#and reading this so soon after 'helen'

[fictionadventurer]

In Which I Write a Sensible Victorian Novel

Once upon a time, a woman made some mistakes in a regrettable romantic entanglement. She married a rich, respectable man and didn't want her past shame to destroy the love they shared. She immediately told her husband about her past, and her husband, being a reasonable man, understood and forgave her. No one blackmailed her, she never needed to construct an elaborate web of deception and intrigue, and she never had to worry about her husband finding out her secret from other sources. And they all lived happily ever after.

[zepskies]

Wake Me Up - Part 2

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x F. Reader

Summary: A few weeks after you and Ben celebrate your first Christmas together, Ben is returning from another mission with the Supe Affairs team. When he discovers that you’ve been taken, he’ll do whatever it takes to find you. And then, to help you heal.

AN: Thank you so much for your lovely responses on Part 1! Last week's angst was very physical. Now let's get into emotional...

Song Inspo: “I Can Read Your Mind” by the Doobie Brothers.

Word Count: 6.4K

Tags/Warnings: Angst, PSTD, hurt/comfort, medical trauma and injuries…and a bit of Nurse Benjamin? lol

💚 Wake Me Up Masterlist || Break Me Down Masterlist

Part 2: “All in Your Eyes”

At first, it was all shapeless color.

It felt like a small eternity before your vision cleared, and you dimly became aware of being in a hospital room. Your steady heartbeat clipped away on the monitor.

You had an IV in your hand and wires suction-cupped to your chest. Your raggedy clothes had been replaced with a blue paper gown, hidden under the blankets keeping you warm.

It was a slow process, and it hurt, but you managed to turn your head. You saw a man sitting in the corner with a laptop balanced on his lap. He typed with two fingers at a time, which reminded you of your grandfather. His brown hair fell over his furrowed brows, but his beard was well-trimmed.

His head soon rose, possibly feeling the weight of your gaze. His eyes widened a fraction, and he hastily closed the laptop and set it down on his seat before he went to you. You frowned when he came to sit at your bedside, and even touched your cheek with a gentle hand.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said. His voice was deep and smooth. “How’re you feeling?”

You didn’t have the energy to lean away from his hand, but you did give him a look of weary confusion.

“I…I don’t…who are you?” you asked.

His green eyes went blank for a moment. His hand fell from your cheek. 

Then he chuckled in disbelief.

“Eyes are barely open, and already you’re fucking around,” he said.

That confused you even more. You were saved from answering, however, when there came a knock at the door. A blonde young woman peeked in. She brightened with a shocked, but happy smile when she saw you were awake.

“Hey! Oh my God, you’re awake,” she whispered in excitement. She went to your bed on the other side and picked up your hand. It took you a moment to remember her name, but you did recognize her.

“A-Annie? What…what happened?” you asked. You didn’t recognize the roughness in your own voice.

Annie shared a sobered look with the man sitting beside you, and she looked down at you again.

“Oh, hun. What do you remember?” she said.

You tried hard to think…but you couldn’t. It was all blurry and muddled in your mind.

Then, it was incredibly painful. A sharp, piercing pain that permeated through your skull and rattled down your spine, waking up the rest of your body in the worst of ways.

You whimpered, and the monitor began to beep more incessantly as your heart rate began to climb. You uttered a cry of pain while you held your aching head. You felt the gauze wrapped across your temples, forehead, and under your chin, half-covering your face.

The man turned to Annie with an angry frown.

“Get the goddamn doctor!” he snapped. But he reached for your closest hand and held it gently. He met your tearful eyes. Part of him didn’t know quite how to comfort you though. His eyes flit over your pained face, the way you were gripping your head with one hand.

He brushed his thumb over the one he held.

“…It’s okay, I got you,” he said eventually. “Just breathe.”

You couldn’t respond. There was too much pain, too much confusion. The last thing you saw was the worry in his eyes, before your head fell back against your pillow.

Your world faded away once again.

Dr. Helen Jeong, the neurologist Grace hired specifically to attend you, had been with you for a while. When she came out, Ben, Annie, your mother Marie, your sister Louisa, and the rest of the team (except for Butcher) were in the waiting room. All of them wanted to hear how you were doing, as well as the doctor’s prognosis.

Ben stood with his arms crossed, and Marie and Louisa followed suit. Technically, Marie was your next of kin, considering you and Ben weren’t married. She was close to tears again, but Louisa was supporting her.

“She’ll need a few more tests to confirm, but it looks like dissociative amnesia,” said Dr. Jeong. “It could be selective. Meaning, she remembers parts of her life, but not others, specifically tied to the past few days and the past year.”

“And me,” said Ben. He was frowning angrily. “Why doesn’t she remember me?”

She gave him a patient look.

“Her skull is fractured, but she’s also gone through an emotional trauma, as well as a physical one," she said. "The memories she’s lost are likely linked to that trauma, and so, her brain is trying to block out anything related to that painful time. It’s the body’s way of coping.”

Somehow, that explanation didn’t make it any better. Something dark and unfamiliar had been churning in Ben’s gut for days, but now he was forced to reckon with it.

It was guilt, and it was eating at his insides, clawing up to his throat. He covered it up with a hot layer of anger.

“Aside from time to heal from her injuries, it’s important that she be taken care of in a familiar, low-stress environment,” said Dr. Jeong. She aimed that last bit at Ben.

“How long until she’s better?” Louisa asked. “Will her memories come back at all?”

Ben shot her a dark look for even asking that question, but the doctor bobbed her head.

“It may take a while. Weeks, or even months, but have patience with her. As she heals, and with therapy, her memories should come back eventually,” she said. She gave Ben in particular a more reassuring glance.

He wasn’t interested in being reassured. He wanted results.

The doctor moved on so she could schedule an MRI for you, among other tests. Annie went over and laid a tentative hand on Ben’s arm. He glared at her touch and slid his gaze over to her.

“Look, we’re here for her…and for you,” she said. Even though she withdrew her hand, she looked sincere. “Whatever she needs, just let us know.”

Hughie was just behind her with a sympathetic look of agreement. M.M., Kimiko, and Frenchie were quietly supportive, if somber. You’d recognized Annie and Hughie earlier, but the others were strangers to you as well—likely because you’d met the other two at Supe Affairs, before you took on one fateful mission that would lead you to Ben. And him to you.

He let out a breath and gave Annie a minimal nod.

She smiled a little, and she and Hughie went back into your room to say goodbye for now. They promised to come back and visit, along with the others.

Meanwhile, Marie and Louisa were talking quietly. Ben’s ears perked up to it.

“I think she should come stay with you, Mom, until she’s better,” Louisa said.

When Ben heard that, he approached them. His darker frown was back in place.

“She’s coming home with me,” he said, in a tone that boded no argument. He should have remembered that your sister was too much like you sometimes. Fucking stubborn.

“If she doesn’t know you, she’s not going to be comfortable with you,” Louisa pointed out.

Marie gave her daughter a look, one that said she could’ve had a little more tact there.

“The best way for her to get her memories back is for her to stay with me, in a familiar place. In her home,” Ben said, his voice terse and shoulders tense.

“But trying to remember is hurting her,” Louisa said. “She needs to heal from her injuries first. And oh, how about this? No one will even tell us how the hell this happened in the first place!”

Ben’s frown deepened. Your younger sister had been warming up to him a bit more since the Christmas holiday you all spent together last month, but it seemed she was just as protective of you as you were of her.

Fine. Ben understood it, but Louisa was just a college student, not even old enough to order a fucking beer. He wouldn’t have this little girl telling him what was best for you.

However, as he glanced at your mother, he also couldn’t bring himself to answer Louisa’s non-question. At least, not with the whole truth.

“It was retaliation,” he replied, “for a supe we put away a while back.”

Louisa sighed heavily. Her lower lip trembled as tears welled up in her eyes, and she bit her lip and shared a look with her mother.

“Why did they want her though?” Louisa asked Ben, sniffling.

He held the tremor of unease deep inside, and he thought fast.

“He had connections in the CIA. She was the only part of the team here at the base, so he singled her out,” he said. The lie rolled off his tongue without much effort, even though part of it did add to the dark churning in his gut. His gaze fell beyond them.

“All of this is a moot fucking point,” he said. “All she needs is my blood, and she’ll be just fine.”

Louisa wiped under her wet eyes and scoffed.

“You think she’s going to accept a blood transfusion from a supe? Look, I’m sorry, but she’s not the person you know right now—”

“All the more reason to fix this sack of bullshit,” Ben snapped.

He turned on his heel and headed for your room. By now, Annie, Hughie, and the rest of them had cleared out. You were dozing, it seemed, but your eyes opened when Ben thundered in, followed closely by Marie and Louisa.

“Ben,” Louisa warned.

“What’s going on?” you asked weakly.

Ben shook his head and went to your bedside. He took up your hand and didn’t notice (or ignored) the apprehension in your eyes.

“Look, I know you think you don’t know me. You’ve been through…a lot,” he said. He paused when he considered the hell you’d probably endured the past few days. His gut began to roil again, but he pushed forward.

“Last year, you got hurt. Bad enough that you were going to need surgery,” he explained. “But I gave you some of my blood, and you healed right up. I’m gonna do the same for you now.”

You saw that he was serious, that he probably believed he was telling the truth. You just didn’t know this man—this supe that they’d told you was actually Soldier Boy. Instinctively you tried to pull your hand out of his grasp.

“No thanks,” you said, trying to hide your nerves. “I think I’m good healing on my own.”

Ben frowned. He held your hand a fraction tighter.

“Look—”

“No, you look,” you said in frustration, and a frisson of wariness. “I know you think I’m your…girlfriend or life partner or whatever the fuck, but I don’t know you.”

Just as the words left your lips, something sharp and painful flashed in your skull.

You can’t. You can’t. You can’t.

“But you do. You fucking know me!” Ben insisted. His grip on your hand tightened enough to make you flinch, a whimper sounding in your throat.

“Hey!” Louisa snapped at him.

“Ben,” Marie said, more gently, but not without urgency.

He realized what he was doing, and he forced himself to relax his grip. He watched you take your hand back and look at him like he was some kind of animal. He also realized then that you were scared. Scared of him.

Fuck me…

By degrees, he relented. Heaving a sigh, he carded a hand through his hair and gave a short nod.

“All right,” he said, and he met your eyes. “I’m, uh…I’m sorry, sweetheart. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

He held your wary gaze until you nodded in acceptance. He took in your face, bruised, and still stained pink from the blood that had been cleaned away with antiseptic wipes. Your neck, arms, and chest were the same; your other wounds were stitched up and bandaged.

According to the first doctor who evaluated you after you came out of emergency surgery (Ben had already forgotten the broad’s name), you’d also sustained broken ribs and a fractured cheekbone, aside from your other injuries.

“And…what about the rest of it?” Ben had asked. He spoke alone with the doctor, just outside your room. Marie and Louisa were in there with you now in the ICU.

The doctor shook her head, offering a look of professional reassurance.

“No. There’s no evidence of sexual trauma,” she said.

Ben took that information in with a nod. Inside his chest, however, the clenching around his heart eased a great deal.

But even with that relief, just your battered face, and the way you were looking at him now…it was all too much.

Ben ignored the voice deep inside that said this was what he deserved.

He stood up, and he left you with your family.

While Louisa had to go back to her dorm for school tomorrow, Marie stayed with you that night. You zoned in and out while New Girl played on the little TV on the wall.

Marie caressed your hair gently, though she was mindful of the way most of your head was wrapped after surgery to fix your skull. If only they could fix your mind too.

“That man…” you trailed. “Um, Soldier Boy. All that crazy shit he was saying…was it true?”

Marie gave you a look for your use of language, but she nodded gravely, and with sadness.

“Yes, Ben was telling the truth,” she said. “He’s the one who saved you. Believe me, he’s very upset that you’re hurt like this.”

You tried to process that as you frowned in contemplation. He’d certainly been…pushy. And determined, like he could actually heal you.

It didn’t matter though. You weren’t about to let a supe feed you his blood like a damn vampire, or whatever Compound V-tainted shit he tried to give you. You weren’t Bella Swan, and this wasn’t fucking Twilight.

“Ben” was rough, and demanding, and gave off a real assholish exterior. Just before he left, though, you also saw his upset. He had taken in your injuries like he was angry, just at the state of you. Like he was mad that he hadn’t been able to prevent it.

“I guess he went home,” you said. Marie shook her head.

“No, he’s still here.”

Your brows knitted together. “What?”

“He’s in the waiting room downstairs,” she explained. “Grace made sure he had a special pass so he could stay with us in the hospital, just in case…”

“In case of what?” you asked. Marie smiled and continued to brush your hair back.

“In case we need him,” she said. “For protection, he said.”

Her eyes shone with sadness again, like she knew something you didn’t. It made you suspicious, but you were surprised that he was still here, despite what you’d said to him.

…Huh, you thought.

Thanks to the (fucking awesome) power of morphine, you fell asleep shortly after.

A week later, you were still recovering in the hospital. The shitty fact of it was, between the medication for your injuries and the risk of pulling your stitches, you could barely move. Dr. Burke was pleased that you at least had feeling in your extremities. One of her main concerns for you had been mobility issues.

Well, you still had to use a bedpan, and sometimes you missed your mouth when you ate pudding, but at least you could feel your feet.

Marie took the whole work week off from her job in order to stay with you. Louisa visited you every day she could after her classes, but she had a recital coming up, and you didn’t want her to lose focus. You encouraged her to only come if and when she finished getting in all the practice she needed.

And Ben…well, he came often. Mostly when you were sleeping. And every time you woke up, you saw something new from him: a beautiful bouquet of flowers, imported chocolates, a snack from the deli down the street from the hospital, a good breakfast from your favorite café in the city, or even several orders of takeout for you, him, and Marie.

You also noticed how your mother doted on him almost as much as she did on you, offering to grab him cups of coffee, or laying her blanket over him while he napped in the big lounge chair close to your bedside.

The guy just refused to leave. So you didn’t say anything about it. You just watched him whenever you were lucid enough to notice he was there.

As it became easier for you to stay awake, and to observe his quiet, but solid presence, the more your wariness of Ben bled away.

You soon began to realize that you were curious about him. If you really had been with him before, how had you two met? And what had made you get with a supe, let alone the original supe Vought ever introduced to America?

You considered him now while he dozed in that uncomfortable looking chair. His brown locks had once again swept over his brows, almost obscuring his eyes. Part of you itched to lean over and brush it all away from his face. If only you were close enough.

You could admit, if just within the safety of your mind, that he was a damn fine specimen of a man. Between the cut of that bearded jaw, the broadness of his arms and chest, the length of those widespread legs…

“Keep staring at me and you’ll wear a damn hole in my face,” he muttered.

You inhaled sharply, and his eyes cracked open. A small smirk raised his lips in amusement. You smiled as well, more in embarrassment at being caught.

Ben let out a long breath and rolled the cracks out of his neck, confirming your assumption that the chair was even more uncomfortable than it looked. You felt a bit bad for him, that he was putting himself through all that for your sake…for someone who didn’t remember him.

He turned to you in askance. “How’re you holding up?”

You shrugged.

“Okay. Pain meds are finally kicking in, at least for the hour.”

He nodded, dragging a hand over his beard. He knew that you’d eaten lunch with your second dose of the day not too long ago.

“You still hungry?” he asked. “I don’t know how they could give you that shit. What was that, some poor fucking excuse for baby food?”

“Whatever it was, it wasn’t pleasant,” you agreed, but the doctor had requested something you could easily digest, with all the medication you were on.

Ben shook his head and rocked onto his feet. He’d get you a candy bar or something. He knew Twix was your favorite.

“Um…Ben,” you said, halting his steps. He turned to you with a raise of his brows. You pointed over to the folded quilt at the foot of your bed. Your mom had brought it from home.

“Would you give me that blanket over there?” you asked. “I’m a little cold.”

You’d get it yourself, but it pained you to fold yourself over. Ben was gracious enough to go over and get the blanket for you. He even opened it up and covered your body up to your chest. His face was stoic, more or less, but there was care in his hands. You found yourself staring up at his face. He leaned against the guardrail of your bed and met your eyes.

“Thank you,” you said, in a near whisper. “And, um…my water?”

You pointed to the plastic cup and jug on the rolling tray to his left. He shot you a look, but he did as you asked, pouring some fresh water into the cup and handing it to you. His fingers brushed with yours on the pass, but you tried not to focus on the warmth of his hand. Instead, you took a few sips from the cup and handed it back to him. He set it back on the tray for you.

“What’d I do to get the hot nurse?” you couldn’t help but tease.

Ben’s brows rose again, somewhat incredulous this time. Then, he was unable to restrain a cocky smile.

“Hmm, I’m a let that one go, since you’re laid up,” he said. 

His gaze roamed your face. He noted that your purplish bruises were easing up somewhat, to green and yellow. Your lacerations were beginning to heal. And before, where there had been wariness, he now saw curiosity in your eyes.

“Can I ask you something?” you drew enough courage to ask.

His lips twitching to one corner, he lowered the guardrail and sat down on the edge of your bed. He gave you an expectant look. You sucked in a breath to steel yourself.

“How long have we been a…a thing?” you asked, pointing between the both of you.

Ben quirked a brow. “About a year now.”

You nodded, though your eyes were wide in surprise. You actually began to blush.

Ben smirked. He reached for the phone in his pocket and handed it over to you, after scrolling to find his photo album.

“Does that look like we don’t know each other?” he asked.

You shot him a wry glance, but you took the phone and started looking through the album. Many of the pictures that featured both of you looked like ones you’d taken, just from the angle. One picture was rather innocuous of him sitting on a couch, presumably watching TV, while you rested on his shoulder and smiled at the camera. His arm was wrapped around your waist.

Another was of you glaring at him in surprise, mid-bite on a large chili hot dog. He wore a Cheshire grin while leaning in close to your cheek.

There were several more than you flipped through, but each one made you sting with the unfamiliarity of it all. You couldn’t remember any of this, but it was undeniable what you and Ben were to each other.

Then you happened on a picture of just you, fresh out of the shower with a towel barely wrapped around you. You looked annoyed, but by the evidence of your smile, also amused that he’d surprised you with the picture.

Your blush intensified as you scrolled past that one. Then you encountered more pictures of you and him, each position filled with more bare flesh—and even more compromising than the next. You refused to press play on any of the videos.

“Oookay,” you said with a full flush heating your face and neck, and the tips of your ears. You minimized the album and all but tossed the phone back at him.

Ben’s smirk had deepened the longer he watched you peruse through the pictures. Now he chuckled and pocketed his phone.

“Like what you see, huh, sweetheart?” he couldn’t help but tease.

Frankly, you were adorable, getting all embarrassed, crossing your arms and pulling the blanket up to your neck. You shot him a look of warning.

What, you could eye him like a honey-glazed ham, flirt with him even, but you couldn’t take a little on the return side?

Ben chuckled some more and reached for your hand, to uncross your arms. You allowed it with a thinly veiled wariness. You weren’t afraid of him…anymore. But that didn’t mean there was no reason to keep your guard up around this guy.

Meanwhile, Ben actually struggled to figure out what he wanted to say to you. Something that wouldn’t put you off, or come off too strong. This was just too fucking strange…

He met your gaze with a heavy exhale.

“You’re going to be let out of here soon enough,” he said. “You don’t need to be scared of me. I’m not gonna hurt you. Matter of fact, I saved you.”

I’ve saved you more times than I can fucking count at this point, he thought wryly.

You stared back at him in contemplation. He sensed you were listening, really trying to hear him.

“You do care about me, don’t you?” you asked, almost in wonder.

Ben didn’t answer you right away. Your question took him off guard a bit, but he also found himself meeting your gaze.

“I think that’s pretty fucking obvious,” he said. You frowned at him then.

“Not entirely," you said. "Not if you don’t say it, Romeo.”

Ben stilled. Against his will, he remembered the last real words he’d said to you before this nightmare began.

“I love you,” you’d said. He could hear your pretty smile through the phone. “Just wanted to make sure you knew that.”

“Mhmm,” Ben replied, smiling himself. “I’ll see you soon, baby doll.”

He could also hear your disappointment, there in your brief silence.

“Come on, say it,” you implored.

Ben restrained a sigh. He cast a subtle look from the corner of his eye, watching Butcher, M.M., and Kimiko loading the car with their weapons, along with the supe they’d captured. They were all too close for comfort.

“Say what?” Ben asked, feigning ignorance. Your sigh reached him, stinging him.

“You know exactly what,” you replied.

He knew what you wanted, but he still didn’t give it to you.

He didn’t allow himself.

Now, he brushed a thumb over the back of your hand, and he sighed. Sometimes, regret weighed just as bad as guilt, even if you couldn’t admit to either one.

His gaze now slid up to yours.

“Well, I do… I care about you,” Ben said.

You’re fucking mine, his selfish heart added. He just didn’t think you’d react well to that admission.

“What do you say about coming home with me?” he asked. “I think being around all your stuff will help you…get better.”

You debated his proposition, and you realized his idea made sense. If this man was really your boyfriend, and you’d been living with him for a year…then maybe you could trust him.

Just not entirely.

“I want my mom to come too,” you said.

Ben smiled. It was a small, but true smile, and it took you by surprise. But you only felt your face getting warm again when he pressed his lips to the back of your hand. 

“Yeah, she can come help me take care of you, ‘til you’re feeling better,” he said.

You regarded him for a moment, still wondering if you could trust him. The longer you stared into his eyes, the more you found yourself relenting.  

“Okay,” you agreed. “I’ll go with you.”

After you were finally discharged from the hospital, Ben drove you and Marie out of the city to his apartment in Scarsdale. Technically, it was your apartment too.

He promised that it had been fitted with a much better security system, now with motion cameras around the apartment, and sensors on the roof. (You didn’t know that Hughie would have to explain to Ben how all that shit worked on his phone.)

The apartment itself was familiar to you, but it felt fuzzy in your mind. Like you had a dream of being here, living a life that wasn’t yours.

Thanks to the stairs, Ben left your bags at the foot of them, before he carefully maneuvered you into his arms without pressing on any of your stitches. You sucked in a shaky breath and held onto his shoulders, squeezing your eyes tight for a moment as the movement jostled your sense of equilibrium.

“You okay?” he asked. You blinked your eyes open and met his. His brows were furrowed in concern, but it was the intensity of his eyes that stole your breath. Part of you wanted to smile, half out of nerves, but you tempered it.

“Peachy,” you replied.

His lips twitched. He then moved carefully up the stairs.

He set you back down on your feet once he reached the top, at your insistence. Marie came in from behind with her suitcase and your forearm crutch, but Ben still kept a supporting arm around your waist.

“I’ve got it,” you told him, a bit nervous and hasty to escape his hold.

He released you, and reluctantly watched you head further into the apartment on your own two feet (and crutch). You wandered into each room like you were looking for a damn portal into Narnia.

It was hard for Ben to watch you like this. With a sigh, he went back downstairs to grab the rest of your things. He set them down in the living room while you ambled off into the guest room. Marie touched his arm in comfort.

“It’ll be okay, honey,” she said.

She’d developed a soft spot for Ben not too long after meeting him. And though he’d never admitted it, the sentiment was reciprocated.

He didn’t answer her, but after a moment, he nodded. She rubbed his arm with a faint smile and went to check on you.

Marie soon found you in the office you and Ben shared. It didn’t look like he used this room often, while your desk was covered in papers and files. It did, however, smell like his cologne in here.

Or, well, the scent was masculine and woodsy—like sandalwood and spice (and a hint of weed, as evidenced from the ashtray on his desk). You had to assume the scent belonged to him, even though you didn’t think he’d worn cologne at all in the hospital. Or maybe you just inherently recognized it as his.

Huh. Smell is the strongest sense, you mused to yourself.

The thought of you remembering anything at all from what you’d lost had you the slightest bit excited, and nervous. Dr. Jeong said you’d been through a terrible trauma. The evidence of it now littered your body and had nearly broken you. So you were fairly certain that there were things you didn’t want to remember.

The touch of your mother’s hand on your shoulder had you jolting. You breathed in relief when you saw her. Her eyes widened and she held up placating hands.

“Oh! I’m sorry,” she said. “You okay?”

You nodded, though you continued to take in your surroundings with a small frown. She helped you sit in one of the office chairs, as your strength was already waning.

“It seems like everything he said was true. It’s just…it’s a lot,” you said.

“Of course it is,” said Marie. “But if it helps, you seemed very happy here. You were just glowing all night with him at the Christmas party.”

Great, yet another event that was entirely blank in your mind. If you couldn’t remember celebrating your favorite holiday, then what was the point? You huffed.

“I just find it hard to believe that I’d end up with a supe,” you admitted. You worked at Supe Affairs for God’s sake.

Marie only laughed and rubbed your back. 

“Well, you found a good one,” she said. 

A good one, huh? you shook your head in true wonder.

Now that was food for thought.

When you first arrived, Ben had led you to the master bedroom and said it was your room. So why the fuck was he climbing into bed with you?

“Excuse me,” you frowned at him, drawing the blankets closer over your body. You only had on a large shirt over your underwear. It was how you preferred to dress for bed, and it was easier than pulling a pair of shorts over the healing scars on your legs.

Ben had on a gray shirt and some plaid pajama pants. He’d shucked off his old man loafers before making the right side of the bed dip with his weight. He raised a brow at you.

“What?” he asked.

“What do you think you’re doing?” you asked.

“Going to bed, sweetheart. Been a long fucking week,” he retorted.

“I thought this was my bed,” you said.

“It’s our bed,” he corrected. He grabbed the edge of the blanket to pull some of it towards him, but you pulled it tighter against you.

“Look,” you said flatly. “I agreed to come here and stay with you, but I didn’t agree to this kind of close quarters.”

Ben stared back at you in annoyance and willed his temper not to snap. So fucking what if he shared the bed with you? It was a California king. The odds of your bodies even touching were slim to none.

However, he saw that stubborn look in your eyes. It was all too familiar.

Christ on a cross. He forgot how goddamn difficult you were in the beginning.

And really, you two were at the beginning, all over again. He’d gotten you to trust him, slightly, but he knew the rest would take time.

Is this really fucking worth it? came an insidious thought deep inside. The selfish part that had ruled for most of his life.

Then, he spied the silver Rolex on his nightstand—the one you’d gifted him for Christmas, along with the photo album that you’d put together for him. It included the only pictures he kept of his mother, and new ones you’d made with him. They were pictures you’d collected and captured of your life together so far.

With a deep sigh, Ben wordlessly got out of bed. He grabbed up his pillow and a throw blanket that had slid to the floor, and he made his way to the living room. Marie was taking up the only guest bedroom, so he supposed he was relegated to the couch in his own home. How the fuck did that happen?

He sat down heavily in the middle of the couch and had to take some deep breaths. His head slowly fell into his hands, elbows resting on his knees. With both hands, he tried to rub the exhaustion and frustration from his face.

There were words he couldn’t say. However, within the safety of his mind, he was forced to reckon with it.

This was his fault. He knew it, down to his bones.

It was all really his fucking fault.

He should’ve gotten you a protective security detail from the beginning. He just didn’t think anyone would have the balls to…

Ben breathed past the tightness in his chest that was once again clawing at his throat. 

Well, this fucking blows like a cheap whore, he thought.

And as you might expect, he slept fitfully that night.

The next morning, you winced at the ache in your head that was now customary for you. You had practically drowned in this giant-ass bed, but the reality was, you’d barely slept. You just couldn’t get comfortable enough to stay asleep.

You didn’t know if it was because it was an unfamiliar place, or because you now had a lower dose of pain meds than you’d been given in the hospital, or if it was because there was just something missing here.

You sighed and hauled yourself out of bed to freshen up. Really, you should’ve waited for your mother or Ben to help you out of bed, but you weren’t used to being incapacitated like this. And even when you were down, it had been ingrained in you (through your father’s special brand of “parenting”) to play through the pain.

So you grabbed your crutch from beside the bed, and somehow you managed to make it to the bathroom by yourself.

After dressing in sweatpants, a bra, and a tank top, you padded out into the hall. Your mom was still sleeping, but you found Ben in the living room.

He was sprawled out across the couch. Half the covers had slipped off his body and pooled on the floor. Again, you tried not to admire the length and broadness of his form, and the way that shirt stretched across his chest and arms.

His arm was curled across his closed eyes, but he lowered it when he heard you approaching.

His eyes were a bit red and bleary. It didn’t look like he’d slept very well either. You felt bad for that, as you leaned on the back of the couch to greet him.

“Morning, Sleeping Beauty,” you teased him a little. “You slept like shit out here, didn’t you?”

“What was your first damn clue?” he groused. You had a feeling he was grumpy in the morning, regardless of how well he slept.

“Okay, I’m sorry about that,” you said. Even though you had every right to sleep alone, you still felt bad for making him sleep out here. “How about I make us some coffee?”

He nodded with a grunt. You smiled and teetered only slightly on your way to the kitchen. Ben frowned as he realized it.

“You shouldn’t be walking around like that yet,” he called after you.

He forced himself to get off the couch, rolling to his feet. You shot him a stubborn look.

“I’m fine,” you said.

Ben’s frown deepened with annoyance.

…Right. Okay, you weren’t exactly fine.

You were still exhausted. Still felt like utter crap, as stiffness pulled at your muscles and pain at your stitches and broken ribs. And, oh yes, your head was still broken.

But, this was the most mobile you’d been in a few weeks. You were determined to do at least one normal, productive thing today. Even if it was just making coffee, then you were going to count that as a win.

By the time Ben joined you, the coffee was done percolating and you handed him a mug. He took a sip before he remembered to tell you…no cream.

He looked into the mug in wonder. You’d actually made his coffee with sugar, no cream. Just like he liked it.

Noticing the look on his face, you paused.

“Oh, sorry. I forgot to ask how you take it.”

“No,” he said, sitting across from you at the breakfast bar. “It’s just right.”

You blinked in surprise, but then you shrugged and sipped at your own cup of coffee, which had both cream and sugar. While you were preoccupied with brainstorming where to order in for breakfast, Ben allowed himself to smile a little.

You were in there, somewhere.

He just needed to help you come out.

AN: See? I promise, there's hope. 💚

(But there's also still drama ahead...)

Next Time:

“We’re not gonna have this discussion again. You need to fucking eat,” he said. “I could feed you, though I promise you’re not gonna like it.”

His surly, frowning face was annoying you. His deep voice was annoying you. His tall, ridiculous wall-of-man body in your line of vision was annoying you, clothed in a rumpled shirt and the sweatpants he’d slept in.  

Everything about him annoyed you right now.

But that could also have something to do with the pounding ache in the back of your skull, radiating forward and between your eyes.

“Bro, I’m on like, three kinds of medication,” you replied in weary irritation. “With what appetite do you expect me to eat?”

Bro? His eyebrow twitched.

▶️ Keep Reading: PART 3

Ko-Fi Me ☕

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[1d1195]

Toothpaste III

Read Toothpaste here | ~2.6k words

From me: Been way longer than it was supposed to since I last chatted about these two.

Warnings: a couple sweet fluffy puns and pining.

Summary: Harry realizes there's a bit of nepotism in hiring her to work for him while she finds a new job. But Harry would call it flat out favoritism. Also, he really likes the way she says Dr. Styles when she answers the phone.

“Good morning, Dr. Styles office.”

Harry was used to hearing his name said by women all the time. He worked with all women—they all reminded him of his mum which is why he hired them. Unfortunately, he found that many of the newly graduated dental hygienists were there for him...and not the job. He started his practice fresh out of school. Wanting to make good on his degree (and start pecking away at the loan debt from dental school) and help those with toothaches as soon as humanly possible. He was kind to each of them, but he wasn’t oblivious to the flirting that attempted to reel him in during the interview process. They would make small remarks about how they saw themselves fitting right in at his practice—and life. They batted their eyelashes and smiled just a hair too hard.

Now, he was no better than those he turned down in favor of the woman flitting about his office and eyeing the same sweet girl on desk duty. Hiring her because she was pretty, funny, intelligent.

And very much unemployed thanks to him.

Not even dinner first?

It rang in his head. The promise to take her to dinner still only remained just that: a promise. He had given her space as she was excited about the time to herself for the first time in two years. But then when she called again about a month after, claiming she was getting bored and antsy, Harry had to hire her. There had been paperwork to get hired. Training in what her tasks would be as she made the desk her home-away-from-home.

It seemed wrong to hire her and desperately want to go on a date with her, so he separated the two. Let her get her feet under her and whatnot. So, he never got to find out if ‘open’ would be the last of their flirting.

Unfortunately, Harry was ready to let all of his sanity fly out the window. The way Styles sounded in her mouth was a sin and a virtue. Completely and totally the cause for him struggling to maintain a semblance of control over his emotions.

“I know we say drooling is good thing in this office, Dr. Styles, but that’s a bit much,” Mary chided as she walked past him in the small hallway between rooms. Harry cleared his throat. Once more thankful for the mask covering the majority of his face to hide the blush that rose to his cheeks. She was none the wiser, fiddling with a pen as she listened intently. The little headset on her head while she scribbled on a notepad.

“Let me check and I’ll call you right back, yeah? If not, I’ll find someone to recommend,” her voice was so soothing, oozing with kindness and understanding that Harry didn’t know was necessary for someone scheduling appointments for him, but it was the moment he heard her voice. There was an exchange of goodbyes and then she clicked the headset off. “Dr. Styles,” she sang analyzing her notes while clicking and tapping away at her keyboard.

Now Harry had to pretend like he wasn’t just waiting for her to call for his attention. He turned immediately into a patient room where Helen was tending to a teen boy. Helen glanced up; her eyes danced with a smile unseen by her own mask as she continued to pick at the buildup between her patient’s teeth. “Toby isn’t due for an exam, Dr. Styles,” Helen teased.

He glared at her briefly and turned to call out of the room. “Jus’ a second, love.”

“Did you hear that, Toby?” Helen whispered. “Dr. Styles is a bit smitten with his secretary. He’s trying to act casual.”

Toby smiled around the instruments in his mouth and peered back toward where Harry stood. “She pre-ee,” he murmured.

“She is pretty,” Helen agreed. “But he’s pretending like he isn’t in love with her.” Toby chuckled around the tool once more and Harry glared at him.

“There’s a joke ‘bout me being a sadistic dentist, Toby. Make sure y’floss before y’next exam,” he warned lowly. “Helen,” he nodded.

“Dr. Styles,” she nodded in response, the smile never leaving her eyes.

*

She was scribbling on the calendar in front of her inputting as many random national dates as possible. It started shortly after her arrival. The other women in the office usually multitasked their dental duties as well as the front desk. They were excited to have her. As motherly as they were, they knew immediately why Dr. Styles hired the pretty girl and were hopeful the otherwise quiet, shy man would open himself up for her and let love in rather than spend all his waking hours thinking about his practice.

The day of her follow up appointment, she informed him it was National Chocolate Ice Cream Day and she wanted to be sure she would be allowed to celebrate.

“National what?” He chuckled.

It was the kind of thing that made life a little more enjoyable, she explained. After he hired her to be secretary, it was a whirlwind filling the calendar with as many silly days to recognize as possible. Many days had multiple things to be celebrated, so she chose carefully. National Dimples Day was a must—given that Harry had pretty dimples hiding behind his mask. It was followed by National Pina Colada Day, and she told him it was one of her favorite summer drinks.

“Did y’need something?” His voice was warm. Like always. The way it made her feel safe when she was scared that first time she met him, worried a root canal was in her very immediate future. “What’s that say?”

“National Retainer Day!” She nearly cheered. She looked up at him with a bright smile and he couldn’t help but fall harder for her. Each topic of the day was curated with someone in mind. Even the other ladies in the office got their moment to celebrate something they loved as she would randomly call out factoids about the coming month. “Anyone like rosé?” She had called.

“Who doesn’t?!” Melissa shouted back. Of course, the entire time she worked was spent mainly doing tasks, waiting in between calls and tasks to continue filling in the calendar with her funny days of recognition.

Harry was still chuckling about Retainer Day. “Something y’needed t’ask from y’phone call?” He repeated gently to jog her memory.

“Oh yes,” she dropped her pen midway through writing National “Ba” and he felt a little bad for interrupting her thought. Also, he desperately wanted to know the end of the word, and what they would be celebrating in a few weeks. She opened a different window back up and held her notebook poised professionally in front of her. “It’s a little boy,” she explained. “His teeth sound a lot like mine, so I’m probably being too nice,” she frowned. “I know you’re not a pediatric dentist, but the mom sounded exhausted so I told her I would ask and if not recommend someone you know personally from dental school who would take care of him.”

The kindness in her heart was way too sweet. No wonder she was filled with cavities.

“S’fine, set it up, I’ll look.”

“Like today?”

“S’it that serious?” Harry asked curiously.

“Mom sounds exhausted.”

“Like she’s going t’pull her son’s teeth out at a hardware store?”

“Exactly,” her smile was so beautiful. Harry knew smiles.

“S’this m’next patient?” He asked pointing at the tablet waiting beside her. She handed it to him and watched him read.

The way Harry leaned against the counter surrounding her desk put his forearms on full display making her stomach flip. Due to the mask, she couldn’t see his mouth—which was probably for the best. If she saw his lips, his nice teeth, perfect smile, or that dimple in his left cheek she would do something crazy, like kiss him in the middle of his waiting room. Even though no one was there in the waiting room, it seemed like a precedent she couldn’t let happen. Especially when her coworkers were down the hall with patients as well.

His eyes were so focused on the tablet, he didn’t even notice she was staring at him. His concentration was adorable. It was obvious Harry cared about all his patients. He was so intelligent (obviously) and just overall lovely.

“Are we ever going to go on our date?” She whispered quietly so not even Mary, Helen, or Melissa could hear.

Harry nearly dropped the tablet. His mask saved him once more by hiding his surprise. “Oh...um...” It spooked him that she was so confident and easy going about their flirting. It was only a few moments of flirtation and yet, it was enough to make him flustered. Tongue-tied. His brain misfired, no words could get out of his mouth.

Which was not great for her.

“I’m sorry,” she looked away and her hair fell in front of her face so he couldn’t see her embarrassment. “That was rude, I was...” she shook her head. “Forget I said it.”

Her heart was threatening to beat out of her chest, and she thought she might die of mortification. How could she say that in the middle of the workday? That was so inappropriate. Maybe more inappropriate since he was a hand deep in her mouth and she asked to open for him. At least then she was a patient and could leave. Instead, he was going to have to go be a hand deep in someone else’s mouth thinking about how she cornered him and flirted with him when she shouldn’t have.

Her stupid mouth was going to get her fired again. She finished the word “Bagel” on her calendar and looked for the information to call that poor mother back. She dialed the phone number and listened on her headset at the other end rang.

A note was dropped on her desk, a prescription paper from Harry’s notepad. Fluttered and settled directly in front of her as the phone continued ringing. She turned to see Harry’s retreating figure before she picked it up and read it.

Tomorrow? Tooth-irty is too early. How about six?

*

The bell to her apartment rang at quarter to six. She was doing some finishing touches to her hair and makeup, and it seemed they would remain unfinished. She wasn’t mad that he was early because it was making her anxious to wait for so long (hence the extra primping). “Just a second!” She called scrambling to put the last bobby pin in place and swiped mascara over her lashes quickly.

She hurried to the door and pulled it out of the way. Harry held three red roses in his hand. “Sorry m’early. I was... nervous and excited.”

“Nervous?” She questioned.

He nodded but didn’t say anything else. Harry wasn’t a man of many words. He was quiet overall. But when he did speak, every word was warm, important. Nerves must not have been important. “Those are beautiful,” she reached out to touch the mini bouquet. The petals were like velvet, and she imagined that he paid a pretty penny for just three little roses.

“S’not too much?” He asked.

“No,” she shook her head. “They’re perfect.”

He released a relieved sigh and smiled. “Good.”

*

At dinner, Harry pulled her chair out and his knee bumped hers beneath the table. She tried to memorize every detail of the moment. It was a feeling that started all the way in her toes and worked up to the roots of her hair. This was a big day. A big moment.

Three months ago, she was in a different world. Now she was at a new job, a new apartment, and on a date with her unbelievably handsome dentist and boss. It was unreal and perfect and something that didn’t happen every day. Something that had never happened to her.

So, she was memorizing every little detail so that when she thought about it for the rest of her life she could talk about the wrinkle near the corner of his mouth when he smiled. How his eyebrow quirked up when he read something he liked on the menu. The way his fingers wrapped around the stem of his wine glass like he was a connoisseur. Was he? She wanted to ask.

“S’it alright?” He asked quietly.

In all her memorizing, she forgot how quiet she must have gotten. Even a man as few words as Harry, it was probably unnerving to sit in silence while sipping at wine, listening to the quiet jazz quartet in the corner of the space while the girl across from him nibbled at the bread on her plate and stared at him for what must have been an embarrassing number of minutes. “Yes,” she said quickly, her knee bumping against his and the table causing the glasses to wiggle. He smiled. That gorgeous, beautiful smile that should have been on pamphlets and billboards for his practice. “Sorry,” she cleared her throat.

She wondered if he would ask her back to his place. Was it too much to do that? Maybe they could just hang out. Her entire work week was spent with Harry and yet she just wanted more time with him. Like something had changed in her that this was...this was something more. More than a toothache. More than toothpaste.

“Are you alright, love? You’re awfully quiet...”

“Can I say something...insane? You obviously don’t mind my ranting thus far between my intake form and my appointments. But this one might... really make you regret asking me out... I don’t know... I just think I have spent a lot of my young adulthood being unhappy. I watched rom-coms and read romance novels and envisioned this all-encompassing love that would put Nicholas Sparks to shame. Then I started my job fresh out of college and I hadn’t thought about love in three years? Four years. Four years of not thinking about love, reading about love, watching love and it was my favorite thing in the world...and then I got a toothache and wanted to yank it out myself and you were just there. You don’t say a lot but you... you helped me quit a job I wasn’t happy in, a job I wasn’t in love with a job that was killing me from the inside out,” she took a breath and Harry was stoically watching her. “I am trying to focus on everything that is happening. For the last three months I’ve been trying to figure all of this out and remember every little detail about you. The way that your knee feels next to mine and how your ring clinks on your wine glass and how I have imagined falling in love so many times in my life and I never thought it would happen in a dentist office—arguably, my least favorite place in the world.”

Speechless. Completely totally speechless.

Harry held his hand up for the waiter. “Could we get our food t’go?” He asked.

Part of her hoped the ground would open up and swallow her. The anxiety and mortification she felt was so intense her voice was dead in her throat. All emotion stopped existing. Part of her thought she did combust as he asked to leave. “Is everything alright?” The waiter asked.

“Yes,” Harry nodded assuredly. “S’jus’... I’ve got a bit of a toothache,” he explained and glanced at her finally. The left dimple making itself visible. The relief swam through her. “Need t’head home t’take care of it. S’that okay, love?” He asked quietly.

She nodded. “Yeah,” she cleared her throat. “It’s that sweet tooth of yours.”

“Well, y’know me, love,” he winked and handed his credit card to the waiter. “I crave sweet things.”

--

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[see-arcane]

It's a special day in Dracula!

Jonathan experiences a flashback to the Horrors, Mina experiences bisexuality in the wild, and the poor nameless Pretty Girl in Piccadilly rides out of the story, parcel in hand and chic cartwheel hat on, oblivious to the Count stalking after her. In honor of the anonymous young lady who proves for a third time that Dracula and Mina have literally the exact same taste—Jonathan, Lucy, random beauties on the street—I wanted to take a crack at giving her an identity.

But I am also indecisive as hell, so she can be one of a number of pretty persons of note. For example…

Miss Piccadilly #1: Clarimonde

My original favorite choice, if only because I love the idea of Clarimonde still cruising around after the heartbreak she left behind in her own story, “La Morte Amoureuse” (The Dead Woman in Love), aka “Clarimonde.” She is now and always the undead Parisian party queen of my heart, but I could see her traveling around to dabble in hedonism in other corners of the world. Naturally she has to go and catch the attention of the local aristos. Human or otherwise.

But, of course, she is psychic and can read Dracula like a bloodstained book. Keep walking, bat bastard. Her vampiric voluptuousness is reserved for VIPs. (Maybe that fetching mourning couple she saw gawking in the park…)

Miss Piccadilly #2: Helen Vaughan

Oh, Helen Vaughan, elegant hostess and demigoddess horror supreme. I don’t care what Arthur Machen says, your story did not end with the conclusion of The Great God Pan. You were life and death and human and beast and all the hideous realities in-between and a mortal end could never keep you down. Especially not when you have so many paramours left to entertain! So many secrets profane and maddening to share! One of these days you’ll catch one who won’t dissolve into madness and self-destruction after a little innocent eldritch chit-chat.

Like this charming Count here! Count? Count, where are you going? Count, she just wants you to meet her dad—why are you running? Why are you running?

Miss Piccadilly #3: Luna Blue

What’s this? An OC?

Well, of course. No one’s actually naming their child Luna Blue in the late 1800s; that’s just her professional pseudonym. It’s amazing how well the spiritualist movement can work out for a girl with a knack for shuffling painted cards or chatting with the night sky and the occasional planchette. She can even boast something more than showmanship behind her skill. The sort of ‘something’ that worried Transylvanians might whisper about in fear on a certain haunted date while a likewise worried solicitor breaks out the polyglot dictionary.

She recognizes Dracula for what he is as surely as he recognizes her. No, she is not interested, voivode. Even if she was, she’d be out a benefactor within—a hard look at him here; cold and far—oh dear. Scarcely more than a month. At least by her guess. But oh, there is good news in his future too! He shall cross paths with an old friend soon! How lovely. She’s certain these things are not connected. Don’t even worry about it.

Miss Piccadilly #4: Cosette Marchand

The fourth and final young lady in the roster is one more original character and she deserves absolutely none of the horror coming her way. This is Miss Cosette Marchand, an artist by hobby and profession. The parcel received from the jeweler’s was a commissioned necklace and earrings she designed herself. A glittering birthday gift for her mother who will chide her for such an extravagance, Cosy, she has no place to wear such things! But they are lovely…

She’s so lost in her daydreaming that she doesn’t realize the hansom behind her has been following the victoria since leaving Piccadilly Square. All the way home. Home, where there are no bloodletting suitors, no wise professors, no divine or diabolic powers to forestall the natural progression of things between predator and prey. There is only a nightmare waiting for her, unobstructed.

…By anything other than my own bleeding heart. I’m too attached. She has to make it.

So.

How does Miss Marchand’s story go?

Turns out, her mother has some experience in these matters. Her mother being one Laura Marchand, who left a thirsty terror of her own behind twenty years ago. One she has mourned as much as feared in the time between the love of a husband eaten by war and the sharper kisses of a girl far more than a friend or living being. She recognizes the sour reflection of Carmilla’s eagerness in the Thing pretending to be a nobleman at the door. She still has General Spielsdorf’s axe. She has kept the steel sharp. Tonight she will whet it sharper still, from dusk until dawn.

You see all that yellow in her dress. It’s recently become one of her favorite colors, owing to a most diverting play she happened to read. Such lush storytelling! What decadent inspiration! She simply had to design something fine in honor of it. She does hope her mother will appreciate the artful way the gold was wrought, twisting in echo of the Sign. A mother who has gone so strangely still since she happened to glance at the second act of the play. Still and cold. Perhaps she will be cheered by her gift and their guests. There is a nobleman at the door, Mother! And there, see, leaking from the yellow damask wall is His Tattered Majesty—oh. Where has their visitor gone? He shall miss the masquerade! Ah, well. His loss.

Scheherazade…2! In which Miss Marchand pulls a Jonathan by stalling via playing to charm and utility. She wears many hats beside the cartwheel when it comes to the arts. Portraiture, fashion in fabric and ornaments. Surely the Count can savor the spider-and-fly game a little longer for that and some pretty panicked smiles. Look how much patience and frustration he burned on Lucy! Yes, yes, a little while longer to draw things out, play at flirtation between artist and patron, isn’t this nice? Ha ha. (Please don’t drink me please don’t drink me please don’t drink me.)

Well. She got drinked. And maybe succumbed to death before the Count could get slain. But the bat bastard does get put down eventually and she still gets to pop back up! Good news: She’s not under the Count’s thrall! She can think and act for herself! Nice! Bad news: Vampire. At least she can drink her problems* away. (*Problems with names like Atherton, Wotton, Gray…)

Her neighbors are the other three Piccadilly girls. Dracula makes his way downtown, walking fast, walking faster— 

Werewolf free space.

[cryptocism]

Since I think about clones like I’m getting paid for it, I've been rotating those alternate universe "what if Bart and Thad were actually raised together" scenarios in my brain, with Thad either post-redemption-arc or pre-villainy. Because adjusting Thad's character to fit an ally role while still keeping true to his core motives and personality is so so fascinating to me.

Like I think there's an immediate first instinct to slot Thad into a "bad" twin category: ie rebellious and prickly, doesn't get along with people, mean lil shit. And obviously it's not wrong bc we're outside the realm of canon, but the reading still feels a little left of center.

Because Thad is mean and prickly in canon. In the Impulse comics he belittles Bart and Bart’s friends/family constantly in his appearances. He loves to goad, and monologue about his own superiority and intelligence. He’s very Not Nice, and he causes many problems, and he even does it on purpose.

But, I think it’s important to consider the context. From the jump Thad knows very little about anything except which team he’s on and who he’s playing for. He gets his orders from an unseen authority and he carries out his tasks because success means his team wins.

For all his self-aggrandizing talk, everything he does is in service of an end goal that doesn't actually center him. He's trying to get revenge for grievances he's never personally suffered, retribution for actions never committed against him. Everything he does is on someone else's behalf.

Thad sees in black and white, us or them. Up until the final few issues of Mercury Falling, Bart and co. are Thad's enemies, of course he's not going to be nice.

So Thad's motivation seems pretty simple: Thawne Supremacy™.

But it’s in Mercury Falling where this starts to fall apart, and the real core of his motivation gets revealed. Thad pretends to be Bart and suddenly Helen is nice to him. Bart’s friends think he’s funny. Bart’s teachers are impressed with his grades. Max ruffles his hair and gives him hugs and tells him he’s done a good job.

If he was actually an inherently mean and standoffish character, if Thad actually had significant personal stake in the Thawne VS Allen conflict, the weight of such tiny acts of kindness wouldn’t completely break him the way that it does in canon.

Thad thinks his goal is superiority and revenge and Thawne Supremacy™, but he's chasing validation. Thad doesn’t have a personal stake in the Thawne VS Allen conflict. He wouldn't get much satisfaction if he actually destroyed Bart and his family. Thad's personal victory would be the recognition after the fact: the praise and attention from the other Thawnes (a group of people he has literally never met) for his success.

He wants validation. That's basically it. And the fact that he gets it so easily from Bart's family and friends doesn't align with how he's told himself things are supposed to work.

Actually tangentially, Bart and Thad’s respective relationships to authority is so diametrically opposed and tbh kind of subversive in a superhero narrative. Where the hero is the one carving his own path without regard to social or societal rules, no fucks to give what anybody thinks of it. And the villain is a chronic people-pleaser.

Just based on Thad’s reaction to simple praise and affection from Max I really think Thad’s motivation has more to do with the response he gets than whatever the details are of any given task. He has no actual personal convictions beyond getting positive attention, and whatever he did have crumbled as soon as Bart’s friends laughed at his joke one time. Which of course leads into the core of his whole conflict at the end of Mercury Falling. He cares too much about Bart’s friends and family now, he doesn’t want to kill them, but worse than that, he’s faced with the sudden realization that he’s on the wrong side.

The Allens gave Thad everything he actually wanted and needed, but his conception of himself is inexorably tied to the Thawnes: who gave him jack shit. These two facts are in opposition to each other, and he can’t reconcile the reality of it.

Anyway all this to say, in an AU where Bart and Thad are raised together or Thad gets an actual redemption arc etc etc, I think my personal take on Thad’s personality whether it be pre-or-post-villainy would be one that is extremely socially conscious. He is much more of a people-person than Bart. Whether he's actually accurate in assessing people's feelings and how to respond to them can be hit or miss, but he wants to behave in a way that gets people to like him.

Pretending to be Bart isn’t remarked upon as, like, a difficult task for Thad. In his internal monologue he’s literally bragging to himself about how easy it is. But what’s especially notable to me is where his act differs from Bart's typical MO. Everyone notices, and lots of people comment, and presumably if Thad didn’t have the excuse of Max’s illness to “motivate” Bart to do better he would’ve been found out immediately. And those things are, specifically: paying attention in class, doing his chores, staying on task, and being helpful around the house. The one thing about Bart he chooses not to emulate is Bart’s rebelliousness.

Thad wants to prove himself, constantly, to whatever authority he respects (probably Max in this scenario) and will do whatever it takes to make that happen. In contrast to Bart, who only listens to authority when the shit they're saying actually makes sense to him. It’s excessively difficult to convince him to go against his own interests. (And I think a key part of that is Bart’s security in knowing that no matter how much he fucks up or doesn’t listen, the people he loves will always love him back.)

Thad’s got the people-pleaser in him that has to deserve whatever he’s given. It’s why he’s happiest when he’s given a clear goal or objective to complete, because it gives him an opening to prove himself.

All this to say that if we are quantifying Bart and Thad as a "good" or "bad" twin, in the eyes of every authority: Bart is the bad twin. Bart is the bad twin, Bart is the bad twin. Bart is the one who doesn’t care about school and whose grades vary wildly depending on his personal interest. He’s the one who goes off to do dangerous shit for fun and gets in trouble constantly and doesn’t do his chores and is thoroughly unconvinced by any authority figure trying to sell him bullshit. 

Thad is the one who needs to know all the rules just so he can experience the joy of following them. Relentlessly obedient. He'll put all his effort into doing all the right things that’ll endear him to whoever he wants to impress - meaning he’s the asshole who reminds the teacher about the assigned homework. Bart might be the most popular boy in school, but Thad is a pleasure to have in class.

Like Thad can (and should) still be high-strung and short-tempered and sarcastic and edgy and mean, because he is. But he can’t be doing all that without rhyme or reason. Colouring every interaction has to be that one-zero binary of ally or enemy. He needs to have somebody he’s proving himself to: a team he’s on and a team he’s against. He’s not an inherently rebellious character. He can go up against The Enemy, whoever he deems as such, but it has to be in service of a hypothetical future in which somebody eventually tells him he did a great job.

And in the interest of continuing to beat a dead horse, it connects to their respective upbringings. Thad and Bart were both raised in VR, but Bart’s experience had the side effect of basically hard-wiring him against insecurity. His world was a playground tailor-made for him, and he was never made to feel bad or insufficient about any aspect of himself. His first interaction with a real human person was Iris moving heaven and earth to save him, without him knowing her, without her knowing him, with no reasoning for the act needed beyond Being Her Grandson. Which is probably a significant factor in why Bart moves through the world with frankly atomic levels of autistic swag.

Thad’s VR upbringing installed self-consciousness in his psyche before any other personality trait. As in: he is immediately made conscious of himself and his relationship with everyone he will ever encounter. He’s told two things: he’s a clone of someone else (inherently derivative, lesser) and that he was made to be superior (a status to achieve). Which is such an instant clarifier for Thad’s everything. Where superiority is a condition that everyone either has, or does not. It’s the one-zero binary again: are they better than me or am I better than them. Being above others is mandatory, and if his superiority is ever challenged by hard evidence or god forbid nuance Thad’s brain physically cannot take it. He needs to be better, to be worse is unthinkable, and there is no other way to be.

And this status of better or worse is, crucially, not up to Thad to decide. He needs The Authority to validate him. Bart never tries to prove himself because he has nothing to prove. Thad’s entire identity hinges on the self-worth he gets from doing a Good Job.

It is such an inherent part of his motives in the Impulse comics canon, which is why it always feels a little off when he’s interpreted as a jackass indiscriminately.

Like I don't think he needs everyone to like him. But I do think he has either one person or a set of very particular people that he needs to like him. Everyone else is either in that circle or outside of it.

(Which is why Bart is such a great foil for Thad tbh. There is no set of words or behaviors that’ll change Bart’s opinion of Thad, because Bart is unaffected by obedience or charm. So ironically Bart is probably one of few people that Thad doesn’t bother to put on even a little bit of an act for.)

While Bart goes with his instincts, his personal beliefs and convictions at all times, Thad is hyper-conscious of big-picture goals. They balance each other out that way. Thad's keeping track of whatever expectations he has placed on him, and how his actions reflect on him and the team beyond short-sighted solutions. He's a team player. AND he's an asshole.

[perfectly-m1saligned]

(Late) K!nktober day 8

Following @dreamlandcreations prompt list. Day 8: gun play; dirty talk. You can find all my stories on my Wattpad as well. Toodles!

(NSFW: MDNI!! Reader's discretion is advised)

Simon Riley x reader

(Stalker!Simon)

cw: gunplay, dubcon (?), unprotected piv, creampie

word count: 2400

a/n: I'm very sorry for this delay, but you're getting double fed tonight!!

The music was deafening, the lights painting your body in different coloured hues, making the people around you look like they were in a stop-motion movie, making you dizzy if you looked too hard. Halloween, the night of the witches, night of the dead, whatever; to you, and your friend who was walking next to you, was the night of the sluts, which meant belt-sized skirts and the tiniest tank tops ever.

Dumping Jackson a week before Halloween was like a godsend. It stung deep in your pride, seeing him fuck that blonde bimbo in the bathtub at your friend Jessica’s party. It didn’t exactly hurt because you loved him or anything, it just infuriated you how he’d had the audacity to disrespect you like this. You mourned the loss for all of two hours after coming home from the party, then the pain was gone.

“y/n, I’m going to grab us a couple of shots at the bar!” Helen said over the loud thumping music, stretching herself up on her tippy toes despite wearing those safety hazards that she called ‘shoes’. You nodded, watching her disappear in a blink of an eye in the sea of people that littered the dance floor. You took your phone out, groaning at the sight of Jackson’s messages piling, along with phone calls. Apparently, fucking that girl had been a “terrible mistake” and he was “piss drunk”, but sober enough to get his dick hard and stick it in another girl’s cunt somehow.

Since Helen was taking too much time getting your drinks, most likely due to the monstrosity of a queue that lined the bar, you decided to go wait with her since you had nothing better to do. When you finally spotted her, two hot guys dressed as jacked angel and devil were talking to her. She met your gaze, and winked, making you smirk. The guys seemed nice, and you all took shots together, until a pleasant buzz filled your head, and the cute devil had to support you by wrapping his arm around your waist.

“You girls want to go to VIP?” He said, his lips grazing the shell of your ear, his captivating green eyes peering down at you, his lips curled in a sexy little smirk. You were more than looking forward to spending the night with him, since Helen had his friend’s tongue already halfway down her throat, his hand cupping her ass from under her miniskirt. “Gotta hit the loo first.” You said, unfortunately feeling the weight of the booze aggravating on your bladder. When you turned to head to the restroom, you didn’t notice the black-clad figure on the other side of the room starting to walk as soon as you did.

Poor, silly, y/n, you thought he hadn’t followed you here? It was Halloween, after all, one of the most dangerous nights of the year, he had to look out for you. Plus, those guys totally weren’t your type, he was far better. He was the only right guy for you. You simply didn’t know yet.

The queue to the restroom was surprisingly short, since there were only two stalls, and in your alcohol-induced haze, you forgot to properly lock the door behind you. Strike three. He’d pinned you for a smart girl, but God, you could be so damn naive. Strike one: talking to that guy. Strike two: not locking the door behind you. Strike three: letting him get to you.

You were washing your hands, eyes looking down as you heard the faint sound of the creaky hinges move.

“Oi, it’s-” you froze, the water still running over your hands. He simply stood there, looking at you. The hood of his black hoodie was up, casting shadows over his face, hiding his features from you in the already dimly-lit space. Your heart started to hammer, threatening to slip out of the frail confines of your ribcage. Jackson? He wasn’t nearly as tall, or his shoulders as broad, but perhaps it was the sheer fear coursing through your veins right now that made him look bigger.

“J-Jackson? What are you doing here? I told you to leave me alone-” The man tsked, seemingly amused by your squeaky, feeble voice. “I’m no Jackson, bunny.” He replied, his baritone voice sending a chill down your bloodstream, making you shiver. “You know, y/n, I never liked him. You truly should look over your taste in men, because as of now, it’s shit.” You were utterly dumbfounded, the water still running behind you as you slowly turned around to face him. His imposing figure crowded the small space, looming over you.

“Who are you?” You asked, your voice shaky, barely above a whisper. You tried to look past him, but there was no way you could’ve escaped him, since he had most likely locked the door, like you should’ve done when you came in here. He took a step forward, some light exposing a razor-sharp jawline, covered in light stubble. “Who am I” He echoed, almost mocking. “I’m the only man who cares about you, y/n.”

When he removed his hood, your heart dropped to your ass. Simon. Simon Riley. He lived right across your apartment, on the other side of the corridor. Suddenly, although your cognitive processes were currently running a little slower than usual, the pieces started to come together. How he was coincidentally going downstairs to throw out the trash when you came up with groceries, and you always accepted his kind offer to help you unload them. Why sometimes you felt like someone was watching you, waking up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night, and you thought you heard your front door close, but always thought it was a dream.

“S-Simon?” You stuttered, bewildered. You took a step back, but the cold sink pressed into your lower back, faint splashes of water hitting your bare skin. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this, bunny,” he murmured, taking another step towards you, the sole of his combat boots making a squelching noise on the sticky floor. “I always had to see you with that son a bitch Jackson, I knew he wasn’t a good guy. He didn’t deserve you. I wasn’t surprised to learn he cheated on you.” How did he know? You had only talked about it on the phone, at home, alone- “Yes, y/n, I have cameras installed in your house,” he scoffed, reading your thoughts. He said it as if it was the most obvious thing on earth. “How else am I supposed to protect you, hm? Make sure you’re safe?”

Your chest was heaving, the sheer panic you were feeling not allowing you to move from your spot, slightly shaking. “Plus, I wouldn’t want to miss it for the world,” he began, taking another step forward. He stood inches away from you now, raising a gloved finger to your finger, running it over your jaw before hooking it under your chin, forcing you to tilt your chin, your eyes meeting his chocolate brown ones. “When you’ve drunk a couple glasses of wine, and you sit on the couch, your pretty little hand travelling between your thighs-” he scoffed. “Because, let’s face it, that guy couldn’t even give you a proper orgasm, y/n. What a sad excuse of a man he was, unable to please his woman?”

His finger wandered south, making you gasp as he stopped right between your heaving breasts. “Are you…going to hurt me?” You asked, gazing up at him through thick, black lashes. He cooed. “I would never, my sweet little bunny,” he murmured, his nose nuzzling the fold of your ear, his warm breath tickling your sensitive skin. “No one could treat you as good as I would, but it seems like you need a little bit more convincing.” You suddenly felt something cold tracing the inside of your thighs, making you whimper as it trailed up your flushed flesh. “Because apparently, you prefer to go with some fucking jerks who only want to use you for your body, y/n. And it makes me so. Fucking. Mad.” You stilled, realising he had a gun.

“S-Simon, no…please…” you cried out softly, already feeling the hot tears brimming your eyes. “Shh, shh,” he shushed you quietly, pressing a few butterfly kisses on your jawline. “I’d never hurt you, didn’t I just tell you that? Although…” his voice took on a menacing tone. “I won’t hesitate to put a bullet through that guy’s skull if you so let him put a hand on you again.” The top of the barrel made contact with your clothed core, feeling the steel barrel slide right between your folds. You shouldn’t have liked it, but the friction combined with your intoxicated state elicited a soft moan to slip past your lips.

“That’s it, such a good little slut,” Simon chuckled, biting into the rosy flesh of your neck. He immediately chased away the sting, running his flat tongue over the red mark left by his teeth. “You’re a twisted little thing, aren’t you? Getting wet on my gun, tch.” He mocked, a wolfish grin on his lips. “N-No, I…” He cut you off. “I know how much you had to hold yourself back with Jackson, he fucked you with no passion, and you let him treat you like a sex doll, bunny. He couldn’t give you what you really needed, but I can.” Another gasp ripped from your chest, feeling him move the flimsy fabric of your panties on one side with the gun, the cold steel collecting some of your arousal from your weeping cunt.

His other hand crept under your top, cupping one of your breasts, pinching your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, coaxing another sweet moan out of your lips. He finally closed the distance between you, bewitching you with a feverish kiss, his tongue immediately seeking out yours, tangling with it in a dizzying dance. He kneaded the plump flesh of your breast in his hand, the other guiding the barrel between your slick folds, teasing your entrance, and a growl rumbled in his throat as he felt his cock pulsating painfully in his jeans. You were responding so well to him, perhaps not in the right state of mind to actually understand what was going on.

He had started to become obsessed with you from the moment he saw you, when he moved into your building. Your sweet laugh, that cute smile that you should’ve reserved for him, and him only. You were perfect, yet you failed to see it, selling yourself short for pathetic boys like Jackson and that guy out there, who was probably wondering where you had gone. You were exactly where you belonged, with him. He could treat you better than anyone else; besides, he knew you so well, he knew everything about you. No one would love you like he did.

You had started to grind your hips over the barrel of the gun, chasing the heat that was coiling up in your stomach, the delicious friction against your clit bringing you closer to my release. Then you suddenly felt empty, and you groaned, frustrated, shooting him a glare. “W-Why did you…?” You gasped, feeling him trace the cold steel up your body, pushing it between your lips. “Take off my pants, y/n, I need to feel that sweet pussy around my cock.” You could taste yourself on the weapon, the tangy hint of your juices mixing with the feeling of the metal.

Inhaling a shaky breath through your nose, you started to fumble with the buckle of his belt, unable to see what you were doing, with your mouth full. “Faster.” Simon ordered, pushing the gun down your mouth, your throat clenching and making you gag slightly. You finally managed to get his jeans open, and pulled them down along with his boxer briefs, feeling his fat cock springing free, hitting your stomach. Simon’s hand left your chest, spitting down on his palm and then stroking his dick with it to avoid any discomfort. “Turn around, bunny.” He said, taking the gun out of your mouth.

You did as he said, meeting your reflection in the fogged mirror, his imposing frame looming behind you, and you shivered when you felt him pull his weapon to your head, the rush making your arousal leak down your legs. “You’re such a filthy whore, y/n. Say it,” He growled, lining the head of his cock with your weeping entrance, keeping the string of your thong to the side with his thumb. “Say you’re a filthy whore.” In one long thrust, he bottomed out inside of you, making you cry out, your gummy walls enveloping his shaft as he speared you open.

“I…I’m a- ah…f-filthy whore!” You whimpered, your hands curling around the cool ceramic of the sink, feeling it press onto your lower abdomen as Simon used the gun to bend you over. “Yes you are,” he cooed. “Fucking hell, bunny, you’re so soaked you’re going to drown me, baby.” His hips started to thrust into you at a punishing pace, your forehead pressing against the mirror, your hand slipping, closing the tap as you were pushed forward. “See, bunny, no one can fuck you like I do. Can you feel me inside of you? Fuck, look how bad your little pussy needs me, such a greedy little thing, needing to be filled.”

Your moans filled the grubby stall, the obscene sounds of his dick slamming into your cunt mixing with the noises of skin against skin. The heat was coiling back up quickly in your belly, Simon’s cock throbbing against your walls, meaning he was close as well. “I’m going to fill you up, and then you’re going to walk back with my cum leaking from this filthy cunt, yeah? You’re gonna go back to your friend Helen, saying that you got the best dick of your life.”

His words were muffled nonsense in your head now, your orgasm mounting quickly, until it crashed onto you like a truck. You clenched tight around him as you came, your squirt splashing on his lower abdomen. An animalistic grunt rumbled in Simon’s chest, thick white ropes of cum shooting inside you, filling you to the brim. You were left breathless, dazed and confused, feeling Simon’s seed flowing down your legs.

“I’ll see you at home, bunny. You’re mine now.” Simon whispered, leaving a chaste kiss against your temple, before he disappeared into thin air.

•This is an original work of fiction, please do not translate or share on this or any other platforms without credit•

[apomaro-mellow]

Every Baby Needs a Daddy 16

Part 15

The next day, Steve was probably the clingiest he'd ever been. He thought his heat had ended but the new pack bonds brought on a new crest of lust. For the first time since he had arrived, he ate breakfast with everyone in the kitchen. After the meal, Steve made himself comfortable in Eddie's lap.

Eddie and Jeff were talking about concepts for the next album. Gareth was nursing his coffee, still waking up. Grant got up to refill his own mug and Steve's eyes followed him like a hawk. Eddie was pretty attuned to Steve's wants and needs. And when he felt Steve's fingers brush against his lips while staring at the unaware beta across the room, he had a pretty good idea of what his baby wanted.

"Remember sweetness, you gotta use your words. The boys don't know all your tells yet."

Steve whimpered and whined at first, but not longer after he was purring as Grant ate him out on the counter.

Soon enough though, it was time for Corroded Coffin to return to the public eye. And almost just as quickly, the fans with a keen eye noticed a certain omega showing up much more. Not just on Eddie's arm but the rest of the band's as well.

The more it was seen, the more permanent Steve's position appeared. It was February when the competing hashtags #ccomega and #notouromega showed up. Of course, the overwhelming majority of the fans were in the camp of 'neither one is gonna fuck you, so stop wasting your time arguing about it'.

Eddie was reading through a couple of argument threads, snickering to himself when Steve stepped out of the dressing room.

"What about this one?"

The outfit consisted of tight leather pants, a blazer, and a mesh shirt under that. Eddie's hands fell to the magnetic force that was Steve's nipples and started playing with them through the shirt. He let that be his answer and the online comment wars were forgotten for a moment. The new outfit was for an award show the band was attending and throughout the whole thing, Steve ignored his own reserved seat and stayed planted in Eddie's lap.

Given that it was an award show, many eyes were on it, even those not typically concerned with celebrity gossip. When it started spreading to such a degree, even THEY couldn't ignore it. Helen Harrington should have known something was up the moment Irene got that nasty look in her eyes, taking a sip of her champagne flute before speaking.

"Of course, we can't all have such famous children. Steve has been in so many magazines these days. I think the last one actually caught him with his pants down", Irene laughed haughtily.

Helen's face was tight with control. "You're such a charmer Irene. Not most people would admit to reading such tabloid trash."

It was reaching their circle of colleagues, which meant something must be done about their son. She and her husband Richard discussed as much. Steve couldn't be allowed to drag their name through the mud like this anymore.

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

Steve had basically taken up residence in the band's house. He slept in Eddie's room, which was now functionally his as well. Every morning he woke up with their scents mingled and it made his omega purr with satisfaction. He liked whenever the rest of his pack's scents lingered on his body too. Every time he went out, people knew who he belonged to, even without a bite.

But the thought of getting a mating bite did intrigue him.

He wasn't sure how to bring it up though. They'd already taken a major step in their relationship. Asking to be mated forever seemed like asking too much too soon. But relaxing in the living room, warming his alpha's cock with his mouth while daytime television played on sounded perfect.

And everyday with Steve was perfect in Eddie's opinion. Valentine's Day needed to be more perfect. He had a hunch why Steve was spending February 13th with Jeff and Gareth. It didn't make him any less crabby about it though and unfortunately Grant was left to deal with his crabby ass. He was even crabbier when he realized Steve had awakened much earlier the next day and that Eddie wouldn't be seeing him until evening.

CC had a radio interview and Steve was off doing who knew what. Eddie had half a mind to send him relentless thirst texts but instead just made sure he remembered they had reservations at a private restaurant. Eddie sent a car to get Steve and by 8 they had both arrived. Eddie was practically drooling at the silk shirt Steve was wearing.

And the thrill of later events got to him as he put a hand to Steve's back and felt something lacy underneath the shirt.

"You got a surprise for me, baby?"

Steve's smile was coy. "Maybe. Maybe I did a little shopping and I needed a couple of extra eyes to make sure it looked right."

Well that explained why the other two tagged along. And Eddie was only a little jealous that they got to see his present early. Only a little. Steve was pressed to his side for the entire dinner, feeding each other and feeling his surprise just under the silk.

"Baby, I don't think I can wait any longer", Eddie murmured against his ear.

"I can't either", Steve whispered back, legs rubbing together.

There was no way they were making it back home. Steve needed Eddie inside him now and he let him know that by letting out quiet whimpers directly into his ear. Eddie bit his lip, getting a naughty thought in his head.

"I've got an idea...if you're into it."

Steve was definitely into any ideas he had and soon the bill was paid and they were rushing back to the car Eddie had driven here. Eddie started driving with one hand, then other cupped Steve between the legs. It didn't take long for Eddie to find what they needed.

A 24 hour car wash.

They both climbed into the backseat as soon as the car was set on the track. Steve sunk down on Eddie's cock and rode him without an ounce of shame, letting his voice ring out among the noises of the brushes and soap and water. Eddie knew he must have hearts in his eyes, watching this beautiful creature, shirt falling open to reveal the dark green lingerie underneath.

When they came, they only had a few moments to make themselves decent as the car started to exit the wash. Steve didn't even try, just lying in the backseat with his pants off while Eddie scrambled back to the front. With very little regard for much else, Eddie peeled out of the parking area to preserve Steve's modesty.

Meanwhile, Steve had few qualms about having his cunt out in the backseat. This time of night, it was dark besides a few streetlamps. he reached down to feel his own wetness mingling with Eddie's cum. Eddie wasn't playing any music, so the sound of Steve's pussy sounded like it was echoing in the car. This man would be the death of him.

The rest of the night was spent in romantic bliss, just the two of them. But Steve had already given the rest of his pack chocolates.

The next morning, Steve's dream of a domestic life with Eddie was interrupted by his phone ringing. Eddie groaned at the intrusion and Steve reached out to grab it and see who was calling him. The number had no name attached, but he knew it by heart. He'd known the number since he was young but it had been years since he'd called it. Or since it had called him.

He ignored the call to stop the ringing and cuddled back up to his alpha. Eddie was all who mattered right now. Not them. He ignored the call that came a couple of hours later, and the few that came the next day as well. He didn't even listen to the voicemails left for him. Whatever they had to say, couldn't be anything good.

It was two weeks later when he got his first piece of mail since he started living here and who else could it be from but his parents. He leaned against the fridge as he opened it, finally curious enough to find out what they wanted.

"So what'd they send you?", Eddie asked before spooning some cereal into his mouth.

For a moment, Steve simply stood there, mouth agape as he read the envelope's contents.

"Sweetheart?"

"My parents.... sent me a cease and desist letter."

Part 17 (final)

Tag Team CLOSED

@awkotaco24 @lingeringmirth @littlewildflowerkitten @estrellami-1 @tartarusknight @velocitytimes2 @mrsjellymunson @trashcanniballecter @paintsplatteredandimperfect @a-little-unsteddie  @sllooney  @starman-jpg  @oxidantdreamboat  @xxbottlecapx   @newtstabber @tiny-enthusiast  @desidrarry-wolfstarshipper @y4r3luv @hello-fellow-nerds  @anonymousbandgirl @alyelf @potato-of-the-lord  @beckkthewreck  @croatoan-like-its-hot @pluto-pepsi @abstractnaturaldisaster @ellietheasexylibrarian @eyesofshinigami @dragonmama76 @greatwerewolfbeliever @chaosgremlinmunson @blackpanzy @millseyes-world @batxsignalsx @lilpomelito @goosesister @libraryofgage @aresthelostboy @royjaimie4eva @silenzioperso @she-collects-smut @lost-wondering-souls @eddielives1986 @marklee-blackmore

[bl00dy-pa1nt3r]

Hii!! can I get headcanons of what creepypasta characters would do if you cheated. Please and thank you, also love youuu. 💕

⊹ ࣪ ˖𝘊𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘱𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘯₊ ⊹

|| Yess Ofcc!! Tysm for requesting!! I love you too wifeyy ‹𝟹 🧸ྀི I also have classes tomorrow so I’m trying to finish this before then 😭 ||

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀꜱ ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇᴅ » 𝘓𝘪𝘶 𝘞𝘰𝘰𝘥𝘴 – 𝘉𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘗𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳 – 𝘛𝘪𝘤𝘤𝘪 𝘛𝘰𝘣𝘺

𝗰𝘄 » 𝘕𝘰𝘯𝘦 (?)

𝗥𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 » 𝘧𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘦

𝗡𝘂𝗺𝗯𝗲𝗿 𝗼𝗳 𝗵𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗰𝗮𝗻𝗼𝗻𝘀 𝗲𝗮𝗰𝗵 » 8-9

|| Reader does not know about them being Creepypasta serial killers ||

───────୨ৎ────────

Liu Woods ⪼

Normally, Liu isn’t one to freak out. But this just about made him do so. Coming home from a long day, and seeing another man in your twos bed was the LAST thing he’d expect out of you.

Headcanons ⪼

• Was in genuine shock, anger, and disappointment when he found out.

• He was really devastated about it as well.

• That night consisted of constant fighting, blaming, yelling, and honestly just bullshit excuses from you. Excuses that Liu definitely wasn’t buying.

• He had gotten you a gift that night, only for it to be thrown away. Along with your twos relationship. Sad, really.

• You two broke up that night after the argument. Liu went to Jeff’s, who surprisingly let him stay for a night or two. Jeff helped him calm down and get his mind off of it.

• A few days after the break up, Liu threw away all the pictures, gifts, etc. that were from the relationship. Wanting to forget about it as quick as possible.

• Asked you to delete any photos or posts of you two from the relationship, politely. If you declined, it probably wouldn’t end well.

• Liu hadn’t really told you about the whole Creepypasta serial killer thing, so he wouldn’t have to worry about the hassle of getting rid of you.

• Got over the breakup in about 3 months, wants to be on good terms, but doesn’t think it’ll go well anyways.

───────୨ৎ────────

Bloody Painter ⪼

Helen is not a person to take cheating lightly. In fact, he does not tolerate it by ANY means. He’s a very hard person to read, but you could tell his true emotions behind that stoic and emotionless mask of his.

Headcanons ⪼

• He was surprisingly ‘calm’ during this whole situation. Though it was clear he just wanted to scream at the you and the stranger.

• Just like any other occasion, he showed no emotion. But you could tell just how pissed and hurt he was by this.

• Managed to hold in his emotions while telling you and the stranger to get out. Pure disappointment and hurt was evident in his voice as it cracked slightly.

• Had burned all paintings he had made of you over the course of the relationship. Along with deleting photos and your number.

• Once you started to try to get in contact with him, he blocked your number. The amount of calls and texts he was getting started to annoy him.

• Demanded for his hoodies, shirts, etc. back. Immediately washing them as soon as he got them. Though, he did keep one with your scent still on it

• He bottled up his emotions for a long time. Until he just broke down in front of Puppeteer. Puppeteer let him vent for as long as he needed, he knew that Helen needed this.

• It took Helen a bit longer to get over the break up, as his trust issues built up more. But Puppeteer and Dina helped him through it.

• Got with Dina a month or so after he got over the break up, is still with her currently.

───────୨ৎ────────

Ticci Toby ⪼

Toby never thought that, that would happen, but there he was standing in the hallway. Catching you and the stranger in the bedroom. You only just noticed him when you heard him tic, pushing the stranger off you.

Headcanons ⪼

• Toby’s emotions got the best of him. He was pissed, but mostly hurt at the same time. He basically screamed at the stranger to get out.

• Once you two were alone, you two argued, you mostly said excuses.

• After the break up, Toby went killing more than usual, needed to get his mind off things and to get his anger out.

• Sally helped distract him from it by playing tea party or dress up with him. Bloody Painter drew with Toby to distract him as well.

• Despite them helping him forget about it, he still was pretty bummed out about it. But eventually, over time, he got over the break up.

• He did the same as Helen and Liu, getting rid of photos, posts, etc. from the relationship.

• Washed the bedsheets and his clothes that you had worn in the past. He felt disgusted to even lay down in his own bed after catching what you had done with another man.

• Hasn’t gotten with another person since then. He’s still working on forgetting about it.

• Other creeps had helped him a lot, giving advice, helping him forget, or just helping in general. He’s healing really well, and has mostly forgotten about it.

───────୨ৎ────────

⋆⑅˚₊ ּ ֶָ֢. .𖥔 ݁ ˖ ₊⊹‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋆. ⋅˚₊‧⋆.˚˖°. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ ₊

[world0fmadness]

FUNNEL OF LOVE

nico rosberg x wife! reader x ( platonic! ) oc daughter

♡ general headcanons for a valentine’s day with nico!

୨୧ my man my man my man! love him so much… i know valentine’s day has very much passed but just let me live <3 this takes place before little ladybug is born

♡ related smau available here, related hc available here and here | view my formula 1 masterlist here

reading music recommendations: funnel of love by wanda jackson - i wanna be loved by you by helen kane

♡ you and nico send rosie to her grandparents house the night before valentine’s day!

୨୧ as much as you both absolutely adore your little rabbit, rosie has been with you guys every valentine’s day since she was born…

♡ so for this one, you decided to spend it with just the two of you at home <3

୨୧ luckily you didn’t even have to try and convince her to go to her grandparents house for two days, she absolutely loves them and spending nights at their house

♡ it was honestly harder for nico to stop asking her if she has everything she needs, say bye and get back in the car after dropping her off… he hates saying bye to his little rabbit, even if he’s literally picking her up in the morning of the day after valentine’s day…

୨୧ you don’t think you guys have any plans, you’re probably just going to let your life flow with the day! oh boy, you’re wrong!

♡ when the morning of valentine’s day rolls around, you wake up ( much later than usual ) to the absence of nico’s arms holding you like they usually are…

୨୧ slightly peeved, you slide out of bed and make the short journey downstairs, looking for your husband

♡ you find him in the kitchen, cooking pancakes for you and they smell amazing

୨୧ when he notices you in the doorway, he gives you a beaming smile and comes over to give you a peck on the lips before telling you to go relax in the living room

“ good morning, miene liebe! you look beautiful this morning, as always, go watch some tv hm? breakfast, or i suppose brunch, will be done soon ” ( you’ll never understand how he’s such a morning person )

♡ while sitting in the living room, you can faintly hear him humming to himself and mumbling though you can’t make out what he’s saying

୨୧ when the pancakes are done, nico comes sauntering in to the living room, bending down to give you another kiss before giving you your plate and sitting down next to you with his, gesturing for you to lean into his side as you always do

♡ while eating, you notice nico is suspiciously smiley and giddy… but alas, you don’t say anything, figuring he’s just enjoying the peace of the morning without your crazy little rabbit running around and making a mess ( you should’ve known that wasn’t the reason, seeing his girl run around and make a mess does make nico happy because she’s happy )

୨୧ eventually after breakfast, nico asks you if you’d like to go into the local village with him, telling you he has to pick something up

♡ you’re even more confused now… pick something up? he hasn’t told you about him ordering anything and he doesn’t explain

୨୧ your curiosity is too strong and you agree, both of you heading upstairs to change into some day clothes

♡ nico could never get tired of watching you get ready, he thinks you’re the most beautiful person he’d ever seen and after giving him a child his love only grew stronger

୨୧ on the drive, his free hand rests on your leg, holding your hand under his, gently squeezing it every now and then… eventually, you ask what it is he’s picking up

“ it’s a surprise, meine liebe, you’ll know soon enough… ”

♡ when you drive into the village, the car pulls up outside of the cutest little flower store and nico asks you to wait in the car, giving you a kiss on the cheek before getting out

୨୧ you watch him enter the shop through the car windows, wondering what exactly he has planned…

♡ less than five minutes of him entering the shop, you see the door open and out he walks wearing a big grin and holding a gorgeous bouquet of assorted pink flowers in his right hand

୨୧ when he gets back in the car, you’re immediately leaning over the console and smothering him in kisses, thanking him as he goes to hand you the bouquet

“ you’re welcome, miene liebe, only the best for my beauty ”

♡ you’re beaming for the whole drive home, admiring the flowers as nico’s eyes drift over to you every once and a while, looking at you with a certain gleam in his eyes… oh, he’s not done

୨୧ when you arrive home, he’s helping you get out of the car ( opening the door for you and offering his hand, treating you like a princess getting out of a horse pulled carriage ) whilst you chuckle

♡ as you’re putting the flowers away in a vase, marvelling at them as they sit on the kitchen table, nico tells you to relax as he’s going to run a bath for the two of you

୨୧ and you do, by the time he calls you upstairs and you wander into the bathroom, the bath is full with a small layer of bubbles and petals on top… lit candles scattered throughout the bathroom which causes a smell of roses to enter your nose <3

♡ as you get in, you sit back against his chest, one of his hands stroking the side of your cheek whilst the other rests on your hip under the warm water

୨୧ the steam rising from the water makes you sigh, leaning your head back against his neck and gently kissing it as he looks down at you with nothing but love swirling around in his eyes

“ you’re so beautiful, miene liebe, i feel like i don’t tell you that enough, you know? ” ( he absolutely does, he tells you at least ten times a day )

♡ you guys must spend an hour in the bath, just giggling between yourselves as you place bubbles on each other’s face

୨୧ eventually, you both get out, the water having gone extremely lukewarm and nico tells you to get dressed up however you’d like as he has a reservation booked for dinner ( yet another thing you had no idea about but were very pleasantly surprised by )

♡ it’s quite a drive into the city where the restaurant is so it makes sense, by the time you get there it’ll be around dinner time

୨୧ when you’re getting ready, nico is again admiring you all whilst getting himself dressed up at the same time, buttoning up his shirt wrong as he was too hypnotised by you…

♡ you giggle as you point it out to him, reaching over to fix them for him as he chuckles

“ well, can you blame me? i was just too focused on the living art piece that stands before me ” ( god, he’s such a sap… but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t love it )

୨୧ you two look amazing as you prepare to leave, making sure your hair is fine and spraying on some perfume before you take nico’s awaiting arm and walk out the door

♡ on the lengthy drive to the restaurant, nico hums to whatever is playing on the radio as you admire him from the side… he notices and sends you a wink before beginning to talk about his little rabbit

“ i really am so proud of our little rabbit, miene liebe… she’s getting so big, so smart, so beautiful… just like her mother ” ( he has that proud dad smile on his face as he thinks about his little rabbit )

୨୧ when you reach the restaurant, nico again helps you exit the car, holding your bag for you and taking your hand

♡ the restaurant is beautiful, of course it is! nico wouldn’t settle for anything less for his beauty

୨୧ as you’re seated, nico takes your hand over the table, gently stroking over your fingers whilst you browse the menu

♡ dinner is unsurprisingly amazing, you and nico having giving each other taste tests of your food, jokingly trying to decide who has the best taste in food

୨୧ as you pay the bill and leave, both of you have the most lovesick smiles on your face, anyone passing you two would be able to tell how much you adore each other just by the look on your faces

♡ by the time you get home, nico is covered in lipstick kiss prints due to how many times you kissed him thank you for the amazing day on the way home ( i mean, really, you attacked him with kisses at every red light )

୨୧ as you enter the house, nico suddenly gasps and shouts at you to stay put in the living room, absolutely do NOT come to the bedroom!

♡ you’re laughing as he speed walks away and up the stairs, wondering what his final surprise of the day is…

୨୧ after a couple of minutes, he calls you up though when you reach the bedroom door it’s closed and nico is standing against it

♡ he takes your hand in his and suddenly goes on a huge ramble about how much he loves you, how happy you and your little rabbit make him, how he wishes he could give you the world… and how he hopes today brought you some happiness

୨୧ by the time it’s over, he’s almost out of breath and you’re nearly in tears, softly smacking him on the shoulder and telling him of course today made you happy, every day with him makes you happy, you could sit and watching paint dry with him but you’d still be so over the moon because you’re with him

♡ you’re both softly making out in the hallway after your shared confessions of love towards each other and he quietly gasps into your mouth, realising oh my god, you’re making out in the hallway like teenagers whilst the bedroom is right behind you!

୨୧ you share a laugh at his realisation before finally opening the bedroom door and you’re greeted by a dimly lit room, some lit candles spread around and flower petals laying atop your bed… so that’s what he was doing up here!

♡ you immediately turn to look at him and he gives a soft smile

“ wanted to give you one last surprise, you deserve so many, miene liebe… ”

୨୧ you smash your mouth against his, pushing him over to the bed as his hands wander your body, stripping each other of your clothes, the following two hours ( yes, two hours! listen, it’s been a while since you’ve really been able to get down and dirty since you’re had rosie ) are filled with sounds of pleasure filling the room, open mouth kisses being shared between you both as you make love on rose scented sheets

♡ oh yeah, this is the best valentine’s day you’ve had in a long time…

ynln: happy valentine’s day, i had the pleasure of begin treated like a princess by my own prince! ladies, don’t settle for anyone less than nico 🌸 🫧 🦢

nicoynforever: when will i find someone that treats me how nico treats yn? 💔

nicorosberg ✔️: only the best for you, miene liebe ❤️

loveyounico: where’s little rabbit?

> nicoynforever: in all of their past valentine’s day posts she’s been there so this must be their first without her 🥹

oldf1lover: that 6th picture… god, they look so good

[buckyarchives]

Metal Arms and Short Skirts | Bucky Barnes [2.]

summary: waltzing in as the new head of the Avenger's medical division, impressing everyone, and... scaring Bucky with your incredibly short skirts. while bucky's having a hard time looking at his arm as anything other than a deadly weapon, you're more than happy to help him.

words: 4.3K

warnings; creepy men (+bucky fending them off) slight body dysphoria on buckys end

author note : HI I KNOW THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE UP LIKE & DAYS AGO... aib came out and ive been hyperfixaed on that and my brother got frostbite so wump wump was at the hospital on chrimis. i have mixed feelings on this chapter, but i hope you enjoy. and im still taking request.

READ ON AO3 | masterlist

Bucky wasn't going to pretend to be completely oblivious and say he wasn't finding every and any excuse to visit you. Whether it be a tear in his muscle or the sound of the metal whizzing sounding off, something bucky would have ignored with absolutely no thought. Bucky maintained a comfortable distance between you two, physically and emotionally, staying at arm's length. But something about today seemed to be different. 

Bucky shifted nervously in his seat, he watched your stride around your lab. You finally got your own area after 2 weeks of staying at the compound. It almost put Tony's lab to shame, it was huge and decked out with technology far too advanced for bucky to even understand. 

Today, You wore a black bustier that seemed to shape your form, thick and sturdy paneling sewn into the shirt, if that is what you can even call it. The neck hung low, low enough to leave very little to the imagination. Bucky practically had to tear his eyes away from your neckline when he first walked into the lab.

Bucky's excuse today was a deep cut on the side of Bucky's flesh bicep. Coming back from a quick and easy mission, but Clint needed to watch his arrows since one slit past bucky’s arm on the way to the actual enemy behind him. Bucky had a sneaky guess it was on purpose. 

You gathered the plaster and made your way back to bucky, footsteps echoing as you walked. A sigh escaped your lips, but bucky only caught a small smile. “You know, bucky. You can't come in here every time you have a small cut.”

“Isn't that what you're being paid for?” bucky snarked back, watching your hands as they gently grabbed at his lower arm. Your touch was always so delicate, like you were going to break him rather than heal. 

“Ha, ha.” you mocked. “I could have been making some ground-breaking discovery or invention before you walked in.”

Bucky's eyebrow quirked up eagerly. “Were you?”

A closed-mouthed hum escaped your lips. Your all too perfect pedicured hand wrapped the white bandage around bucky's arm, he was just watching your face as you worked. Couldn’t– wouldn't tear his eyes away. 

“Not really, just researching some stuff about scarring and skin stuff,” you spoke, dumbing it down for bucky. 

During bucky's visit, he’d always ask about everything, trying to catch up with the technology of the 21st century, or maybe just to hear your voice. He didn't understand half the things you spoke about, though he never mentioned it, but you figured it out soon enough and started to simplify it the best you could.

“Scarring?”

“Helen has some idea about how to better rid of scars.” your hand smoothed against his bicep as you finished, and your touch sent a good burn through him. Giving him a warm smile like you always did when you finished.

Bucky's eyes glanced down to his left shoulder for a moment, the ugly scarring that single-handedly destroyed most of his bodily confidence. The permanent mark of what Hydra did to him as they chopped it off and made him part machine. Bucky scoffed to cover up the obvious self-depreciation in his voice, “need a test subject?”

You flinched at his words, surprised, being taken aback by his response. Only then when you looked him up and down, settling on his clothes shoulder, your face fell and a sympathetic look flashed. It was covered by his tanktop but you knew what was under there, you'd seen the photos, you'd seen him. 

You sat back down on your little rolly stool. “I'm surprised you’d suggest that, based on your history, I'd expect you to not be so keen on being poked and prodded.”

Memories flashed Hydra's methods at tearing his humanity, mind, and body apart, all those experiments. But they quickly subdued, how could bucky think of something so cruel when you stat right in front of him, which in bucky's opinion, is perfection. 

“I think I'd be okay with it if it was you.” bucky said quietly, honestly– a confession even. 

A fond smile rose to your face, one you quickly bit back. Narrow eyes met him when you tilted your head slightly, shying away. “Good to know you trust me.”

“Always.”

“But–” you sighed, “I'm going to have to decline, Bucky. For now, you'll have to live with what your shoulder looks like. Sorry.”

Bucky dramatically groaned, trying to mask the obvious pain and disappointment he actually felt. “You're killing me, doll.”

Your ears warmed at the nickname. Averting your eyes for a moment from shyness. You knew bucky despised the scarring that painted his left shoulder, the one that connected the man to metal. You could only lend him some comfort in the situation, no amount of medical technology right now could completely ease his worries.

“Bucky?”

His head perked up, a hum escaped his lips as he put all his attention on you.

“You wanna see something really cool?” you smirked.

Bucky noticed the slight smirk tugging at your lips, he could only react by biting back a smile of his own. “Sure, doll.”

You leaned down to the hem of your right pant leg, slowly hiking up the baggy jeans that hung low on your waist. Slowly revealing a large and messy scar on your kneecap, nothing as bad as bucky's many scars that littered his body. But something definitely bad happened for you to have that, even fully healed now.

“When I was a kid, I used to skate a lot.” you started, bucky's eyes bouched back up to your face. “I got on a gravel road and fell down and my knee landed right on a huge sharp rock and just logged itself right into my knee.”

You laughed looking back on the memory. “Hurt like hell for 14-year-old me and I had to get so many stitched, it was the worst.” a cheeky smile grew as you spoke through a laugh. “Especially for my dream of becoming a knee model.”

Bucky laughed with you as you dropped your pant leg, sitting back up to look at bucky. Bucky didn't say anything and hung his head low when a silence grew in the lab, only the sound of lab tech whizzing in the background. Bucky mostly just wanted to bask at this moment with you, letting himself enjoy the light-hearted nature of your conversations. The way you and he feel warm inside, lighter than ever.

You smacked your lips as you rose from your seat. Bucky's eyes begrudgingly followed you, “you have to learn to love every part of yourself, despite the bad memories. Because it makes you…”

Stopping in your place, turning to him as your eyes traveled up and down his body, the gesture weirdly didn’t make bucky cringe and crawl into himself the way most gazes did. 

“... you.” you smiled again and bucky felt dizzy. “And I think you're pretty cool.”

You turned away to continue whatever you were doing. Bucky muttered your statement under his breath, loud enough for him to hear it again but quiet enough so you wouldn't.

Bucky rose from his place on the workbench, after many visits he practically claimed this spot. As it sat right in the middle of your lab. Despite everything inside of him wanting to stay near you and soak up your presence. He headed for the door.

“Thanks, doc,” Bucky called out.

“Anytime, bucky. I'll be here when you come in with another excuse to see me,” you spoke coyly. Bucky's eyes widened and warmth crept up to his face. 

He sputters for words to save his pride, stumbling over his poor excuse of an explanation. “Maybe I just wanna see your cool outfits.” bucky's face scrunched up, cringing at his own pathetic words. He wondered what the 40s version of himself would say now, probably something sly and confident that’d knock you off your feet.

“Whatever you say, Mr. Barnes.”

“Bucky.” he corrected, again. But maybe it was just an excuse to linger longer at your door.

You smiled at him and repeated, “bucky.”

“You're going on a date with her.” 

Bucky's eyes widened, his head snapping towards Natasha. “I’m what?”

A frustrated groan leaves Natasha's lips as she shifts in her uncomfy office seat. Half of the Avengers team sat in an office going over a mission coming up, but - like most things - it turned into them talking about anything but that, and successfully annoying the hell out of Steve. 

“I set you up on a date with her.” Natasha spoke, referring to you. “I cannot keep watching you get beat up during missions just so you can see her, so you're going on a date.”

Bucky was dumbfounded, to say the least, lost for words as he stared at the woman in front of him. “Why would I go on a date with her?”

Over the past week or two, Bucky began to deny his fondness towards you when you interrupted a meeting to talk to Tony, or popped into the common rooms to talk about new tech, or how you practically strutted through the compound like you own the place. 

or when you slowly build up bucky’s confidence without either or you realizing it. 

Always in short skirts, or colorful and dramatic tops, and in heels or boots that echo loudly throughout the halls. Bucky denies the way his eyes drag along your figure, always lingering on your face longer than he needs to, the way if you look close enough, Bucky's eyes light up a little when you enter the room. Bucky denies it, but he can't fake it.

And Natasha clocked that quickly. 

“the way you look at her tells me you want to,” Natasha spoke coyly. She always read bucky better than anyone else in the room— similar background and all. a defeated groan comes from bucky in return, followed by a slightly pouted lip. Natasha gives him a friendly slap on the shoulder

A scoff was heard from the other side of the table. “Is the cyborg cable of feelings?” Tony snarked, his head down looking at a sheet of paper. Chewing slightly at a pen. 

“Ha. ha. Very funny.” Bucky mocked. “How do you even know she wants to go on a date with me? I can’t imagine she agreed to this?”

self-consciousness slowly crept up bucky's spine, he can’t face rejection if he denies, denies, and denies.

Natasha went to speak but Tony Stark does what he does best and interrupts her. With a hefty laugh coming up from his chest, he dropped the pen and papers down on the table. Leaning forward to face bucky. “Are you kidding me? You’re like a wet dream to her, always injured and part robot. Hits all of her boxes''

“I'm surprised she hasn’t mounted yo-”

“Okay Tony, I think that's enough talking.” Steve interrupted before he could finish his sentence. Tony’s comment earned a choked laugh from both Natasha and Sam.

“Anyways.” Natasha continued. “I know because she already agreed to it. Everything is already set up.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, hoping his hair covers his growing red ears. Steve spoke up, “Just give it a chance buck. You might enjoy it.” oh steve, hopeful as ever.

“I’m sure you'll enjoy it, it’s very much your style,” Natasha spoke, her infamous smirk growing on her face. 

“That scares me.” 

*****

Turns out Natasha was right, it is very much Bucky's style. Natasha had planned (with the help of Steve, because of-fucking-course) a date at a fancy, old-style diner, and every Saturday night they clear the floor and play some old music for some swing dancing. Just bucky’s style, he knows this was Steve’s idea. more than sure after years of watching plenty of girls swoon over Bucky with just one twirl and one short dance, Steve would think this is right up his alley. And it was.

Now Bucky stands outside a busy and bustling diner, upbeat 40s music echoing to the streets. Flowers in hand and a nice black collared shirt under a vintage jacket (it was from the museum and Steve name-dropped at least 12 times to get it back), waiting patiently for you to arrive. Bucky fiddled with his hands a little, his eyes kept darting to his watch— is he too early? When are you arriving? Bucky’s now convinced you wouldn’t show up. Because who would honestly want to go on a date with h–

“James!” a cheery voice broke through his very self-deprecating thoughts. Bucky turned around and swore his heart stopped beating, just for it to speed up even faster when his sights landed on you.

You wore the same boots that caught Wanda's eyes in the common room that quiet day. His eyes followed up your legs, past your thighs as he saw the dress you wore. It was stripped and sparkly, bucky would see the shine from down the street. It felt like you wore the entire rainbow and more as every stripe was painted differently. It was sleeveless and high-necked. And of course, very short.

An excited smile greeted him as you waved your hand. Your pace sped up as Bucky met you, he wondered how you didn't trip in those high heels constantly.

 “Hi,” Bucky said, wanting to hit himself for how awkward he sounded. 

“Sorry for being late, I didn't mean to make you wait.” you stood before him, and he noticed your makeup. You painted your lips with a darker shade than usual and you had little shiny gems glued around your eyes. 

“Don’t worry about it, I just got here too,” Bucky spoke softly, bringing the flowers up to you. “For you.”

Your eyes instantly lit up at the sight, taking the bouquet from him “thank you! you didn't need to get these for me, James.”

 Bucky's heart fluttered slightly at the name, it was rare for people to use his first name nowadays. You brought the flowers to your nose, smelling them with a blissful look on your face. Laughing to yourself.

“What's so funny?” the super-soldier asked.

“Oh no, it’s nothing.” you looked back down at the flower. “I don’t think anyone has ever gotten me flowers before.”

Bucky’s eyebrows furrowed, “really?”

“Mhmm.” you rocked back and forth on your heels, “thank you for being the first.”

You smiled warmly up at Bucky as you did so often, but the aura of everything made it so much more this time.

“Let's head in?” Bucky cocked his head towards the diner. 

Nodding, “yes, please.” you threaded along, catching Bucky off guard when you swiftly grabbed ahold of his hand. Your fingers wrapped around his flesh hand, the warmth made Bucky feel funny in his stomach. Yeah, Bucky might have a crush on you.

You lead him into the diner, confident in your walk like usual. Your eyes spotted an empty seat and the both of you settled yourselves in a booth. You make quick eye contact and Bucky's mouth gaped like he's going to say something but is stopped when the waiter comes up. The waiter looks like she blends in with the scenery, with pinned-up hair and a bright red lip. She asks for your order and you both get water, and a milkshake. 

“I can imagine why Natasha picked this place out of everything,” you say, eyes off into the distance, Bucky follows your gaze and sees the dance floor of people together with large smiles. “Though, I don't know how to dance.”

Bucky's lip quirks up slightly, “I can teach you.”

“Perfect, let’s go then.” your smile widely, and your already getting up, standing next to bucky's seat and holding a hand out. Bucky’s surprised by your sudden willingness but despite the nervousness in his stomach - he takes your hand. 

Bucky may have been nervous standing outside the diner. May have been nervous as he greeted and met you outside. May have been nervous as you led him inside and watched you from across the table. But once he stepped out onto the swing floor, the soft sound of 40s music playing in the background. The sweet-talking James Buchanan – that seemed to flirt with every girl that met him – came back from the dead, and he had his arm around your waist in no time.

You noticed the sudden confidence and glint in his eyes suddenly, reaching up to grab his neck. Bucky held you at your waist, then he noticed the gold chain hung around your hips. His fingers grazed over them for a moment before they rested at the smallest part of your waist.

Your wide eyes met his and bucky swore for a moment, he couldn't breathe. “How was the mission?”

A groan escaped Bucky's mouth, playfully he rolled his eyes. Trying to sound annoyed, but his smile said otherwise. “Oh god, I don't wanna talk about work.”

Bucky’s hands stayed planted on your waist. You smiled as you continued to sway together along to the soft jazz in the background. You tugged nervously at your lip, “you know, I was getting worried when I heard you guys weren’t getting back on time.”

“You worry about me?” Bucky was stunned, an unfamiliar warmth shot through him as you averted your gaze. He took one hand to pull at your chin, so you were looking at him. Your mouth gaped open for a moment and your brain studdered before you just shrugged in response, a slight nod.

The familiar sound of the music speeding up, the upbeat sound of Harry James filled Bucky’s ears and for a moment Bucky was in the 40s again with a girl in his arms ready to be shipped out to war. A sentimental smile grew on his face.

“You ready to learn how to dance.” Bucky beamed down at you and before you could even respond, Bucky pushed your body away from him abruptly. Just to grab your hand before you could fall, twirling you around and back close to his chest. 

It all happened so fast and you yelped once your back hit his chest. His arm wrapped across your body and held your hand. You breathed and smiled widely. “I might step on your toes.

“I can handle it, doll.”

******

A few songs later and a couple of toes crushed, followed by a slew of apologies from you. You and Bucky ended up breathing heavily and slightly sweaty from dancing. Bucky swung you around like you weighed nothing - which to him - you probably did. Lots of music ranging from the 40s to 60s played throughout the diner, to which Bucky snarks at the fact he didn’t recognize the songs, always followed by light laughter.

The dancing came to a slow, but you two remained on the floor still. It was getting late and you hadn’t even eaten yet and most couples and groups of friends had gone back to their seats. You swayed comfortably in Bucky's arms still, your head laid on his chest listening to the soft beat of his heartbeat. 

Bucky Barnes is a more than qualified trained assassin with heightened senses. He's very aware of his surroundings at all times, so when he notices the man peering at your thighs and ass, his eyes narrow toward the man. A glimpse of the winter soldier showed, but the creep didn't seem to pay any attention to Bucky's gaze.

Every so politely, Bucky attempted to tug at your dress without it seeming like he was trying to grope you. Also, swiftly and smoothly twirling you around so the man's gaze would be fixed on bucky's broad shoulders. Effectively protecting you from perverted stares as his body towards over you.

You noticed the way Bucky's body stiffened when he spun you, looking up at him once again. “You okay?”

Bucky nodded and gave you a reassuring squeeze around your waist. “Let’s head back? I'm hungry.”

You agreed quickly and grabbed Bucky's hand, pulling him off the dance floor and guiding him back to the table where your two drinks sat warm now. You slid into the booth with a large exhale, sitting across from Bucky. The waiter decked out in 40s apparel and took your orders, your food coming in no time. It was a poor excuse for dinner per se, only ordering fries and cheese curds to simply snack on. 

“You make a good dance partner.” Bucky mutters, mouth muffled with fries. 

“Chew.” 

Buckys recoils in embarrassment and covers his mouth, face tinted red from dancing. He swallows and lowers his hand. “sorry.”

“Thank you.” you sigh, pushing your food away from you. “You did most of the work, but I'd like to keep practicing.”

Bucky stopped, and looked at you as you stared intently into him. Bucky flustered mix. 

“Are you gonna keep blushing or accept my offer on a second date.” you shoot back and Bucky feels the air leave his lungs. His ears are definitely burning red.

“I'm not bushing? What are you talking about? This is me worn out from all the dancing.`` Bucky plays dumb, throwing a fry into the basket between the two of you. Slowly pulling out his billfold from his jeans.

Your eyes roll dramatically, as a scoff escapes your lips. “Yeah, okay. Super soldier.” 

Bucky narrows his eye’s toward you, a grin plastered on his face. “I'd love to go on a second date.”

You bite back a grin. “Ready?” you asked, bucky puts down the money to pay and nodded. Bucky gives you a boyish smile that you'd only recognized from old war photos. It warms you to the core, leaving you flustered. He grabs at your hand as you let him drag you out of the diner, a secure arm around your waist.

The light breeze of new york hit both of you, your hands instantly going up to your arms to warm yourself. Bucky notices all too quickly and instantly wraps his jacket around you. 

“Oh, thank you. Are you cold?” you ask, seemingly genuinely worried.

“Doll.” he stares down at you, and bucky speaks like the answer is obvious, which– it kinda is. “I hiked through Siberia in less.” 

“Whatever.” you scoff and roll your eyes, tugging the jacket closer around your body. the corners of your mouth slowly creeping up.

The faint scent of bucky comes off of it, sandalwood and pine mostly. You're used to the smell when he's not coming into your lab sweaty or bloody from missions and workouts. A comfortable silence falls between the two of you, filtered out by the busy city around you.

“So… I’ll see you tomorrow?” you speak awkwardly, unsure of where to go from here.

“Yep, tomorrow.” Bucky strings on the word, are also awkward. 

You could cut the tension with a knife.

“Or…” your voice raises a few octaves as you turn on your heels to face him, barely a foot between the two of you.  

Bucky's eyebrow quirks up, “Or?” 

“Or you could come back to my very, very nice and cozy apartment that isn't full of agents and superhumans.”

You flashed your best and greatest grin toward Bucky, and the way you were looking at him made Bucky want to crumble beneath his knees. You shouldn't have this effect on him, his heart tugged towards you in a weird, mysterious way that Bucky wasn't familiar with yet. He wasn't going to lie and say it didn’t stress him out a tiny bit.

Bucky let out a heavy, pained exhale and stepped a little closer to you. “Not tonight, doll. sorry.”

“It's okay.” your face dropped slightly, but then you looked up at him and a flash of something came across your feature and soon a smirk was replaced. “Then let me have this.”

“What–?”

Bucky was cut off by your warm hands cupping his face and lips as he received the most gentle kiss he's ever had the pleasure of experiencing. Initial shock ran through his body at the suddenness, and just as he accepted the feeling and went to melt into the kiss— you pulled away. Bucky felt so cold without you against him, he hated feeling cold.

“Wait, no.” he eagerly grabbed your face to pull you back in. Bucky didn't care if he sounded needy, because he did need this. noticing a glimpse of your more than satisfied grin before he shut his eyes and let himself feel your touch.

It was like you were meant for bucky, the perfect puzzle piece as your lips molded against each other. Slow and passionate, his hand ghosted above your waist before he pulled you full against his body. If it wasn't for your wedged heels, Bucky wasn't sure if you'd even reach his lips with the way you stood on your toes. 

Pulling away, Bucky felt dizzy, like he was drunk off of you. He swears he saw stars in your eyes, the street lights reflecting off your irises. Soft laughter came from you, you bowed your head as bucky stared at you. Practically mesmerized. 

To you, Bucky looked like he was in some sort of shock. Which wouldn’t be too far from the truth, which scared you slightly.

“Everything okay? Did I do something wrong?” you asked innocently, a pang of worry laced your tone.

Bucky frantically shook his head, “no, no– god no. just not used to that.”

“That?” 

“I mean.” Bucky thought for a moment, collecting his mind. “Being kissed. I've always been the one to initiate.”

You smiled sweetly, seeing hints of a flustered, young boyish version of Bucky. One that he, and everyone else swore was long gone. You had always thought otherwise, and tonight proves you right.

“I hope it wasn’t too jarring for you.” you nervously chuckled. 

“It was perfect.”

_

tag list;@matchat3a @sebsgirl71479 @heavenswrld @ivywasmaroon

[middlingmay]

Photographer!Gale x Model!John AU Part 2

You can read Part 1 here.

Also, free drabble if anyone can spot the nods to some of our fave fics in the fandom ;)

It takes John a few days to call.

John used to lap up attention when he was younger, but that all disappeared after Curt. He'd gotten back a lot of his sociability and affability during his recovery, but most of the time he still feels like a ghost of his former self. He's still figuring out if that was a good thing or not.

So, although he’s not body conscious, the idea of standing in front of a camera and being the sole focus of a photographer; of his image being scrutinised - it all leaves him feeling a little more bare than he's comfortable with.

But he feels hypocritical, since he's preaching to the kids at the Centre that vulnerability is okay. And it's something his therapist is trying to get him to embrace more, himself.

So, he eventually calls the number on the card.

A smooth, very low, and very polite voice with a little drawl answers. It sends a shiver down his spine John knows isn't nerves as he inwardly scolds himself.

He tells the guy his name and Gale is gently enthusiastic. Helen told him John may be calling about the calendar and Gale is thrilled to help out with a project like that.

He explains to John that they’ll take some simple shots the first day, and it’ll all be very private so he doesn’t have to worry about a room full of prying eyes. And it’ll just be a handful of shots, too. A simple selection they can use for calendar mock-ups to help Helen recruit more volunteers.

Despite himself, John can’t help but feel put at ease with how professional and reassuring Gale sounds.

A few days later, John gets to the studio and finds the Bunk House at Thorpe Abbots Studios unlocked so he just heads right on in.

Inside he finds a man fiddling with the set. One look at him and John immediately pegs him as a model. Helen got another volunteer by the looks of it, and damn. He is stupid handsome. The kind that turns ya dumb.

And it helps John relax even more because as soon as the photographer gets a hold of this guy, he’ll forget all about John and make him carry their kit bag or something.

And John will do it, if it means he gets to look at the ungodly pretty man.

So, before the photographer turns up and takes all of this guy’s attention, John introduces himself - and finds he suddenly can’t shut the hell up.

“Did Helen rope you into this, too? You must do this all the time, looking like that. Not that it's all about looks! You’re obviously a real nice guy, doing this for charity, but you could do it professionally. If you wanted. Do you -? I’m not - I'm a bit nervous. You get nervous? But the photographer seems real nice; his voice is god, so fine, and I don’t mind listening to that order me around all day-"

Gale cuts him off - John still hasn't let him introduce himself - and says, “Thanks, but I hope I’m not that bossy. Gale Cleven, nice to meet you.”

Joh is equal amounts embarrassed and delighted. Having all of this guy’s attention feels thrilling.

He tries to flirt to work through the nerves; asks Gale if he’s got cute outfits for him to wear, that he’d clean up so good as a firefighter or a cowboy or a priest.

Gale smiles and refuses to comment and explains that he doesn’t do that kind of photography. He tells John about capturing people as they are, as they want to be, as they could be. And usually never how the person sees themself.

That’s what he sees as the purpose of the calendar, beyond raising money: showing real people, the stories on their faces and the map of their bodies; what they are and are not saying.

John is entranced listening to Gale talk about photography. And because he’s still a little egotistical, John asks what his body is telling Gale, and Gale says he’s not sure. He hasn’t learned to see him yet, but they’ll get there. Today is just practice.

Gale gets them started and tells John to just move around in the space however he wants, wearing whatever he wants - shoes on or off, jacket open or closed - though the way Gale eyes his jacket makes John thinks he'd rather see it off, and not for any fun reasons. He wonders what about it is so offensive to the other man. But despite his evident hang ups about sheepskin, Gale's focus is on whatever makes John feel comfortable. Whatever feels right.

At first John is awkward. He walks around swinging his arms and puffing up his cheeks and he hears a soft clicking as he does so.

Gale asks him questions to help him through. When he asks about the sheepskin John wears, John stands up straighter, confident and proud and tall and strength.

After he takes it off now he’s warmed up, Gale asks him about his work with the charity and the Centre and John lights and and gestures around wildly and runs his mouth. He’s full of energy and passion.

But when he almost, accidentally, veers into his own story, Gale reassures him that they’re not going to go anywhere he doesn’t want to go, and Gale clicks a photo there and then of John staring down the camera - at Gale - looking soft and open and trusting and wondrous. He has a faint blush. His mouth is slightly open. Curls have flopped over his forehead and his head is tilted back just a little. Gale keeps that photo in his portfolio for the rest of his career. It’s one of his favourite shots.

They finish up quicker than John expected (or liked, if he was being honest), and Gale promises to call and let him know when they’ve been developed. John has final say over which ones he shows Helen.

And John sees his shot and runs with it. “Better give you my number then, hm?”

They meet at a quiet café that serves tea that John did not even know existed. Gale looks eager, excited and he pulls a small bundle of A4 photos from an envelope.

John sees himself in a way he never did in the mirror. He sees self-assurance; vibrancy; life and fire. And gentle softness.

He’s speechless.

Gale isn't aware of the accomplishment that is. But he blushes at the look on John’s face is is very pleased at his reaction.

He also isn’t aware that John is feeling things he hasn't allowed himself to feel for years. And he doesn't feel scared of it. He’s excited to follow that feeling, see where it could lead.

[whencyclopedia]

Helen (Play)

Helen is a Greek tragedy by Euripides (c. 484-407 BCE). It is usually thought to have first been performed at the Great Dionysia of 412 BCE and was part of the trilogy that included Euripides' lost Andromeda. Helen recounts an unusual version of the myth of Helen of Troy in which a phantom decoy, an eidolon, replaces Helen in Troy while the real Helen awaits the end of the Trojan War in Egypt. Ever since its first performance, Euripides' Helen has puzzled and fascinated: in his Thesmophoriazusae, performed the year after Euripides' Helen, Greek comedy playwright Aristophanes would parody the “new Helen” (line 850). To this day, scholars continue to debate many aspects of Euripides' Helen, including its jarring juxtaposition of the comic and the devastating, its contemporary relevance, and its message about the nature of truth and reality.

Euripides

Born around 484 BCE, Euripides was the youngest of the three Athenian tragedians regarded as “canonical” since antiquity (the other two are Aeschylus and Sophocles). Of the 90 or so plays he composed during his lifetime, 18 survive in full (one of the tragedies transmitted under his name, Rhesus, is almost universally regarded as spurious). There are thus more surviving plays by Euripides than by Aeschylus and Sophocles put together, demonstrating that after his death Euripides soon eclipsed his two predecessors in popularity.

Little enough is known about Euripides' life, and what little information we have is obscured by fable and fancy. He was born to a family of hereditary priests on the island of Salamis, near Athens. He was said to have married twice, though both marriages ended acrimoniously. From one of his marriages, he had three sons, one of whom became a tragedian too. Above all, Euripides was reputed to have been a recluse, famously living in a cave in Salamis (which became a shrine to him after his death). Eventually, he retired to the court of King Archelaus of Macedon, where he died in 406 BCE.

Euripides is best known to us through his plays. These were performed at various festivals, chiefly the Dionysia and Lenaia, at huge outdoor theaters. Most of Euripides' plays were performed at Athens for audiences of locals and tourists, though some of his works would have been produced elsewhere: in Macedon, where Euripides spent the last years of his life, or Sicily, where he was apparently very popular. Even during his own lifetime, Euripides was known as the most adventurous and avant-garde of the great tragedians. This did not always translate to success, however. Over a career that spanned half a century (Euripides produced his first trilogy around 455 BCE and continued to compose tragedies until his death) Euripides won the first prize just four times during his life (a fifth time posthumously). On the other hand, Aeschylus was said to have been victorious 13 times and Sophocles 18. Euripides' tragedies – full of desperation, novelty, and relentless questioning – were sometimes regarded as sensational and even impious. But Euripides' fame and popularity grew after his death while that of Aeschylus and Sophocles declined. Today there are those that think of Euripides as the greatest of the Athenian tragedians.

Continue reading...

[tomatoluvr69]

Brief check in re: Helene. TLDR I’m alive but my world has been upended and I’ll be off this website for awhile, even if I wanted to we barely have communications in our flood ravaged city. Don’t read this if you have any sort of disaster trauma I guess, I probably should’ve kept this shorter but it kind of got away from me. I may delete/edit later but I don’t really have the capacity for self censorship At the moment, i guess it was good for me to get some of it out stream of consciousness style? Lol idk guess I’m just using my blog as a blog. Anyways I lived bitch

Hi guys, thanks to the couple people who messaged me checking if I was ok, I don’t really have capacity or time to reply to them all, but I’m doing ok all things considered. Basically I live in Western North Carolina and our city has been utterly shattered by flooding after Hurricane Helene. We made it safely to Durham but we are going back tonight with a car full of mutual aid supplies like childrens medicine and chainsaw fuel and cooking oil. I don’t really have the words to describe what I’ve been going through, being cut off from all communications and information for days and have no way to reach your loved ones, to walk through a friend’s house to try to reach their water and food stash and look up at the tree in the ceiling, to stand on a railroad bridge and look down at an entire neighborhood swept away, to know that your family back home hasn’t heard from you in four days and has no way to know if you’re dead. Five people with one degree of separation to me drowned in flash floods, including two children. A college friend had his entire home swept down the river. It’s just all so uncertain. I cry at nothing. Wandering around unscathed Durham and watching people mow their lawns and go to brunch has been a surreal dream and I can’t believe I am going back. But we got some clean underwear, our first shower, and I even got my favorite taqueria order, a torta de lengua and Jesus Christ you can’t imagine how good that tasted

We’ve been without power for 10 days and the water is likely to be out for weeks, the groundwater people are using to drink and bathe may be contaminated by chemicals from manufacturing plants and you just have no way of knowing, and because the city’s water and septic systems were obliterated there is going to be untold amounts of human waste and waste-borne diseases threatening public health, we just don’t know yet. My brain and body have been wracked by it all, there are times when I am somewhere safe and feel mentally calm but note with this weird sense of detachment that my body is trembling. It’s just indescribable to have your city be unrecognizable and underwater, I’m really shaken. Before we got some texting capacity back, if your roommate just failed to come home one night, you had no way to know that she wasn’t killed out there. We will be without drinking water for weeks when all this is over but that’s peanuts compared to the cars you pass by with the search and rescue symbol for “we found a body here” painted on them.

All of which is just to say I’m alive but things are still very bad and I’ll be without reliable communication for the foreseeable future, not to mention no water, and so obviously I’ll be off here awhile. I’ll be back soon enough complaining about mundane inconveniences but frankly it’s difficult to even talk to anyone outside of Helene’s destruction, I’m going to be reeling for a long time. Don’t reblog this because I won’t have the capacity to monitor this post but I guess donate to the Asheville Survival Project if you have the inclination, that’s a way for people like me who are relatively unscathed to get direct needs like formula, insulin, underwear, and shelf stable goods directly into people’s hands who fared worse, without jumping through the impossible hoops of things like FEMA. But I’ll probably be stepping back from mutual aid stuff to support my best friend who is now responsible for arranging the burials of a family of four, including his friend/coworker and her two boys, whose upcoming wedding he was going to will now be their combined funeral date. It’s really insane out here and leaving the stability of Durham with its electricity, grocery stores, toilets, and internet is honestly a bit devastating. But weirdly it will also be a relief to be back in a place where the grimness in your heart is not at odds with your surroundings and you talk to people without preface, with dirty hair and dirty clothes and break down in tears in any given conversation with a stranger, if that makes sense? I also can’t really imagine evacuating cause that’d be incredibly jarring in a different way. It’s so hard to explain. I’m so irritable and angry and numb all the time. I’m yelling at the person who loves me most in the world, so many of the emotional issues I had before this exploded to a boiling point in shocking and unpredictable ways. I go around floating in a daze.

But I’m very, very lucky to be alive and none of my loved ones killed, I just don’t really know what the next few weeks will hold and if, like, cholera is gonna break out, or people I know will die of things like food allergies because they can’t get a new epipen. There’s absolutely no way to convey what this survivor’s guilt is like, of having survived through sheer random luck of the draw. And the things I have seen with my own eyes will never leave me, and the gruesome phone calls I sat with my friend as he received, with the trauma unfolding in waves as the family’s bodies were identified one by one, and all the graphic details we absorbed of the eyewitness account of their panicked attempts to escape the floodwaters before they were swept to TN. I did not witness it but I cannot shake it. I can’t go more than a few minutes before the phrases ring through my head again. And I work at a school and I have no way of finding out if all my students survived, because they are children without their own contact info, until the school is able to contact me with any deaths. That uncertainty is weighing tremendously on my shoulders right now and I can’t believe I’m sitting in a cafe and I still don’t know the extent of the death toll or if the kids I’ve known and worked with every day for so long we’re able to escape their homes.

I guess just keep Western NC in your thoughts, the devastation is going to take years to crawl back from, but also keep paying attention to Gaza, the trauma and devastation there is so much more unimaginable and this has given me a new perspective on what it’s like to watch from afar as people continue their lives while yours is unrecognizable. Idk how much longer I’m gonna have the capacity for mutual aid stuff here but I’m going to try. I may yet decide to evac, but you must understand this is my home and my community, and I want to be here to support my closest friend through this unimaginable loss, and the fact that he is responsible for arranging all four of their burials. Unless the city orders non essential personnel to leave then I will probably stay.

And there are of course moments of levity and fun, especially before we found out about the people, like breaking into a NC state extension agricultural experiment field and stealing some veggies off the vine, or cooking up big giant feasts of whatever we could save from the fridge.

I’ll check back in when I can and if any of you guys also live in southern Appalachia and need to be put in touch with aid I’ll check my DMs here when I can, we can get people out to you with whatever you need. But yeah just keep us in your thoughts I guess, things are still really bad. I’m going back to shop for more mutual aid stuff but then we’re leaving again but I’ll check in when the internet’s back I suppose

Eat a nice hot meal for me, don’t take ice cubes or your shower for granted, and watch something pretentious. xoxoxoxoxox ur favorite natural disaster survivor, tomato lover sixty nine

[millie-multifics]

Though I Yearn • Part 8

Masters of the Air x Reader

Secret Admirer (Revealed)

A string of anonymous letters causes a stir at Thorpe Abbotts. Who could be the author of the tender correspondence you have been recieving?

Warnings: Spoilers for the admirers identity if you have yet to read Part 7, mentions of death, implied nudity, and it’s a little cheesy.

Word Count: ~1.3k

Masterlist Previous Final Part- Coming soon!

Sorry for the long af wait but just got my cast off from breaking my dominant hand soo it’s been a rough go. I appreciate everyone’s support with this series 🩵💙

x x x

Everyone at Thorpe Abbotts had grown increasingly weary throughout the winter months, losing more men each mission while trying to recover from the great losses of autumn.

It seemed with each mission you rose earlier and earlier, eventually you ceased finding any sleep after that dreaded red light flashed for the men.

“Good morning, gentlemen.” You greeted Douglass and Blakely with a smile, two cups of steaming black coffee already prepared. It had become a ritual for a few of the men to skip breakfast with the replacements, settling for one of your hot cups of coffee and chain smoking cigarettes to ease their unsettled stomachs.

Everett could see the exhaustion in your eyes, the burden of serving these men with a smile, knowing a fraction will not return was taking its toll.

“Sleep at all?” He asked, his worry palpible by the way his eyebrows creased in the centre.

“Your feet being on solid ground allows me to breathe but sleep evades me.” You admit, reaching to smooth the front lock of his hair that frequently escapes his attempted neat styling.

“Does that mean I don’t qualify for a kiss from my guardian angel this morning?”

Douglass groaned, smothering his cigarette butt into the dirt with his heavy, polished boot. “Sometimes I miss when she would only talk to you because she was ignoring my ass.”

“He’s a little on edge right now, our little James is attempting commitment.” Everett explained, sending the bombadier an amused glare. “On the topic of commitment, the hut will be clear for a few hours tonight for Rosie’s 25th mission festivities. Maybe we can catch up on some sleep.”

“Yeah, sleep, I’m sure that is what will be happening in there.” Douglass rolled his eyes at your lovesick, teenage antics.

“Speaking of Rosie, where is the lucky bastard?” You asked, he usually cut out of breakfast early to clear his head of all the nervous replacements chatter.

“Luck has nothing to do with it, he is a damn good pilot.” Blakely mused, “If I didn’t fly so damn good myself, I’d want to be in his fort.”

“Speak of the devil… coffee?” You offered as the mustached pilot appeared under the rolling, grey clouds.

“Please.”

You raised your own coffee to toast, “All the best today boys, and Rosie? Give ‘em hell.”

“This it the worst part, the waiting.” Helen broke the silence in the clubmobile. You were sitting in the chairs provided, awaiting the arrival of the men before you would make your way to what had become the Interigation centre to welcome the men back, help them feel comfortable and recognize they were back on solid ground. “Do you think Rosie will make it? It feels like it has been ages since a crew has done it.”

You glanced over the spine of the book in your hands, it had been open for about an hour now but if Helen had noticed you had yet to turn the page she did not mention it. “Rosie is a great pilot, I wouldn’t start doubting his abilities now.”

You flipped your page for show, eyes drifting over the page but not reading the black ink.

“Do you truely love Everett?”

“I do.” You did not need to think as the words slipped past your lips.

“How does it feel to love someone like that?”

You shut the book, placing it on your lap as you pictured your handsome pilot in your minds eye, “It’s like having a perfect, hot cup of tea on a cold day, its a warmth that envelopes your mind, body and soul. I feel all of his emotions tenfold, when he is happy I am blessed, when he is mad I am enraged and when he struggles with sadnesss I feel his grief. I yearn for his presence when he is away and revel in it when he is near, I no longer dream of going home because Everett has become my home.”

Helen looked thoughtful for a moment, “I think I could have felt it once but I only had one marvelous evening with him, Lieutenant Nash, but he was killed on his first mission.” She confessed for the first time since it had happened. “I just hope that one day I might feel that way fully, for longer than a day.”

“And Lieutenant Nash was Rosie’s friend so you’re wandering what might have happened had he made it back that day.”

Helen nodded, solemly, opting to change the subject from the handsome young man that had swept her off her feet quite unexpectedly. “I heard some of the Red Cross Ladies may be relocated when Europe is invaded, spread the resources and morale to the men at the front.”

“Let’s not worry about that right now.”

Warmth radiated from the two wool blankets drapped over your entangled bodies, it was a stark contrast from the rain pouring down outside. You felt at peace, the harsh drops pounding on the roof above and the sounds of your calm breathing filled the silence. Everett groaned as he pulled himself to a sitting postion, reaching to the bedside table for his carton of cigarettes. You shifted lazily to rest your head on his chest, pulling the blanket with you to shield his bare torso from the chill that hung in the March air.

“There have been whispers.” You spoke quietly, afriad to break the serenity.

“About us?” Everett leaned down to place a gentle kiss on your shoulder.

You smiled, “Those whispers never stop, every time we get a new wave of replacements they love to chatter- I think Kidd will lose his head if he has to talk to us one more time about discretion.”

“What’d you hear?”

“Helen heard that some of the girls will be allocated after the invasion of Europe,” The details were unknown but it hung over the continent like an impending storm. “That could mean-“ You paused, your fingers ghosted over the chain around his neck, tracing his name etched into the cold metal. “I used to be prepared for this, when I first volenteered I had steeled myself over, I was ready to tredge through trees, mud and blood but we were placed here. Thorpe Abbotts may have its share of mud after the rain but it has been hot cups of coffee, laughter over a drink, dancing through our pain and… you. I sincerely don’t know what I would do without you by my side.”

Blakely remained silent for a moment, contemplating your worries and soft confession as he discarded his unlit cigarette and matches onto the trunk beside his small bed. “There is no shame to be scared in this world.”

“Says the brave pilot who has looked death in the eye countless times and denied its knock.”

“Would it make you think any less of me if I were to admit that I get scared? Every time that red light turns on, everytime I climbed into that Pilot seat and everytime I look at you.” He confessed, voice soft as his warm breath brushed your throat. “We should get married. Tomorrow.”

“You jest.” You met his eyes, they were wide with vulnerabilty and an unexpected sincerity.

“I am serious.” He insisted, gently manuvering your body to be seated facing him. The rough pads of his fingers caressing the soft skin of your cheeks as he pressed on, “I want to marry you, I want to spend the rest of my life with you, no matter how long that may be.”

“Everett-“

“It does not have to be tomorrow. I can accept if you want to marry tomorrow or wait however many years, just please say yes to being my betrothed.”

Emotion overwhelmed you as you nodded your head feverantly, tears slipping down your cheeks only to be wiped away ever so softly by his thumbs. “Yes, yes, I will marry you, Everett Blakely.”

x x x

@jointherebellion215 @yorkshirekiwi @gretagerwigsmuse @seoultraveller @orchiidflwer @lucyfromtheoldhouse @kpopdistoyedmylife-blog @probabydeadbynow @claireelizabeth85 @solo-pitstop-vibes @timetowastetime8 @thebenjiblackwoodexpress @beingalive1 @bunnylil-reblogs @p-polaroid @ktredshoes @winniemaywebber @ginabaker1666

[phykios]

If I Were A Blackbird, part 14 [co-written with @darkmagyk] [read on ao3]

The morning of her birthday, it wasn’t her alarm that woke her up, but her ringtone. Clumsily, she grasped for her phone, not even bothering with checking the caller ID, or rolling over so her face wasn’t smashed into the pillow, and mumbled a sleepy, “H’lo?” into the receiver. 

Annabeth had two phones, a personal one and a professional one. The professional was mostly for show, as Helen commandeered most of her correspondence, and the personal was mostly for texting. Only a handful of people ever actually called her personal phone, and only one person did so with any regularity. 

Sure enough, she could hear the smile in the voice of her favorite person in the world as he said, “God morgon, wise girl.” 

“Mmm.” He’d been practicing his Swedish. Hot.

“Grattis på födelsedagen.” 

“Hm.” 

“Sleep okay?” 

“Fine,” she yawned. “Would’ve been better if you were here.” 

“If I could, I would.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” With another yawn and a spine-cracking stretch, she shifted onto her side. “I’m issuing a royal decree that we’re not allowed to spend another birthday apart.” 

“Yours or mine?”

“Both.”

“Yeah, because that’ll pass the Riksdag.” 

“It will if I ask nicely.” She rubbed her eyes. “Video?” 

“Probably not,” he said, disappointment palpable. “Lots of people here today. And I’m showing Estelle around in a bit.” 

It was one of their little rituals they had developed over the years, a quick check-in before switching to a video call. More for her security than his, he had started asking if she were alone so he could see her, and as his star continued to rise and his calendar continued to fill up with meets and trainings, she had started to do the same. It wouldn’t do, he had said, for some rando to see a princess half-asleep when he called to wake her up from halfway around the world. She understood the subtext–they got so little privacy as it is. She wouldn’t want anyone muscling in on these few moments of true intimacy they had. 

Didn’t mean she couldn’t be sad about it, though. 

They had been together for about four years. Four years, more or less living together in New York, and yet they often couldn’t see each other for more than a couple of weeks together at a time. Those couple of weeks were always something close to perfect, though. The sweet, domestic days with Percy. He’d make her breakfast and lunch (but they would order out for dinner), they’d work out together, and he’d compliment her ability to keep up with an Olympic athlete while she stopped herself from making jokes about being a different sort of Olympian athlete. They’d watch Chopped or Xena Warrior Princess together. Have the kind of lazy afternoon sex on the couch she’d heard promises of but never dreamed could be so perfect. And they’d talk about life, and about each other. About what mattered and their hopes for the future. 

A future that was probably going to be a little more stable soon. Once he won gold and retired. 

Once she came clean, and they got married. 

Then, no more mornings in opposite time zones. 

Though it was not so opposite right now, at least. She’d gone back to Sweden after her little trip to Rome, and he was in Athens. The trip was just too long to New York to justify it, especially when she was going to turn back right away. 

“I wish you were here.”

“I wish you were here,” he hit back. “How are the temporary digs?”

She was not staying in her usual apartment, because said apartment was being renovated. For things she might need soon. Like a bigger kitchen, and more bedrooms. That kind of thing. 

She’d pored over it for about a year leading up to this. There was a built-in space for an aquarium in the living room. The perfect place for domestic life. One that would last more than a fortnight at a time. 

And maybe a place to grow a family too.

Thought that at least, hadn’t been so directly talked about, other than it being something that had to happen, if she wanted to effectively cut Mary out of the bloodline by way of Percy’s princes and princesses. Which she did. 

“Fine,” Annabeth said, “I’m only here for three days, anyway.” Her schedule was so tight, she only had enough time for a short stay in Stockholm between Rome and Athens. She’d been frontloading as many appearances and projects as she could, because after the Olympics, she and Percy had a big, celebratory vacation planned. A vacation she thought–hoped, anyway–might involve a ring, and an announcement. 

And then the apartment in Sweden should be done. Though they would keep the New York apartment indefinitely. 

“I can’t wait to explore Athens with you.” 

“Me too,” Annabeth said. “The great seat of Pallas Athena.” Where she would tell him the truth. 

“Hopefully she’ll be helpful to me in my races,” Percy said. “We’re going exploring today.”

“All the cousins?”

“Of course. Estelle is very excited.”

Annabeth could picture it. Last summer, the Jackson-Blofis family had come to visit her in Sweden, and Annabeth had happily utilized her position to take them on the ultimate VIP tour. She had been happy to do all the normal touristy things, but she had been over the moon at some of the more off the beaten path places Annabeth had taken them to, like the Disgusting Food Museum. That one had really tickled her ten-year-old sensibilities. She had a wonderful picture, too, of Estelle and her older brother, lounging on the rocky coast of Öland, sharing a broad, cheeky smile.

She wanted more. A whole album of Estelle and her brother, just for Annabeth. “Send me a picture.” 

“Any requests?”

“Depends on what you’re doing.” 

“All the usual touristy stuff.” 

She frowned, thinking. Not that he could see it. “Something Athena-y.”

“I’m literally in Athens.” 

“Then it should be easy for you.” Annabeth said, “And make sure to get me something with you and Estelle.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Percy said, “What’s the plan for your birthday?”

“Brunch with my dad and Magnus and Alex, and a few of their friends,” she said, “and then a flight to Greece.”

“I like that bit,” Percy said, his grin audible. “Are we still on for dinner tomorrow to celebrate?”

“Eight PM, full table and dinner service at the King George. Helen’s reserved the whole rooftop for us.”

“And I can give you your birthday present.”

“You’d better.” Though truthfully, she didn’t care. She just wanted to see him. She wanted to see him so badly. “I miss you.”

“I miss you, too.”

“How are you?” 

He sighed, crackling over the phone. “I’m tired.” 

Annabeth sat up, crossing her legs beneath her. “What’s wrong?” 

She could picture him, clear as day: his head tipped forward, his fingers massaging his temples, the furrow in his brow she always thought was cute even deeper and more pronounced. “Nothing, it’s just…” He sighed again. “It’s hot, and training is a lot, and my roommate is kind of a dick, and my–I just really feel the pressure this time around.” 

“From your coach?” she asked, kindly. 

“...Yeah. Him, too.” 

She frowned. “Who–”

“Is that Annabeth?” interrupted a voice over the phone, one she recognized just as well. “Can I talk to her? Hi Annabeth!”

“Estelle says ‘hi.’” Percy added.

“I say hi back,” Annabeth replied. 

“Hi Annabeth! Percy misses you a lot!” 

“Come on, squirt, don’t rat me out like that.”

Annabeth laughed, helpless to stop the broad grin which stretched across her face. “Sounds like you’re headed out.”

“Yeah,” he said, but he sounded sad about it. “I love you.” 

“I’ll see you soon,” she promised. “I love you, too.”

Her birthday proceeded from there as she was promptly swarmed by her hair and makeup people. She had managed to negotiate her team down from a full on fancy dinner to a light, cheerful, birthday brunch instead, in lieu of skipping the whole thing entirely. It was a compromise that paid off–a lighter budget played well in the headlines, and a smaller guest list meant that Annabeth could spend the day with people she actually liked. It still necessitated a nice dress and a proper hairstyle, but instead of inviting endless, vaguely disapproving ministers, it was strictly friends and family only: her brothers, Magnus and Alex, a handful of their friends and partners. The atmosphere was downright pleasant, and laughter filled the drawing room along with the gentle clink of mimosa glasses.

Annabeth was enjoying herself. Honestly. But still, she caught herself checking the time every twenty minutes or so. Hopefully unobtrusively, but as the brunch wore on, she began to care less and less how obvious she might have been. Seven hours to her flight. Six hours, forty minutes to her flight. Six hours, twenty minutes. 

At the five hour mark, her father tapped her on the shoulder. “Why don’t you go ahead and head out for your flight? I can take care of things for you here.” 

She blinked, taking a second for her focus to snap into place. Then she processed what he said. “You’re… letting me leave?”

“Of course!”

“Are you sure?” 

“Oh, absolutely. You’ll want to leave soon if you have any hope of beating the traffic.” He winked at her. 

After all these years, she thought she would have gotten used to her father quietly going to bat for her, giving her outs to let her do what she wanted. But it still made her dangerously close to tearing up, every single time. She threw her arms around him, squeezing tight, and gave him a kiss on the cheek. 

And stayed for another half hour, for good measure. 

Though maybe she should have slipped out, because as soon as she stood up from the couch, smoothing her skirt, and made for the door, somebody–Magnus, likely–wolf-whistled behind her. And as much as she would love to have made a rude gesture in response, she restrained herself to a simple eye roll and a mental note to text Alex so they could come up with a plan for revenge later. 

She had packed the night before, full of enthusiasm and a rare bout of productivity, so after an entirely traffic-free drive to the airport, she was making herself comfortable in the first-class lounge, day-dreaming about the next time she and Percy would go on an unchaperoned cruise (soon, with any luck) when her thoughts began to wander. Which was a shame. She vastly preferred to think about Percy. But if she thought about Percy, then she couldn’t help but think of other things.

If she had to describe Percy, there were a million words she could use–kind, talented, strong, and yes, handsome–but one that deserved to be near the top of her list was brave. Because he was brave. He had entered her world of careful, agonizing scrutiny without so much as a second thought, and he had conducted himself just about perfectly. As much as she tried not to, Annabeth hadn’t been able to help herself from following the headlines over the course of their relationship. 

There had always been the fear that he wouldn’t be accepted by her country. And as much as Annabeth wanted to pretend that the only opinion she valued was her own, it just wasn’t true. Having her father support her relationship had been a huge relief, and watching as Percy slowly won over the rest of the country had felt like surfacing for air after having nearly drowned. Because of course he would win them over. He was kind, talented, strong, handsome, brave, and a million other things, too. 

But there was still one aspect of her life he had yet to face. 

And she would be lying if she said she wasn’t terrified of it. 

The thought gnawed at her through boarding, taxi, and takeoff, leaving her feeling strangely unsettled. She felt jittery, erratic, bursts of unspent energy zipping up and down her limbs. She ended up going to the bathroom multiple times, just to stretch her legs, and work off whatever it was that was bothering her. 

Sadly, though, the energy remained. 

And, when she came back from the bathroom the third time, someone was in her seat. 

This was strange for multiple reasons, the first being that this was the first-class cabin, they were mid-flight on the way to Greece, and the only other people in the cabin were Hans and Helen. Second, and this wasn’t something Annabeth liked to throw around without purpose, but she was, in fact, a princess. Princesses didn’t have to worry about strangers sitting in their seats, no matter where they were–plane, train, gala, game. 

Third, and strangest of all, the person sitting in her seat wasn’t a stranger. It was her mother. 

“Annabeth,” said the goddess, with a slight incline of her head. 

She swallowed, throat dry. “Mother.” 

“I trust you are well?” 

“Yes.” 

“Please.” She motioned to the seat next to her, with the kind of perfect poise that Annabeth still struggled to maintain, even after a decade of etiquette lessons. “Join me.” 

Gingerly, Annabeth sat. 

After a moment, Athena raised her eyebrow. “You seem unsettled, daughter. Are you frightened?” 

Yes. “No, mother, just… It’s a surprise to see you, is all.” 

She hummed. “Yes, I suppose it has been a while, hasn’t it?” 

Fifteen years, six months, and twenty-four days, but who was counting? “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?” 

Athena crossed one leg over the other, the graceful motion perfectly preserving the crease of her designer pants suit. “I am here,” she said, “to check on your progress.” 

“My… progress.” 

“Yes.” She took a sip of a glass of… something… that had appeared in her hand. 

Her brain stuttered, mind flipping through her current projects. Would Athena, the goddess of wisdom and war, really want to hear about her preliminary designs for creating larger, quicker, and more energy-efficient elevators? Or her plans for creating a new sculpture garden in Rosendal? 

“How goes your search?” 

“My–” Oh, duh. In her mind’s eye, she saw Percy, grinning cheekily at her. Thought you were supposed to be a wise girl? “My search, right. Well…” 

Athena eyed her, her bright gaze unfathomable. 

Annabeth shifted in her seat. There wasn’t much to report. She’d spent as much time in Rome as she could manage to carve out, but had very little to show for it. Her princess schedule seemed to get more and more stuffed by the day. “Well, I’ve–I think I’ve narrowed it down to the eastern bank of the Tiber.”

She nodded, thoughtful. “Yes. That is consistent with the findings of your half-siblings. Is there nothing else?” 

Trying not to bristle, Annabeth rolled the fabric of her skirt between her fingers. “Unfortunately, mother, I haven’t been able to devote much more time than I already have–”

Athena waved her off, a small, elegant motion that had all the force of a shield slamming into her. “I understand. I know that there are other things which require your attention.”

She bit the inside of her cheek. “I’m doing the best I can, mother.” 

“I know.” Annabeth risked a glance up. Her mother’s eyes betrayed nothing–no hint of sympathy for her child’s plight. She wondered idly how many more children before her had gone on this same wild goose chase. How far they had gotten. Whether or not their mother had been proud of them. 

Then Annabeth perked up as she remembered. She did have something new to report. “Actually, there is a new lead.” 

“Oh?” 

She nodded. “I met the gods of the city: Rhea Silvia and Tiberinus.” 

That got her attention. Athena’s gaze sharpened, her head tilted ever so slightly. “Really.” 

“They said that I was close, and that I needed, um, some kind of document? And someone to be my champion.” She looked sideways at her mother. “Do you know what they meant?” 

Athena frowned, her fine features not losing an ounce of their beauty. “Possibly,” she offered, after a moment. “What else did they say? About the champion?” 

“Rhea said something about a ‘friend with the sea-blood.’ I don’t know–I mean, I thought maybe they were talking about Hans, because of his ancestry, but I’m not sure…” 

“No,” she murmured. “I doubt the gods were referring to your guard.” 

Well, great. Back to square one. 

“Tell me,” said Athena, “about your companion. The sailor.” 

Annabeth blinked. “You know about Percy?” 

“Of course. You are my daughter, after all. I have taken a great interest in you.” 

Something hot bubbled in her core. Annabeth couldn’t tell if that was a good thing or a bad thing. But, if she knew about Percy… Well, lying about him probably wasn’t a good move. “He’s–he’s really great. He’s actually very smart. You know, there’s a lot more statistics in sailing than most people realize–” 

“Do you trust him?” 

That brought her up short. “Yes. Of course I trust him.” Her eyes narrowed. “Why?” 

Athena shifted, and if Annabeth didn’t know better, she would say her mother was… uncomfortable. “You know, he recently made a sacrifice to me.” 

Maybe the altitude was messing with her ears, because, what? Percy did what? “A sacrifice?” 

“Yes. Solely for victory in his upcoming race. Very traditional.” 

Hopefully she was referring to the tradition, and not the sacrifice itself. 

But also–Percy made a sacrifice to a goddess? Since when was he into paganism and ritual sacrifice? Annabeth felt like she would have noticed that, even with the limited time they spent together!

Her mother’s voice pulled her attention back. “Be careful with that one, daughter.”

Annabeth frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I sense that he will have a choice to make, and soon. He could be a great asset to your quest–or he could spell the end of the search, and any hope of recovering the prize will be lost to eternity.” 

What did that mean? “Mother–”

“Be well, Annabeth. And,” she leaned in, gently pushing a stray curl out of Annabeth’s face. “Happy birthday. I do so hope you shall have great joy in the coming weeks.” 

“Wait–”

The intercom crackled, the pilot’s voice coming in in spurts. “Ladies and gentlemen,” came the voice, “this is your captain speaking. We have just started our descent and we expect to land in Athens in just about twenty minutes. The weather in Athens is sunny, as you might expect, with a temperature of thirty degrees celsius…”

“Excuse me.”

Annabeth whipped around, staring at the flight attendant, who gave her a bright, winning smile. 

“Our sincerest apologies, your highness, but we will be landing shortly, and we must ask you to return your chair to its upright position.” 

“What? Oh.” Quickly, fumbling for the little button, she brought her seat back up, face heating. “Thank you.”

But when Annabeth turned back around, her mother had vanished. 

***

“Percy? Hey, Earth to Percy?” 

He blinked. “What?”

Luke was waving his hand in front of Percy’s face. “Anybody home?” 

Percy swatted it away. 

“There he is,” he laughed. “You good?”

“You don’t hear that?” 

“Hear what?” 

It sounded again. “That.” 

He looked around, bemused, at the massive crush of people swarming the street. “Kind of hard to hear anything, kiddo.” 

Luke had a point. They were smack dab in the middle of Athens, at the bottom of the Acropolis, in the height of tourist season. The street was fairly teeming with people, thousands of voices filling the air in dozens of languages, playing merry hell with his ADHD. 

Or at least it would be, if it weren’t for that weird sound. 

“Sorry, I just… sorry,” Percy managed.

Luke paused, his mirth slipping off his face. “You okay?” 

Percy gave him a look. “What kind of question is that?” 

“A pertinent one.” 

“Well, I’m fine.” 

“Are you?” Luke was frowning in that ‘concerned big brother’ way that Percy used to crave when he was a kid, because at least that look meant that the older boy considered him family, rather than an annoying hanger-on. Now, Percy kind of wanted to hit it off his face. “Because you seem a little… unsettled.” 

The noise sounded again, rattling inside of his ears. “I’m fine.” 

“Percy.” 

“I’m fine!” 

“Are we talking about Percy’s shitty emotional state?” came a new voice.

Percy whirled around. “Where did you even come from?” 

Nico, as he often did, had emerged from nowhere, a small tourist shop bag in his grip. “You’re never fine.” 

“You’re not part of this conversation.” 

“Ooh, can I join in? I love talking about Percy’s shitty emotional state.” 

He whirled around again. “Don’t swear in front of my sister.” 

Hazel, also holding a plastic tourist shop bag, raised an eyebrow, completely unperturbed. “Like she hasn’t heard worse.” 

Next to her, adorned in one of those silly gold laurel crowns, Estelle grinned. “Shit!” she chirped in her bright, eleven year old voice. 

Percy groaned, throwing up his hands. “Great. Now both parents are going to be pissed at me.” 

“What,” Luke scoffed, “is Paul mad because he had to find out through the grapevine about William’s after-dark activities instead of getting them from the source?”

“No, it’s–” He sighed, wiping the sweat from his forehead. “I’m talking about my dad.” 

The good mood evaporated between them in an instant, a silent chill descending on them in the heat of the day. Even Estelle was affected, her big eyes shining with sudden concern as they looked between her siblings and cousins. 

“What do you mean your dad?” Luke asked, hushed but not in the least subdued. 

Nico glanced around. “He’s here?”

“He’s everywhere,” Percy shrugged. “Just like your dad. And yours.” He nodded at Luke, who grimaced. 

“It’s an annoying habit they have.” 

“Where?”

“The maritime museum, in Piraeus.” 

“Makes sense,” said Hazel, looking thoughtful. “What did he want?” 

Rolling his eyes, Percy began to herd them towards a newly vacated bench in the shade. It was too godsdamned hot out here. “To bother me about my race, what else?” 

Nico gingerly perched on the edge of the seat, tensed like he was about to run into the nearest shadow. “But what did he say?” 

“I told you, he wanted–” 

He shook his head. “Not what he wanted, what he said. Specifics.” 

“Why?” asked Luke.

“Because when my dad popped in to check on my quest, he ended up giving me the final clue I needed to finish it.” He smiled at his sister, who took his hand, and squeezed it. “Anyway, what I’m saying is, words matter. Especially when they’re coming from a god.”

Percy scoffed. “Why would he even bother coming to see me? It’s just a race.” 

“But it’s not just a race,” said Hazel. “Your dad came to see you. Personally.”

“So? There’s no–no non-mortal part of this. You,” he pointed at Nico, “you had to find a magic sword. And your dad told you to retrieve a golden apple.” 

“Don’t remind me,” Luke grumbled.

“This is just the Olympics. There’s nothing magical about it.”

Luke gave him a slightly patronizing look. “Bro, it's literally named after the gods.” 

“And you’re a part of it,” said Hazel. “I think that would qualify as something magical, even if it wasn’t an ancient Greek festival to Ju–to Zeus.”

The sound rang out in his head again, and Percy groaned, temple throbbing. “It’s just a stupid race. It's not even the Isthmian Games! Why should he care about some dumb modern secular game? It’s not like he cares about any other part of me!”

Luke’s mouth twisted in a sympathetic grimace. Nico and Hazel shared a look, uncomfortable. And Estelle slid over, giving her big brother a big hug, before releasing him, kicking her legs against the cobbled street.

“What did he say?” Nico asked again. 

Percy sighed. “I don’t know, he asked if I was ready for my race, and then he talked about Theseus and Bellerophon or whatever. And then he asked why I made a sacrifice to Hera.” The conversation was coming back in bits and pieces, made sluggish from the heat of the day. 

“Hera?” 

“Yeah. He… he was talking about Annabeth,” he said, remembering. “He said that he didn’t like her.”

They stared at him, identical confused frowns on their faces. Save Estelle, who was distracted by one of the hundreds of stray cats, attempting to lure it closer with a wiggle of her fingers.  

“What?” Luke’s voice cut through, incredulous. “Who wouldn’t like Annabeth? She’s awesome.” 

“Why would he even bring her up in the first place?” asked Hazel. “She’s… you know, mortal.” 

“Do you think he’s… interested? In her?” Nico looked vaguely queasy at his own question. 

They all fell silent, contemplating such a possibility. It wasn’t impossible. Annabeth was beautiful, intelligent, powerful, in her own way. All things that the gods historically tended to be attracted to. And they all knew it was rarely a good thing when a god was interested in a mortal. 

Percy shook his head, clearing his mind of some frankly disturbing thoughts. “No, I don’t think so. He just said that he didn’t like her. That she was the enemy.”

“The enemy?” Hazel asked.

“The hell does that mean?”

“I don’t know! It’s weird to me, too!” Percy stood up. He could no longer stand it. “And don’t you hear that ringing?” 

“Percy,” Nico said quietly. “We don’t hear anything.” 

Luke held out a comforting hand. “Where is it coming from?” 

Screwing his eyes shut, he focused his thoughts. The sound rang out again, reverberating in his ears, down through his spine and his chest, sending tingles through his fingers. His body was a bell, a conduit, a lightning rod for something else. An unknown energy poured itself into him, filling  him to his skin, nearly fit to bursting. 

Which was all well and good, but he still didn’t know where it was coming from. 

He threw his hands up. 

“Here,” said Luke. “Let me try something.” 

Slipping his phone out of his pocket, he quickly scrolled through his apps. Nico leaned over, curious, then incredulous. “Dice? Really?” 

“It’s a tried and true divination technique.” 

“With real dice, maybe. But a phone app?” 

“Well unless you have a D12 in your pocket, this is what we’ve got.” 

Nico harrumphed, folding his arms. “For the millionth time, Mythomagic is a card game, not a dice game–” 

“Just roll it, please,” Percy interrupted. 

Flashing a grin at Percy, Luke raised his arms as if in supplication, phone in hand. He closed his eyes, and began to chant in their ancient tongue, “I call upon you, who are seated in the middle of a field, you who with power direct the universe, at whom the serpents tremble, whom the mountains dread, whom nymphs fall down to worship, whom the sun and moon fall down to worship.” A cool, soothing breeze wafted past, ruffling their hair, a faint scent of frankincense on the wind. “You who have heaven for your throne,” he went on, “either as a place for your dancing place, and earth as your footstool. Holy, boundless, boundless, star organizer, gold-sandaled god, reveal your wisdom to us.” 

Then he brought his phone back down, and tapped the screen. 

They crowded around for a look. 

The little rolling animation stuttered, frames dropping, until the image landed on a number. “Four,” Luke said. 

“Wow,” Nico deadpanned. “The revelation. It’s overwhelming.” 

Luke huffed. “You have to roll it three times.” He tapped the screen again, revealing the next number: six. He went for a third roll–and then the app started playing an ad for the Acropolis. 

In unison, they groaned. 

Come visit the Byzantine Cistern on the Acropolis slope! It cheerfully proclaimed, in bright white letters. Acropolis and slopes tickets can be purchased online, or in-person.

“I told you,” said Nico. “Dice divination barely works with actual dice, let alone a phone app.” 

“Well, what’s your idea, then? Summon some zombies in the middle of a crowded street? Autopsy one of the cats, maybe?” 

“Wait,” said Percy. “Hold on.” 

Percy had been in Athens for a while. He’d been surrounded by marketing for the Acropolis literally from dawn to dusk–it was on every billboard, every poster, every single inch of Olympics marketing. The Acropolis was the crown jewel of Athens tourism, and Percy had been blasted by enough ads for the archaeological site that he practically had them memorized. 

But he had never seen this one before. 

The little video ad was showing an aerial view of the south slope, a drone camera slowly circling around, showing off the various finds from the hill. He saw the Odeon, the temple of Asclepius, the theater of Dionysus… then again… then again… then again. The camera was circling one ruin in particular. 

Come see the beautiful Byzantine Cistern! Proclaimed the ad again in big, white, obvious letters. 

“Guys,” he breathed, “I think this is the revelation.” 

“Ha!” Luke crowed. “Score one for the dice!” 

Of course, Luke changed his tune after they had been waiting in line to get into the Acropolis site for over thirty minutes. In the blazing sun. During the hottest part of the day. In fucking Athens.

“Stupid dice,” he muttered, wiping sweat from his forehead. “Apollo should have kept them.”

Nico glared at them, his dark hair plastered to his skin. 

Hazel and Estelle had bowed out of this part of the quest–Estelle had already visited the site, and something about the whole thing was giving Hazel a bad feeling. “I’m not sure,” she had said, only half-apologetically. “It just feels… wrong, to me. Like I shouldn’t be there.” 

“You just want to wait in the shade with some iced coffee.” 

She had smiled at her brother. “That, too. Besides, three is the best number for a quest. So me and the mortal would just be in your way.”

“Hey!” Estelle had pouted, even though anyone with eyes could see she was more than happy with the promise of an air conditioned Starbucks and the illicit coffee Hazel would definitely give her. 

“Why are we even waiting in this line?” Luke asked. “I can get you through, no problem.” 

“I already snuck into the Parthenon to make a sacrifice, I don’t want to push my luck.” A thought suddenly occurred to him, and he pulled out his phone, flipping open the camera.

“What are you doing?” 

“I promised Annabeth a tourist selfie.” He angled the camera towards the three of them, sweaty and unkempt and miserable. “Say cheese!” 

Nico, somehow, glared even harder. 

But eventually, they finally made their way in, Percy having paid for both of their tickets in exchange for their company. They followed the movement of the crowd, winding their way past tour groups and camera rigs, ducking the selfie-takers and the amateur videographers, until they had passed the theater of Dionysus, and had come to a fork in the path. “Here,” said Percy. “Look.” 

A little stone plaque announced their location. ΒΥΖΑΝΤΙΝΗ ΔΕΞΑΜΕΝΗ, it said. Byzantine Cistern. 

“This is it.” 

“Really?” Nico asked. “It doesn’t look like much.” 

He wasn’t wrong. The stone roof of the cistern barely came up to Percy’s chest, the bricks long since grown over with grass and wildflowers. Behind the rusting metal gate was a wooden platform, a dented bucket, and a piece of lighting equipment, shoved in an out of the way corner and forgotten. But beyond the wooden platform was a yawning darkness, a promise of greater space under the earth, of an answer to be found. 

Percy breathed in, and smelled the salty air of the ocean. The bell in his head resounded, vibrating deep in his chest. “It’s here. Trust me.” 

“Okay. How do we get in?” 

“Hey,” said Luke. “Check this out.” He had cleared a patch of grass from the sloping side of the cistern. There, too clean to be an accident, was a triangle, scratched into the brick wall. A delta. 

“The Labyrinth,” he said, stunned. “All the way over here?” 

Nico hugged himself, frowning. “Do you think it’s the same one? Or…” 

“It’s got to be,” Luke said, “or at least it used to be.” He stepped back, gesturing to the wall. “Percy?”

“Why can’t you open it?” 

“It’s your quest,” he said. “You do it.” 

Couldn’t argue with that logic. With only a little hesitation, then, Percy approached the wall, and laid his hand over the symbol. The delta glowed blue, then the wall split open, the earth pulling apart until it began to reveal a staircase, descending into the thick darkness. He looked around, half-expecting a burly Greek security guard to jump out of the bushes and arrest them all for tampering with an ancient monument, or a tourist snapping photos of the fissure which just appeared in the dirt, but no one was paying attention to them. The crowds mingled on, studiously avoiding the Byzantine ruin. 

“Well?” he asked his cousins. “Shall we?” 

They followed him without much complaint, though they both looked distinctly unhappy. Nico, Percy knew, had lived in the Labyrinth for a few months, trying to find information on his mother, while Luke just really didn’t like going underground. Like, really. Percy took a moment to bask in the love and affection he had for these two, following him down a magical, subterranean staircase on nothing more than a whim and a revelation in the form of a phone game ad. “I wish we’d brought Hazel,” Luke muttered. “She’s better underground than the squirt here.” 

Percy looked back at Nico. “You just gonna take that?” 

He shrugged. “He’s not wrong.” 

Luke had offered up his phone flashlight, but as they descended further, they found they didn’t need it. A soft blue light emanated from the walls, as the harsh, thin lines of Roman brickwork and modern excavation gave way to soft, solid, gently-rippled stone walls, the bricks becoming taller, wider, smoother, and at the bottom of the staircase, they could see a muted, orange glow. Lower down, the steps widened, growing shallower, as the room opened up, revealing a large cavern, the high, domed ceiling held up by impossibly tall, thick, plain columns. They didn’t have the decoration on the sides–the fluting, Percy recalled Annabeth telling him–that basically every other column type had, which meant that they were old. Very old. 

“What is this place?” Luke whispered, his voice echoing in the empty cavern. 

“Don’t know, but it’s old,” Percy said. 

“No kidding.” Nico reached out, placing a hand on the temple. “This stone is ancient. Even for us.” 

“Do you hear that?” The ringing in Percy’s head had stopped, replaced instead by… a faint trickle of water? 

The long rows of columns lead them to the end of the temple, for that’s what this place had to be. There was no altar, but there was a jagged crow’s-foot shape as long as a human body, lumpy and white, like stone scar tissue. Percy knelt, touching the rock, and his fingers came back wet. He sniffed them–saltwater–and sat back on his heels, his shoulders suddenly heavy. 

Luke came up behind him. “What is it?” 

“This is the place,” Percy said.

“What place?” 

“Where the rivalry started. Look.” He gestured again to the rock. “That’s where my father struck the trident, creating the saltwater spring.” 

“Woah.” Nico came over, bending for a better look. “So this is where he lost.”

He had to bite down the retort that threatened to rise up, pouring out of his throat that no, Poseidon didn’t lose, he still had a temple and a whole ass port dedicated to him even if he wasn’t chosen for patron. It was almost instinctual to defend his father… in the godly realm, at least. 

But Nico was right, after a fashion. His father had lost the contest, right here in this spot, a loss so profound that it was written into the very foundations of the city. An insult like that could be deadly to a god. Maybe that was why he was being so hard on Percy and his race. He needed a win, specifically in this city, in order to prop up his ego. Which, fine, Percy could understand, if not sympathize. But if all he was worried about was a gold medal, then what the hell did Annabeth have to do with anything? Why did his father call her the enemy? 

From the corner of his eye, something glinted in the low, blue light. “Give me your flashlight,” he gestured to Luke, somewhere behind him. 

His cousin obliged. There was something there, covered in a thick layer of dust, almost like it had been buried here. He pulled out a small, smooth disk of bronze the size of a tea saucer, and when he used his shirt to wipe it, he could see delicate letters and illustrations etched on the sides. 

He squinted. The lines seemed to form some kind of shape–a bird? Maybe an eagle? But before he could look more closely, the illustrations vanished, melting into the metal. 

“What is it?” Luke asked. 

Percy shrugged. “No clue.” He stood up, and the boys crowded around him for a better look. “There were markings on it a second ago, and then they just… vanished.” 

“Let me see.” Nico held it in his fingers, twisting it this way and that, scrutinizing every inch. “What kind of markings?” 

“I didn’t get a close enough look, but I thought it might be a bird.”

“An eagle?” Luke suggested. “Could be Roman.”

Nico frowned. “Maybe. But this is definitely bronze, not gold.”

Well, Percy was stumped. “So what’s the verdict?” 

“Old,” he said. “Very powerful.” 

“I could have told you that,” Luke muttered. 

“You probably shouldn’t lose it.” 

Percy deliberated for a second, then passed it over to Luke. “You hang onto it.” 

“Me? Why?”

“Because it would end up in your pocket by the end of the day anyway.”

“I resent that accusation.” 

“You literally lifted my wallet this morning.”

He opened his mouth, as if to argue his case, but sighed instead, slipping the disk into his pocket, where Percy knew it would be very safe indeed. When Luke kept a hold of something, he kept it locked up tight. It would be secure in his cousin’s sticky fingers.

They trudged their way back up the staircase, squinting as the bright light of the Athens sunshine burned down on them. It didn’t look dramatically lower than when they had gone in, and Luke checked his watch to confirm that they hadn’t lost too much time. Down at the bottom of the hill, through the thinning crowd of tourists and past the metal fence, Percy could see Hazel and Estelle, sitting on a bench and sharing a couple of ice cream cones. His sister spotted them first, perking up, and waving her arms frantically, drops of melted vanilla flinging onto the street.

“C’mon, guys,” he said, fingers tingling with the phantom sensation of the bronze disk. “Let’s get out of this heat.”

Because surely, that was the source of the weight he suddenly felt on his shoulders, the stickiness on the back of his neck. The hot, powerful Athens heat. Nothing else.

[iliumheightnights]

Injured | Peter Parker x Stark!Son reader

Fandom: Marvel, MCU, Spiderman Pairing: Peter Parker x Male!reader (Stark son) Summary: Peter and M/n have had their issues since they've first met. But will that change after Peter gets seriously injured during a mission? ...

(M/n) had just finished the book he was reading and went to grab a snack when the quinjet landed on the landing pad. “Oh dad’s back with boy wonder.” What could he say? He was jealous that Peter got to spend so much time with Tony now. That he got to go on missions with them while he stayed confined to the tower. It was almost like he was his son instead. He didn’t like that feeling at all.

The boy’s feelings of jealousy would have to be put on hold however. He watched as the Avengers ran down the ramp carrying Peter on a stretcher. From where he was standing Peter didn’t look good….not at all. 

The Avengers burst through the doors with Peter and rushed him down the hall. “Someone get Doctor Cho now!” Steve shouted. ‘She’s already been called sir.’ Friday’s voice spoke up. (M/n) rushed behind them. “What’s wrong? What happened?” He tried to ask literally anyone but they all ignored him and they rushed Peter to the medical wing.

(M/n) followed them all the way to the medical wing but stopped just short of the room they put Peter in. Only Tony and the Doctor were allowed in. That was fair, this wasn’t something (M/n) HAD to be there for. He could respect that enough to realize everyone needed SOME privacy in this tower.

“So…what happened?” (M/n) asked looking at the closed doors. Nat stood beside him and sighed. “It was a standard mission. Just take out a hidden hydra base. We thought it’d be easy…then Taskmaster showed up.” (M/n) listened to every word she said. “Peter saved us but in the process, he got badly injured. I just hope he’ll be alright.” She said. He could hear just how torn up she was about this. After all…the entire team loved Peter.

The door opened and Tony walked out. He didn’t have a look of relief but he also didn’t look destroyed so that was something. “How is he?” Nat asked. Tony sighed, his shoulders slumping. “Nothing yet. His vitals are stabilizing, but we’re still not sure yet. Doc’s trying her best but some of the cuts were deep.” Natasha nodded and soon both of them walked away leaving (M/n) in front of the door.

After a little while the door opened and the doctor walked out. “Oh. (M/n), I didn’t know you were out here.” (M/n) shrugged. “Didn’t make myself known.” Helen nodded. “He’s stable now and there are signs of recovery. I was just about to tell your father and the others. You’re welcome to go in and see him though he’s still sleeping.” The boy nodded. “Thanks doc.” Once she left (M/n) entered the room.

He hated the medical wing. It always reminded him of when he needed to get shots or when his dad had to go through his many surgeries. It always scared him. The clean sterile white walls and smell of everything didn’t help either. Not to mention the beeping of the monitors, which luckily were stable.

There in the bed was Peter. (M/n) looked him over. His face had a few cuts, a black eye was developing and he for sure looked worse for wear. “Well…don’t get cleaned up for me or anything. You look like shit.” (M/n) shot up to Peter who was still asleep. A small chuckle escaped as well, however, there was no humor in it.

“You know since you’re asleep I can finally tell you what I want.” (M/n) stepped closer to the bed. “I absolutely hate you. I despise you.” He felt as if a weight was lifted off his shoulders with those words gone. “I hate how you came into my life and stole my dad from me. I hate how you seem to be so good and perfect at everything and it points out my flaws. I hate how even after I’m rude to you…you still treat me like a good person.” He breathed in to say his final thoughts. He could feel himself shake. “But most importantly…I hate how you made me care. I hate that I’m worried for you. I hate that you made me fall for you.” He felt the tears falling from his face. “So you’re GOING to get up and get better. Because now I have to get payback for all these conflicting emotions you’ve given me.”

(M/n) swiped away the tears from his face and finished up the last few sniffles he had before going to stand up. But as he went to go he felt Peter’s hand reach out and grab his, the boy's thumb rubbing against his knuckles. “Don’t go.” the other boy said, his voice faint and quiet…but there. The Stark boy froze and looked at Peter before eventually smiling. “Really? Normally you can’t wait for me to leave. Are you just such a masochist you enjoy me yelling at you?” This time there was humor behind the words and (M/n) returned to his seat. “Because I don’t mind yelling at you more. I’m sure there are lots I can say about this whole situation.” Peter let out a small laugh at that.

Everything was going to be fine. Who knows…perhaps things were going to be even better than what they were before. Either way Tony and (M/n) were going to give Peter a stern talking to when he was better and work on giving him more protection.