been heart-stoppingly terrifying for a while; Lister had smacked the door release idly with the side of his fist, the doors had opened, and he and Rimmer had entered, bickering all the while so enthusiastically that what had happened after that was still a mystery to Lister. The upshot, crucially, had been that the ceiling had fallen in in a shower of sparks and trailing wires and laid them both out flat under slabs of metal panelling, chunks of what looked like concrete, and a few girders for colour. One is neatly pinning Lister’s hips to the floor, there’s a large amount of concrete on his ankles, and Rimmer is buried in metal sheeting up to his sternum, but on the bright side they can both breathe and nothing seems to be broken. Not that Rimmer could break, anyway, being as he is entirely made of solid light.

This had not stopped Lister from being apocalyptically terrified for a good thirty seconds after impact.

“Is it rubble?” Rimmer asks at last, with a tone of deep dissatisfaction.

“I didn’t even tell you the first letter,” Lister says, trying not to grin at Rimmer.

Rimmer shifts his head to gaze, unimpressed, at Lister.

“It was, though, yeah.”

Rimmer looks as though he wants to laugh, and also to despair of him; it makes his face twitch like a ferret in a sack. Lister presses forward an inch to drop a kiss on the end of his nose, because that usually makes the twitching worse. “Menace,” Rimmer says, flinching back to glare, cross-eyed, down his nose at Lister. But, you know, affectionately. Lister beams. “I can’t believe we’re stuck here waiting for two mentally-incompetents to rescue us,” Rimmer sighs. He fidgets his shoulders, shifting the panelling, and winces.

“Stop moving, man,” Lister says in a voice which he hopes is calming.

It isn’t; Rimmer thrashes about a bit like he’s being electrocuted, which makes the whole rubble pile shake in a deeply worrying fashion. He does, however, manage to work his left arm free and shake it triumphantly in the air. “Dead arm,” he says in explanation - and then, very casually, so subtly that the motion occurs in neon with bells on, he rests the hand on top of Lister’s girder. Next to Lister’s fingers. And then Rimmer doesn’t look at his hand, the girder, or in Lister’s direction at all, so Lister takes the hint.

“Dead everything, mate,” he says helpfully, sliding his fingers under Rimmer’s palm and giving his hand a squeeze. Rimmer’s frame relaxes ever so slightly, as though that threatened slight rejection had worried him more than the whole mild peril of their situation. Neurotic bastard. “Speaking of,” Lister adds, rubbing his thumb over the back of Rimmer’s hand, “you don’t have to wait for Kryten and Cat. You could go softlight, wriggle on out, and go get ‘em.”

Rimmer’s hand tightens briefly on his before carefully relaxing. “No-o,” he says with forced casualness, “I’ll wait.”

Lister nods. “Very helpful. You just wait here to avoid the walk. Can’t have you tirin’ yourself out. If I starve to death, I want the lightbee every two weeks, alright?”

“I am not arranging a timeshare with our afterlife!” Rimmer objects sharply.

“You smegging well are,” Lister corrects cheerfully. “If you kill me through inaction, you owe me at least some of your time. You promised, remember-” he says smugly, pressing as close as he can until his nose is pressed into Rimmer’s cheekbone. “Spend the rest of our time together, forever-”

“Exactly,” Rimmer sputters, face turning a very impressive red at the reference to their little...agreement. “Together - which we won’t be, if only one of us exists at a time.”

“You’d better go an’ fetch us some rescue then, eh?” Lister says, smiling into Rimmer’s jaw to make him squirm. “Or else.”

He can feel the muscles in Rimmer’s face twitch slightly with the effort not to turn into Lister’s ministrations and give up on the argument - only that would mean losing said argument, and that usually requires more attention than Lister can give with his body pinned to the floor. By something that isn’t Rimmer, that is. “Ah, but you said we���d stay together,” Rimmer points out firmly, voice only ticking up half an octave when Lister starts kissing at the hinge of his jaw. “Death do us part, you said.”

Lister grins and picks up their joined hands, nudging them towards the small gap in the ceiling that a lightbee, and corresponding intangible human shape, could easily fit through. “An’ you’ve already kicked it, so off you pop,” he says brightly.

Rimmer sputters indignantly for a bit, but makes no move. After a moment, the grumbling resumes, and Lister can’t help a sigh. “Where are those two, anyway? Even they ought to have noticed by now-”

“Rimmer, mate you literally don’t need to be here,” Lister says, impatience bleeding into his tone as he pulls back slightly. He doesn’t miss how Rimmer shifts minutely into his space before reversing quickly.

“Well, I’m not going,” Rimmer says, fingers tightening around Lister’s.

He shakes his head and lies back, staring at the ceiling. “I’ve never met a more stubborn person in my life,” he says.

“You like it,” Rimmer retorts immediately.

“Do I?” he replies, voice tired and dry. But he rolls his head back to face Rimmer. He knows Rimmer better than anyone in the entire universe; of course he had caught the wheedling note in Rimmer’s voice, the flash of insecurity, the minute increase in the grip on his hand. And sure enough, Rimmer’s eyes are wide and slightly worried, and then his face turns quickly away, schooled into something snide. He wishes Rimmer wouldn’t do that; has no hope that he’ll ever stop. Lister picks up their joined hands and gently knocks their knuckles against the girder three times. “Well, it’s still annoying,” he says eventually. “But as long as I don’t starve here, I’d still rather have you with me than not. So.”

Rimmer waves a hand idly. “Eat your own leg, or something.”

Lister gives him a thumbs-up. “Will do.”

They lie quietly for a while, listening to the rubble creak and groan, and to a mysterious dripping sound which, every third drop, fizzes with a decidedly electrical sound. There’s a lump of something digging into his spine, and his foot is rapidly going numb, but Rimmer’s hand is pleasantly warm and solid in his own, his breathing regular and steady in the half-light, and it is - god help his standards for living - not half bad. Lister is, despite himself, quite glad that Rimmer is more stubborn than a bull-headed pig when he wants to be.

He’s glad, too, to be something Rimmer gets so stubborn over.

He is quite bored, though.

“I spy-” he begins again.

“It’s girder this time, I know it,” Rimmer says quickly. “I am not playing this with you.” Lister closes his mouth. “It was panel, actually - and look, what do you want to do? Arguing didn’t take up as much time as I had hoped-”

“You picked a fight to pass the time?!”

“Yeah, only, it was a really rubbish argument. Unfortunately.”

“Well,” Rimmer says, sounding as self-important as a man can when being crushed by sheets of metal, “fortunately, we love each other far too well to ever argue.”

“Unfortunately,” Lister says, grinning at the barefaced lie, “no-one with an IQ over seven would believe that.”

“Fortunately, I know my audience,” Rimmer says smugly, eyes dancing and smile so cheerfully obnoxious that Lister has to laugh, he just has to, not least for the way it makes Rimmer’s whole face soften into something gentler, and more fond.

He squeezes Rimmer’s hand and feels it squeeze back. “Unfortunately, you’re stuck with him,” he murmurs, eyes dropping helplessly to Rimmer’s lips.

Rimmer smiles, small and genuine. “I’ll survive,” he says.

[crash-cinematic-universe]

Abed Nadir and his need to count the seconds

pairing: abed nadir/troy barnes (it’s Light but I wrote it with the intent for trobed)

summary: Abed Nadir hates being alone in general, so when his friends disappear and leave him alone in a sea of job-seeking students he struggles to keep his head above water. 

request:  okay wait ur abed headcanons got me thinking. abed angst. kings gotta have abandonment issues cuz of his parents YES I'm projecting a little bit. u don't have to do this if it makes u too sad tho - @ghost-butch

warnings: abandonment issues, anxiety attacks, s/h (kinda; in the form of clenching ur fists too hard)

notes: writing abed angst makes me sad ): why did i do this to him he deserves better. also im about to punch evil abed in the face ):< just over 2k words with this one so thats Cool also its midnight and i have school tomorrow arent i epic and cool. 

taglist: @simonsbluee

  _____________

            Fifteen minutes and twenty-two seconds. Abed had been lost for fifteen minutes and twenty-two second. Abed’s eyes were trained on the clock hanging on the wall, each tick of the second hand amplified in his head to a piercing shout. Everything was bigger; the lights were blindingly bright and his clothes felt as if they were clawing at his skin. With each passing second Abed became increasingly worried, his breath getting shallower and shallower with each rise of his chest. His eyes returned to the clock on the wall, his stomach jumping at the reading-- sixteen minutes and fourteen seconds.

            The study group had promised Abed they’d accompany him to the job fair. They promised they’d be by his side the entire time; Abed didn’t do well alone in large crowds, especially in new environments. He’d gotten distracted by an engineering booth in the corner with a large lego replica of the millennium falcon hanging in the corner. He looked away from his friends for no more than thirteen seconds, but in those thirteen seconds, they disappeared in the sea of students and booths and interns. Thus, leaving Abed completely alone in a mass of strangers in a building that he’d never seen before. 

            His anxiety had built up with every minute he was lost. It was gradual; he started with the initial panic, followed by frantic searching for familiar faces in the crowd. It wasn’t long after that when his heart rate began to pick up, and within minutes his skin felt as if it was on fire. Abed couldn’t really pinpoint exactly when he’d begun to shuffle backwards out of the large venue the job fair was held in. Before he knew it, he was at the end of a dimly lit hallway, completely alone. He slunk to the floor and pulled his knees to his chest.

            They’ll look for me, he thought. They’re probably looking for me now. Abed reached into his pocket for his cellphone before he realized he’d left it with Troy. The emptiness of his pocket felt endless, his hand tingling where the fabric of his shorts met his skin. The familiar whine that Abed let out when he became overwhelmed filled the empty hallway, the tone only making his anxiety worse. He cursed himself for not thinking ahead-- he’d left all of his fidget toys and putty in his messenger bag which he also left with Troy. 

            It was then that a tiny voice in the back of his head spoke up-- maybe they left, it called. Abed shook his head, but the voice persisted. They left you. They’re gone, and no one is coming for you. A familiar figure materialized in the vast shadows at the other end of the hallway; Evil Abed smirked at him from where he stood.

            “They’re gone,” He repeated. “They were waiting for something to draw you away for them so they could slip away,”

            “That’s not true.” Abed’s fingers absentmindedly dug into his palm. “They wouldn’t do that-- Troy wouldn’t do that. Jeff and Britta, maybe, but not Troy. Not Annie.” Truthfully, Abed didn’t believe that Jeff or Britta would leave, but he wasn’t thinking clearly in the moment.

            “Riddle me this, Abed, who does Troy respect more: you or Jeff? Who does he think is cooler? Who does he idolize more?” Evil Abed’s voice was smug and cruel. It felt as if his words were burrowing through his brain and fogging up his thoughts. “Sure, Troy might tolerate you, but he worships Jeff. If Jeff wanted to leave, then surely Britta and Annie would tag along. It’s inevitable that Troy would join them, isn’t it?” Abed shut his eyes tightly, but that didn’t do much to ward off his evil counterpart.

            A film played behind Abed’s eyelids, the poetic irony of his worst fears being portrayed through his favorite thing making his heart ache. There they were: Jeff, Britta, Troy, Annie, all standing in a tight group as Abed wandered off. Their expressions and movements were exaggerated, but Abed didn’t care. He just sat and watched as the scene unfolded.

            “God, I can’t believe he roped us into this,” Jeff groaned, his hands gripping his cellphone as if someone were going to take it from him. “What kind of loser can’t go to a damn fair by himself? I could have a hot redhead hanging on my arm at a sports bar and instead I’m babysitting a twenty-five-year-old.”

            “C’mon Jeff, we’re here for Abed. God knows if he came here alone he’d probably drive everyone here crazy with his “Inspector Spacetime” BS.” Britta chimed in, a tired tone in her voice. Annie looked antsy as always, while Troy looked unsure. Abed wasn’t sure of what, exactly. 

            Slowly, Abed  wandered a few feet away from the group. Jeff’s face lit up the same way it does when he sees an attractive student in the hallways. A borderline cartoon-ish grin grew on his face as he pulled the group tighter.

            “Hey, Abed’s gone. Let’s take this window and get the hell out of here while the cat is distracted by the lazer,” He chuckled. Britta smiled and nodded, quickly grabbing Annie’s hand in an attempt to pull her out. The three of them made their way to the exit, leaving Troy alone. He turned around to glance at Abed before rolling his eyes and running after Jeff. Abed was alone.

            The image faded away, and to Abed’s surprise, Evil Abed faded away with it. For a split second, Abed was disappointed. He really, really, really didn’t want to be alone-- even if his only companion was an evil version of himself. A minute passes before Abed realizes he was crying, that revelation followed by the realization that his fingernails dug into his palm so hard he broke the skin. His tears blurred his vision and made his surrounding seem much smaller, much darker, much lonelier. His eyes no longer portrayed a dim hallway. Instead, Abed saw the same tiny locker he was locked in so often as a teenager.  He could smell the rusted metal of the locker hinges. He could feel the chipped paint rubbing against his skin. He couldn’t breathe. Abed couldn’t breathe-- the entire world was closing in on him. He was cold and alone and no one was coming for him. His friends left him and they weren’t coming back. Everyone who he cares about leaves him, why would they be any different? He watched the world pass by through the tiny slits in the door before his eyes screwed shut again as he choked on air.

            He was in agony. His entire body shook and his heart pounded so hard he felt as if it were going to burst. Abed wanted to go home, he wanted to be back at Greendale with Troy and the rest of his friends but he was trapped. His arms began to cramp up from how hard he had tensed, his knuckles a pale white from how tightly he was clenching his fists. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t speak or sob or scream; he was stuck. Locked away. The outside world faded away as Abed retreated into his mind. He tried to hide away in his head forever until a janitor stumbled upon his frozen shell of a body tomorrow morning. There was an echoing sound, however, that kept drawing him from the abyss of his brain.

            Footsteps. He could hear footsteps. Abed couldn’t tell whether or not they were real, but he could guess who’s footsteps they were. They were frantic and uneven-- they had the potential to be rhythmic, but the walker was urgent. Worried. The biggest identifying factor, though, was the quiet sound of plastic aglets on the tile floor; their shoes were untied. Abed smiled weakly as he recalled the fact that Troy almost never had his shoes tied. A glimmer of hope shone through the small slits in the locker door as the footsteps grew closer.

            “Abed?” Troy’s voice cut through the silence in the hallway. He turned the corner and froze as his eyes landed on his friend. “Abed? God, there you are! You scared me half to death, and Jeff was already boring me to death with his lame lawyer stories, so now I’m only, like, a fourth away from death!”

            Abed didn’t reply. He couldn’t-- he still didn’t know if Troy was real or just another image. He was still locked away, after all. Troy could tell something was wrong; Abed’s eyes had glazed over and he looked like he’d seen a ghost. Troy hurried over, his eyes frantically assessing the situation at hand. He saw the blood on Abed’s palms and his stomach lurched. 

            “Hey, Abed, are you alright?” Troy asked softly. “Did something happen?” Abed did not reply, instead releasing a small, high-pitched whine. Everything was foggy-- it was all too foggy for Abed to know whether or not he was simply envisioning this angel of a human.

            “Alright, uh, I’m going to touch your wrist. Is that alright?” Abed hesitated before nodding ever-so-slightly.

            Gently, Troy wrapped his hand around Abed’s wrist. The contact was startling, but not unwelcome. Abed was becoming more and more sure that this Troy was real. The tight locker melted away to reveal the same dark hallway; his anxiety was eased a bit,but he still couldn’t shake the feeling of dread that settled over him. He glanced at the clock once again-- he was alone for thirty-two minutes and forty-seven seconds in total. 

            “I’m sorry I lost you,” Troy spoke quietly. His voice was comforting and genuine, his face soft and kind. He didn’t match the Troy that Evil Abed created at all. “I know this place is overwhelming, I’m so sorry. We should’ve been more attentive and more careful, this place is like a maze.” Abed soon realized he was too tired to respond verbally, instead opting to hold Troy’s hand. A silent reassurance was exchanged through their intertwined fingers. Abed’s palms stung a bit, but he couldn’t bring himself to do anything about it. He was just so tired. His muscles were sore and his chest ached and his head pounded. He wanted to go home. 

            “Britta was practically running across the building looking for you, ya know,” Troy said. His hand was still holding Abed’s. “Annie started crying after 10 minutes, and for a second Jeff looked like he was going to cry, too. They were all so worried. I was worried, too. The thought of something bad happening to you was too much to handle.”

            “I know you hate being alone, too. I guess you probably thought we ditched you or something. Jeff thought you ditched us, but I knew that wasn’t true. It doesn’t really matter, though, because I’m here now,” That final phrase echoed in Abed’s mind as he sat beside his friend. “I want you to know that I really care about you. I want-- I need you to know that I would never ever ditch you like that. Not in a million billion years, not even for a million dollars,”

            They sat there for a few more minutes before Annie turned the corner and shouted, sprinting full speed towards the two men at the end of the hallway. Britta and Jeff followed closely after, a wave of relief washing over their faces. They all gushed about their worries and concerns. Annie was quick to tend to the small indents in Abed’s palm, and Jeff and Britta talked about how freaked they were when they realized Abed disappeared. Jeff mentioned stopping by every directing booth in the entire building to see if Abed had landed there-- he even grabbed a few pamphlets for him to flick through later. Finally, Abed gained the energy to stand up, and he walked down the hallway with his friends beside him and Troy’s fingers still laced with him.

            On his way out, Abed glanced at the clock on the wall-- twenty-two minutes and twelve seconds. Abed had been surrounded by his wonderfully chaotic family for the past twenty-two minutes, and he’d never felt more secure.

[oliverwxod]

By the grace and the fire of the flames (Geralt imagine)

Pairing: Geralt x reader (the Witcher x reader)

Warnings: swearing

Summary: Geralt was assigned to protect Y/n, helping to train her to protect herself. There may be a part 2 if any one wants one. 

Y/n threw a punch, heading straight towards Geralt’s face, he blocked it with ease, twisting her around and making her groan in pain, arm twisted unaturally. She turned her arm back in a harsh movement escaping his grip and catching the side of Geralt’s jaw in the process making him grunt.

She glared at him, stepping forward to punch again but he kicked her legs from under her, watching as she fell to the ground with a thud, the breath knocked out of her, winded.

Y/n went to stand but he pushed her back with his foot, boot pressing down hard on her ribs, he watched her squirm in pain before she suddenly smiled up at him.

“That the best you can do?” she teased, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips, a ghost of laughter passing through her eyes.

Geralt almost growled, dropping to his knees, one either side of her hips, trapping her between his body and the dirt ground, his hand around her throat and pressing down harshly.

“you were saying?” he taunted.

Y/n gasped for air, she knew he would never go easy on her, he never had before, but he had never placed his hands around her neck before, that was new. 

She raised her eyebrows in a mocking manner, smirking up at him.

“is it bad that i’m kinda turned on right now?” she spoke, trying to throw him off game, but Geralt��s hand only tightened around her throat.

“Talking won't win your battle” he spoke gruffly, a man of little words. 

“It doesn’t hurt to try” she huffed out, voice hoarse. She struggled against his hand, her legs trapped between his, her arms unable to move as she squirmed against him. 

“does this satisfy your sadistic needs” she breathed, her voice a mere whisper. 

“hmm, Im not easily satisfied” he grunted, releasing his hand only slightly from her neck once he could see how her cheeks were flushed.

“I know” she spoke “and you never will be, you pushed everyone who satisfied you away... Yen... Jaskier..” 

Geralt froze, the memories flashing through his mind, his hand releasing her from his grip as he moved backwards to rest on the balls of his feet. Y/n used his distraction to push him backwards, sending him flying across the ground, dirt clouding up in a mist behind him. 

He grunted, muttering angrily under his breath before picking himself off the ground with a glare in her direction. 

“Sometimes not being able to shut up helps win” she spoke, smirking at him from where she stood “ It’s a good way to distract the enemy” 

“It’s not what I’ve taught you” he growled from across, making his way towards her, she backed up a few feet preparing for the next round of punches. He drew his sword, swinging it effortlessly around his shoulder, she retaliated, revealing hers from where it was stored across her back, moving it in front of her, slicing through the air. 

Their swords met with a clash of silver and clinking of metal, Geralt dragging his downwards and pulling hers almost out of her grip, she managed to catch it before it dropped, swinging it backhand to meet his again. He stared at her, golden eyes meeting silver eyes, she could see the anger behind his, her words hitting him where she knew it would hurt him. Part of her felt bad, but the other part of her remembered that he never cared about how he spoke to her, often reminding her about the things she lost. 

The reason why she was here, under his protection.

“Its what I've taught myself” she spoke, now glaring at him. 

“And look how far that got you” he spat, forehead creasing into a deadly frown as he looked down at her. 

“Further than you ever did” she replied, spinning around in a sudden movement and throwing her sword to the side. It hit the nearby wall with a clang before landing on the floor, Geralt followed the swords movement in confusion. He should have known, should have known from the clouding of her silver eyes into black. A small movement of her hand sent a cloud of dust into his face momentarily blinding him, ashes of grey covering him head to toe, his white hair now muddied into grey locks meaning he would have to wash later. 

“Y/n” he spoke, voice now a lot softer than previous, he was hoping it would ground her, bring her back before she even left. Before the flames started. 

“Y/n” he spoke deeply, “listen to me, to my voice... I'm sorry”.

“you don’t care” she growled “you’re not genuine, when are you ever genuine about your feelings” she spat, eyes now glowing bright red, ashes whispring around her in slithers of grey dust. 

“Y/n” he spoke deeply again, voice controlled, if he lost control now, if he started panicking there was no chance she would calm down. 

She growled in frustration, shoulders dropping along with the cloud around her, revealing her to him properly now. 

“Y/n” he said, reaching forwards for her. 

“no” she spoke stepping away from his touch “leave me alone” she said turning away from him, not being able to even look at his face, overcame with emotion. 

He sighed heavily, following after her into the woods. Watching as the green of her cloak disappeared behind trees. weaving a pathway which he followed until reaching the small abandoned hut they had been seeking shelter in for the past few days. 

The door slammed behind her, hitting the hinges before bouncing open again with the force. He followed her inside, this time closing the door behind him.

“What just happened out there?” he asked. 

“nothing” she mumbled. 

“bullshit” he spoke. “tell me” 

“Just got too ahead of myself” she replied. “It happens, you know that. Emotions and all that shit, they get in the way sometimes” 

“That’s why you don’t talk when fighting” he grunted. 

“is that your way of saying I told you so?” she questioned, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips once he heard the normal tone of her voice return. 

“It clouds your mind, distracts the other person, but mostly distracts yourself” he spoke. 

“are you talking from experience?” she asked, interested in whether he used to be a man of more words. 

“yes.” he spoke, making her ears perk up. “just 5 minutes ago” 

“fuck off” she laughed gently, throwing a nearby rag at him. He caught it easily, sending it straight back at her, her playfulness returning and he hated to admit it but it brought him a sense of comfort. 

“apart from the fuck up of emotions” she spoke “how did I do?” 

“ah- knew it was only a matter of time until you asked.” he said “ it was fine” 

“just fine?” she asked shocked “I thought it was pretty damn good” 

“You need to work on your punches” he commented, brief but helpful. 

“well you need to work on not being distracted by talking idiots” she threw back. 

He gave a snort, a smirk pulling at his face. 

“you’re not an idiot” he said shaking his head. 

“well you sure make me feel like one sometimes” she shrugged, moving to walk past him. He reached out, a large hand catching her wrist in his grip. 

“you’re not an idiot” he spoke. “Stubborn? yes, but that doesn’t make you an idiot” 

She stared at where his hand was gripping her wrist, thumb now stroking the skin softly. 

“thanks” 

He tugged her arm pulling her closer to him, breath fanning across her face as she looked up, shyly meeting his eyes. 

“If you were an idiot, I wouldn’t even be trying to protect you” 

“Then why are you protecting me then? I can handle myself”she mumbled, glancing away from his face as the stare was too intense. 

“because- I can’t lose you” 

[emeraldrosequartz]

Rematch: a GladiatorLoki one-shot by EmeraldRoseQuartz

@latent-thoughts...I blame you for this.

Part of the blame is on @sillyvantas​ for creating this AMAZING concept fanart of Loki about to go into battle on Sakaar (and a bunch of other cool Loki drawings, I should mention), but mostly, this is on you, Latent. For having the very audacity to ask for such a thing, knowing there are poor fools out here like me who can’t resist an AU based on fanart. And I hope you know that there will be consequences. :P

In the darkness, alone, he could hear the nearly-uncontrolled crowd cheering outside the enormous metal door. Distilled light filtered in through the spaces and gaps of the barrier in front of him, shining an eerie mottled pattern on the pale features and translucent green eyes of the disgraced Prince of Asgard. Loki gripped the clunky sword nervously, the worn leather creaking and groaning in his palm. His heavy breath and the sound of rushing blood in his ears almost drowned out the chanting on the other side of that door, the savage audience stomping and screaming so violently that it shook the massive slab of steel on its hinges. But even that didn’t interrupt the one thought running through his mind over and over again.

How in the Nine Realms had he ended up here…

Oh...right...

—-

“HEIMDALL, BRING US BACK!”

In hindsight, that had been a mistake.

But it had been a long day. After Thor’s surprise return to Asgard, being outed as an imposter in front of the entire Asgardian court, reuniting with his father on Midgard moments before finally being accepted as a son by Odin (which was immediately followed by the Allfather’s demise), learning the formerly-imprisoned-and-newly-released Goddess of Death was actually his adoptive sister, and seeing her crush Thor’s formidable hammer like a snowball on Muspelheim...well, admittedly, he wasn’t in top form.

That last sight had struck such panic in him that calling to Heimdall was the first thing he thought to do.

And then, before he knew it, he was spinning out of control on the wrong side of the Bifrost, hurtling through space until he collided unceremoniously with the ground in the middle of what appeared to be a garden party in a trash dump. Right at the sandaled feet of the Grandmaster.

“Wellllll what do we have here? Another lost little soul for me to care for, hm?”

Still dazed, Loki had smacked the stranger’s hand away when the Grandmaster reached to touch him, causing a round of shocked and anxious gasps from the eclectic partygoers.

In hindsight, that had also been a mistake.

“Ooooh, a fighter!” The Grandmaster had said, giddily. “What-uh...what’s your name, feisty?”

“I am not feisty,” Loki had growled in response, hardly aware of the crowd around him that had gone eerily silent and were watching him like a pack of hungry wolves. “I am Loki, Prince of Asgard, Rightful King of Jotunheim, God of Mischief, and I will not be bullied by the likes of-“

Then everything went black.

It was definitely time to retire that line.

Upon awakening in the disgusting dungeons of the gladiators - which the insipid rockman kept insisting was called the “freaky circle” - Loki found he had a very uncomfortable obedience disk latched to the skin of his neck and an aching desire to scheme his way out of this place as fast as possible.

So he volunteered to fight the champion.

In hindsight, that might have been the biggest mistake of them all.

—-

Now, standing at the gates of the arena, armed with nothing but this ungraceful hunk of ill-forged metal and whatever magic he could manage to conjure on this unfamiliar world, adrenaline kicking through his veins, heart pounding, senses heightened, eager to get this over with and get off of this gods-forsaken planet...it occurred to Loki that he might be in slightly over his head.

The Grandmaster’s contrastingly song-song voice boomed over the collected cacophony of the audience as he announced the winner of the battle royal, but the ambient sound quieted slightly as he heard:

“And now, as you all know, we’ve got a new fighter who wants to try and win his freedom by challenging the champion! Are you ready for this?”

Deafening cheers exploded from the thousands of bloodthirsty onlookers. Loki gulped.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you - The Prince of Assberg - the feisty God of Misdeeds - Logee!”

Oh, for Hel’s sake...

If only to correct that egregious introduction, Loki decided then and there that he would do whatever it took to get himself out of that arena alive. The doors swung open into a blinding light, and thousands of people booed and jeered him.

Lovely. 

Shaking off his nerves, he gathered himself and sauntered out onto the battlefield, arms spread wide, with a snarky, confident grin.

He turned around the huge stadium and took in the magnitude of the audience. Thousands upon thousands of spectators roared, soaring up into the sky  where the top of the stands mingled with hovering ships. Loki spotted the Grandmaster’s box, and with over-enthusiastic dramatic flair, he bowed flourishingly.

“Yea, he’s great, he’s great. Let’s hear it for him. But now. Oooooo, the one you’ve all been waiting for…”

Impossibly, the crowd got even louder. Green fireworks of colored powder began exploding around the arena, signs and masks were being waved by excited onlookers. Loki looked at the gargantuan door on the other side of the battlefield.

“Oh boy, here he comes. The undefeated, defending champion. You know him, you love him…”

The ground began to tremble as the door slowly began to open.

“The Incredible...HULK!”

...

FUCK.

Of all the creatures that could have violently exploded from that door, of all horrors he’d endured, of all the worst possible scenarios he had considered…

“I have to get off this planet…” Loki whispered to himself in sheer disbelief. How had that beast gotten to this world?! What in the HELS was this place?! Was it specifically designed to trigger every fear he had, or was that just his dumb luck?

The giant green monstrosity came roaring out onto the floor of the arena, dressed in the same gaudy Gladiator-style armor that Loki had been forced to wear - at least he’s been able to change it from that hideous dark blue to a more suitable shade of green beforehand. But that was literally the least of his concerns, as the Hulk began barreling toward him on all fours, pushing himself forward on those rippling, huge arms and eying him murderously.

“Good to see you too, Bruce,” Loki said under his breath. He had about five seconds before the monster would be upon him. A fury of battle-practiced rage blossomed inside him - this would NOT be a repeat of what had happened on Earth. Soliloquizing to the green abomination had been - yet another - mistake. Not this time. He wouldn’t underestimate his enemy again; in fact, he already had a plan. He smirked.

Planting his feet firmly in the dirt, gripping the sword in one hand and drawing his seidr to the palm of the other, Loki locked eyes on his opponent.

Bring it on.

@latent-thoughts, I challenge you to write the battle that ensues. Like I said - consequences! At least 1,000 words, then you can pass this off to whomever you’d like, even back to me if you feel like a little vengeance is in order. Looking forward to it! :P

@wrathkitty @caffiend-queen @nildespirandum @devilish–doll @myoxisbroken @starrynight35 @moonfaery @dangertoozmanykids101 @lovely----------------notlovely @archy3001 @cursedcursingviking @ohhhmyloki @im-a-slut-for-an-accent @baby-bunting @dianamolloy @lokis-library @juju092118

[the-static-and-i]

⏳ :)

// SO THIS IS A FUCKING LONG ONE, AND UM, OOF AT THE ENDING?? BUT IM P HAPPY WITH HOW THE REST OF IT CAME OUT, SO HERE THE FUCK WE ARE??? 

ITS ALSO A CLOAK BOI, CAUSE IM A FUCKING SLUT FOR THAT SHIT RN, AND ITS KIND OF A CONTINUATION OF THE LAST REQUEST FIC? THIS TIME ITS ~EVERYONE~ GETTING FUCKED ON.

TW: Prison-esque cells, chains, collars, bomb mention, anxiety, anxiety inducing text, drowning, shattered glass, glass shards, cuts, electrocution, character death. Please let me know if i missed anything, this is a big one.

They had been trapped for four days. No word from Sam or Marvin or Anti or even the cult assholes. Jackie had been fruitlessly trying to hack to each of their accounts, hoping for a clue or a location, some physical place he could go and get Marvin and everyone out of.

Finally, as he set his bags onto the bed of their new hotel room, he got five notifications from the server all at once. He glanced at it, assuming it was just casual conversation with weird timing, but saw each one of them was from Two. The preview of every message read "Tick tock. :)...", and Jackie fumbled to unlock his phone, pulling up the server and the first chat he saw, Phaedo. Everyone active was responding negatively at the code underneath the message, but he saw Chance and Alex mentioning getting onto solving it.

Nic rested his hand on Jackie's arm, hugging him from behind. Jackie relaxed a little, leaning back into the hold and turning off his phone, hoping that someone would get the code quick.

He got his wish; by the time he woke up the next morning, all groups had solved the code and JJ had dm'ed him.

"They're taunting you. You know it's probably a trap, right?"

He pulled up the code, seeing a link that led to a picture of Marvin chained up, the caption reading "Better hurry, hero. Your brother's waiting." With some coordinates attached. He sighed, looking over at Nic who had been working on the code late last night while Jackie had been trying to get information on the cult members. He was curling closer to Jackie's side, still asleep.

He sighed quietly, plugging the coordinates into his map app, seeing that they led scarily close to their current hotel. Anxiety chewed at his nerves, but he ignored it as best he could, finally typing a quick message back to JJ, "I know, but we dont have a choice. I'll be careful."

He turned over, wrapping an arm around Nic and hugging him close for a moment, long enough that he slowly starting waking up, before laying a gentle kiss to his forehead.

Nic was giving him a sleepy smile when he pulled away, and he uttered a soft "Hey."

"Hey. That code last night? Leads to more coordinates. They're nearby, so I'm gonna head out. You should try to stay out of the hotel, just in case it's not a coincidence that they're so close."

Nic yawned and nodded, working his way up but pausing to stretch. Jackie followed suit, pulling the sheets up lazily and moving to find his bag and costume.

10 minutes later, they were both outside, Nic heading towards the local mall, Jackie speed-walking over to the destination from the code. There was nothing on the map in the location, but the cultists had confirmed that they had gotten the answer, so he didnt hesitate more in getting going.

It turns out the map was wrong, he realized as he reached the destination. There was a small, beat up shack, the remnants of a burned house or some small fort, on the property. He heaved a sigh, watching his steps closely as he moved toward the building, texting updates to the group chat.

He stepped onto the foundation, breathing a small sigh of relief that nothing had jumped out and attacked him in the 6 yard gap between sidewalk and cement.

He glanced down at the group chat, seeing Two piping in with a simple "tick tock," repeating themself but setting Jackie's nerves on fire. He buried his anger and confusion at how they got into the locked chat, telling them to fuck off and then saying hed be back soon.

He stayed quiet as he looked around again, turning off his phone and slipping it into his pocket as he passed the blackened remains of a doorframe.

In the corner of the next room was a cellar door, metal and grey, with a rusty padlock keeping chains around the handles. He ripped off the chains easily, pulling the doors open and eyeing the steps warily.

This was so a trap. He sighed again, grabbing one door and pulling it off of the hinges so he had less chance of getting trapped in whatever hell was waiting for him, before finally descending.

His vision didnt change the farther down he went, but he could feel the dull throbbing in his temples that meant his night vision had kicked in.

All around him were cells, empty ones that didnt even have food trays or windows, and definitely no bed. His ears perked as he heard shuffling in one of them farther ahead, looking into it and seeing- "Marvin?"

Jackie was quick to pull open the door, his brother looking up at him with weary eyes, but a small smile twitching up his lips.

"Knew you'd make it. Little help?" Marvin rattled the chains around his wrists, Jackie nodding and pulling them out of the walls, then getting to work on unlocking them from around his limbs.

"You look like shit, Marv." Jackie tried to sound playful, but he had been worried as fuck, and he wasnt totally convinced this wasnt a trap.

"Its this new diet I'm trying: not eating or sleeping for a few days? Maybe you should give it a shot." Jackie snorted, successfully pulling both sets of chains off of Marvin's limbs before noticing the big fucking collar.

"Jesus, 's this overkill or what?" He mumbled under his breath.

"Right, that's what I'm saying, it's not like I- ow- not like I punched him in the throat or anything." Jackie gave him a look. "I didnt! I elbowed his nose. Sam punched him in the throat!"

Jackie tensed up, glancing back through the bars but not seeing anybody. "Sam's here? Who else is?"

"She uh, she was? Anti came and dragged her out a bit before you got here, and she didn't look like she was in the best shape.. You're going after them, right?" The collar came off finally, Marvin grabbing it and setting it aside carelessly. He stood up as Jackie moved backwards, his knees protesting at the movement as blood flooded back into them. He wobbled on his feet, leaning hard against Jackie as his numb feet struggled to support him. "Shit.."

When he was stable enough to stand on his own, Jackie finally responded. "Course I'm going after them, he cant hurt anybody else. Who else is here? Can you get them out?" His mind was racing, his eyes flicking between Marvin's dull ones.

"I.. can try? But my magic.." He tried to create a flame at his fingertips, instead getting small sparks that fizzled out. "Yeah, no. Do you even know where he took her?"

Jackie hesitated before shaking his head. "No. So I'll get everyone out, and then we have to find out how to get them home safe.." Jackie tried to ignore that that would be harder than he made it sound, stepping back into the hallway and onto the next cell.

Finally, all five people stood in the hallway, shaking and crying but unharmed. Marvin led them out, following Jackie's shouted directions, since he held the rear.

As they all climbed out, in an almost single-file orderly line, Jackie heard something. He turned his head, his foot still on the bottom step, only seeing the long hallway with an unnatural darkness at the end of it. His fight or flight kicked in, rocking forward on his toes as he turned back to Marvin, who was holding a hand out to him.

"Jackie dont, you dont know what's in there and we have to get these guys safe."

"I know, but-" tick tock. The sound reverberated off the walls, Jackie looked back and saw a shape forming in the darkness.

"Dont you fucking dare, Jackie come on!" Marvin called, but Jackie didnt look at him, instead stepping down and turning towards the hallway.

"Get them out of here, please. Stay safe," he heard Marvin groan in irritation, before he corralled the people together and led them away. Jackie waited until their steps faded away before he moved down the hall, glancing into every cell as he passed. tick tock.

He stopped and listened as the sound came again, hoping to locate its source but no dice. The echoes had faded when he finally moved again, his pace even slower than before, in case the ticking was a bomb or something similar.

ticktock. He flinched, his head ducking to his left as he swore the sound was right in his ear, nothing more than a quick whisper that had his skin crawling. He looked around hastily, ensuring he wasnt about to be jumped, before he picked up his pace again, realizing that the noises were coming from Anti or similar, not anything that would explode.

He glanced into the next set of cells, tick tock tick. It came from in front of him, so he kept moving. Ticktocktick. He started running, the shape at the end of the hallway solidifying the closer he got. ticktockticktock. The hallway seemed to drag on, he stopped checking the cells, nearly sprinting. tick tock tick tock.

He skidded to a stop as everything warbled around him, the cells fading to dirty plastered walls, ticktocktick, the end of the hallway rushing forward to meet him. He backed up, trying to outrun the stone wall, tick tock tick, but it stopped far before it reached him, blending seamlessly into the rest of the wall before he could blink. ticktock.

He looked around the new room in a rush, realizing the sound was slowing down and he had no idea where he was. tick tock. He walked over to where the stone wall had been, banging against it and hoping to find it hollow. It wasnt though, and he huffed an irritated worried sigh, turning and putting his back to the wall, tick. tock. as he reexamined his surroundings. There was no door, no window, no light source, no pillars, nothing. The walls were bare, the floor was wooden, the ceiling was low and empty.

tick. He heard a glitching sound, his eyes having to readjust to the sudden green light of Anti appearing. In front of the glitch was Sam, struggling desperately against the arm around her throat. tock.

Jackie ran and lunged forward, Anti's cackle echoing around the room as he glitched away. He was kicked from behind, a boot to the center of his back that had him stumbling over his own feet. He swiveled midair, landing on his ass and shielding his face against whatever blow might be coming.

There wasnt one. Instead, Anti stood in front of him, flicking open and closed a knife at his side. His leer was cruel, almost illuminating the rest of his face. Jackie didnt look away, pushing himself to his feet as he forced his heartrate down.

"No witty quips or clever catchphrase, hero?" Anti sneered, his body glitching out.

"Nah, you arent worth the effort. But if you want-"

"If I’m not-" tick, "maybe she is." He smiled, glitching Sam back into the room. She shook her head as she saw them both, quickly hugging herself and backing away. "Or maybe him?" tock, Nic glitched in, looking around the room confused. He glared at Anti as soon as he gained his bearings, reaching out for Jackie.

As his hand brushed the fabric of Jackie’s costume, he was thrown back across the room like he had been shocked. He sat up quickly, seeing Jackie was back against the opposite wall, like he had been shocked too. Nic rushed toward his side, hitting a glass wall after only a couple steps. He hit it hard, staggering back but not falling. He pressed his hands against the pane, turning to glance at his side and seeing Sam with her hands pressed against two glass walls of her own, one separating them.

“Sammy, you okay?” He asked, seeing the bags under her eyes and her shaking arms. She stared blankly out through the glass, giving only a small nod in response.

“You?” Her voice was quiet, hoarse, Nic couldnt tell if it was from screaming or not having water in a few days, but he figured he didnt want to know just yet.

“Uh, was good up until now. We’re gonna be oka-” As if on cue, the sound of rushing water cut him off quickly, and he muttered a soft curse. He looked forward again, seeing Jackie standing up again, with Anti between him and the glass cells.

“Tick tock, Jackaboy. Who’ll you save this time?” Anti glitched away, his voice still reverberating as he spoke again, “My money’s on neither.”

“Fuck you, asshole!” Nic shouted, banging on the glass once before stepping back from it. Anti laughed joyfully, either at Nic or at Jackie running full speed at the glass in front of him.

His body slammed into the wall in front of Nic, the box wobbling back and forth, the water at his feet sloshing around in tandem. He backed up, looking over at Sam and seeing her backed against the wall opposite Nic. She ran forward too, her impact rocking both of their boxes a little. She groaned softly and rubbed her shoulder, backing up again anyway.

“Sam dont, dont hurt yourself. I got this, Im getting you both out of here.” He ran forward again, hearing the glass crack as his arm hit the same spot again. The cage rocked back dangerously far, Nic calling out as he pushed himself forward to offset the weight. It worked, the cage stabilized, and Jackie was ready to run again. “Back up.”

Nic complied, and Jackie ran full speed at the cage, successfully breaking through the glass with his shoulder. He pushed himself through the big fucking hole, further shattering the glass until he could reach Nic.

Sam gasped next to them, but Jackie didnt divert his attention yet. “D-dads, if something happens, you two get out, i love you both, tell everyone im so-” her voice was rushed, but her own screams still cut her off.

Jackie looked over quickly, seeing wires laying in the water at her feet. The electricity off of them was visible, and Sam was fighting to not let her legs give out. Jackie cursed, hastily jumping back from Nic’s cage and readying himself to run again, Nic standing next to him. He didnt object, instead cueing Nic to run with him, the two of them rocking the box back. She yelped as the water climbed higher up her bare legs, but bit her lips and leaned forward against the rocking.

The two of them backed up again, barely waiting for the box to stabilize again before taking off. The glass cracked loudly, a small shatter going across the entire front of the pane. Water started spurting out from the cracks, but it kept climbing higher, soaking her shorts and tank top without going past her belly button yet. She cried out as the electricity increased, her body doubling over and accidentally splashing into the water.

Her voice doubled as Jackie and Nic backed up, Ren trying to take over and front so Sam didnt have to suffer any more. The box rocked back as the shatter got bigger, not breaking but getting close, so close, they were so close.

“We love you both, you can do this, we believe in y-” The electricity increased again, and Ren gasped, feeling her heart beat shudder and fuck up, her breath catching in her throat. She couldnt even cough, the water rising up to her throat making her larynx twitch and close up.

The men, her dad, her dads that she rarely talked to, slammed into the glass, but it bounced them off of it instead of breaking. She heard Anti’s laugh, his cruel, sadistic, grating laugh, before the water rose again, covering her ears and eyes and soon her whole head. She couldnt move, her body was so stiff, she had to swim, had to fucking move, come on, please, but she couldnt force her muscles to tense or relax.

On the other side of the glass, she saw the shapes of Jackie and Nic, still throwing themselves at the glass, she tried so desperately hold her breath, to hold out, to keep herself alive so Sam could hug them both again. The electricity, Anti, was so against her determination though, increasing until she could actually feel her heart struggle to keep pumping as all of her muscles froze up.

She screamed out, seeing the shadows on the other side coming closer again, fucking hoping that this was the one. Her vision went dark all at once, but she didnt hear the glass break. She tried to open her eyes, tried to look out at her family, tried so hard to call out to them, but her body wasnt responding, barely even twitching as the electricity increased more. She didnt even feel it happen; she was gone. 

[buckysgoldenheart]

What Did I Do Wrong

What did I do Wrong?

Bucky x reader

Warnings: a tidbit of cursing

Words: 2639

Bucky doesn’t understand what he could have possibly done to lose the love of his life.

Submission Prompt:  Would you mind writing one where Bucky gets pranked by some Avengers that reader has ran away with someone else and has ended her engagement with Buckaroo? Angst and fluffy ending please 💘  

Bucky

Bucky slept in later than usual, way later. It was his first day off in weeks from fighting crime and ‘kickin’ ass,’ as Tony liked to call it, and he couldn’t wait to spend it with his fiancée. They had just gotten engaged last week, but Bucky had wanted to marry her the next day. Y/N only chuckled at the idea and said she wouldn’t mind having an actual wedding, something her mom could be a part of.

In all honesty, Bucky forgot about that little detail. Y/Ns parents lived in California and he had never met them. She insisted they would love him, but it made him so nervous that he often pushed all thoughts of that to the back of his mind. Plus, when it came to the wedding, Bucky didn’t have a family he wanted there other than his Avengers family, but he would do anything Y/N wanted.

When he rolled over in the bed, Bucky felt around for his fiancée. She was usually cuddled up to his side and it was weird for her not to be, but then again, it was 11 am and Y/N didn’t always like to sleep in. Bucky sat up, yawned, and ran his hands through his hair, then threw his legs over the side and started to walk to the bathroom. He got through the entire routine of washing his face and brushing his teeth before he noticed how less cluttered the area around the sink was. Usually, it was full of Y/Ns makeup, but today was different. Bucky scrunched his face in confusion but turned to leave anyway to head to the kitchen and kiss his girl good morning.

As he rounded the corner and descended the steps, Buckys face fell. Steve was there, Sam was there, Natasha was there, Bruce, Vision, Tony, Clint, all of them. As he neared the kitchen table, he saw that the team had finished breakfast and were all about to break away from the group to get some work done. They split off into different directions mumbling their good mornings to Bucky as they passed. All that was left was Natasha and Sam, both on their phones doing god knows what. Bucky still didn’t get the point of technology.

“Have you guys seen Y/N?” The super soldier asked, hoping to get a direct and simple answer so he could go right off and find her. The two Avengers looked up from their phones and gave Bucky a sympathetic look.

“Bucky…” Nat started and stood in front of him. “I…I really shouldn’t be the one to tell you this, but seeing as the others just passed you without saying a thing and Sam is a coward…” She whipped her head around to the Falcon and gave him an annoyed look before turning back to Bucky. “I guess this has fallen on my shoulders.”

Bucky formed a frown, but his eyes were wide and scared. ‘Did something happen to Y/N?’ Oh, God. If that were the case, he didn’t know what he would do. “Nat, what? What happened?”

Sam got up from his seat. “Ill leave you to it.” He mumbled before leaving like the rest.

“Bucky…John came by this morning while you were asleep.”

“John?”

“Y/Ns ex.”

“She never told me about a John. What happened? Did he do something to her?”

“No, no, Bucky. He didn’t do anything to her exactly, but he did talk to her.”

“Why didn’t I know about this? Why didn’t I know about him?”

“Bucky, Y/N and John were really, really close. Before you were around, the two of them were engaged. They were days away from getting married when he left her claiming he was too scared. And…well, he showed up this morning at the tower claiming he still loved her and was ready to be with her.”

Bucky eyes began to fill with tears. “Nat, what are you saying?”

She took one deep breath before continuing. “We tried to stop her. We tried to talk her out of it, but it was all of 5 minutes before she had some of her things packed in a bag and left with him.”

“What!? Why!? Why didn’t any of you wake me up???”

“She begged us not to tell you. She didn’t want to hurt your feelings. She didn’t want to cause you any more pain by having to explain to you that you aren’t good enough to be with her, so she was super quiet when she grabbed some of her clothes and stuff. We thought it would have woken you up, but I guess not.”

“She said I wasn’t good enough for her?” A tear slipped down his cheek.

“Bucky…” She sighed. “I shouldn’t have told you that. Y/N said a lot of things.”

Bucky’s vision turned dark. “Tell me!”

“Bucky…”

“TELL ME!!!”

“Fine! But you asked for it. She said that John was someone that met her standards and her parents loved him. She said that she was stupid to think that you could be the right man for her, that she could ever actually marry you and be happy, or that she could ever have children with you one day. She just doesn’t want those things…. Well, she wants them, but just not with you, so she left. I’m so sorry Bucky.”

More tears began to streak down his cheeks leaving water trails in their wake. He stepped away from Natasha and started to shake. “No! No! I love her. Y/N, she…She loves me…” He cried.

“Bucky, im sorry.”

But, he ignored her and ran back up to the room he shared with the girl he loved. He slammed through the door and ran for her closet, swinging it open so hard it almost fell off its hinges. Her things were gone. Her clothes, her shoes, scarves, everything. All gone. He scoured the rest of the room for any sign of her, but it was bare. She took everything.

Bucky sat on the bed and let his tears fall freely, leaving little water stains in the fabric of his grey sweatpants. He was trying to comprehend what was happening, but couldn’t. He would lose his mind without Y/N. He loved her too much.

He started to think of some way to find her and explain that he could change, that he could be what she wanted, when the water in his eyes caused something small on the night stand to glint in his peripheral vision. He blinked away the tears and reached out for the item.

There it was. Her engagement ring. The ring he had given her when he promised how much he loved her and how much he wanted to be with her forever. And there it was, just discarded off to the side like she didn’t care about it or him. Bucky let out a sob that shook the tower.

Y/N

Y/N and Wanda entered the tower arm in arm, shaking off the fresh snow that had started to fall outside. They unclasped and Y/N pulled off her jacket.

“God, Wanda, that was so much fun. I’m so glad you suggested it. “

Wanda squealed in excitement. “I’m so, so glad you liked it. I’ve been trying to get someone to go with me for forever.”

“Yea, well it was awesome. We should go again next week.”

“Yes, that would be great! I think I’ll ask Vision to go. Maybe now that I have another person to testify how fun it is, he might get on board.”

Y/N made a face. “Vision? At a pottery class?”

“Yea, you never know.” She smiled. “Maybe you should ask Bucky, too.”

“Somehow I think his metal arm wouldn’t do so well with the clay. It would probably drive him nuts.” Y/N chuckled and looked down at herself. “Speaking of clay, I really need to wash all of this off me.”

“I think I should do the same.”

“Hey, if you see Bucky on the way, let him know I’m back and in the shower.”

“You got it!”

As Y/N turned her back on her friend and walked to her room, she thought of her fiancé. This had, without a doubt, been the best week of Y/Ns life. Bucky was all over her all the time and they were getting married! Y/N never thought she would find the right person to spend her life with, but when she met Bucky she completely changed her mind. She smiled as she neared the bedroom and pushed open the door without a second thought.

Immediately, she was met with the eyes of her boyfriend, wet with tears, and looking like someone had just punched him in the gut.

“Y/N…” He whispered.

She ran over and got on her knees in front of him, reaching for his hand. “Bucky, what’s wrong? What happened?” He said nothing, just stared at her like she was a ghost and not his fiancée. “Bucky…please…tell me what’s wrong.”

He ignored Y/Ns question as if it was never even said. “You’re back? Did you forget something?”

“Of course, I’m back. Why wouldn’t I be?” Bucky started crying again and Y/N sat up next to him and hugged him around his waist.

“You’re not leaving me? You didn’t go with John?” He said with a little hope in his voice.

She unclasped her arms from around his waist and sat up to meet his eyes with confusion on her face. “Who the fuck is John?”

“Your ex fiancé.” He said, searching her eyes for some sort of recognition.

“Uh, no. I’ve only had the one fiancé and that would be you, baby.”

“What?!”

“Seriously Bucky, who is John?”

He didn’t respond initially, just huffed out a breath and opened his hand, revealing Y/Ns engagement ring in his palm. Y/N looked down at it with him. “Why aren’t you wearing it?”

“My engagement ring? Did it fall off the table or something? I just wanted to keep it safe.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I put the ring on the table so that I wouldn’t lose it or get it dirty at pottery.”

“Pottery?”

“Baby, I’m starting to get worried. Didn’t Nat tell you? She said she would. Wanda and I went to a pottery class this morning.”

As the realization hit him, his anger outweighed his confusion and sadness. Bucky let out a growl and took Y/Ns left hand in his. He slipped the ring on her finger and kissed where it laid. “Don’t ever take this off your finger again!”

“Ok.” She laughed, but it stopped when Bucky got up from the bed and went for the door. “Bucky, where are you going?”

“I’m going to kill Nat.”

“Why?”

“Because according to her, you ran off with your ex-fiancé, John this morning claiming that I wasn’t good enough for you and your parents liked him and you didn’t want to have my babies and---”

Y/N rushed to him as his tone turned aggressive. “Woah, baby stop.” She said and placed a hand on his chest that rose and fell with his rapid breathing.  “Nat told you all these things?” He only nodded his response. “What the Fuck!!!”

“All your stuff is gone, too. Clothes, makeup, everything.” He said gesturing around the room. When she looked around, Y/N saw he was right. Her closet was thrown open, everything gone, and all of her knick-knacks were gone. She might as well have never stepped in that room, because even after 2 years, it looked like she never had.

Slowly, Y/N registered Bucky’s hand start to rest on her lower back as she took in the room around her, but without second thought she pulled away and darted past him on a mission to find Nat. Now, she was madder than Bucky and he knew her fury would surely get someone killed.

“NAT!!!!” She yelled, making her way down the stairs with her fiancé in tow. “Nat, I swear to God! Get your ass down here!” Y/N stopped in the middle of the living room and crossed her arms in front of her chest, determined to wait for the red-head to get her sorry ass in here.

“Doll…I changed my mind.” Bucky started as he came up behind her. He snaked his arms around her waist and pulled her to his chest. “Instead of killing, lets just go back to the room and have sex.” Y/N ignored him completely, still waiting to kick her friends’ ass even when Bucky pulled her hair to the side and placed a kiss on her neck. “Doll, its really ok. Now that I know you didn’t leave me, I don’t care what happened. I’m just happy what she said isn’t true. You don’t need to kill anyone.”

“NAT!!!!”

“Jesus, what?” The couple heard from their right. When they turned their heads, Y/Ns vision went red. She pulled away from Bucky and stomped toward the woman that claimed to be her friend.

“Nat, what the hell is wrong with you? Why would you tell Bucky I was leaving him?”

Nat looked past Y/N to Bucky, he had clearly been crying. “It was just a stupid prank, you guys. Sam orchestrated it.” Then she reached in her back pocket and pulled out a 20-dollar bill. “He gave me this.”

Y/N groaned in frustration. “You know what? I don’t care who did it, or whose stupid idea it was. You hurt Bucky and therefore, hurt me. I am so pissed at you guys! So, you know what?” Nat looked at her in shock laced with a bit of fear. Y/N really was terrifying when she was pissed. “I am taking this…” She continued, swiping the 20 from Nat’s fingers and placing it in her own pocket. “And we,” she motioned between herself and Bucky. “Are going to go get burgers.” Then, Y/N reached around her and grabbed Bucky’s arm, pulling him along.

‘Y/N,” Nat started. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize this would be so upsetting.”

Y/N whipped around. “Really Nat? You didn’t think that telling the man I love that I didn’t love him anymore might be somewhat problematic? And not only that, you told him that I ran off with some guy that doesn’t even exist!” She turned again to Bucky and pulled him to the elevator. “You and Sam owe me, Nat. You owe the both of us! And I want my stuff back!” Then the elevator shut.

Bucky sat at the table across from his fiancée, both munching on the burgers they bought with Nat’s hard-earned cash.

“This is actually really good.” Bucky smiled as he swallowed a bite.

She chuckled. “I think it’s because we got them with Nat’s money.”

“Actually, originally it was Sam’s, which makes it taste even better.” Y/N smiled again, and Bucky’s eyes lit up. He loved to make her smile. “Are you gonna kill Nat?”

“Are you gonna kill Sam?” She countered as if it were the most casual conversation topic in the world.

“Specifically because of this, or from the two-hundred other things he has done to piss me off?” Bucky replied with a dose of sarcasm.

“Alright, well if you don’t kill Sam then I won’t kill Nat.”

“Who said I wasn’t going to kill Sam?”

“Hey, I won’t stop you, but I don’t think Steve would like it very much.”

“Ok, Ok. That would be a bummer. I’ll let it go for now, but I’m sure by tomorrow he’ll do something else that’ll just make things worse for himself anyway.”

Y/N looked at him with adoration. Bucky was everything she had ever wanted. She loved that they could be silly and weird together, even when just discussing whether or not Sam ended up dead by the end of the day. “I love you.”

“You sure?” He said, taking another bite of his burger. “According to Nat, this John guy was pretty great.” He smirked, and it earned him a fry in the face.

“Yes, I am sure.”

“I love you, too.” They smiled at each other for a moment before Bucky decided to ruin it. “But, I gotta tell ya, he didn’t sound too bad and I really don’t know if I can get your parents to like me.”

“Bucky…I don’t care if, for some ridiculous reason, they decide to hate you. If that’s the case, then we will elope.”

“You would elope?”

“Baby, I’d do anything to be with you and be happy.”

“Does that mean you want to have my babies one day?”

“Yes, Bucky, it means that.”

All he could do was smile. It was uncontrollable. “Then doll face, we can have whatever kind of wedding you want.”

 Tags: @dugan365 @moonlightimagination @pietrotheavenger @marvel-fanfiction @agentsinstorybrooke @dani-si @alyssiamking @wintersoldier98 @then-there-was-me-emily @prxttybirdz @tessvillegas @xceafh @jazzwoman897 @sebstanchrisevanchickforever19 @shitmymomsay @fandoms-who @meganwinchester1999 @ufffg @debra77 @rebelliouscat

[balmiest151writting]

what a humiliating experience, one that brings so much embarrassment, to stare at the reflection who’s painted from the nose down, to make notice of the blood that pores from the left nostril. Embarrassing for whom? you may ask, not seeing how a blood nose could affect and cause embarrassment, well the embarrassment comes from deep within the darkest part of a sunken heart, it’s embarrassing for the One whom has been told from day one that their company was not one to be valued, because you’re a bodily disaster just waiting to happen.

To feel the lumps of of blood slide down a dry throat, to taste the stinging iron, to feel utterly and completely overstimulation of an metallic taste. For a drowning feeling to take over the body, for a mouthful of plasma to cause a chocking sensation and not dwell on these, to not worry for the only body you will Ever have control over. To magnetise the thoughts that seem to dwell on the embarrassment, embarrassment caused from an opinion that wasn’t even her own, the fact that his opinion of her is overtaking and covering all thoughts of her mind spreading like a decease.

well, its now a fact, she just caused his hypothesis to become a statement. She was wrong, always wrong, a dwelling thought that’s always wrong

“taylor, the girl who will never be correct, always an incorrect statement. a bodily disaster just waiting to happen ” she never liked her farther, at no time has she ever respected him in the slightest. But he was still apart of her life, a floating thought who is there on Christmas, but most notably her farther, her blood relative, she was made up of his blood he was apart of the stream of blood.

“Fuck, your a mess”

“Im not interested in your opinion right now Alex ”

With all the words disregarded and ignored he waltzed forward as his brain painted him as her knight in shining armer.

“Alex fuck off I don’t need your help”

“Sit on the bench”

“Im not, no, stop just stop. Please just”

“Just what tay just what!”

“Don’t fucking patronise me “

“You do realise this is your fault right? All this crying, all your fucking blood just being every where, all the time, this fighting, You’re a fucking bitch. Ruining MY night because you disrespected my FRIENDS now look what you’ve done, you causes my best friend a good man to have to punch you and yet you cry about your self, you selfish bitch, take a taxi home, I don’t fucking care what happens to you”

She felt as though metal was surrounding her. Infecting the scene she stood still in, hoping, wishing that the director would dismiss her ending the filming and let her go home, yet none of that would ever happen, the floor wouldn’t swallow her in on swift movement, and the scene has only just began, this wasn’t a movie after, it was only her life. The metal in her mouth and the sound of metal hinges closing was excruciating causing a new found feeling, because never had she felt the shaking of bones and complete collapse of the body so vividly, so unfeigned, just so. The tiles felt cold against her bones feeling as though the chill was cutting her skin and touching her blood. And that’s the reason isn’t it, blood, what a funny thing it is. Connecting people whom wish to never speak again, creating family fuedes and tearing people apart from the inside just because of blood relations. Aaliyah wasn’t a fan of blood, the smell the taste the fact that is appears all the fucking time, deciding to ruin everything, it never had good connotations.

“Good night Darlin”

Shaking steps on cobblestone and heels slipping every now and then Taylor started the walk home. A dried nose and stained clothes, she truly was as Alex had said, somehow they were always correct. Never had she said something right, something that made sense for her, a description that fitted.

She was Always correctly described by others, never herself.

Taylor knew that she never and will never know herself.

[theshopislocal]

corinth rains

New and improved Heaven may well be the Happiest Place (not) on Earth. But Dean, it turns out, is still Dean.

(also on AO3)

chapter ten

Hand fisted, raised, poised before the solid oak door - but Dean doesn’t knock. He should’ve called before he came. 

It’s a nice porch. The roof extends out over it, supported by weathered wood pillars, and there’s a ceiling fan turning lazily overhead. A wide bench sits a couple feet away, with horizontal wood slats and wrought iron legs, and there’s a scrap wood coffee table with a big peach-colored candle in the middle. 

Dean should have called before he came. 

He peers through the little door-side window, but the lights are off inside. Maybe no one’s home. Maybe they’re busy. Dean grimaces - maybe they’re getting busy—

The door swings inward, hinges creaking out a plea for some WD-40, and there’s Bobby, glaring at him squinty-eyed from underneath his ball cap. 

“Dean?” Bobby grunts, eying Dean’s suspended fist. 

Dean’s arm drops, flopping uselessly at his side, and his bicep aches. “Heya, Bobby,” he grunts out, forcing a smirk onto his mouth. 

Bobby squints harder. “Hey your damn self,” he snarks. “You look like pickled shit, boy.” Dean huffs a brittle laugh at that. Bobby stares at him for another moment, considering, before stepping to the side. “Gonna stand there twiddlin’ yer thumbs all day?”

Dean gives a crooked smile and steps over the threshold, scraping his feet against the bristly welcome mat. 

Bobby ushers him through the foyer - dimly lit by the tinted skylight above - and into the dining room. He circles the round mahogany table with its calla lily centerpiece, and steps into a wide archway, gesturing Dean over.

Dean follows him through, boots clicking against the stone tile flooring. It’s a rustic sort of kitchen, country style, with butcher block countertops and a farmhouse sink done in etched porcelain. There’s a pretty pink apron draped over a cabinet door, and matching handtowels on the copper oven handle. 

Dean glances over it all with a tiny smile on his face, while Bobby rifles through a white shaker cabinet. He comes up with two scuffed tumblers and a dusty unlabeled bottle, then juts his chin toward the sliding glass door. 

Dean strides over and pulls it open, standing aside as Bobby steps out onto the raised wooden platform. There’s a tall square table flanked by barstools to his left, and a rusted mesh fire pit on his right, but Dean barely notices either of them. 

Everything is wet. 

The awning over the table is dripping, the floorboards damp and shiny, and little rivulets run down the metal handrails at the edge of the platform where it overlooks the lake. 

Dean shakes his head and barks a bemused laugh. “You power-washin’ your deck, or was there a tidal wave?”

Bobby peers over at him, frowning, then he peeks his head out from under the awning, casting his gaze inexplicably skyward. Dean follows his eyes to the clear blue sky and winces at the overbright sun. He looks away, spots dancing on his retina, and finds Bobby staring at him, eyes sharp and speculative. 

Dean feels his brow drop low, shoulders going stiff. “What,” he grumbles. 

Bobby purses his lips and grunts out a cryptic ‘hmph,’ then turns his back to Dean, setting his spoils on the table. 

“Thirsty?” Bobby asks, though he’s already pouring two glasses. 

Dean frowns at the evasion, but shrugs it off, nodding at Bobby’s back. He steps up to one of the barstools at the little table and wipes the water off the seat with the side of his hand. “Always,” he snorts.

Dean swings his leg over the stool, resting his elbows on the tabletop as Bobby settles in opposite him. “Karen home?” he asks as Bobby slides him his glass. 

Bobby glances up at him, swirling his tumbler as if it were Lagavulin and not gasoline-scented rotgut. “Nah,” he grumbles. “She and her sister went to the City.” He brings the glass to his nose and takes a short sniff. “Sure they’re gettin’ into all sortsa trouble.”

Dean nods and stares down at the amber liquid in his glass. He’s heard about the City - seen signs for it on the highway - though he’s never been. He’d learned young that cities are just for passing through - on the way to the next clue, the next job, the next apocalypse. The most he’d ever found in a city was a nameless girl to pass the night with, if he was lucky, or a wanted poster with his face on it, if he wasn’t. 

Dean prefers the open road. 

He brings the glass to his mouth and takes a short sip. It stings like battery acid - Bobby’s ‘legendary’ sour mash always does - but it’s a familiar burn, and Dean savors it. He coughs subtly into his shoulder, grunting, “Whatcha been up to?”

It’s an odd question - neither Dean nor Bobby go in much for small talk - and Bobby clocks it quick. He raises an eyebrow, leveling Dean with A Look, but something in Dean’s face gives him pause. 

He settles back into his seat and shrugs, holding his glass over his belly. “Nothin’ much,” he mutters offhand. “Bit of research for the Arch - wards mostly.” He tilts his head toward the flatlands past the lake. “Rift opened up out in the marsh. Not much pass-through - coupla small fries itchin’ to get outta Purgatory. Bill and Jo’s crew sent ‘em packin’.”

Dean nods, though his stomach goes taut. He hadn’t caught sight of the rift, but he’d seen the Harvelles’ old pick-up trudging across the bog, maybe a mile out from his bunker. He’s got enough friends in the Arch to know that rifts aren’t uncommon, that pass-through is usually minimal, that the Arch can handle it. He also knows they could always use another set of hands, more boots on the ground, as many seasoned, able-bodied hunters as they can get. 

These days, Dean feels more disembodied than able-bodied - more salty and bitter than seasoned. 

Dean swallows dryly and nods. “S’good.”

Silence reigns for a short moment, during which Dean stares down into his half-empty glass and pretends not to feel Bobby’s eyes on him. 

A beat passes before Bobby blows out a sigh and smacks his tumbler onto the tabletop with an audible thunk. “Out with it.”

Dean’s jaw clenches tight. “Wh—”

Bobby hunches forward and rolls his eyes. “You ain’t here for a gab and a mint julep.”

Dean stares blankly at him for a moment before dropping his eyes to his hands, turning his glass in a slow circle. 

Bobby’s right, of course. Dean isn’t here to shoot the shit - if there’s even any shit to be shot. Trouble is, he’s not sure why he’s here. 

These days, that’s how he spends most of his time - meaningless construct that it is: wondering why he’s here. When Billie had sworn to cast him and Sammy into the Empty, Dean had felt a pit of dread open up on his chest - not for himself, but for his brother. Sam deserved a beautiful eternity spent with Eileen - just as Bobby deserved to be with Karen, Ellen deserved Bill, and Kevin deserved his Resolute desk. 

Dean’s not sure what he deserves, but eternal sleep hadn’t sounded so bad. Still doesn’t. 

Bobby shifts forward in his seat, and Dean looks up at him, noting the heavy brow under the shadow of his ball cap. 

“Speak your piece, boy,” Bobby says, and his tone is mild - kind in that way he pretends not to be. 

“I, uh,” Dean starts and swallows hard. “I went past the mountain. To the—” he runs his tongue over his lip as Bobby squints at him, “—the forest in the field.”

Bobby’s eyes shift to the side before his brows pop up. “Cas’ place,” he surmises. 

Dean’s eyes flutter closed for half a second. Of course, Bobby knows. “Yeah,” he grunts. 

Bobby’s lips purse, and he leans back into his chair. “You talk to ‘im?”

Dean huffs out a bitter laugh. “Somethin’ like that, yeah.”

Bobby’s eyes go sharp and slitted, roving over Dean’s face like he’s looking for something. Whatever it is, he finds it, and he rolls his eyes when he does. 

“Judgin’ by the mopey face, I’m guessin’ that didn’t go so good,” he grumbles. 

Dean’s jaw goes taut, mouth pulling into a rictus of a smile. He breathes out another brittle laugh and shakes his head. “...Nope.”

Bobby stares at him for a short moment, blue eyes squinted against the sunlight. Then he blows out a gusty sigh and reaches for his drink. “You’re a damn fool,” he grunts, and knocks back the last finger. 

Dean blinks several times, brow sagging in a frown. He’s not sure what he was expecting, but that certainly wasn’t it. 

He shakes his head, leaning forward against the table. “What?”

Bobby sets his glass down and folds his arms across his chest, eyes rolling. “You’d think that rusty nail mighta knocked some sense into your head—”

Dean groans. Again with the rusty nail. “It was rebar—”

“But nooo,” Bobby scoffs, ignoring the interruption. “Still every bit the damn idjit you always been.”

Dean feels his frown smooth into blank confusion.

Compared to John, Bobby may well be Father of the Year - but he’s no pushover, and he certainly doesn’t pull his punches. Dean’s admired the old man’s brutal brand of honesty for some eighty years now, and he’s always taken it to heart: if Bobby says he’s being an idiot, then it’s very likely that Dean is being an idiot. 

Only, in this instance, Dean’s not exactly sure how.

His bafflement must show on his face, because Bobby’s brow straightens, tone going softer. 

“You’re a good kid,” he says, and the sincerity in his voice has Dean’s shoulders going tense, “but...” He trails off, jaw working like he’s chewing his tongue. After a moment he continues. “There’s a reason you ain’t seen hide nor feather of your angel in half a damn century.”

Dean’s shoulders tense further, crowding up around his ears, and he shakes his head. “He’s not my—”

“And it’s the same reason,” Bobby says, pitching his voice above Dean’s, “you never quit huntin’.” Dean frowns at that, but doesn’t interrupt. “Same reason you—” Bobby’s jaw goes taut, tone hardening, “you died in a barn instead of callin’ a damn ambulance.”

Dean squeezes his eyes closed. Definitely no punches pulled. “Bobby—”

“And it’s the same reason,” Bobby grunts sharply, pointing a wrinkled finger towards the sky, “that sun shines so damn bright.”

Dean’s jaw clicks shut. The sun... what?

Dean knows perfectly well why it’s always sunny: it’s Heaven. The whole place is designed to keep people happy; everything - from the bucolic landscape, to the picket-fenced houses, to the cloudless blue sky - all of it exists to preserve the joy, the peace, the contentment of the souls here. 

Maybe all that isn’t really Dean’s bag, but he’d hardly endanger it for a flash of lightning and a few drops of rain. Dean’s happiness has always been the incidental sort, anyway - happenstance and fleeting, ephemeral like morning fog. 

Dean peers over at Bobby and shakes his head, brow furrowed. “I don’t—”

Bobby heaves a sigh, more resigned than frustrated now. “‘Course ya don’t,” he grumbles and reaches for the dusty bottle. “Fish doesn’t know it’s in the water.”

Dean frowns harder, clarity drifting further and further away. Hardly matters, he thinks; fish out of water is dead, anyway.

Bobby leaves his own glass empty, but pours another two fingers for Dean. Dean watches the spirit slosh against the scratched glass, coming nearly to the lip, but never spilling over. He brings it to his mouth to sip, but Bobby raps against the tabletop with his knuckles. 

“Shoot it,” Bobby grunts. “Else it ain’t medicinal.”

Dean nods and knocks the tumbler back, the whisky burning down his throat to roil in his belly. This, at least, he understands.

chapter nine | chapter eleven

table of contents

[ohgoddard]

Those Loyal Dogs.2.

Carmichael slept soundly in his bed, only happy thoughts floating about his head. His numerous cuts and bruises that usually swelled and caused him discomfort decided to take a break this night, providing him with some much needed sleep. And though his thoughts were majority happy, the weight of what he knew slumped mightily in his mind. Almost enough to tear him from his soft satin sheets and try and solve the unsolvable conundrum in his mind, or otherwise try and speed up the over moving constant speed of time. For what he had learned has kept him up for countless nights already. Truth be told, he would not be awake now if not for the pills Jin had put in his food and recently heat-dried sheets that his first-mate Cerri had just laid out. 

Carmichael knew that the crew was getting worried at his countless nights awake, staring into the burnt and barely legible journal that the old orc they found floating in the wastes clutched in his hands. He barely found a moment’s respite away from it, often calling out his name. The Orc himself, the figure that Carmichael believed to be his dad, has been very quiet and not awake for more than a few hours at a time. They always mumbled one thing or another about a gnome and some human, a snake person, worms, a cathedral, and an angel. But mostly he stared into the wall, hollow eyes brought by terror and fear. Carmichael wanted to be down there every minute, but he knew it was not the right thing. The poor orc was torn from death’s grasp, so obviously there would be a period of time until they would be able to speak like  a normal person. Like his dad. However, his natural instincts fought against his ever growing anxiety and fear that would have caused him to leap to the bedside or journal, and kept him strapped into his bed. He slumbered for the first time in weeks.

Cerri threw open his door with such velocity that, if people bursting into his room not been a common thing and he had gotten a much sturdier door, would have shattered the hinges.

“SIR!” she shouted, finally stirring the captain from his sleep. The half-orc woke with a start, his baggy eyes fuzzily coming into focus on his dark-elf first-mate. After being awoken in such a harsh manner, his analytical mind took over and her scanned the whole area while reaching for the sword behind his bed.

His room was still the same, he was still on his normal bed. His desk was untouched, he saw no ship outside his window… His eyes went to Cerri. She was dressed as nice as ever. Rough brown pants, fluffy white shirt with a simple red coat she stole from a Royal Naval Marine. Her silvery hair was tied into a long but comfortable pony-tail thrown over her shoulder, with her red eyes looking at him confused. Her mouth was moving, maybe she was saying something?

I always forget how nice she looks.

“Captain?! Hello?!” she shouted, shaking Carmichael from his stupor. He shook his head, trying to orient himself. “Ah! Yes, sorry. Got a bit-” “Were you checking me out again?” Her eyebrows raised a bit, as if not fully sure of what she said herself. Carmichael stood from his bed, still fully dressed from when he went to sleep. “What? No. Never. I would never.”  His stammering was all that she needed to reaffirm her suspicions. Cerri’s confused look was replaced with one of playful teasing. “You dog, you so were! Why, that is so unbecoming of a great captain as yourself!” She crossed her arms over her chest, speaking in a teasing manner. As Carmichael hurriedly put his own coat on, doing his best to hide his face from her.  “Really though sir, I cannot blame you. I am quite the drow.” A small giggle escaped her as the sentence closed.“We can talk about my manners later, Cerri. What was it so important you had to run in here and wake me up?” She is observant, but never to the matters at hand. So what if I looked at her for a really long time and forgot why she came in here? I do that to everyone. I think.

Cerri snapped into the worried attention she stormed into the room with, suddenly remembering her excuse for invading wildly into her favorite captain’s room. “AH! Yes, um. Drokgar just got back from his trip from one of the worlds. He just got back in through the portal with the target. And well, the target is not pleased. You are needed in the hull where the target is...now. Drokgar is in the med bay.” Carmichael spun on his heels. “DROKGAR IS WHERE?!” Cerri sidestepped out the door way, barely seconds before Carmichael ran through it. The gust of wind that followed nearly knocked her on her butt, but she held on to the door frame as she saw the captain run down the hallways of sleeping sailors in hammocks and down the stairs.

“What’s gotten into him?” Cerri heard Jin’s voice before she saw him, walking just into view holding a small mug with a dark black substance. As Cerri moved out of the doorway and into the hall, closing the door behind her, she took the mug right out of Jin’s hands and downed the whole thing. Jin looked on in amazement. After she swallowed she looked in amazement at Jin herself. “Jin, its not even 8 a.m. What in the divines name are you doing drinking stout?!” The poor AI just kinda looked on in awe still, as he was surprised the dark elf was still standing before him. “That.. had an alcohol per volume amount of 15%! How are you standing?! It was to my knowledge very few organics could even-”

 “Jin,” she cut him off ,”why were you drinking hard liquor this early?” 

“I was bringing it to the captain, its his usual wake up drink for the past few weeks.”

Cerri sighed deeply, dragging a face-palm. “From now on, bring him water. Only, water. If he has a problem, tell him its on my orders.” Jin nodded before walking off down a separate hallway, presumably the cantina. Cerri herself began to walk down the hull, they were going to need all the help they could get until the captain got back from the med bay. I swear, she thought to herself, if he doesn’t take it easy on this it’s going to kill him. He needs to remember we are a pirate crew. We work for money. Who cares if a few realities die? There are actually infinite. What about us? His crew? Jin?....Me? She pushed those thoughts away for now. He always has us in his mind. He cares. But this..its dangerous. He doesn’t know what hes up against.

=====================================================================

Carmichael made it to the med bay, an informal term given to a few beds in a spare room where they just so happen to keep all the medicine they find. Most sailors just drink and bandage themselves, lying in their hammocks after a particularly tough raid. They really only come here when they're sick, which isn't often on the weird vitamin filled meals Jin cooks for everyone. Right now though, it was empty save for the Captain and the lead physician. It is worth noting that the lead physician, Drokgar, was lying on one of the beds with the largest pile of ice over his right eye.

“Aye told ye before ‘n I’ll tell ye again, I’m fine Carmichael!” Drokgar looked evry roughed up, so it was easy to discount this. His glasses were broken, his clothes torn, and blood was dripping down from the cut on the huge lump above his eye. “You do not look fine, Drokgar. What on the divines purple skies did this to you?!” The gnome sighed before his captain, and leaned back into the small pile of pillows he had collected behind him. “Not a what, Captain. A ‘who’. The man ye told me to go nab, another one of your ‘not fathers’. He did not take kindly to me taking him away from the people he was traveling with. A gnome, some angel. A drow.”

At the mention of these part members, Carmichael connected them to the mumblings of the other orc they had picked up, the one the crew has been jokingly referred to as “The Professor” for his tweed pants. Could there be a connection?

“Yup,” Drokgar continued, “he put up quite the fight before I managed to put the clamp on him and through ‘em through the tear. He got one hit on me, and Carmichael it was just a graze. Cuz if it was a real hit i’d be dead!” The gnome laughed heartily after this, before turning into a rough cough and stopping. “Oh gods, yeah he did also kick me with a lil peg leg of his and it got me in me ribs. Gonna be a bit ‘o rest fore I can be on my duties again. Im gonna take the next ‘extraction’ mission out.  I mean I loved the research and all, the looking up of people via memories and messin with them, but i’m a tad bit past my adventurin days. Maybe send Cerri, she’s been beggin to go out. Maybe Lionel, eh? He’s a newbie but-”

Carmichael cut him off by quickly leaning in and hugging him. The gnome let out a little gasp of surprise and slight pain before slowly hugging the half-orc back. “I’m just glad you're back.”

 “Ah, don’t you worry son. Gonna take a lot more than one unruly and crotchety orc to get me! Hell, when he calms down I bet he and I will be good friends!”

Carmichael made sure Drokgar was nice and comfortable before leaving, blowing out the lantern on his way out. He’s right. I don’t know why I thought I could just take people, especially people like my dad, by force and then send a gnome. An old gnome at that. Good thing he’s a quick guy. I thought he could at least talk to him, but that must not have worked.

These thoughts kept in his head, alongside the comments of the gnome and the angel. It could be that these are the same that the ‘The Professor’ mentioned in his murmurings? Perhaps next time he is awake he can talk to him about them.  Such thoughts were immediately thrown out of Carmichael’s head when he felt the shaking down the hall. An inconsistent shaking, one that shook the entire floor. And it was a loud, slamming noise. And the shouting did not make this noise any less worrying. 

“WE NEED MORE ROPE!!” “WHERE’S THE RUNES?!” “SOMEONE GET THE CAPTAIN!”

“CERRI HOLD THE-” Another loud smash, the sound of metal on metal. Carmichael ran down the hallway, turning the corner into the brig. The room, usually looking like nothing more than a wooden jail cell with iron bars, now had a sole occupant of a large steel box. Said steel box had about seven people around it, hastily attempting to tie it down via chains and ropes. Among them was Cerri, who ducked at the last second to avoid a dent that suddenly formed in the box.

The box was covered in these dents, huge divots in steel that stretched the tension of its strength. It looks like it was covered in huge spikes, the number of these divots being in the dozens. Another loud crash and the captain saw another huge divot shootout from the metal box. It took the shape of the huge fist that caused it, and it was accompanied by an angry yell.

“WHERE AM I?! WHERE IS THAT DAMN GNOME?! WHERE ARE MY DEPUTIES?!”

Carmichael stood there before the towering steel box, now recognizing that these are all [i] fistmarks. “Jesus christ, just what kinda person did Drokgar bring back?!” A sailor yelled out as a steel fist collided with his face, sending him flying into the wooden walls behind him. Cerri lept back at the last second to avoid the same fate. “FALL BACK!” she yelled to the remaining sailors by the box. She turned her head to see the captain had arrived and flashed a smile of relief. “Thank the divines you’re here! We couldn’t hold him any longer, I think he broke the band Drokgar put on him.” The box shook again, more divots coming out. Carmichael drew his sword, the enchanted rapier known as Giant’s Needle. “Sailors!” he yelled, “retreat behind me and Cerri! Be prepared to give the alarm!” He did not need to tell them twice, the men and women quickly retreating behind their Captain and First Mate. 

Their retreat could not be better timed, as this time the punch wen through the box. A huge green fist punctured the steel enclosure, peeling like paper. Soon another fist came right behind it, and Carmichael could see into the darkness a pair of yellow eyes staring out. The hands retracted, and began to tear the box apart, opening it up like a wrestler on stage. Stepping through the huge hole, stood a towering orc. Carmichael went into analytical mode.

He noticed the orc was shorter and smaller than he expected. The memories that Drokgar showed him revealed a general that could kill multiple demigods with a single hook. This could be said general, but many many years past their prime. He noticed the missing leg, replaced with a crude make-shift prosthetic made out of pipes and gun springs. The orc’s white and grey hair confirmed the old age, but everything else went away from that theory. He was still massive. His biceps, while not like a young orc, were still bigger than Carmichael’s head. And the orc was angry. 

He lowered himself into a boxing-style fight stance, glowering at the dark elf and half-orc in front of him. “You have one minute to tell me where I am, and where my deputies are. Or else I will bear down on you the entirety of my strength and lawful ability.”  A sailor, brave or stupid, came running out from behind the Captain. Carmichael was too slow in stopping him, the sailor too quick and their clubbed weapon drawn. It wasn’t even a laughable ‘fair’ fight. The orc sent a quick jab into the sailor’s stomach, them falling to the floor.  Carmichael didn’t even see his fist move. This must have been a surprise to the orc too, as he glanced at his own fist in shock for a short while. But if anything this made him bolder. He readied his stance again.

“I am going to ask one more time. What did you do with my deputies?” Carmichael raised his sword. He was not looking forward to this fight. “We have not touched them,” he began to say, his eyes darting to the gold star resting on the orc’s shirt,“ Mr.Sheriff. We have only taken you. And it was for a good reason too.” The orc began to growl.

“You better give it quick. I owe them my life, multiple times over. I will not let you kill me until I repay my gnome friend.”

But just as he was about to open his mouth, Carmichael was distracted by another lumbering noise. The orc noticed this too, as his eyes followed the Captain’s. Walking down the hallway, perhaps awoken by the noise, was The Professor. His hair was still messed up. His glasses crooked on his face, and he was wrapped in a blanket. To everyone’s surprise, he was moving. And it was this shock that allowed him to enter the big, unopposed. So now, standing in the brig in front of the Captain and a first mate who left to go yell at the fool who let The Professor out of bed, were two orcs.

Who looked exactly the same.

“Did”, The Professor spoke in his deep voice, raspy from disuse, “you mention a gnome?”

The Sheriff eyed up the disheveled academic man before him, noting that he was much bigger than he. “Yes, so what?”

“Did you know a gnome named Kevi?” The Sheriff became still. Unmoving.

“Yes..I did.” The Professor looked on the other orc with a blank look, but his soft blue eyes began to come into focus a bit more. “And a snake named Asmodeus? And a human named Samuel? An angel named Kazfiel?” The Sheriff dropped his guard entirely. His arms fell to his side, as he looked into the face of himself.

“I..I did. Yes.”

The Professor looked into the eyes of himself too, then let his blanket drop to the floor. He leaned forward and hugged himself. “Please tell me...please tell me they are ok. I started all of this. Everything… Please tell me I did not kill him. Please..”

And the Sheriff, shocked at the sudden embracement, just stood there for a minute. The soft sobs of The Professor made the only noise. Carmichael watched on with intense focus, not feeling the tears welling in his eyes. The other orc gently put his arms around The Professor, and held him closely. “Yeah.. you didn’t kill them. You didn’t kill them. It’s not your fault.”

The other orc looked up from The Professor, at Carmichael in the doorway.

“Are they safe?” Carmichael nodded.

“Buddy, you and I need to have a talk after this. For now, call me Hiram. I need to catch my friend here up on a lot of things.”