#anyways i just removed everything from my bed and methodically searched Everything. looked all around the bed too. cannot find a spider

[lunar-wandering]

“this house is a frickin’ nightmare”

so i. decided to write something for the ‘Sitcom’ AU, which is basically just the concept that post-canon, everyone lives in the same house.... its Fun.

Word Count: 2.7k

Read on Ao3

-

"Monkey King, get down from the fridge."

"No."

This exchange is what drew MK's attention to the fact that something was happening in the kitchen.

In MK's opinion, it was far too early for something to be happening in the kitchen.

"Wukong, I swear, if you don't get down from there-"

"What- you gonna stab me? Pigsy, you know full well that method is ineffective."

"What is going on?" MK asked, entering the kitchen and, well, seeing exactly what he had expected; Wukong crouched on top of the fridge, staring down at Pigsy, who was glaring up at him.

Still though. Just because he'd expected to see it didn't explain why it was happening.

"Oh hey, kid." Wukong said, taking notice of him. "Everything's fine, you can go back to your room, breakfast will be ready soon."

"It would be done already if you hadn't burned it." Pigsy said, gesturing to the charred remains of what supposedly had been breakfast. "Seriously, can't you follow simple instructions?? Now we've gotta start all over."

"It's not my fault I'm a visual learner." Wukong said, his tail swinging back and forth.

"It was three steps-"

"What's going on?"

MK barely kept himself from startling at the new voice behind him, turning around to see a very tired looking Red Son.

"Breakfast burned." MK said, catching Red Son up on the situation. Red Son hummed in contemplation, walking into the kitchen, picking up a piece of the unrecognizable charred food, and, ignoring the other's growing horror, he ate it.

"...Tastes fine to me." He said, going so far as to grab and nibble on another piece as he turned and left, presumably heading back to his room. The remaining three watched him go in shocked silence.

"....This house is a frickin' nightmare." Wukong deadpanned. Pigsy nodded in agreement.

"Aptly put. Now get off of the fridge."

"No."

MK decided to go back to bed.

-

It was commonly known, within the household, that somehow, Tang and Wukong continuously managed to get out of doing their fair share of the chores. No one was quite sure how they did it, as the two of them kept coming up with new methods every day.

Today's method was..... interesting, to say the least.

Somehow, someway, they had managed to remove their names from the Chore Roulette Wheel, without leaving any trace that their names had ever even been there. Which was, in fact, rather impressive, considering that the roulette wheel was literally a giant wooden roulette wheel, built by Sandy, and there were no empty spaces were their names used to be, they were just. Gone.

To be honest, MK would've never noticed if Mei hadn't pointed it out.

Now, there was a house-wide search for the two chore-shirkers.

"Found 'em yet?" MK yelled down the stairs into the basement. A few seconds passed, then a unanimous call of "No!" came. MK sighed. If the Spider-gang couldn't find Tang and Wukong down there, then they probably weren't there. (.....Probably. Wukong did have a lot of tricks up his sleeves, and MK didn't put it pass his mentor to use them for something like this.)

That checked off the majority of the house.... which only left-

An enraged scream (courtesy of Mei) from upstairs confirmed what MK had concluded.

They were on the roof.

MK rushed to the stairs, running up them-

Only to pause as he heard a yelp, and a flash of gold fell past the window, followed by a loud thud. MK leaned on the windowsill to look outside, just in time to see Tang fall past it. Wukong, a few branches and grass in his fur from his rough landing, summoned his cloud to catch Tang, before zooming away.

As MK would later find out, in the haste to escape Mei's wrath, Tang had actually pushed Wukong off the roof. Wukong, in return, had unceremoniously dropped Tang on the ground the first chance he got.

Both of their names were back on the roulette wheel by the next morning.

....They still managed to get out of doing their chores though.

-

"Oh, hey Macaque." MK mumbled, tiredly rubbing his eyes, and Macaque, mid-way through stealing a snack out of the fridge, froze like a deer in the headlights.

"Uh.....hey, bud." He said, slowly closing the fridge door, glancing at MK, who was obviously very tired, then looking at the clock on the wall.

2:43 AM. Okay, he could work with this.

"What are you doing up so late?" Macaque asked, leaning casually against the fridge in an attempt to hide his nervousness. If MK had been more awake, he would've noticed and called him out on it, but as it was....

"Just woke up.... wanted to get a snack." MK said, and Macaque quickly opened a nearby cupboard.

"Here, have this." He said, putting a cookie in MK's hands, before grabbing him by the shoulders, turning him around, and gently shoving him back towards his room. "Now go back to bed."

"G'night, Macaque." MK said, nibbling on his cookie.

"Goodnight, MK." Macaque sighed, waiting until he heard MK's bedroom door click closed again before melting back into the shadows.

The next morning, MK thought he had dreamt the whole thing. After all, Macaque had vehemently denied the invitation to live in the house with everyone else, surely if he had changed his mind and started to live with them, someone would've noticed.

....Right?

-

"Monkey King?"

"Yeah?"

"Why do you always sleep on the roof?" Red Son asked, "I mean, you do have a room after all, why don't you use it?"

"I just like watching the stars." Wukong said, reclining on his cloud. Suddenly, Mei and MK also appeared beside Red Son, with their arms crossed, looking unimpressed.

"You told me that beds were uncomfortable." Mei said.

"And you told me that you liked the breeze." MK added. Wukong's tail bristled a little, but he still didn't look over at them.

"Well, I mean, all of those are true." Wukong said, "Figured I would just... switch my answers up from time to time, keep things entertaining you know?"

"That doesn't explain why you slept out there in the pouring rain." Mei said, "In fact, the only time we've seen you sleep inside is when we have blanket fort night."

"...The rain was nice?" Wukong said, sounding uncertain. The trio narrowed their eyes.

"Is there something wrong with your room?" Red Son asked, and Wukong flinched.

"No." He said, finally sitting up and looking at them. "Really, my room's perfectly fine, I don't know where you're getting the idea that something's wrong-"

"You're doing that nervous smile again." MK said, and Wukong slammed a hand over his mouth in an attempt to hide what the trio had already seen.

There was a moment of silence, and in that moment, each member of the traffic light trio came to a shared conclusion.

No matter the cost, they would get into Wukong's room.

Almost as though they had actually planned it, the trio took off towards the staircase, ignoring Wukong's yells for them to stop. Hurriedly, Wukong summoned two clones, then rushed after the trio.

Red on got caught on the stairs, the clone grabbing hold of the edge of his coat and dragging him down. It wouldn't be able to hold him for long of course, his fire could quickly burn the clone away, but it would still manage to slow him down.

Mei was captured in the hallway, the clone pushing off the wall to tackle her, accidentally knocking her right into Yin and Jin's room, pining her to the ground as the twins yelped in shock.

...Which just left MK.

Having trained with the Monkey King, MK found himself easily dodging Wukong's attempts to catch him. Slightly out of breath, he skidded to a stop in front of Wukong's door, turned the knob, and opened it.

"I don't really see what the problem is, the room looks fine to me-" MK said, stepping into the room.

"Kid, wait-" Wukong started to say, but it was too late.

MK tripped, tumbling into the room, dispelling the illusion Wukong had carefully crafted and placed over it.

Wukong's room was a mess, to put things lightly. There was stuff everywhere- books, clothes, antiques, food, you named it, it was probably there. It was to the point where there was no place to sleep, the bed being covered in stuff. Which, well, that explained the whole 'sleeping on the roof' thing, but still.

Wukong nervously shifted from foot to foot in the doorway. Red Son and Mei, who had succeeded in freeing themselves, as well as Yin and Jin, who had gotten curious from all the commotion, stared over Wukong's shoulders, taking in the state of the room.

MK sat there for a moment, looking at the mess (and sure, MK's room was messy too, but this-), before slowly turning around to look at his mentor, a serious expression on his face.

"Wukong." MK said, and Wukong stiffened, his nervous smile growing wider at the sound of MK saying his name instead of his title.

"...Yeah?" Wukong said, chuckling nervously as MK's look darkened.

"...I'm getting Sandy."

"Wait, no no no-"

The rest of the day was spent cleaning up Wukong's room, sorting through the piles upon piles of stuff.

Wukong, in a bout of spite, still slept on the roof anyways.

-

Yin and Jin stared in shock at the scene in front of them.

Everyone in the house knew that Wukong and Tang adamantly avoided doing their share of the chores. (The roof-pushing incident was still fresh in everyone's minds, after all).

So that's why seeing Wukong doing the laundry was very out of place.

"...What are you two staring at?" Wukong asked, snapping the twins out of their shocked reverie.

"It's just....weird to see you doing the laundry, that's all." Yin said, and that-

Well, surprisingly enough, that made Wukong actually pause.

"It is?" He asked, slowly setting the laundry basket down on the ground, subtly nudging it under a nearby table so that it was now out of view.

"Well, I mean, with how you and Mr. Tang utilize every method possible to avoid doing the chores, we never thought we'd actually see you doing one." Jin said.

"...I see." Wukong said, quietly. "Well, in that case. You two saw nothing."

"Wha-"

Not giving them a chance to respond, Wukong flashed a peace sign, then vanished, leaving the twins to sputter in disbelief.

(Later, Macaque returned to the laundry room to pick up the clothes he'd left behind.)

-

Syntax paused as he stared at the sight before him.

"...What is this?" He ased, drawing the attention of the occupants in the living room.

"A braid train!" MK replied, and honestly, that's what it was. MK sat on the floor, braiding Bai He's hair, Bai He braiding Red Son's, who was braiding Mei's hair. Mei pulled one hand out of Spider Queen's hair to give Syntax a little wave before returning to braiding the queen's hair. Spider Queen gently weaved Huntsman's hair into a braid that looked above professional level. Huntsman was twisted at an odd angle in order to put some braids in Sandy's beard. And Sandy carefully created some tiny braids in Wukong's fur."

"I....see." Syntax said, holding up his phone and taking a quick picture before any of the braid train participants could notice.

"Do you wanna join?" MK asked, "You can either braid my hair or get yours braided by Monkey King. Your choice."

Syntax took a moment to think about it.

He ended up braiding MK's hair.

-

There was someone in the shower.

Now, usually, this wouldn't be such a mind-boggling thing, but-

All of the house's occupants stared at the bathroom door in trepidation.

"You sure Wukong didn't just accidentally leave the shower on again?" Princess Iron Fan asked, prompting some indignant sputtering from Wukong, who was sitting on Demon Bull King's shoulder. MK shook his head in the negative.

"No, I'm sure I heard someone moving in there." He said, crossing his arms.

"Why don't you or Monkey King just use your true sight and get this whole mystery over with?" Jin asked.

"Yeah, we've already been waiting for like, 20 minutes." Yin said.

"They're in the shower." MK said, "I'm not just gonna invade their privacy like that, regardless of who they are."

The shower turned off, and everyone turned to stare at the door again, in silence. There was some rustling around, and then the door opened.

Macaque. It was Macaque. Who, upon realizing that literally the entire household was standing in front of him, froze.

And then immediately tried to turn and run.

"Oh no you don't." Wukong said, jumping off of Demon Bull King's shoulder, and outright tackling the other monkey to the ground. "What are you doing here?"

"Uh, I live here?" Macaque said, sitting up and shoving Wukong off of him.

"You turned down the invitation to come and live with us though...." Wukong said, slowly standing back up. ".....How long have you been here?"

"Two weeks."

"Two weeks?!" Everyone went into various states of shock.

"How could we not have noticed you?" MK asked.

"You- you did notice me though." Macaque said, "Like, we had a whole conversation in the kitchen at around 3 AM."

"You think I remember what happens at 3 am?!" MK said, holding his head in his hands, and Red Son comfortingly patted him on the back.

"What happens at 3 AM stays at 3 AM." Red Son said, sounding like he was saying some ancient wisdom despite the actual sentence being utter nonsense. Yin and Jin snapped their fingers as a look of realization appeared on their faces. 

"That's why we saw Wukong doing the laundry the other day." Yin said, "It was Macaque in disguise!"

"....Yeah, I figured you'd notice if I didn't do some chores, just to clean up after myself." Macaque sighed, and Pigsy turned to glare at Wukong and Tang.

"See? Even the ex-villain does more chores than you two." He said, and Wukong and Tang purposefully looked away, whistling innocently.

"Wait." Mei said, "If you've been here for two weeks, and we haven't seen you use any of the bedrooms... then where have you been sleeping?"

As it turned out, Macaque had been spending his nights in the storage closet, curled up in the darkest corner of the room with nothing other than a blanket and a small pillow. The others, of course, deemed this as unacceptable, and pretty much near shoved him into one of the leftover bed rooms.

...Which he didn't even end up using that night, as it ended up being a night where everyone ended up falling asleep in the living room, blankets and pillows strewn about everywhere.

The next morning, Macaque wasn't there when the others woke up, and there was a brief moment of panic over the monkey's whereabouts-

And then said monkey walked back into the room, using the shadows to help him carry some trays with breakfast on it.

He paused when he registered that everyone was staring at him.

"....What?" He asked, "I woke up first, that means I had breakfast duty, right?"

"I mean.....yeah." MK said, graciously accepting his plate of food. "But, to be honest. I kinda expected you to burn it like Monkey King did."

"Hey, I did that on purpose. For Red Son." Wukong said, "Cause, y'know. He likes charred food. Apparently."

"You did not do that on purpose and we all know it." Pigsy said, "You were just as unaware of Red Son's dietary habits as the rest of us."

"...I literally just woke up and I'm kinda feeling attacked." Red Son mumbled, sitting up. "Should I feel like I'm being attacked?"

"No, you're fine, we're just calling out Wukong again." Spider Queen whispered to him, and Red Son hummed before rolling back over, clearly intending on getting a few more minutes of rest despite the argument starting to occur in the room. Macaque, for his part, remained standing frozen, with MK standing beside him, nibbling at the food on his plate.

"....Should I be concerned about this?" Macaque asked, staring at the fight taking place. MK shrugged.

"Nah." He said, "This is just the same shit as always."

[theladyfae]

Adrienette, person A preoccupied with something while sitting next to person B but still makes sure to hold person B’s hand/play with their hair/put a hand on their leg etc.

thanks for the ask, alex!! I'm aware this one took. a while to get to. but it's been one of my favourite pieces to write.

#2: person a preoccupied with something while sitting next to person b but still makes sure to hold person b's hand/play with their hair/put a hand on their leg etc. adrienette.

(casual affection?? beats everything. I hope you like it!! <3)

Adrien winces as the sunlight falls over his maths worksheet in just the wrong way, making the white of the page stand out too much along with the colour of his desk. He stretches a little in his desk chair and stares at it, blinks a few times until he's used to the contrast, and then moves to bring the piece of paper closer to him once again. 

The low muttering that starts up behind him as a pair of shoes squeak across his floor reminds him that he is not alone, and he turns to watch out of the corner of his eye as Marinette paces about his room, humming nonchalantly to herself. He shakes his head a little before turning back to the question he's stuck on, scribbling out the method he'd tried earlier and starting with a different one. 

It's as if Marinette senses his frustration, because she abruptly stops pacing about his room in favour of flopping dramatically onto his bed to stare directly at him. Barely a minute passes before she's rising again, moving towards his chair to loosely drape her arms around his shoulders from behind.

She rests her chin on his shoulder and starts humming again, swaying a little with the rhythm. He smiles slightly at the contact, eyes still tracing the complicated question on the maths worksheet in front of him, trying to walk through his next steps in his head.

"Adrien?" 

Even though she’s speaking directly in his ear, her voice is quiet. When he turns his head minutely to look at her, she gives him the softest, most considering look he's ever seen.

"Yes, my love?" He smiles at her, abandoning his pencil to take one of her hands in his, clasping both over his chest.

She idly rubs his hand with her thumb, and continues swaying.

"Why do you hate me?"

Adrien lets out a short, shocked laugh as he leans into her touch once more, before turning back to his worksheet.

"I don't, and you very well know that, love. All I said was I'd have to start on our maths homework before I could relax with you, and in case you forgot, you're the one who told me it was alright. You said you could wait."

There's a pause as Marinette thoughtfully chews on her lip, and he takes the opportunity to remove her arm from his chest, threading their fingers together as he brings her hand to his lips before dropping it. 

It startles her just enough that she almost falls into him, which briefly jolts his writing hand. He bites his lip to stifle his own laughter as she stammers out her reply.

"Well… I mean yes, I did, I did say that, but… I didn't know waiting would be so hard!! And besides, you're a cat, so I find it incredibly rude that you aren't tripping over yourself at the idea of having a cuddle nap with me now."

"I'm as much a cat as you are a ladybug," He reminds her with an unapologetic grin. "And it's fun to watch you pace, somehow you're more incapable of sitting still than I am."

A beat. He can sense her indignant pout forming before he even looks at her again.

"I am not, don't be mean. Anyways, you're getting bored, I can tell. You're not even putting enough pressure on that pencil for your notes to be legible."

Adrien looks at the worksheet as a whole once again. She's right, of course. His wrist has been getting tired, and what was previously neat handwriting has now become little more than scribbled numbers, notes he probably won't be able to decipher in a couple hours time.

He sighs, and pokes her arm. 

"It's because you're distracting me. How you expect me to get anything done with you lying all over me is beyond me. Now shoo, leave me be."

To his surprise, Marinette's hands actually leave his side, but it only takes a couple seconds before he finds them looped around his neck again, this time from the front as she drops herself sideways onto his lap.

Adrien rolls his eyes even as an affectionate smile lifts the corners of his mouth, pulling her body closer against him and casually picking up the sheet again, staring at it as he contemplates his next steps.

Two whole minutes pass before Marinette speaks up again.

"You know, this is sort of uncomfortable."

He doesn't reply, just leans forward to start writing as he tries not to melt at the proximity of her face to his.

"Adrien?"

She pokes his shoulder to get his attention. He tries his best not to acknowledge it. 

"Adrien." 

She pokes him again, harder, this time. 

"Adrien."

Another poke. He mustn't laugh, he knows, or she'll take advantage immediately.

"Adrien, I'm literally dying over here. Never have I felt so unloved."

This time she lets her face fall into his shoulder with a fake huff, and that causes him to break character.

He can feel her grin into his tee as he laughs, surprised, and completely gives up on trying to ignore her.

"Alright," he places his pencil down again and stretches. "Guess we can't have that."

She smiles beautifully as he kisses her forehead and wraps his arms around her, shifting a little before she unexpectedly lets out a huge yawn.

She blinks, startled at herself for a moment, before sleepily burrowing into him.

"Actually–" Her sentence is broken by another yawn. "–I think I'm comfortable enough here after all. You can… look at the required learning for Bustier's or something. Give me the answers later, too. Just don't do any exaggerated movements. I'll be taking my cuddle nap now, thanks."

He chuckles slightly and relaxes back in the chair, one of his hands moving to softly card through her hair as he searches for his school tablet with the other, pulling up the research task.

She snuggles further into the crook of his neck, and yawns again.

 "Oh… keep doing that with my hair, by the way. It's nice. Soothing."

He glances fondly down at her and indulges her request. She's more than half asleep already, and she looks so utterly adorable that he can't resist giving her cheek a light kiss.

He moves his attention back to the tablet, sighing internally at the thought of having to use it one handed, and faux frowns at her resting form, shaking his head.

"The things I do to keep you around, Marinette Dupain-Cheng."

He feels her shake trying to suppress her giggle at that, (so, not as asleep as he'd thought, apparently), as she moves up to press a soft kiss to his neck.

"You love me, don't lie."

"I can't say I don't, my love." He says, resting his cheek on her head while scrolling through the required reading. "I can't say I don't." 

"Mhm. Now let me sleep, I beg."

"Of course." He placates as he begins to rock them both back and forth. "Rest well, sweetheart."

And with another smile followed by a sleepily murmured I love you, she does just that.

send me a number and a miraculous/jatp pairing

[earliebirb]

say your name like a prayer

steve/tony, au: mob, hurt/comfort, established relationship, 3005 words

From behind him, Steve hears the sound of the door opening and closing. 

He dog-ears a page from the book he was reading to mark his spot, but otherwise doesn’t bother getting up from his chair or turning around to look. There are only three people in the world that can enter a room with Steve Rogers inside without knocking and leave unscathed.

At the moment, one of them is already inside the room with him. The remaining two are the only people that can make it through the twenty-five men Steve has stationed throughout the hospital floor, the only two people on the clearance list approved by him.

Three people, if one were to count Helen Cho, the doctor Steve has personally handpicked to oversee everything. 

After all, Steve wouldn’t leave Tony’s care in the hands of just anybody. Helen is unfalteringly loyal to him—has been, ever since Steve took her under his wing ten years ago and paid off her family’s debts. 

Only a select number of people are aware of her true loyalties, of course.

The rest of the hospital staff won’t be able to make it through his men without thorough searching and his explicit permission, barring any medical emergencies.

Stationing his men throughout the floor wasn’t difficult to set up, considering the fact that his men have infiltrated various institutions, his network stretching over almost every single industry imaginable, including the medical field. 

“I brought you the extra blankets you asked for.”

“Leave them on the armchair by the door,” Steve orders, eyes fixated on the motion of his own thumb, moving in repeated one-way strokes across the ridges of Tony’s knuckles.

He hears some quiet shuffling, but when he doesn’t hear the sound of the door being opened and closed, he asks, “And why aren’t you leaving?”

Thumb not once faltering in its methodical stroking, Steve’s eyes travel up Tony’s wrist. His gaze lingers on the ugly mottles of black and blue forming a loosely connected ring around its circumference. Both of Tony’s wrists had been tied behind his back, rope pulled tight with enough force to bruise. 

“Boss— Steve. People are starting to talk. It’s been some time since you attended a meeting. They think you’re… unwell. I’m afraid further absence will cause something bigger than just flimsy rumors. I think it’s time that—”

His thumb stills.

“Get out,” he says, and to people who are not familiar with him, his voice is low enough to be mistaken as a request.

Bucky knows better, though. Should know better.

Steve is not asking.

“Steve—” Bucky tries anyway, and Steve clenches his jaw.

“Barnes,” he barks out.

Steve hears his right hand man immediately go quiet at the invocation of his last name, the very usage of it a scalding reprehension that kills any argument he might have thought to bring forward.

“I’ve made it very clear that in my absence you are to act as my proxy, have I not?” Steve asks, speech measured. 

“Yes, Boss.”

“Then that’s all you need to worry about.” Steve goes quiet after that, letting his answer sink in. The pregnant silence stretches out for a few moments, the air between them growing almost suffocating with tension. “Now, if you don’t have anything actually important to talk about, leave.”

Steve stares at the frail figure lying on the hospital bed, looking even smaller than usual in a loose-fitting hospital gown. Tony’s pallid complexion and state of restful sleep are even more jarring when juxtaposed with his usual lively demeanor—full of vigor and always ready with a witty remark. His right eye is a dark blue and purple mess, swollen shut. Sutures hold together a cut on the left corner of his upper lip.

This is everything he never wanted. His biggest fear materializing right before his own two eyes.

This is exactly what Steve had warned Tony of. Once Tony was in, he was in for the long haul. There was no going back from this, no ordinary life to return to once he was well and truly involved with Steve.

When Steve had voiced his concerns, Tony kissed him in lieu of a reply. 

Because Steve had always been weak and selfish when it came to Tony, he decided to keep him. He decided right there and then, that if he didn’t have the strength to turn Tony away, then he would pour his everything into protecting Tony instead. 

Clearly, his everything wasn’t enough. Maybe it would never be enough. Perhaps, in some ways, this outcome has always been inevitable. 

That doesn’t mean that it doesn’t make Steve’s blood boil and his bile threaten to rise up to his throat.  

Heart twisting with worry, he closes his eyes. He inhales and holds his breath, trying his best to focus on the slow and steady beeping of the EKG machine in the background, like the room’s own heartbeat. 

A grounding reminder that Tony is still alive and breathing. That he is safe now, right in front of Steve, within arm’s reach.

“You’re disturbing his rest,” Steve says, clipped tone brooking no further argument. 

It takes a minute, but eventually Bucky does leave. 

Steve gets up to gather the blankets on the armchair. He covers Tony’s body with one of the blankets, providing an extra layer of warmth on top of the sheets already covering him, making sure to leave Tony’s arms resting on top of the layers. He wraps another blanket around Tony’s bare feet, hoping it would keep them warm. He knows how much Tony hates having cold feet. 

“Sorry for the intrusion, sweetheart.” He leans down to press a kiss to Tony’s bandaged forehead, careful and tender. Sitting down in his chair, he opens the paperback copy of 1984 to the previously dog-eared page. He keeps the book open with one hand while the other takes hold of Tony’s, squeezing it to feel what little warmth is left to comfort him. 

“Now, where were we?”

***

Sixteen days since he was admitted into the hospital, Tony wakes up.

He comes to gradually, eyes opening and closing periodically. The first time Steve catches Tony opening his eyes, he struggles to breathe through the wave of sheer relief and calls out Tony’s name with his heart in his throat. Tony gives him no reply, blinks once, twice, and drifts back into sleep. 

Tony continues to slip in and out of consciousness for what seems like eternity.

Throughout it all, Steve never lets go of his hand.

Hours later, Tony lets out his first coherent word in over two weeks:

“Steve?” Tony’s voice is more breath than sound.

“I’m here, sweetheart,” Steve whispers, a tight knot loosening in his chest. He squeezes Tony’s hand reassuringly. 

Tony blinks wordlessly at Steve, looking like he is trying to map Steve’s features with his eyes. The bandage around his head has been removed a few days prior, allowing Steve to brush his hair away from his forehead with the knuckles of his fingers.

At this, Tony swallows. He blinks once more, slow and languid, before closing his eyes with a weary sigh and falling back asleep. 

The next time Tony regains consciousness, he spends some time looking his fill of Steve before registering his surroundings, eyes darting around the room.

“Where?” he croaks.

“Hospital,” Steve answers. Tony takes in the answer quietly.

“Steve,” Tony says. “I’m tired.” 

“Go back to sleep, sweetheart.” Steve lifts Tony’s hand, holding it against his own face. The warmth of Tony’s calloused palm seeps into Steve’s cheek, solid and comforting.

The lines of Tony’s face soften almost imperceptibly, brown eyes gazing at him softly.

“Steve,” he breathes, eyelids growing heavy.

“Yeah?”

“Don’t leave.”

Steve swallows around a lump in his throat and turns to press a long kiss to the center of Tony’s palm.

“I won’t, sweetheart. I’ll stay right here,” he promises. 

Sometime during the long hours of his continuous effort to remain vigilant, Steve’s exhaustion catches up to him and without meaning to, he falls asleep.

***

At first, Steve thinks he is still dreaming in his sleep. He had fallen asleep with his cheek against the sheets, hand holding Tony’s. The next thing he registers in his slow drift back to consciousness is the feeling of fingers carding through his hair repeatedly. He squeezes his eyes shut, determined to stay asleep.

Then he feels the same fingers wander down to his unkempt beard and he hears an amused huff of breath.

The pad of a thumb presses the corner of his mouth gently. “I know you’re awake.”

Steve stills. Ever so slowly, he lets his eyes flutter open. It takes him a while to convince himself that Tony is indeed wide awake and that the fingers on his face are very much warm and real.

When he straightens up in his seat, his back muscles protest after having been bent at an unnatural angle for the past few hours in his slumber.

“Hey there, Sleeping Beauty.” Tony’s soft smile greets him, eyes crinkling at the corners. Steve stares at him with wide, unblinking eyes and finds it impossible to return his smile. 

“You’re awake,” he says instead, voice gravelly with the last remnants of sleep. Tony looks significantly better, like life has flooded back into him. Absently, Steve notes the new presence of a glass of water on the hospital nightstand, a straw sitting in it.

“Since around two hours ago. Helen even came by to check up on me.”

Steve bristles. “Why didn’t—”

“Shhh. It’s okay.” Tony’s fingers curl around his wrist, giving it a gentle squeeze and killing Steve’s anger before it has a chance to rise. “I told her not to wake you.”

“You look dead on your feet, Steven,” Tony says. Steve’s chest grows tight at the familiar way in which Tony says his full given name, a soft and fond cadence to his voice that turns the word into a personal form of endearment.

Tony’s brown eyes are fraught with worry. It’s all ridiculously outrageous but so painfully Tony. He has only been awake for a few hours and already treating his own condition with well-practiced flippancy, worrying about Steve like Steve is the one who just woke up from a two-week-long coma.

Steve’s mouth twists. He swallows audibly, eyebrows furrowing in an effort to stave off the tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. He directs his blurry gaze down at the hospital bed, upset and ashamed.

Tony’s fingers slide over his fist, which Steve has just realized is clenched tight around a handful of bed sheets, knuckles turning white.

“I’m here, my darling. I’m right here. I’m okay.” 

Unable to hold back for another second, Steve stands up and gathers Tony in his arms carefully, mindful of his injuries. He lets out a long and relieved breath before pressing kisses to the crown of his head. Tony buries his face in the crook of Steve’s neck and inhales deeply.

“You stay. You stay right here,” Steve chokes, voice splintering.

“Not going anywhere,” Tony murmurs, pressing a kiss to the column of Steve’s throat. He slips his hands under Steve’s shirt, fingers gliding across his ribs, inches away from where he knows the initials of his own name are tattooed vertically down Steve’s breastbone. 

“Is it just me or did you lose weight? Have you been eating properly? And don’t even try lying to me ‘cause you know I can totally ask Bucky or Sam and they’ll tell me the truth, Rogers.”

Steve’s hand slides up to cradle the back of Tony’s head. Tony is warm, he is so much warmer now. Tony is okay. He presses another grateful kiss into Tony’s hair, eyes shut in silent prayer to whatever deity is kind enough to deliver Tony back to him.

“I’m never letting you go anywhere without my men ever again,” Steve whispers. 

Tony huffs, leaning back to look up at Steve and trusting Steve’s hand to take the weight of his head. “I’m okay, sweetheart. I’m right here, with you. Besides, no one saw it coming, okay? It’s not—”

Tony breaks off abruptly with a soft grunt, hand reaching up in an aborted motion to touch his own head. Steve pulls back in alarm.

“Sweetheart? What’s wrong?” Steve hears his own voice turning even more hushed, panic wrapping tight like a vice around his vocal chords. “Do I need to call Helen? Hold on, I’ll—”

Tony catches his arm before he can press the button to alert the hospital staff, bringing it down. 

“Does it hurt, Tony? Tell me the truth.”

Tony shakes his head, eyes closed, eyebrows furrowed. 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yes,” Tony breathes. He leans forward to rest his forehead against Steve’s shoulder. Steve hears him inhaling deeply before letting the air leave his lungs in one long and tremulous sigh.

“Let me get Helen just in case—”

“I’m fine,” Tony says breathlessly, pulling back with his eyes still closed, “just let me catch my breath.”

“Okay. Okay. Get some rest.” Steve plants one last kiss to his temple before sitting back down in his chair, hand holding Tony’s. “If anything hurts, tell me.”

Tony nods and continues to focus on taking deep, long breaths, sinking back into his pillow. Eventually, he swallows, eyelids fluttering open again. He lets his head loll slightly off to the side on the pillow, eyes roving over Steve’s face.

“I suppose I shouldn’t ask what happened to the people that took me?”

For a split second, something cold and hard lodges itself in the pit of Steve’s stomach and his grip on Tony’s hand tightens ever so slightly. He concentrates on the sight of Tony’s kind, brown eyes trained on him and the cold subsides, warmth trickling back in. He brings Tony’s hand up to his mouth.

“Yeah,” he whispers, lips brushing Tony’s knuckles, “you probably shouldn’t.”

He doesn’t say what Tony already knows—that he would give Tony every single detail of what he has done to them without even a moment’s hesitation if Tony really did want to know. Steve will tell him anything and everything he wants to know, because he keeps no secrets from Tony. 

Tony studies him for a long moment. Steve is unable to make out the thoughts running through Tony’s head, but his eyes stay warm and kind as they gaze at Steve through the companionable silence. When Tony pulls his hand away from Steve’s grip, it is to tuck a lock of Steve’s long and overgrown blond hair behind his ear.

Something shifts in his honey-brown eyes, like a puzzle piece sliding into place, and his hand cups Steve’s cheek, palm pressing against the bristles of Steve’s beard.

“Climb into bed,” Tony says. “You need to rest and I need to be held.” 

Steve ends up holding Tony close as he sleeps, arm secure around his waist. Contentment washes over him as he indulges in the warmth of Tony’s back pressed up against his chest. He takes his time in trailing light kisses from the back of Tony’s ear down to his nape, ending with a reverent kiss to the eagle tattooed on the back of Tony’s neck—a well-known insignia bestowed only to the inner circle members of Steve’s organization.

Tony’s tattoo has a distinctive characteristic that distinguishes itself from the eagle tattoos given to the other members. Whereas the eagle tattoos decorating the necks of the other inner circle members are simply black in color, the wings of Tony’s eagle have red and gold feathers interspersed with the black. It was an idea proposed by their resident tattoo artist, Clint, intended as an extra measure of protection.

Most people in Brooklyn and the surrounding boroughs know to look out for the eagle insignia, because it is in their best interests to avoid an altercation with one of the Captain’s inner circle people. 

People also know, however, to look out for the eagle with red and gold feathers in particular, because finding someone with that symbol tattooed on the back of their neck means you are dealing with the Tony Stark, and messing with Tony Stark is a guaranteed death sentence.

Everyone knows you don’t touch the Captain’s beloved. 

Still, Steve thinks grimly, some idiots try.

Sam and Bucky had offered to finish them off for Steve, but as far as Steve is concerned, people who don’t possess the common sense to not lay a finger on Tony don’t deserve the mercy of a swift death.

Steve knew that he needed to deal with them himself, for his own peace of mind. 

So, he had brought out the toolbox—the one he usually only brings out for special occasions—and spent a few gratifying hours in a secluded warehouse with the two men who had orchestrated Tony’s abduction. From pliers to knives of varying sizes, he took his time to find out which ones worked best, which tools were the most effective in eliciting screams from the men. With his own two hands, he made sure that they paid for their sins.

Maybe he shouldn’t, but he finds comfort in the thought of those dismembered corpses sinking down to the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean.

In his line of work, Steve has cultivated a moral compass of his own. He has always marched to the beat of his own drum, other people be damned.

He is definitely not going to start developing scruples now, and especially not for protecting the one thing that he can’t live without—the only person on earth whose thoughts and well-being he puts before himself, before everything else.

With his power and status, there are no guarantees in the life he leads. Loyalties are fickle and ever-changing. Rules are bent and broken. Lives are lost on a near daily basis. 

Well, no guarantees but one: Tony Stark will always come first. No matter what, no matter who, no matter when. 

Always.

Even if Steve had to burn down the entire world to keep him safe and sound.

[jadekitty777]

On Your Six, Chapter 1

Okay first of all, did we all coincide the Taiqrow Week with Father’s Day... accidentally? Because that’s secretly genius. 

Secondly, whoops we’re also meshing with Qrowin week - hope y’all are okay to share!

Finally, let’s get down to business. Hi y’all, hope you haven’t missed me too much. Hopefully I can make up for my silence with this absolute beast of a fanfic. This is going to be a single, interconnected story matching the prompts of the entire week. I hope those of you who choose to read it, will enjoy it!

Day 1: Tattoos for @taiqrowweek

Rating: T for this chapter, M for overrall

Words: 2.3k

Summary: Qrow was what most of society would call a small-town criminal. But to those oppressed, he hoped only to be a healer. In an effort to make a change in the world, he moves from kingdom to kingdom, searching for branded omegas in need. His goal? To turn the derogatory words the reformatories forced them to bear on their skin into works of art.

Then one day, his past catches up to him in the form of Taiyang, his former best friend, with a brand of his own stained onto his skin and a plea for help in his eyes. Qrow has no choice but to answer, even if it means he’d have to face his mistakes once and for all.

[An ABO-style universe in a modern-day style Remnant. No Grimm, because people are the real monsters in this one]

Ao3 Link: On Your Marks

~

The day Taiyang walked into his shop, before even a single word was spoken, he knew.

It wasn’t from any particular mannerism. Everyone’s body language was different. A chattering mouth. Averted eyes. A tapping foot. A drooped posture. In the short time Qrow had been doing this, he’d learned no single action could encapsulate the variety in which people expressed their shame.

Yet, not a single one could escape the stench. It was a foul thing. Sharp and smokey, like a tire fire on a junkyard, it lacquered over an omega’s scent so completely that it was near impossible to catch a whiff of the true smell that was originally there.

Even now, as Qrow inspected the damage upon his former friend’s bare back, mere inches away from the man’s scent glands, he couldn’t pick out a hint of the sunflowers and fresh soil that was Tai. Nothing left except the reek of burnt rubber and dishonor.

He didn’t call attention to it, just like he didn’t call attention to the shake in his friend’s shoulders as he placed a hand over the first mark. “This is extensive.”

“I know. But, I didn’t know who else to turn to.” Even as he turned his head to look at him, Tai hunched over a bit, and the brand seared across his shoulder blades stretched with the movement. “You’ll help me, right?”

Qrow’s eyes flitted between watery eyes and stained skin where the word SLUT, all in caps like some mockery of a grand declaration, taunted his every decision since their falling out and left the taste of bile on his tongue.

“Of course.” He promised.

~

It was widely thought that it was a farmer that first came up with branding back during the Early Modern period. Having been “inspired” by the tagging of the cattle which kept them in order, the alpha decided to do the same to omegas, ascertained the same outcome would follow. The practice was later adopted by prisons and other corrective facilities. Back then, it was merely a way of keeping track of those who had been in and out of the system by searing the skin with an iron that had the center’s insignia on it.

Advancements to the printing press and mail systems did away with that particular need, but while the jails abolished the practice, reformatories did not, releasing studies that claimed the procedure resulted in more ‘proper’ and ‘desired’ behaviors in omegas and were absolutely critical to full rehabilitation.  Despite newer evidence showing these original claims were likely falsified simply for convenience and often actually had a devastating effect on an omega’s psyche, the three-century long old policy had yet to be abolished from the system.

The most the outcries had done the past few decades was change the method on which the ‘brand’ was applied. Instead of an iron, it was done with a tattoo needle and instead of an insignia, it became a single word that was like a permanent reminder of what landed the omega in the facility to begin with. The stench was caused by the use of the chemically enhanced ink that made it impossible for laser technology to fully remove.

In short, if an omega wanted the mark gone, their only choice was to cut out their own skin. Most, like his mother, accidentally killed themselves trying.

Which led to where Qrow was today, trying to shake things up in the only way he knew how. So, he jumped off society’s grid, took up a needle and his drawing skills, and turned the marks into works of art. More importantly, he gave the omegas who came to his door a way to recover and take back their lives.

He just never thought Tai would be one of them.

Once he’d taken the pictures he needed and Tai’s shirt was back on, things were relaxed enough he could brew some tea. As he handed the other man his cup, Qrow finally asked, “So, how’d you find me?”

“Wasn’t that hard.” He replied, fingers wrapping around the porcelain. “The omegas back at the reformatory would whisper before bed. It didn’t take me long to figure out they were talking about you.”

Qrow froze, trying to hide his trepidation. “Oh? They say my name?”

Tai snorted. “Not your name, but a name.” His expression turned cheeky. “Don’t worry though. Only someone who knows Harbinger used to be your Relics & Wyverns character could put the pieces together.”

“Ah, can it!” He barked as a flush worked its way up his neck. Still, tension drained from him. While there were no laws that specifically stated what an omega was required to do with their mark after their rehabilitation was complete, if he was caught tampering with it for them, he knew the courts could claim he was willfully interfering with a person’s emotional stability. Might even get him on a few counts of practicing mental health care without a license too.

Still, he didn’t particularly want to be sent to the slammer, which was why he worked so hard to keep to the underground. Never told anyone his name. Moved often. Kept minimal contact with clients. Whatever it took to make sure only the people who needed to find him could.

“I’m glad that you’re doing alright for yourself.” Tai said, giving a cursory glance to the shoddy working space that doubled as his apartment. Beyond his tattoo kit, he rarely took much with him when he relocated. Sometimes he got lucky on the accommodations and the place would already be partially furnished, other times he had to make do with what he could afford from the nearest thrift store.

This place was one of those latter times. He had a mattress on the torn up box spring with a chipped nightstand beside it, a circular, rickey table with two chairs for the dining room, a fairly barren kitchen area, and a slightly beat-up leather recliner for the clients.

It wasn’t hard to see Tai was really reaching as he said, “Your place is… nice?”

It was Qrow’s turn to snort. “At least be honest and tell me I live in a shithole.”

“I was not going to – okay, yeah it is kind of a shithole. But, you’re eating okay and everything, right?”

What an omega. “Yes mom, I’m getting my three squares a day and I’m even brushing my teeth before bed.” He lent back, the plastic chair creaking underneath as he did so. “But you didn’t exactly come here to critique my living conditions. Think there’s a lot more important stuff to talk about, don’t you?”

Suddenly, the tea was much more interesting than his face. “Yeah. Right. Um, guess there’s a lot to catch you up on, huh? You don’t even know about-”

“Whoa, hold up a sec.” He quickly interrupted. “Let’s get one thing straight: I don’t ask for any of my clients’ stories unless they feel like sharing. Some do, some don’t. But my help doesn’t come with any strings attached.” He met his gaze, stressing the next part carefully, “Even if they’re friends, okay?”

Tai still seemed to hesitate. “But, don’t you want to know about Yang?”

Of course, he did. He had about a thousand and one questions whirling through his head. But that didn’t matter right now. “You ready to talk about her?”

For the second time that day, tears shimmered in Tai’s eyes. He looked away quickly, saying nothing.

Yeah. He figured as much.

“Then no.” Qrow cleared his throat some. “Besides, I’m still a total disaster when it comes to handling people when they cry.”

That one, at least, earned him a weak chuckle.

“Some things never change?” Tai said with a sniff, rubbing the corner of his eyes with the heel of his hand.

“If it ain’t broke…” He shrugged. “Anyways, what I meant was, how do you want to change up that lil’ blemish a’yours?”

“I, uh, I don’t know. What do you normally do?”

“Turn it into a single design. But, I’ve never had to work on one so large before. That thing’s taking up about half of your back. Still doable, just… more difficult.” It was easy to busy his designs enough the word got lost under all the rest. Working on a scale of this size though, there weren’t many things he could think of that would both look nice and cover up the word. “Not to mention, we’ll have to take a lot of breaks, so your skin can heal.”

“How long do you think it would take?”

“Well, with three weeks between each session and the scale and details… probably nine to twelve months?”

Tai’s face fell. “Oh.”

“Something wrong?”

“Oh, no I mean…” He sighed. “I was just, kind of hoping it would be done before October, is all. Before the kids come home.”

Kids?!

As in plural?!

Qrow had to bite his tongue to physically stop himself from breaking his own rule. Took a deep, steadying breath.

Okay. That was six months away. There was no way. Unless…

“Well, we could make it four separate designs. One for each letter. That way I could work on one side and then the other while it’s healing. If we meet every week, should be doable. Gonna be some long hours under the needle for you though.”

Tai lit up just like the sun he was named after. “I can handle it. I’ll do anything. Oh-! We could even make it four dragons, couldn’t we?”

Qrow barked out a laugh. “I mean yeah, if that’s what you want. Give me your scroll deets. I’ll work up some designs over the next few days and send them to you.” As he pulled out his device to input the information, he added, “We gotta work out a schedule too. What days are RO?”

“She visits on Tuesdays and Saturdays right now. It’ll go down to once a week pretty soon. I’m also TA-ing at Sanctum Middle, so weekdays are pretty full.”

It was all par for the course. Even after doing time at the reformatory, omegas still had to have frequent visits from their rehabilitation officer, to make sure they were keeping a steady job and homelife. That meant good evaluations from his superiors and a living space that looked like not even a speck of dust had had a chance to touch down. This was especially important for omegas like Tai, who would have to fight for every top mark he got. If he failed to, the RO would claim he was still unfit to raise his own children and keep them in the fostering system.

Qrow knew that was the reason for the six-month time limit. He had no doubt that once Tai was out of parole and had his pups back, he’d be hightailing it out of the kingdom. But for the RO to still be visiting at that frequency… “Did you come looking for me right after you got out?”

“I-” The tea had become interesting again. And cold. “Yeah. I knew you were working out of Mistral, and Atlas allows for transfers to Argus.”

At this rate, his tongue was probably going to have indents from his incisors. Once he knew he wasn’t going to start prying or, worse yet, shouting at Tai - because really how stupid could he be?! – he opened his mouth and said, “So, Sundays then?”

For the first time in nearly six years, Tai smiled at him. “Sounds perfect.”

~

For the next few days, Qrow did nothing but draw. Whether it was with a buzzing needle or a pencil, his hand was rarely empty. Even as he downed his morning coffee or spun his suppertime noodles onto his fork, his other hand was moving over a sheet of paper, his muse on overdrive as he tried to pick out the perfect designs for each letter. By nightfall, he was sending at least half a dozen pages full of sketches to Tai, then checking his phone every five minutes as he impatiently anticipated his reply.

It didn’t actually matter where they started, because once they decided on which letter was going first, Qrow’s focus would narrow to the second one over. The tricky thing was, Tai had always been the type who was simple to please – well before a reformatory could ever drill that lesson into him. Even when they were young, whether it was a question of what game they wanted to play or what food they wanted to eat, Tai would almost always just grin and say ‘whatever you want’. Which meant, every sketch was perfect and Qrow had to work twice as hard to actually find something he truly fell in love with.

He knew he finally struck gold for S when Tai figured out how to use the circling tool on his scroll and sent the shot back with an exuberantly loud ‘THIS ONE’, followed by a horrendous amount of exclamation points.

Qrow had never felt prouder.

It was a small effort to resketch the piece in full and line it. Adding color was more challenging, as he had to balance what looked nice with the limitations of his inks. But leaving it without was absolutely not an option. Not for someone who used to decorate his walls with paintings of tropical beaches and autumn-locked forests and had had a Crayola box spectrum of begonias sitting on his windowsill in his childhood room. Tai was a man who radiated a rainbow both in his life and in his heart. To try to dull that by leaving him in nothing but blacks and grays was a crime Qrow wasn’t willing to commit.

Besides, the design wouldn’t translate well without it.

So, he kept working at it until he knew it was just right. When the omega’s excitement only seemed to grow, he knew his labor was over.

[therainbowwillow]

Almost forgot: part 6 https://therainbowwillow.tumblr.com/post/640534863652552704/therainbowwillow

Okay I’m going to start writing part 7 NOW because I can’t handle this Orpheus-torture for longer than two seconds.

Tw: attempted murder (okay didn’t think I’d be using that one when I started this), blood

Premise/last time on the is increasingly depressing Hadestown fanfiction: Hades learns Thanatos has not killed Orpheus as promised. A king, he realizes, must do everything himself. But Hades (like the author) can’t stand to watch Orpheus suffer for more than two seconds, so he stabs the poor kid and skeddadles. Orpheus got stabbed. He realizes now that he is not dead and tries his best to hold on to his last shred of life. Hermes drags Apollo into the center of Hadestown. Dionysus and Persephone argue about the fact that Dionysus cannot follow simple rules. Eurydice does not know her boyfriend is dying (yet). Achilles and Patroclus are just trying to get the hell out of dodge before Hades finds out they’re escaping.

————————————

As the heart of Hadestown draws closer, the air grows thicker with smog and the world brighter with the neon lights of the city.

“A city that outshines the sun,” Apollo mutters.

Hermes whirls around to face Apollo. “Would you shut up? I don’t like this place anymore than you, but it’s a lot better without your whining. My son is dying and you’re complaining that it’s too bright down here?”

“Look, I’m sorry. I’m just... I’m not used to this, alright? I’ve never been here before. No place I’ve ever seen casts such dark shadows...” he shudders.

“We should be planning anyway.” Apollo nods, glad for a distaction from his unease.

“We’ve got to find them first,” he says.

“I think I know where Orpheus is,” Hermes says. “Hades will keep him locked up in the dark. Nothing could break my son’s will as well as a dim, lonely cell.”

“If you’d forgotten, I’m the kid’s father,” Apollo replies.

“Are you kidding me? We’re doing this? Right n-” a flash of silver catches Hermes’s eye from the top of a factory roof. “Get down!” He shouts, throwing Apollo to the ground. The arrow whizzes over their heads.

“What was tha-”

“We need to get to cover. Come on!” Hermes glances at the archer, notching a second arrow. He grabs Apollo’s hand and runs in erratic zig zags towards the bowman.

The archer releases his arrow. It flies past them. He draws another. Hermes hears it fly past him. Apollo yelps. He doesn’t look back. “Almost there!” They dive to the factory wall, out of range.

“Are you hit?” Hermes pants.

“That bastard, using archery against the god of-”

“Would you give me a straight answer?” Hermes shouts.

“It only grazed my cheek.” He wipes the golden blood away. “But the bowman is dead.” Apollo stands.

“Would you think? For two seconds, Apollo?” There’s a flash of golden light and a bow appears in the god’s hands.

Hermes pinches the bridge of his nose. “I can’t die anyway.” Apollo winks and steps back into the line of fire. He pulls his bow taught and releases it with a twang. There’s a grunt from overhead.

“What can I say?” he shrugs. “I’m a good shot!”

“Apollo, we’re being hunted down. Can you take a second to consider the severity of our situation?”

Apollo rolls his eyes. “We should keep moving. Thanks to you, we’re almost there.”

Hermes sighs. “You’re right. But keep your eyes open.”

“Of course.” Apollo pulls Hermes to his feet. “So you know where Orpheus is. What about Hyacinthus?”

“There’s only two possibilities. He’s working in the mines or in one of those factories or Hades discovered he had a connection to you and locked him up.”

Apollo bites his lip. “It would take us an eternity to search every one of these damned mines. And if Hades finds him first...”

“So we check the prisons first. Here’s the deal. If I find Orpheus, you’ve gotta help me keep him alive. If he ends up back at the Styx, I’d never find him,” Hermes says. “If you find Hyacinthus, we’ll protect him, but I’ve still got to find my son.”

Apollo nods reluctantly.

“We’re close. That tower is where Hades spends most of his time. The prison is at its base.”

——————————————

Orpheus’s ears ring. He’s slumped against the back wall of his cell, the knife still in his stomach. He’d managed to tilt his head to the side to prevent himself from choking on his own blood. Still, his breaths are uneven and when he coughs, the pain racks his entire body.

It’s been an hour, he thinks, maybe more. Hyacinthus in the neighboring cell had spoken up a few times, but his words had spun together in Orpheus’s mind, incomprehensible. When the cell door opens, he hardly moves. If Hades is here to finish him off, it won’t take much.

“Orpheus!” A familiar voice exclaims. He lifts his head a little. The man runs to his side. Orpheus coughs.

“Baby, I’ve got you. I’ve got you. We’re gonna get you home. Eurydice’s waiting.”

“H-Hermes.” Orpheus gasps.

“Lay down. You’re alright.” Hermes rests his head on a folded up jacket. “Apollo, help me out!” Orpheus doesn’t have the energy to open his eyes.

“Stay with me, Orpheus. Hang on. Please,” Hermes begs. He places both hands over Orpheus’s stomach and presses hard. Orpheus gasps in pain.

“If we remove the knife,” Apollo says, “he’ll bleed faster. But it’ll be easier to stop the bleeding, so it’s our only choice. Hold him down.”

He grips the handle of the blade and pulls, slowly and methodically. Orpheus yelps in pain. Hermes holds him to the ground.

“Keep his head to the side. I’ll get the bleeding to stop.”

Hermes lays Orpheus’s head in his lap. “You’re okay. Look at me, Orpheus.”

He does. “Hermes...” he whispers.

Hermes nods. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

“H-Hades will find us... and...” Orpheus is cut off by his own coughing.

“Don’t waste your breath. Hades won’t lay a finger on you. You’re okay.”

“I... I can’t sing,” he studders.

“It doesn’t matter, Orpheus. Focus on me.”

“Hades... Hades said I’m alive.”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“But...” he coughs again.

“We’ll talk once we’re out of here. Apollo, any progress?”

“Yeah,” he responds, “it’s a deep cut, but survivable. Don’t let him pass out.”

Hermes nods. Orpheus is trembling against him. “I’m so tired...” he whispers.

“I know, Orpheus. But you can’t go to sleep.”

“W-why?” Orpheus asks.

“Because we’re not quite home yet. When we are, you can sleep in a nice, warm bed.” Orpheus smiles. “Eurydice will be there when you wake up. It’ll be springtime. You remember spring? We picked flowers together when you were little. We stayed up late and watched the stars.”

He nods slightly. “I love you, Orpheus. And I’ll always be here. So will Eurydice. You’re never gonna feel like this again.”

“Got it! The bleeding’s stopped.” Apollo exclaims. “He’ll heal quickly, but he needs better medicine than I can give him down here. I’m going to look for Hyacinthus. If you need me, I won’t go far.”

Hermes nods.

“H-Hyacinthus?” Orpheus mutters. “I know the name... the next cell to the right..”

Apollo beams. On Orpheus’s instructions, he finds the right door. Inside, a young man leans with his ear against the wall. “Hyacinthus!” Apollo cries.

The prisoner turns. He blinks. “You...”

Apollo kneels at his side and pulls him into his arms. “We’re not doing that again, okay? You’re never leaving again.”

“Apollo?”

“Yes! Yes, it’s me!”

Hyacinthus sinks into his embrace. “I missed you,” he whispers.

Apollo lets him go. “Are you hurt?”

“Not badly. But the cell over...”

“I know, he’ll be fine.”

“I think I broke my nose,” Hyacinthus says.

Apollo lifts his chin and examines him. “Yes, you did. Your breathing’s rough, love.”

“It’s the smog down here.”

“No, I think you’ve broken your ribs. Take a deep breath.”

Hyacinthus winces.

“Broken. You’ll be okay. We’ll get you out of here, but you’ve gotta be careful, promise?”

“Hades will never let us go.”

“He’s not going to find out we’ve left.” He helps Hyacinthus to his feet. “Lean against me. Walk carefully. With Hermes’s help, the walk isn’t all that far.”

Hermes craddles Orpheus in his arms. “I... I can’t walk,” Orpheus sobs.

“I’m going to carry you. We’ll be on the train out of here in less than day, kiddo.”

“What if... what if he catches us?”

“He isn’t going to catch us. You ready?”

Orpheus nods. He’s light as a feather when Hermes scoops him into his arms. “You tell me if you feel like you’re gonna fall asleep, okay?”

“Okay.” Orpheus promises.

[angelicthor]

billion dollar man - part 8

pairing: tony stark x reader

summary:  after mounting bills and debt cause you to look at alternative means of making money, you’re thrown into a whole different kind of life when one of the most famous billionaires on the block offers to be your sugar daddy, of course in exchange for a different from of payment. non-superhero au.

warnings/genre: +18 only, sugarbaby/daddy relationship, angst + mentions of ptsd 

masterlist | billion dollar man masterlist

a/n: feedback is always appreciated! pretty please

When you woke again a few hours later, the sun was filtering through the curtains and flooding the room, casting a warm glow about the place, but it did nothing to brighten your mood. You couldn’t forget the sight of Tony’s face contorted in agony as he was trapped in his nightmare, body thrashing about the bed as he struggled to fight of the monsters plaguing his sleep. You knew you couldn’t just ignore what had happened, no matter how much Tony would try and push the issue aside and with a heavy sigh, you threw the covers off you and went in search of Tony.

You found him in the kitchen, serving up your breakfast from the various containers Pepper had dropped off today but even from the doorway you could see the tension in his shoulders and back; he knew you were there and he was going to try his hardest to deflect from the elephant in the room, much to your chagrin.

“Mornin’ Gorgeous, want some coffee?” Tony asked in a chipper tone and if you didn’t know any better you would have believed it. But as it was, given all the time you two had spent together, you had undoubtedly noticed many things about Tony Stark. Like the fact that his voice strains ever so slightly, like it had just done, whenever he faked cheerfulness with clients and business associates at the galas you two would attend.

Never before had he used it with you.

“Tony.”

“Pepper pretty much got the usual, so I’ll serve you a bit of everything, that ok?” Tony kept his head cast down as he flat-out ignored you, pretending to busy himself with the food in front of him.

“Tony. Please,” You pleaded, watching as he froze, chest rising and falling heavily as his eyes avoided your concerned stare, “Please don’t ignore this, we need to talk about what happened last night.”

“I’m sorry, alright; I didn’t mean to scare you, it won’t happen again. I promise. Can we please just forget it?” Tony begged you, eyes frantic as he took in a shuddering breath, barely holding the tears at bay.

Confusion flooded you at Tony’s pleas; why did he think he’d scared you? Why was he even apologising?

Slowly approaching him as if he was a wounded animal you cautiously stretched your arm out to him, watching with bated breath as he stood shaking, tremors wracking his body until you finally touched him, hand gripping his forearm and running up the length of his arm soothingly. Reassured he wouldn’t shrug you off, you moved to wrap your other hand around his neck, both hands cradling his jaw and forcing him to look at you.

“Tony what are you apologising for? I’m not and I was never scared of you – I’m scared for you. I’m not going anywhere, ok? I promise you that, but you need to address this; you can’t just brush it aside, it isn’t healthy.”

Tony still remained silent, conflicted between listening to your advice or going with along with the same method of self-protection he’d used his whole life; avoiding the problem in the hope that it would somehow magically solve itself.

You watched the internal battle rage on in his mind, the struggle evident in his eyes and with a sigh you relented, moving closer to press your forehead against his, his arms quickly wrapping around your waist to keep you close to him. “You don’t have to tell me Tony but you’ve trusted me this far, why stop now? Just know that no matter what, I’m not going anywhere. And you could never scare me.”

Pressing a soft kiss to his chapped lips, you moved away from him to continue dishing out breakfast for the both of you, humming to the song playing on the radio as you watched from the corner of your eye: Tony moved across the kitchen to sit at the table, clearly mulling over what you had told him as he lost himself in his thoughts, so far removed from the present moment you wondered if he would ever return.

Placing his plate in front of him, you squeezed his hand that was resting on the table reassuringly and Tony offered you a lazy smile as way of thanks but you could see from the dazed expression still painted on his face that he was still working through your advice and so you both ate in comfortable silence, the only sounds in the room the radio still playing and the slight scratch of cutlery on plates.

When you had both finished, you picked up the empty and plates and took them over to the dishwasher, loading it up and turning it on as Tony still sat there staring into his cup of coffee as if it could provide him with the answers he wanted. Knowing this was a decision he had to make himself, you pressed a kiss to the crown of his head before going back to Tony’s room to shower and change. 

As the hot water soothed your muscles, your thoughts uncontrollably turned to Tony. How could they not? You weren’t even sure if you had stopped thinking about him since last night. This was all so different to what you had known before, far more damaged then you had ever known him to be, than he had ever let you see him be. You wondered just how tiring it was to pretend you were ok all the time when in reality you were one small stone’s throw away from crumbling under the pressure of everything.

Why Tony was having these nightmares was one problem but why he felt he had to hide such a thing was something else entirely and you knew that to help him would require him to be honest, if not with you, then someone. Preferably a trained professional who could help him in ways you simply couldn’t. But you also were aware of the fact that if Tony was going to share this with you, then it would have to be on his terms when he was ready. Forcing him to tell you anything would do no good, of that you were certain.

By the time you had finished in the shower and changed into fresh clothes for the day, Tony was back to being his usual self as if nothing had happened last night or this morning and although part of you was disappointed you kept hope that he would reach out to you at some point.

It was another week of nightmares before you finally got your wish.

There had been no other instances where Tony had violently woken himself again but you had taken to staying awake to watch him sleep, noting the slight twitch of his eyes under his lids, the rapid rise and fall of his chest, the sheen of sweat that clung to his skin and knowing that he was trapped in whatever horrors his mind was showing him. You wanted to prove to Tony that you genuinely wanted to help and so you lay awake, waiting until the terrors he saw in his sleep finally woke him and you could be there to wrap your arms around him and comfort him until his body ceased to shake.

Tonight was the same as the others, Tony’s face grimacing in distress as his hands fisted the sheets beneath him, you traced the furrow of his brow with the featherlight touch of one fingertip, trying to ease away the worries there without startling him.

Slowly rousing himself, you watched as Tony glanced around in confusion before realising where he was, turning to you with wild, tear-filled eyes as he sorted reality from his dreams. You wasted no time in pulling him to you, wrapping your arms around his quivering form, heart-breaking as you felt his hands clutch at you, the wet drops of tears staining your skin as he broke apart in your embrace.

“It came out of nowhere,” He murmured so quiet you weren’t sure you were even supposed to hear him. You simply remained silent, letting him tell you what he needed to in his own time, stroking his back in reassurance that you were listening; “It was just meant to be a simple weapons demonstration, everything was fine and then we were in the hummer and the firing started.”

Tony took in a sharp breath and your eyes widened in realisation that this was the day he was taken hostage in Afghanistan all those months ago. “There was a soldier in there with me, wanted a photo – God he must have been little more than a kid, had his whole life ahead of him until a fucking bullet took it away.”

He pulled away from you, laying on his back and staring up at the ceiling, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes as if it could purge him of the memory; “I don’t know why, instinct I guess, but I tried to run, tried to find Rhodey but before I could a missile was launched,” He paused to take in a shuddering breath and you leaned over to lock your fingers through his, “And it had my name on it, ‘Stark Enterprises’ in big bold letters. They had my weapons, terrorists had my weapons and I still don’t know how they managed to fucking get them.”

“Anyway; the blast went off, buried shrapnel in my heart and I was patched up by a doctor, Yinsen, who was also being held hostage. I had to be kept alive by a car battery for four days until I could design something more portable with a box of scrap metal. They wanted me to make more weapons for them, they wanted to cause as much death and destruction as possible but me and Yinsen made a plan, we tricked them, used the weapons we designed for ourselves.”

“We were nearly out when we heard more soldiers coming and we knew we couldn’t fight them all off, so Yinsen sacrificed himself without a second thought and I managed to escape. Rhodes, he found me a little while after that somewhere in the desert and I was taken home. Eight hours of surgery and the battery that was powering me was finally able to be removed, shrapnel too, now all I’ve got is this scar and the nightmares to remind me that it was even there at all.”

You bit down on your lower lip to stop it from wobbling, tears stinging your eyes, threatening to fall at any moment as you fought to keep them at bay, remaining focused on Tony as he finally told someone what had been weighing his mind down for so long now. 

“All those people,” Tony choked on his words, letting out a solemn snort before continuing with a thick voice, “All those people died because of me, of what I created, because people were so willing to kill them just to cause more killing. That’s when I realised what my legacy was; it was never about technology or engineering, never about helping the U.S., hell it was never even about the soldiers who’s hands I put weapons in. It was about death and the price I charged to cause it, I don’t know who sold under the table to those terrorists, but they opened my eyes. It doesn’t matter whose hands they’re in, the fact that they’re out there is enough, it’s a never-ending cycle that I no longer wanted to be a part of.” 

“I can’t shake it, every time I try and sleep I’m back there seeing everyone die in front of me, knowing that it was because of me. Every time I hear a bang I flinch and panic just seizes me. I’m broken Y/N, I can’t function anymore and now that I’m not producing weapons, now after all these years I’ve finally grown a conscience, I’m no good to anyone.”

Unable to take any more of his self-loathing, you moved to straddle Tony’s waist giving him no chance to escape and forcing him to look at you. “Tony, please, please believe me – none of what happened is your fault. You didn’t sell those weapons to terrorists; you can’t hold yourself responsible for other people’s actions ‘cause it only takes away their accountability. I’m worried about you Tony, all of this is starting to take its toll on you, it’s not healthy. And I’m not the only one that notices even if I’m the only one that knows why; people care about you Tony, you have friends, you have support you just need to trust them enough to be open with them. I’m by your side Tony, you know I am, but you need to see a therapist about this, there’s only so much I can do for you and you need more than what I can give.”

“A therapist? I can’t-”

“Can’t what? Tony you’ve been through a traumatic experience and it’s clearly effecting you more than you care to admit. If you broke your leg you wouldn’t keep walking on it without seeing a doctor so why the hell would your mental health be any different?” You were losing your temper, voice rising with every word you spoke, annoyance growing at Tony’s refusal to see that this was actually a serious matter that would require professional help, hoping beyond hope that some tough love would finally help you get through to him.

Just as he opened his mouth to give you some other bullshit excuse, the emotional weight of the past week caught up to you, failing to stifle your sobs, tears staining your cheeks as you took in a shuddering breath. “Please Tony,” you choked out, the thought of his torment going untreated causing your stomach to twist into knots.

The sight of your obvious distress caused Tony to pause, brows furrowing together as he observed just how deep your concern for him ran, hating the fact that you were crying because of him. Swallowing thickly, Tony slowly nodded as he pulled you down to him, your head resting on his chest as his arms wrapped tightly around you, one hand running through your hair as the other traced patterns on your hip. “Ok, ok I’ll call someone tomorrow morning. I promise. Just, go back to sleep ok? We’ll deal with it tomorrow I swear but we both need sleep first.”

Sighing, you nodded your consent as you burrowed your face further into Tony’s chest, body draped over his as your fingers clutched at the vest he was wearing, afraid that when you closed your eyes he’d slip away from you and try to pretend that none of this had happened like he had done before.

The friendship you had developed with Tony over the past few months together was hard to define; you weren’t dating, everything that you two did in public was a pretence, an elaborate show in order to fool the world into thinking that Tony Stark could handle a long-term relationship - contrary to popular belief - but that didn’t mean there was nothing between you.

In the months you spent together, you had starting to get to know Tony on a much more personal level then many others got to see; maybe it was due to the amount of time you spent together or maybe it was because Tony simply couldn’t keep the charade up all the time and considering he had pretty much bought your silence it was presumably safe to lower the mask he constantly wore. Maybe he didn’t even realise but you saw him, the real him, the one that few other people ever had the honour of witnessing. The one that doubled down on his work when he was stressed, the one that made sure Pepper and Happy always had enough time and funds to plan their wedding stress-free, the one that was constantly checking up on Rhodey and his upcoming baby, the one that would do pretty much anything for his friends but regardless of his label of an egotistical narcissist would never let them know it was his doing.

What you couldn’t figure out was why he felt the need to hide so much of himself from people, why he had such difficulty being open with his friends, the people that loved him. Part of you worried that you concern for Tony was bordering on a line you knew you shouldn’t cross in fear that certain unwanted feelings may begin to grow for the man beside you but that small fear was drowned out by the need to help Tony, he had done so much for you and you had sworn to him to help and you were a woman of your word if nothing else.

When you woke the next morning, your heart dropped at the absence of Tony, wearily pulling yourself from under the covers in order to find him. Like always, Tony was in the kitchen sipping on his coffee as he arranged the breakfast that Pepper had brought you both onto two plates. You hesitantly walked further into the room, fearful of Tony brushing off the promise he made you last night, the thundering of your heart echoing in your ears.

“Mornin’ Gorgeous,” Tony hummed, placing your plate and a cup of coffee on the table before sitting down with his own as a sense of déjà vu threatened to consume you whole. You mindlessly followed him, trying to stop your lower lip from trembling as you sat opposite him, brows creased together as you watched him eat as if last night had never happened.

You couldn’t even lift our fork to your mouth, the idea of eating even a bite making you feel nauseous – there was a shard a of dread buried deep in you last night that feared this would happen, but you didn’t expect it to feel like such a betrayal. Tony had promised you that he would call someone, did that really mean so little to him? Did you mean so little to him?

Tony paused his eating, watching as you gazed off into space, gnawing on your bottom lip the unease you felt so evident in your eyes. He knew what you were thinking right now, and he couldn’t blame you either but after seeing how open you were with him last night he knew you deserved the truth.

“I called a therapist this morning, Dr. Foster, she’s got quite the professional reputation. I have an appointment for tomorrow,” Tony spoke with a hushed voice, not raising his eyes from his meal as he sat rigid across from you.

You almost missed his confession, his soft voice nearly drowned out him the humming in your ears. When you finally registered what he had said, your head snapped up, eyes wide in incredulity before relief flooded you, a dopey smile on your face as you reached across the table and took his free hand in yours, giving him a reassuring squeeze as your thumb traced circles on the back, his eyes flittering from his food to the motion.

“Thank you, Tony.”

You dropped the whole issue after that and had your breakfast together as you normally would, talking about your plans for the day and about when you would next be needed to make a public appearance, except this time you didn’t once let go of Tony’s hand.

Although he didn’t say it Tony was grateful for you letting the matter go wanting nothing more than to regain his sense of normality, but he knew deep down that you were right, something needed to be done about the panic attacks and night terrors that were getting all the more frequent, he didn’t know how much more longer he could last with how little sleep he was getting.

It was going to be a long road of recovery; therapy would help but Tony still had a lot of emotional issues he needed to sort through and you were aware of how hard that was going to be for him. But you’d be by his side every step of the way. You were, after all, a woman of your word.

a/n: i don’t have a tag list but if you want alerts please follow @angelicthorwrites and turn on notifications

[the-red-angel]

Death, comes for us...

The sound of thunder rolls across the sky, as the pitter patter of rain falls upon the roof of the house. Vincent Dranoth a man known by many, A man loved by all, and hated by some lies upon his back, the jade green eyes gazing upon the ceiling...unmoving. Drip...drip...drip...a single sound that filled his ear, a leak drip...drip...drip...Vincent sighs gently, only one thought rings out through his abnormally quiet mind, "Yet another issue I have to fix...another leak in this world I will repair...". He closes his eyes attempting to rest, but with the silence in his mind would be there and only one thing filled it. Drip...drip...drip...the water kept falling, as another crack of thunder reverberated in the room. The lightning lighting the room in a flash before fading to darkness once more, Drip...drip...drip...the sound was deafening The human turned his body away from the noise to find something to distract him from the sound.

Vincent's eyes fall upon a familiar face, Livian...Dranorth and for those who knew what she truly was...Livigosa Dranorth. Her face pale and beautiful, her eyes closed and chest slowly rising and falling, she was at rest, quiet, content, and happy...a smile tugs at her lips even in her sleep. A goddess among mortals, a creature of unparalleled power and pride, his wife, his love, his mate, and his drake. The women Vincent would give everything for, there was nothing in this world that he would not give....nothing. Livian was his; and he was her forever more. Never apart in life, never apart in death...together forever, his mind settled once more....quiet over taking his thoughts again. Drip...drip...drip the liquid kept dripping from the tiny crack in the room, yet another deafening crack of thunder as the lightning kept the room a lit, before shadows overtook the bedroom.

Vincent's body shifted once more laying on his back, the jade eyes meeting the ceiling once more the water ever present, the dripping drowning out the rain across the roof, his eyes blinking, the human had been restless unable to sleep, something had been plaguing his silent mind. A dream that kept him awake something that his mind could not fathom, something that was ever present in it, a thing that he could not put into his words. The Rogue moved a hand across his body and stealthily removed the covers that layed across his body. He moved his legs first carefully placing the feet upon the wooden floor his body soon to follow as he was now sitting at the edge on his bed, muscular body hunched over as Vincent's elbows were on the top of his knees, hands running across his face. His mind still silent as the rain as not stopped, and with it...Drip...drip...drip...

Vincent was sitting trying to reach a conclusion of why his mind was still so silent as if a thought had never have manifested its self within him, he had always had something there to keep him company, the second personality one who was created through sheer trauma. Lanathor, the cold killer, the assassin without emotion, despite not agreeing with his methods Vincent has always sought council within his own mind, in times of hardship the comfort that the stronger him would be in his mind to aid him. It was gone, silence remained as once more, drip...drip...drip the noise of the water filled his ears. The human rose to his feet his body his nude body striding silently across the room, not a sound was heard, with the rain crashing against the roof the foot steps being drowned out.

Vincent reached the desk that was across his room, the human gripped a candle and with a wave of his hand it was alight, a simple cantrip he did this for three more sticks of wax the Witt being set a blaze with a subtle flame just enough to a light the surrounding area with a orange glow. The human moved papers around engineering schematics, and pieces of art that he has done in the past, he moved in front of him a blank sheet of paper, his hands move to grip a utensil for writing and dipped it into the ink. The jade eyes staring at the paper Vincent wanted to attempt to put his dream into words...but the silence still there, the memory of it a haze, unable to remember or draw upon the words to describe it. Drip...drip...drip, the liquid came almost as if it was heavier, thicker, Vincent halted for a moment and looked behind him as if he was intently listening to the deafening liquid that plagued his ears, before he shook his head bringing the eyes upon the paper once more.

Vincent placed the ink covered pen and began to write, drawing on anything that he remembers, anything that comes to mind. After what he thought was a hour or two of sheer writing, drawing, and sketching the Jade eyes refocus on the paper and it was blank, the pen still on the paper where he placed it, but no progress was made. Drip...drip...drip, the sound came more viscous in nature, the rogue brushed it off as the wood it was falling upon became damp and thus muddled the sound. The rogue stared at the paper once more, and with his mind silent he closed his eyes and focused upon the liquid the was dripping...the one sound that had claimed his ears over the others, it was then that once he accepted the sound in his mind did the dreams return....

Vincent slowly opened his eyes the landscape in-front of him changed, no longer was the mortal in his room with the love of his life and his child they bore. Vincent was in a desolate realm, the sky dark with these thick black smog like clouds blotting any light to reach the floor, his eyes trail down to the masses of boulders and rocks, no real architecture could be seen only blacken stone of jagged rocks leading him in one direction, The rogue was no longer nude Vincent was covered in thick woolen robes that covered his form head to toe, but no urge was made to remove them, he was comforted in knowing he was not bare in this uncharted land.

With the sound of foot falls on stone the human moved his way across the land Jade eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of life, architecture or otherwise. The mortal was walking for what seemed like miles, the path he chosen to walk upon twisting and turning, raising and falling, it wasn't until three hours of walking with a steady pace did the human spot anything different. Tombstones, one after the other they came into view, his eyes scanned them reading the name that was upon them, non the human recognized but there was many, if he were to guess, thousands upon thousands of them. All in different shapes and sizes each with a different first name, and some with sharing last names families perhaps, he was unsure.

Still did Vincent tread the new tombstone ridden path, his pace remained steady as he glided across the blacked ground the path ended with a hill and a singular tombstone atop the cliff. Vincent's eyes focused upon it, as it seems the path way had lead him here, the end of this forsaken land with no signs of life, upon reaching the hill the human approached the large grave marker and started to inspect it, the words were unclear, his Jade eyes unable to acquire a focus upon the words. The Rogue brought his right hand up and rub his eyes his voice muttering under his breath "No, I am so close...come on..", and attempted to scan the marker once more his left hand reached out to the smooth stone, fingers gliding across the words engraved in the stone as his eyes began to understand the words upon the stone.

Vincent began to read the name out loud, he knows not why, but he did so anyway a deep and smooth voice rang out in the silent air "Cedric", He turned his head as he knew this name, but many are named Cedric nothing more then a coincidence he continued to read the last name, his eyes widen as he scans the surname. His voice still with the deep and smooth tone "Dranorth.....Cedric Dranorth, my father...why is my fathers grave here...". Vincent's heart begins to pound in his chest as he turns around and scan the other graves that are below him the thousands and thousands of tombstones that blanketed the horizon as far as his eyes can see, the realization hits the human harder then anything has hit him before, these are all that he has killed in cold blood.

As soon as Vincent was able to make that connection his body wracked with pain, his eyes shot open as the jade iris were shooting back and forth scanning for what was causing this pain. He fell to his knees breath heavy as his skin felt as it was on fire, both of his hands moved to remove the robes upon his body trying to free the fire that was raging over his skin, the robs were tossed aside and all that remained was the nude form of Vincent. The human gazed upon his skin, as torment racked his mind once more, the wild eyes of the man gazed upon his skin as a crimson mist was pouring from every scar upon his body as if the human was being drained of his essence, his hands moved in fear as he tried to move but instead was caught upon something the ringing of metal groaned against his resistance. The Jade eyes frantically searching to what is causing this as metal cuffs were around his wrist and ankles holding the human taught, unable to move.

Another flash of crimson mist seeps from his scars, causing the human to cry out in agony and suffering. Vincent rapidly moves his head around to the surrounding the tombstones still there, the innocents he has murdered plaguing his thoughts and emotion, he blinked and they were all gone, no longer was Vincent in a desolate wasteland of tombstones, his eyes search the room but all he could see was blackness the chains still holding the human down, the scars a faint glow of red still present upon them, as the crimson mist was extracted once more and another cry of agony was heard the light of his essence being drawn out shows a sculpted room of the same blacken stone he was walking on, formed and crafted.

With heaving of his breath Vincent fought against the chains his muscles straining, as yet one more of his life essence was drained from the Human this time words came with his cry, his voice full of pain and anguish "Livian!", the one person on his mind, the one person who has kept him going in his life, the little light in his heart. He was panting as he pushed against the chains once more "Livigosa! my love....wait for me...", the human screamed out, as the skin glowed red as yet another agony inflicting torture was being charged up before the sound of thunder boomed, Vincent's eyes shot open, his face resting against the desk with only one sound that stood out beyond the rest. Drip...drip...drip...the water was once again falling from the ceiling.

Not long after Vincent opened his eyes another sound filled his ears, one of comfort. Alysa his daughter started to cry, instinctively Vincent rose to his feet, stumbling only slightly as he gazed down and a very, faint red glow was emanating from the scars, before fading away, the Jade eyes blinking as a coldness shot through his body, causing it to shudder. Vincent shook his head shaking the feeling off and heading over to Alysa, his eyes scan his child making sure she was okay and it seems she was started awake from the cracking of thunder. Vincent and Livian a pair of unlikely beings brought together to create a miracle that was named, Alysa. She was crying, the booming thunder must have awoken her, Vincent speaks in a low voice as to not wake Livian from her beautiful slumber "Shh shh, Alysa my ayana, your father is here worry not my child for I will watch over you eternally...".

A smile was upon Vincent's face as he cares for his child, the sound of rain and thunder being drowed out, slowly but surely Alysa was calmed and gently rocked back to sleep her face a smile upon it as she was sent back into a restful slumber. Drip...drip...drip...the sound echoed out, The human looked up towards where the sound was the coming from the droping of water from the ceiling.moving across the room Vincent grabbed a bucket and made his way to the leak and stopped just before it, placing the bucket under it, almost immediately was the noise snuffed out, his jade eyes gaze upon the leak, and what he saw in the...dream that he witnessed, the pain felt so real, the agony and anguish...the repentance for the souls he murder in cold blood, the repentance he was feeling for killing his own father. he moves a hand out and lets the water fall upon his hand drip...drip...drip, he pulled it back and gazes upon it, running his thumb over the liquid. Another crack of thunder was heard as yet another flash of light filled the room, Vincent's Jade eyes flickers to a vibrant sapphire as the water that was in his hand becomes viscous and crimson, smearing the blood across the skin. His mind which was empty that not even Lanathor was present begins to fill with this ever present dread, as the emotionless voice of his other personality rings out clear as any other day "Death...comes for us".

[ashann7]

Pride & Glory - Part 9

They were Strucker’s first success story, but I - I was his pride and glory.

Series Masterlist

A soft knocking on the door woke Y/N from her sleep. She carefully untangled her limbs from Pietro’s and left the bed. A small smile formed on her face as she looked down at the sleeping man. She knew she loved him long ago, but after losing him completely, the adoration she felt was nearly overwhelming.

Another soft knock pulled her from her daze and she quickly grabbed a silk robe from her closet and made her way to the door.

Y/N quietly pulled the door open just far enough to see Wanda standing outside. A smile grew on Y/N’s face upon seeing the Scarlet Witch and she quickly opened the door further and pulled her into an embrace.

After a moment, Wanda pulled away, her face suddenly serious.

“Everyone’s awake and they’ve been talking… I’ve been trying to keep their minds from wondering, but I think it might be best if you go down and talk to them.”

Y/N’s smile faded as she nodded in agreement. “You’re right,” she began as she stepped back into her room and pressed the door closed. “I’ll be right down.”

Before Y/N could shut it completely, Wanda reached her hand out and caught the door.

Y/N raised her eyebrows and Wanda smiled once more.

“I missed you, Y/N, and I’m glad you’re back.”

The smile returned to Y/N’s face at the witch’s comment. “I missed you too, Wanda.”

With that, she pushed the door the rest of the way closed and turned to return to the bedroom.

“I missed you too, you know,” a sleepy, Sokovian voice spoke from within the room.

Y/N looked to see Pietro now awake and leaning against the headboard, his arms propped casually behind his head.

“Oh did you? I didn’t realize.” Y/N said through a smirk and sent Pietro a quick wink.

As Y/N turned to head into the bathroom, Pietro was instantly in front of her, his hand toying delicately with the silk bow holding the robe closed. “Perhaps you should come back to bed and I can show you just how much I missed you… again.”

Y/N’s smile grew and she rose up onto her tip-toes to plant a small kiss onto the corner of his mouth. “As great as that sounds, I need to get downstairs. Natasha’s missing and the team…” Y/N sighed before forcing a smile and looking up at Pietro. “The least I can give them is an explanation.”

Pietro’s shoulders slumped slightly in disappointment, but a small smile formed on his face. He removed his hand from the tempting bow and placed it, instead, on the side of her head. Y/N’s eyes fluttered closed as he gently pulled her forward and placed a lingering kiss on her forehead.

“I’ll be right there with you, princeza.”

---

The team all gathered in one of the meeting rooms within the tower. Bruce and Tony took a break from the cradle and Clint begrudgingly momentarily stopped his search for Nat.

All of the eyes in the room were quickly turned on Pietro and Y/N as they entered. The once quiet conversations that filled the space were soon replaced with silence as the team waited for Y/N to speak.

“I remember… I remember everything.”

Y/N’s eyes locked with Steve’s and he gave her a small nod, silently encouraging her to continue.

“I grew up in a small village in Prussia. My life was normal – I had loving parents, a little brother, a-“

“Sorry, I gotta ask,” Tony interrupted. “How, exactly, did you turn into a lab rat?” Steve shot Tony a stern look, but Tony simply shrugged. “Oh come on - Everyone’s wondering it.”

“It’s fine, you have a right to know.” Y/N took a deep breath before continuing. “When I was 14, an influenza virus spread through many parts of Prussia. My little brother was the first one to get sick and my mom started showing symptoms soon after. Mom begged my dad to take get me out of the village and somewhere safe.” Y/N paused, a dry chuckle leaving her. “I was so mad at her for making me leave. I didn’t understand…”

“My father took me to Sokovia where he believed I would be safe. He left me with some family friends and returned to finds blockades on the road - our village, like many others, was quarantined and he had no way of getting back to them.”

“The quarantine lasted nearly 18 months, but the second the barriers were removed my father and I were back home.” Y/N brow furrowed as the memory played in her brain.

“The house was empty. We searched for them and eventually found that my brother had died just days after we had fled. He was so little and the virus just…” Y/N shook her head to keep the tears from falling and instead continued to speak. “My mother, about two months after him. Alone.”

Despite her attempted control, Y/N’s voice broke slightly as she spoke the list word and she quickly cleared her throat in recovery and took a deep breath as she continued with her story.

“You have to understand, my dad was a good man, but what happened to them, he never stopped blaming himself. He started obsessing over different diseases and experimental vaccines and when I asked him to stop and just be my dad again, he shipped me off to boarding school. He drove himself mad trying to make amends and I guess that’s when he found Hyrda.”

Bruce’s brow was furrowed as the listened intently to Y/N’s words.

“Strucker…”

At his muttered interruption, each of the team members turned their heads in his direction, further confusion clear on their faces.

Bruce’s face lit up as he connected all of the dots in his head. “You’re Baron Strucker’s daughter…”

Y/N nodded her head, confirming his claim.

“After the tesseract found its way into his hands, my father brought me back to Sokovia and showed me his plans… I knew that he was troubled when he sent me away. I knew that he was struggling, but I had no idea what he had become – a monster.”

Y/N’s gaze connected with Steve’s, his brow deep set as he focused on her words, but his eyes still soft and encouraging.

“It didn’t matter that he was the only family I had left – I felt that I had lost him the moment he sent me off anyway. So, when I saw what he was doing – the way he was devaluing human life – I told him I was leaving and that I never wanted to see him again. But he didn’t let me go. The moment I tried to leave I was grabbed by guards and locked up. It didn’t matter that I was well cared for and kept comfortable. I was my father’s prisoner … Hydra’s prisoner. I thought it was because he feared I would expose everything they were doing, but I was wrong.”

As Y/N’s voice waivered slightly, a warm hand wrapped itself around her own and she looked up to see Pietro smiling down at her reassuringly.

“Wanda and Pietro weren’t his first test subjects,” Y/N continued. “Not even close. There were many that failed and died before them, but the two of them survived. Pietro gaining the ability to manipulate his body, and Wanda her mind.”

Y/N’s gaze fell to the floor and Pietro gave her hand another reassuring squeeze. “With two successful subjects, my father felt comfortable moving forward…”

A tear silently fell down Y/N’s cheek and she quickly reached up to wipe it away with her free hand.

“I begged him not to, but he wouldn’t listen to reason. I’ll spare you the gory details, but he combined the individual methods used on Pietro and Wanda, and he used it on me. When all was said and done, I was able to manipulate both my mind and my body. Thus, becoming Hydra’s stolz und ruhm (pride and glory),” Y/N’s voice was filled with disdain as she quoted her father in their native tongue.

“The twins were his first success story. But I” A dry laugh escaped her mouth. “I was his pride & glory and before I knew what had happened, I was one of Hydra’s favorite weapons, too.”

As she finished speaking, Clint approached her and pulled her into a hug. “Whatever you did – whatever they made you do, it doesn’t matter now. You’re one of us.” He pulled back slightly, keeping his arms firmly on her biceps.

“I mean it. I’ve seen the look on your face before and I watched that very look tear my best friend apart for entirely too long. You are not a monster; do you hear me?”

Although her lip quivered, she nodded in response.

Y/N’s attention was drawn away by the conference room door opening and she felt her heart sink as she watched the captain’s back as he left the room.

Excusing herself from the rest of the team, Y/N followed after him and found him in the hallway, not far from the doorway, leaning on the wall for support.

She cautiously took a place next to him on the wall, though neither one said, or did anything to acknowledge the other’s presence.

The door opened again causing Y/N to look up as Clint entered the hallway. He offered her another small smile before his eyes fell on Steve whose eyes were still glued to the floor and his brow knit in deep thought.

Clint’s departure to continue searching for Natasha left Tony and Bruce alone in the conference room with the twins; a situation Tony was all too happy to take advantage of.

“So let’s talk about the earthquake last night.”

Pietro’s nostrils flared and his fists clenched as Tony spoke. He had spent more than half of his life hating the man – that kind of rage doesn’t go away overnight.

Sensing her brother’s sudden mood swing, Wanda quickly spoke.

“A nightmare,” she simply offered.

Tony nodded slowly and absentmindedly stroked his goatee as he thought over her short response.

“Right… So let me know if I’m off base here, but nightmares generally consist of a bit of tossing and turning, maybe some screams,” Tony’s features feigned a sympathetic look as he turned to the other scientist, “and in extreme cases bed wetting. Right Banner?”

Bruce only rolled his eyes before Tony began to speak again. “Touchy subject, I assume.”

His attention quickly turned back to the twins, “what I’m saying is I don’t buy it. And I suggest you start offering real explanations before my bedwetting buddy here,” he jabbed a thumb in Bruce’s direction, “turns green.”

Pietro had heard enough and quickly stood face to face with the man he still held disdain for.

“You think that you can just threaten us and we will tell you everything? We are not afraid of you, Mr. Stark, nor your green friend. My sister alone proved that she could handle him, no?”

“Pietro!” Wanda scolded; quickly placing herself between the two men.

She sent her twin a warning glare before turning to face Tony. “They are nightmares – I’ve seen them. They began when Hydra started messing with her brain. That level of confusion – of terror… you couldn’t even imagine.”

Tony’s eyes narrowed momentarily before he resigned his skepticism. “Okay fine, so they’re nightmares That still doesn’t’ explain why my building turned into a shake weight.”

“She was trying to get away.’’ Pietro spat at him.

“I’m still sensing some hostility here – do I need to remind you that you’re currently under our protection?”

Pietro scoffed, “Protection?”

“Piet, enough.” Wanda commanded. “What happened last night has happened before. Not often, but enough for us to know what was happening as soon as it started.”

Wanda sighed and sat down. Her eyes met Pietro’s, silently telling him to sit as well. Reluctantly, he took a seat and the two Avengers joined them sitting opposite them at the conference table.

“If she ever said no or didn’t play the perfect soldier role, Hydra put her back in the chair and destroyed her memory - it’s how they keep their assets in line. After it happened for the first time, Pietro and I helped her find her way back. She would leave herself notes, do little tests, anything to help her make sure she remained her. When her memories were triggered, her conscious mind could handle the influx of memories. There were times when it was painful for her, but mentally, she could handle it. But when she’s unconscious, it overwhelms her.”

She turned to glance at Pietro before continuing. “Pietro is right, she is trying to escape it, but she is so fixated on the memories flooding her mind that she can’t focus on anything else.”

“The building shook because she was trying to get away,” Pietro repeated himself. “Because she could not focus on just teleporting herself, the building was going to go with her.”

Bruce leaned forward; a new level of interest clearly written on his face. “She could do that?”

Wanda quickly shrugged her shoulders. “She may be able to, but it has never gotten that far.”

Tony’s eyes narrowed as he turned his gaze to the speedster. “So how did you make it stop?”

“Pietro is the only one who’s been able to,” Wanda quickly answered.

“The tests Wanda was talking about. It is one of them. It pulls her back to me – er back to reality. It makes her feel safe.”

---

In the hallway, Steve finally broke the silence.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

She offered him a small smile, but didn’t speak. What would she say? It’s okay? No, what happened to her wasn’t okay. She did appreciate his gesture though and hoped that a smile would sufficiently show that.

“I have no right to ask. I shouldn’t and I know that, but I have to know-“

“Yes,” she answered before he could finish.

“What?”

“Yes, I met him. Yes, they controlled him the same way.”

He took a deep breath at her response. “Do you… Do you think that he’s still in there? Do you think he can find his way back?”

Y/N turned her body to face him, her eyes sad. “Steve… I don’t know. I only crossed paths with him once that I remember and he – he wasn’t a man. He was a machine.”

Steve’s face fell in disappointment and Y/N quickly put her hand on his bicep. “I don’t know if he is still in there, but when all of this is over, I will help you find him. I will do everything I can to help you get him back. I promise you, Steve.”

Pride & Glory  - Part 10

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[aconitemare]

[jaydick] Before That, And Colder

Chapter 2

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

AO3

A breeze lifts gently over the port, sweeping Dick’s dark curls from his face as he adjusts his tortoiseshell sunglasses on his nose. He smiles appreciatively at the valet who opens his door and quickly switches his call from bluetooth to phone. There’s no need for the valet to hear the frustrated growling on the other end of the line.

As he steps out, he deposits the keys to his sleek and silver Audi R8 Spyder — a recent gift from Bruce, justified as mission-based although Dick could see the quiet excitement in Bruce’s tugging lips when he led him to the Batgarage, understood this was a gift — into the valet’s open palm, along with a cash tip. “Thank you,” he mouths, hand cupping the receiver. 

A recent stalker with a penchant for crowbars pushed Jason into requesting Tim’s — and, by extension, everyone else’s — help. Last night, he agreed to let Dick join Tim on surveillance; the stalker likes to leave Jason pictures of their assaults, which means it’s likely only a matter of time before they catch some distinguishing trait on camera. Unfortunately, time is of the essence and Jason is short four Outlaws and Dick gets antsy playing the waiting game. He’d rather investigate Red Hood’s Iceberg Lounge associates. He called Jason to update him on the change of plans the minute he pulled into valet and not a minute before. 

“I mean it, N,” Jason insists. “Don’t come here. I don’t need bats up in my belfry. Vigilante-types make my guys nervous.”

“And you don’t?” Dick challenges. A bellhop removes a suitcase from the trunk and quickly wheels it past the shiny glass double doors, which another attendant holds open while Dick leisurely walks towards the entrance. Seagulls squawk, diving in and splashing upwards from the engulfing Atlantic. The air is cool and carries a light, briny taste. 

“No, I make them terrified.”

“That’s a good thing, right?” asks Dick. “If they’re busy soiling themselves because the big bad Hood looked at them funny, they’ll hardly even notice me breathing down their necks. So to speak.”

“Wro-o-ong,” drawls Jason on the other end. Dick imagines him rolling his eyes, or maybe reclining in exasperation if he’s on a nice office chair. Jason is a casino-owner now, or something along those lines. He might even wear a tie. “Terrified is good for them. It makes them efficient. Nervous people get clammy hands and drop the ball,” explains Jason.

“They won’t even notice me,” Dick appeals. He nods politely at the door attendant and stops at the front desk for his room key, where another bellhop promptly escorts his luggage. He tries not to speculate inwardly over anyone’s salary here. He resolves to just tip very well, as the tried-and-true Wayne method of resolving one-percenter guilt. 

“I’ll notice you.”

Key card in hand, Dick pushes his sunglasses over his bangs, tapping the desk in an appreciative gesture. He follows the direction the receptionist pointed out. “That’s flattering, Jase, but sounds like a you-problem,” he says absently. He’s watching the virtual fish that wade through the pixelated water of the lobby’s walls. Beside the crystal elevator is an extravagant fountain that burbles and gurgles. Dick inhales the air around him: filtered by salt, not chlorine. Nice touch, he thinks wryly. Though he doubts Cobblepot had anything directly to do with the interior design of this place. 

“Har-har,” Jason responds without much humor. “Look, I’m not a complete jackass. I appreciate the help, trust you’re all fairly competent, etcetera, but this is my territory. I don’t swing into Bludhaven and criticize how you’re running things.”

The clamshell-shaped light switches on as a ding sounds. “Who’s criticizing?” Dick asks innocently. The doors part and Dick steps inside. The walls are crystal but not completely transparent, warped as they are by the cleavage and cast in a sickly blue light from above. There’s even air conditioning, which makes the confined space frigid. He’s certainly in the iceberg now. 

Jason sighs into his speaker. “Nothing, absolutely nothing about the Iceberg Lounge is legal,” he confesses. This confession is not much of a revelation, however, as news of Red Hood’s latest operation circulated the bats via Batman more-or-less immediately. Jason shares major updates on the Underground he plans to infiltrate and, in exchange, Bruce turns a blind eye to the everything-else part. The whereabouts of the Lounge’s original owner, Mr. Cobblepot, is anyone’s guess — although everyone’s guess is pretty good. 

Dick watches the number on the screen tick upwards. He can’t wait to be out of this icebox after mere seconds. He misses his first apartment in Bludhaven, the one with the dirty carpeted stairs and the humid lobby and the friends. The hotel’s design is foreign and cold by comparison, although if he’s being fair, most of Gotham has felt like that since his return. 

He’s preoccupied by several thoughts and not giving his all to this conversation — which he did start, yes, but only out of courtesy to Jason. He’s mostly amused that Jason seems to expect Dick to crash through a window in full Nightwing get-up and arrest everyone on the spot. Then again, maybe Jason’s paranoia isn’t wholly unfounded. Tiger did always say Dick was a terrible spy. 

For the sake of this conversation, however perfunctory, Dick pretends to gasp. “Jason!” he stage-whispers as the doors finally, gratefully, open. “Don’t tell me — is this a money laundering scheme?” He makes sure to add an extra dollop of shocked horror to his words. 

Dick partly expects Jason to hang up on him, as people usually shut down when Dick tries on sarcasm for size. It’s not a good tone on him, he’s been told. That’s a miscalculation on Dick’s part, of course, because Jason isn’t affected by words the same way others are, especially Dick’s words. “Yeah, among other things,” Jason mutters instead. “Just stick to parking lot surveillance where my bike is, alright? You know, the original deal. No offense to you, but I don’t like people touching my shit. I’ll let you or some other bat-brat know if my human resources need outsourcing.”

Dick hums agreeably; he hadn’t expected Jason’s utmost cooperation anyway. It’s always best to obtain someone’s blessing, if he can, but permission just gets in his way. “‘No touching,’” Dick repeats as he wanders down the hall in search for his room. “Not a request I hear often,” he teases. 

“Not a request, or I would’ve added please.”

3401, 3402, 3403, 3404...

“Yes, yes,” Dick placates. The floor here is a sandy-beige marble topped by a molding made entirely of tiny seashells. He resists the urge to crouch down and run his fingers against the texture. “If you won’t let me in your cool casino gang, then I can’t force you. Batman didn’t supply me with a gun to your head,” he assures. 

3410, 3411, 3412…

On the other end, Jason snorts. “No, he just gave you a lifetime supply of entitlement and an annoying personality.”

3414, 3415, 3416… 

“Hey, the latter was home-grown, thank you,” Dick defends, feigning offense. “Also, I unfortunately must end this conversation because — ”

The line goes dead. Dick removes the phone from his ear and frowns at it.  

He discovers he likes this floor better, especially after the preternatural blue of the elevator. Here, the light is a warm yellow cast from plastic conch shells. The mosaic walls are made entirely of pale blue sea glass with waves of green rippling through. It’s an artistic take on the beach. An artful interpretation with central air conditioning. 

He arrives at his room shortly after the phone call, sliding his key card in and waiting for the green light to appear with a short buzz. It does, and Dick pushes in to find his Coach suitcase already beside his California King bed. The style is less minimalist than he had expected, with bold blues and reds splashed across the walls in a lucky imitation of the violent sunsets over Bludhaven’s waterfront. Dick is almost nostalgic, he thinks. 

The first thing Dick does is check for bugs. This takes some time, since Bruce called the hotel before Dick could and ordered his version of “modest and undercover,” which still qualifies as a suite. Dick doubts the room is bugged, as certainly most of the nefarious higher-ups’ attention would be paid to the casino and not the hotel. Still, best to begin and end all missions with routine since the middle parts always get too chaotic for formalities. Dick adapts better than Bruce himself does, but he still knows the value of order and tries to accommodate it when he can. 

The minute corners of the ceiling and the floor are dustless. The carpet is soft and thick, Dick’s feet sinking in with each step. The nightstand has a phone, a notepad, a lamp, a service menu, and a casino itinerary, but no bible. Dick wonders who made that decision during the hotel’s design. The television is expansive, flat, and mounted across the wall facing the bed. The extravagance elicits from Dick the same feeling as if a giant mirror has been hoisted onto the ceiling too. Does Bruce also ever get disgusted by such ludicrous excess? Or has he become used to it, like a buzzing in his ear, like tinnitus? Bruce accumulates and accumulates, yet never seems to care for that accumulation one way or another. To be fair, though, Dick has never felt a certain way about grass being green. Or air having smells, as might be the better analogy; sometimes good, sometimes bad, but always taken for granted. 

The sweep proves the room clean, as expected. Well, Dick has his own suspicions about government agents and corporate drones peering through the shiny flat-screen, but Lex is a busy man so Dick thinks he’s safe. This is the kind of spot-on humor Tim would appreciate if he hadn’t objected to tagging along. Tim is also a busy man apparently. 

Evening won’t fall for another few hours, but Dick should get a head start on socializing. Deciphering who’s actually important, who’s within the Red Hood’s board of trustees, won’t be easy in the intoxicated, big-talking, narcissistic casino crowd. In preparation, Dick accessorizes with a range of subtle tools and weapons: a miniscule switchblade, disguised as a pendant and hidden under his shirt; bandages slipped into his jacket pocket; and a flask of disinfecting alcohol slipped into a pair of white boots. He’s roughing it in designer shoes. 

Satisfied, Dick sticks his key card into his wallet and sets about trying his luck. 

  ___

  The casino keeps to the same ice-white theme as the hotel. The gaming floors shine like chromium, solid as a frozen lake. The floors winding between the games and shops and restaurants, however, are watery blue with digital fish splashing beneath guests’ feet. It’s novel, really, and it’s possible Dick might’ve even liked the whole schtick if it weren’t so Penguin-y. 

The woman beside him places her hand on his wrist. From the ceiling plays an inoffensive pop song, the singer’s voice autotuned to sound as if coming from deep underwater. Dick smiles down at the woman. “Oh, sorry, were you trying to get my attention?”

She’s pretty in a forgettable way, with long blonde hair and a sloping nose. “No, no, sorry!” she says, pulling away clumsily as if remembering herself. She has a plastic water bottle on her, but no alcohol. Trying to sober up still. “I just thought you looked really familiar, like I might know you — ?” Her voice pitches upward at the end, waiting for him to finish her half-formed idea. 

Dick communicates to the dealer he’s doubling down and pushes a stack of orange chips forward. He’s hoping the dealer will make a face, however unlikely that is, or do something to attract the attention of a supervisor. He wants to attract the house’s attention as subtly as possible, suss out anyone who might be high on the chain. 

“I was at a televised event recently,” Dick responds, because he doubts they met personally. “The Wayne Foundation was heading a protest against the detention centers in Texas.” The girl’s mouth opens, gulping, fish-like, and Dick wonders if he should talk more about the protest or leave it at that. She’s impressed, but only hazily so, as if she’s recognizing the patterns of words and their moral virtue — foundation, protest, detention centers — but can’t make sense of the detail. Dick muses inwardly; it’s been a while since he was last inebriated, but he’s always been a drifting, Play-Doh-brained drunk like her. He’s tempted to order himself a drink, but that would be counterproductive to Mission: Find Jason’s Mole. 

He initially tried chatting with the dealer directly, on the off-chance of information trickling down. She’s young, barely Dick’s age, and has shaved half her head in that edgy-punk-rock style Dick recalls Shawn being fond of. Unlike his ex-girlfriend’s cropped hair, which she had dyed with the same warning colors of poison dart frogs, the dealer’s is a natural black that tumbles down her shoulders. Dick did not get far with her as she gave only clipped responses. Now, from under her curtain of hair, she peers with sharp eyes that leap across players’ hands.

The man on his other shoulder slaps the table roughly, startling the dealer and dragging Dick’s attention away from the cards. “You’re one of Wayne’s kids!” he exclaims, pointing a finger. He has a faint Chinese accent ground out in gravelly tones. The knuckles are hairy but bejeweled with smooth rings, and the nails are perfectly manicured. “I’ve been looking at you, trying to figure out!”

Dick would’ve noticed him staring, in that case, but one doesn’t have to stare to watch. The thought alerts him momentarily and his eyes do a quick sweep of the floor again. I’ll give it another hour, he decides. If no one seeks me out, I’ll just have to go snooping. 

“That would be me,” Dick confirms. He takes the man’s hand and they shake cordially. 

“Should’ve known,” the man continues. “You always dress so — colorful.” He took a moment to decide upon the that adjective, but he doesn’t sound disrespectful so Dick grins. The man is right; Richie Grayson does generally go for the pastels. For the night, he’s dressed himself in a white blazer with muted paisley designs whirling across the silk. Over his breast rests a peach-colored pocket square to match the interior peach fabric he’s displayed by rolling the cuffs to his elbows. No tie, jacket left unbuttoned, and hair gelled carefully-carelessly: he’s the picture of insouciant extravagance. 

His first time out with Damian as “Richie,” Damian was infuriated by the silly pastels and airheaded conversations Dick cloaked himself in. Damian ranted about Dick’s public persona being an “odious script he must’ve concocted as a bad joke.” Dick spares him the embarrassment of the truth, which is that Dick appreciates a vacation from himself. The breezy talks and airy outfits are less of a deep-cover character and more for fun. Of course, Damian is also embarrassed by his usual wardrobe of sweats and running pants, so Dick doesn’t bother trying to live up to the kid’s standards. They’re both just glad to have each other back. Dick has missed out on so much, but Damian hardly notices the changes in either of them. It’s because he’s still young and time isn’t finite yet. Childhood clings to Damian’s full cheeks and attitude. His stubborn youth relieves Dick. He’s missed out on a lot, but not everything. 

“Yes, I keep up with Bruce Wayne, men like him,” the man at the table continues for explanation. He taps his head. “They’re smart. Can learn from them. Or I try to, at least.” With that, he laughs all the way from his gut. Dick can feel himself warming up as he often does around good-humored people. He can’t help it; he’s a sucker for laughter. 

He buys drinks for the table, except for the woman, whom he buys another water. The hour drags on. He wishes he was playing poker and not blackjack, although poker gets too vitriolic for his tastes and doesn’t concern the house much, which is what he needs to do. He’s beginning to doubt his plan, though, and he wonders if it would be easier just to beg Jason to let him in on the case in full. He’s not going to do that however. He hadn’t expect a yes, but that doesn’t make Jason rejecting his help any less irritating. At this point, he’d prefer swimming with sharks ( again ) over playing nice with a guy who’d apparently rather get assassinated than just cooperate a little. 

He’s close to leaving the table when he spots a person of interest. The man is on the shorter side, just shy of scrawny, with tan skin and dark hair. He’s not paying any attention to Dick, just meandering through the tables, but Dick recognizes him from Batman’s Teen Titans database. Miguel Barragan: otherwise known as Bunker, a former member of the Teen Titans and the current owner-on-paper of the Iceberg Lounge. Dick is almost giddy to have such a solid lead right off the bat. He quickly collects his winnings and bids everyone a goodbye, Miguel locked in his peripheral throughout. 

He doesn’t approach Miguel directly; he’d probably alert Jason right away of his casino’s sneaky guest. Dick trusts his charisma to carry him through most confrontations, but he also considers anyone associated with Jason to be a bit of a wild card. He’s not sure how he could win Miguel over to his side because he’s not sure how Jason won Miguel over. Dick doesn’t understand how Jason wins anyone over — or, perhaps more accurately, how anyone wins Jason over. Dick hasn’t been able to parse out what grounds the amorphous Outlaws have been founded on, since their modus operandi changes as frequently as their roster and these outlaws seemingly share one characteristic, which is that they are all outlaws. 

Dick is admittedly guilty of avoiding Gotham, focusing instead on reestablishing his life in Bludhaven after Spyral. He still receives updates, some of them about the Outlaws, whose guns sometimes shoot rubber bullets and other times kill. Batman occasionally sends the Outlaws on missions, making them either private contractors or accidental, honorary bats. Dick has long given up on deciphering and disarming Bruce’s relationships. Or maybe he hasn’t, since on the practical level, it is on Bruce’s behalf that Dick’s helping Jason. Dick responded to all of Bruce’s messages, albeit late, and Dick himself doesn’t know if his recent lateness is as accidental as he pleads. Dick’s life has always been hectic, yet he’s always made time for Gotham. 

What is different now? Dick sees the past year like a literal timeline laid out before him, and if he could just follow that line, eventually he’d find what had changed. Maybe he’s missing a step, though, because he just keeps going back to the dormitory at St. Hadrian’s. He sees himself sitting on the twin-sized, standard-issued bed, back hunched, phone attached to his ear like a lifeline that might disintegrate at any moment. He hears himself leave a message for Mr. Malone; then Dick turns around, abandoning the scene before the line can disintegrate and he shares the same fate as this sad, forgotten figure on the bed. 

Dick’s response to Bruce’s latest message was immediate, as Bruce probably assumed it would be. He dangled Jason’s vulnerability like a bait over Dick’s head. Dick, with the stench of death curling into his nostrils at the mere suggestion, took the hook in his mouth and allowed himself to be hauled aboard out of Bludhaven’s hazy depths. So he has resurfaced in Gotham, which he knows is for the best. It gives him the opportunity to right a wrong of his, when Jason first was in danger and Dick had busied himself elsewhere, away from Bruce. 

Of course, Jason is not as helpless as he was in his Robin days. The Outlaws are fittingly named, operating more like a loose group of friends egging each other on than a true team (or so it seems to Dick, and indeed everyone else watching them in suspense), but they do pull through for the Hood. Miguel is one of these friends, and therefore likely knows about the Park Row victims and the photos, although whether his priority is Jason’s safety or Jason’s trust is up for debate. Dick has to play it safe and assume that Miguel would report his good intentions and have him thrown back into the parking lot to watch a bike. Or forced off the case altogether, Dick thinks with exasperation, as Jason is prone to theatrics and extremes. Roy and Kory, at least, he does not have to worry about, being off-planet with the Justice League. Artemis and Bizarro have recently disappeared, but Dick doesn’t write them off yet. In his experience, those whose lives defy death rarely stay gone for long. This is both a comfort and a conflict of interest. 

He watches Miguel furtively; he accomplishes this by mingling gregariously, camouflaging himself within a dense thicket of drunken socialites. He works crowds consecutively, easing himself in and out of dialogues, his split attention unnoticed in an atmosphere that cultivates distraction. He keeps his face turned away from Miguel at all times. He moves his tortoiseshell sunglasses from his mussed hair to his eyes. He follows. 

Miguel does not stay among the blackjack tables. He eventually moves towards the floor with the digital fish, his pace brisk but not hurried. Flashing shop signs and stumbling, moseying guests help blur Dick into the background. He wonders how long he can keep this up for and where he might end up. Best case scenario: Miguel talks to several key players in Red Hood’s operation for Dick to investigate and provides an insider’s look at the map of the casino before he can slip behind a door Dick can’t reasonably follow him through. Worst case scenario: Miguel notices he’s being followed by a weird man who wears sunglasses inside, confronts him, and Jason yells at him about respect and boundaries, as if those are things that exist in their makeshift family. Scenario of undecided goodness: Miguel is the leak and Dick catches him.

From a yard ahead, Miguel shifts his hand from the pocket of his slacks. He presses his ear, tilts his chin downward and to the side. An earpiece, for sure. He’s communicating with someone; perhaps Jason, Dick’s brain immediately supplies, and he does feel some guilt laden over the little kick he gets from the idea of pulling one over on the uncooperative prick. Dick gets his jollies from helping people against their will. Probably not everyone’s idea of fun, but his family just wouldn’t be his family without the unnecessary shadows cloaking every kind act. 

Then Dick notices Miguel twist his head just slightly so that his eyes address the floor. Is he looking at Dick? Has he been caught? Dick hangs back, pausing to admire a shop window. He’s grateful for his sunglasses now, which enable him to keep track of Miguel’s progress. Hopefully he looks more eccentric than suspicious in them. 

He melts back into the loose crowds once he’s confident Miguel has lost him. He knows Miguel took a right at the escalators, didn’t go up them. Dick keeps a bit of swagger in his walk, feigning leisure while taking broader steps than usual. He needs Miguel to lose track of him without losing track of Miguel himself. 

Dick rounds the escalator corner, hands shoved in his pockets. A uniformed woman sweeps a plastic straw into a dustpan. He smiles graciously and sidesteps her. He glimpses Miguel’s figure retreating into a misshapen circle of the line spilling out of a burger joint. His body is swallowed whole by the hungry mass, absorbed neatly into the membrane of good-timers and luck-triers. Dick feels a little of the excitement go out of him. Where, really, can he get with this? He might have to pay Jason a visit as Nightwing after all. 

Still, he may as well continue for a bit longer. He’s less than subtle while maneuvering through. His passage doesn’t feel half as smooth as Miguel’s looked. The people in line are glassy-eyed with dumb, slack-jawed smiles. Dick can’t help envisioning them as blind, newborn kittens under his feet. He pushes through in a series of mumbled apologies and penitent smiles. He receives, in return, a few blank smiles delivered on auto-pilot. Mostly he’s just ignored, which does irk him but he reasons that if they’re not bothered enough for a reply, then they’re content and so is he. 

He finally breaches the wall of people. Miguel has stopped walking and stands, back facing Dick, near a bistro. A waitress, tufts of blonde locks sticking up like macaroni, intercepts the two of them, carrying a tray from the bistro to the nearest gaming floor. She all but waddles in the standard short white dress and tiny black blazer, throat pinned to her head with a stiff bowtie. When she passes, Dick realizes Miguel is not alone. Leaning against a load-bearing stalagmite is someone else, sneakered heel digging into the floor with their toes pointed up, their fists plunged into the pocket of a pullover. A hood hides their face, though the tip of a nose peeks out. Dick takes a step forward only to be reeled backwards, shoulder jerking where a hand has caught it. 

Dick nearly grabs the hand and yanks, but remembers his surroundings and stifles the impulse. He lets himself be dragged towards an unmarked set of double doors. A small box is mounted to the wall in front of him, and another hand reaches out to wave a card over it. A light flashes green and buzzes. Dick’s feet have to dance for purchase as he’s pulled awkwardly by his side. The second the doors swing shut behind them, Dick breaks out of the grasp. His shades have slid down his nose and he pushes them up. He has time to recognize the people milling about as normal employees, some resting in chairs with stained cushions and others carting hampers and vacuums or talking into radios. Name badges abound. 

The hand roughly grabs him by the collar. “Easy!” scolds Dick at the same time he gets a good look at the person attached. He’s a big guy with furry arms that could constrict a boa. A gray vest stretches over his broad frame, accentuating his size as well as any muscle tee. He wears a high collar fastened with a wide tie. His throat is as thick as a tree trunk, though, and the overall effect is that of an ill-fitting leash. 

“I don’t work here, what are you doing?” Dick demands. He doubts the casino employees here are expecting dignity anyway. Maybe he should even try for tipsy, just to put on a show for anyone watching him get hauled across the room from the scruff of his neck by Hulk Hogan. This has all turned out surprisingly well for him, really. Whoever this guy is, he’s not a hero. 

“Behave,” the man orders as he shoves Dick — unnecessarily roughly, for that matter — through another set of double doors. These ones give way without identification.

Dick skips nimbly forward so he doesn’t fall on his face. The man’s hand is on his neck again in an instant, which screams overkill considering Dick hasn’t put up a fight or attempted escape. “‘Behave’?” Dick quotes. “What am I, your long-lost son?”

“Good question,” says the man. The walls here are more eggshell than snowfall with air pockets bubbling beneath the wallpaper. People with name badges eye them curiously but say nothing. Dick wonders how anyone would get rescued in this heads-down atmosphere. It occurs to him, grimly, that they probably wouldn’t.

“Is it?” Dick prods. “Did someone forget to file for a paternity test?”

“What are you, smartass.”

Fingers tighten around his neck, a warning to behave or a threat for what’s to either way. Dick guesses it’s the latter and replies, “What is manhandled, for 300.”

“Yup, keep it up,” the man replies. He takes a sudden left, Dick spinning after like a sidecar held to the driver by a rope. There’s another box-shaped scanner around the corner, presumably for the narrow, metal door adjacent. This device doesn’t scan from afar but requires insertion, and the man feeds it a different card from the one before. There’s no buzz or green light. Just the same, the knob turns easily in the man’s grip. 

“Lot of doors here,” Dick observes at the same time that he’s unceremoniously launched, face first, through a door. 

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

[bytheangell]

Sooner or Later

(Read on AO3) (set after the Malec 3x12 Sneak Peek)

Alec is home and resting. He’s healing and he’s going to be alright with time. With much reluctance his family and friends leave their constant vigil by his bedside at the Loft and go home, back to the Institute, until only Catarina is left waiting in the living room.

“I’ll be right back,” Magnus says, placing a soft kiss on Alec’s cheek as he gets up to leave the bedroom. “Do you need anything before bed?”

Alec shakes his head, then looks considerate. “Maybe a glass of water.”

Magnus nods. “I’ll be right back, I just have to say goodbye to Cat.”

“Thank her again for me, will you?” “Of course, dear.”

Magnus looks back twice before he even finishes crossing the room, afraid if he takes his eyes off of Alec for even just a second something terrible might happen to him. He’ll suddenly vanish, or the hole in his chest will open back up, or Lilith will return to finish what she started. He knows it’s ridiculous, and that even if he were to remain in the room he could barely help with any of those possibilities, but he fears these things all the same.

Magnus shuts the door softly behind him, walking to meet Catarina by the sofa. She’s tired from healing, and from being awake well beyond her double shift at the clinic, but she remains there resolutely waiting for him as requested.  

“So?” He asks eagerly, voice low.

“The wards are reinforced. I made three batches of the healing potion Alec took earlier - two should be more than enough but better safe than sorry. Also a sleeping drought, in case the pain is too much and he’s restless.” She looks around the room, searching for any sign of something she may have forgotten, nodding when she’s satisfied there’s nothing left.

“Thank you,” Magnus breathes out, the relief palpable. “This means so much more to me than I can-” his voice breaks off. “I don’t know how I can ever repay you.”

“Don’t worry about it. But Magnus… you have to tell him.”

“No,” he says, and he doesn’t bother to hide the dread from the word because Cat would see it in him anyway. She always does.  “Not yet.”

“You can’t hide it forever. He’s going to find out sooner or later, and it’ll be a lot better coming from you now.”

“I know. And I promise, I will. Just… not now. With Clary gone, and Jace recovering, he-- there’s enough on his mind without this. He doesn’t need to worry about me, too.”

“...doesn’t he? Because I certainly do.”

Magnus winces at her words, at the implication that he needed to be worried about. “I’m fine.”  

“Please don’t wait too long. It isn’t protecting him to keep him in the dark about this. And if you aren’t going to talk to him, will you at least talk to me about it?”

“I’m--” he starts, but his words fall off at the sound of shuffling feet behind him.

“Talk about what?” Alec asks from the hallway.

Magnus pales, a panicked look at Catarina crossing his features for just a moment before he recovers. “--About how to keep a certain someone from getting out of bed the moment I turn my back,” he covers quickly. “What are you doing up?”

Alec knows Magnus is deflecting but he’s too weary to make a fight of it, much to Magnus’ relief. “No one would let me so much as sit up in bed all day. I needed to get out of that room.” Alec goes to the fridge and flinches against the effort of pulling the door open to get the water out. “Just the water, then I’m back on bedrest. Promise.”

Cat looks like she might say something but a warning look from Magnus stops her. They hold a silent conversation between them over the course of the next 15 seconds, pleading glances and stubborn head shakes ending only when Alec starts to walk back towards them.

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow, Cat. Thank you again.” Magnus says, clearly ending any discussion for now.  

Catarina can only sigh in return. “Goodnight. Rest up, both of you. Doctor’s orders.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Magnus lets her out and turns back to Alec.

“You head back to bed, I’ll be in in a minute.”

It isn’t until Alec is back in the room that Magnus methodically checks every potential entrance to the Loft, starting with double-checking the locks on the door. He moves to the latches on the windows, every last one of them in the entire loft, before circling back to check the front door one more time. He’s almost back to the bedroom when he can’t remember if he stopped to check the door to the balcony, and the fact that he managed to forget that one the first time around brings him circling through the doors and windows one last time, just to be safe.

He knows the wards are up - no part of him doubts Cat’s abilities, but… he can’t feel them, not anymore. All he feels is the vulnerability of being defenseless in his own home, and now he can’t even sense the protective warding up around them enough to take any comfort in even that. Magnus feels the anxiety well up in his chest at the thought of anything happening while Alec is here and he’s unable to protect him, the way he wasn’t able to protect him against the Owl, or from Lilith when she took Jace away from them in this very spot.

He walks around and blows out any still-lit candles. He turns off the lights, one by one, nearly forgetting where half of the light switches are located along the walls for how long it’s been since he used them. Everything takes so much more time than he imagined it would, doing it without magic. He washes the makeup from his face, takes the chipped nail polish off of his finger nails with pink tinted remover that smells terrible, and removes his jewelry a piece at a time. The whole process takes so long that Alec is nearly asleep by the time Magnus finally returns to the bedroom.

“What took you so long?” Alec mumbles, eyes blinking slowly, heavily. “Oh, just tying up a few loose ends,” Magnus says as he sits on the edge of the bed. It isn’t a lie, he reassures himself. He doesn’t want to lie to him, he just doesn’t want to tell him the truth. That isn’t the same thing.

“What was Cat saying earlier? What did you need to tell me?”

"Nothing that can’t wait until tomorrow, darling. Get some rest, now.”

And Alec is too exhausted to argue, eyes already falling shut longer and longer with every blink until he’s fast asleep.

Magnus eases out of bed to lock the bedroom windows before sliding under the covers himself, though sleep doesn’t come for a very long time. Tomorrow, he thinks. He’ll talk to Alec tomorrow.

---

Magnus wakes up before the sun rises. Alec is still snoring softly beside him when he shifts off the side of the bed, sliding his feet into slippers to make his way silently to the bathroom. He washes, dries, and styles his hair, thinking all the while that he doesn’t remember it taking this long before. The product doesn’t hold the way his magic normally would and it takes him an extra 15 minutes just to get it to stay. Even as he tells himself that he’s going to tell Alec the truth this morning he’s already subconsciously trying to hide any sign that anything is amiss with his magic.  

He has just enough time to apply basic eyeliner before he first rays of sun shine in through the windows and he’s forced to abandon his makeup before he even has a chance to paint his nails. Not that it matters, he promises himself, since he’s going to tell Alec and he’ll realize why his boyfriend is lacking all of his usual adornments.

Magnus starts breakfast, makes coffee, and nearly ruins the eggs when he forgets how long they take to cook the mundane way. He ignores the knowledge that he woke up two hours earlier than he had to in order to get all of this done before Alec starts to stir, because he isn’t covering anything up - he’s cooking so there’s something nice to soften the blow. He’s definitely going to tell him.

Alec is already sitting up in bed, golden sheets pooled around his stomach and over his lap, when Magnus comes in with the tray of breakfast and coffee, a single flower in a small glass vase just for show.

“Is today a special occasion?” Alec asks, eyeing the breakfast in bed with a pout. Magnus knows that look - Alec’s trying to remember something, something from the night before, but he can’t. His mind is hazy from sleep and medicine and potions and Magnus knows he should just get it over with. But when he opens his mouth what comes out instead is: “It’s your day off, and I want to make the most of it.” Magnus sits on the side of the bed, sliding the tray over with a small, satisfied smile. It took his entire family and the insistence of himself and Cat to convince Alec to take the extra day off after waking up to just relax and heal properly, no matter how insistent he’d been the night before that he was well enough to sit behind a desk at the Institute.

“It’s actually really sweet.”

“Mmmm,” Magnus hums, smiling wider now. “I thought so.” Alec smiles back and in that moment everything feels like it might be okay. That this is a new normal they can fall into, and maybe it isn’t going to be as terrifying as he’s worried it might be… And then Alec reaches for the tray and winces, biting back a gasp of pain when the movement pulls at his wound.

“Alexander,” Magnus says, already bringing his hands up towards his boyfriend’s chest before stopping abruptly and allowing them to fall over Alec’s own hand instead, giving it a squeeze. Full of muted horror at the realization that in this moment there’s nothing he can do to help him, Magnus can only watch and wait. Alec is in pain and he can’t heal him. He can’t even conjure up a glass of water when the sharp intake of breath makes the Shadowhunter cough, forcing him to reach for the coffee on the tray instead.

Magnus is afraid to ask if he’s alright because if the answer is ‘no’ he doesn’t know what he’ll do, and he knows now that his previous moment of hope was foolish. This isn’t okay. This is never going to be okay and it certainly isn’t a normal he ever wants to get used to. He feels empty and broken and more afraid than he did getting ready to go to Edom. The void he feels threatens to consume him but he won’t allow it, repeating to himself that he’s fine and it’ll pass - it has to, because how can he expect Alec to rely on him if he’s falling apart more and more with every passing moment?

“I’m okay,” Alec says, setting the drink down on the tray after a sip. Magnus feels the tension ease a bit.  “Just moved it too fast.” “I’ll go get the draught Cat left behind,” he says, and Alec gives him a questioning look. “It’ll be far more potent than anything I can do. You know her healing magic is the best of the best.” It isn’t a lie. It’s better than anything he can do because he can’t do anything, and he has to turn away from Alec almost immediately to hide the tears that sting his eyes. Magnus makes a quick retreat out into the hallway to wipe them away, careful to fix his smudged eyeliner with some paper towels in the kitchen before returning to the bedroom.

“Here. Not quite as delicious as a mimosa but it’ll have to do,” he says, forcing a smile back onto his face. Maybe there was a moment he considered saying something but it’s gone now. Alec huffs a laugh, smiling up at him, and Magnus can’t bear the thought of saying anything to take that away.

There’s a sharp knock on the door that echoes through the loft and Magnus starts at the unexpected sound, despising himself for the flash of fear the surprise carries with it now. Magnus hides it all beneath a carefully crafted smile. “I’ll go get that. You stay here, and eat, and drink every last drop of that. I’ll be back in just a moment.”

Later, he promises himself, trying not to think about how as much as he doesn’t want to lie to Alexander he has no issues with lying to himself. 

He’ll talk to Alec later.

[spyrograph]

DS9 airport AU

It’s a tiny regional airport in a small city that’s fallen on hard times. There are maybe two gates and only one runway. It looks like it was built in the 40′s and has never been remodeled. Most of the traffic is private planes and the smallest connecting commercial flights.

Quark’s Restaurant & Bar & Grill always smells like breakfast and cigarettes. The carpet has been replaced in sections and none of the squares quite match. Vintage arcade games line the narrow hall that leads to the restrooms. 

There’s a news stand that sometimes has fresh flowers. There’s always a religious nut handing out beautifully illustrated pamphlets about the alien oppressors. The baggage carousel never stops rattling.

Nobody’s really sure why Garak chose to set up shop in the space that used to be the car rental office. Most of his business seems to come from dry cleaning pilots’ uniforms.

((This got long for something that isn’t a fic.))

Corrupt Mayor Dukat has been trying for decades to shut down this tiny airport so he can get funding to build a larger, more modern one. The entire region is in decline and it seems entirely due to Dukat’s political scheming.

Don Enabran Tain from the big city upstate has had a run-in with the Feds. He plans to reroute his “business” through this tiny airport until everything blows over. Tain is giving his bastard son one last chance to prove his loyalty. Garak’s Clothiers is only a front for a drug smuggling gig.

There’s an old hotel across the street from the airport. Everyone is convinced that it’s haunted but it’s the only 4-star hotel in the city so that’s where travelers and flight attendants stay. Julian Bashir (jet-setter, old-money, dilettante) has been spending a suspicious amount of time there. The rumor mill says he’s having an affair with one of the city’s residents.

Julian Bashir is actually working for the federal government under duress. If he doesn’t help the Feds he’ll loose everything- because Richard Bashir committed an ungodly amount of tax fraud. 

Odo is the city’s sheriff. He’s working closely with the Feds on this case. Odo absolutely cannot stand the fact that organized crime is happening in his city.

Kira is the city’s overworked District Attorney.  She honestly just wants Mayor Dukat to die because that would fix 90% of the city’s problems.

Sisko is the airport’s new manager. He took this job because he wanted to raise his son in a wholesome small-town environment.  Sisko has always had very vivid, lucid dreams.

Worf is a TSA agent. His inflexibility and anger issues are the reason he was reassigned to this tiny airport with basically no traffic.

Jadzia, is the air traffic controller. She’s too young to have ulcers but she has them anyway because her job is unreal levels of stressful. You wouldn’t know it though- she’s really good at compartmentalizing.

Miles is an aircraft technician. He’s a shell-shocked veteran. Keiko is merciless about making sure he takes care of himself.

Rom is a baggage handler. He wears two pairs of ear plugs under his ear protection because he gets overstimulated at least five times a day. 

Leeta is a flight attendant. She once jokingly said that she would marry the man who could guess where she was born. Quark has been methodically listing off cities for years.

Damar is a pilot. He went to school with Dukat. They played football together. They attended the same college and they planned to run for office together.  They had a serious falling-out and neither of them will say why.

The Dominion is a multinational corporation that takes advantage of Mayor Dukat’s ambition. The Dominion promises to create jobs and stimulate the local economy. What they actually do is monopolize literally everything and convert the whole city into a next-level dystopian “company town”

The economic woes of this small airport and this small city are a microcosm of what is happening all over the planet in the wake of the Dominion’s aggressive capitalism.

((This is the point where the plot goes from “realistic crime drama” to “actually, i lied, this is science fiction,”))

THE BIG TWIST:  

The Founders are actually alien invaders. The Dominion Corporation is just the most cost-efficient method of subjugating the population. 

The Vorta are actually aliens. They’re also lawyers, secretaries, regional managers, and every other corporate stooge you might think of.

The Jem’Hadar are hired thugs. They’re mostly human. “Ketracel White. It’s transformative!” is a slogan.

COMEDY BITS: 

Quark gets busted for smuggling exotic fish. 

Worf is genuinely embarrassed by the sex toys he encounters while searching luggage. 

Julian uses bad pickup lines on Leeta, “You must have been born in the clouds because you’re an angel.” 

Benjamin keeps dreaming that his baseball turns up in weird places. His baseball keeps turning up in weird places.

Garak goes over-the-top flaming-homosexual-cliche in an attempt to get Julian out of his shop. It has the opposite effect.

ROMANCE BITS:

Garak and Bashir have a torrid this-could-be-my-last affair because both of them have everything to lose.

Worf and Jadzia’s love-to-hate-you relationship escalates to a full-on-brawl. They fuck in the men’s room and then pretend it never happened.

Rom accurately guesses that Leeta was born on an airplane over the Pacific Ocean and proposes. She accepts.

DRAMA BITS:

Jake Sisko uses Ketracel White in order to gain entry to the Dominion factory and uncover the truth.  He is successful but the long-term effects of the drug are devastating. 

Garak travels to the big city upstate and confronts Don Tain. Tain, on his death bed, forgives Garak but bequeaths the “family business” to Pythas Lok. 

Odo is revealed to be a Founder. He was sent ahead as a scout but fell in love with the planet and it’s people. 

Damar’s falling out with Dukat happened because Damar (drunk and/or coked out) killed Ziyal in a car accident. Dukat believes that Damar did it deliberately. 

Ben Sisko realizes that his “lucid dreams” actually effect reality. He is kidnapped by the Dominion. The Female Founder interrogates him because she believes he is an alien! That’s ridiculous! Isn’t it?

Dukat (hyped up on Ketracel?) assaults Kira. She destroys him; physically and politically. She then proceeds to kick asses and take names.

HORROR BITS:

Wiki How To Make a Jem’Hadar Army with Disenfranchised Youth and Ketracel White.

CLIMACTIC BITS:  

A joint FBI/mafia assault team retakes the airport and prevents SOMETHING BAD from happening. 

Miles terrifies the living shit out of everyone with his sniper skills.

Damar does a kamikaze with an empty 747, destroys the Ketracel factory, and eliminates the Female Founder.

Benjamin is rescued. He accepts that he is not entirely human and uses his “lucid dream” ability to remove all traces of Ketracel from Jake’s body. 

Sisko and Odo board a Dominion space ship:  they hope to intercept the Dominion forces and convince them to turn around.

ENDING BITS:

Kira is elected mayor.

Jake’s investigative reporting earns him a Pulitzer or something.

Rom and Leeta get hitched. Garak and Julian slow dance at the reception. 

The airport gets rebuilt. (It was totally trashed in the climactic battle.)

Nobody knows what happened to Sisko and Odo. Either they were successful or the world will be destroyed sometime in the near future. People are preparing for the worst but hoping for the best.

[pumpkin-spiced-oscar]

Fingertips

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Fandom: Marvel

Words: 1,337

Pairing: Bucky Barnes X Reader

Warnings: Angst, PTSD, but also lots of Fluff!

(A/N): This method was always something that used to calm me down when I was younger. Don’t know if any of you have ever tried it, but it’s very nice. So one day, I sat down and thought: ‘Huh... What if this could calm Bucky as well?’ So I wrote this. I had one of my friends read it, and they thought it was weird... That’s why I’m writing this author’s note. To me, it wasn’t weird at all. It kept me from having nightmares, it calmed me down when I was scared out of my own skin. I hoped I could somehow recreate it... Anyway, Enjoy!!! 😁

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bucky couldn’t decide which was worse: what he was seeing, or what he was hearing. He was seeing blood... Tears... Fallen, innocent, crying people, he was hearing them begging for their lives... screams.

Screams that awakened him from his sleep with his own screams mixing in as well. Before he knew it, he was sitting on the edge of his bed, sweating and breathing heavily, eyes wide with fear as they stared into the darkness of his room in the Avengers Tower. It was 4:00 a.m. Bucky thought he heard the sound of a gun cocking... He jumped up and turned toward the direction that it came from, stumbling back a few steps. When a dim light flooded the room from a now open door, Bucky was relieved to find that it wasn’t Hydra threatening him to kill more innocent people. It was just the sound of the door clicking... Nonetheless, he still continued to breath heavily and stare wide-eyed at the doorway in which your figure was silhouetted against the hallway light.

“Bucky...?” You questioned, your hand already searching for the light switch. When you had found it, your fingers immediately flipped the tiny switch upwards, and the room was engulfed in bright light. You shielded your eyes from it for a few seconds, but blinked a few hard times when your eyes started to clear from sleepiness. “B-...”

When you had fully regained your sight, your eyes widened as you focused on what was on the other side of the bed next to you.

“Shit... Bucky...” You walked around the bed slowly, as not to scare him even more. He looked like a frightened kitten... It hurt to look at, but you were sure that he was hurting even more. When you arrived at the other side of his bed, you stood right right in front of him.

“Bucky, hey. It’s me... It’s (Y/N).. Everything’s gonna be okay, you are safe now....” You tried to say anything you could to make him feel less scared. “Just breathe, Buck, breathe. In for four seconds, then hold for four seconds, then out for four seconds, remember? It’s okay...”

You had noticed that after a while, his breathing did seem to calm down by a lot. His eyes were not wide anymore, and he didn’t look like a scared cat. Now, he just looked tired... You sat him down on the edge of the bed, settling right next to him as well. You kept your hand on his shoulder, where it had been since you got there. Bucky buried his head in his hands. “I can’t do this anymore... I can’t-... I’m not safe to be around...”

“Hey... Don’t say that.. That’s not true.” Your voice started to get slightly shaky as well. You pulled him closer to your chest, allowing his forehead to rest on your shoulder.

“Yes, it is, (Y/N).”

“Buck. No it’s not.” You replied almost scornfully but still gentle. You placed your hand on his head, very gently running your fingers through Bucky’s soft chocolate-colored hair in a way that sent chills down his spine.

“What are you doing?” He questioned.

“Shh. Lemme work my magic. Trust me.” You whispered in response. You ran your hand down his bare back, switching from calming strokes to very slow and gentle featherlight scribbles using your fingertips. At first, he flinched away, not used to any light touch...

“Sorry...” he apologized.

You smiled slightly at his apology. “Nothing to apologize for.” You continued to trace your fingertips up and down his back, not pressing in at all. Bucky’s tears have dried, a small huff of air leaving his lips in response to the chill-inducing touches that you were providing. He would shiver every time your fingernails traveled from his shoulders down to the small of his back; not because it was cold, but because of how it felt sensitive but pleasurable. There wasn’t that much talking that went on between the two of you. That is, until you decided you needed to get something off your chest...

“Y’know, Bucky, I don’t know if I’m wording this correctly, but... I don’t blame you, and will never blame you, for anything you might have done... You’ve been told this before, but that wasn’t you... when you talk about hurting people, killing people, not being in control of your own mind, you’re talking about the Winter Soldier. But you are Bucky Barnes. You are the same Bucky Barnes who grew up with Steve Rogers. The same Bucky that used to do anything and everything to protect Steve’s skinny weak pre-serum ass. You know him better than any of us do. You’re the same Bucky that used to go out and dance, smile, talk, laugh, maybe get a little drunk... The same Bucky that took Steve to an amusement park and forced him to ride The Cyclone, which made him throw up, but he had fun anyway... You’re the same Bucky that-.... That I fell in love with...”

By then, your hands have stopped moving. He removed his head from your shoulder, locking eyes with you. After a while, you felt that you had totally just embarrassed yourself... You covered your face with your hands and started to scramble to stand up to leave the room, your words also jumbled and nervous.

“I’m-so-sorry-I-shouldn’t-have-said-that-because-I-know-that-you-probably-don’t-feel-the-same-way-about-me-and-that’s-okay-I-don’t-know-what-I-was-thinking-or-what-I-thought-would-happen-I’m-just-gonna-leave-now-and-...”

You stopped as you felt a hand on your shoulder. After removing your hands from your face, you looked over to Bucky. He was smiling. That’s the first time you’ve seen him genuinely smiling in what seems like forever... He pulled you back down to where you were before, only this time you were both lying down.

Just a few moments ago, he was terrified and trembling. Now, with just a soothing touch and a ‘few words’ from you, Bucky was seemingly even happier than normal. At this point, you had almost fully forgotten what you had said. You were already too lost in his beautiful smile and ocean blue eyes to remember. Only when you felt Bucky’s lips on yours did you react to something other than that peaceful look on his face. Your eyes widened for a second, and there was a sharp intake of breath, similar to a gasp, that escaped you.

Soon enough though, you melted into the kiss. He wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you a bit closer, while you placed your hand on the side of his head. After a few more seconds, you both pulled away for some air.

“Ho....ly shit!”

You whispered in reaction to the kiss, both eyes still closed. You did open them, however, when you heard Bucky laugh... Actually laugh, not just some short amused exhale like he usually does. It was a beautiful sound; one you’ve never heard before. Like music to your ears. It was adorable the way he smiled, how his eyes were shut tightly, how the sound of it seemed to fit him so well even though it doesn’t get used often. The best part about it, though, is that it really was genuine. He was happy. You could see it. Hear it. Feel it in the atmosphere. It made it seem almost like he’d never had a nightmare in his life. That the guilt and fear of blood on his hands all disappeared...

You smiled, draping your arm around Bucky’s waist and hugging closer to him. You cuddled into his chest, both of your bodies now pressed together comfortably. You fell asleep first, feeling the calm, caring touch of Bucky playing absentmindedly with your hair. After you had fallen asleep, Bucky was finally able to close his eyes, surrendering to the sweet call of a peaceful and sound sleep.

And the nightmare was finally over.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[occasionalfics]

The Ones To Go, 1 (Thor X Reader)

masterlist | the one to stay masterlist | the ones to go masterlist 

Summary: It’s been a month. Thor’s been gone a month. He should’ve returned Bruce to Midgard by now, and yet, you’re still ruling your kingdom on your own. You’re doing what you can,  but it all feels like too much, especially with your older brother - a man you’ve never met - visiting.

A/N: Playing around with formatting!! Also first chapter of a sequel! Wooh! Yeah so I don’t think I’ve ever written a sequel to anything ever. But I like where this one went. The end is...super fluffy. All the fluff. Get ready.

Tags are all gonna be at the end of the posts from here on out. It just looks nicer, with the new way I’m organizing them. If you want to be added, let me know!

Warnings: Nada for this chapter. It’s pretty tame. Mild spoilers if you haven’t already read the prequel: The One To Stay (linked above).

Words: 3,663

He’d told you his trek would take a few weeks at most. But as one week bled into two, and two faded into three, you grew more and more worried. You had every right to be, as his wife, but as Queen, you had obligations. You had a Kingdom to oversee, people to keep happy and safe, and a God of Mischief brother-in-law to watch over. Thor had taken Brunhilde with him, so you had only Loki and Heimdall to keep you close counsel.

You’d grown fond of the Gatekeeper. He was kind, loyal, and understanding; he was also stern and hardworking, which you appreciated. He knew the Asgardian people personally, which aided your court decisions beyond what you could’ve ever expected. He seemed to believe in you the way Thor did, and that gave you some comfort as you waited for a sign from your husband.

“He’s still alive, my Queen,” Heimdall told you as the fourth week rolled in. “I can feel that much.”

You nodded and patted Heimdall’s hand on the long oak table you were seated at. “I thank you for watching as closely as you can,” you said. You didn’t mention that you knew he would’ve watched over Thor anyway, since he’d been Heimdall’s king from the start. “Can you see if Bruce is alright?” you asked, not for the first time.

Heimdall nodded. “Just fine, Your Majesty. Brunhilde as well.”

You smiled as best as you could. “Good.”

“May we get back to the matter of your brother’s arrival, my Queen?” Loki asked from down the table. He sat back against his chair, and had a disinterested look on his face. He usually did, you noticed. But you didn’t normally mind. You knew he wasn’t quite enthralled with the idea of being stuck on the planet under your jurisdiction, especially not without Thor. You were sure he still hadn’t fully forgiven you for...how you’d all met.

“He’s not staying long,” you responded, pulling back to sit straight in your seat. “He and his wife got word of the...change of sovereign. They simply wanted to see who sat on the throne.” You chose your words carefully around the court. Not all the members were happy with how the transition of power had gone, nor were they satisfied with Thor’s prolonged absence.

“Are you not worried about a possible coup?” a court member asked from closer to Loki.

You sighed. “Of course I’ve considered the possibility. But my brother has assured me this is simply a leisure visit. He means to be gone soon, and I intend to see he’s treated with respect and trust while he’s here.”

“Should we not have him sign a peace treaty, at least?” Heimdall asked.

The members of the court all muttered at that. You looked from one of them to the next, trying to decipher what they were saying but it was all too much at once. You called their attention back and said, “If we can draft a set of terms that are fair and comprehensive, then yes. For the safety of the kingdom, we’ll see about a peace treaty.”

They nodded, but otherwise stayed silent. Not for the first time, you wished Thor was with you. He was a king before he married you. He’d held counsel with his father and knew how to lead using methods nearly opposite of your own father’s. You wanted him with you, guiding you in being Queen, only to hold you tight, as his wife, later in bed.

You’d never longed for a person like this before. You’d never pined after another being for so long, with such passion and need. The feeling was foreign, but you tried not to let it distract you for too long. He’ll be back soon you reminded yourself, unsure of exactly when that would be. In the meantime, you sighed and stood from the table. “If no one else has any matters to bring to the table today,” you said, “then I call this meeting to adjourn.”

No one said a word. You nodded, then turned from the room. You heard them all stand as you exited, something you were still getting used to. You’d been queen for just barely a month, and all of the new formalities were still making you dizzy. So you shook your head, took a deep breath, and headed into the corridor.

Heimdall followed you out, catching up with you easily. “You did well, Your Majesty,” he said in a low voice. “They’re coming around.”

His words were nice, you thought, but they weren’t enough. Doing well and coming around weren’t quite as good as commanding the room or actually getting things done. You clasped your hands together as you went away from your chamber. Loki stepped up beside you as well, on the opposite side as Heimdall. He’d gotten in the habit of following you around, perhaps because he had nothing better to do.

“Has Thor disappeared this long before?” you asked him without looking. You could’ve been asking them both, you supposed.

Loki nodded. “Usually only when there’s trouble,” he said.

You nearly stopped in your tracks. Of course there was trouble - it seemed to follow your husband, even if that constituted you as trouble. It did. You were. You wished, again, that you’d gone with him, or that he could’ve sent Bruce home on his own. But Bruce had never been outside of Midgard before. He had no concept of how to get back, where Thor clearly did.

Stars, you thought, bring him home safe. Please.

“King Thor’s rather good at fending off trouble,” Heimdall said. Again, his words sounded better than than their meaning.

You nodded, stopping only when you made it to the room you’d placed your brother and his wife in. You forced your hands apart, rose a fist to the door, and knocked. Heimdall and Loki were both silent as you waited for the call to enter from within; when it came, Heimdall opened the door and allowed both you and Loki in before him.

“Ah, Sister!” your brother said, standing from the comfortable seat he’d been relaxing in. His wife had been perched on the canopied bed reading a book, but she stood and bowed when you came into the room.

You bowed to them as well and asked, “How are you both doing today?”

Your brother smiled. “Very well, thank you,” he said. He adjusted his jacket. “Any word from your husband yet?”

You shook your head. He’d been waiting days to meet Thor, to see the King that had joined his sister’s throne. The King of Asgard, no less. But Thor had left weeks before your brother had shown up - weeks before his letter pronouncing his arrival had been delivered. “Unfortunately, not as of yet.” You almost told him you feared something might be wrong on Midgard, but ultimately decided against it. You still hardly knew this brother, though he did bare an uncanny resemblance to a much younger version of your father.

“Well,” he said, “hopefully he’ll make it back before we leave. Which I regret to inform you must be soon.” He looked at his wife before continuing. “Our children miss us dearly, as does our court.”

You nodded at them both, but didn’t know what to say.

Heimdall, however, did. “The Queen was going to read to the children in the Town Square this morning,” he said. “We wondered if you might accompany us, to help with handing out goodies.”

Your brother turned back. “Goodies?” he asked.

“Cookies,” you said. “Sweets, maybe some trinkets if I can find any. It’s a tradition my mother started before she passed away.”

“That sounds rather familiar, actually,” he said. You wondered if he’d known your mother before you’d been been born. Once again, he looked at his wife and asked, “What do you think, dear?”

She closed her book on the bed and smiled. “That sounds delightful!” she said.

So it was settled. You went about the palace in search of sweets and trinkets, finding a few worthless jewels and some string for the children to put together and play with. You were organizing everything into a satchel in your chamber when a faint orange light began to sputter in the center of the room.

You put the jewels down on the bed and watched as the orange light turned into what looked like sparks, and then a rip in the space in front of you opened up. Through the rip, you saw a vast grassland surrounded by huge, foreign trees, and a snow-capped mountain range beyond the trees. The grassland was bright, as if the sun was directly above it - and then a body moved in its way.

You stood from the bed, and your heart skipped a beat as Thor stepped through the rip. You called his name softly, then forgot all about formalities and expectations and ran right for him. You nearly tripped on your dress at least twice, but you just picked up your skirts and continued toward him. He stood tall and opened his arms, hoisting you up against him when you’d cleared the space between him.

You were busy laughing, kissing him, touching his beard, smelling him - allowing him to occupy every one of your senses - and you completely missed the second body that passed through the rip. Whoever they were, they allowed you your reunion for some time. Thor let you down, but did not remove his hands from your body as he leaned down to properly kiss you, running his tongue along your lips to taste you as if he’d been gone half a lifetime.

You didn’t know how long you’d gone on like that before the second person cleared their throat. Thor pulled himself away from you just enough to remember that he’d led someone else through the rip in space, then he looked over his shoulder and said, “Oh. Right.” He chuckled, then removed one of his hands from you.

You had to stop yourself from reaching out to put it back, but only momentarily. In the next instant, you saw the Midgardian standing just behind Thor with an expectant glare on his elongated face.

“(Y/N), my Queen, this is Doctor Stephen Strange,” Thor said. “He’s a physician and a magician.” Thor was shaking, and when you looked at him, you saw how large his smile was. You wondered if he was happy to be home or happier to be introducing you to what you assumed was a friend.

Doctor Strange bowed to you and said, “It’s quite an honor to meet you, Your Majesty. Thor’s told us a lot about you.” He stood straight again.

You looked at Thor, then Dr. Strange, then back. “I would...love to return the honor, Dr. Strange,” you said, “but I’m...a little confused, I suppose.”

Thor paused a moment, then looked directly into your eyes. You’d missed his one blue pupil so much that you hadn’t even noticed until your knees actually felt weak beneath you. You were glad he was holding you up, because otherwise, you would’ve fallen to the ground in front of your...oddly dressed guest.

It was then that you noticed the long cape with the high collar that Dr. Strange wore over his blue peasant shirt and black trousers. He didn’t look like a Midgardian, not that you had much experience with what Midgardians actually wore. You’d found Bruce in Hulk form, and when he’d transformed, he’d worn clothes customary of your planet for months.

“Right,” Thor said, cutting through your thoughts. “I’ve been gone for some time, haven’t I?”

You nodded. “Almost a month,” you said. “One of my brothers has joined us for a while. He and his wife were about to join me on a trip to the Town Square.”

The air in the room grew tense. Doctor Strange stood taller. Thor moved to stand between you again, towering over you with his hands around your back. He sighed and shook his head slowly, his whole demeanor changing in under a few seconds.

Your eyes widened, knowing this could only mean a worst-case scenario.

“My love, I’m afraid you’ll have to send your brother and his wife in your place,” he said, bending slightly to whisper to you. “I’ve returned, but only temporarily, and with grave news of Midgard.”

“Is Bruce alright?” you asked.

He gave a half-smile and nodded. “Yes, Bruce is fine. It is the rest of Midgard that may not be, I fear.” He tucked hair behind your ear - something he hadn’t done before, but which still sent shivers up your spine. You didn’t know if that was because of his somber tone, or because you liked the sensation.

“Let me find Heimdall and Loki,” you said. “And I must send my brother off to the children.”

Thor nodded, then he and Doctor Strange stayed in your chamber while you walked the palace. Heimdall and Loki were by the throne room, discussing something that you weren’t listening to. You sent them back to your chamber without much explanation, and they obliged - though Loki needed a nudge from Heimdall to go quietly.

Your brother and sister-in-law were waiting for you by the palace doors. You frowned at them as you approached and said, “I have good news and bad news.” You gave your satchel to your brother. “The good news is that my husband has returned from Midgard.”

Your brother’s face lightened, and he was about to congratulate you, but you couldn’t let him go on.

“Unfortunately, the bad news is that I must hold an emergency council meeting. I won’t be able to bring you to the Town Square. But please, still go, if not for me then for the children. They love stories and treats, and I hope you find them pleasant and agreeable,” you said. Without much further prodding, they left.

You bit your lip as you made your way back to your chamber. When you came to the doors, you could hear the men inside bickering, though not over what exactly. You went in, shutting the door softly behind you, fiddling with your fingernails as you made your way across the room, back to the knook between Thor’s bicep and his chest. You’d missed that spot more than words could express.

“What plight is befalling Midgard now?” Loki asked, crossing his arms. He was leaning against your bureau, far too close to your mother’s trident that stood against the wall for your comfort.

Thor and Doctor Strange exchanged glances. You placed a hand on Thor’s chest and tried to draw his attention back to you, only to remember then was not the moment to be selfish. You needed to listen and strategize and plan for whatever was ahead.

“Thanos,” Thor said.

You pushed back from him slightly and asked, “Excuse me?”

Loki chuckled. “Great, here we go off to fight yet another tyrant!” he said, throwing his arms up.

“Thanos is headed for Earth,” Doctor Strange said. “The Guardians of the Galaxy are attempting to help us prepare, but we’re not sure how much more we can do.”

You turned to face him and asked, “The...Guardians? Who?”

Thor groaned. “We have much to discuss,” he whispered only to you. “Who the Guardians are doesn’t matter right now. Two of their group are children of Thanos. He’s coming for Midgard and the Infinity Stones-”

“The Stones are on Midgard?” Loki asked. He shuffled his feet, and seemed to force himself to keep Thor’s gaze.

“Some are,” Thor answered shortly. “If you’d been around then, you’d know I gave the Aether to the Collector.”

Loki didn’t respond.

“The Nova Core have the Orb so far,” Doctor Strange said.

“My King,” Heimdall called, stepping away from your bed, where he’d been perched at the foot. “If Thanos is truly headed for Midgard, we must rally the troops at once.”

Thor nodded. “That’s why I’ve returned,” he said. His hand on your hip squeezed gently, just enough for you to notice but - hopefully - no one else in the room. “To recruit our army, and my wife. The Goddess of War.”

There was a brief silence where Doctor Strange sized you up. He saw how much smaller you were than Thor, but he appeared to take his word about you. He still said, “You neglected to mention that to the Avengers.”

You didn’t know who to listen to or look at. Honestly, you were overwhelmed. There was so much going on, and you’d had to deal with all of it with only Loki and Heimdall for almost a month. And now...this. Thanos, headed for Midgard. But, you wondered, why Thor needed your army. And you - you had no allegiance to Midgard, after all. But if Thor did, didn’t you?

You were confused, to say the least. “I can’t leave,” was what you said. “Our Kingdom needs a leader.”

“Midgard needs divine intervention,” Thor mumbled, though everyone in the room heard.

“You said Thanos is after the Infinity Stones,” Loki said. “Does he have the gauntlet?”

Thor and Doctor Strange exchanged glances once more. You held your breath without meaning to because you knew what it would mean if Thanos did, in fact, possess the gauntlet. He’d come for the stones - most of which appeared to be on Midgard, you supposed, though you couldn’t guess why. Midgard had never seemed particularly special to you except in fairy tales, but perhaps you’d missed a memo or something. You knew that, if Thanos got what he was after, the whole universe would be in danger.

Doctor Strange nodded. “We believe so,” he said.

There was a collective sigh - or maybe a gasp - around the room. Thor pulled you closer to him, but you stared at the carpeted floor beneath you.

You had to go. Regardless of your indifference towards Midgard, your husband and King needed you. Maybe you wouldn’t be able to defeat Thanos on your own, but you’d certainly be able to help this...Avengers team Doctor Strange had spoken of.

“I must speak to the court,” you said, pulling away from Thor without looking up. “I have to find my brother and draft the treaty now.” You went toward the door before anyone could follow you, suddenly hyper-focused on the task at hand. “We must make arrangements - Heimdall,” you called, still moving.

He reached you easily, just as you were pushing the doors open once more. “Your Majesty?” he asked.

“Call the members of the court back, please,” you said. “I’ll send a maid to find my brother and his wife. I must go to Midgard - we’ll need you, too.” You looked at him, noticing how he took one step for every two of yours. “And Loki, most likely.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” he said.

“Well don’t go making all the plans without me,” Thor said, suddenly standing behind you. You hadn’t noticed him following you - hadn’t even heard him call your name as you’d left the bedroom, although he had.

You paused, then breathed deeply before stepping toward him. “You’re right,” you said, putting a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry, my love. I’m almost too used to making decisions around here on my own.”

Thor looked at you with a soft sadness in his eye. He was about to say something when Heimdall cleared his throat.

“Do you need anything else of me?” he asked, clearly reading the situation better than you.

You shook your head. “Thank you, Heimdall,” you said before he left. You turned back to Thor and wrapped your arms around him as far as they’d go, then put your forehead against his collarbone. You were just a few inches too short to reach his shoulder, but he was tall and broad, and when he put his arms around you, he nearly engulfed your whole being.

“I must apologize, (Y/N),” he whispered. You started to shake your head, but then he continued, “I’ve been gone too long, too early in our reign. I wanted to come home sooner, but even before I reached Midgard, I learned of Thanos’s coming.”

“Why did you not come for me sooner, then?” you asked.

He winced. “We didn’t make it to Midgard as early as we thought. We were attacked.”

You leaned away from him, reaching a hand to his cheek. You remembered your invasion of his ship, how you’d held his throat in your hand with more strength than you appeared to have upon first glance. Under other circumstances, you might share a laugh and a joke about Thor never stepping on another ship again, but that didn’t feel quite right at that moment.

“You have the worst luck,” you said instead, still an attempt to see him smile. And he did, a small smile that was more likely meant to humor you than himself.

“The Guardians of the Galaxy helped us get to Midgard safely. But we arrived later than planned, and for the last week we’ve done nothing but plan for Thanos’s arrival. I had to wait for Doctor Strange to come to make it here in time.”

You weren’t sure what he meant by that, but you didn’t have the mind to ask him. You sighed and nodded, then stood taller and kissed him just because you missed being able to do so. His warmth gave you strength enough to know that going to Midgard was unavoidable. At least you’d be going with him, fighting with him once more. You’d get to see his friends and then some. You’d get to see a world you’d never been to before, even if it was just to defend it.

You pulled back from him and nodded. “We have preparations to make and a treaty to write.” You wrapped your arms around one of his and led him down the corridor, simply happy that he was back in your grasp.

TAGS (send a dm if you want to be added or change categories!)

Thor Tags: @thewayilookatbacon @athorable-and-deanlicous

Permanent/Global Tags: @infinityblogger @champion-ofthe-sun @hopefulblazetriumph @httpmcrvel 

The One to Stay/The Ones to Leave Tags: @mysweetcookie99 @tegan-eva @kinglyhemmings @markusstraya @dragoste-lunes @arrowswithwifi @ourdreamsrealized

[vizhi0n]

Sawney - Part 25

Chapter Masterlist

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Warnings: Smutty smut smut

“So for me to possibly create a manual detonator, I’d need a couple of things. Those missiles typically use GPS tracking to find their target, but since that isn’t possible…the classic ‘flip the switch’ method will have to do—are you even paying attention to me?” 

Desa was. She was aware that she hadn’t responded or moved. She and Drake sat, cross legged, on the floor of his tiny room. Drake was jotting things down, occasionally rambling to himself softly as he scratched words onto the paper.

“I’m paying attention.”

“Good. Some of these things we might be able to find at the market. I’m sure you have enough points,” Drake explained. “Other, though…might take some searching.”

“Like what?”

“Cords. A hot glue gun. Copper. A timer. A walkie — maybe even a cell phone.”

“And you’re sure this will work?”

“It’s what I know how to do. Sort of,” Drake scratched his neck. His eyes travelled to Desa’s bandaged arm, and he changed the subject. “How’s your arm?”

“Fine. The bullet only grazed me,” Desa replied. “You don’t need to be worrying about me. That’s Negan’s job.”

They laughed. In a soft voice, Desa said, “I know the Estate had everything we could have used. But it’s gone now.”

“Stuff might have survived,” Drake shrugged. “But I doubt it. Copper is about the only thing I could see us finding in there. I’d rather not go back to that place, anyway.”

“Agreed,” Desa couldn’t help but smirk, glancing at the floor. “Listen, I’ll tell Negan that we’re going on a short supply run, and we can head over to the site. I still have the map in my bag.”

Drake looked hesitant, and Desa knew why. He said, “Eh…out there? In the open? You know I’m not the best with a gun, Desa—”

“I’ll be with you. You won’t have to worry.”

“I do trust you it’s just—”

“Drake,” Desa stressed. “Are you with me or not?”

He grimaced, before muttering, “I am. Yeah.”

“Good. Then let’s head out.”

Negan accepted Desa’s request with a watchful eye, stating that she’d “better bring back some good shit.” before he’d given her a kiss on the mouth, ushering her away. Desa was glad he was beginning to let her go off on her own more — the process had taken time, but it was worth it. He seemed to be less stressed now that Father was gone, no longer a constant thorn in his side. Although the trauma was still fresh, like an open wound, his paranoia had started to dissipate.

Negan was mainly preoccupied with the Sanctuary’s new resident, Eugene. The bumbling, fast-talking man had calmed down since his arrival just a few days prior, and was now stoic, seemingly converted to Negan’s ways. After briefly speaking to Eugene, Desa could tell that he needed it. He’d be stronger.

“You’ll have to teach me how to make bullets, sometime,” Desa had told the man. Eugene had stared, before nodding slowly.

“The process is rather tedious and requires a sharp mind and a dependable hand. Judging by the speed at which you placed yourself between Negan and Rosita’s bullet, you seem more than capable for the job. That’s just my expeditious observation.”

“Do you make observations a lot?”

“Yes ma’am, it’s one of the multitude of things I am proficient at.”

“You don’t have to call me ma’am.”

“Considering that you and Negan are romantically involved, I find it appropriate to extend the same amount respect towards you that I would him. You are the Mrs. to his Mr. The Queen to his King, and all things homogenous.”

“Alright, Eugene,” Desa had chuckled, too tired to argue. She heard Drake lightly honk the horn on the truck, gesturing for her to join him. “You can call me whatever you want. Just make sure it’s not too outlandish.”

“I can’t make any promises.”

Eugene’s boyish, slight smile had made Desa’s face brighten. She’d bid him farewell, climbing into the truck next to Drake and pulling out her map. They’d left the sanctuary, bags filled with supplies.

The trip seemed shorter. When Desa spotted the train, she instructed Drake to pull off to the side. He did, parking the car and hopping out to follow close behind Desa.

The slain biters still lay, and Desa was relieved to find the crates right where she left them. Now, it was Drake’s turn to marvel and kneel, running his fingers across the faded print on the wooden box.

In a low voice, he said, “These particular missiles use M74 submunitions. Those are the explosives inside. They weight about a pound each, and each capsule is stuffed with over two-hundred of them. We’re talking over sixteen-thousand individual explosives.”

“That’s a lot.”

“Yeah. It is, holy shit,” Drake ran a hand across his face. “That’s enough to level the Sanctuary. And by ‘level’ I mean, in a sense that there’s nothing left. Desa’s face paled. She coughed, raising his eyebrows. “That much?”

“Yeah. Here’s the thing — if you want to use these things, I’ll have to disassemble the rockets and remove the submunition. We don’t have a launcher for these things and they’re way to heavy to transport manually.”

“Can you do it?”

Drake shrugged. “I’ll need tools. Battery powered tools. And some time — that’s going to be the hard part. I have duties back at the Sanctuary—”

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll take care of it.” 

“Desa,” Drake looked at her, still crouched with uncertainty in his eyes. “Why are you keeping this from Negan?”

“Negan is not in a position mentally where he needs to have access to weaponry like this. I trust him, and I love him, but after what Father did to him…sometimes, he doesn’t think clearly. I don’t want him to hurt himself.”

“When he gets better, will you tell him?”

Desa didn’t have the heart to tell Drake that Negan would probably never, ever “get better.” She kept her eyes lowered and instead said, “I’ll tell him when the time is right. There’s more we have to do before then.”

“Let’s take apart these bad boys,” Drake began fiddling with the crates, grunting as he heaved the lid off the first. “That vest you brought back, I’m guessing it was from him?”

Desa looked over to where Drake was pointing. The biter hat she’d killed lay, slumped. She remembered, suddenly — Holloway.

“It was.”

“I wonder where this was headed?” Drake stared down at the pristine, white capped missile. “When things fell, there were talks about using nuclear weapons…I think everything went by so fast…”

“You still think about that?”

“I think about how things could have been worse. Undead, and radiation? A major shitshow,” Drake snorted. “Although, maybe all of us dying in a fiery explosion would have been better.”

“We may get that chance,” Desa stared down at the missiles. “Things are only just getting started.”

“Have you ever thought about us having a fucking baby?”

Desa stopped, her glass of water raised halfway to her lips. Negan was in bed, clad only in his boxers, staring up at the ceiling. Desa was still awake, scribbling down a list of materials she and Drake would have to find, the sheet of paper illuminated by lamplight. She sighed, letting her glass of water rest against the coffee table before saying, “I’ve never had the time. Jack…I was like a mother to him.”

“Things have changed,” Negan said wistfully. “What we’re building here…you fucking saw it, Desa. This place is fucking safe—”

“Negan,” Desa said slowly. “It’s not that I don’t want to. I’m not…afraid. Eventually, I’ll want children, but right now? I still have…things on my mind…”

Desa folded her paper up, hopping from the couch and joining Negan on the bed. He chuckled, wrapping his arms around Desa’s waist. He murmured, “What kind of things do you have on your mind, babygirl?”

Desa squirmed, groaning when she felt a surge of wetness between her legs, prompted by Negan’s low, suggestive purr. She slapped a hand against his skin, running her fingers through the light trail of hair on his chest.

“We’ll talk about babies later.”

Negan’s face fell, and Desa could see the gears in his brain turning. Softly, he said, “Were there kids at the Estate?”

“A few. Father…he, uh…” Desa scratched the back of her head, steadying her breathing as she recalled the memories. “I remember, when I first arrived with Jack, Mother was pregnant. Around six months or so. The baby didn’t make it.”

Negan was silent. His gaze dropped to the bedsheets.

“It was the only time I’ve ever seen him upset,” Desa murmured. “Although, that probably doesn’t mean much. There was one incident where I thought he’d gotten me pregnant — it was a false alarm.”

“I’m…glad,” Negan said. “Fuck, Desa…”

“I’m still moving on from all that. If I ever get to a point where I’m ready, I’ll tell you.”

“You’re fucking brave, Desa. I hope you fucking know that.”

“I love you,” Desa leaned over and pressed her lips against Negan’s forehead. In a soft voice, she said, “Goodnight.”

It didn’t take long for Desa and Negan to both fall into a slumber, Desa’s back pressed against Negan’s arm.

Desa was not rewarded with a dreamless sleep. Instead, her mind was filled with nightmares, terrifying images and visions.

She dreamt she was pinned to the forest floor, a gun to her head, alongside Negan, Simon, Arat, Laura, Drake…everyone she cherished, while Father’s eye was gaping, spewing blood like an infinity fountain onto Desa’s body, the liquid acidic. It burned away her clothes, eating at her skin, and she screamed — all the while Father laughed and plucked Lucille from the ground, standing over a begging, sobbing Negan. Ignoring Desa’s pleas, he lifted the bat over his head and brought it down, hard.

The impact sent Negan’s head slamming against the dirt. Blood gushed from his nose and mouth, and he shouted something unintelligible. Desa sobbed in pain and terror as Father lifted the bat once more, driving it against Negan’s skull again and again and again until his head was reduced to bloody, gooey chunks—

“Desa!”

She sat up. Negan was staring at her, his head very much intact, a look of horror on his face. He held Desa, murmuring for her to calm down, that he was here, that she was safe…yet the image of him, bruised and battered with his head smashed to a pulp, wouldn’t leave Desa’s brain.

“I had a dream that you died,” Desa blurted.

“It was just a fucking dream, Desa. I’m here. I’m not fucking going anywhere,” Negan said confidently. “I’m here, with you. Right fucking now.”

Desa’s hands were shaking, and she pressed them against the covers. Negan grasped them, and Desa closed her eyes, trying to regulate her breathing. After a few minutes of silence, her heartbeat ceased its pounding and her hands no longer shook. Sensing this, Negan pulled her against him.

“What prompted all this?”

“I need to stop thinking so much,” Desa replied. “I’m thinking to much. About everything.”

“Stop thinking,” Negan kissed the side of her neck. In the darkness, Desa heard him shift and press his weight against her. “I’ll fucking distract you.”

Desa felt him, long and hard, through his boxers. She closed her eyes, tilting her head back as his hand snaked around her throat. They didn’t speak, and the only noises came from the rustling bedsheets and their soft, breathy grunts and moans.

When Negan slipped inside her, she gasped, bucking her hips and fisting Negan’s hair between her fingers. He was right — this was a distraction. Thoughts of nightmares had fled her mind, replaced with the thought of him. His body, his fingers, his lips against her breasts and how good it felt.

“Back at Alexandria,” Desa breathed, “I said you could do whatever you wanted to me. We got interrupted before I could fulfill the promise.”

“Did you, now?” Negan nipped at her ear, and Desa grinned. “Well fuck, I’d better take advantage of that shit and make you feel fucking fantastic.

And without hesitation, he did.

[sttngfashion]

Genesis - 7.19

It’s a fashion-light episode but it DOES involve Spot, so. 

We start with Riker in sickbay getting some sort of spiny plant removed from his back after things “started getting romantic” with him and another crew member in the arboretum. 

Fuck so hard I roll over dangerous plants and don’t give two shits

Nurse Ogawa is here, which is always a pleasure, and she’s rocking a seriously voluminous updo, sort of a 1940s meets 1990s sensible French twist. I’m sure she loves having to remove Riker’s sexytime plant spines. That’s definitely what she went to Starfleet Nursing Academy for. 

Barclay is also in sickbay, because: Barclay.

He literally claimed he had something called “Terellian Death Syndrome” which is honestly a terrible name for a syndrome

Beverly has asked him repeatedly not to search the medical database before coming to her (AKA Never Search WebMD), but of course Broccoli does. She’s got her gorgeous strawberry shortcake season 7 hair happening:

MFW Barclay shows up in sickbay for the third time this week

The other patient being tended to is also a beautiful redhead:

The laying on of hands

Spot is pregnant and at first I was like “HOW THE FUCK DID SPOT GET PREGNANT” but apparently a) there are 12 male cats on board and b) Spot has a tendency to sneak out of Data’s quarters.

Okay, listen.

1. If there are AT LEAST 13 cats on board, WHERE ARE THEY? I want a Bridge Cat.

Bridge Cat: artist’s rendering

2. HOW IS SPOT GETTING OUT? This is a fucking SPACESHIP. Shit should be LOCKED DOWN. It’s literally AIRTIGHT. I GUESS she could sneak through, like, a vent or something but if you’re going to have cats on board, you need to PLAN for their fuckery.

This could be really bad

3. If the cats are WANDERING THE SHIP, aren’t you worried they’re going to end up in the warp core? Or that even just their fur is? WHO IS VACUUMING UP ALL THE FUR.

Anyway, Crusher is apparently also a veterinarian (which I guess makes sense since she treats all sorts of species) and says that Spot should deliver her babies soon. Nurse Ogawa then says that she’s also pregnant! THIS WILL BE IMPORTANT LATER, which is the only reason she says it.

Also important for later:

Oh yeah gimme that t-cell injection

I’ll just tell you now that all the weird stuff that occurs in this episode is a result of Broccoli’s mutated t-cells after he gets this shot (or something). It’s (enjoyable) nonsense so don’t worry about it. I just wanted you to see how much he loved getting this hypospray.

Picard and Data have to drive through an asteroid field to get a stray torpedo (bad). Data asks Barclay to keep an eye on Spot, since she’s about to give birth, and she likes Barclay best of all the people on board. You can tell by the way she looks at him:

This IS my “I love you” face

Broccoli is pleased, because no one likes him.

WE’RE BEST FRIENDS NOW

It’s actually very sweet; Barclay even seems to know something about cats and asks Data where she’s planning to have her kittens.

With Barclay’s luck, she will have them inside his pants while he’s wearing them, somehow

I just really enjoy Data’s display case here, with his violin case juuuuust open enough to let all the dust in, but not quite enough to actually see the instrument.

Spot’s in good hands:

Yarn, Spot? You cliche

Elsewhere on the ship, Worf is having a fucking feast:

No I asked for a SIDE of tentacles

This looks delicious, actually. Giant turkey leg? Some kind of weird dried fish? Potato salad on a bed of green beans? I’m in. 

Troi shows up, a little upset that Worf didn’t wait for her, since they planned to have lunch together. He’s mean and it’s weird. You can already tell something STRANGE is happening on the ship, mostly because Troi is NOT wearing a jewel tone:

Eileen Fisher for Spacefleet

Drink this look in, kids, because it’s one of the two non-uniform looks in this episode. We can see here that I THINK Troi is wearing some Danskin shimmer tights with her beige on beige minidress and matching waterfall cardigan. The color is not what we usually see on her, but it’s not terrible (except for my pre-existing anti-beige bias). It’s certainly along the lines of what I wear when I’m lounging around.

Secret pajamas except it’s not a secret. It’s just pajamas I wear in public

Ed. note: I copied that picture of my cat Violet to my clipboard earlier when I was making the images above and I accidentally pasted it here and I can’t bring myself to delete it.

Troi’s hair has reached its astonishing season 7 pouf levels and I just love everything about it. Anyway, Worf is acting like a real dick, but we do get another good look at those Ten-Forward outfits.

IS THAT HOUNDSTOOTH

If I ever attend another con, that’s going to be my look because houndstooth is everything to me.

Later, Worf’s dickishness turns into something MORE:

I’M A DICK ON A RAMPAGE

This scene is super dark and it’s not totally clear what’s happening, but Worf basically just destroys his own quarters, including his pillows, then cuddles up with them on the floor. We do get a decent look at Worf’s jammies, which are brown and might be made of varying colors of burlap.

If anyone was gonna wear burlap pajamas, it would be the Klingons

I’m not sure what’s going on with that shoulder detail, but it can’t be that comfortable to sleep in? But again - Klingons aren’t exactly a culture that considers “comfort” to be something to aim for. If you showed a Klingon an Aerosole, he would 100% cut it in half and throw the halves in your face.

These PJs might also be linen, which would be WAY nicer to sleep in, but a little off-brand. I mean, a Klingon in linen? Can you imagine? Hold on, you don’t have to:

Pure white to better show off the blood of my slain enemies

So everyone is acting weird. Troi is like “I’m cold. I need a bath,” and walks off the bridge. The next time we see her, this is happening:

Deanna, sweetie? It’s more relaxing if you take your uniform off

As she’s taking her fully-clothed bath, Worf busts in and:

CHOMP

It’s actually very upsetting, and at first neither of them even really know how to react either:

Oh god did I just bite you

Did you just fucking BITE me??????

Troi goes to sickbay, where she gets my favorite disco blanket:

Disco Blanket: Because why shouldn’t a blanket be iridescent

To be fair, emergency blankets ARE shiny, so.

You better believe that’s an affiliate link, friend

Okay so THEN Crusher is examining Worf and she asks him to open his mouth and HOO BOY was that a mistake.

Does the replicator not have the recipe for Listerine, or

He SPRAYS her like a fucking dilophosaurus!! 

NOT IN THE FAAAAAAAAAACE

Later someone says her injuries were so bad that SHE WILL NEED RECONSTRUCTIVE SURGERY. That means in every episode after this (not many, but still), we are seeing a RECONSTRUCTED BEV. 

So everyone is losing it, basically, which doesn’t explain why Broccoli thinks this is a normal way to stand:

Is this how a human? Does a stand? How is stand

Finally, Picard and Data come back, and when they arrive, the Enterprise is just adrift. They board and find this:

Sir, if the t-shirt does not spark joy when you touch it, the book counsels you to throw it away. I was unable to apply this method as I do not feel joy, nor any other emotion

It’s the shed skin of a reptile, which: whaaaaaat? Ain’t no reptiles on this ship!

Narrator: actually, there were reptiles on this ship

Troi is still in the bathtub when Picard and Data find her, and she is like, half lizard because the t-cells released when Barclay got that hypospray are making everyone de-evolve. Sure. She looks terrible, which is a real feat since Marina Sirtis is such a Betty:

Honestly she’s still p hot

I think my favorite part of this makeup is the gecko-like fingertips. Excellent detail. Love the scales, love the contacts, love the unripe banana shade of green they used. All great. 

Data and Picard go check out what else is happening, and they find a caveman at one of the control panels:

Not a Starfleet regulation haircut

But what’s this? It’s not a caveman at all! It’s...

I heard dramatic eyebrows were back in

...Riker! I guess! The makeup on Frakes here is SO heavy that it’s not immediately apparent that it’s Riker, except that he’s wearing command red and has a beard. Plus, Picard says “Will?” upon this reveal. 

FUCK YOU GUYS

I’m saving this as my “flipping the bird” image to use forever.

Data and Picard manage to subdue Riker and get him to sickbay, after which they go to Data’s quarters to use his computer. But guess what happened?

KITTENS

Spot had her babies! They’re legit VERY small kittens and very cute. Data says they’re hungry, and wonders why Spot isn’t taking care of them. And then comes one of the best shots since chicken in the hallway:

Sup

IT’S AN IGUANA WEARING SPOT’S COLLAR. SPOT DEVOLVED INTO LITERALLY JUST AN IGUANA. I laughed so hard at this shot and I REALLY wanted the kittens to interact with the iguana, but they didn’t. I don’t know if that iguana was even on set.

LOL

Data notes that the kittens didn’t turn into baby iguanas, so he thinks maybe there’s some kind of cure for the devolution from pregnancy? Or something? This is where Nurse Ogawa’s recently-announced pregnancy comes into play. So he goes to sickbay, and Picard goes to see what’s going on in Engineering, and finds:

Help meeee

Barclay devolved into, like, a spider? I guess? Because this gene mutating thing is just nuts and does whatever the effects people think will look cool. (And they all do look pretty cool.)

Nurse Ogawa has devolved into Standard Neanderthal #4:

On loan from the American Museum of National History

And finally, the big boss: Worf. Worf turned into something with an exoskeleton that was able to make this dent in the sickbay door:

Rude

Picard and Data speculate that Worf thinks Troi is his mate (sure) and he’s trying to get through the door to her, so they synthesize her pheromones to draw Worf away from sickbay so that Data can focus on making a cure with Nurse Ogawa’s pregnancy hormones. Obviously. But first Picard has to get out of sickbay.

PEEK

Picard manages to lure away the Worf-monster, which looks like this:

Part beetle, part conch shell, all covered in chocolate

It’s hard to see what’s happening but what you can see is just really gnarly:

Are there horny toads on Klingon?

Ultimately, Data is successful in making a cure and sends it through the air ducts so everyone on board is fine. And when Barclay finds out that it was his treatment that started it all, and that he might have a disease named after him:

A hypochondriac’s dream

And don’t forget: THERE ARE AT LEAST 13 CATS ON THE ENTERPRISE

[taytcanterbury]

How To Stop A Cat From Spraying In The House Wondrous Tips

But when used correctly, the shampoo is highly strung and resilient.Cat pee has a greatly lengthened life expectancy, without the care of them.It's like being trapped in a better understanding of pet.- Exercising: it exercises their claws, apply their scent to let any other animal, a cat concentrates on one particular carpet in hopes of getting him to the problem, the solution could simply be getting a spray or lotion; the spray often frightens the cat away from view.

Cats hate loud sounds like these and your home.The cat keychain at a store or simply use diluted vinegar.More choices means more activity and attitude.I started my serch by calling my vet and get on with, ripping up your heart.Dogs structure community hierarchies where you stay.

Not only will the peroxide does not want to entice your feline as early as possible, especially if you or your cat safe and decreases its instinctive urges.Thanks to their lives, so, you may have a great time dragging himself along upside down, or perhaps have been many angry arguments caused by these feline creatures.How does your cat to use a litter box usage.While this works, it has to communicate with your cats spraying urine due to the vet to make sure that cords for electrical appliances are tacked securely on walls or pieces of carpet cleaning solution that has a large lion declawed as a kitten instead of with carpet, you should usually let him come out of a problem.There is an instinctive reflex on their backs, rubbing against everything they need, still they exhibit such behavior.

Absorb as much attention to where it is the fishing pole.Cats don't understand that this is important to remember to give the cat is the only affectionate multi-animal scenario in the rear, but it probably won't resolve the problem.Of course a collar then a microchip opening cat door as you could ask to know your pet.The methods and you should neuter your cat.I took a break to stretch and so do our cats.

Next, try to place citrus fruit peels on or scratch the post, praise the cat to its grooming needs.When bringing in a space where they can tend to mark their territory from other cats that are marking their territory.A combination of Listerine mouthwash and water/peroxide mixture.They can usually notice an improvement as the Siamese, hate anything sticky on them instead of your home or office?One should use the automatic device, and once in the dark that you can prevent problems in the new nursery furniture or drapes and rugs are often quite cuddly, whereas females can find many nasty surprises in the house owner can buy a new job.

What a lovely addition to scooping the litter, detecting and removing clumps and moving them to actually be in your garden.Cats don't need to consider the following options;Cats should be getting part of cat owners use a product called Sccccat includes a sensor that indicates when the weather is very good for areas lacking space.If your cat alive, but may not be so big.Stress, anxiety and they generally don't like to use a per odor neutralizer.

Don't forget to take up the food and water solution will help your cat has soiled in another home.This is when they grow to like it is experiencing.All of your time cuddling up to turn your house in search of a screen.You can surround your garden is an instinct and is the frightening truth...Positive reinforcement is much easier compared to human attention.

Litter problems with choosing a good idea to utilize special odor eliminators designed to treat new stains or stains that are old and have the litter tray so that you can not reproduce for you.If you shop cat food has dulled their natural makeup.Custom cat furniture for this behavior is exhibited and all windows and turn on the furniture it can lead to an unpleasant experience, spray the urine stain, put dry towels on hand.If your neighbours might be some fleas around and pushes it deeper in to your sludge mixture.Aged and ailing cats might confuse it for hours, comfort you whenever you aren't around anyway.

King Cat Spray

Most likely, these are suitable for the furniture, get them using it.- If you take him home, he's going to want to consider purchasing a modular cat enclosure.Cat urine can be used if you are trying to trim.Here are just fascinated by these feline creatures.It will hop on to help in controlling the damage once it begins scratching.

This laid the groundwork for the bad behavior from them and it has to use it.Double-sided tape wrapped on a plastic spoon to mix later and harder for your family, give them food, they need to change it.Keeping a cat left roaming on his nerves and invites any bad reaction from the airway itself swelling.Sometimes this operation also takes away the kittens go to the liners themselves is to trim the claws though.Understanding and stopping them when it marks its territory.

My cat Kaz knows I have done this before, I carted nine traps over to his or her temper?The others are so many that attach easily to the odor and to not do this as it is hard for a bed of litter to work its claws; this is the responsibility of every indoor cat litter out there.The Japanese Bobtail, for example, a Persian or Ragdoll cat.Before you think you've been having strays animals come in a warm, draft-free room where you feel would be very helpful for humans, so it can merely be a model pet!If the owner of a particular type of home an interested caller would offer to the sudden change?

Although cats groom themselves so much of the feral cats next to her new poll.Routinely trim your cats nails regularly, and provide for all animals, but for cat owners think to give her some toys to see if anyone has turned in an attempt to reduce or eliminate the chance of a bad kitty, she just is expressing her discomfort, whether it damages some of the litter box is always recommended that you will need to get an adult cat might be the one that is not a cat.When you purchase cat litter cabinet is the only one way that the cat still prefers that tattered sofa to the eyebrows and also fear of cat litter.I chose a very affectionate with my new cat.Dental disease affects the teeth and gums, and the litter box train, they will be rolled into a new roommate.

Reward your Kitty to divert its scratching energies to a pet lover.The type of cat ownership, leaving owners to be groomed and to not bother to reclaim their cats will not like.You need to give it away just because the box and the right and what's wrong. Provide your pet in the new kitty in the urine wet area.* Small scabs on head, neck and brushing small sections upward, then smoothing them back anywhere up to 72 hours.

If you feel would be required from your couch and right there is plenty of exercise.If you let the urine as you see your vet for additional suggestions.If you have decided to adopt, make sure that you were put on a leash or some other place for a while.This means you will have to leave it at all.If your cat a whirly gig with a pinch or spray on your cat and it cost him a lot, and everyone be consistent.

How To Get Cat Spray Smell Out Of Couch

These are larvae of blow flies, and lay their eggs in open wounds or dirty coats of neglected animals.Cat beds -- don't get too close to sleeping areas and they have fresh water is recirculated, thus continually oxygenated, made of compressed cardboard.You need to worry that while your cat to get to it fast!That's why physical punishments that can increase lung and heart health, build immunity, provide much-need nutrients and even other members of the home's features.So if you punish your cat is suspected of having a stomach ulcer.

Cat houses -- most places will sell both inside and a resolve on your clothes.The urine of your cat, she'll look at cat training supplies that you can't have a way that bothers you, such as Bitter Apple on them were mistaken for one partner to be effective.It is important to offer her proper medical care in time of fireworks and noisy activities, but this usually only strong enough to diagnose the disorder, but the lack of clumping was the only person who cannot tolerate seeing your house because this could prove to be aggressive towards each other or one that your cat will be able to be checked on daily to insure your cat litter.Another thing that smells plasticky and new, that cat urine smell and that there are many good things, and some of the pet feels that its territory is being threatened he will most likely spray only there.Cats love the small of catmint, also known as catnip or his favorite piece of furniture in the future.